Relative Perfection

It's a three-day weekend.

I was planning to be out of town this weekend. Upwards of two weeks ago, I started laying the groundwork with my friends in Boston, New York City, Houston, Dallas, Atlanta, and Chicago. I even had Back Home on the list. I spent a good bit of time comparison shopping for air fares for the holiday weekend.

Ultimately, the week got away from me, and I never booked anything.

As it turns out, that's not so bad. I had a shit-ton of laundry to do, and Load #2 is in the dryer even as I type. Besides, this whole musical renaissance I've convinced myself I'm in has led me to remember I want to digitize my entire music collection, and - even after the ten or so hours last Sunday I spent uploading CDs to my computer - I was only through the Js when I started this morning.

[Ned's Atomic Dustbin is currently in the drive. I don't know when I thought it was a good idea to buy their God Fodder album.]

My biggest beef with uploading CDs is that it takes so damned long. You put the disc in. You wait. You take it out. You put another disc in. At this point, I'm only uploading the manufactured CDs in my collection so the track names generally come up automatically. I don't know how long I'm going to take to get around to uploading the ones that aren't, but I suppose I'll cross the bridge when I get to it.

The upside of the time commitment is that you don't have to do much while you're waiting.

[Good God! After the Rain by Nelson. I don't think I've thought of them since I think I saw them at Pankake Pantry in Nashville some time in 1997.]

That leaves you open for lots of other things. I have chosen to fill the gaps between changing CDs with four activities:
1 - doing laundry
2 - making spaghetti sauce,
3 - mixing and drinking bloody marys, and
4 - writing this.

While I have little doubt that you are as fascinated with my dirty (and progressively cleaner) laundry as you would be with a meta-critique of blogging, I would like to explore some of the parallels between #2 and #3.

[The Best of Phil Ochs - I should mention that I am going through my CD collection and uploading ALL of my CDs. This is not the first trip through the collection I've made. I started off with uploading the filet about a year ago, but this time I am uploading anything that has not been uploaded before. None of this "Well, I never listen to it anyway" crap. So, the CDs I'm handling today were likely passed over the first time or two I did this. Do not judge me harshly.]

[Opera at the Movies. Better than you would think.]

[Oui by The Sea and Cake - Sorry for the triple-up. I had to go tend to the sauces, spaghetti and getting-me-d.]


I used to despise the bloody mary. I had this textural hang-up on tomato juice I just couldn't get by. I understood then, as I understand now, it was a strictly neurotic objection. The simple fact of the matter is that I could not tip a glass of tomato juice to my lips without the phrase "menstrual flow" flashing through my mind.

[George Clinton and the P-Funk All Stars Live at the Beverly Theater in Hollywood]

Is that the right thing to say? No. Do I have an irrational hatred of menstruation that you should construe as misogyny? No, but that gives you a sense of how intensely I dislike drinking tomato juice.

On a fateful Sunday morning in the fall of 1999, my buddy Jenny DubTheGirl took me to the all-you-can-drink build-your-own bloody mary bar at The Sign o' the Whale in our nation's capital, and my buddy Dan ChutesNLadders, in coordination with the owner/operator of said establishment taught me an important lesson about the bloody mary: the texture of tomato juice is no longer an issue once you put sufficient amounts of vodka and other shit in it. This is doubly true after you have put a sufficient amount of vodka in to yourself.

While I don't mean to downplay the importance of that breakthrough, perhaps an even more important discovery that crisp, hungover fall morning was that, like spaghetti sauce, there is no definitive recipe for a bloody mary.

[Polka's Greatest Hits, Volume 1]

In fact, I have discovered through some research since then, when it comes to spaghetti sauce and bloody marys, there are only two types of people in the world: people who don't know how to make one and people who know how to make the "perfect" one. If you routinely make either spaghetti sauce or bloody marys, then you know exactly what is supposed to go into making it. You may play around a little bit with the proportions or make some minor adjustments in specific ingredients or improvise in the face of scarcity, but you know what should be there and what should not.

[Quad City DJs All-Star Christmas - Seriously, what did I used to do right before I went shopping for CDs?]

A lot of times, I've discovered, people inherit their notions of appropriate ingredients/preparation from their grandmothers. This is particularly true of the spaghetti sauce recipes. I didn't inherit either a spaghetti sauce nor a bloody mary recipe from my grandmothers. I take that back. There is a family spaghetti sauce recipe floating around. It comes with the family recipe for meatballs which is a phone call to mom away from my recipe book. The spaghetti sauce simmering on my stove has little to do with that recipe.

[Don't Fight the Feelin' by Rappin 4-Tay - I'm pretty sure I bought this album on the strength of his contribution to the Dangerous Minds soundtrack.]

[REM, Monster - Had to fold some laundry.]

The spaghetti sauce on my stove started out as a bored afternoon during which I found myself overstocked with tomatoes, garlic, sausage (hot and sweet), and red wine (Rosemount Estate 2003 Chiraz, which I have finally accepted is not the one I fell in love with while I was crashing with my brother's buddy Tom Victorious in Chicago back in 2002. Yeah, you see the problem with the math there? It took me almost three years to figure that out. I am now convinced it is the 2002 Rosemount Chiraz that is super-spectacular. Another year or two, and I'm sure I'll foind out it's the 2001. Then, I'll spend another year or so figuring out that it isn't all that good.). That afternoon was about a month ago. The sauce on my stove had been sitting in my freezer since then. I defrosted it earlier this week, and I finally got around to doing something with it today.

[Lou Reed's Set the Twilight Reeling]

Of course, what I did with it today isn't all that impressive. I dumped two large cans of diced tomatoes and a can of beef broth in it. It has been simmering on the stove for about five hours now. The funny thing is that I don't really care about the spaghetti sauce. I'm just using that as an excuse to talk about the bloody mary.

Here is what I have learned about bloody marys:
1 - Finding a good one in DC is remarkably hard. This is an e-mail message I sent out to my favorite person back in September:

Date: Sep 15, 2006 2:19 PM
Subject: Searching for a good Bloody Mary

So, I was bemoaning the fact earlier that I have been unable to find a place that serves a decent bloody mary in DC, despite the fact that it is the ONLY place I have ever lived (and I am counting both Phillipsburg, MT AND Brunswick, GA) where I have been unable to find a place with good bloody marys.

(And, yes, I know I can always make kickass bloody marys at home. So can some friends of mine. That's not the point.)

In the course of the ensuing exchange, an associate of mine who likes to refer to himself as Ultimo Dragon replied:

"Ultimo Dragon would break wooden chair on suckers head to get decent bloody Mary. Or put serious dent in metal chair.

at church in el pueblo, Drogon used t othink, why is jesus's blood wine, why not bloody mary? everybody drinking it on sunday morning any way. Call it sangre de jesus. more people show up for free drink."

My esteem for that individual because of that comment greatly increased, but fret not: you're still my favorite.

Ta,
Eq

I still haven't found a good bloody mary place in DC (suspending for a moment my historical attachment to the site of my bloody mary deflowering mentioned ealier). I have discovered that I lay great store by the way an establishment's bartenders make a bloody mary. If they create each one from scratch, I am generally more interested. I can accept the large-batch-mixing to save some time on busy brunch shifts, but I like to see a little thought put in to it. Don't think pouring bloody mary mix over a tall vodka on the rocks is enough. You have to do at least a little work. Drop a celery stick in there! Grind some pepper! Pretend like you know anything about your job!

I have found a couple of places around here that at least have the stones to actually make some choices (Bourbon, Tonic), but they make choices with which I disagree. (That usually includes an over-reliance on olive juice or Old Bay.) Last weekend, I went to Wonderland and was pleased to see their due diligence with the bloody I ordered. It was not exceptional, but - alas! - the bare competence makes it noteworthy in this town.

2 - I still hate olives. When Gwen Bartender served me bloodys back in my Philipsburg, Montana days, she would give them to me with a pickled asparagus spear dangling in my cocktail flanked by two olives. I grew to love the pickled asparagus. (Read in to that what you will.) The olives persisted in their nastiness.

[Rocky Orignial Movie Soundtrack]

[Favourite Rossini]

3 - In addition to the staples (Worcestershire, pepper, hot sauce), I like my bloodys with a little beef broth, Guinness, carrot juice, wasabi, celery salt, and garnished with blue cheese wrapped in prosciutto and a cucumber wheel. If I have to go pre-mixed, I love ZingZang. I have Mr. and Mrs. Bad Influence to thank for that. I should take a moment here to note that my bloody mary recipe has nothing to do with either of my grandmothers.

[Reel Big Fish's Cheer Up!]

My maternal grandmother doesn't drink anything but Beefeater's Gin on the rocks, and my paternal grandmother did little to teach me about boozin'. My paternal grandfather (in a tradition carried on by my father) taught me a thing or two about keeping a decent bar and mixing a decent cocktail, but the bloody mary wasn't on the syllabus. So, there goes my grandmother influence theory.

What I'm trying to say here is that you should spend cold winter Saturdays making bloody marys for the ones you love. If you're not sure how to do that, then get off your ass and do a little research. Figure out what you like. Figure out what you don't like. Define your "perfect" bloody mary and argue with another bloody mary maker over a couple of yours and a couple of his. And, if you can do it in the honor of some dead presidents, then all the better, but make sure you make the spaghetti sauce, too, because you'll want something for lunch when you realize you're shitcanned by noon.

Happy Presidents Day.

Stuck In Our Heads - Beta Version

Last week, I sent the following e-mail message to my favorite person in all the world:

Date: Mon, 5 Feb 2007 14:02:01 -0500

Subject: New Music Monday

So, I have found myself in a mild musical renaiassance lately. Through a variety of methods, I have gradually been introducing myself to some stuff which, if I ever heard of it before, I certainly had not invested any time getting to know. There's no great surprise there; my musical development is almost defined by lengthy periods of stagnation punctuated by occasional bursts of extensive exploration. (Ask me about the seven-year stretch when I listened to nothing but Pink Floyd.)

I thought perhaps I should energize this burst of exploration by stealing an idea from a friend who recently put together a CD-length musical compendium for a small group of people by asking them to answer a short series of questions, and drawing the playlist from their responses. Me? I'm not planning on putting together a CD for us to enjoy, but I am hoping perhaps your responses to the following two questions will point me down some new musical paths to walk for a while to see what I might be missing out there. I expect your responses will also lead me to decide whether or not I ever really liked you.

1 - What is your favorite song?
2 - What is the last song that got stuck in your head? Or, the last song you felt compelled to listen to again and again for hours or days at a time?

Many thanks for your help in informing my musical journey, and thank you thank you thank you for always being my favorite.

Much love,
Eq

--

"To be a good friend, a jolly man, a good boozer, to me, that spells honor and glory." - Francois Rabelais

I know Question #1 is a bullshit question. I knew that before I asked it. As noted in many of the responses I received, any answer to that question is subject to change over time, mood, situation, and - in one of the more passionate objections - footwear. As you may divine from the rest of my message, I am feeling my way along this process. I knew I wanted to pose a question that would elicit a strong response from the questioned, and I knew that question would elicit such a response. Of course, I had further hoped part of that response would be a song title and not just an attack of the question and - more often than I would care to admit - the questioner, but let's not dwell on missteps.

I am not going to post the suggestions I received in answer to Question #1. I know there are a lot of people with a lot invested in the question of favorite songs. I think posting that list will invite - indeed, demand - dramatic clashing of opinions. Frankly, I have no interest in hearing such drama, much less having a hand in it.

Besides, the responses I got to Question #2, in addition to being inherently circumstantial and, therefore, less controversial, are infinitely more interesting. Based on accompanying anecdotes, I think there are basically two classes of answers to Question #2: 1) Songs that got stuck in your head in a good way because they're damned good songs, and 2) Songs that got stuck in your head in a bad way because you cannot, in the name of all that is holy, banish them from your head. I have not yet listened to all of these songs, much less used this as a playlist to listen to all of them as a group, but I am fascinated by the idea of listening to songs that have recently been stuck in my friends' heads. It's like I'm trying for myself the oh-so-good songs that have already been auditioned for me while simultaneously daring the painfully-persistent songs to try to get stuck in my head. It's like a treasure hunt, musical thrill-seeking.

I like the idea so much, in fact, I think I am going to make this a monthly routine. On the first Monday of each month, I am going to send out an e-mail request similar to the one above; however, Question #1 will be "What is the song that most recently got stuck in your head because it is such a damned good song that you just couldn't get enough of it?" and Question #2 will be "What is the song that most recently got stuck in your head and, no matter how hard you tried or how impassionedly you bargained with your Higher Being, you could not shake it?" I will then spend the week compiling any responses and post them here for all to see. I am also hoping to acquire as many of the songs on that list as possible and then spend some time listening to the resulting playlist throughout the month.

(As a sidenote, this line of thought has brought me to a possible breakthrough in my heretofore unresolved feelings toward iPod-brand MP3 players and others of that ilk. In order to make this Stuck In Our Heads playlist idea a reality, I may finally have discovered for myself a use for such a device.)

The inaugural Stuck In Our Heads playlist is below. I apologize for the lack of formatting. I will try to come up with something a little more useful in the future. I further apologize for the awkward sorting by artist first name and, in many cases, by "The." It was an unfortunate short-sightedness that guided me as I was compiling this month's list, and I don't feel like fixing it today. Finally, I think better defined guidelines will result in an even more robust cross-section in coming months.

And, lest you think I'm strictly a scavenger in this process, my answer to Question #2 is also included below.


Title - Artist
Talisman - Air
Funny How Time Slips Away - Al Green & Lyle Lovett
You're the Biggest Part of Me - Ambrosia
Hesitation Blues - Asylum Street Spankers
The Funeral - Band of Horses
Copacabana - Barry Manilow
Electric Music and the Summer People - Beck
Elephant Gun - Beirut
Mount Wroclai - Beirut
The Gulag Orkestar - Beirut
Two Hands of a Prayer - Ben Harper
Juicy - Better Than Ezra
Irreplaceable - Beyonce Knowles
Kick My Ass - Big and Rich
Like Castanets - Bishop Allen
Tornado - Black Crowes
This Modern Love - Bloc Party
Into the Water - Blue October
Train of Love - Bob Dylan
Buffalo Soldier - Bob Marley
Angel from Montgomery - Bonnie Raitt
Bowl of Oranges - Bright Eyes
Swingin' on a Star - Bruce Willis and Danny Aiello
Circumstance - Buju Banton
Cruel - Calexico
Lloyd, I'm Ready to Be Heartbroken - Camera Obscura
Ridin' - Chamillionaire
Where the Boys Are - Connie Francis
Nine Crimes - Damian Rice
Life on Mars - David Bowie
Transatlantism - Death Cab for Cutie
Tell Me - Diddy feat. Xtine Aguilera
Not Ready to Make Nice - Dixie Chicks
New York Minute - Don Henley
I Believe in You - Don Williams
A Song for You - Donnie Hathaway
Breakfast in Bed - Dusty Springfield
September - Earth, Wind & Fire
Fake Your Way to the Top - Eddie Murphy
My Girl Wants to Party All the Time - Eddie Murphy
Sunday Kind of Love - Ella Fitzgerald
Mushaboom - Feist
Fergalicious - Fergie
Breathe In - Frou Frou
See the World - Gomez
Chicago - Groove Armada
Madder - Groove Armada
Superstylin - Groove Armada
The Warning - Hot Chip
Hide and Seek - Imogen Heap
Somewhere Over the Rainbow - Israel Kamakawiwo'ole
Constellation - Jack Johnson
La flaca - Jarabe de Palo
99 Problems - Jay-Z
Big Pimpin' - Jay-Z
Shade and the Black Hat - Jeremy Enigk
Eternal Flame - Joan as Policewoman
Feed the Light - Joan as Policewoman
Game of Life - Joan as Policewoman
My Gurl - Joan as Policewoman
The Ride - Joan as Policewoman
Peach, Plum, Pear - Joanna Newsom
Sprout and Bean - Joanna Newsom
The Book of Right-on - Joanna Newsom
Ordinary People - John Legend
Stereo - John Legend
1983 - John Mayer
California - Joni Mitchell
River - Joni Mitchell
The Last Time I Saw Richard - Joni Mitchell
A Case of You - Joni Mitchell
What Goes Around...Comes Around - Justin Timberlake
SexyBack - Justin Timberlake
Dick in a Box - Justin Timberlake & Adam Samberg
Back That Azz Up - Juvenile
Shoot the Runner - Kasabian
Grave - Kate Havenik
Cadillac - Keller Williams
Why Me - Kris Kristofferson
Suddenly I See - KT Tunstall
Someone Great - LCD Soundsystem
Smile - Lily Allen
Free Bird - Lynyrd Skynrd
Lay Lady Lay - Magnet featuring Gemma Hayes
Silver Thunderbird - Marc Cohn
Born to Be Adored - Momus
Menomena - Muppets
Awnaw - Nappy Roots
Carry On Tradition - Nas
I Hear Them All - Old Crow Medicine Show
Wagon Wheel - Old Crow Medicine Show
Oh, Boys - Onelinedrawing
Acid Raindrops - People Under the Stairs
The District Sleeps Alone - Postal Service
Nothing Better - Postal Service
Ignition (Remix) - R. Kelly
Run - Ratatat
Round and Round - Ratt
1952 Vincent Black Lightning - Reckless Kelly
Buildings - Regina Spektor
Fidelity - Regina Spektor
No One - Regina Spektor
On the Radio - Regina Spektor
Feel - Robbie Williams
Gay Messiah - Rufus Wainwright
Go or Go Ahead - Rufus Wainwright
Harvester of Hearts - Rufus Wainwright
Change Can Do You Good - Sheryl Crow
The Only Living Boy in New York - Simon & Garfunkel
One More Hour - Sleater-Kinney
Daydream - Smashing Pumpkins
Your Ex-Love In Dead - Stars
Copperhead Road - Steve Earle
Let's Give a Party - Steve Goodman
Golden Brown - Stranglers
John Wayne Gacy - Sufjan Stevens
San Diego Zoo - The 6ths
The Sporting Life - The Decemberists
Heartbeats - The Knife
Kissing the Lipless - The Shins
Born in the Water - The Tragically Hip
Roosevelt and Ira Lee - Tony Joe White
White Rhino - Trans Am
Bang a Gong - T-Rex
Candy Cane Crawl - Twilight Singers
After Hours - Velvet Underground
Emotional Rollercoaster - Vivian Green
Push the Little Daisies - Ween
Buddy Holly - Weezer
White & Nerdy - Weird Al Yankovic
Here I Go Again - Whitesnake
California Stars - Wilco
Know How - Young MC

Enjoy.

Dental Hygiene, Part 2

I went to the dentist last week.

My gums bled an awful lot. I don’t mean my gums bled like that old “maybe it’s that sharp metal hook you’re poking me with” chestnut. I mean like crime-scene a lot. At first, I thought the hygienist was just being dramatic: Yeah, I get it! I need to floss more, by which I mean I need to floss. Christ! You act like this is your first day on the job!

That is, until she told me to rinse and spit. If I could have slow-moed things down a little, what came out of my mouth could have easily passed for something out of the climactic fight scene in a Rocky movie, and I mean one of the later ones when they had a budget and nothing but blood-spitting to cram in all of their special effects. You know the one I’m talking about. With the Russian?

Suffice it to say, I was shocked at the amount of blood coming out of my mouth. Sure, I hadn’t been to the dentist in over a year, but my visit a year earlier didn’t result in nearly as much gum-bleeding. And, that had been my first trip since the turn of the century.

I started making a list of possible reasons my gums bled so much:
1 – There was rampant microbial growth in my mouth due to lack of mouthwash use.
2 – I was taking aspirin or some sort of blood thinner.
3 – I drove about three-thousand miles in the preceding month, and, as is my wont on roadtrips, I spent most of my time in the car sucking on and eating roasted, salted sunflower seeds.
4 – Since I quit smoking six months ago, I haven’t been chewing nearly as much gum as I had been for the preceding fifteen years.

(Incidentally, the first two possibilities were offered by my dental hygienist. Well fed up with her by that point, I responded to her question about the blood thinners:
me: "Does medical science consider bourbon a blood thinner?"
her: "No."
me: "Then, no. Please clean the rest of my teeth in silence.")

My old dentist – by which I mean the one I went to before the turn of the century – would always tell me about how he never had a cavity until he was in his late 40s. Then, he started eating raisins because he needed more fiber in his diet. As you probably know, raisins get pretty sticky, especially once you chew them up. So, the old dentist tells me, a regimen of dental hygiene proven successful for nearly half a century suddenly fails because he started eating more stuff that sticks between teeth. That story was part of a longer lecture about why it is important to floss. The big finish to that lecture was always, “because hell, son, you can brush your teeth with your tongue. You need floss to get the parts that count.”

Needless to say, I largely ignored those warnings.

The secondary point of the story, however, was not lost on me: dental hygiene is not a static monolith. It is a single facet of your life, and, as with any other lifestyle choice, dental hygiene must evolve within the whole of your behavior. For the record, Little Janice Judging-You's conjectures notwithstanding, I believe the biggest contributing factor to my dentist-office bloodbath is #4, although I have no doubt the extended driver-seat barrage of sunflower seeds also irritated and enflamed my gums.

Causes aside, I’m trying to floss more faithfully these days. I have added dental floss to two important lists: The List of Things That Are ALWAYS In My Pockets and The List of Things About Which I Have Surprisingly Strong Opinions. Since I no longer have closet-smoker’s breath to cover, I have to make a conscious effort to chew more gum. (Just one of a surprisingly large number of tributary activities that not smoking has affected.) I also find myself in the market for one of those fancy electric toothbrushes so I can prevent any further damage to my gums at some reported problem sites.

Against my better judgment (and against my dental coverage maximums), I allowed myself to be scheduled for a follow-up cleaning in just three months, fully twice as soon as a traditional twice-a-year schedule. They permitted me a mere half-hour appointment this time, and I’m determined to show them they’re wrong about me, that I’m not just another yahoo who insists on coming in and bleeding all over everything. "You've got good teeth," my current dentist tells me, "you need to take care of your gums so there's something holding on to them."

Great. I liked it better when I was in my 20s and didn't have to worry about that sort of shit.

Dental Hygiene, Part I

I went to the dentist last week.

When I made the appointment, the scheduler asked me how long it had been since my last cleaning. Since it had been a little over a year, she informed me the standard half-hour appointment simply would not do. She needed to block out an hour-long cleaning for me "to make sure we have enough time to get through everything."

Did I ever tell you I hate going to the dentist? I don't really fall in to the camp of "Dentist=Pain" so flamboyantly posited by Orin Scrivello, DDS, as portrayed by Steve Martin in the 1986 Frank Oz-directed musical remake of the 1960 original of The Little Shop of Horrors. Just one of my more terrifying traits is a remarkably high threshold for pain. My beef with going to the dentist has more to do with an aversion to subjecting myself to the self-righteous derision of others. That aversion is magnified when I am hoodwinked into doing so under my own power.

Now, I'm a man of the world, and I allow the possibility that what I view as self-righteous derision may - MAY - simply be recognition of my own shortcomings reflected in the truthful words of others. I have long suspected a lingering guilt complex which I systematically built as a young member of the Church of Rome. In the Sacrament of Reconciliation (which has a friendlier win-win connotation than that old, bloodspattered battle-axe of Penance), I was taught the cathartic power of confessing my sins and, simultaneously, learned the stomach-churning effort of honest self-examination to identify those sins with the intention of copping to them. In the days and hours before I go to the dentist, I get the same nervous shakes and dry-mouth I remember from sitting in a pew waiting for a confessional to open up so I could go in to tell a man of God about my failings.

It has been a good, long while since I last went to confession, but I went regularly for long enough to start picking up the tricks of the trade. Once you go through the routine a couple of times, you stop worrying about the basics – giving the right answers to the standard questions in the right order, nailing the Act of Confession without the safety net notecard your feeble-minded peers insist on having, standing up and navigating from the confessional without tripping or slamming the door – and you shift your goal from mere successful completion to excellence. As with anything else, once you establish a grasp of the fundamentals, you elevate your game.

At this point, your basic competence is secure enough that you can focus on style. This is when you realize that “I spoke unkind words” is just as true and more companionable than “I called Sister Honoria a fucking bitch.” “I harbored impure thoughts” is a more elegant sin than “I masturbated eight times last Thursday.” It isn’t long before you recognize the awesome confessional cover provided by parting umbrella statements like “for these and all my other sins, I am truly sorry.”

I know what you’re thinking. Doesn’t that sort of defeat the purpose of going to confession? If you water every part of the ceremony down and take the rough edges off to make it a less strenuous, more comfortable exercise, don’t you render it an empty gesture? Well, yes. That is a big part of why I haven’t been to confession in a dozen years. If you spend all your time looking for loopholes, you will, at least, convince yourself that you have found them. Find enough of them, and you have traded the whole for the hole.

Alas, it’s much harder to lie to a dentist.