tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72619356559749940892024-03-05T19:22:58.723-08:00Adam KoeppeWelcome to the future...deal with it.Adam Koeppehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00719500219198312201noreply@blogger.comBlogger71125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261935655974994089.post-52137319885158618982011-03-15T17:51:00.000-07:002011-03-15T17:59:57.970-07:00Why I Boycott Record Store Day<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizmgdrjaACKtMS0mmiZ2euqatNwOyDl5tC1V8oOSEK5bWl1_6oWDE_vjEjQiiYhoNThvKWQblITEZYKiqXdG3UAUr0V7y8LMrnmm75pT7-uJ9rqzF1xWd6rls39he7BxS6Vmi_LDBzub_u/s1600/broken+record.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 250px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584475317096145282" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizmgdrjaACKtMS0mmiZ2euqatNwOyDl5tC1V8oOSEK5bWl1_6oWDE_vjEjQiiYhoNThvKWQblITEZYKiqXdG3UAUr0V7y8LMrnmm75pT7-uJ9rqzF1xWd6rls39he7BxS6Vmi_LDBzub_u/s320/broken+record.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />“I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.<br />The evil that men do lives after them;<br />The good is oft interred with their bones” – Brutus, Julius Caesar<br /><br />“Don’t Know What You’ve Got Till It’s Gone.” – Cinderella.<br /><br />People love the concept of record stores. The idea of going into a small business, looking for that special song or album and hearing something mind-blowing on the store stereo is idyllic and not far off. Getting into intense discussions about the merits of artists who never-made-it-but-should-have with employees whose existence at the record store is the only thing preventing them from welfare or McDonalds. These generalizations are not far off from what an actual record store looks like. What is a complete load of buttkiss is the nostalgia directed at them. There would be no need for nostalgia had the public supported record stores in the first place. Instead, music lovers flocked to the big box stores where one could get any album they wanted for ten bucks or less. Now were are left with few independent stores, many of which would just as soon sell a water bong than the limited edition Bruce Springsteen 7-inch.<br /><br />As a teenager in the early 90’s, I could go countless places to find records and CD's. I bought many a vinyl at John’s Army Surplus in Howard Lake. He had thousands of records at his peak – all about two bucks or less. A lot of it was total crap but I did snag the only album by The First Class (they sang “Beach Baby”). Another great place for vinyl was a consignment shop outside of Winsted. Everything was under four bucks and I must have spent over half of my paychecks there every week. That was thing romantic ideal of music shopping. You never knew what you were going to find, only that you would find something and spend the following weeks discovering music that was only read about in review collections. This is how I became an expert on the music of Yes. However, as I was wearing out needles discovering overrated prog artists, the majority of the public was flocking to the big box stores.<br /><br />Granted, the low low prices on new music at Best Buy, Wal-Mart, Target, Circuit City and Media Play had little to no effect on the day to day operations of consignment stores or John’s Army Surplus. What the big boxes did kill was the suburban and urban record stores that used to be found in any major retail area in the country. Twenty years ago, a person could spend all day in the Minneapolis/St. Paul area record shopping. Now, a similar excursion in 2011 would take you about three hours – if that. When the first few stores disappeared, it probably went with little notice. After all, Dinkytown in Minneapolis didn’t need five record stores, did it? Note to the reader, there are now ZERO record stores in the University of Minnesota’s shopping district. Little by little, the big boxes took their toll on the small stores. Why would anyone pay $16.99 for a new album when Best Buy has it for ten bucks?<br /><br />In 1998, I was able to land what then I considered a dream job: Record Store Manager. I could now wear a black t-shirt of a cool band, blast the Sex Pistols on the store stereo and get paid for doing so. The store’s sales were so-so when I took over, as DVD’s had just come into the mainstream. I did several things which took the store from monthly sales in the low $20,000’s to the low $40,000’s in about six months. Almost all of the following can be used to run any successful business but I can claim to have originated none of these ideas. I took the best things from the best stores in the area and incorporated them as soon as I could. First: get a great staff. One that forgets more about music than the average humanoid will ever know. Two: unload all the crappy albums that nobody will ever buy. Record stores look crappy if all they have to offer is used copies of the Spin Doctors and Hootie and the Blowfish. Third: carry new albums that are critically respected but seldom purchased. Play them. They will sell. We sold tons of Britpop, punk, techno and 60’s rock for the simple reason the staff got behind them and the albums were that damn great. Fourth, deal with sellers like they are peddlers at the flea market. Yes, you somehow have five promo copies of the new Britney Spears, but we’re not buying your budget albums for twice of what you paid for them. Like I said, crap product equals crap store. Fifth, sell the new stuff that Best Buy has for as cheap as you can while at least making one dollar. It doesn’t pay the rent but hopefully they’ll buy three other things while they’re there. For a while, it was a splendid time guaranteed for all. Then the roof caved in.<br /><br />I vividly remember the day record stores were going to die. I’m assuming the dinosaurs smelled something similar before they became two ton fossils. Change is coming and like semi truck driving 100 miles and hour into a confused looking Bambi, there is little you can do to put the brakes on. It was a Friday afternoon in August of 2000. Two young ladies came up to me with a handful of CD’s to purchase. One said to the other: “You buy these two, I’ll buy these other two and we’ll burn each other copies.” With that statement, true believers, the end appeared to me and no 60 dollars sales of Bruce Springsteen concerts were going to help. Anyone with a tiny bit of economic knowledge would be able to tell you if someone if looking for a discount of an item, they will go to the place where the discount is the greatest. I can’t say I would not have done the same thing and neither would any idealistic supporter of the almighty Record Store Day. When I was buying the entire Clash, Pixies, Husker Du and Rolling Stones catalog at full price, you’re darn tootin’ I would have loved to have split the cost with a buddy and get the same albums for half the price. Truth be told from someone who actually was there: Downloading albums from Napster or Limewire didn’t kill record stores. CD burners broke the butterfly on the wheel.<br /><br />Independent record stores knew they were in trouble. As any business professional will tell you, if one product is in decline, you have to diversify. That is, find something else people will buy at your record store instead of records. I’ll give the original owners of my store credit. They knew when to get out while the getting was good. The new owner, who in my honest opinion was not a bad guy – far from it – had an idea he pimped to me within one month of ownership in the fall of 2000. “How do you feel about selling adult DVD’s in your store?” he asked. I respectfully replied I did not think they had a place in a record store, a place I (and my staff) had worked very hard to make family friendly. Nobody was for this move but I was told it was coming anyway. I felt so self-righteous at the time, sticking up for the music, the staff and the customers. In retrospect, many other record stores were doing the same. They weren’t diversifying with porn, however. They decided to sell drug paraphernalia. The equation was not hard to deduce. Selling a $100 bong was a much bigger profit than selling 100 White Stripes albums. Plus you still get to somehow call yourself a record store. Of the few record stores left in the state of Minnesota, at least a third of them peddle a chunk of paraphernalia, including stores I used to respect and somehow pimp Record Store Day.<br /><br />In 2011, I can count approximately three record stores in Minnesota that are independently owned, sell music and not other questionable items as a means of revenue. They are Hymie’s Vintage Records, Treehouse Records and Yeti Records, both located in Minneapolis. Some might make the argument for the Cheapo, but they are indeed a chain and do not qualify as independent. The rest I will not mention by name but they are definitely stranded on Keith Richards’ island. If you choose to patronize a record store on holy Record Store Day, please check out Hymie’s, Treehouse and Yeti. If you follow the stores on Facebook, it is immediately obvious the owners and staff care about one thing: music. Go there and buy the limited edition Gorrilaz and Springsteen. Go there and chat with the staff. Give them the ultimate challenge of a record store. Tell them to sell you something cool. I guarantee you they will. But as you are feeling so proud of yourself patronizing these fantastic businesses, bear in mind that you bear responsibility for the demise of a dozen others. As you hug that Gorrilaz record tight after you buy it, bear in mind the store you bought it from made like 3 bucks from the sale at most. Ask yourself, are you going to go back there?<br /><br />As Charles Dickens might say (if he loved records): “Make Record Store Day every day. Keep it in your heart, each and every day of the year.” If you have a few extra dollars in your pocket, give yourself, your kids or someone else you love a real gift. Music makes our heart glow, our minds pulse and our booties dance. Discovering new music is something you always remember. You remember the time, the place and how you were feeling when you found that record. The one that just might change your life. The record you will play on a date when you’re trying to impress, the record you play when the date makes you depressed, the record you play with the morning coffee, the record you play when you’re back from a party, the record you play for your kids, the record you play that just might make your parents understand, the record you want played at your funeral. Record Store Day is not a day. Like Christmas, either you believe or you don’t. As for me, I believe.Adam Koeppehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00719500219198312201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261935655974994089.post-22839394088436496312010-10-21T23:57:00.000-07:002010-10-22T00:15:52.056-07:00Proposally Yours - A guide to the 2010 Election“<a href="http://thinkexist.com/quotation/the_vote_is_the_most_powerful_instrument_ever/214615.html">The vote is the most powerful instrument ever devised by man for breaking down injustice and destroying the terrible walls which imprison men because they are different from other men.</a>” – Lyndon Johnson<br /><br />“Whatever it is, I’m against it” – Groucho Marx<br /><br />To say politicians are honest is like pretending a horse doesn’t poop in a parade. No matter how pretty the horse is, behind it is some serious stink. It is no secret Americans are sick of the smell coming from the national and state capitals. Despite this, the same bozos keep running again and again, fueled by a mostly unknown financial machine. The ones who claim they are new, are going to represent real Americans (as opposed to fake ones) and are going to shake up Washington will be the preaching their newfound experience in the next election cycle. The only constant regarding politicians is they despise being mocked and called on their incessant hypocracy. Being astutely knowledgeable at such things, I humbly put forth the following proposal which, if enacted, will swiftly bring about the change the citizens of this great nation desperately need.<br /><br />I used to make fun of those people who chose to use their democratic right in the voting booth to write in “Mickey Mouse” or “Lizard People.” In retrospect, it seems these righteous individuals knew what was going on with the political system more than those who mindlessly support the same political party year after year. If all elections, be they local, state or national, are tinted by crooked people and crooked money, why should anyone vote for these people? The option is always there to write in the name of another qualified individual. Maybe the vote would not be considered wasted if the voter chose to write in an eligible person rather than a cartoon character. To the millions of readers who still may not know who they may vote for this November, I modestly offer a viable alternative: myself.<br /><br />Some of you may be asking “Adam, what makes you think you are qualified to run for public office?” My humble response, in a nutshell, is what makes you think those running for office now are qualified? Every political poll shows the public has little, if any, confidence in the individuals currently in charge, some of whom do not know how to use the internet and would have significant difficulty reading a book. Not only does yours truly know how to use the internet, he can even repair a copy machine, a skill that is indeed quite rare. Further, considering the current incumbents do their job about ten percent of the time (a generous estimate), I find it would be possible to hold office on the local, state and national levels simultaneously and still have time to play my Xbox.<br /><br />My Howard Lake math shows that if I perform four of these positions to the best of my ability twenty percent of the time, that would still give me ample time to play Halo. To accomplish this feat, all I would have to do is avoid all political talk shows, skip out on ribbon cuttings for projects I have nothing to do with and most importantly, refuse to campaign for the next election while serving in the current term. The latter seems to take up 90 percent of politicans’ time these days. I can even promise the public I will show up for votes most of the time. 51 percent attendance seems to be quite acceptable to most incumbents, regardless of the office held.<br /><br />If anyone would like to financially support this endeavor, I have set up a PAC fund, which is called A.D.A.M. (a darn awesome man). These funds would be used to pay for necessary expenses such as copy machines, several pairs of Converse shoes and expanding my Xbox game collection. Considering donor dollars have been used in the past to pay for a Saks wardrobe and a continuous supply of cheeseburgers, my needs are quite modest in comparison.<br /><br />If writing in yours truly isn’t your cup of tea, might I suggest you take some time and think of other worthy individuals worth writing in on election day. If you like your neighbor, write them in. If you don’t like your neighbor, write them in. Think your pastor would be a good congressperson, put their name down – nobody really follows that “separation of church and state” silliness anyway. Stumped for a Christmas gift for that hard-to-buy-for person? Give them a senate seat! It’s been done before. Personally, I plan to write in several qualified individuals (other than myself) this November. Fallen Minnesota auto mogul Denny Hecker would make a great judge. He has extensive experience in the legal field that would be a natural fit should he ever preside over the dreaded recount. Twins great Kent Hrbek would be an awesome state auditor. To be honest, I’m not sure about that but I’d really like some free food at his restaurant.<br /><br />It is my hope the previous passages have made you think about how much your vote really matters this November. Every citizen has the responsibility to be involved in the political process to ensure our government is as functional as possible. Whatever you do on November 2nd, please don’t stay home. Don’t stay at work (remember it is your legal right to vote on company time). Go to your local polling place and do something. It doesn’t matter what you do there, just exercise your constitutional right. People have given their lives to preserve this privilege, so please don’t take it for granted. And if you find it in your heart to vote for this humble author, well that would be just swell.<br /><br />Sincerely,<br /><br />Your future councilman/mayor/state representative/congressman/governor/president,<br /><br />Adam KoeppeAdam Koeppehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00719500219198312201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261935655974994089.post-72454973124298519302010-08-09T18:38:00.000-07:002010-08-09T18:52:31.544-07:00Attack of the Singing Hamsters!“There’s a world of laughter, a world of tears, a world of hope and a world of fears.”<br /><br /><br />Fear is a scary thing. It is the only emotion where there is really no answer. Nobody knows why or how it happens but it does. It is the thing which grips your stomach like a claw. It is the reason you stay up at night thinking to yourself. It is the never-ending question of doubt of yourself and reality. It is the mental cancer that infects us all; a disease that can never be cured but only contained.<br /><br />To a large extent, we are alone in our fears. Sure, we can fear terrorists, the government or the New York Yankees as a unified group but most are left up to our own psyches and the therapists who steal our money pretending to understand them. Some fears are somewhat explainable such as thunder and lightning – unless you or someone you know has been struck by a bolt from the blue. Then it’s pretty real. Fears of government are mostly irrational – unless you’ve ever been interrogated or audited by the I.R.S. Clowns, on the other hand…are sometimes just clowns. Yet, an invention designed to bring joy to children has been thrust into the completely creepy category over the past few decades. Before Stephen King tapped into coulrophobia with “It”, this phenomenon had been manifesting itself for centuries. Irrational? Possibly. Real? Absolutely.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM4tMf9sCpA8v8gkkMwU0Z-4Dh0qIpidcxp_C0nZDe9Cfcz7OHb1px3Fj7kSE6CQ6588CKvQNJaxNzZsbxO1RWj9VfAD6j9h8YXa-pUZEShwcwi-lVrXDPeFxMBpu6m3iAq7xyZcz6cCnK/s1600/baby-tad.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 159px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 201px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503592186244149874" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM4tMf9sCpA8v8gkkMwU0Z-4Dh0qIpidcxp_C0nZDe9Cfcz7OHb1px3Fj7kSE6CQ6588CKvQNJaxNzZsbxO1RWj9VfAD6j9h8YXa-pUZEShwcwi-lVrXDPeFxMBpu6m3iAq7xyZcz6cCnK/s320/baby-tad.jpg" /></a>The newest phobia, as far as I understand it, is the fear of animatronic toys; called automatonophobia (makes sense if you break it down English-style). This fear includes (but is not limited to) ventriloquist dummies, Muppets, Talking Smack Elmo and pretty much every preschool toy available at your local Target and Wal-Mart. They’re everywhere, if you think about it enough. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hSy8Ko1vSKQ">“Talkie Tina”</a> has been reincarnated as your daughter’s best friend Dora and is secretly working with Chucky’s son <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kNsda2TwqVQ">“Baby Tad” </a>to turn your humble home into the Amityville Horror. My kids are about 50/50 on these. They both love “Baby Tad” but some gifts have left them bug-eyed and terrified. They really sound like a doomed soul is stuck inside them.<br /><br />The automated toys which tend to terrify my children are the ones my wife and I bought for personal amusement. We purchased a signing Dean Martin years ago (something we thought was pretty darn cool) but Shane and Romana can’t sit for one second in a room when Dino is working his robotic mojo. My “A” in Psychology 115 qualifies me enough to deduce that the moving hands, mouth and feet of this 2 ½ foot toy causes them to question reality as they know it, the challenge of their perceived reality being too strong to rationalize a talking robot. In other words, it’s just too damn creepy. <div><br /><div><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiidmNpzOo7MWj64EnmRSdM4LJbAVOOpOtXxS7ZKt81sx5di9kl3K1j9G3uOlzhbKhxsaovNAZDWPlqzyJFotzzPAj0XER-1D5Mt4mmxcEW-a9But2BgUeRig7jfqZMdWb8Lc8Hg3hbzWbc/s1600/hamster.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 188px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 259px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503592566915383186" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiidmNpzOo7MWj64EnmRSdM4LJbAVOOpOtXxS7ZKt81sx5di9kl3K1j9G3uOlzhbKhxsaovNAZDWPlqzyJFotzzPAj0XER-1D5Mt4mmxcEW-a9But2BgUeRig7jfqZMdWb8Lc8Hg3hbzWbc/s320/hamster.jpg" /></a>A little over a month ago, I started noticing my five year old, Shane, closing the porch door. At first, I thought he was responding to months of winter nagging in hopes of keeping the house warm. I then moved to the idea that he might be getting amusement out of locking the cats in there as they tend to do something they shouldn’t do and Shane has realized statements involving the word “poop” are intrinsically funny. During a night of scary Doctor Who, I decided to ask him why he was about to shut the door. He pointed to a corner of the porch. There they were, on top of a bookshelf. “The hamsters?” I asked. “Uh-huh,” said Shane, not wanting to look at them any longer than they had to. A trio of singing hamsters which were part of a novelty craze about a decade ago. These foot-tall vertical rodents would dance and sing “chipmunk-style” to a popular tune. They were also costumed to fit the song. The Tom Jones hamster has the big early 70’s afro as he gyrates to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ekOib1BGKec">“It’s Not Unusual.” </a>The Brady Bunch hamster has the big early 70’s Greg Brady/Barry Williams afro as it sings the theme to its TV show namesake (why they didn’t choose “It’s a Sunshine Day” is a mystery). The <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mX6DQxK4rbA">“Kung Fu Fighting” hamster </a>is unfortunately not dressed like Carl Douglas but like the original Karate Kid – except there’s a nunchuck in place of a hand. Admittedly, the last hamster is creepy but the others epitomize the good, clean fun of the 1970’s. What’s wrong with that?<br /><br />As a parent and horror aficionado, I could sympathize with Shane’s fear. I used to live in a house next to a small forest where a windy night could cause me to watch the clock until I was no longer capable. I often hid underneath covers to protect myself against all the undefinable noises which bashed against my bedroom window. To my best recollection, I never had a good night’s sleep until I moved. No parent wants their child to be scared - except for strangers, moving vehicles, academic failure and the government. Parents want to protect their children from everything and anything, be it real or imaginary. To a certain extent, the real stuff is easier. You can explain it, be the comforting hero and hug your little one to make it better. The unreal stuff, that’s a bit tougher. The fear may not be real to you but it is as real to them as the sun. Dismissing it risks a loss of faith in you, acknowledging it risks perpetuating it into therapy. There is no correct choice, only a decision based on how we view ourselves and reality itself.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiyzHSoojLlbT9X9nXmAUVKWzE39OhynGmNvPzqiJaVKNPxPlCrt0c-O7bgUppAGLb9lgBXO8M1gTnsPFrK7mkpeg_jKYiR8chpDiUdKwDel1MkOvgZFns4lKmZBqJs4KuF11Ujm07nKQO/s1600/dean_martin_doll.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 142px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503592885536512946" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiyzHSoojLlbT9X9nXmAUVKWzE39OhynGmNvPzqiJaVKNPxPlCrt0c-O7bgUppAGLb9lgBXO8M1gTnsPFrK7mkpeg_jKYiR8chpDiUdKwDel1MkOvgZFns4lKmZBqJs4KuF11Ujm07nKQO/s320/dean_martin_doll.jpg" /></a>I chose to grab a grocery bag and imprison the singing hamsters in a forcefield lying deep in an upstairs closet. As I locked the hamsters into the negative zone, I knew wouldn’t always be able to take away my children’s fears but I resolved to do it as long as I possibly could. Throughout our lives, we will be forced to deal with fears and struggles which will not go away. They keep us up, clench our stomachs and question our beliefs. Children shouldn’t have to do this. Although pain and sadness is inevitable, it is how we handle it which will in turn mold their reactions as well. When my son wants to be everybody’s friend, saying “Hi” to everyone on the street, I feel blessed to have a child with such a giving heart. Eventually, this precious heart will get hurt, and I will do my best to take that hurt away. I will not always be able to help, but I’ll do my best to try.<br /><br />When the time comes that Daddy can’t imprison the evil, singing hamsters of life and the fears of the imagination become the fears of reality, the one thing I can still do is not destroy the belief that I love him. Whether my children will always believe it or not, I have been and always will be their friend. There are always scary forests and hamsters lurking for each and every one of us. Our choice as adults, even in the face of fears and doubts which are far too real, is to protect and love our children to the greatest extent possible. Children are a gift from God. Our problems should never become theirs. We may not be able to sustain their faith, but in no form should we ever try to break it. To do so would resemble dropping a rock into a pond and watching it shatter.<br /><br />The banishment of the hamsters didn’t work. Shane still closes the porch door. He doesn’t want to elaborate on the whys and wherefores. Whatever it is, it’s still there. He still climbs in our bed and sleeps well, making it something not defeated but postponed. Shane woke up today with a smile on his face and a desire to cuddle with Daddy. We shared giggles and warmth on a June morning. My three year old, Romana, had been up far too early and wanted to pounce on her own adventure of camping, castles and monsters (Shane is usually the monster). For this one day, I protected him from the Romanamonster. As we laughed into each others eyes, I knew the day will come when the hugs, cuddling and protecting will end. The smile, the love, the pieces of the soul which last forever, I hold to myself like a diamond. </div></div>Adam Koeppehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00719500219198312201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261935655974994089.post-82475981494519681092010-05-27T16:14:00.000-07:002010-05-27T16:25:30.534-07:00Lindsay Lohan: The Future of American Politics<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZb75Qa1Zz2P9bPkNZF-bKMK4zOi9xZL24_zB-TXg7cEHy4HZXR6K-O7xama90Pwu-LHqWFYDt6gvo0dJBcqOWY2ZCrezTVOm2Dp55qBuxXaPudCVZd2Wj_QYqDSafCpDeX-B0f5AhuOSg/s1600/lindsay_lohan.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 232px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476093674580692322" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZb75Qa1Zz2P9bPkNZF-bKMK4zOi9xZL24_zB-TXg7cEHy4HZXR6K-O7xama90Pwu-LHqWFYDt6gvo0dJBcqOWY2ZCrezTVOm2Dp55qBuxXaPudCVZd2Wj_QYqDSafCpDeX-B0f5AhuOSg/s320/lindsay_lohan.jpg" /></a>On Monday, May 25, Lindsay Lohan returned to court for missing some dumb probation hearing because she was too wasted to know what day, month or year it was – or so the news analysts would have you believe. Two respected bastions of journalistic integrity, CNN and MSNBC preempted coverage of the BP Gulf oil spill and capitol hill corruption to carry Lindsay’s court appearance live followed by several pundits showing their four years pursuing a mass com degree was spent attempting to be as much like Ms Lohan as possible. To Lindsay’s credit, she put on best performance of her young career, appearing dressed-down, disinterested and slightly confused. Was she being herself (as the geniuses who spend most of their time talking politics poorly think) or just being who the public perceives her to be: a good girl gone bad. However, in just twenty minutes, Lindsay Lohan managed to regain her rightful spot as headliner of the 24 – hour news channels. Thank God!<br /><br />Two years ago, the big three cable news outlets, CNN, FOX and MSNBC abandoned their nonstop coverage of the trials and tribulations of celebrity screw-ups Paris Hilton, Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan in favor of covering political screw-ups Barack Obama, John McCain, Hillary Clinton, Joe Biden and Sarah Palin. Many people (yours truly included) hailed this switch as a step forward for news coverage. Those who for years were howling “That’s not news!” finally saw their wish granted. News should be about serious politics, they argued, not distractions coming from the land of Hollywierd. After two years of Capital Hill hyjinks, I can’t for the life of me decide which is worse.<br /><br />On the surface, it is easy to label the uber-wealthy inhabitants of Hollywood as spoiled, over-paid and under-talented. They epitomize a culture of decadence, self-entitlement with a splash of superficial social awareness. After two years of continuous news coverage it is also easy to label the uber-wealthy inhabitants of Washington D.C. as spoiled, over-paid and under-talented. The career politicians also epitomize a culture of decadence, self-entitlement with a splash of superficial social awareness. There is really no difference between the two cultures except the Hollywood folks get to wear better clothes. I’m willing to wager Britney Spears cares just as much about the environment as House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, if not more so. Paris Hilton empathizes with the average American as much as Sarah Palin does – except that Ms. Hilton might attend the average fundraiser once or twice a year. Ms. Palin, however, never attended a fundraiser where the primary beneficiary was not herself. As for the aloof, disinterested Lindsay Lohan – she might as well be the damn President.<br /><br /><br />The cable news networks’ political coverage (whether they admit it or not) has exposed the American political system as nothing but a bunch of untalented actors desperate to do whatever they can to stay on stage. One could replace Gloria Swanson with Senator John McCain in “Sunset Boulevard” and it would still be the same film. It could also be proposed that Roger Ebert and the late Gene Siskel would be better pundits than ninety percent of the talking heads babbling on TV right now. American politics, like many Hollywood blockbusters, is all about how bombastic you can be and how many special effects you can pile on before the audience realizes they are watching a gigantic, over-expensive mess.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj41CgMEO7lNlELFhLORdcE0W54cqpGuDVn8-Tst8oSRw9j1Q14iKJutu8OCfe4vRdRgEZBMLLgmdEPmAKwU603mAM8JgGiGIP_7_Jgx7qkoCXa7XTuDl3HK2knwdwC-wci0OuOGty_fsfy/s1600/LindsayLohan2.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476093893334413490" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj41CgMEO7lNlELFhLORdcE0W54cqpGuDVn8-Tst8oSRw9j1Q14iKJutu8OCfe4vRdRgEZBMLLgmdEPmAKwU603mAM8JgGiGIP_7_Jgx7qkoCXa7XTuDl3HK2knwdwC-wci0OuOGty_fsfy/s320/LindsayLohan2.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Submitted for your approval, a United States government ran by Paris Hilton, Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan. Except for the obvious fact that they are better looking than the hottest member of Congress (is there even such a being?), how could our country do any worse than the system we have now? The majority of Americans clearly despises the individuals in charge, why not elect people that the public has the foreknowledge they are universally clueless? It’s kinda better if you think about it. A pre-emptive electoral strike, if you will. Take my choice for President of the United States of America, Lindsay Lohan. Initial ability squandered prematurely: check. A string of mishandled public appearances: check. Addictions admitted and rehab attended: check. Refusal to talk to the press unless a laundry list of stipulations are met: check. Everyone who has hired you wants to fire you before you can do your job: check. With this extensive vetting completed, it seems the only logical choice for leader of the free world is the star of remakes of “Freaky Friday” and “The Love Bug.”<br /><br />I’m glad Lindsay Lohan’s back. Even on her worse day, she’s tanner than John Boehner and ten times as charismatic as Eric Cantor. She needs to get back in court as soon as possible to deliver another fantastic performance. She’s found her voice. The worst is behind her. The American public is ready for a new direction, an individual who understands issues the readers of People magazine care about. Unlike those career politicians the “lamestream” media supports, Lindsay Lohan represents what all Americans aspire and wish to become. She is on TV. She wants to be somebody. She has flaws and doesn’t care who judges her. Let’s show our support for her. Let’s take our country back. Let’s vote for Lindsay! Let Lindsay win!Adam Koeppehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00719500219198312201noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261935655974994089.post-32271848938251899102010-05-08T18:54:00.000-07:002010-05-08T19:12:19.260-07:00This Joke Isn't Funny Anymore!<div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhquPBHPcXpzg05dGOO6DlC8G4T4xmqAHXZOLGTOzJgCCMl3OLSCLCye-HEKJ-7DOVlwKVT1llx65VTWBZMme7X-NrbLpOxckYm7rojkJd2U6Fk0LlaoMlD5MOKEf_wRFE3RUI2VLeB7jiB/s1600/Bill+the+Cat+Jon+Stewart.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469083395175650178" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 162px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhquPBHPcXpzg05dGOO6DlC8G4T4xmqAHXZOLGTOzJgCCMl3OLSCLCye-HEKJ-7DOVlwKVT1llx65VTWBZMme7X-NrbLpOxckYm7rojkJd2U6Fk0LlaoMlD5MOKEf_wRFE3RUI2VLeB7jiB/s320/Bill+the+Cat+Jon+Stewart.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>Congresswoman: Well, Mr. Dallas... we've heard your smut masquerading as songs... and we've heard how teen prostitution pregnancy, drug use, cults, runaways, suicide and poor hygiene are sweeping this nation. We thought you might like to share with the committee any particular causes you might see for those latter problems...<br /><br />Steve Dallas: I dunno. Maybe the proliferation of narrow, suffocating zealotry masquerading as parenting in this country.<br /><br />-From Bloom County<br /><br /><br />My initial seduction into the world of politics came through <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bloom_County">Bloom County</a>. Created by Berkeley Breathed, the daily comic strip lambasted the Reagan and Bush era from 1980 to 1989. Unlike Garry Trudeau’s dry, New Yorker-esque Doonesbury, Bloom County was blatantly immature and juvenile, referencing conservative figures like Edwin Meese and Casper Weinberger during plotlines involving Opus the penguin and Bill the Cat. Breathed mocked the conservative eighties in a way that made one realize how moronic the government as a whole really was. </div><br /><br /><div></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIAya0wDFjPjPHwSpSZiL5f24_yjClDLXbjvgofgLFiv7HJta9PNqlIxqfWYlmBy9zXrU0PD095LttjDz9aC7hY8zGzMsqmzyWgVfp6SMF5Esoxd04EPEAgf3A-EyaHs8HGXlz2uoLZBzI/s1600/SteveDallas2Jpg.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469085049312437970" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 132px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 106px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIAya0wDFjPjPHwSpSZiL5f24_yjClDLXbjvgofgLFiv7HJta9PNqlIxqfWYlmBy9zXrU0PD095LttjDz9aC7hY8zGzMsqmzyWgVfp6SMF5Esoxd04EPEAgf3A-EyaHs8HGXlz2uoLZBzI/s320/SteveDallas2Jpg.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><br /><br /></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>The first storyline I remember was one of Bloom County’s most popular, the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ubgwVwK0SPg&feature=related">“Billy and the Boingers”</a> saga in which part-time lawyer, full-time womanizing cad Steve Dallas decided the easiest path to fame and fortune was by managing a hair band featuring Opus, Bill and Hodgepodge the rabbit. Satirizing both the heavy metal genre and the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Parents_Music_Resource_Center">PMRC hearings </a>which dogged it, Breathed’s over the top style made comedic mincemeat out of all subjects involved. During the course of the 1980’s, the Bloom County universe would see <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bill_the_Cat">Bill the Cat </a>run for president twice, spy for the Russians, start a fundamentalist sect (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bill_the_Cat">Fundamentally Oral Bill</a>) and have Donald Trump’s brain implanted in his head. Throughout these shenanigans, Breathed never lost sight of Bill’s initial premise: a blatant Garfield rip-off devoid of any personality or likeability, except that of a chain-smoking drug addict. Naturally, Bill the Cat became one of the strip’s most popular characters, even being sold as a stuffed toy with warnings it would fall apart if the buyer even touched it. </div><br /><div></div><div>I followed Bloom County avidly until its end in August 1989. Much like his contemporary, Calvin and Hobbes’ Bill Waterson, Berkeley Breathed chose to end his strip before it fell into self-parody. Without Bloom County, I never would have become interested in politics, especially the buffoonery and corruptness contained therein. Throughout the 1990’s, it seemed that type of biting political humor was missing in America, despite several brilliant Saturday Night Live sketches. The day to day savaging of capital hill was missing until 1996, when Lizz Winstead’s “The Daily Show” premiered on Comedy Central. Initially hosted by Craig Kilborn and ultimately taken to national prominence by Jon Stewart, The Daily Show lampooned national politics and the cable media’s coverage of whatever they believed was news.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYqVRXzvLfYlOf9tMZQoGRxnPixgKNJ6BnvGTh7a755BOqyBvdxap0DaLv0RAexk__bk5xCqIWl9_KP_ulQn4QDvgNXkv-R5fZggKjJCIM-9ossX_5OYrujlXgHJtm1Y79VMRZcMRnFUu_/s1600/gene+simmons.gif"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469085799137024530" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 223px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYqVRXzvLfYlOf9tMZQoGRxnPixgKNJ6BnvGTh7a755BOqyBvdxap0DaLv0RAexk__bk5xCqIWl9_KP_ulQn4QDvgNXkv-R5fZggKjJCIM-9ossX_5OYrujlXgHJtm1Y79VMRZcMRnFUu_/s320/gene+simmons.gif" border="0" /></a></div><div> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYqVRXzvLfYlOf9tMZQoGRxnPixgKNJ6BnvGTh7a755BOqyBvdxap0DaLv0RAexk__bk5xCqIWl9_KP_ulQn4QDvgNXkv-R5fZggKjJCIM-9ossX_5OYrujlXgHJtm1Y79VMRZcMRnFUu_/s1600/gene+simmons.gif"></a> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYqVRXzvLfYlOf9tMZQoGRxnPixgKNJ6BnvGTh7a755BOqyBvdxap0DaLv0RAexk__bk5xCqIWl9_KP_ulQn4QDvgNXkv-R5fZggKjJCIM-9ossX_5OYrujlXgHJtm1Y79VMRZcMRnFUu_/s1600/gene+simmons.gif"></a> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYqVRXzvLfYlOf9tMZQoGRxnPixgKNJ6BnvGTh7a755BOqyBvdxap0DaLv0RAexk__bk5xCqIWl9_KP_ulQn4QDvgNXkv-R5fZggKjJCIM-9ossX_5OYrujlXgHJtm1Y79VMRZcMRnFUu_/s1600/gene+simmons.gif"></a> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>For those with a short memory, much of cable news consisted of nonstop coverage of trials and the continual exploits of Paris Hilton, Britney Spears, Lindsey Lohan and Michael Jackson. The Daily Show, along with select other pontificating pundits, would point out this fallacy of news. Celebrity news coverage began to dissipate with the debacle that was 2005’s Hurricane Katrina, with Stewart continually savaging the George W. Bush’s administration’s inept response along with cable media’s inept reporting. Stewart was always quick to point out that there were two wars going on as well, something cable news has done their best to ignore. However, it wasn’t until 2008’s presidential election coverage that celebrity stupidity was put on the back on the shelf. Stewart and his Daily Show staff now focused completely on political coverage and there was much funny to be had that fall, particularly at the expense of the Republican ticket of John McCain and Sarah Palin.<br /><br />During this period, the Daily Show garnered more attention and viewers than it ever had. Cable news began to notice this and began to feature more sarcastic pundits as opposed to hard analysts. Many of these new contributors had questionable credentials besides being young and photogenic. It seemed anyone could be labeled as a Republican or Democratic analyst as long as they possessed a sarcastic mouth and a pretty face. Ironically, this shift resulted in more credibility for Stewart, Steven Colbert, Samantha Bee and the rest of their staff. After all, at least they were consistent. As 2008 ended, the Daily Show had a big cry as their biggest punching bag, the Bush Administration, would no longer be there to kick around. In half-hearted seriousness, they questioned their ability to be funny in the Barack Obama era.<br /><br />As Obama assumed the Presidency in 2009, cable news realized they could keep, if not gain, viewership by continuous political coverage. The Daily Show (and to a lesser extent, The Colbert Report)’s staff took advantage of the news anchors and pundits who were obviously more comfortable covering celebrities. There was a reason CNN covered the death of Michael Jackson for two months: it gave them a bigger audience. 2009 and 2010 have seen Jon Stewart not only rip on politicians, but on many of cable media’s staff. Never was this more evident than Stewart’s savage destruction of CNBC’s Jim Cramer, who was forced to defend his “Mad Money” show after defending the solubility of Bear Stearns just days before it collapsed. After this interview, Stewart’s daily insults of politicians and news media became news itself, especially of internet sites The Huffington Post and The Daily Beast. Despite Stewart’s mockery of this aggregated coverage (usually Stewart lays into this or savages that), something started to disappear from the comedy which has garnered so many Emmys.<br /><br />Currently, The Daily Show spends much of its time still making fun of cable news anchors and their guests. With the exception of Fox News, most of these shows average one million viewers or less. One wonders what the point is in spending ten minutes insulting the likes of CNN’s John Roberts and Rick Sanchez or MSNBC’s Contessa Brewer. It seems Stewart and his staff wants another Jim Cramer: someone they can insult and then get to appear on the show. The problem is that these talking heads are just following talking points given to them from their producers. Cramer had his own show and his own brand that marketed itself as sound financial advice. Cable news anchors don’t market anything except a pretty face and a four-year degree. Why invest the time in insulting people who don’t claim to be experts at anything?<br /><br /><br />For a while, The Daily Show attempted to show an even hand in the Obama era. Nevertheless, as 2009 wore on, there were much easier targets such as Fox News and the Republican Party in general. As Fox News ramped up their opposition to the Obama administration, their ratings increased with the rhetoric. The more one-sided the network became, the higher the audience became. For the last six months or so, The Daily Show has gained most of its material from Fox News and the Republicans who appear on it (thank you Sarah Palin and Michele Bachmann). As funny as Jon Stewart’s zingers may be, his continual assault on Fox is starting to resemble a broken record. If one were to judge popularity based on insults, Fox and Friends must be bigger than American Idol. Yet the Daily Show had yet to find another “Jim Cramer moment” until last week when Stewart went on a tirade against O’Reilly Factor pundit Bernard Goldberg, resulting in the now famous line: “Fox News – go f**k yourselves.” Much to the joy of The Daily Show staff, Goldberg chose to respond, which has resulted in several more attempts at the first profanic response. This also gave The Daily Show even more internet aggregation that they supposedly mock. But one wonders with such blatant insults laid on the table, where do you go from here?<br /><br />The opening strip in the first Bloom County anthology, “Loose Tails”, ended with student Milo Bloom exclaiming “REAGAN SUCKS!” This was a joke within a joke, meaning political comedy should never be either so dry as to be only understood by those with a stuffy New England masters degree like Doonesbury nor be so mindless as to be understood by those who love profanity for profanity’s sake. In entering a profane discourse with Fox News, The Daily Show has shown they would rather appear constantly on the home page of the Huffington Post than engage in comedic politics. Constantly swearing at Fox News does not help the viewer in seeing the funny side, but rather how dirty everything that calls itself politics has become. Berkeley Breathed chose to end Bloom County before it became what he despised: a cultural institution. By choosing to become a profanity-laced counter to the right wing culture, The Daily Show is no longer an alternative to the mainstream news, but a willing participant. Like tennis players in an unending match, the ball will be hit back and forth until the monotony forces the audience to change the channel. For me, it is back to that never-ending joy of the internet. I’ve yet to get that stuffed Bill the Cat. When I do, I’ll have Bill under my arm by the couch and tune in to The Daily Show. As Jon Stewart engages one of his wide-mouthed laughs, I’ll point him to the screen and shout: OOP ACK! </div></div></div>Adam Koeppehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00719500219198312201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261935655974994089.post-87067709181289712532010-04-08T20:34:00.000-07:002010-04-08T20:40:17.501-07:00Thoughts From a Part-Time Insomniac<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRJy7VDkGHFOPHv6EZ_AQcktwIKUe205ez5tyweWnIxyihKSe0v1NkdYcWXz1QQcEQ1kIoffXCTdyPR-KITbOM8MnaXjrxzy4aM_WIE7BoBZL3GcwV_AAOSFGoQCIf29ubd54US13d_2X4/s1600/EyeCloseup2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457977353431361426" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRJy7VDkGHFOPHv6EZ_AQcktwIKUe205ez5tyweWnIxyihKSe0v1NkdYcWXz1QQcEQ1kIoffXCTdyPR-KITbOM8MnaXjrxzy4aM_WIE7BoBZL3GcwV_AAOSFGoQCIf29ubd54US13d_2X4/s320/EyeCloseup2.jpg" border="0" /></a> There are few lights at two-thirty in the morning. From my bed, I see shines from streetlights covered up by the window shade trying to breathe the dim-lit fight against the dark. Mostly I see the light flowing from the right diagonal corner of the living room. A monkey at the base with no shade to cover, it points into my eyes when I can’t sleep. The monkey-light is the first I see as I crack my back trying to find a comfortable spot on the bed. As I move around, not awake but far enough from sleep, my eyes focus on the dimly lit dining room light. Somehow, the ancient chandelier finds more effort in the night than in musters during dinnertime. Between the monkey light and the glass candelabra lies enough lumination to keep a man’s eyes open.<br /><br />There’s never enough room as I stretch my legs and find my eyes looking through the bedroom corridor. A little boy lies at my feet; a little girl curled up upside-down in the center, a cat in an open corner and my wife far away enough that I can’t put my arm around her or lay my head upon her chest. I know she’s there as I hear her snore. Sometimes that is enough. I crunch my head against a pillow or four and look out into the light. The records nailed to the dining room wall provide a little night music. “Chewy Chewy” by the Ohio Express, “New Juke Box Hits” by Chuck Berry and “Doctorin’ the TARDIS” by the Time Lords. Their songs don’t play for me as much as remind me of where I was and where I am now. An album is a collection of songs. The bed is a collection of people. As I spin around trying to crack my back into the spot which will provide slumber, it’s hard not to notice the past nailed to the wall contrasted with the future asleep on the bed.<br /><br />The monkey-light illuminates a picture of the late Bob Clampett and his animated subjects Bugs Bunny, Porky Pig, Beany and Cecil and the enigmatic Do-Do. A monument to years of Saturday morning cartoons with nothing to do but stare at the TV after breakfast. It didn’t end there. Before the bus would pick me up on school days, there was a 6 AM wake-up of Looney Tunes followed by Deputy Dowg. The picture is a frame of my past, of a time when joy was just a click away and alarm clocks weren’t necessary. It was fun just getting up for the adventure.<br /><br />On the adjacent wall shined by the monkey-light is a poster for the film “Swingers.” Vince Vaughn, young and cocky, toasts the joy of being on your own, in your twenties, careless and not generally giving a damn. It is my wife’s poster but it might as well be mine. In terms of thought, we were both there. The party is awesome, sexy and glamorous. We wanted to be there in the clubs, in the thick of the crowd. To dance and jump without a care and babble about whatsonothings with a friend or someone you don’t even know. The joy was in the adventure. To find someone who toasts your drink and dances beside you. The adventure is fun but it’s a lot like the Temple of Doom. It’s a great ride but in the end, you just want to get off.<br /><br />As I try to find a place for myself in a bed filled with people and a cat, I saw myself in those pictures. Why should I be so eager to get to sleep and get out of this? Is there any reason I should get up, turn on the TV and watch the Fugitive for the thirtieth time? Is there anything to gain from sitting up and becoming frustrated at the lack of sleep? I look around my small part of the bed and I realized all the calm I needed was already there. Getting up to replenish a sippy-cup or grabbing the extra blanket isn’t as fun as a cocktail or a cartoon but it is far more fulfilling. There’s only so much time we have in the world. I found it best to enjoy the adventure, even if the mission just requires finding a lost teddy bear.<br /><br />The crowded bed only lasts so long. Time will pass and the passengers will ride to their own destination. The cuddling little boy and girl might make that choice or the decision could be made for them. Either way, the time is fleeting. As I get kicked awake and take a sip of a super-sugary juice, I’m always aware it could be the last. The last kick in the middle of the night, the last sippy-cup, the last nightmare needing a hug. Eventually, the crowd of five will shrink. My son will drift off into a room filled with Legos, games and the dreams a young boy has. My daughter will take her plastic cooking and laughter into a room of her own. The cat? Who knows where he will choose to lay his lazy head. The bed of five will soon become two. The two left, still holding on to each other and all they have been through, will eventually be one. Such is the way of things, the circle of life, the universe and whatnot.<br /><br />As I lay awake, I don’t question insomnia for one second. It’s a blessing to see the light throughout the night. I get kicked in the middle of a dream by a child just wanting to know I’m there. I think about a glass of water and the bathroom enough to get up and make it so. When I make my way back, they’ve taken my spot. It would be easy to shore up on the couch and surf through AMC movies and reruns of “Roseanne.” I could fall into the bed in the kids’ room but I’m reminded it is still empty. So I hop over toys with my feet and jump into a bed with no room. Everyone is there. I scrunch up into the corner. I lay on my back even though I never sleep that way. I stretch my arm to feel my wife. She’s there, hugging into the circle, that’s all that matters. At the middle of our feet is a little boy, between us is a little girl. They want our love. Between us, we’ll give all we can.<br /><br />I guess there comes a time where we have to separate this utopia. As I clench my back and pull a blanket up, I ask myself why does this happen? Why do we force our children into a bedroom of loneliness? It has occurred to me that when I was as a child, my times spent lonely in a room were filled with thoughts of wanting someone special to share it with. Granted, my room was next to trees that scratched against the windows and flashed their menace during a thunderstorm. But when my daughter gets scared of the unknown noises and cries for a hug, who am I to deny her? Who am I to deny me of being scared for her? As we grow up, we find our own way. There’s no need to force it, it just sort of happens. She’ll go up into her room filled with pixie dust and neon magic. My son will wage battle in a fort of Legos, swords and knights without the need of his father to protect him. These adventures are going to happen. They don’t need to start now, this second. You guys are still here as I toss and turn. I still have one more night with my babies.<br /><br />I crack my back and stare into the living room light again. It shines on a room that is part me, my wife and my kids. Bugs Bunny, Vince Vaughn, Little People, castles and princesses. I’m happy to be here, in the middle of the night. I want to be awake the next night just to see it all again. I wiggle myself to the side of the bed facing the wall. I draw a door with a smiley face with my index finger, put my head on a warm pillow, close my eyes to the heavens and I’m gone.Adam Koeppehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00719500219198312201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261935655974994089.post-74809400537640544312010-03-07T00:07:00.000-08:002010-03-07T00:23:56.423-08:00Do You Remember Rock and Roll Radio?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1XOIi0EoFvrm5wXM57GYanTZCrEDfa84Oibh6Pcu8NeeKVcoYSp5_ElGcC5h6otLsncoPWL-eGFfS0-fFhO_c4sIyW28nAys9YsWnCugSjfHYH82ktaAXo2hxWA_2E0hkrItFRVh8i__Y/s1600-h/boom-box-lincoln.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445802006283524290" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 277px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1XOIi0EoFvrm5wXM57GYanTZCrEDfa84Oibh6Pcu8NeeKVcoYSp5_ElGcC5h6otLsncoPWL-eGFfS0-fFhO_c4sIyW28nAys9YsWnCugSjfHYH82ktaAXo2hxWA_2E0hkrItFRVh8i__Y/s320/boom-box-lincoln.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=owmrpWyTdxQ">“It’s been a long time since I rock and rolled.” - Led Zeppelin<br /></a><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=52PPm1fozqU">“I’m in love…with that song.” - The Replacements </a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9OikDzoQ2q0">In the grand scheme of all things rock and roll, it isn’t the recollection of the first time you hear a great song that sticks with you, rather the memories seem to lie in the instances when a particular song hits you in the gut.</a> Sometimes the experience is a first-round knockout: a tune heard which instantly is recognized as a classic of its form. For me, the song I’ve heard this year that have fallen under that category are “Daddy’s Gone” by Glasvegas and<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bOBb13yDnzo"> “The ’59 Sound” by the Gaslight Anthem.</a> I have to go back to 2007’s “Stuck Between Stations” and<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bzB3907lPSg"> “Massive Nights” by the Hold Steady </a>to find similar occurrences. Going back farther, it’s harder find other music made this decade which gets the heart pumping from the first note onwards. This is not to say there hasn’t been great rock and roll this decade, but for a good chunk of the 2000’s it was pretty hard to find. The 2000’s have been a transitional period for music, where the influences of old mediums like FM radio and MTV have become an afterthought. Much of the decade has seen the evolution from these almost extinct forms of influence to new, user-friendly ones such as streaming radio stations such as NME Radio and Pandora. MTV and FUSE have been replaced by YouTube, Facebook and MySpace as the primary means of releasing music videos. The advent of high-speed internet in the 21st Century has allowed music fans to hear more artists in a year than were ever played on Casey Kasem’s American Top Forty. But we have lost something intrinsic to rock and roll in gaining such freedom. Music has lost its communal influence; its ability to reach millions of listeners just by turning a little left of the dial.<br /><br />Most people don’t remember the first time they heard <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iMlzfpwJZuc">Don MacLean’s epic salute to the history of rock and roll, “American Pie,”</a> but there are many who can remember being around a group of good friends, cruising the streets of their hometown on a direct destination to nowhere and attempting to sing all the lyrics. It was rare all MacLean’s words would be recalled accurately, but trying to remember the verses was just a happy excuse to get to the chorus and the final big shout-out:<br /><br />“Bye, Bye, Miss American Pie<br />Drove my Chevy to the levy but the levy was dry<br />Them good old boys were drinking whiskey and rye<br />And singing this will be the day that I die.”<br /><br />It wasn’t just the classic song that made this experience so memorable to so many. It was the spontaneity of hearing the song on the radio that caused such unrepentant joy. One could usually hear “American Pie” sometime after 9 P.M. wherever you were on a Friday or Saturday. If one cues it up on CD or an MP3 player, the element of surprise and elation is taken away. You know it’s coming like a karaoke song at a bar. It’s just not the same.<br /><br />The role of a DJ was to know their audience and try to give them the best musical experience they could, combining old favorites, new hits, a few obscure ditties plus a dash of listener requests. They made concerts in their mind, understanding just when to bring the tempo down to a slow song like Ben E. King’s “Stand By Me” and when to raise it up with Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels’ “Devil With a Blue Dress On.” George Lucas captured the old-school experience in his classic film “American Graffiti” with its unprecedented use of music to frame a film but also the incorporation of the mythic DJ, Wolfman Jack. Richard Linkletter expanded Lucas’ concept in his film “Dazed and Confused,” which celebrated mid-70’s rock in the same fashion Lucas did for 1950’s rock and roll. Linkletter used the influence of MTV to make some of “Dazed and Confused’s” scenes resemble music videos. Both films encompassed what it was like to be young or young at heart. The primary difference between the aforementioned films and films such as “Saturday Night Fever” is the song selection was used in hindsight, not in the presence of the moment. A good DJ doesn’t play “top forty.” They play to an audience like a rock star.<br /><br />Understanding the mood of the listener is very similar to a rock band when they perform live. There was a depth of knowledge, mood and setting DJ’s possessed which rivals that of classical music conductors. Anyone who grew up listening to radio in the late 1980’s couldn’t escape Guns N’ Roses” classic hit “Sweet Child O’ Mine.” The challenge posed to the DJ was when to play it. How long do you wait, how many requests do you put up with before you acquiesce? A great DJ knows just how long to pull that string before they release it. At the height of a song’s peak, a DJ could cause an avalanche on the dance floor, a house party or a crammed 1977 Monte Carlo. They held your emotions and your night in their hands. Song selection could get you into that first awkward dance at high school, high-fives and shouts with your best buds or make you feel alone in a crowd of hundreds. These people performed concerts without a band, all they had was an innate feeling of music.<br /><br />A DJ could play “Beth” by KISS and somehow you thought they played it for you and your friends, sitting in a garage lamenting various romantic entanglements. They could play “You Shook Me All Night Long” by AC/DC and bring forth dancing libation in a crowded basement. Whatever the song would be, the result would be a forthcoming of emotion. A spin of “I Think I Love You” by the Partridge Family would result in a gigantic circle of revelry, smiles and dancing. These moments brought people together, generated smiles, goodwill and fellowship. It didn’t matter if anyone could actually sing or even knew the words. What was important was absorbing yourself into the moment, the happy bliss of friends and the knowledge they felt the same thing at the same time. At its peak rock and roll could make friends from strangers, love from infatuation and marriage from courtship. Music could conquer anything for a moment or a minute. It takes a human soul to transform it into real emotion. Rock and roll was the drug. The DJ was the dealer.<br /><br />It is hard to pinpoint an exact moment when the influence of the DJ began to wane although in most certainly happened in the 1990’s. In the late 80’s four genres began to permeate the listening public in a way that confounded the conventional wisdom of most industry insiders. Both were gaining steady followings throughout the decade but mainstream airplay eluded the majority of the artists. The alternative/modern rock/punk/grunge/whatever genre had rabid followings in college and urban areas. Artists such as the Cure, Husker Du and the Replacements released great record after great record during this period, gaining much critical praise but little in success in terms of airplay or sales. Speed metal or “thrash” bands Metallica, Anthrax and Slayer began to draw massive crowds due to phenomenal musicianship and fan rapport. Country music artists George Strait, Randy Travis and Reba MacEntyre began to see their audience expand by incorporating a pop music feel to many of their songs. Run-DMC saw unexpected chart success with a novelty mash-up of Aerosmith’s “Walk This Way.”<br /><br />“Hair bands” such as Motley Crue achieved massive chart success with party anthems like “Girls Girls Girls” and power-ballads such as the top ten hit “Home Sweet Home.” The full-lengths albums, however, left much to be desired in terms of overall quality. It was quite common for many people to fast forward or rewind the cassettes of the Crue, Poison and their peers to play the two or three listenable songs. This procedure resulted in the infamous “tape explosions” where the tape would become loose as the rewind, fast forward and play buttons were beat on like arcade games. This malfunction was not too detrimental if it occurred in a boom box or home stereo but when a cassette tape exploded in a car stereo, a mess ensued that not only took hours to remove but also severely damaged the cassette tape. Digging a tape out of a car stereo tended to take the fun out of an evening of anticipated fun to say the least. This continual source of frustration combined with sub-standard album quality slowly resulted in music fans looking elsewhere for their rock and roll.<br /><br />The “hair bands” and other major pop stars of the eighties such as Michael Jackson and Bruce Springsteen began to take more time between album releases, resulting in six-plus singles from two-year old records. The DJ’s were told to play each and every release, along with the older singles. This philosophy resulted in audio overkill. People became sick of hearing the same artists and the same videos played continually for years. This concept of “milking the record” began to interfere with a radio station’s attempt to break new artists. Slowly, music fans began to turn the dial a little to the left in search of something new. In that process, they found stations playing music which was new and exciting. Metallica rocked harder and faster than Motley Crue. REM was more thoughtful and retrospective than Springsteen. Alabama made better dance songs than the “King of Pop.” As these artists began to become more renown to a larger audience, mainstream radio retreated into the comfort of “safe” artists such as Vanilla Ice, Warrant and Paula Abdul. The radio spectrum was about to splinter, all it needed was another brick from the wall.<br /><br />“1989 – the number – another summer. Sound of the funky drummer.” These words brought forth Public Enemy. Their song “Fight the Power,” used in the classic Spike Lee film “Do the Right Thing” began to gain airplay on MTV. One of the greatest protest songs ever written, “Fight the Power” capitalized on urban disaffection. “Now, the world is gone, I’m just one. Oh, God help me,” the final verse on Metallica’s epic anthem of disaffection, “One” resulted in the band’s first commercial hit without compromising any of their speed-metal credentials. “Stand in the place that you live. Now face west. Think about direction – wonder why you haven’t now” was REM’s version of a dance song. At the same time, the “new” sound of country music had taken hold, driving such stalwarts such as Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson and Kenny Rogers into radio oblivion. In their place was a music that sounded kinda country, kinda rock and a lot like the Eagles and Poco. Leading the charge was Garth Brooks, an unabashed showman whose concerts resembled heavy metal bombast more than a Saturday night at the Grand Ole Opry. When these diverse acts began to take hold on the radio and in record stores, the synth-based pop of the eighties went from life support to dead air. This ascension was culminated three years later, when Brooks, REM, and newcomers Nirvana all had number one albums. In a few more years, rap and hip-hop records would also become top ten mainstays. The invention of Soundscan, a computer program which gave actual sales results as opposed to estimates, was a major factor in this culture shift. A change was overdue to come and most likely would have occurred without Soundscan. However, technological advances quicken such changes, often with unforeseen results.<br /><br />Initially, most people embrace the new sounds coming from the radio and music television stations. Record labels were left reeling about what artists they should sign or promote. Sales fell so sharply for the hair bands that many of them were left bankrupt, forced to play the same dingy bars where they began their careers. In the early 90s, one could tune into the top forty station and hear a wide range of genres that may never be experienced again. Like any rising styles of music, the initial output was fantastic. It was common to be at a party and jam out to Brooks and Dunn, the Breeders and Dr. Dre. It was a fantastic time to love music but like most cultural movements, it was short lived. Nirvana imploded with the death of Kurt Cobain, Garth Brooks grew tired of recording and semi-retired and rappers 2Pac and Notorious BIG were murdered. By 1995, record labels had begun signing every act they could find to big (and mostly unwarranted) contracts. Few of them had the impact of their predecessors. Despite their bravado, Toby Keith and Tim McGraw were not Garth Brooks. Green Day and the Offspring had all the volume but none of the danger inherent with Nirvana. The exception was hip/hop’s Eminem who managed to sell millions of records because he is inarguably one of the greatest artists of the modern era.<br /><br />Radio was also transitioning in the 90s. Gigantic corporations Clear Channel and ABC/Disney began to scoop up radio stations like a kid at a baseball card show. To them, it seemed if they did not know what listeners wanted; it was more profitable to give music fans as little alternative as possible. The days of independent radio were numbered. People began to choose sides once again. Either all country, all rock or top forty pop (which was basically hip/hop) stations dominated the airwaves with a strength never seen before. The late 90s saw the biggest payola scandal since the days of Alan Freed. Granted, there was music that was legit. The technology pendulum swung again and most music fans decided it was time to quit.<br /><br />Computers used to be the toy of the geeky rich kid in class. By the end of the 1990s, it started to become a staple of most households. The internet was still in its infancy, but CD burners gave music fans a better bargain than used CD stores, pawn shops or flea markets. CD burners allowed anyone with a computer to make an exact copy of a CD with little or no loss of sound. It became a common sight to see a group of friends at a record store, each with one CD to purchase, their sole intent to go home, make copies and share them with their friends. The writing (no pun intended) was on the wall. It would become much more difficult to market a poor album based on the quality of one hit single. Music fans took more chances with artists they liked if they could have a few buds buy an album of agreed taste. The record industry largely ignored this trend at the time, believing the new conglomerate radio stations would still lead the horse to water. Playlists became more homogenized due to the massive takeovers, yet this excessive promotion did not increase record sales. The meteor called the internet was about to land and radio was a listless dinosaur chewing leaves.<br /><br />It seems easy to blame the arrival of widespread internet use of the record industry’s demise but the industry did themselves no favors. As the 21st century arrived, only Eminem, boy bands and country artists were still selling millions. The quality of radio music had dropped abysmally, leaving people little choice but to pursue an alternative and “fight the powers that be.” People didn’t choose to download just because it was easy, they did it because radio sucked. There was little a diverse group could agree on anymore. It is hard to believe those who bought Shania Twain CD’s also rocked out to Radiohead. The genres had retreated largely due to the lack of diversity on radio stations. Instead of a big, joyous party, there were complaints about whoever had the unfortunate position to be in charge of the music. While big radio drowned in their Kool-Aid, music lovers downloaded to their gigabyte heart’s content. Because the music was now free, people took more chances, listened to different things and passed them on. The era of being spoon-fed was over. No marketing wiz could save it. YouTube, Facebook and MySpace became the means of communicating what someone liked. Why have a request show if the song you want is just one click away and not somewhere left of the dial?<br /><br />The record and radio industries responded in a fashion that’s similar to a limp animal waiting to be put out of its misery. It is common now to turn on that FM signal and hear Billy Joel on ten stations. He’s on the oldies station, the eighties station, the easy listening station and the rock station. If Joel and Elton John would cover “Mama’s Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys” they’d cover the whole gamut. Instead of looking to the internet for inspiration, radio stations have chosen homogeny. This concept may be good for elevators on 50 story buildings and dentists’ offices, but it gives nothing but numbness to the average human. Gone are the days when you could be driving on the highway with nowhere to go, put the brakes on and say to yourself “What’s that song?”<br /><br />That question is also now regulated to the internet and streaming radio. The listening public has become splintered into shards of taste. Similar yet so different there is no knowledge of the other. We listen to our own station, make our playlists and have become deaf to what else is out there. Getting what we want has given us less and less or what we need: Music that is new, different and challenging is all but gone as we spin the same record round. There is no need to absorb and tolerate anything different. It can just be deleted like a mix tape for a girl or boy that never quite understood your love.<br /><br /><br />Garth Brooks made us want to dance with “Friends in Low Places.” His melodic chime brought many of us to a moment of comradery. Whether we liked it or didn’t, if you were remotely out and about in the early 1990’s, that song was a part of your life. Maybe you sang along in a drunken stupor or were proud that you stood in the corner of the club and despised it. Either way, it brought people together. The same could be said for Nirvana, disco and right back to the Beatles. There was always something going on that could be danced to or criticized. Music was a passion. If there were bar fights over the song selection, at least people cared enough to complain or fight for their right to party. Now that Garth Brooks’ ditty is just an oldie, we either dance or chuckle when it is played. If we dance, we do so with our memories.<br /><br />If we stand by the wall, it is also done with our memories. Popular music has become a reboot of the Lawrence Welk show, except there is nothing to really make fun of or rebel against. When we choose to rage against the establishment machine, are we not raging against ourselves? There was a time when we thought about these things as deeply as a nighttime infatuation. Music was love; love was music. One could not possibly exist without the other.<br /><br />We could head-bang with each other, rap with each other and hold our arms together and love it all while we were in the back of a car, a basement dance floor or in the comfort of our own room. The future was a drug inhaled as we tiptoed through it. We might not have been who we wanted to be but music took every one of us to all of our fantasies. For a little while, the music on the radio synthesized itself. There weren’t just hicks, metal-heads, preps or punks. A little bit of each was inside us all. We danced to it, shouted and held each other close. We drove on the back roads looking for trouble, without really knowing what it was. We escaped on the wheels of hidden beers and a large automobile. All the while, the radio played a celebration song. When we were caught, it cried with us sad songs of wanting everything too much too soon. As we woke up, the morning voice of grace and redemption shone through those who’ve been there before. If the voices were sad, we regretted. If the voices were loud, we marched on. Regardless of circumstance, there was always a song. A radio played to top volume. Fists were pumped in the middle of the night, an arm held tight around someone while the sun rose. Music came like a breathless kiss, an invigorating injection to the vein of eternal youth.<br /><br />Listen! Just for one second! Don’t you hear it? Turn the radio on. Find that elusive frequency. Get in your car; take a deep breath and drive. The second when you think you’re lost, turn the radio up, park your car and take it in. You may not know where you’re going, but your heart knows where you’ve been. Park your car and listen to the songs you know or may yet discover. Music breathes in the night, whether you’re lonely or with your one and only, the radio plays. If it does not sing for you, sing out for the jukebox of the past. It’s always there, playing those songs we sing to ourselves, making us dance to a tune from a forgotten June, Think of that song, the one making your heart skip. Take a drive with your memory into midnight. The nights you remember or the ones you wish you had. The nights when the songs played long after you went to bed. The songs you sang along to while the sun rose. Don’t you remember? Do you remember?</div>Adam Koeppehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00719500219198312201noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261935655974994089.post-13918610126606365392010-01-27T19:07:00.000-08:002010-01-27T19:43:15.033-08:00Fixing Stupid<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil7zgcv8fsBo_Xy99shHAz69EKxYbsX9X53qCFabWjE7rxsE1g-eZDjMoUIO7VRgjhYGyDs44jsXCCBvji6c7Jv4OyxxMkRHWhTNGhA7Ch6pRhCinWtA5NNzUxze8-DPvxmD1tifMbB2FF/s1600-h/Patrick+and+Palin.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431629805754633330" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 216px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil7zgcv8fsBo_Xy99shHAz69EKxYbsX9X53qCFabWjE7rxsE1g-eZDjMoUIO7VRgjhYGyDs44jsXCCBvji6c7Jv4OyxxMkRHWhTNGhA7Ch6pRhCinWtA5NNzUxze8-DPvxmD1tifMbB2FF/s320/Patrick+and+Palin.jpg" border="0" /></a> “Tis better to be silent and be thought a fool, than to speak and remove all doubt.”<br />- Abraham Lincoln<br /><br />“I love it loud – right between the eyes.” – KISS<br /><br />The most watched program on cable, the most trusted name in news is not who you think they are. Although there are maniacal blowhards, sarcastic snides and outright idiots, you can’t judge the most popular show on cable television too harshly. To do so would argue against the will of the people, which have provided this show with unmatchable ratings over the last ten years. It is fair, balanced and shows the true face of the heart of America. The show attracts millions of followers regardless of political affiliation. Thinking “The O’Reilly Factor or “Hannity” by chance? They are eclipsed everyday by the true voice of the people: Spongebob Squarepants.<br /><br />This shouldn’t be a shocking revelation to anyone who does not eat, sleep and excrete political news shows. Spongebob and the WWE’s Monday Night Raw draw more viewers than any political show on cable television and has for literally the past decade. Ironically, the WWE’s wrestling viewers and those who watch Sean Hannity’s five hours of misinformation each week should have intricate knowledge of the other. Both have characters so larger than life they resemble cartoons (see Undertaker and Sarah Palin) and tend to spout out a “fountain of misinformation.” The late wrestler and commentator Gorilla Monsoon used the aforementioned adage to rip on the commentary of <a href="http://www.bobbythebrain.com/">Bobby “The Brain” Heenan</a>, who looks kind of like a blond Hannity. “Monday Night Raw” is on just once a week, while the airings of Spongebob are as numerous as all the major political shows combined.<br /><br />Submitted for your examination, the cable show ratings for the week ending January 17, 2010. The week featuring the debut of Sarah Palin as a regular commentator on Fox News which is the cartoon equivalent of when Patrick Star nailed a board to his forehead Indeed, Fox News had boffo ratings for the initial Palin appearances, topped by The O’Reilly Factor’s 4.2 million viewers that Thursday. The appearance of the political Patrick was still no match for the real pink deal as reruns of Spongebob managed to net a larger audience. The argument can be made that this is just a kids show for the mentally disadvantaged but I will give Fox News the benefit of the doubt. There are legitimately intelligent people who watch and contribute on Fox. A few may even have legitimate blonde hair. Fox News does have their Charles Krautheimer and Bill Kristol. Spongebob has Ernest Borgnine and Tim Conway. It’s apparent which has the bigger star power.<br /><br />According to Fox News, they are “the most trusted name in news.” Their claim is not without merit, as their average prime time audience is more than CNN and MSNBC combined. However, their average audience of 3.6 million is dwarfed by the <a href="http://www.mediabistro.com/tvnewser/evening_news_ratings">broadcast news of CBS, ABC and NBC, which average over 25 million viewers combined on a nightly basis.</a> I take into account the argument that broadcast news is free and cable is not. But like it or not, kiddos, numbers do speak for themselves. <a href="http://www.csun.edu/science/health/docs/tv&health.html">Over 56 percent of American households pay for cable</a>. If we were to “fairly balance” this equation, broadcast news would have an audience of approximately 13 million compared to the 3.6 million watching Fox News. That is still a statistical advantage for the “big three” of 4 to 1. Not exactly the stuff revolutions are made of. Compare this further to the total population of the United States, currently estimated at 275 million. Only 13 percent of American citizens bother to watch the news on TV at all. Apparently, 87 percent of us have something better to do like watch Spongebob or American Idol.<br /><br />Many people would like to point various polls and statistics showing an imminent conservative revolution. I’m sorry, the pudding is all over my face and there is yet to be any substantive proof that could not be explained by a combination of socioeconomic factors. Think of many of Rasmussen’s polls as political equivalents of Bigfoot sightings (including the deliberate capitalization of the name “Bigfoot” as to give it more authentic credentials. They tend to be skewered, glossy and ultimately as misleading as Sasquatch. Another poll, with statistics far outside the margin of error was released by CBS News January 18th regarding Ms. Palin. <a href="http://www.cbsnews.com/blogs/2010/01/18/politics/politicalhotsheet/entry6113291.shtml">In the poll, 71 percent of Americans stated they did not want Palin to run for president, including 56 percent of Republicans polled. </a>Further, despite her massive book sales and media blitz during the last few months of 2009, Palin managed to increase her favorability rating by a whopping three percent, to 26 percent. Now that’s a star, I tell ya! It is entirely feasible Palin’s staff had similar tracking poll numbers as she signed on with Fox News as a commentator to more directly confront her timeslot enemy, Patrick Star himself.<br /><br />Still not convinced this is all sham, true believers? Still planning on making incoherent signs and getting angry with a government you could have cared less about until it directly affected your personal bottom line? Well, tea-partiers and conservatives definitely got “something” in a box when the citizens of Massachusetts elected Scott Brown to the U.S. Senate, replacing the late Ted Kennedy. Brown’s election proved one thing beyond a shadow of a doubt: people are pissed at the status quo pro “no” that is Congress and are tired of candidates thinking that a political position belongs to them without any merits. Ted Kennedy’s niece, <a href="http://www.adamkoeppe.com/Home/princess">Caroline, tried to attain a U.S. Senate seat a year ago with her basic credentials being close to nothing besides her lineage.</a> Because she is not completely moronic, she withdrew her candidacy to spare herself the forthcoming humiliation of not being chosen. Martha Coakley, the Massachusetts Senate candidate who would be defeated by Scott Brown, had none of Caroline Kennedy’s foresight. All statistical analysis, points to an individual who really believed she deserved the senate seat and did not have to earn it. Most telling is the ratio of campaign rallies. <a href="http://www.theatlanticwire.com/opinions/view/opinion/Precriminations-Dems-Expecting-Loss-Lay-Into-Coakley-2220">Scott Brown held sixty-six rallies compared to Coakley’s nineteen, a ratio of over four to one. </a>Add to that several insipid comments directed at Boston Red Sox great (and Republican) Curt Schilling, Coakley’s campaign was literally begging for a political thrashing. It should come as no surprise to anyone that she lost. Had she ran a campaign remotely as enthusiastic as Scott Brown – well, who knows? People are mad and when they are mad, they are quite unpredictable.<br /><br />It is with these overt feelings in mind, along with continual antipathy toward the government that I believe the state of our historic union can only be summarized with one word: dysfunctional. As more Americans have been given the ability to unlimited information about how our government works - or more specifically how it does not work at all – many citizens have become polarized in their convictions in a fashion similar to that of our popular culture. Either you like “Spongebob Squarepants” or you hate it. Football fans wanted <a href="http://www.officialbrettfavre.com/">Brett Farve </a>to succeed or fail. There seems to be no middle ground except for the fact that we all look like fools with our pants down there. This is especially true of our government and those “too big to fail banks.” If anger towards Democrats leads to another Republican government, there is no evidence that any specific ideals or practices will change. It seems like everyone wants to save their job at any cost, no matter if that job is to serve the will of the people. This political hubris is not only against what America stands for, it’s downright stupid.<br /><br />The only feasible means of ridding our country of the aforementioned dysfunction is to ignore the only political idiom Democrats and Republicans agree on: A third party vote is a wasted vote. Trust me, this phrase will be heard constantly throughout this year and always without merit. Watch as both major party candidates for whatever position – be it senator, congressman or governor – use their influence to block third party candidates from debates. Anyone who is truly angry should utilize this anger against to vote against the individuals who undermine our democracy. So what if we elect people to office who are outsiders, lack political experience or the savvy to blend in with the beltway. These decisions, more than any others, are up to us. If your elected officials can’t make a decent crabby patty, then fire them. But don’t replace Spongebob with Squidward or Patrick Star. The results will remain the same. As far as I know, Scrappy-Doo isn’t doing anything these days. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beast_Boy">Beast Boy </a>is currently unemployed as are all three Powerpuff Girls. As the political ads start flying faster than speeding bullet this fall, remember that true change can only happen if we replace the cartoon characters that currently occupy our political airwaves.Adam Koeppehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00719500219198312201noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261935655974994089.post-23611651512348760892010-01-12T20:40:00.000-08:002010-01-12T20:45:39.498-08:00Why Avatar is Making Americans Stupid<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnf6M32DeAQxiy5GGnYlHcW5K2E9Wwhyphenhyphen5Y3p2d7IOeXVOGyKv5tc_Y7ie1r0u-WUlfgS8iE9EapCeggvwPtzuaZnujrCtArLdUT9Kj64qV8_CQ-4JcCl2_1o4oRQ-k1bnw5JozAjFWw8Q7/s1600-h/avatar.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426080764636940162" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 237px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnf6M32DeAQxiy5GGnYlHcW5K2E9Wwhyphenhyphen5Y3p2d7IOeXVOGyKv5tc_Y7ie1r0u-WUlfgS8iE9EapCeggvwPtzuaZnujrCtArLdUT9Kj64qV8_CQ-4JcCl2_1o4oRQ-k1bnw5JozAjFWw8Q7/s320/avatar.jpg" border="0" /></a> For the record, I like Avatar. I thoroughly enjoyed James Cameron’s latest opus throughout its two and a half hours of visual onslaught. Avatar is a beautiful, bright, shiny and relatively mindless film, similar to many other things Americans love. It has turned out to be one of those “event” movies which draw people to theaters who do not normally go, similar to Cameron’s previous effort Titanic and another modern classic, Home Alone. Not admitting to paying for Home Alone? You lie! As a society, we tend to jump on the proverbial bandwagon when a story gets so absolutely huge it is nearly impossible to avoid conversing about it. We do this with the Super Bowl, American Idol, Snuggies and especially politics. It’s interesting as long as it’s interesting to everyone else. When everyone else has officially thrown the subject into “lameness” (see Home Alone, Barack Obama), the follower does the same. In the case of Avatar, however, succumbing to the hype might be more dangerous than Dick Cheney stuck on Pandora.<br /><br />The main appeal of Avatar lies in the groundbreaking cinematography and 3-D camerawork, the likes of which has never been seen in the history of cinema. The last year or so has seen several films test the 3-D waters in anticipation of Cameron’s movie. A remake of My Bloody Valentine, the Neil Gaiman scripted Coraline, Monsters Vs Aliens and Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs showed the appeal - and lack thereof – 3D technology presents. Coraline and “Meatballs” did well in theaters showing the traditional, 2-D versions as well as the enhanced product. “Valentine” was strictly and exercise in scaring in 3-D and it achieved its modest expectations. Monsters Vs Aliens was predicted to be one of the biggest blockbusters of 2009, yet failed to yield big numbers. “Monsters” was the first film of the modern 3-D era to have been filmed with the sole intent of selling the 3-D version. The film featured many scenes designed with the idea that audiences love STUFF FLYING IN THEIR FACE VERY FAST. It did not occur to the producers audiences, even children, might value plot in an era of Pixar masterpieces. Instead, MORE STUFF FLYING EVEN FASTER IN A MORE MONOTONOUS WAY THAN THE FIRST TIME. Repeat. Repeat. END OF FILM. Interestingly, DreamWorks Studio did not hype the DVD release of “Monsters” as much as one would expect from a big budget animated film. Perhaps the upcoming 3-D Shrek movie in 2010 foretells more than the company would care to let on.<br /><br />The 3-D technology in Avatar is far superior than any used in the aforementioned films. Unlike DreamWorks, Cameron knew the film had to stand on its own from a directorial and traditional 2-D viewpoint. There is little argument left as to if he succeeded. Avatar will gross more than a billion dollars, enough cash to liberate oppressed civilizations in the real world. Cameron also spent the last ten years or so developing an executing the project. He had total control over the film and chose to stake his career on Avatar’s success or failure. Avatar’s triumph, commercially and critically, has thrown the entertainment media into a 3-D frenzy. But has Avatar’s success doomed not only the film industry but also the economic recovery of America?<br /><br />The admission price to the 3-D Avatar at my local movie house was thirteen bucks, a five-dollar increase from the normal eight-dollar charge. My Adam Koeppe simple math shows a 39 percent extra dip into the pocketbook to see the film in glorious 3-D. I don’t know about you boys and girls, but that’s a hefty price jack where I come from. For a family of four that’s twenty extra bucks. At least the popcorn didn’t come with 3-D salt and butter. Although worth it, the Avatar experience is a spendy one for many Americans. The fallout from Avatar’s success has shown a public hungry for more. ESPN has recently announced they will produce a 3-D sports channel which will show the 2010 World Cup. The media salivates.<br />SOCCER! 3-D!<br />3-D! SOCCER! WORLD CUP!<br />YEAH!!!<br /><br />As the public celebrates the upcoming development of 3-D television, nobody has bothered to ask the question: What will 3-D soccer look like? Will it enhance the experience so much that the channel is worth subscribing to (believe me, true believers, they’re gonna charge) and also purchasing one of the handful of ginormous TV’s capable of broadcasting said soccer games? Currently, the general opinion of the public is yes. Because everything is going to look as cool as Avatar. This general euphoria is convincing many TV manufacturers to furiously work of a way to present 3-D images without having to don those stylish shades. Without a doubt, they will succeed. The potential of selling millions of TV’s to a public that has recently forked over a few paychecks for HD widescreens is far too tempting to resist. Efforts are underway to remake classic films such as Star Wars to fit the format. As if buying the Star Wars films on VHS, remastered on VHS, extended on VHS, on DVD unextended, DVD extended, and Blu-Ray unextended and extended. That’s not even accounting for how many times people saw them in the movie theater. When my Adam Koeppe simple math adds this up, that’s more than 300 bucks spent on the same bloody films! Yet many are hungry for more. Is the 3-D Star Wars going to have Luke’s hand fly in my face when Darth Vader whacks it off? Will it give me the feeling of AT-AT’s stomping on to my sofa? Will the Cantina scene give me the feeling of an intergalactic dance party right in my own house? Answer I will, young consumers. No.<br /><br />A 3-D reimagining (or whatever you want to call it) of Star Wars, Lord of the Rings or the Matrix will just give you a visual experience similar to that of the old Viewmaster discs: a super-position of one image in front of the other. That’s it. The films were made with a 2-D wall. I’m sure the geniuses in charge will try to make the jump into hyperspace more trippy but is that worth the purchase of an entire new entertainment system? A few thousand bucks to see a few enhanced segments? The current consensus is yes. We want to see STAR WARS AVATAR! LORD OF THE RINGS AVATAR! MATRIX AVATAR! SAW AVATAR! HANGOVER AVATAR! HAROLD AND KUMAR AVATAR! Americans have always been in love with possibility more than reality and having as opposed to having not. There is little evidence suggesting the 3-D craze will be any different.<br /><br />My magic crystal dodgeball stares into the future and sees a few unfortunate blows to the financial groin. Many Americans will go into super-nasty credit card debt to become a super-cool 3-D household. This type of TV upgrade is not cheap and there are very few who can honestly afford it, considering they are still paying off their 60-inch plasmas. Yet millions will buy, unfortunately proving our society has learned absolutely nothing about financial restraint in the face of economic hardship. Laid off from a secure job? WHO CARES? 3-D! Retirement eradicated by Wall Street? WHO CARES? 3-D!! Your children’s college education? 3-D! 3-D!! Over the top, blowhard attitudes are exactly what thrust our country into our economic mess. Real estate for profit? 3-D! Debt? What debt? 3-D!!!<br /><br />Most important, companies will use this lunacy to bombard our despised banks with requests for loans on unproven products. Despite wanted or unwanted regulation, lenders will be pushed into billions of dollars of lending to finance the production of these electronics. Imagine, if you will: a cell-phone company wants fifty million dollars to develop the first 3-D smart phone. That’s crazy, the loan officer replies. Who wants to watch a 3-D image smaller than a baseball card? Contrary to popular sanity, that loan will happen. Who’s going to say no to 3-D!! I’d stake my entire 3-D baseball card collection on it. Believe it or not, I have quite a few.<br /><br />There will be at least one movie studio that will also believe this fallacy. The grand poobahs will decree they will make the biggest, largest, most-bestest 3-D movie ever! They will hire a crack team of fifty writers to write it. They will hire a great director like Brett Ratner, McG or Michael Bay to make it so. They’ll be more people involved in this production than the Olympics. It will be re-written by James Patterson, James Frey and the band James. It will be about some big thing that has yet to be big enough so it has to be bigger – in 3-D! It will be bigger than life! Big! Big! Big! And it will fail. Horribly. Horribly, horribly. Heaven’s Gate failed and who could have doubted Michael Cimino’s talent after The Deer Hunter? The concept of Cinemascope failed with Cleopatra, directed by Joseph Mankiewicz who helmed films such as All About Eve. When the 3-D movie of doom strikes, it will be harsh. Cleopatra came close to destroying 20th Century Fox. The failure of Heaven’s Gate bankrupted United Artists. The 3-D hype will destroy at least one company, possibly more.<br /><br />Remember 8-tracks? Beta-max? Mini-discs? Laser-discs? TurboGraphix-16? Dreamcast? You don’t? You Lie! We’ve all invested our money in something that didn’t pan out be it technology or even a relationship. For all our enthusiasm, there still has to be something – or someone to blame for the fallout. There are few people who have the testicular fortitude to admit they were wrong. I still thing the Sega Dreamcast kicks major butt over PS2, Game Cube and Xbox. Someone usually has to take the fall because it sure wasn’t our fault.<br /><br />When 3-D busts, the movie studios will do what they do best: blame someone else. They’ll drag Sean Astin, the fat hobbit himself, back on the Academy Awards telling why piracy is still the scourge of the film industry – even after successes like Avatar. Americans who spent buttloads of money on 3-D televisions and DVD players that are the equivalent of Atari 5200s will do what they do best: blame someone else. Maybe we will blame the President, whoever he or she may be. Maybe we’ll blame the companies who sold us this 3-D super-awesome stuff because it wasn’t that super-fantastically-awesome. We might blame our kids who wanted it all so bad for Christmas we had to mortgage the house to provide it. We might even blame Satan for our debt. It’s a better alternative than reality. From the days of the crusades to the days of colonization to the days of the Gold Rush, it’s never our fault when the tide turns.<br /><br />When we fail, it is in our nature to push the “reset” button. Just one more chance and we can do it a little better. We seriously need to stop this. Life has no reset and there are no guarantees of extra chances. Sometimes the movie sucks, the concert blows or the love affair wasn’t meant to be. Failures, as hard as they come, need to be admitted and learned from. If we don’t, we’re just another footnote in an never-ending addendum of excuses. If we embrace 3-D, we learn nothing from economics. We are just pushing “rewind,” expecting the movie to end better. Eventually, the film stops and there is a blank screen. What happens next? The remote – and your life – is in your hands.Adam Koeppehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00719500219198312201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261935655974994089.post-150344230067953342010-01-05T19:36:00.000-08:002010-01-05T19:40:21.527-08:00Who Decade?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkvEUbDB6dBq3amUrHHK6MM_kzeaYO8ugyba0mFiOk_ExpmVxnTsGqj04_ZXzHdaLaVZR99A6c_oJBg4vZ98SQkflwf16Px_tBvTBpSNeqoLszPdIjKo3YdrrFD2dz2uLSG83E7tgKQEid/s1600-h/clock+new+year.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423466272980640194" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 228px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkvEUbDB6dBq3amUrHHK6MM_kzeaYO8ugyba0mFiOk_ExpmVxnTsGqj04_ZXzHdaLaVZR99A6c_oJBg4vZ98SQkflwf16Px_tBvTBpSNeqoLszPdIjKo3YdrrFD2dz2uLSG83E7tgKQEid/s320/clock+new+year.jpg" border="0" /></a> I was never a fan of the decade sandwich. The previous two I existed in, the eighties and nineties, were more conglomerates of toys, music, movies and the highs and lows of growing up. There were more instances in a year that any type of trend. For example, my entire memory of 1980 consists of “The Empire Strikes Back,” nothing more. I was six years old, what can you expect? My memories of 1990 revolve around the Minnesota Twins losing a ton of baseball games, video games like “Maniac Mansion” and the general disappointments that come during adolescence. Before the age of the internet (at least as we know it now), we had to rely on significant events, handwritten notes and pictures to document our existence in that period. By the time 2000 rolled around and gave us an election few cared about, (I remember this because I chose not to vote) there was the beginning of email, internet research and a general desire to put things into a larger perspective. Perhaps this was because of age, me being the big two five at the time. Or was the 2000’s the beginning of something else that many of us felt coming. Although hindsight generally gives one the vision of Burgess Meredith at the finale of the classic Twilight Zone episode “Time Enough,” many events occurred suggesting that we as a society are indeed running out of time.<br /><br />Before the 2000 election, I had always voted and was proud to be a part of the political process. Anyone who has known me for a fair amount of time can vouch for my incessant desire to pour over newspapers and do my best to disseminate facts from fiction. There are many reasons I didn’t vote in 2000, the foremost being I thought Al Gore and George W. Bush were idiots. Turns out, I was right on both calls, no matter which side of the political spectrum you reside. As the debacle of the election recount unfolded, I seriously wondered who was in charge of this mess we live in. The second reason I didn’t vote in 2000 was I just didn’t think I had the time - meaning I came home from work at 6PM and just did not care. Like many Gen-Xers, I was becoming dissatisfied with my job and opportunities were shining on the horizon everywhere I looked. Even though I was disgusted with the actual rules of the electoral process, my thoughts still focused on job-hopping. I had a good job at the time, probably one of the best I’ll ever have, but there was so much to criticize when everyone else is offering you something supposedly rosier than what you have now.<br /><br />2001, the crash of the dot com odyssey. Remember all those ads on every station known to God? This dot com, that dot com, my Grandma sells you time-shares dot com? When all those plastic companies exploded in their own hubris so did the yellow brick road of employment. Unfortunately, I did make a change in employment, not expecting bigger will not mean better. By the time I left the new job it was August 2001. The dot com recession was in full force and there were few opportunities available besides becoming a human tool. I chose to do what any red-blooded American would do in that situation: move back in with Mom and Dad and pick apples. Getting back to nature and forgoing corporate culture was just what the doctor ordered. When 9-11 happened, we stopped working and watched. The people I was around were shocked, as we all were. But there was some semblance of inevitability in the air. It was unspoken in many places in the world, but silence speaks volumes. Rocky Balboa loses. Luke Skywalker gets his hand hacked off by his father. Kurt Cobain commits suicide. The fallacy that we live in a fortress of solitude was broken. People can blame whomever they want for the attack, but anyone with a good grasp of mathematics could theorize something would happen, sooner or later.<br /><br />After the season apple-picking gig ended, I worked with a friend roofing houses, a far cry from running a music store in Edina, Minnesota a year earlier. Honestly, I don’t think I was great at it but I learned to bust my ass and got to know people in a way I never would have before. Taus taught me more than I can ever repay him for. While we were roofing a house in St. Michael, MN, I noticed half of the houses in the cul-de-sac were unoccupied. They were built but unsold. I thought it peculiar. These gigantic houses without a tenant. So perfect I wanted to buy one except they looked like every other house on the block. I wondered if I lived there, would my neighbors know where my stuff is? I spent the next year drifting, dissatisfied with my life and occupations (or lack thereof) until I chose to make a complete break with everything that was making my life suck. I bounced back into the parents’ house after barely being gone and a good friend was kind enough to offer me a job and with it, stability.<br /><br />Over the spring of 2003, I decided to “get back” to whatever it is I liked about my life when I thought it likable. I went to baseball games, began reading extensively and started going to concerts on a regular basis. I did not have a lot of money – even as I sponged off Mom and Dad, but I was happy. I started realizing happiness is a far better trait than anything monetary. No matter if it was a good or a bad day, when I went to sleep, I did so with a leap and a smile (I was way into Donnie Darko at the time). On Sunday, July 13th, I went to see Blur at First Avenue with my concert-going friend. I remember about the first five songs, through maybe “Boys and Girls.” After ordering a beer at the bar, I was tapped on the shoulder. “Where did you get that shirt?” asked a tall woman with a big smile. “Suns,” I replied. “Hunky Dory is my favorite David Bowie album,” she said. We began a long talk about music and the greatness of the Blur show became quickly distant. She changed subjects: “Do you like “Doctor Who?” My nerves and doubts quivered at the question, which had been the geek kiss of death on more than one occasion in my life. I overruled myself, telling apprehension to go screw itself. “Yeah,” I smiled. She smiled (although I think both of us were smiling nonstop at this point): “It’s my favorite show. Who’s your favorite Doctor?” Again, shoving conventional wisdom in the subconscious garbage, I replied “Patrick Troughton.” “Mine too! I dressed as Patrick Troughton for a convention once.”<br /><br />We talked for the rest of the evening. It wouldn’t have mattered if the Beatles or Nirvana with a zombie Kurt Cobain was playing. The only sounds were heard were each other. Eight month later, we were married at the Mall of America, featured music by Kate Bush and Guns and Roses. As I think about the last decade, I have little, if anything to complain about. I watched two wonderful babies born into this world and saw a precocious four-year old become a world-ready pre-teen with enough smarts and sense to skip a math grade. What’s to complain about? I read all these self-centered tirades by media types thanking their stars the decade is over. To them, I ask one basic question: What in your life sucks so bad that you want to forget an entire decade?<br /><br />According to the almighty media pundits and pontificators, we should all hate the era of 2000-2009 because of terrorists, war, natural disasters, the economy, job security and “Gigli.” Anyone who wants to travel in Mr. Peabody’s Wayback Machine or the TARDIS can find similar problems in any decade in modern history. Take your pick. The nineties had Iraq Part One, Columbine, a recession brought on by the S & L scandal, a lying head of state and at four movies starring Pauly Shore. Similar results are evident if one studies the previous decades as well. It’s all a matter of perception. If your life is better than it was ten years ago, then the “aughts” aught not to be taken with such sadness and despair. If your idea of a successful life revolves putting your investments and lifestyle in front of your family and kids, stop reading right now. Please step away from the computer. Find the nearest toilet. Insert head. Flush. Repeat.<br /><br />Through the magic of Facebook and older means of communication such as talking, I have seen my friends go through good times and bad. They may have lost a job but I don’t know a single soul who chose to give up on their family or themselves. Their attitude in the face of adversity is stronger than bad guys on Wall Street or terrorists fastening bombs in their underpants. Pictures do not lie. Most of us have gotten married to someone they truly care about. Many have had children and are experiencing the joy, wonder, frustration, exhaustion and love they bring. The greatest of these, of course, is love. I see it every day. In pictures, videos and status updates. I see it in those who are taking their layoff time as an opportunity to spend with their kids. I see it in those who celebrate a party like they were teenagers but put their family first every day. I see us growing up, growing older but still being themselves. Despite the despair shoved down our throats by the media, I see nothing but positivity and hope. When I asked a good friend how he felt about having another child in the face of job loss, he answered: “I’m just lucky.” We should all feel that way. Every day, every decade.<br /><br />Before we kiss off 2000-2009 into the wind, let us all think about how lucky we are. For one, we’re still here! We have friends and family we care for and care about us. That’s a stronger bond than any job, recession, war or Megan Fox movie could sever. Sure, there’s always things to complain about – it’s just our nature. However, what is good should outweigh the bad. If that equation doesn’t add up, it’s not too late to change the math. There’s a line from an old Jesus and Mary Chain song, “Head On” which states: “The way I feel tonight, I could die and I wouldn’t mind.” It’s the song that went through my head after I met my wife. If you are truly happy, you can feel yourself touch the cusp of heaven. Maybe these moments are memories or something you’ve just experienced. Like it or not, we’ve all had great moments in the last ten years and we are capable of so much more. Forget about the people and things bringing you down. We are so much bigger than all of it and - dammit! – we are better than our adversities. If our history has taught us anything, it is that human desire, ingenuity, passion and love will triumph if we are true to ourselves. The new decade has begun. Let’s blow the stars from the sky.Adam Koeppehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00719500219198312201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261935655974994089.post-91093667713662255392009-12-10T19:13:00.000-08:002009-12-10T19:22:52.864-08:00Why I Believe in Santa Claus<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi71zwXsxLFFpVvn7FWoTloGuQ8Vr7UcydQsRgTus68FHMgbMVeK2mOHxmG0bKOn4ucQFk2zawoWMMLEAjQRo0_wg4rZdmc702KRqupoHEm2WeCtGmqmiLQIe5diEfEEpvFzLrCwbJ6bAvW/s1600-h/santa-claus.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413813779353867954" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 286px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi71zwXsxLFFpVvn7FWoTloGuQ8Vr7UcydQsRgTus68FHMgbMVeK2mOHxmG0bKOn4ucQFk2zawoWMMLEAjQRo0_wg4rZdmc702KRqupoHEm2WeCtGmqmiLQIe5diEfEEpvFzLrCwbJ6bAvW/s320/santa-claus.jpg" border="0" /></a> Despite continual claims to the contrary, there is little, if any doubt among able-minded people as to what Christmas is all about. We don’t need to drag old Linus out of retirement to provide us with another reminder. Christmas is (and always will be) a Christian holiday celebrating the birth of Jesus and general goodwill toward men. However, like Charlie Brown might lament, Christmas is often disguised as a crass commercial entity in which goodwill is tossed out the window like last year’s stocking and one does the best they can to deal with relatives they only have to tolerate once a year (usually involving extra egg nog). In the midst of all the good, bad and insane aspects of Christmas, there sits a jolly rotund man dressed in red making a list and checking it twice. For some, Santa Claus can be as controversial as the phrase war between “Merry Christmas” and “Happy Holidays.” For all the joy he brings to children around the world each year, there are many who question whether people – especially the young should believe in someone who may not exist at all. Santa’s residence, the North Pole, has been the subject of intense scrutiny by scientists. Is it possible for him to stay warm up there or is Santa’s house turning into a sauna?<br /><br />Though many skeptics question the believability and possible effects of telling children that an overweight, immortal man flies around the world on Christmas Eve on a reindeer-driven sleigh to deliver presents to all good boys and girls, I, for one, do not. Think for a little bit about all the preposterous ideas we thrust upon children as they grow. Kids are taught from a young age that America lives in a democracy where we elect our own leaders fair and square, by the people for the people. Numerous political controversies and scandals have shown this ideal to be nothing but a sham regardless of ideologies. The right thinks the left is corrupt and vice versa. If one was to analyze the massive amount of political polling conducted on an almost daily basis, the one solid conclusion available is nobody trusts the government. Yet we tell children and ourselves it is our right and responsibility to participate in it. I think it’s safe to say politicians will disappoint more people than Santa.<br /><br />Children are also taught that they should work hard when they get a job, spend and invest their money wisely and the economic system will reward their efforts. However, many people work too hard for too little and have seen their effort at work turn into an unexpected pink slip. Money saved from week to week in hope of providing a college education for their kids and a well-earned retirement vanished quicker than Santa’s ascendance from the chimney. Despite all evidence to the contrary, we still tell our kids this is the way to go. Are we not setting them up for an avalanche of reality later in life? Though economic collapses do pass and get better, they are still as annual as the seasons of the year. Santa Claus doesn’t fire you or lose your retirement in a ponzi scheme to build a better sleigh that never flies or has any presents.<br /><br />Adults idolize athletes and pass their enthusiasm unto the young by taking them to games, buying posters and sports cards and encouraging them when they join a team. Many parents love sports and athletics so much their kids will do anything to reach a common interest with them. It is sad to say but 99 percent of all kids will not grow up and become the next Brett Farve, LeBron James or Joe Mauer. Yet this idolatry is encouraged by many as it does help one’s own performance to analyze the masters of the craft. Nevertheless, injuries, cuts and disappointments happen more often than they do not. If a child believes for years that they can really “make it” only to have that dream shattered, is this not a disservice to their concept of reality? When their heroes are discovered to be less than the image believed, whose fault is it for perpetuating the fallacy? No parent wants their child to become a cheater, a drug addict, an adulterer or a criminal yet pictures of athletes guilty of these faults adorn their rooms, lockers and Facebook pages. Santa doesn’t need steroids to enhance his sleigh, all he requires is belief.<br /><br />Our children love rock and roll, movies and the culture of celebrity because we love it too. Is it really possible to play your kids a Rolling Stones concert and not talk about how cool Keith Richards is? Can we watch “The Dark Knight” and not discuss the death of Heath Ledger? We watch reality shows because it is fun to watch a train wreck but do we want out kids to aspire to such greatness as getting on the cast of “The Real World” or “The Hills?” If these are integral parts of our cultural mythology, then why do we shun Santa Claus?<br /><br />Santa Claus is a pretty cool cat. He never disguises who he is or what he does. He watches over the good and bad in all of us, always choosing to side with the good. On one night, he transforms the scares we have in the dark into something magical. He gives presents even if we don’t deserve them. He sticks candy in stockings despite being diabetic. Santa is a hero in a world that won’t believe anymore. Yet he is still here, this December night, making his lists. Santa Claus is still here, despite all our cynicism. He is here for those who believe not just in him, but in the belief of us towards each other. I’d rather see my kids on Santa’s lap when they’re teenagers than encourage their belief in the other, more obvious fallacies of our society. They are more fake than Santa ever was or will be. I encourage everyone to tell their children to keep believing in Santa Claus, maybe even reignite that childhood spark of wonder within you. In a society with so few heroes and role models, we need the magic of Santa now more than ever.Adam Koeppehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00719500219198312201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261935655974994089.post-51653365448116208732009-12-01T20:45:00.000-08:002009-12-01T21:11:52.993-08:00What I Want For Christmas Is...A Good Christmas Movie!Why we are sucked into a holiday time warp of nostalgia<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGlCLdqawoUd_eUjUDT_FsyXSuHoLiIJeec5tafauq8uurtZXjSZTv-V4en2yYegdsKyiXipjsNpWOVAFSEDeAjZ-HqyJ16pADupzMv181aDM-LAA3qH2SMp3yS5MSta0ZKmLysPYEn9Vj/s1600-h/rudolph+hermie.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410501379258444866" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 216px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGlCLdqawoUd_eUjUDT_FsyXSuHoLiIJeec5tafauq8uurtZXjSZTv-V4en2yYegdsKyiXipjsNpWOVAFSEDeAjZ-HqyJ16pADupzMv181aDM-LAA3qH2SMp3yS5MSta0ZKmLysPYEn9Vj/s320/rudolph+hermie.jpg" border="0" /></a>I must have been about three or four the first time I saw Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. I conscious had begun to realize what Christmas was or at least what my parents thought it was. My Mom was full of excitement that “Rudolph is on tonight!” As I sat three feet in front of the RCA cabinet television, my imagination was completely sucked into this three dimensional moving world. The story seemed to be taking place right now in front of my eyes, no doubt helped by Burl Ives’ fantastic narration. “Rudolph” was everything a great family film should be: A plucky hero (Rudolph), a trustworthy sidekick (Hermie the elf), a scary monster (the Abominable), memorable songs such as <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FwlOUAAyPQE">“We’re a Couple of Misfits”, </a>a love interest (Clarice) and a genuine father/son conflict. All of this was wound into a tight-written story by the Rankin/Bass production team which, had they had the backing to extend the T.V. special into a feature film, would have been considered one of the best ever made.<br /><br />I was in awe of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” and its appeal has crossed from the baby boomers that initially saw it in 1964, the me-generation 80s kids, through Generations X and Y and up to the present day of children who have yet to be categorized. 2009 will mark the 45th anniversary of “Rudolph” and its timelessness need not be debated. It is still watched by more than ten million people as is the other mainstays of Christmas specials, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DKk9rv2hUfA">“A Charlie Brown Christmas”</a> and <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MPBS7dVrE1U">“How the Grinch Stole Christmas.” </a>One begins to wonder why these films, almost half a century old, have an appeal to a public which seems to view all recent attempts at Christmas shows with cynicism.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Df9Cliu-ApEWoeG2SjwXUuV48C2p9qWffkfM9M1GTTbhTNR9Nbxlq5llhxyvQSi3Z3vNw2mBYo2twxfUoMDZUO6s75WJXLBXMUrbt3Y31V_jEJefuwBJ1nGj6nTZ3XgEB7G9krFKASbP/s1600-h/clark+griswold.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410501553460680386" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 217px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 271px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Df9Cliu-ApEWoeG2SjwXUuV48C2p9qWffkfM9M1GTTbhTNR9Nbxlq5llhxyvQSi3Z3vNw2mBYo2twxfUoMDZUO6s75WJXLBXMUrbt3Y31V_jEJefuwBJ1nGj6nTZ3XgEB7G9krFKASbP/s320/clark+griswold.jpg" border="0" /></a>If one were to make a list (and check it twice) of the truly memorable Christmas films and specials over the last thirty years, the list is shorter than Hermie’s dental career. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2YQ8KdBEhz8&feature=PlayList&p=68F0DFED109C73E6&playnext=1&playnext_from=PL&index=24">“Christmas Eve on Sesame Street” </a>was a humorous and heartfelt endeavor by Jim Henson which was aired in the late 70s. It is still available for viewing via YouTube and holds up quite well, particularly the “Gift of the Magi” sequences featuring Bert, Ernie and the late Mr. Hooper. 1983’s “A Christmas Story” is a classic unto itself. It is my Dad’s favorite Christmas film and I enjoy watching parts of it several times each year during the 24-hour marathon on TBS. I gave him a leg lamp for Christmas a few years ago, one of the few times he genuinely got something he liked. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xjhx9WfpofE">1988’s “Scrooged” </a>featured a macap – if erratic performance by Bill Murray and hilarious supporting roles for Carol Kane and Bobcat Goldthwait. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8qc_RYm0ylA">1989’s “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation” </a>may be the last of the truly great Christmas classics. Although uneven in places, Chevy Chase’s Clark Griswald channels the real spirit of Christmas in many of us. The concept of going out of your way to make the holiday special for your family and having it blow up in your face is more common to many than a strand of lights malfunctioning. 1990’s <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CK2Btk6Ybm0">“Home Alone,” </a>featured a premise which could have taken place at any time but Macaulay Culkin, Joe Pesci and Daniel Stern deliver classic comedic performances which deserve to be appreciated more than they are. All of the aforementioned films are guilty of pouring on the heart at the end. Nobody seemed to mind the clichés at the time, yet it seems ages since a similar film was greeted with a warm heart and not the cynicism currently prevalent towards Christmas films.<br /><br />The question exists inside us like the internal debate about Santa Claus. Is it the world that has changed or is it we who have turned into cinematic “Scrooges?” Is it the formula which has aged unto a purgatory of Lifetime Network films or have we just lost our “inner Clark Griswold” that pushes us to make a few weeks in December just a little bit happier? Many of us agree with good old Charlie Brown: Christmas has become too commercial. It isn’t “real” anymore. We ignore the voice of Linus, choosing to revel in the parodies of Christmas. I am guilty as anyone of loving these things. From <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MV5Rfgs1khw&feature=related">Al Bundy in “Married With Children</a>” being shown by his guardian angel, Sam Kinison, that his family’s life would be better if he was dead, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qu4AuQA50pg&feature=related">South Park’s Mr. Hankey the Christmas Poo,</a> to the ultimate endgame of Christmas films, “Bad Santa,” I laughed at them, every one. How can we reconcile the ridicule of the present with the idolization of the past? Have our hearts, like the Grinch’s, grown three sizes too small?<br /><br />The answer is not in a moral or parable but in our history. “Rudolph.” “Charlie Brown,” and “The Grinch,” were not created in an era of cynicism and despair, but one of hope. The creators of these films lived through a horrible war where nations were devastated and up to 70 million people were killed. In the face of such destruction, beacons of hope were inevitable. There was a desire to make the world a better place for our children and give them the magic which had been lost upon so many as bombs dropped and servicemen knocked at the door. The themes in these aforementioned films were those of understanding one another, forgiving people for their faults and believing that magic happens if you believe in it just enough. These people were thankful that the entire planet didn’t get blown to bits. That’s a pretty hard philosophy to follow. Hopefully, we never will.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVDlzUP5x0Vw60tIafEGhyUqqFntBa3x-11Xs7suFH98y5R-j4XGBqcxhw_EbDI7MP3M1gb61PspOj-3gZkfb9hdmCVSbKhEpGJxhB52GtcMV33wQUeO53eu5kCNMvpegHs0xVvjRU-1-7/s1600-h/its+a+wonderful+life.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410502017063435938" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 249px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVDlzUP5x0Vw60tIafEGhyUqqFntBa3x-11Xs7suFH98y5R-j4XGBqcxhw_EbDI7MP3M1gb61PspOj-3gZkfb9hdmCVSbKhEpGJxhB52GtcMV33wQUeO53eu5kCNMvpegHs0xVvjRU-1-7/s320/its+a+wonderful+life.jpg" border="0" /></a>“It’s A Wonderful Life,” arguably the greatest Christmas film or special ever made, was released after the end of World War II but takes place when the outcome was seriously in doubt. The economy was faltering, bad bankers were abundant and nobody knew if their loved ones would come home. Capra’s era is not that different from our own. We’ve got bad guys our army has to fight, bad bankers which we could only hope to stop and an uncertain future if we can make it enough to provide for our loved ones. The past speaks to us because it tells us the truth. We really do want to believe despite our prevailing sarcasm. Maybe we don’t really feel the desperation of hope that Capra did, the triumph of earnestness of Charles Schultz, the redemption of Dr. Seuss and the belief in magic of Arthur Rankin and Jules Bass. We should thank the highest star on Christmas Eve that they gave it to us and that we should not need to go through it ourselves.<br /><br />I urge everyone to look outside the regular Christmas tree of T.V. specials. The new ones might not be so bad. Maybe they just need a little love. Sometimes that’s all that we need. Just a little lift. A guardian angel, a spark of belief, a resilient tree or a shining red light in the darkness. Give the present as much attention as the past. Not just for yourselves, but for the future you long for and want for your children. Enjoy the new specials on Lifetime, Disney and Nickelodeon. Think of how you felt seeing Rudolph fly, Clark Griswold cry in the attic and George Bailey holding Zuzu under the tree. Maybe it does take a miracle to believe in Christmas these days but as Joel Grey sang in <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2kRt1gbUXJg">“The Night Before Christmas,” even a miracle needs a hand</a>.Adam Koeppehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00719500219198312201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261935655974994089.post-11953666411352890002009-11-15T19:09:00.000-08:002009-11-19T19:29:35.990-08:00Waking Up With Country<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbZP1y2xElfcHZMS5eYRdUC338KMMhLxLnv5BdFzlPjFQ-AVUH8YNeKl_ezl_eUs4hXKTq8fj7Upg41si4AdgGWOihTD3vNqC7ifLNzDDnKNvJKbz3Uq_KOWgf3567EZtRXMf9Oy_O_GAl/s1600/tractor+wagon+1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406022093347723234" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbZP1y2xElfcHZMS5eYRdUC338KMMhLxLnv5BdFzlPjFQ-AVUH8YNeKl_ezl_eUs4hXKTq8fj7Upg41si4AdgGWOihTD3vNqC7ifLNzDDnKNvJKbz3Uq_KOWgf3567EZtRXMf9Oy_O_GAl/s320/tractor+wagon+1.jpg" border="0" /></a> I’m not sure when I woke up, but I’m sure it started with a song. The morning milking was AM radio ringing in the house. It was five in the morning as I heard the radio ring. It was Boone and Erickson on WCCO AM and the songs my Daddy sang. It wasn’t easy, scratching the dust under my eyes. My Dad got up with a fire and a mission. I heard the “good morning” song on the radio and I watched my Dad get up. There were cows to be milked and Granddad was waiting. He sang the morning songs before the sun rose, songs meant to be sang as you grunted it out. As he showered, he was happy, the land which he farmed on was his and his father’s. The songs sung in affirmation to the world he lived in and was never going to be gone. I must have been four or five, when I rode with Dad on his tractor. We spread manure over the land and laughed at its splatter. I guess it was funny, when I volunteered to clean it off. To me, it was happiness seeing my family get along.<br /><br />I remember the radio alongside the milk tank that I climbed. There must have been work to do, but to me it was just fun. It was a ride watching machines work, holding a lever just right. I don’t know if I helped anything but being a part of it was magical. I walked through the barn like a labyrinth, with trap doors and forts made of hay. I could hide and imagine adventures every day. The sounds and the daydreams in the hay were safe inside myself. It was a castle of straw, a world that hummed with the buzz of making something. I had my first adventures there as my Granddad tugged me down. We watched the milk fill the tank and he would tell me stories and jokes while we sat. As I sat on his lap, there was a calendar and a radio. Thirty years later, the calendar and the phone still sit like it was 1981. The barn is a hard room to go into for inside I see my past.<br /><br />There was a sense of purpose, of prosper and happiness. Maybe it was just contentment and a grasp onto the past. The radio sang morning and another day with the cows. I guess it must be hard, getting kicked at all the time. It must have been harder to let go, hoping the future will be more fine. I miss my Dad, milking cows and swearing strong. I miss my Granddad, laughing as he went along. Granddad always had a big perspective. What is broken could be fixed. To this day I miss his smile and his magic of fixing a problem just by poking at its innards. If he ever got mad, he never showed it to me. Granddad gave me the wonder of farming while my Dad busted his ass.<br /><br />My Dad and Granddad worked well together, a yin to a yang. They could always solve a problem, one way or another. I remember when I was nineteen years old, helping Granddad fix tractors in the shed and he was so proud of me. He gave me the rope and I ran with it. We bought repair parts and I saw him turn on his charm. It was so fun to be there, inside his warmth. A few years later I was helping him work on a tractor and he told me in sadness that he didn’t have the strength anymore. That admission did not stop him from trying and make me love him all the more for admitting it. He didn’t quit. My father won’t either. When I start one of our tractors, I feel them both inside me.<br /><br />I am alone on the John Deere 4020 tractor as my Dad combines. I feel the air around me and I feel Granddad. He’s talking baseball or girls to me with a gold-toothed grin. No matter the weather, he always knows it works out in the end. I always look to the side of my tractor and see him there. He’s there keeping me company while I wait and guiding me while I unload my wagon. My Grandma makes the same sandwiches, with the same love and care. In the open air of the field, I feel it all within me. Despite how hard it can be and the animosity that comes with the field, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.<br /><br />There’s always an argument between fathers and sons. A simultaneous need to teach and to love. To criticize and approve. I don’t think this philosophy has been any different for generations. We want our children to learn from us and improve on our mistakes. We also don’t want them to fail. Maybe that’s why fathers have that loud voice. I used to hear my Dad and Grandpa yell at each other. Usually it was a disagreement of how something should be fixed or how best to go about what they agreed previously about fixing. Sometimes, one would walk away, angry and confident in their belief. It never lasted long, a day at the most to cool heads and realize that nobody was really wrong. Emotions can get to you sometimes, more so if they build up. It takes an eruption to calm a volcano. After the dust is settled, there are still two guys working together. I saw that with my Dad. I think my Granddad is still there with us when we get mad. A child of the depression has seen far worse than auger placement and branch cutting. He could just say our names: “Michael! Adam!” and it would be enough to check ourselves and get straight. Granddad spoke to both of us a night ago. I’m pretty damn sure my Dad and I both saw his deep blue eyes and arms holding his crutches firmly. He didn’t need to say anything, the thought of him brought us back together. His words were what my Dad and I heard inside. There is no giving up, not now, not ever.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyIOlzpOABjfzZZz49bQHo14L6oaHl5U5gwP8_96YYF4gYeOjLiS4z-wbSBaZNrv5z46Q-8hbPeGa-vbTrdq5inmzm8nJ1p-fq4xxOaiowJ2duAseZXPE9E4jbsujtZZEXbbWmHhKlISVH/s1600/tractors.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406022425037407746" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyIOlzpOABjfzZZz49bQHo14L6oaHl5U5gwP8_96YYF4gYeOjLiS4z-wbSBaZNrv5z46Q-8hbPeGa-vbTrdq5inmzm8nJ1p-fq4xxOaiowJ2duAseZXPE9E4jbsujtZZEXbbWmHhKlISVH/s320/tractors.jpg" border="0" /></a>Granddad is with my Dad and I when we drive around the county looking at crops. Sometimes Dad tells the stories out of his mouth, about the land and who owns it. We drive and look at the hills and valleys slowly. I feel Granddad in the truck with us, wondering what he would point out or what joke he would tell. But I also know that he sees a new time, when there is a grandson who is a now a father, a father who is now a Granddad and a little boy and girl who would love to be taken on that long ride. I hope he sees his great grandchildren rolling down the hills, playing in the dirt and climbing the tractors he drove for many years. Even today, my son asks about who he was and it makes me think of the times my Granddad, my father and I had harvesting together. Although the road is not easy, I hope my kids see the paths paved by their ancestors. To take a steep breath at the top of a hill overlooking a lake, sled down a hill into a snow bank, make a baseball field out of abandoned buildings, climb a hayloft looking for trap doors, fish by the lake at five in the morning, listen to a Twins baseball game beneath the trees as the sun sets, dig a cave into a snowdrift with your dog or cat, explore all the silos with mice and spiders, put the tractor in one gear faster than needed, screw up a few times but have it forgiven and sit at the end of the day on Granddad’s old step stool.<br /><br />The barn has no cows. The hay loft is thirty years old. The spirit is still there as long as there’s someone to hold onto it. Things break – we fix it. If we break - we should fix it. The machinery gets older but the manual stays the same. The radio still plays in the morning. It plays the same song that was heard thirty years ago. It’s the song my Granddad heard as he smoked his pipe milking cows. It is in the shed as my kids pick up the air compressor and make art out of dirt as their father did thirty years ago. When my father and I close the shed doors for the night, it is not an end, but a beginning. Locking the doors is not for yesterday, but for tomorrow. As I leave the shed, I always look up at the sign my Dad put up after my Grandpa died. In handwritten black paint, an autograph of Earl Koeppe. My Granddad. My Dad’s father. It isn’t a remembrance but an inspiration: Never give up! Laugh along the way! Life may be hard but it is short. Enjoy the harvest and reap the knowledge and dreams past from generation to generation. Pass your ancestors’ stories to your own descendants, so their legacy fills the land and air we breathe. They are the best crop you will ever sow, the kind that lasts forever.Adam Koeppehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00719500219198312201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261935655974994089.post-76793999675306191652009-10-17T20:28:00.000-07:002009-10-17T20:34:16.689-07:00Where Wild Things Are Born<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirekPZk0fhIzZA4Se9oVzXrtqtcwKfzaoEvc_P2VxA-zoc_svSN5dQ1_PdPp5wmaD5QwQAzs5f7hLtK39KwelqafGOcV5w77sMit6ty4i1H_UWr_NeRzXdUQCJmxucC7utBto4wtCxnSUO/s1600-h/where-the-wild-things-are-movie-still.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393777774346117570" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 233px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirekPZk0fhIzZA4Se9oVzXrtqtcwKfzaoEvc_P2VxA-zoc_svSN5dQ1_PdPp5wmaD5QwQAzs5f7hLtK39KwelqafGOcV5w77sMit6ty4i1H_UWr_NeRzXdUQCJmxucC7utBto4wtCxnSUO/s320/where-the-wild-things-are-movie-still.jpg" border="0" /></a> A long time ago, in a shire that’s not too distant, there was a television set. The television set served as a home for many a child, a shining god covered by oak surrounded by plants, coffee tables, ashtrays and pictures of family on adjacent corners of the living room wall. There’s a record player at another corner, gigantic and with switches that could make any child excited with the opportunity to play the music stored in the rack below. The TV and the stereo were magical things which gave you a passport beyond the world of action figures and Barbie dolls. In the 1970’s and 1980’s, these were your parents’ toys, not your own. One false move on the big RCA tube could cause the family T.V. to go into all weird forms of color, none of which would be acceptable to Mom and Dad. A scratch on a 45 stopped that great record, skipping where there should have been a beat. It wasn’t easy being a kid in the 1970’s. Everything broke and it took a lot of money to fix it. There was no reset button, no re-boot. A child’s hand brought about the electronic apocalypse to these appliances our parents had only dreamt of. In an era where no-one had a thousand CD’s or movies, there were just these two boxes of information. The stereo and television meant a lot to parents raising kids in the 1960’s and 1970’s. It was a semblance of release and relaxation. A virtual babysitter to help take away the daily doldrums of everyday life, yet these advancements left a void. The emptiness which is left when parents aren’t around anymore. This void was filled by imaginations of children, filled with wild things.<br /><br />Film animation shorts had neared its end in the 1950’s. Film companies like Warner Brothers, MGM and Disney started to transition their product to the widening television audience, ending their theatrical short output in favor of the now famous “Saturday Morning” cartoons. The 1960’s output of MGM alum’s William Hanna and Joseph Barbera proved widely popular but Yogi Bear and Snagglepuss were not adequate substitutes for the quality of film shorts a decade before. The stories were weak, the animation sub-par. For many kids seeing this retread of Mack Sennett’s classic silent shorts was enough to take away a morning of Mom not talking to Dad, or Mom working without a Dad. Maybe watching Yogi Bear take the umpteenth picnic basket was a type of solace; Fred Flintstone or George Jetson getting some comeuppance yet being forgiven by their family for their weekly stupidities made the doldrums of reality easier to take. For many kids, this reality was either too blatant and boring or just enough of an excuse to escape into a book filled with possibilities, maybes and everythings.<br /><br />Maurice Sendak’s “Where The Wild Things Are” was published during the advent of the Saturday Morning cartoon era. However, it’s words and pictures evoke an era long-gone. The book was a movie before it ever was one. It is a journey into escape, a world without boundaries. It was designed as a story with multiple interpretations for parents to tell their children; have them look at the pictures and dream of a fantastical world of kind, gentle monsters that epitomize comfort when parents cannot, or show a scary land of unpredictability, filled with creatures who love you so much, they’ll eat you up. Sendak’s pictures of the “wild things” make you love or fear them, depending how you look at each creature. It seems they move through the flow of your emotions. Is it how you look at them or how they look at you? Each moves differently through different eyes. The book is short, yet the eyes of the wild things catch you: are you joining the “wild rumpus” or running away? Is the real world worth escaping? Is the comfort of being loved, no matter how complicated it may be, more real than a world of adoring monsters? Is the soup still warm?<br /><br />Many of us join Max on our various escapes from the real world. We want to get away, just for a little bit, to take our journey outside of our bedrooms and our lives. We clutch the blanket over our heads, hiding from the world as we finds sleep underneath the covers. Sometimes we hold our kids, sometimes we hold our spouses, sometimes we just hold on to pillows. There is a wall that sits when we go to sleep. It is the wall with a small door we want to go through before we think about it. It can be seen in a cuddle, the part you feel next to your loved one right before sleep sets in. Their door opens and you become just a little bit of them. Maybe it is in part of your kids as they hold onto you while they are coaxed to sleep. As they chase their dreams or nightmares, your steadfast comfort provides a journey full of wonder and hope. If you find yourself lying alone, cold and against the wall with a blanket covering your head, you can draw the way out with the tip of your finger. As it gets cold and lonely, place your finger on the wall, drag it up a little bit, then sideways and down to make a door. It might take a few times but trust yourself. By the second or third time, you’re deep into sleep and you’re gone.<br /><br />A recent article by <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/10/11/books/review/Handy-t.html?_r=1&scp=2&sq=where%20the%20wild%20things%20are&st=cse">Bruce Handy in the New York Times </a>questioned the appeal of the original 1963 book, implying “Where the Wild Things Are” was intended to garner the favor of critics and not necessarily children, at least not modern youth raised on such fabulous works such as the film adaptations of “The Grinch” and “The Cat in the Hat.” Maybe Handy has a point but if he does, it is a sad one, indeed. Have we grown into such literal-minded adults, hell-bent of creating literal-minded youths by age six that all the imagination has slowly been squeezed out of the psyche like extra lemon juice unneeded for a modern mental cocktail? However, it is worth noting Times devoted multiple articles a little over a month ago covering the great resurgence of another product from 1963: The Beatles. It should be suggested to Mr. Handy that he trash his Beatles records (if he has any) any purchase a nice copy of the Kingsmen’s Greatest Hits as “Louie, Louie” seems to be more his speed. Modern children are not much different than those Maurice Sendak wrote to in 1963. The have infinitely more technology and access to media but they still become bored with commercial crap written in a Hollywood boardroom. For every kid who was bored by the Hanna-Barbara shows of the sixties such as Yogi Bear or Huckleberry Hound, there are kids in 2009 who think they are being subjected to a visual lobotomy by watching “The Grinch.” I supervised a group for fifth graders last December who treated the Jim Carrey abomination like an episode of “Mystery Science Theater 3000.” I let them have their heckling fun, knowing their own sense of humor was infinitely better than the jokes they were being subjected to. The reason classic shows such as “A Charlie Brown Christmas” and Rankin-Bass specials like “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” retain their appeal is they never lose the sense of imagination and wonder which exists inside children be they eight or eighty-eight.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1GzKBebjB3rIrEmVg3QbfcZpUuvG1-S5JYM0zBNwA31kzStHQ7lSLnqFf4BS9A1BpGHzSMz8e04fhXbOoUEng1FercySxW23t_Ti8wftvmJPaQTfFz9KOlZqDFWdmc9QUMhh8RBIXoyT5/s1600-h/wild+things+rumpus.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393777951823974114" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 142px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1GzKBebjB3rIrEmVg3QbfcZpUuvG1-S5JYM0zBNwA31kzStHQ7lSLnqFf4BS9A1BpGHzSMz8e04fhXbOoUEng1FercySxW23t_Ti8wftvmJPaQTfFz9KOlZqDFWdmc9QUMhh8RBIXoyT5/s320/wild+things+rumpus.jpg" border="0" /></a>Spike Jonze’s film adaptation of “Where the Wild Things Are” required significant expansion of Sendak’s original book. Jonze and co-writer Dave Eggers never lose focus on the imagination of the boy, Max. An early scene in the film shows Max building a fort in his room with many of his stuffed animal friends sitting just so underneath the sheets. It is a short but poignant shot, as any child who grew up lonely (to a certain extent, we all do) could empathize with Max’s longing for companionship and adventure. Anyone who had stuffed companions in their youth might remember that many of their friends’ personalities were malleable, changing to accommodate the adventure of the day. As Max begins his adventure into the land of the wild things, the creatures mirror the various emotions of a young child and the personalities they inject into their own bedside companions. There is Carol (wonderfully voiced by James Gandolfini) who wants everything in the world to be perfect and to be the center of attention and affection. Another, K.W., does not want to play, but when is coaxed into doing so by Max becomes the “new” favorite, much to the ire of Carol. Judith, the suspicious one, slowly joins the fun as well. Many of the other creatures are treated with less attention and detail, which is how any child plays out their imaginary adventures. There can only be so many best friends at one time and the shy sweetness of several of the wild things shows an imagination full of love, but there only is so much room under the sheet fort.<br /><br />As with many pretend adventures, building and comradery turns to conflict out of the necessity of new excitement. Max decides to have a war and puts the wild things on sides of “good guys” and “bad guys.” The favorites Carol and K.W. are part of Max’s team with most of the other wild things delegated to “bad guy” status despite their protests. Like any rough play, real or imaginary, things get hyper, out of control and someone gets hurt. Alexander, the diminutive goat, is picked on repeatedly and another wild thing suffers an injury all too common in stuffed animals: the loss of a limb. Jonze and Eggers show the fallout from the eyes of young Max who slowly realizes each and every one of these creatures has feelings of their own. Maybe you’ve had a similar experience in the past, cherished friends who became casualties in a bedroom version of “Lord of the Rings.” When you saw them hurt, arms ripped, eyes cracked, how did you feel? Did you like the world you created or did it make you sad to see what happened to the friends you piled on top of you in the middle of a scary night? Did you feel bad for the one you ignored or the one that lost an arm? Making things better in your own imaginary world can be just as emotional, if not more so, than the real one.<br /><br />The only scene between Max and Alexander involves the feelings of being ignored. Max attempts reparations, but there is sadness dominating the world he once loved. The playtime is over and he longs to be comforted, stating he wished they had a mommy like he did. The adventure is over and it is time to leave, just as it is always time to leave the fort in the bedroom. There are goodbyes, tears and sadness. The severed arm of the injured wild thing is not healed, just replaced with a clumsy stick. When you said goodbye to your friends, was it not the same? There is always tomorrow for dreams to come true. As Max journeys back to his home and to reality, he takes the adventures of all kids, big and little with him. In the end, a nice hot bowl of soup and the embrace of someone who loves you unconditionally is the destination we all want to land in, whether we are immature enough to admit it or not.<br /><br />When you see “Where the Wild Things Are,” think about where you were when you were Max. Be it ’62, 72, 82, 92, 02 and all the years in-between including the present day. What were your adventures? Who (and what) accompanied you? Do you miss them? Do you want to go back there? Do you miss being under a real, big pile? If you have children, take the time and watch them go on their adventures. Be quick about it, for eventually they will hide them. Go through the fingernail door in the cold wall, before it shrinks forever. Watch the stories they tell. They are the same stories, just different players. Notice the friends who are guarding them against the dragon and those who have to sit and hold up the fort. Maybe that sad, little friend just needs a little love. Go back to that world, just one more time. I dare you. Your kids will notice the glimmer inside you, the belief of what is impossible and illogical is believable as long as you have enough childhood inside you to still believe. The child in us may be distant, but is never truly gone as long as we believe in a world of forts, sailboats and wild things. </div>Adam Koeppehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00719500219198312201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261935655974994089.post-90611809952633822262009-09-26T19:12:00.000-07:002009-09-26T19:18:21.406-07:00In the Slumber of Angels<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit9trPPG7iy_rW6oSrigVS0ttRzw4F83hr3VAZWyW6t4UFqIK_5RX_2YXeSzcXdHFpWnnrRqTL1cg-X4wLPYLwklrxGbSNCElmwyzwzOMIdgpQPjJeRDiJvwnt-lwZRNqP6fZ-pn4UOcsg/s1600-h/shane+sitting+on+house.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385965218651207618" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit9trPPG7iy_rW6oSrigVS0ttRzw4F83hr3VAZWyW6t4UFqIK_5RX_2YXeSzcXdHFpWnnrRqTL1cg-X4wLPYLwklrxGbSNCElmwyzwzOMIdgpQPjJeRDiJvwnt-lwZRNqP6fZ-pn4UOcsg/s320/shane+sitting+on+house.jpg" border="0" /></a>No-one knows how conversations happen with kids. Subjects blurt out of the blue without context or logic, yet the questions start to require thoughtful answers. By about four or five years old, the innate b.s. detector starts to go off when a topic is sidestepped. Like any good, inquisitive reporter, they press the matter but sometimes are unprepared for the answers which may be given. “Daddy, where’s your grandpa?” Shane asked one late Friday night. He must have overheard my mentioning of my late grandfather, on what would have been his 92nd birthday. “He’s dead, Shane,” I replied. There was no point or logic in lying.<br />“When’s he going to come back? When can I meet him?”<br />I took a deep breath. “He’s not coming back.”<br />“He’s gone away forever?” Shane’s voice sounded sad and scared.<br />“For a long time…he’s in heaven now.”<br />“Where’s that?” Too bad the Pope wasn’t around to pontificate. I would have settled for Rick Warren or even Oprah.<br />“It’s the place people go when they die.” I knew what was coming next.<br />“Where? Just tell me where!” I tried the fourth dimension analogy.<br />“It’s a place that’s far away but is right next to you at the same time,” I said using a little of Doctor Who’s sense of the universe. The universe, at least as we know it, does not exist in a child’s eyes, only facts of what is or is not.<br />“Away?” His eyes swelled with tears. “I don’t want to go away! I don’t want to die! I want to stay alive forever!”<br /><br />My son began crying and there was little I could do to console him. Death is not a subject many adults are comfortable with, let alone an innocent little boy. About a year ago, I used the Sesame Street episode discussing the death of Mr. Hooper to convince the three year old Shane not to use dying so much in his action play. That wasn’t going to cut it this time. Over the past year, he began to show a love of nature and animals, big and small. He started to notice the change of seasons: plants growing, bearing beautiful fruits and flowers. He wanted to take care of a stray little bird in the garage, hoping it would be his friend forever. Shane held the bird for a few hours and we made it a little home inside a playhouse in the backyard. We checked on his “little birdie” several times before he went to bed. I hoped as much as I could hope, that I would not see what most people see when they try to care for a bird that can’t fly. The next morning arrived not because I wanted it to, but because it had to. Some things like sunrise are just inevitable. Shane was still sleeping on our couch (which he prefers to his bed) as I walked outside to look inside the playhouse. The little bird was gone with no signs, struggle or carnage. In the midst of the night, it must have found a way to fly. It seems many of us grow cynical with age and the conventional wisdom of many still sees the tiny bird meeting an unfortunate fate at the hands of nature’s innate cruelty. I chose the optimistic approach, not just because it was better for Shane, but it is what I wanted to believe as well. Our faith was rewarded a few days later, as I saw the little bird landing on a tree in the yard. I grabbed Shane and showed him that his little friend was ok. It is those little experiences that give you faith in the universe and the forces which control it. Sometimes there is beauty beyond belief.<br /><br />That experience was a few months removed from the basement incident. Shane had begun to understand what death was and there was nothing I could do to prevent it. There are as many good things as bad when it comes to growing up. We can lie to ourselves and say they don’t exist or we can accept the inevitable. Our children will not always be protected from bad things, no matter how hard we try. Shane dried his tears for a little bit and asked me “What did your Grandpa look like?”<br />“He was tall, had short hair and wore glasses,” I said, choking up a little.<br />“What else?”<br />“He was funny and kind. He smoked a pipe and smelled like leather.” It had been many years since I sat in my Grandpa’s lap but his smell felt like yesterday as I described it.<br />“What else?”<br />“He had one leg.”<br />“How did that happen?”<br />“A long time ago, he had an accident on the farm and he hurt his leg,” I said, recalling the story told to me many times by my Grandmother. I knew this part was not going to go over well. It’s hard to tell a child farming is something enjoyable when the consequences can be so severe.<br />“Was he alright?”<br />“Yes. God took care of him.”<br />“What did he look like?” Kid conversations take such an immediate and persistent turn.<br /><br />I took Shane to my computer and brought up pictures I used in a previous essay about my Grandparents. I pointed out Granddad’s wooden leg.<br />“How did he walk?”<br />“He had crutches like Mommy had when she broke her ankle. He could walk very fast.” Indeed, he could. His agility had to be seen to be believed. This onslaught of reality combined with being very tired became too much for Shane. The world is a scary place, full of hazards and dangers. There comes a point where looking out for cars while crossing the street becomes real. This was that time. There was nothing I could do to help him process all this, except watch him cry to sleep next to his Mommy. I’d had enough of the circle of life for one night but I was determined to do one thing before I went to bed. I didn’t want him to wake up and be alone. I scrunched into the couch beside him and held him until I slept.<br /><br />There’s a lot of parents who long just for a night or weekend to escape the daily venture into “kidland.” Actually, I think that’s all parents, whether we chose to admit it or not. Anyone who packages themselves as “super-parent” is either living a lie or trying to sell a book – Kate Gosselin: THIS IS YOU. Every parent needs a break but most of us do not have the luxury of hiring Nell Carter. The last night I spent away from my kids, I ended up talking about them. Truth be told, that was most of the nights. As much as I wanted to pretend to be a non-parent, my gut ate me up enough where I couldn’t place myself outside of the life I’ve had for almost five years. My son and daughter are a part of me, the biggest part of me that I will give to this world. I understand what it is like to long for a feeling of irresponsibility. Those days are fun but they are best left for those who have yet to feel a part of yourself which you have to love and protect. Little kids don’t fly overnight. Most aren’t ready to fly for twenty years. Every time I’m not there, I constantly think of them and what they are doing, if they are happy and full of love.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiunIprszckx2kTFNkODLSZ04Pdu3mZQreIZ_7VunepW8KPY2Fn2tC9U70W6p8c_yQectKaGjvzNXJREs2-6XPbkJ-O8MfGHsVWEAa0Q96hTyzVk3v1Zh1UJpe4H7xxJhLvtWeJ8s-SJvfE/s1600-h/romana+jack+sleeping.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385965311402766946" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiunIprszckx2kTFNkODLSZ04Pdu3mZQreIZ_7VunepW8KPY2Fn2tC9U70W6p8c_yQectKaGjvzNXJREs2-6XPbkJ-O8MfGHsVWEAa0Q96hTyzVk3v1Zh1UJpe4H7xxJhLvtWeJ8s-SJvfE/s320/romana+jack+sleeping.jpg" border="0" /></a>Admittedly, parenting is hard. That’s why parenting magazines and books sell better than Mountain Dew or Coca-Cola. I refuse to think or believe that my times without my children are better than the times I spend reading books, building castles or protecting them from kids who want to bury their grasshopper collection with rocks. I feel bad when I lose my train of thought in mid-day. I can list two-thousand records in my collection or every Doctor Who episode made but sometimes I forget to replace coffee lids. But I got the sippy cup in the middle of the night and held my daughter as she fell back to sleep. I can’t showcase the fun times I have without my kids as I’d rather be riding down the waterslide with them. The stress of raising kids is big, bigger than being President of the United States of America (wait – he does both). The worst thing any parent can do is give in when your kids need you most. Note to parents: YOUR KIDS WILL ALWAYS NEED YOU.<br /><br />There is much talk about “helicopter parents;” parents who choose to supervise their child’s development at a miniscule scale one would think they are MIT students working on a master’s paper. I don’t advocate such intense supervision as much as being there for your kids when they need you. I have many friends who are single parents and have chosen to do what is not just natural, but what is right. They may not get the “second spring” that their exes do, but the reward lasts a lifetime. Just picking up your kid after school, playing a game like “Chutes and Ladders” or helping them with algebra provides a bigger buzz than any Saturday night at the local bar pretends to be. I feel bad for parents who think they’re lonely, for they are forsaking the unconditional love their children give to them every day. Most parents have had one good go-round of being an irresponsible child. Providing your children with a relatively happy, fun and memorable childhood requires giving up certain remnants of your youth. Not the fun parts, but all the stupid ones. If you are thinking “I don’t know what you mean” then you must have merged stupidity with fun a long time ago.<br /><br />Shane started pre-school this month. I didn’t shed any tears as much as I was proud of him. He cares about people and the world around him, which is something I hope will never be taken away. He gives flowers to strangers because he thinks it will make them a little bit happier. My daughter, Romana, longs to be part of his class but she still likes a nice hug and a good book to keep her company before she destroys Shane’s Lego robot. The happiest times I have now are not at a party, but when I pretend to be asleep and they talk to each other, becoming not just brother and sister but friends. Both of them want to be cuddled with at night and who am I to refuse. There will come a time, as it is the way of things, where they no longer need nor want the comfort of Mommy and Daddy. Until then, I am happy to lie beside angels.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIIn0y7RYJqEsPJfkvGbKRrYSQvtE5-0h0nKc1ZWn28-XzEbXR-laOcBbW8ZdgeWCqw6sM4detyzo0PmD8powyqwb_eVJlRimjdgQdGYztiv1UZb5Eh1c1D1izOUInhD9yI9YtbBBXWTnv/s1600-h/adam+shane+romana+sleeping.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385964960117698242" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 154px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIIn0y7RYJqEsPJfkvGbKRrYSQvtE5-0h0nKc1ZWn28-XzEbXR-laOcBbW8ZdgeWCqw6sM4detyzo0PmD8powyqwb_eVJlRimjdgQdGYztiv1UZb5Eh1c1D1izOUInhD9yI9YtbBBXWTnv/s320/adam+shane+romana+sleeping.jpg" border="0" /></a>Adam Koeppehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00719500219198312201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261935655974994089.post-2904471446444593742009-09-17T18:31:00.000-07:002009-09-17T18:42:00.940-07:00Smells Like Fake Spirit: How the Guitar Hero Franchise Jumped the Shark<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ncYtNyQtZLWwag3cE1jwZJObjiVaBKndLOtO5v-T3XUEbc1VQxEre3Tgd5F-xAggr8KlhO92mdDMOdRwASOI-bARaSv1EKd50TdFONCEPP_1HvtlZXe4lHUCDK-kTF0IqAsajFahps53/s1600-h/kurt+cobain+guitar+hero.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382615461838962850" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 179px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ncYtNyQtZLWwag3cE1jwZJObjiVaBKndLOtO5v-T3XUEbc1VQxEre3Tgd5F-xAggr8KlhO92mdDMOdRwASOI-bARaSv1EKd50TdFONCEPP_1HvtlZXe4lHUCDK-kTF0IqAsajFahps53/s320/kurt+cobain+guitar+hero.jpg" border="0" /></a> When I was an alien, cultures weren’t opinions,” – Kurt Cobain<br /><br />On September 1st, 2009, the fifth installment of the popular rhythm game franchise, “Guitar Hero” was released to little fanfare, its arrival eclipsed by a similar game featuring a band whose recording career ended forty years ago. While the Beatles were grabbing all the headlines with “Beatles Rock Band” a YouTube user named Corporalgregg2 released a video compilation highlighting some of the new features available in the “Guitar Hero 5” video game. Specifically, the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-UuAoEW5MbI">video shows one of its playable characters, the late Kurt Cobain, singing Public Enemy’s “Bring the Noise,” Billy Idol’s “Dancing With Myself” and most disturbing, Bon Jovi’s “You Give Love a Bad Name.” </a>The Guitar Hero 5 shows Cobain rocking out to these songs with mannerisms appropriate to each of the tunes. He jumps around like Flavor Flav during “Bring the Noise” and poses like a poseur during “You Give Love a Bad Name.” Much of the rock community, especially Cobain’s fans, were outraged that his likeness was used in such a disrespectful, humiliating fashion. Blame was mostly laid at the feet of Courtney Love, Cobain’s widow. Love has vehemently denied signing Cobain’s likeness to Activision (the developer of Guitar Hero 5) but has been subjected to countless attacks from all sides since she began making statements regarding the situation on Twitter.<br /><br />Attacking Courtney Love is easy for many music fans, who tend to blame her for exploiting Kurt Cobain’s death over the last fifteen years. Much like politics, pointing fingers is easy but doing so represents an ideological short cut in which angry fans find a scapegoat for their frustrations (see Barack Obama and tea parties). Love’s band Hole released a phenomenal record in 1994, “Live Through This” which to many rock fans sounded like a Nirvana record – as if the output of Bush and Stone Temple Pilots didn’t. Hole’s follow-up release in 1998, “Celebrity Skin,” was more polished and produced and drew criticism as being a Smashing Pumpkins style record. The era of grunge had passed by the time of “Celebrity Skin” and many bands were releasing more produced material with less distortion. In retrospect, “Celebrity Skin” was a product of its time, as was “This Is My Truth, Tell Me Yours” by the British band Manic Street Preachers. Music fans didn’t question the Manics’ motives, nor those of David Bowie when they changed their sound. Interestingly, other female rock artists of the time such as Liz Phair were subjected to the slander of “sell-out.” Phair’s 1998 album “Whitechocolatespacegg” was panned for its lack of an edge compared to her earlier releases, “Exile in Guyville” and “Whip-Smart.” This would be considered an outright double-standard except releases by the aforementioned Bush and Stone Temple Pilots were even crappier than their earlier material. The artists who gained fame during the early 90’s grunge era were growing up and evolving, except for Kurt Cobain and Nirvana. His death left a bookmark to the era which no artist could ever attempt to emulate or surpass.<br /><br />Cobain’s mystique and reputation as an anti-authority, anti-corporate icon would remain intact for the rest of the 1990’s and into the 21st Century. Much like the late John Lennon, music fans tend to remember Cobain with rose-tinted glasses, forgetting that it was Cobain himself who wanted a more polished version of Nirvana’s sound, which was heard initially in the “Sliver” single and was perfected in the classic album “Nevermind.” It is probable Cobain never thought this step would turn the band into the next big thing as much as a production equivalent of the Pixies or Husker Du. His classic liner notes railing against wannabe fans in the album “Incesticide” confirms this. Cobain was not comfortable with being an icon. Had he lived, it would be hard to fathom him in one of those horrid Grammy Awards duets rocking it out with Kanye West. But like John Lennon, this speculation only exists in the form of what did happen or what we perceive our heroes to be. “Tomorrow Never Knows” can be taken both ways. A hardcore Bowie fan in the 1970’s would never have thought the Thin White Duke could release “Let’s Dance” in the 80’s. People are people, so why should it be that everyone is expected to act stereotypically?<br /><br />Economically, Courtney Love is fine. She has not only the continual revenue from Nirvana material but also her own. There is little reasoning an individual with a lot of money would exploit the legacy of someone she loves for her own gain, if said gain would not significantly alter her way of life. Yoko Ono is insanely rich through being John Lennon’s widow. Many of her marketing choices regarding Lennon’s estate, such as jewelry, are questionable, but maybe she is doing the best she can to bring more of Lennon’s mystique to a new audience. But bashing Yoko is out of vogue, considering she has maintained a cordial business relationship with Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr and the estate of the late George Harrison for quite some time. Hating Courtney Love is still a hobby for many Nirvana fans, which has largely been driven by the antagonism between her and Nirvana members Dave Grohl and Krist Novoselic. Much of this animosity toward Love derives from the publication of Kurt Cobain’s Journals in 2002. The collection of Cobain’s diaries was thought by many to have been in poor taste and motivated by money. However, most material such as this finds its way into release sooner or later. Private letters and recordings of deceased U.S. presidents are widely considered revelations and are seldom condemned. Cobain’s journals would have eventually have been published by somebody, sooner or later. Why is the fact that Courtney Love chose to do it received with such hatred? Nobody cares that the family of Harry S. Truman released his private papers. Maybe Courtney Love should be commended for supervising Cobain’s journals, rather than leaving them to someone else.<br /><br />The 2004 Nirvana box set, “With the Lights Out,” seemed to convince many fans that Love, Grohl and Novoselic had at least reached a truce of some sort. The release of Guitar Hero 5 has opened up decades old wounds, with Love, Grohl and Novoselic trading insulting barbs, blaming each other rather than focusing on the true culprit in the debacle. Activision has stated repeatedly they consulted the trio regarding the inclusion of the songs “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and “Lithium” in Guitar Hero 5 and gave Love final approval on Kurt Cobain’s likeness in the game. Yet it seems they held something back, legalese or not. The term “avatar” meant having Cobain’s likeness included in the game to Love, not letting him sing the songs of other artists looking like a jackass. I challenge Love’s accusers to think about this. What is an avatar? A new movie by James Cameron? An animated show about an air-bender on Cartoon Network? I sure as hell would have a tough time explaining all this to my Dad. Logically, it seems Activision needed more playable characters for Guitar Hero 5 than Shirley Manson and Carlos Santana. In fact, players can humiliate the late, great Johnny Cash in the same fashion as Cobain, yet nobody is complaining – yet. However cool it may be to have the “man in black” sing “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” it is certain many of his long term fans will consider this a bastardization of his legacy. Yet all focus and blame is focused on Courtney Love, who regardless of what she signed or did not sign, had absolutely no intent or desire to humiliate her husband.<br /><br />Video games, by their nature, have to get bigger or better. The worst review a game can get is “I like the older one.” Games such as Madden NFL improve yearly but do not allow technological advances to sidestep the concept of football. Many game franchises are not as astute. Adding more features sometimes subtracts from the experience. Capcom’s “Street Fighter” franchise was the biggest game on the planet in 1992, the same time Nirvana was the biggest band in the world. Capcom struggled to advance “Street Fighter II,” arguably the best 2-D platform fighter ever made. They created more characters, invented more moves for players, but the initial feel was lost. The attempted to copy Namco’s Tekken into 3-D combat with little success. Capcom introduced tag-moves which confused players even further. It would be difficult to find modern game players lining up at midnight anticipating a new Street Fighter release. Instead of working on what made Street Fighter II a classic game, they chose to meddle with it and as a result turned off the millions of fans who bought the game in the first place.<br /><br />Sega’s flagship icon, Sonic the Hedgehog, has suffered a similar fate. After making three games of blink-fast speed and control, Sega chose to enter the 3-D market. The spiky blue rodent no longer sped on all levels but walked around and collected idiotic objects in “Sonic Adventure.” Further attempts at modernization only succeeded in making Sonic suck even further. Like Capcom, Sega forgot what made the initial Sonic the Hedgehog games appealing. Other video game franchises such as Mortal Combat, Pitfall, and WWE pro-wrestling have suffered a similar fate. Improvement is not always advancement, new does not always mean better. The desire for more money, however, remains the same.<br /><br />Activision knew it had to have something appealing to counteract the onslaught on “Beatles Rock Band.” Playable versions of music icons such as Johnny Cash and Kurt Cobain seemed to be a logical step. The geeks in their cubicles thought “more means better.” Customization of licensed characters had been done in professional sports games and pro-wrestling games. What is the difference? The pathetic reality Activision has realized is there is a big contrast between making Brett Farve as great as he was in the 1990’s with a military-rifle arm or giving John Cena high-flying ability than making music icons sing songs they would never sing. Activision just wanted to make people more excited about the new Guitar Hero, just as ABC thought the Fonz would be super-cool skiing over a shark. But it is a converse equation: we don’t like the more, we want the less. Seeing Kurt Cobain singing songs of artists he hated does not widen the appeal of Guitar Hero, it shrinks it. Interestingly, punk icon Iggy Pop has chosen to let himself be rendered in Lego form for the upcoming “Lego Rock Band.” <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tE6kpXOo1IQ">Players can “block-rock” as “the world’s forgotten boy” as they fake strum their way through his 1977 classic, “The Passenger.”</a> It is quite debatable as to who will shell out fifty bucks for this privilege.<br /><br />Guitar Hero’s CEO Dan Rosensweig states <a href="http://www.nme.com/news/nirvana/47369">"We care about the artists more than anyone else and we would like to make artists happy in every circumstance.”</a> It is doubtful Rosenswieg cares more about the artists in Guitar Hero than he does about his financial bottom line. It does not seem he cares about the fans of many of the artists included in the game either To many Nirvana fans, the gift Kurt Cobain gave to the world is not a joke, a game or an avatar for amusement. He was a hero to many who grew up listening to his music while they played video games. Regardless of complaints or compliments, the fake music games will fade into history like the “Macarena.” Kurt Cobain would quite possibly be amused by all this silliness, as he often made fun of Nirvana’s stature as a stadium act by doing deliberately horrid covers of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3sfjCvJAEFg">“The End”</a> and “Baba O’ Reilly.” He’d want everyone to stop taking everything so damn seriously. We should remember his advice: “Stop your crying – go outside and ride your bike.”Adam Koeppehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00719500219198312201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261935655974994089.post-35556248704856684672009-09-07T22:06:00.000-07:002009-09-08T18:52:27.665-07:00I'm Sick and Tired of Getting Ripped Off by the Beatles!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgny70Bas42j5F0OP1d_R5GJ0o9GnVt2XY5jYeEREMP17DDAdWGxV1g6dEYAu2xFl5GTh7uKYDRT0KORcrEyQVaa4kVL-QkQZL5ynAQYcPmhJ1HuhKiGXbbGK3ln0EpiA4myIKljpf5diSg/s1600-h/beatles_butcher.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378960233603517746" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 253px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgny70Bas42j5F0OP1d_R5GJ0o9GnVt2XY5jYeEREMP17DDAdWGxV1g6dEYAu2xFl5GTh7uKYDRT0KORcrEyQVaa4kVL-QkQZL5ynAQYcPmhJ1HuhKiGXbbGK3ln0EpiA4myIKljpf5diSg/s320/beatles_butcher.jpg" border="0" /></a> I don’t care too much for money,<br />Money can’t buy me love – Lennon/McCartney<br /><br />What a crock. By the time “Can’t Buy Me Love” was released in early 1964, The Beatles were well on their way to fame and fortune. Their film “A Hard Days Night” would be released later that year to universal acclaim as the Fab Four laid claim to pop culture dominance in a way that has never been equaled since. At their commercial peak, there was no way a civilized person could escape Beatlemania except by possibly checking themselves into an asylum. There were magazines, lunchboxes, toys and incredibly great music. The music created by John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Ringo Starr is as loved and appreciated now just as it was in the sixties. One can make the argument it is the strength of the songs and band, which has made the Beatles continually popular long after almost all their contemporaries have faded away, burned out or went to the great gig in the sky.<br /><br />However, the Beatles and their managers were masters of self-promotion, possessing an uncanny ability to convince their legions of fans that every new Beatles product is amazing, indispensable and further evidence of their greatness. On September 8th, 2009, the Beatles will release remastered versions of their albums and September 9th, the hotly anticipated “Beatles Rock Band,” a video game which allows players to grab a facsimile instrument of their choice achieve a semblance of “inner Fab-ness.” Before the game has even hit store shelves, it has already received a plethora of accolades from the music press, which has universally proclaimed “Beatles Rock Band” will confirm the Fab Four’s status as the greatest band ever. Sorry. My needle’s stuck somewhere in the middle of “The Long and Winding Road.” It’s stuck on an instrumental bridge which just keeps repeating itself, over and over.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmZmEOLQ7sS3Wh6N-spWAfoXEYuvUToTUR9u-JIWZ6DUgE7sc4YGIDOmlqhprCz9y_QrQ9-P6aU0gWjPVrJsielamyM7VwDc2SvfYUIq0YwAaCrkRLx0t61kuZLl9xyy3EAAe__CgKiSYt/s1600-h/Beatles_-_Get_Back_-_2nd_Glyn_John's_Mix.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378960918358756578" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmZmEOLQ7sS3Wh6N-spWAfoXEYuvUToTUR9u-JIWZ6DUgE7sc4YGIDOmlqhprCz9y_QrQ9-P6aU0gWjPVrJsielamyM7VwDc2SvfYUIq0YwAaCrkRLx0t61kuZLl9xyy3EAAe__CgKiSYt/s320/Beatles_-_Get_Back_-_2nd_Glyn_John's_Mix.jpg" border="0" /></a>My version of the song is from the often-bootlegged <a href="http://www.last.fm/music/The+Beatles/Get+Back+Sessions">“Get Back” sessions</a>, the majority of songs were re-imagined by uber-producer and now convicted killer <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phil_Spector">Phil Spector</a>. The “Get Back” sessions were once some of the most sought after unreleased Beatle material. I purchased by copy fifteen years ago and was anxious to hear the original versions songs on what is widely considered the weakest of Beatles albums. To say that I was disappointed in the material contained in the “Get Back” record would be an understatement. Without the discipline of their longtime producer and mentor, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Martin">Sir George Martin, </a>the Beatles were revealed to be just another band who managed to get the best of breaks throughout their career. However, being a big Beatle fan, I relished having this sacred material, and have the album (with apple-green vinyl) on display at my house. The Beatles were still the greatest ever, and it never for once occurred to me to stop my pursuit of more Beatle product. After fifteen years of seeing continual yet sub-par merchandise, I’ve decided I’m done. I don’t care if anyone wants to pretend they are John Lennon with a plastic Les Paul guitar, make up various excuses as to why it is worth shelling out a week’s pay for music people already have or listen to baby-boomers attempt once again to make their geriatric generation relevant. I have the majority of Beatle-related crap issued since their breakup in 1970 and understand what tomorrow does not know: the Beatles love money more than they love you – Yeah, yeah yeah.<br /><br />The Beatles and their management have orchestrated their posthumous releases in a fashion that has no comparisons in terms of marketing. Their only interest has been financial, to keep as many original fans buying crap but still holding enough in the vaults to keep the mystique alive. The 1970’s saw the Beatles splinter apart. The initial solo releases were excellent but by 1975, the well had run dry. The albums still sold well, but can anyone honestly state the last time they played McCartney’s “Band on the Run,” Lennon’s “Walls and Bridges,” Harrison’s “Dark Horse” or Ringo’s “Goodnight Vienna?” All of these albums were still big sellers but as I look through them, where did they go? Sadly, none of these releases are worth remembering except for those who ran to their local store in anticipation of hearing some resemblance to the band’s glory days. Even though there are a handful of decent songs, most copies are gathering dust on fan’s shelves, evidence of devotion, completion and a desire to get back to a time where all you needed was love. The Beatles were in danger on becoming irrelevant in an era where disco and punk rock were beginning to dominate radio waves. However, the band’s unreleased recordings were among the most sought after by rock and roll fans. Their live recordings and studio outtakes jump-started the bootleg industry. Beatle fanatics flocked to record stores which carried the material, forking over money for super-secret access to their heroes. As their seventies output entered a commercial and critical nadir, the Beatles chose to capitalize on the burgeoning bootleg industry. The 1977 release of <a href="http://www.last.fm/music/The+Beatles/Live+at+the+Hollywood+Bowl">“Live at the Hollywood Bowl”</a> hit number one in Britain and number two in the United States. Upon listening to the material, originally recorded in 1964 and 1965, shows a heavily remixed concerts which brought back to many fans the feeling of Beatlemania. Interestingly, this best-selling record has yet to see a CD release. The following year saw the release of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rarities_(The_Beatles_album)">“Rarities,” </a>an album that culled a few of the best bootleg tracks along with a lot of trivial material. Care to hear “I Want to Hold Your Hand” sang in German? Sure, I bet you do. Care to put it on your Ipod? Anyone, anyone?<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv7cRSwbpI7LNaUmW233dA_KA9U20I4rpViYUojssWbIo6slS3CIe90q_h2aYWdRu95OyZ9LM0QFe4cob6aXZhiSBsDOkV-2TECbEe8ydzDzB37fqtuucpV0GN2ZNbhsJ2c7d7Zd4BiNw3/s1600-h/beatles+rarities.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378965318210729586" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 262px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv7cRSwbpI7LNaUmW233dA_KA9U20I4rpViYUojssWbIo6slS3CIe90q_h2aYWdRu95OyZ9LM0QFe4cob6aXZhiSBsDOkV-2TECbEe8ydzDzB37fqtuucpV0GN2ZNbhsJ2c7d7Zd4BiNw3/s320/beatles+rarities.jpg" border="0" /></a>Despite the fluff, “Beatles Rarities” succeeded in grabbing the attention of music fans. This was largely due to the opening track, the original version of “Across the Universe,” a song which was butchered by Phil Spector on the “Let It Be” album. This song was (and is) worth the price of the whole LP. Also included was “Rain,” the b-side to “Paperback Writer.” “Rain” had a cult following due to the band making a promotional video for the song. The Beatles were very savvy and were the first rock group to promote a 45 as two great songs, not just a designated hit as the a-side and a throwaway song on the flip. To buy a Beatles single from 1966-1969 meant getting two new Beatles songs, the majority of which would not end up on a full-length album release. The songs which did not end up on the “1964-1966” or “1967-1970” double albums were widely circulated among fans. Although the George Harrison B-side to “Lady Madonna,” “The Inner Light” was included, the Beatles chose to make their fans wanting the rest of the b-side material. There is no concise argument that can be made as to why the Beatles did not do this in 1978. None. I challenge the Nowhere Man to think for himself. Ironically, Neil Innes and Eric Idle released the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ePaHG6g7uFw">Rutles</a> film and album in 1978, appropriately titled <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jvkPeX5aVik">“All You Need is Cash.” </a><br /><br />In 1987, the Beatles entered the newest sonic medium of the eighties, the compact disc. The surviving Three-tles (Lennon was assassinated in 1980) stuck to their marketing mantra and gave themselves yet another financial ticket to ride. To ensure Beatle fans across the world would purchase the newly remastered catalog, all forms of album releases would be deleted from their catalog in favor of the British releases. This is why you can’t find your parents’ or grandparents’ copy of<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Meet_The_Beatles!"> “Meet the Beatles!”</a> on CD. Switching to the British catalog of album releases changed up song orders on all Beatle albums until 1967’s “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band,” after which all album tracks were uniform. Most of the American releases contained the Beatles’ hit singles but the British versions tended to be stand-alone releases, with few singles contained therein. Fans who wanted songs such as “I Want to Hold Your Hand,” I Feel Fine” or “Day Tripper” were forced to buy two new compilations, “Past Masters Volumes One and Two” to complete their Beatle catalog. American fans who grew up listening to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Something_New_(album)">“Beatles 65”, “Something New”</a> or <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yesterday_and_Today">“Yesterday and Today”</a> were just plain out of luck…for now.<br /><br />As the eighties drew to a close, a new type of music was emerging, grunge. Seattle bands like Nirvana and Pearl Jam were quick to drop names of the many rock acts which had influenced them such as Husker Du, The Vaselines, The Who and Neil Young. Rarely, if ever, were the lads from Liverpool mentioned. The Beatles were once again finding themselves floating outside the river of mainstream tastes. It was once again time to consult the massive vault of unreleased but still widely bootlegged Beatle songs to propel the band back into the spotlight – and sell a few more million records. The Beatles performed live on BBC radio fifty-two times in their career. These live recordings represented some of the hottest bootleg material available, as there were several songs recorded for the “Beeb” which never saw release. Out of the hundreds of tracks available, sixty-nine were selected for this double disc compilation. Fans once again flew en masse to record stores in December 1994 to pick up this glossy, expensive and sadly overrated album. At arguable grunge and alternative music’s peak, the Beatles garnered themselves yet another top ten album. Although there are several gems included in the set, including a blistering version of “The Hippy Hippy Shake,” much of the collection was from the band’s early years where without the expertise of Sir George Martin production skills, the Fabs sounded like a bar-band version of their polished selves. My copy of “Live at the BBC” has remained largely unplayed in the last fifteen years. Upon retrieving it from my collection to research of this piece, it actually still smelled new.<br /><br />The following year saw the Beatles reunite through studio magic (although there are unsubstantiated rumors the Maharishi was involved) to utilize a previously unreleased (but familiar to collectors) John Lennon recording, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s332Tt0zxYs">“Free as a Bird”</a> and re-imagine it with performances from the surviving three band members. Producer, former ELO member, Traveling Wilbury and wannabe Beatle Jeff Lynne produced this track, which sounded like a mash-up before mash-ups were invented. Lennon’s vocals do not match the rest of the production, which sounded like a bizarre Beatle-compilation, with vocals from everyone but Ringo (some things never change). The song sounded like producer Lynne forgot everything he had copied from George Martin over the past two decades. At times it sounded like a Traveling Wilbury song, a McCartney song or a Harrison song but one would be hard pressed (even after a trip to Dr. Robert) to consider it a Beatles song. Fans still could not resist the appeal of any new Beatles material as “Free as a Bird” still charted in the top ten.<br /><br />The Beatles once again were the apple of the music fan’s eye as the “Beatles Anthology” documentary aired during November of 1995. Designed to accompany “Free as a Bird” and three upcoming “Anthology” CD’s, the documentary succeeded in re-establishing the Fab Four as the top music act of the rock and roll era. However, much of the new interview footage (especially Paul McCartney’s) did not reveal much about the band the average fan did not already know. Many of the band’s live performances and promotional films (precursors to music videos) were chopped up or worse yet, overdubbed from the original recordings. The performances of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oLVywY5EwoA">“Hey Jude”</a> and “Revolution” were among the last live appearances the band ever made, both of which were butchered worse than the baby dolls for the “Yesterday and Today” album cover. The Beatles had several live concerts professionally filmed over their careers including their landmark Shea Stadium concert and two Tokyo concerts which were some of their last gigs as a touring act. For some bizarro reason, little of this footage was used in its entirety. The Beatles’ promotional films are both original and fantastic, yet few of these were used for the documentary in their original forms. The <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Imb4tYOk8GE">live performance of “Revolution”</a> remains one of my all-time favorite Beatle clips, yet the majority of the performance shown in the documentary overdubs the studio vocals over the live ones. Fans were left alone, the elusive Beatle bird had flown again.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoxhX-1M2OkgZo-Nex7XMb3gqA6hIrP8UrUhQrKT7xMMG9bPchZCqSX7tA3Jx1E6VYNUCYvlI6KnK6OIDiXv4srhTJoWUguj2KrTxLpkcKKnKrgbYGWXdsGmfNTTOmNsC09MRmiII3FYuN/s1600-h/yellow_submarine+lunchbox.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379277611740623250" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 281px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoxhX-1M2OkgZo-Nex7XMb3gqA6hIrP8UrUhQrKT7xMMG9bPchZCqSX7tA3Jx1E6VYNUCYvlI6KnK6OIDiXv4srhTJoWUguj2KrTxLpkcKKnKrgbYGWXdsGmfNTTOmNsC09MRmiII3FYuN/s320/yellow_submarine+lunchbox.jpg" border="0" /></a>1999 saw the release of the “Yellow Submarine Songtrack,” a quasi-replacement CD for the animated 1968 film. The Beatles had little involvement with the initial film, providing only a handful of new material to accompany it and a cute, cheeky cameo at the film’s end. The 1999 CD, along with the movie’s video release, and a buttload of “Yellow Submarine” merchandise, attempted to cement the film as an essential part of Beatle canon. By and large, it succeeded. I bought the new soundtrack, along with the “Yellow Submarine” toys. They were pretty darn cool but even a big Beatle fan like yours truly couldn’t quick fork over the money for the “Yellow Submarine” lunchbox. If enough unnecessary and irrelevant merchandise is for sale, even the hardcore fans tend to rebel (see KISS). The CD was the first time since 1987 Beatles songs had been remastered and they never sounded better, if better just means louder. As recording technology advanced, newer CD’s began to sound substantially louder than ones recorded ten years earlier. Most music fans love to make mix-CD’s but if the sound radically goes up and down between songs the experience of a mix becomes bothersome, if not annoying if the volume has to be adjusted constantly. The “Yellow Submarine Songtrack” put the Beatles right back at the sonic front. There was no obvious tinkering with Martin’s original mixes and the amplification made one appreciate the band’s talent even more than ever other release. Fans waited for the eventual remastering of the rest of the group’s material. They would have to wait another ten years.<br /><br />In 2000, “The Beatles:1” showcasing 27 of the group’s biggest hits remastered in the fashion of “Yellow Submarine.” It seems obvious these songs were part of the same project as no other Beatle remasters were issued until September 9th of 2009. In 2006, “Love,” a remix project by Sir George Martin and his son Giles was released to accompany the Cirque De Soleil performance act celebrating the music of the Beatles. The Martins’ remix of “Come Together” was astounding, the rest of the material interesting yet fun curiosities. DJ’s had been mashing the Beatles with other artists for a decade at this point, one of the best being a mash-up of the “Revolver” album called “Revolved” and a mash album of the Beatles and Beastie Boys. Unlike artists such as Prince, Dave Matthews or Metallica, the Beatles never chose to take any legal action against those who used their music without copyright authority. In fact, it seems after forty years of Beatles bootlegs, the Fabs encourage the proliferation of their material as much as possible. The refuse to license their music to Steve Job’s iTunes empire, yet one can easily find many Beatle fanatics who have every BBC Radio session track, rare live performances, outtakes and videos. Before there was any idea of file-sharing, the Beatles understood more than any other rock act except for Bruce Springsteen, that there is no such thing as bad publicity.<br /><br />Some astute readers may have noticed that Elvis Presley has been left out of this essay. The simple reason the “King of Rock and Roll” is not experiencing the same popular resurgences as the Beatles is the majority of Presley’s recorded material has been released. They are contained in gigantic box sets released by RCA Records. Elvis’ complete recordings, outtakes and live have been available for a decade. Bear in mind Elvis was largely a studio singer after he returned from the army and he never wrote his own material, making fifteen takes of any song kinda redundant. Elvis was the singer, other people (Leiber and Stoller in the early years) wrote his material. Session musicians performed it. Session musicians, by their occupation, are paid to play a song as presented to them. There is no “working it out” in the studio. Elvis Presley’s Complete 50’s, 60’s and 70’s box sets are well worth looking into and purchasing. To do the same with the Beatles would require a truckload of CD’s or a massive hard drive. Many of the Beatles’ songs changed drastically during recordings whereas Presley’s did not. His Sun recordings and the 50’s box set show an artist involved with his material. After that, hidden gems are hard to find. From their onset of superstardom, the Beatles kept a close lid on their mystique, knowing as long as your name is mentioned in the media, general interest is rises and so will sales of the music.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU15aM341MsEDNjE5_dcjtyk32LlOzGRKY36eT51dbX1vaV3b12RXqJopoeXYcFkoBAmaO22KK6vr7PqUddvMbru_a1LArNTNO7DIjrbB2Gb0aW-58TWvEjLqk6mWQp70Ybi7YEyrPhZQe/s1600-h/beatle+rock+band.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379278270721673522" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 180px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU15aM341MsEDNjE5_dcjtyk32LlOzGRKY36eT51dbX1vaV3b12RXqJopoeXYcFkoBAmaO22KK6vr7PqUddvMbru_a1LArNTNO7DIjrbB2Gb0aW-58TWvEjLqk6mWQp70Ybi7YEyrPhZQe/s320/beatle+rock+band.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />September 9th will see the release of “Beatles Rock Band” and the long anticipated remastering of their British albums. The hype has been massive and by all inspection the game looks great. It even has new unreleased “Beatle-chatter” from Abbey Road Studio. Why should any Beatlemanic forgo this new – yet not so new release? I have several reasons for my apathy and angst towards the Fab Four’s new invasion into my wallet. In my life, I have purchase four copies of the “White Album:” the original, numbered press and a reissue on vinyl, the cassette and the CD. I’ve forked over my cash for “Sgt. Pepper,”, “ Magical Mystery Tour,” and “Abbey Road” three times: vinyl, cassette and CD. “Rubber Soul” and “Revolver” twice: cassette and CD. I think I’ve paid to what amounts to a lifetime subscription for these recordings. Yet the Beatles 2009 remasters will be issued in two separate sets: one stereo, one mono, adding two more to the ever-expanding Beatle empire. Add “Beatles Rock Band” to the equation, which in addition to the 45 songs included in the game, promises to offer complete album downloads after its release. If I buy all the new “White Albums” in addition to the ones I already own, my “White Album” purchases would amount to seven. I really think this is all too much. Beatles, I’m not a rich man. Won’t you please, please help me understand why you need so much of my cash?<br /><br />There is no doubt the release of the video game and the CD’s will generate interest in the Beatles, especially for those who are younger and have not heard the music in the same way previous generations have. They can take their ticket to ride to an era which may never be equaled in terms of ability, evolution and success. Enjoy it, please. Buy the game and search for your own Yoko Ono. For me and many other Beatles fans, we’re just waiting for the next revelation. No artist in history, be it poets, playwrights, novelists, filmmakers or musicians, have given so much yet held so much back within them. “Magical Mystery Tour” and “Let It Be” have yet to be released on DVD. The “Get Back” album, along with the complete rooftop performance, the last live concert the Beatles performed, has not been released in its entirety. The original Beatles U.S. records are still longed for by those who grew up with the band, yet this longing to recapture a significant portion of their youth has gone unfulfilled. The complete Shea Stadium and Tokyo concerts are still in the vaults, waiting for new fans to see the live phenomenon of the Beatles. The great promo films still sit there, too, marking a band aware of their impact of a T.V. audience and a means of making a song much more than just a song. The kiddie animated cartoon is still guarded by top Liverpool men, wanting to tell you why the psychedelic songs don’t fit the black suits and bowl haircuts. The Beatles leave us their loving, but scatter our desires of understanding them across their universe. They may have given us the love they made, but they continue to want us to spend our money so bad. As the 21st Century unfolds, Beatlemania, no matter how phony, will never bite the dust.Adam Koeppehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00719500219198312201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261935655974994089.post-448801781224225562009-08-11T20:10:00.000-07:002009-08-12T19:11:11.226-07:00"All In"<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOerJLSpDQb1CdAGm1gZ7qMzZqXmLnH7STxhYsZgBgDN6KXYqbuoIIWx_Dp_rTfjOVLWlA0vUeQP-SriM5V6HgICo5cphR3smtczT24mQwld8O2eWb_ghwHGNbfoMHHCzjDlK6VlcHDwNe/s1600-h/Obama+Poker+Cards.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368910497307437490" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 317px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 242px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOerJLSpDQb1CdAGm1gZ7qMzZqXmLnH7STxhYsZgBgDN6KXYqbuoIIWx_Dp_rTfjOVLWlA0vUeQP-SriM5V6HgICo5cphR3smtczT24mQwld8O2eWb_ghwHGNbfoMHHCzjDlK6VlcHDwNe/s320/Obama+Poker+Cards.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div> </div><div></div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>“It’s a bitch convincing people to like you.” – The Scissor Sisters.<br /><br />Poker is a fascinating game. The 2000’s have seen a massive spike in the card game’s general popularity, culminating with weekly nights of Texas Hold-em at pretty much any bar and quite a few weekend parties as well. Its appeal to mass audiences is somewhat confounding, considering the general randomness of the game. Texas Hold-‘em poker can even be seen of ESPN on a regular basis and provides the viewer with a wide variety of characters who are “professional” players. They come from all walks of life. Some are lifetime gamblers, some internet moguls, mathematicians or even carpenter’s wives. The success of the individual gambler depends more on their ability to gauge their opponents’ hands and being able to master the art of the bluff, fooling other players about the true contents of your hand. Kenny Rogers put it perfectly in his 1978 classic song, The Gambler: “You got to know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em. Know when to walk away and know when to run.” The main problem with poker’s mainstream popularity (and the main impetus for the public’s waning interest) is many players tend to ignore the last part of Mr. Rogers’ advice. The tendency to go “all in;” to put all your chips on the line during one hand is far too tempting. The sad result for many players is an overestimation of the odds and the eradication of their bank account. Even if there is not a cloud in the sky, sometimes the rain must fall.<br /><br />There is little difference these days between poker players and politicians, except one expects most poker players to lie. In 2008, the United States was in the midst of its first election cycle where the statements of candidates were immediately recorded for posterity on You Tube, numerous political websites and blogs. The advent of cell phone cameras and DVD recorders assured even the most innocent and innocuous of blunders could be broadcast immediately to the entire world. The gamble politicians used to make was to promise the voting populace everything and anything they could; the rationale being the average voter has a short-term memory and broken promises and nasty attacks could be explained away with quickie lines attacking the opposing party. This philosophy worked for decades until 2008. It became dangerous to use a slanderous attack ad on your opponent and fatal to be caught lying. Hillary Clinton’s candidacy was permanently damaged by her <a href="http://www.cnn.com/2008/POLITICS/03/25/campaign.wrap/index.html">false claims of dodging sniper fire on a trip to Bosnia</a>. Senator Elizabeth Dole’s campaign, seen as a safe win at the time, was derailed by an <a href="http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2008/10/30/politics/main4559455.shtml">attack ad on her opponent, which implied she was an atheist.</a> Worse yet was the footage broadcast from several rallies by Republican presidential candidate John McCain, which showed several people voicing hateful and false accusations toward his opponent, Barack Obama.<br /><br />McCain’s campaign gambled that Sarah Palin’s continual attacks on Obama’s patriotism would catch on not only with the Republican base, but cause doubt in the voting public’s eye on Mr. Obama’s fitness for the highest office in the land. The widespread broadcast of racist hatemongers on national television and the internet forced the McCain camp to back down on their aggressive tactics and ultimately limped into a massive defeat on Election Day. Conversely, Mr. Obama held his political hand tight, refusing to enter major confrontations and choosing to rely on vague promises of “change” and “hope.” Ironically, his running mate, Joe Biden, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joe_Biden_presidential_campaign,_2008">saw his presidential ambitions end early in 2008 due to comments made about the future President of the United States.</a> A poker player can only hold their hand for so long before being forced to enter the fray, a fact that has become all too evident for Mr. Obama and Mr. Biden as they enter the final third of their first year running the country.<br /><br />The appeal of watching poker on television is the ability to see the hands of all the players and seeing the drama unfold before your eyes. Some players win with two pair, some lose with a straight. It would not be surprising if President Obama was an avid viewer of these games, given his ambitious unrolling of his agenda. Obama won the presidency largely because of his connection to voters via the internet. It would be foolish to think these people would accept the new president putzing around after promising so many things to American citizens. He was now forced to play his hand, regardless of the contents. One by one, the cards were put on the table for the entire world to judge. Stimulus: not too stimulating. Purchasing an automobile company on the taxpayer dollar: faulty spark plugs. Insuring America’s children through cigarette tax increases: a carcinogen worth inhaling. Closing Guantanamo Bay without actually closing it: worthless. Whacking a fly on national TV: super-cool. President Obama’s hand was a political full house. A hand capable of winning but still susceptible to defeat providing the opponent has a strong hand to counter.<br /><br />Fortunately for Mr. Obama, his Republican opponents seem to have a two-pair hand at best and no face cards to show for it. The Republican counter to the stimulus was more tax cuts: been there, done that for eight years. Purchase of Government Motors: a fold. Taxing cigarettes to insure poor kids: fold again. Closing Gitmo and not closing it: the Joker’s out there somewhere and we better keep him at bay – even up. Killing a fly for public amusement: Unlikely partnership with PETA. The GOP tends to have a similar response to the Obama agenda. A table-talking bluff stating “my hand’s better than yours, but I’m not going to show it. But it’s better than yours. Nyahh, nyahh. Taunting is an expected, if not integral part of a card game, but eventually a player has to back up their gab. Eventually your opponent will call your bluff. It’s not very bright or respectable to ramp up the pot based on a low-end two pair hand. Sadly, this is Mr. Obama’s opposition. By encouraging this reckless behavior in his opponents, Obama has positioned himself for a win even if his game is weak. It has been said throughout the ages that a competitor is only as good as one’s opponent. If this is taken to a modern application, the President needs only a better two pair hand than the pathetic one held by his opponents.<br /><br />President Obama’s political poker prowess was never more evident than his appointment of Sonia Sotomayor for the Supreme Court. Before the appointment was announced, it was largely believed Obama would appoint a woman or a minority to the high court. The hand was his; all his GOP counterparts had to do was anticipate and counter. Obama was ready for this and appointed Ms. Sotomayor. Given his knowledge of the internet, the president and his staff were most likely aware of her “wise Latina woman” statement and were well informed of her controversial decision to uphold affirmative action policy to the detriment of several New Jersey firefighters. Obama and his staff knew Sotomayor would be opposed with extremist rhetoric and the conservative elite fell for his bait. Former Speaker of the House, <a href="http://www.politico.com/news/stories/0509/23024.html">Newt Gingrich</a>, along with talk radio madman <a href="http://www.politico.com/news/stories/0509/22983.html">Rush Limbaugh</a>, called Sotomayor a racist, not the best language if you want to endear the growing Latino population to your party. Once again, Obama held the rest of his cards, refusing to jump into this dialogue. Although Sotomayor’s position on affirmative action was controversial, it was overshadowed by extremist comments and accusations from the far right. Mr. Gingrich, who many have believed to be contemplating a presidential run against Obama in 2012, has crippled himself by alienating a voting base he needs to remotely be seen as a viable candidate. The state of Florida has a massive Latino population and it will be highly unlikely many of them will vote for a candidate who called the first Latino Supreme Court Justice a racist. It is almost mathematically impossible for anyone to win the presidency if they lose New York, California and Florida. Good luck with that pair of 7’s, Newt. It just ain’t happening.<br /><br />Barack Obama continues to play his political hand, risking the viability of his presidency on health care reform. It is a bet that is largely seen as a no-win, making more citizens angry than those who would be appeased. He is playing with billion-dollar big boys, whose lobbies have thwarted each and every attempt to step on their turf. This political poker game has never been seen as winnable and tends to result in a backlash of fear of change from American citizens, as those knowledgeable with the Clinton administration’s health care initiative from 1994 would attest to. One of the main accusations leveled at Obama and his gang of meddling kids is why would they attempt so much so soon? The Scooby crew only solved one mystery at a time, why should the Mystery Machine think they need to multi-task? The Web 2.0 reality needs Scooby Doo at that famous poker table. If he just sits at the back of the bus eating sandwiches with Shaggy, nothing gets done except for full stomachs and inflated egos. President Obama has chosen to be involved until the mystery is solved. Hang around for health reform!<br /><br />In 2008, almost every candidate for higher office, from the states to the congress to the senate to the presidency, campaigned on helping average citizens with their medical bills. All of them, Republican, Democrat or Independent, stated they were going to make things better. Most of them never said explicitly how they were going to do it, but it was a major part of their platform. A hand held up as a bluff, hoping they would not be called to show ideologically nothing. As the health care debate continues to rage (in more ways than one), it has become obvious to even those most novice at political games the majority of our elected officials are far too interested in preserving their own political skin (financially and electorally) than to act on their bluffing postures to actually fix something.<br /><br />One of the worst of these poseurs is Senator Arlen Specter, newly a Democrat – used to be a Republican - and now just plain old, who was foolish <a href="http://www.foxnews.com/politics/2009/08/03/audience-shouts-sebelius-specter-health-care-town-hall-philadelphia/">enough to state in a public forum he had not read the health care bill</a>. Any political guru will say it is commonplace for an elected official to delegate something as minute as reading a 1,000 – plus page bill to staffers and just be given the “Cliff’s Notes” version. It is one thing to perform this act of ignorance, it is another to state said ignorance to your constituents, assuming they will completely understand you have better things to do than the actual job you were elected for. Specter was exposed as a political charlatan, leaving no doubt the reason he switched party affiliations was only for his own best interests. Justifying ignorance is like a poker player requesting a misdeal because they left the card table for a potty break. If your hand sucks, it sucks. Period. If you make a mistake, it’s part of living life in the real world. Deal with it. No amount of fundraising, babbling or special interests will save Senator Specter from an almost certain defeat in the upcoming 2010 primary. Sadly, Specter will probably use his decades of special interest connections and influences and run independently as Senator Joe Lieberman did in 2006. Some folks just don’t know when the dealing is done and they no longer have a winnable hand. Good poker players know when to walk away. Career politicians unfortunately do not.<br /><br />Residing right next to Mr. Specter is a doghouse. A Blue Dog house to be precise. Blue Dog is a term used to describe junior Democratic House members that were elected not on principals, but on the generic “not Bush” platform, which worked sold well to a voting public tired of war and a collapsed economy, but not as effectively with their congressional cohorts. These supposed “Blue Dogs” are really the “Yellow Dogs:” so afraid of losing their seat they would prefer to have literally nothing happen during their terms in office so they can state they accomplished something. The “Yellow Dogs” are the United States of Godot. Nothing to be done. Nothing to be done. They are the poker player who chooses to stay in the game, never commit to winning or losing, but long to ride out the hand just to stay in the game. The only significant difference between the “Yellow Dogs” and Senator Specter is the “Yellow Dogs” apparently know how to read. One can only stonewall for so long, however. There comes a time when you have to play your hand, even if you have no idea what to do with it. The “Yellow Dogs” aren’t out for publicity (a red herring) but have united for survival. If doing nothing except waiting is an attribute, it should be suggested that tax dollars would be saved if the ghost of Samuel Beckett would be elected as a proxy instead of these handful of boremongers standing around the Washington tree, one that is easily chopped down by those of more intellectual and intestinal fortitude.<br /><br />All games, be it politics, poker, capitalism or communism always have some players who want to play the game as recklessly as possible. These individuals want to win, have little knowledge on how to traditionally do so, but play the game with the utmost fire, piss and vinegar. This is the player who brings their queen out on the third chess move, bets too much on a pair of Jacks and saves all their cash up to buy Boardwalk and Park Place. These folks don’t win very often but they make the games dangerous for those who play with them. These players do not want to win on the gentleman’s terms but choose to adopt a position of annihilation versus risk. Their philosophy is “all in” every game. Win or lose, they take it to the extreme without regard to their partners or opponents. These are the people you wouldn’t play “tag” with on the playground for fear they would shove you to the pavement just to prove a point. These boys and girls grow up, true believers, and they become the person most likely to succeed in stealing your parking spot or the last cup of coffee in the office. This philosophy could be taken as anarchistic, but it is a belief filled with nihilism. The idiom of “malice towards all” has shown itself in our great country like a beaten bully out for revenge or a defeated poker player crying fowl to the dealer.<br /><br />There is an inherent defiance in many people when the game turns against their favor. It wasn’t me – someone cheated. Call for a mis-deal on a contingency only the objecting party seems to know about. I didn’t land on the giant leap in Chutes and Ladders – it must be Obama’s fault. I lost my turn on Candyland – Obama’s to blame. I played the Game of Life and had five kids and didn’t get my mansion – dammit, Obama, you suck! I want my Candyland country back! If you don’t give it to me, I’m going to knock the pieces down and restart the game until I get what I want. You cheated. I’m not sure how but I know you did – otherwise I would have won. This is the platform of the “Birthers,” who believe President Obama is an illegal alien and therefore should not be President of the United States. Without an electoral count to hold in question, as Democrats alleged in 2000 for George Bush, the losing faction has chose to invent a story to give their defeated ranks adrenaline.<br /><br />The term “Birthers” is the term applied to the ultra right-wing nut-jobs who believe President Obama is not really the president as he actually born in the African country of Kenya. Despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, the “Birther” movement has ground in the small populace of disaffected Americans (a clear majority of which are older, un-educated and white) tapping into the same fears held by the extreme left-wingers who believe the United States orchestrated 9/11. Even conservative pundit Ann Coulter has come out against this extremism. However, “Birthers” and 9/11 conspiracy loonies should have one thing in common: George W. Bush was not the President of the United States from 2001-2008: pretty much the whole country knows the real president was Dick Cheney.<br /><br />“We’re not into music, we’re into chaos” – The Sex Pistols<br /><br />Worst of all poker players (and gamers in general) are those who really don’t care. They may want to win but revel most in watching other players lose, forcing them to make plays which are completely illogical just to counter the general challenge to the rules of the game. This can be fun for a while, until the game night goes on for a few hours and the other players begin to realize the “joker” only wishes to prolong the agony as long as humanly possible. Music lovers cherish the myth of the Sex Pistols as revolutionaries and anarchists, but without the cold calculations of band manager Malcolm McLaren and the producing skills of Chris Thomas, it is unlikely one of the greatest rock and roll bands in history would have achieved this celebrated notoriety. Listening to their demo recordings can be compared to the irrational ramblings of a certain ex-governor of Alaska. Garbled, unfocused and lacking structure, Sarah Palin’s recent Facebook post <a href="http://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=113851103434">describing “death panels”</a> President Obama would incorporate under health care reform, succeeded in both shocking and alienating the masses. There’s something there, but it’s hard to conclude exactly what that something is, except for a rank amateur broadcasting a demo recording which should have definitely stayed in the friendly confines of a garage or basement. Defending Sarah Palin’s hate rhetoric is the musical equivalent of comparing <a href="http://www.ggallin.com/">G.G. Allin </a>to the Beatles. It is plausible Allin’s fans have the same attitude towards chaos and outlandishness as Palin: angry, with a desire to break something for the simple reason that they can.<br /><br />Uber-conservative pundit Rush Limbaugh has played into the “death panel” rhetoric, beginning to <a href="http://mediamatters.org/mmtv/200908060021">compare President Obama to Adolf Hitler and his policies to Nazism</a>. Like the music of the aforementioned G.G. Allin, the listener tends to know what they’re going to get when they tune in. The problem is there are real disaffected individuals who are starting to hum this hate symphony in their sleep. G.G. Allin has a place in music, but probably not on the Teen Choice awards. Mr. Limbaugh has the inalienable right to express his opinion to his listeners. However, he does not have the legal right to encourage or incite any individual to commit acts of vandalism or violence. With the spraying of a swastika on a Georgia congressman’s office, he is dangerously close to crossing that line.<br /><br />In defense of Mr. Limbaugh and his millions of listeners, 99 percent who have no probable desire to cause violence, Democrats Nancy Pelosi and Steny Hoyer did nothing but fuel this fire by <a href="http://blogs.usatoday.com/oped/2009/08/unamerican-attacks-cant-derail-health-care-debate-.html">condemning American citizens at public town hall meetings</a>. Bear in mind, true believers, there were many protesters from the advent of the Iraq war to the present day who were escorted or arrested exercising the same constitutional rights the “Birthers,” the “death panelists” and those who fear excessive government intrusion are using right now. They are finding themselves decrying the same tactics universally supported just a few years before. If we were to convert the actions of all the aforementioned players in this essay to a televised poker game, we would see a game filled with bluffing, lies and the proverbial card up the sleeve. There is no clear leader, only the continual raising of the ante with no expected winner. Any poker player will tell you a game isn’t worth playing if the integrity of its rules are called into question. Our politicians and pundits have exposed the 21st Century political game as a sham. They are not only going walking away, but running. The question remains what and who will they run to when it all goes down.<br /><br />The heart of the American people should never be called into question. We are an exceptionally diverse group of individuals. Most of us take our neighbors at face value, believing that even if we disagree, we still wish the best for one another. Somewhere out there, we’re really not that different if we’re under the same flag of stripes and stars. Our leaders are the newest stars in our reality universe. It might have been ok when these political poker games were played behind closed doors. This sham of our government has exposed itself as willing to gamble with the health, freedom, intelligence and the collective integrity of the United States of America. It does not matter anymore if a health care bill is passed or defeated, when faith of citizens in good government is disintegrated and faith in the conscience of our fellow man becomes a measure of doubt, we all lose. </div>Adam Koeppehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00719500219198312201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261935655974994089.post-35882631183981490812009-07-17T20:07:00.000-07:002009-07-17T20:15:49.799-07:00Silly Kids Games“Too many people grow up. That’s the real trouble with the world, too many people grow up.” - Walt Disney.<br /><br />“Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans.” – John Lennon.<br /><br />Wake up! Wake up! The sun’s out! Wake up! Play with me! The sun’s out! Play with me! Most parents have heard these phrases or variations thereof; so many times, it would be impossible to tally them. They are the signal of the midget alarm clocks who welcome you back from dreamland. Despite what clichéd claptrap the gumball soup for the soul people will tell you, these wake up calls wear on the cheeriest of parents. “One more minute,” we tell them from under the covers. “Just five more minutes,” we lie to them for parents will take as much sleepytime as entertained toddlers will allow, which needless to say, is rarely more than the aforementioned five minutes. Such innocent requests they have: your presence and participation in games of imagination, the kind that came so easy when you were four and not thirty-four. Now it’s difficult to imagine reading the newspaper or getting ready for work without at least two cups of coffee, much less telling a story about crab robots with laser beaks.<br /><br />Where did that childhood highway go to? Why is it so hard for some people (yours truly, included) to get back on that rocking horse and dream little dreams in reality? Maybe some of us are waiting for that advancement which takes the knight defending the castle into the realm of Monopoly, Rummy, baseball and games adults enjoy. Whatever the reason, there’s an obvious correlation to children’s knowledge of Dora the Explorer and Spongebob Squarepants compared to the adventures of a pirate on the high seas, fighting off the cousin of the great, white whale. Most of us do partake in these feats of high drama, pretending to be the giant, orange dragon snapping up the king’s men only to meet our demise with a direct hit from the castle cannon – and it is fun. “Again! Again!” they shout. “This time the dragon has five army bad guys.” The endless variations and enthusiasm can be more exhausting than a giant spreadsheet from the depths of hell but they succeed in taking you away from that desk and deadline – even for an hour – and put you back into a world where everything was possible in the confines of your living room.<br /><br />But the phone rings and as a supposedly responsible adult, it requires answering. “It’ll be just a minute,” you say (because that’s what everyone tends to say) and saving the kingdom becomes a lesser priority than working out weekend plans. As you’re jabbering away, the adventure continuing without you, you notice the calendar citing bills to pay, a kitchen with dirty dishes and a certain instinct telling you there’s e-mails that need answering. One task glides into the next; time slips by until “Mommy! Daddy! Play with me!” “Just a few minutes”, you say (even though the time will significantly longer). As you notice piles of laundry which need washing, the path to that magical castle where the bad guys have just turned into zombies is as far away as that extra five minutes of slumber which never seems to happen. All these little things add up to what tends to be called responsibility and responsibility isn’t always the trait of a knight needed to save the kingdom.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi5U9NICHYaA-9QsQm1PEWXx4VJIhhnKtNEm7XVA_iFIz3kTrk47zRxHk-GqF2iadU-9Y5i5imWay8JJaANKb9XZgO-NgkpQbLevLMCEgo5fg_yJbPkWjH_5jtaEDciQYwrXIn6IZVn2eI/s1600-h/romana+braveheart.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359633083655141602" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi5U9NICHYaA-9QsQm1PEWXx4VJIhhnKtNEm7XVA_iFIz3kTrk47zRxHk-GqF2iadU-9Y5i5imWay8JJaANKb9XZgO-NgkpQbLevLMCEgo5fg_yJbPkWjH_5jtaEDciQYwrXIn6IZVn2eI/s320/romana+braveheart.JPG" border="0" /></a>“Daddy! Mommy! Look! I make a pretty picture.” The work of art isn’t on the Sesame Street coloring book but all over a little girl’s face. Resembling a two-year old William Wallace, red and white streaks cover a tiny smiling face looking for approval. As artistic as it may be, thoughts come into the mind of a grocery store trip and a little girl looking like a human color palate. Bathroom time. Facial artwork has no place in a coffee shop or in the produce aisle – or so we’ve been accustomed to believe. Most parents want to encourage the little artist latent in all our brains, but not when it defaces a Pink Floyd tour poster. They can be so funny, these little ones. But why can’t they understand they are other things needed to be done every day besides coloring dinosaurs? Unless a meteor makes a mortgage extinct, there’s always a different priority. “Look!” I took my pretty dress off!” Unless you want your daughter to star in a local production of “Showgirls”, certain mores and customs need to be taught and explained.<br /><br />I began to notice my little ones picking up on the importance of being a grown up. “Can I talk to Mommy on the phone?” used to be such an innocuous request but has now turned into a mental debate of a kid holding an uber-expensive device, without which our lives might surely implode. I noticed myself holding my phone to my kids’ ears and pulling it away at the second inclination of a grab. I thought about all the times way back in the seventies how fun it was to dial a phone number and talk to Grandma or Grandpa. Now it seems we encourage children to the cell phone market by the sad means of denying them access to it so young. Maybe those retro rotary dial-ups aren’t so kitschy after all.<br /><br />As kids get older, they start seeing the big, big world beyond the living room castle. They ask those deep questions which require equally deep thought responses. “How long until I’m 5’10’’, how long till I’m as big as you.” “A long time,” I’d reply, “maybe ten years.” They think further down the path: “When I’m you’re age, I’ll be tall like you – and I’ll never die.” Whoa! Since when did mortality come into this? Ignorance time, move on:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXNXACM_fHYBLIuzWE7Db7FQGIgKWVsRK2TlPthnq4oPy4RpMk84G_l0Ynh2BKNxc_Ny7JnHMh7UGWae6pemgUsXxSLcX_BEa51vgyzXJXr-VS9FVf0aRWrVB9obj8UY32i6xeFQLYGzaZ/s1600-h/shane+bird+arm.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359632723298149186" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXNXACM_fHYBLIuzWE7Db7FQGIgKWVsRK2TlPthnq4oPy4RpMk84G_l0Ynh2BKNxc_Ny7JnHMh7UGWae6pemgUsXxSLcX_BEa51vgyzXJXr-VS9FVf0aRWrVB9obj8UY32i6xeFQLYGzaZ/s320/shane+bird+arm.jpg" border="0" /></a>“When I’m your age, I’ll push you on the swing.”<br />“Will you still rock me to sleep like when I was a baby?”<br />“Will you still catch me?”<br />“When I’m your age, I’ll catch you.”<br />“When I’m your age, will the baby birds still play with me?”<br /><br />As I thought about the last question, it occurred to me I don’t play enough. The castle is still there with dragons, robots and gorillas transported through time. They’re waiting for another adventure, all they need is a narrator. The kitchen table is still stacked with coloring books, crayons, markers and play-doh, designed to make the next great work of art, all they need is a curator. The bed is still full of pillow, blankets and animal friends, waiting for the next campout under the tent before the monsters attack. Eventually, many of these lifelong friends will come no more. They’ll sit beside the bed or inside a toybox, their stories told and function forgotten. Like in the song “Puff the Magic Dragon,” they cease their fearless roar.<br /><br />The line from that classic song which always gets me philosophical is “A dragon lives forever, but not so little boys.” The song, depending on the interpretation, is usually about imagination or hallucinogenics. It was one of the songs my mom played to me (she was a big Peter, Paul and Mary fan) and sang to me as I went to sleep. As I became older, I thought of the dragon differently than most folk scholars have. The dragon, “Puff,” is not about childhood or dope; it’s about being a parent. Bringing these amazing worlds to life takes more than a little boy or girl: making things such as strings and ceiling wax takes more than one individual. It is a game parents play with their children. The tiniest, most insignificant object can be a key to the biggest adventure. A string can be anything: a rope, a bow or a lure to catch a hiding cat. Ceiling wax is sticky, can be rolled out or rolled up into a little ball. To a child, these things can be anything providing someone is there to help the scenario along.<br /><br />But these stories and adventures do end. Kids hang out at the playground and play Jedi, princess and other things with their little friends. Eventually, Jackie Paper no longer wants to come play with the dragon but sits waiting for their own little rascals to come over and dig for treasure in the sandbox. So it the way of things; the way of growing from little people to big. For many of us, that moment hasn’t happened just yet. There is still the choice of laundry or an adventure. We can choose the computer or the news over another fight for the castle. Reality check: the news doesn’t change as much in a day as children do. Where have you gone, Captain Kangaroo? Our nation turns it’s forgotten childhood to you.<br /><br /><br />I’ve decided to set sail while I can for the castle. There is nothing the paper people in Washington do that is more important than eagle robots threatening to destroy the city of Townsville, nothing Joe Mauer can’t accomplish which isn’t more phenomenal than a rock supper of brain food. I’ve got my play-doh armed with purple sword robots. There’s a pillow waiting for a response filled with shock and awe. Crayons and markers at the ready, willing to fire smiley-faces. A cat needs to be captured by a blanket, a puzzle to be solved. There’s juice for a sippy-cup that needs pouring, a friend to be rescued and a blanket needing cuddling. I don’t need bills if the Care Bears are in charge. Let’s follow their lead in stride. Let’s care-a lot, love-a lot and be the best parents we can possibly be. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis9ttW5GVkyryjcp5QlWYxg1U29UerKROCSzJ5kW1pQMLZEaXVvPNSSIPy7lGed0gyZgeOjJOEjhMoGkaxxJAS3ktlKpI6o-yNgp6FZ0t2qs0AwN3cE0_cKEuKL9Q0FSI6snvTOsbuR6S3/s1600-h/shaneromana+smile.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359633369146153762" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis9ttW5GVkyryjcp5QlWYxg1U29UerKROCSzJ5kW1pQMLZEaXVvPNSSIPy7lGed0gyZgeOjJOEjhMoGkaxxJAS3ktlKpI6o-yNgp6FZ0t2qs0AwN3cE0_cKEuKL9Q0FSI6snvTOsbuR6S3/s320/shaneromana+smile.JPG" border="0" /></a> <div> </div>Adam Koeppehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00719500219198312201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261935655974994089.post-37502253256459530862009-07-08T19:08:00.000-07:002009-07-08T19:14:42.471-07:00Aaron Fairbairn's Story: How Social Media Memorialized a Soldier<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKZaqcDNKLWK2Oyhk4wGiEcLtZGxdlJdmLSOKt21YE8pDjzG5AK3HaCgeuwn_UJnXwtmilLWRL5crXG6lM9Udhhe2aInWI4apYbxmbEQ5KMT1hAJ2OeRdu3TYM45JvakT323bNWehnN_58/s1600-h/aaron.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356277056191872962" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKZaqcDNKLWK2Oyhk4wGiEcLtZGxdlJdmLSOKt21YE8pDjzG5AK3HaCgeuwn_UJnXwtmilLWRL5crXG6lM9Udhhe2aInWI4apYbxmbEQ5KMT1hAJ2OeRdu3TYM45JvakT323bNWehnN_58/s320/aaron.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />It was one of those rare moments that are only<br />possible if one experiences them as it happens. During the waning hours of Independence Day, a man named Aaron Fairbairn become the most popular topic on the social media website, Twitter. In a week dominated by coverage of two unstable humanoids, Twitter users took the time to thank Aaron Fairbairn for his service to our country. He was not a pop icon or an Alaskan maverick; he was more than that. He was a man who died serving his country. On the Fourth of July, Aaron was killed by a suicide bomber in Afghanistan. His stepfather, David Masters, wrote about Aaron’s death on Twitter. Seeing the post (or “tweet”) “they killed my son, Aaron!” is gut-wrenching. Instead of internalizing his grief and pain, Masters chose to share it with his followers on Twitter, making a simple request: “I'd like to see "Thank you, Aaron," show up on the Trending Topics for giving his life on Independence Day in Afghanistan.” What followed was not only an outpouring of respect and condolences, but proof that ordinary people can change the course of how modern media functions and what it chooses to cover.<br /><br />There have been many skeptics regarding Twitter’s concept of expressing yourself in 140 characters or less, the majority of which were the “old guard” of traditional news media (see Maureen Dowd). The fallout of the Iranian election all but eradicated these prejudices. The Iranian government clamped down on internet use in an effort to suppress voter outrage. Unfortunately for them, many Iranians had the internet on their cell phones and used them to tell the world what their own government did not want anyone else to see. The mainstream media was forced to look at Twitter posts for information. Although 140 character “tweets” are almost impossible to vet in the traditional journalism sense, the media had little choice. Thousands of Twitter users showed their support for the Iranian people by tinting their profile green, a statement of solidarity that is still being used as of this writing. There is little doubt the mainstream media despised having to not only rely on bloggers, but individuals they could not potentially identify to gain information. Iran had expelled all foreign journalists, leaving the CNN’s and New York Times’ editors little choice but to turn to the technology which is slowly bringing about their demise.<br /><br />The Twitter home page has a section called “trending topics;” a list of the most used words and phrases that shows what users are most discussing at the current moment. A user can click on any of these topics and receive a time-sensitive list of “tweets” on the selected subject. This function became an invaluable asset in understanding the debacle in Iran. David Masters probably had no idea that his request for his son would be as popular as it would eventually become. Twitter’s “trending topics” are currently unrestricted and unsponsored, meaning literally anything is possible as long as enough people write about it. Topics such as Sarah Palin, Michael Jackson and even the word “goodnight” were flourishing at the time of Masters’ request to honor his son. As in the case of Iran, Twitter users took in upon themselves to say what was really important to them. “Thank you Aaron” was in the middle of the pack when I spotted a “tweet” by “MichelleinCal”, an intelligent, funny woman who is a traditional conservative, something a certain person from Alaska would be well advised to take notes from. After seeing her posts with “ThankyouAaron,” I was immediately saddened for the loss of someone who gave his life to serve their country.<br /><br />The loss of a soldier’s life become more important to Twitter users than Wimbledon results, Michael Jackson rumors and Sarah Palin sarcasms. It became a mission for many to see Aaron honored in a matter befitting an American hero. I may not remember where I was when Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” was number one on the charts, but I will always remember seeing “thank you Aaron” becoming the top Twitter topic. If there had been any doubt of the internet’s ability to bring people together for a cause they believe in, the appreciation of the service of Aaron Fairbairn should eliminate this misconception completely. “Thank you Aaron” was a moment those involved will never forget. In an era where there are few true heroes, the Twitterverse chose to honor the life of a young man. Without the filtering and bias of the mainstream media, the world is showing it’s true heart and soul through social networking sites like Twitter and Facebook. Maybe real people don’t want to watch and read hours of coverage on Michael Jackson. Maybe they want to hear stories about real people doing real things, making hard choices that affect all of us. These stories do not gain much ground in the meeting rooms of newspapers and networks, but it has become obvious stories like that of Aaron Fairbairn’s are indeed what the world wants to talk about.<br /><br />Sadly, there has been negative feedback about Aaron’s story. Initially, several Twitter users attempted to call the story fabricated. Worse yet were attempts to discredit his stepfather, David Masters on the grounds he was using his son’s death to promote himself. It is pathetic that some people have such malice inside them to incite these allegations. Apparently to these asshats, making a name for yourself by hurting other people is the only way they believe they can get noticed. Granted, comments made on Twitter and the internet in general are protected by the First Amendment. Lies, rumors and gossip do get people noticed. They also can result in extreme negative reaction (ask Perez Hilton). Thankfully, <a href="http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,530123,00.html?test=latestnews">Fox News vetted and confirmed Aaron’s story</a>. Subsequently, other news outlets would follow suit. In a slow newsday and a better world, more mainstream media coverage would have been given to Aaron. <a href="http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/localnews/2009421919_soldier06m.html">Despite the positive blurb from Fox News,</a> the media’s focus turned back on a more famous individual, but not a man who in any logical sense could be described as a hero.<br /><br />One begins to wonder if this is a war. A war declared by the mainstream media versus Web 2.0. The old school media makes a living by reporting and manipulating the news. The supposedly unconnected, attention-grabbing bloggers and Twitterers are not making a living by reporting. They are reporting the news because they are living it. What people feel in real time stands in complete contrast to talking points, ratings graphs or whatever the editor or producer decides should be broadcast. The mainstream media appeals to their demographics and their bottom line. They are beholden to their advertisers and producers. Their supposed embrace of Twitter and Facebook is nothing but a façade designed to keep what little hold on the news they have left. Instead of running stories on Aaron Fairbairn and the half dozen plus other soldiers who died in the last week, the mainstream media kept its focus largely on Michael Jackson. The Jackson story is one the media had basic control of most information. Given his reclusive nature, it was unlikely any average citizen would garner a scoop that would upstage the very biased, controlled coverage. This journalistic debacle would culminate Tuesday, July 7th, with hours upon hours of coverage of Jackson’s memorial service. Many announcers seemed excited to have work, making one wonder if they were actually celebrating a funeral. It seemed July 7th would go down in history as the day the media died.<br /><br />Aaron Fairbairn was not a celebrity, but he became in death more loved and respected than the uber-famous Jackson, whose memory will always be dogged with rumors and scandal. Aaron’s life and interests might remind you of people you know. His MySpace profile reads: “Hey my name is Aaron Faibairn, I am 20 and in the army. I like to ride dirtbikes, go muddin and all of that kind of stuff. One of my favorite things to do is work on my truck when I break it. I have a yamaha yz 125 I haven't got to ride it much because of work but i plan to go race it sometime.” There are many young men like Aaron, who love hanging with friends, playing with big toys and getting as dirty as they can. I wish I could have met him. Through MySpace, Facebook and Twitter, I kinda did. Making these connections meant more to me than a glossy funeral for a man few knew and even less understood. Given the choice of meeting either of these men, I’d rather go mudding with Aaron. Hopefully he’s rodding around on his Yamaha in the great beyond. Thank you, Aaron.Adam Koeppehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00719500219198312201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261935655974994089.post-44566792399426010162009-06-30T22:38:00.000-07:002009-06-30T22:55:21.617-07:00AIDS, Crack and Michael Jackson“It takes a long time to put on my face, but I like how different it feels. I can be in a whole ‘nother place with it. Sometime I wear it home, and people – kids – I look out the back window of a car and let them see me. Whoa, they get frightened! They don’t know who or what it is! It’s a trip, it’s really a trip. It’s a secret; that’s it. I like that it’s a secret.” Michael Jackson discussing “The Wiz” to Timothy White in 1977.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihJZfheOFdflwApXAApD1r1XJITPj1QzwYImePSujeUAHlhoNt9MWkGg30wD9T4Mr0faKPhTjR1vNfB7iij9yDDhzQlREOBQiJBTD8CeWdJBG7XfjY2OsogBMWoD7dxwRziFmQeEJ1_OJl/s1600-h/michael+Jackson+mugshot.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353364636950684322" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 226px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihJZfheOFdflwApXAApD1r1XJITPj1QzwYImePSujeUAHlhoNt9MWkGg30wD9T4Mr0faKPhTjR1vNfB7iij9yDDhzQlREOBQiJBTD8CeWdJBG7XfjY2OsogBMWoD7dxwRziFmQeEJ1_OJl/s320/michael+Jackson+mugshot.bmp" border="0" /></a>God, that picture looks freaky. Michael Jackson’s mugshot, taken in November of 2003, taken due to felony child molestation charges (of which he was universally acquitted), shows the singer without any of the lighting, airbrushing, or accoutrements he had become accustomed to when he was photographed. The photograph shows a man who looks less like an icon and more like an extra in the “Thriller” video, if it was shot by George Romero or Danny Boyle. For one of the few times in his adult life, Jackson was in a situation he had little or no control over. His eyes are bug-eyed, lips unsure of their proper placement, it seems he had little knowledge or concept of why he was being arraigned and even less on how he should conduct himself. It may have only started to dawn upon the superstar that he was indeed guilty of one particular incident: being Michael Jackson.<br /><br />The late Timothy White was able to land one of the last interviews with Michael Jackson before his ascent to mega-stardom with his 1979 album “Off the Wall.” White was given massive access to Jackson, including a luncheon in which Jackson displayed such bizarre behavior as eating his Caesar Salad with his fingers, oblivious to the “oily dressing accumulating on the tablecloth.” Jackson would also admit to not knowing Gerald Ford had been president. It became apparent to White that Jackson had little touch with the real world, except when it came to music and dance, of which he was a prodigy in the vein of Mozart. When asked if he was scared of being in a movie, Jackson responded “No, not at all. Honest to God, I’m not. I’m challenged. I love it. I’m not scared at all.”<br /><br />Despite his childlike demeanor, Jackson had already developed the self-confidence that would propel him through three classic records, music videos, and tours, during which he developed some of the most amazing dance moves of his (or any) era. He also expressed interest in working with Quincy Jones, the man who would eventually produce “Off the Wall,” “Thriller,” and “Bad.” However, when distracted with other topics, Jackson revealed a bizarre affinity for rats, his inability to understand “Star Wars” and an obsessive interest in his Scarecrow character from “The Wiz.” Jackson told White: “Sometimes, when I come home with my makeup, I keep dancing in front of the mirrors here as the Scarecrow…When I get into it, I forget everything else but the Scarecrow’s world. It’s a feeling of peace. It’s just like…magic.”<br /><br />Soon after this interview, White believed Michael Jackson’s management severely curtailed media access to the star, as his eccentricities could easily overshadow his music, as the 2003 documentary, “Living with Michael Jackson” would ultimately confirm. When focused on music and dance, Jackson had no peer. His videos for the 1979 “Off the Wall,” made before the advent of MTV, show the singer in a plain black and white tuxedo and beginning the formation of the dance moves which would excite millions. However, he had started the process of reinventing himself physically, a habit that became so addicting it would become an object of continual ridicule. Jackson’s death at age fifty represents the apotheosis of media hypocrisy. The same media which would continually cover everything “Wacko Jacko” now worships him. It seems this musical Julius Caesar will not be buried, but praised in his wake.<br /><br />The success of both “Off the Wall” and “Thriller” netted Michael Jackson more money than anyone with a child-like mind could really comprehend. He also began an infatuation with being a hero of some sort. His personas in the “Beat It” and “Bad” videos showed him a cross between badass and peacemaker, a kind of dancing Superman. He further expanded his concept in the “Captain EO” film and the “Moonwalker” video game, the former being ironically executive produced by George Lucas. Although he would adapt many other guises, it seems Jackson was more comfortable in the idol-hero guise than any other. He took this to an extreme measure at the end of his 1991 “Black or White” video, when he violently destroys the majority of the street set. It is possible he was reacting to many of the anti-heroes of the time, trying to be as badass as many of the hair bands that were in constant MTV rotation during the era (insert ironic comment here).<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8hUkUGNzKE3V-7kcbWYv4ABj7KcKx98KRgAVRrPKTRJOkvLpi8H_GA86pogkoi3uIvEbUgEZcKNjQ0XXLC_1aiiFPeBT8fI-cEmMvTJdBUCFJubhOGyLx0nyeCXW_UPntZgxwzcHB7fse/s1600-h/MichaelJackson.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353365475864851186" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 188px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 211px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8hUkUGNzKE3V-7kcbWYv4ABj7KcKx98KRgAVRrPKTRJOkvLpi8H_GA86pogkoi3uIvEbUgEZcKNjQ0XXLC_1aiiFPeBT8fI-cEmMvTJdBUCFJubhOGyLx0nyeCXW_UPntZgxwzcHB7fse/s320/MichaelJackson.jpg" border="0" /></a>Jackson spent much of the 1980’s working with charities, a fact that is still relatively unnoticed by the now-adoring media. Initially, his projects such as “We Are the World,” written for the USA for Africa album, we taken as universally generous gestures. As the 1980’s waned, his purchase and construction of the Neverland Ranch gained more scrutiny, as the majority of young children he asked to visit and stay there consisted of mostly young boys. Jackson seemed completely oblivious to this criticism except in song. Songs such as “Leave Me Alone,” “Stop Pressuring Me” and “Scream” addressed his antipathy towards the press. Yet Jackson refused to modify or control the behaviors which netted him such massive scrutiny. There is little doubt of Jackson’s affinity toward childhood and the wide-eyed hope and wonder which comes with it. It is hard to compare this attitude with that of the savvy musician and businessman who outbid his onetime friend Paul McCartney for the Beatles catalog. Was he really clueless or was he addicted to being two Michael Jacksons?<br /><br />There is the performing Michael, the self-anointed “King of Pop” who causes sold out crowds of adults to scream wildly during his concerts. There is “Peter Pan” Michael, the real-life Willy Wonka who gave thousands of children a golden ticket to his private castle. The superhero who longed to protect and help guide child stars like Emmanuel Lewis and Macaulay Culkin possessed little knowledge on how to protect himself was becoming an addict to an ever-evolving identity he could never settle on. Part of growing up is discovering who you are; the person you present yourself to be in the public eye. Children tend to decide upon this in adolescence. They spin “The Breakfast Club” wheel and become some version of the athlete, the princess, the brain, the basket case or the criminal. For some tragic reason, Michael Jackson could never make this decision for himself. In the end, he would become all of them.<br /><br />Jackson’s lack of real-world comprehension outside of music and dance would ultimately become terminal. His 1993 civil settlement for alleged child molestation caused the star to enter into a marriage with Lisa Marie Presley; a union now considered an ill-conceived business arrangement. Presley’s presence at Neverland gave the impression of normalcy, as did his “You Are Not Alone” video which showed both of them scantily clad and supposedly in love. Business marriages of this type were common in old Hollywood, designed to stop any investigation of what were then considered “alternative lifestyles.” The marriage was supposed to be mutually beneficial. Jackson could still be the Peter Pan of Neverland while Presley could milk his massive genius for the music success which eluded her. Unfortunately, the decade was the 1990’s and not the 1930’s or 50’s. The marriage ended in a few years, leaving Jackson another void in his life.<br /><br />Jackson entered into another ill-fated marriage with Debbie Rowe, who would bear the first two of his three children. The second union dissolved as quickly as the first, putting him back into the media spotlight with mounting “Wacko Jacko” coverage. Jackson attempted to escape the publicity in the only was the businessman knew how: a series of concerts at Madison Square Garden in 2001 celebrating his thirty years as a solo artist. The concerts, as always, were phenomenal. His performance of his classic hit “Billie Jean” showed he hadn’t lost a step, despite entering his early forties. During this time, Jackson would experience the first commercial disappointment of his career. The album “Invincible” sold poorly. The videos showed an artist searching for identity which was compounded that he had little grasp on reality itself. He never stopped inviting children to Neverland or on tour, despite incessant coverage of his actions. Like a child, he never thought of the potential ramifications or if he did, was comfortable in his own mind that he was doing nothing wrong.<br /><br />It is likely Michael Jackson did know the police watched him everyday. He also knew he was doing nothing legally wrong. He placed the same trust in children as they did of him; an innocent longing to be in a place he was denied by his overbearing, abusive father. It would be hard for a person such as Jackson to deny and distrust the affection of kids. It is likely in 1993 he committed minimally the crime of indecent exposure. After he became a media magnet for weirdness, it is harder to believe the 2003 accuser had more than financial gripes against him. It was easy to believe he did it: he was Michael Jackson – King of Weird. Yet his behavior at the trial, baby dangling and calling his third child “Blanket” on TV did little to help the man. In the end, addiction overcame any sense of reality he had left.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9vQRTH_-k3y3wSRJmQTXXr4KpwsOmkSPywaoCxdnxN9o3ciz3ayRfK5wvJtwjsaVBagLc13hO2CLMlUnPgzWCC6hXfoZnP9z_79BVRwaCmGJ9pdLSyAGXfSacnDXLBOAU6hLPpkecDJV8/s1600-h/michael_jackson+young-1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353365657174737138" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 186px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 167px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9vQRTH_-k3y3wSRJmQTXXr4KpwsOmkSPywaoCxdnxN9o3ciz3ayRfK5wvJtwjsaVBagLc13hO2CLMlUnPgzWCC6hXfoZnP9z_79BVRwaCmGJ9pdLSyAGXfSacnDXLBOAU6hLPpkecDJV8/s320/michael_jackson+young-1.jpg" border="0" /></a>As Michael Jackson entered into a self-imposed exile for much of the last decade, it seems he finally found the childhood affection that he had been denied. He did little performing but the headlines by his posthumous media friends never subsisted. Having his own children may have given the “King of Pop” a sense of peace and fulfillment, but the call of the limelight still beckoned. Whether it was to appease debtors or his millions of fans, Jackson decided to embark on one more great tour. What exactly caused his death weeks before his London engagement began may never be solved. What is known is that a complex, troubled man with a schizophrenic identity had little to lose and much to gain. He was a person who longed to be a hero, a “smooth criminal,” a genius, the best dancer in the universe and ultimately became a basket case due to the media coverage he helped create. Michael Jackson didn’t start the fire, but he did little (if anything) to fight it. <div><div><div> </div><div>Copyright 2009 Adam Koeppe</div><br /><div>Timothy White's Michael Jackson interview published in "Rock Lives"</div></div></div>Adam Koeppehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00719500219198312201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261935655974994089.post-67084602984722324692009-06-24T18:45:00.000-07:002009-06-24T19:02:44.548-07:00"We Have Been Called Rock, Punk, Garage and Surf. I Guess We Do a Little of Each." Dal Winslow of the Trashmen Interviewed!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJkYCjQ2MRM6JJD-KIVSCYeXqY0FG1e55078cDdTW0OIrK565wcEIcr0JWPKkMvB5EkO2nYvEy6ZLgRfY91-APOlaJRpPc73PAElQZMrEXqdFUCYcGOCZoY_1NK8f0fLlJERuGqXdcjqNo/s1600-h/THE_TRASHMEN_jpg_big.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351078956954042898" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJkYCjQ2MRM6JJD-KIVSCYeXqY0FG1e55078cDdTW0OIrK565wcEIcr0JWPKkMvB5EkO2nYvEy6ZLgRfY91-APOlaJRpPc73PAElQZMrEXqdFUCYcGOCZoY_1NK8f0fLlJERuGqXdcjqNo/s320/THE_TRASHMEN_jpg_big.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Rock and Roll music has amassed a rich mythology in its 55-plus year history. Even dating back to famed bluesman Robert Johnson’s supposed “deal with the devil” in the 1920’s, there has been a concerted attempt by record labels and managers to package the artist in a certain way. The Rolling Stones could barely play in 1962 when they issued their first single, a cover of Chuck Berry’s “Come On.” The Stones were fortunate in two respects: they were signed to a major label, London Records and had a savvy manager, Andrew Oldham, who packaged the group as ‘bad boys.” Not every artist receives the type of break the Rolling Stones received. For every Andrew Oldham, Brian Epstein or Malcolm McLaren, there are thousands of labels and managers interested only in the quick dollar return, putting the interests of the artist aside and choosing to market songs as commodities, not works of art.<br /><br />For the majority of the Trashmen’s 47-year history, they have been saddled with the “goofy great” or “one-hit wonder” stereotype, a stereotype promoted extensively by SOMA Records owner, Amos Heilicher. Although “Surfin’ Bird hit number three on the Billboard charts in 1963, little was done by Heilicher or the band’s manager, George Garrett, to promote the band beyond the success on the initial single. Unlike other rock and roll artists, the Trashmen have been granted a second lease of music life, which began with the band gaining control of their recordings in 1991, reaching new heights in 2008 after “Surfin’ Bird” was featured on the comedy series “Family Guy.” This exposure resulted in “Surfin’ Bird” reaching #8 on iTunes and cracking the top fifty in Britain. Trashmen bassist Dal Winslow recently granted me an interview, in which he discusses the triumphs, disappointments and beurocracies of a band that may yet to have reached its peak after close to five decades in the music industry.<br /><br />What was the band’s reaction to the use of “Surfin’ Bird” in the “Family Guy” episode “I Dream of Jesus?” How did this collaboration come about?<br />“This was actually the result of an article from MOJO magazine out of the UK in early 2007. It listed us as one of the top 50 Punk/Garage bands of all time. Shortly after Weird Al (Yankovic) came out in Rolling Stone with ‘Surfin Bird’ is one of the top all time rock hits. Fox picked this up and decided to do an episode on the song. We really did not hear anything until much later, actually a week before it was aired. We never thought the whole show would be dedicated to the song and never imagined the response on the downloads.”<br /><br />There is a lot of great footage on You Tube of the Trashmen's 2008 tour. How is the band received there? What kind of venues are you playing? How is it different from the United States in terms of fans and overall reaction?<br />“The response has been overwhelming. The venues are everything from festivals to small 400+ clubs. Every gig has been packed or sold out. Compared to the U.S., if we did the same gig as Medina (Minnesota) in Europe, it would have been packed to the rafters and the crowd would range in the 21-35 year age group. I think the song is hitting a new group of people that were not aware of it. The other thing is that in Europe we are regarded as ‘legends’ and it brings in the new crowd.”<br /><br />The Trashmen avoided the stereotype of “one-hit wonder” in Europe, making the band one of the few artists from the sixties that have managed to eclipse the image promoted by their original label, SOMA Records. Listening to any Trashmen record shows the band equal to any rock and roll band of the era in terms of talent and ability. Signing to Amos Heilicher’s label proved to be a mistake which cost the group not only money, but also the chance to develop artistically like the Rolling Stones or Beach Boys. Winslow explains:<br /><br />“At the time Steve (Wahrer) and I were disappointed since we had visions of going to a professional studio in L.A. and working with more experienced engineers. At Kay Bank (studio), we had good engineers but it was more learn as you go. I think a good example of what could have been was Bobby Vee. He signed with Liberty who promoted him to the fullest.” Winslow believes the SOMA signing was the band’s biggest disappointment: “Giving the song (Surfin’ Bird) to SOMA instead of Columbia or RCA, which were courting us at the time. SOMA added nothing as far as assistance with recording, new ideas, etc. They seemed to be in it strictly for the short haul cash.”<br /><br />Amos Heilicher, the “Godfather of the Twin Cities record business,” possessed a habit of promoting himself ahead of the artists on his SOMA record label. Despite “Surfin’ Bird” being the highest charting hit his label would ever garner, <a href="http://www.geocities.com/marcapreguntas/soma.htm">Heilicher would continue to describe the song, in an interview with Jon Bream, as “the worst record in the world…I laugh every time I hear it…it’s that bad.” </a>The moxie was typical of Heilicher, who “was always there to take kudos from the press,” according to Winslow. Distribution of “Surfin’ Bird” was the sole saving grace from the Trashmen’s relationship with SOMA, Winslow believes: “They did that well, in 17 different countries and multiple labels. Soma and Garrett paid for recording time. Other than that they were useless. We got more promotion from our booking agent, Jimmy Thomas, out of Luverne MN.”<br /><br />It’s fairly inconceivable for a band as talentless as Heilicher believed the Trashmen to be to not only have a top five hit, but also have that same song be enjoyed by multiple generations over four decades. Winslow states: “We were pretty popular in the cities and surrounding areas before the record.” If the Trashmen had not signed to SOMA, their path might have been similar to their Minnesota contemporary, Bobby Vee, who as previously mentioned, signed to a major label, Liberty Records. Vee’s first big hit, “The Night Has a Thousand Eyes,” hit number three in 1962, but he went five years before his next top ten, “Come Back When You Grow Up,” also charted number three in 1967. Liberty Records stuck with Vee through this gap, as they did with instrumental group the Ventures. Although SOMA Records, cast away the Trashmen in the sixties, the band possessed a song that is now on the iPod of many young people who love rock and roll.<br /><br />Amos Heilicher also proved to be a cheapskate when the Trashmen were asked to appear on Dick Clark’s American Bandstand. The result would not only a triumph of adversity, but a testament to the Trashmen’s drummer, the late Steve Wahrer, the original singer of “Surfin’ Bird.” Winslow “took Steve to the airport and picked him up when he returned the same day. Dick and Soma would not pay for the whole group to go. Steve had a great time and it is still being shown on You Tube. He was used to hiding behind the drums and not doing front work. He was very nervous when they told him he would be alone on camera.” Steve Wahrer performed a maniacal version of “Surfin’ Bird,” doing ‘the bird” for the entire duration of the song. Exhausted afterward, Wahrer gave a charming interview to Clark. His innocence and enthusiasm can resonate with anyone from a small town wanting to make it big in the city. Although Wahrer passed away in 1989, his vocal on “Surfin’ Bird” is as instantly recognizable as any in the history of rock and roll.<br /><br />Although songwriting credits to “Surfin’ Bird” were ultimately given to R&B/Doo-Wop group, the Rivingtons, the origin of the Trashmen version had little to do with the songs originally titled “Papa Oom Mow Mow” and “The Bird’s the Word.”<br /><br />Dal Winslow: “We had not heard of the Rivingtons when we first heard this song. A band from Wisconsin performed “Bird is the Word” as we thought it would be a great idea to change it up and add it to our list. We started playing it at dances and it became the most requested song. George Garrett agreed to pay for all recording and be our “personal manager. He cut the deal with Soma for distribution. The studio (Kay Bank) was not familiar with rock, only radio spots or small jazz groups. “Surfin’ Bird” was recorded in two segments, specifically to let Steve catch his breath. All others were done live. We did overlay the background vocals…there was only a 16 track recorder at the time.”<br /><br />The success of “Surfin Bird” was used to full advantage by Amos Heilicher and George Garrett. “Since our song and album were so successful,” Winslow states, “they had musicians beating a path to their door to make them a hit. I’m sure they made a ton of cash off these groups. It only took a few months to see the only thing George was managing was the money coming in, He really never did any promotions.” One of these groups, Gregory Dee and the Avanties, performed a spirited song called “Olds Mo William,” which used a Steve Waher-esque “Do the bird!” to bridge into the chorus. The single was a fast-paced, frenetic shout out number. “It was kinda flattering,” Winslow said. “At least it was original. Most of the groups that came to record were doing covers, and not as good as the originals.” An underrated song if there ever was one, “Olds Mo William” was Soma’s best attempt at recreating the magic of “Surfin’ Bird.” Soma Records did manage to produce one more great single, “Liar Liar” by the Castaways, which hit #12 in 1965.<br /><br />The British Invasion and psychedelic music began to dominate the 60’s music scene around 1965, leaving bands like the Trashmen with a changing audience which preferred to listen and inhale music rather than dance to it. Instrumental bands like the Ventures managed to maintain their popularity for most of the decade, largely due to the support and promotion of their record company, Liberty Records. Without this backing, the Trashmen saw their audience dwindle, deciding to disband in 1967. Winslow saw “a different response to our music. The crowds were not dancing and wanted war songs and message tunes. The blues and James Brown also started to become more popular. As we started to play clubs we decided that it was time to bail. None of us wanted to become lounge lizards.”<br /><br />The Trashmen left the music scene and began their careers as normal, ordinary Americans. “We all worked for corporate America, including investment firms, manufacturing and banking.” Drummer Steve Wahrer continued to perform, using the Trashmen’s “name for a short time and then transitioned into other groups,” stated Winslow. Time passed, yet for some reason, “Surfin’ Bird” continued to be played on the radio and eventually covered by the Ram ones and the Cramps. The song was also used in the classic Stanley Kubrick film, “Full Metal Jacket.” Despite two decades of longevity and accolades, “Surfin’ Bird” was still being licensed by Amos Heilicher in budget compilations of “goofy greats” and “wacky wonders.” Ironically, some of the worst songs of the sixties era, “Harem Holiday” and “Animal Instinct,” were recorded by the “King of Rock and Roll”, Elvis Presley.<br /><br />Presley’s record label, RCA, and his management managed to prevent any of these musical abominations from being associated with the mythology of the man who gave the world “Heartbreak Hotel.” Amos Heilicher, on the other hand, had no issue with placing “Surfin’ Bird” next to Alvin and the Chipmunks or Sheb Wooley’s “The Purple People Eater.” This decision for the easy dollar led to the misconception of the Trashmen as a novelty act and not the recognition of the group as a top band of their era. Imagine, if you will, the Beatles being promoted on “Yellow Submarine” as their magnum opus, without any context of the band making a song for kids. Perception is a big argument in how an individual sees the world and the things that surround them. If a song is marketed as a classic, it will be considered under those stipulations. If it is sold as a joke, it will be taken thusly so.<br /><br />After 28 years of Soma distribution, the Trashmen decided enough was enough: “In 1991 we finally got fed up with hearing our song used and went to court to gain licensing rights,” Winslow stated. “At the time, it was being licensed illegally by Musicland, a division of Amos’ empire. The ironic thing was they had no contract to do so. The only contract that ever came across our desk was a document on management by Soma and Garrett. This was never signed since Tony (Andreason, the band’s lead guitarist) was only 20 at the time and his father said he would not sign it. In retrospect, a great decision. The (court) declared we had full ownership of all masters and any distribution or licensing going forward. We now receive compensation for any time the song (“Surfin’ Bird”) is used.”<br /><br />Since this verdict, The Trashmen have seen a renaissance that is incomparable to any artist from their era, propelling the group from a funny footnote to a band worthy of induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. They are about to embark on a second European tour, after performing a concert at the “Back to the 50’s” Minnesota Street Rod Association show in St. Paul. During this time they will see fans old and new, young and old. To some they will be legends, to others a passport to an infinite memory of youth and innocence. Cars and bars, girls and tilt-a-whirls. To others, for a tiny moment of an hour, there is a band. A great band. A band that celebrates all that is great about rock and roll music. The persistence and diligence inside every kid when they pick up a guitar, trying to get the Chuck Berry lick down until it is as sweet as sugar on cereal. The Trashmen are the code word for belief. What’s the word? Don’t you know the word? It doesn’t need to be said. We all know…Adam Koeppehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00719500219198312201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261935655974994089.post-55608540446559953322009-06-07T19:24:00.000-07:002009-06-07T19:36:55.398-07:00Pearl Jam - Rock and Roll's Latest "Free Agent" Band Fights On<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBML0GsGSDlDC-NJ50eZsM0Kd7I03sUoRRVuaaHVXD0BlCvmuxS_eKnHXgL2y3napeiSpOLv_yZHcm1hwKNdJ8H8VgHrssNGh7caf65CvCNEtWd6IpaGwDP-AckaS9jlftGuqMhBU8i59V/s1600-h/Pearl_Jam.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344777531293750290" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 375px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 336px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBML0GsGSDlDC-NJ50eZsM0Kd7I03sUoRRVuaaHVXD0BlCvmuxS_eKnHXgL2y3napeiSpOLv_yZHcm1hwKNdJ8H8VgHrssNGh7caf65CvCNEtWd6IpaGwDP-AckaS9jlftGuqMhBU8i59V/s320/Pearl_Jam.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />On June 1st, <a href="http://www.billboard.com/bbcom/news/exclusive-pearl-jam-confirms-target-tie-1003978374.story">Billboard.com confirmed that rock and roll stalwarts Pearl Jam will be partnering with Target Corporation</a> for the release of their upcoming album, “Backspacer.” Pearl Jam’s alliance with Target is different than artists such as AC/DC and Bruce Springsteen, who gave uber-discounter Wal-Mart exclusive rights to album distribution. Pearl Jam will not just be selling their album through Target, but also through a variety of other outlets, both physical and via the internet. Manager Kelly Curtis stated “Target was cool enough to realize little independent record stores are not their competition,” implying Pearl Jam will still promote new material at your local record store, providing one still exists. As part of the Target deal, Pearl Jam agreed to make a commercial for the Bull’s-eye franchise, a decision that will have many music fans crying “sell-out” from a band that refused to make music videos for seven years. Given the current instability of the music industry, Pearl Jam should not be accused of “selling out” but be applauded for “selling in.”<br /><br />For the better part of the 1990’s, Pearl Jam waged a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pearl_Jam">one-band war against Ticketmaster</a>, the ticket-selling giant whose monopoly on concerts continues to this day. The band paid a heavy price for their protests, as they found booking arenas difficult if not downright impossible without the consent of Ticketmaster. Many arenas had (and still have) exclusive agreements with Ticketmaster, leaving Pearl Jam essentially blackballed from many areas. In 1998, Pearl Jam conceded the battle and began selling concerts via the evil, fee-happy empire. During the same period, the band released its first music video since “Jeremy”, the iconic single from the band’s debut album “Ten.” “Do the Evolution” was an animated video directed by Spawn creator Todd McFarlane and received substantial MTV play. These changes could be interpreted as the band caving in to pressure from their record label, Sony, but for all accounts the band did not get along with them.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0ULiMRKvNjmNw_68s4R5k4EPSAFYTp_xj-dTnu7hMrDY69HNxBlJEOfsdsj4CfAyAJEDqYy8bn25o4IXkMQZWqLtJR4uzxft2v53HJRlEj-o-w3DEszokY_bgjPZZBPdbBvikYaD-WrHj/s1600-h/curt+flood.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344777653972007746" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 216px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0ULiMRKvNjmNw_68s4R5k4EPSAFYTp_xj-dTnu7hMrDY69HNxBlJEOfsdsj4CfAyAJEDqYy8bn25o4IXkMQZWqLtJR4uzxft2v53HJRlEj-o-w3DEszokY_bgjPZZBPdbBvikYaD-WrHj/s320/curt+flood.jpg" border="0" /></a>The best answer for Pearl Jam’s business decisions is not found in music, but in baseball. In 1969, outfielder Curt Flood became the first player to challenge <a href="http://mlbplayers.mlb.com/pa/info/history.jsp">Major League Baseball’s reserve clause,</a> which contractually bound a player to the team they currently played with. A stellar player with multiple All-Star Game appearances, Flood put his professional career on the line by refusing to play the 1970 baseball season. Flood took his case all the way the U.S. Supreme Court, who ultimately ruled against him. The mental and physical strain on Curt Flood during this period was tremendous and he retired after a brief stint with the Washington Senators in 1971.<br /><br />Flood’s failure to successfully overturn the reserve clause inspired two other All-Stars, Dave McNally and Andy Messersmith, to make another attempt at challenging the status quo. Both pitchers played the 1975 season without a contract, arguing that they do now “owe” their service to their current team beyond fulfillment of their contractual obligation. This time, lower courts ruled in favor of the ballplayers. Major League Baseball gave in after several attempts at appealing the decision. The demise of the reserve clause led to the free agent market, in which players can sign with any team they choose. McNally chose to retire, while Messersmith signed with Ted Turner’s Atlanta Braves for a ton of money. Like Curt Flood before him, the strain on Messersmith led to several sub-par seasons before he finally retired in 1979.<br /><br />The free agent market flourished after the 1975 decision, allowing baseball teams such as the New York Yankees to stock their roster with great players and essentially “buy” world championships in 1977 and 1978. Major League ballplayers would control much of how the game was financially played until 1994, when a player’s strike ended the baseball season, canceling the World Series. In 2002, an attempt at another strike was met by fan hostility, with beers, baseballs and profanities being thrown on the field during the final games on August 30th before an agreement was reached. Fan tolerance for rich teams and players had reached a breaking point, resulting in an agreement that has made baseball universally competitive for the first time in its history.<br /><br />Throughout most of the 1990’s Pearl Jam was the music industry’s Curt Flood. Their anti-corporate stance was applauded and supported by their millions of fans but their decision to refuse to make music videos and play ball with the evil empire of Ticketmaster prevented the band from gaining or even sustaining their fan base. It is understandable the band’s record label, Sony, would not spend considerable PR time and money on an artist not willing to play the industry game. In the 2000’s, a record buyer would rarely see a big promotional effort to support the band, despite loyal fan allegiance and a history which places Pearl Jam among the best rock and roll acts in history. Although their concerts are still well-attended and indeed phenomenal, Sony seemed more interested in getting behind artists who perform the typical dog and pony show. The music industry has changed rapidly during this decade, resulting in inferior but photogenic artists being pushed in an unwilling public’s ear.<br /><br />The propensity of downloading (legal or illegal) has resulted in several established artists to become the music equivalent of “free agents.” <a href="http://pitchfork.com/news/33749-radioheads-iin-rainbowsi-successes-revealed/">Radiohead’s decision to release their last album, “In Rainbows,” on a “pay what you want” basis online, surprisingly resulted in platinum physical sales.</a> Subsequently, Trent Reznor’s latest Nine Inch Nails release, <a href="http://www.billboard.com/bbcom/esearch/article_display.jsp?vnu_content_id=1003725070">“Ghosts I-IV,” was offered for free download but record buyers were given unprecedented alternate options, including autographed copies if the purchaser was willing to pay for it</a>. Although Pearl Jam had yet to enter this brave new world, their efforts a decade before set the stage for Radiohead’s and Nine Inch Nails’ success. Pearl Jam was the first major artist to allow and encourage bootlegging of their live concerts. The band went so far as to record every show during their 2000 tour and release the double-CD’s at a discount price. Bootleg concerts were a prime mover in the underground music industry until the advent of the internet. Three-hour Bruce Springsteen concerts would sell for sixty bucks at record shows, despite that they were made for five bucks in somebody’s basement. But access is everything, and music fans were more than willing to pay for a great show with good sound that made you feel like you were there. Pearl Jam’s release of it’s entire live tour delivered the first blow to bootleggers without a single legal action. Soon after, CD burning and internet downloading leveled these once astronomical prices. Pearl Jam’s live albums gave die-hard fans what they wanted, albeit with a little overkill.<br /><br />The 21st Century has not been kind to Pearl Jam, whose fan base has dwindled further and unlike Radiohead and Nine Inch Nails, have yet to gain interest from young music fans. Their partnership with Target should be seen as the band “selling in” rather than “selling out.” There is little argument Pearl Jam would have been one of the biggest acts in rock and roll history if they did not challenge the system. Unlike the late Curt Flood, Pearl Jam still has power over their destiny. If the band’s new record and commercial for Target reignites interest in the group from the public, they could experience a resurgence seldom seen in the music industry. If there is one thing to know about Pearl Jam, is they are dedicated and persistent. Don’t count them out yet.<br /><br />If Pearl Jam’s gamble is even somewhat successful, they may pave the way for younger artists to break from their labels while they are still Billboard and iTunes darlings. There is yet to be a Reggie Jackson or Alex Rodriguez in the music industry, who became free agents at the peak of their careers. Imagine if Eminem, Black Eyed Peas or even the Jonas Brothers spurned record labels and took charge of their marketing and promotion. Many music critics such as Bob Leftsetz have predicted the demise of traditional music industry practices for some time. It remains to be seen when and exactly how the final blow will be delivered. When it happens, the artists who benefit from the fallout should thank artists like Pearl Jam, whose anti-corporate stance, incredible live shows and refusal to conform are more than enough qualifications to enter the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.Adam Koeppehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00719500219198312201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261935655974994089.post-68676883022579137682009-05-30T20:27:00.000-07:002009-05-30T20:30:47.045-07:00Commencement<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJG9i5e2qA6za29AxNgEUdiSiHvqCduLPOAyxg0ZQQFYa63YypHN8X27zghQBcru3pmRjMw2wv61PRIslXx_eqxUNfUrjG5f01Caz0C2Ii2SaCeq0g4owDNzNm2Xbtm5yFNFGk1DcIdnj1/s1600-h/Graduation.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341825218972769618" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 234px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 211px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJG9i5e2qA6za29AxNgEUdiSiHvqCduLPOAyxg0ZQQFYa63YypHN8X27zghQBcru3pmRjMw2wv61PRIslXx_eqxUNfUrjG5f01Caz0C2Ii2SaCeq0g4owDNzNm2Xbtm5yFNFGk1DcIdnj1/s320/Graduation.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Commencement: An act, instance or time of making a beginning<br /><br />When one thinks of commencement and commencement speeches, very rarely does anyone remember the minute instances and details of this important occasion, only the blur that occurs inside the mind when it is obvious your life will change in a permanent way. I remember little of mine, except that I wore short shorts, which garnered criticism from my grandfather and compliments from girls. I have no recollection of who gave the commencement address or what it was about. Those of you who have sat through a handful of these events, be it high school or college, probably have a good idea. The speaker talks about the future, how it is what you make it, that it is important that each and every one of you make a positive mark on society. It seems every commencement speaker has the same playbook of clichés, analogies, and contrite optimism.<br /><br />Politicians and celebrity speakers are especially guilty of this, considering they rarely touch on the subjects most knowledgeable to them. Oprah shouldn’t be talking about the future, she should be giving tips on how to best use the never-ending pasta bar at Olive Garden. Billy Joel should only be giving tips on how to avoid writer’s block and car crashes. Bill Clinton has no inspirational thoughts on the future, unless they involve expensive speaking engagements during which he spends over an hour discussing and elaborating on essentially nothing. President Barack Obama’s advice for graduates should not include how anything is possible, but if you screw up your life to the extent where you are too big to fail, he will happily bail you out. Why are these people asked to give motivational speeches when someone from the local community students actually know would have a far greater impact?<br /><br />A good friend of mine recently gave a commencement address to a local class of high school seniors. For three years, he had been their teacher, inspiring and engaging students in English, a subject considered quite hard to connect with kids especially in the age of texting, social networking and general disinterest. A man who does not accept failure easily, he gained students’ admiration and respect, going above and beyond to help students with their work. His reward for such outstanding work was termination due to budget cuts. His dedicated students started a Facebook group and presented the school board with a petition filled with hundreds of signatures to no avail. What’s done is done. Rules are rules and there is very little people can do to change them. On that night, many students received their first dose of adult reality: there is indeed a limit to things you can do and accomplish. A harsh lesson but one that needs to be learned, sooner or later. This moment may have been in my friend’s thoughts as he addressed his group of seniors. What followed was not only the best commencement speech I’ve heard, but the only one which addressed students on their level.<br /><br />He began his speech with the frank statement that he considered declining the speaking invitation due to the upcoming change in his life. He decided to accept on the reasoning both the Class of 2009 and he were facing an uncertain future. This is especially true this year for both high school and college graduates. The job market is dim, if nonexistent for many students. There are millions of experienced, qualified candidates for every job right now. The quality of worker seen at the average Wal-Mart and McDonald’s has risen to the point where the average employee is overqualified for their menial tasks. The economic collapse (people should really stop using “downturn:” it is an insult to intelligence) has affected thousands of teachers like my friend. For the first time in many years, there are few, if any openings for even the most exceptional educators, a description that still does a disservice to my friend’s ability. The odds in winning the lottery look better than landing a good job. This fact is not lost on the class of 2009. Always a realist, my friend chose to address the ups and downs of this most uncertain future.<br /><br />Personal uncertainty, he stated, is a time “when you learn who you are.” Friendships may become distant, changes may be unexpected and drastic, but how you choose to deal with these events will be what makes or breaks you as a person. “You will become different, you will become an individual and have responsibilities…you will have to make decisions.” Most graduates in high school or college will witness their snowglobe world become much larger and hazier. They will soon find themselves in different surroundings and with new people, whose lives and experiences may not mirror their own. They most likely will not be impressed with athletic accomplishments or delinquent endeavors. They may not care for your favorite music or if they do, they may know far more about it than you do. It becomes difficult to impress people with stories. What remains is the individual’s personality. Are you caring or callous? Do you go out of your way to help others in need or do you “phone it in”? Are you your own person or do you follow the crowd, adapting their behaviors, likes and dislikes to avoid scrutiny? These decisions define what an individual is. If you are willing to be yourself, make logical decisions and back them up, the rewards are far-reaching and permanent. Become what you are, not what someone else wants you to be.<br /><br />My friend’s speech turned to the subject of love and friendship. “Keep the ones you love near and dear to you…receive love and show love.” He stated that when times are hard, those you love will get you through. It is important to not lose these people as your lives change, but stay in contact with them as best you can. They are the people who will be by your side as you go through the good times and bad. They are the friends and family who will celebrate your marriage or comfort you during a divorce. They are the people who hold your newborn child and help you cope when that child becomes a teenager and totals your car. It is vital not to lose these connections or let them become distant. In our Web 2.0 era of Facebook and Twitter, it is still all too easy to not return phone calls or emails. You will get caught up in your lives; the day-to-day tasks that drain the energy once used to stay up until the crack of dawn discussing life, the universe and everything. It is important that you keep making the time, even if it is just a text or a quick shout-out. If you are there for them, they will be there for you. Great friendships last a lifetime. What began as copying a worksheet or playing a videogame turns into car repair, home remodeling or just reminiscing over a few select beverages. The next time you see a group of elderly guys chatting away over a pot of coffee at the local diner or a group of older ladies making a quilt, think of how friendship and love can be with you throughout your lifetime.<br /><br />Never one to display overt emotion, my friend exhibited it at the end of his speech. It occurred to me and possibly to him as well, that his speech was not just for graduates, but for all of us listening. At different times we all go through commencements and face the task of making our beginning. Sometimes the occasion is a happy one, sometimes not so much. As the Class of 2009 and my friend begin a new phase of life, there are many others who face an unknown future. It is up to us as individuals if we choose to celebrate change or lament it. We all need to have faith and love inside, regardless of the obstacles before us. I have known my friend for twenty-five years, a friendship I cannot come close to stating how much it means to me. Both of us are gamers at heart, always looking for the inside edge in Mario Kart as well as life. If there is one thing I have learned from our friendship, it is to never give up; an attribute I hope to pass to my young children as they grow. The future is always bright if you chose to make it so.<br /><br />Begin the beginning<br />Eyes to the future<br />Still fighting<br />Still winning </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Copyright 2009 Adam Koeppe</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Commencement definition derived from Miriam Webster</div>Adam Koeppehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00719500219198312201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261935655974994089.post-51019655137394572992009-05-16T20:35:00.000-07:002009-05-16T20:38:10.894-07:00Garage Sale of the Dead<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg6mbb9JwSoRXkxxASs9ru1m7PFs_5BtbvvSwIXxX1dDOml07TbaWwfXqhHjgVmwNbCQ4iXOELqXw_xIfsYguUrADggh685T_bYo4DO2tQtqkmXPwRiYk-1kwV3m_D5QGVebnQtFVEc346/s1600-h/garage+sale.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336632017150409506" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 218px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg6mbb9JwSoRXkxxASs9ru1m7PFs_5BtbvvSwIXxX1dDOml07TbaWwfXqhHjgVmwNbCQ4iXOELqXw_xIfsYguUrADggh685T_bYo4DO2tQtqkmXPwRiYk-1kwV3m_D5QGVebnQtFVEc346/s320/garage+sale.jpg" border="0" /></a> The month of May tends to be the beginning of garage sale season in many parts of the United States. A time when spring-cleaning gives way to a collection of unwanted artifacts and questionable Christmas gifts. For many, it is the great American pastime, with weekends spent scouring home after home in search of a needed item at a steep discount or treasure hunting for valuable baubles that missed the eye of their owner. Be it baby clothes, a dining room set or the first Van Halen record, there’s usually something for everybody at a citywide garage sale near you. Unfortunately, this is more accurate than ever in 2009, as many families are being forced to sell possessions which were household necessities a year before. For some, it is a means to make up for a lost job or a jump in their mortgage payment. For others, it is a forced liquidation as the home in which they are having the sale will soon not be theirs.<br /><br />A feeling of dread comes across me as I walk from house to house in a development constructed less than a decade ago. Sales are everywhere the eye can see and bargains galore, if you can stomach the reason an $800 grill is selling for a hundred bucks. The signs of departure are sadly obvious. Boats, fish houses, foosball tables and nautilus sets priced to sell and sell quickly. These items can’t fit into an apartment or town home. They are physical evidence of a family trying to live the American Dream and failing. Many will say it is their own fault. Not reading the fine print of the mortgage loan, maxing out credit cards and failing to develop a monthly budget are fallibilities too common these days, but it is difficult, if not completely callous, to overlook the suffering on the faces of so many who were just trying to achieve what so many take for granted. It is easy for many of us to laugh at the saps profiled in the news who cry about not making ends meet on a six-figure income. It is far more difficult to see them standing in the back corner of their garage with a change box.<br /><br />It is in our nature to take advantage of the financial mistakes of others, particularly if the plight can be reconciled inside the conscience. When I scored a 1959 Erector set, an original 45 of Buddy Holly’s “Oh Boy” and a copy of “Uncle Scrooge #6 (in which Scrooge drinks beer), it never occurred to me to tell the owner they are selling these items for peanuts. It’s their own fault, right? If they actually took the time to price these items or bring them to the almighty “Antiques Roadshow,” they wouldn’t be dumb enough to sell them for a buck. This is the conceit people who frequent garage sales and flea markets abide by: if you don’t know what it is worth – too bad. This philosophy works best with strangers and in towns a person does not frequent very often. I broke this unwritten code a few years ago when I saw a Carlton Fisk rookie card selling for a dollar at the residence of a man I had known most of my life. Joe is a good guy, someone who would never take advantage of another just to make a quick buck. I couldn’t in good faith buy the card of the Boston Red Sox Hall of Famer without telling Joe it was worth substantially more. Joe told me to take it anyway, stating the price was the price and he wasn’t into collecting baseball cards anymore. As I paid him, I realized Joe knew and abided by the unwritten rules of garage sales. Purchasing “Pudge” for that price still made me uneasy and I have yet to add it to my collection. It is still sitting on my bookcase, waiting to be given to a deserving recipient. For some reason I never thought I deserved to own it, at least not on those circumstances.<br /><br />Americans lucky enough to have avoided this recession will find deals aplenty if they are willing to overlook the economic circumstances involved in the sale. It is doubtful anyone feels sorry for Macy’s when they get 50 to 75 percent off the entire purchase. Macy’s is just a store. It’s not a real person. That fallacy works if one forgets many people work for Macy’s and are facing employment elimination if the company’s profit margin continues to decline. We celebrate the great deals and brag about them to our friends because that’s just what we do. If the profit is impersonal, then it is justified. Most of the mortgage brokers, bankers and financial advisors who made a fortune bankrupting thousands of people probably thought the same way. It’s the customer’s fault if they don’t understand what they’re signing right? They’re not being forced to do anything they don’t want to. It is their choice to invest or take out a ginormous loan. If they aren’t fully aware of the consequences, well that’s just too damn bad. Sounds pretty vile and empathetic, doesn’t it? When we celebrate our garage sale and department store booty, aren’t we doing pretty much the same thing?<br /><br />It is many American’s nature to want lots of stuff and not have to pay diddly-squat for it. Pyramid marketing scams work on many people for a reason. The concept of getting an “inside deal” better than most folks is like panning for gold in the Old West except there’s no guns, criminals, diseases, lawlessness and the actual chance of making a profit. Take a step back the next time you’re at one of these garage sales that seem too good to be true. When you see a sweet motorcycle for two grand, children’s trampolines for twenty bucks or a rockin’ stereo system practically being given away, think for a bit of the circumstances possibly involved in the situation. The garage sale is real but for many Americans selling their possessions, it represents the death of their dream. Our lives are indeed long and the potential of rebuilding all that is lost is possible, no matter how dire the situation may be. However, many families forced to give up so much may decide it is just not worth having their lives upheaved again. Their belief in the stereotypical “American Dream” has disappeared along with the home they thought they would live in for decades or a lifetime. These aren’t just garage sales anymore. They’re bloody funerals.<br /><br />If you frequent any of these sales this year, maybe offer a little extra cash even if it goes against the unwritten garage sale code. Be thankful you have the extra money to buy the trampoline for your kids. Buy some of the homemade cookies and lemonade next to the change box and tell the seller how much you appreciate it. Look them in the eye and give them a reassuring smile. It may not mean much but it is the least you can do outside of ridding them of their George Foreman Grill. As you drive home, count your blessings alongside the great finds. Life takes many an unexpected turn as we live it. It is easier to live without things than empathy or conscience; unappraisable, invaluable attributes that are definitely not worth haggling about.<br /><br />Copyright 2009 Adam KoeppeAdam Koeppehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00719500219198312201noreply@blogger.com0