we just won't be defeated

debate club

I'd pretty much already made up my mind that I'd be casting a ballot for Barack Obama in the Virginia Primary a week from Tuesday, but I did learn a thing or two from tonight's debate.  To wit: Obama is a lefty.  This, naturally, gives him a well-documented leg up - intellectually speaking - against the tyranny of the right-handed fascist majority.  The choice is clear, people.

save the planet, part two

Well, I didn't expect for this to become a regular feature, but why not?  My good pal Lee is at it again.  Today's free commuter daily featured another advertisement for his upcoming marathon protest against the *snicker* Discovery Channel.  And this time, it's a full page number.  It even features his photo, which is a smart move.  If that dour mug can't motivate the masses to get out and stand up to the evil forces of cable television that are ruining our environment, I don't know what will.

Protest II

I'm not going to transcribe this one, because it's just way too much.  If you actually care to read the text, you can download a PDF here.

rock and roll grade school

Today is a big day - one I've been eagerly anticipating for over seven years.  Sister #2 begrudgingly acknowledged that the gingers might like a CD of rock tunes from old Unkie Hotrod.  I'd say more, but I need to get started right away.  Gotta go!

the flood

Vrabel and Alexis entered toward the beginning of the morning rush.  With a hint of a smile he said, "I've got some bad news.  Do you want to hear it straight or do you want me to dance around the issue a little?"

Sunday mornings were my favorite shift, despite that I was supposed to be there by five-thirty.  I almost never made it there on time, but then Andrea wasn't there to chew me out for being late either.  It didn't really matter, anyway.  Unlike the rest of the week, Sundays usually didn't get busy back then until about nine o'clock.  We had plenty of time to get everything set up before the crowd showed up, and with time to spare.  Most days we had a good ninety minutes to chew the fat.  Misha was uncharacteristically chatty on Sundays; away from the prying customers he often seemed almost human.  And my co-worker Karl had a day-job; he worked only one shift a week to make some extra cash.  It was a refreshing change to work occasionally with someone who had also graduated from college.  And he knew what he was doing, so there was no need for a third wheel mucking up the works behind the counter and cutting into our tips.  We didn't get Saturday-level tips on Sundays, but they were a far cry better than what I usually earned serving tea bags and hot water refills to the annoying crowd of non-tipping loiterers that were my usual weekday evening customers.

This particular Sunday was shaping up to be a busy day.  I had to work until two o'clock and the NFL Conference Championships took place that afternoon.  My beloved Pittsburgh Steelers were playing the Indianapolis Colts in the early game, and I planned to wash some bottles while watching the Cowboys and Packers in the second game.  We had been through a blizzard just over a week prior, and I decided to commemorate the occasion by cooking up a batch of an especially chunky imperial stout.  The amount of fermentables that had gone into this diabolical brew was almost obscene.  Within a few days, it would be ready to drag out from the dark corner behind the television and siphon into individual bottles.  Another few weeks spent carbonating in the bottle and a heavy stout would be ready for consumption by mid-February, in time to ease the long, pre-KttD late winter doldrums.

I was contemplating those bottles of dark, silky stout I'd be savoring in less than a month's time when Vrabel and Alexis walked in.  Alexis had been visiting since before New Year's and they were on the way to the airport.  It was just the beginning of the morning rush, so I had time to chat for a second when I went to the end of the counter to grind a couple pounds of '66.  I wished them a good morning and Vrabel said with a hint of a smile, "I've got some bad news.  Do you want to hear it straight or do you want me to dance around the issue a little?"

I was understandably confused.  "What are you talking about?"

"Bad news.  Do you want it straight or not?"

I turned to Alexis.  "What's he talking about?"

"Your beer blew up."

I turned back to Vrabel.  "My beer blew up?"

"Your beer blew up."

I staggered.  I reeled.  "What do you mean, my beer blew up?"

"Your beer..." Vrabel began.  Alexis finished his sentence.  "It blew up."  Vrabel continued, "Alexis was in the kitchen, eating breakfast.  I was getting ready to go.  I heard a loud crack from the middle room.  I went to to investigate only to watch five gallons of imperial stout spread across our living room.  I threw some towels down, but I didn't have time to do anything more, or else Alexis would miss her flight."

I spent the rest of my shift in a daze.  Aside from the fact that two cases of potent stout were now never to be, there was the matter of an enormous mess and - most importantly - the questionable status of our still new "entertainment center" immediately adjacent ground zero.  The VCR I had owned since June, because Garrett already had an old and barely serviceable television that he left with us when he moved out.  When I was home for the previous Thanksgiving, I upgraded our television, thanks to Sister #2's employee discount in the Electronics Department of the local Sears.  Without knowing the extent of the damage, my mind raced and I feared the worst.  I had visions of still-new circuitry fried and caked with malted hops.  And what's more, I had no idea when I might return to Ohio, so my options were either to pay a then-prohibitive full price for a new television or *shudder* do without.  Either scenario was less than ideal.

I scurried home as soon as I could, even foregoing my precious tips - opting to count them the following day.  I was greeted as I opened the door by the overwhelming aroma of malt and alcohol.  A soupçon of hops was detectable within the pungent stew.  Our baby blue carpet had been stained a seemingly permanent shade of chocolate.  A cursory examination of my now-shattered carboy revealed that the tube which released excess fermentation gases had become clogged with grain and hop particulate, resulting in pressures sufficient to crack quarter-inch-thick glass.  The Mighty Roy, who had taught me to brew, claimed I was too fussy, and that I should relax.  This was the first time I had followed his advice.  Of course, he once tried to brew a chicken beer with bullion cubes and thought if a few drops of spruce essence were good, a whole bottle would be better.  So I guess it was nobody's fault but mine.  But I still like to blame Roy.

It was almost too much to bear.  Actually, it was too much to bear. I threw a few more towels on the pile and settled into the sofa to watch the Steeler game amid olfactory overload, postponing the cleanup effort until much later.  The television and VCR were both fine.  (Still are, in fact - I have the very same television on in front of me as I type.)  We lost, though, our Atari 2600 and copies of a Charlie Chaplin movie and "Some Kind of Wonderful."  The Steelers won the game and advanced to the Super Bowl, where they lost to the Dallas Cowboys.  ESPN2 rebroadcast the 1996 AFC Championship Game this afternoon, in the absence of any real football games.  I still got a little nervous, even though the outcome was decided a dozen years ago.

in search of.... the novelty hit

There's no better example of the mania which grips me this time of the year than what I went through yesterday afternoon.  Within a mere couple of hours, I thought of a new song, scrapped all the songs I'd been considering, re-learned the words, second-guessed myself, panicked and sought outside opinions, and eventually discarded the song.  And the worst part is that this is hardly uncommon.  I start considering potential KttD material in March.  By the end of the year, I generally have a solid core of about ten songs on my short list.  And without fail, in January I all but toss out all that work for the latest flash-in-the-pan Novelty Hit.  Just like happened yesterday.

The Novelty Hit is the broadest in scope of the song archetypes, but, oddly, in the context of KttD that scope does not necessarily include true novelty songs like those of "Weird" Al Yankovic or They Might Be Giants.  (I guess, though, that's just because nobody has ever sung a true novelty song.)  In KttD terms, The Novelty Hit includes three sub-categories.  Everyone knows what one-hit wonders are, and these tend to be the least potent of KttD Novelty Hits if only because they tend to stand the test of time as a punchline.  When deployed effectively, however, as with "The Lady In Red" in Year VI, they can be quite a force with which to reckon.  The second type of Novelty Hit is that which goes deep into the catalog of an established artist.  "Wild Boys" is the perhaps the best example of this strategy.  Even the most dedicated Duran Duran fan will list probably five or six of their songs before thinking of that song, and it was not an insignificant hit for the band.  The third, and most common, type of Novelty Hit is that from an artist who had some moderate success and whose star has long faded.  This is where you find your Foreigner, your Whitesnake (twice), your Billy Joel.  These are the easiest types of Novelty Hits to imagine, and that fact is reflected in that a faded star Novelty Hit has never resulted in winning the Ramsey Cup.  Those that have come closest - like Soo last year with Carly Simon's "Nobody Does It Better" - have been exceedingly creative choices.

The pitfall with the Novelty Hit is the notion that merely selecting a creative song will be enough to win eternal glory.  It still has to be tough to sing, which is why I rejected "We Are The World" only hours after thinking of it.

We Are The World

Strengths:  This is the ultimate Novelty Hit.  Has anybody thought about this song since 1987?  It never shows up on any 'Best of the 80's' compilations.  But it's a novelty hit by established artists, which lends it at least a modicum of credibility.  Also, it's long.  And the last four minutes are the same words over and over and over and over and over - a proven recipe for success.

Weaknesses:  Sure, we'd all have a few post-ironic chuckles when the title was displayed, but the song must still be sung.  And this just isn't that hard a song.  Additionally, the long outro, while repetitive, lends itself to the dreaded sing-along factor, which would eliminate much of the potential for hostility so essential for victory.  It's an unnecessary risk, and in a competition where only the slightest slip-up can spoil the chance of victory, this risk is far too great.

in search of....

The Eighth Annual Karaoke to the Death VIII is quickly approaching, and though all of the contenders have their own methods of preparation, most of us are by now considering our songs.  There are those like Emma Peel, who legendarily scoffs at planning ahead.  But then, as Daby has pointed out - true tone deafness is rare and most don't have the luxury of knowing that whichever song they choose at random will be sung badly.  By the same token, though, most don't start considering the following year's event mere days after the grand competition, as do Daby and we.  A month out seems to be the norm for when most of the field starts thinking about what they might belt out from the hallowed stage of the Rock It Grill.  We're about a month out now, so we figured we'd try to shed some light on what makes a successful KttD song by examining those we considered that aren't going to make the cut.

We are nearing the end of the fourth week prior to KttD and as luck would have it, most songs belong to one of four archetypes.  We'll be taking a closer look at each of these over the coming weeks, but in short, they are as follows:

• The Novelty Hit
• The Mismatch
• The Earnest Ballad
• The Showstopper

All winning songs fall into one (or more - there is often overlap, depending on the performer) of these archetypes.  "Wild Boys" is a Novelty Hit, as is "You Can Call Me Al."  "If You Leave Me Now" is an Earnest Ballad.  "Bohemian Rhapsody" is the quintessential Showstopper, and "Private Dancer" was for Bill - famously - both a Mismatch and a Showstopper.  All have their own strengths and weaknesses, and for most of us, knowing the type that suits us best is an essential key to victory.  We'll begin tomorrow with the Novelty Hit.  Until then....  Excelsior!

save the planet

I saw this on the way in to work this morning.  Is it just me, or is somebody is missing the point?

Protest

Because it's tough to read:  The Discovery Channel has many so-called "Environmental Programs" that are supposedly there to save the planet.  The strange thing is that things are getting WORSE!  Their programs are not working to save the planet.  If something is not working, then it must be changed.  If their programs were working, then we should see the planet improving when we watch the news or read the newspaper.  It's not.  They are ineffective and are deliberately showing ineffective shows to make it appear something is being done when that's not the truth.  The reason they continue broadcasting shows that don't work is because we don't say anything.  Only we, the people, can demand change.  Only we can demand from the world that they start making positive changes starting with Discovery Channel's programming.  If there is ANY network whose responsibility is to save the planet, it's the Discovery Channel's.  We would like to 'discover' new ways to live and 'invent' new ways to save this planet called Earth.  The debate about the state of the planet is over.  Global Warming is a reality.  Animal species going extinct IS happening.  If nothing is done so may we; now begins the debate on how to save the planet, join me there to demand change!

requiem for a joker

I find myself oddly.... not saddened, exactly, but.... disappointed by the untimely death yesterday of Heath Ledger.  And there's really no good reason why.  I won't lie; my initial reaction when I first heard the news was: this isn't going to affect the new Batman movie, is it?  And it won't.  My second reaction was: that's a shame, he was a pretty good actor.  But the thing is, I don't know why I consider him to have been a good actor.  It's certainly not based on my own movie-viewing experience.  A quick visit to IMDB.com tells me that I have, in fact, seen only one movie in which Heath Ledger acted.  (That one movie, by the way, is the teen-comedy Shakespeare re-tread "10 Things I Hate About You,"  which is a supremely guilty pleasure.  I never fail to stop on it if I happen to find it when flipping through the channels on a weekend afternoon.  Please don't tell anybody.)  And several of his movies, I wouldn't watch if you paid me.  Basically, my opinion - as so many surely already suspect - is based on nothing.

So I am revising my position, and taking the Sean Taylor stance: it's a shame, his daughter has to grow up without her father.  But it's worth noting that being associated with Batman in any way all but guarantees credibility with me.  I never realized I could be swayed so easily.

Why So Serious? Oh... Right.

it made such perfect sense

Coupla things....

First, as yinz will no doubt learn - we shit the bed royally in the Seventh Annual Karaoke to the Death VII.  The mere adjective "shameful" doesn't begin to apply to our performance, as it is too timid a modifier by magnitudes heretofore unknown.  We didn't notch just the worst/best performance by a defending champion ever, but are seriously in the running for worst/best performance of all time.  That kind of stigma is difficult to overcome.  We need a comeback.  And in a big way.

Second, as yinz no doubt already know - we've been harboring a grudge against the New Pornographers ever since they shit the bed royally with their their lackluster performance at Nightclub 9:30.  We haven't listened to them since.  But it's been close to three months now and we guess it's time to let bygones be bygones.  We mean, they still have two-and-a-half albums that are worth our time.

All of this is a long and tortured introduction to our latest sponsor here at hotrod.vox.com.  We mean to make things right with Dan and Neko and the gang while simultaneously inspiring us to be all that we can't be at KttD VIII.  And we daresay, we've been inspired.  We might spend the days prior to the big event on a bender, à la Neko.  Or take the stage while shoving a sandwich down our gullet, à la Dan.  Or we might just play the role of a dispassionate, lispy, ginger twit.  We are particularly well-suited for that part.

Ballad Of A Comeback Kid

The New Pornographers

Oh, and that reminds us:  we might have made amends, but we never promised to try to like their latest turd.  We don't sell CD's back, as a rule, but we're not averse to giving them away.  So if anybody wants a free copy of the New Pornographers shittiest record, speak up.  It's yours - completely free of charge, including shipping.  Send us a private message.  Or mention it in the comments and we'll contact you.  Yes, seriously.

dc vox meet-up

Astute readers will have noticed a bit of a departure from the norm in the frequency of my posts last week.  This was due in no small part to a busier than usual social calendar - highlighted by a visit from the incomparable Vanna, who was in town for a training seminar.  We spent Tuesday evening creating a raucous scene at a local Thai fusion restaurant.  Wednesday was reserved for another always spirited meet-up of DC area Voxers.

We gathered at the 16th Street flat of the Midwest Gal, who had only recently arrived back in town after three months in the fly-over wasteland of Iowa.  A recent recording of the Berlin Philharmonic performing Sibelius' "Aallottaret" played softly in the background as we supped on vegetarian foie gras and broccio demi-affine and sipped Delamain Tres Vénérable.  Gradually, the conversation drifted toward the usual topics in the arts and humanities.  Vanna had recently finished a biography of Proust, and was eager to discuss the contradiction of his sickly childhood with his service in the army and how both are reflected in the conflict of the protagonist in "The Guermantes Way."  Dabysan opined that the past two years of lackluster Iranian films might indicate general uncertainty in a post-global economy rather than the trend toward overt commercialization the rest of us feared.  And, as always, my entreaties that adoption of the land-use principles of Le Corbusier's unrealized yet influential Ville Contemporaine have led directly to our current traffic and climate change crises fell upon deaf ears.  The discussion got a bit heated at times - as is to be expected whenever Bahman Ghobadi or asthmatic French dilettantes are concerned - but we all recognize that there are more important issues than who might be right or wrong and that, frankly, there aren't any right answers to these sorts of theoretical debates anyway.  We are all richer just for having participated.

Fortunately, Emma happened to have her camera on hand and took Thursday off at her day job to spend in the darkroom.  She was not just simply developing photographs.  Nor even art.  She was developing memories.