Adventures are really all about the little things that add up to the big picture.

Let's start with a fourteen-block urban hike. An amazing meal of seasoned chicken, avocados, yellow peppers, and cheese (of course), prepared by Chef BFF. I rationalize with the cat while she puts on earrings that have traveled many miles.

We'll meet Dan and Jason at the Bryant Lake Bowl. I like your glasses. I slam a Newcastle during a conversation that is only awkward to me, myself, and I (well, and one other person). The faucet is fucked up in the men's room, but not the women's (thanks, vagina, for allowing me to work the faucets at the BLB). Holy crap I'm about to see Low for the first time in years. Jittery.

First Class hand stamps. Hipsters. Couples. Hipster couples. "Do you see..." I begin to ask. "Don't say his name out loud," BFF hisses at me. Recognizing someone from Duluth has a calming effect. Dosh. Let's move. It's not so warm over here. Stupid-ass silver gladiator shoes are following us around. BFF frantically throws herself on to me, and I know it can only mean one thing. OH MY GOD THERE'S AL SPARHAWK. OH MY GOD. THERE IS AL SPARHAWK. AL SPARHAWK IS RIGHT THERE. And catches me staring at him four times. Al Sparhawk. Right there. I clearly have not grown up at all in the last three years.

Low. "Murderer" is my fucking favorite song. New bass player -- nice smile, cute guy, but I don't like how he fits in. A douchebag screams to hear his own voice. I miss Livingston a little. "Sandinista." Cameras everywhere. Al wants to know if anyone has a bright idea on how to save the world. Moronic answers from morons. "Violent Past." I like the upright bass. Holy crap, are they playing "Lordy?" Oh my god they are. "Last Snowstorm of the Year." Epic. Let's get our asses outside.

Torrential downpour. Running in the rain. Have to make it back before P.O.S. "You're doing funny things with your arms," she yells. "I'm running!" I respond. Shady characters ask to draw our pictures. Fuck this excursion, pleased to return to the venue.

Obama airhead. Do you understand your own message? Idiot. We are annoyed, offended, muddled.

P.O.S. Paper Tiger. Heavy beats. Awesome. Awesome. Awesome. Too tired to put up with much more. Have to leave. Rain's let up. We change the world on the way to the car.

$1.07? Let's get some fucking food. Hold up. Torrential downpour again. Can't see. Buttfuck territory. It stuck to the window! Scream through the drive-thru. Gotta time that shit just right. Terrifying trip between the cities. Aeroplaning? Hydroplaning.

Did I miss anything?

People ask me all the time "what kind of music I'm into." I hate this question because what they're really asking is, "Are you as cool as me?" I can answer right now. No. No I'm not. No, I'm not into that twee British act you read about it in Gravesitter or Thunderfuck or Quiznuts or whatever obscure music magazine you read. No, I didn't go to the Bohemian Shithead concert the other night in Williamsburg. No, I've never heard of them, and no I don't want you to burn me a CD of their "amazing new album."

What's on my iPod? Your dick.

Asking somebody what kind of music they're into is exactly the same as asking them what their sign is, an attempt to discern something meaningful from the meaningless. What possible difference does it make? What are you going to learn from me if I tell you I like U2? That I'm into debt relief?

And there's just no good answer. Turning the situation around, if I ask somebody the same question, here's what I'm thinking based on their answer:

Jazz – douchebag
Classical – douchebag
Metal – douchebag
Country – douchebag
Rap – douchebag
Pop – douchebag
Classic Rock – douchebag
Christian Rock – douchebag
Alternative Rock – JUST LIKE ME!!!

Not that people generally answer in genres. They don't. People just tell you whatever band they're mildly interested in who they think you will think is cool. So they'll say, "I'm really into Feist right now," when what they're really listening to is that kickin' new Jonas Brothers jam.

Or else they'll say, "I'm really eclectic?" For some reason, this sentence always ends in a question mark. "Eclectic?" And then, without prompting, they'll tell you all the "eclectic" music they listen to, "I like Frank Sinatra and the Clash," in a tone that suggests "Can you believe how CRAZY I am???" Douchebag.

And yet, I like Frank Sinatra. I like The Clash. I like jazz. I like pretty much all of the music I just made fun of other people for liking. Liking music does not a douchebag make. Being "into" music does. If you're much older than an adolescent and you're still keeping up with what's going on in the Bristol scene or wherever the fuck, then you're a douchebag. If you even know that Bristol has a scene then you're one, too. If you are older than twenty years old and any part of your disposable income is going towards concert t-shirts, then you are a douchebag. Or even if you find yourself referring to any rock band's "early work," you're treading on some very thin, very douchy ice.

When people ask me that question, I just tell them I don't listen to music. If they ask me why I tell them I hate it because music killed my dad. That usually ends the conversation. But if they persist in asking how music can kill somebody, I just say that my dad was Amadeus. Then they understand.

-Michael Ian Black

I've been feeling kind of blue in the last three days. What would the appropriate action be? Oh -- listen to music that fuels the emo monster in me, mostly involving Andrew McMahon. Ugh. I am fucking twenty-three years old and am acting like a whiny-ass fifteen-year-old whose math teacher doesn't understand her. Someone please dump a bucket of butt rock over me so I can get over this.

After listening to Everything In Transit (I know, I know) two times through (and the spoken monologue during "I'm Ready" three times by itself), I just couldn't take it anymore. The weight of all the things that I'm worried about -- money I don't have, jobs I'm trying to catch, boys and the subsequent problems that stem from them -- were starting to pile up. I felt mopey, misunderstood, lonely, and thoroughly Sad Whiny Bastard.

So I turned on my favorite groove: "Outstanding" by the Gap Band. I felt better almost instantly. I'm currently lacing up my running shoes and feeling like I can actually crawl out of the cave that I've locked myself in since Sunday. Jesus.

"What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?" -Rob Gordon, High Fidelity.

I'm taking a vacation this weekend. Granted, it's to a town roughly seventy miles away with a population of 9700... but it's not Minneapolis, I get to be drunk in a dress all weekend, and, most importantly, I get to reunite with Chantelle and Matz (and of course Kecia and the Bombard) for a grand celebration.

Speaking of celebratory weekends, I did an experiment last Friday. Seeing as I was born during the blustery month, I decided that I wanted to try out a summer birthday. The results were pretty spectacular.









And finally, here's some music that I've been listening to lately. Dig, as I do.

Wakey!Wakey! - Say It Ain't So
KRS-One - I Can't Wake Up
The Beatles - Till There Was You
Kate Nash - Fluorescent Adolescent
Andrew Bird - Skin Is, My

Peace out, Metropolis.

April 21, 2007:
Niandra LaDes. Usually Just A T-Shirt.

It rides the fence between being genius and being a complete mess. What the fuck is going on? Rhythmically unstable, lyrically complex and cryptic, full of bullshit and epiphanies, while the harmonies disintegrate into white noise and back again. It never can decide what it wants to be, melodic or abrasive, meticulous or unhinged. Everything is on the brink of complete dissolution but it never quite gets there. Sometimes you can recognize the one thing that is keeping it all from implosion, but if you think too hard about what doesn't work, you lose track of what does work. It sounds like it can save the world at the same time it sounds like the apocalypse.


Why do I bother? Because I should? What's the fun in that? I should take part because I enjoy it not because I should. I want to skip the tracks and play something familiar but part of me is convinced that I will gain something from it... some kind of deeper appreciation for something that I'm taking for granted. It's hard to do it sometimes, because it can seem mundane in the way that everything sounds the same, but one of these times, I'm going to get something really amazing out of it. I'm going to look at it and say "I'm glad I stuck it out because this was worth it."


Sometimes I surprise myself with my own insight. I guess I just have the right muse.

Yesterday I spent $30 on vinyl records.

JOURNEY: EVOLUTION

Oh my god. Beat to all hell, $3.20, but goddamn "Evolution" on vinyl. It sounds just like it should. I've listened to it three times since yesterday, and every time "Majestic" comes through my speakers, I fight the urge to pump a fist into the air. Classic, killer album. How could I resist?

FLEETWOOD MAC: TUSK

I'm so-so on Fleetwood Mac. I LOVE Lindsay Buckingham but hate Stevie Nicks. But, as recently mentioned, I'm big on one particular Fleetwood Mac song, and yesterday I became pretty hell-bent on being able to listen to it on vinyl. As I'm listening to the album, I'm finding that my love for "Tusk" is starting to outweigh my hate... uh, dislike for Stevie. I'll keep you updated.

CHICAGO: CHICAGO IX - CHICAGO'S GREATEST HITS

I don't like compilation/greatest hits albums AT ALL, but after looking at the track list on this one, I had to buy it. The irresistible "25 or 6 to 4" (which I had a surprisingly lengthy conversation with Mr. Post about the title of the song), "Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?", and "Saturday In The Park" are all old-school Chicago staples. I had to do it. PS: Chicago sounds bomb on vinyl.

And finally, I paid full price ($19!) for a brand new record... what will possibly be referred to as the crown jewel of my collection --

LOW: TRUST

Now, I shouldn't really need to explain to anyone why I bought this, but I have to brag about it. "Trust" is just above "The Great Destroyer" as my favorite Low album, containing my favorite song ("In The Drugs") and some other amazing ones ("Last Snowstorm," "Little Argument," etc.). The best part? It was recorded completely in analog. No digital anything. It sounds AMAZING. Absolutely amazing. Tear-inducing. (Although, to be fair, I cry at Low all the time. Thinking about Low makes me cry. Jesus, I am a wimpy motherfucker.)

As technologically advanced as I am, I feel suddenly like I want absolutely everything on vinyl. It seems like a very purist way to listen to music. Anyone can pirate mp3s and shit, but I feel like vinyls are an investment. I'm going to buy this album, and I'm going to take the time to put the needle down and flip the album over when the first four songs are over.

I'm going to need to make some more money if I'm going to continue this new habit.

PART ONE: THE RUNDOWN.
-My BFF is currently in Nashville and somehow she still is managing to boss my blog around. Jesus Christ.

-So after seeing "The Dark Knight" a fourth time, I decided that it's time for a little Batman break. The fact that there are still people out there who haven't seen it yet is a concept that I can't quite wrap my mind around. Seriously.

-Jennifer is continually trying to convince me that mentally I'm more of a dude than a girl, but I think that it can't be accurate because in reality, I just don't get dudes. I've spent a lot of time this week with a couple of dudes and I really just don't get the gender as a whole. That's really all I have to say about that.

-You know in "Back To The Future, Part II" when the alternate 1985 was created? I feel like something happened somehow and I'm living in an alternate August of 2008. Shit's been weird lately, kids. I'm living on a steady diet of plum tomato and red bell pepper bisque care of the boys in the L5 Kitchen (although I've come to realize that nothing is free), the Home Shopping Network, D-list celebrities, gay men, and nothing but Atmosphere.

-Speaking of which, Atmosphere was on Letterman the other night. They played "You," complete with this awesome synth shit going on. Seriously. Things to watch for: Ant rapping along with Slug in the background, P.O.S. singing backup, and Slug mentioning every city on the planet during the chorus & remaining ridiculously attractive while doing so.



PART TWO: IN WHICH I PARTAKE IN ZOO-LIKE ACTIVITIES.















PART THREE: THE LICARI SHOW.