Marathon Died for your Sins

I was biking around Boston yesterday, and I ran into the marathon. Now, the marathon wasn't a big surprise to me, because a friend of my roomate's who is running the marathon was staying at my place this weekend. I crossed over the river of runners a couple of times in my random perusal of Boston, which I'm wont to do on my days off. Peruse Boston. Not cross runners. You shouldn't cross a river of runners if you can avoid it. This is something I learned yesterday.
It occured to me, wading through the sea of sweaty bodies, that people run the marathon in celebration of the guy named Marathon, who ran from one town to the next in Greece like four billion years ago. Twenty-six or so miles he ran to deliver some important message from one Greek to another. Then he died of exhaustion. So we're celebrating the death of Marathon by trying our best to imitate his untimely demise. You kind of have to wonder who came up with that idea...
And then there's Jesus. The only thing I have to say about that is: what would evil robot Jesus do?.

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PS: When I say I ran into the marathon, don't get the impression that I did any running. Because I didn't. Sometimes I run. Monday wasn't one of those times.

PPS: People die often running marathons. The circle of life keeps.. um... being... circular.

UPDATE: I stand corrected. Tim tells me otherwise about the story of the Marathon. Maybe I'm strung out on endorphins. It could be, except that I've never taken any endorphins. But who's to say that matters?

failure to thrive

I recently heard a phrase that's stuck with me: failure to thrive. A friend had a kitten that was new to their house, and she said "it had failure to thrive, so it died. " "What does that mean?" queried I. Apparently sometimes animals in new surroundings just lose the knack of surviving, the will to live, and they just die. They fade away.
Humans can have it, too. The deaths of elderly people who simply pass on for no medical reason are often attributed to "failure to thrive." And human babies, even if they're well-fed, and kept at the perfect temperature, etc., often die if they're not held. Failure to thrive. It's an incredible phrase that keeps circling around my head like a semantic vulture, looking for some vague notion on which to scavenge.
And then I got to thinking: why is it that babies typically die when they're not held? And when is the point where you can stop being touched regularly, and you won't die? And what happens to adults who aren't regularly held/touched? Clearly, it has dire somatic repercussions. Which gets me to thinking about my girl-free 2006. Maybe I'm setting myself up for some actual medical problem with my policy. Lord knows I don't need more medical problems. So cuddling is in. But only platonically. Because Plato was gay, so it was okay for him to cuddle with girls without leading them on.

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blech

I was real excited about getting my last paycheck, until i realized that it's all going to taxes. Damn! I'm torn between my knowledge that taxes, when rightly applied, go to good services that shouldn't be free market-based (like fire departments and police, for instance), and my desire not to give a gigantic hunk of money to the government that I don't particularly support once a year. I mean, what, like a quarter of my taxes are probably going to support a war in which I've never placed any support? But it's not as though you heard it here first, so I'll just drop it. Squarepusher is the only music that gets me through angst like this. I require angular, brainy jazz-house music.
I went to New York City and back on Wednesday, to visit my brother/friend/ex-roomie/whatever. I spent the day helping him move from one apartment to another, which, though mundane-sounding, was actually a real boon in that it was a departure from my regular routine (the one that gives me the money that makes me pay the taxes). The Fung-Wah bus ride home was uneventful, except for when we got to Boston. The bus driver thought it would be a great idea to give us a tour of the entirety of Cambridge and North Boston before going to the bus station. We crossed the bridge between Cambridge and Boston three times, on three different bridges, before he finally committed to taking us to South Station. I have to admit, I wasn't impressed. But it's the Fung-Wah, right? The price is right. They give you a quarter when you get on the bus and say to drop the quarter in a box in the front of the bus if everything was satisfying, and to use it to call them if it wasn't. Well, I did my part and kept the quarter. It brought the ticket price down to $14.75. A bargain! I feel compensated enough that I don't have to call.
I didn't say it was going to be a fascinating post.

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A comment for a comment

It's worth here noting that Ean Frick, who wrote the Dig article about the gentrification of the Alston area that got the bee in my bonnet a while back, has posted a comment on my post to "set the record straight." Thanks, Ean for discovering my blog in your onanistic googling, and for thinking that my words are worth the reply. I'm sure that when it comes right down to it, we have a lot more in common than not. Except you're in the Dig, and I'm in the fucking blog-o-sphere.
(There are a couple of new words in the modern lexicon that really kick my ass: "metrosexual" and "blogosphere." It's unfortunate that these words made it to the popular press, and appear to be sticking, because they're perverse plays on pre-existing words that have little semantic value to attach to their incredibly weak aesthetic (aural?) qualities. I say we stop using them. How's about "well-dressed" and "the internet"? Hmm? Would that really be worse?
First the "blogosphere" then the big blue/green sphere.

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Post-Script: One word that should maybe enter the lexicon, however, is "crustfunders." Once again thank you to Ean Frick.

for the record

For the record, it's totally doable to drive to New York City from Boston, hang out for the day, and then take a bus back. It's not even that stressful or expensive. It's actually kind of pleasant. I went and was somebody else for a day. Older, more experienced, simply outside of my life. New York City has that effect on people.
For the record, nobody on MySpace or Friendster is actually interested in meeting new friends through the internet. I've done some mild research into the matter (in the form of cold messages to interesting-looking strangers), and nobody seems too interested in meeting in real life. Of course, this is loaded, because maybe it's just me that they don't want to meet.
For the record, it's only stalking if you don't leave them alone once they've stopped showing interest in you. Or if you can't tell that they're never going to show interest in you. That should be like written in stone somewhere on livejournal.com
For the record, there's no difference between sleeping in your clothes and sleeping in pajamas. Unless, of course, your clothes are super-fancy/tight and uncomfortable. In which case pajamas are better. But generally, it's just not worth the effort.
For the record, even though she was/is in the New Pornographers, Neko Case is a whole lot more country when she performs on her own.
For the record, it's time to drink the rest of my tea and go to bed.


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Bird's Eye View

A friend posted some pictures of me/my hands over at bird's eye view. Go and see her lovely photos.
In other news, I hope to sleep through the night tonight. It's my major goal for the day.

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Comment comments. The Meta-Comment

I don't know what the etiquette is in the world at large about leaving comments on blog posts, but maybe it's time for me to throw in my two cents. Maybe I've done this in the past? I can't remember.
Rule 1: Leave your name. If you don't know me, and you're going to comment about my writing, let me know who you are. Often I get anonymous comments, and I can guess who sent it, but usually I have no idea. It's hard to take something seriously (or jokingly, or whatever) if it could have been written by a robot for all I know.
Rule 2: Don't flame strangers. Based on my detailed analysis of the comments left on this blog, if you truly are anonymous (and not some friend of mine too lazy to log in with your own name), what you're writing me usually amounts to a flame. It's just not cool to flame strangers. It's not polite.
(not cool to flame? That's a strange phrase.)
I don't take this thing very seriously or personally, even though it's ostensibly all about me, but what are you people, raised in a barn?
Plus you should all write more comments. If I received a zillion more, the pain of the occcasional flame would dissipate.

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I'd Like a Venti Twitching Fetus-Cino with Cinnamon Sprinkles to Go

the lips don't drip
when you're taking a trip.
the thighs don't lie.

ur a dip.



am i?

Lunchtime IM Poetry with Osama

baste baby
oven 350
taste gravy
taste maybe
hehe
so dellishy!
lil'squishy
heh
cook 'till glazy
12:25 PM
makes ya crazy
feelin' hazy
w the taste shiz-azy
shiz-kebob
corn on the cob
eat like a slob
kiss a man named bob
buy a watch fob
bob likes gravy
baby gravy
he served in the navy
was very bravy
with a man-boy lady
thats pretty shady
taste the shady navy man-boy lady gravy
slurp it down
unless its brown
get rid of tha frown
then get outta town

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More Shameless Self-Promotion Than Usual

Okay, so by now, you've noticed that I keep posting links to my music web site at the bottom of every post, but you should really go and visit it now if you haven't recently. I've made it much prettier, added a couple of demo tracks, photos, basically spruced the place up. There's also the permalink to it on the right-hand side of this page, if you lose track of this post. And soon, very soon, you'll be able to buy CDs and possibly (gasp!) merchandise off of that page. But probably not much with the merchandise until I start to play more gigs. By which I mean any gigs.

Here's another reminder that Seasac Records has a bunch of my stuff (b-sides and demos, mostly), in addition to a whole lot of other cool music, all free and downloadable.

I've also joined the unwashed masses over at MySpace with a latiflearned page. But it's cool, because it's color-coordinated with my real web page. Be my friend if you're on MySpace. Lord knows my meager profile could use a few.

Have I said all of this already? Probably. Never hurts to say it again.

Relevant History

It's worth noting that my Boston friend whose name may or may not rhyme with Osama wrote a poem for/about/in response to me a while back. It's such a beautiful thing. I hope that you enjoy it, too.

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I'm on NPR!

Hey guess what? I'm on NPR's Open Mic Podcast starting today, apparently. They told me that they'd be featuring my music, but they didn't tell me when. It's a good thing I checked it out, or I might have missed it entirely.
If you want to download the track, you can subscribe to the NPR "Open Mic" Podcast in iTunes, or go right here to download it. Tell all your friends!

Latiflearned.com - If you're curious for more tracks, info, gigs, etc. you can find that stuff here.

Update: Here's another link to the actual story about me:
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=5298286

Another Update: You Macalester folks might like to know that Zack Kline, violinist extraordinaire, has also recently been featured on NPR's open mic. Represent!

Awesome

The Pentagon wants to unleash cyber-insects on our enemies. You know, the terrorists. Wherever it is that they are. Never mind how we'd actually go about controlling insects with a remote control. I think this is fantastic. It's just fucking out of control that somebody out there has the hubris to suggest that we remote-control insects to be our spies. Think of the civilian spin-offs: remote-controlled butterflies with webcam mounts to hover outside of your neighbor's bathroom window. Malaria mosquitos to attack your high-school principal. The fun never ends!
I don't even know what I'm talking about.
I watched the 40-Year-Old Virgin last night, and just about peed all over the couch, I laughed so hard. I thought it ironic, me celibate this year, watching the plight of this (fake) person who's been celibate for 40. It just put my whole shit in perspective, you know? Yeah. Plus it's so funny it induces bowel movements.
Tomorrow I'm going to Ottawa, which should be cold and take way way way too long on the bus. It's actually faster to take a bus to Canada from Boston than it is to take a bus to Northern New York. Strange. It's way cheaper, as well. I plan on taking beef jerky and my iPod Nano, which has proven to be as good a conversation starter as a pet toad in your lap. And if the conversation's still dry, I can always show off my missing tooth.

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blast from the past

Did you know that Iran resurrected Abraham Lincoln to be their new president?

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cognitive dissonance

I love those moments when people's autonomic communication tics clash with their socialized responses. I went to this gym near my house the other day, to check it out, and this fellow (we'll call him "Brad") gives me a tour of the place. "Hi. I'm Brad. What's your name?" He says to me. Donald. Nice to meet you. Then we turn a corner to officially start our tour. The very next thing out of his mouth is "What's your name?" Donald. "Mine's Brad. Nice to meet you." Then we commence with our tour. The first stop on our tour was the men's changing room, then on to the freeweights, cardio, etc. We got back to the office, and he said, "Have you seen the changing room?" I couldn't tell which part of this guy was on autopilot and which part was actually trying to talk to me.
You'll hear it if you listen for it. People walk into my office and say "Hi Donald" under their breath and then "Hello Donald" to my face. Like their little mental rehearsal leaked out into meatspace. My roomate occasionally mutters something utterly uncoordinated with our current social context by way of greeting. Like, we'll both be in the apartment for a couple of hours doing our own thing, and then we'll meet up in some room and he'll say "What's going on?" You know what's going on. We've both been here for hours. This isn't annoying, it's fascinating. I never say anything about it, it just goes into the mental catalog. But I'm taking notice!
What's the normal thing to do socially in this situation? Do you pretend you didn't notice? That's usually my tack. But is it also acceptable to say something like, "You realize that you're skipping like a broken record?" If somebody could get back to me on the protocol, my social life would probably benefit.
Then there's the other question. Why are we skipping like CD players without noticing it? I blame electronic music. It's Aphex Twin's fault. We can trace it farther back. Terry Reilly is the progenitor of our unconscious tics. His minimalist music has chipped away at the very foundation of our cognition.
Shit! I'm going off on a tangent again.
Till next time...
Until we meet again...
Hasta la vista...
My name's Brad. What's yours?

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temperate, with a 35% chance of irony

I received an email just now, and upon perusing the recipients list compulsively (does anybody else do this?), I realized that 90% of the email addresses were gmail-based. Google owns the personal communication of a generation. This blog is google. They know every personal interaction, they have receipts of all of my e-purchases, it goes on and on. What happens if they change their motto to, oh, I don't know... "BE EVIL!" I can see the (slightly modified Onion) headline now:

Google Moves into Sinister "Phase 2" of Operations

Maybe it's time to simply host my own email server and blog. Take the internet back into my own hands. With the Patriot Act coming around again, maybe it's time to escalate the paranoia in both directions. That's what the internet is for. Well, that and porn.
While I'm at it, I should cancel my Friendster and MySpace accounts. I don't know to what degree this would keep the advertisers out, but maybe it could help. On the other hand, I got an advertising call on my cell phone because Latiflearned.com is registered to it, and now the whole world knows. Woops. So maybe having your own web server isn't all it's cracked up to be.
Enough rambling!

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other, related resolutions

I want to write fewer songs about girls. Like any other resolution, this seems to be easier in theory than practice. Which is funny, because having to exercise self-restraint in the songwriting process is akin to dry-humping. It's not precisely what we're built for. It creates tension. But that can be good tension. I feel that unless I write songs about other things, like, you know, fields of sunflowers or very old buildings, I will be an expert at something nobody wants to hear about.

They say that songs had any power at all, we'd all be in love. I think that's uncharitable. Songs have made a lot of otherwise boring sex pretty entertaining. Don't look for an oracle when what you want is a glass of beer. That's been my family motto for 4/7000ths of a generation.

But it's not like anybody's going to be having sex to my music.

If you do, though, let me know. I'd appreciate it.

The other family motto is "Work like dogs, eat like kings."

(He said, writing a totally unnecessary blog post from work...)

With all of that behind me, it's worth noting that 50% of the songs that I've written in the last month have been about girls. Breakups, even. Which is funny, because I haven't broken up with anybody for half a year. Where's my self-control?

tuned in

I'm so tuned in to the frequency of my cell phone's ring that I hear that frequency everywhere. Sometimes I play guitar, and the string harmonics create the exact same frequency. It's usually when I'm playing hard, so I'm not sure if I'm really hearing the phone ring. So I stop playing. Or when I'm listening to music really loudly. Or sometimes I just imagine it. The phone manages to interrupt my life even when it's not doing anything at all.
I see two solutions:

Solution A: Throw the fucking phone out the window. Those devices irradiate your brain and pollute your soul, making you believe that communication and life down to the minute is somehow superior to a more relaxed pace. Faster life is better life. Throw it away.

Solution B: Can my generic telephone ring tone, and get the new Kanye West polyphonic. Impress my peeps on the subway with my vast library of dope phone beats.

Clearly, it's a choice between the lesser of two weevils. I fear change. I'll leave everything the way it is, and adjust myself.

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Crack!

I have one problem tooth. Or should I say had one problem tooth. The only tooth with a cavity (knock on dentin), the only tooth that ever broke. I had a root canal. Didn't take. Had a crown. Broke. Three different times. So today, i had the tooth pulled. For better or worse, that hunk of problem is gone from my life. Hopefully.
They don't tell you very much about what's going to happen when they pull your tooth. This is probably because you're sitting there in the chair, gums numb, thinking things like "This is going to be like pulling teeth! That's exactly what this is! Pulling teeth!." And we all know how hard that is.
But it's really not that bad. You have the option to go under, but I think that's for wussies. All they do is take your tooth in a pair of pliers, and yank it out sideways, using your head as leverage. I thought they'd have something more sophisticated than that, but it's really pretty much the same as the technique I use for pulling nails out of boards.
The bloody tooth stump is pretty cool-looking, too.
I drove to the dentist, which is basically news in itself, because I drive so infrequently these days. Now, I don't know if you've ever driven on a Saturday in suburban Boston, but here's what people do in suburban Boston on a sunny Saturday afternoon: they go and get their car washed.
Now, car wash guys must make a killing, because I only saw two car washes between Jamaica Plain and Norwood, but both of them had lines all the way into the street. I'm thinking: it would take less time and money to go to the store, buy car wash supplies, and do it in your driveway. But clearly I'm missing out on something here. Some essential Boston experience, akin to the joy of going to Fenway park and getting glares from suspicious Red-Sox fans because I'm not wearing anything red. It's like reverse McCarthyism around here. But I digress.
In summation, eat more dried plums, and don't take the gas if you're getting your teeth pulled. It'll be something you can bore your kids about someday. And make sure to check out the Dedham car wash. Dedham. So hot right now.. Dedham.
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My Hopes

People like to talk about the change that's coming over the music and video industry. The transition between analog mediums and non-transferability that comes along with it to digital mediums and the ability to make perfect duplicates. It's not a transition anymore. It's happened. Analog, much as I love it, has been relegated to DJs and audio purists; those willing to put forth an awful lot of effort to listen to music and have it sound real. The rest of the world is on digital, for better or worse.
It's my hope that we'll use this in a good way. I see it going in many directions. For instance, we could end up in a world where you have to pay some fee to Sony every time you want to play a song. It's not out of the question; it's what the record companies have always wanted. Now the technology is in place to do that. We're just not quite under the yoke of that technology yet, with CDs and MP3s still being ubiquitous. Ever try to use somebody else's WMA? Have you noticed the spyware/malware embedded in your latest Warner Bros. CD purchase?
Anyway, I digress from my hope. I see us as potentially being a culture glued to our broadband connections, downloading music at our whim, experiencing our art through a vibrating magnet and an LCD. It's so easy to do things this way. It's cheap, you don't have to get up, it's gratifying, it's instant. Records are so much easier to achieve/create, in a lot of ways, than a solid live performance. But it's my hope that we can parlay this technology into real human contact. It's so easy to hear a band's record, to get that advertisement, as it were, that maybe more people will start going to live shows. When recordings become ubiquitous and essentially free, maybe the live show will become (as it once was and remains for many) the venue where the true originality happens and is expected. The records are what gets you there. Live shows are already the place where artists (and TicketMaster) actually make their money. It would be ironic if we went full circle from the invention of the phonograph, where records were considered a cheap imitation of live shows, through the record-as-product, and back. It would be ironic, but it would also be excellent. Because we've reached a point where we need to make an effort to have actual human interaction, and it's my hope that maybe the availability of everything at our desk will push us back out into the real world, seeking reality with which to corroborate.
Seems like a long shot, but it's actually my driving force in seeking out art. Maybe it could work for everybody...

Latiflearned.com - Go Listen. Then see me live (whenever I get my shit together and start performing live. Anyway, it'll be on that page if I am).