Stop with the music players that play your favorite song when I click on your page.
I, like most Internet surfers, am listening to my own music when browsing, so when I try to do the honorable thing and actually look at your actual Tumblr page (rather than just Dashboard scroll), more often than not your song is in turn playing over whatever song I have playing, the resulting mess sounding something akin to this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FcvVPuJVKcs
I don’t know much about web design, but I do know that cacophony like this does not encourage people to stay on your page.
Conversely, if I by some stroke of luck I’m not listening to my own music, it ends up sounding like this:
Hewitt’s is a small garden supply chain in the Capital District, and a really good one at that, but I so rarely go there mostly out of spite for this awful website. The difference between them and your Tumblr page is that they offer real tomatoes and real peppers and real garden supplies. Not pictures of ganja.
That’s all I have on the minor grievances agenda for the day. I hope we can still be friends.
The opening song from Woody Allen’s new film Midnight in Paris. Like the opening of Manhattan, this film opens with beautiful shots of the city the film is set in and an instrumental piece of music. Paris must be more laid back than New York City. This is a great piece of music.
I don’t get you. I just don’t. I just watched you perform on The Colbert Report with a massive bass saxophone playing a noisy, free jazz solo, something that is virtually guaranteed to get my interest locked in, and I still found it too sleepy. What am I missing? Is it there some sort of mythic indie quest I haven’t fulfilled? Do I have to hold the glasses of Rivers Cuomo up to the moonlight on the Williamsburg bridge that will direct me to the chest that holds the Prophecy of Malkmus? And only after fighting off the pitchfork wielding guardian of indie rock (who is only guarding ironically, which is to say he’s wearing a Zelda t-shirt, I guess… that’s how irony works, right?) and recovering the long hidden medallion of Jeff Magnum, does it become clear how your wispy, unrelenting falsetto works for a full album? Much less TWO FULL ALBUMS. Because if that’s what I need to do to reach an apparently unprecedented level of musical enlightenment and understand the creamy caramel center contained within your music, then I’ll do it, because your albums have been receiving better reviews than magical golden Jesus turds that cure scoliosis. With chocolate sauce on top. And boobs.
State Sen. John McGee, currently the majority caucus chair for the Idaho State Senate, had been drinking on a golf course late Saturday night, when he apparently decided to leave on foot.
After walking for miles without shoes, he came upon a truck and trailer that had its keys inside.
To be entirely fair to the media and political landscape, this happened yesterday, so we haven’t really had the opportunity for it to explode into a scandal, a la Weiner’s weiner. Give it a few days, and if it’s still a dead story, then we have a reason to be pissed.
Just 10 days after the attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, Rais Bhuiyan was working at a gas station in Dallas when he was shot in the face by a man named Mark Stroman.
Stroman was on a shooting spree, targeting people who appeared to be Muslim or of Middle Eastern descent. Stroman is due to be executed July 20; Bhuiyan, the only survivor of the attacks, is fighting to save his life.
When Stroman entered the gas station, Bhuiyan initially thought it was a routine robbery.
“I opened the cash register, offered him the cash, and requested him not to shoot me,” Bhuiyan tells weekends on All Things Considered host Laura Sullivan. “In reply he asked me, ‘Where are you from?’ And the question seemed strange to ask during a robbery. And I said, ‘Excuse me?’ And as soon as I spoke, I felt the sensation of a million bees stinging my face, and then heard an explosion.”
Bhuiyan required medical attention for years after the attack. The bullet hit him on the right side of the face, leaving severe injuries, particularly to his right eye.
“I had to go through several surgeries and finally the doctor could save the eye, but the vision is gone, and I’m still carrying more than 35 pellets on the right side of my face,” he says. “Once I touch my face, my skull, I can feel it’s all bumpy. It took several years to go through all these painful surgeries one after another one.”
… Despite the difficulties, Bhuiyan looked to his faith in order to find forgiveness.
“According to my faith in Islam, there is no hate, no killing. It doesn’t allow anything like that,” says Bhuiyan. “Yes, Mark Stroman did a horrible thing, and he brought a lot of pain and disaster, sufferings in my life. But in return I never hated him.”
Bhuiyan has created a website called World Without Hate to educate others about hate crimes as a means of preventing them. He’s also working with Amnesty International and Stroman’s defense attorney, who has filed several appeals on Stroman’s death sentence.
“I strongly believe executing him is not a solution. We will just simply lose a human life without dealing with the root cause, which is hate crime,” Bhuiyan says. “In Islam it says that saving one human life is the same as saving the entire mankind. Since I forgave him, all those principles encouraged me to go even further, and stop his execution and save another human life.”
[top photo: after the shooting; bottom photo: 2011]
This man is a real hero. He found the best in himself and it triumphed over hate and all negative emotions. I doubt I could ever be so strong.
For more on the bizarre discussion of the circular logic that is “hipster metal,” here’s a bizarre holier-than-thou article from the AV Club about the bizarre holier-than-thou title that is “hipster metal.” This shit gets dumb real fast.
I think I hit a switch in the past month that turned on my indie hipster senses, because Wye Oak appeals to me far more than it would have in years past. To be fair, this song builds in such a good way, layering guitars and dream noise to create textures that… blah blah indie bullshit dribbling from my mouth. It’s good, lets leave it at that.
The time of the year where every music media outlet gets a bad case of listmania and makes their annual “Best of the Year (so far)” lists, most of which are virtually interchangeable with one another. But, it also is a time for me to feel inadequate as an observer of music and music culture to those who get paid to do nothing but listen to records all day and judge them high upon their critic thrones (which are constructed solely from limited edition vintage copies of Blonde on Blonde and Doolittle). In an (most likely pathetic) attempt to catch up to the mighty deities of music snobbery, I’m emptying my iPod of anything released before 2011 and giving everything I have a run through, so that when the end of the year rolls around, I won’t be left in the dust.
Okay, anything released before 2011 AND the entire collection of Bruce Springsteen (pre-1980, of course).
Who knows, maybe I’ll pretend I’m one of the big boys and make a list of my own! Lord knows I’m no stranger to listmania (read my best of 2010 if you’re so inclined, although looking back on it now with more enlightened eyes, it already seems outdated).
First album on the media hype chopping block: Adele’s 21 (yeah, I’m pretty damn far behind)