UFO

I've seen a lot of things fly in my lifetime. Planes. Frisbees. Fists. Today, I am proud to say that I can add "Maxi Pad" to this list. Yes friends, a Maxi Pad. At approximately 8:45 this morning, I was watching a group of ninth graders while the juniors took the Science PSSA. I was talking with one of my favorite students when I saw a white blur hurtling towards me. It landed at my feet, and it took me a few seconds to process exactly what the object was. It couldn't be a Maxi Pad, could it? It was. I was shocked by the way it sailed through the air. It must have flown ten or fifteen feet across the room, an impressive distance for such an object, I thought. Even more absurd was the fact that several students were unable to correctly name this disturbance. "That's a tampon," some of them said. When I told them that it was a Maxi Pad, one student responded "How do you know? Do you have a Vagina?" "How did you know I have one?" was my witty retort. I spent the next five minutes or so explaining to those who were interested the differences that exist between the tampon and the Maxi Pad. It was the most important teaching I did all day.

And I never did find out who threw it.

Old School: Galaxie 500

Have you ever yearned for a certain sound? Maybe you've listened to a few bands and longed to discover a single band whose sound encompasses them all. I discovered the album Today by Galaxie 500 recently, and it's crazy how much they sound like several of my favorite bands all at once. First, there's the guitar. It's vintage Neil Young, "Powderfinger" Neil Young. The kind of guitar that soothes and makes you wonder "how can something so sloppy sound so great?" Many of their songs have a Velvet Underground softness to them, and the vocals are generally pretty dreamy-sounding. The lyrics seem to be penned by a bunch of suburban weirdos like The Modern Lovers or The Feelies. There are songs about parking lots and getting away from society to be a tugboat captain.
Whenever I listen to this album, I conjure up countless images. Some of them involve young people in plaid shirts making out. Others involve young people driving around in old cars. All of them have a sort of summery haze. It's a wonder when music can do this-when sounds can come together to create a sort of cinematic experience. I wish more bands could accomplish this feat.

Leave It Behind, Stiller: Greenberg

Greenberg is the latest movie from Noah Baumbach, the fella responsible for the poo sandwiches that were The Squid and the Whale and Margot at the Wedding. He doesn't make it a trifecta with this new one, though, because Greenberg is actually a pretty good movie. In it, Ben Stiller plays a dude in his forties who agrees to house sit for his rich brother. He attempts to reconnect with old friends, parties with college kids, whines about the past, and sticks his head between the thighs of that blonde girl in one of the most absurd scenes I've ever seen in a movie. Then he whines about the past some more. His character got on my nerves a little bit, but there were enough laughs that I didn't care THAT much. I liked how Baumbach depicted Southern California, and there were some really cool shots of Stiller in the middle of a birthday party and covering up a pool in the rain, among others. James Murphy (LCD Soundsystem) did the soundtrack, and it was pretty good. Most of the songs were pretty muted, but they fit the hazy SoCal vibe. The movie had a lot to say about growing up, mostly that people need to do it and not be whiny like Ben Stiller. Baumbach used some interesting symbols like a dead animal in a pool and one of those large inflatable things with swaying arms that my mom hates to get this idea across.

All in all, Greenberg is worth your time and bills.

"Buddy": Don't Call Me That!

If you're a guy you know what I mean. You'll be walking towards a guy you know and you'll say "What's up, man?" And he'll say "What's up, buddy?" And you'll cringe and your blood pressure will skyrocket and you'll want to rub his face in the pavement for calling you "buddy." It's really the most patronizing thing one man can say to another. You may as well say to me something like "I'm smarter than you, I can kick your ass, my penis is five inches longer than yours, and oh, did I mention I can kick your ass?" How about "dude" or "bro" or "cuz" or whatever just not "BUDDY!" It makes me want to Mike Tyson the shit out of people when they call me that. I am not your little brother. And I am certainly nobody's "buddy," ever.

Parents: They're Important

I've been thinking a lot about the importance of having responsible parents since I started teaching in Philly. I'll hear from kids that they get beat up by their stepdad or they get high with their mom and it's just heartbreaking. I find it impossible to blame these kids for their lack of success in school or in life in general because most of their parents are, to put it frankly, deadbeats. How can a fifteen year old be expected to take ownership of his/her future? When I was fifteen all I wanted to do was play Nintendo, and if it wasn't for my mother I would have. I hated school, and didn't see why it was important. My mom MADE me see why it was important, even if I wanted to remain blind. Without her encouragement, I never would have gotten my fancy diploma and nice job. Every kid needs a kick in the ass, whether they go to Germantown Academy or Simon Gratz. You can blame the lack of academic achievement in urban schools on poor funding or lousy teachers, but at the end of the day, it's the PARENTS who must engage in the difficult task of motivating their children to come to school and do well. It's their job and they're the only ones who can do it.

Thanks, Mom, for doing your job.

Edit, June 2011
I sound like a complete asshole in this post. There are so many factors at work here, and it's wrong to place all of the blame on the parents. I was just at my school's graduation and was overwhelmed by the parent turnout. Most of the parents love and want the best for their kids.

Sorry, parents.

And mom, you're still rad.

Tres Unique: tUnE-yArDs

Yeah yeah it came out last year. We get stuff late out here in the suburbs. Anyways, tUnE-yArDs is the name of a one-woman band. Merrill Garbus is the name of the woman. The album's called Bird-Brains and it is wonderfully weird. It's also wonderfully lo-fi, as she recorded the entire thing herself using presumably cheap equipment. Her sound is totally original. She strums the ukelele, lays down hip hop beats, samples a baby coughing, and howls like a wild animal, among other things. Great songwriting here, too. She pours out everything, no matter how fucked up it sounds. That's what I like the most about this album, actually-she's not afraid to express herself even though most of the people who listen to this album will think she's insane. I'm pretty sure that's what music's all about.

Not a Fan Fan: Man Man

I'm always up for going to a show, regardless of how well I know the band. In fact, I've found that I'll enjoy a show even more when I know nothing about the act. No expectations are good expectations, I suppose. With this thought in mind, I agreed to accompany my good pal Dave to the Trocadero last Friday to see Man Man, a band I was pretty unfamiliar with. I had only heard a few tracks by them before seeing them, and those were heard two or three years ago. I was able to recall a certain Tom Waits goofiness to their sound, and looked forward to seeing them live. This show in particular was going to be REALLY awesome, because they're a Philly band and it sold out and they haven't toured in a long time.

It wasn't that awesome, in my humble opinion. Man Man just didn't do it for me. Their musicianship WAS tremendous, with each member playing multiple instruments with much virtuosity, and their stage antics were entertaining. I just found their sound to be, well, not good. Each track seemed to take the same route: The drummer would start a very fast, pulsating drum beat, and the rest of the band would play along, creating a throbbing headache of sound. The crowd was an unusual mix of stylish hipsters, hoodied suburbanites, and the ever-present dreadlocked folk. Not to mention the diehard Man Man fans, all of whom were wearing plain white tees with warpaint on their faces. The members of Man Man also had warpaint on their faces. They should call themselves "Brand Brand." All corny jokes aside, it was very strange indeed to see representatives from all of these groups jumping around and pushing one another to this lousy music.

I'm not saying that Man Man are bad. They're just not for yours truly. If you're a fan of more soothing, orchestral sounds, you should probably stay away from this band.