See you in the Oh Six

Mt. Hood over Portland
Alright, just a few thoughts on 2005 and then I'm on my way up to the cabin on Mt. Hood for the four-day Rawkus Bacchus New Years Debauchery Debacle.

I'd like to officially dub 2005 as the year of "I Told You So". Failed leadership, deadly weather and celebrity meltdowns we all saw coming from a mile away.

ITYS #1: George Bush is a horrible POTUS


Not to go off on a rant here, but sometimes I get the urge to toss dumb motherfuckers out into the middle of the street just when a big fucking truck is about to come by. It comes on the strongest whenever I hear somebody say, "Jeez, guess I voted for the wrong guy. Twice." Hoo-what? Asphincter says what? What objections could these dolts possibly have that weren't already on full display during Dubya's first term? Curtailing civil liberties? Please see the Patriot Act. Iraqi news propaganda? Paging Jeff Gannon. Botched New Orleans rescue and recovery? See Iraq (or Manhattan, take your pick).

Perhaps it's just a bandwagon effect but the calls for impeachment are becoming audible and coming from surprising corners. No gloating here, but hopefully a lesson for voters.

ITYS#2: Global Warming is real

In 2035, when epic droughts and floods have caused catastrophic damage to the global agricultural supply and millions of impoverished environmental refugees are using any available weapons to cross borders to get to high ground, and the wealthy are scuttling off to Mars with the last drops of oil and potable water safely in tow, those of us left to slug it out on Earth may look back at 2005 as the year it became clear just how stupid we were to ignore science. It's the biggest conceivable tragedy of our species to eliminate life on this planet but if those damned scientists are right, that wheel is already turning. And don't worry, just in case you manage to survive the impacts of hurricanes, heat waves and fires, there's still gobs of radioactive waste, pesticides and super-diseases just waiting for us down the road. If the thunder don't getcha then the lightning will. Happy New Year.

ITYS#3: Tom Cruise is a total freak
I sensed it during Days of Thunder but didn't know until I saw Magnolia. His public emotional outbursts this year only sealed the deal. What a freak! Maybe Tom discovered L. Ron Hubbard's soul had reappeared on Earth inside Katie Holmes like Buddha or something, I don't know. Hey Tom, you want an impossible mission, here you go: act normal!

ITYS#4: Joe Gibbs is the truth


Some say the final word is still out until after this weekend's game in Philly but I'm saying it now. The PBIP have seen 5 coaches in Gibbs' 12 year absence and none have had the franchise playing win-and-in-the-playoffs games against NFC East opponents in December like they are now. The nation's capital is under his spell once again. Gibbs' return to coaching also marked a banner year for D.C. sports: The Wizards make it to the second round of the NBA playoffs for the first time since 1982, GW Colonials go the Big Dance and are currently ranked #12 and, of course, the re-arrival of the nation's pasttime to the nation's capital made D.C. one of the great sports cities in 2005.

ITYS#5: The Democrats need more than a year to get their shit together


Post-2004, we liberals had hopes that the Democrats were taking time to bone up on their Lakoff, learn what was the matter with Kansas, etc. Instead, we get to watch the uber-confident Dems try to just stay out of the way of repeated Republican implosions (Duke Cunningham, Iraqi newspaper propaganda, domestic wiretapping) and did I mention Obama voting for Dr. Torture?

I'll take all this back if Chuck Schumer can pull it off.

ITYS#6: I do not suck at fantasy sports

I've won two championships this year, one in basketball, one in football. Nuff said.


Alright, that's a wrap. Gotta go pack. I give you the last two treats of 2005 to the jam-band loving sports fans:

1. Mediski, Martin and Wood covers the Sportscenter theme

2. The Sportscenter commercial archive. Cuse fans check out Sweet Science.

Here's to an amazing 2006, one full of life's lessons learned, tipping points and another Super Bowl ring for Joe Gibbs. Happy New Year!

Random

You are the Light (By Which I Travel into this and that)

Plus, which would be your Music Team of the Millenium?

Team A:
Outkast
The White Stripes
Jay Z
The Strokes
Modest Mouse

B:
Radiohead
Eminem
Kanye West
The Flaming Lips
Wilco

Indigenous Peoples on the warpath...

Skins handling business. Next up, at Philly, New Years Day....

Tell Your friend Veronica...

...it's time to celebrate Chanukah and a whole lot more. Season's greetings y'all...

The staff here at Strike Sparks Anywhere are very excited to be able to continue the Festivus tradition, of the Vanderbilt Ave. stylee, on the West Coast this year. Aluminum pole? Check. Prepared notes for Airing of Greivances? Check. Cleats for Feats of Physical Strength? Check baby, check baby one two three. And there was much rejoicing...

Anyway, a sincere best wishes to everyone this holiday season and on into the next year.

And, just for fun, here's some holiday-themed tunes just for your aural pleasure. Enjoy!

1. Got My Bells (Christmas in Kentucky) by LeRoy Bach.

2. Christ for President by Billy Bragg and Wilco. There's two schools of thought on this...

3. Whistling Jesus by Loose Fur. This is the other school of thought.

4. The Chanukah Song by Adam Sandler. The classic original.

5. Rudy by Danny Dolinger.

Peace on Earth,

Ben

Holidaze

There's much to celebrate here at Strike Sparks Anywhere as the hits keep on coming:

1. Chris Cooley High Harmony and The Potomac Basin Indigenous Peoples teabagging the Dallas Cowboys on National Television to stay in the NFC Playoff picture. This season's version of Tony Kornheiser's classic 1991 Bandwagon columns is The Many Faces of Clinton Portis:

1.
2.
1. "Jerome" from D.C.2. Dr. "I Don't Know"

3.
4.
3. Sheriff Gonna Getcha4. Dollah Bill

5.
6.
5. Reverend Gon' Change6. Kid Bro Street

Sheriff Gonna Getcha and the rest of the PBIG look to corral the New York Football Giants this Sunday.

2. As previously mentioned on this site, the Black Rock Fantasy Football League is home to many great talents. But it's nice to get a little recognition from outside sources every now and then. The most recent: SPIN magazine just ranked MF Wildebeests team owner aka the illegible DJ CAPS' album, Moving in Stereo, the #32 Best Album of the Year. Way to go Will! BRFFL: the music lovers preferred fantasy league...

3. My team in my non-celebrity fantasy football league has advanced to the Super Game. Note to Indy starters: only quitters sit out the final game! Play Marvin play!

4. Festivus is approaching. Will you be ready?

5. Chronicles of Narnia, son.

Back in PDX

So a funny thing happened the minute I landed in Portland last night. It started snowing and my fucking phone died. Guess which of those is the funny one.

Portland locals handle snow only slightly worse than they handle getting a slice of real muenster on their vegan breakfast platter. Schools, highways and state government offices closed, the roads that are open are littered with Volkswagon Bus pileups and the news runs feature stories on what locals are doing while "trapped" inside their homes (answer: smoking pot and playing Scrabble!) This is what I left the East Coast for? Actually, yes.

Football started at 10am today. Two of the guys I'm staying with are brothers from New Hampshire and they rejoiced as Peyton "Silver Platter" Manning and the Colts went down and then I danced several jigs watching the Redskins wallop the Comboys on national TV. This train is bound for glory.

Speaking of glory trains, my fantasy football team, barring a monster game from Brett Favre tomorrow night, will move on to the Super Game against Todd or Tim Marvin. Only bragging rights are on the line but, when Todd is involved, bragging rights are everything.

Days Left to Rawkus Bacchus New Years Debauchery Debacle: 13

Who is this Tweedy and why is he following me?

I have a malady. A sickness. I suffer.



I am simply unable to resist seeing Jeff Tweedy in concert.

In my defense, the guy doesn't make it easy on me. Since last summer he's been following me wherever I go. Cross the county twice, up and down both coasts, the dude always manages to keep within a short drive of where I'm at. Just close enough to bring my sickness out of remission and create whatever justifications are necessary to travel whatever distance necessary, sometimes alone, to go see him perform.

Dude even timed the New York dates of his solo acoustic tour to to accomodate my campaign schedule: four shows in NYS, all the week after Election Day. And now I decide to head back out to Portland and blam, west coast tour dates announced, starting in the Pacific NW. Fair enough right? He's gonna be in Portland, I'm gonna be in Portland, what's the big deal? Well, it's not a big deal except that I didn't just buy tickets for Portland, I bought them for Portland, OR, Eugene, OR and Vancouver, BC. British Columbia! Canada! I'm crossing the border!



And I would have bought tickets for Seattle but they had sold-out already. I also had to pull myself off the ledge of buying tix for the California run. I can't miss those: Arcata (redwoods), San Fran (Fillmore!), and LA (i've been meaning to hang with my sis in LA for awhile now, as good a time as any right?).


The Mayor of Arcata

Both of San Fran's finest

I think it would be good to mention that this sickness existed long before I ever heard of Wilco. There were always other bands. Since I was a kid, music was always the artistic medium that hit me hardest. There may be some environmental factors to consider there but I think it's easiest to just say I get it. Or it gets me, whichever you please.

Either way, I have always been and still remain a sheep in the flock of the Shephard of Rock. I believe (I believe!) in the awesome redeeming power of rock n roll and that, yes, music can save your mortal soul. When Rock and Roll is at its best it speaks the truth, and when you put it on top of a good beat and some nice harmonies you've got yourself something powerful enough to conquer entire nations.

Sometimes, though, music is just for dancing. Sometimes it's for quiet reflection. And sometimes its about truth, the high white note and the giant flaming wheel in the sky. It's all in there. The rock ethos is pure, but it's inhabitants aren't; and it's Jeff Tweedy's simultaneous understanding and embodiment of that dichotomy that makes him so appealing.

Some journalist from some mag recently said something really well also:

Jeff Tweedy Is Trying to Break Your Heart

What more can I tell you about Jeff Tweedy that he hasn't already told you himself? He's an American aquarium drinker. He doesn't believe in touchdowns. His mind is full of radio cures. He shakes like a toothache when he hears himself sing. He spends a lot more than three dollars and 63 cents on Diet Coca Cola and unlit cigarettes. He doesn't so much walk or swagger down the avenue--he assassins. He's the man that loves you and, yes, he's trying to break your heart. So what was I thinking when I said hello? I know what I was thinking when I said good-bye: You should never try to write a magazine profile about a band you really love. It's too humbling. I followed Wilco to New York, Chicago and the All Tomorrow's Parties festival in Los Angeles like a dog fetching a stick. I asked too many questions and learned more than I wanted to know. And now Tweedy has asked me to stop calling him. That's OK, I understand. I would've told me to fuck off a long time ago if I were him. But I'm not. Because even though he's the last person who would ever admit it--even to himself--Jeff Tweedy is special. Special like Dylan. Special like Guthrie. Special like Thom Yorke.

People talk about Wilco the way they talk about Radiohead, the way they used to talk about R.E.M. Wilco is a band that people listen to in their bedrooms and talk about at parties. Wilco can sell out a national tour in support of a record that didn't even come out. Wilco is a band that people make movies about. Wilco sings softly and cuddles a big stick. Wilco is standing on the shoulders of giants.

Tweedy has been to what Greil Marcus calls "the old, weird America," and he's seen the future age. And he's come back here to tell us that, well, he's come back here to tell us writer types that we're making asses of ourselves when we say that kind of stuff about him.

"I just talked to this journalist from Germany who told me our record had a distinct advantage because it was written by a prophet," says Tweedy, shaking his head in disbelief. "Hilarious."

Prophet? Probably not. The cat's ass? Hell yes.

Loose ends

Is there a better vacation than the one you take from a vacation already in progress? Just got back from four days with the grandparents in sunny West Palm Beach FLA and Granny don't rock the wireless so it's been awhile since my last post. It felt good to help Granmama do the things that Florida handymen now find beneath them, what with all the hurricane damage to cash in on. Hard to reach lightbulbs, some timely plumbing, a primer on the AC system in the new car and voila...a feel good family vacation for all.

Now I'm packing for Portland. Leave Saturday afternoon, be there for a couple weeks culminating in a 4-day New Years run in a cabin on top of Mt. Hood with some of the PDX crew. Hot toddies, hot bodies, tater totties...it's gonna be on.

P.S. Animal Boom is the greatest band name ever and I'm officially calling Dibs right now. "You live with raccoons....Animal Boom!"

Disasterous weekend for the fantasy teams too: big money football over and done, basketball team sucks (but The Big Inspector is back). And the team that should be formerly known as the Redskins play Big D at home thisSunday in a must-win on so many levels. National game - let's go!

These mash-ups are killing me on the inside

It seems that the logic behind much of today's mash-ups goes something like this: Do you like the Talking Heads? Do you like Radiohead? Then you'll love the Talking Radioheads: Thom Yorke singing over remixed Talking Heads songs. Actually that doesn't sound too bad. But for every bangin' mashup (see Dangermouse's Grey Album), there's a Q-Unit, where the Q stands for Questionable.

The best mash-up disk jocks have an ear that allows them to hear where the seams of disparate genres can be stitched together with effortless-sounding results. Here are some of those doin it right:

1. DJ Z-Trip: The first mash-up I ever heard was his mix of the Pharcyde's "Passin Me By" with Pat Benetar's "Love is a Battlefield". Like whoa. Here's Z-Trip mashing up Jigga Man with Jane's Addiction, J5 with Oasis, DPs and Green Day and more.

2. DJ bc's The Beastles: The Beatles are to eggs as Beastie Boys are to ???. If you said a) hot sauce, you are correct. How could this not be good, right? Right. Try on Sure-Bla-Di Shot-Bla-Da for starters, then head over to DJ bc's website for more excellent mashups of Buju and Stevie, and the White Stripes, Wings and Outkast.

3. Caps and Jones: Reppin Buffalo via Williamsburg, these dudes get an A+, and not just because Caps is in my fantasy football league. Their latest record, Moving in Stereo has been stuck in my head for months (that's right, the whole album is stuck) and I'm spreading the gospel like it's religion. For a sample that gives you the Fat Boys, Magnetic Fields, Jeff Spicoli and Neneh Cherry's Buffalo Stance, click here. Bddddddddddup - Stick Em!

Fantasy success

"Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality..." - Queen

"If you do fantasy sports year round I think it's clear that some not-so-small part of you is a loser." - NJG


It may also follow that if you dedicate close to 500 words of copy in your blog to your fantasy sports pursuits you are an altogether different yet equally depraved breed of human. But I ain't skeerrrrred...

Let's all of us together just move beyond the fact that I am an owner of four fantasy sports teams. Why four? Because five would be too many. I manage two football teams, one "fun" league, one for "money". Ditto for basketball. Of course, I'm not including the 7 (seven!) ESPN fantasy football teams I created so I could practice drafting before my real leagues had their draft. It's a sickness, I realize this, but I take comfort in the fact that my summers are fantasy sports-free, allowing me to escape being a total loser. Not like those fantasy baseball guys! What dorks!

Anyhooch, until this season I was like a second-year NFL wide receiver: still not ready for primetime. But as any FFL owner worth his fantasy cleats can tell you, the third year is where the wideouts come into their own. I have enjoyed more fantasy success this season than in any previous year. My "fun" football team, in a league filled with current "OJ" staff and alumni and dubbed "Supercaliblowme" by season ticket-holders, leads the league in scoring and I unbiasedly view myself as the undeniable favorite entering the league playoffs. Doubters can eat a bowl of you-know-whats...

My "money" team, the Deacon Blues, are tied for the league's best record and are also playoff-primed. The core of this league consists of a bunch of pipe-hittin Buffalonians that grew up together in the Black Rock section of town, plus some stray mathematicians, linguists and canvass supervisors. I have always sucked in the BRFFL league and I want to win badly. Oh yeah, we have t-shirts.


Sundays are the greatest days for fantasy sports - it's when the football gets played and the week-long basketball matchup gets resolved. My "fun" b-ball team, the Guatemala Ducks (shouts to PDX!), is in first place and I go up against a bunch of gents I've never met but whom I look forward to feeling smug in their presence of when I eventually get out west.

"The "money" basketball team, the Methadone All-Stars, are in the middle of the pack but with Tim Duncan, Shaq, Ray Allen and a steady supporting cast I feel confident going into battle with this latest incarnation of recovering hard-core drug addicts turned professional athletes.



Playoff updates forthcoming. Prayers welcome.

It's Always an Adventure

So, yeah, I lived in an apartment without power or hot water for about 4 months recently. And I still got a lot of reading done.

By far the best book was The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Klay by Michael Chabon. So good I next bought a book of his short stories entitled A Model World. Really good. Excellent at presenting and navigating characters through a narration of life's most universal yet subconsciously endured awkward moments.

Best of the Rest:

Franny and Zooey, JD Salinger - Apparently Fairfax County graduates a higher share of culturally ignorant hayseeds than I would have guessed prior to reading this book. It seems the rest of the literate world was exposed to this book before receiving their drivers license and I can only express gratitude that I did not. This tale of two Glass siblings would have done serious and lasting damage to my highly impressionable teenage brain. I may even have become a rabbi. I definitely would have stopped reading the Celestine Prophecy sooner than I did.

Motherless Brooklyn, Jonathan Lethem - It's understood that this book propelled Lethem to be "the king of a four-block radius" in dwntwn BKLYN. The book is very Brooklyn. Many of my friends swear by it. I laughed at the main character's Tourettic (?) outbursts (Eat me Bailey!) but didn't find myself engaged by the characters or the plot moving them forward. Definitely suffered from my constanct internal comparisons to Kavalier and Klay.

Naked & Me Talk Pretty One Day, David Sedaris - Very funny. I didn't fall on the floor and wet myself like the jacket reviews suggested I might but I did laugh often and took away some quality nuggets of advice for living, such as "When shit gets you down, just say 'fuck it' and eat yourself some motherfucking candy". Say word, son. Keepin it realer than Mary J's love.

The Polysyllabic Spree, Nick Hornby - Author of High Fidelity and About a Boy writes a monthly column for The Believer mag on which books he's bought and read in the past month and the two lists often overlap. Dude reads a lot and this post is inspired by his column but I don't get paid to write about the stuff I read or feel any of Hornby's admitted insecurity about having a shallower literary appetite than my readership. I have no readership. Except for you. And you are loved for being here. But seriously, Hornby loves books stronger than the word bibliophile can convey and, despite making you sit through his thoughts on a biography of an obscure biographer of obscure people of questionable renown, he makes you seriously consider quitting your job so you can devote a more civilized amount of time to reading. Even if it's in the dark.

Some early news

1. "When they were making $50 million a year on the road, there wasn't a lot of pressure to monetize their archives."

2. Phil sings in response (click on message up top)

3. Onondaga keeps it real in today's Times

4. Whoa.