Baron 1, Lorelei 0

Two seasons I have followed pretty closely this autumn: Season Seven of The Gilmore Girls and the 2006 part of the '06-'07 NBA campaign of the Golden State Warriors. The Warriors have gone twelve (or is it thirteen?) seasons out of the playoffs and The Gilmore Girls is in its third season out of my heart--and yet I follow both entities.

The Warriors have always been my local team and I've rooted for them since I was a kid. That's a lotta heartbreak and boredom, people. But I love pro basketball, and that's what I've had to work with. Up until last season I lived without cable so it was difficult to follow the rest of the league except for when they were killing the W's or until the playoffs began. Nowadays thanks to cable (thanks, Psychedelic Eskimo!) I can partially watch the W's do battle and also impartially watch other teams play. I almost enjoy the impartial watching the most because I can appreciate a Gilbert Arenas vs. Steve Nash matchup without getting personally involved (still, I rooted for the Arenas and the Wizards).

Anyway, I'm enjoying the Warriors this season, even some of the losses, because of the play of Baron Davis. Sure, he sometimes takes three pointers when he shouldn't, or tries to drive the lane against five defenders, but mostly he's been a true warrior, taking over games, playing with that self-possessed but unconscious flow that maybe I've experienced a couple of times in my basketball playing life. It's like sex, zen, jazz, dessert...

My main point here is that good things have happened for the Warriors this season when the ball is in Baron's hands, and the same could be said for the Gilmore Girls when the dialogue is coming out of Lauren Graham/Lorelei Gilmore's mouth. Say what? Just stay with me here...For devoted Gilmore watchers, it was always about the dialogue, especially the snappy, self-conscious, self-doubting, self-absorbed, dialogue of Lorelei Gilmore. Few things on TV have been more entertaining for me over the years than watching Lorelei try to talk her way out of a discovered lie or a bad personal decision. What makes these scenes interesting isn't that Lorelei is trying to get one over on people it's that she's wrestling with her moral conscience (in that sense, she's a lot like Tony Soprano). We know Lorelei wants to do the right thing, but she's flawed, just like the rest of us. But considerably wittier.

What sort of dialogue has been written for Lorelei Gilmore this season? Angry, self-deluded, mushy, confused, humorless. And why is this? Because the Sherman-Palladinos, the creators of the show, left her character (and the show) in a cul-de-sac at the end of last season? David Rosenthal, the new head writer, has had a hell of a time working out of this mess, and I don't think he's succeeded. The Luke-Christopher silent fight, as I've written before, is the perfect metaphor for this season. In some ways, the current season of the Gilmores is a lot like last year's Warriors--Baron Davis, frustrated with his coach and his cloddish teammates (not counting JRich) chucking up desperation threes with plenty of time left on the 24 second clock.

Well, this season the W's new coach, Don Nelson, is having a better season than the Gilmores' new coach. Like the W's, the Gilmores are having a .500ish season (creativity wise), maybe their Nielsen ratings are higher than that? Okay, the shaky analogy is breaking down. I guess my ultimate point is that it's a lot more of a pleasure watching Baron do his thing this season than it is to watch Lorelei G/Lauren G. Ultimately, Baron is getting the chance to write a better script. A pity.

Take It to the Bridge!

Listen to James Brown's "Lost Someone" today or "Live at the Apollo" or the "Live in Paris, 1971." As the poet Al Young has written, the first time he heard "Cold Sweat" on the radio he had to pull over to the side of the road. Listen to "Cold Sweat." Listen to the "Star Time" box set. Pray that J.B. isn't remembered with just the "Livin' in America" video on MTV. Who owes J.B.? Everyone--from Elvis to Michael Jackson to Muhammed Ali. And Hip Hop. He was the greatest American bandleader/composer since Duke Ellington. Damn my luck for never having seen him perform.

About ten years ago, I saw a program of films of J.B. from the sixties and seventies (when he was at his peak). Some incredible stuff. J.B. doing "Please, Please"/ cape routine in the TAMI show--upstaging the headlining Rolling Stones, making Mick Jagger look as tame and adolescent by comparison; lip synching "Say it Loud" on Playboy After Dark of all things; arguing with a white journalist about the Black Power movement on the Mike Douglas show--J.B. getting pissed and pacing in front of the panel, lecturing the journo that he had no idea what he was talking about; J.B. performing live on TV the night MLK was assassinated, telling the cops to let the kids dance on the stage if they wanted to. It would be great to see these films again. You can't even get the TAMI show on DVD (last time I checked anyway)...

J.B. changed music as seriously as Stravinsky. He was engaged in his times. Hopefully his demon side--bad husband, the PCP-fueled car chase that led to his imprisonment--won't be flogged on TV too much. But you know it probably will.

Here was a man!

OUCH!!!

Every year during the Christmas retail season I come up with some sort of stress-related malady. Sometimes it's a big cold sore on my lip, sometimes it's insomnia, sometimes its a persecution complex. Right now I have an incredibly sore, stiff neck that's making the typing of this blog entry excruciating. Also, I've been obsessively reading pro basketball blogs and I punched out our two dollar calculator at work (RIP Two-Dollar Calculator).

Right now, my brain is mush and I haven't done any meaningful writing in a couple of months. All for you, the customers. See? There's the persecution complex!

Thanks to the Isley Brothers for getting me through work this week--notably "3+3" and "Live." I'll discuss "Live" in a future entry, but right now I've gotta get back to the basketball blogs...

Chekhov Breaks Down the Warriors

"Life is like that...As they search for truth people take two paces forward and one back. Suffering, mistakes and life's tedium throw them back, but thirst for the truth and stubborn willpower drive them on and on. And who knows? Perhaps they'll arrive at the real truth in the end."
Anton Chekhov, "The Duel"

Hey, if that passage doesn't describe the GSW's 0-3 Eastern road trip, I don't know what does.

Do You Want Scorn With That?

Most people, I think, would consider me to be a pretty nice guy--polite, respectful, attentive. Just maybe not some of my customers in the bookselling world. Especially at the holiday madness time of year. A body, or at least this body, can only take so many obscure questions shouted out when I'm in the middle of gift wrapping a book for an impatient yuppie. Sometimes the professional facade cracks, the defensive smartass emerges, and innocent blood is spilled. I come off looking like an asshole and my store earns a reputation for rudeness. Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's been happening for nearly two decades. I laugh about it and I feel guilty. Some people love me, some people want to throw coffee in my face (but put a lid on it in my store, please! You think these books are liquid proof?)

Thank heavens for Al Green, Albert Ayler and other artists whose first names begin with "A" (Al "Pistol Packin' Mama" Dexter, Aaron Neville) who've come up on the iPod over the past two days--especially ecstatic Albert Alyler. Holy man, listen to "Spirits Rejoice" or "Live in Greenwich Village" and imagine the rapture of your choosing. I think I'll make the song "Spirits Rejoice" my funeral march music. The funeral may be coming sooner than later if I can't keep my tart tongue quiet.

The "I" of the Storm

I'm sitting here at the computer waiting for a couple of huge storms to tear through the Yay Area. I've got my usual "a storm's a comin'" sinus headache and I'm battening down the hatches (and doing laundry). What better time to drop in on the Alphabetical Listening Project and discuss a couple of vinyl "I" records I've spun recently: The International Submarine Band's "Safe at Home" and Iron & Wine's "Our Endless Numbered Days."

The International Submarine Band was Gram Parsons's group before he joined The Byrds. "Safe at Home" precedes "Sweetheart of the Rodeo" and in some ways sounds like a more authentic country record--mainly because Gram sounds more comfortable doing straight country. His vocal phrasing sounds heavily influenced by Merle, George and Buck. Gram's voice--if at times charmingly off-key--sounds so young and "undamaged" (listen to his later records, you'll see what I mean) it's almost heartbreaking. G.P. debuts a couple of his best songs--"Luxury Liner" and "Do You Know How it Feels to Be Lonesome"-- and shows good taste with the covers (and good performances)--"A Satisfied Mind"; "Miller's Cave" and "I Still Miss Someone." Still and all, it's funny to think that although G.P. is considered a/the father of country rock, country legend Buck Owens rocked harder than Gram ever did!

Iron & Wine--Gram's fellow south easterner--has been called by some, the "Indie James Taylor." Or maybe I've said that in a fit of grumpiness. I'm not sure if that's totally applicable. J.T. is more (or used to be) of a confessional, heart on the sleeve, pop type of singer whereas I&W's songs seem more impressionistic or southern "fableistic." But maybe just as artily self-conscious? Whispery, beardy, hypnotic, and sometimes downright boring. I still dig "Our Endless Numbered Days" and its predecessor, "The Creek Drank the Cradle," which I have on CD, but just not right now. I did like the I&W M&M's commercial in the sense that it made me want to eat M&M's.

The Macaroni Dialogues

Here's an example of how screwy bookselling can be: The other evening I was at work when a woman came up to the sales counter and asked if she could exchange a copy of the Joy of Cooking that she'd bought recently (our return policy: The book can be returned for store credit or exchange within thirty days (That's a very liberal return policy for a small retail store, so put a sock in it to all you people telling me that Borders gives cash back on returns!)

Where was I? Oh yeah..."Sure," I said, since it had been within the aforementioned very liberal thirty days return window.

"I want to make macaroni and cheese, and with this book you constantly have to flip back and forth between the sauce page and the pasta page."

"Ah," I said, "That's true. One thing you could do is get the Joy of Cooking with the comb binding which makes it easier to flip back and forth."

"But that's not what I'm saying!" She shouted in my face. "I want to know how to cook macaroni!"

"The macaroni?"

"The macaroni! How do I cook it?"

"Well, you don't really need the book for that. You can just read the instructions on the package. It takes ten minutes or less. Now the sauce, the book can be helpful for..."

"I'm talking about the macaroni," she cut in, "How do I know which kind to get?"

"I just wouldn't get the super cheap brands. They tend to fall apart. Just about any cut pasta works with a cheese sauce."

"I've never cooked macaroni before."

This went on for ten minutes, I kid you not. She finally left with a Mark Bittman cookbook that basically said, "Boil water, drop in macaroni, cook for 8-10 minutes. The customer left the store happy.

While we're on a pasta theme, I'm reading an amusing crime novel called "A Meal to Die For" by Joseph Cannascoli, better known as Vito, the outed gay gangster from the Sopranos. I was intrigued to learn that a few years ago Cannascoli, in an effort to give his character more visibility, suggested to the writers that they reveal his character to be gay. At some point they took up his idea and came up with the most riveting story line in Season Six (Part One). In one of the scenes Season Six, Vito is chopping onions in a very swift, professional fashion. Either he rehearsed for that (to show Vito's domestic side?) or he was once a cook. In fact, Cannascoli was once a chef/restraunteur, and now he and a co-writer have, uh, cooked up this novel about a Mafia cook who's making an elaborate ten-course meal for some Family bigwigs. It seems likely that one of the dinner attendees, or the protagonist himself, might get whacked after dessert, so it's truly a final supper for someone. It's not great literature, but it's one of the more entertaining products on the groaning Sopranos bookshelves. Also, the book includes recipes for the menu that the chef is serving for someone's last meal.

About the Gilmore Girls--I've put seven years into the show, so I'm gonna ride it until the end--even though I feel like hurling my shoe at the TV at least once an episode (as I literally did this week). The best scene of the season, maybe of several seasons: Luke and Christopher's no dialogue fist fight in the middle of Stars Hollow's Christmas display in the town square in the middle of the night. Luke landed more punches, but nothing got solved. Kind of a metaphor for the plot lines of the past two seasons, and possibly the Golden State Warriors over the past decade plus.

I Can't Believe I'm Standing Here With Air Supply!

I love cable TV! So many good informercials: the colon health system; the magic bullet (the blender thing); the pornographic excercise equipment...so many good ones...but my favorite by far are the music collection ones: The '70's pop music one with Barry (Greg Brady) Williams and some blonde chick; The soul jams one with Peabo Bryson and a young black woman; The soft rock one with the frighteningly coiffed and tanned Air Supply and some blonde chick; The classic r&b one with Jerry (The Iceman) Butler and a handsome middle aged black woman (um, is she a singer too? I'll update later); The fifties and early sixties pop one with Bobby Rydell (wearing the most disturbing comb-over since Donald Trump) and a woman who could be the Air Supply girl's mother; and The Midnight Special Collection. Besides the seductive speaking voice of Peabo Bryson and Greg Brady's clenched teeth forced enthusiasm ("When can I take off this polyester print shirt and strangle my co-hostess with it?"), the best thing about these commercials are the musical clips: Marvin Gaye singing "Let's Get it On"; the bewigged Ronettes; the hilarious part in the Seventies pop one when the girl says, "The great thing about the Seventies is that there were so many cute guys!" and they proceed to show clips of Leo Sayer, Rupert Holmes and the troll-like guy who sang "Undercover Angel." Priceless! I want a cable channel exclusively devoted to music infomericals, and I want it now!

Sports Corner: Yeah, I know, smart guy! The Warriors got waxed by forty points last night. It's a character builder!

Literature Corner: I finished Richard Ford's "The Lay of the Land." I'm still letting it sink in, but I'll say this: Frank Bascombe (Ford's protagonist in three novels) is my favorite character in contemporary American literature--even if he gets on my nerves at points in the narratives. This year I re-read the first two books in what I guess we can now call the Frank Bascombe Trilogy--"The Sportswriter" and "Independence Day." "The Sportswriter" is still my favorite, but I liked the "Lay of the Land" a lot. I want to think about it some more, but I favor Ford's ruminations about America in the Bascombe novels more than I do Roth's in the Nathan Zuckerman novels (supposedly the final one is due next year). Not that I don't love me some Nathan Zuckerman! The odd thing is that I, KFS, dedicated pessimist, favor the ultimately optimistic Frank Bascombe over the mournful, disappointed optimist Nathan Zuckerman.

Interesting that both Bascombe and Zuckerman were struck with prostate cancer and Bascombe is a current resident of Jersey, Zuckerman's home state. Hey people, I think I got me a whole new imaginary literary thesis going here!

In other literary news: I'm reading Anton (The Man) Chekhov. I'm thinking of reading all of his short stories over the next year. If it's good enough for Francine Prose, Richard Ford and Janet Malcolm it's good enough for me.

Also, the ongoing crime novel project. I'm following the Psychedelic Eskimo's lead and reading Henning Mankell's Kurt Wallender series. More discussion on that in the future.

Music Corner: I've finally finished the "kPod's Top Jams of '06" Mixtape (available only on CD). Songs from or rereleased or new to me in '06.

I'm at song #2,081 (Waylon Jennings "Omaha") on the iPod.

Next up for discussion: The International Submarine Band, The state of The Gilmore Girls, and hopefully more positive Warriors news.

Warriors Worrier?

Rooting for a long-troubled sports franchise like the Golden State Warriors is a lot like having suffered through a series of bad relationships. Will every relationship always be bad? Who will self-destruct first: you or your significant other? That's a screwed up way to deal with relationships, it goes without saying. One bad relationship does not have to color all your future ones and blah, blah, blah. Sorry to lapse into pop psychology speak, but I was just using the bad relationship metaphor to apply to the current Warriors' predicament after they've lost two close, sloppy games they should have won. Is it time to start panicking? Will the Warriors go into a December tailspin like last year? When will they start sniping at each other and Nellie?

I'm here to say this: Don't panic! This is a .500 team. This is how .500 teams play ball: up and down. We have Biedrins (sp?) and Ellis. They're young and learning. It's going to be like this for most of the season. Let's not worry about December. Let's see how they're doing in February. And let's see who gets traded...

Team Gilmore: Say what you will about a show that may be past its prime, you have to admire a TV show whose protagonist keeps making stupid, impulsive decisions (the latest: marrying Christopher) and then trying to convince herself she's made the right decision. A very human condition indeed. Maybe a metaphor for my Warrior Worrying?

Old School

Another installment of the Alphabetical Listening Project. In this installment, we discuss some vinyl "I's"
Nothing makes you feel more like a forty two year old than when you're spinning Ice T's "Power" from 1988. My intense (and selective) Hip Hop listening years spanned from '88 to '91, which is kind of like saying you stopped listening to rock and roll after Buddy Holly's plane crash. So, laugh if you must, but Ice T still sounds good to me. A little dated, I guess, but not as dated if I really paid attention to rap lo these fifteen years (I still occasionally buy current hip hop, but I'm not very knowledgable).

Anyway, it's almost charming to listen to Ice T's cautionary tales about living the pimpin' life. Mostly he strikes a mild moral tone about the high rollin' street life, kind of like a mock-stern lecture you might get from your cool uncle. Ice T--the badass, avauncular rapper. T's badass tropes are more blaxploitation film than the gangsta narratives of the soon to be released revolutionary NWA and all that it spawned. T himself would get a lot more confrontational with one of his following releases, "Cop Killa."

If I'm not mistaken, Ice's rapping style something to Rakim and Malcolm X and old school Pimp Poets whose names I don't know. "Power"; "High Rollers"; "I'm Your Pusher"; "Soul on Ice" still sound good to me. For the carnally minded, you can ogle the scantily clad Mrs. Ice T holding a shot gun. Subtle!

Mr. Ice T can currently be seen 24-7 on the Law and Order/USA Network chasing sexual predators down dark alleys and bringing them to justice.

The other vinyl "I" for this time is the Impressions Greatest Hits. I also have an Impressions Greatest Hits on CD, but you can't have "Gypsy Woman" on too many formats, if you ask me. Curtis Mayfield has been my number one soul man of the past few years. The hooks, the groove, the orchestrations, the moral imperatives--Curtis is the man! My favorite underated Impressions song? "You Must Believe Me." Expect to hear it on my next mixtape!

Some thoughts on the fate of Vito, the gay gangster, in the Soprano's Season Six, Part One: David Chase made the right narrative decision to have Vito leave his small town escape to return to the Jersey action and his certain doom. Is Vito the cliched, doomed homosexual? Even though he's a brutal thug? I found it interesting that while Vito is being beaten to death (after being sold out by a Machiavellian Tony S), Ro Aprillio is lighting a candle for her son, Jackie, Jr., who I think was whacked by Vito back in Season Three or Four.

I'm back on the Sopranos bandwagon, for sure. When will this series end? I notice on Netflix that not only is a Season Six, Part Two listed (not available yet, obviously) but a Season Seven is listed as well. What gives? Maybe Tony will die from old age...