trick or treat

Halloween is a ways away but it’s never too early to start planning your costume. If you’re a parent, you may be thinking what cute, fun or scary costume your child might like to wear. Here’s a suggestion: a pimp! Let your kid get on the right track toward respecting women (and himself) with this crushed velvet ensemble. He’ll be the talk of the block as you reaffirm your role as a positive influence on the little guy’s life and relay the message that while pimping ain’t easy, it sure is fun. Under your parental guidance, he’ll be slapping hoes in no time and quoting choice lines from horrible, misogynistic rap songs. “Got to beat these hoes up,” “bitch better have my money,” “hoe I’m yo daddy respect the dog ass or get slapped,” etc.

Isn't it comforting to know that responsible parenting is alive and well in America?

"what's in store for me" by the Kinks

The Kinks’ Ray Davies, who made a name for himself by telling expressive yet succinct stories detailing the trifling minutiae of life in quaint English villages, wonders aloud what many young men do at a certain point in their lives in his composition “What’s in store for me.”

There comes a time in many a fellow’s days when he reaches a quarter-life crisis; which I imagine is a more mild version of a full-blown mid-life crisis. Unsure of what his future may hold in the realm of women, careers and general being, he begins questioning his life decisions thus far and ultimately, his place and role in society. Davies wrote this when he was in his early twenties and his lyrics speak of the uncertainty and yearning for answers common to many guys his age. “I wanna know what is to be/to see what life’s cut out for me.” Even though he’s thinking deeply about his future and what might happen, Davies is ambivalent enough to resign himself to the fact that he’ll “just have to wait and see.” He wants to hold onto his youth, but like me and countless others, he recognizes that youth is fleeting when he sings “I’ll just get old before my time.” I could relate to this song when I first heard it at nineteen. I’m twenty-six now and I can relate to it even more.

The tune itself is impatient, built on a foundation of choppy, staccato riffs played way down the neck with heavy distortion. It doesn’t feel like a sad song, maybe a little pensive, but still light-hearted. I like the solo; it’s short and sugar sweet and, like many other tasty Kinks concoctions, its effortless simplicity and perfectly poppy purity please my aural palette.

The Kinks were so underrated and though they enjoyed a successful career, they were nonetheless overshadowed by all the other big British bands. But like the Beatles, WHO, Stones and Zeppelin, the Kinks have stood the test of time and their music is just as relevant now as it was then. For reference, check out anything from 1965-1968, the span I like to call the period where they could do no wrong.

INFORMAL ENDORSEMENT OF BARACK OBAMA

The headline caught my attention, “Democrat Voter Registration Jumps.” Imagine my glee as I thought of all the citizens motivated to vote by years of short-sighted conservative policy. At last, the democratic candidates (particularly Obama) were inspiring Americans to affect positive change; galvanizing them into the support of awesome campaigns and rousing them out of their apathy! I took comfort in the thought that many Americans cared enough about the fate of their nation that they were interested in exercising their right to vote and getting a truly worthy president in the White House. But recognizing my tendency to jump to conclusions, I tentatively read on and realized that my naivety had in fact given me the wrong impression.

It turns out that “some Republicans are switching parties, with the encouragement of local conservative pundits, to vote for the weaker Democrat [in Oregon’s presidential primary], thereby extending the primary race in hopes of sabotaging the party in the national election.” How sneaky is that? I guess that’s par for the course in the world of politics, but it still gets my goat. They call it the ‘Democrat for a Day’ campaign and it’s been encouraged in states where primaries are only open to party members--states like Oregon and Texas, where even though “the impact of Republican crossover voters is undetermined, many observers think it helped Clinton, then the weaker candidate, win by a slim margin.”

However, a Republican who switches parties for the primary may end up shooting himself in the foot. By reregistering as Democrats “in order to sabotage the presidential primary,” Republicans “will ultimately miss out on voting in the party's local primary elections.” Here in Oregon, Congresswoman Darlene Hooley is stepping down. Who will take her place? “There are also tough Republican races in many of the open House seats in the state” and Republican voters won’t be able to vote for members of their party in these elections.

So what’s more important to conservative Oregonians? A Republican president or more right-wing representation in the state legislature? I guess they’re choosing their battles…

Oh yeah, Beth wrote the article that I’m quoting. She smart.

Bruces

I take photos of myself.I also take photos of other people.

don't follow leaders

The Beatles did it, man. All roads lead to and from John, Paul, George and Ringo. Ian MacDonald’s book, Revolution in the Head, states rather eloquently that “LOVE ME DO was the first faint chime of a revolutionary bell. It represented far more than the sum of its simple parts. A new spirit was abroad: artless yet unabashed—and awed by nothing.” Unabashedly artless, the Beatles made pop music fun. They filled their songs with catchy hooks, segues to the minor and deceptively simple middle eights, and in doing so, they wrote the book on pop music and became legends in their time. "Artless yet unabashed." Pete Townshend, who once called the Beatles "lousy," also once said that "pop music is crucial to today's art and it's crucial that it should remain art and it's crucial that it should progress as art." Hmm. .........................JUST LISTEN TO THE KINKS.........................

count it!

So I just put a counter on the bottom of GimmeDanger. I've always been curious to know how many people stop by so it'll be cool to gauge the amount of visitors this blog gets. A bigger number than I'm expecting might force me to temper the content some. I should try to include less stuff about me and more stuff about stuff. Stuff like music!Pete Townshend understands music. He's a pompous man to be sure, but given his contributions to music, his arrogance is allowed. This is the man who gave voice to the mod movement, the man who penned "a quick one, while he's away," and who famously tried to kill Abbie Hoffman when he walked onstage during the who's performance at Woodstock. This is the man who undertook a monumental project in writing the first rock opera, the man who experimented with feedback and tremendous volume, and who explored the efficacy of concept albums that dealt in subjects ranging from pirate radio to split personalities. He often berated the very audience that worshipped him, so convinced he was of his music's power. He's had some really notable, telling quotes over the years; many of them coming out in marathon interviews over brandy and beer. I've been trolling the internet lately, looking for some great ones. There's one that explains his and his audience's relationship to music that, to me, sums up the who's role in rock and roll: "You have to resign yourself to the fact that a large part of the audience is sort of thick and don't appreciate quality, however much you try and put it over. The fact is that our group hasn't got any quality; it's just musical sensationism. You do something big on the stage and a thousand geezers sort of go 'ah.'" I think he said that in 1965.

LISTEN TO THE HIGH NUMBERS

buy me some peanuts

Oh man. This photo ran in Sports Illustrated awhile back. I love the little kid in the middle, seemingly oblivious to everything going on around her. One lady snacks on popcorn, another shields herself with a paper plate of nachos. The old lady by the little kid takes care not to spill her beer while the dude in the top right, beer in hand, watches calmly as the guy in the green shirt takes it on the chin. Some people might see this and say "I'd put myself in front of the child." Really though, when something like this happens you don't have time to think. You react on pure instinct. I think that that instinct, more often than not, is to protect yourself.

LISTEN TO HARRY CARAY

let's have a smile for an old engine driver

I wrote the following on August 02, 2006:

moustache magic: so i'm growing a scumstache. it's an exercise in vanity, true. but you can't put a price on coolness and i'm totally down to look like a jerk for a few weeks while it spreads its wings and contaminates my facial on its way to unparalleled glory. basically, i'm super cool and i'm about to wreck the game for all the mark-ass busters hating on my masculinity and throwing rotten fruit at my life. so taste that magic.

Flash forward to the present. That moustache is long gone. People laughed. I laughed some too. But I still liked it. I liked it enough to try it again. You see, I'd been lifting weights and engaging in more testosterone-fueled (and fueling) activities. I felt more manly than ever. Why not exhibit my manliness? Put it on display, I thought.

So with encouragement from a bearded friend, I decided to stop shaving. As my facial hair grew, my neck became itchy. This would soon pass as the beard slowly filled in. After more than a month with nary a trim, I admired my beard. It was uneven and really hadn't grown that much. It was confined to my neck and it refused to climb up my cheeks and connect to my moustache. It almost looked as if I were wearing a mohair scarf. I started to feel embarrassed. This pitiful excuse for a beard was now garnering stares and strange looks. My pride effectively damaged, I resolved to shave it off. As I released myself from the stranglehold of the stifling marmot, forcing it to relinquish its grip on my neck, I felt a sense of relief. Down the sink went the hideous blight.

When the steam dispersed and my visage appeared in the mirror before me, I was struck by what remained. The moustache. It was slighly fuller than the last time I attempted to grow one, in the summer of 2006, and now, with the absense of the beard, it really stood out. Knowing that this fuzzy caterpillar would likely garner more stares and strange looks than the beard that begat it, I considered shaving it as well. But then I thought how rock and roll it looked, how utterly old-fashioned and trashy. I remembered that the band had a show on the horizon and that my moustache could and would complete my stage appearance. So I opted to keep it. Damn the stares and giggles! I'd rather look like a turd with a crappy moustache than a dork with a horrible beard! I'm in a rock and roll band, I'm supposed to look this way! No clean-cut square ever convincingly rocked a room!

As the date approached, the jokes came more frequently... "What is that thing on your face?" "When did you become a child molester?"...and I heard whispers...

But I weathered that storm and the band rocked the show. I went to work the next day, still sporting the 'stache. It was attached to me and I had grown attached to it. It was only when I learned that a well-respected man who I'd seen in passing mentioned it later to my girlfriend that I realized the moustache had become too powerful. It was just too much and I couldn't be taken seriously with it on my face. Resting quietly and unobtrusively below my nose, it nonetheless overshadowed me and it had to go.

So it is with sadness that I bid a fond farewell to my second moustache. I'll cherish the times we shared. May we meet again.

The best part about having a moustache is slurping the beer foam that it collects.