"Late Bloom" by Mavis Piggott.

This is an E.P. boasting 6 songs that fall somewhere between Grunge and Indie Rock. Mavis' vocals are without a doubt quite Indie, and there are some interesting guitar ideas at work, but the big problem with this record is that the production is raw to a fault. Everything sounds unmixed in general and it really holds the record back in a big way. You're basically just hearing all the same instruments with all the same settings running through six song ideas. One might think that this simply constitutes a "style" of sorts, but I really think it would have behooved the artist to at least experiment with some textures to help enhance the songs' individual strengths. All in all this record just wasn't really my scene, but I heard some potential.

"500 Miles to Glory" by Various Artists.

This record is a compilation of Punkabilly bands, mostly rocking out about cars, or racing and debauchery in general. It was a pretty fun listen, honestly. I'm not really into anythingbilly, but I'd probably listen to this in the garage while working on my car, or even while driving really fast. I particularly like the little soundbites that sounded like they were recorded sometime in the '50s in between each song about the Indy 500. They gave the record a genuine sense of raw nostalgia, and really helped move the album along. Not too shabby for a genre in which I have no interest musically.

Smells Like the Nineties Part 3: "Whatever and Ever, Amen..." by Ben Folds Five.

This one was kind of a sleeper hit. Anyone that bothered to pick up the record after hearing the runaway hit "Brick", were rewarded with a simple, but beautifully recorded and intimate affair. Ben Folds is an artist. Pure and simple. He's proven that he can make a solid record all by his lonesome, but never on this scale, and never without the help of the incredible gentlemen, Robert Sledge and Darren Jessee. Andy Wallace is again at the helm of this record, but his production is nothing like that on Grace. It's sparse and simple, but not retro or lo-fi. Just dry. The three part harmonies and lush chords are reminiscent of Todd Rundgren and even Queen at times, but they never sound tacky or nostalgic. Just good. Very good. Their subsequent, and final release, The Unauthorized Biography of Reinhold Messner, trumps this record in literally every way, but they never would have gotten there without taking this road, and anyone who likes music was glad they did.

Izzy Goes to Bollywood.

So I finally "experienced" Slumdog Millionaire. It was cute, but alarmingly formulaic for this day and age. I kept expecting some horrible thing to happen all the way up until the closing scene (which was followed, inevitably by an obligatory dance sequence) to show how life doesn't work out like in the movies. The directing was direct, all right, to the point of making me feel spoon fed by what the scenes had to convey. The soundtrack was ineffective, and ultimately, distracting. Every time a song would kick in, it was jarring, and not complimentary to what was happening on-screen. Here's the bottom line: Were it the exact same movie full of Caucasians, no one would have given a crap.

Without a Paddle.

I had a dream about my ex-girlfriend last night. But she wasn't her. She was Angela from The Office. I was in Seattle, but it was a self-manifested reflection of my disdain for the place. There were so many roads, that a lot of them were suspened in the air like a roller-coaster, and there were so many buildings, that the only place left for some of them was right in the middle of the street. I distinctly remember there being a Volkswagen dealership that was made entirely of glass, and the cars were parked in cubby holes, side-by-side, and stacked upon one another much like a shelving system for shoes. Only glass. I was walking past that establishment and I saw her. She was wearing a tiny, one-piece, powder blue tennis outfit that showed off every bit of her wonderful legs, and she looked positively stunning. She saw me and smiled with everything she had. She mentioned that it was weird to run into each other in a place we don't really frequent. She was truly happy to see me, and by the end of the dream, we were back together. I felt safe, and a little serene. It was not fun waking up to an empty bed, and the truth in general. Nor was it heartening to remember that an attractive, married man has been e-mailing her as though there exists a friendship between them of any kind.

Truth be told, I felt a little stupid. The prospect of being reunited with her is just as much a "sure thing" now as it ever was, when you get right down to it. A big fat "maybe". Only the circumstances around that "maybe" have changed, and some time has passed. Making it a "more than likely" now, I guess. It's still a bummer to dream about. Except for the fact that it was Angela. She can be downright statuesque.

I also ran into a group of Witnesses today. I was sitting inside Starbucks, listening to some music and drinking my coffee. It was actually quite a successful introspective moment, but then a group of four Witnesses walked in, and I was snapped from my thoughts. They were all dressed for service and seemed to be joyful in general. I suddenly felt self-conscious, awkward, and excluded, but not nearly as badly as I would have three months ago, which is really good news. It means that some sort of self-progress is being made internally. Instead of just feeling neglected, I felt sad that I couldn't join them, and was excited at the prospect of doing so in the future. That hasn't happened in years.

I'm not trying to complain here. It's like this: If life itself is the ocean, then (for me) getting it together spiritually and financially is like having a good row-boat. But, (again, this is just for me) being in love is like having oars. Without them, you're still safely afloat, and you can't really complain, but you'll probably just end up wherever the ocean takes you. And it might take you somewhere pretty sweet, like some island with a mysterious alcove... When you've got someone to care about, though, it gives you the tools to carve your own way through that same ocean, in that same boat. You feel more motivated to set your own course within the framework of that boat, on that ocean. Anyway, I want some oars, but it's probably going to take a while. It seems like I should worry about getting that boat first. What am I going to do with oars and no boat, right?

"Bicycle! Bicycle!" - Freddie Mercury

A little less than a year ago, I came across a craigslist posting for a couple of run-down bicycles. The owner was giving them away for free, on the condition that they be picked up by the interested party. I probably wouldn't have been interested, but they were both really old and charming, and I love a project, so I went and picked them up. One was an old delivery bike from China, equipped with a tiny generator for a pair of head-lights and a tail-light. I decided I'd put that one aside for my friend, Jessica. The other was a metallic silver 12-speed from a Coast-to-Coast store called a Medalist. That one was for me. All the bearings were shot and the chains were rusted on both bikes, making them both practically worthless. I liked the frame for the Medalist, though, so I decided to teach myself how to build up a bike from nothing but the original frame outfitted with new parts. I'll keep you guys posted as I make progress, and post photos of the whole process.

"Hang-Out" by Morella's Forest.

This release is an EP boasting 4 better than average tracks by a band previously unknown to me. The production (as is becoming the trend with these albums) is a bit thin, but the performances are rock solid. The female vocals fit right in with the big, noisy guitar stabs, and there's a pretty nice cover of Voices Carry by 'Til Tuesday. (Let's face it, I'm down with anybody who looks up to Aimee Mann) Though it's tough to base an opinion on so few songs, I do like the way they were headed. Cool name, too.

"Perfect Teeth" by Unrest.

It took me an exorbitant amount of time to finally listen to this record all the way through. It wasn't the album itself I found off-putting, I think I just couldn't find the time to fully devote to it without being a little distracted, and that's not exactly fair to the artist. At any rate, I finished it, and here's what I thought: Unrest seem very good at the core, but their message gets lost around the edges. A majority of the songs are made up of only 2 different parts. Their execution is slick, however, saving them from total disaster. I'd still like to hear some more variances, but that's merely a preference. Their overall tone is that of general under the radar indie pop, with a few somber nuances. The drummer is the real star, though, possessing a hefty sum of finesse, which he exercises generously, throughout the album. The song Breather X.O.X.O. is especially creative, both in its approach, and its execution. All in all, a nice record, but something about it kept me at arms length.

The Modeling Industry.

My friends are geeks.

I understand nerds in an intrinsic way, but geeks are another mess altogether.

A nerd (at least according to my rather broad interpretation) is someone who embraces their guilty pleasures without the feeling of guilt. Think about it. Deep down, people generally like some pretty silly stuff. Only when they are unafraid to speak about them without any sort of prefabricated disclaimer at the ready, are they considered "uncool" to some extent. Let's be honest here, the term "cool" as we know it today seems to indicate a sense of overall quietude, or even aloofness in an individual, which is exactly what you would get if you took away any ability to speak about those guilty pleasures openly.

Geeks just enjoy lame stuff. They also get far too excited and obsessive about this stuff. I'm not trying to incite a class war, so to speak, but some of my friends are now geeks in my book.

They have started playing Warhammer 40,000 on a regular basis.

There are four guilty parties (who will remain anonymous, they know who they are) so far. They have all the rule books, they have constructed a large gaming table in my basement, they have spent large sums of money on tiny models and paints, they exhaust long hours painstakingly assembling and detailing these models, they discuss "technique", they have played numerous campaigns against one another and they talk "shop" around the house when they aren't readily engaged in tabletop warfare. I've even heard them recount the details of a game that they had just finished playing. This is worse than discussing a movie immediately after viewing it (I think one of my readers will understand this). These were "cool" people once. It happened almost overnight.

I assembled and primed my first unit tonight, and I eagerly anticipate the primary stages of painting him tomorrow. So long, "cool". It was fun while it lasted. I'll always look back on you fondly, but there are wars to be won.

Mallrat.

I made an impromptu jaunt to the local mall yesterday. I hadn't been in quite some time (it's tough to get out when you don't drive), and to be honest, I'd forgotten just how much I actually enjoy being there. It's not about the stores themselves, particularly, or even the "shopping experience", although I must admit that a certain level of catharsis is felt when indulging my terrible habit of impulse buying. I feel so invigorated and alive when I shirk any semblance of rational responsibility for the prospect of a simple pleasure. That's one plus, however selfish. I also like the feeling of being "lost" in public, though not outdoors. I can't stand the city, but I revel in the bustle of an irrational number of people indoors. It's strange and a little hard to describe accurately, but it's definitely there, and surely a contributing factor.

During my uncalled-for contribution to consumerism, I was accosted by a young Mediterranean woman, named Esther. She prompty approached me, and with a thick accent, proceeded to inform me about the product she was peddling from the Dead Sea. (I won't go into her reaction to my name.) She grabbed my hands and coated them with coarse, granular sea-salt, for the purpose of cleaning them. She idly asked how old I was, and I replied "31". She expressed her disbelief, and said that I looked "great" (Yes!). She then hit me with the obligitory "Do you have a girlfriend?". (I say "obligitory" because she would clearly never even attempt to sell so feminine a product to a specimen so masculine, lest he had said "girlfriend".) I replied "Nope.", to which she stopped her presentation altogether. Eyebrows all scrunched, as though my statement were incredulous, she simply asked "How?" (Yes!!).

I'm sure that it is well within her job description to flatter any fellow who is fool enough to walk past their kiosk and make even passing eye contact with them, however, the encounter still put a spring in my step. She was not an attractive young lady by any means, but I walked away feeling younger, and more confident. A badly needed pair of new jeans was not the only thing I left with that day. Suddenly, I was imbued with good posture, a cool demeanor and a smug expression. (At least for the duration of the bus ride home.)

"Rev" by Ultra Vivid Scene.

Yet another in a long line of middling records. This album was well done, but unremarkable. The main offender? The singer. As I listened to this record, I imagined someone with some real vigor, like Roger Daltrey or Roland Orzabal, belting some awesome trademark stylings over the music, and I instantly saw potential. The songs themselves weren't necessarily bad, but the vocalist bored me, and therefore the songs suffered. This was a real lesson for me in just how important a good front man can be. Of course, any truly good band needs all parties firing on all cylinders (creatively, and performance-wise), but if the vocalist isn't powerful in some way, it seems to be the biggest, and most noticeable detractor.