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Tuesday, April 05, 2005

Now the plain blondes are playing along with you

Songs in my head:
"On the Table" by Carl Newman
"Old Man" by Neil Young

MTV News has a great article that compares sports fans to music and movie fans. I especially dig this quote: "And then there's the pronoun abuse. 'We won the game!' You did? Really? When was the last time you heard a fan of Wes Anderson's films exclaim, 'Hey, did you catch our latest movie, The Life Aquatic?'"

Here's my deal about sports: I enjoy watching sports (especially football and baseball) from time to time. I really enjoy playing sports (especially kickball and flag football). However, I do not understand people who get depressed when "their" team loses or get an orgazmic buzz when "their" team wins. Pardon? Just because you tune in and/or attend a game does not make you a member of the team. The audience enhances the game and makes the vibe very exciting, but still, there is a big separation between the audience and the players. As a music fan and a movie fan, I'm just an observer. If I like or dislike a record, a live show or a film, I'll talk about it. However, I don't get bummed if a band I like puts out an unsatisfying record or puts on a lackluster show or a movie really stunk. Some things I just don't understand . . .

NME reveals the tracklisting for Ryan Adams' double CD, Cold Roses.

Punknews.org adds more fuel to the fire about whether or not blink 182 is still together. So much for the "indefinite hiatus" status . . .

I saw the trailer for this movie over the weekend. Cool subject matter, but doesn't this seem redundant since Dogtown and Z Boys pretty much covers the subject matter (sans melodrama and creative license)?

Millencolin's latest record is called Kingwood. I'm curious if the've ever been to that part of town in Houston . . .

Saw something encouraging on my way to kickball on Sunday: as I passed by a local church, I saw a mother and her son walking on the sidewalk. The boy had a pair of drumsticks and started air-drumming. He couldn't help himself from hitting the invisible toms and cymbals but his mother kept putting her arms out to stop him. Nothing like suppression of the arts to make people want them even more . . .

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