There are a handful of bands that I just don't get. On paper I should be a fan. I'll search for a band I like on iTunes or Amazon to see the list of "People also bought..." and "You might also like...", and there are other artists that always turn up there that I guess I should like, assuming my current tastes. But I've tried to like those bands, and I just can't.

While there are several bands that somewhat fit this category - bands that I don't necessarily dislike, but that I've never understood other's obsession for (REM and Pearl Jam are two examples) - I know of one band off the top of my head that everything says I should like, but I just don't. This band is The Killers. I've tried and tried, and I just don't like them. At all. I watched them last night on Saturday Night Live in yet another attempt to turn it all around. But they failed me again.

You know those bands you see on re-runs of SNL from the early 80s or something and you think, "Wow, how did anybody like this?!?" I just have to believe that's going to be The Killers in 25 years. They have all the symptoms. Weird outfits aside, I just don't think their music is any good. Sorry, those of you who are fans. The closest I got to enjoying the little bit of their stuff I've heard is that "he doesn't look a thing like Jesus" song from a few years ago, but even that was just basically a "it's-not-as-bad-as-their-other-stuff" concession.

It's mostly been a "It's not my style, but whatever" relationship with The Killers, but last night they played their new single called "Human". OK, I'm sorry, this song is really really bad. It's one step away from being full-fledged disco, and not in that cool, retro way that came back in style a few years ago. Muse does that over the top keyboard thing really well. The Killers are like ABBA to Muse's Kool & The Gang (let that analogy soak in). One is great, and one, well, it's just not.

Let's take the central lyric to this masterpiece "Human", shall we?

     Are we human? Or are we dancer?

Yes, you're right if you're thinking "that makes no sense whatsoever". And yes, you're right if all you can picture after you hear that line is him busting out into a Footloose-esque dance routine. The next logical line should be "Are we from a distant planet come to Earth to break you off a funky step?" sung in a sequin jumpsuit with an astronaut's helmet. Or is "Dancer" a reference to the reindeer? That might actually make more sense. I thought their lead singer was about to freak out on SNL last night. He was wearing some sort of blazer with raccoons duct-taped to the shoulders and he was shaking like he had Parkinson's. I'm not trying to be mean... go watch it, he really does. It's all so gimmicky. (Remember how I mentioned those 25-year old re-runs of SNL that you watch and are horrifically amazed? Just you wait...)

Here's my theory: The Killers hit the music scene at an interesting time, along with bands such as The Strokes (who I think are great), Kings Of Leon (their first album was great), and others. They became "hip", and no one wanted to say what everyone is thinking about The Killers: None of this makes any sense but I don't want to admit that I don't understand it. It's uncool to dislike The Killers, even though you can't make heads or tails of any of it. "It's so weird that I should pretend that I like it." He just has one of those really annoying 80s "Duran Duran" voices, where it sounds as if he's about to have a mental breakdown at any moment (which, ironically, is what sometimes gets on my nerves about Conor Oberst, but that's neither here nor there). I liked The Killers more when they went by their old name, A Flock Of Seagulls.

So... all that to say: I don't get The Killers. Are they my least favorite band out there? No, absolutely not. I still like them better than 90% of any modern hip-hop or country. But I just don't get it. And I guess I never will.

Do you have any bands that you just don't get?? Tell us in the comments (or feel free to lambast me for my dislike of The Killers).

P.S. Another band I don't get is Mates Of State. (Just wanted to give you one more band to lambast me for. [And I also wanted to say "lambast" one more time.])

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OJ Simpson found guilty on all 12 counts including armed robbery and kidnapping; faces possible life sentence.
(Read the full story)

I read this this morning, and it just seems poignant: "[The Lord] will bring to light the things now hidden in darkness and will disclose the purposes of the heart." (1 Corinthians 4:5)

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Let me just be the first to say (and by "first" I mean that many other people have already said it) that I can't wait for it to be Fall. It's technically already Fall, but it doesn't quite feel like it here in Texas yet. I love Fall. It's my favorite season. The thought of it being October and November really makes me smile. I mean, those are two great months right there.

I'm a Texan and I like cold weather: two things which don't really go hand in hand too often, so, whereas most would say that Spring is a great season because it is getting warmer, I say that Spring only reminds me that it's going to be brutally hot before too long. But Fall?? Man, Fall is nice. Fall reminds me that it's going to be cold soon, but it's just so pleasant until then. How great is it to be able to go outside at 3 in the afternoon and it's just slightly chilly? I live in the Texas hill country, where we have some great colors when the trees change, and it just smells like firewood for 3 straight months. You're finally able to break out the coats that have been hanging untouched in your closet for the past 8 months.

I'm my most creative in the Fall. I always return from the Summer tour depleted and August is usually a bleak affair, trying to get back into some semblance of a normal life but you're depressed because you don't ever leave your house. It's like "travel withdrawal". September doesn't have any character; it can't decide if it wants to hang on to summer or change into fall. And because it can't commit, it means nothing to me. I'm glad to bid goodbye to September after today.

But man, oh man, when that first "true" day of fall comes, what a treat that is. Turn off the AC and eat dinner on the deck. I just feel revitalized. I'll pick up my acoustic guitar and anything that pours out seems new and fresh. I'll have 20 deer in my backyard at once. Fall reminds me of exploring, Calvin & Hobbes style. I'm not so big on Halloween, but I look forward to it just because of when it falls (no pun intended). And Thanksgiving?? C'mon, you can't beat Thanksgiving. I don't even like pumpkin pie, but it makes me smile just to see them all piled up outside of the supermarket. Everything just seems to be in a good rhythm in the Fall. I could take those late-Fall "barely sunny" days over just about anything else. It's easy to be friends in Fall; everybody is in such a good mood.

Fall is a great time to travel. Think about it, whenever someone is suggesting a city for you to visit, when do they always say to go? Fall. "It's at its most beautiful in the Fall." I've had the immense pleasure of being in Vancouver and Portland two consecutive years in October, and you just can't beat it. I could've died a happy man there. If you visit the northwest, do it in the Fall. If you visit Montana, do it in the Fall. If you visit Texas, do it in the Fall. If you visit the northeast, do it in the Fall. Shoot, even if you should decide to visit New Mexico for some reason, do it in the Fall. Santa Fe is beautiful in the Fall. See? Everything's just better!

And a lot of music just sounds so much better in the Fall than any other time. Here are some of my favorite "Fall" records:

- Counting Crows, August & Everything After (and not just because of the title!)
- Ray Lamontagne, Till The Sun Turns Black
- Teitur, Poetry & Airplanes
- Tom Petty, Wildflowers
- Eastmountainsouth, Eastmountainsouth
- Hayden, Elk-Lake Serenade
- Travis, The Invisible Band
- Iron & Wine, Our Endless Numbered Days
- Leona Naess, Leona Naess
- Jeff Buckley, Grace

Oh man, I can't wait! What are your favorite things about Fall?

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In this modern age, one often finds it necessary (when needing to temporarily give further information upon a point; such as this sentence) to employ the use of parentheses. I in particular frequently use parentheses when rambling on and on and need to clarify a point or qualify said rambling. However, in such a technologically driven society, unforeseen consequences of the parentheses use have appeared. I'm talking about the eternally frustrating quandary of how to close a parenthetical statement with a smiley face.

For example, say you are writing an email to a friend in which you desire to enclose a witty statement in those two little curvy shells. However, let's pretend it's a sarcastic comment and needs to have a smiley face in order for the reader to understand that it is indeed a joke. It is very frustrating.

I plan on coming over to your house as soon as I am able to get away from this dead-end job (which, by the way, is all your fault for encouraging me to take it :-) ).

Do you see that?!? How confusing are those two "closed" parentheses at the end of that statement??? It's maddening. But the question becomes: what is the appropriate syntax? Without fail, I always try this:

Here's a sentence (and here's my aside with a smiley face :-)      ).

And then, every time, also without fail, I chastise myself for assuming that would work. Ten spaces between the two parentheses doesn't really help. But nor can you do this:

Here's a sentence (and here's my aside with a smiley face :-).

The mouth on the smiley face cannot double as the closed parentheses! This just feels wrong. I openly admit that I don't know what to do with this problem. I end up re-writing my sentence just to accommodate my smiley face. Is it worth it? Maybe not, but what if the reader of my message does not know I am smiling as I write it? Instant disaster.

The only thing I can think of is that, brackets, it's your turn to shine. Absolutely underused and neglected, brackets ( { and } ) could be our answer. (Incidentally, see how parentheses ruined that last sentence? (Argh, and this one!).) I make a movement that we employ brackets when a smiley face needs to be used in what would ordinarily be a regular parenthetical statement. For example:

You stole my last frozen pizza from the freezer {but that doesn't mean I'll have to beat you to within an inch of your life :-)}.

Gosh, that looks nice. Brackets, let's see what you got...

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Dang. They just don't make stuff like this anymore. Ryan Shaw comes close, but it's just impossible to get this feel; that 1960s sound and groove. I've been jamming this on vinyl for the past few weeks and can't get enough of it. "In The Midnight Hour" is - for some intangible reason - one of my favorite songs of all time. Check out the vocals on "I Found A Love". It distorts the whole record, and I mean that in a good way. You just couldn't contain it.

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I have a slight but (arguably) irrational fear that my vehicle will be blown to smithereens in an explosion caused by the cigarette that the car in front of me just disposed of onto the street. I mean, it's a tiny, rolling stick of fire. It's designed to be flammable, albeit slowly, but the idea that a compacted piece of tobacco and paper is shooting off sparks as it bounces under my car doesn't sit well with me. It's just a little uncomfortable.

From what I understand, there's gasoline and other important stuff (that's the technical term) housed on the underside of an automobile, and while I'm no expert, I don't think you'd put a 4th of July sparkler under there just to see what would happen; I don't like the idea of a still-smoldering cigarette wreaking havoc on the undercarriage of my Ford. That's just not a part of the surgeon general's warning you'd see on a pack of Parliament's.

Perhaps I've seen one too many "blow up a car by flicking a lit cigarette into the gas trail" scenes in one too many Hollywood movies, but there's always a slightly tense moment as I am forced to drive - one might say haphazardly - directly over a tiny ball of fire. I'm unable to get out the way in time, and I'm afraid I'll feel silly if I stop traffic on the street while I brake to let the cigarette burn out of its own accord. I believe that's the sort of thing that would get you beat up. So instead I'm risking life and limb each time some ne'er-do-well in the car in front of me decides to dispose of their trash out their window. At that point, a cigarette ceases to become a "cancer stick" and becomes a "miniature flare".

Now, I can't support the claim that throwing your cigarette butt out the window while driving should be charged as "attempted murder", but I think a "potentially negligent manslaughter by way of possible automotive explosion" fine ought to be imposed at least. You can build it in with the "sin tax" already associated with cigarettes.

I need to go the grocery store, but now I've got myself all freaked out. Perhaps I should take up smoking to calm my nerves.

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If you get a chance, check out TheOrdinaryRadicals.com. Produced by some of the guys at Philadelphia's "Simple Way" community (of Shane Claiborne's Irresistible Revolution fame), "The Ordinary Radicals" is a movie about a growing segment of (mostly younger) Christians who are dissatisfied with how far the American church has strayed from the New Testament example. Dedicated to movements of social justice and community, ordinary radicals are determined to live like Jesus and not only be different from the world, but even be different from the modern, consumeristic American church.

Ben and Terry were interviewed for the film for their awesome work with "Give Herman One Dollar". Ben emailed me today to let me know that my song "On Second Thought" from last year's In Harbors Gray is in the movie. I'm not sure when it will be released on DVD, but keep your eyes pealed; they're also doing a series of screenings around the country, so be sure to go watch it if it's close to you and support this important film.

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New contender for best video of all time...


[UPDATE: I had a couple of other awesome videos here that were unfortunately removed from YouTube due to copyright infringement. Apparently, "The Way International" (cough, cult, cough) either didn't enjoy their cult followers being teased, or else are taking a reverse psychology stance on disseminating their brain-washing message by not allowing it to be propagated.]

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I'd like to treat you to a little excerpt from my upcoming novel, entitled These Cities Are Not Golden and published by MasterBooks Ltd.

From Chapter 12, page 114:

When I came in from the barn, I was surprised at the amount of eggs that Leah had left strewn about the kitchen. Apparently she had made good on her promise: to leave a large amount of eggs haphazardly displayed on every possible inch of surface space. There were eggs on top of the toaster, eggs on every misty shelf of the refrigerator, and eggs in the bread box. It gave a whole new meaning to "walking on eggshells", and I felt myself beginning to get frustrated at the whole idea, which was obviously an attempt to upset my already fragile state of mind. After the debacle at the flea market, I was in no mood for silly games. That "leather hat" incident had fouled up my disposition since, and I was still far from the point where it becomes simply a "humorous story" instead of an "emasculating disappointment."

But the honest truth of it was that is wasn't a game for her. True, her obsession had always bordered on madness, but now it was beginning to bubble over into pure insanity. It was enough to give one pause, to make one stop short and give a quick, halting inhale as you survey the scene; you almost lost your balance and try to rapidly compute what you're seeing. A kitchen overflowing with fresh eggs. Like on Easter morning, ten minutes before painting them in pastel yellows and blues and pinks. The implications of her descent into madness were troubling. Perhaps it was her all along, you begin to think to yourself, unfairly ascribing to her a motive for your father's untimely death, that sunken rowboat, or the true reason behind the President's resignation. It doesn't seem to make sense - you try to convince yourself of her obvious innocence - but this woman's behavior was on the verge of becoming simply obscene. Imagine, such a large amount of eggs and no one to eat them.

"What is with this?" I asked, still holding my muddied boots in my hand before lightly setting them on the towel just inside the back porch. She had returned to the kitchen at that moment to retrieve a dishrag.

"What is with what?" she shot back, defensive but trying to sound accusatory. It was obvious she was caught a little off guard. She had finally relaxed from our afore-related conversation about the coming visit from her sister, after I was finally able to convince her that Shelia wasn't stupid, but that I had merely misspoken: she was uneducated but poignantly simple. But upon my entrance through the back door, and when posed a fairly straightforward question, she was quick to return to her defensive posturing, for fear of being conversationally assailed.

"I just meant..." I began, trying to rephrase my words in a gentler manner; "It's just... why are there so many eggs, Leah? Beyond being wholly unnecessary, it's just plain weird. This place is full of eggs," I said, motioning with one hand to the overrun kitchen. "We've no need for this many eggs. You don't even cook eggs."

"Well," she replied, also softening, and one might say imperceptibly succumbing to the notion that she might be losing it after all, "you know how they say you should store up for a rainy day? Or remember when all those folks went crazy around the year 2000, buying cartons of water and canned goods? Like there was going to be some sort of crisis or something? I figured this was just a smart idea, Ross. You never know."

I raised my eyebrows and looked at her quizzically. "You never know what? You're not starting to believe all that mumbo-jumbo about a nuclear war are you? You know that's absolutely ridiculous. The administration just issued a statement discussing the misinformation that has the media has been propagating. We've nothing to fear from those frog-eaters."

I paused, expecting a response, but her subtle and slow nodding only confirmed in me the suspicion that she did believe it, she did believe that Bertrand d'Étienne was capable of pulling the trigger.

"And besides, eggs will never keep that long, Leah. It's just silly."

Her sigh told me it was clear we could never agree on this issue, and I stood for a moment longer, surveying what was left of our blue and yellow kitchen, now barely visible through ovals of off-white. Slowly I walked into the living room and sat down in my chair. The brown stain of chocolate on my cream chair only frustrated me further; I was weary from the past few weeks, and my quick temper was the first outward sign of my inability to cope with what I was slowly realizing what just might be a lost cause.

What did Martin hope to achieve? What was his angle? He had always been such a decent friend to me - I say "decent" because we were never more than acquaintances, but we were always civil and respectful to one another in social situations: at the market, in the monthly town hall meetings, or when we saw each other at Fran's Pit Grill on Thursday evenings. But yet, he all of a sudden seemed to harbor some deep grudge against me. As one does in these situations, I begin to pick at my own brain for a possible explanation for his attempted sabotage of Earth & Grain's economic stability. The company had taken a large hit in the past few weeks due to his loose-lipped "gossip", and I was determined to know what had caused the schism between us. Could Rachel have told him of my backhanded (but still fairly innocent) comment about the ineffectual nature of Martin's relationship with Sherman & Sons? It was merely a jest, and besides, what purpose would it serve Rachel to repeat such a trifle to a near stranger? Whatever the reason, and although I was utterly dumbfounded by Martin's unforgivable actions, I still only had one thing on my mind: eggs. Why did she have so many?

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I did my first 9 mile run a couple of mornings ago, which is a big deal for me, as it is my furthest run thus far. I can't say that I actually enjoy running yet, but I dislike it less than I did before. If nothing else, it gives me some good time to think and get outside. And it's a great place to listen to new tunes! It keeps your mind off the actual, you know, running part of it...

I finally gave up carbonated drinks/caffeine at the beginning of this summer, which, if you know me, is a fairly big deal, cause I was hooked! (There are probably multiple instances in the archives of this blog where I claimed I was going to "give 'em up soon, I promise" and never did...). Anyway, getting over Coke and Dr. Pepper made a huge difference in my energy level and general feeling of well-being; I didn't realize how much they were weighing me down (literally). I lost more than 5 pounds just by giving up soft drinks. While I can't claim that I won't have any ever again - probably just as a special treat instead - it was one of the wisest decisions I've made in a long time, and I just feel so much healthier.

9 miles wasn't particularly as difficult as I expected. I started about 6:45am and finished around 8:10am, somewhere around 85 minutes, which is not incredibly fast (just under a 10 minute mile), but in going for distance I wasn't too worried about speed. At 6:45am it was nice and cool outside, and my first 4.5 went by without much difficulty, and I decided I'd just go for the next lap: why say "I'll just stop at 8" when 9 is only 1 mile more? The goal of being able to do a half marathon suddenly does not seem all that far off!

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Recently, I've posted a few demos of new songs that I'm currently working on. Here's another that I was writing last night (still pretty rough), and I post it for a couple of reasons: feedback, yes, but even more than that, an experiment: help me write a third verse. I think it would be cool if you guys flexed some of your creative muscle and helped me finish out the song. Perhaps it doesn't need 3 verses, but maybe one of mine could be replaced. That would kind of be a neat, community-wide experiment, no? So, come on friends!, write another verse and leave it in the comments, and let's see what happens. If I end up using your verse, or even parts of it, you get writing credit if it goes on the next record (which I have some potentially interesting ideas for "community" type stuff as well... hmm...)

The song is called "Carnival". Below are the current two verses that I have (still tentative, always tentative). It is about the proverbial "road"; an adventure we all, deep down, really want to take, even if it makes no sense or has no purpose. It is about wanting something different that you currently have; what else is out there? Where, no matter how pointless it may be, "with the wind against your back, life is just a carnival."

Carnival (click to listen)

Oh what a life you must lead
To wear your heart out on your sleeve
If this road will take you anywhere
Then what are you still doing here?

But with the wind against your back
Life is just a carnival

Oh what a sacrifice you've made
To leave behind all that's safe
And this road cannot promise what's in store
But that never held you back before

And with the rain on your face
Life is just a carnival
And with the wind against your back
Life is just a carnival

{Your verse three here??}

Have fun!

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While waiting to get my hair cut the other day, I was reading Country Living (the best option they had, trust me), and was enjoying people-watching as well; it was a much more zesty enterprise than reading about how to get your garden ready for spring flowers.

I noticed that the employees of SuperCuts (cause I'm too cheap to go anywhere else) have a nasty little habit: immediately judging someone as soon as they walk through the front door by the "unkemptness" of their hair. There would be a short, rehearsed glance to make eye contact, then a longer - but more subtle! - gaze upon the head of hair they might have to be cutting next. It was as if, after meeting someone's eye-line, as is only polite, we're supposed to be convinced that it is natural to then turn away, ever so slowly, peripheral vision further determining the depth of person they're dealing with while the head seems to rotate on some random axis of its own accord: turning crazily up towards the ceiling, pretending to eye the product shelves, or looking out the window at passersby. But it doesn't get past me what's happening. You're being judged. By your hair. And by your hair at its worst, considering why you are there in the first place.

I instantly felt as if I were a spy, dedicating myself to slyly observing the goings-on of this SuperCuts from behind my magazine when all else were unaware. To the untrained eye, I was simply reading an article on apron-sowing or "How To Correctly Place Pies On A Windowsill" or whatever it is they do in the country, but in truth my eyes were focused just beyond the top of that page on the real action that was unfolding. I was seeing something I was not supposed to see. Had I been judged the same way when I walked in here? Undoubtedly.

Now, I can admit that it's only natural. It's your job to cut hair, and you want to know what you're up against. I can understand that. When I'm recording a new client, I listen to all of their music first to see what we can do. And if the subtle head-glances had been the extent of it, be that what it may; who am I to make a call on it? But it didn't stop there. No, in fact, what knowledge was gained in this sneaky employment was then exercised. In other words: depending on if the employee liked what they saw upon the newcomer's scalp, there was a moment's calculation to see if this customer would end up at their chair or not. It was quite an impressive task to factor in:

- how many employees were currently working
- which employee would finish the current round of haircuts first
- how many patrons of the SuperCuts are in line before the new arrival

... all to determine if this new hair of head was going to soon be under their supervision. And get ready for the shocker people: the answer to this complex calculation then determined their speed of work. About this I am not joking nor exaggerating. After a quick overview of whoever just walked through the door and a moment's mental reasoning, they might instantly become more talkative with their current customer, slowing down their work, becoming seemingly more interested in each cut; or putting the gas to it all, shaving heads where heads didn't want to be shaved, or blocking when they were specifically asked to fade. And that's just wrong. All in an effort to get the new arrival into their chair or pawn him off to a fellow employee.

All this I noticed and deduced from behind the April 2007 issue of Country Living.

I know what's going on SuperCuts, you can't put it past me, and I'm blowing the whistle on you.

Appendix A
"Packing A Summer Picnic For Family And Friends"
Step 1: Keep it easy. Picking a food theme — pastries, fruit, and iced tea or wine, cheese, and bread — can help simplify the menu.
Step 2: Be prepared. Choose ready-to-serve foods to reduce prep work. Sandwiches, whole fruit, and individual-sized desserts are ideal.
Step 3: Stock up on drinks. Thoroughly chill your beverages before pouring them into thermoses to ensure they stay cold and refreshing.
Step 4: Stay cool. If you're not planning to eat right away, pack mayonnaise-based dishes in a cooler to maintain proper temperatures.
Step 5: Add memorable touches. A small pot of buttercups makes a charming, low-maintenance centerpiece that complements a simple meal.
Ever ready: Keep a blanket and supplies in the trunk of your car and you'll be all set for an impromptu picnic whenever the mood strikes. In your kit, stash a few inexpensive plates and cups, along with Tote Le Monde's handy Kahala Placemats, which feature slots for your silverware.
(Courtesy of County Living)

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