The Rob Report

I'm on like Dr. John

2011-07-25T20:32:00.000-07:00

Hey, last video post and then I'll get back to real writing. I promise. But this is really too good not to share. And by "too good" I mean absolutely epic. Grover as Ad Rock, the Grouch as MCA and Cookie Monster as Mike D. I could watch this forever.

Sesame Street breaks it down from Wonderful Creative on Vimeo.

Not fireworks, Marvin-works

2011-07-04T21:44:00.000-07:00

Well, as another Fourth of July wraps up, I thought I'd leave you all with a little lullaby to close out your day. From a few years ago:

It's Marvin Gaye performing one of the single greatest interpretations of the national anthem I've ever heard. And just today I've heard three terrible versions.

So this is -- for you, for me -- the perfect antidote to Lee Greenwood's embarrassingly gauzy and jingoistic "God Bless the U.S.A." Use Marvin to wash it from your mind.

Polly Pockets and brain surgeons

2011-06-28T18:22:00.000-07:00

Polly Pockets are insane toys.

For those of you who don't have girls or who never had sisters, let me give you a crash course. Polly Pockets are like miniature Barbie Dolls. They come with their own little cars and houses and clothes. Except, because they're only 3 inches tall, their clothes -- all made of this stretcy rubber material -- are ridiculously small. Especially the shoes. Oh, the shoes. I have fillings in my teeth bigger than these shoes. And because they're so freaking small they go missing with impossible speed. They also turn up in really strange places -- the inside of my guitar, the bottom of my pillow case, the spare tire well in my trunk.

The worst thing about Polly Pockets, though, is how appealing they are to really young girls -- like 4, 5 and 6-year-olds. A 4-year-old will sit down to play with a Polly Pocket and because she doesn't have the fine motor skills of a veteran brain surgeon, she'll have no way to pull on the stiff rubber shirts and the stiff rubber pants and she'll certainly have no way to get the impossibly tiny shoes onto the dolls impossibly tiny feet. Which, of course leads to maddening frustration and then copious amounts of tears.

Elsa, our 4-year-old, seems to have found a way around this. She and our 8-year-old Leigh have begun playing real life Polly Pockets. Elsa becomes the Polly, holding he legs and arms stiff and straight, and she makes Leigh dress her in various outfits. To accommodate Elsa's fantasy Polly Pocket world, Leigh has to push Elsa's arms up when she puts on her shirt and then push Elsa's arms back down when she gets the shirts on.

To put this in perspective, it would be like if H.L. and I, as kids, dressed each other up like G.I. Joes and then just stood in the room admiring our handiwork. No, instead, we would just go the playground and act out our favorite G.I. Joe episodes on the playground equipment. We didn't need to dress up, we had our MINDS.

And I guess that's what Elsa has done. She used her mind to better the playing-with-Polly-Pockets experience. Somehow in that developing brain of hers, she KNOWS Polly Pockets were really designed for brain surgeons. And, as we all remember so well, knowing is half the battle.
And they love it. It's hilarious.

The Behind-the-Couch Post

2011-01-05T15:04:00.000-08:00

You remember how sometimes your spouse will come up with a crazy theory to pin on you some type of bad behavior? I know. I didn't believe it ever happened either until Becky did it the other day.

She and Elsa were home after preschool, the older girls still at school. Becky went down stairs to work on the computer leaving Elsa upstairs to play on the organ. After a few minutes, Elsa calls out to Becky, sounding a little nervous and wanting her to come upstairs. Becky tells Elsa to just come down stairs. So Elsa hops down from the organ, walks to the stairs, moving a little quicker with each step until she's running down the stairs. When she reaches the bottom, she's moving at full speed and screaming.

Clearly, this girl has been genuinely frightened.

Becky gets her calmed down and asks her what happened, a little concerned. Through the 4-year-old speak, Becky puts together that Elsa was scared to be upstairs alone because she was afraid her pink, stuffed poodle and the bulk of Leigh's stuffed animals would come to life and kill her.

Now, rather than explain away this fear as simple cognitive development and anxiety phenomena that normally present themselves in toddlers and young children, Becky has the temerity -- the TEMERITY -- to suggest that this fear of her impending doom at the paws of stuffed animals awakened from their inanimate slumber was due to me. Specifically, she said, it was due to all those episodes of "Doctor Who" I had been watching with the girls.

I know, right?

So let me make a quick list of the episodes we've watched and the basic plot of each so you can see just how crazy this accusation is. I'll list them in the rough order we watched them and include some photos from the actual episodes to illustrate just how harmless this stuff is. (You can click on the pics to make them bigger, you know, if you want the full effect.)

"Blink" -- Angel statues come alive when you blink and devour what would have been the rest of your years on earth by sending you back in time.

"The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances" -- Alien microgenes infect blitz-era London turning people into gas mask-wearing zombies. When the zombie-ness takes effect, the gas masks pop out of people's mouths. I might note that the episode ends on the rather up-beat note of the Doctor shouting, "Just this once, everybody lives!"

"Dalek" -- The Doctor discovers his ancient archenemy, the Dalek is still alive. The Dalek gets loose and kills a bunch of people.

"Bad Wolf/The Parting of Ways" -- Rose and the Doctor end up on a 51st century game show where the losers are killed. And then Daleks appear and start killing people.

"The Girl in the Fire Place" -- The Doctor discovers gear-driven robots are visiting 18th century France and stalking Madame De Pompadour. The robots hide under her bed and then attack her with little circular saws.

See? Pretty innocuous stuff. The idea that watching these episodes is somehow freaking Elsa out and that her fear is manifesting itself in ideas that stuffed animals could come to life and attack her is just absurd.

In fact, my solution, if we're to suppose Becky could possibly be right, is to simply explain to Elsa the reality of the situation. It's natural when you're a child to believe in monsters and to be scared of them. But, as the Doctor explained to a young Mde. De Pompadour, monsters have nightmares, too. Who do they have nightmares of, you ask? Of the Doctor. So don't be scared of monsters because you'll always have the Doctor to protect you.

Becky's not convinced that solution will do the trick.

No, if we're going to be honest with ourselves, we might have to admit Becky has a point. In England, back in the '70s and '80s, particularly frightening episodes of "Doctor Who" were called "Behing-the-Couch" episodes because the kids watching would jump behind the couch and hide when the scary parts would come on.

So really, we can all take heart. Elsa is simply taking part in the broader -- albeit distinctly British -- cultural experience of watching "Doctor Who" as a child. And the Brits totally turned out fine.

Dude, she's going to poop her pants!

2011-01-02T20:07:00.000-08:00

Leigh remains our most interesting child. Which is a feat, considering how strange all three of our girls are.

Not to go all Baby Boomer, but she's definitely the George to Claire's and Elsa's John and Paul. No one in the family is Ringo because no one should have to be Ringo.

Leigh is old for her class and stands a head taller than most of her classmates, including the boys. Given her age and her height, she's become something of a dandy in her second grade class. Her classmates love her and when she's not totally ambivalent to it, she's happy to rally them around her to do her strange bidding. Recess usually involves games in which Leigh and her friends work on out-smarting the boys for control of favorite playground equipment. You know, sort of like the Cold War.

Well, shortly before winter break, Leigh was informed by her friend Jenna that a deal had been brokered with the boys. Leigh was to race all the boys at the next recess. If she won, the girls would take control of the playground's coveted zip line. If she lost, the boys would take it and that would be that.

Leigh shrugged her shoulders and said, "O.K." The next day she raced each of the boys and won. What was fun was to have her come home that day and tell us about it, explaining it all very matter-of-factly, as though she simply completed an assignment in class. We're not sure just what makes Leigh's world tick, but I'm pretty sure it's not recess plots to maintain control of the zip-line.

That same ambivalence makes Christmas shopping for her interesting. At one point this season she wrote a letter to Santa telling him anything he brought would be fine. You'll remember, Leigh figured out last year that Santa wasn't real because she knew there was no such thing as elves.

Anyway, a couple times leading up to the Big Day, she saw those big art easels that double as chalk boards and white boards and activity centers at the store and fell in love. That's what she wanted for Christmas. Becky never let on, even demurred a bit to throw Leigh on the scent. When we finally went to the store to buy it, Becky grabbed one, loaded it into the van and said, "Dude, she's going to poop her pants!"

Christmas morning, she tore open the gift and politely smiled when she saw what it was. She was happy to have it and has used it daily since Christmas. But she did not poop her pants.

Which is fine. She responded in a very Leigh-like manner which is why we love her. Also, it would have been messy.

All hail Saturday morning

2010-11-13T08:12:00.000-08:00

Somewhere between the time I was kid and when I grew up, Saturday mornings changed. I'm not sure when it happened, but, as you can guess, I started noticing when I had kids.

The way it used to be: You'd wake up at 5, grab a big blanket or quilt, a bowl of cereal and turn on the tube. You usually had four choices, NBC, CBS, ABC or the local syndication station. But at 5 in the morning it didn't really matter. All that was on were really old reruns of stuff like "Rocky and Bullwinkle" and "Pink Panther," or the Farm Report, if you landed on the syndicated channel. To make sure you didn't get busted by parents who I'm sure had only gone to bed a few short hours before, you had to keep the television down to levels so low sometimes you weren't sure if you were actually hearing the sound or just imagining it.

Usually by 6 or so, the real cartoon block started. In between the shows there were little message spots like "School House Rocks" and the one with that guy that looked like a walking yellow blob with a top hat and cane that strolled around your stomach telling you to eat healthy snacks. It was awesome. You sat back and watched everything from "SilverHawks" to "Superfriends." (Meanwhile, back at the Hall of Justice....) And then there was "Dungeons and Dragons." That show was in a class all by itself. So, so good.

The way it is now: You're kids get up and you rush them off to Leigh's soccer game. It's just not the same.

Well, that's not entirely true. Soccer's over now. So the girls get up, usually sometime after 7. Which is great for Becky and I. As a kid, waking up at 5, I'm guessing I melted into some sobbing emotional mess at the first request from my parents to do anything productive on Saturday morning.

And even though the girls get up around 7, there's still no cartoons on the Big Three until 8. They run morning news shows on Saturday mornings. It's almost heresy. Except all the kids are at soccer games, so they don't notice. Well, they're either at soccer games or tuning into Nick, Disney or Cartoon Network, which is, obviously, the real reason the Saturday morning cartoon culture is dead. There's no reason to get up at 5 on a Saturday to watch cartoons when you can tune into them whenever you want any day of the week on basic cable.

It will blacken your soul and destroy your mind

Lucky for my girls, we don't have cable (that's another post for another day). So they get up on Saturday morning, grab a box of cereal and watch stuff like "Sabrina" and "The Replacements." There's some new terrible "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" cartoon that runs now. They'll watch that from time to time. PBS has a channel that runs kids programming all the time, so sometimes they catch the occasional "Curious George" or "SuperWhy." You know, to keep Elsa placated.

But it's interesting. Even with the girls and their basic cable-less living conditions, there's no real reverence for the Saturday morning ritual we had as kids. And they seem relatively indifferent about the cartoons they watch. There's no one single show they spend the entire week waiting to watch. When I was really young, "Superfriends" only came on Saturday morning and it was one of the first cartoons on, so you had to make sure you were up good and early to catch it. I started counting down the hours until it aired on Wednesday. I couldn't wait for it to come on. My girls don't look forward to anything with that same kind of anticipation.

Which is probably for the best. They read at their age more than I ever did. And they're more active. Still. I can't help but think some of the whimsy, some of the innocence of my childhood will be something they never experience. On the other hand, when they reach 15 or 16 they'll never have to experience that gaping disappoint of realizing the Wonder Twins were the stupidest cartoon superhero duo ever to grace television screens. Form of an ice unicycle? Are you kidding me?

2010-10-25T19:47:00.000-07:00

It's quickly becoming the Elsa Hour on the Report. That's not really how it's supposed to be but she keeps doing insane things and so I keep writing about it.

Case in point: my post last week. You remember, it was all about her nasty thumb-sucking habit and how it was going to be terrible to kick her of it and how Becky had to stand at her door until she eventual cried herself to sleep that night. The drama.

Yeah. That was the only night she cried about it. She didn't suck her thumb that night and she hasn't since. Let that sink in for a minute. No fits, no tantrums, no weepy pleas for her blanket back. It's like someone literally flipped a switch, a big, cease-to-thumb-suck-and-cry-about-blankie switch.

Insane.

It's insane because we had tried a month earlier and it went about as well as you'd imagine. Tears, tantrums and heart-breakingly sincere pleas asking us why. We were sure the psychological damage we'd inflicted would take years to undo.

Instead, a little over a week ago, we were gathering for family prayer, Elsa was throwing a tantrum at the dinner table and I threatened to throw her blanket away if she didn't stop. Just another evening in the Rogers home.

Well, she screamed right at me just once more to make her point. I believe that's when Becky saw her opening. She took Elsa's blanket and mimed throwing it away. It almost felt like Becky had acted on a whim. But I'm guessing she had been scheming and planning that move for weeks -- not sure how it would present itself or how she would actually go about removing blankie from the family environment. But I'm sure she'd steeled herself for The Moment, ready to pounce when she realized The Moment had presented itself.

The rest you know. Elsa went to bed crying. Becky stood at the door to keep an ear on her. The next morning her thumb was remarkably un-prune-like. A couple nights during the week, unsure if she'd take up the habit again subconsciously, we put in her gloves, which she loved. And sure enough, she wasn't sucking her thumb. At all.

I have no explanation for it. What changed between this month and last? Why would she nearly effortlessly give up the blanket and the thumb on some random night when she could have just as easily gone on in her old, self-soothing ways? It makes no sense.

Which leads to the real point of this post. Children make no sense. The sooner you accept that, the easier parenthood will be.

What is and what should never be

2010-10-16T19:48:00.000-07:00

So I had the Led Zeppelin dialed up tonight. It's Saturday. And I think this goes back to my teenage years, but there's something -- I dunno how to describe it -- but something just right about playing Zeppelin on a Saturday night. It feels right, you know? Like that:

Yeah, that feels right. Anyway.

Becky's hanging outside Elsa's room right now waiting for her to fall asleep. We're usually not so nosy about it, but tonight we sent her to bed without her blanket. She's four. So having the blanket's cool. It's what you do at that age. You know, like 13-year-old girls clipping up their copies of TigerBeat. But with Elsa, the blanket, in and of itself, isn't the problem. It's what she does while she's got her blanket.

Oh sure she's cute as a button, but do you see those teeth? I'm pretty sure you could fly an X-Wing through that gap. The dental catastrophe that is that mouth is the result of four years of thumb sucking. A thumb that only gets sucked when she's holding her blanket. For her sake, for her teeth's sake, for our pocketbook's sake we've got to get her off that sweet, sweet thumb. Before she starts high school.

And this is new territory for us. Claire sucked a binky and we weened her from it pretty painlessly at 2. Leigh sucked her thumb up until she was one. That winter she caught a really bad cold and so couldn't suck her thumb and breath at the same time. That's right. She wisely chose breathing over thumb sucking. Elsa has yet to display that same acumen. Getting that girl to give up her thumb is going to be some kind of epic war.

Listening upstairs, the crying has stopped. Becky is not the enabler in our house, so the silence means only one thing. Elsa fell alseep without her blanket. So I guess that's a little victory for the evening. A battle won in the great War of the Thumb.

So I deal with this stuff as a parent and the words of Zeppelin's "Good Times Bad Times" come to my mind. You know: In the days of my youth, I was told what it means to be a man. Now I've reached that age I've tried to do all those things the best I can. No matter how I try, I find my way into the same old jam.

Not unlike the narrator in the song, I -- more often than not -- have no idea what I'm doing as a parent -- well, as an adult, if we're being honest. So it's a good thing Becky's up there making sure this kid kicks the thumb habit. As the enabler in this relationship, I'd let Elsa suck that thing through college.

Back from the dead

2010-10-09T07:24:00.000-07:00

What's a year and half? Nothing. A blink of an eye, really. But I'm back at it and it feels good. See, there's this girl. And she's having a birthday and the one thing she wanted more than anything else was a reminder of how awesome her family is. So this is for her.

(And this is how awesome her family is:)

A quick update. During the last 18 months we all aged a bit, the girls cleaned up at a handful of swimming meets, we moved to Billings, MT and I took a new job and the girls changed schools three times. We also discovered that the older your family gets the harder it is to move.

But it's also adventurous. And rewarding -- in its own way. A few weeks after landing in Billings, I was dropping the girls off at school and as they got out of the car and walked up to the main door, they held hands. Definitely a first for them. It made me think maybe the change would maybe do some good.

It's been interesting watching them adjust to the move. 'Cause mostly it's been them adjusting to new schools and new friends. We got here in November, got the girls in school and then moved them to a new one in August for the new school year. They had to start from scratch. Twice. Well, almost from scratch. They each had a friend at their new school and that helped a bit.

But moving to a new school is hard. For the first day, Becky and I walked the girls and dropped them off with all kinds of hugs and kisses. The playground was filled with kids waiting to line up to go into the school and as we turned back, sneaking one last glance Claire, who could strike up a conversation with a tree, was immediately talking and laughing with some soon-to-be classmates. Leigh, on the other hand, was kind of wandering around all by herself. That's hard to watch as a parent. And then talking to her about after school, she wasn't even aware she was making such a depressing sight. That girl's pretty much content anywhere and under almost any circumstance.

Of course our biggest worry is that the girls will be picked on. The new kids are always picked on. Case in point: I went to the same elementary school from kindergarten to sixth grade. Pretty much same group of friends from start to finish. In fifth grade, we had a new kid move into our class -- his dad was in the Air Force and like most military brats, I don't think this poor kid ever finished a single grade of elementary at the same school. Which makes me feel even more guilty for the way I treated him.

But you gotta understand. Sure, his dad was in the Air Force, but my older brother was in the Civil Air Patrol, kind of a junior ROTC for high-schoolers who wanted to go into the Air Force. My brother even had a uniform. Obviously, I was the resident expert on allthings Air Force. We didn't need this new kid around with all his stories about the service and how cool his dad was 'cause he worked on fighter jets. And so, I picked on him. Mercilessly. It culminated with a fist fight after school one day. Because I was jerk. I'm pretty sure he kicked my trash. For some reason that doesn't make me feel any better.

So I knew what could happen to my girls. They could easily have a classmate who's older sibling wrote for the high school paper. And that classmate could easily consider themselves the school expert on newspapering. And then my girls would come in with a dad who was reporter for the town paper and that poor threatened classmate would tease my kids all day long about how their tales of what their dad did at work were completely wrong and could never happen and that they were nothing but liars, dirty dirty liars, 'cause everyone knows C-130s can't go supersonic! Naturally I hoped they'd have less petty classmates.

And guess what? They do. Both the girls have made some really good friends. Claire admitted she used to get teased a bit about her age. She's really young for her class -- the cut off dates in California fall in such a way that she would have ended up in a lower grade had she started school here instead of in Redding. And so at lunch, some of her classmates used to tell her she wasn't as cool as everyone else in her class 'cause she was born in 2000 not in 1999. Claire, of course, is a survivor. She knew if she was going to stop the teasing she'd have to not only intimidate her classmates but also show them she could stand toe-to-toe with the best of them.

So, one day at lunch, as the teasing started up again, she quietly finished her milk, picked up the small, half-pint milk carton, made eye contact with her tormentors and crushed the carton in her fist. That was the end of that. As she describes it, the show of strength left everyone in the cafeteria slack-jawed and bug-eyed. She showed them.

Leigh, I'll admit, I was never that worried for. Becky was a bit, naturally, because Leigh is so unassuming. She's meek and gentle in her own way. A natural target for bullies, right? Except that Leigh's hilarious and has a spine a tempered steel. Nothing really shakes that girl up. So, instead of being the shy kid in class, she's more like the oil on the water. She just calms everything down. And she quickly wins the hearts of those who know her.

She was star of the class last week -- a little thing the teacher does to highlight each student in class. On Friday, as the culmination to the week, the Star gets to do this kind of extended show-and-tell, showing off to the class all her likes and interests. Well Leigh gets up and shows off pictures of her family and some of her art projects, finishing by showing the kids how to do one of designs she created in art class. It was amazing to watch. Leigh simply commanded the classroom. She had the kids laughing, asking questions and intently watching as she did her demonstration. She was completely at ease and we realized she was going to be just fine.

So, it's back to the lab again.

Whoops

2009-04-10T22:00:00.001-07:00

I really didn't mean to follow up a U2 post with another U2 post, but guess what? That's what I'm gonna do. This has been banging around my head for a while and just need to get it down so I can be free of it.

I read a review about six years ago covering U2's second compilation of greatest hits and the reviewer pointed out how the "Electrical Storm" remix that showed up on the bonus disc was a better mix of the actual song that appeared on the album version. I found I completely agreed.

And then I started noticing things. As I got increasingly bored with the band's Eno/Lanois studio productions, the remixes from the same time period got more and more interesting.

When "Atomic Bomb" came out one of the songs that annoyed me to no end was "Original of the Species" because it seemed like it had so much potential but landed completed flat. It was such a boring song.

And then someone leaked the "Original Of The Species (Killahurtz Casa De Angeles Mix)" of the song and it was like a revelation. The track included this steady backbeat that helped firm up the song and included some alternate vocal takes from Bono that all of sudden made the song interesting.

Similarly, the Jacknife Lee mix of "Vertigo" turned the playful romp from the band into this hard-edged rock song that worked on a whole new level.

I started to notice that as the band brought in new and interesting producers to play with some of the band's singles after these albums were released you ended up with better versions of the songs than what they'd originally put out.

Now, I'm not taking about the standard dance remix treatment most of their songs get when the albums come out but actual alternative takes of the songs by fringe producers. A lot of it works amazingly well. And it just proves to me again that U2 needs to cut the apron strings and experiment with a young, brash producer in the studio.

Below is a list off the top of my head of altnerate mixes of U2 songs that are better than the album version:

1. Electrical Storm (William Orbit Mix)
2. Original Of The Species (Killahurtz Casa De Angeles Mix)
3. Get On Your Boots (Justice Remix)
4. Elevation(Influx Remix)

And a couple that are at least as good as the original and toy with being better:

1. No Line on the Horizon ("Get on Your Boots" Single Remix)
2. Vertigo (Jacknife Lee 10" Version)
3. New Year's Day (USA Remix)

No Line on the Horizon

2009-03-14T16:16:00.000-07:00

I probably shouldn't put this off any longer. So here it is, The Rob Report's review of the new U2.

I've had the album for nearly a month now and I've listened to it pretty constantly since I got it. Surprisingly, my initial impressions haven't changed much at all. In a sentence, half of it works for me and half of it stinks.

U2 have, for the better part of a decade, produced albums aimed squarely at pleasing the masses. Unabashedly. And there's nothing wrong with that. In a sense, that's what pop music is supposed to do.

However, with U2, you almost get the feeling as you listen to the music on "All That You Can't Leave Behind" and "How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb" that there's some ulterior motive there. The music, the riffs, the refrains, all of it feels a little too calculated, a little too obvious.

The last two albums felt like U2 sitting in the studio trying really hard to sound like U2. And it's not hard to see why. The backlash after 1997's "Pop" had to have stung pretty good. And so what we saw emerge from that was a band resolved to play it safe, to play it big and to play it obvious.

Which was hard to watch. One of the things I've always believed that has made U2 the brilliant band they are (were?) was their ability to experiment with their craft while not getting lost in the woods. They always end up producing their best stuff when, as Chicago Tribune's Greg Kot says, they're out on the limb, saw in hand. You end up with stuff like "Mysterious Ways" and "Zoo Station" and "Exit" and "Bullet the Blue Sky" and "Promenade" and "MLK" and "The Wanderer" and "Do You Feel Loved" and all the stuff in between. All these songs that are crazy brilliant.

That went out the window after "Pop" and what you were left with was two solid but ultimately boring albums from a band that in the past had been anything but. For the first time you could hear the band trying. You could hear the effort in something that used to sound effortless.

I think, to some extent, the band recognized that. They were pretty vocal while recording "No Line," about how it was another change in direction, another effort to go back into the studio and "dream it all up again."

And you know what? They get about half way there. The first three songs on the album really show the band at their best. The sound is textured and rich and they move in directions that you don't immediately expect. "No Line," the title track, is muted and atmospheric with no obvious chiming guitar, no easy-out chorus. It's heavy, but refreshing. It's a great lead-in to "Magnificent" which, in some ways, is just the opposite. It's got that big, U2-anthem feel but it kind of comes at you sideways. Both these tracks have Eno's fingerprints all over them. But we'll talk about that later.

You feel the album shift gears with "Moment of Surrender" a seven-minute, almost blue-eyed soul ballad from the band. It works mostly because you've never heard U2 sound like this before and because it's got this killer bass groove and a welcome slide-guitar solo from the Edge.

But after that, the album quickly starts to feel like "Atomic Bomb" redux. "Unknown Caller" and "I'll Go Crazy if I Don't Go Crazy Tonight" land flat. "Caller" is this sci-fi-like existential look at being lost amid the technology of modern-day life. Unfortunately it's really poorly executed. "Crazy," while it has some really fun moments, ultimately feels warmed over and dull. You hear the effort of the band trying to make a big, stadium-ready rocker.

And then there's "Get on Your Boots." The song is still a mess, flailing about for a melody, although it sounds a little better in the context of the album. It was a poor choice for the lead single. I see it going to the graveyard to take its place among songs like "New York" and "Origin of Species."

"Stand Up Comedy" is another track that almost works. It's also one of the few songs on the album that has steadily grown on me. I love the heavy, Led Zeppelin-inspired guitar riff and the chanting "Stand Up" chorus. I'm sure it'll work really well live. However, much of the progress gained on the song is undone by some of the worst lyric-writing I've seen yet from the band. "Stand up to rock stars/Napolean is in high heels/Josephine be careful/Of small men with big ideas." Really? That's what we've come to? I'm sure it looked great on paper, but it sounds terrible in the song.

However, it clears the air for "FEZ-Being Born," probably the most exciting track on the album. "FEZ" is U2 at the most experimental they've been since "Pop" and almost sounds like something left off of "Unforgettable Fire." Or something that could easily fit there. It's got a really satisfying crunch and a great hook, and Bono's stream-of-conscious lyrics fit in the cracks brilliantly.

A lot's been said about "White as Snow," this quiet ballad told from the point of view of a soldier dying alone in Afghanistan. It shows better than anything else the shift Bono has made in his lyric writing. For the last decade it seems, the subtle has been replaced by the obvious and I think it's ruined some otherwise good songs.

"Breathe" is the last rocker on the album and it's a frustrating song. It's got a brilliant chorus and includes one of the best similes I've heard from Bono in probably 15 years. He sings about running down the road like loose electricity. It's a great image. But like much of what they've written during this decade, it feels like a chorus in search of song. The verse has no real melody and it kind of flounders until the chorus kicks in. But what a chorus. The song absolutely electrified the crowd when they performed it on Letterman.

The album ends with "Cedars of Lebanon," another slow burner from the band. It's another that's grown on me a lot. It works that it's as understated as it is. Serves as kind of an appropriate close for the album.

Brian Eno and Daniel Lanois have a big presence on this album. And that's not a bad thing. They're talented and they know how work effectively with the band. But ultimately if U2 really wants to make that album that reinvents who they are, they've got to ditch Eno, Lanois and Steve Lillywhite and go find a producer that draws them out of their comfort zone. And they've tried. Between this album and the last, they've brought in like six or seven outside producers to try and produce something new and different. Guys like Chris Thompson, Rick Rubin and Will.I.Am. And each time, they've gotten cold feet and gone back to their holy trinity of Eno-Lanois-Lillywhite.

But I don't think that boldness will ever return. I think this is U2 on the downhill slide to irrelevance. And I think it's because, unlike young bands, they've got nothing to prove anymore. They've go no real compelling reason to get back out on that limb with saw in hand. Which is too bad. I miss being surprised.

Was Sting watching?

2009-03-05T09:00:00.000-08:00

To tide us all over, two of my favorite things: U2 & Letterman.

Wait, did he just say, "sexy boots"?

2009-01-19T10:58:00.000-08:00

Here's your quote of the day.

My friend and I have been talking about the new U2 single "Get on Your Boots" which dropped late last night. (You can hear it here.) As far as I'm concerned, he summed it up perfectly:

"It's Vertigo as interpreted by a Moroccan DJ."

The next Apple Beer's on me, Jense.

If you don't know...

2009-01-15T19:35:00.000-08:00

I know this isn't anything anyone is going to want to read, but I guess that's why it's the Rob Report and not the Kofi Report. But, as you may be aware, U2 has a new album out March 3 and so, between now and then to get us prepared, I wanted throw up a few U2-centric lists on the old blog.

To kick things off, I present Rob's 10 Most Underrated and Underappriciated U2 Songs. These are the tracks that either time forgot, time wrote off or time was so busy listening to the new Icehouse that it didn't realize side 2 on that latest U2 album had some really great stuff.

We'll divide the list in two -- like a good LP. The first half will be overlooked songs from proper studio albums. The second will be lesser-known B-sides and other extracurricular activities.

So without any further ado (in no particular order), let's get started:

10. "Drowning Man," track 5 from 1983's "War." This is easily one of the most gorgeous songs U2 has ever recorded. It's a quiet and almost ethereal tune that's made all the most haunting by Edge's decision to use an acoustic guitar through most of the song. And behind it all is this thundering drum and bassline that just pulls the song further and further into the ground. It gets lost easily amid the tumult of "Sunday Bloody Sunday," "New Year's Day" and "Two Hearts Beat as One." But you go back and listen to it and realize it's just as powerful as those songs. And then you wonder, why have I never heard this before?

9. "Do You Feel Loved," track 2 from 1997's "Pop." In all honesty, just about anything off "Pop" would probably fit on this list. By far U2's most underrated album, "Pop" is a dizzy, dark and emotional record that includes some of the band's best songwriting and over-the-top sonic experiments. They don't all work -- for which the album was quickly written off and scorned by critics and fans alike. But then you put the disc on and "Do You Feel Loved" comes up you're sucked right in. It's got a great buzzy little guitar hook, lush, lush production and some of the best lyrics Bono has written. "With my teeth at your back/And my tongue to tell you the sweetest lies/Do you feel loved."

8. "Rejoice," track 4 from 1981's "October." U2's other forgotten album, "October" admittedly has more emotion and energy than it does stand-out songs. That being said, it's got a couple hidden gems. Among them is "Rejoice," an upbeat anthem that pulses along with this expansive, heavy drumming from Larry and one of Edge's least known but catchiest guitar hooks that kicks in during the song's final third.

7. "Another Time, Another Place," track 9 from 1980's "Boy." It's hard to claim any track from "Boy" is underappreciated or forgotten, but "Another Time, Another Place" probably comes closer than anything else, falling between "Stories for Boys" and "The Electric Co." and so usually skipped over as listeners work through the album. But it's a great example of how, with a great chorus, a mediocre song can really transcend to solid, catchy pop tune. It's hard to keep from just busting out and singing when Bono starts wailing, "Another time/Another place/We lie/Another child has lost the race."

6. "Promenade," track 5 from 1984's "The Unforgettable Fire." Another beautiful, swirling song that admittedly is mostly just Bono free-associating lyrics in front of the microphone. Easily lost amid the album's huge numbers "Pride," "A Sort of Homecoming" and the title track, "Promenade" sneaks in unnoticed as this indelible little love song. It has just a gorgeous melody, it has the benefit of being short and a few of the couplets that Bono does manage to string together make the track burst with emotion. "And I, like a firework, explode/Roman candle lightning lights up the sky."

5. "Big Girls Are Best," single from the "All That You Can't Leave Behind" sessions. This is one of my all time favorite U2 songs. It's a funky, groovy little number about pregnancy, motherhood and desire. And who can an argue with a line like, "She's got a smile like salvation/She knows big girls are best"?

4. "Love Comes Tumbling," single from "The Unforgettable Fire" sessions. This is a mellow, almost chant of a song that has this wonderful little guitar riff from Edge that just makes the song move. Like much of the material from "The Unforgettable Fire," it's atmospheric and almost tangible. But "Love" seems to have a little more structure, a little more solid ground beneath it than much of the other material they were producing at the time. It's a great little track.

3. "Can't Help Falling In Love," single from the "Achtung Baby!" sessions. Officially, it's the Triple Peaks Remix version that's incredible. It showed up first as a remix in the "Kiwi" compilation released with "Propaganda," the band's official fan club magazine in the early '90s. It's one of the best cover songs in the history of cover songs and it showcases almost better than any other U2 track Bono's strength for pouring erotic, myterious and spell-binding emotion into a song. (The other being "If You Wear That Velvet Dress" from "Pop".)

2. "Salome," single from the "Achtung Baby!" sessions. I remember when I first heard this song shortly after high school I had a hard time believing it was U2. It sounded completely different from anything they'd done. Closer in spirit with "Mysterious Ways," the song is just this killer groove that literally makes you stand up and move when you hear it. It's brilliant.

1. "I'm Not Your Baby," track from the "Pop" sessions. There are two version of this song, one without lyrics that shows up as a b-side on the "Please" single. The other is a duet with Sinead O'Connor that ended up on "The End of Violence" soundtrack and, as far as I can tell, no where else. And it's easily one of the greatest things U2 has ever laid to tape. It's this gritty little electronica piece that somehow still manages to showcase each member of the band at their best. The lyrics are brilliant, Sinead adds heft and her back and forth with Bono through the song leaves you wishing she recorded with the band more often. It's lushly produced with layers and layers of sounds that add weight without weighing the song down. It just moves. I listen to that and I get excited for new U2. Here's hoping the new stuff will be worth getting excited about.

Did someone say "blog"?

2009-01-01T12:25:00.001-08:00

Let's ease back into this. It's New Year's and that means lists. So here are a few of mine. This way we'll keep the actual writing to a minimum, which is for the best, really.

Top Ten Reasons I Haven't Blogged Since Sept. 27

10. Just too broken up over Paul Newman's death to know how to face the world again.
9. Had my fingers caught in the cookie jar.
8. Was too busy with my divorce in Second Life.
7. Been out raising hell with Robert Bork.
6. Just finished a three-month "According to Jim" marathon. That Jim Belushi is so crazy!
5. Got lost in the Enchanted Forest.
4. Three-month egg nog bender.
3. Took a break from these new-fangled "Web logs" and spent time in the bathroom working on my regular logs.
2. Been growing a mustache.
1. Just too damn lazy.

Best music I heard in 2008 in no particular order

Fleet Foxes, U2's remastered versions of "Boy," "October" and "War," I'm still waffling on Coldplay's "Viva La Vida" -- it just wasn't that great. TV On The Radio's "Dear Science" and Spoon's Daytrotter Sessions (I can count that, right?.

Best TV I watched in 2008

1. 30 Rock
2. Life
3. Psych
4. Flight of the Concords
5. Battlestar Galactica
6. Nova & Frontline

Shows I used to watch that I'm completely sick of and/or most popular baby names in 2008

1. Jacob
2. Heroes
3. The Office
4. Madison
5. Kath and Kim

TV shows I can't believe are still on TV in 2008 and/or most common human rights violations

1. According to Jim
2. Waterboarding
3. Everything on CBS -- I mean, who out there is watching NCIS?
4. My Name is Earl
5. The Bachelor
6. Child marriage
7. 24

Best movies I saw in 2008 in no particular order (I've hardly seen everything I want to)

Dark Knight, Be Kind Rewind, Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day, Speed Racer, Iron Man, Wall-E, Kung Fu Panda, Ghost Town, Hellboy II

And that's all I got. Here's to posting a little more often in 2009.

Where the hell are the singing cats?

2008-09-27T17:23:00.000-07:00

Update: Here's David paying tribute to Paul Newman on the Late Show Tuesday night. And yes, Thank you, David, you get to see Paul shout about singing cats.

It's been an interesting week. David Letterman has proved once again why my 20-year devotion to him is not misplaced. John McCain was supposed to appear on the Late Show Wednesday night but a couple hours before he was to go on, his handlers called the show and said McCain had to rush to the airport to get to D.C. to help with the bailout. At about the time he was supposed to be at the airport, McCain was actually sitting down with Katie Couric to be interviewed on CBS Evening News.

Letterman was merciless and took McCain to task for blowing him off midweek. But he did it classic Letterman fashion -- he was always respectful, but was still cutting and sarcastic about it all.

And in a stunt that reminded me of his NBC days, he had his engineer tap into CBS News' live feed while McCain was sitting done getting ready to be interviewed by Katie Couric and shouted snartky remarks at him. It was awesome.

Executives at CBS News of course were furious at having been hacked into and then ridiculed by Letterman. But it's David Letterman. What are they going to do? Their official comment in the New York Post was, "He does whatever he wants and always has."

Here's the video if you're curious. Trust me, it's a good time.

Also, Paul Newman died today. I'm actually pretty bummed about it. My mom and dad, being of the generation they are, were huge Newman fans and so we grew up watching great films like "The Sting" and "The Young Philadelphians" and "Cool Hand Luke" and "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof." He's just a guy we all grew up loving and really respecting. It's sad that he's gone.

Since we're already talking about Letterman, Newman is a longtime fan and has appeared on both Late Night and the Late Show a number of times, probably most memorably in 1993 when Letterman was brand new on CBS and still getting adjusted to the change. Letterman, in one of first shows in the Ed Sullivan theater, calls on of course Ed Sullivan, whose ghost appears. Sullivan, floating above Dave, introduces Paul Newman, who, it turns out, is sitting in the audience. Newman stands up and asks, "Hey! Where the hell are the singing cats?" I quoted that line all through high school.

I actually found the clip on YouTube, but the quality is terrible. So instead, here's Paul's last appearance on the show, talking about racing:

Peace like a river

2008-09-24T20:06:00.000-07:00

Let's talk trinkets.

I've got the next batch of tunes for our look at really good cover songs and, not to weigh it down with too much Britt Daniel, but I've included a killer Paul Simon cover by Spoon. So let's start there. You can catch up with the rest of the list here and here.

7. Spoon's "Peace Like a River" -- Some songs become inseparable from the artists who write and record them. Paul Simon I think would fit handily into this category. And then you listen to Spoon take on "Peace Like a River" and it sounds like a song written specifically for the band. From the thumping-groove bass line to Britt Daniel slipping into a falsetto during the track's middle eight, the song sounds like home-grown Spoon. The bittersweet melody dissolves into the malaise-stricken lyrics and it all matches the band's sensibilty perfectly. It's an amazing cover. It helps that Paul Simon writes a damn good pop song.

8. Wilco's "True Love Will Find You (In the End)" -- This was a song I fell in love with at college. Napster was at its hight and I used it to find a lot of obscure stuff, this track included. I still have no idea when the band recorded it or where they released it -- I've never seen it anywhere else. And it wasn't until about a year ago that I learned it was a Daniel Johnston cover. Daniel Johnston, if you're not aware, is kind of like the patron saint of indie hipster singer/songwriters. He's battled his whole with crippling mental illness and still turns out gems like "True Love." The song, like Spoon's cover of "Peace," fits perfectly within the Wilco sensibility and makes the case for the existance of cover songs. It doesn't have a lot of zest -- it's mellow but optimistic. However, it's an absolutely beautiful song and Jeff Tweedy's vocals are moving. It's amazing how he emotes on the song.

9. Johnny Cash's "Solitary Man" -- Like any good country music star, Cash has covered a lot of songs. His 60s-era take on Kris Kristoferson's "Sunday Morning Coming Down" is great. But in his later years, Cash started covering artists well outside his genre and, I'm sure to some extent, outside his comfort zone. Some of the songs work (his cover of Danzig's "Rusty Cage") and some don't (his cover of "One"). But it's his cover of Neil Diamond's "Solitary Man" that I really dig. It's perfect Cash, catching him on the right song at just the right time.

It's also Three Word Wednesday today. Rob Report favorite Thom G is handling the desk for the time being so go check out some cool stuff there and catch my three words above.

Mmmm, chocolate pecan pie

2008-09-22T19:44:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was the big day. I turned 33. It's not old, but it's older. I reckon hitting the back side of 35 will be tough. But I've got a few years before I have to worry about that.

But back to yesterday, it was a good birthday. Becky knows how to make a boy feel special. Not only did she wake up at the butt crack of dawn (as we used to say in junior high) to make cinnamon rolls for breakfast, she got me the Wilco t-shirt I've been dying to own for a year. It's ugly and kind of obnoxious and just plain perfect for me. She also made chocolate pecan pie. I've never been a fan of cake and I realized a few years ago I don't have to have cake on my birthday, I can have whatever I want. Which, usually, is chocolate pecan pie. Not only is it a good dessert, it's a good breakfast.

So that was my day. Tomorrow, we'll talk more cover songs and maybe recap my summer predictions. Or maybe not. They were pretty far off this year.

Rocky Mountain High

2008-09-21T15:40:00.000-07:00

It's almost October. Wow, am I a slacker. We've got a lot of business to take care of. Summer vacations to report, goals to cover and music to talk about.

Let's start with trips. We've traveled across Nevada, Utah, Colorado, Oregon and Washington, been to two family reunions and spent countless hours in the pool. And we were smoked out of our own town a couple times (I wish I had photos of that). And since pictures are worth a thousand words, I shall simply post pictures rather than write about it.

This is Claire and Leigh in front of Vanderhoof Elementary in Arvada, Colo. I did kindergarten through sixth grade there. It looks exactly the same.

Here are the girls with their cousins in front of the Arvada house, my childhood home. It's always weird going back. 'Cause you go back, but you really don't go back.

This Claire, walking across the Bonneville Salt Flats. She was convinced she could walk to the mountain there in the distance. And she tried. And then we brought her back.

A lovely summer rain storm in Winter Park, Colo. and an accompanying rainbow. Aren't rainbows pretty?

And here are the girls keeping themselves entertained. From Redding to Denver, round trip, it was a total of 44 hours of driving. We were all going insane by the end.

See?

Okay, moving on. Part of the reason it's been difficult to blog lately is, well, lots of traveling this summer. We attending my family reunion in Colorado and then Becky's family reunion in Washington three weeks later, for a grand total of six western states visited. Not bad.

Sometime in August, near the end of it all, I was called to be an early morning seminary teacher. For those you out there not of the Mormon faith, high school kids in the church, from ninth grade on up, take daily religion classes. In most places those classes are held before school. My class, 11th and 12th graders, meets at 6:30. Which means I'm up at 5:30. It's pretty intense.

The curriculum this year is the New Testament and every night after the girls go down I sit down to prepare my lesson. I'm loving it. I'm finding it to be surprisingly fulfilling. Akin to experiences I had on my mission. But it's intense. Kinda like my mission. And I've got seven more months of it in front of me.

How about another picture? This from our trip to Washington. I'm in a relay race with my brothers in law. Notice my socks:

We'll do one more picture. The last day of summer vacation the girls and I put on a lime-ade stand. It was awesome. The girls made nearly 20 bucks and we were only out there an hour. Not bad:

And now that summer's all caught up, we can check in with my goals and talk a little music. In the meantime, here's some light reading (another reason I'm not writing as much):

Rob's little newspaper column project

Those three little words

2008-07-23T19:22:00.000-07:00

Thom G.'s a pro at this. I'm not. But here we go anyway, my contribution to three word Wednesday. The words this week are Avoid, Class and Sticky.

I looked around the classroom and immediately saw him: John Armijo, pronounced "Ar-ME-hoe." His dad was Mexican, his mom was Czech and he was all bully. Our class bully. A world-class jerk, thanks to his international heritage.

I managed to avoid him most days. Whether it was by ducking behind the temp next to the playground when recess started and ended or by waiting until lunch was just about over to enter the cafeteria. If I didn't make eye contact with him during class, he usually left me alone.

Today, I wasn't so lucky. It was Tuesday, the day our class spends the hour after lunch in the library. John hated most everything about school, but hated the library especially. Who could blame him, really. It was full of books and everyone knew he couldn't read. And he knew that everyone knew. So, as if to prove his worth to the world at large, he picked on kids the worst at the library.

And I'll admit to not always playing nice. Living under the constant threat of an attack by John was exhausting. Sometimes, me, the quiet kid who usually just minded his own business, I would make a snide comment under my breath as he walked by. Most of the time it was the garden-variety schoolroom insults. You know, "John's so fat because he was born under a La-Z-boy recliner." We were fourth-graders, it was the best we could come up with.

But today, in the library, I was tired. I was mad at John and ready to be done with him. Why couldn't he go to some other school or find some other class to terrorize? I sat on a bean bag with a copy of "Where the Sidewalk Ends" flipping through trying to find my favorite poems. And John walked by.

I watched him, careful to keep my eyes on his knees and feet and not make eye contact. And before I could stop myself, before I really even felt my mouth move and my vocal chords tighten, I said aloud, "Keep looking, John, all these books have words."

He stopped and for a second just looked at me. As though he was processing what I said or simply couldn't believe he heard it. Then, faster than I'd ever seen him move, he snapped his arm out and slapped the back of "Where the Sidewalk Ends." My hands still gripped the edges of the book, tightened by reflex-contracted muscles when the Shel Silverstein classic hit me full in the face. I actually heard my nose crack and felt the blood quickly run down my face.

I tried tackling him but it did no good. It was like a monkey wrestling a gorilla. He kicked me in the gut and pushed me to the ground. He was getting ready to sit on me and, I presume, begin pounding my face when our teacher walked over and pulled him off. I'm not sure how long she had been watching.

We were both sent to the office. John glowering and sullen; me smiling, bloody-faced and sticky.

I'm your sea lion woman

2008-07-08T07:32:00.000-07:00

It's July, in case you don't have a calendar. In Redding that of course means unsufferable heat. The countryside all around us has been burning up in wildfires for the past two weeks and all the smoke it has dumped into the atmosphere has kept temperatures to the low 90s. Pretty great. Except all that smoke. You get home at the end of the day feeling like you've smoked two packs of unfiltered Camels.

Well, the fires are still burning. The wind has changed the direction of the smoke so the air was nice and clear. Which means our proper July temperatures are back. It was 112 yesterday and today was 111. It's funny. The heat during the day wouldn't really get to me. It's bad, but it's not like I'm out all day in it. No, what kills me about this place is that it never cools down at night. The low last night (or, I guess, this morning technically) was 90. You read that right, 90 degrees. All night long it never dropped below 90 degrees. That's the kind of weather that drives people crazy.

Anyway, my point with all this was to say it's time to check in with my summer predictions and maybe zap off another addition of perfect pop songs.

First, the predictions:

1. At the interstate gas stations, regular unleaded is $4.69 a gallon. I'm sure we'll see $5 at least by the end of the month.

2. I haven't seen "The Incredible Hulk" (nor do I plan to) but it seemed to garner slightly better reviews than it's predecessor, but was still greeted by a general unanimous "meh." To quote Brian Hamblin, who really should have his own blog, "I didn't love that movie and I didn't hate that movie. It was better than the first Hulk movie, and there weren't any flaws that really screamed out at me (you know, if you accept the premise of the Incredible Hulk in the first place), but that said, it was just a little bit better than 'blah.'"

And M. Night Shyamlalnsnalnadnalanduan's "The Happening" has already been forgetten by most everyone who's seen it. As a result, no one still cares about our little Manny.

3. I'm more excited than ever for "Dark Knight." "Wall-E" was amazing. And "Get Smart" was mediocre.

4. I'm halfway to dropping my 10 pounds. I started at 200 and now I'm at a solid 195. I successfully made it four weeks without sugar and I've been more than happy to go back on. Interestingly enough, I haven't noticed much change to my weight since doing that. But I'm pretty sure if I want to drop the next five pounds I'll need to start exercising or something.

5. I'm still planning on doing something awesome. And I still don't know what that will be.

So there we are with that. Now let's talk music. If you recall, we're talking about perfect pop songs that happen to be covers. You may also recall that once we get through with our list of songs, a few lucky winners receive the compilation on CD. That's so we're all on the same page.

4. Britt Daniel's "Bring it on Home to Me" -- It's a cover of the old Sam Cooke standard and it's brilliant. Britt, Spoon's lead singer and principal songwriter, keeps the rockabilly vibe of the song but strips it down to it's bare essentials, turning it into a kind of percussion-led driving indie-pop song. It's got a killer groove.

5. Feist's "Sea Lion Woman" -- Another indie darling, I really dig Feist because she seems so capable at balancing her near-boundless creativity with supersharp pop insticts. Her version of "Sea Lion Woman," a Nina Simone cover, rings with jangly guitar hooks and this great foot-stamping backbeat. It even come complete with hand-claps. It's a brave cover -- Simone owns, and I means owns, just about every song she sings. But Feist does a textbook perfect job of reinterpretting the song and making it hers.

6. Franz Ferdinand's "All My Friends" -- This is a great example of how to cover a song. "All My Friends" is an LCD Soundsystem track from their 2007 album "Sound of Silver." It was still warm when Franz tackled it and they do it justice, adding their trademark gargage guitar and pushing the electronica to background. It works, leaving the song's great beat intact but pushing the melody up a little further to the top making it a really groovy little song.

So that's where we're at. Weigh in if you've got thoughts.

It's magic

2008-07-04T22:28:00.000-07:00

I wanted to get this up earlier today. It's Marvin Gaye performing one of the single greatest interpretations of the national anthem I've ever heard. And just today I've heard already three terrible versions.

Anyway it's the perfect antidote to Lee Greenwood's embarrassingly gauzy and jingoistic "God Bless the U.S.A." Use this to wash it from your mind:

It's called emotional truthiness

2008-07-02T21:06:00.000-07:00

We've gotta take care of some house-keeping and then I'm going to give you my two cents on Pixar's new film "Wall-E." Because everyone wants my two cents on "Wall-E."

First, if you'll look to the right you'll see my links updated. Included in the list is Nik Dirga's blog, "Spatula Forum." Nik is an old editor of mine now living the adventure with his wife and spritely young boy in New Zealand. You'll be hard-pressed to find better pop culture analysis and commentary on the Web.

Also on the list is Traci Gunderson's blog, "The G-Funk Era." Traci is an old high school aquaintance who I'm sure I would have hung out with much more often had I known what a wickedly sharp wit she had. Her blog is brilliant. Now if only Hamblin would start one.

So, onto other things.

Becky and I took the girls to go see "Wall-E" on Saturday. The film is wonderful. Like most Pixar films -- well, all of them except for "Cars" -- "Wall-E" pulls off the seemingly impossible high-wire act of being fun, smart, exciting and really funny without alienating adults or boring children. And it's gorgeous. The computer animation is litterally breath-taking in many spots. Pixar makes other computer films out there look like junior high computer club projects. It's amazing.

It also got me thinking about Pixar's long string of success. Their films aren't just good by animated film standards or family film standards or even comedy film standards. They're just plain good by major film standards.

And I realized it's because every one of their films -- whether its about talking toys or talking fish or talking ants or talking rats or monsters or superheroes -- is emotionally honest at its core. With the exception of "Cars" of course, which only seems to get worse the more you watch it.

But regardless of the plot or the characters, there's true emotion organically embedded in each of their films. That means you sit through the movie and never hear a false note, never feel manipulated and never feel pandered to. Remarkable for any film in this day and age.

And if you think about it, emotional honesty is what makes most of the great films out there great. Whether it's Michael Corleone running away from and then embracing his familial destiny or Rick Blaine coming to grips with his past and finding a way to do the right thing in World War II-era French Morocco, great films ring emotionally true.

Romantic comedies live and die on this principal -- or should. Imagine a world without films like "Made of Honor," "Runaway Bride" or "The Notebook." It would be so pleasing. Most romcoms fall flat or just plain suck because they go through these impossibly back-bending plot conventions and genre requirements.

You know, you've got the hoary R&B musical montage at about the half-way point (usually Aretha Franklin), you've got the gay male best friend (really? every single high-society gal that has some "important truth" to learn about herself before she can make good with the love of her life has a gay best friend every step along the way always quick dispense fashion and relationship advice?), you've got the mistaken infidelity and finally the chase to the airport/bus station/dock and/or wedding to confess true love. "The Holiday" anyone?

In contrast, look at film like "When Harry Met Sally" or "Say Anything." Had "Say Anything" been a conventional romantic comedy Diane's dad would have found remedemption and/or been found innocent at the end of the film and attended the couple's wedding. Instead, Lloyd shuts the door on him pretty good at the federal penatentury ("I'm the distraction that's going with her to England, sir.") and he and Diane take off for Europe far from having a secure relationship. It's brilliant and miles away from sentimentalistic. It feels real-life.

But enough about that. I'll end my rant complaining about summer TV. It's the summer of the reality show. Every night on every channel. It's killing me. And they have that producer think-tank, lowest-common-denomonator, completely common-sense-insulting stank about them.

I mean "Greatest American Dog"? Really? You're a broadcast network television station and you're going devote 12 hours of primetime to the search for America's greatest dog? Which will actually end up being a search for an astoundingly out-of-touch, wealthy, emotionally stunted dog loving American with waaaaaay too much time and money on their hands who believe their pet is actually a child. In the commercials one woman actually calls her dog her soul mate. Her soul mate. Please, someone find this woman help her connect with society around her, with our human fraternity, with the real world. She's in need of serious help.

An American Mormon Tale

2008-06-27T21:32:00.000-07:00

Blame Thom G for this post. I'm like that patch of crab grass, which if you give an inch it takes a yard. Plus, today is the 27th. So, really it was unavoidable.

I think most folks are following along over at the Surface Tension, but in case you're not, Thom G spent the first half of the week traveling from Redding to Sioux Falls, SD. He took his mad writing skills and joined the paper there.

Anyway, he took the scenic route, driving slow to ensure better gas mileage. One of the many historical and Americana points of interest that he passed was Martin's Cove. He made the mistake of inviting me to explain its significance to my people.

Today also happens to be June 27. On this date in 1844 Mormondom's first prophet Joseph Smith was shot to death, along with his brother, in a jail by a mob of angry, idle Illinois militiamen.

So this is what I'm going to do. Sit back, get comfortable for I am going to tell you the tale of old Joe Smith, his gold Bible and how my people decided to move west. Don't fret -- it's a tale of adventure, bloodshed and survival. (I'd probably just move on to the next blog at this point, if I were you.)

The story begins in upstate New York in 1820. Historians describe the time as one of great religious excitement and revival. Joseph Smith was 14 and along with his family he was very much caught up in the spirit of the times. Like many he wanted to join a church, ensure salvation for his soul and live a good Christian life.

The only problem was he didn't really know which church to join. Everyone had their own take on the Bible and their view, of course, was right and everyone else's was wrong. As a 14-year-old, I imagine Joseph was old enough to figure out that not everyone could be right and not quite old enough to be terribly cynical about it.

So he figured, rather simplistically, that if God wanted him to join a church God would tell him what church to join. He'd read the Bible and specifically he'd read that verse in James that says if you want to know something ask God about it. I think it seemed pretty straight-forward to old Joe.

He set out early one morning to a grove of trees behind his house. (His family was basically on the frontier in the early 19th century and his house, like all houses at the time, was crowded with like 45 kids and 18 adults. Not really, but it was a big family in a small house. You wanted privacy? You went outside.)

Anyway, he went to this grove of trees and kneeled down to pray. He figured he'd ask God which church to join, get his answer and be on his way. Well that's what he did. He prayed, asked his question and was amazed to see a light slowly descend around him. In the air above him he saw two men, one of whom introduced himself as God the Father. He pointed to the other, said he was his son, and told Joseph he should listen to what he had to say.

Joseph listened. Jesus spoke and told him not to join any churches because none of them were true. Over the course of the last 1700 years they had apparently kinda lost their way. It wasn't the answer Joseph was expecting. But he was understandably excited.

He went and told his parents, who, to their credit, weren't skeptical at all. Then he told his family's preacher, thinking he'd be as excited as Joseph to learn that the Heavens weren't closed and God was speaking to men again. The family's preacher wasn't very excited. He told Joseph to wise up and probably repent.

Well over the next decade, the groundwork was laid for God to establish his church anew on the earth. Part of that included new scripture. Old Joe was visited by an angel named Moroni. Moroni had lived on the Americas 1,400 years before. His dad was a prophet named Mormon who had spent much of his life compiling the writings of other prophets who had come before him.

It turned out Jesus had come and visited the Americas after his death, resurrection and ascention into heaven at Jerusalem. All this stuff had been written on thin plates of gold and stored in a stone box in hill near Joseph's homestead. As a newly called prophet of God, Joseph eventually was given the plates and commanded to translate them, which, of course, he did. His gold Bible became the Book of Mormon. And Mormons were forever after known as Mormons.

This is taking a while. Let's jump forward a dozen years. Old Joe Smith had established a church and sent missionaries out to preach. The church grew, but Mormons proved to be obnoxious neighbors. If you've ever been to Utah you understand. When they're all gathered in big groups, they get kind of insular and self-righteous and end up really bugging anyone who lives anywhere near them.

This happened in New York, Ohio, Missouri and finally Illinois. I should add here that the governor of Missouri acutally passed a law making it legal to kill a Mormon if he was bothering you. With great subtlety and wit, he entitled it the "Extermination Order" and it stayed on the books until 1976. Really.

Anyway, the church ended up in Navuoo, Ill. along the banks of the Mississipi. The town was huge -- it began to rival Chicago in size -- and had its own militia, of which Joe was general. General Joe, the people called him. Not really. He was always Brother Joseph.

As you can imagine, the large group of Mormons and their militia made everyone who lived around them nervous. Tensions flared, Joseph ordered an anti-Mormon newspaper destroyed and was arrested for it. He was given a court date but some of the angrier Illinios folks felt that probably wasn't going to cut it. So someone suggested they charge him with treason and throw him jail. Maybe it would even bust up the church. That seemed like a good idea (at the time) and that's what they did.

So Joseph and his brother Hyrum rode their horses to Carthage, Ill. and surrendered to the authorities there. He was jailed with Hyrum and a couple other church leaders at the time. The jail they were in was a house -- cells on the first floor, rooms on the second. Someone thought they'd all be safer on the second floor so on the evening to June 27, that's where they found themselves.

And that's when the mob showed up. They had painted their faces black and stormed the jail. They shot through the door, killing Hyrum and pushing Joseph to the window where he was shot a few times and fell to the ground dead.

Everyone figured the church at that point would break up. But it didn't and so Illinois, in the middle of winter, ordered all Mormons out of the state. Brigham Young, who was the most senior of the 12 Apostles took charge at that point and, following a revelation Joseph had had years earlier, led the church to the Rocky Mountains.

In classic pioneer fashion, they loaded covered wagons, followed a portion of the Oregon Trail and then blazed their own down into the Salt Lake Valley. That was July 24, 1847. If you're ever in Utah on July 24 and you can't figure out why there are big parades and celebrations every where, that's why.

Well for the next 10 years, converts continued to stream into the valley. The intercontinental railroad had yet to be finished so people still walked the 3,000 miles. As you can imagine, the church soon refined it down to a science. Converts, many comeing from Europe, were organized into companies, given handcarts to pull (they were small and cheap) and led west.

For the most part it worked incredibly well. Hundreds of handcart companies made it to the Salt Lake Valley that way. Except for two. They were the Willy and Martin handcart companies and they ran into serious trouble in Wyoming. If you've driven across Wyoming you understand.

The two compaines started out from St. Louis late in the year, like July, and were ill-prepared for their journey. As soon as October hit, they were in Wyoming at this point, it started to snow. And then it started to blizzard. Already tired and malnurished they came to a dead halt.

The two companies were about two, three weeks apart on the trail, the Willy Company in the lead. Once the snow hit and tempuratures bottomed out well below zero people started to die. Luckily, advanced riders had gone well ahead of companies and had given word to Salt Lake that these two companies were late in the season, slow moving and that they had seen frost in September. An early, harsh winter was likely. A day before the first snowstorm hit the two companies in Wyoming, Brigham Young in Salt Lake ordered a rescue party to go after them.

It took them almost a month to get to the two companies, which at that point were in pretty dire straits. They had little to no food and their clothing was in tatters. The Martin Company had managed to get to a small rock outcropping on the plains and took shelter there. They called it Martin's Cove and it was there that a handful of the pioneers died of the cold and exposure. Kind of a solemn place.

But the companies were rescued and the majority made it to Salt Lake. They all probably would have been lost had the rescue party not left when it did. And one of my favorite historical quotes comes from one of the members of the Martin company.

For years after the experience, church members critized leaders for allowing the companies to start so late in the season and viewed the survivors (again, many of them immigrants) as kind of stupid for getting caught in that kind of situation in the first place. I mean it been devasting -- people lost their lives and others were permantantly mamed. Kind of embarrassing for the church.

Well one Sunday about 40 years after the incident, someone in some Sunday school class was critizing the two companies. So Francis Webster, one of the survivors (I guess the heckler was unaware), stood up and put the man in his place:

"I have pulled my handcart," he said, "when I was so weak and weary from illness and lack of food that I could hardly put one foot in front of the other. I have looked ahead and seen a patch of sand or a hill slope and I have said, 'I can go only that far and there I must give up for I cannot pull the load through it.' I have gone on to that sand and when I reached it the cart began pushing me. I have looked back many times to see who was pushing my cart, but my eyes saw no one. I knew then that the angels of God were there. The price we paid to become acquainted with God was a priviledge to pay."

Summer is better than Indiana Jones IV -- which was crap

2008-06-09T21:57:00.000-07:00

It's the first real day of summer vacation here, so without any further ado, let's get my summer predictions out of the way. I hope you're sitting down 'cause it's going to be a good time.

Here's last year's results, where we learned some very special lessons. Here's this year's (we can only hope for better results).

1. Gas will hit $5.50 by Labor Day. It's sad that last year my crazy prediction was $4 a gallon sticker price.

2. "The Incredible Hulk" will be only slightly better than "The Hulk" and will tank at the box office. No one cares about M. Night Shyamalanananlanalanam and after "The Happening" hits, no one will continue to care about M. Night Shyamalanananlan8lanam.

3. Conversely, I will love "The Dark Knight," "Wall*E" will be as good as "Finding Nemo" and "Get Smart" will be just as mediocre as everyone's expecting.

4. I will loose 10 lbs. by the end of the summer. I started at 200 about two weeks ago and I'm already at about 196. I'm most happy about this because I was at 210 a little over a year ago. My secret? The flu. Really. At the end of last summer I dropped five pounds after puking my guts out for almost 24 hours. It was terrible. I'm pretty sure I can do it again.

5. I will do something awesome by the end of the summer. I don't know what it is yet, but when the time comes, the opportunity will present itself. Maybe I'll house-train David Bowie, maybe I'll contribute to Obama's campaign or maybe, just maybe, I'll finally take that leap off the roof and fly! Well, maybe I won't do that. I already have a torn rotator cuff.

So there it is. We'll check back in ocassionally as the summer wears on, see how we do. In the meantime, I don't want to leave you completely empty-handed. So here it is, your moment of Zen:

Covers and perfect pop songs

2008-05-23T06:08:00.002-07:00

I have a love-hate relationship with cover songs. When done right and done well, they can blow your mind. That, of course, is a rare thing. Most of the time, the cover is nothing better or more elegant than a late-night neighorhood karaoke performance. (The Web site, TheCoversProject.com is a great database of who's covered who.)

A couple examples to illustrate my point. Sometime in the mid-'90s The Sundays did a cover of the Rolling Stones' "Wild Horses." It works as well as it does because The Sundays tap into the original vibe of the song while giving it their signature mellow, clarion sound, which is a perfect fit for a classic Jagger/Richards song like "Horses."

Then there's Eva Cassidy's famous cover of Sting's "Fields of Gold," a textbook example of doing a cover right. She doesn't try to do things with the song it wasn't meant to do. She keeps it simple, uses her best asset -- her voice -- and makes that the center of the performance. It's one of the few cover songs I prefer to the original.

Now, some argue some songs simply can't or shouldn't be covered. Talk to any die-hard Beatles fan. But I say no song is untouchable. However, the more popular the song, the more beloved, the more respected, then the more inventive the artist who's covering it needs to be. Because ultimately, you've got to prove that there's a reason to cover the song in the first place. And if that's not setting yourself up to fail I don't know what is. The more inventive you try to be with a well-known, well-loved song, the greater chance for complete and utter failure.

You remember that link I posted a few months back of Celine Dion's terrible, terrible cover of ACDC's "You Shook Me All Night Long"? Yeah, sorry to remind you about that. But it's a perfect example of how awful covers can be.

But picking on Celine Dion for performing bad covers is a little like picking on the retarded kid in class who always craps his pants. It's not his fault. It's just what he does.

No, the famously bad covers are by bands or artists who are just setting themselves up to fail. Like Madonna covering "American Pie" or Limp Bizkit doing "Behind Blue Eyes." They're just terrible.

I have kids. That means we own "Cars." Which means I've heard Rascal Flatts' high school basement band-worthy cover of "Life Is a Highway" more times than I can count. I die a little every time I hear a Rascal Flatts song. And I remember a few summers ago when the Ataris -- one of those early '00s pretty punk bands that sound and look slicker than most career studio bands -- did their cover of Don Henley's "Boys of Summer." It just fell flat.

And there's a whole 'nother category I'm purposely avoiding. You know, the so-bad-it's-good cover song. William Shatner's famous "Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds" or Dolly Parton's, believe it or not, cover of "Stairway to Heaven." Deep down I believe these songs are intentionally ironic and so I'll leave 'em for another day.

So, with summer coming on I think it's time to start another round of our only running feature, Perfect Pop Songs. This will be the covers version. If you need a refresher, here's Vol. 1 and here's Vol. 2.

So let's get it started with three of my most favoritest covers ever.

1. The Afgham Whigs' "Can't Get Enough Of Your Love, Babe" -- This, in my opinion, is one of the all time great cover songs. The Whigs were an early '90s post-punk band from the midwest. Their cover of Barry White's soulful classic is the perfect mix of irony, devotion and sheer attitude. Becky hates the song.

2. Waz's "I Will Follow" -- U2's a hard band to cover. They're sound is so specific and their songs are so well known that they're just difficult to escape. And still a lot of people try. To middling success. KMFDM's cover of "Mysterious Ways" is very, well, KMFDM. And the Pet Shop Boys' cover of "Streets" is fun but far from noteworthy. But Waz, who used to play guitar with Pete Yorn, takes "I Will Follow" and completely turns the song on it's head, finding it's emotional core and turning it into a beautiful, romantic love song. It's absolutely stunning.

3. U2's "Can't Help Falling in Love" -- Likewise, U2 isn't really at their best when they're covering other bands. They famously developed the sound they did becuase as teenagers they couldn't play anyone else music. Some of that still exists today. Their covers of the Beatles' "Happiness Is a Warm Gun" and Cole Porter's "Night and Day" are kind of interesting and fun to hear in a I-wonder-what-this-song-would-sound-like-with-U2's-sound, but they're far from great. And then there's "Unchained Melody" -- one of the band's biggest missteps ever, in my opinion. Which makes "Can't Help" such a surprise. It's beautiful and haunting and just amazing. It's makes perfect use of Bono's falsetto and really takes the song far beyond its rock-a-billy roots -- in a very good way.

Anyway. There it is. Covers. Everyone's got an opinion, so jump into the comments and give me yours. What covers do you hate, which do you love and which songs shuold never be touched?

And then I'll get back on next week, post some of the better comments and list my summer predictions for 2008. It'll be fun.

Pants

2008-05-22T10:56:00.000-07:00

Best Venn diagram ever:

With the boys

2008-05-21T20:05:00.000-07:00

So I'm a little late, the important thing is that it hasn't been a month since my last post. So here we go. Four years of taking my girls to a fathers/sons campout and I still get a few looks. Mostly now it's from guys in different wards. But deep down, I suppose, that's part of the appeal for me.

Anyway, we all had a blast. I found I was a little busier with both girls than with just one, which I think makes sense. But it was still unexpected. The girls loved being outdoors, having their own flashlights, sleeping in a big open tent and seeing nature up close. They were both really intrigued by the fire. When we went to use the latrine after dinner, Claire got a little freaked out when a bunch of flies flew out of the toilet. I think that was the first time I genuinely felt bad girls can't stand up and pee.

We didn't get a lot of sleep. It wasn't nearly as cold as in years past, but the girls still got a little chilled in the night. Then, at about 5, 5:30 a.m. Claire woke up having to pee. Which woke Leigh up and there was no way she was staying in the tent alone while Claire and I went to the latrine. And she didn't want to put on her shoes. So I carried her, and Claire and I walked to the bathroom.

Of course, by the time we got back to the tent we were all awake. So we laid down and read "When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit." It was actually kind of fun. By breakfast, the girls were much more comfortable with the fire, so much so that Claire was sticking large pine branches into the flame until the end would light up. We put an end to that pretty quick. And then they discovered the plastic flatware. They didn't even have to hold it in the fire for the utensils to melt. They got a really kick watching each individual tong on the forks curl up and turn black. We came home with handfuls of them.

Later in the day we took off to the Subway Caves just up the highway and did some exploring. The girls loved that. The caves themselves are pretty cool. The area east of Redding was pretty active volcanically centuries ago and the tubes formed when great flows of lava burst up from the ground. The surface of the lava flow would harden in the cool air and insulate the still molten lava deep in the flow. Once the lava had run, the outer shells remained around now-empty tubes where the liquid lava had flowed. They're huge. We turned off the lights a couple times plunging everyone into pitch blackness. The girls loved that. We got to the end and decided to walk back through one more time. Except Leigh, who thought it was too cold inside the cave. We've gotta get this girl out of California.

Anyway, it was a great time. I really enjoy taking the girls camping.

And while I'm at it, let me throw this out. It's one of the reasons I love Tom Waits. It's from a recent interview:

Sample question: "Do you have words to live by?"

Waits: "Jim Jarmusch once told me, 'Fast, Cheap, and Good ... pick two. If it’s fast and cheap, it wont be good. If it’s cheap and good, it won’t be fast. If it’s fast and good, it wont be cheap.' Fast, cheap and good .. pick (2) words to live by."

The heat, it appears, is on

2008-05-16T05:28:00.002-07:00

Well, it's May 16 (I think. I guess I should have checked the date before I sat down to write). Anyway, we broke 100 yesterday and May is only half over. One-hundred degrees. I think the official high out at the airport was 103. Whoever settle this town is an idiot. It's going to be a long summer.

I've kinda been on a U2 jag as of late. It's got me thinking about a few things not necessarily U2-related. Last Christmas I got a copy of the book "U2 By U2" -- it's basically the band's history as told by the band. And it's pretty interesting.

But man, it kills the mystique. I remember discovering the band in high school and trading around books like "Unforgettable Fire" and "At the End of the World" learning things about the band's history and the relationship between the members. You felt like a researcher, learning things no one else knew and finding out little facts that helped unlock some of the songs.

I learned cool stuff, like how Larry had posted the band notice at Mount Temple when they were all in high school and essentially gave birth to the band. And arcane stuff, like "With or Without You" is a song about heroine addiction. I'll admit, it made the song cooler. And I don't know that that was really widely known in the early '90s.

Anyway, on the other hand, there were always things that you didn't know, things shrouded in mystery. For instance, was "One" really about the band wanting to break up? Or was it an imagined tale, like a lot of fans in the '90s argued, about what Bono would say to a hypothetical gay son. It was one of those things that was fun to debate among friends and fans.

Of course, a lot of those notions were dispelled as the internet age grew. At nearly the same exact time, the band was trying to come back to the pop culture mainstream after their perceived "Pop" debacle and so all of a sudden, the band was showing up in places they'd never been seen before. They were promoting "All That You Can't Leave Behind" and showing up on SNL and CNN and Vh1 to a lot of fanfare.

And all it was archived online. It was really easy to get tons of info on the band. Which was really cool. My most favoritest band was completely accessible in so many ways for the first time. But it's funny, I was getting to know more about the band and the songs and, almost imperceptively, my interest in them was fading.

And then a couple years ago, "U2 By U2" came out. As I read it over Christmas break, I discovered two things. One: the format is really tedious. It's essentially a 350-page interview transcript. Two: The band has a really cool history.

And that's when it hit. Rock bands, along with great music, need to have some kind of mystique to remain interesting.

Knowing almost everything it's possible to know about U2 leaves little to the imagination. Which, in turn, makes it a little harder to get lost in the music, a little harder to get excited when you see them show up in "unexpected" places and a little harder to get excited about what they've done.

Is this how Beatles fans feel?

Or maybe I'm just getting old and caring about all these kinds of things less.

Believe it or not, the internet has led to another problem.

I remember being in high school and friend of mine, Brian Memmott, coming in with a taped copy of U2's cover of "Can't Help Falling in Love" -- it was a reasonably rare "Zoorpa"-era b-side. We didn't eally know that in high school -- we just figured we'd disovered gold.

And that's what I really miss in the internet age -- that sense of discovery you have when you stumbled across things rare and arcane. That doesn't happen anymore. You don't discover anything anymore because everything's out there and instantly accessible. I mean INSTANTLY accessible. That's not to say the Internet is bad. It just kind of spoils you.

A friend, Ryan Jensen, pointed that out few years ago when U2 put their entire catalogue up on iTunes for a while. He spent most of high school trying to get his hands on a rare U2 "Unforgettable Fire"-era B-side called "Sixty Seconds in Kingdom Come." He talked about that inimitable feeling of finally finding it in some dive, taking it home and listening to it.

Of course, when U2 did the iTunes thing, it was immediately available to anyone with 99 cents. Which isn't a bad thing, it's a pretty cool tune. But man, it sure takes away the fun.

And that's off my chest. It's been rattling around my head since January. Anyway, if you're still reading, that means you're either bored or my mom.

I leave tonight for the annual fathers/sons campout and in true Rogers fashion, I'll be taking my daughters. I'll get something up here about it on Sunday. I swear.

Has it been a month already?

2008-04-30T20:42:00.000-07:00

Tom Friedman is back and he's on fire.

It is great to see that we finally have some national unity on energy policy. Unfortunately, the unifying idea is so ridiculous, so unworthy of the people aspiring to lead our nation, it takes your breath away. Hillary Clinton has decided to line up with John McCain in pushing to suspend the federal excise tax on gasoline, 18.4 cents a gallon, for this summer’s travel season. This is not an energy policy. This is money laundering: we borrow money from China and ship it to Saudi Arabia and take a little cut for ourselves as it goes through our gas tanks. What a way to build our country.

Read his column -- it'll take all of five minutes and you'll be glad you did.

In other news it turns out teenage boys today -- as in right now, spring 2008 -- listen to the same exact music teenage boys listened to in 1988. And probably 1978 for that matter. If you'll think back to this post here, you'll remember that I took a group of our young men to Conference.

It's a 12-hour drive one way and so, as you can imagine, we listened to a lot of music. We outlawed headphones in the car so that we could all have the same experience driving there and back. And we each brought music to share.

Anyone want to guess what the boys brought? That's right, Boston, Journey, Guns 'n' Roses, Foreigner and Weird Al. I think there was .38 Special and Blue Oyster Cult in there as well. And Billy Squire.

The point is, this is the same exact stuff I was listening to when I was in junior high. And a little bit in high school. Which reminded me of an arguement I've made many times before. As a teenager, I had terrible taste in music. I'm not saying that there's anything really wrong with schlock rock bands like Journey and Boston -- well, yes I am.

The point is, it's nice to know that as quickly and greatly as times seem to change, so many things remain so very much the same. It's like the wheel in the sky keeps on turning and we don't know where we'll be tomorrow.

Or something.

Mofo

2008-04-01T20:54:00.000-07:00

Reading, my friends, is power.

Becky was at the park a couple days ago with a friend. They both had their kids with them, which meant Claire was with her two pals, Jason and Tyler. They were playing in a tube slide on the playground equipment, crawling up inside, laughing and talking.

Now, keep in mind the three of them are seven-year-olds, in second grade. They all read really well, but because they've only been reading for a couple years and, at that, reading proficiently really for only a year, their language skills are still, well, pretty elementary.

The tube slide itself acts like a mega phone, so even though they were just laughing and talking among themselves, the moms sitting at a bench across the playground could comfortably hear them. Listening in, Becky's friend hears the boys begin to curse like sailors. Shocking, given that none of the parents swear. It quickly dawns on her that the three kids are reading graffitti etched into the tube.

She kind of chuckles, given the absurdity of the situation. And then she hears her son say, "Ha ha, this one says 'Joe is a mother father.'"

And then she hears Claire laugh and say, "And they spelled 'father' wrong." All three of them laughed at that.

And we laughed, too. Really hard. Spelled 'father' wrong indeed.

You want another laugh? Becky's sister Steph has great little tale over at her blog, complete with visual aids. Check it out.

Housekeeping

2008-03-30T21:58:00.000-07:00

I don't know about you all, but I'm tired of seeing that picture of Hillary.

It's been nearly two months, so let me take care of some housekeeping and then in the next couple of days we can move forward with more substansive posts. You know, important things like where my favorite spot on my back is.

But first, let's talk U2. (I hear the collective groan out there). Becky and I got down to Sacramento a couple weekends ago and saw U2 3D. It was incredible. The film was shot in high definition and was, obviously, in 3D. We saw it on an IMAX and so the experience was just overwhelming. And the music was pretty good, too. If you really want my full-blown take on the film let me know, otherwise, I'll leave it here. (I hear those sighs of relief).

General Conference is this weekend -- a big deal for us Mormons as we'll be sustaining a new president and prophet, a relatively rare experience in the church. The past president, Gordon B. Hinckley, had been prophet for 13 years and beloved by members of the church. For most of the youth, he was the only president they'd known. So, the bishop and I are taking the 16 and 17 year-old boys in the ward out to Salt Lake this week to attend conference. We'll all stay at Mom and Dad's and drive back early Monday morning. I'm actually pretty excited.

Lastly, if you look to the right, you'll see the links list updated. There's a lot of talent in this area now committing their skills to the internets. Good friends Jim Dyar, Doni Greenberg, Ian Ballentine and Phil Fountain have blogs and they're well worth a visit. And Jayson's mom, the regal and hilarious Sylvia Wilkinson now has Web pressence, detailing her adventures as a grandmother of quintuplets. Trust me, check it out.

Also, a big congratuations to Ryan Jensen. The old chap got married and had a small reception at his parent's home this weekend. In Kaysville. You couldn't have waited a week, Jense?

Barry and Billary

2008-02-04T18:51:00.000-08:00

I figure a little political posting on the eve of the presidential primaries isn't a bad thing. Especially when it involves Claire and a seemingly skeevy-looking Hillary Clinton.

(It's been a while since I've blogged, apparently, so let me bring you up to speed. Claire is my second-grader. She goes to second grade every day.)

So I was driving Claire to school this morning and she was talking about her class. All last week they've been talking about all the different presidential candidates and the process we go through electing them. Late last week she told me that there was a woman running to be the first woman president and a black man running to be the first black president. I told her there was also a Mormon running to be the first Mormon president. She thought that was pretty cool. She then told me she still wanted to vote for Obama. I told her that was a pretty good pick.

Well this morning in the car she brought it up again. Only this time she talked about seeing pictures of the candidates. She said she and her group had seen the picture of the woman and decided they didn't like her because she looked like she robbed banks.

"I think her name is Hillary," she said.

"Yeah, she looks pretty shifty," I said. "Did you see a picture of Obama?" I then asked.

"Yeah, and our group decided he looked nice. I still want to vote for him."

She wanted to know who Mommy and I were going to vote. So I told her it was a closed primary for the Republicans and so Mom would probably vote for Romney. The Democratic primary is open to independents and I was going to vote for Obama. She seemed genuinely pleased by that.

The lesson to be learned here of course is to not vote for Hillary because she looks like she robs banks.

Old Letterman for the New Year

2008-01-31T23:07:00.000-08:00

I tried to blog on Saturday and couldn't really think of anything substantial to write. I'm clearly out of practice. So to tide you and me over, I'm going to spread a little Letterman love. That's not a bad thing.

Below are a couple of Top Ten lists from the good days, back when Letterman was on NBC and was genuinely fresh and funny. Not that he isn't funny now, I'm not going bad-mouth Dave. But a simple comparison of Top Ten lists from then and now reveal enough.

And the sad thing, and maybe that's why I'm posting this, is that these lists --well the first one really -- are as pertinent today as they were 15 years ago. I blame you, W.

Here they are -- and if you want to know how serious I am, there's no cutting and pasting involved here. I'm typing these in by hand from my own personal copy of "Roman Numeral Two!"

Top Ten Government Euphemisms for a Recession

10. Lifestyle downscaling opportunity
9. Our Little Problem
8. The ugly, stupid cousin of robust growth
7. Something for '30s nostalgia buffs
6. Cheap meat-eatin' days
5. A treat for our bankruptcy lawyer friends
4. A good time to switch to RC Cola
3. Still a hell of a lot better than any country in South America, pal
2. The National Bummer
1. It's Krazy Dollar Days!

Some Guy Named Jim's Top Ten Names For His New Hat Store

10. Jimbo's Cap Shack
9. Jim's Brims
8. Admiral Jim's Hats Ahoy!
7. The Jim O'Shantery
6. Hats 'R' Jim
5. Jim's Bulletproof/Knifeproof/Spitproof Hats (New York City only)
4. Jim, Your Hat Smells Terrific
3. Wally's Hat Shop (under new management)
2. If You Don't Want a Hat, Then Screw You
1. Colonel Jim's Kentucky Fried Hats

(No. 4 makes me laugh so hard I cry.)

Here's something new

2007-12-21T16:56:00.001-08:00

Just turn your head and think of the Queen

2007-11-15T22:44:00.000-08:00

So I've been thinking about rock bands lately. It's not that strange. And it's better than spending my days wondering if Lindsay is keeping her nose clean.

But I was thinking about the pantheon of great classic rock bands -- you know, the groups and artisits that laid the foundation for modern rock bands. I'll place a few of them in convient list form -- it's not meant to be inclusive:

1. The Beatles
2. Led Zeppelin
3. The Who
4. The Rolling Stones
5. Bob Dylan
6. Pink Floyd
7. The Band

You look over that list and something stands out. The majority of these bands are British. I would argue that, while an American invention, rock is simply done better by the Brits. Now, it should be noted, and I think this gives exponetial depth to the arguement, that the great British rock bands from the 60s and early 70s -- with the exception of Pink Floyd -- we're listening to and trying to imitate American blues men like Muddy Water and John Lee Hooker.

The point I'm tryin to make is for some reason the British are simply better at Rock and I don't know why that is. Is it the accent? The Queen? The stiff upper lip? If you've got any answers, don't be afraid to share. But think about it, you're never going to win any debates trying to argue that Lynard Skynard is a better rock band than The Who.

And the same holds true today. From The Police to U2 (Ireland is technically part of the United Kingdom) to Radiohead to the Arctic Monkeys. What have we produced on this side of the pond? Bon Jovi and Creed, that's who. There are exceptions of course. Bob Dylan, probably the greatest songwriter of the last two or three generations. And then there were a handful of bands from Seatle in the early 90s who turned the music world on its head.

But what's interesting is that the Brits never copied the grunge sound. Their response was Oasis and Blur. That's facsintating on a lot of levels. So, that's your food for thought for the day. Chew on it.

You're doomed

2007-11-13T22:47:00.000-08:00

I'm really terrible at this. But it's good for both us. So, here's to more regular updates. I can do it. You know I can.

And I've got to give a shout to Philby and Ian. Glad you gentlemen have stumbled over here. And now on to the business at hand.

You know what's fun? The English language. And I'm not just saying that because I write for a living. In fact, I'm saying it in spite of that fact. Because English is most fun when it's misused. And no one misuses it better than four-, five- and six-year-olds.

A couple examples: Leigh, my endlessly comedic four-year-old, is the member of the family most eager to express herself. But, given the range and complexity of the emotions she must feel, she never quite seems to have the language skills to do it.

Like after dinner a few nights ago. Leigh ate seconds of most everything on the table but complained about the meal the whole time doing so. We stopped just short of forcing her to eat. Anyway, she left the table and went into the family room. I followed, still eating salad from the serving bowl.

She looked up at me and said something to the effect, "When I see you eating that, it makes me feel like I have to eat it, too." Of course it does.

Becky remided me of the best story. Both Claire and Leigh are useless when it comes to finding anything in the house. And when I say useless I mean completely inable to find anything at any time any where in the house. To this day we send them downstairs to put on their shoes and they call up from the doorway that they can't find them. We walk downstairs only to discover that the shoes are three, maybe four inches from where they're standing. In plain sight.

So, Becky and I have been known, from time to time, to use such phrases as "Open your eyes," "Use your eyes," "You have to use your freakin' eyes," "Freak! They're right here! Are you blind?" and other variations.

Well, some months ago Claire was searching for her shoes, getting frustrated that she couldn't find them and letting us all know that she was frustrated that she couldn't find them. Leigh, ever the dutiful and helpful younger sibling, turns to Claire and says, "Jeez Claire, you have to use your freaky eyes." Classic Leigh.

Claire, now a second grader, is learning how to be catty, jokey and sarcastic. Which can be a lot of fun as she tries to put these skills to use. Becky and I, of course, tease the girls a lot, saying outlandishly untrue things to which we get the response, "Is that for real?"

Claire is starting to pick up on that kind of humor and last week thought it would be funny to write these really mean insults in the window with these little Crayola window markers the girls have. Her first stab at irony.

But, she's only six and so she doesn't really know any really mean insults. So she came up with the three cruelest lines her little six-year-old brain could produce, perfectly acceptable to her:

1. I hate you.

2. You're mean.

3. You're doomed.

She thought she was hilarious. And I've got three new insults to use the next time I get really mad at someone.

The great album

2007-10-19T22:08:00.000-07:00

Many are the ways you can judge an album. And I'm talking about albums, not songs, not bands, not singers. I was listening to Spoon's "Girls Can Tell" the other day when I realized I usually listen to the whole album when I play it. I realized I enjoy every song on the album, start to finish.

So today, rather than judge an album by quality, award-winningness or cultural relevence, we're going to take a look at those albums you can play start to finish and every song is as good as the last. Yep, the rule is you don't skip a single song. Which is a rarity in this day of iTunes purchases and iPod immediacy.

So off the top of my head, this is what immediately came to mind:

1. U2's "Achtung Baby" -- This is an entire album where not a note is wasted nor a lyric thrown away from beginning to end, from "Zoo Station" to "Love Is Blindness." It's amazing to think that just 10 short years later Bono would be singing about monkeys swinging from trees.

2. Sting's "Ten Summoner's Tales" -- This one surprised me. I stumbled over it the other day and realized it had probably been six of seven years since I'd listened to the album and going back over the tracks I was amazed that every one was just a really good song. It's follow-up, "Mercury Falling" doesn't have the same depth and from there I stopped buying Sting albums. I think I made the right decision.

3. Spoon's "Girls Can Tell" -- I was trying to decide earlier this year which album I thought was better, "Girls" or "Gimme Fiction" and that's when I realized I always listen to "Girls" start to finish. I don't ever do it with "Fiction."

4. The Push Stars' "After the Party" -- Another surprise for me. But of the four albums I have, this is the only one I'll listen to start to finish. It's also a great example of what the Push Stars do. They write great pop songs.

5. Pink Floyd's "Dark Side of the Moon" -- There's a lot of classic rock albums that contain some of the greatest rock songs ever recorded and still they'll have the random two or three throw-away songs. "Moon" is a great example of an album where every song feels essential. It's hard not to listen to the thing start to finish.

6. Wilco's "Being There" -- This wasn't always the easiest album to listen to. The thicker country elements from the disc used to scare me off. But, as is the case with most Wilco albums, the more I listened to it, the more I heard and the more I liked it. And now I love the thing in all its sloppy entirety.

7. Wilco's "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot" -- Like "Dark Side of the Moon" this is an album that's hard not to listen to start to finish. Every song is like a link to the next. You can't not listen to the whole thing.

8. U2's "Joshua Tree" -- This goes up grudgingly, but even I have to admit that the album does not have a single weak spot. And, when you get past the first three songs, "Joshua Tree" can actually surprise you. "Exit" and "Mothers of the Disappeared" are two songs I can still listen to and hear things I didn't hear before.

9. Midnight Oil's "Blue Sky Mining" -- The album is surprisingly understated. And as you listen to it, you're continually surprised as each song comes up that you know it and that you like it. It's a great album. "One Country" is just an incredible song.

That's probably enough. Feel free to add your own. I'd be curious to see what albums you all listen to start to finish.

The great SJP debate

2007-10-11T18:10:00.000-07:00

Like many from my generation, "Real Genius" holds a special place in my heart. In fact, much of my anti-authoritarian leanings displayed while I was in school can be traced back to this movie. Val Kilmer made it seem so cool to be a non-conformist smart-a.

Because it is cool.

And while he clearly makes the movie what it is, the yin to Kilmer's yang, the Felix to Kilmer's Oscar, the wind to Kilmer's wings was Gabe Jarret, the strange-looking, mildly effeminate kid who played Mitch, his roommate.

I'm going to get right to the point here. I've never seen Gabe Jarret and Sarah Jessica Parker in the same room together. In fact, after "Real Genius" I never saw Gabe Jarret in anything. But "Flight of the Navigator," which came out just a year after "Real Genius," had a young Sarah Jessica Parker. Coincidence? I think not. They're clearly the same person. I've posted their photos below. You decide for yourself.

Phil Collins is pretty cool

2007-10-10T14:22:00.000-07:00

It's funny. The item that inspires me to get a post up on the blog after almost a month is not something cute the girls have done or some bold insight I've gained into the mysterious machinations of our life cycle. It's something that goofy little rock band I've been really into lately has done.

Wilco, which every-so-often streams lives shows on their Web site, has put up the audio for the Berkeley show Becky and I attended in August. You'll remember. It was really good. Well, now you all can hear for yourselves.

And since I'm here, talking about music, I'll mention something I wanted to get up last month. Phil Collins. I loved Genesis in junior high and even listened to them a bit in high school. But over the last decade, I thought Phil was just kind of an embarrassment to his previous self, starting with that soundtrack he wrote for Disney's Tarzan.

And then, a few weeks ago I was listening to "This American Life" -- which, really, everyone should do -- and, as often happens on the show, I heard something that really changed my opinion. Turns out Phil Collins is a really cool guy.

The segment specific to him is first on the show and lasts about 20 minutes. Do yourself a favor and just listen to it -- I promise you won't regret it. In fact you'll come back here and thank me you did. But in a nutshell, here's the story.

One of TAL's regular contributers goes through a break-up. She and her boyfriend during their relationship really got into Phil Collins, first ironically, then sincerely. They both loved the song "Against All Odds."

Then they break up and the girl immerses herself in torch songs, like "Against All Odds." Torch songs, the unrequited love songs of those who sing about taking back their significant other at any cost or wishing it wasn't all over or wishing they could go back to the way things were. She gets to the point where she wants to be one of these songs and comes to the realization that she needs to write her own torch song.

But she doesn't know how to go about doing it, she needs advice. Who to ask, she wonders. The answer is obvious. She pulls a few strings and gets Phil Collins on the phone. The conversation itself is surprising. Collins is really amusing, disarming, even touching and so with the advice she sets off to write her song.

She writes a bunch of lyrics, gets in touch with a friend who works for this little indie band in NYC and they decide which song to put to music. After some collaboration, they make their decision and the band records her song.

The surprise is two-fold. First, the song is pretty good. Then she calls Phil back and plays the song for him. The second surprise is his reaction. He's genuinely impressed. It was a great little radio piece, classic "This American Life." Trust me, just go give it a listen.

In other news, you all need to wish Becky a happy birthday. She turned 31 yesterday. I stayed home from work and me and the girls had a really good time making her feel special. It's fun to do stuff like that.

Sick and tired (mostly)

2007-09-18T21:59:00.000-07:00

I'm back from the dead.

Not really. I wasn't really dead. I just felt that way for about 12 hours late Sunday night and early Monday morning. I puked violenlty a couple times and had the runs. I even fell asleep on the floor by the bathroom door for about 20 minutes in the middle of the night. Although it was a particularly bad strain of the stomach flu that took me down, I realize that drunks go through the same experience nearly every weekend. And so I come to the conclussion that I didn't miss much by staying away from the fire water in college. (Is it culturally insensative to use the term "fire water"? I hope not. Because it sounds funny when I say it to myself.)

While sick, Leigh, my 4-year-old who you may remember as being hilarious, told me she knew what germ I had. Intrigued, I asked her what kind. She said it was green and round and looked kind of like a grape. But uglier. Yes, they're learning about germs in preschool and obviously it has made an impact. You keep at it, Tiger.

So, Diana (Dinah), you were in San Francisco and then I was sick. Otherwise I would have called you more promptly for your birthday.

Also, Led Zeppelin is going to reunite for a single show in London later this year. As much as I respect The Who, this isn't like The Who, who reunite and tour on a fairly regular basis with progressively fewer original band members each time. I mean, after John Entwistle died a few years ago, it got a little disrespectful.

You have to understand, Led Zeppelin doesn't really reunite. Sure, Robert Plant and Jimmy Page have gotten together a few times and done a few live shows. But they never billed themselves as Zeppelin -- though, they pretty much were. And now this reunion involves not just Plant and Page, but bassist John Paul Jones and, since John Bonham has died -- the reason the band broke up in the first place and decided not to continue on as Led Zeppelin -- Bonham's son will take his place. That's about as close as you can get to the original band.

And it's just one show and it's for charity. And that's cool.

So, don't be afraid to love Led Zeppelin, I guess is what I'm saying. They're out there doing it right.

I can't explain

2007-09-12T10:19:00.000-07:00

I've got something to share. I rarely post viral videos on the blog simply because they're viral, which means you've already seen them 15 times by the time someone comes up to you and tells you should see them. Also, posting virals on your blog is this decade's equvilalent to last decade's crime of fowarding on those "Don't delete this if you love America" e-mails. Or, more recenlty, posting lolcats pictures.

But, I've got to show you this because it is absolutely without a doubt the most frighteningly disturbing musical performance I have ever seen in my entire life. You're right. It does involve Celine Dion.

Remember, I don't do this lightly. But it's something that simply requires viewing to be believed. It's also Exhibit A in the argument that Celine should be loaded aboard the next shuttle mission and jettisoned into space once the earth's gravitational pull has been broken.

So without further ado, here's Celine performing AC/DC's "You Shook Me All Night Long." Her air guitar alone will make you want to rip your ears off your head and fashion them into a blindfold to cover your eyes. I'm not being dramatic. It's that bad. And watch for the smug, self-acknowledging nod she gives the audience at the 27-second mark. It sums it all up:

Good morning!

2007-09-11T09:01:00.000-07:00

It's Sept. 11, which, I think, most everyone is aware of. (The above photo of Kissinger is there just to make you smile and to remind you, it's alright to have fun at the expense of public figures and/or old people.) Anway, I just had a thing or two I wanted to add to the national conversation. For all our sakes, I'll try to avoiding sounding maudlin or sanctimonious or self-righteous or glib or smug.

I just wanted to point out that Osama's still at large. And that we literally gave up the hunt for him to invade Iraq. And that Iraq had nothing to do with the terrorist attacks on Sept. 11. And that our invasion of Iraq has created new and angrier terrorists. As well as cost the lives of more Americans. And I know this comes across as such a cliche in today's political climate, but someone please tell me how Pres. Bush could have screwed up this country any worse. I think he's done wrong just about everything he could have done wrong.

And did I mention we never caught Osama.

Anyway, my point is, sometimes it's frustrating being an American.

Summer's all over

2007-09-04T17:10:00.000-07:00

Well, Labor Day was yesterday and while, yes, the end of summer is still technically three weeks away, Poindexter, we all know the first Monday of September is the real end of summer.

And with it, the culmination of Rob Predicts the Future! The first thing we learned was that maybe it wasn't as fun as we initially thought. The second thing we learned was that I'm not very good at predicting the future.

In conclusion, here are the results:

1. Gas prices did not hit $4.50 a gallon this summer. Which is a good thing. The closest they got was around $3.15.

2. "Pirates" is No.2 -- right behind "Spider-man 3" as the summer's biggest blockbuster. It has indeed been labeled a shiny cinematic turd that cost waaaaay too much money.

3. "Transformers" was surprisingly good and vaguely bad -- in that over-wrought Michael Bay kind of way. I loved the "Bourne Ultimatum" -- it was awesome and I never got around to seeing the "Simpsons."

4. I did not lose 10 pounds this summer. However, I did lose seven. Not bad for the first time I've consciously tried to lose weight. I'm still proudly and contentedly eating junk food, just not in the same quantities. Which could explain why I didn't lose 10 pounds.

5. And, of course, Erick and I never formed our band. That being said, he still plays the trumpet, I still play the guitar and friend Mike Williams is a closeted violin player. Chances are still good that we form a band. We could be Arcade Fire with one-tenth the members and none of the talent. We'd be awesome.

I don't want to leave you empty-handed so I'll quickly make fun of Zac Efron. Seems the least I can do since my six-year-old has recently been exposed to and now become obsessed with "High School Musical." If only she had watched "Them!!"

Anyway, this was pointed out by a co-worker. It seems when the "High School Musical" gravy train has passed Zac by, he can market himself as a cheaper, low-rent Jodie Foster for the next film she passes on. Of course, he's going to have to work on those arms:

Disposable Dixie cup drinking

2007-08-30T09:21:00.000-07:00

I've been trying to get this up since last weekend.

In short, the Wilco show was incredible. There aren't many bands that I've seen in concert that reproduce the feel and sound of their albums and music live as well as Wilco. The arrangements, the orchestrations, the timing, the musicianship -- it's all amazingly put-together. They just sound good in concert. (You can click on the photos to make 'em big.)

So let's take it from the top.

The show, as you know, was in Berkeley, a solid three hours from Redding. It was general admission so we figured if we got there an hour early -- 6:30ish -- we'd have a chance at getting pretty good seats. I mean this was Wilco, not U2, after all.

Becky's aunt and uncle had graciously offered to take the girls, Concord being only 20 minutes or so from Berkeley. We got to their place about 4 and had a chance to chat and eat. Never underestimate the kindness of relatives -- they had just returned home the day before from a two-week sojourn to Idaho. They really were very generous.

Anyway, we got on the road just after 6. We figured we'd be in Berkeley just after 6:30 and probably in our seats by 7 at the latest. That's when we hit traffic. You have to understand, by some twist of cosmic fate, every other trip we'd taken to the Bay area since moving to Redding had been almost completely bad-traffic-free. I guess we were due.

It took nearly an hour to go the regularly 20-minute distance. And winding through Berkeley was interesting experience. The Greek Theater, the show's venue, is on UC Berkeley's campus, so our drive there took us right through the heart of the university. An incredible campus, by the way. But with it being the end of the first week of school, it was the beginning of rush week and the road to the Greek goes right through Frat Row. So we saw a bunch of rushing frat boys, complete with one guy smashing a large-screen analog TV with a sledgehammer on the front lawn of a frat house, to the amusement of other frat boys.

Event parking was 20 bucks and like hell I was going to pay that, so we spent another 15 minutes or so driving around looking for parking. I had forgotten how bad parking can get in a college town. Anyway, we found a place on a big hill about a mile from the theater, jumped out and started our hike.

By the time we got through the gate and into the Greek it was almost 7:30 exactly. The place, surprisingly, was still filling up and on the floor in the front of the stage was a perfect spot, almost dead center and about 20 feet back. Becky and I slipped in and were ready to rock.

Until Bean Pole (just over Becky's right shoulder) weaseled his way over. You have to understand, Becky's pretty tall, like 5'9". But this skinny kid moves up, he's at least 6'2" and stands right in front of Becky, blocking the entire view of the stage. The opening act was still going through the paces, so no worries yet. But we knew we had to get him to move at some point. It's a Wilco show, so the passive-aggressive route seemed the more appropriate route to take. We talked kind of loudly at first about the audacity of it all, hoping he'd overhear and get the point. But it's a concert and already it was pretty loud. So that didn't work. He was standing so close to Becky that Becky could have breathed on him and he probably would have felt it. So Becky decided to breathe on him to see if he could feel it and then maybe move. She starts blowing at the little hairs on the back of his neck and nothing. He was either ignoring it or too stoned to notice. But she kept it up.

It was all good. The warm-up act finished their set and cleared the stage and Bean Pole at that point decided to move, so we were good.

After what felt like an eternity, the stage went dark and from the wings the band takes their places and immediately goes into "Sunken Treasure." They played most of the stuff from the new album, "Either Way," "You Are My Face," (hearing the entire crowd come in on the bridge and sing "I have no idea how this happens, etc." gave me goose bumps) "Impossible Germany," "Sky Blue Sky," "Side With Seeds," "Shake It Off," "Hate It Here," Walken" and "On and On and On."

It sounded great live. Even "Shake It Off," probably my least favorite track from the album, popped and crackled and just rocked by the end. Jeff joked a lot with the audience, which was fun. He even went on a rant at one point committing the audience to never using the phrase "I loves me some." It was pretty funny, but I couldn't help thinking that the folks that really needed to hear was a few blocks up the road at Frat Row.

And as funny as Jeff was, the two to watch were Nels Cline and Pat Sansome. Nels, an avant garde jazz guitarist who joined the band two years ago, was incredible. Each time he'd slip into one of his solos, he would start bouncing around (he's at least 6'6") and his hand would be moving so quickly it was a literal blur. The guy was nuts. It was awesome. Pat joined the band about the same time; he and John Stirrat are in Autumn Defense together. Anyway, you got the feeling he knew people weren't at the show to see him necessarily so he'd bounce around stage, pulling all these 80s hair-band poses with this guitar or shaking a tamborine, giving off an-almost Topher Grace-sarcastic vibe. It was funnier than it reads.

The band came on for a couple encores. They played "Outta Mind Outta Site" and it was electrifying. They also did "California Stars" which was really cool, considering we were in California. They closed with "Spiders" which I thought was going to be let down, but wasn't. That's another song that works really well live. I mean, by the end you just have this wall of guitars thundering through the song's main hook. It was pretty dang cool.

Disappointingly, they didn't play "Kingpin," which I knew was a long shot, but they also didn't play "Heavy Metal Drummer" or "The Thanks I Get," which I full-on expected.

So, all in all, the show was brilliant. If you can't get to a Wilco show anytime in the near future, you can go to the band's Web site where they're currenlty streaming the London show from the European leg of their tour this spring. It's all very professional, easily CD-quality sound. They'll also be on Leno tonight. But I don't recommend watching Jay Leno, so I'll leave that decision up to you.

What, pray tell, are knickers?

2007-08-20T13:34:00.000-07:00

Lot's of pop culture talk lately, not a lot about the family. So, not unlike the real estate market of late, we're going to do a little correcting here on the Rob Report and fill you in on the latest family affairs.

The girls started school today. Everyone is excited. I can't believe Claire's in second grade. I remember second-grade. It wasn't that long ago.

In extended family news, my mom went into the hospital this morning for an operation on her ankle. It's a long, sordid tale that began nearly 10 years ago when she slipped on the garage floor of the mission home in Kansas City and broke said ankle. It's been problematic since and today she gets it fused. We're all kind of bummed for her and wishing her a speedy recovering.

Leigh, as you may recall, is hilarious. Still a doubting Thomas? Here's further proof. Every so often, while driving the girls around town, Becky will make a turn or come to a stop and shout the refrain, "Hold on to your knickers!"

Not exactly a Gene Genie-ism, but it gets the message out. I think, and Becky can correct me if I'm wrong, that the saying can be traced back to Marcus and his handling of the Grand Marq on the snowy, frozen roads of Gillette, Wy. while in high school.

So a couple weeks ago Becky was driving Leigh and her little friend Abbie across town, both strapped tight in their boosters seats. I'm not sure what manuever Becky was pulling, but, as is her wont, at one point in the drive she turns around and says to the girls, "Hold on to you knickers!"

Well, Abbie turned to Leigh and asked "What are your knickers?" And Leigh, ever the thoughtful one, simply responds, "They're these silver things on the booster seat." She then helpfully points to a couple of plastic, silver tabs on the arms of the booster seat. And then holds on to them as best she can, encouraging Abbie to do the same.

Update: Mom's out of surgery and is doing well. Apparently, the operation itself lasted about twice as long as they had anticipated -- Mom's ankle was pretty messed up. But the doctor said he was able to fix things up rather well, that the operation was a roaring success. Let's hope.

Summer Teeth

2007-08-16T17:25:00.000-07:00

Hey, guess who got tickets to Wilco's sold-out Berkeley show? We did. Hooray for us.

You may remember my recent lament of my inability to make decisions. Well, unfortunately it appears that unhealthy character trait has been rewarded. We scored tickets to the show through ebay yesterday.

It's funny because we'd kind of given up on going. There's a big YM/YW activity that weekend and as hard-to-find tickets got more expensive it didn't seem like it was worth it. Most of the ticket prices on ebay were really inflated and there wasn't much up for grabs on craigslist.

But on a whim, Becky decided to check out what was on ebay a couple nights ago and sure enough there were a pair of tickets going for pretty close to face value. So we bid and 12 hours later we won.

Now, we just have to get a hold of Becky's aunt and uncle in the Bay area so we have a place to stay the night and leave the kids for a few hours during the show. So far, they've been incommunicado. So Amber, we may come calling.

Bat's breath!

2007-08-15T10:57:00.000-07:00

Who remembers the old '80s show "Voyagers"?

I don't know who in our household started watching it, but I can remember being 7 years old and sitting down every week to watch it and absolutely loving it. In fact, to this day when I hear the word "omni" I think if "Voyagers" first and the Book of Mormon second. It was a pretty great show.

Anyway, it's now out of DVD so Becky and I have been checking them out. Now keep in mind that I've dragged Becky along on these little strolls down memory lane before. You know, renting the shows you thought were brilliant as a kid to relive the childhood that's far into the past.

For every show that holds up to the test of time ("Greatest American Hero") there's 10 that simply suck on just about every possible level ("The Fall Guy" -- such a disappointment). So putting in "Voyagers" last week I didn't quite know what to expect. It could have been pretty bad.

I mean, the show is pretty high-concept for '80s television. Jeffrey, a 10-year-old orphan in 1983 finds Phineas Bogg, a guy in a vest and knee boots, who has just crashed through the window of his New York high-rise. Turns out he's a Voyager, a time traveller that goes around fixing history when it goes wrong. Using the omni device that flashes red or green depending on what needs fixed. Reluctantly, he takes the kid with him and off they go fixing history.

Well, the show has held up suprisingly well. And it's amazing what sticks out in your head 25 years on. Jeffrey's red and white striped shirt and white Nikes were instantly recognizable and the shot of Bogg and the kid flying through space when they time traveled was printed idelably on my memory. That image always stuck out. Wierd. And every episode ends with Jeffrey imploring the viewers to visit their local libraries and learn about the real history highlighted in the show. I'd totally forgotten about that but the second I heard it, it took straight back to being a kid. Crazy.

Anyway, as for the show itself, the acting is pretty bad and the producation values are understandably low, but the stories are a lot of fun -- not as predictable as you'd think -- and the chemistry between Bogg and the kid is surprisngly strong. It's been a lot of fun to watch. So, don't be afraid, go ahead and rent it. It shouldn't wreck any childhood memories.

Now on to something a little more current. Although, unintentionally this has something to do with time travel as well.

"Life on Mars." Ever heard of it? No? Well, that's about to change. It's a BBC 1 show that's getting an American remake for the upcoming television season. It ran earlier this year on BBC America.

Anyway, the show is absolute genius. It starts off in 2006 in Manchester. Sam Tyler, a hot-shot police detective is hot on the trail of serial killer when he gets hit by a car. When he wakes up it's 1973. The show's central mystery revolves around Tyler trying to figure out if he's in a coma in 2006 and just dreaming, has actually traveled back in time to 1973 or if he's just completely crazy.

It takes the tired old police procedural and completely turns the genre on its head. It's a lot of fun. Moreso because of Sam's boss in 1973, Gene Hunt. He just steals the show -- one of the most quotable characters in TV from the last 10 years. He's brilliant.

Anyway, I know what you're wondering. How can I see it? Producers have yet to release the show on DVD on the this side of the pond and it's completed its run on BBC America. Well, never fear. Thanks to YouTube, you can watch most of the show from start to finish. Like most British shows, it had a limited run -- two seasons. And each season is only eight episodes long. The guy that posted them all to YouTube gets lazy from time to time and you're left with only highlights of some episodes instead the whole thing. But most shows are intact and it's totally worth your time. But be warned. It's Brittish, which means the language can get a little rough. Although, they never drop the f-bomb. So that's something.

I'll get you started:

I guess it's August

2007-08-14T12:01:00.000-07:00

Well, the unitentional hiatus is over. It's amazing how fast two weeks go by. Anyway, we have quite a bit of ground to cover. So I'll make this as quick and painless as possible.

First, the girls got their hair cut. Dramatically. This is the first time in their young little lives that we've done something this drastic with their hair and overall I think it works. They're both cuties.

Moving on, Becky and Claire spent last week in Richland, Wash. helping Becky's sister Kim recover from an especially difficult pregnancy and delivery. While they were gone, Jayson posted some thoughts last week on his quinteplets blog about service and how it seems to always be at work in some way or another in our lives:

A number of years ago, I discovered one of the secrets to true and lasting happiness. It is service to others. In serving others, we forget ourselves. We forget our own problems or recognize those problems in different ways that make them seem less formidable. I firmly believe that it is only through serving others (including our own family members) that we can really find true happiness.

Jayson feels one of the reasons they had the quints was to give those around them a chance to serve and to give himself and Rachelle a chance to accept help from others, something they admit to being kind of bad at.

And so the point I'm trying to make is I'm glad Becky had the chance to go help her sister and I'm glad her sisters were able to band together and ask for help when they needed it. I think it brings the family together and strengthens those bonds like nothing else can. You can say "I love you" all day long but until you actually sacrifice some of your own time and energy to help those you care for, you're not really showing much love at all.

And now I'll get off my high-horse. And talk about TV.

You know, on second thought, this might be a good place to stop today. Tomorrow -- yes, tomorrow -- we'll cover televsion. I just got done watching the first five episodes of "Voyagers." Oh, you remember "Voyagers." The omni is flashing green, kid. We're good.

Five more Wilkinsons in our world

2007-07-31T16:22:00.000-07:00

For those keeping score, Jayson and Rachelle just gave birth to the quintuplets. I've written about it a couple times here and here. Anyway, you gotta go check out their his and hers blogs. Jayson already has video up and it's absolutely incredible.

You have to remember, this was a shaky venture at best. They weren't ever sure how many would survive nor what problems they'd have once delivered. But the birth was a success and the five babies -- three girls and two boys -- seem to be doing really well.

Congrats, Jays and Rachelle! Your babies are beautiful and they couldn't be coming to a better home.

The Boy Who Was Always in a Bad Mood

2007-07-25T09:54:00.000-07:00

Let's get this out of the way.

I finished the last Harry Potter book last night and had a few thoughts to pass along. Spoilers are ahead, so if you haven't finished the book yet or don't want to know what happened or simply don't care, just skip this post and be thankful you lead a healthy, normal life. For the rest of you who have read the book, don't care or wish to mock me, here's what I think.

The book was interesting and for the most part entertaining. Claire noticed me reading it over the past couple days and was intrigued that was I was reading Harry Potter. So I dug out the first book and handed it to her to read. Doing it, I noticed that it's been almost eight years since I read the first book and that Becky and I finished it in three days.

That was a long time ago. Eight years later I'm not quite as enamored with the books as I used to be. Around book five Harry became this grouchy, selfish and almost painfully unsympathetic character and stayed that way until about the last fourth of book seven. It got to be a real drag.

I wanted to finish the series, even as I enjoyed it less, because I was so intrigued by those first books, interested to know how it would all resolve, curious to know just how Harry had survived as a baby and how he would turn into this wunderkind wizard.

And now I know. And I'm kind of ambivalent about the whole thing.

At the same time, I've got to give credit to J.K. Rowling. She kept her characters human, obnoxiously at times. I remember reading all the Tom Clancy novels in high school and being left with the sense that Jack Ryan was this unbelievable, infallible hero who could never really make a mistake and always knew what do. By the time Clancy made him president, you realized that the author had slipped deep into hero-worship never to return. Jack Ryan became a god among men and a bad cliche.

Mercifully, Rowling never falls into this trap. In fact, most of the time, she took it to the other extreme. Harry was always in a bad mood. At times, he was woefully unsympathetic. He was mean, self-obsessed and fixated on his parents. There were times over the past three books that I'd wished he'd just get killed so he'd shut up and stop whining about himself and his his parents and focus on something or someone besides Harry Potter.

Rowling kept that up for a good portion of book seven. Luckily, Harry finally matures and becomes less annoying. In fact, the book's finale, when Harry, Ron and Hermione return to Hogwarts to make their last stand was really, really good. Finally, the potential of the entire series comes to fruition and you see all the characters grow into who you wanted them to be.

Neville's my new favorite. He was Harry's mirror image for much of the series -- weak, goofy and unsure, but his parents destroyed by Voldemort all the same. But he came into his own at the end of "Deathly Hallows" and in a way was more Harry Potter than Harry.

Snape's big reveal was also really satisfying. Of all the characters in the series, this is the one Rowling gets right. She never went straight melodrama with him and made him substantially three-dimensional. It made his death that much more tragic. Fred died, which bummed me out and so did Mad-Eye, Lupin and Tonks. Those all felt kind of ancillary.

The one character I kept hoping would die, however, never did. Hagrid survived. There was a brief moment at the beginning of the book where it looked like he might have bought it and then another scene near the end. But no, he's left to annoy and distract for generations to come. I would have gladly traded his death for Fred's.

There was a lot of whimsy in the first books that was gone by the seventh. And I suppose that's understandable. The books get progressively darker as the characters mature and face more dangers. That being said, I wonder if the writing became more of a chore for Rowling as she went on and less of an enjoyment as it clearly had been in the beginning.

Book seven also alludes heavily to a Nazi-controlled Europe, with Mudbloods standing in for Jews and Death Eaters for the Gestapo. The whole quest for Horcruxes and then the subplot to collect the Deathly Hallows felt almost Dan Brown-ish. We've got secret societies, powerful talismans and a centuries-old conspiracy to keep them hidden. It didn't do much for me.

That being said, the book was gripping overall. Rowling wasn't afraid to put her characters in real peril and as a result "Deathly Hallows" was a true page-turner. And excluding the misguided epilogue, it ended smartly and satisfyingly.

Except for the fact that Hagrid didn't die. That would have made it completely satisfying.

The Decider

2007-07-23T17:26:00.000-07:00

I've never been very good at decision-making. I can walk into 7-Eleven and spend an hour trying to pick out a pack of candy. Becky will ask what I want for dinner and I go straight to the hoary old chestnut, "I dunno. What do you want?"

Sometimes, it's a great way to shirk responsibility. I've never been real comfortable with responsibility. And sometimes it bites you in the behind.

About a month ago, after Wilco had announced tour dates, Becky and I were trying to decide if we wanted to go see them. It's a big decision. The nearest show is in Berkeley -- about a three-hour drive from where were at. That means we'd need to figure out what to do with the girls, decide how much we were going to spend, plan the trip -- all this stuff you have to do when you live far from family and have an actual life you're repsonsible for.

Anyway, to budget the trip, Becky suggested the trip and the concert be my birthday present. So I was left to decide: is that how I wanted to use my brithday money? I couldn't decide. There were a few things I wanted to do with the money and I knew doing the Wilco show would be unforgetable but fleeting at the same time. It would be a gift I'd experience rather than keep.

Finally, last week I decided. I thought about how I was getting older, how it had been over three years -- THREE YEARS! -- since I'd been to my last real concert (no offense, Jim) and that if I had the chance to go see Wilco I shouldn't be giving it a second thought. So I told Becky I had decided that we should do the show.

She has an aunt and uncle in Concord, just a hop, skip and jump from Berkeley. We decided we'd leave the kids there, go to the show, stay the night and visit the Oakland Temple in the morning. It was such a convient plan, Becky thought it would fun to invite friends Erick and Jaylynn, aquaintences who were also pretty big Wilco fans. They were game, too.

That's when my weeks of indecision paid off. Erick called a couple days later saying he'd gone to Wilco's Web site to check out tickets only to learn that the Berkeley show had sold out.

The show had sold out.

You have to understand, as good a band as Wilco is, their shows rarely sell out. In fact it usually happens in the Midwest where they have a huge following. I took my time hemming and hawing because I figured I had the time to hem and haw. And, of course, I was wrong.

So we're left with precious few options. There's ebay of course, where tickets are selling for about double the original price. The next closest show is either Seattle or Santa Barbara. The Seattle show could work -- both Becky and I have family there -- but that would mean making the concert a full on family vacation. Neither of us really want to to do that. Then there's always the hope that they'll add a show somewhere in between. Both Berkeley and Portland sold out, so I suppose it's a faint possibility.

But the point is don't wait. Just make a decision and get on with your life.

Weight, weight, don't tell me

2007-07-18T13:23:00.000-07:00

I still can't figure out a way to just put mp3s on the Rob Report so until I do let's talk about my weight.

You may recall last year when my weight hit the magical number 200. Yes, I was celebratory, but then the scale kept inching up. In fact, by the begining of 2007 I was already at 210. You have to remember, I'm a skinny white boy who came home from his mission weighing a skant 165. I was up to 175 by the time I got married two and a half year later. But even then, watching some of the wedding videos, I looked like Skeletor in a couple shots -- my face all bony and hallowed out.

And, almost nine years later, I've managed to put on an additional 35 lbs., wonderfully illustrated by that picture on the left. If you look closely (you can actually click on the photo to make it bigger, though, I don't know why you'd want to), you can see the beginnings of my double chin and my round, rosy, cherubic cheeks. And to be honest I don't think my weight gain is that bad. I mean, that's roughly three and a half pounds a year. My problem is that my weight is still on the increase. I figure, if I don't want to end up morbidly obese or even just a sweaty mouth-breather after climbing the stairs, I better staunch my free flow of girth.

Which is why one of my summer predictions was that I'd drop 10 lbs. by Labor Day. I don't want to be back at 175 and I certainly don't plan on giving up white bread and milk shakes and chocolate-chip cookies and Skittles and Hershey's miniatures because who wants to be healthy enough to live to 100 if you're miserable the entire time. That would be like having extra years added onto a prison sentence.

No, all I wanted to do was put more moderation in my diet, be able to wear the great leather belt I bought coming home from my mission (which I was still able to fit until the beginning of this year) and not huff and puff walking from my bedroom to the kitchen.

So I've cut out all snacking mid-meals. The only times I'm eating during the day is when I sit down to breakfast, lunch and dinner. I've cut out all ancillary sugar consumption, which means I'm no longer consuming pounds of candy at my desk all day and a bag of cookies in front of the TV at night. I'm not exagerating about that. And I've stop drinking soda. I'm also taking it easy on my white bread consumption.

Will this be permanent? Of course not, silly reader. Once I get down to a comfortable weight, I'll eat my unhealthy snacks again. But the goal, of course, is to not eat so much this time. I'm hoping I can learn a little self-discipline while I get my weight down and then exercise that self-discipline once I get my weight down to keep it from ballooning back up. I don't care if I gain a few pounds here and there, I just want to stop myself from subsisting solely on a diet of sugar. Which I love and will not speak ill of.

Some may find folly in my plan. I'm certainly not as militant about this as others who undertake similar challenges. And that lack of regimented commitment could ultimately be my undoing. I'm not so sure. Simply because I'm not trying to drop 50 lbs. or something. But mostly because it's more important to me to be happy than than to weigh a specific amount.

I may change my tune, though, when I weigh in next year at 220 and the doctor tells me I have heart disease.

But until that time, we'll see how my plan works. Because I'm only three days into it, it seems hardly worth mentioning, but I've been able to stick to my plan so far. I haven't had any candy since Sunday, any soda since Saturday and except for some cheese and whole wheat (ugh) crackers last night, I've only eaten at my three daily meals.

Now the sticky part. Becky's been trying to get me to do all this for a while. And she's been reasonably successful. I've gone off pop a few times and curbed my cookie consumption for a while last year. But this renewed effort came about after a friend, Bryan Hamblin, challenged a few of us to do it. I joined in 'cause I'd already predicted I'd lose the weight and plus it's nice to have that extra motivation. Whether or not I'll actually do it, well, that's a whole other thing.

Kind of new and kind of improved

2007-07-12T20:41:00.000-07:00

As you can see, the Rob Report has been tweaked a bit. We're trying out a few new features here and hopefully it will improve your Rob Report experience.

The most exciting, though, is that I've figured out how to place audio files on the site. That's right, crazy, tinkering Uncle Rob now brings you music. To celebrate, below you'll find a link to the crappy nu-metal cover of "The Transformers" theme song. Right click the link and just select "save file as" and you are good to go.

Transformers [mp3]

Oh my heart, a back flip

2007-07-11T13:52:00.000-07:00

This one's for H.L. And this has been a long time coming. He was prescient enough as a sophomore in high school to understand the nostalgia/irony value of certain movie that defined a certain age. I was the jerk who lost the movie a short time later. We can all thank Garrett for digging it up.

Cru (imitating Bob): Late again, Cru?
Cru: Oh, excuse me Blob, I don't have a watch.
Cru (imitating Bob): Bob, the name is Bob, not Blob. Smart-ass.

On a side note, visiting the film's IMDb page, I learned a very, very important fact about 1980s cinema. If it was a terrible movie released sometime between 1977 and 1987, it was directed by a man named Hal Needham.

"Cannonball Run"? Check. "Smokey and the Bandit"? Check. "Cannonball Run II"? Check. "Smokey and the Bandit II"? Check. "Rad"? Check. And the coup de gras? "Megaforce." Yes. "Megaforce" was directed by Hal Neddham. I learned that and all of sudden so many things in my life made complete sense.

In fact, I need to do a post just on "Megaforce" to properly deal with it's enormous level of suckitude. Something to look forward to. In the mean time, you can rest easy tonight knowing that one man is responsible for many of Me Generation's worst movies.

Send me an angel, Hal
Right now
Right now
Right now

Futurama

2007-07-06T11:26:00.000-07:00

Alright, we're a week into July, let's take a look at how my summertime "Rob Predicts the Future!" predictions are holding up.

My first prediction was that you'd enjoy my predictions. I can say almost unequivically that this has come true.

As for the others, well, time will tell.

1. Gas prices, mercifully, are still hovering around the three-dollar level where I'm at. I filled up the car this morning for $2.99 a gallon. Driving around town this morning, the most expensive gas price I saw was $3.18, a far cray from $4.50. That being said, Labor day is still two months off. I really think we'll still see it.

2. "Pirates" so far is in third place for the title of summer's biggest blockbuster, not first. "Spider-man 3" currently holds that place. But, rest assured, I haven't met a person yet who liked it. As such, it's still a massive waste of $200 million dollars. Seriously, stop and think about it. They spent $200 million on a movie that will sit on the shelf next to "Independence Day" and never get watched ever again. It's a great system.

3. I was vaguely disappointed with "Transformers" but not for the reasons I thought. It easily held up to my childhood nostalgia. But it was just kind of sloppy and poorly directed. I'm still eager to see "The Simpsons" and I still think I'll love "Bourne Ultimatum."

4. I have not lost 10 pounds yet. But I haven't gained 10 pounds either. So that's something. I suppose, though, that I better get working. The pop habit has been a tricky mistress to ditch.

5. Erick and I did not form a band and blow away the Boulder Creek crowd with our trumpet/guitar/6-year-old vocalists rendition of "Ring of Fire." The talent show was held during the day making it virtually impossible for us to participate. But, for the record, Erick worked out the trumpet part from the song by ear. Impressive.

So there it is. That's where we're at. We'll keep it going all summer, folks. So be sure to check back in.

Autobots are watching over you

2007-07-03T15:46:00.000-07:00

The problem with taking something like "Transformers" and putting it on screen is that, well, you're taking something like "Transformers" and putting it on screen.

As I'm sure everyone knows, Transformers were toys launched in 1984 -- coupled with a cartoon -- that could change from vehicle to robot. Not to get all Gen X, but for a certain segment of the population at that time, Transformers were the end-all, be-all of toy and cartoon creation. Simply put, they ruled.

But like most of my generation, I almost forgot about Transformers as I reached adulthood. In fact, I had to Google most of the generation one toys just to remember the names of the Transformers I had -- toys that were in some respects as real to me as my friends at the time. A little sad? Probably. A little scary? Certainly.

I never got into the comic books and I never followed the toys after the late 1980s. But I remember finding out four or five years ago that the original cartoons had been released on DVD and getting very, very excited. And I threw them on the Netflix queue and sat down to watch them when they arrived. Needless to say, the experience was deflating. The cartoon itself was terrible -- everything from the animation to the storylines.

But hearing the music, hearing the sound effects and surprisingly hearing Optimus Prime's voice put me in a flashback -- not unlike the Vietnam vet that hears a truck backfire and is immediately taken back to his foxhole in the jungle fighting Charlie. Those sounds just took me back to a time when a concept like a car disguised as a robot could effortlessly and completely capture the imagination. And it surprised me. And all the love and fascination I had with these toys came flooding back.

Anyway, getting to my point, I saw the movie last night. I hadn't been this excited to see a movie in a long, long time. I was kind of skeptical at first, as I'm sure many were, when news of the movie broke and set photos leaked. But after seeing the second full-length preview back in May it all melted away. Especially when I saw Prime transform and it was accompanied by the the old school sound effects. They had me from that point on, hook, line and sinker.

So let's review the movie.

"Transformers" is underwhelming and exciting all at the same time. The first scene to show a Transformer actually transform -- from a Skiorsky military copter to a robot -- was incredible. All those of hours of imagining it in your head as you played with the toys as a kid, all those walks to school where you looked at the cars you passed by and wondered if they were Transformers and what would they look like if they transformed and then there it is on the big screen. Industrial Light and Magic's special effects, its computer animation, was photo real. I really don't think it could have looked any better. It was simply breath-taking. And as a credit to ILM it never really got old. It was fun watching the vehicles transform every single time it happened.

Robert Orci and Alex Kurtzman, the two principle screenwriters, probably had as difficult a job as the artists and computer techs at ILM writing the script. They had to take a premise -- that originated as a half-baked backstory for the toys' marketing scheme -- and make it work in a convincing and credible way for the big screen. I mean, these are alien robots that come to earth and then take the shape of everyday vehicles and the good guys, despite coming from a planet that has no human cars, are called Autobots.

But, for the most part, they pull it off. And maybe a little too well. There was a lot of exposition in the movie, a lot of talk explaining every last detail about the Transformers' existance, motivation and history. Show, don't tell, boys. That said, the cleverest move by the writers was having Prime explain why they're called Autobots. In the film, "auto" is short for autonomous whereas for the toys and cartoon, it was obviously short for automobile. Pretty smooth.

The film's major flaw, and I'm sure this comes as no surprise to anyone, is Michael Bay. To his credit, he keeps the film fun and keeps the action moving. However, the film lacked a cohesiveness. It moved so fast it never had a chance to congele. Rather than feeling like it was the story that was sweeping you along, you felt like it was Bay, making sure you never stayed long enough in each scene to see him pulling the levers behind the curtain. Contrast that with a filmmaker like James Cameron who's known for his love of technology, his revolutionary special effects and the soul he can imbue even in mechanical creations and you realize in the right hands "Transformers" could have been much better, more "Terminator 2" than "Armegedon."

In fact, whether it was laziness on Bay's part or hubris, he references his own films many times in "Transformers" -- most notably a scene where Shia LeBeouf runs across a rooftop, flare in hand as fighter jets fly overhead a la "The Rock," the only Michael Bay film I really enjoy. I would have enjoyed seeing more interaction between the Transformers themselves, rather than just their strings of one-liners in the battle scenes. Yes, I'm complaining that there wasn't more character development for a group of transforming alien robots. And this may be the only fanboy complaint I have, but c'mon, only one scene with Megatron and Starscream together? At close to two and half hours, you'd think they could have at least worked one more scene.

Shia LeBeouf, the boy in the writers' boy-and-his-first-car story hook, does a convincing job acting with machines. There's a genuine sincerity there -- played against some amazingly dumb dialogue -- that keeps the movie from devolving into pure camp. Bernie Mac's cameo was also a refreshing comedic where many of the film's intended jokes fell flat. John Turturro was the billed comic relief and while he out-acted most every one on screen, too much what he put across felt forced.

The masterstroke, however, was bringing back Peter Cullen to voice Optimus Prime. It was the one voice that stood out in the cartoons, one filled with wisdom and compassion and heroism. It's surprising I know, but it was that gravity he brought to the character that made him so memorable to entire generation. Bring him back to voice Prime for the movie was just brilliant. Mainly because the writer's kept those character traits intact. It was the same Prime on the screen last night as the one from the cartoon 23 years ago.

Interestingly enough, USA Today picked up on that facet of the show's fandom. Last week they wrote that Optimus Prime, as the ultimate hero with that amazingly compassionate voice, served as a surrogate father to a whole generation of latchkey kids.

The movie is celebratory and wonderfully visual. It was a lot of fun and certainly easy to watch. My only regret walking out of the theater was leaving with the a sense that the movie could have been that much better.

Here's your failure pile

2007-06-25T16:59:00.000-07:00

Your moment of Zen from Patton Oswalt -- or rather, from a profile of Patton Oswald in today's New York Times:

Nor is he likely to be hearing from the folks at KFC (at least not in a good way) after appearing on “Late Night With Conan O’Brien” and describing its popular Famous Bowl combo of chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy as “a failure pile in a sadness bowl” and “a wet mound of starch that I can eat with a spoon like I’m a death-row prisoner on suicide watch.”

Frak!

2007-06-21T22:11:00.000-07:00

It's seems like it's been months since I've talked anything pop culture. It's like my family and life are important to me or something. Anyway, let's shake things up and talk about my latest entertainment-based obsession, shall we?

Battlestar Galactica.

Now, just wait. Before you stop reading and say, "What the crap is wrong with Rob?", let me correct that by informing you the proper way to express that sentiment is, "What the frak is wrong with Rob?" Much better.

Seriously though, give me three sentences to make a case for the show. Then you can move on to better blogs and such. First and, most importantly, it's not campy. Second, it looks slick and the writing is top shelf. Third, it's got plenty of action -- smart action.

Now, if you're still here, allow me to elaborate a little. If you remember the first BSG, with Lorne Greene and Face from "The A-Team," you know that the original show's stock and trade was camp. I mean, they all wore capes and the whole show was lit like a disco. It was pretty bad. And the last time I watched the first BSG was when it originally aired on TV, which means I was five at the time. If it didn't impress me then I can't see it doing anything for me now.

Which is one of the reasons I had no interest in seeing the update. I never thought the show was worth updating. And even if it was, I didn't see how it could be good. Look at all the bad sci-fi that's aired on television lately. You've got a thousand iterations of Stargate (someone explain that to me?) and Star Trek started it's nose dive right after Next Generation went off the air, leaving a dozen crappily written, acted and designed Star Trek knock-offs.

But a friend, who had turned me onto "Firefly" told me to check it out. I'm a sucker for good sci-fi and that's the main reason I don't watch sci-fi on television. It's never any good. But "Firefly" was. So, after mulling it over for a year or so, Becky and decided to throw them on the Netflix queue.

I was immediately surprised. Not only were the production values amazingly high -- we're talking near-motion picture quality -- the writing was phenomenal. The special effects, especially the dog fights out in space, are really well done. The cast is fun and I feel like the acting has gotten better as they've grown into their roles.

For me, though, the most enjoyable aspect of the show is the action, of which there's a fair bit, and the allusions to present-day American society. There's plenty of subtle and not-so-subtle references to the war on terror and and our own xenophobia as a country. And, as should be the case with good sci-fi, it's never heavy-handed or accusatory. It's simply there, giving you a new prism with which to analyze our current political climate. And did I mention the action was really good?

So there ya go. If you're looking for something new and different, check it out. You can thank me later.

And as a special treat for hanging with me through this interminable rant on televised science fiction, I'll leave with a stiff shot of "Arrested Development." It's Friday, you need the laugh. The following short video is a compilation of the chicken dance. Just click on it, I promise you'll laugh.

Chips ahoy!

2007-06-19T16:51:00.000-07:00

This week sees me in an interesting place. I was calling for help on Monday and gushing today about a certain person who shall remain nameless until the next paragraph -- two thing I don't do comfortably or often. And yet, here we are. So let's soldier on.

Sunday was, of course, Father's Day and, as many of you know, not only do I have a father but also I am father. In standard Rogers fashion, we were up early Sunday morning because the girls don't ever -- EVER -- sleep in. Even when they do, they really don't. Anyway, Becky headed downstairs with the girls and I made to follow with the baby in tow. Claire called up and told me to wait just a few minutes, which I did. That, of course, was the clue that Becky was setting up my Father's Day spread.

I'll stop here to interject that I had a pretty good idea of what Becky had got me. She had hinted earlier in the month that she had decided to get me something more or less perishable rather than something that would stick around a while. Armed with that knowledge, I was pretty sure she had gotten me a box of milk chocolate pecan bark from Stahmanns because I love it and we'd often discuss it around holidays and birthdays. Besides, what else would I possible want that's edible and has to be ordered online?

The answer to the question was sitting on the kitchen table amongst colored cards and hand-made gifts from the girls. She'd gotten me Anchor's Food Finds Super Sample Pack of rare and regional potato chips. Not only was it a surprise, but it was genius. And it shows how good Becky's memory is.

The package included 25 small bags of chips of just about every variety imaginable. Everything from habanero-flavored to black pepper and ginger. The gift even plays to my rage-ahol addiction. I hate that in your average super market you can only get maybe six flavors of potato chips from two brands. I thought I lived in America, the land of excess. I get angry that it's near impossible to find a good dill pickle-flavored chip anywhere and that ketchup flavored chips aren't even sold in country. The sampler pack allows me to rage loudly and often about such things. Which may be the true gift.

So for the paper, I'm writing up little blurbs for the food page on each package I sample. I think it'll be pretty fun. I'll probably reprint them here and even expand on them a little bit.

Anyway, the rest of the day was crazy. Elsa had burned a 103-degree fever the night before and Claire was just getting over a double-ear infection. Becky had gotten maybe four hours sleep Saturday night. With Elsa's fever as high as it was and the fact that she'd been burning some kind of fever for the past three days, Becky decided to take her to the doctor's while I took the girls to church. By day's end we were exhausted. Regardless, Becky still prepared the lion's share of dinner and then made a chocolate pecan pie from scratch (crust included) while the girls and I watched "Mulan." It was incredible. And the pie was really good, too. Becky has an amazing knack of pulling off these types incredibly thoughtful and elaborate celebrations. Which is kind of a secret trait as she's the antithesis of the craft-making, fluff-worshipping, scrapbooker who stereotypically does things like this. She's the type of person who's happy with a stocking full of hardcore office supplies on Christmas morning.

Anyway, there's something else she does amazing well -- she can totally figure out machines and fix them. A few weeks ago our washing machine stopped agitating. You've got a number of options, the way I figure it, when something like this happens. You can kick the washing machine repeatedly, call in an expert or go to the store and buy a replacement (I would have gone with option one). Given the fact that it was a Saturday night or that we didn't want to use our savings on a new appliance, Becky just attacked the problem head-on.

She unscrewed the column from the washing machine, pulled it apart and discovered the little rubber teeth that make the column move or "agitate" were worn down and weren't catching the sides column any more. Monday morning, she went to the appliance store, bought the replacement parts and fixed the washing machine. Did I mention I would have just repeatedly kicked it? In short, woman is amazing.

Shillin'

2007-06-18T11:29:00.000-07:00

Back in the saddle. And there's a lot to write about. We'll try and keep it interesting and we'll try to spread it out over the week so it doesn't get overwhelming. So here we go.

I was reading Jayson's father's day post this morning and was -- yet again -- amazed at his ordeal and how he's handling it. A quick refresher course for those of you who don't know, Jayson, an old childhood friend and father of two, is going to be a father of quintuplets. His wife is blogging about her singular experience here.

Anyway, I rarely shill for anything on the Rob Report. When I do, it's simply embarrassing. This, of course, is because I'm fundementally unable to shill for things, it's not in my genetic code. Hence my profession. In my mind there's nothing dirtier than a car salesman (sorry, Brent)or a PR flak. I remember my first summer in Utah and working at a burger stand at Lagoon -- Utah's preeminent amusement park. Most of the time it was just kids coming up buying a cheeseburger or an order of fries or parents buying lunch for the fam.

But I vividly remember the handful of folks who would come by to buy a lunch or dinner and clearly couldn't afford it. Clearly. You know the type, they've saved all year, maybe two or three, just to take their kids to this crappy, over-priced amusement park and use their last dollar to buy the theme park food. Obviously, there was nothing wrong with it -- it's how the system works. They knew what they were doing and no one had put a gun to their head and made them come. But there's just something monumently degrading and undignifying about taking someone's last dollar. It still makes me feel uncomfortable. It certainly showed me I wasn't meant to go into sales.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, I don't shill for things very well. So I'm not going to. But that doesn't preclude me from writing a few things about Jayson, Rachelle and their family.

Normal pregnancies last 40 weeks. A baby, at the relative earliest, can be born at 24 weeks and still have a chance (with lots and lots of medical help) at making it. If you remember, Elsa was born at 34 weeks, which many doctors say is the threshold for a premie to be born and require the least amount of help immediately following the birth. Elsa was, of course, in distress while in the womb, hence the early arrival, and that complicated things somewhat. But we were still out of the NICU (neonatal intensive care unit) four weeks later. It could have been much worse.

Rachelle's hope is to deliver her five twinners at the 34-week mark. It would give them the best chance for survival. If you go back and read her blog, you see that the odds of her making it that far are not in her favor. She had a less than 50 percent chance to make it to the 24-week bench mark. If you make it past that mark, most quints are born between the 26- and 28-week mark. Even then, there's only a 65 percent survival rate and of those 65 precent, only 40 percent are what doctors euphamistically call "intact" or born without defect or disability.

Steep odds, those.

She's been on bed rest for the past month or so in Arizona and is just about to reach 28 weeks. Jayson stayed back in Austin to take care of the other two kids and, remarkably, move the family into their new house. In other words, they've been dealing with everyday life while still trying to manage this incredible pregnacy two states apart.

And while I imagine it's been hard, the real hard stuff is yet to come. Not only is there the physically and emotionally draining birth to go through, the new babies will be living for months in the NICU. It's hard watching your child in that kind of environment. I mean, you know they're there because that's simply the only and best place for them to be. But that doesn't make it any easeir to leave at night. And to put the stay in perspective, Elsa's month-long stint in the NICU cost just under $150,000. Multiply that by five and then by the four or five months they'll be in the NICU and you get an idea of what kind of medical bills they'll be facing.

And, of course, as anyone who has kids knows, they ain't cheap. For the next two decades, Jayson and Rachelle will have to buy five times the diapers, five times the food, five times the clothes, five times the insurance and doctors' bills, five times the swimming and piano lesson, five times the college tuition and on and on and on. And that's great if you're a successful venture captalist at Bain. You know, shillin stuff. But Jayson, like most of us, is a working stiff trying to make ends meet and provide for his family.

That's where we come in. Go here and help these guys. And I'm not just talking money. They're going to need all they can get with just about everything. Like this, for example: Dr. Darrell Park at Buttercup Dental, volunteered to give the quintuplets dental care until they leave home for college or a mission. That's huge. And when big offers like that aren't an option for us, we can do small stuff and all of it will help. And whether it's the Golden Rule, Karma or mere humanity that you believe in, you know doing it will be good for them, but it'll be good for you too. Good for your soul.

So go on, give 'em a hand.

The Joker

2007-06-05T21:40:00.000-07:00

Here's a question for you. What did teenagers in the early '60s want? Now this is the early '60s, so this was before the counter-culture movement -- you know, hippies, psychedelia, free-basing, Woodstock. The Beatles were still singing about wanting to hold your hand and, as far as I can tell, Frank Sinatra was considered the coolest living thing on the planet.

Or so I'm told. I wasn't there.

Anyway, the answer may surprise you. William Dow Boutwell tells the story:

One noon hour not long ago a secretary put her head in my door and said, "There's a boy at the reception desk. He wants to talk to an editor."

The boy came in and untied a sheaf of folded brown wrapping paper. "This," he said, "is what teenagers want."

Any guesses as to what was in the brown paper wrapping? Some crazy new sounds from a young upstart named Jimmy Hendrix? No. The follow-up to Jack Kerouac's "On The Road"? No. Hash-hish? No.

It was a manuscript the boy had written entitled "101 Elephant Jokes." The teenagers of the era, apparently, were clamoring for elephant jokes. Let me continue the story:

"Elephant jokes have had their day," [Boutwell continued]. "Everybody knows them or will soon. Are these new elephant jokes?"

"You don't understand," said the boy. "Newness isn't important. The important thing to a teenager is this: if somebody says, 'Why does an elephant do' -- well, anything -- you've got to know the answer. That's why I've collected all the best elephant jokes. There are also some new ones my friends and I made up."

So apparently, in the early '60s, teenagers were under enormous social pressure to memorize and recite -- on command -- elephant jokes or be ostracised from their peers. Those were some dark times, my friends.

Boutwell at this time was editorial vice president of Scholastic Books and the kid, Bob Blake, was a member of the Teenage Book Club (and a 14-year-old comedy prodigy). He got his way and strong-armed the editor into publishing his manuscript. What resulted was 1964's groundbreaking "101 Elephant Jokes." Claire managed to get a copy last weekend at a garage sale. You can imagine the hilarity that has ensued since.

The jokes are what you'd imagine. Absolutely unfunny. All of them end with exclamation points.

First you have the obvious:
Q. What weighs two pounds, is gray and flies?
A. A two-pound flying elephant!

Then the absurd:
Q. Why is it dangerous to go into the jungle between 2 and 4 in the afternoon?
A. Because that's when elephants are jumping out of trees!

And then the vaguely racist:
Q. Why are pygmies so small?
A. They went into the jungle between 2 and 4 in the afternoon!

You get the idea. But as Becky and I spent almost all of Saturday with Claire three steps behind us asking us each joke in the book, we discovered there were a couple really funny jokes inside.

First, the set up:
Q. What's the difference between a plum and an elephant?
A. Their color!

Then the book continues and three jokes later on the next page:
Q. What did Tarzan say when he saw the elephants coming?
A. "Here come the elephants!"
Q. What did Jane say?
A. "Here come the plums!" (She was colorblind!!)

It may have been joke fatigue, but when Claire read those, both Becky and I died. We laughed really hard. Anyway, I was genuinely amazed to learn the book was aimed at teenagers. Something inside me wants to believe this was a marketing ploy to get elementary school kids to buy the book believing teenagers thought it was cool.

Regardless, we're hanging onto our copy of "101 Elephant Jokes." I don't want to take the chance of possibly being ostracised the next time someone springs something on me like "Why do elephants like peanuts?"

Roundup

2007-06-01T14:34:00.000-07:00

It's time to get caught up. It's amazing how quickly the days seem to pass -- I mean, it's already June 1. Insane.

Anyway, we've got plenty of ground to cover so let's get going. Not that this is a chore for me. Or you. Because it's not. This is fun, dammit!

First some photos:

This is from Monday, or if you prefer, Memorial Day. You don't see Leigh, my 4-year-old, because she's the one snapping the photo. Funny girl, that Leigh. And Claire's expression there is classic Claire. She's such a live wire and was an absolute trooper that day. So, back to Memorial Day. Here in Redding we live pretty close to some amazing outdoor attractions, one of them being the Whiskeytown National Recreation Area. It's got a good-sized lake, a few "beaches" and some camping. It's also got a number of waterfalls and hiking trails. But for all of the park's natural beauty, it feels like a low-rent version of a real national park. Like if Wal-Mart got into the national park business, Whiskeytown is what you'd have.

On Monday, we decided to hike up to Brandycreek Falls but, because of the middle school art class-quality of the maps and handouts, we were never really sure where the trail -- which at times dumped you out onto one of the park's dirt roads for a quarter of a mile or so before winding back into the woods -- started or how long it stretched. According to the park, it was supposed to be three miles round trip. But after hiking a little over two miles with no end in sight, the girls exhausted and nearly two hours into the trip, we decided to call it a day. With Elsa on my back -- turns out she's an extremely cooperative hiking companion -- I decided to walk the road back down to the car and drive back to get everyone else. After going just under a mile a guy who had been prospecting for gold and fishing driving a red Jeep stopped and offered me a ride the rest of the way down. He just laughed at my tale.

As it turns out we started at the trailhead (I know, silly us) but the park's literature gives the distance to the falls from the end of the access road. Which is about three miles above the trailhead. Clearly, we forgot the cardinal rule of hiking local attractions: Talk to the locals first and ignore the park's information. Consider us schooled. On a side note, we were going to follow Thom G's excellent advice in this year's Rec Guide and hike to Boulder Creek Falls but decided at the last minute it would have been too long for the girls. Next time.

So here's another:

This is Leigh, who, once again, accompanied me on the annual fathers/sons campout. And once again, she was the only girl. Which surprises me. I'm not the only one in the stake with just daughters and no sons. Apparently, there was one dad who was foolish enough to ask the stake president if would be appropriate for him to take his daughter on the campout. He was told, "no." Silly, silly man. Leigh and I had a blast.

And we'll do a couple more:

This is Claire and Leigh on their first ever horseback ride. This is at the scout camp outside Willits, Calif. Becky's uncle is a professional scouter and his son, her cousin, is the caretaker for this camp. So in the off-season it's open to visitors. Becky's parents, who will soon be mission president and mission mom for the Orlando Florida Mission this summer (and for the next three years) came to town and we journeyed with them to the camp so Becky's dad could meet up with his sister and his mom. Becky's grandma is getting pretty old and this may be the last chance for her dad to see her.

Anyway, the camp has horses and after arriving the girls really wanted to do nothing more than hang out with the horses. Leigh would actually talk to them in coversational tones, standing on a fence trying to get them to come eat a handful of grass she had just pulled. Seriously, she'd talk to them like they were her equals and like they could understand every word. It was hilarious. Anyway, these horses are old. Like, at death's door old. They were bony and droopy and just looked tired. But the girls didn't notice and loved every minute of seeing them and being able to ride.

And one last photo:

This is Elsa all rearing to go hiking on Monday. She was the perfect baby. She would goo and gurgle as she was bounced around in the pack. But never once did she cry. That is, until I tried to take her out of the pack at the end of the hike and I was pulling and pulling on her unaware I had forgotten to unsnap one of her straps. Poor kid, if she survives me it'll be a miracle.

Now, one last thing before I leave you to your weekend. Not to be too self-serving -- although I suppose just maintaining a blog is self-serving by definition -- here's a few links to some more entertaining stuff I've written for my day job over the past month.

The first is an official review for Wilco's new album "Sky Blue Sky." It's not the best music critique I've ever written, but it's serviceable. It's a somewhat more polished up version of what I posted here in March.

The second is a little piece I wrote to laud "Veronica Mars" since it was canceled last month and critique the current state of television veiwership in this fin country of ours.

Behold, the future

2007-05-15T17:06:00.000-07:00

I'm gonna post on the weekend we all spent outside Willits, Calif. on a Boy Scout camp there -- it was surprisingly fun. But I'm going to wait until I've got pictures I can add. Oh, you can pretend you're not excited for it, but you know you are.

In other news, I'm going to predict the future. This will be fun because we can come back to this post in the fall and see how wrong I am. We'll call the feature "Rob Predicts the Future!" and you'll have a good time (that's my first prediction).

1. Gas prices will hit $4.50 a gallon this summer -- At least. And I'm guessing they'll bounce up to five bucks a gallon if we have anything that even closely resembles a hurricane anywhere near the Gulf Coast.

2. "Pirates" will be the biggest blockbuster of the summer while simultaneously taking the title for most abysmal use $200 million of the year -- Seriously, they should have stopped with one. And that should have been trimmed by at least 30 minutes. And after the second one? I can't imagine how bloated and overwrought this one will be.

3. I will be vaguely disappointed with "Transformers" and "The Simpsons Movie" and love "The Bourne Ultimatum" -- Only because I'm really looking forward to both "Transformers" and "Simpsons." But I know deep down the "Transformers" can't match what I built it up to be in my head as a kid and the "Simpsons" just can't work as a motion picture.

4. I will lose 10 pounds this summer -- I imagine what I don't sweat off this summer I'll work off being out and about with Becky and with the girls. Plus, I'm off soda for the time being -- I rule -- and I'm cutting way back on my candy consumption. This makes us all happy.

5. Erick and I will form a band after blowing away the Boulder Creek crowd with our trumpet/guitar/6-year-old vocalists rendition of "Ring of Fire" -- That's if we can get it together. Because if we do that, there will be no stopping us. Unless we suck together. That might stop us.

So there it is. We'll check in over the summer and see were the predictions are at. And in a couple days I'll give you the run down of the Willits Weekend. Willits. I can't say it enough.

Oh, and a quick reminder. Wilco's new album "Sky Blue Sky" is out today, go pick it up -- you owe it to yourself. They'll also be on Letterman tonight.

Pure gold

2007-05-08T16:01:00.000-07:00

It's time for another visit to Show and Tell Music. (Past trips can be found here, here and here.) These fine gentlemen you see here are the Royals and this is their album "Music." It's possibly one of the finest do-it-yourself album covers I've ever seen. To quote SaTM, "I could stare at this image for hours." And really, you can. It's surprisingly and completely captivating. So let's do another.

He's Father Robert White and he's the "Reverend in Rhythm." Dig him, baby! I like to imagine that he's a smooth, lounge jazz act that just melts the doors off the chapel. Let's do one more. Question: Who's nature's secret?

Answer: Michael Cassidy, that's who. Sitting in the forest glenn, dressed like Friar Tuck and holding a rabbit. No one's putting stuff out like this anymore. And it's a shame.

It feels like I have to write something

2007-05-07T14:37:00.000-07:00

Kids are fun. Don't get me wrong, they can be a pain in the butt, too. But they can also be fun, which makes the whining, the fighting, the arguing and the general chaos that forever seems to surround them easier to bear. You know, a spoon full of sugar and all that.

Leigh, our four-year-old, for whatever reason -- age, preschool, new sibling -- has begun to verbalize her feelings. Which is a remarkable thing when you think about it. I mean, when was the last you verbalized your feelings? Or maybe I'm impressed because I'm a guy. I don't verbalize my feelings much at all. But Leigh has started doing it all the time.

But what's fun with Leigh is that it's never "I feel sad" or "I feel angry" or "I feel good," it's "It feels like I have to laugh" or "It feels like I want to cry" or "It feels like I need to run." There's something about expressing it in the passive voice that is hilarious to me. As though she's sneakily shifting responsibility for her actions.

A couple weeks ago she and Claire, my six-year-old, were fighting, as is their wont. There's really no in-between with the girls -- either they're at each other's throats or playing like the bestest friends and bosom buddies who have never not seen eye-to-eye their entire lives. I can't recall what brought on this particular argument, but it ended with Leigh just fuming. With the meanest, surliest little face she could muster, she turns to me and says, "It feels like I have to punch her in the stomach."

Becky and I just died laughing. And really, who hasn't felt that singular emotion at some point during their day?

Disco, as I remember it

2007-04-12T13:12:00.000-07:00

This isn't meant to turn into a love-in of any sort, but when you reconnect with old friends, it's hard not to get misty about the good times.

Jayson, who you'll remember from two posts ago, is an old friend who recently got in touch with me (he and his wife are having quints). Anyway, he remanisced about our disco-dancing past. And it got me thinking about something I'd long taken for granted: that there was a time when I didn't know how to disco dance and then a time when I learned. You have to understand, for many years it was a major part of my identity as I used it to much aplomb at dances and gatherings and the like.

And when you begin to break out disco moves, after having done it for so long, you don't think about it anymore. It's as if you've always been able to do it. And of course, you haven't always been able to do it. Only very few, very select people are born able to disco.

So take a walk down memory lane with me as I recall those halcyon days of the early 90s when records were becoming obsolete, disco was funny and anything was possible.

Like many of my generation, I grew up mocking disco. Who didn't? It's still one of the most attrocious and aggregious musical movements perpetuated on our species. So you can imagine my confusion and subsequent delight when Jayson showed me he had found an instructional disco dance-by-the-numbers record. I don't remember quite when that was. Maybe 1991? Jayson, Alicia and I met -- well we met years ago. Alicia actually attended my third birthday party. But when we were young impressionable teens, we got reacquainted during a summer musical producation of "Fiddler on the Roof" that our stake was puting on.

As I recall, it was a pretty fast friendship. I spent a lot of time at the Wilkinsons' and it was one of those times, hanging out in the basement, that Jayson showed me his find. It was a full-on instructional record with the black footprints to show you what to do. As I recall, he had already worked out most of the moves (he's a natural dancer and, you can correct me if I'm wrong, Jayson, but he eventually landed on BYU's folk dance squad). I was entranced and we got a whole routine worked out. It wasn't long before we were busting it out at church dances. You remember, someone would get going, busting a move to C+C Music Factory, and a cricle would form. Everyone would stand around watching as some kids in parachute pants showed everyone how to get down. It like a siren call to us. We'd eventually slip in and start the mad, hot disco and people would go wild.

The irony of it was beautiful. With the disco, we were able to, in one fell swing of the hips and raise of the hand, simultaneoulsy mock those taking the dance too seriously and impress the ladies by not playing by the rules. It was genius, really. It was also a lot of fun.

Well, a year later I had moved to Utah and as I raged against cookie-cutter fads and gimmicks in the culture there, disco became the way I set myself apart from the other jokers, eventually making a video of a routine with a couple friends. That video still exists -- in fact it was the video that eventually convinced Becky I had enough personality for her to marry me. And to think where it all started. I can't imagine how different my life would ahve turned out had Jayson never found that record.

Guilty as charged

2007-04-11T14:53:00.000-07:00

Guilty pleasures. You see, I'm not always all about being the earnest, snob-driven, gold-standard-in-music consumer. I have guilty pleasures just like anyone else. Guilty pleasure songs and guilty pleasure bands.

So today, I honor the most embarassing music I listen to. And, to make a point, some of the music on the list might be technically or even legitimatelly good, but it's still embarassing that I listen to it. And remember, the operative word in the phrase "guilty pleasure" is "guilty." It's not a guilty pleasure if you don't sweat a little when you tell people you dig it.

So, first, my guilty pleasure songs in no particular order:

1. Nelly Furtado's "I'm Like a Bird" and "Turn Out the Lights" -- Sure they're great dance/pop songs, but Rob Rogers does not listen to dance/pop. At least he doesn't if anyone comes asking.

2. Neil Diamond's "Love on the Rocks" -- I blame this on my sisters. We grew up watching Neil Diamond's movie "The Jazz Singer" a lot. The song plays over the climactic break-up scene where Neil's life comes unraveled as he tries to deal with his new-found fame. Very emotional. And yes I loved it, alright? I loved it! I also blame this movie on H.L.'s open and unabashed affection for the Diamond. We should all be ashamed.

3. In the same vein, Barry Manilow's "Ready to Take a Chance Again" -- This song opened the Chevy Chase/Goldie Hawn vehicle "Foul Play," another movie we wathced over and over as kids. I learned to really dig the song. Sue me.

4. Jennifer Lopez's "Waiting for Tonight" -- I'm really going out on a limb here, because I don't know how this could get anymore embarassing. But this song is total eurotrash dance club and I really dig it. Maybe it's because it reminds me of the dance music I heard while living in Mexico (where every song, including the Police's "Message in a Bottle," gets a dance remix) or maybe it's because I just dig the tune, but I secretly really, really enjoy this song.

5. Garth Brooks' "The Thunder Rolls" -- I have no excuse for this one. But when I was a 14- or 15-year-old idiot kid the song gave me chills the first time I heard it. And I still secretly like it.

And that's probably enough for now. So on to my guilty pleasure bands and/or artists. The songs above are individual anomolies. I hate the artists but love the music. Following are the artists I love that I probably shouldn't. Again, in no particular order:

1. Billy Joel -- I know, for some this amounts to heresy listing Billy as a guilty pleasure. But let's be honest with ourselves: he is. While he's a great singer, songwriter and pianist, he's still the guy who wrote and performed songs like "Uptown Girl" and "She's Always a Woman." I love almost all of his stuff, but try to listen to "Scenes From an Italian Restaurant" loud and proud outside of your house. You can't do it.

2. Emerson Lake & Palmer -- Great progressive rock band, one of the best in fact. But their music leans towards the grandiose and then the operatic and before long you're flirting with self-parody. I bought and listened to "Black Moon," their last, real studio album in 1992 when I was in high school and that's embarassing enough. With songs like "Romeo & Juliet" and "Farewell to Arms" it's about as overwrought and earnest as you're gonna get. But their musical genius mustn't be denied. And so I will continue to listen

3. Huey Lewis and the News -- Again, for some I'm flirting with heresy here, but I would argue that it's hard to take the band that recorded "Hip to Be Square" seriously. But man, no one turns out a pop/rock song like Huey did back in the day. Better than most '80s pap that came out in that decade, Huey Lewis and the News put out an embarassingly good catalog of music. Go back and listen to "Heart and Soul" now. The arrangement, the syncopation of the rhythm and the lusty lyrics are down-right impressive.

4. Queensryche -- Classic late '80s/early '90s hard rock, they were a Seattle rock band before it was cool or even advantageous to be a Seattle rock band. And they're not as bad as say Poison or Ratt -- they were never a hair-metal band -- but they're music still sounds blushingly overproduced and deadly earnest. And c'mon, "Silent Lucidity"? I still can't listen to it without laughing out loud. But when the band got rocking -- "Jet City Woman," "Another Rainy Night" -- they could do no wrong.

5. Speaking '80s hair-metal bands, Def Leppard -- Now, I don't embrace their entire discography, but who are we kidding? The band's drummer only had one arm at the end of their run. How hard core is that? And looking at 80s rock albums, there are few better than "Pyromania" with the classics "Rock of Ages" and "Too Late for Love." They also introduced the world to the phrase, nay, the command: "Let's get rocked!" Oh they're shameful, ain't no two ways about it. But man, they rock. Or at least, they did.

There it is. Fun, but a little painful. Feel free to share your own guilty pleasures in the comments below. I shouldn't be the only one to suffer humiliation.

The legacy of young Nathan Arizona

2007-04-10T12:46:00.000-07:00

It's fun to catch up with old friends. My Mom dropped me a line today telling me Jayson Wilkinson, a close friend from my Colorado days was trying to find out where I ended up. It seems he and his wife just found out they're having quintuplets. As in five babies. Five. All you need is one two-year-old in your house to know what kind of will-crushing, ear-splitting, mind-numbing and sleep-depriving experience this will be for them. But Jayson is better than that. He always has been. He's sees it more like this:

Can you imagine 5 little 3 year old kids crowding around to give mommy and daddy a group hug? That just sounds like it would all be worth it.

Anyway, he's set up a blog to detail the whole ordeal and it should be interesting to watch this unfold. After Elsa's birth, my heart goes out to him and his wife. And I can't begin to imagine what it must be like trying to mentally prepare yourself for all of this. And apparently I'm not the only one. In one of his posts, he writes that he runs into a lot of people who really have no idea what it means to give birth to five babies at the same time. His wife kept getting calls from the local blood bank asking her to donate. After several times of explaining that his wife his pregnant and can't donate blood, the final phone call when something like this:

Lady: “Hi, this is the blood and tissue center, is Rachelle Wilkinson available?”
Me:“No, she isn’t and I don’t think she will be able to donate blood for a while. She is pregnant with quintuplets.”
Lady: “Oh, I see. Well, when is her due date?”
Me: “Well, her real due date is in September but she will probably have them in July.”
Lady: “Well, you know, she can donate about 6 weeks after the delivery.”
Me: “Did you hear what I just said? She is having 5 babies. Do you know what that means?”
Lady: “Well, can you give me an email address that we could use to let her know about our blood drives?”
Me: “No. Do you realize that we probably won’t even be able to leave the house for 6 months after this happens.”
Lady: “Well, thank you for your time anyway.”

Anyway. It'll be fun to catch up with Jayson -- and his whole family for that matter. The Wilkinsons were like my family away from family when I was a young, silly and not-so-smart teenager in Arvada. Alicia and I ended up at Ricks together which was great and the family, still in Indiana, even made it to my wedding in St. Loius. So, here's to reconnecting with old friends.

Que Onda, Guero?

2007-04-03T18:27:00.000-07:00

Well, I think we've sufficiently mourned Larry. It's time to get on with life.

It's amazing how quickly time can pass. I know at some point, I'll be an 80-year-old man sitting on a porch somewhere and wondering where my life went. Not in a bad way, just in a sort of it-all-happened-so-fast kind of way.

But let's get on with things. Becky and I went up to Klub Klondike over the weekend to see the mighty Jim Dyar Band play. It was a blast. The band sounded great, the atmosphere was killer and it was fun to spend alone time with Becky. I love the girls and all, but man, you just gotta get out of the house sometimes. And to do it with live music makes it so much better. We both enjoy the rote dinner and movie, but live music is just so much more invigorating. We've haven't been to a live show together since we saw Wilco play in Portland like four years ago.

It's been a busy couple of weeks. I was heartened to see some of my fellow Cougars stand up to Dick Cheney. I was also heartened to see the Anti-Defamation League stand up for the Church. I know there are stories to tell and things to write that will entertain, but I can't think of a single one. I've been on cold medication for four days straight. It's killing me. So I'll probably be back tomorrow with more inane and pointless writings. But I at least promise to make them more entertaining.

Goodbye Larry

2007-03-21T12:10:00.000-07:00

It's been over a week. Man, time flies. And then yesterday, word came down Calvert DeForest died. You may remember Calvert, he, of course, was Larry "Bud" Melman on Late Night. My love of Letterman is no secret here. And so we remember Larry. In honor of the great little man, a few clips from Late Night when he was in his prime.

On and on and on

2007-03-13T23:47:00.000-07:00

Just a quick note to take care of some Rob Report business. The out-of-staters should finally be receiving their Perfect Pop Songs Vol. 2 CDs in the next few days. For those who might not be following the action down in the comments, Janelle quickly figured out how to use the internets and cahnged her name from Anonymous to J-Bell and thus gets the fourth disc. H.L., unfortunately was too late getting there. And despite his logical and reasoned argument that J corrected herself in the wrong comments thread and thus is ineligible to recieve the CD, the judges hastily and emotionally ruled in her favor. But H.L. is smart and his powers of persuasion are legendary, going all the way back to an 8th-grade GT when he successfully argued against some poor, ill prepared classmate in open debate that plastic surgery was morally wrong. H.L. will get his disc.

And, Becky and I watched "The Prestige" over the weekend. Wanting to get back into the review game, I'll post my take on the movie before the end of the week. So there ya go. TTFN, faithful readers.

Outtasite, outtamind

2007-03-13T11:51:00.000-07:00

I sometimes forget I have a third child. I know, I know, that sounds terrible. But I swear I'm not a bad father. Really. It's just after having only two kids for four years, I forget we've got that third one. I mean, she hardly makes any noise.

It started shortly after we brought her home from the hospital. Becky and I had the girls and we were going grocery shopping at WinCo. We started walking inside and halfway across the parking lot, Becky realized I wasn't carrying the baby. I had left her in the car.

Look, we take the girls to WinCo a lot. I was used to it only being the four of us.

Then, a month or so later, it was Sunday and we were going to church. Which is always a production, trying to get the girls dressed, ready, in the car, out of the car, across the parking lot and into the chapel. We walk to the front and sit down on our pew when Becky, suddenly near-shouts, "Where's the baby?"

Yes, I had once again left her in the car. So I walk back past the entire congregation, out the doors, across the parking lot to the car and retrieve Elsa, who was as happy as could be sitting in her car seat. That was, like, last fall. I haven't forgotten Elsa in the car since. I'm now used to pulling three kids out of the car when we go somewhere.

But I'm not always used to having her at home.

Last Saturday, Becky had left to go run some errands and the girls were taking naps. The weather was nice and as Claire and Leigh awoke, we decided to go try a little visual science experiement I'd picked up the night before at the County Office of Education. You have a picture of the sun, roughly the size of your face and this tiny image of the earth, roughly the size of a pen tip. You stand 75 feet apart and, to scale, replicate the distance of the earth to the sun (96 million miles, in case you were curious).

Well, to do this, we had to leave the apartment and walk across the parking lot to a patch of lawn near the swimming pool. It was fun. Both girls took turns holding the sun and waving at each other from really far away. We walked back to the apartment and got the bikes out of the garage so the girls could ride. At about this point, Becky comes home and sees us milling around in front of the garage and asked how we were doing. All fine, I say, happy to be outside with the girls. She then asks if Elsa is still sleeping, obviously seeing that she's not with us.

And I realize, Elsa's not with us. She is in fact still upstairs sawing logs. I smile at Becky and slip inside like I know what I'm doing and like I've known what I was doing for the past 20 minutes, to check on Elsa. She of course is fine and slumbering peacefully in her crib. Which she continues to do for, like, the next hour.

I'm telling you, the girl is too quiet for her own good. Anyway, needless to say, I'm now really getting used to having a third child. And I'm sure I'll never forget about Elsa ever again. And did I mention my parents once left my youngest sister home alone as the rest of us drove off in the station wagon to spend a week with some relative in some neighboring state? And Becky's parents once left alone her at a park? I'm just saying.

Sky Blue Sky

2007-03-08T15:38:00.000-08:00

It would seem we've gone from laborious U2 posts on the Rob Report to laborious Wilco posts. I guess you can't say I'm single-minded. Or maybe you can. Because we live in America and you can still say whatever you want. For now.

Anyway. On to my point. Wilco's new album "Sky Blue Sky" leaked onto the internets this week and, thinking May all of sudden sounded really far off, I tracked it down and downloaded a copy. And, so far, it's pretty good.

The album kind of follows the natural progression started on "A Ghost Is Born." It's more organic and connected than "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot" and it tones down, even more than "Ghost" did, the sonic experimenting and exploring in which they've been engaged since "Being There." And for the most part it works.

One the band's endearing qualities, which I've hit on before on this blog, is their ability to go in a million different directions with their songwriting, their arrangements and their production and still sound like Wilco. I'm guessing that's Jeff Tweedy's influence, but they can stray pretty far afield and still not lose the melody, the lyric, the essential feel that makes Wilco what it is. Elasticity like that is to be commended and I think it's what makes Wilco one of the best American rock bands out there today.

That being said, "Sky" is a little more mellow than what you'd expect from a band that always to seems to crank out two or three loud, disjointed and imaginative tracks on its past albums. Here, Tweedy and Co. just stick to the basics of rock song composition. They take the loud, disjointed and imaginative elements that were whole songs in the past and now just use them to puncuate songs here. For the most part it works, but unchecked, it could get pretty boring pretty quick.

What's interesting is Tweedy takes very noticeable risks with his voice on "Sky." A lot of the songs are in a bit higher range than what he's done in the past, and like the rest of Wilco's experimenting, it works wonderfully here. I mean, Tweedy's vocals are part of what makes the band's sounds so inviting and enjoyable. The guy's just got a great voice.

Semi-new comers Nels Cline's and Mike Jorgenson's influence can definitely be heard here. Which is part of what makes this album sound relatively different than past albums. Jay Bennett, who left the band while they recorded "YHF," was a world-class jerk but he had a great rock sensibililty and great ear for melody. With "Sky" you get a lot more guitar deconstruction and bouncy, R&B inspired rhythms and just plain soul. "Walken" is great example. "Side With Seeds" sounds like a long lost Rev. Al Green song with some Sonic Youth grafted on at the end. Surprisingly, it works. "You Are My Face," "Impossible Germany" and "Hate it Here" are a few other stand out tracks that seem to just get better the more I play them.

The album's title "Sky Blue Sky", which is also the fourth track on the album, is a play on a literary device Tweedy has become enamored with since the "Summerteeth" days when he was singing he needed something in his veins bloodier than blood. So overall, I'm digging it. I'm just not loving it the way I thought I would. So I'll be eager see how it ages.

School lunch

2007-03-07T17:23:00.000-08:00

I visited Claire's school yesterday and had lunch with her in the cafeteria. I don't when you last ate lunch in a school cafeteria, but, let me fill you in on a little secret. At least at the elementary school level, they're still basically serving up nameless, formless and unnatural food concoctions in school cafeterias. We were served chili.

And to be fair, it wasn't as bad as you'd think lunchroom chili could be. But still, there's a deep chasm between edible and enjoyable. And obviously, I wasn't there for the food. I was there to see Claire, you know, before school visits embarass her and I become her geeky old man.

For the time being, I'm Elvis. Young Elvis, I'd like to think. But I'll get to that in a minute. It was fun sitting with Claire and her friends in the cafeteria watching them all interact and be kids. They're first-graders and Claire, three months past her sixth birthday is the youngest. It seems like all they did was laugh and tell incomprehensible knock-knock jokes and bounce around the lunch table. Claire, from time to time would just look up at me and smile. It was very endearing.

We had to wait for the aide to excuse us to go out to recess and Claire showed me how to bus my tray. Walking out, she excitedly showed me the shortcut to the bars (which was more of a longcut) and the whole time we had her little gaggle of friends in tow.

Once we were outside, I put on my sunglasses -- cheap mirrored shades that just barely function as sungalsses. I still haven't gotten over busting my Wayfarers. Anyway, we walked over to tetherball and Claire's friend Sophia looks at me and just starts calling me Elvis. Pretty soon, everyone's calling me Elvis. And they all think it's hysterical. Which it kind of is.

Anyway, we played on the bars, we played tetherball and we played on the swings. It was a lot of fun. And it's just amazing how much energy these kids have. They never stop moving, never stop talking never stop playing. It's incredible. It's also exhausting. Youth is indeed wasted on the young.

So, if you get the chance, I highly recommend sitting down and eating lunch with a first-grader. The food will suck, but it'll be invigorating.

Smokin'

2007-03-05T13:43:00.000-08:00

I smoked four pounds of pork this weekend. To middling success. This is news to no one, but I love meat, especially smoked meat. The obsession reached its nadir when my parents were mission president and wife in Independence, Mo. We went to Arthur Bryant's in Kansas City for lunch and I've never tasted anything better in my life. Anway, I recently read an article in the New York Times about smoking food stuffs at home inside. Smoking food inside, you say? That's just crazy. No, no it's not and I'm living proof that it can be done and and done well.

All you need is a big metal roaster -- the kind you'd cook a Sunday roast in -- a meat rack, tin foil and hickory (or whatever) wood shavings. I had the roaster, fashioned a meat rack from an inversted pie tin to fit inside and went on the hunt Saturday for wood shavings. These are different from wood chips. You need the shavings because, to smoke indoors, you're placing the wood at the bottom of your roaster and basically smoldering them on your stovetop.

So how hard is it to find wood shavings in Redding? Surprisingly hard. That may simply be becuase I've never smoked food before so I don't know where to get the proper supplies, but after calling around, the only place I found that had shaving was Kent's Meat Market halfway between Redding and Anderson. And they had shavings because they smoke their own meat there. And as a result they buy the shavings in 90- and 300-pound bags. But the guy I talked to said to come on by and he'd pull a little out for me. So, address in hand, I set out to Kent's. I show up, they take me back behind the butcher's counter and the guy with whom I spoke on the phone, pulls out a brown paper grocery bag full of wood shavings. I only need a handful. The man explained he usually smoked 350- to 400-pounds of meat in one session. Holding up the bag, he said that's about how much wood it took. I explained I had four pounds of pork I was smoking. He smiled and said I could keep the rest in the garage for when I was smoking something else. Indeed.

So I took it home and tried it out. It was surprisingly simple. I placed the handful of shavings in the bottom of my roaster, set a drip pan on top of it and then placed my hand-fashioned meat rack and finally the roast itself. I covered the top with the tin foil, making sure it fit tightly on top so as not to let the smoke escape, set the whole thing on the stovetop and turned the heat to medium. For the next 30 minutes the apartment filled with the wonderful aroma of hickory smoke. And no smoke actually escaped my set-up. So far, so good. After about 35 minutes I turned off the heat and got ready to finish cooking the roast in the oven.

That's where it went downhill. The directions were vague when it came to the question of covering the roast or not. I opted to cover it lightly. It then said to cook the meat 40 minutes per pound or until a meat thermometer read 190 degrees. I cooked it for the requisite time but my meat thermometer only read 160 degrees. It was already getting late, so I decided my thermometer was probably wrong, the roast had cooked the specified time and thus, must be done. Looking back now, I think that was a mistake.

After pulling the roast out, you shred it with a couple forks or your fingers. This proved next to impossible. The meat just would not come apart. My thumbs are still sore from pulling the pork apart. It was amazingly tough. Which was disappointing because it tasted so good. And it wasn't tough to chew. So I keep going. I start to prepare the sauce listed in the recipe. It's a North Carolina-style barbecue sauce, which I mistakenly thought would be a close relative to the Carolina Honey sauce you get with a certain type of ribs at Tony Roma's. Yes, I'm an idiot.

And no, this sauce was nothing like the stuff from Tony Roma's. It was, in essence, two cups of vinegar and a half cup of ketchup, with some pepper and crushed red pepper thrown in for good measure. I like tang, I love vinegar, but when it comes to barbecue, I'm more a fan of the smokey than the tangy. But I soldier on, thinking it will be surprisingly good. And it wasn't bad. It was surprisingly hot and had a strong tang. But after a while, it got to be overwhelming. And by the end, it just wasn't what I had wanted it to be. Eating some more of it for lunch today, the meat was rubbery and difficult to chew, reafirming to me that I probably should have cooked it longer. There's also a question of whether or not I bought the right cut of meat.

Regardless, I've showed myself I can smoke food at home and in my kitchen. Rather easily. So I'm doing it again and and next time I smoke a pork roast, I'm going to cook it longer, we're going to ditch the Carolina sauce and use my mom's barbecue sauce which is the perfect mix of smokey and tangy. And the next time we cook up my mom's brisket, we're going to smoke it first. And if anyone else wants to try it, just give me a call. I've got plenty of wood shavings.

And now I'm salivating.

Perfect Pop Songs Vol. 2

2007-03-01T16:21:00.000-08:00

So that it's all in one place, here's the final line-up:

1. "Saving Grace" -- Tom Petty
2. "Sister Jack" -- Spoon
3. "The Late Greats" -- Wilco
4. "Back to the Party" -- The Pushstars
5. "Til Kingdom Come" -- Coldplay
6. "Disappear" -- INXS
7. "Collarbone" -- Fujiya & Miyagi
8. "Talk Amongst Yourselves" -- Grand National
9. "Black Magic" -- Jarvis
10. "Feel Us Shaking" -- The Samples
11. "No Ha Parado de Llover" -- Mana
12. "Satellite" -- Guster
13. "Waiting, Watching, Wishing" -- The Pushstars
14. "The Way We Get By" -- Spoon
15. Bonus Track

Yes, we got our four winners yesterday, but until anonymous sister gives her name, there's still room for one more person to get a CD. H.L., that means you better get moving because I'm calling on all you lurkers to drop a note -- it's free music, what have you got to lose? Anyway, to our three winners already out there, I'll be sending out your discs shortly.

Wilco wonder

2007-03-01T09:17:00.000-08:00

Hey, a couple tracks off Wilco's new album have been leaked onto the internets this morning. And, no surprise, they're pretty dang good. So hurry on over to Idolator and check 'em out before they get pulled.

El fin

2007-02-28T12:16:00.000-08:00

For the past three days I've had that song, "Breakfast At Tiffany's" stuck in my head and I don't know why. I don't own the song, I don't even like it -- well, frankly, I hate it. And yet, there it is. Replaying over and over. I've listened to a lot of music over the last three days in the hope of forcing it out with something else and yet, when I'm sitting, staring into the ether and my mind begins to wander, I suddenly realize, I'm singing "Breakfast at Tiffany's" in my head. I'm getting close to where I'd be willing to put a bullet in my brain to stop it.

But instead, I'm going to try this: the final installment of Perfect Pop Songs Vol. 2. With the expanded readership, I'm expanding the winners. The first four people to post in the comments section gets a CD of all 14 songs featured in the Vol. 2 roundup, plus a bonus song thrown on for good measure. Here is the lineup as it now stands here currently. If you wanted a refresher, here's the final lineup from Vol. 1.

So with that, let's get to business:

The Pushstars' "Waiting, Watching, Wishing" -- One of my all-time favorites from the band, "Waiting" is a little darker, a little edgier than the Pushstars' usual fair and it's all the better for it. The understated anger that surges through song keeps it moving along a great clip so that it never it gets old. The chorus is instantly singable and, like most other Pushstars songs, the melody and arrangements are accessable without being predictible and overwrought. The band is famously from Boston so it's interesting to hear a song from them that trades in suburban angst, but it definitely works. Ultimately it's a song about getting out there and living your life. "On and on and on we go/We got no radio/We're singing songs we know/For miles and miles of open road/Get up, get up, let's go."

Spoon's "The Way We Get By" -- This is possibly Spoon's catchiest song. It's incredible. Like a lot of Spoon songs it tends to be a little bit social commentary, a little bit party romp. "We get high in back seats of cars/We break into mobile homes/We go to sleep to shake it off/Never wake up on our own/And that's the way we get by" juxstiposed with "We found a new kinda dance in a magazine/Try it out it's like nothing you've ever seen/You sweet talk like a cop and you know it/You bought a new bag a pot/So let's make a new start/And that's the way to my heart." And like most Spoon songs, musically, it comes at you from a direction you really don't expect, and you're surprised that it works so well. The lead guitar in the song has been replaced by piano but the bass and drums keep it coursing right along, pumping into your ears til you find yourself involuntarily tapping your feet and nodding your head. It's the perfect pop song if ever there was one.

So there it is. I'll post the whole list of 14 songs later today or tommorrow. You know, when I'm not feeling lazy. The die-hards may notice there's no U2 on this volume, which was more or less intentional. The bonus song, while not a U2 song, should please those fans nonetheless. I won't say anymore. I don't want to spoil the fun. So, what are you waiting for. I've only got four copies, so get commenting.

Livin' lodge

2007-02-26T22:39:00.000-08:00

It's been almost 13 years since I was last in Seattle. Which is weird, 'cause that means I'm old. Anyway, Becky and I took the girls up to the moss-covered city last week to see some long-lost family. It was a good time.

My sister Janelle and her hubby Nathaniel -- or Natty Bumpo as he's known to James Fennimore Cooper -- invited us up to spend some time with them in the shadows of Mount Ranier. They take their four kids each winter to a little cabin at Camp Zarahemla near White Pass so they can have a few days of snow intead of rain during the cold months. Anyway, this year, they got more cabin than they knew what to do with. So they invited along any and all family members who wanted to join in. Obviously, we took them up on the offer.

Becky's brother Spencer and his significant other Heather also live in the Seattle area, so going up was like hitting two birds with one stone. We stayed a day and half with Spence and Heather -- they took us out to dinner at the Revolution Cafe, next door to the Experience Music Project, pretty cool -- and then we headed over to Janelle and Nathaniel's. All in all, not a bad way to spend a week.

The lodge at Camp Zarahemla was HUGE. It comfortable sleeps like 40 people. There were 12 of us, not counting the two babies. My sister Diana and her husband Spencer came up from Salt Lake. Anyway, we sledded, read, built and stoked raging fires in this massive wood-burning stove. Janelle and Diana did most of the cooking in the lodge's industrial-sized kitchen and I didn't shower the whole time I was there. It was pretty great.

Coming home, however, was another story. Oregon, in case you didn't know, is retarded. We lived there for two years, so we had a good idea of this already. But, of course, driving home this was reaffirmed. The mountain pass over which the Oregon/California border lies, Siskiyou Summit, got a couple inches of snow that day. So in classic Oregon fashion, the State Police went into emergency mode and required chains on all vehicles driving over the summit. That meant we got stopped on I-5 just south of Ashland in backed up traffic for two solid hours. We were litterally parked. Maybe six miles from the pass. There was no snow on the road, nor was it snowing. We ended up having to stay the night in Ashland. Which by itself isn't a bad thing. But we were ready to be home, we didn't want to add another day to our trip.

Now, let me give you some context. Siskiyou Summit is one single mountain pass and the only mountain pass on Oregon's sttretch of I-5. It snows there every year. So, one would think, Oregon. You have one 10-mile stretch of interstate to keep clear each winter. You know it's going to snow there every year, so it shouldn't be too hard to prepare. And you don't have to worry about keeping other places on I-5 clear of snow, because no other place on the western side of the state gets snow.

And yet, every year, when the snow comes, Oregon Department of Transportation turns its head, eyes wide in disbelief and screams, "It's snowing! Sweet merciful crap, it's snowing! On Siskiyou Summit! I don't believe it. OhManOhManOhManOhMan! What do we do!? What the hell do we do!?" To which the Oregon State Police responds, "Snow!!?? Oh crap. Ummmmmm. I hear there are chains you can put on your car to give you traction in the snow. Tell everyone to do that. There's already an inch of snow on the ground!!!"

Let me just put this out there. I'm not boasting, I'm sharing. I've driven through some pretty bad snow storms across Colorado, Wyoming, Utah and Idaho. Just a few years ago Becky and I drove through a blizzard in Idaho where the snow was blowing so hard it was coming at us horizontially and you literally could see only a couple feet in front of the car. One October when I was driving through Wymoing, I-80 at Rock Springs got so bad they actually closed a gate and shut down the freeway. But this is Wyoming where you get three feet of snow in an hour and the wind then blows it into 10-foot drifts. By all means, close the interstate.

In fact, in all the years I've been driving in the Mountain West, I've never once had to use chains. I've never once been required to have chains. These states, with their hundreds of miles of freeway and seemingly numberless mountain passes manage to keep their raods, for the most part, open and clear, every winter. Oregon, with it's one pass on I-5, which sees snow regularly enough that you can plan on seeing some each winter, can't. To road-weary travelers, ready to be home, this is just obnoxious and frustrating.

So to Oregon I say, "I don't want to talk to you no more, you empty headed animal food trough wiper. I fart in your general direction. Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries. Now go away or I shall taunt you a second time."

Or, if you'd like to see the Transformers acting out that particular scene from "Holy Grail," then just click below (you won't be sorry):

I sincerely miss those heavy metal bands

2007-02-15T17:39:00.000-08:00

For those of you keeping score at home, Wilco has a new studio album, "Sky Blue Sky" coming out May 15. Just today, the band released the track listing:

1. Either Way
2. You Are My Face
3. Impossible Germany
4. Sky Blue Sky
5. Side with the Seeds
6. Shake it Off
7. Please Be Patient With Me
8. Hate it Here
9. Leave Me (Like You Found Me)
10. Walken
11. What Light
12. On and On and On

Am I excited? Does the Pope wear a funny hat? "Being There" is still my favorite album with "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot" running a very, very close second. Their last studio album, "A Ghost Is Born," while still very good, didn't move me like the other two. So if were ranking, I'd put it on par with "Summerteeth."

Anyway. I'm really curious to hear where they go with the new one. Part of what makes the band so good is they don't repeat themselves while still injecting the music with a thorough Wilco-ness. Does that make any sense at all? I wish there were a way to post mp3s on Blogger 'cause I'd leave you all with a parting shot from the band. Oh well. This will have to suffice:

"She fell in love with a drummer/She fell in love with another/She fell in love."

Nothing says "I love you" like the heart-shaped pizza

2007-02-14T13:07:00.000-08:00

It's Valentine's Day, I guess. Anyway, Roundtable Pizza, the inexplicably popular local pizza chain here (seriously, Red Baron makes a better pizza) is advertising heart-shaped pizzas available today. So let me say, if you're buying your special lady a heart-shaped pizza for Valentine's, then, well, let me say first, congratulations on having a special lady friend. You've clearly beaten the odds. But secondly, if you do get her a heart-shaped pizza, and you think that's OK, you may want to sit back and evaluate things.

In other news, having a family is surprisingly entertaining. Fun story this, Elsa spit-up in Becky's mouth a few nights ago. As you can imagine, it was pretty funny. She's a spit-uppy baby. Does it a lot. And Becky, ever the doting mother, spends a lot of her time showering the baby with kisses. Well, Sunday night I think it was, Becky was giving Elsa little kisses on her cheeks and chin when Elsa erupted a resonably-sized glob of half-digested breast milk. Right onto to Becky's mouth. I don't know how much actually got past her lips and into her mouth proper, but it was enough to shock and surprise her. And make me laugh.

In fact, it might be time for an update on little Elsa. You may recall her rocky start back in September when she was delivered six weeks early by emergency c-section. It was pretty intense. Well, last week she rolled over for the first time from her stomach to her back and can almost roll from her back to her stomach. In other words, she's hitting those delevopmental milestones and growing up like a healthy little baby. We're amazed. And constantly grateful she's doing so well. When you consider how touch-and-go it was that day at the hospital, it's just miraculous. Anyway, we'll some photos up later.

Radio ga-ga

2007-02-13T12:23:00.000-08:00

I've got some good stories about the girls I need to post. But first I need to get this off my chest.

I've long had a problem with commercial radio. If I were a rich man, I'd follow in Thom G's footsteps and get on the satellite radio band wagon. Which I'm sure will happen eventually.

Anyway, this little quote, from an AP story on the Dixie Chicks' big win at the Grammys on Sunday serves as a case in point. (You'll remember, the band, in trouble for criticizing Bush while on tour in Europe in 2003, was shut out of the Country Music Awards earlier this year):

The Dixie Chicks peaked at No. 36 on the Billboard country charts with "Not Ready to Make Nice." That ought to disqualify them from winning best country album, said Jacobs, the Alabama radio station owner.

"How do you win country music album of the year, when country music radio is not playing you?" he said.

I love it. It's like he's arguing radio play weighs more than quality if your handing out awards with names with the suffix "of the Year".

See, country radio is a microcosm of the all the ills afflicting mainstream commercial radio. Country radio, as everyone knows, plays nothing but crap all the time. Redding has like 15 country stations on the FM dial. The ones that aren't are evangelical Christian stations. I've never lived in a place like this before.

Anyway, there's great country and there's crap country. For some reason it's crap country that gets the air time. For example, Johnny Cash? Not on the radio. Rascal Flats -- basically a glorified high school cover band? On the radio all the time. The mavericks and innovators of the genre are completely shut out. Artists like Alison Krauss, Willie Nelson, Lucinda Williams, Old Crow Medicine Show and on and on. Instead, you've got Toby Keith with his brand of country music -- which has appropriately been dubbed "Amerigasmic" -- choking out the radio.

I don't know why it bothers me so badly, but it does. I don't understand why so many people chose terrible music over the good. I don't want to sound snobbish, but stop and think about it for a minute. When was the last time you heard a good song on commercial radio? Maybe you have in the last little while. Maybe I have, too.

But even if it's a station dedicated to a genre you like, playing bands and songs you like, they'll only play the same three songs by the same 10 artists over and over and over and over. You know, "Whole Lotta Love" instead of "Traveling Riverside Blues," "I Wanna Hold Your Hand" instead of "I'm Only Sleeping" or "With or Without You" instead of "Do You Feel Loved." You get the idea. Add to that that you'll never hear an independent band and probably drown in a deluge of one-hit-wonders. It's all wrong and bass-ackwards.

I've never been a big fan of the Dixie Chicks, but I like to see people stand up to the establishment. That's always worth applauding. And when it happens, you got to point it out:

But it is not clear that the support [at the Grammys] was uniform. Mr. Ayeroff, who founded the voter-registration group Rock the Vote, said a man sitting behind him in the Grammy audience snickered each time the Dixie Chicks received another trophy. “Finally,” Mr. Ayeroff said, “I got so disgusted, I turned around and said: ‘Dude, you’re in California now. Even our Republicans are Democrats.’ ”

One more

2007-02-06T13:10:00.000-08:00

I know, two posts in a day. What's the world coming to? It's coming to this, actually. The casino queen shot of Becky below may leave you with the wrong -- or at least -- imprecise impression of the glory that is Becky. So let me offer this so that you get a bit of a better idea of the whole package.

And here's some classic Letterman for good measure:

Cokehead

2007-02-05T17:10:00.000-08:00

I'm addicted to caffeine. It's not super bad, but it's pretty bad. Part of the problem -- and really if you can't blame someone else for your problems, then you're just not American -- is that the local Coke bottler has had this two-1-liters-for-two-dollars deal going on for like the past six months. If I go to the qwicky mart jonesing for a pop and I see a deal like that, I can't pass it up. It's such a deal. I mean a 20 oz. bottle for a buck and a half or a 1 liter bottle for a buck? It's child's play, really.

So anyway, the problem is when I drink caffeine, I drink a lot of it. A liter in one sitting to be exact. If I'm good, that's usually two, maybe three days of the week. Then on weekends I usually end up with a Coke either from Wal-mart or from the fountain if Becky and I go out to eat. So, five of the seven days of the week, I'm drinking Coke.

Which is why I had a raging headache yesterday. I haven't had caffeine since Friday and my head is letting me know. I always get a headache when I've gone too long with out the C. Which is usually when I decide to get off the sauce. Which usually will last about week -- maybe two if I'm being good. And then I'm back at the qwicky mart and I see the deal. And then I break down and buy my Cokes and then the whole viscious cycle starts again.

In fact I've got two big bottles of Coke in the front seat of my car right now. They've been there since Thursday I think. I know if I go and drink one of them my headache will disappear. But I can't do it. The cycle would start again. Because I'm addicted. Addicted like the little man who can't get enough Skittles.

We'll see, we'll see. At least I hold my caffeine. This is Becky when she's had too much.

Lovin' logic

2007-02-01T10:27:00.000-08:00

Let's not break the momentum. I've blogged all week long and dang it we got to keep it going.

It's a been a while, so let's do another addition of the Report's Perfect Pop Song series. You remember how it works. And you can catch up here, here and here. In this edition, we revist some of the artists that popped up on Volume 1, for which I kind of apologize. But the fact of the matter is, some bands just produce great pop songs.

The Samples' "Feel Us Shaking" -- This one goes all the way back to their first album released in 1989. In fact, it's the first track from the disc and it's still easily one of the band's best songs. "Shaking" just shimmers with summer sunlight as Sean Kelley sings about the beach, unrequited love and marine life. Yes, marine life. But part of what makes the song so great, of course, is that they make it work. The melody is wonderful -- simple and almost evocative of something long-gone -- an emotion the Samples excel at communicating. All the while the song manages to remain upbeat and near-optimistic. "I'd like to stay but I couldn't stay with you/I have to go I have a lot I want to do."

To quote H.L. on the band, "For me (the) Samples is pure adolescent nostalgia. I can't listen without wondering what happened to empty Saturday mornings where i could simply lie on my bed, listen to tunes, and day dream. They always conjure up a time when new romance, new success, or new adventure was just over the horizon, just out of view but sure to come."

Mana's "No Ha Parado de Llover" -- Mana is one of Mexico's biggest rock bands and sometimes it gets a bad rap for it. They're not as inventive as Cafe Tacuba or as creative as Los Caifanes. They're pretty mainstream but that's part of what makes their stuff work, or at least translate well for folks north of the border. "Llover" is just a great all-around rock-pop song. The guitar hook is killer and the chorus, even though its in Spanish, is easy to sing along to. "Sigue lloviendo/Me sigue lloviendo al corazon/Dime que diablos voy a hacer." Oh, it's a break-up song for sure and has lines that could only work in Spanish, 'cause when you translate them to English they sound pretty silly. An example? "I'm like sand without its sea." "When will my eyes stop raining?" The chorus is better. "It keeps raining, it keeps raingin in my heart. Tell me, what the hell am I gonna do."

Guster's "Satellite" -- Guster's a great band that channels the Samples a little bit in the whole whimsy/nostalgia vein. They're great at communicating a lot of emotion in simple, easy to dig songs, of which "Satellite" is the perfect example. It's a little love song that compares the singer's object of desire to a satellite: "Maybe you will always be/Just a little out of reach." It's a great tune.

And as long as I'm quoting readers, high school mate and fellow Skutchie Ryan Jensen describes Guster thusly: "They are one of those bands that have both male and female appeal. They appeal to the women because of their sensibilities and looks and they have an appeal to men because they perform the type of music that we would probably try to write should we ever enter the business."

What would Gordon B. do?

2007-01-31T16:02:00.000-08:00

I rant. Sometimes I try not to, because it can be kind of obnoxious. But when you live in a world where a show like American Idol can pull in 40 million -- 40 million! -- viewers and politicians like Tom Tancredo and Duncan Hunter can draw enormous nationwide support by basically being openly racist, then the rants tend to come.

Well, I've got something that's been buggin' me for a while and I just need to get it off my chest so I can get back to blogging about happy, funny and fulfilling things.

Evangelical Christians. They're basically ruining it for everyone else. Now don't get me wrong, one of the tennents of my own religion is believing anyone has the privilege of worshipping how, where, or what they may and allowing them to do so. I'm not going to tell them they can't do their thing.

But here's my problem. First off, and this may be what bugs me the most, they've hijacked the word "Christian," attacking anyone else who claims to be one. If you're not Evangelical Christian, you're not Christian. Which is, of course, absurd. As a Mormon, I believe in Jesus Christ. And, I would think, that makes me a Christian. The same goes for Episcolpalians and Catholics and anyone else.

Now I understand the issues Evangelicals have with my religion. They don't like the way we interpret the Bible. They don't like that we believe in modern-day revelation (I would think that if you did beleive in the Bible you'd be at least curious about a church that claims God has called prophets again). They don't like that we believe Jesus visited the American continent after his resurrection in Jerusalem. They don't like our interpretation of the Trinity (yeah, we believe they're three seperate personages -- but you have to admit it makes more sense). But most of all, they don't like what we believe about man's origin, purpose or potential. You know, the answer to the big question of why we're here.

And what gets me about these guys is the way they actively go after other religions, trying to tear down other people's beliefs. There is a level of intolerance and bigotry about these poeple that is staggering. Look at James Dobson. Look at Pat Robertson. It's all about hate with these people. And that seems pretty counter-intuitive to the gospel. But maybe that's what I'm doing here. On the other hand, maybe I'm just defending myself and what I believe.

So let me spell it out. I can call myself a Christian because I am one. And here's the great thing about what I believe. It may be crazy, it may be way outside the traditional, but there's a method to the madness. I spent two years in Mexico telling people that they didn't have to take my word or anyone's word about what I was teaching. I mean, really, am I going to convince anyone that Joseph Smith as a 14-year-old saw God and Jesus, that he translated the Book of Mormon from ancient gold plates? No. It's so out there. But that's the thing, no one has to believe me. If you believe in God, if you believe you can talk to him, you ask for yourself. You know, that whole bit in the Bible about asking and receiving. It's a pretty handy little policy. And obviously it works.

Anyway, I'm done. This won't make my co-worker go away, but maybe I'll be a little more tolerant toward him now. You know, show him how it's done.

Mamet-speak

2007-01-29T16:46:00.000-08:00

It's no secret, I love David Mamet. So until my next post, here's some Mamet to chew on. It comes from a NYTimes review of a collection of his essays, where he spends much of his time evascerating modern movie making and the practices that keep it chugging along that downward spiral. Here's a pulled-quote from the review:

Is there a worthwhile message to be found within the big, vacuous [movie] blockbuster? Yes: “You are a member of a country, a part of a system capable of wasting two hundred million dollars on an hour and a half of garbage. You must be somebody.” He finds this brand of wastefulness equally conspicuous in current moviemaking and military strategy.

This is what makes Mamet so great. I mean, at the end of the day, that's all that "Pirates 2: Dead Man's Chest" boils down to. And all the other films like it. So do youself a favor, go throw "The Spanish Prisoner" or "Glengary Glen Ross" on your Netflix queue and relish good movie making.

I hit people.

2007-01-11T20:21:00.000-08:00

I'm trying to be better. And so I'm gonna blog for a bit right now.

Kids are crazy. Because they're kids, really. Claire, my six-year-old, is more intense than crazy. But Leigh, my four-yer-old is all crazy. In fact she has this crazy grin she flashes when she knows she's being crazy. And, as a writer, I should be able to describe it some way to give you a sense of what it is. But I can't. You know how it is. There's a certain way 4-year-olds act, a certain way you expect them to act and then a way they act that completely surprises you. Leigh is often doing things that catch you comlptely off guard.

Maybe when I have more than just few minutes on a blog, I can do it some justice. But, to try and illustrate here's a story.

When Elsa was first home from the hospital, she was still pretty small but still a ravenous eater. Becky would start nursing her and the milk flow would just ovrewhelm her so Becky would have to sit Elsa up and pat her back so she could catch her breath. Often she'd say, "Breathe, Pumpkin, breathe" as she'd do it. Leigh, who's always within a one-foot radius of Elsa when Elsa's awake was quick to catch on. So the next time Becky was feeding Elsa, Leigh was right there. And when Elsa started to choke on the milk, Leigh patted her back, but being a four-year-old, she doesn't quite have that command of the English language. So she came up with the closest approximation to Becky's gentle supplications as she could, and said, "Breathe, Mushroom, breathe." It still makes me chuckle.

Claire is a fisrt-grader and wants to understand everything right now. In fact, most of her day is spent arguing with me or Becky, trying to convince us she understands the world. You know for example, a couple weeks ago I argued with her at length about whether it was Thursday or Friday. It was of course Thursday, but she knew it was Friday.

Anyway, she recently got this little pink address book, with lines for name, phone number, address and e-mail. Underneath all of that is a line called "Dirty Little Secret." She read that with some confusion, not knowing how exactly that fits in with everything else or even what a dirty little secret is. So Becky tries to explain, not wanting to inadvertenly catapult Claire into her catty tween-hood, that a dirty little secret is just something bad you've done.

Well, a few days later, Claire is showing me her address book and having me check out all the names she's included. She even has herself listed. So I read through it and then notice she's got the "Dirty Little Secret" line filled in. I about died laughing. It read, "I hit people." Classic stuff.

Grind it

2007-01-03T16:10:00.000-08:00

Back from vacation, back to life and we're trying to feel good about it. Obviously vacation is fun because it's vacation -- a break from regular life. In all honesty, what made our little trip to Utah last week so enjoyable was the fact that the girls were so well-behaved. Very uncharacteristic. And Becky and I had a blast 'cause we actually got to spend time together. Plus, it was good -- as always -- to see family.

Now that the holidays are over, it's back to the grind. So, here at the Rob Report it's back to the grind, too. Welcome to the New Year U2 post.

First, remember how I raged about the crap the band has been producing over the last six years or so? Well, Bono was talking about the band and its future musical direction on BBC1 last week and said some intriguing things. Here's a link to the interview. But, if you want to save time here's the gist.

Speaking of the last collection of best ofs, U218 Singles, Bono said this:

But when you do these collections, they are usually to mark the end of something, and our band has certainly reached the end of where we’ve been at for the last couple of albums. I want to see what else we can do with it, take it to the next level; I think that’s what we’ve got to do.

It's the usual Bono rhetoric, but then he follows up with this:

We’re gonna continue to be a band, but maybe the rock will have to go; maybe the rock has to get a lot harder. But whatever it is, it’s not gonna stay where it is...I’d like to strip things down; that’s something I’d be very interested in at the moment.

Any change at this point would be welcome.

Second item, I didn't post about it this, but the sorry-excuse-for-a-U2-fan-site, U2log.com, held their second annual fan survey and, for all intents and purposes, it looks exactly like last year's. Nearly 6,000 people participated and the majority love "Where the Streets Have No Name" in concert, feel Pop is one of the band's worst albums and yet one of its most underrated and think "Bullet the Blue Sky" should be booted from the band's set list. Like last year, I've discovered I have very little in common with the average online U2 fan. And something inside me tells me that's a good thing.

Lastly, a video I probably should have posted weeks ago. I still don't like the new single, "Window in the Skies" but the video to the song made me like it a little more.

Christmastime is here

2006-12-19T17:44:00.000-08:00

I've been meaning to blog for weeks but this has prevented it. However, as I look around, I see I'm being shown up by just about everyone. Thom is blogging almost daily and even the Scogg has new content. It's time kick it in.

So with the holidays here, let's talk Christmas movies. I'm a sucker for 'em, I'll admit. But I also fancy myself a cinephile, which means, I'm picky about the holiday-kissed treacle I consume. That means avoiding like fruitcake anything with Tim Allen and a December release date. And I honestly wonder why the crappy almost-straight-to-video films ("Deck the Halls," anyone?) and made-for-TV fare (what the crap is that Rob Lowe one? "A Perfect Day") is still produced year-in and year-out. It seems those movies are glaringly, obvioulsy awfull and always tank in at the box office and in the ratings. But for some reason they just. keep. churning. them. out.

So here's my short list of picks and pans. I'm sure you'll see nothing surprising or new. But, you'll at least get the satisfaction of knowing that special movie you watch every Christmas has the Rob Rogers seal of approval. Or disapproval. It can go both ways.

In no particular order, the Christmas movies I like:

"National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation" -- Not only did NL producers have to take the "Vacation" franchise and make it (almost) family-safe, they had to find a way to make a third "Vacation" movie funny. Which, obviously, they did, thanks to John Hughes of all people --a near Herculean effort that still pays off. Becky and I watched it last week and the movie totally stands up after all these years. It's endlessly quotable ("Every time Catherine would turn on the microwave, I'd piss my pants and forget who I was for about half an hour") and the gags are still brilliant.

"Die Hard" -- Remember, it takes place on Christmas Eve and runs its beginning and end credits to Christmas songs. For me, it's the ultimate, escapist Christmas film that reminds us all we'll have peace on earth forced down our throats if John McClane has anything to do with it. And the movie, infinitely better than the sequals and man-against-everyone genre films it inspired, is parts funny, romantic and heart-warming. What more do you want in a holiday film? Exploding rooftops and gaping gun shot wounds? Well you're in luck. It's got those, too.

"A Christmas Story" -- The New York Times refered to it as our generation's "It's a Wonderful Life" (more on that film later). And I suppose it is. It's really come into it's own these past few years and Becky and I make sure we watch it every Christmas Eve. But for me, what makes the movie is Darren McGavin, the Old Man. He owns the movie, even though it seems its most memorable parts are the tongue-on-the-tetherball-pole, overstuffed-snowsuit and pink-bunny-pajamas gags. The funniest scenes in the film, from the lamp to the Christmas dinner at the Chinese restaurant, are all indebted to the cantankerous, riley Darren McGavin.

Honorable mention: "Mr. Krueger's Christmas" -- It plays more like a Christmas film on an acid trip. I mean Jimmy Stewart is having dreams inside of dreams and he sings with the Mormon Tablernacle Choir. But that right there has got to make it at least as good as "Wonderful Life."

Now, in no particular order, the Christmas movies I don't like (that I've seen, otherwise this list would probably go on forever):

"It's a Wonderful Life" -- Don't get me wrong, it's a good movie. But why on earth it's a perennial Christmas favorite is beyond me. Only one scene (please, correct me if I'm wrong) takes place at Christmas. So maybe I'm raging more against the strange, qualified status the movie has rather than the movie itself. At any rate, I've seen it once and that was enough. In reality, if you've seen one Frank Capra film, you've seen 'em all.

"Miracle on 34th Street" -- I can't even make it all the way through this movie. But it was bad enough to inspire a made for TV Brady Bunch Christmas movie loosely based on it. That right there condemns it to depricated status. Let's be honest, it's just a creeky old movie that doesn't play real well.

"Christmas With the Kranks" -- Just so it's not all b&w on the list, I'll throw in "Kranks" because I've seen it and it can thus stand in for every other crappy Christmas movie made every year. It's as bad as you imagine it is. People who watch these kind of films during the holidays get the Christmas they deserve.

So that's it. Somewhere between the two lists is "Ernest Saves Christmas." I loved it as a kid, even saw it in the theater, but I'm sure if I watched it now I'd ruin it forever. Anyway, you've got Christmas movies to watch, so get going.

Wax on, wax off

2006-12-06T19:26:00.000-08:00

Yeah, it's been a while. Thanks for the reminder, Thom. So we'll take care of a little housekeeping first. If you look to the right, you'll notice I've updated my links. Surface Tension now has its official welcome mat.

Second, it's time to add to the Perfect Pop Songs Vol. 2 list. Refresh your memory here and here. This one's got a chip on its shoulder. Some of you out there -- I won't name names -- turn your nose up at indie bands because you claim it's just too inaccessible, too hard to listen to. So, in this pretty-much all indie installment of the Perfect Pop Song I give you three tunes that are such stellar examples of pop songs it's likely they'll all be stuck in your heads for months.

Fujiya & Miyagi's Collarbone: F&M is a band from across the pond that has yet to get its debut album "Transparent Things" released stateside. I can't remember where the "Fujiya" comes from, but, yes, "Miyagi" is a shout-out to Mr. Miyagi. They've got a serious groove, and mix style, beat and crazy guitar hooks with very slick production. "Collarbone" is probably the perfect sum of all the band's influences and talent. It's got a killer beat and an insanely addictive bassline. Not to mention they work in the ol' nursery song, "Footbone's connected to the anklebone/the anklebone's connected to the shinbone" and on up the skeleton. Does this song have a proper title? Anyway, it's fun little number sure to get your head nodding.

Grand National's Talk Amongst Yourselves: The song is a track from the band's 2004 "Kicking the National Habit" and features an unrelenting, driving beat matched up with this low-key, understated vocals. The band, like so many that would come after in 2005 and 2006 to midling success, takes '80s pop new wave and updates it in a way that's pretty hip and little surprising, evinced in the song's 20-second electronic pulse opening. Once the guitars come in and the vocal start, it's hard to shake the song. "I made it all myself/'cause I can't anything down/Anything down/However hard I do try." It's a cool track.

Jarvis' Black Magic: Jarvis, who is Jarvis Cocker, is another Brit who's recently come out with an album that has yet to find a distributor stateside, but has killer pop and rock instincts. He's been around since the late '70s when he fronted a pop-punk band called Pulp as a 15-year-old. Anyway, he's soloing it now and producing some very cool music. "Black Magic" is pop song for sure, but it's dark and velvety and very rewarding as it gets better after each listening. And like all good pop songs, is about anything to which you apply it. Is the titular black magic a perfume, a lady-friend, a favorite liquor or maybe actual black magic? Who knows and who cares, the song just grooves. "You only get to see the light just one time in your life/Black Magic/That blows you mind away/And takes it somewhere that you want to stay." Jarvis' voice is deep and full, giving a lot of his songs this twisted Elvis/Johnny Rotten feel. Trust me, it works.

Cougs Win! Cougs Win!

2006-11-27T19:44:00.000-08:00

Well what kind of Cougar fan would I be if I didn't post something about their stunning win over bitter rival Utah on Saturday. It was seriously a game that will go down in the history books as one of BYU finest wins.

Like any great game, more was at stake than just a win. The BYU/Utah rivalry holds up to any of the great rivalries in college football and for the past four years BYU had lost. Not a single BYU player had beat Utah, and with BYU coming into the match undeafeted in the Mountain West, it was the one win everyone wanted to see happen.

The drama, or course, really began late in the fourth quarter. It was three quarters of back-and-forth when finally with a 1:16 left in the game Utah scores a touchdown to take a four-point lead. At that point, I was sure the game was over and the Cougars had lost. Short of returning Utah's punt for a touchdown, I didn't how BYU could get all the way down field -- and score -- in just over a minute of playing time. Well, John Beck, who's been a middling quarterback at best over his last three years and even during quarters 2 and 3 in this game, showed his true colors and got the Cougs down to the 12-yard-line with three seconds to spare.

Beck takes the final snap, and for what feels like hours, looks and looks for an open receiver. With time well expired, Utah defenders finally break through and rush him. Running to his left, he throws right -- across his chest -- and gets the ball to receiver Johnny Harline, all alone in the far rightside of the endzone. Touchdown, with zero seconds on the clock, and BYU wins 33-31. It was unbelievable. So unbelievable, you have to watch the highlight reel to believe it. Here ya go:

You can run on for a long time

2006-11-20T15:49:00.000-08:00

Some of you may know, I picked up Johnny Cash's last album a few months ago and it's a powerful record. Most of the songs are hit and miss -- and that's understandable. The man recorded almost all the tracks four and five months before he died. It makes for a heavy, intense little album. Anyway, one of the standout numbers is a track called "God's Gonna Cut You Down," a funeral dirge of a song. It's now got a video, that for the most part -- I think -- is pretty cool. I haven't done video for a while here on the Report, so consider this an early Christmas gift.

The top of Elsa's head smells like freedom

2006-11-13T15:56:00.000-08:00

So, I've been listening to the new U2 single, "Window in the Skies" and having mixed feelings about it. In fact, I've been having mixed feelings about U2 for the past few years now -- feelings with which I've already bored you, faithful readers, in past editions.

But strap back in, because we're going for another "what's wrong with U2 these days" ride around the park.

First, "Windows." The song itself isn't too bad, although it takes the band about three minutes to really pull it all together. But listening to it again today, I think I finally put my finger on what's bugging me about the song. Like the whole of U2's two previous albums, "Windows" is unrelentingly upbeat. Bono literally rhapsodizes about love. Which is great, it's fine, it's the perfect thing about which to rhapsodize in song form. But man, is it bland. It's really got no depth, no bottom, as they say. It makes you smile and feel happy the first couple times you hear and then it just gets dull.

Which, to me, is the problem that has plagued the band since 2001, when they released "All That You Can't Leave Behind." The band has simply lost their edge. Every album U2 put out, from "Boy" to "Pop," had U2's characteristic upbeat, optimitic take on life. But they also had darkness, a little hardness around the edges, which acted as a great ballast for what comes to them naturally, I think. I mean, can you imagine the band recording and releasing something like "Love Is Blindness" now? Every song since "Beautiful Day" has been a celebration. And again, there's nothing wrong with that, if you balance it out with the rougher stuff, too.

It's the rougher stuff that made the band great -- t's what gave them depth, sensuality and texture. But instead, since "All That," everything has become frightenly one-dimensional. That doesn't mean there hasn't been good songs. I would argue "Beautiful Day," "A Man and a Woman" and (as sick of it as I am) "Vertigo" are as great as anything they've done in the past. But there's nothing there to balance out the hope and optimism. And, yes, you need something to balance it out or else you've eseentially produced a 60-minute Hallmark Card.

I mean, "Boy" has "I Will Follow" and "A Day Without Me," songs that essentially deal with suicide. "War" has "Surrender" and "Sunday Bloody Sunday" and "Seconds." Going down the list on the next albums, you've got "A Sort of Homecoming," "Bullet the Blue Sky" and "Mothers of the Disappeared," "God Part II," "Love Rescue Me," the entirity of "Achtung Baby," "Dirty Day" and "Some Days Are Better Than Others," "Gone," "Mofo" and "Wake Up Dead Man." And it's not like these songs are Elliot Smith dark. Clearly they're not. But they're certainly not exultations of charity and friendship, like "Miracle Drug" or "Walk On."

On their last two albums, the closest thing you get to dark is "Peace on Earth" on "All That" and maybe "Crumbs From Your Table" and "Love and Peace or Else" from "How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb." Just about everything from those last two albums are celebratory songs about the wonders of life, love and happiness. And "Windows," to me, wraps it all up in a nice little bow.

Is it so wrong that I want a little more "Until the End of the World," a little more "Bad" a little more "Please"? And I know Bono has gone to great lengths to explain that the band now isn't in the same place emotionally or psychologically as they were in the past, in their youth; that they're in their 40s and singing about the themes and issues you deal with in middle life; that their outlook now is more grounded, more mature, more at peace. What I want to know is, does that mean the fire's gone? Does that mean everything from here on out is going to be psuedo-psycho self-help songs? Because if it does, I may need to retreat to the past and pretend that the band's last album was "Pop" and that someday U2 will return to the studio to record their great follow-up.

Two-fer Wednesday

2006-11-08T10:57:00.000-08:00

By most accounts, it's a good morning. Not only will there now be a check on our mindlessly block-headed executive branch, but U2's new single has been making the rounds online after KROQ played it a couple times yesterday. I managed to get a copy of it and it's really, really cool. So if you want me to email it out to you, just let me know in the comments.

Other than that, good riddance Rick Santorum and Crazy Conrad Burns. Let's hope a little bi-partisan power can get the country's direction back on track. You know, so we can actually fight terror instead of expanding executive power and deal with dictators who actually have WMDs.

Drop D metal bands

2006-11-03T17:28:00.000-08:00

Halloween was a raging success. We've got candy coming out our ears. Surprisingly, though, no Slow Pokes. But I've got a Sugar Daddy, Thom, and it'll be on your desk when you get back to the newsroom.

But let's get to the business at hand. Another edition of Perfect Pop Songs. I realized last week that I've never posted a completed list of the songs from the first volume. So you can find that here, if you were curious. Anyway, on to the matter at hand.

Spoon's Sister Jack: Spoon is an incredible band from Austin that's been around for about 10 years. I think they've always kind of flown under the radar but with their last album "Gimme Fiction" it seems they're getting a little more attention. And mostly from the song "Sister Jack," as perfect a pop song as you've ever heard, complete with hand claps. The lyrics, like many of the songs from "Gimme Fiction" seem to make sense only to Brit Daniels, the band's lead singer and principal songwriter. But, still, they sound cool, which is almost as important as saying something. "Always on the outside/Always looking in/I was in this drop D metal band/We called Requim." It's one of the best songs on the dics -- and certainly the most approachable.

Wilco's The Late Greats: Wilco excels at writing and performing songs that come at you from left field. You hear them once, maybe twice, and never expect them to be catchy or even good and then three hours or even three days later, you find yourself humming the tune, unable to get the song out of your head. In a good way. Anyway, "The Late Greats" is the last track off the band's last album "A Ghost Is Born" and is a fun, jaunty tune that mocks in its own little way, aging hipsters and indie music lovers who always seem to be trying to one-up each other by pledging alligence to one band more obscure than the last. "The best band will never get signed/The Kaysettes starring Butchers Blind/You can't hear it on the radio/You can't hear it anywhere you go." The song's amazing. And a lot of fun.

Coldplay's Til Kingdom Come: Supposedly the song is Coldplay's ode to Johnny Cash. Well, it works for me. The song, appearing as a bonus track on "X&Y" is anchored by straight-up accoustic guitar, completely different in tone and feel from the rest of the album. That said, what makes the song work so well is the perfect meld of melody and lyrics. The song is really just a quiet little tune of longing and love and the mellencholic, aching melody reflects it perfectly. "Let me in/Unlock the door/I've never felt this way before."

Hoodoo Voodoo 7-21-2

2006-10-30T12:15:00.000-08:00

Halloween's tomorrow. The holiday's just fun on so many levels. Free candy, happy kids and free candy. What's not to love? The morning after, you say? Yes, the morning after. That's not to love. It's always ugly.

I remember the hardest thing about Halloween when I was a kid was that no matter what day of the week Halloween fell on, the following Sunday would always be fast Sunday. Which of course meant you couldn't take your candy to church. I don't know about other folks, but I love taking candy to church. I've always loved it. You know, it feels a little contraband, keeps you awake during those dry elders quorum lessons and gives a certain air of priviledge.

So having a sack full of candy and having to keep it home was always hard that first Sunday in November. And, of course, after a week of school, you never had anything left for the following Sunday. Maybe a package of Smarties, a few jawbreakers and a handful of those awful orange and black peanut butter taffy things with the real peanut butter in the middle. But, obvioulsy, there's a reason those are the last pieces of candy left in the trick-or-treat bag. So, you're a kid and probably the only time during the year you're going to have mass amounts of candy in your possession, you're effectively barred from taking it to church. I call it the Halloween Tragedy.

Other than that, it's good to have things up and rolling. We'll have another installment in the Perfect Pop Song Vol. 2 list. (Jens, the qualifiers are few. It really just has to be -- in probably the broadest sense -- a pop song. Tracks from Sting's new 16th century lute-fest album probably won't reach the qualifying bar. But then again, they might. We like to play things fast and loose over here. And it's so nice to hear some love for "Velvet Dress." The song is so underrated.)

As for tomorrow, Claire is going out as an "Egyptian Princess" -- we'll call her Nefertiti to avoid all those unwanted Liz Taylor comparrisons. Leigh will be a witch. Should be fun. And, because I know people are screaming for them, I'll post photos of the grand night out later this week.

If you're curious, I'll probably go out as a reporter. Becky will go as a recovering post-op emergency c-section patient with accompanying baby. I've seen the costume and it's impressively life-like.

We want pop!

2006-10-24T16:22:00.000-07:00

So, I've been meaning to do this for two weeks. Better late than never, as the cliche goes. So without any further ado, Perfect Pop Songs, Vol. 2. Allow myself to quote ... myself. Here's how it works:

I make a list of perfect pop songs, the idea being that for the listener there are a handful of songs that don't have a wasted lyric, a missed note, nothing. They are perfect. I'll post two or three at a time, updating this thread frequently. Because I know every last one of you is eager, eager, eager to know what songs out there I consider perfect.

Now, once the list of songs is (what I deem to be) complete, I throw 'em all on a CD and mail it out to a handful of lucky, lucky winners. So, onto the list.

The Push Stars' "Back to the Party" -- The Push Stars do two things very, very well. They write pop songs that sound at once familiar yet new and different. And they effortlessly blend melancholy sentiments with bright, happy-sounding songs -- melancholy without which the band's music would be unlistenable, syrupy messes. "Back to the Party," of course, is the perfect example. I love the song's opening line: "Boy and girl, you're not the same any more." It's like some throwback to those cheesy intro-to-puberty film strips you watched in elementary school. The tune itself is a love song, in a sense, that's upbeat, fun and dark around the edges, very cleverly making the point that the fear of following your heart just leads to regret.

INXS' "Disappear" -- INXS was a band I was never that into. I never heard a song from the band that was just OK. I either loved them or hated them. There was never any middle ground. "Disappear" obviously is one of those song that I just loved. The unjustly maligned Ethan Hawke vehicle "Mystery Date" put the song to great use. Anyway, the song, at its heart, is a fun tune about how the right girl can make all your insecurities, fears and doubt go the way of the dodo. Plus it's got a killer groove.

Tom Petty's "Saving Grace" -- It's the first track from his latest album "Highway Companion" and it absolutely rocks. Petty is just an amazing songwriter and "Saving Grace" showcases the talent in spades. "I'm passing sleeping cities/Fading by degrees/Not believing all I see to be so." The song is puncuated by this relentless, driving guitar that almost sounds like a semi cruising down the freeway. The song builds and builds until by the end you've got this wall of sound and a tune that's rocking at full bore. It's great for the road. "There's a guard on every door/And a drink on every floor/Overflowing with a thousand amens."

Alright, the first installment of volume two is sealed in blood. So keep on keepin' on.

Regime change starts at home

2006-10-11T17:55:00.000-07:00

Whoever is running this blog needs to get on top of the posting. Two a month is unacceptable!

But seriously, it's time to get this place rocking again. First an update on the baby. Elsa came home from the hosptial two weeks ago and is doing great. She's putting on the pounds like a pig, she's awake longer during the day and is happiest when she's eating. We've even taken her out. In public. Crazy, you say? Not as crazy as this: When Elsa was discharged from the NICU (that's neonatal intensive care unit for the uninitiated) last month, we asked the doctor at what point we could take her outside the protective walls of our home. You have to remember, just to get into the NICU you had scrub up to your elbows for two minutes and wear a hospital gown. We were scared to death that if we breathed on her too much, she'd end up with consumption and loose the use of her legs or something. The doctor replies, in that nonchalant voice doctors muster up for the most important of news, that we can take her out in public whenever we want. Just don't let the crazies touch her.

Claire and Leigh, meanwhile, have adjusted. At first, Elsa was like the new toy, a little dolly for them to cuddle and love. Now Leigh, after living a potty-trained life the past two years, is wetting her pants again. Someone explain that to me.

Mom and Dad came and visited last weekend. They took off yesterday and it was a really good visit. It's fun to connect with your parents as adults and as parents yourselves. And they spoil us when they visit. And that's always fun.

In other news, it's time to start up a second round of Rob's perfect pop songslist. Winners of the last volume applauded the selection simply fueling my ego and driving my desire to come up with a companion list. 'Cause really, when you think about it, the world is filled with pretty pop songs.