We didn’t start the end of the fire as we know it

I never really listened to the lyrics of “It’s The End Of The World As We Know It” by R.E.M. until today. For the most part, I had never committed time and mind to this tune. That, and Michael Stipe talks too damn fast.

Stipe’s game of How-many-words-referencing-the-apocalypse-can-I-jam-into-four-minutes-and-nine-seconds holds a striking resemblance to Billy Joel’s “We Didn’t Start The Fire.” Chronologically speaking, Joel’s track holds a striking resemblance to R.E.M., but let’s not allow unnecessary specifics to digress from my point.

R.E.M. discusses, blatantly, the end of the world, while Joel lists landmark events in the history of mankind. However, the latter still alludes to a damaging conclusion. What is this “fire” Billy speaks of, and should I invest in an extinguisher for such conditions?

I can’t help but think “We Didn’t Start The Fire” is a response to “The End Of The World,” commentating what we have made of our blink in time, turning this placid sphere into a toxic wasteland. Both songs, as events and ideas are rattled off the tongue at light speed, provide a sense of panic, a deluge of memories and concern.

The irony is that these musicians coolly mention these atrocities: that this “fire” has always been “burnin’ since the world’s been turnin’,” and that they “feel fine” about the “end of the world.” They’re not scared—they actually seem eager and excited.

I wouldn’t consider R.E.M. an exceptional substitute for the Mayan calendar (which claims the end of the world to occur Dec. 22, 2012), nor would I ask Billy Joel his opinion of our time spent here, but I can’t help but wonder if they’re right: is there reason to take shame in things that have happened, or assume panic for times to come?

As humans we’re bound to make mistakes, and fretting about the past can enrich our lives as a vest can enrich a snake’s wardrobe. So why you tryin’ to fight it, Billy?
If the date of the apocalypse has been uncompromisingly set, what else can we do besides go about our daily routines? What’s the point of living in constant fear? You should feel fine. However, I will advise you to get some time alone (don’t question R.E.M., just do it).

CS

C'mon, what's the worst that could happen?

Think about it.

Do I think global warming is occurring? No, I do not. I think the earth is going through its phases, however it wouldn't hurt for us humans to be a little less wasteful. This video isn't meant to tell you what's right and wrong, it literally maps the outcomes.

Cheers,
Ciara

He’s a what? (He’s a what?) He’s a newspaperman!

In less than a week, president-elect Barack Obama has made the cover of six (count ‘em, six) magazines, and most definitely more on the way. This includes (but is in no way limited to): Newsweek, Time, People, US Weekly, The Source, and Men’s Health. Yeah, Men’s Health.

On three separate occasions, groups of middle-aged women (probably Oprah and Dr. Phil enthusiasts) came in to my work, making a beeline for the magazines to pick two or three of those magazines, as if meticulously picking apples from a tree. They (unnecessarily) boasted about how they’re putting them in plastic covers and how I should do the same.

Thank you, middle-aged women, for your benevolent advice. I bought People. I don’t have any money for more mags.

Upon the presidential election of Sen. Obama on Tuesday, Nov. 4, 2008, the United States made history by finally electing someone who isn’t white. It was either that or electing a vice president who isn’t male.

As soon as I found out Sen. John McCain had chosen Gov. Sarah Palin as his running mate, I was happy to know that whichever way the votes would swing, the executive positions wouldn’t be limited to the clichéd white male politicians.

In truth, when I found out Sen. Obama was our president-elect and McCain wasn’t I was somewhat apathetic. Some have a misconception about me: Because I have a lot of democratic views it’s assumed I’m a flaming liberal and I’m a hardcore Obama person. I’m not.

The notion to rock the vote

I’m into politics, but not obnoxiously. I listened to what Sen. McCain had to say, and quite frankly I thought some of his ideas were better than Sen. Obama’s, but Obama won my vote in the end, just as he’s won the hearts of millions in this country.

I was somewhat apathetic about the turnout because throughout that day, leading up to the conclusion at approximately 10:30 p.m., I had been so enlightened by how much spirit everyone had to vote. In the end, I really couldn’t give a fuck who’d be running our country as much as I gave a fuck that everyone gave a fuck to vote.

Though this was the first election in which I could vote, it was so refreshing to see people my age getting pumped about who’d be running the country for four years. This woke me up as well as my 18- to 24-year-old peers. I didn’t care who they voted for—at least they voted.

It didn’t make me happy to see Obama win or to see McCain defeated, it made me happy that Obama gave a great acceptance speech, and McCain an even better departure speech.

Barackin’ the prObama

So Obama won. He’ll be running the country before I move to Chicago. I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t scared. However, it’s not Obama I’m scared about. It’s the thought of a new president, a concern anyone (possibly everyone) has at this stage. I know I’d be just as scared had McCain been elected.

Jay Leno made a joke Monday evening just hours before the polls opened; he was talking about how in some presidential elections, America won’t find out who the president will be for possibly a couple of days. He said, “It’s exciting to go to bed not knowing who’s running the country, but we’ve been doing that for the past eight years!” It’s a cheap shot at Pres. Bush, and I laughed, but it’s kind of true.

We may all have this fear in the pit of our stomach that is packaged with a new president’s term on the horizon, but Obama couldn’t do much worse than Bush. Or can he? Obama has a lot of pressure on his shoulders now. If the economy continues to plummet as he’s just getting comfortable in the Oval Office, it’ll be all “his fault” that he didn’t come up with a “plan” in the past decade to miraculously dig us out of this financial trench.

In all honesty, I have this hope that all naysayers will be wrong Obama, and he’ll end up being one of the greatest presidents of our time. I really hope that happens. I hope that’s the “change” he’s been talking about. There were many skeptics about JFK (a Catholic) being elected, and Reagan (an actor) as president, but they turned out to be some of the best presidents of the past half century. Clinton wasn’t half-bad either. Not including the obvious impeachment, Clinton was a great president.

Some still stupid

I’m nervous for our country, but I’m also scared for Obama. Before the presidential election, there had been two plans to assassinate Sen. Obama. Obviously they were thwarted, but if there were people out to get him then, I can’t imagine what could happen now that he’s slated for Pennsylvania Avenue residence.

Throughout the campaign, Obama seemed like a nice guy. Well, of course he seemed like a nice guy—he wanted to be our president. He seems very down-to-earth, but in a much more informal (yet still classy) way.

As I pore through the pictures of this nice guy in People, my eyes almost fill up with tears and it pains me to think of people already plotting to kill him. Is it because of his color? If this is the case, it sickens me to think there are prejudices not unlike seventy years ago in twenty-first century.

There are still KKK groups in America. That sickens me as well. Really, KKK people, are you that dense? Hell, I think it’s pathetic that it took America this long to put a nonwhite person in office.

In closing, here are my thoughts it a nutshell: I respect Obama, I respect McCain, and I respect the millions of voters who turned out for this election who normally wouldn’t make the simple effort of doing the most American thing you can do. I don’t care who you voted for so much as I care that you voted. I don’t care who won the election so much as I care that McCain displayed some real sportsmanship. I’m nervous and excited about what happens after Jan. 20, 2009, and I’m scared for Barack. And racist pieces of shit make me sick.

In the midst of economic turmoil and the sludge of war, America was brought together by the most historical election of our generation, if not of the past century. Go you, Americans.

Cheers,

Ciara

Obama's speech in Grant Park

McCain concedes the presidency

Two-cent piece

I’ve been meaning to catch up on my pop culture reviews. Because I’m lazy, no one really wants to read 500 words about one book, album, etc., and like the typical twentieth century kid, I’m obsessed with instant gratification. So, this is just my two cents on what my attentions have been directed to as of late. Feel free to recommend anything for me to review.

Be advised: This is a “hyper” story. Any title that may seem interesting and/or unfamiliar is hyperlinked. That’s right, I’m going WebMD on your ass. I’ll try to do this whenever I shove a cornucopia of pop culture down your throat.

Downtown Owl: After spending the past decade in the limelight writing for “Esquire” and “SPIN” as a comically dark critic of pop culture and how he perceives it, Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs (2004) author Chuck Klosterman switches gears to the 1980s sleepy town of Owl, N.D., a place where, as Klosterman puts it, “disco was dead but punk never happened.”

As Klosterman’s first foray into fiction, Downtown Owl isn’t too shabby. It’s a little rough, and in some depths of the text it’s prevalent that Klosterman is an accomplished writer testing different waters, however Klosterman is able to smoothly wade fiction with his signature voice: honest, sarcastic and endearing. 3.5/5

Acid Tongue, Jenny Lewis: The Rilo Kiley frontwoman respectfully sheds the Watson Twins in her follow up from 2006’s Rabbit Fur Coat, teaming with the likes of Jonathan Rice and Elvis Costello for a gritty, bluesy, sexy tone. Check out “The Next Messiah.” 4/5

Andrew Bird: His velvet vibratos joined by folky, eccentric beats. Check out “Fake Palindromes” (The Mysterious Production of Eggs, 2005) 4.5/5

Girl Talk: It doesn’t matter if you don’t appreciate rap, and it doesn’t matter if you don’t appreciate rock: You gotta give this guy props for creativity. Night Ripper (2006) meshes Ludacris, Boston, Elton John, and Nirvana, and it actually sounds good. You go, girl. 3/5

The Soup: This is a no-brainer. It’s on E!, and broadcasts throughout the weekend. God bless you, Joel McHale. This is what Perez Hilton would be like on television. 5/5

Burn After Reading: As the Coen Brothers lovingly return to their slapstick from their Academy-praised No Country for Old Men, BAR’s a good’n. The best part of the movie, as in most Coen films, is the idiosyncrasies of the characters, especially power-duo of the dim-witted, skunk-maned Chad (Brad Pitt), and the even more dim-witted, plastic surgery-obsessed Linda (Francis McDormand).

The movie received mixed reviews, but so did Fargo and O Brother, Where Art Thou?. I could see someone not enjoying the movie, because the film ends with not much closure, but it’s undoubtedly Coen. “What did we learn? Not to do it again, I don’t know what the fuck it is we did…” 3/5

Bryn Rich on Illinoise Sunday, Oct. 26: Nice show, guys. Underground Illinois music gets a voice every Sunday night on Hit Mix 88.9. Hosted by Learn to Fly’s Bryant Fritz, this particular installment was complete with live jams (thank you Bryn), additional guests (Aslan’s Claw frontman Josh Annis), weather updates (Sufjan, without you none of this would have been possible), copious requests and dedications, and interesting discussions ranging from a (wooden? crayon?) panther to upcoming local shows. Keep rockin.’ 4.5/5

Cheers,

CS

Extras...

DCFC's Ben Gibbard drops in on Jenny Lewis

Daytrotter Session of Andrew Bird's "Lull"

Condensed Soup

Burn After Reading's mixed reviews

Carleton Singing Knights cover "Chicago" a cappella

Veni, vidi, velociporous

It’s a snake? It’s a lizard? It’s a bat?

Dragons: they’re referenced in any realm of pop culture from phallic nicknames to J.K. Rowling lore. They’re as factitious as unicorns (yeah, unicorns don’t exist either), yet we’re led to believe that they’re scary, incendiary, and, well, big in contrast to its fantasy Lisa Frank counterpart.

I can’t help but wonder, is this entirely true? Thanks to mainstream’s interpretation of these creatures, we have these preconceived notions—that in the small chance that fire-breathing dinosaur-like reptiles should ever exist in this lifetime—of the anatomy of a dragon.

According to all-too-reliable Wikipedia, the “unifying feature of almost all interpretations (of a dragon) is it being a serpentine or otherwise reptilian monster (or at least possessing a serpentine/reptilian part or trait), and often possessing magical or spiritual qualities.” This makes for an entire palette of interpretation. If scientists can’t prove this mythological creature’s existence, scientists (or, in this context, the Average Joe) can’t exactly dictate its anatomy or habits. So, I’ve used my creative abilities to interpret these mythical creatures.

First and foremost, they may be carnivorous but they’re not always on the prowl. They’re not fucking lions or tigers or bears (oh my). Because it’s theorized that they’re closely related to reptilians, they sense fear just as snakes. If you’re calm, the dragon’s calm. Remember this, and you’ll be safe from any dragon attack, should you ever encounter one. However, never wake one of them up. If this happens, consider yourself shit out of luck.

Like a Doberman-pinscher, the dragon will be very skeptical of your presence until you’ve proven your harmlessness. A way of pacifying this mythical creature is to slowly blow air into its nose. Just like a Clydesdale, the dragon will get used to your smell and trust you. If you succeed in doing this (and manage to not get your face singed), the dragon will protect and defend you. You might say the beast becomes the bitch.

Now that you’ve tamed this animal and it’s ready for domestication, you need to know how to care for it.

Feeding it: dragons are omnivorous, so you can feed it plants or you can feed it people. Plant a garden and get your shit-list started.

Neutering: moot point (well, almost a moot point)—dragons are asexual. In order to reproduce, dragons slice off a scale from one of their leathery wings, blow fire on it, and you’ve got a dragon egg. So, buy nail clippers.

Maintenance: just like any species in kingdom animalia, dragons poop. There’s no magical way around this. Buy a litter box and a shit load of Lysol.

After a day of playing Frisbee and Monopoly with your beloved dragon, the most rewarding part is putting it to sleep. There are two fundamental things to remember in this process, or else the dragon won’t sleep and neither will you. First, whistle the Harry Potter score composed by John Williams. This will hearken memories of the dragon’s childhood at the Hogwarts colony, putting the creature into a state of total serenity. As the beast begins to purr like a kitten, exhaling small campfire cinders from its nostrils, stroke the back of its neck until it is snoring like a congested puppy.

Dragons are mythical, so why not? If you refute these claims, you’re a dumb-ass.

CS

What Wikipedia Believes

Y'hit me like a tom

No closer to any kind of truth

I recently resumed reading Big Sur by Jack Kerouac. And by “resumed,” I mean it’s one of those books I bought months ago, got sidetracked, and am finally getting around to finishing.

What ultimately brought me back to this book is Death Cab for Cutie’s song “Bixby Canyon Bridge,” which was written in dedication to Jack Kerouac. If I have any literary integrity whatsoever, I would have brought myself back sooner.

Written in Kerouac’s glory days of the early '60s (well, I’d hardly consider them “glory,” as Kerouac drinks himself into a port-induced coma almost every night of his writings), Big Sur follows the father of the Beat generation as he bounces around the left coast between his quiet cabin in the calmness of Big Sur and the vivacious boarding houses of Frisco।

I found a bittersweet relationship in reading this book. Despite the sentences that easily turned in to paragraph form (Kerouac calls his writing methods “Spontaneous Prose,” a stream of consciousness so to speak), finding the heart and humor at the core of his writing was worth the constant trudging through run-on sentences and intended typos।

As Kerouac coasts through alcoholism and chronic cravings for company in this dark novel, he finds the simple pleasures and tragedies that dictate his life are, in fact, the governing components of his happiness. Such examples include a letter from his lovesick mother mourning the sudden death of their cat, Tyke, or the violent banging of Stravinsky chords on a piano as old as its western saloon habitat articulates.

CS

Fun Stuff

Unofficial Jack Kerouac biography

Big Sur book review

"Bixby Canyon Bridge" Song Lyrics