Every Generation Throws a Hero Up the Pop Charts

There are stories for both of these...

I'll tell them someday.



But not just yet.

For What It's Worth

Sha La La La La. Embedding on this one's disabled, but click here.

Dogs and Everything

Portions originally posted a year ago.

The Iditarod starts today. Or Tomorrow. Depending on how you look at it.

The race has a ceremonial start in Anchorage today. Mushers and "Iditariders" go 11 miles through downtown Anchorage and out into the woods on ski and bike trails.

About 15,000 people come out to watch the mushers live. It's packed shoulder to shoulder downtown, but if you move 10 blocks away the crowds are much more spread out. And if you go into the woods where the bike trails are and the locals hand out cookies, hot dogs, and pastries, you can go a few hundred yards in between clumps of fans.

There's a lot you might not be to know watching the event on TV. The first thing is the total will and concentration of the dogs -- their controlled bursts of energy and the quiet intensity of their breathing.

The second is the complete and total joy of the mushers. (As much as this comes through on TV, it's a million times more intense to see it live.)

The third thing is how happy the crowds are. Yes, this is a weird event with its own customs and rituals, but it's also an event that fans can feel is theirs. Mushers mingle with fans freely in a way that's unimaginable for the top competitors in any of the larger professional sports.

Today is just for fun.

No one keeps track of today's times because they don't really count.

The real race begins tomorrow in Willow (about 70 miles away) and the winner will likely arrive in Nome 9 or 10 days later.

It's hard and it's cold and it's long. And the people and dogs who run this race are amazing and disciplined and tough.

And inspiring.

Which reminds me of this.

Left and Leaving

Wish I had a socket set to dismantle this morning

In a lot of the best songs by the Weakerthans, melancholy and hopefulness engage in a battle of wills.

The longing drips from the songs, enhanced by clever wordplay and a point of view that combines the best of world-weariness and childlike creativity.

Who among us hasn't sometime wanted to go to construction sites and tape notes to heavy machinery saying "We hope you get to be happy some time."

Or:

We've got a lot of time
Or maybe we don't
But I'd like to think so
So let me pretend

So this morning, as the fog lingers on the mountains surrounding Anchorage, and the sunlight reflects white and blue off the cold peaks, I heard this song, melted into the music of the saw... and had to share it.

Denny Laine, the Barber Shaves Another Customer

In Glorious Black and White

Steve Simels over at the great PowerPop blog posted this lovely piece by the "pre-cosmic" Moody Blues.

Hard to argue with that. As a bonus, it's as much fun to watch as it is to listen to.

(Note to self: don't use up all your cleverness on the post title; save some for the post itself...)

Listen

No More Rain

What's the matter?

"I expect incompetence. I mean, that's part of the package. They're always incompetent."

Not always, but okay...

"But I don't expect stupidity."

No, you expect them to be smart. That's why they're running the company.

"Exactly. Although they don't actually run it..."

Which is where the incompetence comes in.

"Exactly."



"But today. Today they did something. Something stupid."

Sure, but they've done stupid things before.

"Lots. Lots and lots. But this is different."

Stupider?

"Much stupider. And arrogantly stupider. It's like they're trying to destroy the company.

But it's their company. Why would they want to destroy it?



"Because. They're. Too. Fucking. Stupid. To. Know. How stupid and incompetent they are."

Oh. Right.

"And even if they knew, they wouldn't care."

Because they're stupid.

"Exactly."

The 8-Minute Story

A Spectre's Haunting Albert Street (Not exactly music, but...)

(This is going to be a bit vague -- sorry.)

A while back, I was driving and listening to the radio.

A woman came on as a guest on a talk show. It's a woman you might know -- and if you think she's a bit of a ditz, I wouldn't disagree.

But she had this amazing story to tell. A story about personal history, bravery, redemption, and secrets. All true. And all something she realized very late, but happily just in time.

The story resonated deeply with me. It was so powerful that I had to pull over to the side of the road to listen. And by the end I was shaking and sobbing.

And she had written a book. About the story.

So I thought that if the story could move me like that, the entire book must be 100 times as moving.

And then yesterday I got the book.

And it's... well... to be blunt, horrible.

The story is in there. And the parts that were moving on the radio are still stark and amazing.

But the writing is awful. The woman keeps inserting herself and making the story more melodramatic instead of trusting the power of the events. What was simple in 8 minutes over the air becomes clunky and cliched over the course of 300-and-some pages.

And I finished the book quickly and felt puzzled and upset.

Because I can't tell how much is the ditzy author's fault... and how much is because some stories really only should be 8 minutes long.