Sunday, January 30, 2005
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Rivers posted his re-entry application to Harvard, where he recounts a very personal history of his work with Weezer. It is incredibly interesting. You can check it out here.
Friday, January 21, 2005
Alex...she's not just for boys anymore!
Oh, so much twisted action on The OC last night—drunken fighting, lesbian love affairs, people being swept away by the Pacific Ocean. Despite all of the action, I was most shocked by the appearance of two “puppy fur” LoveSacs in the Cohen house. Whether it’s The Rebel Billionaire, Fox 13 News or now The OC, it is nearly impossible to avoid Shawn Nelson on Fox. I guess I’m going to have to give in and switch to the WB. One Tree Hill, here I come!
For all of you OC haters, here’s just a small portion of what you missed last night (taken from the episode guide on the show’s website):
“Ryan takes Lindsay on a walk down the beach to get some fresh air. He leaves her by the water to grab some coffee and when he returns all he sees is a floating shoe. He dives into the water, yelling for her... but she’s nowhere in sight. Suddenly Seth comes out and starts yelling too. “Ryan, what are you doing?!” Seth assures Ryan that Lindsay’s fine. She’s passed out in Alex’s office. A frustrated and wet Ryan heads into the office and finds Marissa taking care of her. Marissa offers to drive Lindsay home but Ryan thinks she’s done enough for one night. Marissa claims innocence but Ryan isn’t buying it. “Right, it was Lindsay’s idea to pound straight vodka and pass out.” Actually, it was. Ryan yells a little more then he and Seth take off.”
Friday, January 14, 2005
My friend Scott and I ventured out of the safety of the suburbs last night to follow the bright lights of the big city. My homie Garrett “G-Rock” Anderson’s band, Never Tried Stopping, was playing at Kilby Court—a shack in downtown SLC. These days I don’t get out to a lot of shows (and next-to-no local shows) so I was happy to be able to support Garrett and check out the “scene.”
Oh, how things have changed. Gone are the days of local kids playing in punk bands, it's emo or nothing. The first band we saw was Anesty. They were pretty tight, had good skills, but there was just something a little uncomfortable about the extreme level of emoting going on. It’s one thing to listen to a Death Cab CD, but to see 18-year-old’s being so sensitive in a little shack on a Wednesday night, I just don’t know. Maybe that’s a musical generation gap. (I have since learned that Anesty represent much better in their recordings--check out their site, listed above)
The next band, Tear, earned the distinction of creepiest band of the evening. A little bit of visual: Guitar player—at least 7 feet tall, maybe180 pounds, tight tee-shirt, big JNCO-type jeans. A bit uncomfortable for him, logistically speaking, since he had to hunch over as to not hit his head on the Kilby Court ceiling. The singer was nearly the same height. He had long, black hair, some eye liner and was rocking a long-sleeve, black, mesh shirt. He went from whispering, the screaming, to writhing on the floor--all in a very lovely falsetto. Highlight dialogue (in a very high, soft, voice): “Yeah, uh, that song just came to us like two weeks ago. It’s pretty rough around the edges. Just wait, though. When we get it done it’s going to be pretty bad ass.”
Thankfully, Never Tried Stopping was a bit less dramatic. The four-piece took a more punk approach, quickly pounding through their numbers. NTS also led the crowd in the first sing-along of the night, their shoutable anthem “Never the End.” The band was pretty tight, despite losing some momentum with their slower songs. All in all, a good performance. Their debut LP will be available sooner or later, but until then a few of their tracks can be found here.
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Oh, fate’s cruel hand. I looked around the bookstore, but couldn’t find Chapstick anywhere! I walked around the whole place—nothing. Magazines, candy, pens, even hammers—but no lip balm.
I was nearly reduced to asking an employee-like an idiot-if they had any, when I spotted some behind the counter. Pretty slim selection—original or cinnamon. “That’s all you’ve got?” I asked. “They’ve got more around the corner at the Quick Stop." Yes.
I am now back from the Quick Stop, where I found some mint-flavored Blistex. My pride is a bit bruised, but my lips feel medicated, moisturized and SPF 15-protected.
I think it was on my mission that I heard that using lip balm actually makes your lips stop producing its natural moisture. I am a frequent Chapstick user myself and I can’t get enough of that refreshing mint flavor.
I recently used up my last little tube and made a life-changing decision—NO MORE CHAPSTICK! That’s right, I’m in control of mine own lip moisturization now! I’ve gone cold turkey.
Day 1 went okay, and my lips actually felt great. Day 2 went good as well and I honestly thought I was going to make it. Unfortunately, now I’m not so sure. I’m starting to crack—literally and figuratively. The lips are sore and I am trying to compensate in the worst possibly way—licking my lips! I want that Chapstick so bad!
According to Men’s Health Magazine, it’s just an urban myth that lip balm really dries up your lips. Should I give in and just buy some more? Or is Men’s Health in on conspiracy as well? Dilemma, dilemma.
Monday, January 10, 2005
The Weekend came to a climactic close--watching "She Spies" at midnight on Sunday. What better way to prepare for the upcoming week than by watching a television series about 3 beautiful ex-cons who are allowed to get out of prison early if they will work as government secret agents?
I'll tell you what could be better--when DD (my favorite She Spy) puts a kung-fu rescue mission on hold by saying, "Hang on, I've got to update my blog!" Yes! Thatta girl!
It may be the lamest (and therefore best) thing on late night television. I love it. All I want to do now is karate kick my coworkers!
Thursday, January 06, 2005
Last week we borrowed my Grandpa's truck so we could take our tree over to the park to be "recycled"--i.e. made into compost.
We pulled up to the parking lot, I got out of the truck, grabbed the tree and chucked in on the pile. That was that. When I got back in, I saw that Traci had a very troubled look on her face.
"What?" I asked.
"It's just so sad."
"What's so sad?"
"All of those trees. We use the tree for a month and then just throw it away. A pile of trees that nobody loves anymore."
I guess next year Traci won't be allowed to go with me to get rid of the tree. Any suggestions on how to deal with post-tree-partum depression?
Illustrating the funk in which I currently sit, the most noteworthy accomplishment as of late was finally finishing Drive Thru America by Sean Condon last night.
Condon wrote a novel called My 'Dam Life about the three years that he spent living in Amsterdam that I absolutely loved. I was so amused by it that I decided to check out Condon's other travel adventures, one about driving across Australia and this one, about driving across America.
Drive Thru America, the book, was quite representative of America, the country--interesting on each of the edges, but kind of boring in the Middle. Austrialians Condon and his buddy David rent a car in New York, drive down the east coast, through the south, head through the Southwest over to California and then fly up to Seattle.
It is on the coasts where actual story lines occur--the rest of the book is merely a journal of what you see in America with Australian eyes. In New York Condon finds a Bible on a subway seat and decides to track down the person who left it there. After traveling to South Carolina (or somewhere like that) to give it to the owner he finds that the Bible had been put there as a memorial to a deceased ex-girlfriend. When he gives the book to the parents they say, "Every year [the boyfriend] puts one of her belongings in some public place and some nice person contacts us and returns it to us." Weird.
In Los Angeles Condon meets a crazy old blind man in a bar who gives him $800 to deliver a letter to an address in Seattle. He agrees. As Condon walks up to the address he decides to open the letter (against the old man's instructions) and reads that it was just a hoax. He walks into the backyard and the entire lawn is covered with similar letters.
I have just told the two most interessing parts of the book, and thus have saved you the trouble of reading the book yourself. I will be accepting "thank you" cards.