Built to Spill

The first time I saw Built to Spill was in North Carolina. I drove down with two friends, a bottle of Southern Comfort and a hankering for Burger King. It was on the Streets of Asheville North Carolina that I first met frontman Doug Martsch. The sidewalks were light by the golden glow of streetlights and abuzz with inebriated concert goers, myself not excluded. Overwhelmed by the surreality of the situation I approached Doug, who was wearing a modest unzipped hooded sweatshirt and carrying a basketball. Eager to say anything to break the ice, I asked if he had been playing basketball (a la Dumb and Dumber/ “those your skis?”).

He explained that he shoots hoops to relax before shows and that he and a few other guys from the band found a court to play at in the area. I conveyed how “totally awesome” that was and expressed my sincere jubilation in meeting him. It was at the end of this first meeting that I learned how truly down to earth and humble Doug was (as if the receding hairline and screen-printed t-shirts he often wears on stage hadn’t already revealed this). I asked if he would play the song “Liar” for me.

“Sure” he said, with no pause. So long as he remembered that I requested it, he’d play it. He shook my hand again and left for the venue – the Orange Peel, claiming that he and the band still had to write the setlist.

I retreated back to my car on the high of meeting someone I’d idolized for years. After a few gulps of SoCo and the opening acts’ set, I found myself inside the Orange Peel eager for Built to Spill to come on Stage. Not a word was even uttered when the irradiant riff of “Liar” opened the show. It was a good show.

The next time I saw Built to Spill, I only had to walk to the State Theater in downtown Ithaca from my South Hill apartment. I stood five rows from the stage, waiting to hear any song from “There Is No Enemy” which had just been released not even a week prior to the show. After I bought a t-shirt and the crowds had funneled out, I made my way back into the theater. The formidable Ithaca Police were sternly asking people to leave, to get out of the stage, “to go back home.” Naturally, I pretended that I was exempt from their commands, and shouted to Doug who was winding cords around his elbows far back on the stage. “Doug!” he finally looked up. Knowing the police wouldn’t allow me to sustain a conversation with him, I just asked, “Can I have a guitar pick?”

Doug dropped his cord, reached one hand into his tight jeans pocket, pulled out a tab and tossed it. In contrast to the noise of the show which would make my ears buzz for days afterwards, the pick bounced delicately on the worn wooden stage and slid within an arms’ reach of me. I snagged it, said thanks, and disappeared before I had to hear the police ask me to leave once more.

I’m off to see Built to Spill in Cape Cod next week. My favorite band, in one of my favorite places. All I need is some beer, a Snickers bar, and maybe a Whopper or two. I can’t imagine heaven being much better.

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caution children

We love Caution Children. They rock really hard, yell louder, and it’s a band full of sexy men. What more could we want? What more could we say? Here at thacant, we really love them. They have a record coming out soon, Turn Off Your Smog Lights on this really cool label Sixteen Sixteen.  They are making pressings of this record, you can also buy it and soon download it on the above site. We will keep you posted. But in order to keep it all in motion they need your help. It’s cool shit, so click this link watch the video (created by the band’s own hard rock guitarist) and give them some love. And by love, I mean money. They’re smart and they work hard so they deserve it. Trust me.

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Sights Set to 2011

July fifth marks the saddest day of the year. It marks the year-long waiting period until the next Fourth of July Celebration. At least today we were blessed with the premiere of the new season of No Reservations.

Yesterday’s heat and humidity made the invitation to any backyard with a pool a welcome one. Luckily during the afternoon of the fourth, I found myself waist-deep in a pool with a beer in one hand, burgers on the grill, and surrounded by plenty of friends. The bare necessities of any Independence Day celebration, those of meat and beer, were met, and the company only bettered the day’s celebrations. Fireworks were launched from downtown Springfield over the Connecticut River. Patriotic tunes emanating from car radios echoed the sanctity and formality of such a day.

Even when the criteria for the holiday are met, we are reminded of how short we can fall of the supreme celebration of the holiday. Flash back a year ago: July 4th 2009. Ithaca, New York. Meat was cooked atop a shopping-cart-turned-grill. A bonfire was fueled by a couch and a half-gallon of gasoline. Small glaciers were carved out to keep the beers in the cooler cold. Throughout the day, the flag never stopped waving, and the National Anthem cried out through speakers on repeat. A group of fifty college students had truly readhed the apex of patriotism. Considering the veneration and reverence showed to the United States at this time last year, this year was – although not so heartily celebrated – far from a disappointment.

This year, careful attention was paid to keep the flag off the ground; the pool was consistently skimmed of bugs, leaves and dignity; the fire roared (without furniture being burned), and we had coozies aplenty. Three cheers for U.S.A., and a prayer for next year’s festivities.

“It’s because of us that Jewish dermatologists have beautiful houses on the beach!” – drunken Irishman at a cookout

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Celebrating the UnDead

Gary Coleman, Brittany Murphy, Bernie Mac, Michael Jackson. We never truly pay homage to or commemorate these people until they’re gone – dead – kaput.

Of course we never truly anticipate the death of these people – except for MJ of course, since he’s looked dead for years – but we never acknowledge their accomplishments when they’re gone. All the literature stemming from the death of a person is marked with grief, loss, sadness. But wouldn’t it be great if these people knew how much they were loved before they were gone? Wouldn’t it be great if there was content characterized by triumph, joy, dare I say, celebration! That’s why we bring you…. “Pre-emptive Obituaries: Remembering those who aren’t dead yet but might be soon.”

Hugh Hefner was born April 9, 1926, but he’s not dead yet. That makes him 84 and he’s still banging someone your little sister’s age. What else can you ask for? With more lawsuits, girlfriends and dollars we’ll ever see, Hugh has reason to be content. Yes it’s true that Mr. Hefner has provided the breasts (and muffs) for generations in the past and generations to come, but that’s not all. He’s still politically active, a gay rights activist and has donated a hefty amount of funds to causes he believes should be pursued. And on top of all this, the bathrobe is cool, too. Raise your glasses (Stoli perhaps) in honor of a true American.

Would you have a drink with him?

Today we shall honor the undead Hugh Hefner.

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happy birthday larry david!

Enjoy some Curb Your Enthusiasm, get your George Costanza on and make inappropriate jokes and comments all day. Larry would want it that way.

Men who are geniuses are sexy. But there’s something about this one that is not appealing to me at all. Don’t worry, I still love you. We all do.

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dear diary

OK. Here’s what’s going on. My parents are in Colorado and I am house sitting. It’s that simple. Things have come in the way of boredom. These include: trips to NYC and DC to interview at Sirius XM. I’ve had five in the last week and I think they really like me. I’ll keep you posted.

I hate to say that I’ve given up on Infinite Jest. After getting to page 130 and still meeting new characters who spoke without punctuation or paragraph breaks, I knew that I was taking on more than I could. I give it to DFW. His writing is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Basically, he’s a bad ass. I’ve read his collection of essays- still recommended, but that 900+ page lady just isn’t for me. Since then I’ve read two books and got bored. Which means…television. Something I used to hate has now become my national pass time. Before I was sitting at my kitchen table at my computer listening to the radio for all hours of the day (oh wait, I still do that) but now I find myself watching countless movies on TV, ones I’ve seen before and ones I haven’t (thank you on-demand.)

And now, I’m about to admit something I never thought I would, but what the hell. Last night I watched the second, COUNT IT- THE SECOND, of the two Twilight movies. I caught the first one on Showtime, just after telling my mother that I would watch the first out of curiosity- for I had never really heard the story. And last night with just myself and nothing to do, I settled in to watch the second, New Moon. Let’s just say I had NO IDEA how horrible the acting is. Actually it’s not really acting, they are just reading lines and emo-mugging the camera. But you know me. I love cultural phenomenons. How could I let this one slip through my fingertips?

In addition to this, over course of time in the bathroom, I started reading the GQ my dad stole from the dentist office. Cover story: Taylor Lautner. It’s OK, tells a story that I never thought I’d find myself reading. Go ahead, check it out. Side note- I really honestly did not know that Kristen Stewart was born in 1990. That’s just plain freaky. And let’s just say, we all know I could do a better job at acting out Bella Swan. Stewart is just plain awful.

Now I know I’m not as contemplative as my last entries on this here blog. I really do believe it’s because television is rotting my brain. I guess it’s all part of the experience. Just last night I started Freakonomics so perhaps there will be more interesting things to come. But don’t worry, I have not gone to shit either. Just like our fellow bloggers here and at notdrugs, I have started exercising again out of boredom and feeling-gross-ness-lazy-ness. So far, it’s working.

But, right now my only responsibilities is to make sure that the lawn and all the flowers don’t die. Also, I’ve been skimming out ten beetles per hour from our pool. Gross. I also had a traumatic experience, had to help a squirrel from drowning in the pool the other day. Have you ever seen a squirrel completely soaked and disgusting looking? That’s why it was traumatic.

Currently, I’m writing an article for FMQB and it will be in their August edition. If I am still ‘looking for work’ by mid August, I might have the pleasure of volunteering at their AAA radio convention in Boulder, CO. Since it’s due on July 2, I better get moving.

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Happy Birthday Mel Brooks!

The man that brought us Young Frankenstein and Blazing Saddles – among many other hilarious films – is 84 today.

then

and

now

Do yourself a favor and watch a Mel Brooks film tonight. It’ll make tomorrow a lot easier.

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summer!

Well, it’s officially the first day of summer. And the longest day of the year.

You’re supposed to be able to balance an egg today. But after a few Google tries, it says you could do it on any day of the year. I’ve never tried. Today’s plans: prepare for tomorrow’s job interview in NYC, see Toy Story 3, dentist, balance an egg. Happy Summer!

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yellow car game

It’s really easy. Whenever you are out and about, either on foot of by car or whatever, whoever calls when they see a yellow car first gets a point. When you ask the inventors, my brother-in-law (Dre) and co-brother-in-law (Lukas), the answer is plain and simple: “..like any other game. Get points to win.”

In fact its sweeping the nation (my life.) I’m kicking my dad’s butt (whom keeps score aloud) and Mary’s energy towards it proves no one will ever beat her. My mom never notices meanwhile Lukas and Dre themselves are cut throat. Which means Zoe is too.

No car dealerships, they’re just sitting ducks. Any major city taxis also don’t count. That’s no good. Now, go have fun.

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Happy Graduation

Now Mash Your Cake

mash it

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