….Oh My.

It’s been a while since I’ve really gotten away from it all. It was time.

My friend Jason and I spent Saturday hiking a little piece of the Appalachian Trail through Shenandoah National Park in Western Virginia. As you can see above, it was an excellent day for a hike in the mountains, even if there was a little bit of snow:

We started bright and early at Thornton Gap and hiked up the AT to Mary’s Rock, and along the trail to The Pinnacle, where we stopped for lunch (and finally noticed the cold), and then followed the trail back the way we came, a distance of about 11 miles, with an elevation change of a little over 1000 feet.

The views, of course, were spectacular, and the trail, especially given the snow and ice, was a little bit challenging for me, given the fact I haven’t gone on a serious hike in a while. I was thankful for all the cardio conditioning and biking I’ve been doing over the last year or two, because pre-weight-loss me probably couldn’t have handled it. I’m sore, but it was worth it.

Being morning in mid-December, the trail was quiet; we didn’t see anyone at all besides a few birds for the first three hours or so of the hike – there are few nicer feelings than being totally alone with nature’s majesty on top of a mountain; I don’t often do “spiritual” as a concept, but if I do, it’s when I find myself in those kind of situations. It’s a pretty amazing feeling.

Seems a bunch of Rhode Island “Christians” got upset when Governor Chaffee referred to the big evergreen displayed in the state house as a “holiday tree.” Their chosen method of protest? Interrupting a children’s choir performance at the tree-lighting with a renegade singing of “O Christmas Tree.”

“Oh Christmas Tree.” A largely secular little ditty which pays tribute to a symbol of the season with largely non-Christian origins*.

This wasn’t about a Nativity scene, or the state’s resistance to putting one up. This wasn’t one of those “reason for the season” protests. It was nothing but a reflexive tribal reaction to the state rightly choosing to be inclusive by substituting one word for another, all while being dicks about it by interrupting a performance by a passel of cute little moppets.

I’m kind of a fan of Governor Chaffee’s statement in response to the protest, which both honors Rhode Island’s strong tradition of church-state separation, as well as suggesting a course of action for protestors that feels a lot more in the spirit of Christmas and Christianity in general than interrupting a bunch of kids with a flash-mob sing-a-long:

Calling the 17-foot-tall spruce a holiday tree is in keeping with Rhode Island’s founding in 1636 by religious dissident Roger Williams as a haven for tolerance, where government and religion were kept separate, independent Gov. Lincoln Chafee said.

“I would encourage all those engaged in this discussion – whatever their opinion on the matter – to use their energy and enthusiasm to make a positive difference in the lives of their fellow Rhode Islanders,” Chafee said, offering an initiative to feed the needy as a good place to start.

The protestors’ actions here present just one more example of people being reflexively indignant and turning the pleasant phrase “Merry Christmas” into an agressive euphamism for “F**k you.” It it any wonder that I continue to get discouraged about this particular time of year?

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* – Of course, the Christmas tree tradition‘s claim to pagan roots isn’t totally clear – the modern “Christmas Tree”, cut down and brought inside and such, first appeared in Germany or Eastern Europe in the 15th century. There are several theories regarding the origins of the tradition, calling on both pre-Christian ritual and connections to the tree in Genesis (I’d suspect that a serious nature-focused Pagan tradition would have problems with cutting down a tree for such a frivilous reason; my money’s on adaptation). Early American Christians had a pretty serious problem with trees and decorations and stuff for Christmas, as such things desecrated a the sacredness of the event.

The practice of decorating homes with evergreen boughs and the like seems to date back at least as far as the Roman celebration of Saturnalia, which fell in December, and included, amongst other things, the exchanging of gifts, which were later adopted into Christian tradition.

I’ve written a lot over the last year or two about coming to terms with getting older. It’s one of those things we all have to come to terms with. Of course, the world is remarkably good at coming up with all kinds of reminders of one’s (relatively) advanced age: little aches and pains, graying or thinning hair, meeting someone at a party who seems like a grown-up and finding out that they were born your freshman year of college…the universe has a bit of a sense of humor.

Usually, I’m okay with growing old gracefully kicking and screaming; despite a few chronic things, I’m in the best shape of my life since I was in my early twenties, and occasionally find myself in the pleasant position of being able to share some of my aged wisdom with the younger generation without coming off as completely disconnected from their life experience. Finding myself entering early-middle age mostly intact and comfortable isn’t all that bad.

Sometimes, though, I hear something on the radio that drives home exactly how long I’ve been kicking around the planet in denial. This morning, I heard a news piece on the radio about this year’s inductees into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, a group which includes, among others:

Guns N’ Roses, The Red Hot Chili Peppers, and The Beastie Boys.

Guns N’ Roses put out Appetite For Destruction in 1987; as such, it provided much of the soundtrack for my time in high school. Let’s look at the implications of that sentence: bands that first broke when I was entering high school are now eligible for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. I suppose I should be thankful that Gn’R was inducted in their first year of eligibility, or else I’d feel really old.

It actually gets worse, at least subjectively. Red Hot Chili Peppers and the Beastie Boys, despite forming and releasing their first albums in the early-to-mid eighties, didn’t really gain fame and reach their creative peaks until the early-to-mid 90s, when I was kind of off exploring strange new genres (coughcountrycough) and digging into the local scene, planting them firmly in the category of “bands kids younger than me listened to,” are also being inducted. So, not only is the soundtrack of my teenage years being more or less classified as nostalgia, the stuff that came after that is being filed there as well.

Time, it seems, keeps marching on. Here’s to hoping life is still interesting on the nostalgia circuit.

Comics blogger Chris Sims, as part of his gig with Comics Alliance, drew the short straw and ended up being the CA staff writer tasked with reviewing Breaking Dawn, part 1, the latest entry in the Twilight film series.

The movie? unsurprisingly terrible. The review? Comedy Gold:

Once he has turned into a wolf and run up to Canada for a while, it’s time for Edward and Bella’s wedding, as organized by what appears to be an extremely sexy Vulcan named Alice. All of this is pretty much explicitly stated to be building up to Edward and Bella finally having sex, which they have of course saved until after their wedding because, you know, you always want your necrophilia to be fully sanctioned in the eyes of the Lord.

Yes, you want to go and read this review, and it’s seventeen(!) footnotes, right now, because the several thousand words I didn’t quote are even better than the snippet above.

With this entry, I’ll have reviewed one hundred records since starting this little project back in May. Whether anyone else is enjoying the project or not, I’ve been having a good time revisiting old music and fond memories through the exercise. If nothing else, it gives me something original to write about beyond commentary on the politics of the day and the things Fred, Amanda, and John write about more abley on their more heavily-trafficked blogs. There are plenty more records that remain unremarked upon, and I always seem to be acquire a few more now and then; so as long as I keep having fun, I’ll keep writing.

This particular collection doesn’t have one cohesive theme, necessarily, but at least half of the acts here are Canadian, and I think there’s something to be said about how three of these selections, in their own way, represent defining elements of certain musical eras, either as trendsetting recordings that influenced others, or doing their best to capture the defining characteristics of an era gone by.

♦ Rock Sugar – Reimaginator: I picked this one up last year online after being pointed at the video of “Don’t Stop the Sandman.” I’m not sure quite what to call this record: comedy, novelty, tribute record, or something else. Whatever it is, I like it, and it’s become quite popular amongst my group of friends. For those not aware, Rock Sugar is a handful of studio musicians and voice actors who do “mash-ups” of 80s metal and pop tunes. They’ve created a whole fictional mythology for the band, involving boat wrecks, desert islands, and the record collection of a 13 year old girl. In practice, the record is a clever combination of pop saavy, incredible vocal mimicry, and solid musicianship. The aforementioned “Don’t Stop The Sandman” is a seamless combination of Metallica and Journey, with a dead-on recreation of Steve Perry by frontman Jess “Wakko Warner” Harnell. Not all the combinations are as inspired, but it’s hard to beat “Shook Me Like A Prayer” (AC/DC + Madonna), “Crazy Girl” (Rick Springfield + Ozzy) or “Straight to Rock City” (KISS + Paula Abdul) for sheer entertainment value. The most effective and catchy track, for my money, though, is “Voice In The Jungle,” incorporating “Voices Carry” by ‘Til Tuesday and two different Guns ‘n Roses tunes.

♦ The Vanity Project: This record is, essentially, a Steven Page solo project cobbled together from recordings he made apart from Barenaked Ladies in the early 00s. I say “essentially”, because it could just as easily be considered a collaborative project with English songwriter (and founding member of Duran Duran) Stephen Duffy, a long-time writing partner with Page going back to BNL’s Maybe You Should Drive in 1994. Page performs all the lead vocals, and performs most of the instruments, though Duffy contributes some instrumental performance and co-wrote all but one of the tunes, which, for the most part, feel a lot like the stuff written for BNL (a couple of tracks are leftovers from Maroon like “That’s All, That’s All”), but not entirely, as so much of the definitive BNL “sound” comes (or came, as Page left the band in 2009) from the collaboration between Page and Ed Robertson. If the work on this record is any indication, much of the quirk and whimsy came from the Robertson side of the equation – most of the stuff here is played straight without a much of the trademark silliness and lyrical gymnastics, more “Jane” or “The Flag” than “One Week” or “Be My Yoko Ono”. Still, it’s a solid folk rock record, with standout tracks like “Wilted Rose”, “Thank You For Sharing” and the haunting “By The Roadside”, which continues one of Page’s traditional songwriting tics; the pretty, delicate ballad about a brutal crime, death and/or murder.

♦ Liz Phair – Exile in Guyville: This is one of those records that I always knew about, though not being in any way “alternative” when it came out in 1993, I didn’t encounter it until much later, during one of my occasional fits of flailing around seeking new (to me) and interesting stuff (it didn’t hurt that Ms. Phair is a very attractive woman, pulling off that sort of trashy-sexy look that people like Ke$ha try, and completely fail, to manage). The first few tracks of this record I heard came into my posession during the Wild West/Napster era of internet file sharing, including “Divorce Song” (which has a great bass line) and “F*ck and Run.” I picked up my copy at an indie record store a few years later, only to find it half-unplayable on delivery, leading me to acquire the tracks digitally and manually re-create a physical disc. Today, I rather love the low-fi and ambient sound – not always technically proficient, but loaded with attitude and emotion. I love the atmospheric instrumental opening of “Shatter,” the in-your-face agressive sexuality AND the overdub layering on “Flower,” and the crisp Michael Sweet-eque power pop of “Never Said.” There’s a reason this record consistently ends up on “Top *Whatever* Albums of All Time” lists, because it belongs there, and for many people, it pretty much defines the sound of the era.

♦ Alanis Morrissette – Jagged Little Pill: Though I haven’t mentioned it as much in this series as Tuesday Night Music Club, this record is probably just as responsible for defining the sound of female rock artists throughout the 90s and early 00s. To be fair, much of Morrisette’s “sound” (a serious departure from her early career as the real-life Robin Sparkles) can be traced directly back to the kind of thing that Liz Phair was doing a few years earlier, though it’s a bit more polished and radio-ready (I’d attribute some of this to Alanis’s applying the lessons learned from her experience being a packaged teenage pop star), but carried a lot of the same attitude; clearly evident on the signature track “You Oughta Know” (which, legend tells was written about Full House’s Dave Coulier, and features Red Hot Chili Peppers’ Flea and Dave Navarro on bass and guitar). Not that the whole record is an angry screed; tracks like the comparatively polished “You Learn” and the much-maligned single “Ironic” are reasonably sedate and tuneful in comparison. Like Phair’s “Exile…” this record ends up on many “best of” lists, and deservedly so, as it’s generally excellent front-to-back, particularly, in my opinion, tracks like the reluctant love song song “Head over Feet” and “Your House”, the a capella hidden track, which both highlight’s Morrissette’s formidable vocal chops, and manages to straddle the line between devoted lover and creepy stalker the way so many great songs do.

Only a week late on
this piece from the WaPo, but I only just found it this morning:

These Games may seem barbaric to some, but they’re a modern tradition. They get the Shoppers in from all districts of the nation, train and groom them, and then release them on the fateful morning towards the Cornucopia of electronics-related bargains and plush towels. They have been training for this their entire lives.

The shopping is quick and brutal.

You know what to do. Ignore the shiny displays by the cash registers. Run in and find the iPhones, and then look for a source of water. Never turn your back on the adversaries. Arm yourself and protect the spoils with all your might.

I saw a man stepping out of the Apple store, a beatific expression on his face as he cradled a bag containing what I assume was a new iPad. Then he coughed blood and collapsed into my arms. I turned and saw the other Shoppers, weapons at the ready.

There are fisticuffs over in housewares. In the toys section, a man emerges triumphant from a pile of his adversaries clutching a plush angry bird, only to collapse on the point of a woman’s javelin.

“This — is — WALMART!” she bellows.

Apparently one more thing, besides reality television, the debutante tradition, and modern western class disparity, that Suzanne Collins managed to offer comment on through YA literature.

Great Caesar’s Ghost, it’s December already!

This mildly panicked reaction brought to you by the fact that after today, I only have eight more days at work left in 2011.

presented without further comment: