O Griff! O Junior! O Fleeting Youth! Run not softly back to my warm-waiting bosom!

Barry Bonds is at 749, just six shy of Hank Aaron's mark, and once again most Americans don't really care. (Though you wouldn't know it from watching Sports Center.) Aaron has repeated that he's not going to bother attending any games once Bonds nears his mark. And Bud Selig has repeated an many occasions that he's unsure whether he'll be in the park when Bonds breaks the record. On one hand, it almost sounds like Aaron is a little bitter that Bonds is going to break his 755. But in light of the BALCO affair and the black cloud that hovers over Bonds because of it, it's hard to blame Aaron. Selig doesn't have a good excuse, however. If he's not going to actively prosecute Bonds for breaking any rules, he has no reason to stay away as Bonds nears the record. Bonds is either a cheater or he isn't. Selig, especially as commissioner, can't have it both ways. (It might be a moot point 15 years from now, however, as both Alex Rodriguez and Albert Pujols could pass Bonds if they stay healthy for their careers, but that's a big IF for a major league ballplayer.)

In the shadow of Bonds' feat, though, a few other ball players have been lost in the home run shuffle. Sammy Sosa, embroiled in his own steroids controversy, just passed the 600 mark, becoming only the fifth player to do so, and drastically improving his Hall of Fame chances. Ken Griffey Jr., in yet another resurgent year, is nearing 600. And Frank Thomas, who fell off the face of the planet for a number of years, is just one short of 500.

As these guys near the end of their careers, something else nears its end in the baseball world, at least according to me. These are the players I came up with as a baseball fan. I'm nearing my 20th year as more than a casual fan of baseball, something that began with the 1988 NLCS which pitted the Mets against the Dodgers. My first clear baseball memory was Kirk Gibson's pinch hit home run in Game 1 of that series, as the underdog Dodgers upset a powerful Mets ball-club. From there on I gravitated towards New York clubs like the Mets and the Yankees, and even a former NY team in the Giants. Guys like Will Clark, Howard Johnson and Don Mattingly quickly became my favorite ball players. And the Yankees, lovable losers at the time, somehow become my favorite team.

Those guys have long since retired, so it's Thomas and Griffey and Sosa whom I remember best, seeing as how their careers have coincided with my love for the game. And it's sad to see these guys nearing the end. I wouldn't be surprised if Sosa called it quits after this year, now that he's reached 600. Thomas may have another year left in him, but that's yet to be seen. Griffey, who still looks 20-something, seems to have a couple more years to go, especially now that he's ready to leave Cincinnati for a playoff contender. Guy wants a ring, and who can blame him for that?

But when they leave the game, I feel like I become, by default, one of the "old-timers," a weird thought for a 27 year old. Glavine, Biggio, Clemens, Franco...it's hard to say how many games these guys have left. And when they're gone, a year or two from now, I will have been a fan of this game for a complete generation -- 20 years. The guys I grew up watching have been almost completely replaced by a new crop of players. That's not to say I don't like A-Rod and Jeter and company -- they're great ball players. But I distinctly remember when they came up into the the league. I can't say that about Sosa or Clemens. And it's different because of that, even though I can't really explain it. I remember being all of 16 years old, and calling guys like Jeter and Posada "kids." That takes an old soul. But now, when those "kids" are nearing the end of their careers, what do you call young guys like Prince Fielder and Ryan Braun?

I guess what I'm getting at is that all loves eventually mellow out at some point. There was a time there, near the end of the steroids era and in the midst of the Yankees dynasty, when I stopped caring about baseball. Luckily, that didn't last. But this renewed love for the game is different than it used to be. It's more grounded in history and poetry, economics and and a willingness to lose three hours to a game in which very little, and everything in the world, happens. It's not quite as passionate, but it doesn't need to be. I'm committed to this game now. I'm committed to it in the same way I'm committed to other great American inventions like Bluegrass, Walk Whitman and Wisconsin Cheddar. It's part of me. And I'm happier for it.

It's alot of fun to be a fan once again, an old-timer now, who sneers at the young pups who prefer the NFL or the NBA (or, God forbid, NASCAR). Basbeall is as much America as Harry Truman or Mark Twain. No matter who it is out there on the diamond, I'm always going to have a piece of my heart out there.

It's honestly about as romantic a game as you'll ever see. And the older I get, the more I realize just how perfect it really is.

We Are All Sufjan Stevens

Thanks to the Internets, it's alot easier to hear about new tunes. And to actually hear them, too. Case in point, the music of Mr. Sufjan Stevens. He's been awful quiet since The Avalanche was released last summer, yet slowly but surely, new songs are trickling out -- even if they aren't necessarily from a new Sufjan album, states related or non.

First, a song from A Tribute to Joni Mitchell, which was released in April. Mr. Stevens covers Ms. Mitchell's "A Free Man in Paris," of which I have no prior knowledge, seeing as my infatuation with her began and ended very quickly, over a matter of days, and never recovered. Pitchfork has been streaming it for weeks now, but in case you missed it, here it is:



It's classic, big-band Sufjan, or at least recently classic, big-band Sufjan, which is how most people know him anyways.

However, not-so-classic Sufjan is right around the corner, on an upcoming compilation from McSweeney's The Believer. Stevens has flashed rock cred in the past, but this new track, "In The Words Of The Governor," really gets the blood pumping unlike anything else in his back catalog. Be prepared for a surprise if you like the pretty Sufjan best, courtesy of Stereogum (follow the link for a stream of the cut).

And finally, back to pretty Sufjan, and a video (from blogotheque and dailymotiom) of the man himself covering The Innocence Mission's gorgeous "Lakes of Canada" from their album Birds Of My Neighborhood. Banjo? Check. Shyness? Check. Rooftop performance? Check. Ah, who cares which Sufjan you like best. The man is just plain good at what he does, however it is he does it.

So there you go, true believers. Maybe one of these days we'll see another 50 States album. Or maybe a Seven Swans-ish rock-your-face-off fest. I couldn't care less what it is, as long as it's sooner rather than later. Much sooner.

I seen her, ages ago, and lived to tell the tale.

Last month I took a little trip to Northampton, Mass to see little a singer-songwriter named Patty Griffin. And behold, everything that I saw was good.

So Patty was basically her bad self all night long. I've got to say (this being the first time I'd seen her in concert) I had built this show up in my mind more than a person ought to. But Miss Griffin hit one out of the park that night. Except for the first two songs (a French lullaby and a guitarless "torch" tune that I was unfamiliar with), it was a night of day dreams come true.

Patty without her guitar at the beginning was a bit disconcerting, for both the audience and Miss Griffin. She was doing some uncomfortable hand gesturing/dancing that you see women twice her age trying during that concert by The Tokens that PBS kept showing during Pledge Week. But once she strapped on that guitar....good Lord. Songs from all over the place came out -- Living with Ghosts, Flaming Red, 1000 Kisses, Impossible Dream, Children Running Through -- even some love from Silver Bell. My stomach nearly flew out my mouth when she started playing the chords to Truth #2, I kid you not.

The only drawback was how much the damn show actually cost. $30 bucks for a ticket? This is the reason I liked Chicago so much. $14 for Joanna Newsom and The Handsome Family. $12 for Sufjan Stevens. $8 (yeah, $8!) for Damien Jurado. But I guess you can get away with that when most of your audience are Baby-Boomers. And oh how those Boomers showed up that night! I was surprised by how few people my age were there. Except for the nice lesbian couple I sat by, there was no one in my section who was within 10 years of me. Good golly, Miss Griffin. But what can you do?

All in all, a very good night of music. Even if it looked more like a Simon & Garfunkel show that it ought to have. But those tunes! O my those tunes!


Photo courtesy of Rick Harris' photostream. Don't be mad, Rick. I'm real poor. Pity me.

I'll Take Korean Ghost Stories Over Sawyer In A Cage Any Day Of The Week

So I finally got around to watching last week's Lost this evening, and I have to say how impressed I am with the episodes that have aired since the show came back from hiatus. Last Wednesday's ep was no exception. Not only did we get a meaty Desmond flashback, we also had our first glimpse at a Brian K. Vaughan (co)-penned episode on Lost. From the cold open's argument over the coolness of Flash vs. Superman, I had a suspicion, later confirmed during the credits, that BKV had a hand in writing this gem -- the offhanded jokes about "who's your favorite Other" and having to play ping-pong every 108 minutes were especially funny.

Whether BKV wrote them or not, it's nice to know that the writers of Lost don't take their jobs too seriously; it's a treat for fans that the characters on the show seem recognize the absurdity that is their life on the island. Jin's ghost story on the beach and Sawyer stealing one of Bernard's tapes (he is alive!) were fun digressions, too. I think I can say, without any reservations, that Lost is back on track after a disastrous fall kick-off. I'm hooked again. And not out of some begrudged, misplaced loyalty. This show is good once more. Hear, ye. Hear, ye. Rejoice. Rejoice.

Blusic II: Friday Night Lights

This show has got the goods. Last fall, when I was in full TV overload, Friday Night Lights was just one of a number of impressive pilots offered by NBC. These days, however, it's one of only two or three shows I've stuck with through the entire 06-07 season. Studio 60 sort of fizzled and imploded on its way to a slow, painful death. Heroes got bogged down by a lack of zip and interesting characterization. Kidnapped....well, I'm not sure what the hell happened there. How long did it even last -- three episodes? But FNL. It just kept getting better and better.

One of my favorite parts of the show -- besides the acting and the writing and the camera-work and the attention to small detail and the acting (again) -- is the music. I try to forget how often craptastic music has laid low some of my favorite shows (J.J. Abrams choice of 75% absolute shite in the background and foreground and montages of Alias quickly springs to mind). But Friday Night Lights must have some smart people in their music licensing department. Over the course of 20 episodes so far, we've heard music from Explosions in the Sky, Iron & Wine, Spoon, Jose Gonzalez, TV on the Radio, Heartless Bastards, Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson, the Old 97s, the Go! Team, Whiskeytown, a Daniel Johnston cover, Camera Obscura, Beulah, Broken Social Scene and the Stooges. Even appearances by Justin Timberlake and TobyMac (yes, that TobyMac) seemed to fit seamlessly into the fabric of the show. And I'll say it again, yes that TobyMac.

It helps, that a show this good doesn't distract by employing a terrible soundtrack. It makes the acting and the writing and the camera-work and the attention to small detail and the acting (again) all the more powerful and moving. That I enjoy this show, and that I enjoy Iron & Wine, and that this show enjoys Iron & Wine, sort of brings everything to a harmonious full circle. Yes, that's cheesy. But it's also transcendent. And it's what elevates Friday Night Lights head and shoulders above most of the schlock on TV these days.

And it's just one of the elements that make Friday Night Lights the best hour of television you'll find, this week, last week, and all season long. Keep your fingers crossed for a second season, because if any freshmen show deserves a year two, it's FNL.


*Screencap courtesy of Friday Night Lights Online.

Blusic

The talk of the town.

Oh music, my music. I basically love your friggin' guts. Nuts and guts. Gutters, too. Music is best that can be listened to in gutters, or by gutters, or behind shutters, or in closets.

I used to have this really great closet in Michigan. I kept all kinds of stuff in it. Baseball cards. Comic books. Hats. Old G.I. Joes. Free pens and pencils. Milk crates. Lots of other stuff, too.

But not music. That went on the dresser. All of it on the dresser. I don't have a dresser anymore. I lost that dresser. I lost my computer, too, and all 20,000 songs along with it. Except I have the computer in a box in my apartment. I can't say the same for the dresser. But at least with the computer-in-a-box, I can set things to rest on it. My dresser is firewood now. Or maybe worse. Maybe it's still sitting in my old room in Wisconsin, empty and sad and lonely and confused why it didn't move with me or David or my parents. I'm sorry dresser. I'm sorry computer. If it makes you feel any better, you have not been replaced.

What was I talking about? Oh, yes. Music. Andy tagged me. Music-tagged me. Web-tagged me. Blog-bagged me. On this fake computer (not the Potter boy, mind you, but a PC) I use at work, there are some 2381 songs from which to choose from. Here are the rules:

1. scan through your itunes or cd library. refamiliarize yourself with the nooks and crannies of your musical options.
2. identify five categories — genres, if you will — of music. these should be as obscure and finely-articulated as you’d like. feel free to use modifiers liberally.
3. nominate — select, really — a “perfect song” for each category. include a link for each song to something (the amazon page for the CD, or the artist’s website, or whatever).
4. ideally, some of the songs will be nominally obscure, or, at least, not completely mainstream and overplayed. no need to tell us all about songs we all know!

So here are five, five songs I like, five songs I lurve. Five songs for campfires and fireflies and flying with wings as eagles. Take that Chris Tomlin! I would kill you at writing worship songs! I know some Coldplay! I know some U2! I owned the first Delirious LP before any of the others! I knew Hungry back when it was a Vineyard secret! I have not only built a treehouse, but the Holy Ghost parties there with John Wimber all the time!

Note: Like Andy, I will use my terribly-tagged iTunes genres. Which is exactly how I like my genre tags in the first place.

1. Taken from Alt.Pop, Long Lost Brother from Over the Rhine's Ohio. (How else do you categorize Karen and Linford?) This song literally got me through my Montana year like hell on hind's feet. Thought you'd be further along by now? Believe brother, down to the letter. OtR stripped down to their post-Good-Dog-Bad-Dog-era basics, all piano and slide guitar glory. Glory! Someone get me a puddin' pop!

2. Taken from Folk, We All Know from Devendra Banhart's Nino Rojo. Smiles to faces, faces to arses, arses to animals, dancing so. Like I said, this is why DB brings smiles to my faces, and makes my clavicles shakeses. He is like smiling. He is smiling. Issa, Queen of the snake people couldn't have said it better. Play that ticker-tape-guitar! It's a parade at the end of the world! It's the earth's end and time is like nothing! It's only track 3! Error! Error! Cannot compute!

3. Taken from Hip-Hop, The Only One from Ghetto Pop Life by Danger Mouse & Jemini. Boom-di-yada! Up in the facility! The faculty can't take it! My faculties can't task it! Multitask? Like a miracle! Break this down. Take this down. Jemini and his friend D-A-N-G-E-R-M-O-U-S-E! Check yourself before you wreck yourself. Wreck yourself before you let yourself never hear this towering tune. Leave this page right now. Install Soulseek. Download this song. Checkmate.

4. Taken from Indie, Bros by Panda Bear from Person Pitch. Like OtR, I don't know what to call this. Better than blood pumping through my veins seemed a bit much. So many repetitions! So many sweet harmonies! So many sallow sounds! Sounds Familiar? Like family? Biking across Europe? Hiking across Sudan? Su-don't! Listen to this instead! Bristle with thistle! Shamrock with Panda Bamrock! Again and again and again and again. Do not forget. Again and again and again and again. Rinse. Repeat. Again and again and again and again. Twice daily, after flossing, and before bed. Or always. The eternal flame of the Seven Wood Club shines for really long periods of time!

5. Taken from Young God (because I believe it really is a genre unto itself) Dylan, Pt. 2 by Akron/Family & The Angels of Light, from their self-titled sort-of split cd. Lots of freaky guitar! Lot of creaky vocals! Lots of ru-ru-rillie-a-ru! I found what I'm looking for boys! This freaking song! This reeking song! Blonde on blonde on blonde on blonde! Bound for Singapore! Round the ring once more! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! I hear Jesus and the Angels calling me home! Pedro just swore! Now that's more like it!

End.


p.s. I tag Jake and Paco. Jake because he downloaded alot of new music and needs to share his opinions. And Paco because he never writes full blogs on the Haven.

Dr. Evil Now Corporate CEO of Viacom, Daily Show Fights Back

And now for some funniness. I caught a web clip of comedian Demetri Martin on the Daily Show the other day, in which he attempts to explain the Viacom/Google row over the proliferation of Viacom's media content on Google-owned YouTube. In short, YouTube has a policy of removing copy-written material when asked. However, for Viacom, that's not enough. They want Google to head off Viacom's material before it's even posted. And now Viacom is suing Google for a billion dollars for failure to do that. That's right, one billion dollars.

Of course, this will probably never make it to court. Viacom knows that. But by upping the ante so quickly, they force Google into a defensive position should an out-of-court legal settlement take place. No doubt YouTube profits from the web traffic brought to its site due to Viacom-owned shows on Comedy Central, MTV and Nickelodeon. But Viacom profits, too, as it brings increased consumer awareness for its brands and products. However, Viacom wants a slice of the advertising pie that Google brings in via YouTube. Ergo, sue their pants off.

Now back to the funny. This last week on the Daily Show, Demetri Martin attempted to explain the Viacom/Google suit for Viacom's Daily Show customers. The video is below and it's pretty funny. At one point, Martin even addresses those viewers who are watching him on YouTube. What's even funnier, though, is that I first caught this video via TV Squad courtesy of YouTube. A day later, the video has been removed. The vid below is courtesy of Comedy Central, which is the way Viacom wants it.

Well, in addition to that one billion dollars.

On War

Tomorrow marks the 4th anniversary of the U.S. led invasion of Iraq. Four years and two days ago, I was in Haiti of all places, taking part in service project over spring break. I sat huddled around a radio in Phil and Lonnie Murphy's house, with a dozen other students, listening to President Bush address the nation (and in our case, the world). In that address he made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that the United States was ready to invade Iraq in 48 hours unless Saddam Hussein left the country. He didn't. And three days later, while I was tagging along on a medical clinic somewhere in the Plaine de l'Artibonite east of Port-au-Prince, my nation attacked another nation. I missed the whole thing, until the very next day when we stumbled into the Hotel Montana (not kidding, it really exists) and caught the first images via CNN. We were at war.

It was surreal. I remember Phil being very concerned that Muslims worldwide would view the invasion as a holy war -- Christianity against Islam. I remember our group being divided, between our evangelical love of George W. Bush and our reticence to see America at war. Listening to the president on a transistor radio hundreds of miles from home, it almost felt like we were watching the whole thing from the outside. Viewing those first pictures of war four days later didn't do much to bridge the divide. While we were hanging out with orphans and missionary kids and AIDS patients, our country was blowing people up half a world away. On the flight back, we had to adjust to the fact that we were returning to a campus and a nation where we'd be completely out of the loop. We had to adjust to the fact that when we left, Iraq was just another pesky player in the Axis of Evil, but when we returned, we were bombing the shit out of 'em, throttles wide open, all the way to Baghdad.

I remember two conversations in particular between coming home and Bush's speech from the USS Abraham Lincoln in which he declared an "end of major combat." One with a friend of mine who was initially opposed to the invasion, but who couldn't help cheering along with the Iraqis as the tore down big fucking statues of Saddam Hussein. In those moments, he could see the good we were doing, even though he disagreed with the means whereby which we were doing it. And another conversation in the RichLynn library, with another friend who asked me what I thought of it all. And I, choosing my words oh-so-carefully, trying to express how even though I thought our eagerness to invade before all other avenues were exhausted was hubris in the first degree, I couldn't help feeling that the Iraqi people were better off with Saddam out of the way, ready to start a new life and a new country with freedoms they had only dreamed of.

Four years later I'm driving to Wendy's Old Fashioned Hamburgers in Rutland, Vermont when I see a crowd of 30 or 40 people lined up along the highway, protesting that very same war. And it's so confusing. And maddening. Not to mention disheartening. And infuriating. At this point, I don't think most people even understand what the hell is going on in Iraq. The first war we fought was over by the end of 2003. Then the Insurgency -- but since the 2005 elections, even that has become overshadowed by something more insidious. No longer do terrorists, foreign or domestic, account for the majority of violence in Iraq. A recent Pentagon report puts most of the bloodshed firmly in the hands of sectarian violence, that is to say, acts of violence between the Shia majority and the Sunni minority who held power under Saddam. And all that stands between these two groups and all out civil war, the scale of which could lead to genocide not seen since Rwanda, is the U.S. military.

The fact of the matter is, we're no longer fighting for democracy or liberty or oil or freedom from the terrorists. We're holding back a torrent of violence that certain Sunnis and certain Shiites wish to unleash upon each other, regardless of our presence or non-presence. That's not to say that all Iraqis are ready for civil war. Many just want to provide for their families and live in peace. But I'm sure there were plenty of people who felt like that in Virginia and Illinois and Kansas come 1861.

However, once that kind of war starts, it's impossible to avoid picking sides.

So that's that. I have no great love for our current president or his administration. I have no respect for men who lead our nation to war based on fudged data, half-truths and outright lies. But this so-called "surge" is really our last hope. If it doesn't work, expect this country (Democrat and Republican) to resign itself to its fate, and leave the Iraqis to their own devices. But do not, under any circumstances, expect peace to follow. Expect the violence to continue. Expect the death-toll to rise. And expect us to watch in shame and horror, followed by a number of years of second-guessing and misplaced guilt.

What kind of peace is that?

This war was no Vietnam. But expect the aftermath, should we withdraw now, to be just as devastating.

I don't like this war. I don't like how we were mislead in March of 2003. I don't like how it's been handled ever since. I don't like having my high school friends fight it while I hang out with elementary kids in Vermont. I don't like how a generation of our best and brightest are sacrificing their lives for aims that are about as clear as mud. But we're the bull. And we leveled the china shop. And if don't pick up the pieces, who the hell will?

Mahmoud Ahmadinejad Hates Frank Miller

Iran condemns Hollywood war epic (BBC)

So Iran is upset over the portrayal of Persians in Frank Miller' s 300, claiming that after the Iranian revolution in 1979, "Hollywood and cultural authorities in the US initiated studies to figure out how to attack Iranian culture."

If Ahmadinejad knew who Miller was at all, he'd understand that the purpose of this film isn't to "plunder" and "insult" Iran, but to show lots of well-oiled bodies killing and being killed in as graphic and stylish a way as possible. With some T&A thrown in for good measure. This is a film for 14-year-old boys of all ages. Plain and simple.

Cap

If NPR and the New York Times are reporting it, it's gotta be news.

Captain America is dead. Of course, we cynics know that comic book death is a fleeting death, but still, for the time being, Steve Rogers is one very dead super hero. The NY Times gives us a genuine obituary, while Morning Edition's report brings interviews with Ed Brubaker (the current writer of Captain America), Joe Simon (the co-creator of the character), and Stan Lee, who revitalized the character in the 1960s. Naturally, there's buzz just about everywhere else, but those two reports cut to the heart of the Steve Rogers/Captain America mythos, and do it pretty classy, too.

Joe Simon's quote, that we need Cap now more than ever, sort of sums up my feelings on the matter. And I think Marvel Comics realizes that, too. So it gives you hope, that when yet another super hero comes back from the dead, maybe this time, it'll actually mean something.