Guy in the Puffy Coat

I went the Walker Art Center a couple nights ago to see Laurie Anderson perform her latest piece “DirtDay!”  The Walker’s McGuire Theater, for those who don’t know, is a really neat small theater that suffers from one major flaw:  the seats themselves are extremely tight.  If you’re a modestly wide human being, the sides of the seat will probably hug you like a child hugs its’ teddy bear; if you’re modestly tall, your knees are going to hit the back of the seat in front of you.  I’m not entirely sure why they built the theater in this manner but it’s just something that you’re forced to deal with.  The sight lines, however, no matter where you sit, are unparalleled and the sound is usually fantastic.

I showed up a bit later than I had hoped; only a few moments before the show actually began.  I was in the second row and three seats inward in the middle section.  Two friendly gentlemen where to my left towards the aisle and immediately said hello, allowed me to walk past, and so on.  The guy on the other side simply stared downwards and didn’t exactly look overly friendly.  He was wearing a brown newsboy cap and an orange puffy winter coat.  He was sitting in a manner that his arms were not only lobbing over the very small armrests but also well into the territory of the seats on both sides.

I sat down and was immediately greeted by the man’s arms in my space.  I was a bit shocked.  I kind of thought he would just naturally readjust himself once I sat down but he didn’t.  His left arm was so far into my small seating space that I couldn’t even completely put my right leg flat on my chair so I ended up doing a weird hybrid seating position, not completely unlike unexpectedly sitting on a small turtle underneath your right butt cheek.

I was a bit bewildered.  How was I going to make it through this performance that I so eagerly wanted to see while being so incredibly uncomfortable?  On top of that, I have a pretty bad back, and this awkward position spelled potential danger and aggravation.  I was having visions of suddenly having back spasms in the middle of the performance and screaming out in pain.

Not long after the show began, something rather interesting happened:  the guy got itchy.  He suddenly and very quickly reached up to scratch his temple with his left arm and then returned it back to its’ original position.  Ah ha!  I deduced that this would be the time to strike.  I patiently waited for the next itch, which came along only moments later, and immediately shifted.  Little by little, I started to reclaim my space…all the while NOT looking like I was.  Instead, I made it look like he didn’t put his arm back in exactly the same spot.

This may all seem a bit strange to some of you and I can certainly understand why.  You’re probably thinking, why not just ask the guy to move?  I can’t totally answer that.  I just got a vibe, a rather unfriendly one that said it wasn’t worth it.  Plus, I kind of figured that I’d come up with some bizarre scheme to rectify the situation, of which I did, of course.  Call it a bit of a challenge.

The funny part is that most people would be pretty annoyed with this whole situation.  I’ll admit that I was put off a bit at first but, instead of getting angry, I actually got more sympathetic as the night went on.  It became clear that this guy was more “uncomfortable” than me, whether it be in his clothes, chair, situation, or own skin.  Something wasn’t right and it appeared to me that he was clinging to this space as a sort of last ditch effort of sanity, or maybe esteem.  Rather than be angry at him, I think I sympathized with him.  I ultimately felt sorry for him, I guess.

Heck, if that little bit of space means that much to you, well, take it, or at least until the next itch.

Bones are Better than Bones

I’m eternally the guy that’s somehow and some way stuck in the past when it comes to current events.  I just don’t get it because I’m really not that out of it, as they say, and I think of myself as a relatively modern minded sort of guy.  Still, there are always little tidbits of daily life that completely puzzle me, and when asking someone else about them, I usually get the “have you been living under a rock” look, a look that I’ve grown quite accustomed to.

Take for instance the strangely named Honey Boo Boo phenomenon.  I kept seeing this name pop up all around me and so I finally had to ask a coworker, “Who or what the hell is Honey Boo Boo?”  My initial thought was that it was a cross between a cuddly bear and a band-aid promotion.  It turned out that I was more right than I would have expected, depending upon how you look at it.

I also recently entered the realm of regular television after canceling my long time subscription with DirecTv.  Now, I know, you’re thinking that regular TV channels are included in DirecTv packages so how could I not know about them?  The answer is I simply never tuned to those channels before.  Now you’re getting the picture, aren’t you?

I’ve come across the show “Bones”, apparently a rather popular program that I’ve only heard of previously and never watched more than 2 seconds of.  After watching it for a decent amount of time, I’ve come to the conclusion that they got the name of the show all wrong.  No, it shouldn’t be called “Bones” but instead “Horribly Decayed Flesh”, with the byline of “BEWARE: Don’t try to eat dinner while watching this!”  Being a newbie to the show, I’ve nearly thrown up more than once while attempting to eat my dinner during it.  Let’s just say I don’t recommend this behavior.

The truly fascinating thing is that I’m actually enjoying regular TV more than I liked satellite.  Don’t get me wrong for I miss having a DVR, but then again not having it has cut down on the amount of hours of television that I feel that I HAVE to watch because I recorded it.  I’ve also recently discovered “Family Guy”.  What’s not to love?  If only I had known years ago.

Some Like It Hot

I think it’s finally over. Yes, the summer of excessive heat that’s plagued so much of the US seems to finally be passing away. Here in the Twin Cities, we experienced a solid month of temperatures above 90 degrees, sometimes inches away from the dreaded three digit numbers, and even dipping into them a couple times. In short, it was pretty damn brutal.

As a side effect, my grass started dying at the end of June, begging for water in vain. I eventually broke down and turned on the sprinklers. I don’t usually like wasting water in this sort of manner so I usually only turn the sprinklers on if it’s absolutely necessary. In any event, the grass still seems irritated at me for my delay and is in slow recovery mode.

The times I had to do any work in the yard nearly killed me. On one particular occasion, I unexpectedly started up a conversation with a neighbor after being outside for well over an hour. It wasn’t until I went back inside that I noticed what I looked like: beet red in the face, sweat showing visibly all over my shirt and hat, etc. I can only imagine what I must have smelled like. No wonder she didn’t want to talk much.

You would think that after living in Phoenix, AZ, for 21 years that I could handle a little bit of hot weather in the Midwest. Instead, I think I deal with it even worse today than back then, and no, it has nothing to do with the humidity and all that. For me, humidity doesn’t really affect me much; I sweat either way, you see, so there’s little difference. If the weather is above 80 degrees and I’m outside in the sun for more than 10 minutes, I’m sweating, and there doesn’t seem to be much I can do about it. And it ain’t pretty either, if I must say so myself.

The real frustrating part is that someone I know can be right beside me in the same exact temperature and feel a bit “cold”. Meanwhile, I’m sweating. It seems almost absurd that two people’s body temperatures can be so varied in this sort of manner, doesn’t it? And yet, it does seem to be the truth. We all seem to have an internal thermostat and, like body weight scales that are slightly off from one another, very few of us seem to hold the same temperature as “perfect”. Most people like the 80’s; I prefer right around 68. Unfortunately, I don’t do that much better on the flipside of things, like when it’s -20 degrees. I freeze just like everyone else at that point, or, even worse, start sweating a cold sweat.

I wish I could call an A/C or heating specialist to fix my internal thermostat. Ah, if only it was that easy. Or better yet, wouldn’t it be great if it was manually adjustable? I could program it to change automatically every day while I’m at work in order to deal with their harsh air conditioning, but then it could mellow when I get home so my house unit doesn’t have to work as hard. If only it was that easy.

And so, I bid farewell to one of my least favorite summers since living in AZ. As the song says, “Some like it hot…but some sweat when the heat is on.” I guess they had me in mind when writing that lyric.

Slip Slidin' Away

Getting old is hell. This is nothing new, nor is it even a new topic for me. At the same time, though, it can be mildly entertaining and gently amusing at times.

For example, last week, I was sitting in the parking lot at Target during my lunch period from work. I tend to drive over to Target and grab a yogurt, a banana…that sort of thing. We can’t eat at our desks at work and so I usually sit in my car and quickly devour these items while watching various people walking in and out of the store. It doesn’t sound exciting, I know, but it sometimes can be a bit interesting.

On this particular occasion, I noticed something extremely odd. I had already been sitting in my car for a couple minutes and was parked next to one of those large cart corrals where customers can place their shopping carts after wheeling them out into the parking lot. The strange part was that this particular cart corral was slowly moving. I looked in total disbelief. Was it the wind? How can the wind move a cart corral like this that’s made out of metal, plastic, etc.? It was completely puzzling. I stared at it for a few seconds, pondering this bizarre anomaly, before it occurred to me to look forward… Umm…the cart corral wasn’t moving…my CAR was moving!

I quickly applied the brake, just prior to gently colliding with the car parked in front of me! Apparently, when I got in the car, as a now semi senile creature of habit, I not only started my car so that I had some a/c but also released the parking brake and, since my car has a manual transmission, it was free to “roam where it wanted to”. And so, my car evidently was slowly creeping forward for some time without me noticing it.

Now, this was pretty amusing to me since, well, it worked out okay. I’m not entirely sure that I would have been giggling about it as much if I did indeed hit the car in front of me, though. This is a fantastic example, however, of the sort of stupid thing that I find myself doing these days. I’ve never done this sort of thing before. In fact, I’ve always been quite the opposite, an incredible perfectionist. Not anymore. Now that I’m hitting middle age, perfection has flown out the window, or more appropriately helped me slide down the road. It’s actually a little scary.

Senility, here I come…

This is for the Birds

The birds are clearly out to get me. I know that sounds rather Hitchcock-ish of me to say but, well, in this case at least, it appears to be true.

I was walking out of my workplace one day when I noticed a rather remarkable looking black with orange striped bird hanging out on the hood of my car. I didn’t think much of it at the time besides the interesting colored markings on its’ side. I was heading out to lunch with someone who just happened to be parked next to my vehicle so I never really got to fully inspect my car beyond the passenger’s side door.

Later on, when I left for the day hours later, I was completely shocked to see that same bird still hanging out on my car as I approached. It barely seemed even phased by the fact that I was rapidly approaching and was more or less giving me a strange look, as if to say, “Um…what do you think you’re doing?! This is my car.” It finally took off reluctantly when I was merely inches from it.

It was then that the thought hit me, putting two and two together in my head. A bird sitting on my car evidently for hours can only lead to one thing: bird poo. As soon as the thought formed in my brain, I noticed the feared evidence…not so lovely white streaks all up and down my door. Ah yes, the bird evidently visited a buffet sometime that day, or perhaps called its’ friend over for a poo party.

My car is black and so it was pretty obvious that there was something on it, although at a fast glance it kind of looked like spray paint from far away. Needless to say, I could have done without the bird’s take on artwork. I drove home and promptly wiped it off with some paper towels.

I was even more shocked the next day to find the same freakin’ bird once again parked on top of my car’s hood. Um…?! Once again, it looked at me like I had a ton of nerve getting between it and my car. Needless to say, the “artwork” was back again, this time even greater than before.

The bird flew a couple feet away once I got near the driver’s side door but didn’t go any further, all the while watching me carefully, probably hoping I’d simply get out of the car and wander off so it could get back to business. It was almost like the bird and my car were having some sort of weird interspecies/mechanical love affair. Odd.

This time, I decided to just get my car washed. After doing so, I figured I’d outsmart the bird and simply not park anywhere near that spot again. Hah! Take that, you feather brained f***!

The next morning, I stopped off at a local coffee shop very briefly to pick up my morning brew. I was in there no more than 2 minutes. I returned to my car, coffee in hand, and found a very large splat of white bird poo perfectly splattered downward over my driver’s side door handle.

Call me crazy but I took it clearly as a message sent by some hit man styled bird, telling me that resistance was futile, and to park my car back in the usual spot at work.

Damn, these creatures are orchestrated.

Top 15 Signs You're a Midwesterner

15. You believe pork chops are fine cuisine and the thought of ever eating a vegetable simply terrifies you

14. You can't help but drive alongside 2-3 other drivers on the freeway, thus creating an automobile "wall" that none can pass through or get around

13. You’re convinced that anyone who chooses not to drink alcohol must be a recovered alcoholic

12. You think of the start of hunting season as a "holiday"

11. The idea of fishing in 5 degree weather in a small outhouse styled shack seems strangely appealing to you

10. You mistakenly think of the left lane of the freeway as the "slow" lane. Actually, you think of all lanes as the slow lane

9. You measure your own self-worth by how green your grass is

8. You enjoy a *good* parade

7. You don’t drink soda, you drink “pop”

6. You’re more concerned about your teams’ recent loss in football rather than politics or the state of the union

5. You feel that having your t-shirt tucked into your jeans, blatantly exposing a large bowling ball of a belly, is a fashion trend that never quite goes out of style

4. You don’t understand why anyone would wear a jacket that doesn’t have a large walleye on the back of it

3. You see no need in ever driving faster than 35 mph

2. The highlight music extravaganza of your year is the annual Styx/REO Speedwagon/Foreigner concert at the local casino, no matter how many actual original members show up

1. You actually think marching bands are cool

How to Speak Starbuck-ian

I stopped at Starbucks this morning for my bi-weekly dose of dark roast. A short 50’s-ish man with glasses, not much hair, etc. was in front of me in line. “What can I get you?” the clerk behind the register asked him.

“A tall blond,” he calmly replied.

A whole range of wise crack responses filled my brain, from “isn't that what we all want” all the way to “I think I’d prefer a short brunette”. Surprisingly, I didn’t actually say any of them. The man who made this statement didn’t exactly look like someone who’d appreciate my humor, and the female clerk was, in fact, a sort of short blond, so I had doubts that my comment would fly well with her either. Sometimes, it’s just better to keep your mouth shut. I’ve learned this the hard way after unintentionally insulting multiple people that I don’t even know.

Still, I couldn’t get the visual out of my head. I imagined the Starbucks clerk walking out a “tall blond” and then I could clearly see her and the man casually slow dancing in the middle of the Starbucks coffee shop. (Yes, in case you’re wondering, this is exactly the sort of thing that I see in my head all the time, hence why I’m frequently giggling to myself when there’s nothing obviously amusing happening or being said around me.)

In case you’re totally confused, a “tall” is a drink size at Starbucks and “blond” is one of their new light roasts. So, indeed, a “tall blond” is a perfectly valid request. In fact, the clerk didn’t even blink an eye when he asked for this, further proving that they probably hear this at Starbucks all the time. Heck, they might even hear my jokes about it on an hourly basis. Perhaps it really was a good choice to keep my mouth shut.

On a similar note, a friend of mine was just telling me that he stopped in at a Starbucks recently and got into a minor altercation when trying to place an order. He supposedly went up to the counter and asked for a small caramel laced drink; the clerk yelled “tall caramel” to her coworkers in order to get it prepped and made.

He was puzzled. “No, I just want a small,” he clarified.

“Yep, tall caramel…got it,” she replied, further ringing up the order.

Thinking that she was mishearing “small” for “tall”, he tried again, slightly flustered. “No, really, I want a small. I don’t want that much to drink.”

The clerk looked at him in a mildly annoyed manner. “Yes, I know, I got it. A tall is a small”.

He did a double take. “A ‘tall’ is a small?”

“Yes,” she said, now even more annoyed.

“How do you figure?! Why isn’t a ‘small’ a small?”

The clerk was growing tired of the whole conversation. “I don’t know, sir. Those are our sizes there: tall, grande, venti,” pointing at the sign behind her. “I just work here.”

So, the next time you’re in Starbucks, make sure you remember to speak Starbuck-ian, and you may just perhaps walk out with the made-to-order mate of your dreams, that is, if you’re into blonds.

I Fart in your General Direction

It’s been awhile since I’ve posted anything. I’m not lazy; the honest truth is that nothing too terribly interesting has happened over the past couple of months. Sometimes, you simply have to wait for the right moment to strike.

Well, something interesting happened today. I walked into the men’s restroom at work since the need and urge had struck me. The men’s bathroom is a rather narrow but long corridor that has two entrances, one from each side of the corridor. In the middle, there are toilets, and flanking each side are 2 urinals, two sinks, and of course the exit doors. I walked in to find a typical business suited younger man wearing glasses and a long expensive looking trench coat using one of the urinals. As he was doing his business, he was also texting on his cell phone. I semi admired him for his syncopation skills.

I walked to the urinal next to him and started doing my thing. Just then, he let out a rather long, drawn out fart, all the while still texting, completely engrossed in his cell phone. Clearly, his syncopation skills were even greater than I originally gave him credit for. I mean, urinating, texting, AND passing gas at the same time clearly takes some talent.

For you ladies out there, in case you’re not aware, this is a common occurrence in the men’s restroom, meaning the passing of gas randomly. I’ve had men pass gas at the sink while washing their hands. I also had a coworker of mine once pass gas as we were having a short conversation while standing near the sink. I’m not entirely sure how women act in the restroom but I can only hope and imagine that it’s slightly more civil, or at least I want to believe that.

People in general seem to choose their behavioral patterns based on the activity of others around them. So, one guy passes gas at the sink and the next thing you know it’s a trend. Pretty soon, we’ll all be in the lunch room passing gas at random and thinking nothing of it.

Some people outwardly say that passing gas is a normal human function and therefore should be embraced rather than reserved for, um, special private moments. Along the same lines, I’ve known plenty of younger women that amplify their belch’s as much as possible while in restaurants, and then follow it up with, “What?! It’s a totally normal human function!” Yeah, it is normal, but so is defecating…and I usually try to refrain from doing that in public too.

I’ve heard some men say, “If you can’t fart in the bathroom, then where can you?” That is a fairly decent point, when you think about it. I remember when I was a child that I would avoid using a public restroom like the plague for fear of making a “sound”. It took me years to get over that. Still, is making noise when actually doing your business the same as standing at a sink and letting ‘em rip? I’m not really sold on that one.

There are also all the people that like to talk on their cell phones while in the restroom. I’ve had moments when using one of the toilets when a voice suddenly out of nowhere asks, “So, do you have any plans this evening?” This always takes me by surprise. Are they talking to me? I’ve actually answered people before, saying something like, "No, not really...just hanging out and such."  You can imagine how silly I feel when I realize that they all of sudden have taken a phone call and weren't exactly interested in my weekend arrangements.  The really amusing part is that they probably think I'm the weirdo for answering, you know?  Well, perhaps I am, now that I think about it.  Either way, I always get shy when someone’s using the phone in the bathroom. After all, I don’t exactly like broadcasting my bowel movements over portable devices.

I think what caught me the most off guard was that this guy in the restroom looked like, from afar at least, a very sophisticated gentlemen type. The last thing I expected was a backfire. It’s funny that we don’t say hello to people we don’t know but yet we feel okay with tootin’ at them. Perhaps this will become the modern form of saying hello. I mean, why waste breath and energy when you can use a “normal human body function” to achieve the same purpose, right? Now, if only I knew how to text that.

Book Update

I posted my “accomplishment” in this blog back in early October in regards to finishing the book “Cold Mountain” by Charles Frazier. I finished it after a, um, nearly 7 year period (gulp). I think I might have broken the world record for the longest period of time to read one meager book. Looking at it that way, it really was quite an accomplishment.

I wanted to post an update on this whole thing. It’s now almost exactly 3 months later and…wait for it…I’m starting my fourth book since finishing “Cold Mountain”. Yes, that’s right; I’ve read three books since then. I think this clearly goes to show that “Cold Mountain” and I simply didn’t get along.

To add insult to injury, I watched the film version of “Cold Mountain” only a couple weeks after finally finishing the novel. It turned out that I had interpreted the entire ending of the book incorrectly. After watching the film, I went back and reread the ending. Oh, is that what the author was trying to say, I thought to myself. At least one reviewer stated that the style and verbiage of “Cold Mountain” was "spare and eloquent, a panaroma that the author stills long enought to make a portrait...". For me personally, I just wish the author had come out and told us readers what the heck was going on without hiding it within so much poetic obscurity.

I guess we’ll see how long this new novel reading kick lasts. As long as I avoid any of the Stephen King books post “Pet Sematary”, I would think I should be okay.

I Remember Xmas Cards

Yes, it’s finally happened; I’m no longer receiving Christmas cards. I received exactly 2 this year which is actually slightly higher than I expected, to be quite frank. I also finally gave up sending them out since I was repeatedly hearing comments like “you still send out cards?” and “who sends out cards these days?” And so, like a fool, I caved.

Ah, yes, remember the good ol’ days? Yes, you know you’re getting old when more and more sentences begin with those undeniable words.

The weird part is that, unlike music now being listened to most frequently on those little annoying portable devices, nothing has taken the place of Xmas cards. It’s not like we’re sending out e-Xmas cards or anything. We’re just not doing anything at all.

Add to this the fact that the post office is in dire need of cash and constantly threatening us to discontinue certain services, days of the week, and so on. It seems to me that the post office NEEDS Xmas cards. Doesn’t that sort of make it un-American not to send them?

And yet, still, here I am, as guilty as most everyone else, not sending them. Sigh. I’ve never been big on caving in to peer pressure but for some reason, on this issue, I have. I feel like a traitor.

In the meantime, I’ll fondly remember the days when a simple little $1 card told me nonchalantly that someone else in this large world of ours was actually thinking about me.

Isn’t it oh so ironic that the more ways we have to communicate, the less we do? That’s technology for you. Don’t be surprised if even Santa one day soon stays home and uses his new IPAD app to deliver gifts to the kids. Ugh.

Just Call Me Mister No Pants

I don’t know what the heck is wrong with me these days. It’s almost like I’ve forgotten how to dress myself. Upon recently taking a job where I can no longer where jeans and a t-shirt to work, I’m completely lost on how to look and dress like a grown up and/or buy clothes that fit me appropriately.

I’m specifically having issues in the pants department. I personally can’t stand “khakis”, I mean, even the term itself makes me cringe every time I say or write it, hence the quotes. Ick! Shivers of unrest just went up and down my spine. Yes, it’s that bad.

Some guys look perfectly fine in, um, the k word. I don’t. I don’t know what it is about me exactly but my body shape, even during the best of times, makes me look like a total idiot when I’m wearing them. They flare out in the pocket area, tend to hang off my knee caps as if I’m a child wearing his father’s oversized clothes, and so on. Even worse, they buckle in strange areas in a rather abnormal fashion, especially in the, well, crotch area. They’re simply the most uncomfortable and dorky looking thing, on me at least, that I can possibly wear, hence my distaste for them.

Dress pants, however, look reasonably decent on me but they present a whole new issue. Dress pants are like wearing no pants at all and feel closer to thin pajama bottoms, swinging around my ankles like some bizarre bedtime bell bottoms. I also tend to wear my fake vegan Doc Marten shoes mostly to work and they look a bit odd with dress pants. I would wear regular dress shoes but my feet are a whole different issue. Getting older sucks, let me tell you.

And so, to solve the pant issue, I found a Docker (even that word makes me cringe) brand pant that’s sort of a hybrid between khaki’s and jeans. This seemed like the perfect solution, no? Well, it kind of was…until merely days after buying one pair and then going to see Al Stewart at the Dakota Jazz Club. After getting him to sign an album cover that I intended to add to my wall collection, he forgot to firmly put the cap back on my marker…which I nonchalantly jammed into my pants pocket, ink side down. It was about 2 hours later that I noticed that the marker had bled through my pants. Ugh. Thanks, Al.

I bought another pair of these hybrid pants in a darker color, the same size, etc. I made a mental note not to carry any more markers in my pants with the lids off. I washed the pants, put them on, and guess what? Now they’re just a bit too short. Yes, that’s right, folks, I wear high waters to work each week.

Why not just buy new pants, you’re asking? Well, I’m at that infamous point right now where I’m heavier than I’d like to be and I keep hoping to change that any day. Of course, I’ve been saying this for the past year and a half, but I know that as soon as I spend more money on pants, they’ll no longer fit me and I’ll have to start all over yet again. This is just how my luck works. Therefore, I keep waiting to buy new pants for that special day when I can once again downsize.

In the meantime, my choices are pants with a big black marker stain, pants tailor made for walking through shallow puddles, dorky looking pants that stick out in various areas, making me look more endowed than I am, or pajama bottoms.

Ah, screw it. I’m just going to go pants-less from now. That’ll show ‘em.

Down from the Mountain

I just accomplished something significant in my life. Now, it’s admittedly not really the kind of thing that you would think. No, I didn’t get a novel published, a record contract, nor was I discovered by the New Yorker and asked to write editorial pieces or anything. It was none of those things and yet it was big: I finished reading a book.

Yes, I know, your scratching your head, aren’t you? Well, I am too a little. What book was it, you ask? It was Charles Frazier’s “Cold Mountain”, a book that I started, to the best of my memory at least, right around 2003. Quite frankly, I really don’t remember when I started it but it was at least seven years ago since I know I began reading it before I moved out of Phoenix.

Why did I even start reading this book, you ask (in case you’re wondering, yes, I CAN hear your thoughts from here!)? In truth, you’re correct in thinking it doesn’t seem like a book that I’d normally read. Well, it isn’t. I acquired it back probably ten years ago when I was joining and promptly cancelling memberships from book clubs and getting a small horde of books for next to nothing. Somehow this novel ended up in that pile and promptly sat on my shelf ever since. Considering that I can’t remember when I started this book, I most certainly can’t remember what it was that I read before it. Nonetheless, I’m relatively sure that I was kind of out of available books to read and so I settled upon this one which had become a sort of fixture on my shelf, kind of resembling an artifact more than something useful.

The book never really gripped me that much but yet wasn’t so terrible that I wanted to stop reading it. I know I read it quite a bit when I was living in my interim apartment when I first moved to Minnesota but for some reason after that I promptly stopped. It then became a sort of taboo item, something that just seemed weird to pick up and read after not doing so for so long. The rest is history. Years passed and until just recently, upon finding some books that I truly wanted to read, I felt that I first needed to finish my unfinished business and cleanse my book constipation period for good.

The culprit of my literary constipation

Some of you may know that I do a bit of writing here and there. I don’t, however, do a ton of reading and that always throws people for a loop. What kind of writer doesn’t read, right?! Well, I don’t and I can’t really explain it myself. I most certainly read more when I’m actually working on a writing project since I use books as a way of giving me formatting ideas and such. Since I haven’t really written anything creative in a long time, I guess reading just fell off of my radar. There are some other reasons that I won’t go in to here as well. I’m definitely not an avid reader, though, even when I’m “reading”. I know many people that crank through a book in a matter of a day or so and my usual turnaround is a couple of months. To date, I’ve read only one book from cover to cover in one sitting and I felt that was a major accomplishment in my life, even if it was only 250 pages or so.

And so, after nearly a decade, I just turned the last page of “Cold Mountain” yesterday. Ahhh…relief. For once, I feel like I truly accomplished something, even if it is totally irrelevant!

It Happened Today

I just read the news about R.E.M. deciding to call it quits after 31 years of music. I don’t know why this is shocking me like it is but I am truly shocked. I can’t exactly say that I’m close to physical tears but it’s certainly affecting me emotionally. A band ending is inevitable, really, so I’m not sure why I’m having a hard time digesting this. Then again, I guess I do understand. It’s been a long, long road and I’ve been quite the diehard fan since 1985. I guess all that history between us is just choking me up a bit. I actually feel like I need to give a moment of silence or something like that in honor of them.

The first song I ever learned to play on guitar was R.E.M.’s “Driver 8”, in fact, they were a huge reason why I learned to play in the first place. I worked on that one song for weeks prior to being able to even come close to doing what I’d call “playing” it. Learning that one song essentially gave me enough knowledge on the instrument to start writing my own material. Over the past 24 years, I’ve played that same song countless times and I still make minor adjustments to how I play it, even just recently adding yet another touch that’s even more true to the original. I know and play probably 40% of the R.E.M. catalog. I think I play at least one R.E.M. tune each time I practice guitar. We’ve basically been like family all these years.

I was just commenting not more than a week ago how amazing it’s been having them around all this time. They’ve been one of the few bands that, in my opinion at least, have always been true to what they originally stood for and have always put out content that was up to par. Not every R.E.M. album is flawless, mind you, but I think the band has always tried to do something fresh, a little bit different, and of a higher caliber than most bands that last even half as long as they have. They also never strayed into “success la-la land”, as I’ll call it, when extreme success can sometimes severely alter the very core of a band and its’ members. Somehow, R.E.M. has managed to always keep it realistic and I’ve had nothing but the utmost respect for them in regards to that.

R.E.M. will surely be missed. It surely is the end of an era (even if their actual ‘era’ ended quite awhile ago). I think it’s ironic that a band like R.E.M. disbands while others like U2 insist on continuing, even though they sold out who they were back in 1987 (and yet went on to bigger stardom because of it…go figure). Even in disbanding, R.E.M. stays true to form and display nothing but class, offering multiple statements in regards to thanking their fans rather than trying to act like it’s all been about them. Classy right to the end. They simply ‘get it’ when so many others don’t.

And so, with that, I hand it right back to the band. Thank you, R.E.M., for all the great music that you’ve brought into this world and shared with us. You’ve been one of the biggest musical influences of my life, if not the biggest, in more ways than one. Thank you for everything.

Now might be the right time to start that R.E.M. tribute band after all.

C'mon!!!

It was all quite ironic and a bit of déjà vu. I had just gotten finished discussing how I no longer cheer for Serena Williams due to the bad attitude and poor sportsmanship she’s displayed over the past few years. I had also mentioned how I personally can't stand the Serena “c’mon!” yell that she'll sometimes do after making a particularly good shot. It was only about an hour later that one of those very “c’mon’s” got her into yet another tirade directed at the officials of the US Open.

Taylor Dent did some of the broadcasting this year for some of the US Open matches and he was remarking on how he dislikes Tsonga’s thumbs up dance jig when he wins a match. Personally, I don’t mind that half as much as the Serena “c’mon”. First off, I don’t get the “c’mon”. I mean, what does it mean? Is she talking to the ball, her opponent, or the audience? Many people use the phrase ‘c’mon’ when they feel like they’re being mistreated. Does she feel that the ball has something personal against her? Or, perhaps she’s using it more like an “alright” or “oh yeah” sort of positive vibe, but then why doesn’t she just say one of those phrases? The kicker, though, is how she yells it at the top of her lungs out of nowhere and then, in a true Jekyll and Hyde sort of manner, immediately turns back to being completely stoic, as if the noise actually came from someone or somewhere else. I just don’t get it.

I used to really like Serena back in the day. I used to like Venus as well and still have slightly more tolerance for her versus her sister. Both sisters have shown a definite increase in attitude over the years, however, and it’s hard to overlook. It’s even incredibly obvious during the pre-match interviews where they both don their best fake smiles while their eyes glare at the interviewer with a look of “you truly annoy me”. It’s just hard to look past as a spectator.

Serena Williams at the US Open 2011, apparently 'expressing' herself

Serena’s blow up two years ago was beyond belief to me. Now, admittedly, I started watching tennis post the McEnroe era so I’m not really accustomed to athletes completely losing it on the court. Still, Serena that year literally threatened an official…on the court…in front of millions of viewers. Who does that?!

And then, just as viewers were starting to forget about that incident, she creates a whole new one just as bizarre as the former. In yesterdays match, Serena yelled out one of her bizarrely ferocious “c’mon” yells but this time before the point was over and prior to Samantha Stosur having a chance at returning the ball. This is a definite no-no. Chair umpire Asderaki very correctly gave the point to Stosur, giving her an early break in the second set, rather than awarding Serena the winner. Well, the feud was on. I’d call it road rage except there wasn’t any road in sight.

The match had swung completely in Stosur’s favor up until that point and so it’s easy to understand Serena’s frustration in general. However, the call was correct and very obvious in the replay and so taking it out on the umpire was completely uncalled for. Still, had it stopped there, I think it would have been fine, but no…Serena had to throw in a few choice comments directly at the umpire. “Aren’t you the one that screwed me over last time here? Yeah, you are.” Well, no, chair umpire Asderaki wasn’t, and, um, the issue last time didn’t actually involve a chair umpire either. It was instead involving a linesman but that’s evidently beside the point in Serena’s eyes.

Damage was clearly already done but she unfortunately didn’t stop there. After the change over, Serena walked back to her seat past the chair umpire and loudly said, “I hate you.” This landed her a code violation and a verbal warning from the chair umpire.

Looking shocked that she received a code violation (go figure), she then continued: “A code violation because I expressed who I am?! We’re in America last time I checked. Am I gonna get violated for a water? Really, don’t even look at me.”

And then, a bit later, there was even more: “If you ever see me walking down the hall, walk the other way. Because you’re out of control. Totally out of control. You’re a hater. You’re unattractive inside. Who would do such a thing? And I never complain. Wow.”

I think it’s pretty clear who was out of control here. To anyone with small children, does any of this sound a bit familiar? Again, it’s simply a rule in the rulebook stating that a player cannot interrupt the playability of a point of an opponent. Everything that happened after that was just Serena “expressing herself”, albeit incorrectly. I mean, c’mon.

How Serena was able to say that she doesn’t ever complain with a straight face is beyond me. And yes, ‘wow’ is right. If I was chair umpire Asderaki, I think I would have busted out in hysterics. And “you’re a hater”? What on earth did she mean by that? I’m a bit afraid to ask so I won’t.

So, no, I don’t cheer for Serena any longer for pretty much the same reason that I don’t cheer for Roddick; they’re both a couple of stuck up whiney cry babies. I don’t care if they’re the American players or not. With those top choices, I’ll gladly cheer for the mild mannered Aussie who’s just thrilled to death to even be playing let alone win the US Open. What’s sad is that Serena and Roddick are the top American players and have been for quite some time, and they pretty much represent all of us on the courts around the world. Perhaps that will change in the next few years with the young American up and comer’s that we have. One can only hope.

It’s even more ironic that Serena’s latest tirade took place on the 10th year anniversary of 9/11.

I know that many conservatives of late have really been touting how we need to reduce and perhaps eliminate what they term as “entitlements” from our government. In my opinion, though, it’s this sort of American attitude entitlement that we should really work to rid ourselves of since it gives us all a black eye.

Judge Me By My Size, Do You?!

I recently walked in to a Potbelly Sandwich Works and ordered my usual vegetarian sandwich creation on white bread. For those of you that are unfamiliar, Potbelly is a chain sandwich shop mostly located in the Midwest region not unlike a Subway, Quizno’s, etc. The difference is that Potbelly sandwiches are hot rather than cold and the vegetarian one is really quite tasty in comparison to, say, Subway’s “vegetarian” sandwich which is pretty much a glob of lettuce, some mayonnaise, and an occasional olive here and there.

At Potbelly, you place your order at one end of the counter and then meet your sandwich and preparer on the opposite end of the oven. It’s there that you specify which specific ingredients you’d like on your sandwich. Usually, a completely different employee rings you up at the cash register, normally asking what you ordered and so on.

A young 20 something’s-ish girl was waiting for me at the register. She asked what I ordered and I promptly replied, saying a regular size vegetarian sandwich and a side of potato salad. She then said something that I didn’t fully hear with the only audible words being “…you…any…pickle…?”

I was a bit thrown off. I couldn’t recall there being any pickles inside the sandwich but, even if there were, they never have charged before for any specific ingredient. Being confused, I replied, “I’m sorry?!”

I could almost visibly see her altering her words in her head in order to make her question more clearly stated. The end result, though, was astounding: “A pickle. Do you have a big pickle??”

I simply stood and stared at her momentarily, completely dumbfounded. She, however, remained totally straight faced and saw nothing odd in her phrasing. Inside my brain, I was thinking, ‘Wow. Did this girl just ask me if I have a…big pickle?!’ As her question slowly started to digest in my brain and I started to understand what she was really asking, I suddenly busted out with a laugh. “Oh my goodness!” I said, slightly embarrassed. “Um, uh, no, I don’t…um…have a big pickle…now that you mention it,” realizing what I was admitting to out loud in a fast food chain. I couldn’t help but think about all those spam emails I get in regards to “Increase your Size”. It’s bad enough via email but nothing like being ‘interrogated’ at the local Potbelly too!

You see, Potbelly has a very large jar of huge whole pickles that they also sell. I’ve never actually seen anyone buy one, now that I think of it, which is why it didn’t immediately occur to me what she was really asking. I’m not entirely sure why she thought I wanted one or where that idea came from. Maybe I looked like a pickle connoisseur, who knows.

As we finished up the transaction, the cashier finally smiled and laughed a little as well as she continued to ring me up. I then proceeded to sit down and enjoy my sandwich, all the while thinking of the 1001 better responses I could and should have given her instead of what I actually came up with. It’s not every day that someone asks you if you have a big pickle, after all.

Out of my '20,000' League at Caribou

I ordered my usual medium sized dark roast coffee today from Caribou. It’s a great deal at only $1 provided that the Minnesota Twins baseball team wins the previous day. The only real catch is that you have to remember to print out the coupon from the internet or you’re out of luck. At this point, it’s pretty much a habit for me and really hasn’t been much of an issue. Heck, I’m practically there every day so it’s routine by now.

Caribou locations usually have a trivia question posted on the wall and, if you guess the answer correctly, you receive an extra 10 cents off your purchase. This may seems trivial (pardon the pun) but when you’re coffee is only $1 to begin with it’s actually quite nice. If you get a really nice Caribou employee to ring you up, sometimes they’ll even give you the discount if you answer incorrectly and/or they’ll give you a second/third/fourth chance at the answer.

I placed my order and looked at the question. “Who is the month of July named for?” was proudly displayed on the trivia board. Who was the month of July named for?! Um... It seemed like the sort of thing that maybe I should know but I had no idea that any of the months were named after anyone. In fact, upon thinking about it, I had often wondered where these goofy names had come from in the first place.

Ashley rang me up at the register and, upon noticing that I was looking at the board, kindly asked, “Would you like to take a stab at today’s trivia question?” I hesitated uncomfortably. “Um, yeah, sure...” I said without much confidence. “Hmm, let’s see… Who is the month of July named for… Um…” I was stalling for time as much as possible as Ashley patiently watched me with little amusement.

I had completely drawn a blank. July? Who the heck is named ‘July’? Even worse, who the heck is named any part of the word ‘July’? Nothing was coming to me. Meanwhile, Ashley was starting to get annoyed. I had to come up with an answer and fast. Anything would do and they often say that your first thought is correct. Jul…Jul…

I settled on an answer in my head and promptly blurted it out. “Jules Verne?” No sooner did I say it but both Ashley and I laughed out loud. Smiling slightly, Ashley finished ringing me up, albeit without the 10 cent discount, while stating, “The correct answer is Julius Caesar.”

Ah! Julius Caesar! Now that makes sense! Jules Verne?! What the heck was I thinking?!!

I never was very good at history.

Peter Gabriel at the Starlight Theatre in Kansas City, MO, June 18th, 2011

Peter Gabriel was one of my idols growing up, most definitely my biggest musical idol, and still is pretty near the top of my list. His music and lyrics completely amazed me since it was so incredibly deep, passionate, moving, and emotional in a way that I had never heard previously. His music also expressed a certain kind of experimental, no-holds barred sort of approach to songwriting that was simply irresistible and very different from anything else that I listened to at that time of my life. I would have to say that his work was the first music that truly pushed me in a specific artistic direction, completely flooring me on multiple levels. I knew very early on that I wanted to write music one day that drew from this influence. For those of you that are unfamiliar with his work beyond the obvious tracks like “Sledgehammer”, “Big Time”, and “In Your Eyes”, give a listen to his fourth album and I think you’ll understand.

I was incredibly fortunate to have seen Gabriel perform back in 1993 during the Secret World Tour in support of the album “Us”, probably the best tour he’s ever done and definitely one of the best shows I’ve ever seen in my life which is quite a ranking considering the outrageous number of shows I’ve seen. I also saw him nearly a decade later during the Growing Up Tour, a show that fell a little short in my opinion, possibly more to how the audience and concert going experience had changed drastically versus his actual performance. When I then heard that Gabriel would be touring the US with an orchestra last year in support of the “Scratch My Back” cover song CD, I immediately made plans to see one of the shows. Without much debate I decided upon the Los Angeles performance at the Hollywood Bowl. I purchased a 3rd row ticket and was quite excited, especially since the Hollywood Bowl was a venue that I had always wanted to go to and yet never really had the opportunity. Unfortunately, due to circumstances beyond my control, I never made it to L.A. for the performance and I thought I had missed out on the tour completely. Upon reading a few months ago that he was returning to the states this summer with more or less the same tour, once again dubbed the “New Blood Tour”, I could hardly believe the news. This was so unlike him. I’ve never known him to do such a thing before so it almost felt like it was for me…of which I can only say ‘thanks!’ Therefore, it was a “must see” for me.

Just to clarify, for those of you not in the know, these recent tours are not typical Peter Gabriel shows of the past. There is no regular band, no Tony Levin or Manu Katche, and literally no guitars, bass, drums, keyboards, etc., or anything that would be associated with a rock music show. Instead, it’s Peter Gabriel accompanied by a 50 piece orchestra playing a variety of reinterpreted cover songs and breathing new life into Gabriel’s own work, hence the name “New Blood”.

Only a handful of dates were scheduled for this summer’s tour. After looking them over, I decided upon the June 18th show in Kansas City at the outdoor venue called the Starlight Theater, partially due to the date falling on a weekend but also because the venue looked quite intriguing with its’ uniquely Shakespearean look. My other 2 logical choices were Chicago at the United Center, of which I wanted to avoid seeing the show in an arena, and the last being at Milwaukee’s Summerfest which is usually filled with nothing but has-been old rockers getting way too drunk for my tastes. No, I prefer to see and hear the show and truly be in the moment, connecting with the performance and the music, and so Kansas City seemed like the better option for me.

Kansas City had another bonus: it was really easy to get a great ticket. It’s also one of the few venues not on the Ticketmaster system which is always a bonus. Any chance I can avoid giving money to the “evil empire of entertainment” I most certainly will. I ended up with a 4th row center ticket without any sweating involved. Ironically, I’ve never sat further than 4th row for any of the Gabriel shows that I’ve had tickets for.

The ride out was really quite easy. It’s just shy of a 6 hour ride total from the Twin Cities area, for me at least at the speed of which I drive, and you pretty much follow I-35 all the way. There’s really nothing to see in between the two cities except a lot of farm land and rolling hills and so nothing too eventful happened apart from relaxing and unwinding during the drive after a hectic work week.

I stayed the first night in a small town in Iowa called Osceola which was about 4 of the 6 hours into the journey. I decided to do this since I worked on Friday and left shortly after my workday had completed. I don’t drive well at night anymore and so I try to avoid it as much as possible. I got to my hotel right around 10pm.

Per the map, Osceola is a one street town, at least from the freeway’s perspective. Having said that, I somehow got off the freeway at the wrong exit and was completely confused as to where I was. The only real thing visible at this exit was some sort of casino that had a huge cowboy neon sign outside of it spouting off random messages. Otherwise, the entire area was pitch black and nothing in sight seemed to resemble a hotel. It was so dark that it was even difficult to see the heavily pot-holed road at times. At one point I thought I may have seen the hotel but it ended up being some sort of retirement care facility that was eerily vacant and devoid of any signs of life or welcoming. After making multiple u-turns on roads that are only about one car wide, I felt that I needed to get back to the freeway as quickly as possible. I ended up making a u-turn in a residential area that was quite a sight. I wasn’t even sure where the houses were and all I could see were random piles of junk, old cars, etc. As I ventured back towards the freeway, I was slightly frightened by some sort of figure suddenly huddled alone on the side of the road. At first I thought it was a member of the living dead or perhaps the Grim Reaper; it turned out to be just some guy wearing a hooded sweatshirt nonchalantly walking in the darkness. Very eerie.

Back on the freeway, I headed to the next and correct exit which was slightly different than the previous. This exit at least had some lights and a few small businesses around it including a gas station, a McDonalds, some sort of country restaurant, and my hotel. The road to the hotel didn’t appear to be a road at all but some sort of former sidewalk now doubling as a road. The hotel didn’t look promising from the outside but the inside was thankfully very clean. I was only sleeping here for the evening and then continuing on and so cleanliness was my only real concern. Having said that, the hotel turned out to be fine for my situation.

The next morning I headed out to Kansas City. The less than 2 hour ride flew by and it wasn’t long before I was looking for somewhere to eat breakfast. In my infinite wisdom, I kept passing by various restaurants in hopes of finding something that I preferred more. Of course, my preferences never came and so I ended up driving through the entire city, crossing the state line into Kansas, and eventually settling on Bob Evans, somewhere I haven’t eaten since I was 12. Breakfast was actually decent and not too pricey, much to my surprise, and of a slightly higher caliber than, say, Denny’s.

It was now about 11:30am. I wouldn’t be able to check-in to my hotel until 3 or 4pm and so I decided to go to the movies to see “The Tree of Life”. This particular theater was located in some college district and literally took me a half hour to find due to its’ bizarre location. Luckily, I had all the time in the world before the show started.

The theater itself is hidden within an old style office building of sorts. Apart from a small banner that I later found hanging on the side of the wall, there’s no actual sign or normal looking movie theater paraphernalia outside the location to spot it. Once I entered the building, I was still confused. I found a guy standing by a door, looking rather bored. A rather steep staircase lead upward but nothing more was visible. “Is this the theater entrance?” I asked. “Yep, this is it,” he replied. It was definitely an interesting setup.

I was in need of using the restroom and so I purposefully entered the theater early to allow enough time. I entered the men’s room and, after looking at my three options, I chose the middle stall. The toilet was equipped with an automatic flushing system which accidentally went off as I was preparing to sit. Moments later, though, it went off again. I found that sort of odd until it did it again. And again. And again. Unfortunately, I was, um, committed to using this stall at this point and so moving wasn’t really an option. Meanwhile, the toilet flushed again. And again. “It’s almost like having my own personal bidet,” I thought to myself silently. Just then, the toilet flushed again. Now, I was starting to laugh uncontrollably at both my thoughts and the situation. I was also trying to position my upper body in a way that would maybe cause the toilet to stop flushing.

Meanwhile, men were coming in and out of the restroom, more than likely wondering why I was flushing the toilet repetitively let alone laughing while I’m doing it. This thought, of course, made me laugh even more. I continued trying different positions for my upper body while the persistent flushing continued. I finally found one position that sort of worked but it was nearly impossible to remain in it for a long period of time considering, um, the circumstances. As I, well, prepared to leave the stall, the toilet started flushing even more frequently than before, almost like it was angry. I finally got the heck out of there and made my way back to the lobby, all the while feeling like I had just been hassled by a disgruntled toilet.

Back in the lobby, my head was now coated with sweat since the situation in the bathroom had pretty much stressed me out. I’m sure the girl behind the concession stand was wondering why I was sweating over getting popcorn. In any event, I got my refreshments and made my way into the quaint theater.

I could write a whole different article on the movie alone, I think, so I’ll save my comments on that for another time. Once the movie was over, I made my way to the hotel and was ready to prepare for the evenings events.

Just like the previous night, I couldn’t find the correct road for the hotel. I could see the hotel just fine but I couldn’t figure out how the heck to get to it. After about 4 u-turns, I finally figured out the puzzle that lay before me. I had a map printed out from Yahoo!, mind you, but they unfortunately put the star that shows the hotel on the map right over the street name!

This hotel, a Courtyard by Marriot, was definitely much nicer than the previous night’s accommodations. I checked in and started working on my plans for dinner. It was now about 4:45pm and I was intending on leaving for the show around 6:45pm. I found that a Rosati’s, a pizza chain from Chicago and only one of two in KC, just happened to be located one mile from the hotel. I placed my order, waited a bit while watching some of the baseball game on TV, and then ventured out. Once again, I couldn’t find the location. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me these days! Eventually, I figured out where I was supposed to go and claimed my pizza-to-go.

I got back to the hotel and prepared to feast. The pizza was great and it seemed like I basically swallowed the whole thing in one bite which I just might have, knowing me. I relaxed a bit afterwards and then checked the local weather. The forecast had predicted severe storms all week long with a high of 90 degrees. Now, the forecast had altered to include quarter sized hail, possible tornadoes, etc. What a night for an outdoor concert!

I headed out from my hotel to the show right on time. The venue is located in a really nice park that sort of resembles the parks in the downtown area of Chicago, just a lot less crowded. It was really easy to get in to the general vicinity of the venue and it only cost $5 to park but the downside was that there isn’t an actual parking lot for that price and so you have to park on grass. I was a bit concerned about this since my car is pretty low to the ground but it didn’t seem to cause an issue thankfully.


The Starlight Theatre's gateway entrance

I walked through one of the main gates and scoped out the venue. It really is a pretty place and, at least up until that point, the weather seemed nearly perfect for an outdoor show. I did a lot of walking around, took various pictures, visited both the venues’ gift shop and the artists’ merchandise tent, and then eventually found my seat for the show. Yes, indeed, I was in the ‘real’ 4th row, meaning that there weren’t any VIP pit seats or anything of the sort in front of me. It was so close in fact that I was slightly worried that it might be too close.

A view of the venue and stage from the back

I talked a bit to the family next to me in order to pass the time. I was slightly afraid that I would be eaten alive by mosquitoes as it got later into the evening and so I was doing my best to get a second opinion since I had completely spaced bringing any repellent. It sounded like it wasn’t too much of a concern and so I eventually let it go.

Not long after, as he tends to do, Peter Gabriel just nonchalantly walked out onto the stage. The lights didn’t go down, there was no fanfare, no nothing…he just sort of walks out casually onto the stage to introduce the opening act. It’s quite a classy thing to do, I think, and it also gave me a feel for just how perfectly seated I was since he was only a couple feet directly in front of me.


Peter Gabriel's introduction

The opening act was Ane Brun who performed just two songs accompanied only by an acoustic guitar that she played for one song and banged on for a beat during the second. Brun then joined the New Blood Orchestra as a backup singer for Gabriel along with Peter’s daughter Melanie. There was literally no delay after the two songs and Gabriel once again casually ventured out onto the stage. He began by explaining what the project was all about, how it had come about, etc., all the while standing mere feet away from me. Shortly after that, the actual show began with a revamped version of David Bowie’s “Heroes”. It seemed pretty obvious right from the start that it was going to be a great performance.

The stage was filled with teleprompters so that Gabriel could read his lyrics from pretty much any direction. He came out with a large amount of hot tea available, something that I think is pretty routine for him these days due to his vocal issues, and took drinks of it often when he had a few moments during non-singing passages. He did do something that I’ve never seen before; he picked up a tube of honey, meaning the large kind that you’d have at home, and rather than squirting that into the tea, he instead squirted it directly into his mouth. He then followed it with a tea chaser. I may need to try this myself one of these days considering all the voice issues I have as well.

The basic stage layout was pretty simple and straightforward but definitely had enough pizzazz to make the show interesting and memorable. For the most part, Gabriel simply stood in one place and sang. I think the days of him jumping around like a monkey are probably behind him at this point but I can’t say that it hurt the show any without it. Every once in awhile, when he was really in to a song, he started getting a bit more dramatic by breaking in to a slight jog, a bit of a jump, etc. You can tell that he misses the days of his youth when he was able to run around the stage at will. Then again, don’t we all!

The New Blood Orchestra is composed of some touring musicians from England and then other musicians from the local area of where the actual show is. This allows for collaboration, different interpretations, and also to keep the price of touring down. This particular tour was not so much in support of Gabriel’s last release “Scratch My Back”, a collection of random cover songs redone and treated with orchestration, but more of a preview of the upcoming “New Blood” album set for release this fall which gives the orchestral treatment to Gabriel’s actual catalog. Therefore, this show ended up consisting more of Gabriel songs versus selections from “Scratch My Back”.

For those of you that have perhaps never seen him live, Peter has a most interesting way of talking to an audience. He shows literally no emotion, no energy; almost no pulse. He stands at the microphone with his arms straight down his sides and talks in a very quiet and rather modest, dry tone. He’s always been this way, from my understanding, and it’s partly what’s made his passionate musical performances so interesting, basically to watch this person go from zero personality while talking to running and leaping around the stage while singing. It’s quite a bizarre approach to communicating with an audience, in my opinion, and yet one that’s worked quite well for him. This tour was absolutely no different in that regard except with less energy during the singing portions.

The set overall was fantastic, filled with a wide variety of tracks that some people would absolutely expect to hear and then some true gems that we’ve never heard before live. “Wallflower” in particular has always been one of my personal favorites and I’ve never heard him play it before. The new arrangement was almost even more beautifully melancholy than the original and literally brought tears to my eyes, especially since the political prisoner/POW lyric was more prominently heard than ever before. Overall, I was completely blown away by how natural it was for Gabriel’s songs to be transferred over into orchestral arrangements, almost to the point that I barely noticed that the version was any different. I had been a bit afraid that I’d be missing specific elements from the original versions but surprisingly I didn’t give it a second thought throughout the show.

Here’s a pic of the actual set list courtesy of PeterGabriel.com:

Later into the show, they started into “Blood of Eden”. Gabriel sang the first verse and then started into the wrong verse afterwards. Clearly annoyed with himself for flubbing the lyrics, he very abruptly said, “…No, wait… Let’s start that over.” The players immediately stopped playing. He then paused, lost all emotion and became perfectly stoic as usual, and said very dryly, “That’s what’s known…in the professional language…as a f*** up.” He then very gently smiled to himself momentarily as the audience reacted with laughter.

There was a 20 minute intermission in the middle of the show where most people took the opportunity to empty their bladders, grab more beer, and so on. I was talking again to the family next to me when I heard a very loud boom while feeling the back of my seat shake slightly. I turned around to see that one of the guys behind me, evidently beyond drunk, had somehow attempted some ridiculous maneuver and ended up flat on his back on the concrete flooring. He laid there momentarily, like a stunned animal, with his feet up into the air. Then, with a spring in his step, he jumped up and said, “I’m okay! I’m okay!” To prove it, he danced around a little. I could only think, wow…nothing like getting plastered at an orchestral concert!

After the intermission, the show began right where it had left off and immediately was gripping once again. It was now completely dark outside so the lighting was able to be used to its’ full effect. One of the true standout tracks from the second half was “Rhythm of the Heat”. Not only was the song fully realized with the orchestral arrangement, the video screens also complimented with an eerie effect of showing the conductor, with his wildly waving hands and thickly gelled hair flopping up and down, going crazy as he tried to get the musicians to put even more passion into their playing. The crowd erupted with thunderous applause.

The weather completely cooperated in the end. I felt a total of four raindrops during the performance and nothing more. No hail, no fierce winds, etc. Even the temperature was pleasant and most of all…no mosquito bites either. What more could I ask for?

The New Blood Orchestra during the ending portion of "Rhythm of the Heat"

The last encore began with “Don’t Give Up” and then finally the anti-climatic instrumental “The Nest that Sailed the Sky”. It was a really strange way to end the performance but yet kind of worked since the whole show was a bit out of the ordinary. The entire show lasted about 3 hours in length.

Once the show ended, I made my way over to the merchandise stand and picked up a rather cool looking “New Blood” t-shirt and poster. I waited as long as possible before trying to venture out of the grass parking lot in order to avoid traffic. As I waited in my car, I couldn’t help but smile in regards to the performance. I had indeed chosen wisely seeing the show in Kansas City and, even though I had missed the Hollywood Bowl show from the previous year, I had more than made up for it.

Some Powerful Words Evidently

Wow… One whole day after I publish my blog entry “Borders Goes Way Over the Border”, Borders makes headlines and announces that they’re closing all of their remaining stores. I can’t say that I didn’t warn them, even if it was a tad bit late. Actually, I had written the entry a few weeks ago and just never got around to publishing it. I guess, if nothing else, you can say that I can smell a financial disaster in the making. I can’t say I’m shocked, really, since, after all, a 100%+ markup on in-stock goods is quite a bizarre strategy for selling anything.

In the meantime, we’re all sweating to death out here in Minnesota as the latest heat wave steals all of our energy away. Some year in weather 2011 is turning out to be. First, we get a record amount of snow, a winter that simply won’t end, and now we’re all dying of heat stroke. Yes, Minnesota weather, let me tell ya… It’s so hot and humid that all of my windows are steamed up so that you can’t see a blasted thing out of them. When I get out of the car, my glasses fog up for about 2 minutes. It’s fun stuff. And, even more fun…it just hailed again briefly about an hour ago, literally as my car is in for repairs for, yes, you guessed it, hail damage. At least it’s in the right spot to repair the new damage with the old.

Borders Goes Way Over The Border

I have a new store to complain about: Borders. This really shouldn’t be much of a surprise and you all have probably already complained about them in your own heads at some point. I really don’t shop there very often at all and I was just rudely reminded as to why I don’t.

I occasionally do these survey thingys online that earn me points and such. When you accumulate a certain amount of points, you can then turn them in for various items from different retailers. The list of retailers is incredibly lame and one of the few on there that even sort of appeals to me is Borders. And so, I decided to trade in my points for so called Borders Bucks.

I’m not entirely sure if this was a good decision or not. I just looked at various prices on items that I have on my Amazon.com wish list and nearly fainted. It’s amazing, really. For example, the film “Amelie” is coming out finally on Blu Ray this month and it’s currently selling for $14.99 on Amazon. Even stranger, Amazon shows the “list” price at $19.99. And how much is it on Borders.com? $40.99. Yes, that’s right, $40.99. Seriously, I have no clue how any respected business can come up with that sort of price!

It didn’t stop there, though. I searched 10-12 various items from different categories off of my Amazon list and compared the prices to Borders.com. It’s ridiculous. There are movies, such as “The Kids are All Right”, which NEVER is more than $22 anywhere (Target, Best Buy, etc.), listed on Borders.com for $41.99. It took me 20 minutes to find a product that was only listed for $3 more than on my Amazon list. On average, most products seem to be marked up $8-$10.

I’ve discussed this verbally before. I know that the internet age severely hurt companies like Borders, Waldenbooks, Circuit City, and even Best Buy, and I fully understand the mentality that buying something right off the rack versus waiting 1-2 weeks for Amazon to deliver it is considered a premium in this day and age. I do sort of follow this thinking but seriously, $20 more? More than double? That I don’t follow. It’s highway robbery, insulting, and literally makes me hate the company that’s doing it.

In my opinion, there’s a really good reason why a lot of these 80’s and 90’s-ish companies are failing and going out of business: whoever is in charge and making decisions on these things is clearly a complete idiot and terribly out of touch with reality, appropriate price markup’s, and ultimately the modern day consumer. Borders, go ahead and shoot yourselves in the foot, if you wish, but don’t say that I didn’t tell you so!

Meanwhile, my measly $15 in Borders Bucks that I’m now stuck with may end up costing me more money than if I just purchased the product directly. I guess I can stop doing those surveys now.