This Was 2007: Tracks

The Musical Shitlist: Six Terrible Songs From 2007

“Me Love” by Sean Kingston: So, Page and Plant refused to license “Stairway to Heaven” for the Live Aid DVD, but they let this dude sample “D’Yer Mak’er?” Unacceptable.

“Apologize” by OneRepublic ft. Timbaland: How do you end up in the bottom five and top ten at the same time? Add a superfluous, uninteresting beat to an already flaccid excuse for a simpering ballad, and forget to take your name off the credits.

“The Moneymaker” by Rilo Kiley: I know, it’s supposed to be sleazy and porny, but this might be the first time in history that the voice of Jenny Lewis has actually made a song worse. Worst. Rilo Kiley. Ever.

“Wadsyaname” by Nelly: I apologize on behalf of all of St. Louis.

“Crank That (Soulja Boy)” by Soulja Boy Tell ‘Em: The apotheosis of ringtone rap and the nadir of my having a sense of hearing.

“Big Girls Don’t Cry (Personal) Remix” by Fergie ft. Sean Kingston: I really don’t like this Sean Kingston character. This song was already irritating enough to qualify for the list with Fergie alone. But congratulations, Mr. Kingston. Your unfathomably grating cameo has vaulted “Big Girls Don’t Cry” to the honor of Worst Song of 2007.

Thirty Excellent Songs From 2007

Rudy Giuliani: Turncoat Liar

I was living in Illinois on 9/11 and, like many people, saw events in New York unfold on network news. CNN, ABC, all of them were a bizarre mixture of hyper-patriotism, diffuse anger, and simple fear, with Rudy Giuliani playing the role of the sound-byte hero. I remember thinking vaguely, “huh, he’s really stepped up.”

Six years later, with Guantanamo and Extraordinary Rendition and a continual stream of Bush-originated bullshit, I’m a bit more savvy about what the news tries to feed me. I’ve also lived in New York for nearly three years and heard from people who lived here what the city was like in the 90s, and how much it continues to change.

Rudy Giuliani’s campaign for President is predicated on his credentials as a protector of the homeland (read: Fear-monger) and, by extension, his time as mayor of New York. I wasn’t in the city at the time, so I can’t speak to the Giuliani years personally, but I’m here now and he’s pissing me off. Giuliani has sold us down the river. He’s pulled a Benedict Arnold. He’s a traitor to the city that made him the worthless national figure he is.

Consider this quote from an excellent article in New York Magazine by Chris Smith, summarizing the thrust of Giuliani’s rhetoric:

Before Mayor Rudy, the city was a black-and-white jungle-land of sex shops, violence, and crushing taxes. After Rudy, New York is Oz: sunshine, happy young couples, and shiny gold-plated statues. The message, which Giuliani hammers in his appearances outside the city, is that he made big bad New York safe for the rest of the country. For the pitch to work, Giuliani has to demonize the city he inherited and claim all the credit for the improvements he left behind. The city itself is his original enemy.

There it is. Bashing New York to bolster his failing campaign, painting this immensely diverse city as a den of iniquity piled high with homeless person shit. By all reports, New York was a troubled city and, if my neighborhood is any indication, it still is. Rents are rising and forcing out entire immigrant communities. Infrastructure is aging and increasingly unreliable. There continues to be shootings, stabbings, corruption, police brutality, public gropings, and lots of dog crap on the sidewalk.  Through all this, however, New York is thriving and Rudy Giuliani would like American to think he’s solely responsible.

If you live in the city, read Smith’s article and get pissed. We know better than anyone that Giuliani is a turncoat assface. Spread the word.

Shenanigans

The Scribblerist, Inc. has intercepted an intraoffice memo (with all names and identifiable details redacted) indicating the existence a secret brotherhood of destruction in his place of work. The sinister communique is posted here in it’s entirety.

It must be noted that the memo, while reeking of evil, has a certain stylistic flair.

Operation Retribution

Music Video Meltdown

It’s a lazy Friday at the office and I don’t much feel like being creative, so I’ll let other artists speak for me. With guitars.

Josh Ritter – “Mind’s Eye”

Dawn Landes – “Money in the Bank”

Glen Hansard (performing as The Swell Season with Marketa Irglova) – “Lay Me Down”

Referencialty Gone Wild

In a culture of reference, embodied by shows like Family Guy, the ease of intralinking in free web-based blogging platforms has enabled a whole new level of referenciality, particularly with regard to cute puppy pictures.

Exercise: “The Last Time I Felt Desire…”

This is a free-writing exercise I scratched out last night at a group called Write Action, a wholly-owned subsidiary of the ID Project. If you’re a writer in New York and you need a little community, I highly recommend it. The prompt was: write about the last time you felt Desire.

Mm, Desire.

-

I held it in my hands, heavy, black, odd-shaped, its glass and metal eye extending into the world like a bridge.

“Feels nice,” I said to myself, “good balance.” I turned it over gently to snap open the battery compartment, then its memory card gate and AV inputs – all solid, dust-proof if not fluid proof. A sovereign piece of electronics. I ticked the “On-Off” ring, superimposed around the shutter button, to On and heard the small, sharp, purposeful “whirr” of waking. The mysterious servos and gears and whatnots slid into place, ready to serve me. Startup time: less than a second and a half.

Wow, I thought, this one is special. 6.1 megapixels, 18-55 mm autofocus lens, RAW and JPEG exporting, 14 shooting modes, on-board editing, 470 shots on a single charge at Fine, and a fat sensor. Will Smith may be Legend, but I am Gear Lust.

Nikon D40, I love you, I want you. I will have you.