Yearlong Song Challenge, Day 180: Joe

Prompt: "A song about forever"

Selected by Joe

"Visions"

Strand of Oaks

Eraserland, 2019

This is how I envision the perfect Yearlong Song Challenge blog post. This is how I see its structure, laid out before my eyes as I sit down at the laptop's keyboard and start typing.

I see us, the writers and listeners, as performing separate roles in the last two acts of a three-act play. First act is the story that informs the artist as they make the music. Second act is the choice to use that art in service of an act of blogging. Third act is the story that is informed by the choice of music within that blog post. Three acts, 180 days, one year. The ritual of taking a story and twisting and changing and restructuring that story to make it new.

The artist goes to the shore. The artist is Strand of Oaks. He doesn't act in isolation, though he sings about it. His art is not isolated. It is disseminated to the listener. The listener takes it upon himself to know the story behind the songs. The story is that Strand of Oaks, a.k.a. Timothy Showalter, finds himself a little lonely and a little stuck during the cold winter months, and so he goes to Wildwood, NJ. He writes on the empty beach. The beach is a mile wide, and infinitely long. At night, he rides his bike on the frigid sand. He rides as fast as he can. It's too dark to see the sand, or the ocean, or the sky, or the boardwalk. All he sees is nothingness. And still he pedals on, racing against that dark unknown, trying to find... who knows what.

The Act I curtains close. Now they rise again and it's Act II and I'm sitting here at the end of a long year and I'm wondering what song might be a good fit for the final prompt of some dumb Song Challenge that we cooked up over twelve months ago and somehow managed to see the whole thing through. "A song about forever." A prompt meant to imply that Song Challenge, too, will live forever, long after the prompts run dry and the participants scatter back to their day jobs and personal passions and loved ones. I choose "Visions" because it's my favorite song on Eraserland. Probably something to do with the funniest line reading in the entire Strand of Oaks discography ("How much did you say I should take? / You said a cap—SHIT, I took an eighth"). But all of them of them have something to do with the infinity that Showalter felt on that beach. That's why I love the album, by far Strand of Oaks' best. I relisten to the song a couple times, read through the lyrics, and decide that there's enough here to meet the prompt.

But that can't possibly be it, just those two acts. That's not enough. That's not fulfilling to me. To say "here is a song" is something that a fucking robot can do (and very often does, thanks to Spotify). Yes, Song Challenge, by design, asks you to choose a song, but if that's all you do, then you're missing the story in both direction. How did the song get here? And what can I revisit by listening to the song in this context? What's my story?

Act III opens, not at Wildwood's beach, but at Wildwood's bay. Irish Weekend, 2017. A brief flashforward shows Joe in 2019 listening to "Visions" and hearing the line "2017 tried its best to take the magic from me." Then another flashforward to the end of 2024 when Joe is rehearing the lines and remembering the 2017 pain he still felt in 2019 when he heard "Visions" for the first time, and felt the scars from when the magic dimmed. It's all a little complicated, the timeline, but Act III trusts that you'll see the gossamer throughline piercing each piece of the tale and pulling them together.

Irish Weekend in 2017 was when we first told my parents and family that Pam was pregnant with our first kid. She was, what, two months pregnant or so at that point? No big announcement or anything like that, I just make some off-hand comment about Pam not being able to drink because of the baby, and watching as my parents worked it out in their heads over the course of a few seconds and their faces lit up, etc., etc. We celebrated. Well, Pam celebrated as best she could, under the frankly horrific circumstances of being sober while at Wildwood's Irish Weekend. I, as I was wont to do around that time and during many times of my 36-year-existence, took the drinking a little too far.

Gin was my buddy that weekend. Gin and seltzers. They went down real easy. I was feeling good. Also, in retrospect, pretty terrified of parenthood, which fed the desire to drink more and avoid that fear for just a little longer. These are the emotions that took years to work out for myself. This is also a repeat of general alcoholic thoughts and ideas that I've probably written about already on this blog throughout the past 659 days, which, ya know, is a little unavoidable I guess. Act III, though, intends to lay down the final card that has henceforth been withheld from the blogging readership, worked around and hinted at but never stated outright. It's Day 180. We're gone after today. Seven years and several lifetimes have passed by in the blink of an eye. It's time.

Drank the entire half-weekend in Wildwood, and then we took leave of that fair town, driving back to Philadelphia to see our friends get married. In a disastrous turn of events, I kept drinking when I woke up Saturday morning. We got back home in Port Richmond and while Pam spent a couple hours getting ready, I was sipping more gin in secret in the living room. I held it together a long time that day. Longer than you'd think. I wasn't no fucking lightweight, I'll tell ya that much. I made it through the ceremony and pregame at a local brewery and the cocktail hour before things started to go sharply downhill.

The social strata of this particular wedding was interesting. My friend getting married had been in my social circles in high school and college, and so not only were my still-present-day college friends in attendance, but I also spent a lot of time catching up with old friends. The catching up got more and more obnoxious, the more gin I consumed. To the point where I blacked out. I couldn't tell you anything that happened in the second half of that reception.

Except, of course, the thing that happened. Look, I'm just gonna rip the band-aid off here. It's not that hard to surmise, and half of you jabronis were present that night anyway, so let's have it out. I cheated on Pam. I don't know how it happened. Not in a figurative "how it happened" way. I'm saying that I literally have no recollection of how that situation came to happen. I was blackout, fully and completely. I take responsibility for my actions, of course. Just because I can't remember doesn't mean it didn't happen. But I really, honestly, sincerely do not remember. From my POV, I'm looking up to see Pam absolutely fucking livid and then looking down and realizing that I had just been making out with one of my old high school friends, right there at the fucking wedding venue. It was surreal. But it happened.

At this point in the Yearlong Song Challenge blog post, you revisit the lyrics. Try to touch base with them. The lyrics are informing your story. I find this: "Visions, I can hear them / I can barely even tell what's real." There are moments when you think you can feel infinity and there are moments when you can't even remember what happened five seconds ago, and those two moments are separated by basically nothing, so large and vast and wide is the universe. It's hard to say what's true and what's not.

You can fill in a lot of the blanks from here. I've written about the brief, half-hearted attempt at sobriety in the immediate aftermath. I still cringe thinking about that time in my life, so unseriously did I take that opportunity. Still, at the same time, almost a couple years into actual serious stint, I'm finding I have more grace for myself in that moment. It was the first time I ever verbalized that I have a problem, I think, at least unironically. Because the question the morning after something like that happens is: do you even want to stay with your wife? And when the answer is an unequivocal "yes," then the follow-up to that is: well, okay, what's the problem here? And the problem was alcohol. It was undeniable from that point forward, even after I started drinking again and had worse blackouts and somehow managed to avoid worse incidents than the wedding thing but that's just all luck, man. I risked it all, drinking for three more years. I only quit because of some mysterious premonition that I started to feel in my bones that if I kept doing this for even a little bit longer, I was going to die. So I chose not to die.

None of that excuses my actions on the night of September 23, 2017. Looking back, it could be that choosing to start drinking again after 100-plus days sober was worse than the thing I did to cause the bullshit sobriety in the first place. "I care about our marriage, I just have a drinking problem!" But could I honestly say that I cared about the marriage if I started drinking again? I can sit here and type until 2025, telling you how much I love Pam and how important she is to me, but there was nothing about that decision that showed any sort of love whatsoever. Just five more years of disrespect.

It just complicated things, basically. The drinking was bad. Complicating things further was Pam's and my history of, um, non-monogamy. Which isn't really a subject that I'm going to spend another 5000 words during the final Song Challenge entry writing about, but let's acknowledge this elephant in the room briefly. The term I'll use is "ethical non-monogamy." Nothing about any of this was ethical. Not ethical toward my wife, with whom I'd had plenty of discussions about focusing on family once she got pregnant. Not ethical toward myself, by abusing my own body to the point that I'm doing dangerous shit and threatening to topple my whole life over. And let's not forget a key part of this—not ethical toward my friend, who was pretty upset too, having been made to look like a fool by this drunk fucking loser who no doubt convinced her in his wild silver-tongued blackout that hooking up was okay. So things were complicated by the fact that I would confess my crimes to certain trusted friends and the reaction was pretty often "well weren't you guys in an open marriage anyway?" To some degree, yes, but not like this. I cheated. Pam's negative feelings about that were valid across the board and across many years afterward. 

The only thing that fixed any of this was the decision to stop drinking. That was it. It sounds simple, and it probably is, but if it was so simple then why did I need five fucking years after the worst thing I've ever done to make the decision? I don't know. Humans are flawed. I am very flawed. The simplicity is that, once it happened, our marriage got a lot better, a lot stronger, slowly at first because no one trusts an alcoholic to stick with sobriety and rightly so, but then eventually all at once. We can talk about what happened on that night now and kinda laugh about it a little bit. It's still fucked up and I still regret what I did, but all the jealousy and ugly feelings and betrayal, all of that subsides for the most part, once you take yourself out of the circumstances that got you there in the first place.

"Glad it's just me on the beach / If I were you I'd stay the hell away from me." This is how I used to feel a lot. I don't feel that way anymore. I want to be close to the people I love. I want to have a strong marriage, and I want my wife to trust me. We're there. Shit's good. 2024 was a fascinating year in this regard, and if I were to trace it back, I'd say that it started with the sudden realization that the harsh burning flames from this particular incident had finally been extinguished. (Not enough in this blog post about Pam's story, which, examined over the course of 2024, is even more victorious than mine, but unfortunately for us, that story played out in private, and not on a blog.)

But I'm not here to talk about that. Act III of today's three-act play was inspired by the line "2017 tried its best to take the magic from me," and this is where my mind went, when I think about my own 2017, and how far I've come. Look, I don't think it's a coincidence that Timothy Showalter got sober in between the time he wrote this line on the beaches of Wildwood and the time he released "Visions" on Eraserland. You can't sing a line like that I not understand why it's true. I don't know the specifics for Showalter (mainly because he deigned not to write about them as some sort of bizarre essay-writing blog project), but I can empathize with the idea of escaping to the beach. The attempted escape from yourself. The loathing, the acting out, and so on. I get it.

This isn't an exciting story. If this were a literal Act III on an actual stage, then theater critics would pooh-pooh louder than Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark. More drunken regrets on a blog full of 'em, more tales of pity of a privileged life's minor missteps. I would understand if the sentiment in YSC was that of annoyance or disdain, an eye-roll at the lack of humility in the idea that some dude thinks that people actually want to read this trash, and at comedically protracted lengths. Recall how I said that I'd keep it tame this year, with reasonable word counts. I have egg on my face after that one.

It's not an exciting story, but it's my story. I don't know if it was worth sharing, but I shared it anyway. This is how I chose to approach the Challenge. It was about the music, yes. But it was about what that music meant, and what it now means. The challenge was to take 180 songs and meld them into your own image. What does this song say about you? You know, that kind of thing.

Most importantly, we tell our stories so that the mean more, but also mean less. We offer them up so that we can make sense of them, and take their power. We can bury them, and it's helpful if you bury them in public like this. We share our stories to come together.

I don't know. Something like that. Day 180 and I'm still getting my shit together, as the curtains close. But they'll open again tomorrow, next year.

I have a lot of regrets in my life, but Yearlong Song Challenge is absolutely not one of them. Thanks for hearing me out.

Love,

Joe

Yearlong Song Challenge, Day 180: Nate

Prompt: "A song about forever"

Selected by Nate

"Forever"

Hovvdy

Hovvdy, 2024

THE YEAR IN JOE

For the founder of the feast, and for anyone fool enough to click on what will certainly have to be a

Yearlong Song Challenge, Day 179: Zach

Prompt: "A song that lacks closure"

Selected by Zach

"Videotape"

Radiohead

In Rainbows, 2007

YSC Contributor Appreciation Post

I can't do what Nate did. But Nate did inspire me to share my thoughts on what each of you have given me over the course of the year. It's more than you probably realize.

I'm doing this without taking lots of time to look back at everyone's individual posts, so it's off the top of my head. Here we go:

Allison: Allison is the master of the concise post that felt like it dumped a bucket of cold water on my head. She is a brilliant writer. I have watched, in real time, someone's brain work in an entirely different way from mine when reading her posts, and it's inspired me. I'm also inspired by Allison's career change just a few years ago, when she took a chance on herself and now makes more than she used to. Yes, it's nice to make more money, but it's really nice to take the leap and see it pay off. It's something I'm steeling myself to do soon, but I haven't gotten the courage yet. If I do, you can bet I'll be thinking about Allison along the way.

Brianna: Reading Brianna this year was like drinking a warm cup of tea with a purring cat sitting next to me. I always felt soothed reading Brianna's posts, which is a real accomplishment when you're talking about the filth of camping out at music festivals. Brianna has a real talent for writing in a way that has warming and calming rays of light shining through. It's honestly hard to explain in a way, but I always knew I could settle into her posts. I also loved some of the teacher talk and I can just tell she's good at teaching but is really humble about it too.

Bridget: Bridget was another master of the short post, and brought an enthusiasm to YSC that lifted me up and threw me for a loop. Every time I read a Bridget post, I felt like dancing, regardless of whether it was a song to dance to or not. To know Bridget is to know someone who takes everything she can out of life and enjoys the hell out of it. To know Bridget is to know someone who stands in awe of human life, who brings it into the world and enjoys most seconds of it, but not all seconds of it, because sometimes she'd rather be listening to a "bop."

Gilson: Gilson is a writer who takes on big subjects with a deft tone and a sensitive and smart touch. I was in awe of the way he was able to devastate me within just a few lines. I went to the depths learning about addiction from him, and I felt a brother-esque bond with him in being a fellow someone who swings for the fences. Gilson consistently stayed true to himself musically and personally and pumped out strong musical choice after strong musical choice.  I always knew I could count on Gilson for a steady hand and the emotional knockout punch I needed that day.

Joe: What can I say about Joe? YSC gifted me a new Internet Friend this year. At the end of 2024, I can safely say that even though our in-person meetings have been limited, Joe is a Friend, beyond just the level of Internet Friend. A supportive and encouraging and open-minded human who manages to maintain an astronomical level of commitment and dedication to the things he cares about—his family, his friends, the blog, musical appreciation, hating Billy Joel and other hacks. Joe tries to get the best out of everyone, and for that I am very grateful.

Maeve: I felt like I was on the best carnival ride ever when I read Maeve’s posts. There is no one who can match Maeve in embracing who she is and doing it in a way I've never seen anyone else do it. I loved all the things Maeve wrote about, and I stood in amazement as she talked about what a boss she was at her job (told in the most humble of ways). Maeve's dedication to this project was clear even when that presented its challenges, and I felt right there with her, cheering her on, because she deserves it. I will very much miss reading Maeve's posts; she takes a simple gray day and adds endless color to it.

Nate: One only needs to look at Nate's "Year in X" recent posts to realize we are working with a man of commitment, incredible dedication to the people he cares about, and, above all, a truly amazing writer. I stand here in pure awe of Nate's writing voice. The effortless way that he manages to write something a little different every time, to mix it up and still keep giving the people what they want. There were also a few times during this year that Nate's hand seemed to reach through my computer screen and touch my beating heart in ways I never expected. He is a syrup-hearted man who plays a curmudgeon on TV.

Sara: I felt so supported by Sara this entire year. I always knew it was going to be good when Sara commented on my posts. She made me feel good about my dating choices, about my writing about Maryland, and about my life (her comment about "why is every detail about you so funny" was one that will propel me to lean into my life and, yes, write that memoir). I knew beyond a doubt that Sara cared, and that was awesome. But enough about me—Sara's posts were consistently simultaneously off-the-wall and sensitive and grounded and I couldn't get enough of them.

Sunny: I viewed Sunny as the sage observer of this blog throughout this year. He is the one who could take any subject, anything that anyone else wrote about or anything he wrote about, and effortlessly turn it into gold. You never knew what form that gold would take. It was like taking part in the actual Gold Rush—you had to search around a bit before finding redemption—but that redemption found you, and it was a wild and awesome trip. I also really felt loved by Sunny this year—this managed to shine through in his comments, which often weren't the most direct; this allowed them to be infused with unmistakable care.

***

"Videotape" is about someone passing into the next world, but it's unclear what their legacy will be in this world as they're leaving it. They encourage the listener to watch the "videotape" they've left behind. Or something like that. And I feel that energy so hard with what YSC has brought me.

Transitions are not easy. There is something that's ending, something big and grand and something good. I shed a tear for that. 

I left my entire soul on the pages of PoYB this year, and all of you who have read the posts are familiar with it. That means I'm familiar with all your souls, and leaving that consistent immersion into the life of other people's souls—people who I really like and care about and, dare I say, love?—is such sweet sorrow. I'll miss this. I'll miss all of you.

Yearlong Song Challenge, Day 179: Joe

Prompt: "A song that lacks closure"

Selected by Joe

"Sesame Street Presents the '80s: Loose Goose / Colors (There's Like a Million) / Two Heads are Better Than One / Count to Nineteen / Super Grouch / Tuck Elmo In Before Before Bed Oh-Oh / Bake Cookie / Don't Stop Your Reading / Always Gonna Be Your Friend"

The Sesame Street Cast

web video, 2017

Yearlong Song Challenge, Day 178: Joe

Prompt: "A song you regret has not been chosen yet by anyone during either iteration of the Song Challenge, because, damn, you have such a good reason to choose this song"

Selected by Joe

"Twistin' the Night Away"

Sam Cooke

Twistin' the Night Away, 1962

I chose this song because it reminds me of Kevin Bacon. That's the reason. Let me explain why it's a good one.

"Twistin' the Night Away" was recorded by Sam Cooke in 1962. Leslie Odom Jr. played Sam Cooke in the 2020 film One Night in Miami. He also portrayed himself, I guess(?), in a Big Milk parody commercial, the joke being that he famously portrayed Aaron Burr in some theater production, I dunno. Remember all those Got Milk ads? There used to be one hanging in the gymnasium of my elementary school. The same gym where we'd have Friday night dances. I remember requesting "Hash Pipe" by Weezer from the DJ. He played it. He didn't play "Africa" by Weezer because it hadn't come out yet. "Africa" by Toto did, though. Toto probably wasn't named after the dog Toto, though they used to say they were. Toto is definitely in the twister scene in The Wizard of Oz. If you sync it up with The Dark Side of the Moon, the song that plays during the twister is "The Great Gig in the Sky." That was sung by Clare Torry. Torry also performed the Dolly Parton single "Love Is like a Butterfly," which became opening credits song for the BBC series Butterflies. Kacey Musgraves sings about butterflies too. She has a song called "Butterflies," which did not soundtrack the opening credits for Butterflies. Musgraves' cover of "All Is Found" did soundtrack the closing credits to Frozen 2. Weezer is on those closing credits too. Shit, Weezer has a "Butterfly" too. If I return to Weezer again during this exercise, you have permission to shoot me with Aaron Burr's gun. The in-movie version of "All Is Found" is sung by Evan Rachel Wood, who was born in Raleigh, North Carolina. Home of the Carolina Hurricanes. They are hosting the Devils tonight. The New Jersey Devils are owned by the same jabronis who own the Sixers. About one hour before I started typing this post, Philadelphia's City Council approved the new Sixers arena in Center City. One of the main complaints that I hear about the proposal is that SEPTA is going to be a shitshow. It already is. But I saw my train crush while I was riding SEPTA this morning. She sat in front of me. I wasn't spying but she had her phone aloft and was on the same website the whole time. It was a dog adoption website. I won't admit whether this made the crush better or worse. I remember when we got our dog Mollie back in fourth grade. I remember telling my math class about her existence during intentions. I don't remember if I had any positive or negative reactions to the event. I don't remember how Mrs. Swoyer responded. Probably tacit disapproval that we had adopted a dog instead of a horse. The other night, we drove over the train tracks on which Mrs. Swoyer was killed. Probably the same train tracks I always said that I was going to walk, back in the day, take an adventure with my friends. That aspiration was born after watching Stand by Me. Always kinda funny that pudgy comedic relief Jerry O'Connell grew up to be "a hunk" by the '90s definition of the phrase. He starred in Scream 2 with David Arquette, former WCW Champion. He won that belt from Diamond Dallas Page. DDP became a yoga instructor after retiring from wrestling. My kids get all their yoga needs met from a YouTube channel called Cosmic Kids Yoga. the instructor's name is Jaime Amor. Is there a rule regarding when the I comes before the M in that name? Jazz legend jaimie branch screws it up by putting that I on both sides of the M. Rest in peace jaimie. Branch is a regrettable name in retrospect, since that's the Justin Timberlake troll in Trolls. Branch has a few minor interactions with Tiny Diamond, voiced by Keenan Thompson, who's been on SNL basically forever. SNL is off tonight, and maybe they'll never return. Wouldn't we be lucky. The most recent musical guest (as of this writing) was Shaboozey, whose dumb country song broke the record for the most weeks at #1 on the Billboard Hot 100. It interpolates J-Kwon's "Tipsy," which peaked at #2. That song is heard in a club scene in the episode "Moral Midgetry," from Season 3 of The Wire. The Wire is better than Six Feet Under. One of the stars of that show was Frances Conroy, who won an Emmy Award for her portrayal of Ruth Fisher. She beat Allison Janney that year, who starred in The West Wing. People tells me that Allison Janney is single, but that she would never date me, because I don't have a dog. A dog attacked my aunt a few years ago and everyone just pretended that it was my aunt's fault. That same aunt loves the band KISS. One of the Tony Hawk's Pro Skater games featured all four original members of KISS as playable skaters, plus had multiple KISS songs on the soundtrack, and a level consisting of a KISS concert, in which you could grind along the stage. Apparently Tony Hawk's nickname is "Birdman"? I didn't know this. I know the name Birdman from the rapper who feuded with Lil Wayne, and delayed his album or something? Wayne got called out on GNX. So did Snoop Dogg. Snoop's most famous movie role is the voice of Cousin Itt in The Addams Family. Screenplay by Matt Lieberman, who was born on Scott Air Force Base, the location of the 2018 film Rampage, starring Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson, former WCW champion. Shit, um, Hulk Hogan was the WCW Champion at one point too. Hulk Hogan and Lil Wayne voted for the same person. Shit, um, the person they voted for hosted SNL in 2016. Shit, um, SNL performer Keenan Thompson, got mad at Kel Mitchell for putting the screw in the tuna. The maximum length of an Atlantic bluefin tuna is fifteen feet. Bugs don't have feet, but if they did, then the common house centipede, Scutigera coleoptrata, would have fifteen pairs of feet. But that's 30 feet, not fifteen. But, again, a centipede doesn't have feet. Heather Mills, former wife of Paul McCartney, only had one foot, due to the other foot (and leg) being amputated after being run over by a police motorcycle. One of the most fucked-up song titles I've ever heard was the Brian Jonestown Massacre's "Bring Me the Head of Paul McCartney on Heather Mill's Wooden Peg." The subtitle of that song is "(Dropping Bombs on the White House)." Dropping bombs like the conclusion of Dr. Strangelove, a movie that not many people have seen, apparently. There used to be a bar in Philly called Strangelove's. Apparently it's still there! Fuck, I haven't been there in forever. I haven't "partied" in Center City in a long time. Do you remember that one night when we almost got into a fight at Brauhaus Schmitz? Those drunk guys were being total assholes. If my life ever gets made into a movie, then the head villain in that scene is going to be played by Nick Kroll, since he apparently gets hired to do European accents in like every film. You think I'm joking? Have you fucking seen Secret Life of Pets 2 recently? Not saying I was fighting the villain of Secret Life of Pets 2 at Brauhaus Schmitz, but it felt like it. I guess South Street isn't really Center City. I haven't been to South Street in forever either. There was a time when all the bands I wanted to see were playing at the TLA. That's where I discovered Art Brut. They played their great song "Emily Kane." I knew someone with that name, though she spelled the last name differently. That Emily is Pat's cousin-in-law now. I don't know if she's ever seen Vinyl. Probably not. But if she did, she would've definitely seen the great character actor Paul Ben-Victor, basically the only person of note in that show's main cast. Ya know, the guy who played Vondas in The Wire. He was coincidentally in a 1989 biopic called Wired. Michael Chiklis played John Belushi in that one. Michael Chiklis plays in poker tournaments. So does the son of the late Harry Kalis, Kane Kalis (not named after the Art Brut song). Kane went to acting camp with PoYB contributor Dwyer, who does a great Joker impression. The only video proof of that impression is continually linked to on this website, much to Dwyer's chagrin. If you watch the video, you can see that it takes place in the La Salle Apartments. I've driven through campus recently and get the impression that no one lives in the La Salle Apartments anymore. It closed, just like the last two Sam Goody locations, just recently! One of those locations is at the Rogue Valley Mall in Medford, Oregon. That's almost exactly 69 miles from Gazelle, CA. Gazelle is 600 miles away from Ojai, CA, where Anson Williams ran for mayor, 38 years after he finished his run as Potsie Weber on the CLASSIC '70s sitcom Happy Days. His (Potsie's) best friend on that show was—yes, we've reached this point in the blog post already—Ralph Malph, played by motherfucking Danny Most. Let us dip the rag in chloroform and slowly drape the rag over the mouth and nose of this joke and watch as the life drains from its eyes. Danny Most was born on August 8, 1953. So was Louis Dunbar, who was a member of the Harlem Globetrotters from 1977 to 2004. Their rival team is the Washington Generals. They famously beat the Globetrotters on January 5, 1971, accidentally. That's the day that Japanese actress Mayuko Takata was born. Later on, she was a judge on Iron Chef. One notable dish (per Wikipedia) was "Prawns in Chili Sauce." Here's a recipe I found for that: 500g / 1 lb prawns / shrimp, raw, peeled and deveined, 1/2 tbsp vegetable oil (or canola), 1 tsp sesame oil, toasted, 3 garlic cloves, very finely minced, 2 tsp ginger, grated or finely chopped (can be omitted), 1 tsp chilli flakes, 1/2 cup (125 ml) water, 3 tbsp Sriracha, 2 tsp soy sauce , light or all purpose (Note 5), 3 tbsp brown sugar; Heat oil in a large skillet over high heat. Add half the prawns and sear for about 45 seconds on each side until golden, then remove into bowl. Repeat. Remove skillet from stove to cool down slightly, turn down to medium. Return skillet to stove, heat sesame oil. Add garlic, ginger and chilli flakes. Cook until garlic turns golden. Add water, then Sriracha, soy sauce and sugar, Stir, increase heat to medium high, and let it simmer for 3 minutes or until the sauce starts to thicken to a thin syrup consistency. Return prawns into skillet and toss to coat in sauce and reheat, and cook for 1-2 minutes until sauce is reduced and coats the prawns nicely. Sriracha is good. I'm told that it was featured in an episode of Hawkeye, improvised by Florence Pugh. She starred in Oppenheimer with, yup, you guessed it, Josh Peck from Drake and Josh. Josh also starred in Snow Day. Drake, on the other hand, was CANCELLED for SEXUALLY ASSAULTING A MINOR. No, I'm not making that up. Yes, he was tried and convicted in court. This makes him at least the third worst Drake on this blog now, behind the former Degrassi actor Drake and the Degrassi character Drake who murdered J.T. in cold blood over a minor school rivalry beef. That rival school's name was Lakehurst. I didn't have to look that up. I still remember. I looked to see if there is a real Lakehurst High School. There is not. There is a Lakehurst School District in NJ featuring a Lakehurst Elementary School. It's right down the street from the Lakehurst Diner (good place to bring your kids to by yourself, without your partner and her help). Roseann Stewart took a selfie in the parking lot outside of that diner three weeks ago and included it in her check-in on Google. A different Roseann Steward died on October 17, 2023 at Robert Wood Johnson University Hospital, per an obituary search. Brook Kerr portrayed Priscilla Johnson on General Hospital in 2020. She also guest starred in a 1998 episode of The Steve Harvey Show called "Papa's Got a Brand New Bag," which is also the name of a song by James Brown, who performed at a festival in Steamboat Springs, Colorado, on July 4, 2002, with the String Cheese Incident. I haven't bought string cheese from Aldi in a while. Still buying a lot of cookies though. The gym trips don't even out with the cookie consumption. Yet. I'm just laying the groundwork. January 1st is gonna start the changes in the kitchen, and then hopefully everything will fall into place. Classic New Year's Resolution Optimism Bullshit. Every time I go to Aldi with Sophie, she wants to buy a Muffin stuffed toy. I don't buy toys at Aldi. And I'm referring to Muffin from Bluey, ya know, the crazy cousin, not the baked good. Didn't somebody say in a Song Challenge post that they wanted to fuck Muffin's aunt, Chili? It's been a long year. I definitely didn't say that. I'm not above saying that cartoon characters are hot but a cartoon dog is crossing the line for me. A long year. 365 days in that year. Thirteen days after this year ends, we're gonna have a full moon. It will be known as the Wolf Moon. We heard some Wolf Parade this year too. Lots of Spencer Krug, honestly. You might not have noticed because the dude has so many bands. I chose songs from Wolf Parade and Sunset Rubdown and Swan Lake and his solo work. No Moonface though, I was never a fan of that project. I'm seeing on his Wikipedia now that he played piano and synthesizer on Islands' Return to the Sea. Good album. A couple of Islands songs were featured on How I Met Your Mother, I recall. I don't think anyone mentioned that show throughout Song Challenge. Maybe for the best—it's pretty misunderstood. Hilary Duff starred in a sequel series to that show, How I Met Your Father. Apparently some HIMYM characters were in that show. Barney gave Hilary Duff advice or some shit? I'm not looking that deeply into it. Here's how I met my father: I was born at the hospital, and he was there. I asked him later whether he remembers if music was playing on the way home from the hospital that week. He didn't remember either. I don't remember if we were listening to music when we brought any of our children home. Too nerve-wracking, that drive. Not concentrating on anything else besides not being rolled by an eighteen-wheeler. I remember what music we played in the hospital rooms, though. The first song that [the blog post splits in three different directions, each indicated by a bold number, and all of them meeting back up at the same place, which will be indicated with italics and capital letters] [1] we played for Willow was "Bamboo Bones" by Against Me!, because we wanted her to be strong, and she is, but we also receive a relatively large number of emails from the school nurse after she, like, bangs her head on the bathroom door and needs an ice pack, shit like that. Ice this time of year reminds me of It's a Wonderful Life, the opening scene, George Bailey saving his brother after he falls in the ice, the kid brother who becomes a war hero, WWI and not the Iraqi War, where we were "looking for WMDs" or something, I'm not well-versed in the history and the lies and the violence. WMDs, didn't we already talk about Josh Peck? He was in The Amanda Show too, with the titular Amanda, who was in Hairspray, the movie, about Baltimore, home of the Orioles, which is a bird, like an eagle, which is a bird too but also a sports team but this time a football team, writing this in advance but I'm assuming Jalen Hurts isn't playing the game tomorrow, he hurts too much, which is a bad pun, like this: A polar bear walks into a bar and says to the bartender "I'll have a rum............ and coke." The bartender asks, "What's with the big pause?" The bear shrugs. "I was born with them." The bear was born that way. Lady Gaga was born that way too. She was born and then decades later she was still alive and saw Clarence Clemmons play the saxophone, which he performed at the SUPER BOWL [2] we played for Martha was "The Flinch" by Dave Hause, because we wanted her to be brave, and she is, especially when it comes to food, which isn't exactly what Hause is talking about, but close enough. She ate a hot wing two hours before I typed this sentence, from the local pizza joint, which is giving out the wall calendars again, always this time of year, always with scenic pictures of under the sea for each month. "Under the Sea" is a Disney song, and it's fine. "Beyond the Sea" by Bobby Darin is not a Disney song, though it plays on the closing credits of Finding Nemo, which features the voice of Barry Humphries as Bruce the shark. The song "Down Under" by Men at Work was based on the Humphries character Barry McKenzie. Men at Work performed this song on SNL on October 23, 1982. Howard Hesseman was the host of that episode. Hesseman had an uncredited role in The Jerk. Steve Martin was in a Pepsi Zero Sugar commercial during the 2023 SUPER BOWL [3] we played for Sophie was "Holocene" by Bon Iver, because we wanted her to be humble, and she is not, not yet anyway, because she is two years old and two-year-olds don't understand that not everything revolves around them. That's just how it goes. Phoebe Bridgers turned two years old on August 17, 1996. The #1 song in America on her second birthday was "Macarena (Bayside Boys Mix)" by Los Del Rio. Tyga further remixed the song in 2019 to create "Ayy Macarena," and the video for that one is heavily inspired by the 1994 film The Mask (released nineteen days before Phoebe Bridgers was born). It starred Jim Carrey. The film, not the music video. Carrey was in Eternal Sunshine with David Cross, who was in The Post with Tom Hanks. The Post, which was pretty good, ranked at #24 on Allison and Stephan's Hanks Ranks, a dubious list at best, mainly because Forrest Gump should be ranked last, as its soundtrack is too obvious. "Fortunate Son" is too obvious. C'mon. Creedence Clearwater Revival is good but way too prevalent in boomer films. If you roll a C and a C and an R in LCR (dice game), you have to sing a Creedence Clearwater Revival song. There was a famous Brazilian footballer in the '00s and early '10s named Creedence Clearwater Couto. His parents were big fans of the band. And when I say "footballer," I mean that he played soccer. Do I need to clarify that for this audience? I don't know. Here in America, we call soccer "soccer" and football "football." The final game of the season for the National Football League is known as the SUPER BOWL [fin] and this year, Kendrick Lamar is performing at halftime. He will most likely be yelling the name of a condiment. Mustard. Another condiment that you can and should put on a hot dog is ketchup. Heinz has 57 varieties. Bruce Springsteen's song "Incident on 57th Street" basically retells the story of Romeo and Juliet, not unlike Leonardo DiCaprio does in Romeo + Juliet. That film also starts John Leguizamo, a.k.a. Luigi Mario in the CLASSIC 1993 action-adventure film Super Mario Bros. WOW WOW WOW what a fucking film! My favorite of all time, by a significant margin. Frank Welker KILLS it as the voice of Yoshi. Welker also voices Snowball II on The Simpsons. Eventually, Snowball II is killed, and replaced by Snowball III and then Coltrane (a.k.a. Snowball IV). I've never seen that episode (I've never seen 99% of The Simpsons episodes, though I'm familiar with the big bits like the monorail thing and the Apes thing). I'm assuming Coltrane is named after John Coltrane, husband of Alice Coltrane, the meteoric sensation. She has an album called Closeness with double-bass player Charlie Haden. Haden's three daughters are triplets. One of them, Tanya Haden, is married to Jack Black, who guest stars in a nineteenth-season episode of The Simpsons called "Husbands and Knives," playing a cool comic bookstore owner. (FUCK! Overshot my chance to mention that the eventual Snowball V is renamed Snowball II, and that fact is never mentioned again.) That episode, airing in 2007, predicted the 2019 Notre Dame fire. But so did the 2004 film Before Sunset. Directed by Richard Linklater, also the director of MY FAVORITE FILM OF ALL TIME, Dazed and Confused, which was named after a Led Zeppelin song but infamously does not feature that Led Zeppelin song. Three Zep songs on YSC this year. I'm attempting to touch on a few YSC songs and themes and inside jokes throughout this thing, in case you haven't noticed. The most recent Zep song (as of this writing) is "Black Country Woman." Bri talks about a plane noise on the recording. Reminds me of a similar story for Fantastic Mr. Fox, in which they recorded voices outside and kept a boat noise in there, simply drawing a plane flying past the characters. Jason Schwartzman was also in Klaus, which I just saw the other night for the first time, starring with Rashida Jones (also in that animated Grinch movie) and J.K. Simmons, who won an Oscar for Whiplash, a movie about a boy being abused enough that he becomes a drummer. I played the drums in high school and college, did I ever write anything about that? No? Well I did. I was in the college pep band. They disbanded, because La Salle is [censored]. One of the songs we played was "Crazy Train" by Ozzy Osbourne. He voiced a Troll in Trolls World Tour. A funny bit that I totally forgot about and totally should've kept up with was that I was anonymously commenting on YSC posts with a Trolls World Tour Alert, letting people know when their song choice had previously been featured in Trolls World Tour. Probably time to admit that that was me. I don't think anyone had any doubts that it was me. Anderson .Paak was also in that movie, and he's in Silk Sonic with Bruno Mars, who made "Uptown Funk" with Mark Ronson, who made "Feel Right" with the rapist Mystikal, who raped just like CeeLo Green raped, who made "Crazy" with Danger Mouse, who made "The High Road" with James Mercer, who made the Shins, who made the song in Garden State, which was made by Zach Braff, who made a very angry call to Zipcar one time because his Zipcar broke down on the highway. I discovered Dr. Dog in that Zipcar office, back in 2012. Is there a Dr. Cat? Google is telling me that the most well-known Dr. Cat is a plastic surgeon in Beverly Hills. "Beverly Hills" is a song by Weezer HOLY SHIT DO NOT POINT THAT GUN AT ME, PLEASE! I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY, I DIDN'T MEAN TO MENTION THEM, OH GOD, I start yelling, toward a god that I don't think exists. I saw joke that was like "what do atheists yell when they are having sex" and the answer was "god" because it's not against atheist law to say the lord's name in vain. I didn't tell the joke correctly. I'm not doing any of this correctly. The electrician who came out to our house the other day didn't do something correctly. He replaced the breakers on three areas of the house because the outlets kept tripping. But then after he left, the outlet that the fridge was plugged into (not on a breaker that he replaced) was no longer working. Which, as you can imagine, was not an ideal situation for 3:30 PM on Christmas Eve. We just plugged the refrigerator into a different outlet, and survived Christmas without catastrophe. Ran out of cat food though. Not really my problem. Pam used some of the sardines that Bob got me as my Secret Santa. The cat wasted the sardines. They were high-quality sardines too! That fuck! And then she peed on the floor! The cat, not Pam. It would be pretty funny if Pam peed on the floor. She owes me a few, back from the days when I would pee wherever. I never peed in our bed, though. My bed, sure. Not ours. But, ya know, obviously the drinking wore things down in other ways. She knows that when I joke about the bedwetting-while-drunk count being 1-0 (in her favor) over the fifteen-year-relationship, that I'm not being serious, because pissing the sheets is not the only measurement in terms of how bad of a drunk you were. Like I remember one time when I was super wasted and forgot who the actor in Apollo 13 was. I couldn't remember. It was embarrassing. And she's like: "Bill Paxton, you fucking moron!!!" Paxton, who was in Twister, which kinda sorta got a sequel this year in Twisters, starring Glen Powell, who famously starred in Spy Kids 3-D: Game Over, which is famously the threequel to Spy Kids, which just got selected for preservation in the United States National Film Registry by the Library of Congress as being "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant." Why? I don't know. I've never seen it. A list of "spy films" on Wikipedia helpfully tells me that five of the Fast & Furious films were spy films. A mnemonic for the symptoms of a stroke is FACE: Face, Arm, Speech, and Time. "Time" is a Pink Floyd song. Also one by Amen Dunes. Also one by Hans Zimmer, for the movie Inception, starring Elliot Page, who was in Super with.... umm.... Liv Tyler, I think. Who was in The Leftovers with Justin Theroux. I'm just naming people now. Let's wrap this up. Let's wrap this whole year up, goddamn. Okay, uhh, Theroux is in the mediocre Beetlejuice Beetlejuice, which stars Winona Ryder, who was in a film called Welcome Home, Roxy Carmichael with none other than Stephen Tobolowsky, Judge Stephen Tobolowsky, who steals the show in Reba Season 5 episode 8 "Grannies Gone Wild," and, among many other hundreds of roles, he also steals the show in the movie Murder in the First. A 1995 legal drama. Also starring, you guess it: William H. Macy! Just kidding. Well, no, I'm not. Macy is in it. And he's Shameless with Steve Howey, a.k.a. Van Montgomery from Reba Season 5 episode 8 "Grannies Gone Wild." But the joke is that Murder in the First also stars, yup, you guessed it: Brad Dourif! Fuck, why can't I bring this home? Ugh, Dourif was in Deadwood with Tobolowsky. C'mon Joey, just say it. Say the name. Who else starred in Murder in the First? A movie you've never seen before but can easily see the cast list on the world wide web? Just fucking say it! Say it! It stars...... Christian Slater, FUCK. Slater was in Fast Times at Ridgemont High, NO!! Why are you mentioning this? What the fuck, man? Just end the goddamn blog post. Fast Times, the worst movie of all time, also starred Sean Penn, who was in Mystic River with, with, with, um, ya know, the, the reason I am writing this blog post, the guy, c'mon, you know who. Tim Robbins. NO!! FUCK!!! Laurence Fishburne. STOP!!! JUST END THIS!!! Fine. Ugh. One of the other main stars is— *CRASH* I'm typing this blog post on my phone as I'm commuting into work, and the train just crashed. Seven dead, countless injured. Mayor Parker has blood on her hands. I could've been typing this from the comforts of my basement. But instead, I have to unnecessarily take the train to get to work. What the fuck, man? So now I'm in a twisted heap of metal where a train used to be, and in my final moments before losing consciousness, I hear a ping on my phone. It's a notification from Gmail. I can't open my eyes wide enough to see the FROM: line. Either Allison or Brianna or Bridget or Gilson or Maeve or Nate or Sara or Sunny or Zach, having sent me approximately a total of 1,600 emails this year combined already, and now one of them is sending me another, and I'm squinting. I'm bleeding out. I think I see something about "Twistin' the Night Away" by Sam Cooke. It's not a repeat because I haven't published my own "Twistin' the Night Away" post yet. But the email only has 100 words. It says something about "Twistin' the Night Away" being featured in National Lampoon's Animal House. Which, of course, stars Kevin Bacon. I knew there was something I was forgetting. Then the lights go out and I never forget anything ever again.

Yearlong Song Challenge, Day 177: Joe

Prompt: "A cold or empty or bitter song that represents something that you lost or some feeling that you've been searching for and could never seem to find"

Selected by Joe

"The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter"

Reba McEntire

Read My Mind, 1994

Grannies Gone Wild #119

Joe has watched "Grannies Gone Wild" 107 times so far in his lifetime. Watch the episode HERE. You can also read every single Grannies Gone Wild entry HERE (recently updated with all post-summer-2022 entries).

So I finally watched the movie. You know the one. The Hallmark Christmas movie. The one that was mentioned on the blog before. Not in writing, but vocally, through the voice of Melissa Peterman, as she graciously provided some background information on the episode of "Grannies Gone Wild." She said that she and Stephen Tobolowsky were working on a project together, but she couldn't talk about what it was yet. It only took a few months to figure out which one she was talking about. But then I got distracted, and it took me eighteen months to finally watch it, long enough that Peterman and Tobolowsky had time to film the sequel already.

The movie is called Haul Out the Holly. It is a Hallmark movie featuring Gretchen Weiner as the romantic lead. Pam tells me that Gretchen Weiner (you know, from Mean Girls, I'm not gonna look up the actress's real name) performs in a lot of Hallmark movies? I am going to take her word for it. I'm not willingly watching too many Hallmark movies these days. But I'm here for this one, since it also stars Melissa Peterman and Stephen Tobolowsky.

I'll stop you right there, and just say it. No, they are not reprising their roles from the seminal Season 5 episode of the CLASSIC hit television show Reba, "Grannies Gone Wild," in which they played a crazed horny pregnant juror and a world-weary perpetually-migrained judge overseeing a capital punishment trial, respectively. In fact, I'd say that the roles were more or less flip-flopped between the two actors, at least emotionally speaking. Melissa Peterman plays a no-nonsense neighbor who takes her role in life seriously, despite the holiday-infused insanity that surrounds her. Stephen Tobolowsky lets his freak flag fly and hollers and makes violent gestures with chainsaws and generally run amok causing good-hearted mayhem (his character's name is "Ned," which I have to imagine is a reference to his other famous holiday movie). If you squint, you can see a Freaky Friday version of Barbara Jean and Judge Tobolowsky's battle of wits from "Grannies Gone Wild" in Haul Out the Holly.

I don't care about the rest of the film, and neither do you. Gretchen Weiner learns the true meaning of the holidays through and because of the local love interest who looks like a younger and even squarer-jawed Nathan Fillion, hilarity ensues in the meantime, the whole town is transformed and they all find that their lives are better because they loved each other a little bit more than they were originally comfortable with, before Gretchen Weiner came home for the holidays, lessons learned in both directions, etc. etc. Who cares? We just want more Bailiff Ron!!!!!

Isn't that funny, though, how there are certain pop culture touchstones and artifacts that now, by necessity, must be grinded through the Grannies Gone Wild machine before we are able to properly talk about them? Funny not in a "ha ha" way, but more so funny in a "rain on your wedding day" way. Pam (who, I should note, has only seen "Grannies Gone Wild" like four times, fucking rookie numbers) told me the other day that Stephen Tobolowsky was on some TV show that she was watching (one starring friend of the blog Seth Cohen), and she was specifically telling me this because she knew my reaction, which of course was: "Holy shit, does he play a judge?" No, he's not a judge, nor does he work in a courtroom. His name's not Ron. He doesn't wear jeans that say "Workin' It" on the butt. He doesn't threaten to stick a thermometer up anyone's ass. He doesn't make a healthy breakfast with egg whites plain wheat toast an assortment of fruit you're gonna love this it's really ACHOO.

This is my life. This is what I've chosen. To forever have Reba S05E08 "Grannies Gone Wild" on standby for any of life's little moments. To choose obsession, one which is often lighthearted but also very real. There is no one on earth who knows this one thing like I do. So what the fuck do I do with that obsession?

I think it's probably time to keep writing about it.

But wait, no! It's not what you think! I am NOT restarting the Grannies Gone Wild project. (If anyone reading this wants to watch the episode and write about it, add to the canon, whatever, that's totally fine with me, you have my approval obviously. But I'm talking about me and where I want to take this.) I've run the full marathon. I'll keep fresh with some sprints from here on out, a couple mile-long runs here and there, but a full marathon is something I only want to do once.

When I say that I want to "keep writing about it," I think it might be time in 2025 to find room in my life to start writing that book. Not on January 1st, but more like: if I ever get promoted, and after I get settled into that new job, let's say three months after the promotion, and I find that I still have time to write as much as I'd like, then that's when I'm pulling the trigger on the idea.

The idea for the book is pretty obvious. It would be first-person perspective and only quasi-autobiographical. The main character seeks an obsession, and finds it in repeatedly watching "Grannies Gone Wild" every day. It is eventually revealed that he sought the obsession because he is desperate in sobriety. A lot of the book would cover the PoYB canon already built around the main characters and background characters of "Grannies Gone Wild." The main character would acknowledge that it's all pretty silly, like he's self-aware that this is pretty obviously a distraction for darker issues with deeper roots. I can't imagine that there would be too much of the whole "wow, my life resembles the characters and situations of this episode of television now!" but I guess you never know. A lot of the themes would revolve around ritual, repetition, obsession, letting go and giving in, that kinda shit. The voice of the first-person main character probably wouldn't sound too different than what you've already been reading here on this blog from me for the last few years.

I don't know, I'm just spitballing here. Obviously I'm in the pre-pre-pre-planning stages here. But this was a thought that occurred to me recently, after watch "Grannies Gone Wild" a couple more times and reveling in the idea of other friends watching it a couple times too and then seeing some dumb fucking Hallmark movie that coincidentally featured two of GGW's main players, all of it felt like this big idea that took shape and form three summers ago all of a sudden creeping back into my life. And for the first time in a really long time, I felt like I should be doing something more with that idea. So this is what I came up with.

Of course, this is fucking classic "end of the year" talk, with big puffed-up plans that ultimately fizzle once we make it deep into January and the shine of the resolutions start to fade. I'm getting anxious about YSC ending, and looking for a lifeboat, perhaps.

But, ya know, I've already mentioned a few times throughout this arduous Yearlong Song Challenge process that I still feel like I'm searching for something else in life, something in addition to everything I already have and love. Not that I need something better, or instead of, or to replace, or any such phrases. I find fulfillment in so much I already have but there just seems to be one single piece missing. Hence, the searching. So why not this. Why not take the dumbest, most fulfilling blogging idea I've ever had, and try to turn it into something more. Why not this, and why not now?

I'm not calling my shot, unless it actually ends up happening, in which case I will come back here and claim that I called my shot.

Oh, whoops, can't forget:

HAUL OUT THE HOLLY GRADE: 1 puke out of 5

Yearlong Song Challenge, Day 176: Joe

Prompt: "A song that, to you, represents the true meaning of the holidays"

Selected by Joe

"Mystery Man"

SUSTO

& I'm Fine Today, Year

The holidays can mean anything you want them to mean. That's why I have no qualms choosing a non-holiday song. This is what I think the holidays "mean to me." Don't worry, when the musicians of Puke on Your Birthday convene at a recording studio to record their Christmas album, for one day only, in let's say 2028, when this blog celebrates its 20th anniversary, we can record this song. Gotta have a few NACS violations on that LP, and why not some fucking song from some fucking unknown alt-country-ish artist, as opposed to the Shrek song or the Willy Wonka song or the Counting Crowes song.

I don't know anything about SUSTO. Do you? Please don't tell me in the comments. What I know about SUSTO is contained on their 2017 album, & I'm Fine Today. Their sparse Wikipedia page says that they've released three albums since that incredible 2017 disc. I haven't heard any of them. Didn't even know those subsequent albums existed until right now. I don't remember how I found out about SUSTO. Probably a comment on a Friday afternoon Stereogum post. I don't know why the album hit me, and I don't know how it's managed to stick around. Examining the Top Ten Albums of 2017 list, it sits comfortably at #4, and I think I'd keep it there, if only because the Top Three are just so goddamn good. But I've listened to & I'm Fine Today more in the past month than I have listened to those top three albums combined in the past year. I don't know why. I don't even listen to the album in order! Bandcamp, at the time that I downloaded it, had the tracklist all fucked up, and by the time I got around to tweeting at the band for clarity, the tracklist was already set in my brain, and I can never change it. The sequencing is perfect. "Jah Werx" should be first, not last! Why would the band make such an egregious mistake?

Why, why, why, and what, what, what. All a mystery. Hence the "Mystery Man" of it all. A song in which the protagonist claims that an ideal relationship might just be one in which the two people involved don't really know that much about each other. Life gets too complicated when you get too deep. Let's just drive around in a van, he says. Let's have some adventures. Actually, okay, reading the lyrics a little more thoroughly, I'm getting the sense that maybe the mystery is one-sided. The protagonist wants to know everything about his love interest, but is acknowledging that it doesn't matter whether the love interest knows anything about him (I'm trying not to gender the love interest, since elsewhere on the album, there are songs about the difficulties of being queer in southern states). As if to say that they both know what's important here, and that it feels good for the protagonist to acknowledge that, to provide that service, to love unconditionally.

I can connect this to the holidays and what they mean to me. I can connect the two because that's what we do on the blog in the 21st century. We find meaning and connections and write about them. It ain't that hard. It might be a stretch, but baby, this shit is stretchy.

I don't really recall if there was a specific moment in which I decided that Santa Claus was not real. No catastrophic event that changed the course of my life and my belief system. More so a slow-burn reveal, parsed out over the course of a few holiday seasons. I have vague memories of discussions in lower parking lot recess yards between classmates. I definitely remember the first time that "Bernard the North Pole Elf" gave my sisters and me a call on Christmas Eve, the first Christmas Eve that Pappy (Mom Mom's high school sweetheart and new husband) was around, and how I thought it curious that Bernard sounded so much like Pappy, same southern lilt and all. And then there were scattered moments of discovery under adult beds and in master room closets, gifts hidden in plastic bags, the lie confirmed when those same toys ended up under the tree with the To line reading my name and the From line reading Santa's.

I've found joy in the holiday season, in fits and spurts, since those key years, but it's never been the same. Love is shared, and love is real, but love is a known entity. I know how love operates. I have the instruction manual. There's no mystery to it. That's why Christmas really soared, back then, when there was mystery involved. I thought Santa was real and I didn't understand how he did so much in one night. I didn't understand how the gifts ended up under the tree. It sounds so stupid to type it out now, because the truth behind the mysteries were so fucking simple and obvious. But not to a kid. Back then, Christmas was mysterious, and I was a Mystery Man.

With knowledge comes joy, and also pain. Somehow, the new knowledge of the certifiable truth that it was my parents, and not Santa, dropping those gifts on Christmas morning came with both new joy and new pain. Pain, that they hadn't been upfront with me this entire time. Joy, that my parents were willing to make some sort of sacrifice to not only buy the gifts, but also ask for no credit. How humbling it is, to make someone happy and to not ask for thanks because asking for thanks would tear down the lie that society peddles to its young ones. There's something so fascinating about this ritual, how untruths are okay this time of year, if only to preserve the magic, and the mystery.

I honestly do think that the Santa lie makes the holiday season more special. I get why some parents are uncomfortable with it, but I don't think it's all that bad. Maybe let's not even look at it like a lie. Instead, look at it like, hmmmm... preserving the truth in amber? Keeping it safe until kids are ready to appreciate the situation? That situation being that the holidays are hard for a lot of people, and sad for a lot of people, and challenging for a lot of people, and so sometimes it's just nice to take yourself out of the equation, don't let the expectations fall completely on you, the parent, but instead put some of that weight on the fictional jolly fat man. Then, when everybody's ready, the cards are revealed. The mystery solved. "I want to hear about everyone who broke your heart / Tell me how you write all your songs." The holidays instantly become deeper, more complex, more precious. Worse, too, sure, but that's just a loss of innocence. That's called growing up.

I'm just talking out of my ass at this point, jeez. Let's get this over with.

Yearlong Song Challenge, Day 175: Sara

Prompt: "A song that you would gift to someone else in Song Challenge if you picked their name for the Song Challenge Secret Santa"

Sara is Secret Santa for:

Joe

"Tuesday's Gone"

Lynyrd Skynyrd

(Pronounced 'Lĕh-'nérd 'Skin-'nérd), 1973

There is one specific song that will always be for Joe K***. It's "Party in the U.S.A." by Miley Cyrus. I can see Joe's face and arms waving back and forth over his head upon the first guitar riff. But, alas, that song was scooped up by Bridget on Day 47. It was a perfect choice for the prompt, but it's leaving me to get more creative on Day 175. 

I'm not gonna lie, getting the EiC feels like a heavy weight to carry. Also, knowing this dear man for almost eighteen years adds a lot of complexities. I know I can try something like "Rosalita" by Bruce Springsteen, but he literally just wrote about the Boss, so that feels too on-the-nose. I started to metaphorically thumb through the Format's catalog, but they were not fitting what I was feeling. Next, I googled songs to thank someone. Which, corny, but also I feel a lot of gratitude towards Joe. I feel grateful at how honest and transparent he is. I feel grateful for this space to write for the past year. But that felt too self-aggrandizing. There goes Sly & the Family Stone's "Thank You."

Thinking long and hard about how integral Joe has been in my life, It led me back to Beerito. Countless Thursdays watching movies in Melon Terrace, eating burritos, drinking beers, and watching movies. My brain kept going to Dazed and Confused. A cult classic and fan favorite. We definitely had a theme night around this movie. As I write this now, I can't remember if Joe likes the movie or Pam. Hopefully it's both. Frankly, if it's only Pam, then I'll just use the transitive property at this point. 

Continuing to pursue the soundtrack, I also think to myself what Joe would be doing on a Saturday morning. What song would be a good soundtrack to making breakfast, doing dishes, getting the girls ready for the day? So, a seven-minute classic southern rock song it is. Will he hate it? Maybe? Will he likely have a comment that is equal parts snark and genuine, yes. But, that's what makes Joe... Joe. Also, at some point I can only imagine Lynyrd Skynryd has been canceled in some way? So, that shall add a layer to the listening and snarky comment.

Yearlong Song Challenge, Day 175: Joe

Prompt: "A song that you would gift to someone else in Song Challenge if you picked their name for the Song Challenge Secret Santa"

Joe is Secret Santa for:

Bridget

"The Downtown Lights"

The Blue Nile

Hats, 1989

I've been thinking a lot about what Bridget said on Day 171 under the banner of the Charli XCX banger "Club classics." She said: "And that's the fun part about music is that everyone is allowed to have different takes in regards to what everyone likes and doesn't."

This is so true! That really is what makes this fun. Puke on Your Birthday wouldn't exist if we all thought the same thing about all music. That would be boring as fuck, and I wouldn't devote so much of my free time to writing about music if it was all in service of jerking off the thousands of readers who all agree with every word that I say. Disagreeing about music is fun, because it's not actually important. Bridget being completely wrong about "Club classics" does nothing to diminish my friendship with Bridget. It's just a fun little thing to discuss, sometimes using hyperbole for laughs.

However. I also think that this only works if both parties in that discussion remain open-minded. If not, then the music discussions and arguments become a waste of time. Why bother attempting to make a case for a song's or album's or artist's value if that case is falling on deaf ears? Why would I bother writing a passionate comment under Bridget's absolutely TERRIBLE argument about "Club classics" if I didn't think she was going to read it or give a fuck what I thought? It wouldn't make sense.

(Let us ignore the fact that Bridget has made it extremely clear that she does not read anything I write on this blog because it's "too long," and doesn't seem to like Song Challenge all that much anyway. Both fair takes! I am glad that I pulled her name because this means she will finally be FORCED to read THOUSANDS of words that I write on Puke on Your Birthday whether she likes it or not!!! Maybe one day I will turn our blog posts into an audiobook so that Bridget will finally be able to "read" them while completing day-to-day tasks.)

I'm not the best at this, I'll admit it. No one is! It's hard to be open-minded. It's hard to listen to someone else's point-of-view when it clashes so directly with your own. Again, music isn't that important. This happens with important things too, the unwillingness to listen, and it's the reason that a bunch of people voted for a fascist and now he's going to be our president again. Music isn't changing the world, but it can change our own individual worlds, and so it's important to allow opposing opinions into your world, to truly consider them, if not out of respect for the person presenting that alt-POV, then at least out of respect for the music itself. I'm still working on it!

I wanted to gift Bridget something via a blog post in this way. I wanted to gift her my attention and my support and my willingness to listen to her POV. I loved reading everything that Bridget wrote this year, and I am so eternally proud and so very thankful that she participated in YSC all year; I also think that, out of the nine Song Challengers left standing at the end of the year, I disagreed with her *musical* opinions the most. And I'm not the best at listening to opinions like that. So that's the gift. I'm going to be open-minded and I'm going to listen to Bridget.

I'm going to finally listen to The Tortured Poets Department. I'm going to listen to it over and over until I like it. I'm going to write a positive review of it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Official Puke on Your Birthday Review of Taylor Swift's The Tortured Poets Department

A Record Club Follow-Up Series

written by Joe K***

(This review does not refer to the album's bonus tracks)

What I once thought of as a flaw, I now see as a strength. There's an argument to be made about Taylor Swift being corny, and sure, some of the lesser-minded among us may have made such an argument in the past, in public, on this blog. But I think the truth of the matter is that it's a good thing that Swift leans into pretty much everything she does. You can't call it cringe if she's this sincere about it.

Could it be considered weird that she is basically singing about a brief fling from a year ago over the course of an hour-long pop album? It could, but I wouldn't slog through such a crass opinion. I instead would say that it's brave as fuck to lean into the subject matter, really wade through the muck and mire here, really getting her hands dirty. I'm sure many of the details scattered throughout the album are based in real life. I have no doubt in my mind, for instance, that scuzzy-ass Matty Healy owned a typewriter and tried to impress his bedfellows by lugging it around. The evidence is all here.

But that's not really the point. The point is what it always is: heartbreak, love, loss. These subjects are evergreen, especially as young women start to grow up and experience these feelings for themselves. They look toward the vanguards of pop music for assistance with these new emotions. "Is it normal to feel this bad?" Why yes, it is, and here's the proof—Taylor Swift, the most popular woman in the world, feels bad sometimes too. Maybe I'm not in the intended audience, but I can certainly see a reflection of what I'm feeling in this music too, if I go looking. Pain and longing, confusion and regret, a love so full that your heart is gonna burst, these are all universal emotions. You can find 'em here, if you want.

The music is intriguing. This is another way Taylor Swift really leans into it. She's not making bangers anymore, which is fine. She doesn't need to! But the key here is that, with her newer, chillier sound, she really leans into it. It's not like there are nine Aaron Dessner soundscapes and three "Look What You Made Me Do" pop affairs. Nope, we're very consistent on this one. Steady tempo, steady pulse, not too many moments of ecstasy, mostly just cold and piercing and, yeah, sure, still pretty catchy. Would I rather listen to "Mean" or "22" again? I think so. But I can't knock the evolution. She's growing, evolving, and has landed on a new sound that is obviously still resonating. I appreciate that effort. Not everyone has it in 'em.

Lots of great musical moments scattered around this thing! Who needs the bangers?! Not when you have the vitriol of "fuck it if I can't have him" on "Down Bad," or the big booming '80s drums of the title track that lead into the opening twinkling synth thing, or those huge hits after the great line of "my friends all smell like weed or babies" on "Florida!!!", or the juxtaposition of cold verses and crashing, rising choruses on "Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?", or the Dessnarian piano loop of "loml," or pretty much everything in the pointed, Black Mirror-esque "Clara Bow," or a thousand other moments that make me think that maybe this Swift chick knows what she's doing, at least more often than not.

The thing I love about The Tortured Poets Department is the subject matter, though. I get the sense while listening to this thing—and I'm not the only one—that Swift is pissed at her fans for being so uncool about her wanting to fuck the 1975 guy. As I mentioned earlier, she is the most popular artist on the planet, and yet she spends an hour basically saying that she is the victim. If we're taking her at her word, and she really is the victim, degraded by having all her teeth removed ("Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?") and forced to listen to "sanctimonious soliloquies" ("But Daddy I Love Him"), then who is the perpetrator here? Sure seems like she's talking about the Swifties.

But she could never say it out loud, and that's what makes this album's drama really fucking sing, baby. She's pissed and she's horny and she's creatively and emotionally and sexually unfulfilled by some fucking jock she's "dating," and she lashes out, snaps at everyone who makes her life more difficult, and yet also she build her entire fucking brand on being #Nice to #Women and she'd lose everything is she admitted that she just wanted to do a little Netflix and chill with the smelly tattooed guy and she doesn't care what racist tweets he sent in 2009 or whatever. So she's reduced to playacting, and she plays the part so goddamn well. She's performing from a cage! Sing, Taylor, sing!!!

Here's what I said in August: "I'd rather be waterboarded than ever listen to Taylor Swift's new album any more than I have through this Song Challenge." I take it back. I'm glad I listened to this. It was an easy listen, and went down well. It's catchy but never overwhelmingly so, i.e. it earns its catchiness. It's nice music for a rainy Tuesday morning walk to the train. Pretty fascinating that Swift, with all her power, is moving pop in this grayscale downcast direction. Even more fascinating to peel that back and see the rotting core that Swift does just barely enough to cover up. I like this album a lot.

Thanks for the recommendation, Bridget!

GRADE: 3.5 pukes out of 5

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And now, the second part of the Secret Santa gift!

One of the best parts about music—beyond or adjacent to the discussions and the arguments—is the way that you can treat music like a journey. You discover something, and you grow to love it, and then find that you can branch off from there in almost endless directions. Mainly, toward all the music that influenced the tunes that you love, and all the music that those tunes influenced. An album like The Tortured Poets Department is not only a singular work of art, but it's also one single piece of an endless story about Music. It's just a small piece of the puzzle, a puzzle whose solution will provide you with all the answers you need about history, the world, yourself, everything. The only thing you gotta do is keep searching for more pieces, and keep attempting to fit them together.

It's easy to branch off from The Tortured Poets Department. The answer is in the song "Guilty as Sin?" In it, a mysterious man sends Taylor a recommendation. It's "The Downtown Lights" by the Blue Nile (she doesn't miss the opportunity to make the band's name into a double entendre either, that's our girl). And the mystery man is, of course, Matt Healy, who has previously expressed love and admiration for Hats, and is no doubt as shameless with forcing women to listen to the music he likes as he is with forcing them to carry his typewriter up four flights of stairs.

Forget about the Matty Healy of it all for a second, though. Listen to the song. You have arrived here because Swift mentioned the song in one of her own songs. But now move backwards. Pretty clear that the sound of The Tortured Poets Department was inspired by the Blue Nile, no? Taylor provides a modern take on the synthy sophisti-pop that the Blue Nile were lusciously churning out in the late-'80s. That's pretty cool! It's cool how we can connect Taylor Swift and the Blue Nile and see in our minds the bridge that is connecting them, both implicitly and explicitly.

Even cooler is that this is just one of a trillion possibilities here. You can listen to The Tortured Poets Department a thousand times in one year and choose dozens of songs from it for a song challenge that you're doing with your friends because you are a sadistic torturer, but eventually, the flame flickers, and you need to try something different but connected. That's great! That's what's beautiful about music! You can check out the Blue Nile, and then check out anyone who influenced the Blue Nile, or anyone else who was influenced by the Blue Nile. You can read that Geordie Greep also loves Hats, one of his favorite albums of all time, and then check out some his other favorites (Meddle to Swift in only three steps!), and then imagine the preposterous alternate universe in which Taylor Swift decides to spend her fuckboi rumspringa having casual sex with the Greepster himself, and what insane jazz-prog bullshit woulda ended up on The Tortured Poet Society then.

Or, you could simply picture Matty Healy playing "The Downtown Lights" yet again for his bandmate George Daniel, who rolls his eyes, and escapes the dressing room, headed to his fiancée Charli XCX's house, where they sit down and co-write something that sounds like the opposite of the Blue Nile, on purpose, finally coming up with "Club classics." Then maybe you start wondering whether it's "Club classics," and not "Sympathy is a knife," that acted like the true voodoo doll for the suddenly vulnerable Taylor Swift in 2024.

But if you don't like "Club classics," then I think you're gonna like "The Downtown Lights." So this one is for you. Merry Christmas, Bridget! Thanks for being here, friend!