The 2008 election kind of turned me into a news site junkie. I’d followed news pretty closely anyways, but it kind of activated my politics gland a bit more than I expected. I’ve been using Google Reader to aggregate all of these new sites for me. I probably have about a dozen or so news sources I like to pull from at any time. My philosophy is to pull from as many sources from as many leanings as you can, and then kind of make your own interpretation of what you’re getting from the news. Anything less than that, you’re probably not very well informed.

Going through my sites today, I found a rather alarming post on Huffington Post, or the site founded by columnist and author (also onetime California governor recall candidate) Arianna Huffington.

Here’s the headline to the post Blagojevich Compares Himself To Mandela, King, Gandhi.

Un. Fucking. Real.

I’m a born and bred Illinois resident. I’ve always been proud of my state, sort of that underdog little brother to the big coastal cities of New York and Los Angeles. I’ve always felt that any attention we’ve gotten as a state (or the city of Chicago) is because we’ve had to fight for scraps. That’s partially what made it so much more exciting when Barack Obama ran for president. He was our guy. Who lived in our state The big bright spot in the middle of all of this, well, shit.

Illinois politics, particularly the governorship is an embarrassment to this state, and makes us look like shitheads to the rest of this world. Four of the past eight governors in the state have either been indicted or convicted of felonies. Fucking preposterous. What’s worse? it’s happened to the last two. In a row.

As we’ve already had to suffer through the trial of George Ryan, we are thrown back into another scandal have to deal with this awful-coiffed egomaniac who’s comparing himself to the great leaders of the world. He tried to sell a Senate seat among whatever else he’s been scheming to do for the past six years.

Tomorrow, his senate trial begins. I hope he’s convicted and they throw him out of office. Give Lt. Governor Pat Quinn a shot at this state. He doesn’t even get along with the guy. Blago hasn’t spoken to him since the summer of 2007.

Rod Blagojevich says that this whole debacle makes him a victim “in a plot to raise taxes.” He’s making analogies to Western movies about himself being a cowboy and ‘being hanged’. He’s going on TV shows like “The View” and “Larry King Live” to ‘defend himself’.

Bad idea dude. That’s not helping your cause at all. You’re just providing little nuggets of pop culture to remember you by. If you were sane, and the least bit coherent, you’d quietly slip away and let the state of Illinois get on with our business, instead of putting everyone through this costly trial.

I’m hoping Illinois can rebuild it’s reputation. Even if Rod’s ousted, we have a long way to go.

Let’s just get the ball rolling.

P.S. Watch this classic clip. Douche.

“Love is mysterious and rad, like Steve Perry from Journey.” -Diablo Cody

I am going to tell you, my three devoted readers, of my most embarrassing moment ever. The odd part about it is, no one saw it, no one else was there. It was me. Me and my car.

I was driving to school. This was when I attended the hell that some of you know as Elgin Community College. Community colleges are a joke, first of all. Secondly, I loathed every second that I spent enclosed in the walls of that place. It was like Alcatraz, only with slightly better sandwiches. (Disclosure: I have never been to Alcatraz, therefore I suppose it’s wrong for me to discount their sandwiches. They could be heaven on bread for all I know.)

Back to the story.

I had just turned on to McClean Boulevard, making the last leg of the journey when Journey came up on the shuffle on my iPod. Huge open chords of piano burst into the cab of my tiny economobile and I thought about changing it, since Journey is great for a laugh when you’re with a bunch of other folks who will sing along, but alone, listening to Journey is sort of lame. I started listening closely to the lyrics, and I was like “this song is describing my life, and that makes me want to die.”

Steve peeled off the first high note
“Hiding somewhere in the NIIIIIIGHHHT!” and I was pulled into the shit that was spewing from my car stereo.

All of the stress from the unsatisfying life I was leading bubbled up and were channeled into the guitar solo that comes right before the part that made me burst into tears.

Yep. You can reread that if you want to. Burst into tears. During a Journey song.

By the time Steve Perry started putting his all into it, I started putting my all into crying.

“DON’T STOP BELIEVIN’! HOLD ON TO THAT FEEEEEEELING!”

Yeah. That part. It’s sort of inspirational in a cheesy way.

I pulled over and rested my head on the steering wheel and just cried and cried and cried and then (surprise) cried some more. I was a half hour late for class. I listened to “Don’t Stop Believin’” several times, and felt so relieved and nearly elated after I finally made it to school. Perry was conveying a simple message that I interpreted as this: life sucks now, and it may suck later, but don’t you DARE stop believing.

I still haven’t decided if I like hip-hop or not. I feel that as an avid consumer of many types of music (I am not going to say all types, because that’d just be a flat out lie) that I should at least be on board with the whole thing of people expressing themselves musically for the greater good and contributing art.

But then I actually listen to it and I have my doubts as to whether or not it even qualifies as art. Not only that, but I’m not really sure I can be on board with a group of people who constantly refer to women as “ho’s.”
Isn’t this kind of an art for art’s sake situation? I mean, when the average person looks at a Modrian or something akin to that, or any piece of minimalist artwork, how often is the intial reaction something like
“A four year old could have done that.”

Well, I think that might be my general consensus on hip-hop. I could have done it, or at least come up with the lyrics. I don’t want to be on the same playing field as the musicians I like, because that’s why I like them, they have an ability that I was never quite able to wrangle. I want them to be above me and have some fucking virtuosity or actual skills, instead of rapping about ho’s and rims and the usual cookie cutter fodder for the average Top 40 swill that pumps through tons of car stereos every day.

Now, I have the utmost respect for hip hop artists who actually try to convey a message in their songs that is something more than just their love of Cristal (or whatever they’re drinking these days), diamonds, ho’s, cars, and sex. This is of no interest to me, since I have no desire to ever replicate their antics in my own life, and why should you present this type of thing to a country for whom most of that “luxuriousness” of hip hoppery is unattainable? Is it the voyer in us all that thinks we’re getting a peek into what it’s ACTUALLY like to be one of these head honchos of hip hop? I’d surmise so.

So, in short, I have little respect for the ideas presented, the blatent misogyny for these “ho’s” or other club rats that “got it,” or this lavish lifestyle that I would never in my wildest dreams be able to enjoy.

But allow me this: it is catchy as hell. It’s brain glue. It’s something like a tattoo. I remember when that “Party Like a Rock Star” song came out last summer, and I could not turn on a corporate radio station without being blasted in the face with this beat that shook my innerds. It was awesome.

See the problem? By listening, I’m half supporting the message they want to get accross, but I can’t turn it off because some market analysist probably figured out what noises and pops and clicks stick the hardest in the human memory. (Check out some of the stuff ClearChannel wants to do to their monopoly on radio stations. It’s scary stuff…)

So, I have a feeling that I will be recieving death threats regarding what I’ve just discussed, but allow me to ask for some reccommendations, readers.

Post in the comments a hip-hop song from the last five years (we know the 80′s stuff was great. I know Dr. Dre is/was a god among thugs, we get that) that evokes something other than crap. I will then proceed to print out this page and eat it if there’s any good ones.

There’s very little action in life. Sure, we’re in constant motion–physically and mentally–but there’s very little action that actually takes place. However, I had a little bit over the last few days. In this case, “action” is a very literal term. Working for and alongside my favorite non-profit organization, I participated in an event protesting the continually unacceptable business practices of a major American company. Pretty vague, huh? They don’t even train me in this shit. I just point the camera. And that’s exactly what I did.

While three brave activists chained themselves to the main gates of one of the company’s manufacturing facilities, I wielded two cameras, live and still, to immortalize and publicize the event. All said and done, it was a tremendous, exhausting, sweaty, and incarcerating experience. (The latter doesn’t directly relate to me, but yes, people ended up in the pokey.) Aside from that, though, I’d like to return to my original thesis. Involving myself in such a proactive environment really made me take a hard look at the rest of my life. For the most part, I don’t accomplish much. I work a little, I write, I spend time with my girlfriend (which is pretty active, if you know what I mean! High five, anyone. . . anyone?) The point being, I wish my everyday life were more action-centered. If I could maintain a perpetual state of motivated engagements, I think I’d sleep more soundly.

I’ve been thinking about the last lines of David O. Russell’s I Heart Huckabees. Essentially, it goes something like this: Jason Schwartzman and Mark Walberg sit on a lone rock, having just established their existential path (something else I’m working on). Schwartzman, an environmental activist in the film, is asked by Walberg, a part-time fireman, “What are you doing tomorrow?”, to which he replies, “I was thinking about chaining myself to a bulldozer. Wanna come?”

“What time?”

“About four o’clock.”

“Sure.”

Then Walberg hits Schwartzman in the face with a large, rubber exercise ball.

That moment, that conversation, is one that I’d love to have on a regular basis. When asked what I’m doing tomorrow, my answer is generally somewhere between the fabulously interesting ends of I don’t know and Not much. I don’t mean to say I think it’s entirely necessary to steer my life towards hardcore activism, but still, it would be incredibly fulfilling to have something that reflects that quality. Be it community outreach, social activism, or masked crime-fighting, it’s becoming increasingly important to me to find that motivator, whatever it may be. Fortunately, I should have plenty of time to think about it tomorrow. What am I doing? Not much.

We’re on the cusp of changing American history tonight as Barack Obama effectively becomes the Democratic Nominee for the President of the United States. It almost goes without saying that this is a gigantic moment for the country, 60 years after Strom Thurmond ran as a segregationist “Dixiecrat” for president, and 50 years after the Civil Rights Movement began. Many people never thought it would happen. I’m glad I get to see this in my lifetime.

The past eight years have been pretty weird. I know there’s still a long way to go, but I’m excited to see what the future brings in this election – and beyond.

I hate “The O.C.” I make no attempt to claim otherwise, and at the urgings of several friends of mine have repeatedly tried to give the show second chances. I just absolutely detest every aspect of that program, and would quite frankly rather watch “Days Of Our Lives,” because at least that show makes no effort to hide that it’s a soap opera.

But what I hate most about “The O.C.” is the effect it has on music. I love that it provided an outlet for good bands to gain some exposure, pick up some popularity, finally make some real money. But I hate that as soon as a band appeared on “The O.C.,” everyone loved them, even if they didn’t know anything about them. I went to go see Death Cab For Cutie open for the Psychedelic Furs. The place was packed for Death Cab, but because all the little O.C. kids didn’t know a damn thing about the band they were there to see, it was an utterly unpleasant experience. In fact, several people assumed that Death Cab would be headlining the show, and when they went on before the actual headliner (the Furs), I heard people asking why the band was opening with a Death Cab cover. I heard other people asking when Death Cab was going to go on, because that band sucks.

“That band” was Death Cab, and they were opening the show with “The New Year,” the first song from their “Transatlanticism” album, which was the album featured on “The O.C.”

I’m not saying people should memorize all the details of a band’s repertoire before seeing that band live. But if all you’re going on is the music that was featured on a TV show, at least buy the album and have a vague idea of what (if no one else) the singer looks like before you go to the show.

The other thing I hate, beyond tons of bands being endowed with ignorant, obnoxious fans, is the conception by people like me–who hate “The O.C.”–is that a band, once featured on the program, is somehow ruined. The Shins, Rooney, Ben Gibbard projects, Frou Frou/Imogen Heap, I still listen to them. Even Phantom Planet, who had the fucking theme song, find themselves in frequent rotation on my iTunes. The music they make was made before they were on the show, and you’re allowed to like bands who have been on a TV show you hate, and you’re allowed to hate bands who have been on a TV show you like.

This is more or less an incoherent rant written on a 7:1 waking to sleeping ratio, and I suppose the bottom line is, I’m really glad “The O.C.” is no more, and I’m really, phenomenally impressed with the new Phantom Planet record. I know I took my sweet time getting here. But that’s really all I wanted to say.