GRABBINGSAND

Dear iTunes Music Store –

Thank you for making The Roots Rising Down immediately available for download.

Now don’t get mad, but I have to admit that you were my second choice. For reasons I don’t quite understand, you beat Amazon’s to the release line. Rising Down might be available for mp3 download on Amazon some day, but I was ready to make an immediate purchase. And so, my money went to you, iTunes.

But this morning, iTunes Music Store, you have disappointed me. I was looking forward to enjoying Rising Down during my morning commute, but what I heard was odd and disjointed. Admittedly, this is The Roots we’re talking about here. They’re known for being complex, for taking risks and doing the unexpected, but even the most adventurous artists would refrain from dropping a bonus track into the middle of their tracklist. So what happened?

In a pair of words, what happened was “bad tags.”

When I dragged and dropped Rising Down from my iTunes to my iPod, the tracks arranged themselves out of order. This can only happen if the audio files are poorly or incompletely tagged. Bad show, iTunes Music Store. I’m not saying you committed a cardinal sin here, but posting an album with bad tags on dear, departed OiNK could’ve gotten a user banned.

Luckily, the iPod has the oft forgotten On-The-Go playlist function, so after referring to the tracklisting on Amazon (!), I’ve made a temporary playlist with the tracks in the right order. Now, the album progresses as it should. One track builds on the next.

And “Birthday Girl” — the eye-roll inducing collaboration with Fall Out Boy’s Patrick Stump — is now at the far end of the album where it can be avoided entirely.

Cheers,

Me

(Neato price tag image found on illustrator Glen Mullaly’s blog, then cropped to suit.)

I’ve had a Vox blog for about a year and a half. I didn’t need another blog, but I was fascinated by the advertised “LiveJournal-for-Grownups” that Vox was meant to be. It would have all of the social interactivity, little or none of the bad design and clique-fueled drama. Seemed like a good idea. So I fired up a Vox account, deemed it a “reading blog,” and …

Then I proceeded to enter into a cycle of occasional posting between long bouts of forgetting the Vox blog even existed.

This is not to say that Vox was a total loss. Several of the MetaChat faithful — a Metafilter spin-off — started up Vox blogs of their own. But like me, they started to drop off in their posting frequency. Before long, posting to my Vox reading blog felt like shouting my literary habits down a deep well … or down the long hallway of a mostly vacant hotel.

So I’m making it official. Until today, my last Vox post was back in October. Today, I’m posting one more time to link back over here.

It’s been interesting Vox, but I’m moving on.

Now, brace yourself, because I’m going to look like a hypocrite for a split second. Ready?

I’ve been playing with a Tumblr blog for a couple of weeks.

I signed up on a lark, having seen some of my neighbors doing the same (Amber has one, for instance). What makes Tumblr different is the simplicity of it all. No comments. No post titles. Just post after post, photos with or without captions, quotes presented as typographical art. To me, it feels like a slow-stream-of-consciousness Twitter. Where Twitter is all about what you’re doing at a given time, Tumblr is more about relating just what’s on your mind from day to day, from hour to hour. And like Twitter, you can opt to “follow” the meandering thoughts of your fellow Tumblrs.

Like I say in my Tumblr sidebar, if Grabbingsand is a motorcycle, my Tumblr is a sidecar. It’s a bonus track for my regular blog, a place to put random bits of awesome or the occasional odd thought. And if frequency of use is any indication of successful adoption, then Tumblr is defeating my history with Vox handilly.

So check it out.

And make your own, should you feel so inclined.

Did you know that you can download the latest Gnarls Barkley album for free? Legally, with Cee-Lo’s and Danger Mouse’s blessing? You can.

Of course, I should mention that the version being freely offered is presented as a single track that lasts about 38 minutes and change.

Oh, and its in reverse.

The whole thing.

Call it Elpuoc Ddo Eht.

Why? I’ve no idea. Maybe they’re just showing off, illustrating that even played backwards, Danger Mouse’s production work is a thing of rhythmic beauty. Or perhaps Cee-Lo has placed secret messages here and there. All I know is that I’ve listened to about ten minutes of it and have yet to reach for the iPod in terror.

How does it sound? Pretty cool, actually. The percussion is the most disconcerting element, but Cee-Lo’s vocals are positively hypnotic. I wouldn’t recommend listening while driving, but for chilling or getting some work done, I’d pick this over a lot of other artists’ offerings.

(And I suppose, if someone wanted to be truly enterprising, they could download the freely given Elpuoc Ddo Eht, drag the file into Audacity, reverse it back, then split the whole thing into its thirteen original and separate tracks. Voila, free original album … albeit, after a whole lot of time and trouble.)

I have no love for cold callers.

You know them by their anonymity, when the Caller ID offers an unhelpful “Unknown Number” or “Unknown Caller.” Their timing is usually quite charming, like when you’re about to sit down for dinner, or when they call on Saturday morning, before even the coffee has time to finish brewing.

For a few months in 2007, we had daily cold callers. These were a cowardly lot, as they never said a word when we would actually pick up the phone. They would ring, one of us would greet, then we’d get a click. It is one thing to make a cold call, whether you’re selling something or not, but quite another to lose your nerve when making such a call.

But during this span of constant ringing — ringing that continued in spite of our being listed on the National Do-Not-Call List — I developed a way of answering the phone obnoxiously. After all, if this is a cold caller, they don’t know me. I could be anyone. So why shouldn’t I answer the phone like a ragingly intoxicated cross between Inigo Montoya and Super Mario? “HAAALL-OOOO!!!” Usually, the cold caller would hang up. Immediately. However, some kept a brave face and asked to speak to a “Mr. Thomas.”

Okay, that’s their biggest mistake. There is no Mr. Thomas in our house. So I can answer, quite truly, “Mister Thomas!?!? He is … nooo heeerrre!!!!”

On those rare occasions when the cold caller stuck around and proceeded with their script — and they’ve all got scripts — I would answer their questions as creatively as I wished.

“I’d like to talk to you today about a great offer from Dish Network …”

“Dish?! We’ve got dishes a-plenty, my friend! Got a kitchen, too!!”

“No, sir … this is Dish Network.”

“Oh, no … no, I don’t think we’d be needing a whole network of dishes now, we don’t eat all that much …”

And so on.

The daily cold calling dried up months ago. Since then, the cold callers have been few and far between. And yet, I will still answer as a drunk Inigo Mario — I mean, why not? This has been especially true over the last couple of weeks, because Representative Tom Price has been auto-dialing his consistuency to ask whether we all agree that illegal immigrants are either the bigger threat to American Freedom or the biggest ever threat to American Freedom.

On Friday night, however, I learned a new lesson.

The phone rings. “Unknown Number.” So I pick up the receiver in the kitchen and let loose a mighty “HAAALL-OOOO!”

“May I speak to Mr. Thomas, please?” As expected. I take the investigative route. “Who may I ask, is caallliinnggg?!?!”

“I’m calling on behalf of Obama for America.”

My jaw dropped. I think I stripped some behavioral gears while switching from Inigo Mario to polite, concerned and apologetic voter. I think I actually started doing that “walking on eggshells” dance we all do when we know we’ve made an ass out of ourselves in front of someone who doesn’t deserve a bit of it.

“I’m sorry. I am so sorry. I had no idea. I … I thought you were a Republican.”

The caller was incredibly professional. She carried on as if nothing untoward had happen’d. When all was done, she was winging a donation envelope to me (with the last name corrected, I might add) and I wished her a good night …

(After apologizing one more time for good measure.)

Amber Rhea took it. Got an 88%.
Mme le Debris Blanche took it. Got a 91%.
So I had to take it.

I would’ve gotten a higher score had I been brought up in a church that fell in for Bible book memorization, drilling lists and orders into little skulls. In light of such, I’m cool with a 95%. And given my history of posting on religion, mostly of the Christian variety, I would’ve felt a bit sheepish with a much lower rating.

So … I made one of those MuxTapes.

Tony — an inspiration to all, living or dead — made one a few weeks ago, so it was just a matter of time before I made my own attempt. How was it? Not bad, though I’m not sure if I’ll be doing another anytime soon. The resultant UI is dead simple and perfectly functional, but the uploading of each track is a time-sink, one after another one after another one. Would it be better with a means of mass uploading? Sure it would, provided there was only a single MuxTaper. But enough about the how … what matters is the what.

These eleven tracks are either new to me or that have sparked a renewed interest. Had I been a bit less busy, a lot of these would’ve been offered already as Obscuriosities — an idea to which I will be returning sooner or later, though maybe not in the form I employed originally.

I thought about doing a full rundown, track-to-track, but it might be better to just let this MuxTape ride out with very little explanation. The bookends are rather eclectic, the heart is very hip-hop heavy and the tail is an unexpected cover that ought to be a novelty, but turns out far better than expected … possibly better than the original.

If I had to pick a single track to highlight, I’d go with Coultrain’s “Endangered Species” — which makes for an interesting response to the call of Marvin’s “You’re The Man.” Coultrain is an indie R&B/soul artist, camping out on MySpace and selling his debut CD via PayPal for ten bucks a pop (including postage). Best ten dollars I’ve spent this year.

So check it out. Let me know what you think.

Or just go make your own.

Fell behind a bit on my LibraryThing vs. GoodReads, didn’t I? Sorry about that.

Though truth be told, there’s not much new on the GoodReads front. Been so busy with the play that I’ve had time to update my list only on the LibraryThing side. I suppose that betrays some appreciation, doesn’t it? But really, LibraryThings “add” mechanism is just so easy.

Added this week was a single book: April 4, 1968 by Michael Eric Dyson. Dyson is quite the firebrand, eliciting all manner of responses to his opinions. But I liked what I heard when he was interviewed on V-103 this past week …

And yes, I do listen to The People’s Station, what of it? That’s what I thought …

But the really cool thing? Thanks to LibraryThing and their Early Reviewers group, I’m getting a book. Before too long, an advance copy of Epic Rivalry: The Inside Story of the Soviet and American Space Race by Von Hardesty and Gene Eisman will be winging its way to me. Books are offered to the Early Reviewers group every month. LibraryThing members can indicate their interest. Usually, demand far exceeds the supply. Why me? Not sure, but rest assured that I will be happy to read the book and review it shortly after.

So this week … it looks like LibraryThing is winning. I can’t be bought, but free literature will surely get you a few extra minutes of my attention.

Are you listening, GoodReads?

I’m not buying a PlayStation 3. Not today, tomorrow or anytime soon. And yet, I am loving this international print campaign (developed by BBDO Chile). Sure, there’s a “boy” version, but this “girl” version is so much better. Why?

The boy looks like he’s just playing. The girl looks like she’s winning.

(Found on JoyStiq.)

Today, I need audience participation. Put your thinking caps on and get ready to comment.

We’re in the market for a new car. The Honda CRV has been the object of our occasional affection for over a year, but the more we consider the prospect, the less we’re able to justify our owning an SUV. For one thing, the conceit that we need something sizable for hauling things is made null and void by the fact that a simple phonecall to either set of in-laws can get us a truck in no time at all. For another, it’s not nearly as fuel efficient as either of our current, older vehicles. At a dollar and change per gallon, 23 MPG looked pretty good. Not so much anymore.

So we’re starting to consider stepping into the future by purchasing a hybrid. I know that several of you have either a Toyota Prius or a Honda Civic Hybrid, so tell me all about it. What’s been good, what’s been bad? How’s the month-to-month maintenance? How’s the insurance? If you’ve had the hybrid for a few months or more, do you see that much savings over your previous vehicle? And hey, if you’re driving something incredibly efficient that’s neither a Prius or a Civic, I want to hear all about it.

(Pictured is the solar-hybrid Honda 1^4, Honda’s entry for the 2007 Los Angeles Design Challenge.)

Sing it with me now …

It’s the most, horrible time of the year!
With co-workers all sneezing,
And everyone wheezing, “My eyesight’s not clear!”
It’s the most, horrible time of the year!

It’s the crap-crapiest season of all,
With prescription refillings and insurance billings,
Oh, how I wish it were fall!
It’s the crap-crapiest season of all!*

I’d come up with more verses, but all of this particulate matter in my skull is impinging on my ability to form cogent sentences, much less complete a rhyme scheme. Because it’s pollen time in Georgia, and most everywhere else that matters. Just the other day, I was walking out to my car and wondering just when we’d start to see that yellow precipitation that serves as our own kind of warmer weather snow. Less than a week later, here it is. It’s on the sidewalk. It’s on street. It’s on our cars. And it is in our lungs and throat.

Or is it?

What we see might not be what we get. All of that yellow is brought to us courtesy of amorous pine trees pitching the woo indiscriminately to other pine trees. And while this very public display of affection might seem a bit overt for our human sensibilities, none of this conifer-flung love dust is contributing to our lack of respiratory health. According to the crack reporters at Rome’s News-Tribune:

While pine pollen is the most visible, it is not usually a major contributor to allergy problems because the spores are larger and heavier than most pollens and don’t stay airborne as long.

Even so, the enemy I can see is the enemy I am more inclined to blame. And while pine pollen might not be the exact reason for my misery, it’ll be a cold day in Hell** before I buy in to the idea that pine pollen might be actually good for me.

* Apologies to Andy Williams.
** The Ninth Circle thereof excepted.