Edicion familiar

Here's the update; I've been meaning to do this since Saturday. The fathers/sons was a blast. Leigh, for the most part, did really well. The weather had us nervous. It was pouring in Redding and the further east we got the more constant the rain became. But Leigh and I decided we weren't made of surgar -- we could handle a little rain. The foritude paid off. About 20 miles from the campground the rain stopped and the skies cleared.

Anyway, we got there, set up our tent and Leigh immediately wanted to jump inside, get on her pajamas and crawl in her sleeping bag. It's about 7 at this point and we hadn't even eaten dinner. But, who am I to argue with a three-year-old? She got changed, got into her sleeping bag and after 5 minutes, decided that was good. We were up and out to dinner. She chowed on potato salad and then sat by the fire once it got dark and roasted a couple marshmallows. Fire and surgar. She was in heaven.

It wasn't nearly as cold at night as last year's campout and Leigh managed to sleep pretty much through the night. Except for one point at like 2 in the morning when she decided she wanted to crawl into my mummy bag. Yeah, it didn't work. We bundled her up and got her back to sleep without incident.

After breakfast we went and climbed this gigantic rubble pile of volcanic rock that's like 300 feet high. The whole way up it was, "Daddy? We climb mountain?" over and over. It was fun.

Comments about her being the only girl at an all-boys event were relatively few. One obnoxious 9-year-old, known in the ward for being the primary's most pious know-it-all (that maybe a little harsh, he's pretty funny most of the time and helped me put the rain fly on my tent) told me I probably shouldn't have taken Leigh and that we should charge girls to come to the fathers/son.

I asked him what are fathers who have no sons to do? He responded, "take a non-member." You can't argue with that. I told him once Leigh was too old to take, that's what I'd do -- if he promised to do it as well. I didn't get a definite reponse.

In other news, I've taken my brother-in-law Scott's advice and told the rest of the family about the Rob Report. So, welcome family. Sit back and enjoy my pointless, meandering writings.

And to you Luker, a special shout-out. Lucky bastard has a disease named after him.

It's all brand new

The time has come, as Peter Garrett once said. After two years and more than a thousand hits, I'm updating the look of The Rob Report. So I give you the generic blog template SnapShot Sable. If I were somekind of savy computer guy, I could maybe design my own page. As such, we'll make do riding on the coattails of Blogger.

It's late May. That means the annual Fathers/Sons Campout is coming. It's an interesting tradition, if you stop to think about it. To commerate the restoration of the Aaronic Priesthood, fathers take thier sons and head for the hills. Describing it like that almost makes it sound fundamentalist. It's not really like that. Mostly, it's an excuse to go camping and hang out with your familiars. And if your ward is doing it right, the event will include a short, concise, campfire devotional on the Aaronic Priesthood.

Anyway, the Fathers/Sons is tomorrow. We'll be heading up to Hat Creek, which is a pretty nice area to go camping. I bring it up because I have no male offspring, just two beautiful, crazy daughters. Two years ago, when we first got to Redding and Claire was just 3, the ward was making a push to get all the priesthood holders to go, sons or no sons. I thouht it would be alright but thouhgt it wouldn't really be fair to leave Becky alone with two crazies for a weekend while I went off camping, so I took along Claire. And we had a blast.

Anyway, she's closing in on 6 now and these days really kinda sticks out as a girl at an all-boys-and-men event. But Leigh (there on the right), well, she's 3 now. I can take her. So yeah, I'll keep the family tradition alive and take a daughter to the Fathers/Sons. And it should be a good time. Leigh is hilarious. She's a total goofball 3-year-old and if you can placate her mean streak (and it is a serious mean streak), she's a lot fun to hang out with.

I'm Resting

I'm resting on my laurels. Now that I've passed that magical threshold of a thousand hits, it's like I've got nothing left to do. I know, I know. My reader (singular) is clamoring for more. So I post on. Actually, I might be embelishing a little bit. No one's really clamoring for more. Except my pride. It's clamoring for more. It should be put in its place.


Anyway. There's a little bit new to write about. I finally picked up a copy of Passengers -- U2's 1995 experimental electonica album they recorded with Brian Eno. I've, of course, heard it before. Some of it was pretty freakin eclectic. And listening to it now, well, nothing's really changed. It's almost obtuse. But still kind of fun.

So my brother-in-law Scott has started his own blog, called the Scogg. I know, pretty awesome. Anyway, he's easily the funniest and more gregarious of all my marriage relations, so I'm looking forward to reading all his musings. Well, maybe not all of them. He's a city manager too. If he goes off on urban planning, I might fade off.

Which presents an interesting dilema for me. I purposely didn't tell the family I created my blog, because in those early days I used it to kind of rage against those family members that bugged me. I know, it's very passive aggressive of me. But everyone needs an outlet. Anyway, the Report's been pretty family friendly for a year now. So I'm left with the dilema, Do I tell the fam about the Rob Report, or do I continue on writing for my audience of two -- sometimes three -- readers? Or do I go back and expunge the offending material and then go public? Decisions, decisions, decisions.


It's at times like these I'm grateful for Show and Tell Music. And more specifically for the Mystery Singer. He makes life just a little more sweet. If only we knew who he was. Seriously. If I ever put out an album, this is how I'm doing it. Show and Tell is going through a redesign, so most of its album art archive is not available. But there's still a pretty good amount of stuff there, enough to keep you plenty entertained for hours. Go check it out. You'll thank me later.

And, as one final note, go support your local immigrant population. It's them with us that makes America truly what it is. Por este razon, yo digo, Viva Mexico. Y viva el obredor. Tienen derechos tal como tu y yo. Y deben poder llegar a ser ciudadanos de este pais si quieren. Hizimos lo mismo por tus abuelos.

Our Achtung Baby

I know. It's something only the people who have some kind of affectionate relationship with my children will find funny. But I'm still gonna post it, because I think it's pretty funny. Some quick background.

We listen to a lot of U2 in our house. We also watch a lot of the concert videos. The latest to make the rounds is the Vertigo show from Chicago. My daughters' favorite part is the encore when the band goes into "Zoo Station" and the drawing of the kid that appears on the cover of "Zooropa" pops up on the big screen and starts crying. It's officially known as the Achtung Baby, which I insist the girls call it. Anyway, life is predictably crazy with Becky still dealing with morning sickness, but the girls are excited that Becky's pregnant and they love talking about what we're going to name the new baby. Claire, my 5-year-old, who's oldest and thus thinks she's the third parent in our family, is always quick to offer the serious, authoritative opinion. So on to the story.

I picked up Claire from school today and so I was asking her the usual questions. How was class? How was show-and-tell? All that good stuff. Well, she starts telling me about her friend whose turn it was for sharing and how she interupted her. I asked Claire why she interupted and Claire told me she announced to the class the newest name for our little bun-in-the-oven. I asked her what name is that. And she said she told the class she thinks we should name it the Achtung Baby. She said we could just call it Achtung. For the record, I'm all for it.

Then tonight, before bed, she wants to tell us a joke. She does the usual chicken-crossing-the-road-bit and then tells us we have to tell a joke, too. So I do one of my favorites about a guy lost in the desert and dying of thirst who comes across a McDonald's and thinks he saved. So he goes inside and orders a peanut butter sandwich (it's really all in the telling). Anyway, Leigh tells a joke and then Claire tells us she's got another she wants to tell. So she starts up about a girl lost on the beach, dying of hunger and thirst who then sees a Chucky Cheese. At this point she stops to tell Becky and me that her joke is just like mine. Then she continues. The girl gets into the Chucky Cheese and, in a parched voice that Claire imitates, orders a bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats. For some reason that was just hilarious. Becky about died laughing. And that's that. Child rearing can be fun.

I'm nearly great but there's something missing

Alright, I give. It's clear a daily post from me is never going to happen. You win, world. It's back to being a quitter for me.


Speaking of sloth (that's the periodic table of sloth to the right), I got on the scale Sunday night and I've finally hit the magic number. I weighed in at 200 lbs. It's like breaking the 4-minute mile of weight, expect in reverse. By my reckoning, that offically makes me a middle-aged American male. I couldn't be prouder of myself. And I know my country is proud of me too.

In other news, I've been on a raging U2 kick lately. The shuffle function on my iPod is a glorious feature. I've been listening to the 440 some-odd U2 songs I've got on my little machine through shuffle and it's like I've gone sonic exploring. I can't get enough. You hear the songs in strange juxtipositions and listen to tracks you'd almost forgotten about. It's like regular shuffle but magnified.

It's been compounded by this (you'll have to scroll down to the third graf), as I'm still discovering material. Anyway, with H.L.'s birthday coming up, I thought I'd send him a copy of everything. Who wouldn't love that? No one, my friends. No one.

And that's Friday for you. Stay close and watch as the counter rolls over to 1,000. It could happen any second! I'm gonna go get a life. Later.

Becky's curious condition

It's been just over three months now and while we're still not out of the woods yet, it's probably safe to comment more specifically on Becky's curious condition. Which continues. She's pregnant with our third child. It was planned. But I'll tell you what, she gets morning sickness something fierce. We're not sure why she's so lucky, but I'd like to think it has something to do with her super sense of smell. I'm serious. If she were one of the X-Men, her mutant ability would be sense of smell. In times of normal, non-pregnancy health, she can smell trace amounts of anything from a hundred miles away. It's pretty impressive. Anyway, pregnancy comes with its nausea and food aversions and her sense of smell is suddenly heightened to cosmic levels. She can smell things no other human smell. It's kind of like a dog whistle for smells.

But in another week or so she'll be through the worst of it. Then it's just being great with child during the long summer months of Redding. The long, 110-degree summer months of Redding. She may find puking every other day in the cool April rain maybe isn't so bad. But probably not. This nausea is pretty awful. And, as pregnant as she'll be, she'll at least be able to swim to beat the unforgivable summer heat. Although, not until she waits an hour after she eats. Or she'll puke.

Did I say every day?

Okay. So the whole posts-everyday-plan didn't quite work out. I'm lazy. Tell me something I don't know. So we'll say, starting today, it's posts everyday until we hit 1,000. I'm so on it. Grab the signs and hit the streets, the revolution starts now.

First off, the last installment of my Perfect Songs Vol. 1 list. You can catch up here, here and here. A friend of mine had the brilliant idea of burning the perfect songs onto a disc and giving them out to whoever replied in the comments sections. That's right, all you have to do is reply. The first three people get a copy of Rob's Perfect Songs Vol. 1. Free swag! The Web is such a wonderful resource.


Spoon's "Everything Hits at Once": It's the first cut from their 2002 kind-of-come-back album "Girls Can Tell" and, while nearly every song off this album could be considered perfect in some way or another, "Everything Hits at Once" grabs you first. It's a sonically dense, bright but dark around the edges little pop song, complete with a piano break and lots of "oooos." It shimmers with minimalist lines like, "Don't say a word/The last one still stinging" and "I go to sleep/But think you're next to me." In the end the song's about tragedy and lost love, but it's brilliantly rendered with an upbeat rock swing and a catchy melody.

U2's "Pride (In the Name of Love)": Sure, it's probably one of the band's top three overplayed, way-too-well-known songs, but it has that status for a reason. The song simply doesn't miss. The guitar riff that backs it is easily one of the best the Edge has ever turned out and the lyrics beg to be shouted out at the top of your lungs. It comes together on every single level. You find yourself unconscienciously tapping your foot when the song starts and by the end you're ready to take the front lines in the fight for civil rights. It's simply U2 at their best, doing what they do best. It's a perfect song, a perfect anthem.

Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah": Most of Buckley's songs are brilliant. But his cover of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" is flawless, absolutely the definitive version of the song -- and it's been covered by the likes of Bono and Rufus Wainwright. It's moody, sweeping, sorrowful and joyous all at the same time. Because of Buckley's unsurpassable vocals. It's like the song was written specifically for his voice. He hits these beautiful Irish tenor highs and breathes intimacy into some of Cohen's bolder phrases. Like most of Cohen's songs, it's dripping with Biblical imagery and Buckley is makes it work on various levels. From the opening line, "Well I heard there was a secret chord/That David played and it pleased the Lord/But you don't really care for music do you" to the line "And I've seen your flag on the marble arch/And love is not a victory march/It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah," Not a single note is wasted, not a single line is thrown away. Buckley makes it his own and it's a prefect song because of it. At some point in your life you will listen to this song and it will make you cry.

Back from the Gulag Archipelago

It's been a long March, but I'm back. And here's the goal: a post everyday until I reach 1,000 hits. We're on the home stretch, baby. It's only taken like two years to hit the big K. But together, we can do it.

Work has been insane. We've had the spelling bee, a deposed college president, a handful of school districts wanting to go after bonds and, as always, weekly education pages to fill. Not to mention house guests last weekend and Becky's continuing curious condition. Sorry about the alliteration. Anyway, it's conference weekend, Claire's school has a daddy-daughter dance tomorrow and I'm out of here in 30 minutes. Things are looking up.

Onto other pop culture-y type stuff. We'll start out with updates to my two long-running features, one today, one tomorrow: Perfect Songs (you can check out the last installments here, here and here) and iPod Updates (past editions here, here, here and here). We'll take care of the iPod first.

Gigabytes used: 10.3

Number of Songs: 2267

Number of Podcasts: 3

Most random recording: "Little Whale" by the Samples. It's a 56-second song from their second studio album "No Room." It's just strange. It's half spoken/song by someone trying not to laugh. It repeats "Oh little whale" various times, imploring the marine mammal to come out and play. And then ends abruptly with "Keep swimming, mister."

Most eclectic recording: "Hotel California" by the Gypsy Kings. The crazy Spanish guitarists give their interpretation of the Eagles classic -- in Spanish -- in their famous driving, thrumming acoustic sound. It's awesome. The Spanish translation is literal, but not quite word for word. And the chorus is in heavily accented English. You'd be hard pressed to find a cooler -- while still being sincere -- cover of the song. It originally showed up Elektra's 40th anniversary double disc "Rubaiyat," which unfortunately is out of print.

Favorite recording currently (as always, this is subject to sudden change): It's a toss up between Spoon's "Everything Hits at Once" and "Me and the Bean." The songs are from their 2002 album "Girls Can Tell" and they're both brilliant. One of them might show up tomorrow in the perfect song index.

Most embarrassing recording: "Come Undone" from Duran Duran's self-titled 1994 album. It really needs no explanation. It's a chick song, there's no hiding it. But for some reason I dig it.

Number of U2 songs: 440

Number of Wade & Wanda Lindstrom songs: 12 and frankly that's 12 too many and yet they're still there in the ol' iPod.

I mock because I care

Every year I find I care less and less about the Oscars. I don't know if it's the general decline in the (perceived) quality of mainstream American movies, the fact that I'm just getting older and now care about more pertinent things in my life, or if it's because I just don't give two craps about Hollywood's oh-so-unhealthy obsession with itself and the way that it's magnified by the Oscar spectacle.

Anyway. I don't care. That's not to say I have stopped loving movies. Just ask Becky, that certainly isn't the case. We watched "Metropolitan" over the weekend and I was reminded once again why I loved Whit Stillman. And not just Whit Stillman, but the intensely high-quality sometimes independent films that just appeared as if from nowhere in the 1990s. Maybe I'm just being nostalgic. I'm probably just being nostalgic. That said, I miss the sense of discovery I had when I stumbled across "Kafka" when I was in high school. That doesn't happen anymore. And maybe that's the Information Age speaking. 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. And sometimes it's no fun being spoiled.

A friend, Ryan Jensen, pointed that out last year. 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. Last year, when U2 released their virtual box set on iTunes, 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.

On the other hand, while reading Wonkette today, I stumbled a cross a photo of Cody Stewart, my dyed-in-the-wool, true-blue, red-state Republican at a Meet the Press event waiting in line to get his book "An Army of Davids" signed. Finding Cody on the Internet is fun. Finding a picture of him on the oh-so-liberal Web site Wonkette is nothing short of wonderfully delicious. Thank you for that, Internet.

I'm totally rambling now. There's more news to report, but I think we'll wait. This pointless drivel is good for today.

Blossoming of Orlando cannot act

It's fun with Babelfish day. If you haven't tried this wonderful Internet feature, you've missed out sorely.

Here's last Friday's post, my half-review of "Elizabethtown," translated through Babelfish into Greek and then back again -- once again through Babelfish -- into English. Let the hilarity ensue!


Thus, Becky and I reached finally around in the attention "Elizabethtown." It should you occupy, I am one from those types that consider that the Cameron Crowe cannot make no erroneous. Usually. And perhaps for ekej'no.ton the reason "Elizabethtown" it was almost impossible to be careful. It is a big history, with the classic situations Crowe, the dilemmas, the dilemmas and the dialogue. But I cannot think that a other cinema I have seen in the recent history that is this miscast apaj'sja. Simaj'nw horrifically miscast.

Me you allow I explain. I love "the Lord of rings." I am gentleman of all of three special extensive publication DVDs. I think that Legolas is big. But the blossoming of Orlando cannot act. I now stand for and I certify in the world that the blossoming of Orlando cannot act. And if there a thing that a cinema of Cameron Crowe needs so that it survives and it is even developed he is really good perpetrator of character -- La John Cusack and Jason Lee and Campbell Scott, etc (yes, the Tom Cruise is the obvious exception.) In the blossoming "Elizabethtown" that tripped on his lines, in costars, and did not present no one sygkjnitjki' expression for two hours. That of good feat in and. The films of Crowe so much completely character-lead that they are only so much successful as the perpetrators of films are believable. And the blossoming of Orlando is nothing but believable. A fast example? The scene where it presents his disappointment in the loss of exit 60B. It should I turn my head in the embarrassment.

C*Kirsten Dunst. Now, me you do not take erroneous. In in her her world I think a enough good actor. Thus I do not know ea'n fault of her Crowe or hers, but was also horrible in the cinema. Or perhaps it acted the part too much well. Perhaps the problem was this tried plays the peculiar, trello' girl that you see in each single romantic comedy that comes always out from the dawn of time. And that a problem because the films of Cameron Crowe are not romantic comedies. They are more as romantic dramadies. En pa'si perjptw'sej, with the output of Kirsten sate via most from the cinema that it waits for big I reveal that the character of Kirsten was really bipolar or psychologically disturbed and that the blossoming in order to it shows that him it loved genuinely him would help via her senility and him would take the help that needed and the spillikin with via thinks and slims -- a La "Benny and Joon." It is naturally reasonable. At least, according to handwritten. Her behavior in all the film that was stuck precisely outside as a shine type because the rest of cinema, him considers or no, was supported in something that resembles with the realism.

Thus there it is. It should him I go down my breast. The rest of litter was little very bitumen perfect. Two thinly Baldwin Alec was marvellously. The cinema deserves almost for drew scene of monuments of/birds "Free of dads". This was enough classic. But globally, the film concerns precisely villages the shoulders of blossoming and Dunst. It plays as a casuistic study in the poor cast. It was astonishingly bad.

Why, Cameron Crowe? Why?

So, Becky and I finally got around to watching "Elizabethtown." You must understand, I'm one of those types who believe Cameron Crowe can do no wrong. Mostly. And maybe for that reason "Elizabethtown" was nearly impossible to watch. It's a great story, with classic Crowe situations, quandaries, dilemmas and dialogue. But I can't think of another movie I've seen in recent history that has been this horribly miscast. I mean horrifically miscast.

Let me explain. I love "Lord of the Rings." I own all three special extended edition DVDs. I think Legolas is great. But Orlando Bloom cannot act. I stand here and now and proclaim to the world that Orlando Bloom cannot act. And if there's one thing a Cameron Crowe movie needs in order to survive and even thrive is a really good character actor -- a la John Cusack and Jason Lee and Campbell Scott, etc. (Yes, Tom Cruise is the obvious exception.) In "Elizabethtown" Bloom tripped over lines, bumbled into his costars, and showed no emotive expression for two hours. That's kind of a feat in and of itself. Crowe's films are so completely character-driven that they're only as successful as the films' actors are believable. And Orlando Bloom is anything but believable. A quick example? The scene where he shows his frustration at missing Exit 60B. I had to turn my head in embarrassment.

Kirsten Dunst. Now, don't get me wrong. Within her world I think she's a pretty good actress. So I don't know if its Crowe's fault or hers, but she was also terrible in the movie. Or maybe she acted her part too well. Maybe the problem was she tried to play the quirky, crazy girl you see in every single romantic comedy that's ever come out since the dawn of time. And that's a problem because Cameron Crowe films aren't romantic comedies. They're more like romantic dramadies. Anyway, with Kirsten's performance I sat through most of the movie waiting for the big reveal that Kirsten's character was actually bipolar or psychologically disturbed and that Bloom to show that he truly loved her would help her through her dementia and get her the help she needed and stick with her through think and thin -- a la "Benny and Joon." She of course is sane. At least, according to the script. Her behavior throughout the film just stuck out like a glaring typo because the rest of the movie, believe it or not, was grounded in a something resembling realism.

So there it is. I had to get it off my chest. The rest of the cast was pretty much pitch perfect. Alec Baldwin's two minutes were wonderful. The movie is almost worth seeing for the Drew's dad memorial/"Free Bird" scene. That was pretty classic. But overall, the film just falls apart on the shoulders of Bloom and Dunst. It plays like a case study in poor casting. It was surprisingly bad.

The dread pirate Thomas

I caught a little Q&A with Rob Thomas, the creator of "Veronica Mars," and he was talking about the music he uses in the show. At that point he was asked what his five favorite bands were:

"Hmmm. Wilco, the Clash, U2, the Replacements and Elvis Costello. Am I a 40-year-old white guy, or what?"

All of a sudden I know why I'm so pulled in by this show. Thomas is obviously operating on a bandwidth close to my own brain waves. It's like I've been validated.

In other news, if you'll look at the counter over on the righthand side of the page you'll notice that we're dangerously close to hitting the 1,000-page visit mark. You better believe we're planning something huge for that milestone. Maybe it'll be double the used minidiscs, maybe it'll be a swag bag full of all the stuff I can't sell on half.com. Either way, get your contest shoes ready. We're going dancing.

We're at a place called Vertigo

Not bad. Not bad at all. Five Grammys last night plus three a year ago for "Bomb" to make 20 total over their 25-year career. You can't deny U2. You can try, but you can't deny 'em. They are so on their game they make everyone else look like raging amatuers.

It's all about the ketchup

There is a potato chip of the month club. Where have I been that I missed that little kernal of glorious truth? In fact there are a handful of them. I can't tell you what this does to me, lover that I am of all things junk food. And like the U2 iPod before it, chip of the month clubs aren't cheap. In fact, the best of the bunch, Anchor's Chip of the Month Club, is $300 for a full year. But you get 6 different 4 oz. to 10 oz. bags of various local, speciality and gormet chips per box each month. It's almost worth it. I still can't believe no one in the country makes a ketchup-flavored chip. They're awesome. And Tim's Cascade, a big seller around here, makes a great dill pickle flavor. But for some reason if you're south of Oregon you can't find it. I could go on, but I won't. I know you're quietly thanking me.

No time like the present

There's not a lot going on. Mix that with the fact that sometimes I'm lazy and you get long stetches of no posts. But I'm going out on a limb here and saying my two readers don't care.

But let's not have that stop us. First and foremost, U2 are up for Album of the Year (among other awards) at the Grammys Wednesday. I've posted my thoughts long ago on their current album, "How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb" and so you probably know I'm hoping they'll win because I love U2 and not because I was especially blown away by "Atomic Bomb."

Here's a brief recap: Overall, I liked it and it sounds good, but there's something unfinished or unpolished about it -- like a B-side. Sometimes the arrangements sound improvised, sometimes the lyrics are kind of akward. Maybe I'm just not squaring with the change in tone. With their songs, what was once shrouded in mystery and metaphor is now just blatant and out there. For me, the stand-out songs are "Love and Peace or Else," "A Man and a Woman" and "Original of Species."


Anyway, to the fun stuff. Today it's the pogo pop edition of "The Perfect Song," seeing as how the Grammys are coming. You can check out the last installments here and here.

Franz Ferdinand's "Take Me Out" -- The group is relatively new on the scene and "Take Me Out" illustrates what they do so well. The song is a short, bouncy ode to nightlife. It's got a killer, but killer, guitar hook that leaves you feeling happy. The song doesn't waste a note, a beat or a word. "I say you don't know/You say you don't go/I say take me out." It's good times from start to finish.

Midnight Oil's "The Dead Heart" -- Maybe not the first song that pops into your head when someone says pogo pop, but if this song doesn't have you moving by the time it wraps, you might need a defribulator. It's got an incredible beat, it takes heavy, socio-political themes and makes them something you can dance to and its chorus floats a perfect melody that's impossible not to hum to. "We carry in our hearts the true country/and that cannot be stolen/We follow in the steps of our ancestry/and that cannot be broken" It's a low key, killer song.

U2's "Big Girls Are Best" -- I know, I know. Yet another U2 song. But this one truly kicks arse. It's got this heavy, Adam-and-Larry-driven groove. It's chorus is "big girls are best" and the refrain repeats "sexy momma" over and over. The song just thumps and moves. It's a blast. And it's easy to listen to. You can't go wrong with a tune that proclaims "little girls are a pest/big girls are the best."

Housekeeping

We got to get the drudgery out of the way so we can get on to the fun stuff. First, the @U2.com poll I plugged last month. The results are in (as of, like, two weeks ago) and they're kind of surprising. You can check them out here, if you're curious. Turns out a lot more people than I thought really dig "Where the Streets Have No Name" live. I was always under the impression that if one song could go from the concert line up, that would be it. I guess not. Anyway, the survey results offer a glut of info. When you check it out, make sure you leave yourself plenty of time.

Second, we've been talking music here in the newsroom and the conversation has found its way to the old what-CDs-would-you-take-if-you-were-stranded-on-a-desert-island topic. So, in the spirit of keeping up with conversations we've all had since junior high, the following is my list of Desert Island Discs or DIDs, as we call them. Feel free to add your own list in the comments section. You know you want to:

Achtung Baby! and POP - U2
Being There and Yankee Hotel Foxtrot - Wilco
March 16-20, 1994 and Anodyne - Uncle Tupelo
Dark Side of the Moon and Wish You Were Here - Pink Floyd
Who's Next - The Who
Time Out of Mind - Bob Dylan
Cuando Los Angeles Lloran and Donde Jugaran Los Ninos - Mana
50 Anos Vol. II - Trio Los Panchos
BBC Sessions - Led Zeppelin (cheating? maybe)
Coltrane and John Coltrane and Johnny Hartman - John Coltrane


Not a super definitive list, but something to chew on. And the last thing that needs taken care of is an iPod update. I know, I know, you've all been clamoring for it. So you can settle down now and have yet another look into my very unsurprising mp3 collection. Past editions here, here and here.

Gigabytes used: 8.6

Number of Songs: 2165

Number of Podcasts: 6

Most random recording: "Bernie's Tune" by Curley Hamner. It's this jazzy, swingy number with freaky piano accopaniment very remeniscent of Squirrel Nut Zipper, this bridge that sounds like someone's sitting on a tuba and an organ solo. It's from, where else, my Ultra Lounge collection.

Most eclectic recording: "Farewell to Arms" by Emerson Lake & Palmer. The song is from "Black Moon" the band's earnest and misguided attempt to break into the early 90s rock scene. The song itself, as you can imagine (it's named for Hemingway's WWI love story!?), is deadly serious with lines like "we're all sharing the earth at the end of the day" and "may the reign of freedom be released." Great stuff.

Favorite recording currently (as always, this is subject to sudden change): The Old Crow Medicine Show's "Wagon Wheel." I'm not a huge fan of bluegrass, but when its done right it just hits all the right emotional marks. And "Wagon Wheel" is done right. Tight harmonies, lonesome, winsome lyrics and a great groove with a great melody.

Most embarrassing recording: The Tavares' "More Than a Women." The song itself is bad enough when the BeeGees, but for some reason the Tavares cover is worse. It doesn't really add anything to the BeeGees' version and it's got this crazy flute going off through half the song. Anyway, the "Saturday Night Fever" soundtrack. My secret shame.

Number of U2 songs: 420

Number of Stevie Nicks songs: 1 ("Well I went today, maybe I'll go again tomorrow" Deep.)

The lazy man's post

I've been back from vacation for more than a week. It was so exhausting it's taken me until now to update. So here's the update: we all got really sick in Washington. But there's a silver lining, oh yes, there is a silver lining. Becky's father sent us home with his car. As a gift. Making us a two-car family. Needless to say, life has changed -- for the better. We feel like maybe we're adults instead of recent college graduates. That's an important accomplishment for us as we graduated from college like five years ago.

Anyway, I'd go on but I'm lazy. So I'm passing on this Meme that's been making the blog rounds these days. You know the drill, if you see it and read it, you're next.


Four jobs you've had in your life: paperboy for the Rocky Mountain News, gardener at Lagoon amusement park, procter at the Ricks College testing center and reporter extraordanaire

Four movies you could watch over and over: Casablanca, Fletch, L.A. Confidential and Blues Brothers

Four places you've lived: Colorado, Oregon, California and Mexico

Four TV shows you love to watch: Veronica Mars, Arrested Development, Nova and Prison Break/24

Four places you've been on vacation: Washington, D.C.; Victoria, Canada; L.A. and Nauvou, Ill.

Four websites you visit daily: N.Y. Times, Skutch, MyFamily and Television Without Pity

Four of your favorite foods: Blue Ridge Smokies baby back ribs from Tony Roma's, Becky's lasagna, any kind of Chinese food that's fried with lots of whatever starch-based sauce they throw on top and In-n-Out

Four places you'd rather be: at home, in Mazatlan, on Copper Mountain or down the Gore Range Trail

Let's get small

First a Christmas gift to the readers. I offer another selection from everyone's favorite Show and Tell Music. Let's hope gems like these are never forgotten.

Says SaTM about this record: "Great working class pride LP dedicated to 'all men who operate heavy machinery.' Tracks include 'Mechanic's Theme,' 'Caterpillar Man,' 'When a Fellow Is out of a Job,' 'I'm an Operating Engineer,' and 8 (delicious) others."


On a more personal note, I'm actually kind of excited for Christmas. I know, stating it like that implies a sense of surprise on my part. But you have to remember, I'm in California, which means no snow, no cold and when compared to the Rockies, no real mountains. And I know what you're saying, "Rob, you're feelings for Christmas shouldn't be so wrapped up in your sense of weather and place. That's not what the season's about."

And you may be right. On the other hand, that's just how I feel. I want Christmas to be cold and snowy. Not wet and warm. Anyway, despite it all, I'm excited for Christmas. The girls are to the age where they understand what's going on and they're exctied for the big morning and Becky and I, maybe picking up on that, maybe just happy with all the festivities we have planned, are excited too. It's interesting how you can dread the season because it feels so far removed from childhood (which is really what's going on with me) and yet once it's here you still feel -- excuse the cliche -- the Spirit of the season. That's pretty cool.

And so I'm excited about our big dinner Christmas Eve. Excited to have company, read the Christmas Story out of Luke and act out the Nativity, put presents together after the girls go to bed and wake up a few, short hourse later and watch as they tear them open. I'm excited to do it as our own little family, excited that I'm doing this with Becky, who gets excited too and brings this wonderful energy to everything. There's something peaceful and reassuring about spending those quiet hours between Christmas Eve and Christmas morning with the love of your life.

Anyway, I'm getting dangerously syrupy. This is starting to sound like a Hallmark special, so I'll stop and change tacks. Following Christmas we'll be headed up to Washington to see Becky's parents, spending a good week with family. What I've discovered this week is you don't necessarily have to be together to have a classic family battle royale. So, knowing I'm probably not the only one who'll be with extended family this weekend, I'll offer a word of advice. Don't get in the middle of spat between two sisters, especially if you're a man and especially, especially if you're an emotionally stunted, immature manchild in-law.

Up with people

It's a Christmas Miracle -- you're getting another post this week. And this one will be the most entertaining of the year. Well, probably not, but we're going to make it fun.

First, an iPod update (past editions here and here.)

Gigabytes used: 8.2
Number of Songs: 2094
Number of Podcasts: 2 (I dropped Nightline now that Koppel is gone.)
Most random recording: "Muskrat Love" by Captain & Tennille. Oh yeah, it has studio sound effect muskrat chirping. It's one of the strangest things I've heard.
Most eclectic recording: "Story of Isaac" by Suzanne Vega. It's Vega doing Leonard Cohen, so right there that should be enough to qualify it, but the song itself, Cohen's version of the Bible story about Abraham taking Isaac up the mountain to sacrifice is just kind of strange in its own special way.
Favorite recording currently (as always, this is subject to sudden change): Jools Holland's jazz interpretation of "If You Wear That Velvet Dress" with Bono doing the vocals. It's stunning. His imagining of the song is a revelation, not least of which because of Bono's relaxed, playful and completely unrestrained take on his own lyrics. It's the coolest. The cooly coolest. I mean it really swings.
Most embarrassing recording: Earth, Wind & Fire's "Let's Groove." It's disco by way of "Buck Rogers in the 23rd Century." It was on the "Waterboy" soundtrack and that's how it ended up on the ol' iPod. It's especially embarrassing because I hate the song and yet, there it is.
Number of U2 songs: an even 300
Number of Elton John songs: 1


Although it's pretty much common knowledge now, I feel I should at least mention Bono's recent listing as one of Time magazine's people of the year. Here's an excerp from the article. Go ahead, roll your eyes. I'd probably do the same. And then I'd read the following, maybe grudgingly at first and then with perhaps a little growing interest. By the time I'd finish up, I'd be dabbing at my misting eyes with a hanky:

"Although it's tempting for some to cast his global road show as the vanity project of a pampered celebrity, the fact is that Bono gets results. At Gleneagles--where Bono and his policy-and-advocacy body, DATA, met with five of the eight heads of state at the summit--the G-8 approved an unprecedented $50 billion aid package--including $25 billion for Africa--and pledged near universal access to antiretroviral drugs for almost 10 million impoverished people with HIV."

You have to admit, it's kind of impressive. And to close, a quote from the crazy little leprechaun himself:

"The only thing that balances how preposterous it is to have to listen to an Irish rock star talk about these subjects," says Bono, "is the weight of the subjects themselves."

You want one more, I'll give you one more. On religion:

"I try to live it rather than talk about it because there are enough secondhand-car salesmen for God," he says. "But I cannot escape my conviction that God is interested in the progress of mankind, individually and collectively."

We'll leave it here for today. But with schools out, my beat has effectively shut down for the next two weeks. Which means, of course, more posts from me. Given the holidays and what that all entails, expect a rant on relatives before the end of the week. Merry Christmas.

The minidisc miniseries

Well, it's been, what? Two weeks since my last post? Believe it or not, I have very little to write about tonight.

We can start, though, with the results of my meaningless milestones contest. Yes the deadline was nearly a month ago and given the number of submissions this seems wholly pointless. But I'll plug on valiently regardless. Yes, you guessed it, I recieved nary a one. Which I just can't understand. Not only do ones and twos of people read this site EVERY MONTH, but I was giving away USED minidiscs! I don't know how else I could have sweetened the pot. It's your loss, World Wide Web. Your loss.

OK, on to the short cuts for not having a thing to write. It's time for another installment of The Perfect Song.

The Connell's "'74-'75" -- It's the perfect pop song, really. A sweet little confection with enough hints of melencholy to keep it from becoming treacly, the song about longing, better times and friendship has a gorgeous melody and a catchy chorus: "I was the one who let you know/I was your sorry ever after/'74, '75". It evokes something lost, something gone while at the same time leaving you feeling optimistic about life. It's a bit of a highwire act, but it's pulled off beautifully making the song transcendent.

Los Fabulosos Cadillacs' "El Matador" -- First the band. They're cool because they're Argentinian, they effortlessly mix ska, rock, reggae and Latin grooves into most of their songs and they've got a killer horn section. And "El Matador" showcases them at their best. The song just moves and it makes you want to move. And even if you don't speak Spanish you still find yourself singing along: "Santa Maria de los Buenos Aires si todo estuviera mejor/Matador, matador/Si todo estuviera mejor/Matador, matador." It's impossible not to like this song.

The Push Stars' "Opening Time" -- Chris Trapper's penchent for catchy melodies and narrative lyrics is showcased brilliantly with "Opening Time." It's a catchy, jaunty little number about being a band on the road and playing the little local clubs. But Trapper turns it, ever so subtlely into a quasi-love song to the girl who just doesn't seem to love you as much as you love her. "I'm just a thought in the back of your mind/I watch you as you drive away/You don't look back as I'm waving goodbye/Seems like I'm always asking why/And hey it's okay it's opening time/Butterflies and beer cans and blues on my mind."

If I don't post before the weekend, a Merry Christmas to all. If I do post again this week, well, think of it as a little early Christmas gift for you all.

Chit Lit

We've been talking children's books lately. Oh, don't worry, you'll do it too once you have kids. And if you don't, you're not good parents. As any writer will tell you. The chitlins right now like the books with pictures. And I don't disagree, I like books with pictures.

Anyway, for the past five years, we've had the tradition at Christmas of getting the girls a children's book Becky and I loved as kids or one that we felt was of high enough quality to warrant a gift-giving gesture. For example, last year we got them "The Little Red Light House and the Great Gray Bridge" of which, Becky's favorite line is still, "Those boys, those boys. This will never happen again." The year Leigh was born we got them the only two children's book Umberto Eco has ever written, "The Bomb and the General" and "The Three Astronauts." I'm pretty proud of that one.

Well, Claire is now in kindergarten and in a couple years will graduate to semi-picture books or even non-picture books. It got Becky and I talking about those books we remember reading or remember being read to us as elementary school students. For Christmas this year, we decided we would start with the granddaddy of the them all and buy them "The Chronicles of Narnia." But not the new Harper-Collins edition. Which, we all know is a crime against humainty. Yes, I'm one of those old-school types who believes H-C's decision to republish the series IN A DIFFERENT ORDER is akin to treachery. Oh yes, they betrayed children everywhere. And, to add insult to...another insult, the new books don't look that good. So Beck and I went online and found the old MacMillan paperback editions and bought the whole set for the girls. The artworks pretty cheesey in that neo-late 70's cartoony way, but if it was good enough me, well, it's good enough for anyone else.

Of course, the girls will open them Christmas morning and quickly discover the books have no pictures, which will be funny to us, but I'm sure will not excite Claire and Leigh. But that's the thing, we started with "The Chronicles of Narnia" because, at least "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe," was the first novel I ever read. Or rather, had read to me. We used to sit around as a family on -- Saturday nights? Sunday nights? I don't recall -- and listen while my dad read the books and we munched on popcorn and drank little bottles of soda my mom had bought from the local dairy. I can't remember the name of the company, but the pop came in these little 8-oz. glass bottles. It was pretty cool. Anyway, I wasn't much older then than Claire is now. So we figure, within the next year, we could probably start reading them to her and she might actually enjoy it.

It also got me thinking about the books from elementary school. Some of the greatest children and young adult fiction around. Books like "The People in Pineapple Place," "The Eggchild," "Sign of the Beaver," "My Brother Sam Is Dead," "Black and Blue Magic," and even "Hitler Stole Pink Rabit," even though the protaginist is a girl, were just good books that totally captured my imagination.

Anyway, the girls certainly won't be short on things to read as they grow up, and that, of course, is a good thing. What you won't find on their shelves? "Tennis Shoes Among the Nephites." Or "Charly" since I have girls. Poo-poo on you Mr. Jack Weyland.

The Perfect Song

I was having a conversation with an old editor and the idea of the perfect song came up. You know, the idea that for the listener there are a handful of songs that don't have a wasted lyric, a missed note, nothing. They are perfect. It got me thinking about (some of) my perfect songs. And now I will share a few. Oh yes, sit back and enjoy. And don't worry, I'll update this thread frequently. Because I know every last one of you is eager, eager, eager to know what songs out there I consider perfect.

Wilco's "Red-Eyed and Blue." First, the song is melencholy without being suicidal, (hello, Elliot Smith) and still manages to end with this happy whistling solo. Oh, Tweedy totally pulls it off. And the more you listen to the song, the more you find there. The lyrics are wonderfully, deceptively, simple: "We got solid state technology and tapes on the floor and some songs we can't afford to play." And Tweedy's voice, his emotive, half-mumble, resonant barritone is just so suited to the music. It moves you.

U2 "If You Wear That Velvet Dress." There are, obviously, better U2 songs out there ("Ultraviolet" and "Stay" for example) but "Velvet Dress" is one of the most rich, atmospheric and haunting songs I've ever heard. I love the lyrics. Bono just doesn't write like this any more: "Do you really want me to/Be blue as you/It's her daylight that gets me through" and "It's okay, we struggle for things not to say/I'm not listening to you anyway/I've got my own hands to pray." I mean, c'mon! And Edge's simple, quiet guitar riff that backs through most of the song blows my mind.

Anyway. Something to think about.

And I would be remiss if I didn't take this opportunity to remind youthat tomorrow is the last day of free minidisc give-away contest. Hurry, hurry, hurry. Get those submissions in.

Take the test

It's the day after Thanksgiving, so hopefully you're having a lazy day lounging around the house eating leftovers. I'm at work. And Becky, well, she's at home with two crazy girls.

Anyway. To spruce up your day I'm pimping for one of my least favorite U2 fan sites. Well it used to be one of my least favorite U2 fan sites. That was before U2log got all uppity, lost its sense of humor and started posting items like once every two weeks. So atu2.com became my default fan page. Anyway, they're conducting a survey of the online U2 fan community. So, if you're online and you like U2 -- or hate them and need a place to voice that -- hop on over here and take their little survey. It's actually pretty thorough and kind of fun. But you only have until Wednesday.

And while I'm at it, here's an iPod update for good measure (and here's where you can see the last one):

Gigabytes used: 8.2

Number of songs: 2087

Number of pocasts: still 3

Most random recording: "Holiday for Strings" by Walter Schumann and his orchestra

Most eclectic recording: "Taki Rari" from the original "ultra Lounge" compelation. I think you could argue anything from that album is eclectic.

Favorite recording currently (it could change at any moment): "The Two Sides on Monsieur Valentine" from Spoon's latest album, "Gimme Fiction"

Most embarrassing recording: Joe Satriani's "Always With You Always With Me" from "Surfing With the Alien." What? Cheesey as hell, sure. But I love it, o.k.? It's so 80s power ballad and without words. Without words! So sue me.

Number of U2 songs: 299

Number of Aaron Neville songs: 1

G vs. E

It's the great debate. Is there such a thing as good music and bad music? Of course there is, you say. And I would agree. However, one could argue that there's simply music people like and music people don't like; that good and bad are labels much too objective to use when describing music. Obvioulsy in a theoretical sense this is true. So the debate then becomes this: there's good music for me and there's bad music for me.

Good music for me: Wilco, U2, Led Zeppelin, Spoon and the like.
Bad music for me: Alan Jackson, Creed, Styx, the Carpenters and the like.

While so much of that is subjective -- to use the cliche one man's trash is another man's treasure -- one man's mind-blowing rock band is another man's stupifyingly rote pop group. I would argue there are groups or artists, a handful at the most, that rise, like cream, to the top of the pop music milk jug. Groups that defy subjection and, based on their work can truly be judged as good or bad, not just good for someone or bad for someone.

But to prove the point, you need a few objective measuring sticks, like time. It stands to reason that if a band is good -- or rather -- of a qualitative substance it will out last music that isn't good or of quality. For example, the Beatles are still highly regarded and widely praised while Herman's Hermits -- the Beatles contemporaries at the time -- have gone the way of the dodo.

Of course, time as a measuring stick isn't fool-proof. Given the nature of media in a technological age, if it was produced and released, it's gonna be around forever, somewhere. You'll always be able to find someone in some corner of the world who's still (seriously, not ironically) listening to the BeeGees. And while a Herman's Hermits song may pop up every so often on the golden oldies radio station, you don't hear as much about them as you do the Beatles.

But here's the point. Fifty years down the road, I think more people will be listening to Lyle Lovett than Toby Keith. Time simply favors quality because the passing years quickly erode the marketing flash that attracts people to poorly written and rapidly produced, throw-away songs. That leaves to the spotlight well written and well produced music. It's why Creed has already started to fade and groups like Pearl Jam (of which Creed is merely a rip-off) get better and more respected with age.

Critical praise could certainly be another measuring stick, but it's much more fallible than time. Even the best critics buy into the hype and marketing of certain bands and differing types of music sometimes. Who didn't talk up Jewel when she first hit the scene? And who remembers her now?

On the other hand, when the majority of mainstream or major market critics uniformly praise a band or a musician, it's a good bet there's something more going on there than with other middle of the road artists. Easy examples might be Johnny Cash or the Rolling Stones or James Brown.

Which segues into what the last measuring stick might be: influence. Great music influences while bad or even mediocre music does not. Creed exists on this principal alone. The group is almost a tribute band -- but probably more aptly discribed as a rip-off -- to the grunge rock acts that paved the genre before them; acts like Temple of the Dog, Alice in Chains or Soundgarden. These groups are generally conidered good -- especially in the case of Temple of the Dog -- because they influenced nearly every rock band that came after them for a decade.

The same can be said of The Band, The Velvet Underground, Bob Dylan, certainly the Beatles and then blues artists like Muddy Waters and John Lee Hooker which launched classic British rock, like Cream, Led Zeppelin and of course the Rolling Stones. Influence certainly isn't as objective as time, but it certainly shows how strong music and memorable bands rise above thier peers.

But I've gone on long enough. So as your Thanksgiving dinner talk turns to music, go ahead, bring up the good vs. bad debate and see what happens. If it doesn't end in a stuffing and potato sling fest, you haven't defended your position with enough gusto.

The Koppel

With Ted Koppel leaving the air tonight, I thought a word might be in order. And I can almost hear Cody shaking his head, thinking, "Koppel, the rat jackal of the liberal media pack."

But I would argue that Koppel is a journalist's journalist. He did what good journalists do and that's question the establishment, be it Republican, Democrat, corporate or public. And he did it always with professionalism -- emotional diatribes or off the handle accusations or way-out-from-the-left-field conspiracy theories never ever appeared. He merely asked the tough questions to whomever he was sitting across from. (He was famously prickly with Maureen Dowd, one of the funniest interviews from recent memory.) Anyway, the profession needs more Koppels and less Coopers, Williamses and O'Reillys.

And since I've opened this so-boring-it-makes-me-want-to-read-a-newspaper can of worms, I'll go on to say, once again, that a liberal bias in today's mainstream media is an illusion. Fox News is the highest rated cable news network, most stories (on any news network) deal with missing white twentysomething girls or "crazy" celebrities or crippled airplanes still in the air. And that's because these are the stories that draw the demographics that appeal to networks' advertisers. It is so much more about money than politics its just plain frightening and disturbing.

Sorry. Had to get it off my chest.

The month of living dangerously

Yeah, so it's been almost a month. I'm awesome. An awesome blogger. The best there ever was. Anyway. Let me bring you all up to speed (I keep pretending I have an audience outside of Becky).

Spent last week in Washington, D.C. visiting my folks. We did Thanksgiving Dinner on Friday with my older brother Dan and my little brother H.L. It was a blast. My folks' place is pretty small and it got a little crowded at times, but it was fun to chat it up with my brothers and see my girls play with their cousins. Best of all, though, was my mom taking the kids on Wendnesday so Becky and I could just have the day to ourselves. Aside from me botching lunch, the day went well. But just so you know, the next time the temple cafeteria is ever an option? Take it. It's always the solid bet.

But the most important news, of course, is U2 related. An old high school friend of mine just sent me almost 15 GB of U2 concerts in mp3. It's from a little Web site he discovered that has made its mission in cyber-life to compile recordings of every live U2 show ever staged. You basically wait in line to gain access to the site and then, once granted permission to enter, you have seven days to download everything you can get your hands on. My friend's computer crashed a month or so after he got in and as a result lost the url for the site. He's been searching for it ever since. I know, sounds like some wierd 80s TV drama. Anyway, he came away with, what he guesses, is a third of the content on the site. He sent me like 3,000 or 4,000 songs. I'm still trying to wrap my head around that.

In other music news, I have not listened to the Creed CD. It may take me some time.

And last but not least, you guessed it, I have not received one entery in my MiniDisc contest. Needless to say, I'm very disappointed. These MDs are not going to just give themselves away, people. I've got to get rid of them somehow. So I'm instituting a deadline. Entries must be in my inbox no later than Nov. 30. So get cracking.

Meaningless milestones

Wow, 500 hundred whole hits. I realize most blogs hit that mark about every 30 minutes. But, alas, my faithful three readers simply don't have that kind of time to spend. Three readers, you ask? Yes, that probably is being a little generous.

Anyway, it's still a benchmark and that means we need to celebrate. In honor of the big 5-0-0, I will give 15 heavily used (but recently erased) MiniDiscs to the person who writes me about their latest and most meaningless milestone. Since no one has a MiniDisc player anymore, I'm hoping the 15 MDs will be as useless and meaningless as the milstone they share. I, of course, will act as judge and chose the winner from what I'm sure will be countless entries.

Send your submissions to u2 disco at gmail dot com, subject line "Meaningless milestones."

Letterman is King. Long live the king.

I'm still seething over a post I lost yesterday bceause my crappy computer froze up on me. I don't know that I'll try to rewrite, maybe when I'm done here, I'll give you all the gist. But, I'll tell ya, nothing's more frustrating.

Anyway. Letterman. He's slowly becoming my generation's Carson. And he's not as vital to our culture as he once was. For starters, there are no longer three main networks. Then you have Jon Stewart. Genius. And of course Conan. Genius genius. Somewhere on this list there should be Craig Kilbourne. But Kilby lost something when he moved to CBS. And he never got it back. Which is kinda sad.

But I was talking about Letterman. I would have been a Conan guy had I had a semi-normal childhood. Conan is my generation's late night host. He came on when I was in high school and got huge when I was in college. That is his demographic, those are his people. And I love Conan, it just took me a while to come around.

Because I watched Letterman. Almost religiously when I was in junior high. And for some reason I was the only one of my friends who did. When I was a young'un, my older brother would come home from college or come home from his night job and turn on "Late Night With David Letterman." I would either sneak out of my room with my little brother and watch it from behind a corner (putting myself in excutiating pain as I tried to stiffle huge belly laughs) or, if I was feeling brave, plop down on the couch beside him.

The NBC shows were hilarious. Letterman was silly and still had this ascerbic sarcastic bent that made the comedy seem anything but light-hearted. I had no idea who Malomar Khadifi was as a 10-year-old kid, but man if he showed up in a Top Ten list, it was dang funny. And after watching for a couple years, you figured out who these people were. I made fun of New Jersey. I've never been to New Jersey in my entire life and as a junior higher I made fun of New Jersey. Because Letterman made fun of New Jersey. Sometimes my friends would just stare at me. I'd make a crack about John Ghotti in my social studies class and maybe, MAYBE my teacher got the joke. Because of "Late Night" I got Chris Elliot, I fell in love with Penn and Teller and adopted my healthy, cynical attitude about life I carry with me to this day.

It was Letterman. I keep the first book of Top Ten lists at my desk today. The one that came out in 1989. With the straight-faced Foreward relating the 1980 Olympic US hockey team's Miracle on Ice. As though the book in your hands were the book about the Miracle on Ice. That's funny. Anyway, we used to sit around during my eighth-grade GT class and read the lists out loud, hardly being able to talk because we were laughing so hard, tears running down our cheeks. I had no idea who Robert Bork was or what his beard looked like, but I knew "Chin Slinky" was hilarious.

I bring it all up because a colleague of mine was called in for jury duty this week. It happens a lot here. Becky was called in over the summer and we've only lived here a year and a half. Of course I hear jury duty and the first thing that pops into my head is Letterman's Top Ten list on how to get out of jury duty (3. Respond to every question, "Let me talk to the little man who lives in my pants.").

I couldn't find the list because it acutally showed up in Letterman's second collection of Top Tens, not the first. Anyway, looking online for the list, I learned that the classic NBC Late Nights rerun on Trio. My first reponse was instant nostalgia. How would it be to have the old shows on my TV nightly? It'd be like I'd died and gone to late night TV heaven.

Of course my second emotion was dread. You can't go back. And having the old shows that accessible seems so tasteless. No longer are they precious childhood memories, enshrined in the pink haze of youthful bliss, but just another creaky slot filler for some two-bit cable channel. By becoming so accessible they cease to be special.

That doesn't mean I wouldn't buy a DVD collection. So I say long live the Monkey Cam. Long live Larry "Bud" Melman. Long live stupid human tricks and Rice Crispy suits. Long live the door-to-door visits to Long Island and the impromtu gift baskets to GE's office building that don't get past building security. Long live Letterman working the drive-through window at McDonalds. Long live Letterman.

Cai- Cai- Cairo

Well, now that the new Bond has been officially named, I thought it would be a good time to make a list. 'Cause lists are fun.

The Bond films, of course, have been around for 40 some-odd years and there's 20 features -- not counting "Casino Roayle" (spoof and non-spoof) -- in the collection. Opinions vary on the best, the worst and the most laughable of the series depending on why you watch the Bond films. But here's what I think:

Best Bond film: 1964's "Goldfinger" -- I think it's one of Sean Connery's best performances and, as far as world-domination plot's go, the storyline for "Goldfinger" is pretty dang original, far-fetched though it may be. Not to mention the swinging theme sung by the incomparable Shirley Bassey and probably the best Bond girl name of the franchise, Pussy Galore. Talk about sqeem-factor watching that with your parents as a kid. Anyway, "Goldfinger" is Bond at the height of what is truly James Bond.

Worst Bond Film: 1979's "Moonraker" -- Make no mistake, there have been some stinkers. And I was never crazy about Roger Moore. He certainly should have stopped long before the '80s began. But of the series, "Moonraker" stands out simply because the premise was so weak, the special effects were so poor and Moore was at his worst. 'Though it would be hard to argue he was ever at his best. And it's not to say "The World Is Not Enough" and "Tomorrow Nevre Dies" aren't bad, because they are. But Brosnan was a far surperior Bond compared to Moore.

Sentimental Favorite: 1971's "Diamonds Are Forever" -- If memory serves, this was the first Bond film I ever saw. Shirley Bassey was back for the killer theme song and it had those freaks Mr. Kidd and Mr. Wint. The scorpian scene always creeped me out as a kid and I loved Connery's swagger. I used to imitate at school (this was like fourth or fifth grade) while standing in line the way he stood while waiting for Blofeld on the off-shore drilling platform thinking it made me as cool as Bond. Anyway, I still dig that movie.

Unexplicable Critic's Favorite: 1969's "On Her Majesty's Secret Service" -- It has Telly Savalas.

Most Undeservedly Maligned: 1987's "The Living Daylights" -- I had no problem with Timothy Dalton as James Bond. And I think "Living Daylights" is one of the best of the series. The story holds up really well, Dalton actually acts, which may be what turned some people off and the movie never feels half-baked, a chronic Bond film ailment. It's a great film. However, '89's "License to Kill" is another story.

Best Sean Connery Bond Film: Well, "Goldfinger." But we all know, with the execption of the terrible, terrible remake "Never Say Never Again," you can go with any Connery era Bond film and do well.

Best Roger Moore Bond Film: 1977's "The Spy Who Loved Me" -- Like I said, I'm no fan of Moore, but "Spy" was, all around, a pretty decent film. His first, "Live and Let Die" is another solid choice, but, with the VooDoo and the bayou, it gets a little hokey, even for a Bond film.

Best Timothy Dalton Bond Film: See above.

Best Pierce Brosnan Bond Film: For me, it's a straight up tie between his first and his last, 1995's "Goldeneye" and 2002's "Die Another Day." "Goldeneye" literally ressurected the franchise. It was explosive, exciting, well-acted, well-plotted and just flat-out entertaining. But it hasn't aged well, surprisingly. "Die Another Day" had the exact same effect to the franchise after film quality had become really stagnant with Brosnan's two middle films. "Die" was fresh, doing things a lot of other Bond films had never done, like using real geo-politics, successfully finding a darker tone without drowning the Bond swagger and encorporating serious character development.


So, "Casino Royale," the new film with the new Bond. I think producers are doing it right. I'm excited. I think it'll be good.

Verti-no-go

The artwork is out (unofficially) and this is what the "U2: Veritgo '05 Live From Chicago" concert DVD will look like. I'm excited, even if it does kind of look like the Elevation Tour DVD. But, I guess, on retrospect the ZOO TV and Zooropa tours were similarly linked in theme and look.

But before I completely start to sound like a nit-wit, no-life fanboy, I'll change the subject. Except to say this. The tour, the U2 machine will be making its Oakland stop next month. For those of you not Northern California geography inclined, Oakland is the closest stop to Redding the tour will be making. It's three hours southwest of here. Needless to say, on a reporter's salary and no one to leave the girls with overnight, Becky and I will not be going. A first for me since joining the U2 bandwagon in earnest in 1993. And to be honest, it was something I had pretty much resigned myself to. Until last weekend.

On Thursday, me, Becky and the girls traveled to Oakland (for the first time since living in Redding) to meet up with Becky's parents for a wedding on Saturday. The weekend was awesome. We spent all of Friday in San Francisco seeing the sites and having the time. All thanks to Becky's very generous and gracious parents. But the hotel we stayed at in Oakland is pretty much right across the street from the arena in which U2 will be playing. The place, of course, had the lighted, flashing electric screen marque proudly announcing the Vertigo Tour stop in November. The realization that I was so close (it was a surprisingly quick three-hours), yet still so far away (I'm a poor man) came crashing down like a load of stage prop Trabbies.

Anyway. Such is life. And as much as this may age me to say, family, interestingly enough, is more important. So, on the evening of Nov. 8, Becky and I will sit down and watch "Rattle and Hum" which she has yet to see all the way through. Something about hi-res DVD and Bono looking very hairy and very, very sweating through-out.

The Band Bites Back

I suppose it was inevitable. Some of you may remember my brother-in-law Dave and the little face-off we had about the virtues of U2 vs. his band Creed (I've said it before and I'll say it again, who seriously still listens to Creed? Who ever listened to them in the first place? How is it possible for a band to suck so bad and yet be so popular?).

Well, cue the Strings of Impending Doom, the Creed CD came in the mail over the weekend. I haven't even come close to putting it in the stereo. But I know I'll have to. That was the deal. And he did, reportedly, give my U2 CD a good three listens. Kimmy, his wife and U2 fan, told me there were tracks on the CD even she wasn't crazy about. If you recall the story, Dave's last U2 taunt was something along the lines of U2 not knowing how to rock. So I included some of their rockier tunes. But I guess I should have followed the logic: if he likes Creed, that means he probably likes radio-friendly or at least pap-pop garbage and should have included some of U2's more well-known, radio-friendly stuff. But I'm a geek, if you haven't figured that out yet, so I didn't figure it out.

I'm trying to remember now, but I think I threw on stuff like the new mix of "Gone" and classic "Bullet the Blue Sky." Nothing crazy. I did throw on a live version of "Last Night on Earth" and "Love is Blindness." I don't know. But as soon as I'm done listening to his CD we'll compare notes and see what happened. It's all very junior high and all. But in a way it's fun, because who makes mix tapes anymore? It seems the age of creating personalized song compilations is over.

iPod: Week two

I know no one cares, but I figured since no one really reads the blog, I could go ahead and give an update on my second week as an iPod owner. So take heart brave reader and soldier on. It'll be fun, I promise.

Gigabytes used: 7.84

Number of Songs: 1967

Number of podcasts: 3

Most random recording: "A Fifth of Beethoven" by Walter Murphy -- it's the infamous disco-fied version of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony. It speaks to me.

Most eclectic recording: "Guadalajara" by the Mariachi Mexico -- it sounds like it was recorded in the early 40s and is just awesome.

Favorite recording currently (it could change at any moment): "Bring on the Night" by The Police

Most embarrassing recording: "Are You Lonesome" an Elvis cover by Bryan Ferry. It's pretty bad.

Most embarrassing artist: Linda Ronstadt

Number of U2 songs: 283

Number of Neneh Cherry songs: 1

So there it is. A snapshot of Rob's iPod. Good times, good times. Enjoy your weekend, I know I will. I'm coming home, Becky! I'm coming home!

They're magical

It's all about the album art. Well, it used to be. You see CD jewel cases are considerably smaller than LP album covers. I don't think people pay attention to album covers as much anymore. Well, for some, that's a good thing. I was recently direceted to a little Web site called Show And Tell Music -- it's mind-blowing in its thoroughness. Some guy with an album collection to match the Library of Congress has scanned in thousands of LP covers from his collection that he deems to be some of the most abominable album covers known to man. They're absolutely hilarious. I've provided a couple of examples. I'd like to think Laverne is what happened to Nick Andopolis 10 years after high school. Anyway, check out the site when you've got some time. You can thank me later.

On another note, "Veronica Mars" premiered last night and it was brilliant. Exceeded all expectations. Becky and I got hooked on the show during the summer when UPN was playing the reruns. Hands down, it's the best drama on TV right now, UPN be damned. Do yourself a favor and check it out. Trust me.

And as long as we're talking television, "don't talk nonsense to Bob Loblaw." If haven't watched "Arrested Development" then you don't know what it means to laugh. Another great show that really shouldn't be missed.

Old friends

Now that I've got my iPod, I'm trying to decide what to do with my minidisc player. I got it back in the late '90s when every showboater with some cash and a shallow yet loudly professed love of music was buying CD burners. I would smuggly tell them minidiscs were infinitely re-recordable, that they could be edited and programmed and that they were so much cooler than burnable CDs. They still are, by the way.

Anyway, that ship has sailed. Now, we all now, if your music isn't an electronic file, you're the new dope. I love my minidisc player. I've got dozens and dozens of candy-colored minidiscs with sonic treasures all over the place. They used to get us through the long road trips from Roseburg to Salt Lake, from Salt Lake to Richland and even from Portland to Sharm el Sheik.

In fact, because my MD player was also a recorder, I used to plug into my computer's headphone jack and record all sorts of soundfiles from various Web sites -- bootlegged U2, Wilco radio interviews and even NPR stuff. Before we took long road trips I used to go to the This American Life homepage and record three or four shows to listen to while we traveled. For a while my MD was a part of the family.

But, I'm afraid, the little guy is obsolete. The mix MDs I spent hours making are now playlists on my iPod. Most of the jewels, the really rare stuff I found back in the Napster hay-day, I've either found elsewhere or is now available on iTunes. My Md player and MDs are literally obsolete. So do I sell it? I can't imagine there's a market for them and mine is very used. do I bury it in the backyard, with a ceremonial bagpipes and canon fire? That doesn't seem right. Maybe I'll just pack it away, hold on to it for a rainy day, when the iPod breaks down or itself becomes outdated and I need a little something something. Maybe I'll have it bronzed and hang it on a plaque on my wall. At any rate, the time has come to bid it a fond farewell.

30 is the new 18

Three weeks just seems like a good time in between posts. Not really. I'm lazy. Have I mentioned this before? Anyway. Yesterday was the big day. I turned 30. No longer in my 20s, I feel my youth is officially over. But, even so, it was an amazing day. And, lucky for you, I'm going to tell you all about it.

The day started early. The girls, it seemed could feel the electricity in the air signaling that the 21st of Septemeber is a special day and just couldn't stay in bed. Not unlike Christmas. Anyway, they came bounding into the bedroom and Claire, who had been aware that my birthday was coming, asked me if I was now old. She then told me I didn't look old. It was kind of funny.

At that point, we hear the strains of "Las Mananitas" floating up the stairs and I realize: the day is here. Becky had gone downstairs and started the music. The girls and I came down and we decided, after a little deliberation, to open my big gift there and then. Yes, it was a brand-new 20gb iPod and it is glorious. But, believe it or not, the good stuff was still to come.

Becky slipped into the kitchen and started breakfast. She made pecan-stuffed waffles -- a new recipe we've discovered -- and they were awesome. Don't worry, for the waffle part of the recipe -- which actually calls for frozen waffles -- we use mom's classic waffle recipe. So after dawdling for an hour or so with my iPod, I decide to actually go to work.

As I walk in -- the employee entrance brings you in near the back of the newsroom -- I see people kind of up around rather than sitting at their desks and then I notice that it's over some commotion near my desk. Three balloons floated above my computer and stuck to every free surface are 30 red, construction-paper hearts that open to reveal heart-shaped snap shots and little messages detailing the 30 reasons why Becky and the girls love me. It was better than the iPod. Really.

The reaction from my co-workers was classic. A few are married, but even today, I'm still getting comments about how amazingly sweet and considerate the gesture was and how lucky I am to have someone who would do that for me. I, of course, remind them that they're just as lucky to have me. But they just laugh at me. Seriously though, it was something else. Being a newsroom, our photo editor was there so he gabbed his camera and got shots of the whole scene as it unfolded. That was pretty cool, too.

Later that night we had dinner, opened cards and my last gift, sang the three verses of the birthday song and had chocolate suicide tort with gaunache. It was stellar. I thought 30 was going to be a hard birthday, but this was really, really good. I certainly have no doubt about how much Becky loves me.

iPod, youPod

Yes, I took the plunge and bought an iPod yesterday. I've been aching for one for a couple of years, but as we all know, they're really dang expensive. It's been a long, difficult journey for me. When the U2 iPod was released last year, I thought I would die. For $350 I could be the ultimate U2 fan and have an iPod. But the price tag killed me. Last winter, with my combined Christmas money -- mostly because of generous in-laws -- I probably had enough to get one. But when it actually came down to buying it, I couldn't spend $300 for what is essentially a very hip, very pretty Walkman. But the desire was insatiable. By February, I had signed up at FreeiPods.com in a pathetic attempt to get one, hence the link on the right side of the page. By June, I had sold my XBox as a means of generating funds to buy one. I sold books and DVDs on half.com to bring in more cash.

Then last month, the next generation of iPods was released. The photo models with the color screen. They look great. A co-worker got one just last week and it's been the envy of all the newsroom. Yesterday, I got back on to Amazon.com to drool a little more over the virtual iPod I had sitting in my wish list. Yeah, that's wish with a capital "W." Anyway, the older generation iPod, the one with the b&w screen had dropped about $60 in price. If I ordered it through Amazon, and signed up for the Amazon Visa, I could get the iPod for $209. It was a big dilema. I mean, who doesn't want the new one, the fancy color screen one, the latest on the market? And I still had that hope in the back of my mind I could somehow get the U2 version. But Amazon, in it's description of the b&w screen iPod, used the ultimate selling tool, "while supplies last." And I knew it was true. At the most these things were selling for an unbelievable $239. With the Amazon Visa discount, $209. I knew they would go fast.

So I conferred with Becky, decided I could always upgrade if I ever had the money, and bought the iPod. I'll use some birthday money to buy it, so, even though it comes Sept. 6, Becky's making me wait until the 21st to open it. But hey, I've waited this long, what's another few weeks? I'm hip already, right?

Back to School

I've been neglecting my blog. Because I'm lazy. "Tell me something I don't know," many of you are thinking. And correctly so. If I weren't lazy, I would be my brother H.L., clerking for a hot-shot judge in the DC circuit court. The only way to best a clerkship like that is to actually clerk for the Supreme Court. Actually, I probably wouldn't be a lawyer if I wasn't lazy. I've be ... a better reporter? I dunno. Sometimes I think this isn't the profession for me, but I always come back to how perfect the job fits my likes and passions. Maybe if I weren't lazy, I'd just be freelancing on the side for big-time magazines or writing a book.

Anyway, I'm making no sense. The real news is this: Claire started kindergarten yesterday. That's it. I'm old enough to have a child in the public education system. It will only be a matter of time before she's graduated high school and left for college. It's so surreal. Part of it, I'm sure, is my inability to accept my station in life. In my mind's eye, I'm still a 21- or 22-year-old.

But what surprised me about taking Claire to her first day of school was realizing that I was relenquishing control of her life. She is now in someone else's hands, for better or for worse. That's hard. But I know this is the best thing. It would be infinitely worse to home-school her, stunting her emotional and social growth by never giving her the chance to get out on her own. Parenting blows my mind. I think that's the only conclusion I can come up with.

Age is a weird, slippery thing. I turn 30 next month. I used to be dreading it, actually, for the same resons I can't believe I have a child in school. I've been dreading it for the past three years, actually. And because of that, as my birthday approaches I've become more comfortable with it. But it's still weird. Weird because there are memories fresh in my mind from elementary school that make my childhood only seem like momemts ago, not decades ago. I always thought that when I got old I'd feel old. But that's not the case so I'm not sure how to deal with it. I'm guessing the key is to not deal with it, but to just go with the flow -- just keep trucking down that road of life and don't look back too often. And I guess that's my problem. I like to look back. I'm unhealthily nostalgic.

It's all so strange. And I have a canker that won't go away.

This is classic. I was clearing off my desk today and came across a stack of hand-written thank-you notes from a class of junior high school kids. I was at their school in May for career day and spoke to sixth-, seventh- and eighth-graders about journalism as a career. Most of the notes were short, some were insincere and a few made no sense. But one was classic:

To: the Journalist,

Thanks for coming to our school. Most of the kids probably thought your presentation was boring but I thought it was o.k. Even though I don't want to be a journalist I still wanted to find out what it was like to be one. Maybe it isn't as bad as it sounds.
Anyway, thanks for coming.

From: Leine

p.s. I have a newspaper class I have to take and it's really boring. But your job sounds neat.


So there it is. What's funny is I left that day totally convinced I rocked their little junior high world. Guess not. Anyway, I'll throw one more in for good measure. Should give you some confidence in our public school system:

Dear record serchlight resechor

I whold like to say than kyow.

This may be a little self-serving, but it's so entertaining it's hard to deny. This is basically Skutch defined. Follow the links, one by one, to watch the story unfold:

Skutch, a group ... of students. The Skutch reference appears about two-thirds of the way down, next to the pictures of the rafters.

Skutch in the news. The debate starts at Message 20. You'll have to scroll down a bit.

Skutch defined. Cody clears things up.

And here, of course, is Cody's creation.

It's been a long week. My Dad and Mom came to visit last Tuesday and just left yesterday. It was a lot of fun giving them a peak of Rogers life in Redding. But it's still kind of wierd to have your parents visit you rather than the other way around. It took a good two days before everyone was relaxed and acting pretty normal. I'm not sure why. We loved having my folks there but it seemed like it took them a while not to feel like they were invading our space or shaking up the routine. Anyway. It's easier going to visit them. Which we'll be doing in November when we fly out to Washington, D.C.

It's funny, I never realized how little there is to do in Redding until I had to entertain guests for a week. Maybe that was the problem -- I thought of my parents as guests I had to entertain rather than, well, my parents. Anyway. We took them on a tour of the Shasta Dam. We had to kill time. And admittedly it was pretty interesting. We took them to Whiskeytown Lake, which was pretty fun. Though neither wore swimsuits or got wet. Anyway. They're off to Seattle to visit my sister and her family and we'll see if they have a better time there. I'm guessing they will. It's Seattle.

In honor of John Bolton's new job, I wanted to offer my hearty congratulations:

"Senator George Voinovich, the Ohio Republican who became one of Mr. Bolton's strongest critics, said yesterday that he planned to send the new ambassador a book on how to be an effective manager. It couldn't hurt, but this may be the first time a world superpower has used its top United Nations post as a spot for the remedial training of a troublesome government employee."


Like the New York Times' editorial page, we here at the Rob Report send our best to John Bolton in his new job. Keep those staplers on the desk, John!