The Thorny Beatles: How to Try to Like Your Parents' Band

                When I was sixteen I hated the Beatles. I didn’t know their music very well (though now I understand that there were a lot of songs I knew that I didn’t know were theirs), but I knew a lot of their story. It had been crammed into my head by overzealous Boomers.

                Here’s the truth about us Gen X-ers: while we were growing up, our Boomer parents and aunts and uncles and that guy with the long hair and the jean jacket who smelled funny (so damn many of them, y’see) decided to try and save us the bother of coming up with anything new through thinking for ourselves. Instead they just told us what was important culturally, politically, musically. They had some right to this opinion, because they’d had such an impact on the world culturally, politically, musically. A lot of the time, we reacted negatively to it because nobody enjoys being told that their own time is unimportant. Fair.

                The Beatles being the flagship of all things Boomer, they were easy to hate. Didn’t know much about them, but hated the patronizing lectures in which they always featured so prominently.

                Well, I’m all grown up now, and find myself reassessing old opinions with the help of my new “wisdom.” I just finished Jonathon Gould’s Can’t Buy Me Love, a meticulous and engrossing bio that puts the world’s most famous band in their context and assesses their impact on the time they were in, allowing their legacy to be one’s own decision. The book is a successful attempt to say “This is what it felt like when the Beatles were now.”

                I don’t love the Beatles, but I respect them. I see why they matter. I feel the same way about the Bible, professional soccer and Calculus.

                The Beatles are the epitome of 1960s music, inspired by 1950s music. I really don’t like 50s or 60s music. I hate the Stones, am tepid on the Beach Boys (yes, even Pet Sounds), don’t have much use for Dylan, and think Clapton leaving Cream was the best thing that happened to his career. I think it’s telling that the biggest band of the era broke up in 1970. They set the stage for the bands I like. That’s when I like the Beatles, when I hear them playing the stuff the 70s bands I like picked up and ran with. Zeppelin, YES, Rush, the Who and Pink Floyd (when each band got good), Neil Young’s best stuff--the 70s is where my tolerance of classic rock begins. When I like the Beatles, it’s when I hear the inspiration for the music I truly love, not what I feel obligated to listen to.

                However, I can’t help but be impressed by them. They were the first and most important of their kind, inspired by Elvis and Little Richard, then going on to cover so much distance in seven years that they set up the 70s. That was stunning, considering how far we had to come from “Tutti Frutti.” The Beatles shed a lot of water. They were making so much of it up as they went, inspiring styles and blending them, doing more parody than I think anyone realizes looking back, and sometimes making stupid, stupid mistakes (India: th’hell?).

                In recognizing their importance, I’d like to share not one but two lists with you regarding the Beatles. First:

Five Things I’ve Decided at Last About the Beatles

1. Almost everything before Sgt. Pepper is unlistenable. Oh, Rubber Soul and Revolver have some good moments, but those are when the boys were flexing their muscles and looking to shed their crappy mop-top roots. Sgt. Pepper, though not my personal favourite, deserves topping so many of the lists dedicated to the Greatest Albums of All Time (notably Rolling Stone’s). Without it, there would have been no Tommy, Dark Side of the Moon or American Idiot—no Thriller, Appetite for Destruction or Nevermind.

2. Let it Be is my favourite album. It’s their last, was released after they broke up, and was actually recorded before Abbey Road. It’s not most “true” Beatles fan’s favourite, and I think that’s telling because I like the Beatles when they sound the least like the Beatles.

3. Those vocals, my word. All four dudes sang. (Yes, that’s what Ringo’s doing. Singing.) And they did it very well, with tremendous harmonies backing each other up, and passion like no other group. To this day, I love watching Paul McCartney sing—he truly looks like he’s convincing you of what he’s saying, and that he loves every melody coming out. He and Lennon, with Harrison’s help, complimented each other very, very well. They were a pop band, and pop is about hooks. They had ‘em. And I don’t fault them for their catchiness, even when yeah-yeah-yeahing through “She Loves You.”

4. I’m a Paul McCartney fan. Harrison is second. I had thought that John Lennon was my guy, seeing as who he became in the 70s, politically, is most like myself. And “Imagine”—possibly the best song ever. But in the Beatles, Lennon was a confused acid-head with a whiney voice, some very weird songs, and infamously bad taste in women. And, yes, Barenaked Ladies, Yoko broke up the Beatles. McCartney’s songs are consistently my favourites. He also has wormed his way into my list of best bass players (not just for inspiration, his technique was and remains stellar). In the later years, it was he who was doing the lion’s share of the work, and he who was trying to hold the band together. Lennon was just doing drugs.

5. Even in the end and after, they liked each other. These guys were best friends, and they supported each other with a mad passion. They were always together, even for the first bit of the Ono-insanity. Watch clips of the rooftop performances for Let It Be: smiling, joking, howling approval at each other’s melodies. Letting Ringo sing. These guys loved each other. They told people—and call me a modern hippie, but I buy it—that all we need is love.

                Second:

The Twenty Best Beatles Songs (because I couldn’t narrow it to ten; they are the Beatles, after all)

20. “All Together Now” Awesome throw away from the Yellow Submarine Soundtrack. Go find it.

19. “Nowhere Man” A capella Beatles intro? Gets better from there.

18. “Yesterday” First of the best of the McCartney ballads.

17. “A Little Help From My Friends” Yeah, Ringo, that’s how you had a career. Decent drummer, though. Underrated.

16. “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” Dumb lyrics, but it’s one of George Harrison’s best contributions.

15. “Free as a Bird” Take a Lennon solo and have the other three work on it fifteen years after he dies, and it was where I first got intrigued. I saw the video in 1995 with my mom, her explaining all the references. It’s a great song and marks the beginning of my interest in the band.

14. “Helter Skelter” Charles Manson and U2 aside, it’s a great guitar song.

13. “Day in the Life” One of their most critically-lauded tunes. It’s a gooder.

12. “Two of Us” Let it Be’s opener sets the tone for an album that triumphs with the last track (#1 on my list).

11. “All You Need is Love” It’s that good an anthem, and foreshadowed Lennon’s later greats like “Imagine” and “Give Peace a Chance.” Simple is good sometimes (see #2).

10. “Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds” No, it’s not about LSD.

9. “Come Together” Rhythm section’s dream. Paul and Ringo, bravo.

8. “Let it Be” I’ve cried listening to this.

7. “You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away” So good Eddie Vedder covered it.

6. “Yellow Submarine” Ringo’s best. Inane, brilliantly so.

5. “I’ve Just Seen a Face” Manic pace for a love song.

4. “We Can Work it Out” Chorus is among their best.

3. “Day Tripper” The first of their great guitar riffs. I’d like their early stuff more if it was all like this.

2. “Hey Jude” A song with five minutes of na-na-na can still make me smile whenever I hear it. This is my kids’ favourite Beatles tune.

1. “Get Back” The Beatles sounding less Beatle-y, and a sign that I like them best for what they inspired.  

A band so good, they could be forgiven for “The Long and Winding Road.” Utter garbage. 

Drinking and Driving: A Tradition of Albertan Stupid

            I have to say, I kinda like this new premier. Maybe not the “red Tory” I supported the most in the PC leadership race, but I approve of Alison Redford. She sure has her work cut out for her, though. She’s a woman with power in one of the most conservative (read: redneck) parts of the country. She believes in funding and supporting education and health care—two issues her predecessors couldn’t see around the front side of Big Oil’s hips to have a look at. She made election promises and has already kept a few (just like the feds, only without the horror).

            The one that has grabbed my full-on support, as well as made me think about how I live my own life, is Bill 26, which looks to “give teeth” to Alberta’s laws fighting drinking and (as opposed to strictly “drunk”) driving. This won’t just see people punished for blowing over the legal limit. If passed, the bill we see penalties for blowing between .05 and .08, including vehicle seizures of up to a month.

            Rage, outcry. I imagined a bunch of stumbly, flannel-clad redeyes standing in Edmonton with “Occ-hicc-uppy the Legishlatshure” scrolled on the inside of beer cases.

            This feels like me swimming upstream again, but I’m all for Bill 26. I don’t see the logic in opposing something that’s designed to make us more responsible and as a result save lives.

            You shouldn’t drink AT ALL and then operate a motor vehicle, you just shouldn’t.

            First thing that comes up is the issue of how inebriated a person can be after one, or two, or if they’ve eaten, or over a few hours. I’ll admit to being prone to this type of thinking myself in the past. Recently, I’ve been educating myself on how little alcohol we need to dramatically affect our inhibitions, reaction times and judgment. It’s frightening what I thought I knew. Too many social drinkers base whether they can drive on how they feel, in a state of mind where the first thing to go is their ability to competently judge how they feel. That is some scary stuff.

            Bill 26 would be a good change. As transportation minister Ray Danyluk has said, “It is designed to change behavior,” and we need it, fundamentally.

            Impaired driving is such a masochistic, macho-istic matter of pride that those who choose to do it in a serious state of drunkenness should lose the right to both, driving AND drinking. Can you imagine, a punishment that doesn’t just take away repeat offenders’ right to drive, but their right to drink? “Sorry, sir, we can’t serve you here. You’ve nearly killed people.” Treat ‘em like sex offenders, watch ‘em smarten up.

            Those who oppose Bill 26—much like those who oppose the Long Gun Registry—grasp at straws of tradition and police bias and a cluttered judicial system or the old chestnut of “personal freedom.” I think what always offends my libertarian friends is my belief that if your behavior puts others at risk, the government should have the right and the power to control your behavior. Opponents of the bill moan and wail and basically ignore the common sense of this: if you drink—at all—you should not drive.

            The argument coming from restaurant and pub owners is that this will hurt their business—which makes them look like pariahs, I must say. Your bottom line is worth more than people’s lives? How Albertan.

            The sensible thing would be for proprietors to EMBRACE a designated driver program. Saskatchewan has (or once had) a program where the DD would wear a green wristband and get free Coke or coffee. (I am NOT saying SK has a better approach to drinking and driving. It’s much worse there, and Alison Redford is showing she’s far more progressive than Brad Wall). Kick it up a notch, Albertan-providers-of-spirits: offer DDs a 15% discount on appetizers, or give them a coupon for a free drink on their next visit when they’re not the DD. Get the drivers to support you, to bring their drinking friends, to encourage everyone to pit in and spend money so they can enjoy their hot wings. You will NOT operate at a loss in these conditions.

            The issue of alternative forms of transportation is a valid argument, sadly. In Calgary especially, the sprawl has outstripped a pathetic public transportation system, and even a short cab ride is over $20. Here as well, I think the watering holes should get on at the ground floor. Purchase taxi vouchers that give a 30% discount on a ride to tables spending over $50 (call the taxi yourself, of course). At $8 a pint in Calgary, you can be sure no one will be at serious risk of alcohol poisoning with those numbers.

            This bill is logical. If you’re gonna drive, don’t drink. Any argument to the contrary is a hair-splitting attempt made to avoid doing the right thing. I applaud the Redford Government for Bill 26, and I sincerely hope it passes. Regardless, I intend to modify my own behavior to suit it.

           

           

The Mock-uppation Movement

                You’re standing in line for a coffee. The guy at the front of the line is told that one cup will run $8.

                “What?” he says. “Why so much?”

                The clerk just shrugs and smiles a little.

                “What about people who can’t afford $8. They just can’t have any?”

                The clerk just shrugs again.

                “Is there a reason you’re charging so much?”

                The clerk indicates the long line behind the man.

                The complainant turns and looks at the people behind him. “Don’t you all feel this is a little much? $8 for a coffee.”

                Another person further down the line starts yelling and shaking his fist. He agrees with the man at the front. He knocks over a magazine stand and utters a few profanities.

                Most of the rest of those in line roll their eyes, study their shoes, mutter something about “whackos and whiners.” A few insist on getting the line moving because they can afford an $8 coffee, and to hell with anyone who can’t—that’s their problem.

                The guy at the front tries to talk to some of the others, to tell them they should be asking why it’s so much, to refuse to buy it until prices lower, but mostly, they shift past him, pay the full price, and take pride in the fact that they’re on their way to work and not wasting time complaining.

                “There was this nutcase at the cafe,” one says to his coworkers in the cubicle jungle. He means the guy who knocked over the magazine stand, not the guy who was at the front of the line.

               

                I’ve been very glad to see how much press the Occupy Movement has received, because at least it’s getting out there. Sure, it took mainstream media a long time to get on board, and the vast amount of what reporting I have heard has not been able to hide its bias—or outright criticism—but at least the critical thinker can make a decision on the messages he or she hears.

                Sadly, I’ve seen far too many people treating the Movement with apathy or open hostility. I’ve found it that much more frustrating because many of those criticising it claim to support many of its messages. Obviously the Movement has come to be about the individuals in it rather than the group intent—too bad.

                Everyone has a right to free speech, which is okay when you’re spouting your opinions about hockey teams or sexy superstars on online media, but not if it’s addressing an issue that might make you squirm when you think about how you live your life. Good messages make us uncomfortable, but the immature person avoids the message and focuses on the little criticism he has for the behaviour of a select few. Concentrating all of his focus on this, he can say things like, “I get what they’re trying to say, but this one guy downtown was [insert criticism of distracting behaviour here] so I’ve found a reason to say the whole Movement is flawed.”

                The Right (especially its media) gets openly hostile, calling the protesters lazy, spoiled Arts students who just don’t have the gumption to get a real job and make real money. These people are the most forgivable, really, because they live in that sad, sad existence I’ve spoken of before where the pursuit of money for its own sake is considered a reasonable existence. Pity them. Their minds aren’t going to be changed.

                The 1% is of course muddying the issue by focusing on “demands.”

                “What do you people want? What is the result of this you’d like to see?” The 1%, used to dealing with labour unions, want to know what cheque they can write to end this little dilemma, or what single idea they can ridicule. They don’t get that the Occupiers are seeking to educate, to gather the strength of the remaining voices that want to be heard and make one last push against greed.

                The remaining media always view protests that don’t involve striking workers as quaint. “Oh look, they’re singing.” There’s always some panel that discusses the matter and at some point, someone asks why they’re protesting if things are good.

                Things are not good, and they’re at risk of getting very, very bad. These folks are attempting to highlight that which you are trying to ignore: we can’t go on like this, politically, economically, ecologically. You need to stop trusting the people who are getting rich off of your failure to care.

                Those who mock the protesters—or who find the little examples they can criticize so they needn’t listen to the overall messages—are doing so to deal with their 9-5 “go to work, buy stuff, go home, watch stuff” lifestyle. By criticizing those who care—the people, not the message—they can justify not caring. Fighting for the need to remain lazy and uncaring is starting to make you look like sheep.

                 I like hockey—I don’t write it off altogether because I think Don Cherry should be taken off the air. I like movies—I don’t write off Hollywood because they make sequels to bad flicks. I like coffee—I don’t write off the drink just because I don’t like Starbucks’ business model. We can choose what aspects of the message apply to us. I have friends in the camps and friends in the towers and I can see things I disagree with in both. I have chosen what I want to think based on what I’ve heard. I have not decided the whole group—either group—is a wash because of one representative.  

                It appears that those who claim to care are so very desperate to find a way to hate the Movement, you’ve got to question if they DO care. Basing your whole understanding of a movement on the actions of one person is like judging the whole of literature by Danielle Steele.

                Capitalism is and always has been a faulty system. The desperation of those in the 1% to get us to keep buying and to keep ignoring the facts and to keep thinking we haven’t got any sort of power to threaten their spot at the top of the pyramid is sad. You do not have to take part, you do not have to care. But you sure as hell should think for a second about the greater objectives at hand when you don’t like the look of the kid who got in the way of your latte purchase.

The Gun Registry: Such a Big Deal?

                Say what I will about the Harper Government, it’s fulfilling election promises. The Wheat Board is getting axed, arts and culture funding will dry to a dribble, the CBC could be on the outs, a brutal crime bill has been slapped down—why, the only thing Stephen and his acolytes won’t address is abortion, and a lot of folks voted for he and some of his formerReformers on that and that alone. He’s doing every nasty thing he said he would. Can’t fault the guy for honesty, at least. I just wonder if his ultra-right supporters will be happy with the next 4.5 years seeing as he’s blown his political wad in the first sitting. Of course, one of Harper’s biggest annoyances has been the Long Gun Registry, and now that he’s got his majority, it’s finally on the way out.

                http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/story/2011/10/25/pol-gun-registry.html

                Only a matter of time, I guess. What’s more, now that old Stevie can ram whatever he wants through the house, well sir, he’s not stopping at eliminating the Registry—despite the pleas of law enforcement officers—he’s going to delete all existing data on those registered already—despite same. The more vocal gun owners are saying he should relax restrictions on hand guns, submachine guns, bazookas, thermal detonators (depending on the hue of the neck).

                My question: Was it really such a big deal, registering guns?

                Let me say that I see the criticism of the Long Gun Registry. Yes, it’s been expensive registering what were mostly law-abiding citizens. Yes, that cash could have been better spent on enforcement chasing down the baddies who don’t register their guns anyway. But why the great outcry against it? Harper’s wasted more money beating protestors and buying shiny jets than was wasted on the Gun Registry.               

                What was the hubbub? Was it all just a Charleton Heston “cold dead hands” sort of thing? “The government ain’t got no rights in our bedrooms or near our gun racks.” Was that all? I’ve never heard a better argument than that.

                My Dad has a few guns. He registered them. I helped. It was in 1996 or so. Didn’t seem like a big deal, and we were ventilating our weight in gophers later that day. Responsible gun owner followed the law, life went on. Far as I know, no satellite was trained on our house after that.

                My feeling has always been that you can own a tiger, you can cage a tiger, and you can keep diligent surveillance on the tiger. But it’s still a tiger. If every failsafe you have in place somehow falls, it’s a loose tiger, and a loose tiger is a scary thing—always.

                You could be safe, your guns could be safe (ish), your guns could only be used for sport (I struggle with that concept), and they could safely be locked away. They’re still guns, though. They still have only one purpose. I think where I’ve always differed from law-abiding gun owners who decried the Registry is that I’ve thought, even if these aren’t the guns killing people, there’s nothing wrong with limiting guns. They’re for killing. Fewer of them, and more control of them always felt like the right thing to do to me.

                In the US, gun crime is common. I’ve discussed this before. http://vikingpaul.blogspot.com/2011_02_01_archive.html

                More guns means the potential—potential—for more violence. Nobody would be comfortable with a dozen caged tigers on their block. I’d rather they were gone. Limiting the potential of violence is a no-brainer.

                You need to register your car. It’s dangerous even if you’re the most responsible driver in the world, and a car has more than one purpose. A gun does not.

                Regardless, I think the LGR was an expensive failure. I do think the basic intent (this is not praise for the Chretien Government) was sound. However, we should limit crime through prevention and education, not through brutalizing petty criminals and allowing the populace to arm itself with all the ease of a Texas wedding. I’ve never understood the rabid opposition to it, though, despite the cost, when law enforcement officials—the people who are the experts on firearms usage—say it has helped them.

                Has it really only been about making someone sign a piece of paper saying they own a shotgun?

Top Ten Reasons Pearl Jam's Greatness Ensures Some Folks Will Remain Haters

My favorite band turned twenty this month, and it was celebrated through a tour, a documentary film, and the announcement of a new album. Yet, there are some that feel the need to hate, and to always hate, what anyone else likes. Sometimes valid points are made, but sometimes good journalists sound like that jerk in the back of Chem class who just targeted what the rest of us dug and hated it:
http://www.ffwdweekly.com/article/music/music-previews/backspacing-alt-rocks-deletion-8069/

It may be true that you should never write about someone you love or someone you hate, but then most opinions would be tepid and dull. Here, then, is a top ten list with a ridiculously long title.

10. Ten. It must suck to be permanently judged for something you did in your early twenties. But never mind the new Conservative crime bill. Ten was and remains a great album, one of the best and most important of the 1990s. The grunge faction (whoever the hell they were) felt it was too commercial. Because playing solos and having more than simple chord progressions is considered "commercial"? 'Scuse me, Mr. Cobain? Did you actually watch the video to "Heart Shaped Box?" I don't feel this is the best album of the band's career, but it is the decider. If you define them by Ten, no matter that it sold a gazillion copies, then you don't know much about them as a band.

9. They've stayed together and no one has died. If Kurt Cobain and Layne Stayley were alive today, their bands would likely not be together anymore. Nirvana and Alice in Chains were built around too simple a formula, and even some of the greater ones like Soundgarden eventually toppled. Yes, AiC has a new singer and Soundgarden is sort of back together (when Pearl Jam will loan Matt Cameron on drums), but these are reunions. The original magic is over.
     Bands built around young men's angst don't have anywhere to go when young men become older men with their own kids. Pearl Jam was built to last from step "Once." As with the other greats, they evolved, they played what suited them--and still do--in the period of life they were living.
     Aside from Andy Wood, the original singer of Mother Love Bone (the ur-Pearl Jam), they have been exceptional among the bands of their time and place for the lack of stupid death surrounding them. And further to that . . .

8. None of them has been in rehab. That's not entirely true. They've had their issues. Mike McCready  apparently got addicted to painkillers (when he was in actual pain), and Eddie smokes and also consumes gallons of wine on stage every night. They've got their addictions, but at no point in their twenty years have they had that Aerosmith stage that they barely survived. Jeff Ament was straight-edged for a while, and in the Crowe documentary, Jeff says that he wishes he could show anyone starting heroin a picture of Andy Wood as he died. Heroin use defined the Seattle movement, as acid defined the 60s, and cocaine the 80s, but these guys haven't got that particular monkey. There's no scary "I kicked it" story. Lack of drugs is boring in music, I guess.

7. Music videos? They famously quit doing them after "Jeremy." Then in '98 they released the animated "Do the Evolution." In the last years of the era where music videos still actually mattered, they steered clear of the medium. Then, they started releasing a whole bunch of basic band-playing-in-front-of-camera-or-crowd videos after 2002's Riot Act, after the music video ship had long since sailed. They are much more like their 1970s idols than their peers, for their success has come from steady albums, strong support from and of their fan base, constant touring, and radio circulation, rather than singles and videos.

6. Their philanthropy. I'll never be a big U2 fan, but I love what they do outside of music. I once was a Metallica fan, but I hate who they are offstage. Being a good citizen doesn't make your music better, but if I love your music, it's sweeter to know that you work endlessly for charities and constantly thumb your nose at conservatives and capitalists.

5. Your mom doesn't hate them. They rock, but they also have ballads. They drink and curse, and they play charity concerts. Their average set list sees covers of CCR, Neil Young, The Who and Iggy and the Stooges. Even at my age, far too many people I know base the value of what they listen to by whom it pisses off. (That's somewhat hypocritical. If Stephen Harper declared ire for any band I'd buy their catalogue tomorrow.) They're a nice band. They love their fans, do everything they can at live shows to make it live up to our expectations. My mom thinks they're pretty swell for it.

4. Their music isn't all that woeful. Oh sure, in their youth they had reams of songs about dead dads and abusive childhoods, but their most meaningfully negative vibes like "Betterman," "Bu$hleaguer" and "Even Flow" tend to be more ethically and politically motivated than mopey. They want us to be better people.
     Most music reviewers and many music fans have issues with happy bands. YES has always struggled with credibility because their lyrics are as positive as their moniker. There's no room for positivity in rock music! Pearl Jam are nice guys who love their fans, they're proactive and they write songs like "The Fixer," "Down" and "Wishlist" that are about all things good, and most rock critics just hate goodness.

3. They weren't really all that grunge. I've been skirting this one, but I hate the term "grunge." I hate the Seattle Underground myth. I hate that--for many fans of the sound of that time--the bands were only good before they hit, and Pearl Jam was a corporate (?!) creation no better than a hair band and terribly inferior to its predecessors Green River and Mother Love Bone. I hate that there was a feud between Cobain and Vedder because Cobain criticized them for not being grunge enough. Apparently, "grunge enough" ends with a shotgun blast, so who needs it?
     Grunge is a New York Times name for a rock movement. Pearl Jam was and is a rock band that once wore flannel and Doc Martins. They got big. Success is negatively correlated to popularity in the underground, to being truly grunge-y. Nirvana's survival as a grunge band came, ironically, through suicide.
     Pearl Jam wasn't all that grunge because grunge is impossible to define and remains a stupid term to use to try to encapsulate a musical culture. Pearl Jam was successful, rock, from Seattle (basically), and not willing to be a part of the corporate music machine. Take whatever grunge you will from that.

2. They haven't had a hit single in years, but they still sell. "World Wide Suicide" hit Number 1 on the US Modern Rock charts in 2006, and they've had a lot of #1s and #2s on those hair-split charts (Post Modern Easy Listening Rock Chart), but I think it's fair to say that their last big hit was the 1999, tongue-in-cheek cover of "Last Kiss." Yet they still play to packed stadiums. This is tied to my ultimate point, in that they have a staying power that few bands do. They are a slow-burning fire. They write albums and they tour non-stop. They aren't heavily concerned with singles, but they receive a lot of radio play, even of the recent entries to their catalogue.

1. Greatest Band Ever. Oh, sit down. It's a discussion, not a declaration. It's the stupidest argument in the universe. Want to keep it short? Fine: the Beatles, with Zeppelin a close second.
     Of the bands still going, it's still a long and pointless debate. U2, the Beastie Boys, Neil Young, Aerosmith, Metallica, the Who, Radiohead, the Eagles, CSN--the "old reliables" list goes on and on, and music is far too subjective and personal for a winner to ever be crowned. Pearl Jam, though, is on the list of considerables. They're steady, have never gone away, and many of those who don't love them admit a grudging respect.
     Let's just say, in a very tepid and nice way, that Pearl Jam is one of  the greatest bands ever.

This Whole Sheepdogs Thingy

     I'm sorry to say to my family and friends in Saskatchewan that the epic tale of the Saskatoon band the Sheepdogs rise to make the cover of Rolling Stone hasn't been that big of a deal out here in Alberta. The media doesn't follow it as much--understandably, I guess--as in the boys' home province.
     (As a side note, I've noticed that Saskatchewan's recent boom has seen condescension traded for outright hostility in these parts. Hmm.)
     People know about it now that the issue's out, the boys having been voted 1.5 million times (that's half again Saskatchewan's population) thus becoming the winning unsigned band to make the magazine's cover and to appear in a feature written by Austin Scaggs. Cool beans.
     I always used to like the writing in RS. Even had a subscription for a few years. I've lost touch and interest because it (and the USA) have greater interest in hip hop, R & B and pop than I do. I didn't keep up much with the competition, but I bought the Sheepdogs album. I like it. You've probably heard it sounds like the Allman Brothers meets Skynyrd meets bayou blues. It does. As I listen I actually find it a little disturbing that it's not from the 1970s, but it's good. I think I'd like it on its own, without the connection.
    August 5th the issue comes out, and I guess there's some backlash. Not for its portrayal of the band, but for Scaggs' depiction of the fine city of Saskatoon. Its remoteness, its mosquitoes, the backwards nature of it all, blah blah blah. People from Bridge City must have got so into this that they figured it was about the city winning and not the band.
     The boys come off looking like sort of deadbeat barflies and dopeheads who aren't all that worldly. That might be accurate.
     Wouldn't worry about it too much, folks. Scaggs is a big city writer, he works for an international magazine that once employed Hunter S. Thompson, and he honestly knows squat about Canada (referring to poutine as a local--as in Saskatonian--dish). As Scott Thompson once said, "Americans know as much about Canada as straight people know about gays."
     There's good in there too, folks. I liked seeing my beloved university's football team inside, as well as frequent mentions of old haunts like Lydias and the Yard and Flagon. There's even a nice bit of Stephen Harper bashing, which I love seeing get a touch more international. Mind you, he's referred to as "ultraconservative" (H.S.T. would have had the balls to say "robotic douchebag with a knack for ignoring democracy and pissing on the environment"), and RS is nothing if not decidedly liberal.
     So chill, dear Saskatchewan. Good band, great moment. So far as ignorance and rude treatment goes, take it from me living where I live, it's not isolated to Americaland.

   

Kids These Days . . .

     I was at a family wedding just a couple of years ago. An older cousin--once a notorious hellraiser and womanizer--cornered me. Over the past few years, he had found Jesus, married a woman half his age, fathered seven children on her, and closeted himself and his family from society. I'd idolized him when I was young, but I hadn't seen him in years, hadn't spoken to him since his conversion and the end of my childhood..
     Small talk. He asked me how I liked being a teacher.
     Fine, fine.
     "Don't you find that kids these days are worse than ever?"
     Pause. Do you forget how you were?
     Avoidance. "They have no respect. They don't care about anyone but themselves."
     I repeat my question in my head. Also, in my head: The same could be said for many of the faithful.
     "Don't you think they're just terrible?"
     No, I don't think that at all.

     It's been a long year so far, folks. Wildfires, floods, earthquakes, tsunamis, terrorism, partisan fingerpointing, racial/religious/political shootings. .
     Maybe it's because I have former students in Japan, a friend in New Zealand, family in Norway, and maybe it's because I'm staunchly anti-Harper, hell, maybe it's because I hate the Boston Bruins . . . but, big scale-wise, I don't have a lot of good to say about the first seven months of 2011.
     Whenever there's tragedy, whenever there's an issue, somebody always takes a moment to gauge and to judge the reaction of the youth, or to stereotype the whole based on the few, and then to say: "What's this world coming to? These kids . . ."

     If you've read my blog before, you've read my decrying the folly of today's youth on occasion. Usually, I'm expressing my disgust at someone having to text me from five feet away. However, I've never claimed (or felt) that kids are getting worse every year, or that their follies and choices are responsible for the sorry state of our world. I blame the state of the world on oil, greed, most organized religions, and good old-fashioned selfishness. Oh, and reality TV.
     Despite my dissatisfaction with a lot of 2011, I am not one of those fellas that thinks the world is getting shittier each year we step into the 21st century. Sorry, I saw the Cold War and the Mulroney administration. I saw Poison considered a credible band and Steve Gutenberg a credible actor. There have been worse days.

     Grandpa. You have a Grade 6 education. You didn't have your first pair of shoes until you were twelve. You got up at 5 am every day and worked yourself to arthritis. Your wife you kept at home, then left her for months on end so you could go work, and the most you had to do with your children was to lay into them with a belt. You came of age when every orator worth his salt was becoming a dictator, and you killed people in the most horrible conflict in human history. You smoked, you drank, you swore, you slapped around your wife and kids. You went to church every Sunday and sang in the choir.

    Dad. You were raised by heavy-handed parents who neglected your emotions, worked you like a slave, denied you an education, and expected you to follow in their footsteps. You never expressed an emotion beyond rage until you were thirty. You defined yourself by what you saw on TV and there was never enough for you to watch. Still isn't.You and your friends took so many drugs you still have flashbacks and you speak with a slight lisp. You protested the corruption of the Man, and in less than twenty years you were exploiting every corner of the world for your own wealth. You have expanded our dependencies on oil and energy and your only church is the bank.

     Me. You grew up being told that your feelings mattered, that you should express them, all the while whining that you needed that one extra action figure for total nirvana. You saw a world turn to suit you, a world where all that mattered was your entertainment, and the vehemency with which you demanded to be entertained. As a teenager, you moped in a depression because you just had so much. Needed to be mad about something. You became the first real user of the Internet, the most exciting tool for containing all accumulated knowledge  in human history. You promptly dedicated 99% of it to games and pornography.

     Kids these days.
     Kids these days have the chance to overthrow the patriarchal madnesses: capitalism, militarism, fundamentalism and selfishness.
     Kids these days. They don't know how good they've got it. The world has been rotten before, people have been rotten before. Kids before these ones were selfish troublemakers mired in the demands of their id. Superiority comes with the guilt of failure.
     Kids these days have the world we've handed them. I don't envy them, but then I think they have more potential to stop the madness than most of the generations before them. If they stop listening to our quibbling and criticism, and if they care enough to unfuck the world on their own terms, for the future rather than for the past, well, then the future may be okay.

     Kids these days don't owe us a thing, save accepting our apology.

God Wills It

Last night, I was taking part in an event meant to glorify Christ. I have issues with my association with it, but have always been tolerant of the faithful, even if they're not tolerant of the unfaithful. A decision was made that the outdoor event should go on despite all logic in terrible and dangerous weather conditions. I was in charge of students from a summer school, who were part of the event. The staff whipped the kids into zealotry. "God wants us to do this!"

God wants you to put school children at risk?

Across the Atlantic, in the country my ancestors came from, a killer with a message entered another summer camp, and plunged one hundred families into tragedy. It's early, but all signs say he was of the mind that God would have wanted this as well.

"God wills it!" is the cry Crusaders gave before tearing into the bodies of Muslims and Jews with their swords.

My chief concern is for the safety of the kids in my charge. God does not will stupid, and he does not will murder. I don't believe in hell, but if I did, I would hope that there's a special place in it for those who hide behind faith when doing wrong.

Summer of the Geek

            Since about 1999, after a long hiatus following the first of the modern Batman movies, superhero films have been pretty respectable—as summer blockbusters go. X-Men 4, Transformers 3, Thor, Green Lantern, Captain America. . . . This summer is so front-loaded with the nerdtacular that the ten-year-old in me can hardly contain himself. I think I was born twenty years too early. They’re even dipping beyond the mainstream heroes. I mean, Thor and Green Lantern? Who ever thought to see them on the screen?

These movies have been gold for movie producers, and as you can see by the number of sequels going on, they’ve proven to be a cash cow for Hollywood. And if there’s one thing Hollywood knows how to do, it’s squeeze a capital bovine dry.

Batman’s going on seven modern movies, his third of the second set coming next summer. Superman’s going on movie six, reboot two. Spider-Man is being rebooted after two good and one pathetic films. Iron Man’s had two, Hulk two (one a reboot), now we have Thor and Captain  America all leading us in the direction of next summer’s Avengers movie, which can’t possibly live up to this much hype but who the hell cares? Just that they’re making it blows me away, and these flicks are laden with big-name stars and directors having fun and—often—doing something for their kids or—oftener—funding their next artsy project.

But, ah, the shine is starting to wear off. The public’s starting to see the formula, and at the glacial pace it takes the mob, they’re starting to get a touch bored of the same ol’ same ol’. People know that when they sit down, they’re either getting an origin story or a “how the hero’s presence has made things escalate” story. Those are the only two formulae. Usually the hero quits once per movie, his girlfriend gets kidnapped (all three Spider-Man movies!) and at some point in the third act a sequel is set up. Sequels are usually announced before the first film is released. And then there’s this Avengers mess . . . I never leave a theatre during the credits anymore because there’s always some teaser.

Are they cookie cutter? You betcha! Can you predict everything that’s going to happen, every line of dialogue? Yar! Are you going to catch all the nerdy in-jokes if you’re the type what bathes themselves daily? Unlikely! Is Michael Bay a good director? Nuh-uh, but he blows things up good.   

             But the nerds deserve this Geek Renaissance. The reformed comic addict in me (been on the wagon over a decade now) has been waiting hsi life for 1) film technology to catch up to comic books and 2)for Hollywood to understand that the stories in comics are good (not great), and need only be adapted for the screen, not rewritten. X-Men in 2000 and especially Spider-Man in 2002 taught this.

            It’s not nerdom’s fault that when something bears Hollywood fruit they must turn it to fruit leather.

            Is that my second Hollywood squeezing-related metaphor? Maybe.

            Nerds deserve—nay—require this summer. They sat through 1990’s rubber-shielded Captain America, through the last three movies of the Batman franchise pre-Begins, and all those Stan Lee-awful made for TV movies (the Hulk died falling out of a helicopter? Really? The Hulk, you say? Did you even bother to look at the comic? The Hulk eats tanks and farts cruise missiles).

            It’s about time the nerds enjoyed some actually decent movies. Most of them, yes, are over-contrived special effects extravaganzas—Thor and Green Lantern—some are vehicles for good actors’ egos—Iron Man, Hulk, X­-anything—and a few are well-crafted, subtle, thematic and brilliant—The Dark Knight and  . . . uh . . .

            But, c’mon. Survivor’s been on the air a decade and The Bachelor/ette has been railed on for its idiocy before on this page. I mean, who are you to say something’s stoopid? You watch Glee.

            So, please, let the nerds have their day. Let them giggle at inside-jokes, quibble about changes to the canon, and laden theatres with the smells of BO and stale nachos. They have waited for this brief time where their interests are represented on the screen by spandex-clad superbuffs with ‘roid rage and afraid-looking Botox-ettes dressed in dental floss. Let the geek have his day.

Reset at 1, Again

     Apparently DC Comics is going to reset the numbering of a lot of its titles to 1. Detecive and Action Comics, Superman and Batman, all reset. They can't go to Zero because they've done that once already. Marvel Comics has done this a few times, then undone it, then done it again, then undone it but added the reset numbers to the originals (so that, say, Avengers #432 never actually happened, because it was Vol. III #4. Head hurt?).
     Obviously, this is a ploy to bring on new fans. Knowing you missed the first 581 episodes of back-story is a little daunting. #1 is a great point to jump on. Back when I used to read comics, I remember being excited to buy such milestones as Detecive Comics 600 or Amazing Spider-Man 400. It felt cool, like touching history, being a part of something that stretched all the way back to the Depression.
     And yet, I can also recall the violent thrill of anticipating in those summers of the early 90s the new (simply) Spider-Man series by Todd MacFarlane, or the new (simply) X-Men series by Jim Lee. Those #1s were something so refreshing in an era of 364s and 509s. Funny enough, it's Lee who masterminded this relaunch, and who is redesgning a lot of the major characters.
    What? Mucking with history? Well, maybe there's something to this. Magazines rarely make a big deal of their issue number. Maybe comics cling too much to their monthly designation. I mean, as I recall, every issue ending in a zero had to have some major event in it. The anticipation of issues 595-599, the hangover of issue 601. Creators must've felt a lot of stress having to provide a major payoff whenever a numerical click was coming. Many of those were hokey (new costumes, new heroes, dead girlfriends). I mean--and I take this with a nostalgic grain of salt looking back with childhood joy on a pretty commercial "art form"--I seem to remember the best stories were often nowhere near these milestone numerals, because the creators had freedom to express themselves when they wanted, in the blissful unconcern of the pages of issue 232.
       Maybe it's a good thing, then. Maybe I appreciate history too much, I'm too protective of the past. Maybe when comics are concerned I'm a (DEAR GOD!) little c conservative. Maybe a fresh start is a good thing.
      . . . . Maybe it doesn't matter. I'm not going to start reading them again, anyway.

My First 21k

            On Sunday I ran my first half marathon. Don’t worry, this isn’t one of those inspiring “look how far I’ve come” stories. More like one of those “gee, I did something pretty cool but really should have a long time ago” stories. I’ve been a serious runner for over a decade, and I’m in much better shape in my early thirties than I was in my early twenties. Recently, say the past two years or so, I’ve been a bit more of a fanatic—I think the tell for this is when you start investing substantial dollars on “equipment” in a sport that really only requires shoes.

            Despite that, at 5’10” and 190lbs means I have almost the exact wrong body time for running, it’s been my chief activity for the past few years. Add to this that years of sports, farming and general thoughtless male stupidity have caused me enough aches and pains that 21 kilometres can be seen as a much greater risk for injury than the 5 to 15 I usually do a few times per week.

            I didn’t go in timid, though, I went in confident. Thought I’d share some thoughts about the experience of running the Calgary Half Marathon while fresh:

-I usually run at night. I don’t like doing it in the morning before work because I always feel the stress of time; I like to have an open end. The gun for the marathon was at 7am, which means I was up at four to get to the city in time to be there for a good warm up. Ugh.

-I had some nerves, sure. I mean, the only time I had run this distance before (while timed—I’d done it lots over greater lengths of time), I’d done it at a fair pace of 5m45s/km, on my own, and the last three kilometres I’d found a tremendous struggle. My hoped time for the race was 2h5m, but I was very concerned about exhaustion at the end. I should point out that on long runs I’m a chronic under-hydrater. But a full time moniker-maker-upper . . .

-There were nearly 10,000 people involved Sunday, running or walking 5k, 10k, 21k, or the masochists on the 42k. Like I said, I normally run alone—though I’d come in with some friends who are members of a running group in town. The initial 3k after the gun was just about threading through the crowds, jockeying for position, and not trying to be too rude as you passed people. Oh, and trying to find the damn pace bunny. More on that in a bit. The mass of people clogging the route had me pretty dejected at first, but that wore off as people started to hit strides or lose steam.

-I run to music. Apparently, the purists frown upon this, as in any sport you play it should be work—you shouldn’t be entertained. Whatever. I love running, but for 21k, things can get boring and I don’t want to just listen to myself breath or people’s feet clumping. With two little kids at home, it’s rare I get two straight hours for my tunes anyway.

-When I run alone, I don’t carry water. This is fine for short distances, but has cost me in anything over 10k. It was the story of my big collapse a month ago when practising this distance. Every 3k along the route, though, there were water and Gatorade stations. What a difference—water really is fuel.

-Running is a no glory sport, but the people of Calgary did their best to support us. People lined the route in places, cheering and holding signs, using noise-makers, and there were bands every once in a while. The whole thing was festive. Everyone on the route was appreciative of the others. I felt guilty for how long it had taken me to race, as I’ve been ready for years. For some people this was a real milestone. I’m not a real fan of Calgary at the best of times, but the city earned my kudos during this marathon.

-I normally practise 10/1s (run ten minutes, briskly walk one), but abandoned this right away. I just didn’t need the breaks. I decided that all I would do was walk twenty seconds at the water tables, ensuring I didn’t spill. I was using my Garmin to check my lap pace every 7k, and discovered I had improved my time on the second seven. I was going too easy. The hydrating made a difference, and this got me thinking.

-I referred to pace bunnies. These are expert runners who wear pink rabbit ears indicating the time they will finish. Follow them, know your pace. My intent at the gun was to keep the 2h bunny in my sights, but I lost him in the throng near the zoo. Then, at about the 14k mark, I passed the 1:55 bunny. Sure now that I was taking things too easy, I pushed myself to increase my per kilometre pace up by 20 seconds for the rest of the race.

-With 3k left to go, Pearl Jam’s “Alive” came over my headphones. Providential.

-I came in with two friends who’ve been doing this for years. One of them is a running addict, whose positive demeanour is inspiring, and he’s a wonderful cheerleader. The other is a pure athlete, one of the greatest I’ve ever met, all the more impressive for his “awe-shucks” approach to running, swimming, biking. They finished about a minute apart in the 1h30 range. When they saw me come in, they shot back to the finish line to congratulate me. This was old hat for them, another race, but they wanted to be part of my “I did it” moment when I crossed. They wanted to share in that, but they were also proud because  . . .

-I’d aimed for 2h5m, and came in at 1:53.10. My best pace of 5:30/k I’d improved to 5:07. It’s not record-breaking, but ahead is always better than behind.

Should have done it years ago. I didn’t need the race, the competition. For me, running is something I like to lose myself in. When I was done, I felt good about myself, but it wasn’t an achievement with finality. It was a start. I regretted that I had waited too long to kick it up, and am already considering how I’ll do this next time—before the snow flies.

Vote, Sucka

The Canadian Federal Election is tomorrow and you have decided not to vote. It might be out of apathy or laziness. It might be that you have your justifications, which might just be you rationalizing your apathy and laziness.

            Regardless, a small but vocal group of you out there have declared that you’re exercising your right to do nothing because it’s the right thing to do, nothing.

            You’re wrong. Here’s why:

1.      “I’m too busy to vote.”

Listen, your employer must grant you the time to go to the polls. It’s the law. There were also advanced polls over Easter Weekend (that, happily, saw a 34% increase from 2008).

Cut the crap: You’re lazy. Go vote, and get a coffee while you’re out. Enjoy the rest of your day.

2.      “I forgot.”

Really? You missed the month of news pieces, the signs decorating every boulevard in town, the coffee-room discussions? You know when every NHL playoff game is, when American Idol or The Bachelor come on, and yet somehow you missed election day?

Cut the crap: It’s tomorrow.

3.      “It just doesn’t matter.”

Yeah, I’ve always felt that doing nothing yields much greater results than doing something. Many parties in many ridings are glad you feel this way. If more people turned out to vote, your MP would have to start listening to a broader range of voices, because he needs to garner a broader range of votes, now that you decided to show. Rather than just seniors.

Cut the crap: Be the change, whiney.

4.      “I don’t know the issues and I don’t trust the news.”

Do a little damn research, then. Take five minutes of your Angry Birds time or wait until Survivor’s in commercial, go online and look at party platforms. Decide what matters to you. Health care? Economy? Tuition costs?

Cut the crap: Get off your ass and learn something.

5.      “Politicians are all just liars and crooks.”

Stated from your well-founded and learned opinion, the one that said you don’t know anything. Yes, they’re politicians, which means the majority are a little morally wonky. However, Canada still has one of the cleanest governing systems in the world. Your vote can actually do something. Try getting that in Mexico. Don’t give the dudes in ties the excuse to be more corrupt because you can’t be bothered to influence them.

Cut the crap: The only way to keep them honest is through action.

6.      “It’s not that I don’t care—I care too much. The system is broken.”

I might entertain this view if I ever heard it backed up with facts. Too bad it’s just another excuse for being lazy. Look, I’m not married to this system or anything—I’d much rather see a popular vote system—but the current one can work. If you vote, then lobby your MP to change, it’s effective.

Cut the crap: Take part, then enact reform.

7.      “Where I live, people always vote the same way, anyway.”

I hear ya. The riding I’ve lived in for the past eight years sees its incumbent take 80-90% of the votes, and I’ve never voted for the guy. Is it a little disheartening? Sure. But if our whole riding turned out on May 2^nd, he’d easily drop to about 65%, and that would make him sweat. And when they sweat, they listen. Apply that to his whole party now. That’s  democratic efficacy.

Cut the crap: This is current events, not history.

8.      “They all sound the same.”

Really? Have you read their platforms? Have you studied anything beyond TV and radio sound bites? Have you called your MP or his opposition and asked them tough questions? Do the research, make a decision, go with it.

Cut the crap: They wouldn’t be parties if that were true.

9.      “My identity is not an ideology.”

Neither is mine. But I have wants for my country, for my province, for my kids. For the future. I know what I don’t want and I know what I like. No, there’s no party in existence that meets my needs 100%. Even my wife wouldn’t vote for that party. They need a broader appeal. Compromise a little, find the closest party, vote.

Cut the crap: Your mom should’ve cut you off a little sooner, coddle kid.

10.  “Who cares?”

What you’re ignoring is something Canadians died to preserve in World War 2, which Libyans are currently dying to get, and which every adult Canadian should be forced to exercise on penalty of jail time.

Cut the crap: See above.

A parting shot, from a man much smarter than me: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MhgYhcTl95w&feature=youtu.be

My Trip to the Apple Store

            I went to an Apple store for the first time yesterday.

          
            I needed a very specific kind of USB cable, and was also interested in an iPod specific remote thingy for my headphones. I was at the mall, and I saw that shiny, white, sterile store. I figured what the hell. The only times I’d ever noted the place before was when glancing at the huge line-ups the day the latest iThing was released. Today, I’d enter the place that was many a techie’s Mecca.

Maybe no line-up, but it was still a fair busy place. I paused just inside, taking in the gleam, the glare, the glass. The plastic white-ness. It was like being inside the head of EVE from Wall-E. It smelled like . . . well, it didn’t smell. I imagined this place at night, where no cleaning staff entered, but instead the ceiling sprinklers doused the place in sanitizer.

I own an iPod. It’s a classic 80 gig.

“Classic.” I got it in 2007.

I also own a 3GS iPhone—which means it’s the second to latest edition—and a 4 gig iPod shuffle that I use for running. It was a gift, but I love it.

I will admit, I love my Apple devices.

But I hate their computers. Yes, enough to start a sentence with a conjunction.

Recently, I set off a minor firestorm on my Facebook page when I dared scoff at the glory of Apple computers. I will never join that trend (speaking computers, that is. I’d die without my collection of iDoodads). I don’t care how wonderful their operating systems supposedly are, I don’t care how cool their entertainment systems are, I don’t care how damn white they are. They’re stupidly expensive and I understand Windows just fine, thanks. Why, at my age, with limited time to spend learning rather than using a computer, would I force myself to learn a whole new OS, and shell out that kind of cash just so my laptop bears a glowing white once-bitten apple to impress my friends? Nuts to that.

That was my opinion when I entered the Apple store in search of a USB cable and a remote thingy. The place was very busy, as I’ve said, but there were many employees as well, more than there were customers. Each was young, bearing a blue shirt and a sparkling smile. Odd for an electronics store: plenty of available clerks who appear happy.

No, not happy.

Fanatical.

I passed the first tow glass tables which were set up as iPad 2 altars, and then an employee sprinted up to ask me how he could help me.

When asked, he knew exactly what I needed, and led me over to an accessories wall where he indicated the cable ($30) and remote thingy ($55) that I sought. I didn’t grab them, instead considering places where I could find cheaper knock offs that worked just as well minus the Apple logo.

Unused to having an electronics store employee stay with me, I sought to milk the moment.

“Say, where are your iPhone cases?”

He took me to the opposite accessory wall, which bore hundreds of the cases in all colours and styles, made of gels, rubber, metal, plastic, cork, human flesh (I’m sure). But all for the iPhone 4.

“Mine’s a 3,” I said. Then, like it mattered, “A GS.”

His smile faltered, just a little. To the point of almost coming back into the range of the humanly possible. I took a moment to study his teeth, telling myself that they couldn’t possibly be made of white Apple plastic. No, they couldn’t be.

“Oh,” he said.

He pointed up to a nigh-unreachable corner of the wall bearing four 3GS cases. One looked like a sunglasses fabric bag, another was pink metal, the third was the same as my own, and the fourth was pink and purple with the word “juicy” adorning it in what looked like rhinestones.

“Thanks,” I said. “Think I’ll pass.”

“Okay. Say,” he said, his eyes widening and crossing slightly, a small trickle of drool running out of his mouth, “you tried the iPad 2 yet?”

“No, I’m not really interested.” I’m not a tablet man. My smart-phone and laptop combined make a bulky tablet pretty meaningless to me.

“Oh, but you should at least try it.”

That is not a human grin.

“S’okay,” I said.

“Tell you what, go check it out. I’ll come check on you in a few minutes to see how you like it.”

“Uh, kay.”

I left, fearful that if I stayed a moment longer that a side panel would open up, revealing a shrine of Steve Jobbs made of white plastic, and the faithful would line up for afternoon prayers.

I went to Best Buy, found the items I wanted for less than $30, I didn’t even see  an employee, and was happy that the store was as dishevelled and poorly-organized as ever.

I remain an Applegnostic.