Mum

I looked down at my feet to the cheap Little Mermaid ball sitting there, inviting me to kick it. It wasn't one of those heavy red rubber balls you play kickball with, it was one of those $0.70 balls they keep in those tall wire racks at Target or Menards. Instead of a satisfactory fwap when struck or bounced, this kind of ball made an odd doooing. In short, it was pretty flimsy/harmless, as far as balls go. There is a slight chance that this factor crossed my slowly developing mind as I simultaneously dialed in the maximum kick velocity/trajectory and saw my mom stomp towards me with that universal "DON'T YOU DARE" expression moms get. And so, in one of those confounding choices a youth makes, I began to see my mom as more of a Pakistani civilian to the Predator Drone missile of a kick I was about to unleash on a grass stained Ariel -- collateral damage. Foot struck ball. Ariel (and maybe Sebastian, I can't remember) rose majestically as my shoulders rose not quite as majestically in another universal expression -- the cringe. The kick was perfect, my aim was true, and my mom, well, my mom just happened to get in the way. After a direct hit on her now red forehead, I knew I was in for it. But, like a dude at a baseball game about to get tasered, I resigned myself to the punishment I deserved. Oh, the things moms put up with.

This won't be a post about how tireless a job parenting is, how thankless it can all seem. It won't be as such because I cannot comprehend how difficult a job it must be. To live and die by your child's minor successes and failures. To feel the competing, sometimes tragic pull between urge to protect and the necessity of stepping back, letting your child experience failure, even if, or perhaps because that failure is preventable. To be a vigorous advocate in the face of adversity. To feel ignored when your child succeeds and blamed when they fail. A punching bag and shoulder to cry on, sometimes at the same time. I won't fully understand these emotions until I have a child of my own (Which, for the above reasons, will not be happening for a long, long time. Not Larry King long, but long all the same. Don't worry, Mom).

This is a post about how I see you, Mom.

In the beginning (but after there was light; oh, I'd say it was around 1986), you were my protector. You probably saved my ass from imminent doom more times than I can count. Because of you, I learned that streets are not for playing, sockets are not for poking, and pants are not for pooping (still working on that one...eek). I've probably said more words to you than anyone else on this planet, with the exception of chatting online during class. Hey, law school is boring! Babies may be born with some sort of rudimentary moral compass, but you were the one who gave me gentle and sometimes not-so-gentle nudges in the "right" direction. You were the infallible, permed giant of my early formative years.

Moms, and sorry Mom, you are no exception, started to lose their aura of "cool" about the time that word became the social currency during middle school. Instead of my friend and confidant, you became dispenser of Doc Martens and Old Navy cargo pants, of Mariah Carey CD's and Mighty Ducks VHS's. And yet you -- not my uncomfortable, clunky German shoes or my diva-rific music -- were the one I still ran to when a coach yelled at me or when I found out I had to go to speech class (those damned R's) or, let's face it, whenever I needed someone to help guide me through that hellish phase of adolescence.

Then came high school.

To be honest, this is more of a continuation of the grade school phase. I guess high school is when shit hits the fan and children rebel? I was probably too busy napping in the basement or going to Denny's to rebel much. What a failure! But, nonetheless, I was beginning to realize that you were cool in your own way, but definitely wasn't convinced of it. Hell, I had a hard enough time with my own conceptualization of cool (Told in excruciating detail in my high school autobiography, My Life Under the Table and Dreaming; or, When Professing One's Love for Dave Matthews Band is Not Enough for Complete Life Fulfillment (And When it Is)). And, as always, I had both feet in the present but my head stuck in my future plans: college. And while you were no longer a giant in comparison to my size (if I remember correctly, I was the giant in high school) you were still a sort of infallible wizard, albeit an uncool one in the eyes of an 18 year old. But, Gandolf and Dumbeldore aside, when are wizards ever cool? And you can't even classify them as cool cool, can you? More old person, does-whatever-they-want cool, right? Anyway, you supported my decision to journey to remote, snowy, jobless Michigan without nary a plea for me to stay closer to home. I knew I'd be back home (it only took 5 years), but I suppose you had to settle with the reality that it'd always be different. That I wouldn't be going home, but rather visiting home.

I've since come to realize, to my initial shock, that you are not the infallible titan I once thought you were -- hell, you don't even have a perm anymore! But this only makes me love you more. Because if an infallible superhero did the job you did, it'd be no big deal. Another notch on their super belt. But that you, an actual human being, flaws and all, did the job you did raising us, makes it all the more impressive. I probably owe you a lifetime of thanks, and one Hallmark holiday per year or a blog post doesn't do you justice. But thanks, Mom, I'll try to kick Little Mermaid balls at your head less often from now on.

Our Band Could Be Your Life

This is my favorite song off of an amazing, sprawling 1984 album called Double Nickels on the Dime by the band Minutemen. They were around in the early to mid-80's, contemporaries of Minneapolis bands like Husker Du and the Replacements. Seen by some as an advancement of punk and by others as the death of it, Double Nickels on the Dime was perhaps the artistic apex of the genre, which evolved from the chugging chords of the Ramones, to the snarling lyricism of Elvis Costello, to the worldly sound of the Specials and the Clash -- and finally to this, a combination of free-form instrumentals, chugging riffs, and bouncy basslines with an in your face approach that defined punk. While this song, "History Lesson Part 2" is the band at their most subdued, it's a touching homage to influential bands and the camaraderie of being in a band (not unlike LCD Soundsystem's "Losing My Edge" or anything by the Hold Steady, but especially "Certain Songs" and "We Can Get Together").

When people (like me) try to say that the 80's were devoid of good music, bands like Husker Du, the Replacements, the Minutement, the Pixies, REM, and Pavement stand as a testament to the contrary.

"Mr. Narrator: this is Bob Dylan to me, my story could be his songs..."

Vinyl Blotter, Vol. 1

I go to record stores a lot. If you know me, you know this. There is a singular rush I get, the thrill of finding that perfect record, when I walk in the door. Sometimes I'm looking for something specific, but more often than not, I go in with an open mind and see what I find. The following are some of this week's finds:

1. Hymie's Records
Hymie's Records, off of E. Lake Street, has been in business for as long as I've been alive. But in exciting news, they just opened the doors to a new location, 5 blocks away from their old store. I never went to their old store, but their new one already has that disheveled yet organized feel every record store worth its salt should have. Large, vintage speakers spewing warm, vinyl goodness all over the store from a Pro-ject Debut II turntable (the one I have!) and vinyl spills out every nook and cranny. How did I not know this vinyl utopia existed? For one, blame my recovering, sheltered suburbanite self, -- I'm just now discovering the plethora of great record stores not named Cheapo we have in this city (Treehouse, Roadrunner, Shuga, etc etc.). But the well-stocked Hymie's may be my new favorite. It's not really in a trendy part of town, which I think suits records stores just fine. They should be a destination, not a place you stop off at on the way to Chino Latino. Hymie's will now be a regular  destination for me. Great selection, great vibe, great prices. Where have you been all my life?

2. The Rolling Stones "Beggars Banquet" @ Hymie's

Most Rolling Stones albums in record stores today come from the unfortunate period in many great 60's/70's bands: the 1980's. Nothing is ever really in stock from bands' heydays either because people smartly hold on to these albums or because finding them in good condition some 40 years hence proves to be a difficult task. But my new favorite record store happened to have this album today, to my delight. At first, I thought it was some sort of bootleg -- the album art I'm most familiar with looks like this:

So I was confused when I saw the spare "Beggars Banquet" album staring at me. Apparently the toilet graffiti cover was nixed by record execs (the fools) and the spare, White Album-ish cover was chosen for the original release instead. Beggars Banquet comes from my favorite period of the Stones' career and kicked off a run of albums (Let it Bleed, Sticky Fingers, Exile on Main St.) over the course of four years that may be paralleled only by the Beatles (Rubber Soul through Abbey Road) and Led Zeppelin (Led Zeppelin through Zoso (or maybe Physical Graffiti if we're feeling charitable)). It's bluesy, it's country, but most of all, it's rock.

3. B.B. King "Back in the Alley: The Classic Blues of B.B. King" & "20/20: Twenty No. 1 Hits from Twenty Years at Motown" @ Hymie's
If you visit me at my apartment (please do!) I will be occupying one of two rooms: the living room or my bedroom. Really, besides the bathroom, that's all my apartment has to offer. But I have a record player in each room. In the living room, you'll find my Pro-ject turntable (with a Grado Green cartridge), my custom made (thanks Dad!) transmission line floor speakers, and my Pioneer (soon to be replaced with a Marantz!) receiver. This is the good system. In my bedroom, you'll find an old receiver, bookshelf speakers, and a donated record player (thanks Uncle Herb!). I reserve the bedroom system for older records that I can just play in the background. Well, this is the room the B.B. King and Motown albums were headed for. Until I listened to them. "Back in the Alley" has some really great music on it, from "Paid the Cost to be the Boss" to "Lucille," a song written about his beloved guitar. The Motown album has classic singles from the Jackson 5, Diana Ross, Marvin Gaye, and Stevie Wonder. I might put it next to my Supremes Anthology for when I'm feeling all Motown-y. Point of this entry: sometimes the cheapest, "throwaway" records are really the hidden jewels, ready for the big show (the living room player) kind of like Wilson Ramos.

Sticks and stones

He was a genuinely nice kid, smart and really good at soccer. Of course, this meant that the only way to get at him was for things -- a nervous tic -- that were out of his control. An apparent weakness we opportunistic 7th graders mercilessly ragged on him for. And as he ran down the busy street at recess with the PE teacher/recess monitor ambling after him, her whistle jangling, I felt a stab of regret -- was I responsible for this? If he gets hit by a car, will I go to jail? Is my life over? Am I some monster? Granted, at the time, my fears were rooted in self preservation, but looking back on it now, it was a defining experience in how I interacted with my classmates from that point on. The recess monitor finally caught up to my classmate as he crumpled to his knees, sobbing at the street corner. I wasn't put in jail and neither were my co-conspirators, all we got was a week inside during recess.

I've felt myself reminiscing more and getting more and more disheartened lately as I read about the tragic suicides of teenagers (here here) who were quite literally bullied to death. Some blame the rise of social media for this spate of deaths, and while it's a significant factor, bullying has been a staple of teenage life long before Myspace, texting, and Facebook. That many of my friends state categorically that middle/high school was a generally horrible, awkward experience suggests that bullying is also not a limited phenomenon. And while it's dangerous to make broad proclamations, I'll make one here: bullies almost never succeed in real life, but the bullied rise to be some of the most successful people around. Of course, there are exceptions, and it's imperfect to label someone either a "bully" or "bullied" since the Venn diagram of the two very much overlap, but think about some of the most successful people: President Obama, Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, almost any artist -- you think these people were the most popular kids growing up? Think again.

This post is more about embracing quirkiness than it is a prescription to defeat bullies. It's cold comfort to tell someone being bullied that it'll all get better, that high school is a bad time for almost everyone, that you'll show those bullies a thing or two at the 10 year reunion when you're a successful engineer, designer, artist, what have you and they're working a dead-end job somewhere, but it's true. Thing is, the only way to discover this is through another cliche, through experience. More broad generalizations/advice forthcoming: bullies are insecure in their social positions, in how others perceive them. This is why they listen to the "cool" music that "cool" kids listen to. They dress in that same manufactured cool that everyone else does too. If you ever find yourself looking down at your dorky Chucks as you listen to Bavarian hymnals, don't fret -- turn it up! Embrace the quirk.

Remember that curiosity and wide-ranging interests will open up so many more doors in your life than will bland, cowardly conformity. Even though conformity might get a childhood bully into the board room (ahem, Goldman Sachs), they won't be happy, they won't live a fulfilling life, and they'll be constantly looking over their shoulders for you -- they'll covet your independence and originalism. They might even try to buy your ideas and market them as their own, but the public can see through that fraud.

My best advice is to seek out those who share the same interests as you. Start a chess club. Or a World of Warcraft club. Or spend an afternoon digging through dusty crates of vinyl records. Life is better with people to experience it with.

In 10 years, you can have the last laugh. My bullied classmate (after some stellar facebook sleuthing) is now getting a masters degree in mechanical engineering. His bullies...are not. Ha ha, indeed.

The road not taken

A month ago, I wrote a rather lengthy footnote (here) about a powerful documentary concerning our energy choices in the late 70's and early 80's that have shaped our energy future in the past three decades. The part I most remember about the documentary is how President Carter, with solar panels newly installed on the roof of the White House, warned of the potential for the panels to become, "a curiosity, a museum piece, an example of a road not taken" if they and other renewable energy technologies were not widely adopted. Solar panels as a curiosity was an example of an alternate scenario he hoped we would avert in favor of an energy portfolio rich with renewable energy technologies. Needless to say, we did not heed President Carter's advice and, sadly, the solar panels now sit in the National Museum of American History. 

I'm not going to dwell on the fact that we've lost so many years where we could've been designing clean, renewable, safe technologies that would eventually phase out dirty, non-renewable, dangerous (here here here)  energy technologies we still rely on today. I'm not going to analogize energy technology to computer technology, either. I won't say that in 1980, renewable energy technology and computer technology were both in a relatively nascent period of development, that the wonder of technology I'm writing this post on (Macbook) is the product of 30 years of innovation, that in the same 30 years we could've also been developing renewable energy technology (thus making it more efficient, cheaper, and a viable alternative to fossil fuels) we did very little; I won't because it should be all too apparent.

But I will say this: anyone who picked up a newspaper this week saw a starkly contrasting example of yet another choice we must make regarding our energy future, this time regarding our oceans. The good news first. Cape Wind, the nation's first offshore wind farm, was given the federal green light to begin construction. It will generate enough energy (420 MW) as a medium-sized coal plant and represents the first step in catching up to the rest of the world with this technology. Opponents claim that the windfarm will pose environmental hazards and clutter the landscape. Would you rather see quiet (and I think, majestic) wind turbines spinning in the distance or a smoking oil rig? Or a shoreline covered in a oily sheen? Which brings me to the bad news, the tragic explosion of the oil rig and subsequent hemorrhaging of oil in the Gulf of Mexico. Is it a coincidence that two major energy stories in the same week focused on the same ocean? Probably, but it doesn't diminish the choice we as a country must make when we decide our energy future in the coming months.

It's true that this issue isn't black and white. Strict environmental regulations for both offshore wind and drilling must be a priority. Further, social and economic factors must also be incorporated into development decisions. But taking these factors into consideration actually favors offshore wind -- think of an ocean full not with oil rigs but with wind turbines, with hardy, Armageddon-style crews zipping from turbine to turbine, performing necessary maintenance. I mean, Ben Affleck needs a job, doesn't he? It would certainly be safer than sitting on a bomb for a living (or detonating one on an asteroid hurtling towards Earth...). And, despite the announcement last month that the moratorium on offshore drilling would be lifted, I think this disaster puts a very visible reminder in American's eyes of the dangers of conventional energy choices. 

So here we stand, once again, with a decision to make. Will we maintain the status quo, subjecting our workers to the tremendous and unnecessary risks of producing unsustainable fossil fuels and leaving open the possibility of environmental disasters? Or will we take President Carter's 30 year old advice and invest in an energy future that makes oil rigs and coal mines curiosities and museum pieces?

The musical intstrument everyone knows how to play

I found this gem in the dust jacket of an old Pete Seeger ("We Shall Overcome") album from the 60's I got today:

HERE'S HOW RECORDS GIVE YOU MORE OF WHAT YOU WANT:

1. THEY'RE YOUR BEST ENTERTAINMENT BUY. Records give you top quality for less money than any other recorded form. Every album is a show in itself. And once you've paid the price of admission, you can hear it over and over.

2. THEY ALLOW SELECTIVITY OF SONGS AND TRACKS. With records it's easy to pick out the songs you want to play, or to play again a particular song or side. All you have to do is life the tone arm and place it where you want it. You can't do this as easily with anything but a phonograph record.

3. THEY'RE CONVENIENT AND EASY TO HANDLE. With the long-playing record you get what you want to hear, when you want to hear it. Everybody's familiar with records, too. And you can go anywhere with them because they're light and don't take up space.

4. THEY'RE ATTRACTIVE, INFORMATIVE AND EASY TO STORE. Record albums are never out of place. Because of the aesthetic appeal of the jacket design, they're beautifully at home in any living room or library. They've also got important information on the backs -- about the artists, about the performances or about the program. And because they're flat and not bulky, you can store hundreds in a minimum of space and still see every title.

5. THEY'LL GIVE YOU HOURS OF CONTINUOUS AND UNINTERRUPTED ENJOYMENT. Just stack them up on your automatic changer and relax.


6. THEY'RE THE PROVEN MEDIUM. Long-playing phonograph records look the same now as when they were introduced in 1948, but there's a world of difference. Countless refinements and developments have been made to perfect the long-playing record's technical excellence and insure the best in sound reproduction and quality.


7. IF IT'S IN RECORDED FORM, YOU KNOW IT'LL BE AVAILABLE ON RECORDS. Everything's on long-playing records these days...your favorite artists, shows, comedy, movie sound tracks, concerts, drama, documented history, educational material...you name it. This is not so with any other kind of recording.


8. THEY MAKE A GREAT GIFT because everybody you know likes music. And everyone owns a phonograph because it's the musical instrument everyone knows how to play. Records are a gift that says a lot to the person you're giving them to. And they keep on remembering.


AND REMEMBER...IT ALWAYS HAPPENS FIRST ON RECORDS.

[Well put, Don Draper.]

We're comin' to America!

There are so many things fucking right with this video.

Neil Diamond was not my first thought last week as I walked into the law school. Funny, it usually is. As I entered, I was greeted by a group of people who were most decidedly not law students. No, not beleaguered twentysomethings, but whole families, dressed up, smiling, and holding American flags and speaking, well, not English. After reading the sign, "Naturalization ceremony in Room 25," it all made sense.

I was naturalized some 23 years ago by an old judge in a nondescript courtroom. I still have the picture. I had a look in my eyes that said 2 things:
1. Why is this old man in a bedsheet holding me and why does he smell like Fritos?
2. Holy shit.
If I were to be naturalized today and someone memorialized it with a picture, I would have the very same look in my eyes. Since my memories of being naturalized and my knowledge of the process  come only from an old photograph, I can (safely?) assume that being held in the arms of some old judge is a mandatory part of the process. But maybe my judge only ate Fritos some days. I don't know if that part is a requirement. But I know for sure that I would still be thinking holy shit, this is a big deal! [Joe Biden: you mean a big fucking deal] Yes, it is a BFD.

Smiling images of these fresh off the vine Americans was juxtaposed sadly with that ghastly Arizona law that just passed, making it Morning in America once again....for racial profiling, that is. Things haven't been this rosy for the profilers among us since it was a television show (things got worse in a hurry for profilers when they realized that the television show was not a loving tribute to racism, but rather a "gritty" crime drama (really, what crime dramas aren't "gritty") about Dr. Sam(antha) Waters who has the magical ability to "see" through the eyes of others (a trait otherwise known as "empathy") while motivated by the death of her husband at the hands of the serial killer dubbed The Jack of All Trades) But fear not, profilers, the PATRIOT act was a pretty decent consolation prize after Profiler went off air in 2000.

And ok, you're right seething anti-illegal immigration dude, illegal immigration is a problem. I'm not saying that it isn't. But can one state, in one fell swoop vanquish civil liberties in such a heavy-handed (and probably unconstitutional) way? I hope not. Do we not learn from our past?

I'm reading two books right now that tangentially relate to this. One, Zoli, is by the amazing author Colum McCann. It's a book about a Gypsy poet (say "Gypsy poet" in Borat's accent, I know you want to) who becomes famous in post-WWII Eastern Europe but is later shunned by her family and community. Her family was killed by Nazi sympathizers. During the war, she gets hassled by soldiers on the city streets who ask for her papers because she looks Gypsy.

The other is called The Bravest Battle. It's about the heroic Warsaw Ghetto Uprising against Nazi extermination in WWII.

I'm hesitant to compare this to Nazi Germany (apparently there's a day for that and a website for other like comparisons), but is it too crazy to imagine a situation in Arizona now where a sheriff stops someone on the street and asks to see their "papers"? And can you imagine a WWII movie not having at least one scene where this same situation occurs between a Jew and a Nazi? Ok, hopefully you made the comparison all by yourself -- it saves me from some rancor from the few Glenn Beck fans among my readers (although, I do remember seeing President Obama crudely given the Hitler stache during healthcare tea parties...just sayin').

I'm left wondering why we're reduced to these partisan battles when there are so many other important issues to tackle. Because a law like this doesn't solve a problem like illegal immigration, it just fuels hate and racism. For the new Americans among us, I'm glad you're here. You show we discouraged that the United States is still a place to treasure, that it is still seen as the "City Upon a Hill" John Winthrop promised his Puritans so long ago. But, like Winthrop's flock, we are an imperfect, sometimes ugly group. Welcome to the club, we're not all so bad as our racist laws make us out to be. Hey, we've still got Neil Diamond.