Did you ever

I was going back lookng at my Perfect Song series and realized my first post only listed two songs while the rest include three. So today is the Perfect Song Vol. 1 bonus edition. You can catch up with the past editions here, here, here and here.

The indomitable spirit of The Rob Report remains. That's the way we work around here. While the first response was overwhelming, I must soldier on. So once again, the first three folks to merely respond in the comments get a free copy of The Rob Report's Perfect Songs Vol.1, which will include today's bonus song. C'mon, free goods, it's what the internet exists for.

The Samples' "Did You Ever Look So Nice": The Samples spent their entire career on the cusp of making it big. For some reason, complete commercial success always eluded them and they've since kind of faded off into semi-obscurity. But back in the '90's, they were constantly turning out material that shimmered and rang and stuck in your head for weeks on end. In a good way. One of the finest examples, and probably one of the simplest, purest pop songs out there, is their fourth track from "No Room," "Did You Ever Look So Nice." The song is pure Samples. It's upbeat and catchy and wonderfully melodic, almost shiny. Like a lot of the band's songs it hides a sense of nostalgia and longing behind this happy, bouncy ode to a beautiful girl. "Growing up was on our faces/I remember yours so sweet." In true Samples fashion, the lyrics don't completely make sense, "And if we make through these changes/To find that nothing was in store/But the plans of our exchanges/Did they ever look so nice/Did you ever you ever look so nice." But that just adds another layer . If this song doesn't make you smile by the end, you have a heart of stone.


And so, here, the complete track listing of Perfect Pop Songs, Vol. 1 (the links at the top of the post will take you to my praise-tastic write-ups of each song):

1. The Sample's "Did You Ever Look So Nice"

2. Wilco's "Red Eyed and Blue"

3. U2's "If You Wear That Velvet Dress"

4. The Connell's "'74-'75"

5. The Push Stars' "Opening Time"

6. Los Fabulosos Cadillacs' "El Matador"

7. U2's "Big Girls Are Best"

8. Midnight Oil's "The Dead Heart"

9. Franz Ferdinand's "Take Me Out"

10. Spoon's "Everything Hits at Once"

11. U2's "Pride (In the Name of Love)"

12. Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah"

A word on that one band

I guess we need to put this to bed once and for all.

Dave very aptly pointed out that I've never really stated what it is about Creed that sucks, I've only said they suck. So let me see if I can quantify just what it is about this band I really don't like.

For me, I guess it comes down to two things: lack of any creativity and possessing no originality. To my untrained ears they sound like a bad Pearl Jam cover band. I listen to their songs and it's like they all hit this kind of emotional short-hand. The big power chords, the simple melodies, the generalized lyrics. They make an immediate sensory impact on the listener. It all adds up to Creed being the Smarties of the rock world -- music that's sweet and immediately palatable and then gone as quickly as it came. To me, as a listener, that's lazy and insulting. And I get bored of it really quick.

Had they not sounded like every other grunge rock band that came before them, had their big singles not been played into the ground, had the Evangelical Christians not latched onto the band, I might have given them more of a chance.

The thing is I like music that challenges me. It doesn't have to be indie, it doesn't have to be obscure. It just has to challenge me. That's everything from Queen to Elvis Costello to Wilco to U2. I don't get sick of it, I always hear something new when I listen to it and it entertains me. Creed simple didn't do those things for me. You've heard one Creed song, you've almost literally heard them all.

To be honest, Dave and I may have gotten off on the wrong foot. Creed and U2 are two different groups, appealing to two different people for a variety of different reasons. I will say that as I clumsily tried to make my point about U2 being a better band, in some respects I may have simply been comparing apples to oranges. The issue is moot at any rate. Creed is no longer together and U2 has been inducted into the Rock-n-Roll Hall of Fame.

One more point, before I put away the pen. I often fall into the trap of pegging people by the music they listen to -- because I define myself by the music I listen to. That's a fallacy. Not everyone defines themselves by their music. So I'll just say, bear in mind U2's the best band on the planet and everything will be right as rain.

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.