Play On Daily

We made our vacation plans about a month ago. The itinerary? Charleston, South Carolina was to be new territory for Trudy and I. The main attraction was the wedding of a friend and former co-worker accompanied by moderate to heaping doses of barbecue, She Crab Soup, and most likely several heaping ladles full of oppressive mid-August heat. After two days in the “Chucktown”, we would point the rental southwest, and after a brief stop in the Low Country for a meal of the boil that the area is known for, we would head across the river to Savannah for two more days of southern cookin’, a ghost tour, Spanish moss, and all the fixins. The last leg of our trip would be a four hour jaunt northwest to A-Town with our one and only agenda item being to spend the better part of two days with a good friend who moved to Georgia about ten years ago.

Sounds pretty straight forward, doesn’t it? There are no Amazing Race style road blocks or detours demanding our attention. Well of course there is the climate change and the fact that we’re from the most weather neutral place in the US and headed to a smoldering, wet blanket of 90+ degrees in mid-August. Other than the literal body function variety, no sweat, just hit up the cousin with the buddy passes, pay the nominal fee and taxes, and jump on a plane.

The buddy pass comes with dress code requirements summed up as business casual and a strong suggestion to check in on line four hours before flight time. For us, that meant setting the alarm for 3 AM logging on to check in, before rushing back to bed for a couple more hours. When we got to the airport, the agent threw our luggage on the conveyor, checked passports, and said “good luck.” Good luck? Actually, it was more like, “good luckkk” served with a canned smile and a hint of a cynical laugh. What does that mean? “Good luckkk?” How about, “have a nice trip.” Or, “travel safely.” But, “good luckkk?” (By the way, Ms. Good Luck Ticket Agent had the hairiest arms I’ve ever seen on a woman. She wasn’t particularly attractive, or otherwise, very normal size and shape, but she had shag carpet on her arms.)

We headed to the gate where the plane was getting ready to board. Did I mention that we were “Non Rev Standbys? Trudy was a D1, I was a D3. To the airline, that meant that we didn’t pay any real money (non-revenue) and were on standby in case paying customers didn’t check in with Trudy on the first string, and me, three deep. The gate agent was all business and didn’t attempt to dress up any of her announcements with and false pleasantries. The flight was full and by the time the gate agents closed the door, we realized that maybe one or two D1’s not named Trudy were on the flight, but definitely no D2s, and D3s, you should have stayed in bed for another hour. We had two more chances to get to Dallas in order to catch a connection on Day One of vacation. The day, by the way, just so happened to be Friday, August 13th. D1 + D3 also kind of looks like a 13.

(to be continued)

“Six Days on The Road” – Steve Earle (1987)

- DAVE

You know that smell that is supposed to smell kind of nice, and freshly washed but doesn’t quite cut it. Sometimes it kind of anti-septic and fools you for a second. Your brain senses it as “oh wow, that’s sweet and piney, citrus, old leather, or minty” but then a couple seconds into sifting through your olfactory’s hard drive, your brain screams, “CAUTION, avoid breathing deeply.” What lies beneath that thin layer of masking fragrance is something funky.

I smelled that all day at work. It’s the same smell in a locker room after a bunch of people have showered and smell like Irish Spring which is doing it’s fightin’ best to ward off the smelly, sweat soaked uniforms or workout gear that litters the floor. It’s the can of Febreze that you spray in a pair of hockey gloves in attempt to ward off the musty, wet dog nastiness that lingers in the gloves’ leather. It’s the person who overslept and tried to sponge bath and speed stick the funk that they don’t want their co-workers to wiggle their noses at. It doesn’t work folks. Funk is funk, and no matter what you try to cover it up with, it’s going to make its presence felt Of course some types of funk are better than others and it doesn’t matter who’s wearing it, we like it.

- DAVE

So, we now have a Roomba. If you haven’t had the pleasure of watching one of these over sized hockey puck shaped vacuum cleaners whisk dirt, dust, dog and cat hair (lots of pet debris at the Play On Mansion) off of your floors, it’s kind of fun. The kit comes with these little monitors that you set around the boundaries of the area that you want cleaned – kind of like a wireless fence (yes, we’ve come to this point, wireless fences for our household appliance). You then press a button or two and Roomba begins it’s aimless wandering within its kennel, bumps into walls, terrorizes the pets that I bought from the same store that I bought Roomba from, and eventually goes to its home (docking station), or gets stuck in the dog door.

The best and worst thing about Roomba is that I don’t have to do anything. Not like I ever did any vacuuming pre-Roomba. I mean I know as much about turning on, operating, and emptying a vacuum as I know about how to maintain the reactor core of a nuclear power plant, so Roomba, I thank you for your 3+ weeks of service. But that was the best part of Roomba.

The worst part of Roomba is that I don’t have to do anything, but I still don’t do anything. Roomba vacuums at about 1/3 of the speed that I would if I actually knew how to use a vacuum. So what do I do? Of course, I crack a beer, or two, or three and watch Roomba do the singular thing that it was born to do. This thing is supposed to save me time but since I was already investing zero hours into cleaning my floors, and I am fascinated by Roomba’s dedication to its task, I now spend an hour watching Roomba go all hither and yon across my house. Roomba has sucked up about six hours (and counting) of my free time.

Thanks a lot technology. I curse you!!!

Oh yeah, and this song and whole album by Magic Bullets is excellent. It’s not just a soundtrack for my Roomba watching, it’s a good record, check it out.

- DAVE

Collective Soul is one of those middle of the road, rock bands that fits in a lot of people’s iPod, but I never get the feeling that there are very many people who are truly passionate fans of this band. There’s nothing wrong with them. They make music that people they want people to like. It’s mainstream music in the Matchbox 20 or Maroon 5 ilk. All three bands have got that tight, polished sound. Their song lyrics aren’t the most eloquent, clever, or emotive, but their sung well enough. But, I just get the sense that the “M-#” bands (even without looking at record sales for the three which I have no clue about) have more devoted followings.

Any ways, I like Collective Soul. I just don’t love them or ever feel the need to go out of my way to listen to them. In fact, I got the idea for this post when I heard a DJ say on the radio this morning say that today is Collective Soul front man Ed Roland’s 47th birthday. I didn’t know that the front man’s name was Ed Roland. And, although I really do like this song, if someone would have asked me who did that kind of slow, introspective song from a few years ago named “Run”, I would have instantly said Snow Patrol. Snow Patrol’s “Run”, I love. Collective Soul’s “Run”, I like pretty well.

- DAVE

I’m involuntarily susceptible to the power of suggestive thinking to the point that a co-worker mumbled the words “baloney sandwich” a few years back, and I shiznit you not but I went home that night and ate about six baloney sams on white bread. I am 99% sure that I haven’t eaten any bologna since then. Suggestive thinking, and now humming has the power to take hold and make me do things against my better judgment.

So today, when I heard someone sing the simple words, “I think I love you”, actually more like “I THINK, I love youuuu” I was done for the day. I listened to KEXP for an hour or two this evening. The Constantines, and The Head and The Heart could do nothing to remove “I think I love you” from my brain. I listened to a little Brad Paisley, Al Green, and PJ, still “I think I love you.”

I’ve got no shame in posting that song to this blog today. If anyone has been bored enough to read my bio, they would know that my first concert (I think I was nine) was a David Cassidy show. And, this song was the soundtrack for an awesome Levi’s commercial in the early 90’s.

“I Think I Love You” – The Partridge Family – “The Partridge Family Album” (1970)

Wide Legs…. you know you want some:

A Partridge Family marathon…. it is useless to resist!!!

- DAVE

I’ve had a text message saved on my phone for a few months that my brother sent me that has a list of the saddest songs of all time. After watching part of a Meat Loaf concert today on HDNet, I had to check the list on my phone to see if today’s song is on the list. Nope, not there, but man it sure seems like it should be.

I want you (I want you)
I need you (I need you)
But there ain’t no way I’m ever gonna love you
Now don’t be sad (Don’t be sad)
‘Cause two out of three ain’t bad

Those are some sad lyrics. Think about when if ever you’ve ever heard or felt those words being said to you. Does anything hurt more? The numbers seem to make sense, but seriously if you’re not going three for three here, you might as well just take the zero.

Okay, today was a little grumpy for me, but not in a sad, tragic epic Loafesque kind of way. I have one of those excruciatingly, out of place, and annoying summer head colds, and had to skip golfing today in exchange for a three hour sicky nap. Grrrr!!!

- DAVE

I love the sports reference band name. I’ve got a couple of catchy sports references that I’ll eventually be naming something after. However, since I’m never going to start a band (hmmm, but what about a Rock Band band) it’ll probably be a pet, blog, car, or medical condition that I will be naming. I’m not going to say what my name ideas are because they are so incredibly witty that I’m sure that someone will steal them and turn them into tens or maybe even hundreds of dollars. Okay, here’s one that I’ll reveal. Do with it what you may. Are you ready? Deep Snapper.

Charity Stripe’s list of musical influences is also super cool. They include: The Posies, Hall and Oates, The Smiths, Nada Surf, The Pernice Brothers, and Starflyer 59. Go to the band’s My Space page and check out this song, plus a couple more.

- DAVE

I don’t always listen to hip hop but when I do, I prefer Mos Def…. My deepest apologies to The Most Interesting Man in The World for the blatant quote jacking — bam!

Seriously though, it doesn’t have to be Mos Def, it can be The Roots, A Tribe Called Quest, PE, Coolio, Common Market, or Missy Elliott. What am I not real keen on? I find it yawn inducing when some guys really want you to know what kind of car they drove to the mall in and what was on their bar bill. The oft repeated, glorious tale that involves sipping on some yummy Hennessy before buckling up and going from Point A to Point B in one of those fancy little Benz motor cars kind or waters the genre down a little bit.

And, sampling that’s not really even a sample – unless you consider using practically the whole original song by, oh maybe some band like Queen or The Police – tends to make me just want to go listen to the original music. I mean if you just take out a word or two of a sentence and insert whatever fits your context is that good or noteworthy. Hmmm, I hate it when people do that?

Any ways, I like heaps of hip hop, it can even be mean and violent, just as long as I can believe that it’s coming from somewhere real — bam!

- DAVE

I started thinking of this song this afternoon for no particular reason, was ready to roll with some vintage 80’s nostalgia, and then I decided to give Duffy’s rendition a listen.

I love the impromptu Duffy version which looks like it was spawned by a request from the live audience. Accompanied by a couple guitars and a tambourine, it’s imperfectly perfect. A couple of warbles in Duffy’s opening notes and reading the words off of a piece of paper, this 80’s pop classic from the undisputed diva of a whole generation, all of a sudden feels new, old, folksy, and organic. The Supremes snippet at the end comes across as an unplanned medley. Good stuff. Enjoy.

- DAVE

I’m not too sure what’s going on in this song. Deranged obsession? Homicidal lust? Maybe, it’ll be the theme song for the upcoming divorce proceedings of The McCourt. Jamie Hince’s guitar work is rich and menacing, and Alison Mosshart sounds full invested in her work, as usual. Mosshart lent her talents to Dead Weather putting The Kills in what hopefully is only a brief hiatus, as there supposedly is a fourth album coming from “VV” and “Hotel.” In the meantime, do yourself a favor and download, or run down to the record store and buy their entire catalog. If you like your two person music group a little uncompromising and raw yet polished, The Kills do not disappoint.

- DAVE