a habit, a nostalgia, a dream

This is Monterey, California:

Pretty awesome, huh?

Near the end of my internship in the Bay Area last spring I took a trip with my roommates to Monterey. When we got there I was immediately disappointed that there wouldn't time for a second trip before I left California. The reason for our voyage was a visit to the Monterey Bay Aquarium, which could've been more enjoyable had we not gone on a crowded Saturday. The aquarium is located at the north end of Cannery Row, a waterfront street named for the sardine canneries that occupied the avenue until the 1950s. Last week I finally got around to reading Cannery Row by John Steinbeck, which, as you can guess, is set in and inspired by the street I just mentioned.

The book is a quick read -- only 118 pages -- more of a novella than a novel. But even in a small amount of pages Steinbeck manages to develop characters that are consistent, deep, and memorable. The plot is simple: Mack and the boys, a handful of Cannery Row's resident bums, decide to do something nice for their friend Doc, a marine biologist who owns Western Biological Laboratory. Cannery Row has quite a dynamic feel, from humorous to somber, from cynical to upbeat.

The chaptering of the book is somewhat unique: odd chapters move the story along while the even chapters are short contextual vignettes that describe Cannery Row and Monterey in general.

The theme of the book revolves around Mack and the boys and the ease with which they find contentment in their simple lives as bums. While referring to Mack and the boys, Doc notes:

|| Doc said, "Look at them. There are your true philosophers. I think," he went on, "that Mack and the boys know everything that has ever happened in the world and possibly everything that will happen. I think they survive in this particular world better than other people. In a time when people tear themselves to pieces with ambition and nervousness and covetousness, they are relaxed. All of our so-called successful men are sick men, with bad stomachs, and bad souls, but Mack and the boys are healthy and curiously clean. They can do what they want. They can satisfy their appetites without calling them something else." ||

Earlier in the book Steinbeck mentions:

|| In the world ruled by tigers with ulcers, rutted by strictured bulls, scavenged by blind jackals, Mack and the boys dine delicately with tigers, fondle the frantic heifers, and wrap up the crumbs to feed the sea gulls of Cannery Row. What profit a man to gain the whole world and to come to his property with a gastric ulcer, a blown prostate, and bifocals? Mack and the boys avoid the trap, walk around the poison, step over the noose while a generation of trapped, poisoned, and trussed-up men scream at them and call them no-goods, come-to-bad-ends, blots-on-the-town, thieves, rascals, bums. Our Father who art in nature, who has given the gift of survival to the coyote, the common brown rat, the English sparrow, the house fly and the moth, must have a great and overwhelming love for the no-goods and blots-on-the-town and bums, and Mack and the boys. ||

And finally, back to Doc:

|| "It has always seemed strange to me," said Doc. "The things we admire in men, kindness and generosity, openness, honesty, understanding and feeling are the concomitants of failure in our system. And those traits we detest, sharpness, greed, acquisitiveness, meanness, egotism and self-interest are the traits of success. And while men admire the quality of the first they love the produce of the second." ||

I quit

About two months ago my sister was reading a book that caught my attention. The cover was distinctly reminiscent of the artwork of the Twilight series. Which makes sense because she was reading The Host by Stephanie Meyer, author of said Twilight series. For some time now, I've been toying with idea of reading Twilight. Not because it's so popular (although mostly among teenage girls) but because two of my friends whose literary opinions I trust (Afton and Fat Cat) have read Twilight and enjoyed doing so. So, I asked my sister what she thought of The Host (she also being a Twilight fan). She said that it was different but also awesome. Afton gave a similar opinion as did my mother. "Alright, I'm gonna do this," I told myself. "If I enjoy The Host, I'll read Twilight."

I returned to AZ from school three and a half weeks ago with nothing to read. I wandered into my sister's bedroom and happened upon The Host. I remembered my decision to read it, and I was desperate for a new book, so I started that night.

Fast forward three weeks. I'm only three hundred pages into The Host. Now, I'm by no means a fast reader. But c'mon, I can do much better than a hundred pages a week. I start to wonder. Have I lost my love for reading? What's happened to me in the recent weeks or months that has killed the joy of a good book? I decide to try an experiment. I stop reading The Host and pick up Cannery Row by John Steinbeck instead (loved it -- a blogging forthcoming). I finished that in mere days (granted it's only 118 pages, but I was traveling at the same time, and I don't read much on the road). Last night I started Lost Boys by Orson Scott Card and I got that "can't put it down" feeling in the first chapter. These books brought me to a great realization: I hadn't lost my love for reading, I had simply been reading a bad book!

OK, let's be fair, The Host isn't a bad book; I certainly have no right to say so since I have yet to finish it. But if we're gonna be fair, let's be honest too: I really didn't enjoy reading it. The Host is very character based, and I never ended up really caring for any of the characters. In fact, some of them bugged the crap out of me. First, let's take Melanie (the one doing the hosting). "Oh my gosh, it's Jared, Jared's here, Jared, Jared's alive, Jared! JARED! Barf!" Just lame and annoying. Then there's Jared himself. I can't say why he bugged me. You know how sometimes people just rub you the wrong way and you can't say why? That's what Jared does to me. I didn't like Jamie either. He just wasn't convincing. At times, Wanda would be pretty cool, but most of the time I could care less what happened to her.

And I never really cared about the story. I was rarely excited to find out "what happens next" and was sometimes disappointed when I did. I'm honestly not one to quit a book, especially one as superficial as The Host, but I just didn't feel like going on. Yeah, I'll probably finish the book at a later date, if only to say that I gave it a chance and not so much because I care.

Maybe Stephanie Meyer just isn't for me. She's not a bad author, her characters and stories just aren't that appealing. In the meantime, the rest of my summer reading will be in the hands of Orson Scott Card, John Steinbeck, and Ernest Hemingway, authors who have never let me down, who I doubt ever will.

"These are the songs I keep singin'"

I haven't been this excited about Weezer since the Green Album; however, I don't think I've had as big of let down since the Green Album. During the last 7 years, Weezer has failed to release an album that rivals ol' Blue or Pinkerton in greatness. That is, until the Red Album.

Here's what Rivers himself had to say about the production of the Red Album:

"Our approach was to get into the studio and try to blow our minds with whatever we wanted to do. To just have fun, so that when we pressed play and listened back to what we did, our minds were just blown. That was the goal."





While I've never considered Weezer to be "mind blowing", nor do I consider their latest release "mind blowing". But, whatever it is they did to blow their own minds seems to have worked. The Red Album was the record Weezer fans (like myself) were waiting for back in 2001. Instead they got less than 30 minutes of effortless, impersonal song writing -- all ten songs follow the verse-chorus-bridge structure with only slight deviations, punctuated with incredibly weak guitar solos that repeat exactly the preceding chorus or verse. A casual listen to either the Blue Album or Pinkerton reveals that the band is capable of much more in regards to every aspect of song writing and delivery.

The Red Album is Weezer doing what they do best: having fun -- an approach the band should've taken on previous albums. (Go listen to "El Scorcho" or "Holiday" and tell me the band wasn't having fun with those songs. I dare you.)

A few highlights from Red include:

"The Greatest Man That Ever Lived (Variations on a Shaker Hymn)" -- A Bohemian Rhapsody-esque epic.

"Heart Songs" -- Mentions Gordon Lightfoot and Cat Stevens in the first 20 seconds of the song. What more do you need?

"Thought I Knew" -- Sung by Brian, Rivers on drums, Pat on guitar.

"Automatic" -- A sweet jam written and sung by Pat.

"The Angel And The One" -- Weezer hasn't been this emo since Pinkerton and I love it!

Lyrically, the album has a few weak spots. At one point it sounds like Rivers wrote lyrics with a rhyming dictionary, but apparently even that took too much effort so he threw it out ("Troublemaker"). Then Scott must've picked it up to write "Cold Dark World". In addition, there's a severe lack of guitar solos, which is not the norm for Weezer. Luckily, this doesn't detract from the album, though solos would certainly add to it.

Then there's the Deluxe Edition. Of the four extra tracks, "Miss Sweeny" (reminiscent of Blue Album b-sides "Jamie" and "Susanne") and "Pig" are best.

I certainly hope Weezer follows the "mind blowing, having fun" formula to record their future albums. They should work to please themselves and write for the sake of the music, not the industry or even the fans. I look forward to future albums, but in the meantime I'll enjoy, to quote Michael Cera, "the best thing to happen to music since 1996."

halvsies (sp?)

My legs hurt. Probably has something to do with the 13 miles I ran today.

(This would be a good spot for some kind of picture but I foolishly didn't take any before/during/after the race and the picture I found online (not of me) isn't working.)

Anyway, this morning I ran the Teton Dam half marathon, right here in quaint Rexburg, Idaho. I was expecting to finish at the 2:30 mark . . . but I slaughtered that with my time of 2:07:37.9 (a pace of about 9:45 per mile). Not necessarily a fast time, but a time that I feel really good about because I put my all into the race.

I enjoyed the course. Most of it was potato fields, which is prettier than it sounds. And it was the most amazingly sunny, cloudless day. The first four miles were mostly flat followed by a four-mile uphill stretch (which was probably the prettiest part of the race). Then course leveled out for about three more miles as it left the potato fields back into Rexburg. The last two miles -- passing the Rexburg temple, BYU-I, and my neighborhood -- were downhill until the very end, which was a staight-away to the finish line.

They were handing out orange slices at the 7 and 12 mile markers -- the best tasting oranges I've ever eaten.

I placed (I think) 88th overall for the half marathon and 12th in my division (25-29 year olds).

When I got home I slept, showered, slept, ate, and slept.

Anyway, training for and running this race was awesome for me because it really made me get serious about my running, and really improved my eating habits. For the past two and a half weeks I haven't had any candy, cookies, etc., and my red meat intake has been kept to a minimum for an even longer time. I'm gonna keep it up because during the time I went without sweets I lost over five pounds.

I'd like to try the full marathon next year, but if I'm not ready by then, it'd definitely be fun to do the half again.

fives

Chelsea tagged me, so here they are, my fives:

Five regrets
1. Not allowing my brother Matt to come see Return of the Jedi with my friends and me when it was re-released in the theatres 1997.
2. Just about everything I eat.
3. When I make something or someone else more important than a family member or close friend.
4. Not saying "hi" or just giving "the nod" to that person walking down the street.
5. Not putting up a fight when things go against what I feel is right.

Five bands/artists I would love to see in their prime
1. Weezer (1996)
2. Neil Diamond (1972)
3. Cat Stevens (1974)
4. Sunny Day Real Estate (2000)
5. Chicago (1984)

Things I would do if I could live on two hours of sleep a night
1. Read more books.
2. Play guitar . . . my trusty Takamine or my dad’s older-than-me Ibanez sound the best at 2 a.m.
3. More all-nighters with my roommate Dan – not for the sake of homework but for the sake of a great discussion.
4. Sit outside and look at the stars and think about stuff and write about it.
5. Homework. (But seriously, who am I kidding?)

Things I would rather study than accounting
1. Culinary arts. Specifically baking. Who wouldn’t want to spend the day making cookies?
2. English. My roommate Dan is an English major. His homework consists of reading short stories by John Steinbeck, one of my favorite authors.
3. Ceramics. I just don’t have what it takes to be an art major. But what’s comforting is art majors have less of what it takes to be an accounting major.
4. Geography. My teacher who taught this class at MCC was such an awesome guy. I would study geography just so I could be like him.
5. French and other romance languages, Arabic, Chinese, [insert foreign language here]. A great way to learn about another culture is to learn their language.

The Accountant's Catharsis

I finally figured out why I chose to study accounting.

Sure, it pays well. Yeah, I'll be able to live anywhere in the country and find a job. And one day, of course, it will allow me to provide for a family, or at least for myself. While this is what attracted me to to accounting, it's not why I chose it.

I guess I could study something that I actually enjoy, like English or Sociology or even French. So why not study one of those subjects? Because they require opinions. They require thought. And they require emotion. Feeling. And emotion and feeling are things that, frankly, I've had quite enough of. I chose accounting because somehow I knew that I would need something in my life that would provide an escape from disappointment and hurt, happiness and love.

Numbers don't feel. They don't hurt if you neglect them. They don't swell with joy when you tell them you love them. They don't care if you hate them. When you touch them you can't send a chill down their spine because you can't touch them and they don't have spines. Numbers don't feel; they simply exist.

The Payoff

Before I came here to California one of the things I was most excited for was to go to legit band shows. Having spent the better part of last year in Idaho, I've definitely been hurting for quality live music. However, due to long hours at work, few show-going friends, and not many familiar bands passing through the Bay Area, I went almost three months without going to a show. So, when I found out Jimmy Eat World would be coming to San Jose, I resolved to go, even if it was in the middle of the last week of tax season.

Last night I snuck out of work early, changed into show-appropriate attire in my car, and drove to the venue, a small arena on the San Jose State University campus. After taking a leak in the men's room (in which two women oddly-but-not-so-oddly-in-a-Northern-California-type-of-way also decided to relieve themselves) I hiked down the steps to the floor. I was somewhat late but still early enough to catch the end of Dear and the Headlights' set. And I'm glad I did because who should I see on stage rocking bass? None other than Rajiv Patel.

I was surprised to seem him but at the same time I wasn't. In an effort to get his attention before he packed up and walked off stage, I quickly became "that guy" and forced myself to the front. After a few minutes of yelling and dirty looks I finally got his attention. He packed up his gear and joined my on the floor, scoring me a bottle of water and orange. Paramore played well ... not my style, but they played well, even if their singer did rip off lyrics from "One Armed Scissor" by At The Drive-In.

For Jimmy Eat World I started off on the floor but after two songs Rajiv snuck me backstage.
When I was on the floor, it seemed that Jim had lost his man boobs; but watching from the side of the stage, much closer, I could see they were still there and, in fact, larger than ever.

I really enjoyed the set -- Big Casino, Sweetness, Crush, Dizzy, Always Be, Blister (glad Tom is still singing, as rarely as he does), Work, Your New Aesthetic, Authority Song, Here It Goes, Kill, Just Tonight, A Praise Chorus, Pain, Bleed American, Get It Faster, and Let It Happen ... for the encore: Hear You Me (Rajiv and I rocked together arm-in-arm on this one), Futures, and I almost thought I would go the entire show without hearing The Middle, but alas, it was their final song. It would've been awesome to hear a Static Prevails song, but I wasn't expecting it so it wasn't a big loss.

Thanks to Rajiv, I definitely got a bit more than I bargained for this time around ... but having seen them eleven times before, I see it simply as the payoff for my years of devoted fandom.