Bit of a lack of blogging going on, here. Work has been pretty ridiculous. Massive, massive project happening. It’s quite the cluster-fuck, but, not on our end. We’re kicking ass. Dealing with some vendors that are digging their own graves, though. Pretty entertaining.
So—let’s write some shit. What’s been happening? Let’s see. I’ve been trying to keep track of some things I want to write about, but, God knows if I’ll remember them all.
First, the Good. Brent Johnson goalie-fights Rick DiPietro—and drops his ass with one punch. Highlight of the year. Amazing. Video here.
Had Oskar’s 2-month wellness visit. He’s a kick-ass baby. Great weight gainer. He’s in the ninetieth percentile, weight-wise. Way ahead of schedule with his cooing and talking and reacting. Super-alert. All good. He cared not for the shots, but, shit—what baby does?
Couple of great albums have hit the old ears, lately.
Ted Russell Kamp, long-time bass player in Shooter Jennings’ band, serves up a loose-jointed, sunny-dispositioned Southern-rock/country sound with a down-home, slightly psychedelic feel, super-solid ironic moustache in tow. Reminds me of the salad days of seventies album-rock. Back when absolutely everybody on the southern California scene got to do a solo record or two.
Straight out of Melbourne, Australia, Sky Bombers sound kind-of like The Arctic Monkeys on less drugs. Lead singer does a bit of a Liam Gallagher impression, but, it works. Songs are tight and catchy. A perfect blend of sixties London-rock (The Kinks, The Hollies) influence and nineties pop-prog (Our Lady Peace, Oleander) silliness. They even get all Irish toss in a Gasoline Alley-style sing-along, ready-made for the drunks at the pub. Well played.
Why no stars? Because, in all honesty, I haven’t listened to this one, yet. The 20 year-old version of me is super-excited to, though. Going to give it a go, this afternoon. It’ll be interesting to see where Connor Oberst is at with Bright Eyes, after a 4 year stint of releasing albums under his own name. Will he revert back to the excess and theatrics? Or will he stick with the grown-up troubadour vibe of his solo stuff?
Cameron Crowe’s long-awaited Pearl Jam documentary comes out, later this year. Holy balls. My favorite director takes on my favorite band. I can’t fucking wait.
And now, the bad. Mostly small complaints. One—I can’t stand the restrictions on the usage of teams’ names and the phrase Super Bowl™ in non-editorial material. Makes people sound ridiculous. For instance, on the radio, when a broadcaster is doing a segment, he can say, “The Steelers are going to the Super Bowl™!” as many times as he wants. But, as soon as it’s time to read a promo or do a station identifier, he has to say, “You’re listening to 93.7 FM, your home for the black and gold and the drive to the big game!” Asinine.
Two—I got a Belkin® wireless router, at home, to replace the Linksys® one that crapped out. Holy Christ, that Belkin thing sucks. It was incredibly difficult to configure. Had to call India twice. And now, it’s signal doesn’t reach my third floor. As soon as I have thirty spare bucks burning a hole in my pocket, I’m getting another Linksys® router. So much better.
Shit. I think I had a few other things for the bad. I forget. And I forget what I was going to mention in the ugly. Nevermind.