With the addition of August's "Song of the Day" column, Puke on Your Birthday amassed 102 blog posts this month (once This Is My Blood catches up). It's a record that will never be broken. It's a record that was a pain in the ass to get to. Too much blogging. Too much.
Pam agrees, and so she is hosting this month's WPPR episode to tell us just how much she agrees. It acts as a passionate plea to stop blogging, to stop all this and just come home, please, please.
1. “Three Little Birds” by Bob Marley
2. “Sixteen Military Wives” by the Decemberists
3. “Fountain of Youth” by Local Natives
4. “the last great American dynasty” by Taylor Swift
5. “Drunken Lullabies” by Flogging Molly
6. “Nookie” by Limp Bizkit
7. “In a Drawer” by Band of Horses
8. “Ghost of Stephen Foster” by Squirrel Nut Zipper
9. “Alfonso Muskedunder” by Todd Terje
10. “When I Come Around” by Green Day
11. “Soldiers Rock” by Owen Pallett
12. “Reasons I Drink” by Alanis Morissette
13. “MUDDY” by Jamila Woods
14. “In Framing” by the Hotelier
15. “Dude” by Lake Street Dive
16. “Color Code” by Palm
17. “Like Ice Cream” by Divine Fits
18. “Lonely Boy” by Titus Andronicus
19. “Gun” by Chrvches
20. “What Goes On” by Sufjan Stevens
21. “Do I Do” by Stevie Wonder
22. “Proud Corazón” by Anthony Gonzalez
23. “Sunday Morning” by All Dogs
24. “Everyday” by Weyes Blood
25. “Cool, Calm & Collected” by the Rolling Stones
26. “1984 (Infinite Jest)” by the Used
27. “Terrible Things” by DARK THOUGHTS
28. “Dermatillomania” by Laura Stevenson
29. “Dreams” by the Cranberries
30. “I Know the End” by Phoebe Bridgers
31. “Hit and Run” by King Tuff
Committing to "Song of the Day" was the dumbest thing I have ever done on this blog. I already struggle to keep up with the self-imposed writing schedule, so to add another blog post to each day was almost too much to bear, and it resulted in some unbelievably shitty and pointless blogging. My bad. Enjoy today's WPPR episode, and I'll see y'all in September (when we start out "Song of the Hour" series, every hour on the hour).
Happy anniversary, Pammy. We celebrated with pizza and half of a beer each, though the beer was Celebrator, so at least that made sense. Very malty, a little toasty, it was a nice heavy beer to celebrate the heavy responsibility of marriage. jk we have fun, also Willow pissed herself.
In lieu of writing something sappy, I will now share a poem I wrote in 2014 about the Philly bar Time, which I hated then, and would hate still if they were even open at this point in the pandemic.
Pam's maid of honor (her sister) planned on including Time on the bachelorette itinerary, among other bars, and wanted me to write clues for each bar. I forget what I did for the other bars.
Anyways, I guess old bachelorette party clue and a wedding anniversary are related enough that I can pass this off as today's content? Give me a break, I'm too busy enjoying time with my family to blog today.
Clue #3
written by Joe K***
The next place you're going is somewhere I hate
It's pretentious and lame and the service is slow
And I'm a cheap asshole and it's expensive as hell
But you like it for some reason so what do I know
Whenever you and your friends want to go there
There's nothing I can do but quiver
I'll usually then try to pregame at the previous bar
So much I'll end up with cirrhosis of the liver
What else can I do when I'm faced the with prospect
Of going to this awful, terrible bar?
There's nothing I can do, I usually can't leave
It's not like I even own my car
You also hung out with someone I absolutely hate there
One of your friends slapped his minion
(I'm not talking about when we hung out with Anthony
because that kid is okay in my opinion)
But I'm gonna stop talking shit on the bar you're going to
You're gonna have a great time, and I'm definitely exaggerating
Because the hatred you have for my favorite shitty bars
Like McNally's and McGlinchey's is equally exasperating
So go out and enjoy yourself at this hellhole
During these few hours as a single lady you have remaining
You'll actually probably have a great time there this time
Without me next to you in your ear complaining
Stephan tells me that he almost picked a Tony Hawk Pro Skater soundtrack as the album this week. No soundtracks allowed for Record Club, but I'm going to use this intro space to implore you to listen to the Tony Hawk Pro Skater 3 Soundtrack anyway. This shit rips, especially if you spent most of your 2001 and 2002 digitally kickflipping.
You should also listen to the album that Stephan actually picked this week. That's below. And if you have time after listening to those two albums, you could always check out all the previous Record Club albums HERE, or the playlist HERE. Lots of good music, so enjoy it.
WEEK 83 — August 30-September 5, 2020
What we're listening to this week (Stephan's pick):
ALBUM: Sorry for the Delay ARTIST: 340ml
HOW TO PRONOUNCE THE ARTIST'S NAME: "three forty mil"
RELEASED: 2008 (I cannot find the exact date)
WHAT GENRE IS THIS: dub, jazz, ska, Afro-jazz, reggae, "experimental tropical pop"
WHY STEPHAN PICKED IT: "I was reading about punk music in Africa, and they were mentioned as being a hybrid of ska punk, jazz, and reggae, which sounded very interesting to me."
TRACKLIST:
Regents Park
The Other Side
Fairy Tales
Make It Happen
Moodswings
The Untitled Song
Kubrick
Saint-Leu
Lesson One
Australopithecus
Sorry for the Delay
Radio 75
LENGTH: 40:32
HOW TO LISTEN FOR FREE: Alright, I wasn't lazy this week. YouTube had all the individual songs but no playlist, so I made one for you.
I can't imagine there's going to be a better video in 2020 than this one.
That's it. That's the blog post. You'll have to come back in late December to read more thoughts about "This Is the End." Look for it toward the top of the Best Songs of 2020 list.
I had obligations at Lankenau Hospital today, so afterward I do what I usually do when I find myself in a strange part of town with an hour to kill: I went to Google Maps and typed "beer" in the "search this area" box. This is how I ended up driving around the suburbs on a Sunday morning.
I'm of a split mind when it comes to the idea of "the suburbs." Mostly I fall in line with the ennui expressed on Arcade Fire's 2010 Grammy-winner, The Suburbs. They are a place where you can get lost in the cookie-cutter sameness of it all. It's boring because it's safe. That's the suburbs I know. I grew up in a suburb borough that was less than a square mile, where the annual Car Show attracted the whole town, and where the cops showed up to every party we ever had (probably since they were bored because there weren't enough minorities to murder).
Maybe it's an emotional reaction to something wrong within me. A normal person would show up in Narberth and proclaim "Aw, it's cute!" My reaction was: "Ugh." Main Street lined with American flags, filled with women in yoga pants drinking at coffee shops, the busiest street in town still kinda quiet and peaceful. I don't know why I look at such a place and feel nothing but dread.
It's possible that this is because we are in the process of moving away from Port Richmond, to a "quieter" area, wherever that ends up being, and I'm fearful of the prospect of losing the "city" part of myself. Our current neighborhood is a little trashy but also a little vibrant. I'd move further into the city if I could, but we are instead moving further out. Thankfully, we have to reside within city limits due to employment restrictions, or else we'd probably be looking at houses in places like Narberth. That would be my biggest fear, that I'd find myself in the suburbs once more.
The weird thing is that I really don't mind it sometimes when I chill in such a neighborhood for a short period of time. Today, I bought a beer and a cheesesteak from a deli in Ardmore (the six-pack store I attempted in Narberth was closed, even though the website said they'd be open, a Sunday morning story as old as time), and enjoyed them at a local park. Look at this:
That was a nice respite from the hustle and bustle. I don't know if I could find that sort of isolation and greenery together in one place in the city (plenty of green space, but always people there; plenty of isolation, but usually down some paved alleyway). Wouldn't I like something like this all the time? That's the thing. I don't know. It would be like living down the shore year-round—when your place of escape becomes your home, you lose that sense of escape. Then again, the home we are looking to buy right now is on a quiet street and is right next to the woods, so I'm about to test this theory.
I am doing a terrible job of explaining all this. Here's what I am trying to say, in summation: I get uncomfortable in the suburbs, even though I acknowledge that it's likely that my love for the grittiness of the city life is some kind of front too, like I'm trying to act tough or something. I hate confronting that part of me, and so I hate visiting the suburbs, even if it's just for an hour, and even if I spend it in the shade with a cold beer and a sandwich. The suburbs make me come face-to-face with the core truth that I just don't know who I am as a person. Still.
NOTES
BEER: Coastal Evacuation
GENRE: Imperial IPA
ABV: 8.0%
BREWED BY: Cape May Brewing Company LOCATION: Cape May, New Jersey
PURCHASED AT: Rittenhouse Beer and Deli in Ardmore
PAIRED WITH: a cheesesteak (I don't think imperial IPAs pair well with anything, but some foods just go well with a beer, no matter the style)
The debut album from the Cranberries is boring as fuck. Change my mind. There are two songs on here that are good—"Dreams," and "Linger"—and they happen to be two of the best songs of all time. You'd think the rest of the songs surrounding them would even come close to their majesty. Nope. One boring slog after another.
I often wonder if having two monstrously wonderful songs on an album could be a detriment to the rest of the album. Would bullshit like "Sunday" and "Waltzing Back" have a chance to shine if they weren't in "Dreams"'s shadow? The world will never know.
Anyways, the rest of the album can fuck off my iPod, but I will play "Dreams" until the end of time. Thank you for understanding.
I always end up buying these cheap Irish-sounding beers from the far end of the beer aisle at Richmond Bottle Shop, and I'm not really sure why. There's the price—I'll try any beer that's $2, no matter what—but that can't be the only reason. Maybe it's the affinity for all things Irish that I always try to swat away but I can't help it (it's within me, I'm Northeast-Philly-born). It could also be fondness for Guinness mixed with the acknowledgment that this project would be over if my one daily beer was a Guinness again. No repeats, but I can keep trying other generic-looking Irish beers and see if anything else sticks. Could be that I love the intense whooshing sound that nitro cans make when you open them. Maybe I just want to drink everything in those last two coolers at the bottle shop simply because there are no IPAs there.
It doesn't matter, because now I'm drinking a Wexford Irish Cream Ale, a cheap, plain looking beer. For having such low expectations, though, I was pleasantly surprised with a few aspects of this indiscriminate brew. First, yes, it was a cream ale, so it was nothing close to being a Guinness or any other stout-type drink. I knew this—I've written about cream ale—but I still, for some reason, expected a dark brown opaque roasty ale. I've had too many Guinnesses—seeing "Irish" on the label is always going to make me assume it's Guinness-ish, no matter what other words are there too.
But even if I was expecting a cream ale, I would not have been expecting this specifically. Wexford cream ale both smelled and tasted strongly of toffee. Not gonna lie, you guys, I loved it. Your mileage may vary depending on how you feel about toffee, but I'm finding that I really, really enjoy that flavor in my beers. Otherwise, it was light, not very effervescent, and smooth. Bring it on.
There are always nondescript beers that I randomly pick up that surprise me, but I don't think I've ever described an Irish-style beer as "surprising" until now. Good shit.
Wait... this beer is brewed in Suffolk, England?! Goddamn it. Nevermind.
NOTES
BEER: Wexford Irish Cream Ale
GENRE: Cream Ale
ABV: 5.0%
BREWED BY: Greene King / Morland Brewery LOCATION: Suffolk, England
Look, I'm not in this to be a killjoy. If you get something out of Bully that you haven't already gotten out of several generations of loud, guitar-forward, vocal-backward, flannel-shirt-wearing-in-spirit-if-not-practice college-rock, then I am glad you have found that thing. Plenty of room around the garbage can full of ice cubes and Miller Lite, we're happy to have you.
If you'd like to tell me about the context in which this album was created—a re-establishment of the band as a solo creator and a crew of gunslingers; a reclamation of self after personal catastrophe—I'll happily hear it. I wish I could hear them in the music, but like I said, the beer is cold and the crunch of sweaty 20-somethings is always better shared. Let's not "yuck" each other's "yum" on this one, eh? Life is hard enough without splitting the hairs on the heads of our allies.
Reading that The Big Takeover piece makes it seem like this album is a bit of a departure from Bully's previous work. Beyond playing with speed of the songs ("oh yeah i just wanted to pick up the tempo"), my mind splits the songs into three pretty distinct categories. Take the difference between "Add It On," "Come Down," and "Every Tradition." The opener sets the stage, the bassline-driven tracks vary the palate, and the melodic tunes are the ones that stick in my head hours later. If this is new range, it's appreciated—Bognanno's voice and lyric do enough to tie the whole bundle.
The above unconscious mental partitioning leaves me in a space where I really enjoy 2/3rds of the songs here and just groove along with the rest. This is kind of nice though. Be it not for RC, I doubt I'd hear this band. Maybe in another universe at a concert? On the setlist but you don't recognize it? Bully was sandwiched between two bands you wanted to hear and ended up being a surprise delight.
According to Bully frontwoman (and sole member at this point) Alicia Bognanno, her third album is named after something she heard on a podcast (I know! Boo!!!) about a kid who received a sugar egg for an early birthday, and he held onto that humble gift for decades, because it reminded him that people do care in this world, even as he (and we) looked around and struggle, on occasion, to find anything resembling love or warmth or companionship or purpose. Also, it was an egg. That shit is fragile. Imagine carrying something like that around for 50 years. It would require patience and delicacy.
All this to say that it's a weird fucking title for such an album. Bully is one of those musical artists that I can play at any time, and it just feels right. Add SUGAREGG to the canon for sure. But in no world would I describe Bully's sound as "fragile" or "warm" or "patient" or "loving." This shit is hard and uncompromising. The pedal is pressed fully to the metal for the entirety of Bully's existence. Bognanno pushes her voice to the absolute limits.
SUGAREGG, then, is my own sugar egg, in a way. A gift from someone important to me, one that proves that maybe there is a place for me in this fucked up world. Bognanno understands what I like about music, and presents it to me, wrapped with a bow, asking nothing in return. It's not a particularly useful gift, and I've certainly seen sugar eggs that were more complex and more important in the grand scheme of things, but the thought means so much to me. I will carry this album around in my pocket for decades to come.
This is the only good song from a mediocre album that I deleted from my iPod because I didn't feel like writing about it in three weeks. I don't want to forget it, but I lacked the motivation to do anything but embed it here. Enjoy, and tell me that I done wrong by banishing Laura Stevenson.
Is it that hard to get a drink around here? In the dark times of the COVID, it kind of is.
Pam and I finally had a reason to secure a babysitter for the night—our sixth anniversary is Monday, but we both have work on Monday, so the Friday prior seemed as good a time as any to celebrate six years.
We drove into the city through a flood. Literally, a whole lane of 95-South was flooded out. Thunder crashed around us. Heading toward the wet city, where dining is only legally allowed outside, may not have been the brightest plan in the world, but we were determined to make it work. Even if our night turned into a six pack and Big Macs in the car, then so fucking be it. We were childless! We can do anything!
We had 6:15 reservations at Cry Baby Pasta, but maybe I didn't even need to call and confirm—there was no way we were eating rigatoni in this rain. Instead, we lucked out and found an open couple of seats at Paddy Whacks on South Street. "Lucky" only because we were under both an awning and a table umbrella, so we stayed relatively dry. "Lucky" perhaps not so much regarding the fact that we were at Paddy Whacks. I celebrated my 21st birthday here, which made sense, but not so much for a sixth anniversary.
Whatever, man. You take what you can get in the rain during a pandemic, right? We drank our overpriced drinks (plus a "$5 COVID charge") and ate some decent buffalo chicken dip. By the time the final tortilla did its scooping, the sun was threatening to come out. Cry Baby Pasta said they would need another half hour to set up, though, so we walked around a little aimlessly.
But the aimless ambling led, of course, to another bar. The Twisted Tail was still setting up, and declined our request to sit at a table for a drink, but they did have to-go cocktails, so we bought a couple and chilled in some anonymous Head House Square courtyard, drinking watermelon spritzes and assuring the MIL (who is always dialed into Weather.com) that no, we did not wash away in a Kensington flood.
At 7:20, we arrived, finally, at Cry Baby Pasta. Pam tells me this restaurant is named after a Johnny Depp movie. I've never seen it. We did our mask dance with the waitress, and otherwise enjoyed a stellar pasta meal (plus a butterscotch mousse). If you like Italian food but don't like stuffy, overpriced goomba establishments, then this is the joint for you.
Say what you will about how much of a pain in the ass dining is these days, but sitting outside on a summer night, cold beers in hand, with those whom you love, there really ain't anything better. We found summer love in these trying times.
NOTES
BEER: Summer Love
GENRE: American Blonde Ale
ABV: 5.2%
BREWED BY: Victory Brewing Company LOCATION: Downingtown,PA
PURCHASED AT: Paddy Whacks and Cry Baby both had it on the menu
PAIRED WITH: buffalo chicken dip from Paddy Whacks, linguini from Cry Baby Pasta, and six wonderful years with Pammy
GRADE: 3 pukes out of 5
BEER COUNT: 335.5 (three Summer Loves, the watermelon spritz, and a Tucher Helles lager left over from like a month ago, drank when we got home to find the kids already in bed, woohoo!)
Degrassi: The Next Generation "The Mating Game"
Season 1, Episode 6
Originally aired: November 25, 2001
"How are they supposed to know when, or if, they, ya know... do it?"
"Well, anatomically, physically, you're ready, right now. But emotionally, psychologically, we're not sure. You have to be able to decide."
If segments of the past five episodes have implicitly dealt with teenage hormones, then this is the first Degrassi episode to explicitly deal with them. Degrassi as a TV show can often be corny as fuck, but it is incredibly accurate when it comes to how teenagers deal with the subject of their own sexuality—they are confused, they are scared, and they are don't know what the fuck they are doing. This is how all teenagers are! They're right!
"The Mating Game" finds our favorite characters struggling to make sense about how they feel about the opposite sex. It becomes as clumsy and awkward as you can imagine, but no one is asking these teens to be smooth about it. Rather, Degrassi is saying that it is okay to be clumsy and awkward. Even the smoothest kid in school freezes when faced with the prospect of sex. It's okay.
Our dueling plots this week both deal with teens being horny, but each approaches the subject from opposite angles. The main plot deals with Jimmy and Ashley, already established as the Grade Eight It Couple. They are celebrating their eight-month anniversary, and with some provoking by Spinner and Paige, they are finally ready to throw down and do the deed. But are they really? The relationship seems genuine, no one is questioning that, but when it's time to have sex, there is a mutual agreement that neither one of them is ready. The relief is palpable, that they can speak freely to each other about how they really feel, despite what the Paiges and the Spinners of the world think. They strengthen their bonds, not with sex, but in the absence of sex.
On the other end of the spectrum is poor, dear Toby. It's been hinted already, but his crush on Emma moves into the realm of the known this week. Not only does director Anthony Brown make it painfully clear with a dream sequence, but Manny straight up tells Emma by the end of the episode—Toby has a major crush. It wasn't like Emma's been a dick about it; she just didn't know. Meanwhile, Toby is trying to play it suave, helping Emma with her homework, giving her an abundance of attention, affecting a poor man's imitation of cocky playboy mannerisms. Still, Emma apparently has her Sean blinders on, ditching a group hang with Tobes, JT, and Manny to hang out with Sean and talk about his dead dog.
Toby wouldn't know what to do with a girlfriend if he had one, but as we see in Drake and Ashley's side of things, having a relationship doesn't necessarily solve everything. But when it comes to sex (how to deal with it, how to treat the subject matter delicately), maybe it is helpful to have someone you can deal with it together. That's why, when the two plots converge, and Toby tells Jimmy that "girls aren't worth it," Jimmy and Ashley just crack up laughing. They no that it is worth it. All three of them know sex and hormones and "liking" someone is incredibly frustrating, but only Ashley and Jimmy know what it's like to have someone to lean on in that regard. (For now! Bon voyage Toby!)
There are a surprising number of moving parts in this episode, which I guess reflects the complexities of your teenage years in general. Think about it, though—besides Ashley and Jimmy's sexual tension and Emma and Toby's lack thereof, I can rattle off at least a dozen interesting character moments humming around the edges of this episode.
1) Sean's early acknowledgment that Toby has a crush on Emma and that maybe he should play it cool so as to not upset this clearly well-meaning nerd of a friend. 2) Paige's dastardly scheming to get Ashley to give up the V-card, behavior that clearly comes so, so naturally to Paige. 3) JT not taking Toby's crush seriously, because he's clearly never felt that type of longing, as exemplified by 4) the fact that he and Manny share some subtle blink-and-you-miss-it moments, and maybe neither one of them even realize it yet. 5) How Jimmy and Spinner each call each other "idiots" for misunderstanding something the other is trying to explain about sex. 6) How the kids are so fucking giggly during Dr. Sally's sex talk, and yet clearly they are taking all her advice to heart (why else would Spinner, of all people, insist on buying condoms?).
7) That Paige is so willing to kiss Jimmy in front of everyone, including Ashley, because it's part of a school project. 8) That everyone just assumes that was "Paige being Paige," attempting to steal Ashley's boyfriend, just because she allegedly "did it" last summer. 9) That Liberty is off in no man's land dealing with her own sexual awakening, trying to help JT with his homework, and then, when he doesn't respond to her awkward advances, she threatens to punish him in the hallways for his tomfoolery. 10) Ashley taking out her frustrations on Terri, saying that she's "never had a date in her life." 11) Terri taking one on the chin because she's so invested in her friend Ashley's romantic well-being (poor Terri). 12) Mr. Simpson still struggling to act like a hardass.
I think this is why it's not necessarily frustrating that only a few characters are in the limelight during any given episode, and sometimes good characters are forced into a supporting role. It's because there's always something going on with everyone if you look hard enough.
That's kind of the genius of Degrassi, isn't it? That they could juggle all this shit at the same time and then also find a way to advance a dozen different plots, laying the trap for later on. Yeah, I know that plenty of shows do this; anyone can throw a dart at HBO and hit any number of half-competent prestige dramas. But what other show can pull all this off, but in an episode about thirteen-year-olds question whether they should fuck? Only Degrassi.
GRADE: 4 pukes out of 5
Stray Observations
C'mon, Ms. Kwan, you're really gonna go with the "let's act out scenes from Shakespeare" assignment? So cliché. Might as well just watch Planet Earth, ya know? (Also: fucking cold-blooded to cast Jimmy in a part where he's going to have to kiss his girlfriend's biggest frenemy.)
Speaking of teachers, Coach Armstrong makes his first appearance. He'll be earning those paychecks for years to come.
Wait, so who is Dr. Sally? When I was younger, I think I assumed she and Dr. Ruth were the same people, but I guess Dr. Sally is a fictional Canadian portrayal of Dr. Ruth. Apparently, Dr. Sally was in the original Degrassi, teach sex ed to all those teens in the '80s too. She'll be back at least once more.
Oh man, my favorite line was definitely when Ashley accused Paige of stabbing her in the back, and Paige responded, "We're studying Romeo and Juliet, not Julius Caesar!" and Ashley was all "what are you even talking about?" This is perfect, because not only is Paige a villain, but she is a smart and capable villain, and that makes her character so compelling.
I know there had to be a legitimate way for Toby to prove his worth to Emma, but did he really create his own search engine? That's seems a little unrealistic to me. Welcome to Degrassi!
I love how Spinner is getting all into Shakespeare because Romeo and Juliet "do it." Spinner probably appreciates the Baz Luhrmann version.
Do people really celebrate monthly anniversaries? I guess in the first year, it makes sense. Or, if you're like me, celebrating eight months with Pam because it officially crushed my previous record for longest relationship.
Liberty is so fucking sad and pathetic in this episode, just in every fucking aspect of her being. We need to get to a Liberty-centric episode posthaste so she can stop being a creep around the margins.
Ashley's mom is heading out for the night to see Toby's dad "perform." What is that all about? I tried to look it up, but the Degrassi fan page for Jeff Isaacs is woefully thin. I guess I'm picturing him playing the violin in an orchestra or something?
Taboo of the Week moves up to five (5). Internet predators, underage drinking, pornography, divorced parents, and first-time sex.
Who is the random guy hanging out with Jimmy and Spinner? He has like one line, and then he is never seen again. I guess Degrassi is still struggling with maintaining a supporting cast at this point.
Did anyone else thing that the clerk selling Jimmy condoms was extremely creepy? And possibly racist?
I went back and forth over whether I loved or hated that Medieval-sounding, public domain flute piece that played over every single scene with Jimmy and Ashley. At first, it was annoying that they beat the Romeo-and-Juliet-ness of it all over your head that many times. But by the end, when the episode ends with another creepy freeze frame of Ashley, and the Medieval Times music is still playing, it becomes almost hilarious.
Aren't there rumors about Drake being a pedophile? Or at least hooking up with women who are young enough for it to be creepy? As always, I look at Drake's life, and wonder if all of it is some reactionary pushback to the indignities suffered in the scripts of Degrassi.
Sometimes great albums are released in mid-December. It's rare, but it happens. I hate when it does, because I try to spotlight the year's best albums and songs around that time, and I can't possibly judge an album that quickly and place it on a Year's Best list with that kind of turnaround, even if it deserves it.
So let us know sing the praises of MUST BE NICE, an album released on December 12, 2019, smack dab in the middle of PoYB's Best of the Decade coverage. Is DARK THOUGHTS one of the best bands of the 2010s? Is MUST BE NICE one of the best albums of the 2010s? Is "Terrible Things" one of the best songs of the 2010s? With an additional eight months of reflections, I'm leaning toward answering "yes" for all three questions.
This shit kicks ass, and I will play it this decade, next decade, and forever.
Here is my brief review of Stone's Beer and Beverage Market (17th and Fairmount), which I visited yesterday, after only discovering its existence like two days ago. I was faced with the prospect of returning home to a refrigerator devoid of craft beer, so it was do or die during lunch. Stone's is a twenty-minute walk from work. It was hot as fuck out (and work's dress code is long pants for men), but I still made the trip. This Is My Blood is that important to me.
I discussed a few weeks ago the idea of a six-pack store, and all the categories that matter while judging any particular store of that kind. Convenience, price, selection, comfort, and organization all matter. No six-pack store is perfect. All are unique.
I'm not even sure if Stone's could be considered a "six-pack store." It's more of a beer distributor, i.e. most of its stock is 12- or 24- or 30-packs. When I say "six-pack store," I'm more referring to establishments in which you can compile your own mixed six-pack of craft beer singles, or buy a single beer if that's the gameplan.
Stone's did indeed have a refrigerator of single beers for purchase, but it was only one single fridge. If a store like IGA has 600 beers to choose from, then Stone's had about 30. It's enough of a selection that I found a beer that I had never had before (I don't think I'll ever get to the point this year when I approach a cooler of craft beer and have already drank every single one, there's just too many varieties in this city for that to ever happen). But compared to other stores I've shopped at this year, the selection was much more intimate.
With the smaller selection, it must've been a lot easier to organize the lot—for the first time, I encountered beers organized by beer style. So that was convenient, as it was easy to ignore the DIPAs and stouts, neither of which I could imagine would've been refreshing during a summer stroll.
Pricewise, it was pretty standard, maybe even a little on the high side. They did the percentage off for four- and six-packs, but I wasn't in a position to take advantage of that deal. I did, however, come across a cheap deal as I approached counter. Before the register, there was a basket of "damaged" beers for $1.50 each. The beer liquid itself was fine, but the cans were dented or misshaped in some way. This is manna from heaven for me—down-on-its-luck beer that'll taste good and won't hurt my wallet? Sign me up.
I picked up the most interesting looking can (to be fair, most of the basket was filled with mislabeled Budweisers), and carried it on my walk back (a walk that involved pushing a homeless man in a wheelchair for a few blocks, which is a strange tale but not relevant here), clandestinely held it in the office for the remainder of the day wrapped in the empty chips bag, and biked it home through the Philly heat.
So that's how I came to drink The Crisp today, a German pilsner with those beautiful noble hops. I had a tough time opening the dented can, but you get what you pay for, right? And I only paid $1.50! For that reason alone, I think that Stone's Beer and Beverage is worth a trip. If I were someone who was buying twelve-packs of craft beer, then yeah, Stone's is obviously the place to go. But as someone who is sticking to a beer a day, Stone's was limited in scope but still managed to surprise me. Good shit.
NOTES
BEER: The Crisp
GENRE: German Pilsner
ABV: 5.4%
BREWED BY: Sixpoint Brewery LOCATION: Brooklyn, NY
PURCHASED AT: Stone's Beer and Beverage
PAIRED WITH: the Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives episode featuring the Malt House
Joe runs through every album on his iPod, mostly in alphabetical
order, and offers some brief thoughts. Check out previous columns HERE.
The Bible 2
AJJ
2016
I hate to generalize when it comes to whole genres of music, so let me be as specific as I can—there's a certain brand of DIY folk punk that I've traditionally tried to keep at arm's length. AJJ is a part of this subgenre. I tend to avoid it because I've found that that scene's particular brand of snarkiness rubs me the wrong way. Any stab at humor from these types of bands seems like an attempt to be "edgy" but just ends up being lame and off-putting. To me, anyway.
Or maybe "juvenile" is a better word for it (which is fucking rich, coming from me). I dunno. I just think about how much I dislike the Moldy Peaches (the forebearers of this particular strand of folk punk). "Who's Got the Crack?" is funny when you're a preteen, but it's grating when you reach your thirties.
I'm not that intimate with AJJ, but I know enough of their canon that I'm familiar with their dalliances in that type of "edgy" humor. Knife Man, as far as I know the best folk punk album of all time, wears this (ironic bowler) hat on occasion, not afraid to reach for guffaws by describing gruesome scenarios, the punk equivalent to a dead baby joke. But there's enough emotional, unironic honesty on Knife Man that it works despite the lame bullshit. (AJJ's most recent album, Good Luck Everybody, by contrast, is pretty much unlistenable.)
So if The Bible 2 is worth your time, then it's because it spends the bulk of its runtime looking inward, and that's a great look for a band like AJJ. There's some extraneous, cringe-worthy bullshit around the edges for sure, but mostly the album exists as a exercise in looking at one's past, examining the low points, and figuring out how to use that to do better in the future. There's no room for fart jokes, and The Bible 2 is all the better for it.
(I'm just realizing now that the very title of the album betrays the point I'm trying to make. "The Bible 2" is a dumb title, but don't worry, the edgy atheist-style joke stops there.)
Here's what is clear: frontman Sean Bonnette seems to have had a pretty rough go of it, growing up in the Midwest. If we take this work as autobiographical, then Bonnette had some bad behavioral health issues in grade school (the "visions" cause him to act violently in "Cody's Theme," and he eventually ends up in a mental institution in "Junkie Church," and so on).
But in The Bible 2, Bonnette makes the case that there is always room for growth. It doesn't matter that "nothing ever made you complete," because there's always today, and you can always attempt to do better. Twice on the album, Bonnette yells the album's mantra—"No more fear, no more shame, no more dread." If your life has been filled with those things, then maybe today is a great day to let it go. Try to find the positive things in life.
A fun punk album might help. With barely anything to cringe over (okay, the Girls reference is a bit much for me), the hooks shine on The Bible 2. I love that a song like "White Worms" can take one of those aforementioned "visions" from Bonnette's youth, describe it in disgusting detail, but then also craft a catchy, pounding chorus out of it (complete with an anti-Journey "stop believing!" chant-along).
Despite the seemingly raucous nature of some of these tunes, the important aspect of The Bible 2 remains its ability to stay intimate despite its decibel level. AJJ finds beauty in looking inward, even if what they find it's necessarily beautiful in and of itself. Consider it an outlier in the DIY folk punk scene. Consider it worthy of your time.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
If this album sounds interesting, then try this song: "Goodbye, Oh Goodbye"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Stray Observations
Maybe going with the premise of "DIY folk punk is by and large
unfunny" was the wrong choice, seeing as how I'm just watching the video
for "Goodbye, Oh Goodbye" for the first time right now (embedded just
above), and that was the most I've laughed during a music video in a
long, long time. This is my type of humor—a smart, sarcastic, self-deprecating takedown of something that is polished and popular.
The
production value on this album reminds me strongly of Some Loud Thunder
by Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, i.e. it is TERRIBLE. There are three
possibilities here. The first is that sounding like it was recorded
through AOL dial-up is some punk retro move, like, "we don't need fancy
shit we're too cool for that." The second is that the intense static is
supposed to reflect the clarity (or lack thereof) in which the memories
are being transmitted back from the past. Third is that they were lazy. I
do not have a guess as to which of these possibilities is true.
Also bad (as referenced above): the line "If I was one of the Girls, I would be Shoshanna." It's only been three years since that show went off the year, but my god, it sounds so dated already.
ALBUM
TITLE: As noted above, some of that dumb edgy humor sneaks by in the
title, "The Bible 2," meant to troll religious types that would be
offended by AJJ anyway. As far as I can tell, there are no explicit
references to religion on The Bible 2; you could probably consider it
implicit, however, that the entirety of the narrative takes place in a
space completely devoid of religion.
ALBUM COVER: The cartoonish
style of the cartoon cutout being shot through with bullets kind of
reminds me of the style employed in the great unheralded Adult Swim
series Superjail!
I enjoyed reading this interview with Sean Bonnette
on Bandcamp (conducted by a fan). I thought Bonnette came off as genial
and humble. I enjoyed learning that his wife is a psychologist, which
makes sense, given his ability to make some pretty good insights about
himself on this record. And I enjoyed the fact that, clearly, Bonnette
is living a healthier lifestyle than he did when he was younger, both
physically and emotionally.
The only thing that didn't connect
with me in this interview was all the questions about the band's
previous album, Christmas Island, which I've never heard. Sounds like I
would like it, though, since apparently this was the first album in
which AJJ settles down and gets serious, and that's what I liked about
The Bible 2.
So yeah, I really only otherwise know AJJ albums
Knife Man and People Who Can Eat People Are the Luckiest People in the
World (the latter being kind of annoying, as you might surmise from the
title). I gave 2020's Good Luck Everybody one listen, and realized that
some bands are really struggling with how to deal with the trump era in their
music, and AJJ is absolutely one of them.
I should also mention
that AJJ used to be known as "Andrew Jackson Jihad," but changed their
name in 2016 with the following statement: "1) We are not Muslims, and
as such, it is disrespectful and irresponsible for us to use the word
'jihad' in our band’s name; 2) We no longer wish to be a living reminder
of the president Andrew Jackson. Interesting historical figure as he
was, he was an odious person and our fascination with him has grown
stale." In other words: "We're not asshole teenagers anymore."
It
looks like The Bible 2 was released one song at a time online. As
Bonnette describes it, this was done so that the album wouldn't leak
beforehand. If they could control the release schedule, they could
monetize it. I'm not the type of person who is going to listen to
individual AJJ songs on a daily basis, but I admit that the plan makes
sense the general.
I have two friends who met each other at an
AJJ concert (I think, don't quote me on that), and we used to chat AJJ
occasionally, especially after The Bible 2 came out. I haven't seen them
since Monday Beer Runners petered out. Steph and Kristin, if y'all are
reading this, I miss you guys.
First, sorry for the song. It's bad. I will forever defend the Used's "The Taste of Ink" as a forgotten early-aughts emo CLASSIC, but I cannot speak to whatever the Used have been up to in the eighteen years since. Clearly, this isn't a band that requires any sort of reevaluation.
Secondly, and more importantly to the purpose of this blog post, this terrible song's parenthetical title does no favors for this Infinite Jest fanboy's quest to protect my favorite book's name from being sullied online.
In case you are not aware of this novel's existence, let me briefly explain. Infinite Jest is a book published in 1996, and written by now-dead, oft-described-genius, and noted scumbag David Foster Wallace. The novel is almost 1,100 pages, many of those pages consisting of near-absurdist endnotes. It is postmodern fiction, in that it bends the rules of fiction to shape the narrative (e.g. twisted structure, POV influencing the respective writing style, lack of stated ending, etc.). It is long and dense and vocab-heavy and takes a really long time to read.
It has sold over a million copies worldwide since its publication, so it's not like it's this overlooked gem awaiting discovery. It's popular. Unfortunately, in the past decade or so, the internet seems to have made it popular for ironic reasons.
Mostly in that Infinite Jest is held up as a completely pretentious work of art, and is ridiculed for being the go-to example of something that oblivious douchebags use as a tool to seem smarter than they actually are. The logic being that it is so difficult to read that no one could possibly enjoy it, and so its alleged popularity is more a sign that it is a token of snobbery than an actually enjoyable read.
I concede to the fact that Infinite Jest is a challenge, and often frustrating. But I think that's kind of the point, and that's why I love it. I usually compare Infinite Jest to an at-bat in baseball where the batter fouls off like eight pitches in a row. By the eleventh pitch of the at-bat, the crowd is on their feet. The tension is incredible, and each subsequent pitch that is fouled off ratchets up the tension even further. Most of the time, there isn't even a big payoff—the batter grounds out of some shit. But every once in a while, this long at-bat results in the most majestic home run you've ever seen, and the release is so fucking satisfying.
That's how Wallace writes. His sentences go on for pages. Endnotes are longer than your common published short story. Whole chapters are written from the perspective of someone high on cocaine, the lack of punctuation and grammar reflecting the character's loss of control. It's a thrill that attracts me and excites me, even in ways that I could understand may distract or disinterest others. I get it. This isn't for everyone.
But I take offense to the assumption that I would use Infinite Jest as a pretense to make myself seem like someone I'm not. I don't think I'm smart, and I would never try to pretend like I'm smarter than I am. I read what I enjoy, and if I enjoy Infinite Jest, then it's for reasons that I now have to keep private, apparently.
I fucking hate that I have to now be embarrassed about my choice for my favorite book of all time. I hate that the assumption is that everyone who owns a copy of Infinite Jest could never possibly intend to read it, and this assumption is made by people who have never read it.
I think that reading Infinite Jest is a fulfilling experience, both from a personal standpoint (it is just filling to the brim with emotional connections via the hardships of addiction) and a metafictional standpoint (if the content is emotional grounded, then the way the content is presented is just straight-up ballsy), and I don't really understand why people don't just give it the benefit of the doubt.
Okay, maybe I do understand it. I get that the internet exists as a machine for mockery and irony, and that many of its anonymous dwellers could not possibly understand what it means to find a sincere, personal connection with something that, yes, at first glance appears daunting and unwelcoming.
It's ultimately frustrating, though, that one of the (many) theses presented throughout Infinite Jest is that maybe humans could stand to be a little less distant, a little less prone to acting phony to put on airs, a little more in touch with the lame, goopy, sincere side. By dismissing Infinite Jest outright, you are proving its lessons to be true, and this is frustrating because if you never read Infinite Jest, you'll never realize it.
If you are reading this, and you have also shared an "Infinite Jest suxxxx" meme in your life, I'm begging you to please give it a try. You might find that by page 200 you hate it, and by page 500 you are tearing your hair out, but by page 1096, you'll want to immediately start it all over again. Seriously. No one has ever read the entire book and regretted that they did.
And maybe next time, think twice before literally judging this book by its cover?
(But look, okay, the Used suck, sorry to use this shitty song as a Trojan horse.)
Here's a quirky aspect of my overall drinking demeanor—I find it really difficult to drink while walking. My stomach is a lot surer of itself since the days of teenage puking, but still, to this day, if I find myself in a rare situation in which I'm walking a distance and drinking during, my stomach starts doing flips.
I know this deficiency is particularly idiosyncratic because, like, how often do I find myself walking and drinking at the same time? Not often, especially these days, when I'm barely leaving the house, let alone leaving it with beer in hand.
The most common situation I might find myself drinking beers and taking strides is probably any particular night I need to travel from parking lot to stadium. Mainly for Phillies games, occasionally for concerts (none of which are happening anymore, obviously). There are conflicting needs to both drink as much as you can before alcohol prices jump 4000% and drink as slow as possible so you don't barf and ruin the whole goddamn night. Usually I'm praying for a red light on Pattison Ave. so I have a chance to stand still and chug.
This is the main reason I have never had any interest in organizing a Kastenlauf, a race in which teams of two carry a case of beer to the finish line, and can only cross said line once all the beer is finished. It's one of the few drinking games that I've actively avoided in the past fifteen years; I just know that it would be a miserable experience. I don't have a problem carrying a crate far distances (I was part of many keg-carrying teams through the long dark woods in my day), I more have a problem with the prospect of being pressured to drink in a situation during which I know I won't drink that well.
I wanted to check out a beer store about a mile from work today, one I had never heard of before (Stone's Beer Distributor, more on my experience there tomorrow). With an hour for lunch, I had just enough time to walk there, pick out a beer, and walk back. I also wanted to drink the beer during lunch, so that meant that I took an extra plastic bag from the store for wrapping, and drank on the walk back. It was... exactly how I remembered it.
It probably didn't help that it was a pretty hot day, and an American pale ale is not the most thirst-quenching beer in the world. It also didn't help that I was pairing it with a bag of honey dijon kettle chips (have you ever tried to open a fancy bag of chips with one hand while walking?). It was such a failure of an idea that I had to veer into Matthias Baldwin Park to take a seat and finish my drink in peace.
I have to imagine that this has something to do with the idea of beer sloshing around in your stomach as you walk at a moderate pace, causing carbon dioxide to build up in your gut. I don't know, I'm not a scientist. I'm just a drinker. A shitty, shitty drinker.
NOTES
BEER: Back & Forth
GENRE: American Pale Ale
ABV: 5.0%
BREWED BY: 2SP Brewing Company LOCATION: Aston, PA
Ranking "Greatest Songs of All Time" is an impossible task, due to the sheer volume of amazing songs out there. Nevertheless, the WXPN community has once again taken on this impossible task, after having already done so in 2004. The radio station is asking its listeners to rank their own Top Ten, and then they'll compile all the lists to create one master list. The list will rank the alleged Top two-thousand and twenty songs of all time.
You can take a look at 2004's list, and see that there aren't many surprises. The boomers who listen to XPN know what they like. The Beatles, Bob Dylan, and Bruce Springsteen make up nine of the top twelve songs (with the Stones, Van Morrison, and U2 claiming the other three spots). For a station that prides itself in playing all kinds of new and interesting music, their Greatest Songs list sure seems like something a classic rock station would put together.
I guess I'm not complaining. I could see a scenario in which I consider "Thunder Road" one of the greatest songs of all time. It's not the greatest song of all time, mind you, but XPN's #1 song choice is not so egregiously off the mark that I'm upset about it. Same with something like "Like a Rolling Stone." Amazing song... not the third best song of all time, but, ya know, it's good enough that #3 sits just comfortably enough with me. (Really, out of the Top 20, the only preposterous choice in my opinion is #2 "Imagine." It's an awful song, regardless of how you feel about John Lennon.)
Okay, but this is a community-generated list. Anyone can submit their Top Ten. I have a say in what makes the list and what doesn't. My submission might be a drop of water in an ocean of personal lists, but I still have some say in how the list shakes out. If I can use my own personal list to change XPN's Top 2020 in some infinitesimal way, then it will have been worth it.
In that vein, I think simply submitting a list of my own personal Top Ten Songs of All Time would be a waste of time. I don't want to list ten songs if none of them have a chance to crack the list of 2020. I want to strategically compile my personal list, and make it so as to maximize my chances of having an impact as XPN compiles the master list.
(Plus, the list is "greatest" songs, not "favorite" songs. I'm comfortable including on my list mostly songs that wouldn't even crack my Top 40 "favorite" songs, because "favorite" implies personal preference. "Greatest" should also consider cultural impact, staying power, artist legacy, and so on. So that's something to keep in mind.)
Here are some thoughts.
My #1 choice should be my sincere #1 song of all time. I have an answer for this; I have for years. It should be no surprise to anyone who has listened to this song with me before (or has read about it on this blog). I keep this song at #1, even though there is a close to 0% chance that it will make the list, because there are 2020 songs on the list, and so if only like two other people include the song, then who knows, it might roll in at #1993 or something. I can't rule out the possibility, and I have to give it every chance I can.
At least three other songs should be included somewhere in the #6 through #10 spots as a protest vote. These are songs that are also legitimately Top Ten All Time for me personally, but there is so little chance that they could end up on this list that it might as well be impossible. But I include them still because they are songs that deserve to be sung out to the masses, and so I include them in the same way I would throw a penny in a fountain and make a wish. I show support even if the support means nothing.
Four songs should already be on the list from 2004, but deserve to be higher. I include these songs because I know they already have a following—they must if they were included on enough 2004 lists to make XPN's Top 885 already. I want to add my vote to their new totals, and hopefully bump them up as many spots as they deserve to be bumped.
Finally, two songs should be from artists that are heavily featured on the previous list, but the songs themselves were not included because people are idiots. These are the deep cut tracks designed to split votes. Maybe an artist's most famous song needed one more vote to crack the Top Ten, but I deprive that artist of that needed vote by voting instead for their least popular song. I can add to the possibility that my favorite song from that artist will be featured, while at the same time knocking one of their worse (in my opinion) songs down a few pegs.
With all that in mind, I have compiled my own personal Top Ten Greatest Songs of All Time that I will be subsequently submitting to WXPN for tabulation. Again, this is nothing close to what my personal Favorite Songs of All Time list would like.
You'll have to do your best to determine which songs fit into which of the categories I just described, since I'll keeping the details close to my chest and presenting the list as is. 10. "Everybody's Got Something to Hide Except for Me and My Monkey" by the Beatles
Keychains—Not sure how this one started, but it was the big one. I had a long chain of them, maybe two hundred or so. Whenever I'd go somewhere for vacation or a weekend trip or whatever, a keychain would be my souvenir. Other people would bring me back a keychain from wherever they went on vacation. Seeing as I was a preteen and I didn't have any keys, the fact that I collected keychains should show you how silly collections can be if they lack purpose. It was still neat, though. About a year ago, I was tasked by my parents to go back to Rockledge and look through my old crap, and I came across the keychain collection. When I realized that one of the keychains was from a trump hotel, I knew it was time to get rid of them.
Pez—I used to line them all up on a shelf, and that bitch would get so dusty. Do you know how hard it is to keep Pez dispensers clean?
Pogs—I remember playing with pogs in kindergarten, so this was so early in my childhood. I had no agency at that age, so the fact that I had pogs at all was all due to my parents. I do remember my mom getting really excited that she bought a pog collection of 42 pogs, each one featuring a different U.S. President, so at least it was a little bit educational I guess?!?
Crazy Bones—The creators of Crazy Bones put on a master class on how to get kids to buy useless crap. They were little plastic figurines, maybe an inch tall. they allegedly existed so you could play games with them (flick 'em across the room, try to hit your opponent's bones), but mostly they existed for you to collect them. You'd buy a pack of four for two bucks, but you were buying blindly. The thought was that if you buy enough, you'd eventually "collect them all." I bought into the craze hook, line, and sinker, and my poor mother had to drive us to Zainy Brainy every other weekend to buy another pack on Crazy Bones.
Beer cans—I think? I never actively participated in this, but I remember my uncle-not-related trying to get me into this, even giving me a big cardboard box of old beer cans to peruse and add to my "collection" (which, at the time, consisted solely of the contents of that cardboard box). Kinda difficult for someone a decade away from drinking age to collect beer cans, no? Shit, though, I'd fucking KILL to get a look at that box now. It's long gone, though, mostly likely disposed of twenty years ago to earn my grandpop some extra beer money.
Pepsi cans—Specifically, I'm talking about the Star Wars: Episode 1 collection. During the summer of 1999, Pepsi released 24 collectable cans with Star Wars characters on each, and it was your job to go out and find them all. I don't know if I ever got there (I certainly never found a Golden Yoda to win that sweet cash prize), but I do remember being briefly obsessed with the mission. At one point, I remember seeing someone on the beach drinking a Jabba the Hut Pepsi and, like, running over when I could see they were finishing up, to ask if I could have their trash. Fucking weird.
Coins—Like the beer cans, I was never really invested in this, but my Pappy was a coin collector, and figured that it would be a good way to bond with his step-grandson. So he set me up with a preliminary collection. Maybe I should've kept it up; at least then I would've had something to talk with Pappy about instead of trying to convince him that Hilary Clinton does not run a secret pedophile ring under a pizza parlor.
CDs—I never had a big collection, mainly due to financial reasons, but I had at least a couple shelves dedicated to my nascent music collection back in the day. I only recently got rid of 90% of them, mostly because we don't have a CD player (I finally bought a laptop without a CD-ROM drive). I kept the other 10% due to sentimental reasons, and for the remote possibility that Willow might discover the CDs in the back of a closet one day and it'll pique her curiosity and she'll use that as a springboard to discover daddy's music. Either that or she'll toss 'em in the trash and listen to whatever fourteen-year-old pop star is making music on Tik Tok in 2028.
I put off drinking this beer for as long as I could, because I knew that whenever I enjoyed it, I would be forced to write about the bar that it was made for originally—McGillin's Olde Ale House. I don't want to write about this bar because it is my favorite bar in Philadelphia, and I miss it terribly.
McGillin's is the best bar in Philadelphia because, out of all the bars in this city, it is the one that most accurately reflects the many versions of Drunk Philadelphia that exist. The drinking scene in Philadelphia is not a monoculture. There are many ways to drink, many environments to drink in, and many people with whom to do your drinking. And they all exist within McGillin's.
There are moments of comfort to be found in the act of drinking by yourself but with strangers, sitting quietly in a quiet bar, slowly sipping your suds—you can find it at McGillin's. There are moments of world-changing drunken ecstasy to be found in the act of getting sloshed while squeezing your way to the bar while the DJ thump thump thumps his loudest—you can find it at McGillin's. There are moments of solidarity with your fellow citizens, all the 21-year-old douchebags and wrinkly aunts crammed together, watching a sports game over some hot wings and $6 pitchers—you can find it at McGillin's. There are moments of history, when you know you're drinking at the same bar that your grandmom drank at when she was working downtown during WWII—you can find it at McGillin's. There are moments of community, when you know that every type of person in Philadelphia, the good and the bad, are welcome here, no matter what—you can absolutely find it at McGillin's.
I think about those stressful Sunday afternoons, when the bartender would save me a seat during an Eagles game and have my Rolling Rock ready before I even sat down. I think about those 11 AM novelty binges with friends in the late aughts, when we thought that eating scrambled eggs and doing screwdriver shots was the coolest goddamn thing ever. I think about smashing 100 wings with friends while the Pope gave out the Eucharist a few blocks down (and throwing up by the time he was giving final blessings). I think about Grandpop coming to McGillin's to celebrate my college graduation and braving the stairs to take a piss. I think about karaoke night the week before with my college peers, getting drunk together as students one last time. I think about random lunch club meetings at McGillin's, some that featured free soup and some that spiraled out of control. I think about the nights I can't possibly risk writing about on a public blog. I think about all the 21st birthdays, and all the times we got kicked out because the 21-year-old was fed too many shots. I think about dinners with Pam, when she lived around the corner, and I just felt like I was home, in this dark, warm tavern, with my two loves (Pam, cheap pitchers of beer).
I think about the fact that I haven't been there at all this year. First, it was because I was trying to avoid drinking too many $6 Rolling Rock pitchers too early in the year; after that, I literally wasn't allowed to—they've been closed, because coronavirus is going to kill us all.
1860 IPA, McGillin's namesake beer brewed by Stoudts, was a poor substitute for the experience of actually being at McGillin's, despite the fact that I poured it into a 12oz mug just like I would at McGillin's. The funny thing is, I've never even had 1860 IPA, despite all the many, many times I've been to the only bar that sells it. I was too busy guzzling cheap beer.
That's how it goes at McGillin's Olde Ale House, though. You don't have to drink their fancy craft beer if you don't want to. You can feel free to be yourself. Everyone can be themselves at McGillin's, and everyone really, truly is. It's one of the few places in Philadelphia where everyone can be themselves, all together, even when people are so, so different. That's what Philadelphia is all about. We're all coming together for a pitcher of beer.
Writing this made me visit the McGillin's website for the first time in months, and I was shocked to see that they are opening up again, this Friday. Apparently, tables for 50 people have been set up on Drury St. I honestly can't imagine how that's going to work—isn't that the same street filled with dumpsters and muck puddles and grime leftover from 1860? But good for them. I hope they make enough money to stay in business.
I'll be there when the doors literally open, and I can safely enter my favorite bar. Until then, I patiently wait, wait to go home.
NOTES
BEER: 1860 IPA
GENRE: American IPA
ABV: 6.0%
BREWED BY: Stoudts Brewing Co. LOCATION: Adamstown, PA
I'm working my way through a list of movies I've never seen before. You can find the list HERE. I'm doing this shit alphabetically. Let's go.
Big
1988
Pam asked, as she usually does after watching one of these movies together: "What did you think?" My response was somewhat dismissive. "It was fine." And she goes, "Oh boy, what was wrong with this one?" I think she was expecting a "does this hold up?" style disapproval of Big, and she rolled her eyes because my insistence on being politically correct can strain even my wife's patience on occasion.
To be clear, there are definitely moments in Big that play differently the more you think about them, and not in a good way. There's the very obvious fact that Susan, a fully grown adult, unknowingly has sex with a thirteen-year-old boy. There's the fact that Josh's mom is forever scarred by the experience of her son being kidnapped. Neither of these issues are dealt with in any meaningful way in Big. But ya know what? I'm kind of okay with that.
There are rules in this universe—a boy is turned into a man via the magic beaming out of an unplugged robot psychic machine—and we have to accept those rules as true in this universe. And when we accept such rules, we must accept that there are going to be strange occurrences that would otherwise cause one to be squeamish, but must in this very specific, unlikely, fictional case be accepted as they happen. My career and livelihood is related to child abuse and neglect, so I'd be the first one to tell you that we should be concerned that pedophilia occurred if it did. I assure you, if a report came across my desk regarding a 30-year-old and a thirteen-year-old have sex in a bunk bed, and I could prove that the 30-year-old didn't know that her boyfriend was actually a thirteen-year-old magicked into an adult's body by a mysterious arcade game, I'd be treating that investigation a little differently.
No, no, let's not keep talking about all this. It's stupid and pointless. This is a fictional movie featuring incredulous circumstances; we cannot treat it like real life. However, we can treat it like a movie, and here's why I didn't really like Big. I didn't like it because, as a work of cinema, it was too obvious.
Even without knowing the premise beforehand (I kind of did, even though I was aware of zero of the details), it's pretty plain to anyone watching this movie, as soon as he turns into an adult, that eventually our hero is going to learn a lesson that he should cherish his youth and not worry about growing up too soon. Seriously, as soon as Tom Hanks looks at his own chest hair in awe, the endgame is apparent. The last 7/8ths of the movie are like watching a slow-moving train to the inevitable. Can we just skip John Heard's asshole second-tier antagonist and get to the part where Josh becomes a kid again? Where's my Zoltar machine so I can wish that I could skip 90 minutes into the future?
Fine, it wasn't that bad. Being happy with what you have, being optimistic about your current position, cherishing the moments as they happen without wanting to skip ahead—these are all important lessons, to be sure, and all of them can be learned in some fashion while watching Big. I'm not saying I disagree with any of it; in fact, I'd argue that they are lessons that I struggle with on a daily basis, and I was appreciative that a movie was able to underline so thoroughly the points that I needed to hear, even if it did so in a hokey, silly milquetoast-sci-fi sort of way.
But as a movie, i.e. as a piece of art that I experienced for 104 minutes, it did nothing to surprise me. No movie magic flowed forth to creatively inspire me in any palpable way. I saw Point A, I immediately knew what Point B was, and then fruitless watched as Tom Hanks goofed his way from A-to-B, all the high jinks adding up to very little other than that base lesson.
As a series of pop culture moments, it surprisingly succeeds, but that's more due to the pop culture machine than any success on the movie's part. Yes, watching Hanks and Robert Loggia play "Heart and Soul" on a giant foot piano was surely whimsical, but it is disposable in the context of the movie, and exists in the pop culture lexicon because others told us it should. I knew that these two characters played a giant foot piano because Michael Scott hung up a still shot of it happening in the conference room. Michael Scott is the type of man who mistakes knowing pop culture for having a personality. I try not to be that type of person. I liked the giant piano scene; I didn't need it. And yet the cinema industry tells me that it was IMPORTANT, so here I am, talking about Big.
And the critical acclaim has stayed true in the last 32 years. Browsing online, it looks like people were fans then, and are still fans now. This is bizarre to me, but I get it—the love for Big probably has more to do with nostalgia. It's a very '80s movie, both in style and in substance.
The truly weird part is that this isn't even that unique of a movie, both in movie history and in that very specific time period. Big was the fourth "body swap" movie just within a one-year period in the late '80s (you could be pedantic and say that Big isn't technically a "body-swap movie" but just bear with me). Movies I've never heard of called Like Father Like Son, 18 Again!, and Vice Versa all came out mere months before Big. And yet Big is the movie everyone remembers. This could speak to the quality of Big versus these other films; it could also mean that body-swap films are by and large shitty enterprises and Big happened to be the sole property that cleared the very low expectations of the sub-genre.
Whatever the case may be, people love Big, and still talk about it, and it just has to be because those people watched it when they were younger, and felt an emotional connection to kid Josh and his very-thirteen-year-old-like problems, and so that connection remains strong even as the audience reaches adulthood. I'm very familiar with how this works—90% of the Your Favorite Movie interviewees said that their favorite movie was their favorite movie because they watched it when they were younger. Nothing wrong with that.
I wonder, though, whether that means that I didn't like Big because I watched it while being eighteen years older than the protagonist. It's possible that I found the movie to be obvious because I've already lived Josh's transformation in slow motion. It's true—one day you look into the mirror and you're old, and you still don't have anything worked out. I can't fault Josh for not knowing that being "big" isn't going to make life any less mysterious, frustrating, or tragic.
So take my opinion with a grain of salt, I guess. I watched Big in the wrong decade, and so I didn't find much to enjoy. If you happen to be thirteen years old and are reading this blog (why?!?!), you might want to check this one out. All my fellow 30-somethings can safely skip it—there's no reason to be reminded of time's relentless march forward.
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Who's Involved
I've been trying to play Six Degrees to Kevin Bacon more often lately, having watched more films than usual over the past couple of years. However, because of Apollo 13, it usually ends up being Five Degrees to Tom Hanks—I'm way more familiar with Hanks' filmography than Bacon's, and can always use their movie together as the final step. Hanks has been in so many great movies (That Thing You Do!, Cast Away, A League of Their Own, Bachelor Party, the Toy Storyfranchise) and so many movies that aren't necessarily great but are at least memorable (Forrest Gump, The Da Vinci Code, um, The Polar Express). Tom Hanks is probably in the running for the most famous movie star in America working today—I don't think that's too much of an exaggeration, right?
We'll have plenty of time to discuss Tom Hanks in the future (he's in at least three more Never Seen It movies: The Green Mile, Philadelphia, Saving Private Ryan), but let's talk about his performance in Big. I thought he did an admirable job! If there were moments when his character annoyed me, that was only because thirteen-year-olds annoy me, which means that Hanks did an accurate portrayal. That scene when Josh is in the limo with Susan, insisting on touching every button? HATED it. Tom Hanks made me feel an intense emotion, so hey, good job. (It wasn't all aggravating teenage antics—the mini-corn nibbling bit was as endearing as advertised.)
Even though Hanks wasn't A-list at the time, he definitely is now. I can't say the same about anyone else in the cast. However, there were definitely plenty of recognizable faces throughout the film. Elizabeth Perkins has one of those faces—I couldn't recall off the top of my head where I recognized her from, but I knew it was from somewhere. As it turns out, I recognized her from three other roles, all of them coincidentally mothers: Rebecca's mom from This Is Us, Bash's mom from GLOW, and Nemo's dead mom from Finding Nemo. I wonder if this was a conscious decision on her part to only play moms, to lessen her chances of having to play the unenviable role of an adult accidentally raping a teenager.
John Heard plays an even less forgiving role than Perkins, forced to act the pompous jerkoff with no redeeming qualities. It's one of those roles that is all surface-level—this dude sucks, and he's not afraid to let you know it—but it's also a villainous role that actually would've benefited from some depth. What if the movie took a step back to try to understand why this guy might be a little frustrated by the fact that some nobody squirms his way into a VP position that Heard's character had worked YEARS for, on top of the fact that the nobody who stole his throne also has the emotional capacities of a fucking teenager?! My point being that Paul was an undercooked character, and there was nothing John Heard could do about it.
We all recognize John Heard from Home Alone, but don't forget he had that Season 1 role in The Sopranos as well. Apparently Robert Loggia was in The Sopranos too? That's probably where I recognize him from, but I have to google it first. One moment. [...] Ah jeez, duh! He played Feech La Manna! Not that Loggia looked young in Big, but man, he aged significantly in the fourteen years in between these roles. Either that or they aged him for the role of Feech, which would make sense, as this is supposed to be an allegory about Tony's push-and-pull relationship with the "old school" way of doing things... okay, sorry, back to Big.
As with John Heard, this isn't really a criticism of Loggia's performance as much as his character—Mr. MacMillan amounted to pretty much nothing in the grand scheme of things. He seems like he's going to be a major player in Act II, but by Act III he's pretty much a smiling extra in the background. Poor Mr. MacMillan has his star pupil walk out of a big meeting and disappear forever. Guys... Big is a bad movie.
At least it had the mom from That '70s Show, right? Has Debra Jo Rupp done anything else in her career? Yes, she has... we will see her again in... Garfield. Oh boy.
David Moscow plays Josh as a thirteen-year-old. He does about as well as one could hope, which is to say, he was a thirteen-year-old amateur actor and you get what you get with them. But when it comes to kid actors in movies like this, I'm way more interested in their thoughts on their big roles years later, when they are adults and gain some perspective. Especially if he is the type of actor who hasn't really done anything more famous than that role they had as a kid.
So, in that regard, I really enjoyed reading this interview with Moscow for MTV News. It was published in 2013 for Big's 25th anniversary. It's a great interview because Kase Wickman is clearly clueless of Moscow's glaring bitterness and sarcasm about the role. Every answer he gives is dripping with disdain for even having to do this interview, and for still being known for this silly movie, and Wickman doesn't acknowledge it once.
Who the fuck am I to judge an interviewer though, ya know? It's hard to do. And maybe I'm completely wrong about this. Maybe I think I'm reading between the lines, but my moderate disdain for Big is making me see things that aren't there. It's possible that David Moscow cherishes the fact that he is famous for a movie he did 32 years ago and that this shitty movie will be in the first line of his obituary. I don't know!
I do know that Jared Rushton did a better job than David Moscow, and not just because he had more time to flesh out his teenage character (i.e. he never transformed in Tom Hanks). Rushton lucks out being able to drop the movie's only F-bomb (and it's still rated PG!), and he does the word justice, dripping with all the needed immature teenage vitriol. For the second time today, I needed to look on the internet to find out where I knew this kid from, and for the second time today, I am absolutely delighted to figure out where—he is one of the adorable brats in Overboard! I fucking love it.
This casting makes sense from a practical standpoint—Overboard was directed by Garry Marshall, and Big was directed by his sister Penny Marshall. That Overboard interview already made the connection between the siblings—Garry created Laverne and Shirley, and Penny played the titular role of Laverne. Big was Penny Marshall's second movie as director (after 1986's Whoopi Goldberg vehicle Jumpin' Jack Flash). I wish I had more to say about the directing style of Penny Marshall, but I do not.
That's not the only sibling trivia from Big. The script was co-written by Anne Spielberg, who is the sister of the other Spielberg. She has no other movie credits at all (but apparently she was an uncredited co-writer of Small Soldiers). She co-wrote it with her neighbor at the time, Gary Ross, who went on to write The Hunger Games, among other movies. I've always thought that The Hunger Games was the best book-to-movie adaptation in history, so good job Gary Ross. This allows me to forgive you for writing Seabiscuit too.
That pretty much wraps up the "Who's Involved" section, unless you want me to mention producer James L. Brooks, whose name I recognized from the credits of each episode of The Simpsons.
BEST: "According to Robert Loggia, on the day they filmed the famous keyboard scene, he and Tom Hanks noticed that doubles dressed like them were on hand just in case the two could not do the dance moves correctly. It became their goal to do the entire keyboard number without the aid of the doubles. They succeeded." I wanted to include this because I feel like I was too harsh toward the piano scene before. I appreciate the skill required to nail this scene, and shit, man, they fucking nailed it.
WORST: "The amusement park where Josh finds Zoltar is Playland Amusement Park, which has been operating in Rye, NY, since 1928." I don't give a fuck about anything in New York, let alone a fucking amusement park. This trivia was absolutely written by a New Yorker, the only type of person who could possibly assume that anyone else would give a shit about some fucking amusement park in Rye, New York.
ALMOST CASTED (WHO THE FUCK CARES): "Bill Murray, Judge Reinhold, Michael Keaton, and Robin Williams were considered for the role of Josh Baskin." Who the fuck cares? (Also, Robin Williams got to play a Big-like role eventually.)
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Music
Alright, there's enough to talk about here, even if we choose to not mention the piano scene for a third time. Nah, just kidding, here's the piano scene in its entirety:
The duo performs two songs, both of which are ubiquitous enough that you'll recognize them, even if you can't name them. The first is "Heart at Soul," a song written by a man named Hoagy Carmichael. It's possible that I am going through the trouble of writing all this just so I could talk about that glorious name. Hoagy!! It's short for Hoagland!! No, really!!
Lyrics by Frank Loesser (not as good of name), who wrote lyrics for a couple of Broadway musicals as well (Guys and Dolls, How to Succeed...). It's been a standard song since the 1930s, but it's possible that Josh and Mr. MacMillan remember the 1961 Cleftones version.
They also play "Chopsticks," which, I've never played piano, but this seems to be a song that beginners typically learn to show their mastery of the beginning stages of piano-playing. All you piano players can chime in down in the comments if you can play this song. It is also briefly featured in Manfred Mann's Earth Band's cover of "Blinded by the Light" for some fucking reason. But the Big version of this song seems to be so prominent in pop culture that Wikipedia links to "Heart and Soul" on the "Chopsticks" Wikipedia page.
Otherwise, as far as music goes in Big, it's a very 1980s-sounding soundtrack (e.g. lots of Billy Idol). Two more things to discuss, though. I had never seen Big, but I realized while watching it that I had already watched one of the scenes via Stereogum's The Number Ones column, when it embedded the scene where Josh sings a Barbara Streisand song to his mom over the phone. What's worse, hearing "The Way We Were," or hearing it sung by your son's kidnapper and potential murderer? Awful fucking song, though I'll reluctantly admit that Barbara Streisand is a better singer than Tom Hanks.
Finally, my ears perked up when the soundtrack started playing "It's in Every One of Us" by adult contemporary singer David Pomeranz. I do not know Pomeranz, and I have no reason to give a shit about Pomeranz, but I knew I recognized this song immediately. Here's what's weird about it: I assumed it was a Christmas song. For some reason, and I really still have no idea why, this random-ass song from the 1970s was featured in Muppet Family Christmas. So since I was born, basically, I've always assumed this was a Christmas song. It's not. It was interpolated in the "our protagonist is at his lowest point" montage in Big. That montage has nothing to do with Christmas. Huh.
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Awards
Look, I'm not necessarily including movies on the Never Seen It list because of their pedigree. There are movies that are popular in American society but that are not necessarily critically acclaimed. I assumed Big was one of those movies. I thought it was a kids' movie, honestly. I assumed that no one really took it seriously.
But as it turns out, Big was nominated for two Oscars. That's impressive. I don't necessarily agree that it deserved to be nominated in either category, but who the fuck am I to say? (Also, I won't really know if it deserved to lose to Rain Man in both categories until I watch Rain Man in a couple years.)
I already explained that I enjoyed certain moments in Tom Hanks' perform, and the moments I was annoyed with were totally on purpose, which makes those good moments in acting as well. I don't know that I enjoyed it enough that I thought it was Oscar-worthy. I also have some thoughts about the acting method employed by Hanks via director Penny Marshall. Apparently, Marshall had David Moscow act every scene first, and then had Hanks step in and try to replicate Moscow's performance. So was Hanks truly embodying the role of Josh, or was he simply mirroring someone else's performance? Does it matter? Am I think too much into this?
Big was also nominated for Best Original Screenplay as well. Seeing as my entire argument against Big hinges on the script being shitty and obvious, no, I do not agree with this nomination. But fuck it, as if I could write a better script. (Also, it's cool that Anne Spielberg has one single film credit and it was an Oscar-nominated one.)
Thankfully, it doesn't matter that the Oscars overpraised Big, because my favorite awards show of all time agrees with me that it doesn't deserve to be nominated for anything. Big went unmentioned at the Nickelodeon Kids' Choice Awards in 1989. Looking at Wikipedia pages for these award ceremonies is sincerely the biggest joy I get out of writing this column. Big wasn't nominated for Best Movie, but Police Academy 5 sure was! (Beetlejuice lost as well, both to Who Framed Roger Rabbit.) Guess who won Best TV actor? ALF!!! Seriously! And the Chicago Bears took home the Best Sports Team blimp for some reason (they won the Super Bowl a full four years prior)?
Would've loved to see Tom Hanks get slimed. Maybe Jared Rushton too, so he could yell FUCK again.
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Final Thoughts
Here's something that no one really talks about when it comes to Big: the reasoning behind wanting Josh wanting to "be big" is just so fucking weak. He's at a carnival with his parents. He tries to ride a roller coaster with his crush. He gets to the front of the line, and he is told that he is not tall enough to ride. That's it. That's why he wants to grow up as quickly as possibly, and takes a chance on a magical MacGuffin.
The fact that I can't get behind his motivation is probably the same reason I could not connect to Big in general. I'm well past the point that I could even imagine being in that type of situation, where I'm embarrassed in front of a crush. I'm so far beyond that kind of shit in my life that I can no longer empathize. Big, however, asks for my empathy anyway. I felt nothing for Josh. All I felt was an obligation to get through this insipid children's movie so that I could write this dumb blog post.
GRADE: 2 pukes out of 5
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NEXT TIME: I watch Blade Runner, which I'm 99% sure is some kind of sci-fi nonsense that I'll probably love anyway, but I have no idea. (Also: I'm going to make a sincere effort to bring back the Your Favorite Movie column for some interviews, as a kind of extended epilogue for that series, so it's probable that that's going to come at the expense of the Never Seen It column, but we'll see.)
