Since these literary magazines will not be publishing my work though, I've chosen to put the stories up here. Follow the links below or on the side. I hope you enjoy them.
There are a couple of events coming up I thought I'd mention. Some of you may remember the most excellent Prom of '06. Ah, how could we forget "One Night of Magic?" Well, Prom '08 is set to be even better. On Saturday, May 17th, fish your vintage plaids out of that garbage bag you've been meaning to take to the Salvation Army and come on out to Pulaski Field House for 826CHI Prom. All proceeds benefit 826 CHI, the greatest writing and tutoring center on the planet. Head to the 826 website for tickets, directions, times, and limousine parking information.
Also, on May 22nd, from 7-9, I will be reading my work along with my fellow Graham School classmates at Borders Books, 6103 N. Lincoln. Everyone will have about ten minutes to read from their final projects, and it should prove to be a great experience for authors and listeners alike. Also, if you've never met my mom, she's going to be there too, and will be greatly upset with you if you don't support me.
This past year in music was probably one of the best in recent memory. Usually I don’t have much difficulty making out this list because I just rank the albums I bought in the past year. This year there were too many good albums and, as always, there was a whole bunch of good stuff I didn’t even hear. For what it’s worth, here are my top five albums for 2007. These are all great albums, and there’s no real reason I limited it to five other than as an exercise in decision making, a trial to force me to confront which ones I really truly loved with all my joints and bones and circulatory system, and the ones that simply made me tap my fingers. However, the benefit of finger tapping should not be underestimated.
1. Grinderman, Grinderman Okay, this is probably a weird choice. I mean, Jim DeRogatis picked it too, and that had me almost flipping my whole list around, but I just kept coming back to this album over and over again. Then, in late July, we saw Grinderman play at the Metro and I knew then the race for my album of the year was all over. There is nothing that rivals this album’s rock-n-roll machismo and sly sense of comedy. It is just fun. That’s why I loved it.
2. Okkervil River, The Stage Names I don’t think anybody (okay, maybe Tom Waits) is telling better stories in song than Will Sheff. In the CD insert the lyrics to all the songs are written out in prose, like the tiny short stories they are. Listening to this album gives me all the joy I get from reading a good book, but with the added bonus of a xylophone. This is one of the most complete albums from top to bottom, no duds, no skipped tracks, all beautifully written.
3. Spoon, Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga I think this album signals someone’s emergence into adulthood. (Probably not mine). This is sophisticated, political, polished Spoon, complete with a horn section! This is what adult contemporary music should sound like if that label included anything that didn’t echo Coldplay or Norah Jones. So what if some of it sounds like Billy Joel? I don’t care; I want to clap my hands!
4. Radiohead, In Rainbows I was prepared to be disappointed. Who releases an album on the Internet and tells you to pay whatever you want? Bands that suck. Not this one. Aside from what turned out to be the sheer genius of this marketing gimmick, the album lives up to all the hype. It’s like a best of Radiohead, but with songs you’ve never heard. All the typical elements are there: Thom Yorke’s lamentation-laden voice, the obtuse lyrics, the digital coughs and bleeps and sputters, but what’s back is a fresh infusion of guitar, something that’s been underplayed in the last few installments.
5. White Stripes, Icky Thump I thought 2005’s Get Behind Me Satan was okay, but like Radiohead, to me this is a return to form for Jack and Meg. I prefer my White Stripes with more Zeppelin and less Appalachia, so this album finds the duo rocking, and screaming, and, what else? thumping in a way reminiscent of their best efforts: White Blood Cells, and The White Stripes.
Best of the Rest
Sunset Rubdown, Random Spirit Lover: if you like Wolf Parade, same guy, but better. Iron & Wine, The Shepherd's Dog: Sam Beam + Band = Good Arcade Fire, Neon Bible: avoiding the sophomore slump by kicking ass. Les Savy Fav, Let’s Stay Friends: thank you, Shira. Could have made top five, but only been listening to it for a week. Andrew Bird, Armchair Apocrypha: whistles, palindromes, mitosis, plane crashes.
And now for the Best of ’07 playlist! (fits conveniently on one CD for easy transport)
No Pussy Blues, Grinderman, Grinderman Imitosis, Andrew Bird, Armchair Apocrypha Is There A Ghost, Band Of Horses, Cease To Begin Patty Lee, Les Savy Fav, Let's Stay Friends Bone Broke, The White Stripes, Icky Thump The Underdog, Spoon, Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga Plus Ones, Okkervil River, The Stage Names Come On, Lucinda Williams, West Crazy With Fever, Hank Vegas, The Things You Are All the Things That Go to Make Heaven and Earth, The New Pornographers, Challengers Apartment Story, The National, Boxer Cryptograms, Deerhunter, Cryptograms Jigsaw Falling Into Place, Radiohead, In Rainbows Florida, Modest Mouse, We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank Back Out On The..., Broken Social Scene Presents: Kevin Drew, Spirit If... Intervention, Arcade Fire, Neon Bible Fans, Kings of Leon, Because of the Times Everyday Weapon, The Ponys, Turn The Lights Out The Taming of the Hands That Came Back to Life, Sunset Rubdown, Random Spirit Lover Resurrection Fern, Iron & Wine, The Shepherd's Dog
This past weekend I attended a beautiful wedding in New York. The event took place in the town of Ancram, about two hours north of New York City, where the groom’s parents have an estate that clichéd-ly but accurately might be described as palatial. A group of us stayed in a bed and breakfast close by in the city of Hudson. Hudson used to be a haven for mobsters wanting a little R&R from the daily grind of whacking and laundering, but now serves as a quiet oasis for antique buffs and artists. I’m not so sure some of the town’s storied past isn’t still alive and well however.
The wedding was on Sunday, and on Saturday afternoon there wasn’t much for all of us to do, so we decided we should get a bottle of gin and sit outside in the inn’s garden and mix cocktails before going out for supper. I drove a few blocks away to the main (and only one worth seeing) street and stopped at the first liquor store I came to. I walked in, and the cheery bells on the door sounding my arrival belied the man’s scowl behind the counter. I found the gin immediately and wandered the aisles looking for the accompanying tonic, but couldn’t find a thing. Oh well, I thought, perhaps he kept it somewhere else.
I took the gin to the counter. “Do you have any tonic?” I asked politely.
The man angrily punched in numbers on his cash register. “Huh?”
“Do you have any tonic?”
The look on his face as the question sunk in was exasperation, like he’d been asked this a thousand times, or, more accurately, like he was running a candy store and I had come in looking for semi-automatic weapons. Really. It was a liquor store. Was I wrong in assuming they had tonic?
“No,” he said, “can’t sell it.”
I should have accepted this and moved on, but I’m inquisitive. “Why not?”
He sighed a heavy sigh carrying all the weight of his tonicless-ness. “It’s carbonated. They won’t let me sell anything carbonated. Got to be one or the other.”
Finding this statement interesting, I said the first thing that came in my mind, “That’s interesting.”
He shoved the gin in a paper sack like he was hiding a pistol. “Not really. What’s interesting about it?”
Hmm. Was I wrong? Was it not interesting there was no tonic to mix with my gin? I defended my use of the word. “I just find it interesting you can’t sell tonic in a liquor store,” I said.
He took my card and whipped it through the machine. “It’s not interesting. It’s the law. It’s always been like that,” he said. Then he puffed out air in a scoff like I was a gigantic loser idiot whose idiocy was even more idiotic for its ignorance of the way things have always been. At that point I was a little ticked off for being treated like that and for this liquor curmudgeon’s reluctance to see what was obviously interesting as interesting.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m not from around here.”
“That’s just the way it is,” he said.
I wondered what that was in reference to, the anti-tonic law, or the inevitability of an out-of-towner coming in asking dumb questions.
“It’s not interesting,” he said again.
Jesus. I’d had enough. I signed my receipt, took my sack of gin, and started toward the door. I wanted to get the last word. “It’s pretty odd you can’t sell tonic in a liquor store.”
He took a pen and scratched out the credit card number on my receipt. He didn’t look at me. “Yeah, okay. Odd maybe, but it ain’t interesting.”
It was a drive off the bat of Ramirez.Screaming right at me.I dropped everything.I barely had time to think.I held up my hands.Soft hands.
Thump.
I made the play.The crowd cheered.I showed them the baseball.I high-fived random spectators.Summer babes toasted their beers to me.Who is that guy?What soft hands he has.My scorebook and bag of peanuts were splayed out in front of me, casualties of my cat-like reflexes.I gathered them up and sat back down with my ball.The ball I caught.The ball I made a play on at Wrigley Field, June 2, 2007.
An old guy came down the stairs, gave me a high-five and asked to see the ball.Not thinking, still dizzy with excitement from having made the play, I handed it to him.He raised it high above his head as if someone behind us was taking his picture.Then he did it again.And again.I turned around, and no one was there.No one was taking his picture.He was just standing there posing with my ball.
Tired of the man stealing my glory, I politely demanded he give the ball back to me.He did, and told me I made a great catch.Which was true.I did make a great catch.Then he asked me how much I’d be willing to sell the ball for. Why did he want this ball so badly, and why was he acting like it was his?I told him, again politely, it was mine and it wasn’t for sale.He walked back up the stairs in a huff.
In all my years of going to baseball gamesI’ve never caught a foul ball.I’vebeen in the outfield during batting practice and wrangled bombs as they rattled through empty seats, but that hardly counts.You are supposed to get those balls.The foul ball is such a random act.It’s like you’ve been chosen by the baseball gods to stand up and participate.The foul ball chooses you.
The foul ball chooses you, and you are, for the briefest of moments, part of the game.Ten seconds before the ball landed in my hands, Chuck James was fingering its stitches, standing on the mound in the middle of Wrigley Field, getting ready to fire the ball home.Who knows how long the ball had been in play before it came screaming at me. From Chuck’s fingers to the bat of Ramirez and into my hands.The crowd cheered.They were cheering for me.
I never thought I’d feel this way about something so seemingly insignificant.I always thought if I ever had the opportunity to catch a foul ball I would be the guy to turn around and hand it to some kid.Why would I need a souvenir?It would just sit on my bookshelf next to the useless autographed ball I have from Fergie Jenkins.Do I even still have that ball?Surely it would mean more to a kid.But would a kid properly appreciate what it all meant?They might assume they could get foul balls whenever they wanted.I would be fostering their sense of entitlement.Yeah.If I had given the ball to some kids they would’ve taken it home and thrown it against a brick wall.They would’ve left it out in the yard to get water logged and dog-slobbered.Unaware of its meaning, they would have almost certainly mistreated the gift from the baseball gods.
There were some kids sitting behind me, but they didn’t ask for the ball.They didn’t even ask to see it.It was the old guy who came running down the stairs.It was the old guy who held the ball up like he’d made the play.It was the old guy who wanted to buy the ball from me.
As the innings passed the moment became a memory.I stuffed the ball deep inside my pocket.I had another beer.I ate some more peanuts.I kept score.The game went on, and by the time Sweet Lou started kicking dirt all over the umpire, bringing the Wrigley faithful to their feet, nobody even remembered my second inning grab.But it happened.For a moment I was plucked from spectator obscurity and given the chance to make a play.Did I mention I made the play?
Of course, maybe I am over-reacting, guilty of the glorification so common in those who watch and write about baseball.It is just a ball, and it is just a game.It probably will just sit on my bookshelf.
I wonder what it would have been worth to the old guy.
Shira recently returned from Japan. She didn’t take me with her this time. She brought back lots of interesting items though: chocolate sumo wrestlers, action figures from cans of coffee, my favorite soft fruit candies that taste like Starburst. As a matter of fact, this is true of much of Japan, kind of like something familiar, but a little off. Potato chips that look like Lay’s but taste like consommé. Crackers that look like Goldfish but taste like eel. But one thing is the same: the beer. The beer is beer. The Japanese love their beer as much as we do, which explains my two favorite items from Shira’s travel.
A Crunky bar. Is this filled with crunk juice? Does it get you crunked up or keep you from getting too crunky? I don’t know. I haven’t tried it yet. I’m waiting for the perfect Saturday night.
One company Shira visited sponsored a series of books devoted to employee health. She found this story particularly appropriate for her husband.
Bacchus, God of Alcohol, Becomes a Slave to Alcohol : a Story of Alcohol's Hazards
It is a gripping tale of excess and ruin.
Day after day, they drank beer, beer, and more beer … Then wine, wine, and more wine … Their lively singing never ceased. (singing) Liquor drives away my gloom. I love liquor. Liquor loves me, too. Why do you blame my drinking?
Alas, these ribald days of song and sauce end horribly for Bacchus as he suffers a stroke and eventually wises up. Imagining that his cells were deteriorating, Bacchus had an overwhelmingly bad feeling.
I hate when that happens.
Shira goes to Japan and brings me back a Crunky bar and a book about drinking too much. I think she’s wise to what I do while she’s gone.
The two of you who follow my baseball predictions will remember last year I came oh so close to predicting the World Series.I picked the losing teams in each championship series:Mets vs. A’s.This year I think anything could happen.The teams I have ranked 1-4 in both Central divisions could finish in reverse order and I wouldn’t be surprised.I’m not the only one perplexed by this year’s teams.If you take the reporters at ESPN as experts, then this year’s teams have the experts making stabs in the dark and homer picks as well.But much like starry-eyed American Idol contestants, our uncertainty doesn’t deter us from putting ourselves out there for ridicule.With that rocky segue I give you my predictions for the 2007 baseball season complete with actual analysis from America’s favorite fortune tellers of future talent, Randy, Paula, and Simon.Go Braves!
AL East
1.New York Yankees You can sing the phone book.You can sing the encyclopedia.You can sing anything. –Paula
2.Boston Red Sox Simon gave me advice and said on “The X Factor” he always refers to a fortune cookie and says the moth who finds the melon finds the cornflake always finds the melon and one of you didn’t pick the right fortune. –Paula
3.Toronto Blue Jays Reach for the stars.You might just become one.–Paula
4.Baltimore Orioles You are the worst singer in America.–Simon
5.Tampa Bay Devil Rays I’ve been know to call someone the worst singer in America, but you are the worst singer in the universe.–Simon
AL Central
1.Detroit Tigers What I love about you is your spirit, you put everything into it.You even had some cool dance moves in there. And you entertained everyone.It was a great job. –Paula
2.Cleveland Indians Dude, the dog pound loves you!Right dog pound? –Randy
3.Minnesota Twins You should wear dresses more often. You look absolutely beautiful.–Paula
4.Chicago White Sox You have just invented a new form of torture. –Simon
5.Kansas City Royals You are the way you are now for one reason and one reason only: you are a loser.Thank you very much.–Simon
AL West
1.L.A. Angels Welcome to Hollywood, dawg! –Randy
2.Oakland Athletics That is your style.That's your niche.You look sexy, hot…cool! –Paula
3.Texas Rangers You and I match tonight.We match! –Paula
4.Seattle Mariners One of the worst I’ve ever heard.It was almost non-human. –Simon
NL East
1.Atlanta Braves I feel like I’m watching you for the first time, falling in love with the essence of who you are. –Paula
2.New York Mets It was kind of like a non-event, like it didn’t even really happen.–Randy
3.Philadelphia Phillies By choosing that song, that’s like coming out here and saying, “I’m as good as Whitney Houston.”You’re not.–Simon
4.Florida Marlins I don't know what's goin' on, man.I don't know if it's me tonight or whatever. I didn't get it.I don't know what's happenin' here.I don't know what's goin' on here.–Randy
5.Washington Nationals If you win this competition we will have failed. –Simon
NL Central
1.St. Louis Cardinals I don’t know, dawg.It was kind of pitchy. –Randy
2.Chicago Cubs Uh, wow.It belongs in some theme park or some circus with a … I don’t know. It’s weird. –Randy
3.Milwaukee Brewers There’s a new religion, and 40 million people have joined the church of Mandisa.–Paula
4.Houston Astros You take singing lessons?Do you have a lawyer?Get a lawyer and sue her. –Simon
5.Cincinnati Reds If you would have been singing like this two thousand years ago, people would have stoned you. –Simon
1.L.A. Dodgers I thought it was pretty good.I mean, I'm not saying I was blown away.But I liked it.I wasn't over-the-top about it.But I liked it. –Randy
2.San Diego Padres I find myself being very bored.I was listening to the band.The band sounded great. –Randy
3.Arizona Diamondbacks I love the raw untapped talent of you and it just keeps it real. –Paula
4.S.F. Giants I thought it was a mess. Let’s assume this is the first time I’ve ever seen you and heard you, what am I supposed to get from that? It was just a mess. It was all over the place. –Simon
5.Colorado Rockies Someone should be shooting this and making an exercise video out of it. –Paula
I would like to express my grattitude to all those who found my facial hair magnificent enough to warrant a donation to 826CHI. I would also like to express my disbelief at the whole judging process which I found as dubious as the 2000 election. My moustache did not win, place, or show. Look at it! You tell me how this is possible.
Despite my defeat, it was a magical three weeks of moustache farming. The moustache, or Bruce Sierra as he had become known, has left me now, but not without some indelible memories. I will miss the consistent cries of, "Don't touch me!" from my wife. I will miss the mothers in the park moving their children away from me as Bruce and I sat reading the paper. And I will miss looking in the mirror and wondering how in the world God made such a sexy man.
Goodbye, Bruce. In my mind you will always be a champion.
The other night I awoke from a dream where my moustache was performing on American Idol. "My moustache brings all the girls to the yard," it sang. "My moustache is better than yours," it bragged. "I could teach you but I'd have to charge," it proclaimed. Simon stood up and gave my stache a tear-soaked ovation. I took this as a sign my moustache must come back! Luckily, my dream coincided with the announcement of 826 CHI's first annual Moustache-a-thon where I get to compete with other men willing to make themselves look ridiculous for literacy. I don't imagine my moustache will get to Magnum or Burt proportions, but I do think it will be sneaky. So, check it out and donate cash to your favorite stache!
Here we go.Rather than simply naming the albums that I thought were fantastic (some of which are already catalogued on the side over there) I thought I would create a list of songs I kept singing to myself in the shower and in the car in ’06.The goal here was to pare down what started out as a fairly long list to something that would fit on a CD, that way if you’re so inclined you can go purchase all these songs and be reminded of me and how I help you achieve ultimate hipster-tude.Due to the length of Yo La Tengo’s fantastic opening track (10:46!) on arguably my favorite album of the year I Am Not Afraid of You and I Will Beat Your Ass (okay, it’s probably a tie with M. Ward’s Post War) there are only seventeen songs on this list.I am well aware of the fact there were more than seventeen good songs in ’06, but 80 minutes is 80 minutes as they say in certain circles.So, listen to these songs and sneer at your less-than-cool friends as you hover over a PBR condescending, “Bloc Party is sooo 2005.”
Jeremy’s Favorite Songs of ’06 (in no particular order)
“Pass the Hatchet, I Think I’m Goodkind,” Yo La Tengo, on I Am Not Afraid of You and I Will Beat Your Ass “Incinerate,” Sonic Youth, on Rather Ripped “Fraud in the 80s,” Mates of State, on Bring it Back “Right in the Head,” M. Ward, on Post War “Mornington Cresent,” Belle and Sebastian, on The Life Pursuit “If It Be Your Will,” Antony, Leonard Cohen: I’m Your Man (soundtrack) “Steady As She Goes,” The Raconteurs, on Broken Boy Soldiers “Wicked Gil,” Band of Horses, on Everything All the Time “Did I Step On Your Trumpet,” Danielson, on Ships “Police Sweater Blood Vow,” Fiery Furnaces, onBitter Tea “Black Swan,” Thom Yorke, on The Eraser “Your Blood,” Destroyer, on Destroyer’s Rubies “O Valencia!,” The Decemberists, on The Crane Wife “Lie to Me,” Tom Waits, on Orphans: Brawlers, Bawlers, and Bastards “Wolf Like Me,” TV On The Radio, on Return to Cookie Mountain “lived in bars,” cat power, on The Greatest “The Yeah Yeah Yeah Song (With All Your Power),” The Flaming Lips, on At War With The Mystics
