Autumn Souvenir

Aside from my outrageous political leanings and hyperbolic love for music, I don't think I've really written anything personal here. Having just hung up the phone with my father, I'm feeling the urge. My father is 61 years old. During my childhood not only was he rarely around, but when he was he implanted memories that weren't the least bit positive. No, it wasn't the worst of situations, but given that his hand was usually wrapped around a Bud can and his time was spent either in the office, on the road, or with _______, it wasn't the greatest time. It's taken me a long time to accept my father for who he is. He's not perfect; he's actually far from it. I know that a lot of the scars that reside inside me stem from my relationship (or lack thereof) with him. I still maintain some angst towards him, but as I've aged, and especially since he's aged (slowing down the drinking...ladies...), I've come to some semblance of acceptance. Since I...

It's been about a year since I've fired up the turntable. While at Amoeba Records today, I decided to abandon the cd search and pick up some vinyl. I grabbed a Silver Jews record, Split Enz and a long-searched-for SF Seals record. It's been a gloomy, rainy day here in San Francisco and flipping through my vinyl collection has been absolutely perfect. Right now I'm listening to the Rolling Stones' "Flowers" and man if this ain't a sweet sound. With all this talk of digital, downloading and the end to the physical product, vinyl reminds me of the purity that one can hear through his or her stereo. The crakle. The need to flip it over. The inability to skip. Records. What beauty. "Flowers" just ended. Time to lay down a new one....

The band Uncle Tupelo is responsible for inspiring my now unquenchable love for music. Sure, Springsteen, Dylan and the Stones started this voyage during my childhood, but it all really took off one Sunday afternoon while sitting in a college buddy's apartment. The previous night, one of my good friends from college had a friend down from Maine - he was in town to see Uncle Tupelo. At the time I'd never heard a note of Uncle Tupelo - actually, I'd never even heard of Uncle Tupelo. The following morning as we all sat around rehashing stories from the night before, I turned to Andrew (the dude from Maine) and said, "So how was that band?" The painfully laconic Andrew said, "Great." Since I knew this guy to be a man of very few words, "great" meant something. I asked Andrew if I could hear a song or two. Without reply, he heads out to his car, returns with Uncle Tupelo's "Anodyne" and pops it in the cd player. Literally five seconds ...

It looks like the barbarism that is capital punishment was put to a test today. I guess the folks playing God were unable to find a doctor who was willing to inject the fatal dose. Perhaps this can finally lead to an open and bipartisan discussion and debate on capital punishment. Once thing should be made clear: Although I am a staunch opponent to the death penalty, I in no way sympathize with those who are clearly and fairly convicted of heinous crimes. My opposition to capital punishment lies 1) in the fact that the state should not determine life and death and 2) every piece of research on capital punishment weighs against it. For example, it is NOT a deterrant to crime, it does not cost less than imprisoning someone for life, it DOES discriminate against race and economic standing, and INNOCENT people have been put to death by the state. I repeat that, INNOCENT PEOPLE have been put to death. These are only a few examples, but overall capital punishment is simply wrong. This is not...

Lately I simply can't follow current events. I consider myself fairly knowledgeable about what's going on in the world, but of late, I just can't follow anymore. Watching CNN, MSNBC or even a good news source like PBS or BBC just infuriates me. I'm sickened by the world we live in, I'm slowly losing pride in my country. Here are some things that keep me going: Bruce Springsteen in 1975. ASPCA. Vinyl. Being There. Josh Rouse. Wilco. Murakami. Jimmy Carter. MLK's Legacy. San Francisco. Raymond Carver. Edson. The Sweet Hereafter. The Fillmore. Brooklyn Lager. The Brooklyn Inn. Good Night, and Good Luck. My Mother. My Family. Dogs. Liberals Who Aren't Afraid To Be Liberals. Paul Wellstone's Legacy. The Replacements. Mami. DB. Negri. Clark. Doc. 1232. The Rest. The Gourds. George Clooney. SxSW. Big Sur. Will Johnson. Ted Kennedy. Bill Clinton. Spitting in the Face of Fear. Alejandro Escovedo. Bob. 2008. Chuck D. Music. Johnny Cash. Camel Lights. My Backyard. ...

Just saw this movie and I just kept asking this: Where are the Edward Murrow's of today? Where are the tough reporters? Who's asking questions? Who is DEVELOPING and sticking with a story in order to find truth? We have Bill O'Rielly making shit up at every turn, Anderson Cooper wearing his windbreaker and monopolizing CNN, Joe Scarborough putting me to sleep on MSNBC, and that's about all I can think of. Where are the real reporters? Does anyone care anymore? Here's the Bush report card: 1) Fabricated intelligence that's led to tens of thousands of deaths 2) CIA leaks 3) Katrina disaster 4) Wiretapping 5) Scooter Libby 6) Tax Cuts for his pals 7) Education cuts in favor of pharmeceutical companies and big business 8) bin Laden running free almost FIVE YEARS post 9/11 9) Shall I go on? He is the worst president of my time, and I can only presume perhaps the worst president in the history of the United States. Where's the media? Where's the truth? Where...

In December of 1994 I caught the earliest incarnation of Wilco at Johnny D’s in Somerville, MA. Back then Wilco were recovering from the split of Uncle Tupelo and very much in the embryonic stages of what would become one of the most important bands of our time. That night, Jeff Tweedy and co. played a mixed bag of UT songs, new ballads from Wilco’s first release “A.M.” and an array of other rootsy tunes. That blistering cold night on the outskirts of Boston began a decade-long (now creeping into my second decade) love for Jeff Tweedy's music. From the roots-rock of "A.M." to the sprawl of "Being There" moving along to the purity of "Mermaid Avenue" and the quirky experimentation of "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot", Jeff Tweedy has fronted Wilco for over a decade, and has amassed what I firmly believe to be the strongest catalog of the past ten-plus years. Fast forward to February of 2006. Since that winter night in ‘94, Jeff Tweedy has won a few Gramm...

I was seven years old. It was also 1980 that I decided that the Pittsburgh Steelers were my team. No, I wasn't in Pittsburgh, but rather NJ. For some reason, the NFL was the one sport where I picked a team outside of NJ/NY. I think I saw them on TV and liked their uniforms. That Christmas the only gifts I received were Steelers items: a clock, jacket, sweats, helmet.... The Steelers were great in the 70s. Since 1980 they haven't won a Super Bowl. A decade ago they came close but ended up losing to Dallas. It's been 25 years since I fell in love with the Gold & Black. Tonight the team that I fell in love with so long ago won the Super Bowl. It wasn't the most exciting Super Bowl, but it was 25 years of waiting for me. Bill Cowher, Hines Ward, Big Ben, Bus, Porter. They won the Super Bowl. It feels like Christmas 1980.