Pages

Currently Reading:


Desert Solitaire
by Edward Abbey

Change

The Dismemberment Plan
Change

Change
The Dismemberment Plan, perennial DC favorites, have once again taken to the CD presses with the release of their latest album, Change. Folks who have followed the Plan’s live shows will recognize many of the titles on this album, such as “Time Bomb” and “Face of the Earth”, which have been been percolating in the Plan’s repertoire for over a year, but only recently made it to an album. And it’s a good album. Not one of the greatest records of all time (which is a distinction that their prior release, Emergency and I, does boast), but a good album nonetheless. The thing is, it’s tidy. Which always makes me nervous.
A few years ago, I used to keep all of my socks and underwear in the same drawer. I didn’t really pair things up, I just kind of let it all float together, and would try to get a matching pair of socks when I really needed one. Sometimes it would work, and sometimes it wouldn’t. Sometimes the non-matching pair were a lot more interesting that either sock would have been on its own. Sometimes I just looked like a dork and would get my lunch thrown out of the window of the school bus as a result. The outcome was unpredictable.
What I’m trying to say is that The Dismemberment Plan have begun to fold their socks. They’re nice socks. They’re comfortable, they keep the feet warm, and they look smart. And they match, and seldom are very surprising. Which, I suppose, is the price of maturity. As long as they don’t start ironing their underwear, too, The Plan should remain a worthy band for years to come.

Jitterbug Perfume

Jitterbug Perfume
Tom Robbins

Jitterbug Perfume
For years, people have been bothering me to read a Tom Robbins book. They have insisted — nay, demanded — that I would really like his style. So, as with all things that people insist that I do, I didn’t. I’m kind of a pain like that. Anyway, as a congratulatory gift for quitting my job, one of my former colleagues gave me a copy of Jitterbug Perfume. And so a dilemma was born. Do I read what everybody has been telling me all along to read, with the possibility that I might actually like it, thereby demonstrating the utter absurdity of my personality flaws? Or do I let the book gather dust on my shelf, thereby violating my sworn determination that I would never be one of those boring saps who keeps a bunch of books on their shelves that they have never read, and have no intention of ever reading? Caught between two hypocrisies. What’s a self-righteous bastard to do?
So, I opted for the more informed of the two evils, and I read the book. With some serious predisposition that I wasn’t going to like it, therefore preserving the justification of my stubbornness. And, alas, it failed. I am sorry to report that Jitterbug Perfume is, in fact, a great book. And I am equally sorry to report that I enjoyed it throroughly, and will probably read more Tom Robbins just as soon as I finish my Master’s degree and can therefore re-enter the world of people who are allowed to read books without a colon somewhere in the title. (Does Robbins have any books with a colon in the title? That might help me out.) So, for all of those people who have been bugging me to read Tom Robbins all these years — yeah, yeah. You were right. This time. But don’t get any ideas. And no, I still think that Vertigo is a vastly overrated film. So there.