Noli Me Tangere

Something about Mary

Wednesday night found me at the Atlanta Botanical Gardens for "Cocktails in the Garden". I really wasn't looking forward to going, as I tend to be both intimidated and annoyed by pompous yuppie meat-market vibe that I expected to find. But I had a mission: to make contact with Mary, a well-connected 50-ish art dealer who might let me play as hired entertainment at another "Cocktails in the Garden" down the road. $12 I paid to get in, but the first drink is free according to my invitation.

"That'll be $7."
"I thought the first drink was free with admission."
"You have to have a ticket." The admission receipt I offered was obviously not a "ticket" in the sense that she meant. My wallet contained $7 exactly. Sorry, lady, but you get no tip.

I walked around a bit. A DJ was playing mellow dance music. There were lots of couples, all ages, and not as uppity as I had feared. Up on a deck there was a crowd of young beautiful people (like myself) all standing, cocktails in hand, mingling.

"I wonder what they are all talking about," I thought to myself. What topics inhabit the conversations of the young beautiful people? Money? Sex? Politics? I thought maybe if I walked right through the crowd I could find out.

While pondering this I spotted Mary. She was surrounded by some people who seemed to have a clear sense of her sheer winsomeness and lofty social status. I waited for my chance to say hello. Suddenly a clearing emerged, a parting of the sea of bodies that surrounded her. I took a step toward her...

Too late. A quartet of very gay-looking men swooped in like vultures. So I took a spot on the deck where I could monitor the situation. Suddenly a tall blonde jumped in front of me.

"That slide's a lot of fun! But you have to watch out for the purses and the grouchy ladies at the bottom."
"Oh really?"
"You should try it. It's fun."
"Okay."

So I went down the slide and she was right. It was fun. She came down after me just in case I doubted that she was a fun-loving girl. We pretended to be witty for a few more minutes. She was fairly flirtatious until I explained that I wanted to go into church music. But just to be polite, we exchanged numbers before she was drug off by her girlfriends. Her name was Mary.

Speaking of Marys, the important one seemed to be getting ready to go. I positioned myself so that she'd have to walk past me on her way down the steps.

"Mary? I'm Abe, Przemek's friend."
"Oh Hi, Abe. Gladyoucould make iiiit. Whadoyou thiiiiink?"
"It's a good party. Listen, do you--"
"We'regoingforawalkinthegardenwannacome?"

And with that she was off, Gay Quartet in tow. I decided to follow, in hopes we could talk about the gig.

"How do you know Mary?" asked gay man #1.
"Um, I met her at an art show last week."
"Mary's great, isn't she? She's SOO fun. I met her at a committment ceremony last weekend."

I tried to say a couple things to Mary but they didn't seem to be the right things. Also, she was intoxicated. At one point we stopped under the veranda and Mary made a very deliberate effort to stand with her back to me, facing the Gay Quartet and effectively cutting me out of the conversation. It's not clear why the Quartet was so much more interesting than me, but I'm no dummy and it was suddenly clear that this was my cue. I quietly disappeared into the crowd streaming toward the exit, and headed to my car, which would broadcast good music to my ears and propel me to any of the fast-food establishments I'd pass on the way home.

And that's the first episode of "Queer Eye for the Socialite".

Pat Tillman, R.I.P.

I can't count the number of news headlines I scan in a typical day. Back in the recesses of my memory, there was a story about a good NFL player who was quitting football to join the Army Rangers. I didn't pay much attention because it was some guy from Arizona, and not a name I recognized.

It was clear this guy had a lot of conviction, but it seemed like just short break from sports to fulfill an obligation. It was a temporary move, to serve a couple years, before returning to life. To observers, the amazing thing was that he was walking away from riches, prestige, and his family to crawl in the desert for a $17,000 a year. "That takes a lot of conviction," we thought to ourselves, "to walk away from so much money."

Maybe it says something about my generation, but it never occurred to me that he could die. I was only impressed with the change in lifestyle. It didn't register that he was signing up to offer his life in defense of the rest of us.

And yesterday, when I scanned the headlines and saw that he had been killed in a firefight in Afghanistan, I remembered the story. And I was sad. This guy shouldn't have died. He modeled such conviction and bravery; this soldier should've had a triumphant return to his friends, family, and football team. Instead, his reward for his good deeds is to be ambushed and shot to death in the desert a long way from home. This seems terribly unfair.

But Pat Tillman must have known exactly what he was doing when he went to Army Ranger school. This is the riskiest of assignments. And yet, once he joined up we didn't hear anything else about it for a long time. Now we know that this was because he refused all interviews. This was one of the great counter-cultural decisions ever in sports, and he wanted no limelight. This is pure conviction, with utter disregard for the empty values around him.

"Why should we care so much about this guy Pat Tillman," people have asked. "Lots of other soldiers have died." This is true, but Tillman's case--walking away from the life the rest of us envy, then dying as a result--painted very pure pictures of conviction and sacrifice. Regardless of what you think of the war, anyone who chooses pain and suffering on your behalf is a hero. Choosing death and all its abrupt finality is the greatest sacrifice of all.

So this story made me think of Christ. But in all honesty (and a little shame), I was more moved by this story than I was by the Passion of the Christ. I have a few ideas why:

1) The Passion was a movie. True and accurate as it might have been, it's just a movie, and I'm used to thinking of movies as fiction.

2) Christ's death was far from permanent. In 2000 years of hindsight, this seems a smaller price to pay, somehow. I think of it as being 'part of the plan', merely a temporary trial for Christ to undergo before His triumphant return. Pat Tillman will have no triumphant return.

3) I have the benefit (curse) of 28 years of christian doctrine. I'm probably more than a little inoculated to the Gospel.

I find great inspiration in the story of Pat Tillman, yet I tremble and wonder at how I have become so calloused to the story of Christ. Any ideas? Thoughts?

grabbing the nearest book...

Here's what I get:

"J&J is now the leader in disposable contact lenses and pharmaceuticals such as the anti-allergy medicine Hismanal and the dermatological cream Retin A."

-Basic Marketing Management by Douglas Darymple and Leonard Parsons
(Parsons was easily the most boring prof I ever had, quite a distinction at a place like GT)

Instructions:

1. Grab the nearest book
2. Open the book to page number 23
3. Find the fifth sentence
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog (or in the comments here) along with these instructions.

Sandra and Derek

Sometimes I ask myself why I'm still living in Atlanta. I'm not really a Buckhead guy, nor do I like traffic, or even a fast-paced lifestyle. But then today I had to choose between a Pedro the Lion/Death Cab for Cutie concert and the Sandra McCracken show and I remembered how many good concerts I went to when I lived in Warner Robins. (hint: I saw steve "ken doll" green at the civic center)

Alas, like all musical decisions, it was a financial decision and Sandra and her personal roadie/guitarist/foil/groupie Derek Webb were only charging $7 to get in. Can't beat that.

Derek is in an enviable position, I think. Free from the cumbersome constraints of being in a LARGE band with a small vision, he's able to play what he wants, when and where he wants. Much of his energy of late seems well spent preaching, teaching and singing about the Church. He's well-suited: his status as a performing songwriter gives him cred with the college kids, most of whom grew up in the church but somehow missed great swaths of true christianity. And he's good at distilling, which is all-important in a psuedo-christian society like ours where cosmic truth and cultural norms get mixed up together in the Invisible Expectation list they give you as an American.

Derek is also blessed to get to play music with his wife. They don't have the same style, but they are very much on the same page in their development and musical instincts. Sandra's a more intuitive writer, I think, but Derek is more comfortable on the guitar and brings more intensity, etc... Their voices blend wonderfully. They make a good team. They have a vibe a little like Buddy and Julie Miller in that they get a lot of mileage out of the married give-and-take shtick (except that Sandra is not near the space cadet that Julie is).

Part way through the show, Amy and Julia remarked that the energy and tone of the show had been pretty flat. It was true; nice as Sandra's songs were, they weren't all that dynamic. And her style, while appealing, never rose to provoke or strike you. So at the end, you sort of put your hands in your pockets and say, "that was nice. she has nice songs," and you shuffle home, but really can't remember anything that she sang about or did beyond the husband jokes. It's funny, because she's a great writer. Her songs are singable, fluid, and full of nice-sounding earthy lines, and her voice is strong and expressive. So what's missing?

I'm not sure, but at our table we agreed that some performers have the x-factor that rivets attention instantly. Margo Timmons has it, according to Julia. Grant Lee Phillips has it, according to Amy. I thought of Bill Mallonee, because his stage presence is so quirky and caffeinated. But it's not just a matter of having hummingbird energy; Harrod and Funck could almost put you to sleep with their phlegmatic humor and frill-less approach. But even then it was more like being hyptnotized (rather than lulled) to sleep. You were still captive to what they were making.

At this point I remembered playing at an open mic the night before and being deflated by the conversations that were taking place during my songs. "They just don't realize that I HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY," I thought to myself at the time. But I probably wasn't saying it well. Also, I'm a narcissist, but that's another post for another time.

But I enjoyed the show. Sandra's songs made me want to write some more americana-ish songs. They're so simple, but they work. And the better I get as a musician, the more I prefer ideas that work over ones that are elaborate. And I was glad Przemek could see it. His interest in accoustic americana music is surely dismantling my belief that Europeans dislike anything that can't be played in the discotheque.

I also received some cryptically clairvoyant text messages during the show. I had thought it was Sprint telling me that my soul was not quite fully sold yet. But now I suspect that Erin sent them to freak me out. Nice try, Erin. But seriously, how did you know all that stuff?

the evil Sprint empire, vol. 3

"thank ..u for ...lling sprint PCS"
"yes, i have a couple questions about my phone plan."
".....e ........ough... the....."
"hello? can you hear me?"
"yes sir, ....an i ha..............ber?"
"i'm sorry?"
".........help you?"
"...uh...i'm having some trouble hearing you. i recently purchased a new plan but apparently it was never actually started in your system. and because of Sprint's mistake, i've incurred some additional charges."
"so which ...lan .... you want?
"well, i signed a 2-year contract so that my nighttime minutes would start at 7, instead of 8pm. this was the new contract i signed with you guys. but on my most recent bill, i was billed for all the calls made between 7 and 8pm."
"sir, your plan says your nighttime minutes start at 8pm."
"i know, but when i signed up for the new plan 2 months ago, it should have changed to 7pm."
"well sir, you ha... to ...ign a 2 year ....ract to have your nighttime minutes start at 7pm."
"I KNOW. THAT'S WHAT I DID. i just told you that. what i want to know is why isn't that showing up on my bill?"
".........ge .....a ....be the ......new charges."
"what? hello?"
".....................................................b................................................."

i find that my love for catherine zeta jones grows daily.

TMTOTH, vol. 2

The latest, and arguably most hillarious installment of the "Too Much Time on Their Hands" series is for both types of people: those that love and those that hate cats.

This is really, really, funny.

www.mycathatesyou.com

the evil Sprint empire, vol. 2

the samsung vga1000 is a very nice phone. it takes pictures. it rings songs. it folds small. it runs long and charges short. nearly $300 for this phone, a hit softened only by the promise of a large rebate if i sign up for a new plan.

so i buy the phone. and i call up sprint to sign up for the new plan. to get the big rebate, i have to sign up for "pcs vision", which enables me to send pictures and surf the internet (in theory, at least). 2 months are free, then i can cancel at any time. i'm set.

"thank you for using sprint," the lady tells me. "but what about a receipt or proof of purchase," i ask. "i'll need it for the rebate." "it will be emailed to you," she assures me.

two weeks into said plan, "pcs vision" service is gone. so I call the good people at sprint, because i've missed them so.

"uh, can i have lena?"
"huh? i was trying to reach sprint customer service."
"oh. uh...yeah. this is...um...sprint."
"okay...i have a problem with my plan."
"is lena there?"
"who is lena? i need to ask some questions about my phone plan."
"oh sorry. uh...can i getting your social security number."
"i'll give you the last 4 digits. that should be all you need."
"ummmmmmmmmmmm. okay can i getting your phone number?"

at this point, I give him my number, but i already know he can't help me. resigned, we continue our cute little dance:

"sir, you have to signing up for pcs vision to send pictures."
"i WAS signed up. YOU guys forced me to sign up. why was it taken off?"
"uh...pcs vision will let you send pictures."
"i know. up until 2 days ago, i was sending pictures. i WAS signed up for it."
"okay let me put you on holding please."

(muzak)

"lena? hello? dis is lena?"
"no, this is abe. i have a problem with my phone plan."
"sir, if you have a problem with your phone, you can take it to a sprint store."
"THE PHONE IS FINE. why did SPRINT change my plan??"
"sir, if you wanting to change plan, please call customer service."
"my plan was already changed!!! BY SPRINT!! what's wrong with you people?"
"um, okay let me check okay?"

(muzak)

"hello?"
"look, can you just tell me what my plan is now?"
"no sir I didn't change your plan."
"look, all i want to know is, can i still get my rebate?"
"you have to calling rebate department."

we had a lovely time. i got his name and told him i look forward to talking to him again. and good luck with lena.

so as it turns out, i was never signed up for any new plan when i got my phone. it makes me wonder what's really going on over there in customer service. do these people have any accountability? it almost seems like sprint is saving costs by routing calls to non-english-speaking crackheads who take the calls at home to fulfill their community service requirements and have no phone training, no english comprehension, and no knowledge of sprint products or services.

but the good news is i apparently was never signed up for any new plan. so that means i can cancel in a month, and finally be free! of course i'll probably still call the sprint folks just to keep in touch.

2003 Holiday Beard-Off

Okie Defeats Blatnik in Battle of the Beards

STONE MOUNTAIN - (AP) Experience trumped youth, as Abe "Grizzly" Okie came away with a narrow victory today over Fred "ChiaFace" Blatnik in the 2003 JP Holiday Beard-Off. It was the first championship for Okie, but it came harder than anyone expected.

"I just wanted to come out and give 110%," said Blatnik after the judging, obviously relieved to put the contest behind him. "I can't worry about the judges' decision."

Early polls indicated that Okie would win in a landslide, but several judges gave Blatnik surprisingly high marks for his grooming. While Okie swept the categories of Length and Thickness as expected, Blatnik was unanimously given victories in Total Hair Above Neck and Beard Smell, which was a new category this year.

Okie could offer no explanation for his failure in the Smell department. "It's funny because I actually have bathed more recently than Fred," he offered with a shrug.

Nevertheless, the deciding category turned out to be Beard Shape, with two judges awarding the category to Okie and one going with Blatnik. Maki Kobayashi, the dissenting judge, refused comment after the contest and neither team filed an appeal, so it appears the results will stand.

This year there were no drug or doping scandals, a welcome change from last year when Yutaka Okubo was awarded the title, only to have it stripped when he tested positive for Tabasco. Though he maintained his innocence, his claim was hurt by testimony that he was seen guzzling Tabasco sauce the night before the competition.

In addition to taking home the Bin Laden trophy, the winner of the contest stands to rake in millions in endorsements. While Blatnik vowed to return next year with a bigger beard, Okie left the press conference with the smile of a man about to become a lot richer.

TMTOTH, vol. 1

While I ponder more entries on the stupendousness of Grant Lee Buffalo/Phillips, I'm going to begin a new series on the most random websites you've never heard of. These will be those nooks of the www that capture the very strangest and most idiosyncratic aspects of our nature, culture or whatnot. (Although, strangely, I find that they usually strike some very common chord in us, or else we'd never find them or pronounce them "odd".) These are the sort of endeavors that we all file under "Too Much Time on their Hands", though we routinely enjoy visiting the sites. High-profile examples include Engrish.com and Jumptheshark.com.

Today's TMTOTH site is: oldmencrying.com

I can't figure out if this is supposed to be a joke or not. But it's really strange, and kind of made me feel dirty, as if I'd gotten a glimpse of some strange fetish.

The Greatness of Grant

One of my ideas for this blog is that it might become a place for Abe to pontificate on things Abe loves. For example, there are probably half a dozen unknown bands that I could write about. There are some movies, books, cars, guitars, that I could list. For now, I'll leave unanswered, "why should anyone care what Abe thinks about these things?" and begin a series on why Grant Lee Phillips and his body of work represent perhaps the brightest light on a dim pop music landscape. I shall call this series, "Buffalo Roam: Essays on the Greatness of Grant".

I'll get to why he's a freakin' genius later, but first a quick update on the guy. This story is featured in the most recent Paste Magazine and was a pleasure to write, as I've been a huge fan of his music. Turns out he's a really nice guy, though I think I offended him when I suggested he stop using his voice as a crutch and see how his songs stand up with say, Dylan's voice. I meant it as a compliment, but I guess words get muffled when you're kissing butt.

With his old band, Grant Lee Phillips was always something of a throwback. Mr. Phillips and his mates made up a semi-eponymous musical outfit that hovered on the periphery of the mid-90’s grunge movement, garnering critical praise and cult status. While the airwaves were awash in fuzzy guitars, Grant Lee Buffalo were quietly filling up their records with banjos, pump organs, and parlor pianos. As the songwriter and frontman, Phillips sang about old-world themes in an old-soul voice, in songs that revealed a love of history and storytelling.

Buffalo split in 1999 and Phillips the solo artist has since forged a distinct path that’s taken him to surprising places. His latest album, the just-released Virginia Creeper, is in many ways a return to his roots, drawing heavily on both personal and musical history. The result is a collection Phillips calls his most genuine, personal effort yet. Throughout Creeper, Phillips digs deeply into the rich soil of history and grows an album that, as the title suggests, meanders and weaves like a vine. Or like a good story.

It should certainly be a salve for those fans who lamented his foray into the more electronic music forms on his previous outing. 2001’s Mobilize departed sharply from his work with GLB and found Phillips abandoning anachronism to experiment with a litany of keyboards and effects, all driven by the drum programming of co-producer Carmen Rizzo.

“You could definitely say that Mobilize was a departure from the music that I’ve been associated with, and quite possibly the music that is most natural to me,” he concedes. Creeper, then, is a return to form, a revival of the sounds and strains of his early work and the music of previous generations. Energized by the organic resonances of piano, fiddle, banjo, and upright bass, Phillips and ensemble recorded each song live to tape, eschewing the convenience and (some say) sterility of digital recording. As a result, the sounds are warm, rustic, and lend potency to Phillips’ southern, botanical metaphors.

And while Phillips’ previous solo releases, 2000’s Ladies Love Oracle and Mobilize, were largely solitary efforts, Creeper finds him once again in a collaborative spirit. There are thirteen contributing musicians listed in the credits, including old friends Bill Bonk (accordion), Jon Brion (ukulele) and Greg Leisz (dobro, pedal steel, mandolin). There’s even a string quartet.

So was this an intentional antidote to the shimmering, electronic textures of Mobilize?

“Having toured on my own over the last year with the guitar alone, it sort of put me in touch with my roots all over again, and reminded me of what I love about playing a simple song, and the act of telling a story in the context of a song,” Phillips says of his evolution.
Indeed, about half of the songs on Creeper are pure story songs, centered on rich but fragmentary characters like the haunting legend he hatches in “Josephine of the Swamps” and the piano-tendered narrative of “Susanna Little”.

The latter piece takes on new significance in light of the author’s Creek Indian heritage. “I’ve always been fascinated with the history of native Americans,” he confesses. “In fact this song is sort of a chronicle of some real people within my family.” But Phillips is quick to point out that this tale of cultural loss, murder, and redemption is not merely a quaint family story.

“It’s a story that’s still aching to be told,” he says of the Native Americans’ plight. “This is just more of an insider, personal way of doing so, almost just a little folk tale. But it doesn’t come down to the story of one person as much as it is the story of so many.”

Phillips is a natural storyteller, so his involvement with TV and Film should come as no surprise. He participated in the Sundance Composer’s Lab in 2002 and has scored the music for “ZigZag” (starring Wesley Snipes and John Leguizamo) and “Easy”, an entrant in the Sundance Film Festival this year. And thanks to some friends in Hollywood, Phillips has landed a recurring role on the WB hit Gilmore Girls as the town troubadour. The creators of the show (who were fans of his work with Grant Lee Buffalo) offered him the role, which affords him wider exposure since his music is used on the show and included in the soundtrack. In Phillips’ mind, the exposure is mutual.

“The Gilmore Girls have turned me on to some new people, and I know a few folks have tuned in to the show just to answer the question, ‘What? He’s doing what?’” he says with a laugh. But Phillips sees music as the creative outlet which has kept him from becoming a filmmaker rather than a means of becoming one:

“I think my urge to tell stories, and to weave together imagery is satisfied in songwriting,” he says and goes on to clarify. “When you take a novel and turn it into a film, you have to kind of create a shorthand, and songwriting is very much like that. You’ve got three minutes to shove it all in.”

Phillips kicks off a nationwide tour in late February in support of Virginia Creeper.