Next to getting married, having kids, going to Confession, and reading every single Bloom County comic strip ever created by Berke Breathed, one of the best ways to learn a few things about yourself—both good and bad—is to build a house. Two summers ago my wife and I did just that (co-general contractors of
sorts), despite being warned that embarking on such a mad course of action would test our marriage, destroy our sanity, and completely obliterate any semblance of normality in our lives.
I'm happy to say our marriage is fine (my wife says, "No comment." Just kidding. I hope.) and my therapist insists all of my personalities are doing great, despite what they sometimes tell me at odd hours of the night—like right now, at 4:36 a.m.
Long story made short, we looked at about 5 trillion house plans and finally settled on one in which my office would be on the bottom story, near the front door, by the foot of the stairs. Hmmm...now that I put it like that, I see that I didn't understand a few things about myself: namely, that having an office in such a location, combined with the presence of very active young children, is not really conducive to long stretches (10 minutes or more) of quiet work time. Far from it. Don't get me wrong: I really like working from home. Why, this month alone I estimate I'll save roughly $26,160 on gas. (However, since I am self-employed, I do have to pay about $300 a year in taxes for the city's bus system—a bus system I've never used.). It's also great being able to see my wife and kids throughout the day. And, of course, I love working in my pajamas. For days on end. Without shaving.
All of which leads to a dramatic announcement that will have absolutely no affect on you or the price of gas where you live: I am moving my office from the bottom floor to the second floor of my house. In fact, I'm already in the process. Simply put, it's a chaotic pain in the knees and back. And it is, unfortunately, taking some time, what with numerous book cases, some 5,000 books, a large desk, and my huge collection of lava lamps (okay, I don't have any lava lamps. No one should.). So if I'm a bit scarce on the blog for a few days, I hope you understand. My other hope is that this move will help life in the Olson household flow a bit more smoothly. Not only should it help my work, it should prove better for homeschooling the young 'uns and for hiding from those relentless Mormon missionaries.
That's it for chaos and order. Now, music.
As a reader astutely noted, I recently purchased a new iMac. It is, as best I can figure, the eighth or ninth Mac I've owned over the years, having been a happy Apple user since 1985. (Our family is now in full communion with Mac, my wife having ditched her Dell a couple of years ago.) Now that I actually have a hard drive with a few free gigabytes, I'm attempting to digitize most, if not all, of my music. This has led to me saying all sorts of deep and insightful things, such as: "I forgot I owned that CD!" and "Oh, there's that Chicago 14/15/16/17/18/etc. disc I've been looking for!" and "Why did Chicago put out 527 albums, but Boston only produced 5?"
Currently, my iTunes now has 17,974 songs. And I only have about a thousand CDs to go! Of course, I'll save time by not loading anything by Britney Spears, Ozzy Osbourne, Yanni, Slayer, the cast of "Cats," and Kenny Chesney, made all the easier because I don't own anything by those artists people. Since it has been a while (March 26, 2008) since I've "played" the "Random iTunes Playlist' game, I thought this might be a good time for it. Why? Because it is 5:17 a.m., that's why. And getting earlier by the minute.
But first, speaking of music, a couple of quick remarks on the recently concluded season of "American Idol." (Surely you were hoping for these very important remarks?) Last week I asked my good friend, Dr. Anthony Clark, what he thought of this season of AI. And he said, with a nearly angelic honesty, "What is 'American Idol'?" And I thought, "I envy you and how clueless you are about popular culture. Your reward lies in heaven." And then we went back to talking about Derrida, Chinese martyrs, and my new iMac.
You see, I once was a fan of AI, the only "reality show" I've ever watched, for the simple reasons that I like singing, I like (good) pop music, I like singing competitions, and I like watching caustic people (Simon Cowell) and strange people (Paula Abdul) and people who say "Doooggggg!" (Randy Jackson). But AI has run its course; it needs to be shut down. Pronto. Here are five reasons why:
1. Because it's no longer about discovering talent. It's now about rediscovering talent who once had record contracts with major labels and have performed professionally for years.
2. Because Clive Davis takes every winner and/or runner-up and creates an over-produced, maudlin pile of sonic mush that has no redeeming value whatsoever. "Pop" and "schlock" don't have to be synonymous, even if they often are.
3. Because it simply isn't right that a contestant performed a mediocre rendition of Jeff Buckley's version of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" and was told by Simon—who should know better!—that it was "brilliant!" No, it wasn't. It was mediocre. This was brilliant.
4. Because it was very wrong that a contestant (David Cook, the eventual winner) performed a decent note-for-note take of Chris Cornell's dark, rather startling rendition of Michael Jackson's "Billy Jean," and then was treated as though he was some sort of revolutionary genius, since the judges are apparently clueless about what is going on in the world of pop/rock music. Not a good sign. (The funny thing is that Cornell apparently did the cover initially as a joke, but then discovered a decent song underneath all of that thrilling production.)
5. Because Seal should not be doing this. Please stop the madness. Please. (For the record, I saw Seal in concert in 1995, and he was exceptional. One of my favorite all-time pop artists.)
Okay, here are randomly selected songs from my iTunes, with no skipping, waffling, or wiggling, along with appropriate comments:
1. "Mourning Air", by Portishead. Trip-hop torch music, beautifully and a bit creepy.
2. "My Buffalo Girl," by Bill Frisell. Atmospheric Americana jazz guitar.
3. "Take The Coltrane," by John Coltrane. One of 'Trane's more light-hearted cuts, from "The Impulse Years!" retrospective set.
4. "Sacred Ground," by Living Colour. I like their first couple of records much better, on which the message and music weren't so unrelentingly heavy.
5. "If Only You Knew," by Yes. From "The Ladder," a really solid CD from 1999. Jon Anderson is in fine voice.
6. "Ki - Gen," by DJ Krush. From a compilation ("Global Grooves"). Pretty good, especially since there isn't any rapping, something that mars some of his work.
7. "You Again", by Kate Havnevik. From "Melankton," an excellent electronica album, similar in sound to early Björk, but not nearly as, um, whacky.
8. "My Little Town," by Simon & Garfunkel. I have never heard this S&G song before. Pleasant. Gets a bit funky toward the end.
9. "Choralpartita Sei gegruBet, Jesu gutig BWV 768 (3)," by J.S. Bach. I'm not much for organ music, but it's Bach, so it's good.
10. "Mission Impossible," by Joe Locke. Well-known theme song by jazz vibraphonist. Fun!
And ten more:
11. "Cat Eyes," by A.C.T. Swedish progressive rock with finger snaps and big guitar hooks anyone?
12. "Stella By Starlight", by Ellis & Branford Marsalis. Beautiful playing by father (piano) and son (sax).
13. "I'll Never Get Tired Of You," by King's X. From "faith hope love," arguably the best album produced by a criminally underrated band.
14. "Glad Tidings," by Van Morrison. Pure bliss. From "Moondance," one of my favorite albums.
15. "Big Top," by Chris Potter. One of the finest sax players around; from "Underground," his most "fusion-y" album to date. Exceptional.
16. "There She Goes," by Chris Isaak. He's known for his voice, but his songwriting is just as good, even if he sticks to three basic themes: new love, heartbreak, and lost love.
17. "Come a Day," by Beth Hirsch. Lovely voice.
18. "Original Fire," by Chris Cornell. A live, acoustic cut recorded in the BBC studios when Cornell was with Audioslave.
19. "Got A Suitcase, Got Regrets," by Tom McRae. The English folk singer is a very good lyricist.
20. "Try A Little Tenderness," by Frank Sinatra. Early Sinatra is sometimes ignored, but his tone and phrasing were phenomenal.
And now, back to moving the office.