"Everybody's talking...and I can't hear a word they're saying"

My musical absorption has been off-key since I bought my first iPod in 2006.
It was a tiny silver 2 GB Shuffle model, packaged very cleverly in a plastic box with instructions so simple that anyone with half a brain could figure out how to use it. I wondered at is sleek lines, its logically arrayed controls, and above all, the hours and hours of music I could store on it. I didn’t realize it at the time, but just because you can, doesn’t mean you should. Let me explain.
Musical technology has changed a lot over the years since I bought my first record album (“Thriller”) in 1984. While records were always around me growing up, I didn’t feel any true appreciation or ownership of an album until I received my first tape deck in 1987. The first album I ever bought was the “Beverly Hills Cop” soundtrack, and I can remember being very proud of having that off-white cassette with black writing on it. It was something cutting-edge, something I could take around as a badge of coolness. I used cassettes for the next eight years, learning how to dub and do my own remixes of songs using two different players. By the time I’d finally joined the CD revolution in 1994, I was at the height of my mixing powers.
CDs had been around for years, but for me, they took ownership to a new high. Not only did the album come with its own plastic case, it came with the promise that they shiny disk it contained would provide crystal-clear sound forever. The height of this “CD love” was reached in 1999, when a friend of mine tried to borrow my copy of New Order’s two-disc “Substance” set, and I was unable to part with it for more than 12 hours. The sad part was that I was utterly serious; I could not bear parting with something that had bored itself a tiny home deep within my soul. It wasn’t just New Order. I felt the same way about my Joy Division boxed set, and especially about my Germs “Complete Discography” album, which I loved so much I carried the booklet around and memorized.
I purchased my first digital album (two albums by the German electronic group And One) last year. I felt futuristic at the time, but upon reflection, the experience was lacking, and empty. Digital music is exactly that – it is digital, meaning there is no physical product to take home. There is no “thrill of the hunt” with iTunes. It’s not like hunting for a rare CD or vinyl album. If it exists, chances are that it can be had, which isn’t as great as it seems. If something is really rare, there is probably a reason for it (like there isn’t enough demand for it to actually be made on a mass scale; the “Terminator” soundtrack and TSOL’s “Beneath the Shadows” fit this scenario in my experience. Both were better in theory than in fact).
With iTunes and Internet music blogs, there is so much to listen to that I really doubt I am really hearing any of it. It strikes me as an endless all-you-can-eat buffet with multiple servings. By the end of the “obtaining” process, you are so gorged with food (or in this case, product) that you can’t remember if you were even hungry to begin with. For me, the temptation on my iPod to try to listen to everything at once is simply too great, and it is rare that I make it more than three songs into any particular album. Some days, it just seems there is too much to hear at once.
More than ever, portable music is the soundtrack to our lives. But is it a soundtrack, or a backdrop? Are we really listening to the sounds we hear?

A year later, bridge collapse shakes foundations of confidence

A year ago today, a bridge crumbled in the August heat, taking with it a bit of our confidence in the system we’ve built over the course of years and take for granted.
I was getting home from work. After changing into work clothes and making my way to the Nordic Track, I was stopped by a phone call from my friend Adam, asking me if I was all right. At first, I was confused; why wouldn’t I be all right? I asked him why, and he told me that the Interstate 35W bridge fell down.
“Which part?” I asked.
“The whole thing,” he replied, sounding oddly fascinated.
My heart sinking, I raced out of the room to flip on the TV. The scene was the same on every channel; footage from helicopter nose cameras showing smoke pouring out of crushed vehicles, dazed survivors being rescued by people unconcerned by tons of tipping concrete and re-bar. The talking heads of the TV news stations babbled over this surreal scene, but their words were not needed. The photos told the whole story – which wasn’t so much about the bridge collapsing as it was about the every day event that had gone horribly wrong that day. Commuting has become a part of American Life, and every time we buckle our seatbelts, we subconsciously assume that our commute is going to be two-way; otherwise, why would we do it? The bridge collapse not only snarled traffic for weeks after the disaster, it punched a hole in the idea of the mind-numbing typicality of a daily commute.
For the survivors, it became a game of “what-ifs.” For the rest of us watching our TV screens, it became a matter of “how many.” In the end, the toll was remarkably light (13 dead) considering how many people had been on the bridge at the time. As with any disaster, response from political leaders was to blame the other party, and use this tragedy in the shameless way most politicians use tragedies. The story spread all across the world; I even recall reading about it in Der Speigel, a German news magazine. There was a very good reason the world found this story so interesting: bridges don’t fall down in America, pure and simple. We’re the most powerful country on the planet, and things like this seem completely impossible for a might eagle built on a foundation of steel and concrete.
The whole thing made me wonder how strong our infrastructure is. Infrastructure is a natural last-choice for funding; people can’t usually see the repairs the way they can a shiny new building. Infrastructure is like bathroom fixtures – so long as everything works, people don’t think about it, or how it all goes together to make modern life possible. The new 35W bridge, built in record time, should be open by September. I’m not sure what I think about this – I almost wonder if the hurried pace of construction will lead to another tragedy down the road. I’m no engineering expert, but common sense would lead me to think that rushing anything, from a batch of brownies to a multi-million dollar bridge, is probably not the smartest idea. I’m hoping time proves me wrong.
All I know is that every time I drive over that new bridge, I’m going to remember the sounds and images of a hot day in August 2007, when our hearts plunged along with a falling span of concrete over the Mississippi River.

Memories fizz from long-dry soda cans

Sometimes the only way to realize how much the little things in life have changed is to see something designed purely to be a well-timed product of its own era.
My wife brought something strange home the other day. The corrugated cardboard box was unremarkable, sitting with flaps carefully closed on top of the kitchen table. I didn't recall putting it there, and I didn't know where it came from. I called out to Karla, asking her what this mysterious package was. It was, she cheerfully replied, her soda can collection from 1986-1992. Now, I'm a man who collects many things (military surplus, action figures, model kits, vinyl LPs), but soda cans? I didn't get it.
Shaking my head, I opened the box, and I was shocked at how much I actually enjoyed looking through and seeing what she'd thoughtfully saved over the years. It seems banal - indeed, soda cans are meant to be, as their lifespan once opened isn't long - but there are an awful lot of memories connected to the mundane. Here are some of the highlights.
- Mountain Dew can, circa 1988: Surviving another little league game, and realizing that the parent in charge of purchasing post-game soda had made a smart choice. Twelve ounces of anything has never tasted so sweet.
- Mendota Spring Water: Sitting in the back of my mom's new 1993 Ford Explorer, feeling oddly proud that her hip new car was featured in a big summer movie that involved a park with dinosaurs in it.
- Tangerine Diet Rite: "Can't my parents buy real pop? This stuff tastes terrible!"
- New York Seltzer: I really liked this stuff, but that changed after a can of it fell out of the fridge, landed on my big toe and bruised it so badly I had to get a hole drilled in the nail to relieve the pressure. Thankfully, stores stopped stocking it shortly thereafter. I'm pretty sure these two things are directly connected.
- The infamous 1990 Pepsi summer can that, if stacked on another, allegedly spelled out the word "sex" if held just right (look this one up if you don't believe me): "I can kind of see it. Wait ... there! Oh man, it TOTALLY does!"
- Squirt: "Hurry up and suck that thing down. The first bell is about the ring!" Drinking Squirt in a hurry is nearly impossible, as the combination of citrus and carbonation are strong enough to remove paint from a park bench. It has the same effect on a human throat.
In a way, these aren't just soda cans. They are threads in the tapestry of both of our childhoods. The world around us changes so slowly that the only way one can even notice is through looking at something from not even that long ago and noticing differences. These aluminum creations weren't meant to be anything but containers, but through the passage of time, they've become more.
After sitting on the kitchen table for a week, the box still hasn't been moved. Neither of us has mustered the energy to actually set up a display for these everyday works of art, but we've figured out where in the basement they'll end up. In fact, I actually enjoy having it in the kitchen, because they give a pleasant excuse to handle a tangible piece of what was, in my rather short existence, a rather peaceful and thoroughly pleasant time. Those were good years - and anything I can do to keep them more alive and close to my heart is worth the work.
So, laugh if you want, but I think these soda cans are worth their weight in gold. Seeing as they are aluminum, the amount of treasure that would actually translate to be fairly insignificant, but the memories and feelings they bring to the surface more than tips the scales in their favor.

(This column was originally published in the July 31 issue of the Lakeville-Sun Current).

Sometimes, the target just isn't big enough

I was reminded of this idea when I was covering an archery group giving youth classes in Lakeville. While the last (and only) time I’d ever shot an arrow was 15 years ago in Boy Scout camp (a miss by a wide margin, if I remember correctly), I was confident that, if put to the test, I’d be at least as good as Kevin Costner’s stunt double in “Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves.” Well, I was wrong.
First off, I made the mistake of not taking archery very seriously, as my instructor did. Apparently, there is no smiling involved in archery, which was news to me. Anyway, I listened intently as he instructed me how to properly load the bow (by taking the arrow and raising it up the right side of the bow to drop it down the left side) and how to pull back on the string (firmly and calmly). I was not comfortable with the idea of brushing my chin with the feathers of the arrow (having pulled it back far enough), but I took the instructor at his word, and was unharmed when I launched my projectile of doom to what I thought would be a bull’s-eye.
I was wrong. Not only did the arrow not hit the bull’s-eye, it seemed to travel like a tiny senior citizen on the feathers was controlling it. It traveled listlessly, with a peculiar nose-up attitude that made it seem almost lazy. It hit the target with a subdued “TWUNK!” It hung limply from the lower left quadrant of the target, nowhere near the bull’s-eye, but at least impaled on the board. I lowered the hot pink bow (the color the guy selected for me), and walked back to the bow rack dejected.
There’s a reason for my hand wringing. My plan for the apocalypse was that I would somehow find an arrow in the rubble of what used to be Minneapolis and use that to defend my beef jerky from my mutated neighbors, who (unlike me) would have been drastically affected by the nuclear bomb that wiped out our city. The more I look at it, the more holes I find in my theory. For one, if a bomb hit Minneapolis, I would more than likely be wiped out of existence (an oddly comforting thought after seeing “Threads” and “The Day After), and that shooting a bow and arrow would be the least of my worried. Second, what are the odds I would actually find one in the rubble, let alone be able to shoot it well?
I finished the story feeling slightly deflated. I guess things that look easy on TV shouldn’t automatically be considered as easy in real life. And, come to think of it, I should really stop watching post-apocalyptic nuclear holocaust movies on YouTube. Like I don’t have enough to worry about. Besides, the only one who would benefit from combining the apocalypse with a bow and arrow is Ted Nugent, and he would most likely be HUNTING people like me, not helping them. Just kidding, Ted - don't shoot!

Spilling the Beans

Sometimes, to get the real deal, you’ve got to go the extra mile.
I just made myself a cup of coffee. Now, a typical cup of office coffee comes from a machine that makes a pot using a pre-determined amount of coffee and water. The only thing a coffee drinker has to do is load the thing, press a button, and five minutes later, there will be coffee. As simple as this is, you’d be amazed how people can screw it up.
Office coffee is all about convenience. Unfortunately, office coffee tastes like crap. Whatever flavor the beans had when they were picked and ground has been smashed out the them by the packaging process. They are so dry when we get them that none of the natural oils even seem present in the beans.
As a fan of office coffee, I don’t stand for this. When I make a cup of coffee, I don’t screw around. First, I don’t use the ground beans if I can help it; I’ll grind my own, right in the office, with a little grinder I have. Second, I won’t bother using the industrial machine that plops out the same pot over and over again with the push of a button. I’ll use a French Press, which has the potential to A.) make amazing coffee or B.) make the worst coffee you’ve ever tasted. There’s more of a human touch in the entire process. Is it a lot of work? Sure, but it is work it in the end, because I’m getting more of what makes the product good.
I think this process can serve as a metaphor for what’s going on in the news and newspaper industry. As a coffee junkie, I don’t limit myself to what kind of coffee I drink. I take chances. I take in information from media outlets the same way. Every day, I’ll spend at least a few minutes looking at CNN, FOX News, Free Republic, the Nation, Al Jazeera, the Daily Mail, Der Spiegel, the Weekly Standard, the North Korean Central News Agency and the BBC. I don’t agree with all of what I read, but at least it is a rounded list. One of the reasons I think newspapers are having a tough time with things is that people aren’t taking the same amount of time they used to stay informed. Sure, you can go to a website (like Drudge Report or Huffington Post) or a TV website (like KARE11.com), but the whole idea of having a “one stop shop” for news is really something better suited to a commodity – like toilet paper.
My coffee ritual takes time. My media ritual takes time. In the end, however, the flavors of both are always interesting, and I am glad I took the time to grind my own beans and so my own legwork, so that way, I’ve got more control over what goes into my palette and into my brain.

Taking action....by not taking action?

Presidential leadership styles can vary, and it is interesting to look at how presidents react differently to similar situations.
At a press conference today, President George W. Bush said he wouldn’t call on Americans to conserve gasoline, saying that consumers were “plenty bright” to figure out “if they should drive more or less.”
“It’s a little presumptuous on my part to dictate how consumers live their own lives,” the president added. “I've got faith in the American people. (I find this ironic, seeing as Bush seems to have few qualms about dictating how other people live their lives; his views on gay marriage and abortion come to mind). It seems like it makes sense to me to say to the world that we’re going to use, you know, new technologies to explore for oil and gas in the United States ... to send a clear message that the supplies of oil will increase.”
I would like to compare this message of taking-action-by-not-taking-action with remarks made by then-President Jimmy Carter in his “Crisis of Confidence” speech in 1979. In it, Carter tried to set “a clear goal” for the energy policy of the United States to never use more foreign oil than it did in 1977. He said new additions to demands for energy would be met from U.S. production and conservation, and promised import quotas, a massive investment in alternative energy solutions, and the creation of the country’s first solar bank, which he said was important to meeting a goal of having 20 percent of the country’s energy come from solar power by 2000. Carter, unlike Bush, wasn’t shy when it came to asking Americans to sacrifice for what he saw as a common good.
“I'm asking you for your good and for your nation's security to take no unnecessary trips, to use carpools or public transportation whenever you can, to park your car one extra day per week, to obey the speed limit, and to set your thermostats to save fuel,” he said. “Every act of energy conservation like this is more than just common sense – I tell you it is an act of patriotism. Our nation must be fair to the poorest among us, so we will increase aid to needy Americans to cope with rising energy prices. We often think of conservation only in terms of sacrifice. In fact, it is the most painless and immediate way of rebuilding our nation's strength. Every gallon of oil each one of us saves is a new form of production. It gives us more freedom, more confidence, that much more control over our own lives.”
In comparison to this soaring rhetoric, I find Bush’s comments both lacking and entirely expected. This is coming from the same administration that, in the wake of 9/11, told Americans, shocked and eager to do something to help the country, to spend money, to live their lives as if nothing happened, to “keep America rolling.” Now, when those wheels are in danger of stopping because the gas tanks fueling them are running on fumes, we get claptrap about “new technologies” and pious rhetoric about not telling Americans what to do.
I may have been a mere fetus when this Carter speech was given, but I know what happened to Carter in 1980: Americans voted him out of office, choosing former California Governor Ronald Reagan in the election Nov. 4, 1980.
Regardless of what historians may think of Carter, I admire his courage. He at least tried to get the American people to do something unpleasant (but, in hindsight, fortuitous and wise). The energy crisis we faced in 1979 didn’t go away; if anything, it came back with a vengeance (for different reasons) in the past few years, when we’ve seen the price of a gallon of gasoline has quadruple in 10 years. Now, when the American people could possible use a little bit of “control over our own lives,” our president instead gives us words as empty as our gas tanks.

I propose a moratorium

I read on cnn.com today that President Bush is going to lift the executive ban on offshore drilling. I'm mixed about this. While I realize the idea might have some potential, I also realize that it's not going to have any impact for some time, as I don't think there are drilling rigs queuing up outside of the forbidden areas waiting to get in (like losers at an exclusive dance club). We'll see.

While he's lifting moratoriums, I think Bush should propose one: I think he should outlaw the use of the phrase "pain at the pump." It was lame three years ago, and now it just makes my skin crawl. OK, maybe it was clever for five minutes or so, but now, it's something that comes merely as an annoyance to an already annoying situation. I GET IT, major media outlets - you feel our pain. You get that the American public is upset with paying $4 for a gallon of gasoline. I've been able to determine this from the number of useless stories I've seen on TV news where gallant news crews will go out to local gas stations and interview people filling up their gas tanks. The typical complaint seems to be, "Yeah, it sucks, but what are we supposed to do?" Please, do us all a favor and stop. It's not like you're going to get any quotes worthy of the next King Lear doing these stories.

I think it's more likely that we'd be able to get a break from the phrase "pain at the pump" than we will from high gas prices this summer. Call your local congressperson today - tell them to say "no" to the phrase "pain at the pump." At this point in the game, it's merely sand in the Vaseline, and an insult to injury.

* p.s. - don't really call your congressperson, silly; I'm sure they have better things to do.