GRABBINGSAND

Two DS Lites, Two Cracked Hinges, originally uploaded by grabbingsand.

“Oh, no!”

I went to see what the matter was. Nikki had just noticed a crack on the hinge of her DS Lite. We’ve had our Lites since only a few months after launch. The launch Lites were supposedly plagued with hinges prone to cracking, particularly on the left-hand side, but we’d always chalked that up to folks who insisted on opening the Lite to a flat-out position. But even with our steadfast adherence to opening only to the first click, it appears that the inevitable is unavoidable.

So I went online to see what remedy there was. Apparently, Nintendo decided soon after the initial array of bad press to fix fractured Lites for free. But further reading tells me that this was only for Lites still under the original nine month warranty. Nine months? Odd. But even at eighteen months, her DS wouldn’t be covered. And having it fixed is almost as dear a cost as replacing the DS with a refurbished model, which is apparently the course of action that Nintendo recommends when folks call. (Haven’t confirmed myself.)

Another option would be to replace the shell of the unit with a third-party replacement. The upshot of this option is that she could replace the original white shell with something else, like pink or dark blue. Some shops carry a silver model. To complete the overhaul, I’d have to purchase a tri-wing screwdriver as well. And maybe I will.

But while I was Googling about, I picked up my own DS Lite and looked. What do you know … it has a crack as well. In the same spot. Who knows how long it has been there?

So I whipped out the camera, stacked the pair and took a few photos. After picking a favorite, I uploaded it to Flickr, annotated it and got ready to create a blog entry. One much like the entry you’re now reading. But as I started to type …

My PC shut down. No preamble, no warning. Just like flipping a light switch, it was off. I checked the power cable, replaced the cable with a spare I have on hand for reasons I cannot quite recall. Nothing. Well, nothing but a slight scent of ozone. Something was up.

So I unhooked it, freeing the box from the keyboard, mouse, monitor and everything else. I brought it downstairs to the dining room, the place in the house that I’ve come to consider as the OR for electronic issues. After opening the case and plugging in the box, I tried the power button again. Nothing. There was the smallest hum from the power supply, but no power to the board. The power supply, it seems, has given up. So tomorrow, I’ll order a new one from Newegg. Or maybe get one in person at Fry’s.

Funny. With the case open, I can see the quality sticker on the power supply. It has a date of inspection. 02/2004. Almost four years to the month.

For now, it’s an evening of blogging about technical mishaps on perhaps the most plagued electronic device in the house: my Apple iBook.

Drove downtown in the rain. 9:30 on a Tuesday night. Or 10:30. Or 11:30.

That used to be my thing, just like that Barenaked Ladies song. Especially after I moved to Atlanta in 1995. Not knowing anyone aside from some near-flung college friends already getting along with their adult lives, I’d temper my loneliness with trips to Tower Records. They were, as you might recall, open until midnight, every night. And Tuesday nights were especially worthwhile, as those were the nights when the new releases would go on sale right at midnight. This meant, of course, that the store might stay open even later.

And since I felt compelled to make the drive worth the effort, I had to buy something. How often did I go? I believe I have mentioned once or twice a compact disc collection numbering close to eight-hundred or so. It is safe to say that I was a bit of a regular.

(But no, I never saw Sir Elton John during one of his fabled sprees of new music acquisition. Timing was never right. Or maybe his and my paydays just weren’t aligned.)

With all this retail therapy — and that is truly what it was — there was no guarantee that I’d come home with something worthwhile. Sure, I believe I’ve a wide and resourceful appreciation for music now, but that does nothing to explain the several maxi-singles and CD-5s that accompanied me home. My reasoning? It’s not a whole album, it’s just the song. Less commitment. Or something.

Sometimes, however, an impulse buy would turn out for the best. Case in point: Susheela Raman.

The cover caught my eye, particularly because of the cardboard slip-cover. So I flipped it over and spotted what could only be a cover version of one of my favorite songs. Ever.

A little history. There is an album that, if you own it, chances are good you don’t recall how it came to be in your possession. This Mortal Coil’s It’ll End In Tears. Ostensibly, this is a goth album if there ever was one. It’s on the 4AD label. It’s got this kohl-eyed girl on the cover. And it is entitled It’ll End In Tears, of course. But what it is really is a pet project album for 4AD’s Ivo Watts-Russell — a kind of super-producer. For three albums, 1984’s It’ll End In Tears being the first, Ivo put various musicians into the same room and had them record either originals or covers. Kind of like little temporary Velvet Undergrounds. And the song that always got me from It’ll End In Tears was “Song To The Siren.”

Only later would I learn that the very compelling voice was that of Cocteau Twin, Elizabeth Fraser. Even later still would I learn that “Song To The Siren” was written and recorded in 1968 by none-other than Tim Buckley, Jeff Buckley’s father. Monkee Mickey Dolenz was an early fan and asked Buckley to perform the song at the end of one of their shows that same year.

So back in 2001 … I’m in Tower and I see this CD and I see this track listing and I knew I had to have it. One of the best purchases I’ve ever made, too. And rather than go into why her cover is so good, I’ll go instead with Ms Raman’s own reason for recording:

“It has fantastic lyrics about the wreckage of love; to get to the emotional place where it sounds convincing was not something one could do everyday. This version seemed to work its magic so we put it on the record. The themes of love and separation chime with some of the Indian devotional songs….Indian gods are not really separate from people and so their interaction with us can be almost as playful and perverse as human relationships.”*

Awesome.

“Song To The Siren” – Susheela Raman (from Salt Rain)

“Sometimes it takes a while to recognize that someone has a special ability to get us to believe in ourselves, to tie that belief to our highest ideals and imagine that together we can do great things. In those rare moments, when such a person comes along, we need to put aside our plans and reach for what we know is possible.

We have that kind of opportunity with Senator Obama. It isn’t that the other candidates are not experienced or knowledgeable. But this year, that may not be enough. We need a change in the leadership of this country — just as we did in 1960 …

I have never had a president who inspired me the way people tell me that my father inspired them. But for the first time, I believe I have found the man who could be that president — not just for me, but for a new generation of Americans.”

- Caroline Kennedy, “A President Like My Father,” New York Times, January 27, 2008

A year or so ago, we gave Comcast Broadband a trial run. We switched over our Internet access and even let them handle our phone calls via VOIP. And for the next five or six weeks, we had some of the worst connectivity I’ve ever experienced. The broadband modem was flakey, not the least bit dependable. And since we couldn’t count on the modem, that meant our VOIP phonelines were dead more often than not. To top it all off, their customer service was mindnumbingly inept with solving even the smallest problems. Their assumed root cause for most of our problems? The fact that we were sharing the Internet between two or more machines. Right. We were so relieved to go back to DSL with Bellsouth, even after they became AT&T.

Since then, I’ve never missed an opportunity to dissuade anyone from ever taking the Comcast Broadband route.

But you know what they didn’t do?

They didn’t spy on me.

So I’m thinking it might be time to call Comcast again.

Some of you might’ve noticed a distinct lack of comic book posts lately. In fact, it’s been about three months since the last one. I haven’t offered a reason why, though I’ve felt the compulsion to do so. After all, when someone is such a positive advocate of something, as I have been about comics, abandoning most of that advocacy isn’t done lightly.

So what’s the problem? Death. Death is the problem.

When comics strive for relevance and realism, character death is always a ready arrow in the writer’s arsenal. Sometimes, these deaths are massive, deserving of media attention outside the immediate attention of fandom. Even if you didn’t read comics in 1992, you knew about the Death of Superman. Of course, this death was short-lived, resulting in the Man of Steel’s inevitable resurrection. Only a few years prior, readers of the Batman comic were given the opportunity to determine the fate of Jason Todd, the 2nd Robin, at the hands of a more-ruthless-than-usual Joker. Via phone-based survey, thousands of readers sent that Boy Wonder straight to Sidekick Heaven.*

But these events were few and far between. They were Big Deals.

But now, it would appear that character death has become a wholesale commodity. (more…)

I have only two Joe Jackson CDs. Both are part of a set, so really, I own but one Joe Jackson release. You remember Joe Jackson, right? Not to be confused with the domineering patriarch of the Jackson Family, this Joe Jackson had his first real hit in 1982 with “Steppin’ Out.” I was ten and MTV had only spent a few months in our house, brought to us through the still new miracle of cable television. CableVision, actually. “Steppin’ Out” was different, so unlike anything else on the channel. It was piano-based, for one thing, but that wasn’t all that unique in the grand scope of things. No, what made “Steppin’ Out” different was that it was so smooth without sounding plastic, so polished without sounding formulaic.

I was taking piano lessons at the time, so maybe that was part of the appeal. But to be honest, at the time, I wanted to just skip the whole piano stage of learning all together, leap over all the boredom of practicing and step right into the awesomeness that only a bank of Moog or Roland synths had to offer. Or better yet, maybe I could have a keytar! This was all to my Mother’s chagrin. Eventually, both of us realized that I was never going to really master any set of 88 keys, no matter how electronic they may or may not be.

I never picked up a Joe Jackson album until I got to college and heard a song known by countless glee clubs across the country. “Is She Really Going Out With Him?” I swear, this song has to be part of the secret initiation that permits a group of four or more young men to gather in an auditorium and harmonize. To this day, I’m quite sure there’s not a single a cappella group that doesn’t have this song in their back pocket. But the great thing is … the song is, frankly, awesome.

Why? Because it asks the question that has crossed everyone’s mind at one time or another. She’s going out with who? He’s dating her? This incredulous reaction isn’t always because you’d rather the person in question were going out with you instead, but it usually is. It’s a precious and inescapably universal shared source of interpersonal frustration.

Those kinds of things always make for decent songs.

In 1988, Joe Jackson released Live 1980/86, a double-album of tracks from three separate tours over six years. As a result, we get not one, but three different versions of “Is She Really Going Out With Him?” So I’m sharing the full-band original and Joe’s own a cappella version. If you want to hear the acoustic cut, then you’ll just have to seek it out yourself.

Joe Jackson – “Is She Really Going Out With Him?” – track 4 from Live 1980/86 (1988)
Joe Jackson – “Is She Really Going Out With Him? (A cappella)” – track 10 from the same album

On New Year’s Day, Nikki and I watched a movie called Idiocracy. If you’ve seen it, bear with me. If you’ve not, let me explain. Idiocracy is a Mike Judge (Office Space, “King of the Hill”) film about an average guy who wakes up 500 years into America’s future. This future he finds, isn’t so bright. In fact, it’s very dumb. The premise at work here is that in the reproductive race to populate the planet from now until 2505, humanity’s best and brightest failed to keep up with humanity’s decidedly less-than-gifted. The President is a former American Gladiator with “Mountain Dew” for a middle name. Water has been replaced with a sports drink. And the most popular show on television is called “Ow! My Balls!”

As you might expect, the episodic plot of “Ow! My Balls!” centers on the star of the show falling, tripping or otherwise bouncing in such a way as to always punish his junk. A recurring joke of the film is that whenever the show’s star makes a public appearance, random citizens will rush over to kick him square in the [insert your favorite hilarious term for male genitalia here]. What channel does this show come on? The Violence Channel, of course.

As with most of Mike Judge’s work, Idiocracy is smarter than it looks. Just as the humor in Office Space has a resonance because of its foundation in corporate truth, it’s not too much of a stretch to see Idiocracy as a cautionary tale. All in all, given that 2008 is going to be a pivotal year for this country, we movie we watched on the January 1 was just about perfect.

Fast-forward to this week.

Nikki and I like “CSI” quite a lot, so it is mighty convenient that Spike TV sees fit to provide hot-and-cold running “CSI” just about every weeknight. Gil Grissom on tap. But this week, during a commercial break, we see something that looks familiar, though we can’t say why. It’s a promo for a new Friday night line-up on Spike. Neither of us say anything, so we let it pass. A couple of commercial breaks later, it dawns on us just what we’re seeing. I’m not sure who said it first, but we both came to the same realization:

“Oh, my God … it’s Ow! My Balls!”

“You’re right … and Spike TV is the Violence Channel!”

A whole evening of nothing but videotaped reality featuring tumbling helicopters, exploding apartment balconies, dudes slipping and falling on their face, another guy failing to jump a puddle on a dirt bike and so on and so forth. I would compare it to MTV’s Jackass, except Johnny Knoxville and company were being paid specifically to come up with imaginative ways to harm themselves for an audience’s amusement. Instead, this is just straight up Schadenfreude for your evening’s enjoyment. And here’s the kicker …

Friday night’s programming is called:

Now, anytime the promo comes on, we do a fake panic. “Aaaagh! Ow! My Balls! is on! Don’t watch! Where’s the remote?!?” It’s good for a laugh and makes the cats think we’re even less sane than we are. But I have to admit something. Underneath the feigned terror is a sizable amount of apprehension.

The future. Getting closer and scarier by the day.

When you lose something, you want to replace it. That’s how a lot of music fans felt about Stevie Ray Vaughan. When he died in 1990, the big question was understandable: “Who’s going to replace him?” The truth, of course, is that nobody did and won’t ever.

However, music fans can be irrational and will inevitably seek out more of what they like, however they can find it. Which is why I purchased Chris Duarte’s Texas Sugar Strat Magik in 1995. I had graduated from college the previous fall, and after a failed three month attempt to find work in Rome — where I’d spent the last two glorious years of my college life — I moved back home and started working around Chattanooga. A new record store had opened near Hamilton Place Mall called Peaches. Cute name. The CDs were displayed up front on — wait for it — crates! The place never lost that “just opened” scent, though to describe just what that is, I’d be hard pressed to do. Certainly didn’t smell like peaches. Regardless, they had a policy of letting you listen to anything in the store before you bought it. This was revolutionary at the time. And so, I found the Duarte CD on a display rack, probably next to SRV’s last album (The Sky Is Crying), and gave it a listen. I didn’t even make it twenty seconds into the first track before I knew I had to buy it. So I did.

Six years ago, I experienced what I realized now was a moment of retail de ja vu. I was in Virginia Highlands, doing my weekly visit to Corner CD and checking out the listening stations. Listening stations were just accepted by then, having been adopted as a standard practice by Turtles Records and Tapes (which became Blockbuster Music after a massive buyout). But the buyers at Corner CD had excellent taste, so not only would they put out a couple of the new albums that would soon be on the top forty, but also a good amount of music that would ordinarily be missed. I’m not sure what drew me to listen to the Doyle Bramhall II album. It certainly wasn’t the cover. I tend to avoid albums that stare you down. (It’s a thing with me.) But somehow, I put on the headphones, pressed play and … hit stop about a half-a-minute later. Had to buy it. So I did.

So yeah, these were both impulse buys. And yet, even after years of repeat cullings, I’ve gotten rid of neither disc. Am I keeping them because somewhere in the back of my mind, I think of these albums as extended entries in my Stevie Ray Vaughan collection? Maybe I’m planning on breaking them out at a later time, reference materials for someday, years after I take up guitar lessons again and buy a Stratocaster of my very own. Either way, I still stand by the first tracks of both albums.

As for the rest … well … maybe someday.

Chris Duarte Group – “My Way Down” – track 1 from Texas Sugar Strat Magic (1994)
Doyle Bramhall II & Smokestack – “Green Light Girl” – track 1 from Welcome (2001)

And if you’ve no frame of reference for this Stevie Ray appreciation, let me help you out: “Crossfire,” “Voodoo Chile (Slight Return),” “Couldn’t Stand The Weather,” and, of course, on David Bowie’s “Let’s Dance.”

Let us compare and contrast.

First, the new single from Alicia Keys. “Like You’ll Never See Me Again.” Try to ignore the attempt at recreating ER (or Grey’s Anatomy or even Chicago Hope) and pay attention to the music.

Next, step back in time to 1992. Good times. Back then, we were treated to a kinder, gentler Prince. “Diamonds & Pearls.”

Two different songs, sure, but still… am I wrong in hoping that somewhere along the line, Alicia’s people are forking over a little cash to Prince’s people?