Listen to what the man said

In anticipation of seeing Paul McCartney in concert on Thursday, I've been listening to some of his post-Beatles albums. Some I'd never heard, some I know from having checked out cassettes from the library when I was a budding Beatles fan.

I was born after The Beatles broke up. I remember when John Lennon was shot and killed but don't know that I realized how big of a deal it was in popular culture at the time. What I'm getting at is that I came at the The Beatles more from a historical perspective than as something that was part of my life.

As I've listened to McCartney, McCartney II, and Band on the Run, I've started to associate the songs I know with the times I first heard them. Suddenly these songs are no longer things I plucked out of history or a pre-pop culture consciousness but part of my life. It seems weird to say that seeing McCartney, who I've never seen perform live, will be a nostalgic experience, yet there's no doubt that such will be the case.



Nowhere is that truer than with his 1989 album Flowers in the Dirt. Until recently it was the only McCartney studio album I owned. On cassette, no less. [I also have the succeeding double live album Tripping the Live Fantastic on tape and the live albums CHOBA B CCCP and Unplugged (The Official Bootleg) on CD.] Looking up songs from it on YouTube, I'm struck by how familiar they are even though I haven't heard them in who knows how long. I listened to that album a lot at the time.

If forced to pick, I'd probably select McCartney as my favorite Beatle. Perhaps it's because he was the most visible in my formative years. Perhaps it's because his impeccable pop instincts hit a sweet spot.



The knock on McCartney is that he's prone to sappy sentiment. Fair enough. At least with the songs I've sampled, I'm amazed by the positivity emanating from them. I find it refreshing, though. I certainly can't say who Paul McCartney is or know if his art is as sincere as it appears, but when so much of what I see and hear seems to be at arm's length, it's breathtaking to come across an artist who's putting himself out there even if it won't win points for being cool. (Seriously, an ode to long-term marriage that doesn't make your teeth hurt isn't the sort of thing you're going to come across much in pop music.)



Initially I questioned if I should get a ticket for this concert. I haven't kept up with his solo work in a long time. Ultimately I decided to go because it's surely the last chance I'll have. As I've returned to his work, I've become genuinely excited about seeing him perform songs I've loved for a long time. I expect I'll be among the younger attendees. No doubt I have a different relationship with his music than those who came of age with The Beatles. Nevertheless, I look forward to this journey into the past, in part because I haven't been there for so long.

Status update

I promise not to write about Facebook all the time, but since I've been on it now for a week, I thought it was time to do a bit fairer assessment of the site than stick with my kneejerk assessment.

All right, so I haven't spent an obsessive amount of time on it, and I've been very deliberate in my use. That as much as anything is probably responsible for why I've kept a low profile on it. No family members have found me. No students, current or former, have found me.

In fact, I've only received three friend requests, one from someone I "know" via Twitter, someone I've known since junior high, and the mother of a friend since seventh grade. (At the suggestion of a friend, I friended three individuals I've known since junior high days, which is likely how I popped up on the radar of the two who made requests.) In other words, there haven't been any majorly weird or difficult judgment calls to make, although I suspect those will arrive in the days and weeks to come.

I find the news feed to be terribly cluttered and not particularly easy to follow with the same items jumping back to the top on a regular basis. Keep in mind that I currently have a pretty small friends list.

Finding people through search isn't nearly as easy as I expected it would be. (In some ways this is a relief.) I refuse to let Facebook troll my e-mail to find potential friends, so I may be making things tougher than it should be. Still, the number of people who share names can make it hard to find the right one, especially if the primary photo isn't helpful.

I am surprised (and kind of depressed) by the number of people I know from high school who are using their senior photos to identify themselves. (In fairness, I'm using my Mad Men-ized cartoon avatar.) The let's-relive-high-school aspect is something I have no pressing desire to do. Those years weren't miserable for me, nor were they the best of my life. Regardless, I'd like to think I'm more interesting now.

I've not posted or liked much, which probably makes me a bad Facebook user. All of my hang-ups about the site aside, at this early stage as a user I don't find it to be as enjoyable as Twitter. I don't plan to duplicate my Twitter posts on Facebook because it doesn't feel like the right place for them, even though that's public and my Facebook is for friends only. Twitter is part parlor game, part personal news wire, and part communication tool. Facebook is...a virtual yearbook? I'm tempted to liken it to an anchor, but I've not used it enough to level that charge.

Will I warm up to it more? That remains to be seen. Ask me when it gets sticky.

Childish things

This blog post about Lite Brite triggered memory of some of the toys from my childhood. I needed some help from the hive mind to recall the name of some of these, which I hadn't thought about in a long, long time.

Mighty Men and Monster Makers holds the distinction of being the first present I ever found before it was given to me. I was probably in first grade and was snooping in my parents' bedroom closet. I'm pretty sure I felt guilty then about what I did. Remembering it makes me kind of relive the guilt all over. The toy allowed you to switch out various parts and make rubbings of, well, mighty men and monsters. (Scroll to 4:36 to see the old TV commercial.)

The name of rub-on transfers, or action transfers, eluded me, but once I was assisted in identifying them, I found them by the brand I remember most: Presto Magix rub-on transfers. You could use a sharp pencil or the included special stick to rub the transfers onto a canvas to make your own scenes. Along the same line were the thin vinyl images known as Colorforms that you could stick onto a laminated background.

Looking back at these toys, I'm sort of amazed that such items held my interest as a kid. I suppose the attraction was the ability to interact with these simple playthings, to create my own stories and creatures. How powerful too is the nostalgia that comes with remembering them. I wasn't entirely prepared for that.

Looking back

In the article tied to the archive TV news report about the Space Shuttle Challenger explosion, the incident is called "the beginning of the age when the whole world knew what happened as it happened." The main reason why this tragedy earns that distinction is because many schoolchildren were watching the launch live since the shuttle would be carrying a teacher.

As a member of Generation X, of course I remember where I was when I found out: seventh grade, sixth period, biology class. I did not see the live telecast. I don't know if anyone was watching it in the junior high school, although it would make sense for a science class to have it on.

The details are fuzzy. Given the time it occurred, chances are I was at lunch or in one of the home economics classes. (The rotating series of courses--typing, cooking, sewing, metal shop, and wood shop--wasn't called home ec, but the name escapes me.) The biology teacher told us what happened. Random remembrance: I think we were studying reproduction that day.

If the explosion happened at 11:38 a.m., I didn't find out about it until sixty to ninety minutes later. For 1986 that certainly would have been fast-spreading news, especially inside a school's walls. Think how slow that would seem today.

Rewatching the TV news report above, I'm struck by the relatively leisurely cutting compared to the style of today. Perhaps the nature of the story slows it down, but I'd venture to guess that the pace is typical of that time.



To end on a lighter note, here are The Today Show anchors in January 1994--or so the clip info says--trying to figure out what the internet is and how to read an e-mail address. In fairness to Bryant Gumbel, the @ is a lowercase a in a circle, possibly because the symbol wasn't in the graphics program at the time, which is revealing enough in its own right. That said, the woman who isn't Katie Couric knew what it was.

As funny as this clip is now, seventeen years ago I think I would have been just as bewildered as they were.

Update: Although I referred to what happened to Challenger as an explosion, National Geographic says that it is a myth that the shuttle blew up. The problem is that it was often characterized as such in reports, and it certainly looks like that's what happened. The article clarifies it as breaking apart.

The article also claims that reports of those who watched this incident on live TV have been greatly overstated.

Gold medal memories

The first Olympics I clearly recall watching are those from 1984. I imagine I watched some of the Lake Placid Winter Olympics in 1980--somewhere I have some commemorative stickers that came in boxes of Pop-Tarts--but I don't remember taking them in. All I recall of the '80 Summer Games in Moscow is the U.S. boycott. Were they even covered on television here?

The earliest memories I have of Olympics viewing is laying on the floor of a hotel room near Toledo on President's Day weekend and watching ABC's coverage from Sarajevo for the Winter Games. I want to say it was a hockey game, but memories can be tricky. I feel fairly certain, though, that I raptly watched as the TV glowed in a darkened room and unfamiliar sports appeared before me. The '84 Summer Olympics in Los Angeles were promoted like crazy, perhaps best remembered via the McDonald's scratch-off cards that awarded free food if Americans medaled.

As an aspiring sports journalist I wrote a piece for the local weekly newspaper about the 1988 Calgary Winter Games with the hope that it would start me on the road to being a published writer outside of the school paper. (It didn't, probably for a very good reason.)

I've continued to watch the Olympics as obsessively as my schedule permits. Why? Obviously seeing the best athletes competing is a big attraction, but I also like the international flavor and the way that it takes hold of the world's imagination (or so I'd like to think) for the event's duration. In the summer of 2004 it was cool to hang out for a bit in a public lot in downtown Toronto to watch the events being projected on a big screen. Caught up in the Games, I also visited Olympic Spirit Toronto, which opened shortly before I spent a few days in the city.

There's just one day left in the Vancouver 2010 Winter Olympics. I'll be sad to see them end. I find it comforting to be able to come home and watch a curling match or spend the night viewing whatever the day's events are. Chances are I won't see most of these athletic competitions again until 2014 and probably won't miss them. (I'd really like more curling, though.) Nevertheless, for the last couple weeks almost nothing else has held my attention like the Olympics. Hurry back soon.

School days

Around here school starts in the next day or so for primary and secondary students. For the first time since its 1919 construction, the place where I attended elementary school, which at one time held K-12 classes, will not be opening its doors this fall or ever again for that matter.

Due to dwindling enrollment and the presence of a septic system rather than sewer service, the school district decided it was for the best economically to close the building and move the students to another school. Going by the newspaper articles and online comments appended to them, this has not been a popular choice with those who live where I grew up. Actually, it's kind of painful to read what they are saying.

The school is likely to auctioned off and torn down. The district offered it to the village for $1, but the proposal was rejected. Rightly so, I'm guessing. The cost of maintaining the property, even unused, probably made taking ownership an unwise move.

Although I no longer live there, haven't set foot inside that school since who knows when, and accept that the closure is probably a wise fiscal choice for the district, part of me is sad that its history has come to an end. To have a significant place in my life story shuttered makes me feel older than I am.

I can still see the inside of the school in my mind's eye and feel like I know it well. The ground floor, which was slightly recessed below the ground, housed both sixth grade classes and kindergarten. The gymnasium, kitchen facilities, library, and (I think) the only restrooms were there as well. I remember the cozy little coat room, a small white wooden space with a bright incandescent bulb, for the kindergarteners.

The next floor up had both first grade classrooms straddling the principal's office, two second grade classes, a third grade classroom, and the teacher's lounge. Was there only a single third grade class? I can't recall where it would have been in the building, but it must have been on the upper floor. (I'm really confused because I can't even think of the other third grade teacher's name, assuming there was one.) The second floor also had the pencil machine. I always loved putting in a coin and getting a pencil displaying an NFL team's name and colors.

The top floor had both fourth and fifth grade classes. The auditorium was also on the top floor, although it was above the gymnasium and required going up a few steps to get to it. That's where we had music class and school assemblies. It was the place for the talent show and school-wide events, such as showing animated films, projected on film, before going into breaks. The hard wooden chairs in the auditorium were never comfortable, but I have fond remembrances of that space.

I don't know that the memories I have of my time as a student there are all that specific. It's more of a vibe, one that's been surprisingly easy to tune into as I've been writing this entry. TB tests in the teacher's lounge, learning to play the recorder in music class on the auditorium stage, class lists posted on the sixth grade classroom's window that announced your teacher and classmates for the year... Beyond the facts and figures I learned in the building, those little flashes are things I am strangely fond of remembering.

I hate to see part of the village's history (and mine) disappear with the inevitable demolition of the building. My dad went there, and his parents may have too. (I really need to check on that.) The truth is, though, that even if not a brick remains, it's a place that can be as vivid to me as when I first entered the school.

Through the stacks of wax

I'm supposed to be showing you my latest FO. Problem is I forgot to take a picture while it was still light out. So you're going to have to wait one more day. Since I'm between projects, I'll keep the daily blogging going with another music entry in lieu of actual knitting content.

I've talked about various artists and bands, many of whom may be unfamiliar to you, so I thought it might be fun to trace my evolution as a music listener.

I had the foresight to hold onto records during the great purge when my parents moved last Christmas, so I can say for certain what some of my first musical memories are. The albums look to be in fine shape, but the jackets were stuck together. They must have got wet wherever my parents stored them.

Anyway, the early days were heavy on Disney and Sesame Street records. Disco was in vogue. I recall being particularly enamored with the Discopedia Vol. 5 record and am certain that it's the second copy we had. (I think the first was broken rather than worn out.) I'm not going to apologize for it. The knee-jerk reaction is to mock the genre, but as The Last Days of Disco soundtrack demonstrated, the era produced its share of good pop music. Not that I spend much time listening to the stuff now. I just think it's silly to write off everything from that time.

I also dug up several Disney story records with dialogue and music from the studio's films. I know we had plenty of 45s, but I don't think I lugged those home with me.

Around the house I would hear my mom playing hymns and songs from old musicals on the piano. I started playing in second grade, so I became schooled in classical music. I also learned some pop hits. Still, most of what I played was classical canon than Laura Branigan's "Self Control". (I want to say I played the later for the fifth grade talent show.)

My parents didn't listen to the popular music of the day when I was a kid, although some of it would slide through on AM radio. (I swear I remember hearing a Top 40 countdown on an AM station during a summer trip to Knoxville.) They did listen to oldies, and I enjoyed curling up with my transistor radio on Sunday evening to hear the hot wax show on 700 WLW.

I wasn't completely oblivious to pop music. Probably by junior high I would sneak listens to Z93, the Top 40 FM station in Dayton. I would tape favorite songs off the radio and try to get them without the DJ's talking over the intros. My mom didn't--and still doesn't, to my knowledge--like electronic music, so she didn't want to hear it, although her objections had more to do with the morning DJs and their suggestive patter. (The scandal of Phillipsburg's sesquicentennial was some inappropriate remarks that Doctor Dave made while hosting the beauty pageant. Keep in mind that my hometown had a population of 700.)

Since I played the piano, I became a fan of Billy Joel. Thus began a deeper immersion in popular music. Next stop: The Beatles. Do high school students still go through this phase? I soaked up everything I could about The Beatles and, to a lesser extent, the biggest bands from the 60s. Classic rock followed. By the time I was a senior my friends had more adventurous tastes, and so began my introduction to modern rock.

U2 and R.E.M. were the bedrock bands and served as jumping off points for further exploration in rock and roll. Nirvana broke during my first quarter of college, so that would introduce me to a bunch of stuff that was foreign to me. I was also heavily involved at the college radio station. I devoured the charts in radio industry publications and set out to be a program director.

By the time I was a senior, commercial radio had appropriated alternative rock. I was checking out indie bands, largely due to Dayton lo-fi legends-to-be Guided by Voices. I should mention that I didn't abandon the other music I liked; the focal point moved.

The next seismic shift was unlikely. Give credit to Johnny Cash's American Recordings for giving me permission to dabble in listening to country music. I heard Kelly Willis' self-titled album and was captivated with her voice even if I felt as though I wasn't supposed to like it. Welcome to the alt.country label, which allowed me to justify this newfound love even if there was nothing "alt" about her other than lack of commercial success.

The next group to make a significant impact on my listening habits was Belle & Sebastian. The mystery surrounding the Scottish group added to the allure of their twee pop and opened me up to embracing the music I liked no matter how uncool it might be. B&S were "cool" in that they weren't widely known, but the wispy nature of their music could inspire eye-rolling among the rockers.

Suffice it to say that my musical tastes are broad, although I am partial to that which is more melodic and displays tangible yet modest craftsmanship.