Unfinished Dad

Many Many Thanks

 
 

Don't Forget Two

Don't Forget Two, originally uploaded by unfinished dad.

I keep telling you how tough it is being the second child. This is our list of important things to remember for our Thanksgiving road trip.

Sometimes I'm Bombaloo

Children's books come and go.  Most last no more than a few reads.  Some manage to reel in the little ones for a little while longer with shiny foil pages and crinkly animal tales.  And some intrigue parent's with deeper meanings that are out of reach for kids.  But every now and then a book reaches the whole family.  It resonates with them and speaks to the lives they lead.

In our house that book is Sometimes I'm Bombaloo by Rachel Vail.  If you have a "spirited" two-year-old, the story speaks for itself.  I would be remiss if I didn't mention the spot on illustrations of Yumi Heo though.  They breath life into the character of Annie, I mean Katie Honors.

Reliving Pearl Jam's Discography: Vive La Vitalogy

Jopie Joe,

I enjoyed your post on Vs thoroughly, and would like to follow up with a few thoughts of my own before moving on to Vitalogy.

• I still consider Rearviewmirror @ Jones Beach in 2000 the pinnacle of my concert experiences.  The combination of venue (best I have been too), kick ass song, and the great group of people we went with hasn’t been equaled for me before or since.
• Overall, I don’t believe any PJ album is superior to Vs. Perhaps Ten or Yield (or Backspacer) match it’s greatness, but nothing surpasses it.
• Thank goodness I didn’t listen to Def Leppard as much as you did.
• Finally, there is no reason that Guns N Roses shouldn’t still be in some kind of rotation for you.

I have come to believe that Vitalogy is the most distinctive album in Pearl Jam’s repertoire, even more so than Ten. Their first album is certainly one of a kind, but in large part because it was a first of its kind, and likely the best true grunge album ever recorded. There have been other grunge or grunge-like albums of course, but there has never been another Vitalogy - in many ways it is PJ’s one and only concept album.

The album also serves as a sort of marking stone among Pearl Jam fans. More often than not, fans of the band rank Vitalogy as either their best effort ever or somewhere in the middle of the pack. It is never 2nd or 3rd best, nor does it rank among the lowest, which makes for an interesting light version of “love it or hate it”.

In hindsight, there are valid reasons for its uniqueness or even weirdness. Not well known until years later, Pearl Jam was fighting through their low point as a band while the album was being recorded.  For the first and only time in their history, a member was fired; Eddie became the band’s true leader in terms of how and what they recorded; Mike McCready was struggling with drug addiction; and, perhaps most importantly, the band was simply not dealing with success very well. The spotlight wasn’t working for them.  They wanted to give away what ended up being one of their most popular radio songs.

I even did some research on this, and Stone Gossard once said, “Eighty percent of the songs were written 20 minutes before they were recorded,” and while I find this difficult to believe, the importance of the statement is clear – the band wasn’t clicking together. Despite the churn and uncertainty, the album was incredible.

As with every PJ album save two (and we’ll get to them eventually), I was fully immersed in every aspect of the album upon its release. In our typical insanity, we’re talking thinking of the tracks whenever we didn’t have a chance to listen, running upstairs to the room to click play as soon as we could, etc.  I still have not forgiven myself for losing the album booklet and lyrics after leaving it behind in an AT&T bathroom stall. It was a lot like a reading through a highly anticipated book that is actually living up to your expectations – every free moment was spent on the album.  The public thought so too and, shortly after its December 1994 release, Vitalogy became the second fastest selling album of all time (A vinyl version was released two weeks prior as well).

The album opens with Last Exit, one of my favorite opening tracks on any album, ever. It sets the pace for the entire album - punky, fast, and, with a track time of 2:50, over before its starts. As with most songs on the album, the lyrics are on the dark side, “Grasp and hold on…we’re dyin’ fast…soon be over…I will relent” ending with the perfect “Let my spirit pass…this is, this is…my…last exit”.

With a total track length of 14 there is bound to be filler songs on the album, and while “Spin the Black” circle isn’t exactly one of them, it isn’t one of the band’s best efforts. The lyrical idea rather than the music is what attracts people I think – “vinyl is good” – but I find myself skipping the track more often than not nowadays.  It doesn’t feel like a complete song anymore.

While we’re on the topic, the songs that are in fact fillers end up an injustice to the album, as in my opinion they break up the pace and feel of it too much.  Tracks seven (“Pry, To”), eight (“Bugs”), twelve (“Aye Davanita”), and fourteen ("Hey Foxymophandlemama, That's Me") aren’t songs but a few moments of musical hysteria joined together. I think this is the largest reason I seem to listen to Vitalogy tracks on compilation albums instead of putting the CD in the player (or clicking the album on my iPod).

It’s still a superb album of course and along with “Last Exit”, the balance of the album is what makes it among their finest.  Tacks 3 and 4 - “Not For You” and “Tremor Christ” go perfectly together. The former building up to a crescendo before pulling the rug out from under you with a sudden slowdown midway though the song, only to end with another battering of heavy guitars and Eddie’s famous wailing.  “Tremor Christ” slows things down and, while not an elite song by any means, it still fits well in the album providing a break in tone (not meaning) from the heart pounding tracks before it.

This leads into “Nothingman”, one of the band’s best efforts of all time. A beautiful ballad with perhaps Eddie’s best vocal performance as well. The lyrics are classic lost love:

She once believed...in every story he had to tell...

One day she stiffened...took the other side...

Empty stares...from each corner of a shared prison cell...

One just escapes...one's left inside the well...

And he who forgets...will be destined to remember...

After two filler songs comes one of the greatest rock songs of all time – “Corduroy”.  The song kicks butt from beginning to end – it’s fast paced, unique, and the listener immediately feels a part of it.  I am perhaps quoting too many lyrics, but this grabs you form verse one, “The waiting drove me mad... you're finally here and I'm a mess”.  “Corduroy” is one of the songs often cited as PJ’s greatest and I tend to agree.  I have listened to it so many times it may no longer be #1 on my current playlist, but if I ever wanted to convince someone to listen to PJ I would play them this song first.

Two additional filler songs later and the emotional “Betterman” faces the listener.  The oft misunderstood pop radio hit, “Betterman” is upbeat and catchy musically, yet the lyrics are indeed dark and fit in with the album.  Originally meant for “Vs” the song was cut from the final track list because of its sound and I can’t argue with the choice.  Absorbing to the song in concert is also one of the best experiences a fan can have – the lyrics are clear, easy to understand, and because of it Eddie often has the crowd lead the song in most (all?) of their live shows now. 

Finally, sandwiched between two other fillers, is “Immortality” another all time great.  A ballad, dark and mysterious, it features some of the best guitar work on any of their tracks.  I don’t have an ear for the technical side of this, and I just mean the guitar work is poignant and stands out as the best part of an all around exquisite song.  My only complaint is that the album didn’t end with it, and we instead have to deal with this “Hey Foxymophandlemama, That's Me”.

Overall, you cannot find a better collection of songs on a PJ album than Vitalogy.  Where the album ranks overall is ultimately a decision on how little attention you pay to the crazy and pointless filler songs spread throughout.

PS.  Unlike you I don’t necessarily put much stock in album artwork (or how fast or slow the color of an athlete’s cleats makes them appear for that matter) but a hat tip to the band for this one. It replicates material from a 1920’s medical book, so well in fact, that for a while there were copyright issues over it. Regardless, it’s top notch.

Me

Sibling Rivalry

For my brother and me fighting was natural.  Second to breathing, it was what we did.  As early as I can remember we were at each other’s throats.  The most vivid memories of my childhood revolve around the battles we had, all of which ended with my laying in a heap on the ground.  Funny then, that I was the one who started those fights.  Sure my brother knew how to incite violence in me, but when it came time for punches to be thrown, I was the one to throw them.  Come to think of it, I was always that way, even when it didn’t involve him.  I was a polite and respectful child.   There was just something in me that needed to fight.

Coming out of the kitchen yesterday and seeing Tilda stand over Annie with two fistfuls of blonde hair, brought back a flood of memories.  Tilda looked up at me with a wild look, while Annie calmly stood and pushed her to the floor.  Until then I suspected that Annie would be the one to worry about when it concerned hitting.  But most of her contact with Tilda involves gut reactions to having to share space or toys.  She never hurts Tilda.  Yesterday, Tilda was out for blood.  And I totally understand why.  There is something about being a second child that makes you want to challenge your older sibling.  Maybe it is the simple need to be first, and knowing that, in one basic way, this can never be the case.

I assumed that the nature of my relationship with my brother could be chalked up to our being boys.  I’m not so sure anymore.  Certain genetic traits are passed down from generation to generation, like the women in my wife’s family using obscure two letter words in Scrabble, and for my family the blinding need to strike at someone when wronged.  Unfortunately, I was always hyper-aware of any slight, not a good combination, and one that I hope is not in Matilda..

While all of this fighting was going on between us, my father would tell us to “take it outside.”  And when it was over, he would regale us with stories of his great fraternal wars.  See, it was a badge of courage to try and murder your brother.  So one thing that I refuse to do with my children is to honor the instinct to do each other harm, no matter how strong.  The ship has sailed when it comes to hitting.  However, I don’t ever want them to feel like I felt, in which it was somehow a moral defeat to not see it to the end, even if that end involved me laying face down in a puddle of blood and tears, wondering where the violence came from in the first place.

Disneyland for Suits

My wife is at a conference at the Gaylord National Hotel on the waterfront in National Harbor, Maryland.  I decided to take the kids down to stay over for the night because - aside from being a strange corporate retreat version of Disneyland with self contained restaurants, hotels and living space - they also do an over the top Christmas display.  We were too early for the real indoor snow, however the girls loved the musical fountain and indoor river.  The place is kind of creepy, in an Orwellian sort of way, but it was a well packaged night away.  And no, there is no way to take good low-light pictures with a cell phone, but the photos convey the atmosphere quite well.

The Good, The Bad And The Ugly

The weekend saw a couple of hits and misses here in Chevy Chase.  The weather finally turned from biblical to beautiful, and on Sunday we drove over to Great Falls Park to make the most of it.  With a few thousand of our friends, we took advantage of a rare mid-November 70 degree day, collectively trying to keep our children from jumping into the river.  Tilda didn't seem to understand that, in this one instance, she was not afforded the same luxuries as the dog.  The more I kept her from the river's edge, the more she cried.  Eventually she pulled a page out of her sister's book and lay in the dirt crying until we gave up and left.  Now, the camera doesn't work without a memory card, so here is a photo that a friend of ours took right as Tilda reached the water.

This weekend also saw a setback in the sleep department.  Annie has decided that she doesn't want to sleep without her best friend.  I have tried everything from ignoring her cries, to rationalizing with her, to bribing her with presents.  Last night I asked her, after an hour of crying, what she would rather have, a present for trying to sleep unassisted or her Bob. She took me for the fool I was, and two seconds later she was sleeping soundly, Bob firmly in mouth.  What do I do now?

Finally, we seemed to have reached the critical mass of ensnared cave crickets in order ward off any newcomers to my basement.  There are now eight traps down there.  Four of them are completely full and the remaining four vary from half full to a lone cricket in the trap furthest from the washing machine.  He was either an outcast or a fool.  Though, considering his massive size, he may have just been the baddest, most adventurous.  I'm not about to call this battle over - reinforcements can't be too far off - but I think I can keep the upper hand if there are always glue traps spread around the basement.  They really seem to love huffing that gel.

I Believe, Tilda, That The Food Goes In Not On

I Believe, Tilda, That The Food Goes In Not On, originally uploaded by unfinished dad.

Ah, Ritz PBJ's. One of life's great joys. Provided you aren't the one who does the laundry.

Old School Kermit

The DVD player in our car is taking over my life.  What started out as a way to get through a long trip to Surfside Beach has become a crutch for driving five minutes to the grocery store.  I try and keep to the basics so that I don't go completely mad.  

Lately Sesame Street Old School has been on heavy rotation.  I can't get enough of the way the show used to be.  The DVD's even come with a disclaimer that the material may not be appropriate for today's children, as evidenced by an early clip in which the characters wonder weather or not the show should just be called "Hey, Stupid" because its intended audience won't be able to read.  But, by far, my favorite thing about the DVD's is Kermit the Frog.  He's a little subversive, a little New York (listen to that accent), and yet totally endearing to children.  Poor Don Music never stood a chance.

Cave Cricket Carnage

The first time I saw a cave cricket I was a 17 year-old living in Highland Lakes, New Jersey.  I was upstairs in my parent's house when I looked over the railing of our balcony and saw what a thought was a four inch spider walking across the floor downstairs.  I quickly realized that for my girlfriend and I to leave the house we would have to cross the beast's path.  Like the man I have always been, I promptly dressed in long sleeves and pants and put on a knit hat, despite the summer night's heat.  The only two weapons at my disposal were a large plastic container full of clothing and a shovel from the fireplace.  I unwisely chose the shovel and my first whack merely rebounded off the rug and the crustacean like shell.  The spider-like creature walked nonchalantly away.  This was no spider, but a new animal never before seen on this continent.  What was supposed to be a secondary weapon, now became an escape plan.  I told my girlfriend to put on her coat and I dropped the thirty pound tupperware on the land lobster and ran barefoot out of the house.

My family would have been miffed at my staying out all night at a girl's house so, after dropping her off, I knocked on my best friend Mike's door, waking his parents.  They took me in, as I was now a refugee, and I didn't go home 'til the next morning, and only then to gather some clothes for work.  When I got there all evidence of a battle was gone.  Apparently when my parents lifted the top to my cave cricket tomb, the bug stretched it's legs and walked back into the basement from whence it came.

Flash forward 16 years and I, as I'm sure all of you, are now very familiar with cave crickets.  They seem to populate every basement in the land.  Yesterday I took matters into my own hands and bought some glue traps at the local hardware store.  I was skeptical.  

Well, I am a skeptic no more.  There are four more just like this.  For the faint of heart, I sincerely apologize.

So what's the grossest thing living in your basement?  And do you think this is where the missing socks go?