Gay or Gangsta?

Clarifying untruthiness

Everybody thinks drinking alone is sad, or lonely, or depressing.

But this is totally not true!

Drinking alone is every bit as fun as drinking socially*.

note: keep in mind that being hung over alone is sad, lonely and depressing.

BREAKING NEWS: MILEY CYRUS HATES GLEE

At least, according to the internet, which as we know, is never wrong.

Does this strike anybody else as odd? Perhaps it's because the show purposely defenestrated her song the climb a couple weeks back -- there's always more to the story in Hollywood than we know.

Still, how can anybody who likes music hate all musical theatre? Least yet the irony of her being a Disney star who played a singing sensation for tweens across America?

The most confusing thing to me about Miley Cyrus though? How did she get so popular when she is neither talented nor attractive?

I mean, Hillary Duff may not be the next Ella Fitzgerald, but at least she's La-La Land pretty. Miley Cyrus is a bad singer AND she's kind of a butterface. How did she get famous? A mystery that shall never be solved.

I give her 5 years before she pulls a Debbie Gibson and doffs the clothes for Playboy.

Random television notes

What is the appropriate analogy for watching Idina Menzel and Leah Michelle sing a duet of Pokerface? Thomas Keller and Heston Blumenthal working the grill at a Harvey's? David Lachapelle and Annie Leibovitz being prom photographers?

Community is easily the best sitcom on tv.

I can't believe more people don't watch Breaking Bad.

Mad Men is stylish, Treme is poignant, Dexter treads dark comedy, Friday Night Lights is heart warming and the Pacific is white knuckle action.

Breaking Bad is ALL OF THESE THINGS. It's the best show on tv right now, bar none. Get on that folks.

Pour one out

I shattered my favourite coffee mug today.

Slightly surprised at how sad this makes me.

I love this

Believe it or not, we NEWSWEEKers know what you're saying about us out there. That we're obsolete. That all of our remaining subscribers are dentists. That we lose $28 million a year and are about to be sold to an Israeli billionaire who will inevitably replace the entire staff with IDF robots. To me, it seemed like the wrong time to launch an experiment designed to make us look "with it." "Breaking! From Deathbed, NEWSWEEK Discovers Twitter. Next Up: Bel Biv Devoe." I was not eager to be eviscerated by the Awl.

Andrew Romano, Newsweek writer

Full text here

Streets Ahead

Slot Machines and Glee

The latest episode of Glee was basically the one I was waiting for. Like how a slot machine gives you small victories just to keep you interested, tonight's episode was my tiny victory for staying faithful. This must be how Rihanna felt.

Best episode since the pilot in my opinion. If only they could all be as well composed as this week's.

One beef: since when is U2 circa Joshua Tree considered Classic Rock??? What does that make Zepplin or the Stones? Archaic Rock?

Hear me out literally

Backstory: I went to this talk with Sasha Frere-Jones, pop music critic for The New Yorker. He had a little moment where he espoused the virtues of vinyl, quoting a friend who mentioned mp3's were like "a photocopy of a polaroid of a photograph of a picture," or something along those lines. He mentioned that mp3's feature roughly 3 per cent of the musical data on a given tracks master studio recording. This was at once not particularly surprising but also rather slap-in-the-faceish when stated in such blunt terms, kind of like looking at a smokers left lung.

Anyways, this kind of restoked my vinyl fires, which are decidedly on and off like any of my various hobbies.

By no means am I qualified to speak on vinyl. I'm going to anyways.

My modest collection is in single digits if you don't include the castoffs I bourgeoissily stole from my dad. Still, you don't have to be a connoisseur to understand the appeal of the vinyl experience.

First off, because I have such a small record collection to pick from, I listen to the same albums more frequently. The result is a more intimate exposure to music, breeding more familiarity for better or worse. Either way, my relationship with an album -- the physical LP -- is much more tangible. I have to literally select it, and handle it, being careful not to scratch or warp the record in order to make sure I can experience it again in the future. By respecting music's physical manifestation I feel like I learn a greater respect for the music itself indirectly.

Secondly, my record player is not part of my computer, or my tv, or anything else. It is a machine that exists solely to play music, meaning in order to listen to records I have to make a purposeful trip to my stereo. And I can't go anywhere! The music is only going to be perfect in that one spot in between my two speakers. I'm making time to hear these songs, it's not something I'm doing in the background. This record is the main course.

The act of buying a new record is an exciting experience itself. Yes, you can pay for music on iTunes and listen to it, but really that is such a shadow of the fun of buying a LP. You get to go to a store -- a real place! -- surrounded by choices you can casually browse through. Much like adopting a pet, you often have to make a decision about who you're going to take home that day; it has to be an album that you connect with personally in that moment.

All the way home you think about listening to the album. There is no instant gratification here, not unless you have a record player in your car or backpack. The delayed gratification makes the payoff all the sweeter when you finally get home. Even the simple process of having to rip-off plastic wrapping and pulling out a pristine piece of vinyl for the first time is such a special treat compared to double clicking a mouse button.

Thirdly, you can't skip songs. Well, I mean, you can, but it's almost more trouble than it's worth. Get up? Walk all the way across the room? Naaahhh. By essentially forcing yourself to listen to every track, you get to appreciate things that if you had the power to, you might have skipped over and missed. It's almost like forcing yourself to try eating new foods -- you might not like things at first blush but often we are surprised at what ends up growing on us. Music is no exception.

Finally, audio fidelity. As mentioned above, mp3's are a shadow of original studio recordings. We could get into digital vs. analog recordings here, but again, I will never claim expertise in this arena. All I will say is the difference between listening to an LP, the warmth and depth of the music, has a life that cd's -- nevermind mp3's -- cannot replicate. Music sounds more real (as it should in analog) with records, and that just makes listening to it a more enjoyable experience.

Listening to vinyl seems snobby, and it's inconvenient and impractical. Make no mistake about it. But if food has taught us anything it's that quick and easy is not always the best approach. Moreover, eating lunch in your car will never be as enjoyable as sitting down and enjoying a slow cooked meal prepared with love and fresh ingredients.

If we're willing to pay a premium for food this way, shouldn't music be afforded the same latitude?

Elbow padded twill jackets

White Women's Workout - watch more funny videos

Songs that, you know, sounds different slow

I am going to attempt some covers. I haven't recorded in a long time, mostly due to the disenchantment of hearing my own voice.

Still, what are some good songs to cover acoustically? Currently my list of tracks I want to attempt stands as such:

The Sea Is A Good Place To Think O The Future - Los Campesinos
I Heard You Had A Voice Like An Angel - Psalm 137 - Shad
I'll Believe In Anything - Wolf Parade
Unison - Bjork

The times they are a literally changin'

Talking about the weather in Canada is not relegated to the realm of chit chat conversation. We above the 49th love to talk about how sunny it is, or how sad the rain was, or the size of hail, or how although it was overcast where you lived my area was sunny and dry.

Moreover, Canadians value the option of four seasons to choose a favourite from more than perhaps any people in the world; and this is where my mind has been lately.

For the longest time, my favourite season was Autumn for myriad reasons: foliage; sweater-but-no-jacket weather; my birthday; halloween candy; the World Series.

As age has ravaged me however, I find myself increasingly basking (sometimes literally) in the joy of sunshine. As a result, and at the risk of seeming disloyal, I came to the sudden realization today that I have been disillusioned by my own romanticism for the vast majority of my life. Let's get real -- #TeamSpring is where it's at.

The warming thaw of sunny days after a long Winter (or historically short, whatevs) is simply too much to ignore. Throw in everyone starting to strip off cumbersome pants, the NBA and NHL playoffs, the start of baseball season, the first BBQ of the year and the first patio visit and Spring just look like it's holding a stacked hand.

Sure, everyone loves Summer with good merit, but I've always found it insufferably hot. Likewise, Winter obviously has it's shortcomings. But saying Fall is your favourite seasons always seemed like it actually told something about a person; it meant you like Dylan albums and vintage clothing, y'know? Autumn seems more artsy. But at this point in my life, artsy just doesn't keep warm my heart's cockles anymore. I need more from a season than nice pictures and knit sweaters.

My point is, Autumn, I can't wait till you come around. But for now, I'm going to enjoy the flowers blooming and plaid tube-top wearing concert going hipster girls.

Ideal weather: 22 degrees celsius, 35% humidity, Sunny with some cloud cover, gentle breeze, 0% POP.

Hypothetical #589714

Do you ever wonder if the guy who invented the clock radio is happy with his life?

I mean, sure, it was a great idea. He's probably rich. But did he really invent anything? Do you wonder if he ever feels like a fraud? Or that he just got lucky and doesn't deserve his fortune -- like someone winning the lottery?

Birth of a Boat Shoe

It's a coincidence the recent Kelefa Sanneh article over at the New Yorker was passed around this weekend here at the blog, because I've been thinking about all this racial paradigm business recently and for me, it all starts with feet.

Sure, it might seem more macro when Sanneh wonders aloud if "white is the new black" in observing a new burgeoning visible majority; just as wondering what that would make "old black" or "new white" a question wrought with grey tinged complexities. Still, it's not the social, political or even anthropological issues that I find most confusing.

It's the shoes man. Boat shoes, to be specific.

I can't wrap my head around the latest trend in sneaker culture (a community as intertwined with hip-hop and urban minorities as vegans are with tofu) hypebeasting the hell out of boat shoes. It's even evolved, with Nike and Vans getting into the act of mashing boat shoes with classic Dunk and Chukka silhouettes.

There are aspects of boat shoes I do get. I mean, they look neat. Some of them have piping and tassels, great. But at what point did wanting to dress like a retired investment banker on holiday become certified street fresh? I realize this look isn't particularly new, it snuck up slowly but now that the ensemble is complete, is anybody else stepping back and asking "really? what the fuck?"

Let's break down some popular male streetwear trends: Louis Vutton bags, Gucci loafers, gingham shirts, bow ties, bespoke suits. Isn't this how Ted Kennedy dressed? I can only assume this reverse co-option is apropos of white people hijacking rock music, blues and Michael Jackson.

Ironically of course, (mainly white) hipsters continue to attempt to go the opposite route, purposely using socioeconomic advantages to try and purchase authenticity. Basically, that means paying two-thousand dollars on designer clothes to look like you only spent two dollars at the local Value Village. Grinding sneaker collectors want to look like they're heading to the Hamptons while kids from upstate all want to dress like sneaker collectors.

So I mean, if rich white people want to look like less rich black folk, while less rich black folk want to look like (old) rich white guys, doesn't this all turn into some sort of Donnie Darko catch-22 cyclical space continuum tear type of deal or whatever?

Or maybe not? I mean, maybe boat shoes are actually not being appropriated. Maybe people just like wearing boat shoes. Who decided white people own Fred Perry kicks anyways? Who decided it had to be an us vs. them proposition all the time with clothes, or shoes, or music?

I guess in my mind I wonder about the value of Sanneh's piece after having given it time to simmer. Important to note that I'm not aiming for piety here, I'm merely wondering aloud: if we're aiming for post-racial shouldn't we be wondering how our race paradigms are confining us more than how we should best observe and redefine our differences?

Kind of like how no one actually wears fucking boat shoes on a boat anyways -- it's a name that no longer means anything so who cares if you're rocking them at the club?

Maybe one day we'll get to that point with race as well.

Doing things alone

Yesterday I went to see Beach House play the Opera House (that must be confusing if you don't go to a lot of concerts or listen to a lot of hipster music, I apologize).

It was, in my recollection, the first time I have intentionally gone to see a gig alone. I must say, it was an interesting experience. Part of the reason people go to concerts is to bask in the communal energy of live music. If we just wanted to be introspective about tunes, we could sit in our dark corners with headphones on. The energy a live crowd imparts to a performer and vice versa is one of those rare bouts of reality digitization simply has not been able to emulate.

Watching a concert on Blu-Ray is just not the same as attending one, no matter how loud you crank that 5.1 surround sound audio. This is most markedly obvious when you compare the concert experience to sports.

Although both are live events, some people prefer to watch athletic competition on TV, where you have the best viewing angles, commentary, instant replay and easy access to your fridge. This just isn't the case with music. The worst nose bleed seats at a Justin Beiber concert are still invaluable to any 12 year old girl, much more than an advance copy of the DVD recording.

With that in mind, going to a concert alone is at once the same as going with friends, albeit slightly bi-polar. By that I mean: when there is music on stage, you don't really notice. Nobody really talks much when performers are on anyways, so no difference at all there.

When there is no music however, (i.e. before the openers, in between sets, after the final song) it's a palpable sense of dissatisfaction. By nature you want to share this experience with someone, but really there's just the other lonely dude beside you in the crazy ball cap.

Anyways, as I sat there, I couldn't help but think about how odd that was -- the fact that musical events are such a unique and difficult to reproduce experience.

So yea, it was kind of disaffecting to be alone at a great show. At the same time, I don't regret going because Beach House was pretty awesome. Basically, I've concluded I'd rather miss a major sporting event than regret not seeing a great band live when I had the chance.

Basically, today's moral? Everyone should go see more live music.

Unlikely update: presented by insomnia

Say theoretically, somebody turned your life into a movie. A frame-by-frame duplication of some of the most memorable moments you have ever experienced, strung together into a somewhat comprehendible narrative.

What kind of movie would it be, genre wise? Comedy? Drama? Would it have an arc? Would there be any sort of resolution? What would the major conflict be? Antagonists? Thematic structures? What would be the appropriate directorial style?

Who would play you?

Do you believe after watching it, you would perceive yourself any differently?

Do you feel old?

Because I do. Technically, I should still be somewhere in the vicinity of my physical prime right now, but I'm finding that I can't run as fast, stop as fast, jump as high, last as long or generally stop myself from feeling wonky like I used to.

What used to come easy now seems like an arduous effort.

Or maybe I'm just mad my jumper is rusty, having not really been on the court in a few weeks.

Still. Damn you, time.

Well fuck

No, that's the whole post.

Awesome