A couple musical highlights of the moment / Yes, I do listen to more than Josh Ritter.

Josh Rouse | Probably exactly what you picture when you think "adorably sensitive and nerdy singer-songwriter." I'm a bit jealous of my brother because he was able to go to a Josh Rouse show - without even knowing who he was. But at least he ended up enjoying it. (And this is my brother we're talking about - the owner of a musical collection where house and techno reign supreme!) His style is dominated by American acoustic folk and blues, but as you can probably tell from the video below, he has embraced certain Mediterranean vibes since his relocation to Spain. Anyway, Josh Rouse (can't call him "JR" cause I've already got one... Maybe "JR2: Electric Boogaloo?") doesn't have a ton of music videos under his belt - he's a bit under the radar in that respect. But "Quiet Town" is quite appropriately not only one of my favorite Josh Rouse songs, but also a nice warm tune for a cold and snowy day. (P.S. Nature, wtf? More snow??)



The Kills | On the opposite end of the spectrum from Josh Rouse lie the duo, the Kills. They've got a dirty, sexy and dense NY/London rock sound... and the guy vaguely reminds me of Lou Reed, so bonus points there. And while they've always experimented with noise and sound, this one seems to have a little extra oomph. I can't wait until they release this single, "U R A Fever," to iTunes. (The album will be released in March.) This track is just... so freaking good. I love the aesthetics of the video, as well - it's so very... them.

OK. Enough said. Enjoy.

"And then the conversation degrades... you start talking about your favorite type of... lint."

The day is a dull slate gray - chilly and damp. Earlier, I felt swaddled in an overwhelming fatigue that could have almost been construed as comforting... were it not for the fact that I was at work and couldn't succumb to a nice bout of warm exhaustion. The reason behind said inordinate level of tiredness?

Last night was the "Songs for a Friend" acoustic show with Josh Ritter and a couple of his bandmates - bassist Zack Hickman and keyboardist Sam Kassirer. It took place at the intimate (read "tiny") Club Passim in Cambridge. The last time I saw JR in concert, the temperature hit record highs, I had to swim like a desperate salmon against the brackish tide of Sox fans, and Park Street station caught fire... this time, the only thing that got in the way was a bit of cold rain. Emily (One Eye/Un Occhio), was totally my hot date and seemed to really enjoy herself. Now, it wasn't the raucous, foot-stomping Somerville show, but it was a lot of fun nevertheless. A lovely night and all for a good cause, as well. Both shows (I went to the 7 o'clock, there was also a 10 o'clock), were recorded and will be combined most likely into one disc of amazing joyfulness and released sometime... soon? I forgot about signing up for the pre-order, since I was so fixated on getting a poster. Oh swizzle sticks.

The show was simple and casual - you got the feeling that most people there knew the band in some way or another. That dang JR has got to have one of the most contagious smiles I've ever seen - combine that and the music and I regularly caught myself grinning like a creature without a central nervous system.

A few of the evening's highlights...

- JR stopped in the middle of "Girl in the War" to tell Zack to get on stage and sing. Zack then sang, charmingly/slightly out-of-tune, a song about his very best friend: his mustache. My favorite line (I'm probably paraphrasing here): people never ask me to babysit... Fan-freaking-tastic.

- The rendition of "Good Man." It was never really one of my favorite tunes of JR's, but performed live, it's more immediate, more striking and bare - especially My hands held on, my mind let go/ And back to you my heart went skipping... Even if you do possess an elaborate central nervous system (unlike myself apparently), you've got to find yourself smiling at that.

- Being a phenomenal songwriter himself, I found myself wondering why JR should bother covering other artists' songs - but he did a sweet Dylan cover and a really, really amazing cover of a tune by... someone whose name escapes me. Well, it'll be on the CD whenever they release that, so... I'll know one day.

- When Kate (the young woman for whom the benefit was held) got up to thank everyone, she gave a very brief speech and started to cry. Then I started to cry. Then everyone clapped. It was nice.

After the show, I ended up missing the earlier train back to Provtown, but it allowed me to go back to the venue and grab a very cool poster print (I'll try to post a pic of it later.) And luckily for me, Em hadn't yet caught her bus, so I had some pleasant company while wandering around Cambridge late on a Tuesday evening.

(About the pics... 1: can you tell I need a new digital camera? And 2: I have nothing against keyboardist Sam. I'm sure he's a cool dude. But there was most definitely a pole in the way of a good shot.)

Fast forward to the train ride home - I did the post-concert dorky fan thing and listened to my JR collection on my iPod. "Best for the Best" came up - a song he didn't even perform at the show - but I was apparently a little emotional yesterday because I started to well up with tears. It's a comforting song - one for tired souls. And I guess I'm just feeling a little tired these days.

Once I knew a girl in the hard, hard times
She made me a shirt out of fives and dimes
Now she's gone but when I wear it she crosses my mind
And if the best is for the best, then the best is unkind

Today's special: sloth.

So I've been a bad blogger - it happens. Unfortunately, I can't use the old "I'm busy" excuse - it's just a case of the lazies that's got me.

Friday, I went out with Manda and Joj for Manda's slightly early birthday celebration. It'd been some time since I'd seen either of them, so that was cool. Nothing big or crazy (man, we're old), but good times nonetheless.

Today, Roberto came down to Prov town to sample the deliciousness of Julian's, a super chic - cross that- super scene restaurant near Federal Hill. They've got great food and a casual atmosphere. The music - loud but (generally) good. The staff - young and tattooed. I've had dinner there once before, but in general, their brunch is definitely worth getting up early for. After a hearty brunch, we tried to get some Christmas shopping done. Rob was semi-successful, but I left empty-handed. I'm still stumped on what to get the family. My dad liked the sweater I got for him for his birthday so much, he asked that I pick up another one in a different color... but that sort of takes the surprise out of it, non?

My bro went to Ireland a bit over a week ago for a long overdue vacation. He stayed in Dublin the whole time and enjoyed it in general, though one of the only things he said about it was, "it's like Boston... but with shorter buildings and better accents." I say Boston is like Dublin... but with taller buildings and worse accents. But, he did bring me back The Historical Conquests of Josh Ritter on vinyl, which, unbeknownst to him, came out the day he found it. I believe that's what they call "serendipitous." We're hopefully going to hook up a sweet, albeit rather old, sound system this week, record player included. May my modest vinyl collection grow like the mighty oak.

Anyway, I'd give my eye teeth to go back to Ireland. Lovely place, wonderful people. One thing I've always wanted to do, even before I'd ever gone to Ireland, was to spend some holiday time in Dublin. One day, I'll do Christmas in Europe. Until that day, check out my bro's pictures from his trip. There are some pretty gorgeous ones in there.

Thus spoke A-Town.

It took me three hours to get home yesterday. That's all I'm going to say about that.

Thanksgiving was nice this year - just the immediate fam... which is probably the way to go. My efforts consisted of roast garlic mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie. I would have liked to do more, but frankly, as much as I like to cook, the freak-out I had while mashing the potatoes told me that it's probably best that ease into the holiday dinner process.

For the past few years, I've gotten a little bummed at Thanksgiving, knowing full well that no Thanksgiving could ever compete with the Bufa Thanksgiving of 2004. It was like the first Thanksgiving, the loaves and the fishes, and... James Brown - all rolled into one. I dare anyone to make an amazing Thanksgiving dinner for ten people in Italy, with limited utensils, a fridge the size of shoe box, and a stove the size of an EZ Bake oven.

Magical times, my friends. Magical times.

The other day, I bought two one-way tickets to Ireland for April! Why, you ask? Because Rachel and I are doing it up as cheaply as possible. As much as we'll want to stay in Ireland - home of alcoholic wonders and the nicest general population ever - Italia and the Amalgamation will be calling. From Dublin, we'll hop on a cheap-o RyanAir flight to Bologna and hop on a train to Flo-town. Next step - buying the one-ways back. I'm not sure whether we'll be flying out of Barcelona with Aerlingus (they have a stop there) or with Ryanair. It's inexpensiveness vs. a slight convenience.

I haven't done any Christmas shopping yet, which is technically fine. It's not even December. But this whole "SHOP NOW OR YOU'RE SCREWED!" push by every retailer under the sun is making me panicky. Well, that, and I have NO idea what to get anyone. I have back-up ideas for my dad and brother, but frankly, I want to do something a little different (don't we all?)

I should get my dad "A Charlie Brown Christmas." He'd probably torch the DVD and chuck it out the window. It was on TV the other night, and upon landing on it, he just said, "oh dear God," like you would upon seeing a car accident or a crime against humanity. I don't have as strong a feeling about C.B.C. as my dear father, but then again, he's been bombarded by it for 20 some-odd years more than I have. Ugh.

I finished The History of Love a couple weeks ago. And even though (or maybe because) it felt like a companion piece to the author's husband's Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, I enjoyed it. Very similar styles and storylines, really. I'll say this: if you dig Jonathan Safran Foer, you'll probably like this.

I also churned right through The Best American Nonrequired Reading, 2006. I read the collection from 2002 a few years ago, and was discouraged - there were some good reads, but nothing to get really excited about. Luckily, I borrowed the 2006 collection from my brother, and it totally turned my opinion around of the series. Oddly enough, Dave Eggers was the editor of both collection, but he really seemed to create a cohesive but somehow diverse book for this past year. There is a slightly leftist political bent to the collection, but what do you expect from an author/editor in the SF Bay Area? The introduction by Matt Groening is a pretty nice start to the whole collection - pretty much a declaration to his love of literature. I'm normally not a fan of short stories, but two of them, "Nadia" and "Peg" were... interesting. "Nadia" is about a man acquiring a mail-order bride, told from the perspective of a female friend; "Peg" is about... who knows what... a man going off the deep end, pretty much. It's one of those stories where you don't want to take it literally, but it forces you to do so. I like them more than dislike them, but struggled with both, all the same. "Shipwreck" (a quasi-journalistic look at the plastination process), "The New Mecca" (a piece on the uber-capitalist city of Dubai), and "Letting Go of God" (ex-SNL cast member Julia Sweeney's struggle with Catholicism) were all highlights.

Speaking of ditching the big cheese, I'm about a little more than half way through God Is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything by British-American author/journalist/pundit Christopher Hitchens. I'm an atheist and not a fan of religion in general, so in this case, he's "preaching to the choir;" I can see however, how this book could be offensive - even to people who don't subscribe to any particular religion. He's a bit brash and gets right down to business, mostly tearing apart the big three monotheistic religions, though sporadically, Hindu and Buddhism. He once said, "I'm not even an atheist so much as I am an antitheist; I not only maintain that all religions are versions of the same untruth, but I hold that the influence of churches, and the effect of religious belief, is positively harmful." He's a divisive individual, and interesting, to say the least. I'm going to hold off on saying anything else about this book or Hitchens until I'm finished with it, but I just felt compelled to say it's definitely interesting enough to keep me awake on the commuter rail... instead of conking out, mouth agape... a position in which I sometimes find myself, unflattering as it is.

I love long sentences.

A Festivus miracle.

This past Friday was spent as Fridays are meant to be spent: getting stressed out and then having fun in spite of oneself. I attended the celebration of young Robert's passage into his 23rd year. There were rites and feasting... and by "rites and feasting," I mean "tequila and quesadillas" in Cambridge. Spending time with Wheaties is always nice. One Eye (aka Emily) and I almost immediately regressed back into our symbiotic college-era relationship: she nearly made me snarf frozen margarita and I was her interpreter for the evening. A couple of gems: You made me laugh I was crying so hard! and everyone's favorite, I know that the alcohol is working... because I want to touch people. And a conversation between One Eye and I...

Alec: I have the phrase "a Festivus for the rest of us" stuck in my head. Do you know what I mean?
One Eye: "It's a Festivus miracle." "An aluminum pole - I find tinsel distracting." "WE WILL NOW HAVE THE AIRING OF THE GRIEVANCES!" ...[deadpan face] I have no idea what you're talking about.

After dinner, we headed to Good Times (the formal title of which is "Good Time Emporium.") Senior year, we were dropped off at Good Times as our surprise senior outing. And it was a surprise, alright. The picture above was taken during one of the "Ladies Wrestling Nights" (which no one in our party attended... to my knowledge), but I'm just including that to illustrate its unique atmosphere. What can I say - I went for the birthday boy.

I was rereading Josh Ritter's blog this morning. Obviously, the man can write. Poetry. Prose. What have you. It would be amazing if he wrote a book. Yes. Josh Ritter should write a book. I'm sending this persuasive message through the power of the internet: Josh Ritter - write a book. Anyway, I liked this excerpt from his time in San Francisco, in particular:

...I stepped out into the street, where, wonder of wonders, there didn't seem to be any street. My foot caught on some kind of pylon, and as I fell I noticed that I was falling on to the tram tracks. "How cheesy," I thought to myself. "Dead on the tram tracks." After all these songs about trains, to be wiped out by a train's cousin, no matter how iconic a landmark of San Francisco it is, would be a back-handed irony. I waited for just a moment to get my breath and thankfully there was no tram close by. I got up and dusted myself off and started stating the obvious to passerby as people do when they do things like inexplicably fall. "I fell," I say to a group of Japanese tourists as they cross in the cross walk all around me.

I laughed. And not just because of the irony (though it's rather compelling), but rather because everyone has done something like that. We've all inexplicably explained ourselves to a group of Japanese tourists, literally or figuratively speaking.

For better or for worse, one of my most visceral memories from Firenze was slipping off one of their notoriously steep and slickly worn sidewalks on my way to class, and not predictably, falling all the way down and meeting the cobblestones, but rather, swooping towards the earth in a bizarre serpentine fashion, only to swoop right back up again like a stunt plane at a 4th of July air show while no part of me, other than my feet, touched the (questionably clean) streets of Florence, Italy. I was being followed by a group of young Italian men who laughed at me and earth-bound flight. The irony was that these laughing, grown men were all sporting mullets, tight acid-washed jeans and fanny packs, circa 1987.

But as I fell, I expelled one of the weirdest noises I think I've ever made. And this noise could only be described as a yelp.

Every time I think of that incident, it reminds me of Dave Eggers' "They Learned to Yelp" (here in The Guardian) from his collection of short stories, How We Are Hungry. It's one of my favorites from that collection. It's a relatively strong collection of work, and while I'm not a huge fan of short stories as a rule, I recommend it.

I met Dave Eggers very briefly at a book signing at Brown University this past summer. He was promoting his new book, What is the What? with Achak Deng, the Sudanese refugee whose life the story is based on - an "as told to" situation. Mr. Deng was cheerful and beaming as he signed my copy, happy to do so, and slipped it over Mr. Egger's side of the table. I should say that I really enjoy Dave Egger's work. He's one of my favorite contemporary writers, if not my favorite, and his other projects (McSweeney's and 826 National) are wonderful. Grass roots-ilicious. But I hate those 2 second book signings. You want to tell someone what their work means to you, that you hope they get half as much joy in creating it as you do devouring it... but you're there, with your name Sharpie'd on a post-it note so they doesn't even have to ask how to spell it, and you're left feeling like a jackass because all you managed to blurt out was "you're an amazing storyteller..." though I did sound less of an idiot than the girl in front of me, so I'm glad of that. ("You could get your Masters here at Brown!" He could also get a really good piece of pizza down the street, but that's not why he's here, either.) He smiled and thanked me like he hadn't heard that 6,000 times, and I left Brown's ironically hideous art building with a personalized copy of my least favorite Dave Eggers book (my qualms with the text stem from something that perhaps I'll explain at another time.) You just want to say, "I'm cooler than I'm coming across. Let's get a piece of pizza and I'll tell you my 'yelp' story. Complete with near-reenactment."

Some time this week, being that time of year, I'm sure my dad will hold the annual viewing of John Candy's opus, "Planes Trains and Automobiles." I remember the moment I found out Eryn's dad did the same thing. It was then that I knew we would be friends for a long time.

I did not see "No Country for Old Men," as I have been dying to, but thanks to a loud Starbucks employee this morning, I now know how it ends. I'll still see it, but talk about rubbing it in my face. But I revisited "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" this weekend. I somehow always manage to forget exactly how amazing that movie is. I always say it one of my favorites, but it still gets me every time I watch it. It's beautifully shot and directed; the writing is different and new, but not, for lack of a better word, polarizing. Strange and wonderful. My kind of movie.

"I wish I had stayed, too. Now I wish I had stayed. I wish I had done a lot of things. I wish I had... I wish I had stayed. I do."

Have a Happy Planes Trains and Automobiles day and may your babies not come out siiiideways.

Pop-Tarts? Oh no--what do you do with the Pop-Tarts?!

I'm getting over quite a knock-out of a cold, meaning this long weekend is probably going to be spent somewhat conservatively. But one thing I really want to do is go see No Country for Old Men. It now takes movie-going precedence over the new Wes Anderson flick and American Gangster. Superficially, the most disturbing thing about it might be Javier Bardem's hair ("the haircut suggests a lost Beatle from hell"), especially since he is normally a rather god-like Spaniard. But the film itself looks like a great thriller--a stripped down, back-to-basics exercise in good movie-making. And Jeebus knows we could use more of those.

While confined to my room on one of my sick days this week, I realized, a full month later, that The Cake Sale was released. I am pleased. The whole album is streamed here and also available from iTunes. Lisa Hannigan's "Last Leaf", Glen Hansard's "Too Many People," and of course Josh Ritter's "Vapour Trail," are all phenomenal little pieces of aural wonderment. "Last Leaf" is simply gorgeous--really moving and the vocals are surprisingly assertive. After seeing Lisa Hannigan perform live with Damien Rice, I have a lot more respect for her--her voice was just as wonderful live as in-studio--she even nailed the opera vocals from "Eskimo Friend," which you may remember as being pretty epic. While I'm glad that she's branched off to do her own thing, I do hope that her creative relationship with Damien Rice hasn't completely dissolved--they make a good team. "Vapour Trail" (written by a member of Bell X1, hence "vapor" with the excess Brit-born "u"), is a warming, simple tune with a great sing-along-in-an-Irish-pub type chorus. And Glen Hansard (aka the long-lost Irish brother of Rachel's bf Mark), is quickly becoming a favorite musician of mine. I was never super crazy about the Frames (though to be fair, I've had only limited exposure to their stuff), but this solo/Marketa Irglova stuff he's been putting out has been really compelling.

I'm going to really nerd it up and say that "30 Rock" last night was, hands down, one of the best episodes yet. It was only after seeing the entire cast gathered together (along with a Harlem Globetrotter) that you realize that has never really happened before. I wish I could remember an especially hilarious line from last night's show, but they all spilled out of my head while I was convulsively laughing.

To round out this pinpoint of a microcosm of an informal post of contemporary culture, I'm currently reading The History of Love, written by Nicole Krauss, wife of one of my favorite writers, Jonathan Safran-Foer. If you had peeled the cover off, I would have guessed that it was written by JSF himself. Their prose is so similar, it's kind of"creepy," as my mom said. It has the same two-person narrative as Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close--one young, one old. It's riddled with Eastern European culture and Yiddish like Everything is Illuminated and the plot is also bound to a past tragedy. It utilizes the same sort of humor and form that he does... I haven't finished it yet, so I'll wait to see if it really is eerily similar to JSF's writing... But it really is.

Through the windows of midnight, moonfoam and silver.

This photo is Rachel standing on a cliff walk in Ireland, 3 years ago. I wish I were still there.

Yesterday, I got a haircut. The woman caught the comb on my cartilage loop-earring and pulled out the ball bearing. It was lost to the salon floor. I have yet to buy a new one.

The haircut, though desparately needed, is to be considered average.

Also, I'm getting a cold. I swear by Zicam products, but they really need to create something that doesn't taste like metal butt.

The clocks have changed and the weather has turned. And much like changing wardrobe accoutrements to withstand winter, my music has taken a turn for the wintry. Sigur Ros, The Stills, Travis (mostly 12 Memories), Keane, Blur, Massive Attack, and Interpol now dominate many of my playlists. But then there's the warm drag of fingers over acoustic strings and the minor chords of a cold piano. Enter: David Gray, Nick Drake, Josh Ritter, Damien Rice, Jeff Buckley.

To illustrate my point, here's the very talented, very bobble-headed David Gray, singing one of my favorites, "Shine." Enjoy.