That Wonderful Year in Music... 2008

As I stated in this blog a few weeks ago, 2008 was meant to be a new beginning. However, unlike that baseball-centric post '08 was a clean slate on a personal level as well. It was my first full year out of college, and after two decades in the American education system I was ready to find a job and make a name for myself. Alas, I was part of the last graduating class before the recession, and despite a spirited effort I ended up with a part-time job doing traffic and continuity in a radio station. It wasn't what I wanted but it was a foot in the door, or so I thought. It was a topsy-turvy year, one that I frequently commented on in this blog, but I also grew up a lot during those 12 eventful months.

To some extent, 2008 was the start of a new chapter in music. This was the year dubstep was "invented" for better or worse, and several of today's critics' darlings (Vampire Weekend, Fleet Foxes, MGMT, Santigold... Lady Gaga?) released their first albums. The first wave of 21st century indie-rock had played itself out, while the second wave was just getting started. It was also a pretty good year for artists we hadn't heard from in awhile (Portishead, Brian Eno, Randy Newman). In short, '08 was a distinctively challenging and unique year, a 12-month span that planted a lot of seeds that are still being sown today.

(As a reference point, here is my original 2008 music blog. Parentheses below note the original ranking.)

BEST ALBUMS:

1. Oracular Spectacular, MGMT. In a year of alarmingly fresh and outstanding debuts, the hippie-dippy electro-sounds of MGMT stood out the most. All the singles ("Electric Feel," "Kids," "Time to Pretend") sounded like nothing else on college or AAA radio, and even the album tracks (the mournful, uncertain "Pieces of What") are catchy is their own non-conformist way. It's more than just a slick tribute, though; Andrew Van Wyngarden and Ben Goldwasser let their sardonic wit run wild as their freak flags fly.
2. Vampire Weekend, Vampire Weekend. (1) In 2008, I said their debut was "a fun, infectious record from four New York City college kids who treat Paul Simon's Graceland like a holy document." A band that was generating internet hype nearly the moment they first formed, VW met lofty expectations and than some. Their mash-up of indie-, baroque-, and Afro-Pop is as seamless and effortless and their lyrics are both knowledgeable ("Oxford Comma") and stylish ("Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa").
3. Fleet Foxes, Fleet Foxes. Then came the harmonies. 2008's third-best first album doesn't just emulate early '70s folk-rock; it gives a strong sense of what it was and at the same time, what this band is about. "White Winter Hymnal" might be the best song of 2008; it's a beautiful tone poem, building from a five-part a cappella round into mellow jangle-pop, it's 2:27 of pure heaven.
4. Dear Science, TV on the Radio (2)
5. Með Suð í Eyrum Við Spilum Endalaust, Sigur Ros (6)
6. In The Future, Black Mountain (3)
7. Viva La Vida, or Death and All His Friends, Coldplay (9)
8. Third, Portishead (10)
9. The Rhumb Line, Ra Ra Riot (7)
10. Everything That Happens Will Happen Today, David Byrne & Brian Eno. The reunion of Byrne and former Talking Heads producer Eno --a collaboration that culminated with 1981's My Life in the Bush of Ghosts-- seems like a daunting scenario. Instead of taking the next logical step, they recorded an album that sounds nothing like their past work together. Byrne's recent fascination with gospel music blends well with Eno's ever-evolving electronic noodling. Leadoff track "Home" is the perfect example of that, while the white-funk deep cut "Poor Boy" will satisfy anyone anticipating a sequel to Remain in Light.

11. 808s and Heartbreak, Kanye West
12. Saturdays = Youth, M83
13. Santogold, Santigold
14. The Seldom-Seen Kid, Elbow
15. Stop, Drop and Roll!, Foxboro Hot Tubs. (4) 2008's most "fun" album was delivered by a Green Day side project. Recorded between the protest concept album American Idiot and its overwrought 2009 sequel 21st Century Breakdown, the Hot Tubs' only album to date is just a big, rollicking garage-rock rave-up. The guitar riffs evoke The Who, Yardbirds, and Kinks; not to plagarize, but with tender loving care.
16. Attack & Release, The Black Keys
17. Re-Arrange Us, Mates of State (8)
18. Crystal Castles, Crystal Castles
19. The Fame, Lady Gaga
20. This Gift, Sons & Daughters. (11) Never mind the lovelorn singer-songwriter that also debuted in '08, a Scottish rock singer with the same first name might have made the stronger first impression. Adele Bethel and her powerhouse voice is all over this breakthrough effort; the raw, shredded guitars and slick production just barely keep up with her. This all adds up to a diamond in the rough disc with nary a bad track.

BEST SINGLES:

"Sex on Fire," Kings of Leon
"The '59 Sound," The Gaslight Anthem
"Gamma Ray," Beck
"Re-education (Through Labor)," Rise Against
"Wild International," One Day as a Lion
"Run (I'm a Natural Disaster)," Gnarls Barkley
"You, Me, and the Bourgeoisie," The Submarines
"Chasing Pavements," Adele
"Morning is My Destination," Tift Merritt
"One Pure Thought," Hot Chip

BEST VIDEOS:

Perhaps most crucially, 2008 was a tremendous year for clips. The YouTube era was finally in full swing here:

1. "Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)," Beyonce. Kanye made a valid point about this video; too bad he addressed it in the most self-serving way possible.
2. "Thing For Me," Metronomy. Easily 2008's most charming video. Just follow the bouncing ball...
3. "Why Do You Let Me Stay Here?," She & Him. Even when she's channeling Edward Gorey, Zooey Deschanel is gosh-darn adorable.
4. "I Will Possess Your Heart," Death Cab for Cutie.
5. "See Fernando," Jenny Lewis.
6. "Dig, Lazarus, Dig," Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds.
7. "Toe Jam," The BPA feat. Dizzie Rascal and David Byrne. (NFSW)
8. "Who's Gonna Save My Soul?," Gnarls Barkley. (also NFSW)
9. "Ladies of the World," Flight of the Conchords.
10. "Cherry Tulips," Headlights.

Honorable Mentions: "Heartless," Kanye West.

EDITOR'S NOTE: I didn't have a chance to listen to The Hold Steady's Stay Positive (my #5 pick in 2008) before my self-imposed deadline, but in spite of a top-heavy year I'm sure that disc would've ranked again.

Your thoughts?

The Trouble with Damascus

To some extent, someone or something must intervene in Syria. Such is the prickly situation that the United States, and obviously President Obama, have found themselves in. Do we play the world's policeman --on account of military strength, not so much nobility-- again, or avoid a potential Iraq-like quagmire? The president's final decision on Syria had the potential to be polarizing, to the extent that it could define his whole second term, but Obama's decision was surprisingly... wishy-washy. Delaying action and deferring to Russia was not necessarily cowardly, but certainly a passive action in the face of a reckless dictator. The president's declaration was underwhelming, no matter where you stand on the air strikes. He's just as confused about Syria as we are, and that is somewhat troubling.

Other notes:

+ Family Update: My father is now undergoing light radiation to prevent any further tumor growth, on top of his ongoing dialysis. Still no word on a third round of chemo.

+ Fantasy Update: About six weeks ago, both of my roto baseball teams were in dire straits; one was eighth out of ten, the other (which features some TV.com folk) ninth out of ten. Where the latter team was ultimately crippled by inning limits, I rectified my botched draft with some dark-horse pickups and surged back into the playoff race. When my head-to-head opponent failed to meet the minimum number of innings this past week, I hopscotched from eighth to sixth to fourth.

+ Improv Update: Two more shows to go before I graduate from the Second City Conservatory. It's been a long, challenging journey and I don't know how to feel now that it's almost over. With that said, I'm still staying busy; I'm producing a show at the Gorilla Tango theater in Bucktown (where I used to be on a house ensemble) in October, and I just booked some slots for my independent team.

Next week: the year in music, 2008.

32 Teams, 32 Haiku: My 2013 NFL Preview

With the 2013 NFL season kicking off in mere hours, I felt inclined to make some predictions. Much like my baseball preview five months ago, my pigskin prognostications needed a unique twist. Something with brevity, something descriptive yet arch, something... with 17 soma.

(NOTE: asterisks note wild cards)

NFC NORTH
1. Packers (11-5). Lambeau Field is now/Mr. Rodgers' Neighborhood/Defense? Still sketchy.
2. Bears (9-7). New era begins/Coach Trestman, O-line guru/but still rebuilding.
3. Vikings (8-8). No purple reign here/All Day will carry this team/the D might surprise.
4. Lions (6-10). '12 was a letdown/can all this talent win games/or just tread water?

NFC EAST
1. Giants (10-6). No flash, overlooked/drama-free Jints will prevail/with health on their side.
2. Redskins* (10-6). RG III, your knee/could make or break the season/ten high-scoring wins.
3. Cowboys (9-7). Romo, moneybags/the pressure to win, daunting/still no O-line, though.
4. Eagles (5-11). Kelly lacks the chips/to compete in a dense group/Vick or Foles? Oy vey!

NFC SOUTH
1. Falcons (11-5). Spry but dangerous/Jackson raises the run game/playoffs are a test.
2. Saints (8-8). Bountygate? Over/Rob Ryan must save the D/or "Ain'ts" will suffer.
3. Buccaneers (7-9). Pushy Schiano/can't let these guys fade again/or else it's curtains.
4. Panthers (5-11). Who protects Newton?/franchise QB, wasted on/poor coaching, weak O.

NFC WEST
1. 49ers (12-4). Primo all-around/only injuries can halt/their victory train.
2. Seahawks* (12-4). A bunch of oddballs/make unlikely chemistry/young talent prevails.
3. Rams (7-9). Third in two-horse race/anywhere else, they would be/a sure contender.
4. Cardinals (6-10). Upgrade at QB/will keep receivers happy/in fruitless battle.

AFC NORTH
1. Ravens (11-5). Birds circle the throne/Flacco needs protection, yet/their front seven stomps.
2. Bengals* (10-6). Dark horse wears orange/jejune Andy Dalton leads/an improved offense.
3. Steelers (7-9). The Steel Curtain rusts/aging, battered, fading out/youth infusion, stat!
4. Browns (5-11). It's a step forward/underrated defense, but/Weeden holds them back.

AFC EAST
1. Patriots (11-5). Victors by default/Brady and Belichick win/despite Hernandez.
2. Dolphins (9-7). With emptied wallets/makeover, glimmer of hope/defense? Quite improved.
3. Bills (6-10). Pray for young Jeff Tuel/undrafted Week 1 QB/such unique pressure.
4. Jets (4-12). Revis is elsewhere/and Mark Sanchez is still here/the losing riddle.

AFC SOUTH
1. Texans (11-5). Foster, Watt, Cushing/injuries mount, but they win/with other weapons.
2. Colts* (10-6). Rivals are singing/"Luck, be a lady tonight"/but these guys aren't dolls.
3. Titans (6-10). Upgraded O-line/step in the right direction/but the defense? Ugh.
4. Jaguars (3-13). No surprises here/morsels of talent, scattered/first pick in '14?

AFC WEST
1. Broncos (13-3). This weak division/gobbled up by great roster/Peyton's second ring?
2. Chargers (8-8). Same as Chicago/new coach, embattled QB/and so-so results.
3. Chiefs (6-10). KC fans: pretend/that last year never happened/hope in the long run.
4. Raiders (4-12). Unpredictable/sums up Oakland in one word/what's their direction?

NFL MVP: Tom Brady, Patriots
Offensive POY: Calvin Johnson, Lions
Defensive POY: Richard Sherman, Seahawks
Offensive Rookie of the Year: Tavon Austin, Rams
Defensive Rookie of the Year: Jon Bostic, Bears
First Head Coach Fired: Mike Munchak, Titans
Super Bowl XLVIII: Denver 27, San Francisco 22

Hike! Er, I mean, your thoughts?

Breakdown of a Friendship

A little over four years ago, I had a nightmare. Maybe "nightmare" isn't the word I'm looking for, but rather a very intense dream. I'm standing on a wooden dock near a lake; there's a small seaside town in the distant background. I'm not doing anything besides watching the water. I see something glow behind me, and I turn around. A good friend of mine from high school --for the purpose of this blog, I'll call her Sandra-- is hovering six inches off the ground. Sandra is gleaming in a long, flowing white robe, and very pregnant. We make small talk, the details of which I don't remember. Suddenly, she says "goodbye forever," then flies away. I ask Sandra why she said that and where she's going, but she either doesn't hear me or refuses to answer. I wake up in a cold sweat, over an hour before my alarm goes off.

I'm not going to avoid the fact that for the longest time, I had a crush on Sandra. We had a lot in common; we were both nerdy, nearsighted, well-read, with aspirations of a career in writing. On the flip side of that, Sandra was (and still is) fiercely independent and a free spirit. She was openly bisexual and the co-founder of my high school's GLAAD club. She refused to own a TV and for the longest time, quoted Lawrence Ferlinghetti, and spoke conversational Russian. Sandra was an activist; I am an armchair liberal. Sandra was positive, I was pragmatic. Sandra loved to travel; I never had the time to do so, and I still don't. Sandra was simultaneously perfect and out of my reach; she was what I aspired for in a woman but could never have. Above all else, she confided in me like a good friend. I knew my place, but part of me always wondered if there was an opportunity for more.

When I dreamed about Sandra, I hadn't seen her in about six months. At that point, she had been dating a guy named Scott (another pseudonym) for maybe a year and a half. Scott was a great guy --we're still in touch-- and they were a relatively happy couple. However, that dream was so vivid and so haunting I felt absolutely compelled to admit my feelings. I e-mailed her the afternoon after my dream to ask what she had been up to, and if she wanted to meet for coffee. In her reply, Sandra said she was moving to Seattle in a few weeks, but sure, coffee would work. Suffice to say, I panicked.

Sandra and I met about a week later. We caught up and made small talk, but over the course of the hour-long chat I never worked the nerve to admit my feelings. I walked her back to her car and still couldn't find the courage. Two days later, I sent her a long e-mail; I poured my feelings out, cleverly phrasing my words so it didn't sound like our friendship was some sort of ruse. For fear of being perceived as insane, I neglected to mention the dream. Sandra responded two days later; as I had assumed, her feelings were not mutual. Her response had a tone that was both flattered and embarrassed. I sulked a little, knowing that my honesty had put a strain on our friendship.

A week or so after that, I noticed that Sandra had posted a Facebook event for a small, private party at her new apartment in Chicago; to my relief, the move to Seattle had been pushed back a few months. I messaged her for directions, but Sandra never answered. The party came and went. Annoyed, I shot her another e-mail. When she didn't respond to that, I left a terse post on her wall. About 10 days after the party, Sandra finally replied; she was still getting over my original e-mail, and that we needed a break. Between that and my college girlfriend, I spent much of the Summer of '09 in a defeated funk. It took four months for me to work the nerve to contact Sandra again.

If Sandra was elusive, her social circle was hostile. When Sandra and I were students at College of DuPage, and even after she transferred to University of Illinois-Chicago, she hung out mostly with artists, pseduo-intellectuals, and other assorted right-brainers. They were ambivalent to me when I first them, and steadily grew annoyed by my presence anytime I saw them. It wasn't totally me, though; they reeked of pretention, not always self-absorbed but usually humorless and restless. We read the same books and magazines, but didn't necessarily interpret what we read the same way. As far as they were concerned I was a bourgeois outsider, an oblivious old friend of their favorite hostess. Where Sandra was cordial and graceful, her friends merely tolerated me.

So four months after the "break," Sandra and I talked things out. Our friendship seemed to be on the mend, an aura of testiness in the air that we both assumed would gradually subside. After returning from Seattle, we ran into each other at mutual friends' parties and there didn't seem to be any discernible tension. We were supposed to meet at the Chicago gay pride parade that next summer, but I got lost on the El. I was mortified, but given the crowds a disconnect was bound to happen. Ironically, it would've been the last time I would see Sandra in person. Soon after, she moved to San Diego to start grad school.

The building blocks of reconciliation tumbled in December 2010. I caught wind that Sandra was back in Chicago for the holidays. Shortly after Thanksgiving, I asked if she wanted to meet or hang out, but she said she was busy that week. Seven days later, I asked again; Sandra still had other commitments. I assumed she was spending long-overdue time with family. I asked a third time after Christmas, but by that point she was already back in California.

I thought nothing of the schedule conflict until the Tuesday after New Year's. Almost out of the blue, Sandra posted over 100 photos of herself with her Chicago social circle. It was most, if not nearly all of the same haughty prudes that dismissed me on first sight. I was as upset as ever. Against my better judgment, I sent another terse private message on Facebook. She replied a day later, stating that after all this time she had incredibly unfair toward me and that we can never hang out again. In defeat, I accepted the new terms of our "friendship" and wished her well.

Social media, as it turned out, both connected and divided us. I've stayed Facebook friends with Sandra, but I'm still too mortified to say hi. Even a comment on a status update required a certain amount of courage. I left her a happy birthday wall post this past June in the wee hours of the night, assuming she wouldn't see it. I watched silently as she dumped Scott, hooked up with her former roommate from Chicago --I always assumed there was something going on between them-- than began her courtship with the guy that is now her fiancee.

Then late Tuesday night, I found out on Facebook that Sandra was pregnant. For real.

Seeing the pregnancy announcement, quirky and well-intended as it was, brought me back to that dream. I offered my congratulations (no reaction or reply, of course) but in reality I felt uneasy. I take solace in the fact that after years of flightiness and shirking stability, her days of hookah parties and epic, spur-of-the-moment road trips are basically over. Sandra seems content about the news, declaring adulthood "ebullient," but I don't think reality has set in yet. Judging from comments on Facebook, she's struggling to find the nobility of 24-hour "morning" sickness. Now I knew for sure that nothing was ever going to be same again. The angel had flown away.

Until now, I had never told anyone about this. Even the central figure in this only knew (knows?) half of the story. I have rarely acted so selfishly in my life, and in the process I strained a relatively healthy, albeit increasingly distant friendship. My social awkwardness and insecurities consumed me in a way I never thought possible. Whether this was all my fault or other circumstances contributed, I'll never know. I've dated other women but never made the same connection.  I have frequent doubts that I'm emotionally capable of being in a meaningful relationship, let alone married with children, and this experience augmented my concerns. A vivid dream became a real-life nightmare.

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Random Notes, August 2013

+ I was going to use this time and space to brag about my Kansas City Royals. However, a recent sweep by one of the worst teams in the American League (cough) and a possible sweep by the middling Nationals has put a tremendous hamper on that. With that said, we're still over .500 and meeting my expectations for 2013. We're starting to fade out of the AL Wild Card race, but that only raises the stakes for '14.

+ This really is the greatest keyboard shortcut ever. Check it out.

+ Please enjoy this over-the-top op-ed by the former "Couch Critic" from TV Guide.

+ Dad Update:  As I write this, my father is in his second round of chemotherapy. The first one lasted a little over a week, but this round has been a little tougher. He's having bladder issues, so he's been temporarily put on kidney dialysis. No word yet on when he'll be released from the hospital, but at this rate it won't be until the middle of next week.

+ Fantasy Update: I've never been as strong at roto football than I am at roto baseball --or Yahoo Pick'Um, for that matter-- but I have enough fun every year to keep coming back. This year's bumper crop of quality running backs should make for an interesting draft.

+ After a few short weeks contributing to iO Watercooler, I have been given my own "spinoff" Facebook page. Just search "Stu News" and click like. (For those of you that aren't on Zuckerberg's site, you can follow me on Twitter here.)

+ Holy crap, I'm 29.

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The Needle and the Damage Done

2008 was supposed to be a new beginning.

As a baseball fan, I grew jaded and exhausted by the BALCO scandal, by the constant and nagging rumors of steroid and PED abuse. In August 2007, when Barry Bonds broke the career home run record with considerable scrutiny, I thought the wave had crested. The exodus of Bonds and Roger Clemens, the retirement of Sammy Sosa, and the establishment of harsher penalties all in one fell swoop, gave many the impression that baseball could get its act together. This was an embarrassing chapter in the history of the national pastime, and the healing process would slowly but surely begin. For a short while it seemed like progress was being made, that the strain between players, owners, and fans was gradually being alleviated. An era of freakish, suspicious power hitting would give way to a renaissance of fundamentals, of small ball and contact pitching. Suddenly, home runs grew scarce and "real" baseball was taking prominence. The game was detoxing itself, and to some degree cleansing its very soul.

In hindsight, 2008 was a red herring.

The Biogenesis scandal, while not as widespread as BALCO or the Mitchell Report, proved that the abuse of power-enhancing drugs was still active, it not necessarily rampant. The cheaters grew dumber and more clever at the same time. The scrutiny had a new face, trading the surly Bonds for the pretty-boy diva Alex Rodriguez. The cast of villains weren't aging American meatheads struggling to justify their bloated paychecks, but enigmatic young guns from Venezuela and the Dominican Republic.

To some degree, I can understand why Jhonny Peralta, Nelson Cruz, Alberto Bastardo (what a fitting name) and everyone else caved into the temptation to cheat. Their homelands were one small notch above a third-world country, and for some of these boys an exceptional athletic prowess was their only way out. They could make the league minimum every year and have enough money saved to keep their families fed for the rest of their lives. Humble beginnings, however does not totally justify the fact that they still tainted the integrity of the game. They couldn't care less about the 1919 Black Sox or Pete Rose --and the ramifications of their wrongdoings-- because they've never heard of them.

As for Pretty Boy A-Rod, his ego and narcissism has reached dizzying new heights. He had the nerve to appeal a perfectly justified 210-game suspension (as I write this, he's still playing) and there is growing speculation and his "entourage" leaked names, including the already suspended Ryan Braun. Players like Skip Schumaker and Zack Greinke have made clear that they'd rather see Rodriguez banned for life, a daring moment of candor in the usually lockstep brotherhood of Major Leaguers. There's also nothing to indicate that the flames that A-Rod has fueled will be extinguished very soon.

I guess the cleansing of baseball's soul will have to wait a bit longer.

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