Tag music

Video Breakdown – ‘Til Tuesday, (Believed You Were) Lucky

Turner L. Watson 1 Comment

Before I get into this crazy-ass video for what really is a great song, let me lament that there aren’t more Aimee Manns in the world. There was a time, not long ago, when female singer-songwriters covered the earth in thick herds visible form space. Shawn Colvin, Sarah McLachlan, Natalie Merchant and scores of others…there was Lilith Fair, there were the Indigo Girls on commercial radio…it was glorious. Now we have Taylor Swift. And Gods love her, she’s fine, but…she ain’t no Aimee Mann. Taylor’s simply not as talented. She’s not as deep. And no, she’s nowhere near as enthralling and sexy. Sigh. It’s true: I have harbored a crush on Aimee since the Voices Carry video, through her cameo on Rush’s Time Stand Still, continuing with I Should’ve Known and shit, even up to ’til now.

But let’s be honest, in this video…she’s a little wacky. But then, the whole thing is wacky. This track was co-written by Jules Shear, and fun trivia fact: he’s the “Jules” in ‘J’ for Jules, another brilliant song from this under-achieving album. Both ...Jules and our featured song for this Video Breakdown used to be part of a mixtape my old roommate Marcus would play in the room we shared in college. He’d packed it with soothing melodies to facilitate soundly sleeping, even if sometimes each of us would actually be quietly shagging our female companions in our respective twin beds. Hey, man…college.

So, let’s begin by watching the actual video, shall we? Open it in another tab if possible, because you may want to flip back and forth. Ready?  In the words of Fred Schneider,here it ’tis…

Away we go.

00:00 – Oh! Lindsey Buckingham?

00:09 – Surprise! It’s Debbie Harry! Or…wait…

00:16 – Is that a picture from The Haunted Mansion? A saw? A bow? A bow-saw? (Also, Aimee? Aimee! We’re over here!)

Screen Shot 2016-01-27 at 9.18.19 PM

Camera one, Aimee. Camera one. Camera ONE.

00:33 – And this was your father’s lightsaber…

00:49 – I think they could only afford greenscreen for the top third of this shot.

1:04 – Magic 8-Ball getting’ mighty preachy.

Screen Shot 2016-01-27 at 9.20.36 PM

The new ones just say “Reply hazy. Fuck you.”

1:08 – Robo-hand has sweet knuckle tats like Robert Mitchum or Jake Blues.

1:10 – ILLUMINATI CONFIRMED!

1:13 – “Crap, guys. I couldn’t find a clover or horseshoe graphic. Let’s just spell out ‘lucky’ if it’s all the same to you.”

1:20 – “Aimee, show ’em the thing!”

1:23 – Birds: We’re free! Free from 8-ball enslavement!

1:30 – Black hole sun.

Screen Shot 2016-01-27 at 9.22.55 PM

Are those…birds? Or did someone drop a bunch of Playtex gloves?

1:34 – Aimee? Hey! Over HERE!

1:40 – Wherein Aimee steps in a hole or something, and domino doors, because…um…

1:49 – WHAT’S IN THE BOX?!

Screen Shot 2016-01-27 at 9.25.11 PM

Memories. Memories were in the box, asshole. And what looks like a spider.

2:00 – Took me a minute to realize that the shadows were from the objects still falling, ostensibly, from the previously-mentioned box. Nice touch. I guess whoever was in charge of continuity earned their paycheck on this shoot.

2:08 – What is that shit? Ash?

2:10 – Oh! Bubbles! We’re underwater with goldfish. That is lucky! (But goldfish can’t read.)

Screen Shot 2016-01-27 at 9.26.54 PM

|AT LEAST IT’S NOT MONOPOLY! HAHA!| (Translated from goldfish.)

 

2:13 – “Say, I wonder what my fate holds?”

2:14 – “FUCK! That can’t be good! Aw, man…”

2:18 – So we’re doing this again? This ‘Twilight Zone’ crap?

2:23 – Zoom in on young Peyton Manning.

Screen Shot 2016-01-27 at 9.28.34 PM

He’s just patiently waiting for his chance to yell “OMAHA!”

2:30 – The Australian ‘Watership Down.’

2:40 – Finally! Dr. Who!

2:43 – Finally! The Doors!

2:45 – Aimee, open your eyes all creepy-like.

2:46 – Nice touch with that ‘Spock’ thing you’re doin’ there.

Screen Shot 2016-01-27 at 9.30.00 PM

Actually, it looks more like a Dr. Evil move…

2:48 – The ‘Infinity Ticker-Tape” thing never really took off.

2:52 – Kids, that is a nice transition. Seriously, good match-dissolve.

2:59 – “ARE YE READY, KIDS?” (Because life. Life. In a pineapple. It’s de bubbles. Under the sea.)

3:03 – Those have to be snooker balls or something. Stupid English people gotta make everything fancy.

3:07 – “Lucky” is a great white-trash baby name, FYI.

3:12 – Time-lapse rose to symbolize…patience? I guess?

3:16 – Aimee puts her band on a pedestal. (No, fuck YOU!) Except…she’s up there, too…and Peyton does’t have his damn drums! WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR DRUMS, PEYTON?!

Screen Shot 2016-01-27 at 9.32.07 PM

CAMERA ONE! GODDAMMIT, AIMEE!

3:22 – It is ALWAYS camera one! ALWAYS!

3:31 – ILLUMINATI!

Screen Shot 2016-01-27 at 9.33.16 PM

Laugh all you want, and then tell me what other reason there could possibly be for this. Huh, smart guy?

 

AAAAAAAAND SCENE.

So, to recap: Aimee Mann is a very talented singer/songwriter, but has no idea which camera to look into. The drummer for ‘Til Tuesday would grow up to shill pizza for Papa John’s. And in the 80’s you absolutely HAD to have a video. For every song you released. Sometimes your director had just depleted his last ounce of creativity trying to get Whitesnake to go in a more creative direction and, failing to do so, had gone on a three-day coke and alcohol bender before showing up on the set screaming “EIGHTBALL! WE’RE DOING THE EIGHTBALL SHOT!” (Double-meaning totally implied.)

Thanks for reading, and check out “Everything’s Different Now” by ‘Til Tuesday if you ever get a chance. Good stuff.

 

 

The Doors of Ice and Fire

Turner L. Watson 4 Comments

Okay, hear me out.  I’m throwing this blog together without giving it much thought, because, well…I just have to make sure I’m not completely crazy.  Or, you know…more crazy than I already believe myself to be.

I was listening to some tunes recently.  In particular, a bunch of songs on my Spotify playlist of Vietnam War-era songs.  Anyway, the Doors classic “The End” comes on.  If you aren’t familiar with it, well…okay, here’s a YouTube link with the lyrics (which, as it turns out, might be helpful for what’s to come.)

I’m sitting here listening to this thing and a really strange, and seemingly far-fetched theory starts to manifest itself, and it’s so nutzo that I can’t shake it.  So indulge me as I explain my latest crackpot fan theory.  Ready?  Here it goes.

The lyrics to The End at least partially influenced the story of George R.R. Martin’s epic “A Song of Ice and Fire” series, which many of you know as the book version of “Game of Thrones” (the very popular HBO series.)

No, really.

So without any further forethought (I’m seriously doing this before I over-think it and think better of it) here are the lyrics to Jim Morrison’s epic song and how it relates to GRRM’s epic tale.  I’ve made my notes in red.

This is the end
Beautiful friend
This is the end
My only friend, the end
Of our elaborate plans, the end
Of everything that stands, the end
No safety or surprise, the end
I’ll never look into your eyes…again
(The coming of Winter and the White Walkers)
Can you picture what will be
So limitless and free
Desperately in need…of some…stranger’s hand
In a…desperate land
(The Stranger represents death and the unknown in pantheon of The Seven. He leads the Dead into the underworld)
Lost in a Roman…wilderness of pain
And all the children are insane
All the children are insane
Waiting for the summer rain, yeah
(Children of the Forest? Waiting for the Summer Rain that will come after the long winter.)
There’s danger on the edge of town
Ride the King’s highway, baby
Weird scenes inside the gold mine
Ride the highway west, baby
(The Kingsway. Also, “The Gold Mine” could be Casterly Rock)
Ride the snake, ride the snake
To the lake, the ancient lake, baby
The snake is long, seven miles
Ride the snake…he’s old, and his skin is cold
(Snake=Dragon. A lake called “The Womb of the World” lies near Vaes Dothrak. Vaes Dothrak translates to “City of Riders”)
The west is the best
The west is the best
Get here, and we’ll do the rest
(Westeros)
The blue bus is callin’ us
The blue bus is callin’ us
Driver, where you taken’ us
(Possibly the Blue Graces, the Blue Winter Rose of Winterfell, The Blue Bard, or even Daario Naharis, who sports a three-pronged beard dyed blue in the novels.  Also ‘Daario Naharis’ almost sounds like ‘blue bus’ if you’re ridiculously stoned, I suppose.)
The killer awoke before dawn, he put his boots on
He took a face from the ancient gallery
And he walked on down the hall
(The assassins who serve the Many Faced God in the House of Black and White)
He went into the room where his sister lived, and…then
(Jaime and Cersei Lannister? Or is this Tyrion’s POV?)
he Paid a visit to his brother, and then he
He walked on down the hall, and
And he came to a door…and he looked inside
Father, yes son, I want to kill you
(Tyrion again?)
Mother…I want to…fuck you
(Sweetrobin in the Vale? Or a reference to the Mother of Dragons?)
C’mon baby, take a chance with us
C’mon baby, take a chance with us
C’mon baby, take a chance with us
And meet me at the back of the blue bus
Doin’ a blue rock
On a blue bus
Doin’ a blue rock
C’mon, yeah
Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill
This is the end
Beautiful friend
This is the end
My only friend, the end
It hurts to set you free
But you’ll never follow me
(Jaime releasing Tyrion, or Dany and her dragons?  Theon and Jeyne/Sansa?)
The end of laughter and soft lies
The end of nights we tried to die
This is the end
(And now his watch is ended.)
Brotherhood Without Bass (See, some of you will totally get that)

Brotherhood Without Bass (See, some of you will totally get that)

Well, it’s fun, anyway, to think that way back when George was first contemplating a new fantasy world in which to set his masterpiece, maybe he smoked an enormous bowl and listened to The End.  Hell, maybe he tripped acid and watched Apocalypse Now.  We’ll never know for sure.  Or maybe he’ll explain it all in the afterward to the last book in this series. HA!!  GOTCHA!  THERE WON’T BE A FINAL BOOK!  HAHA! HAHAHAHAAAAAAAA!

Oh, now I’m sad.

Q & A, Part One

Turner L. Watson 4 Comments

Oh, this year has been awesome so far, hasn’t it?  Man…things are happening, wheels are in motion, and ol’ Uncle Turner needs a break already.  (It sucks being old, kids.)

That’s why I decided to turn the tough part of blogging (inspiration!) over to you.  Over at my Facebook page, I asked you to ask me questions.  Nothing was off-limits, and you guys are so creatively insane and brilliantly stupid that I got some really good questions.  Too many to handle all at once, lest this be a 48-page blog entry.  Nobody wants that.  Hell, my radio consultant said the last entry was too long, so…let’s begin.

Ryan asks: Does God have feet?

An excellent question, and quantum physics teaches us that God both does and does not have feet.  Also?  This explains the dual nature of God as both male and female simultaneously.  Hence the old line about us being created “In God’s image.”  Whoa, it got really serious right out of the gate.  Let’s change gears…

"I saw two pairs of footprints, and said HOLY SHIT, GOD!! DON'T STEP ON ME!!"

“I saw two pairs of footprints, and said HOLY SHIT, GOD!! DON’T STEP ON ME!!”

Mike submits: Do you think Hollywood should do a reboot or sequel to Real Genius? And are you available to play Chris Knight, cause Val Kilmer is fat now?

I’ve covered reboots and sequels in previous blogs, and I’d be down for a sequel to this film (one of my all-time faves) if they mixed it up and made Chris the professor or even the project lead at some company.  He’s lost his way a bit, and needs a young, brilliant student to bring him back to the irreverent Chris Knight we all know and love.  Alas, I am also old and fat, so it’ll prolly end up starring Ryan Gosling somehow.

Negative, ghostrider. The pattern is full...of donuts.

Negative, ghostrider. The pattern is full…of donuts.

From Joe: Colecovision…best gaming console ever?

Son, you know that it’s a war between NES and Sega.  A very tightly-contested war, with no clear victor.  That being said, “Buck Rogers” on the Colecovision was incredible.

My brother and I called this level "Holiday Road" and would sing the Lindsey Buckingham song from "Vacation" as we played. True story.

My brother and I called this level “Holiday Road” and would sing the Lindsey Buckingham song from “Vacation” as we played. True story.

Brian asks: Rick Flair or Stone Cold Steve Austin ?

No question, it’s always going to be Rick Flair.  Ask me again in twenty years.  It will still be Rick Flair.  WOOOOOOOO!

One of these guys dresses with class. The other might be Goldberg. I can never tell.

One of these guys dresses with class. The other might be Goldberg. I can never tell.

The music-minded Tuler submits: What’s your favorite local bands?

Ft. Wayne has a surprisingly deep well of local talent.  And like most Midwestern towns, it seems like there’s a bedrock foundation of cover bands, upon which a layer of metal and blues rock lays.  Then you get all the other genres sprinkled about like feldspar. (Geology, bitches!)  I have talented friends in bands like Beneath it All and Valhalla, standout metal bands.  KTR and Downstait are great, too. I’ve always figured Left Lane Cruiser would be a huge national act by now, and it boggles my mind that they aren’t as popular as, say Cage the Elephant (I know, different styles and such.  LLC isn’t easily quantified and packaged, so there’s that.  Perhaps I should’ve compared them to Leon Redbone instead.)  But my tastes are decidedly more punk-rock in nature, so I’d say that you can’t go wrong with Flamingo Nosebleed.  They’ve had (and totally earned) the opportunity to tour with the likes of The Suicide Machines and other “national” acts.  One could make the argument that they’re more popular outside Ft. Wayne proper, which is a shame.

Okay, running out of space, so let’s have one more, hopefully from someone too drunk to stand…ah!  Perfect.

Jake asks (slurringly): If you were half man, half sausage, which half would beer man.

Every man is half sausage and half beer and beer man, beer, man.  Beer.

Yes, this stock photo exists.

Yes, this stock photo exists.

Music Television (Or as We Call it Now: YouTube)

Turner L. Watson 4 Comments

Lately I’ve been trying to transfer most of my music library from iTunes to Windows media so’s I can put it all on my new Galaxy S III (possibly the finest electronic device conceived by the mind of man, BTW) and it occurred to me that there’s sooooooo much good stuff out there that I love that many people have never even heard of, or at least they’ve forgotten about it.  That’s easy, the forgetting part.  Radio plays the hits (I know, bub.  That’s how I earn my livin’.) And Mtv long ago dropped the “Music Television” from their logo.  Yep.  Go look it up.  I’ll wait.

Done?  Good.  And yes, there are apps like Pandora and Spotify that do an okay job of throwing “similar” music into the mix, but you always run the risk of pigeon-holing yourself musically.  You’re listening to your Classic Country playlist/station and it might throw in a Conway Twitty that you’d never heard, but you’re totally missing Hank III.  “Wait!”  You scream as the internet bus pulls away from the virtual curb. “Hank III isn’t classic country!  He plays hellbilly and metal!”  He also does some numbers that sound more “country” than anything by that nitwit Kenny Chesney, so shut yer yap or I’ll come over there and spit some Beech-Nut in yer eye. P’TANNNNGGG!!!!

I digress.  I figured since we’re all friends here, I’d introduce you to some of my all-time faves and maybe throw in a couple of more recent selections.  This way you can spruce up your playlist a bit, yes?  ‘Cause it needs some sprucing.  You know this.  Also, note:  Ima try and find the album versions of these songs unless there’s a great video/concert video.  I want you to hear these like they’ll sound on your iPod, phone, etc. We’ll start with one of my all-time favorites.  So much so that I actually have the lyrics inked on my body.  That’s legit, folks.

Rancid. I was late to the party on these guys, first hearing about them when they truly broke in the great punk revival of 1994.  I’d heard Operation Ivy, but somehow missed that two of that band’s original members had formed “Rancid.”  Blew. Me. Away.  I like this song for so many reasons, not the least of which is that it was written by Billy Joe Armstrong of Green Day. (Which is awesome, because Green Day have always done a great cover of Op Ivy’s “Knowledge.”)  This song is pop punk with a little more snarl than most “pop” acts.  Is Tim Armstrong (no relation to Billy Joe, BTW) drunk?  Is he handicapped?  Maybe both.  And it’s awesome.

The next selection is from one of the greatest “Alternative” albums of the early nineties. Concrete Blonde doesn’t get any love in the mainstream world, but you probably heard a snippet of one of their songs in Point Break and their amazing version of Leonard Cohen’s “Everybody Knows” in Pump Up The Volume.

The closest this band ever came to a “hit” was the single “Joey” from the same album, Bloodletting.  There’s not a bad song on this album, however, and I recommend you download the entire thing.  Vampire fans should note that this was a sort of concept album, with the Anne Rice vampire saga as the backdrop.  Not every song drips with blood, venom, and mossy trees in the French Quarter, but the album as a whole sure does.  Check it.

Now for something more contemporary:

This song was like a virus of truth.  My friend Ray called me, excited and panting, saying “Dude.  Dude!  You MUST check out Volbeat!  My God…you’ll love them.  They’re like…like Social Distortion meets Metallica meets Johnny Cash and Elvis.  I can’t…just listen to Sad Man’s Tongue.  You’ll thank me.” Of course, Ray is sort of misguided prophet, and he and I have been on many adventures, from pissing in a cop’s driveway in the dead of night in Chicago to nearly being abducted by hot rockabilly chicks in Indianapolis.  I trust Ray.  Ray was right again.  This song really is the best example of the Volbeat sound, and yes, they do range from straight metal riffage to simple acoustic country tunes.  This song has it all, and everyone I’ve ever played it for has immediately gone and acquired every piece of the Volbeat discography. Do likewise.

I’ve got one more for ya.  I have to stop, or you’ll be scrolling this baby  until your mouse wheel wears out.  Or your touch screen.  Whatevs.  Canada’s The Real McKenzies liked the Celtic flavor of Dropkick Murphys and Flogging Molly, but apparently felt that neither was Scottish enough.  The results are delightful.

What’s a cattieyote?  From what I’ve been able to glean from the interwebs, it’s a cross between a coyote and a feral cat.  I don’t know if such a thing is actually possible, but there you go.  The McKenzie’s version of Loch Lomond is also a rollicking affair, and I have been dying to use the phrase “rollicking affair” for so damned long, it’s great to finally have a reason to do so.

So there’s a starter pack for you.  That oughtta keep you downloadin’ and streamin’ for quite a while.  Get to it and rock on.

Notions.

Turner L. Watson 6 Comments

Going through some of my notes (take good notes, kids.  You never know when there’ll be a quiz.) Making observations.  Pondering things.  Coming to realizations and conclusions. Here, then, are two of them.

The modern music video was invented by the late-60’s early-70’s classic “Scooby-Doo, Where Are You?”  Seriously.  Remember that cartoon?  The original.  Not that Scrappy-Doo blasphemy.  Anyway, in the second or third season, they started adding these chase scenes near the end with Scoob, Shaggy, etc. running back and forth, avoiding the “monster” by hiding in cupboards, in and out of rooms in a long hallway, running SMACK DAB INTO THE SPOOK and then turning, running in place for an agonizing second before shooting off again…and all the while, this insipid Davey Jones-style pop music played in the background.  For example, fast-forward to about the :45 mark of this classic…

There wasn’t any need for this sort of montage, really, except to fill time. But the effect was solid, and the producers/directors continued using this device even into the more modern incarnations and movies, such as “Scooby Doo and the Ghoul School.”  The only difference was the use of more modern pop-punk Save-Ferris rip-offs, but they’re still there.  But take a moment to consider cartoons and television in general before, say, 1972.  Can you imagine an episode of “Dragnet” with a long musical montage of Joe Friday kicking open doors and rousting hop-heads?  (Actually, that sounds pretty awesome.) Or if that famous candy-conveyor-belt bit from “I Love Lucy” had a cool Perry Como ditty playing behind it?  It just never occurred to anyone to do that.  Then, about ten years later, bands started making their own Scooby-Doo chase scenes to promote their tunes; they just forgot to add Scooby-Doo.  However, note that Matthew Sweet’s ‘Girlfriend’ video was almost completely re-purposed anime footage.  A few years later, Mr. Sweet would cover the Scooby-Doo theme song.  THAT’S what you call full circle, ladies and gents.

Gather ’round, children, and I’ll tell you the tale of the early-90’s. When Matthew Sweet was a rock star, and not…well…whatever he is now.

Another observation:  I have been showing my dick to fewer and fewer people.  True story.  People that know me are aware that I have a penchant for showing my junk off in the most inappropriate places and at the least beneficial times.  I do this primarily to shock people and to sow chaos, naturally.  But recently, I just…well, haven’t had the desire.  I wondered if perhaps I was growing out of my adolescence (since, you know, I’m forty-fucking-TWO now) and being responsible.  But let’s be honest:  it’s still me. Me and my penis.  So I have two hypotheses:

ONE: Everyone in Ft. Wayne has been privy to my casual “Hey, is this gum?” trick (wherein you open your fly and pull part of your scrotum through it.  Looks like pink, chewed gum at first.  Watching the realization of what they’re actually seeing creep onto your victim’s faces is priceless.  Hysterical.)  All manner of men and women have seen my casual dangle, and so there are none left to shock.  “Yeah, Turner, we know.  It’s your piece.  Great.  Can we get back to work now?”  It’s to the point that when I wear my kilt people just roll their eyes instead of fleeing in terror.  In other words, the flashing of twig and berries has lost its shock value.  Dammit.

“Soooo, nothing? Nothing at all? Damn.”

TWO: I haven’t played much hockey lately.  See, hockey players LOVE showing their units to anyone and everyone.  I think there’s some latent homosexuality to some of it, sure.  But it’s also because hockey guys LOVE chaos and pranks, and there’s no more surefire way to enjoy both than with a simple “Hey!  Look what I found!  ZZZZZZIIIIIPPPP” at a buddy’s wedding reception.  Pure comedy. Remember Johnny Upton in ‘Slap Shot’ when forced to do the fashion show?  (If you haven’t seen ‘Slap Shot’ then kindly remove yourself from my presence until you correct this.  Thank you.) That movie got so much right, and the hockey/sexuality/brazen penis talk is spot-on. I think there’s also the male-domination factor.  Literally, it’s dominating the other males by showing the ultimate in confidence.  Letting everyone see for themselves how grand or miniscule your babymaker is.  That’s a risk most won’t take, and the guy who DOES whip it out is afraid of nothing.  Not your judgement, your sense of decorum, your thoughts on his girth, the authorities, the wrath of his girlfriend…nothing.  It’s a big testosterone-fueled chest-thump of sorts.  And since I’ve been away from hockey a bit, my instincts have waned.  I’m out of shape.  I’m a fat, slovenly shell of who I once was.  Time to whip my dick out.

YES!! They TOTALLY bought it!

Everlasting Blog Whopper

Turner L. Watson 9 Comments

I wanted to post my full review of The Avengers, but since you prolly just saw it, I won’t bore you.  You know it was awesome, and you know that without the assembled cast (see what I did there?) and Joss Whedon at the helm, it wouldn’t have worked.  Oh, it’s also great to see that SOMEONE finally got the Hulk right.  Not just Dr. Banner, though Mark Ruffalo was pitch-perfect…no, I mean the CGI incarnation of the Hulk was completely awesome.  So much s that I really hope Hollywood rolls the dice again, because I would pay to see an entire Hulk movie if it was done as well as the characterization in The Avengers.

Number One is the winner, but Number Four is a close second.

Moving on…

A couple of random thoughts, one of which I may have mentioned before, but which really struck me when I saw the preview for Battleship.  The US Navy has unlocked a spiffy new digital blue camo pattern for their deckside troops and sailors, corpsmen, etc.  The obvious drawback to this cool new color scheme is that once someone falls overboard they are impossible to find.  “ALL I SEE IS BLUE, CAPTAIN!! WHERE IS ENSIGN JOHNSON?!?!  JOOOHHHHHNSSSOOOOOON!!!!”  Maybe they should be made of a material that turns blaze orange when it gets wet. “Captain, there!  Just off the port bow!  It’s Johnson, sir!  Stupid bastard fell in again, but thanks to that neon orange uniform, we’ll have him back aboard in no time, captain!”

“We’ll wear these green ones in the swamps, people. We want to DISAPPEAR.”

Remember Compact Disc Players?  Those were awesome.  I don’t wanna brag or nothin’, but my vehicle has a six-disc changer right in the dashboard.  Yep.  Well, apparently, if you don’t use your disc changer/player for five months or so, it kinda gets…lazy.  As in, doesn’t work too well.  Keep in mind that my Escape is about ten years old, so the under-used electronics might be showing their age.  Anyway, I wanted to play some Volbeat tunes that I don’t have loaded on my iPod (NO, YOU SHUT UP!!  I’VE BEEN BUSY IS ALL!)  Before loading a new CD, I had to eject one of the discs already in there.  That’s where the problems began.  For those of you that have never spent time with this sort of archaic technology have never experience the numbing fear one experiences when the words “ERROR – – UNABLE TO EJECT DISC–” or similar words of digital madness scrawl painfully, quickly in evil green bits of mocking hate across the primitive LED faceplate.  So you try it again.  And again you are denied.  Panic starts setting in.  You try to change disc slots.  “Let’s try disc five, and then I’ll go back to disc one.  Probably just a little dusty.”  No dice.  Again.  Now the droplets of sweat begin racing one another down either side of your nose and your are suddenly aware of how hot it is in the car.  Then, cruelty: on the thirteenth try you hear it…a sickening subsonic whirring noise.  Somewhere deep inside the analog wiring and Chinese-assembled plastic gears and tiny metal springs and levers, something is trying to work.  SOME part of the mechanical beast is trying to wake up and deliver your cherished CD back to you, back to the surface world and sunlight and hope…so you mash the “EJECT” button with one thumb on top of the other, pushing until the meat of your flesh turns pink, then white…and you hear it…the small “click” and you SEE it…the very tip of the disc, a sliver of silver and greenish plastic…a giant’s pinkie nail barely, almost imperceptibly showing itself like the final silvery sliver of the last crescent before a New Moon.  You hold your thumb on the button and manage to sort of get a tiny little purchase on the disc with the other hand.  “C’mon…please…” you mutter through teeth ground fast together.  You wiggle the disc, pulling, coaxing a nanometer at a time…your sweaty fingers slip off, and you grab it again…a centimeter more is showing…the gears of the monster are grinding and whirring…this black plastic-and-graphite bitch isn’t giving up her prize so easily, but you can feel the beast’s willpower waning…the spell breaking…clearly now you see the sharpie-scrawled label “Summer Mix #3” as the disc is halfway out…now three-quarters…and finally it leaps out of the dashboard and you hold it aloft like Excalibur itself, gleaming in the midday light, motes of dust swirling and dancing and singing your praises, exalting you and this victory of man over machine.  Momentum is on your side, and tide of battle has turned.  Rohan has come at last, and the enemy is routed, fleeing…Disc Slot Two yields the Wiggles Hot Potatoes LIVE!…Slot Three produces Concrete Blonde “Bloodletting” (THAT’S where that thing was!)…Number Four is surprisingly empty…Five angrily spits out Fatboy Slim, and finally Bing Crosby’s “Merry Christmas” (or “White Christmas” depending on the year/label) strolls out of the final Disc Slot and lights a pipe, humming to itself and smiling.  And it occurs to you then how fickle and wonderful are the odds that made this possible, and how you could have been consigned to a fate of hearing “Christmas in Killarney” over and over again in the middle of April.  And then you realize that perhaps that wouldn’t be so bad a fate at all.

My three-year-old thinks Bing looks like me. Probably because I drink too much and hit him. KIDDING! It’s the hat.