I am the only person in the world who didn't know that my main man Peter Gallagher sang a bunch of songs on The O.C. Apparently, he's a singer slash actor and not the other way around, which is really important. Is there anything Peter Gallagher can't do? He even played a guy in a coma once! Or is that every role? Until about six months ago, the only song I had heard off of Green Day's Dookie was "When I Come Around". And it looks like the paragraph engineers failed to build an adequate segue on that one, doesn't it? Let me backtrack. I totally don't mean that a lot of times I'm so far out of the loop, I don't even know there is a Möbius strip tripping round my head. Although that's all true. What I mean is, isn't it nice to be able to do so many things? Mostly, I don't have any time or, more importantly, the opportunity, to do a bazillionth of what I want to do. Time is so ever-loving fleeting and all that crap. And if you don't make the time, when are you ever going to hear anything by Green Day? Or get an opportunity to cut your own cd? If you don't make time to sit in that chair, when are you going to find the time to read? Time to paint? Time to do anything but argue with some-one because you don't have the time to come together. Strange that I always find the time for television, but never for a sit-down supper. Strange that I can find the money for a chocolate bar every day, but I can't find the money to travel outside of Alberta. I'm not going to get the opportunities PG gets. That's okay. What I've got to do, though, is do the same thing as he does, and make the most of the opportunites I do get. And then, maybe, I can start making my own opportunities.
Listening: My seven-way tie under Yeah, They're The Best Band Ever broke down against the weight of genius last night and became an eight player battle royal around 10:30 post meridian. I had to add these guys. I couldn't not—and I stand by my double negative. They've been near the top of all my lists, even the grocery ones—see, right there between "McCain's Frozen Fries" and "small head of cabbage"—and the occasion of their latest release calls for a double round of Dance Dance Revolution plus some random shouting in the elevator, preferably with strangers present. If I was Blanka, I'd do that weird green-grendel-clutching-my-knees-and-jumping-up-and-down thing, and, yes, that's a lot of dashes, but my vocabulary is small and I have to stitch it up as I go along. Okay, and, also, I've been filling out the odd five minutes here, five minutes there with some ancient Street Fighter II, and that may be affecting my vocabulary, too. Damn that Ryu! He's good. He's so good. But, listen, Blanka, we'll get him yet. Oh, we'll get him. Alright, but back to my post. Previous to last night, I'd only ever heard three of their songs, cause I don't do the iTunes thing, and I mostly stay away from Limewire and others, therefore, the music I listen to is found music. Well, it makes for a wide range of taste, I tell you that. But you don't have to like eclectic sounds just to like Christoffer and Klas. They play pop-music, their logo is a heartshine, one of them wears muttonchops, and their latest four-song release is called The Winter Will Take Us All. I've heard five tunes by these guys now (all of which are available as mp3s on their site) and the last two pushed their goodness off the edge of the mountain. "Taxidriver" is still my favourite song—lyrics, anyone?—
But now the taxidriver had gotten so attracted by me
That he couldn't keep his lips off of my cheek
He tried to cuddle up close, he looked into my eyes
And I kissed him back before I knew why
Then I realized he needed someone like me
And I could hurt him so easily
So I closed my eyes and thought it was you
Cause in my mind it's always you
—and little is going to beat out "Prince John Silver And Gold" for sheer force of beauty and rhythm, but that doesn't mean this band's newest stuff isn't good. Compared to most other brashly pop harmonies out there, these songs are gold, and sonic King Croesus would be all over them. How can I make you understand how good this music is? Useless. These songs are dark horses swimming in a lake, or a 2 a.m. light changing from red to green, or a party after the party at the club and the sun is coming up. These songs are works of harmony and style and perfect pop expression. If I could sing, and I can't sing, and if I could play, and I can't play, I would give nearly anything to be able to sing and play like these guys, like this song, like "Please Don't Talk To Me I Fall In Love So Easily" + My Darling YOU!
Reading: Even the chapter-titles to this book can be, among other things, capacious and wonderful—"Of Whales In Paint; In Teeth; In Wood; In Sheet; In Stone; In Mountains; In Stars". And if that isn't a a synthesis of just about half the book right there, will someone come up with a better one? Moby-Dick + Herman Melville
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