Josh's Froz-T-Freez Internet Drive-Inn

My desk, where I am sitting right now, faces a window that looks out to our back yard. I got home from work a few minutes ago and I came here to set up my laptop. As I opened the window blinds, I was amazed to see part of our patio bare of snow, and, what’s more, even a small patch of yellow muddy grass!

This may not seem incredible to most people on the Wasatch Front, who have had bare ground for a while now, but to me, here in the canyon, it is astounding. Our yard has been buried in feet of snow since December. We used snowshoes a month ago to go out there to check our propane tank and get something out of the shed.  Just last week we received three days of snow dumping, bad enough that one evening last week our neighbor, who conveniently for us owns a backhoe, used it to help clear out our street and even one of our driveways.

So I was somewhat heartened by this little observation of melting snow, and was sitting here by myself thinking that it was remarkable enough that I ought to compose a little sentence or two about it for twitter and/or facebook, when I saw movement out on the snow. My first thought was one of dread: it must be a rat. The shape I saw was about the right size for a rat, and we saw one living on and swimming in the river by our house last fall. I peered into the waning evening light and soon caught sight of the movement again. Standing right in the middle of the newly revealed patch of grass was a fat red-breasted robin, and it was yanking a worm out of the ground. In the few minutes since then, I have seen this robin flying around our backyard with yet another robin. I couldn’t see very well in the evening light, but I think my first robin was fighting the other robin for this precious territory. Now the robin is sitting in our pine tree, making quite a pleasant chattering and squawking racket.

I’m going to try to resist giving voice to the sentiment that no doubt we are all thinking right now.

They are flying around again. I can now see that one of the robins is smaller and not so colorful. There is also a definite call and response going on with their chirping, too. I’m thinking now that what I’m privy to is probably less a fight than it is a tumultuous courtship.

I’m not going to say any more until all the snow is gone and there are buds on the trees.

There’s a special feeling that often comes to me after eating hot dogs for a meal.

I guess I have to admit that hot dogs are a personal favorite food.  I now recognize this because, when I’m left to my own devices at the grocery store and/or subsequently at home, as I am tonight, I have a great tendency to buy them, cook them, and eat them.

Hot dogs really have a lot going for them.  They have a great flavor. They are inexpensive and extremely easy to prepare.  They give one the satisfying impression that one is eating something meaty and substantial.

But that’s not all; in addition to aroma, they exude nostalgia.  The frankfurter has a storied history that is deeply entwined with many pleasant elements of American culture: baseball, barbecues, camping, street vendors, amusement parks, drive-ins, kids meals, and our desire to give things new names when we decide we don’t like the country they came from.

And yet, examined without all these culinary and cultural trappings, the hot dog is quickly revealed as one of the most bizarre food items imaginable.  Processed from the vaguest of origins and with a truly nonsensical name, the hot dog is far more abstract a food than any other sausage I can think of, except perhaps bologna.  They contain high amounts of sodium, fat, and preservatives called nitrites, which I know nothing about but are supposed to be unhealthy when ingested in high concentrations.  These strangenesses and apparent flaws, one can easily argue, originate only in the admirable desire to make good use of all resources and plan for the future.

However, in a culture where fat and salt are readily available and we can preserve food through refrigeration, the hot dog has a new reason for its particular form and function.  A food often marketed and fed to children in a culture in which many are completely detached and ignorant of the sources and production of the food we eat, the hot dog is one of our most successful attempts at nullifying and mollifying ourselves out of recognizing the animal-ness and living-ness of our food sources, perhaps more so even than the hamburger or the chicken “nugget”  or “strip.”  Now more than ever, the hot dog is an iconic American food item.  Let’s please not start discussing the corn dog, though, or we’ll be here all night.

There it is, that special feeling just hit.  There are several more hot dogs left in package in the fridge;  I am sure that I will be eating them sometime soon, in the days ahead.  I don’t like to to let food go to waste.  But still, my stomach roils and rises up in a cry of betrayal, just now realizing that it has been tricked yet again.

[Ball Park Franks]

The Order of Odd-Fish * Written by James Kennedy

After a mysterious absence of forty years, aged Hollywood starlet Lily Larouche suddenly finds herself back in the Ruby Palace, her old mansion in the California Desert, with no memory of where she has been all this time.  At the same time, she finds a crying baby girl in her washing machine, with a note: “This is Jo. Please take care of her. But beware. This is a DANGEROUS baby.”  As the novel begins, Jo, now 13, is trying to stay out of the way at one of her “Aunt” Lily’s out-of-control Hollywood costume parties at the Ruby Palace, when a strange, old Russian colonel sneaks in and informs her that he has come to protect her because his intestines told him to do so.  Soon, the Russian has taken a bullet for her, a package with her name on it has fallen out of the sky, the Russian’s ascot-wearing, talking cockroach sidekick has shown up on the scene, and a Chinese billionaire who is an aspiring diabolical villain is after all of them.   And that’s only a taste of all that happens in just the first few pages.  Every time I thought the story had settled into its comfort spot and would just flow along, Kennedy turned everything on its head and upped the absurdity ante again, and again, and again.  And, amazingly, every time it works splendidly.  Overflowing with laugh-out-loud moments, totally unexpected plot twists, and off-the-wall fantastical details, this is the most fun I’ve had with a book in a long time.  Highly recommended, particularly to anyone who gets bored easily, and anyone who has ever wondered what a novel written by Dr. Seuss might be like.

Delacorte Books
416 pages
ISBN: 978-0-385-73543-8
Release Date: August 2008

The Kingdom on the Waves  *  Written by M.T. Anderson

Kingdom on the Waves continues the fascinating narrative of the young man Octavian, describing his time in the royally controlled and besieged city of Boston, as well as his subsequent adventures in seeking out and joining the Royal Ethiopian Regiment of Lord Dunmore, exiled governor of the colony of Virginia.  Dunmore has issued a proclamation promising freedom to all slaves who will escape from their rebel masters and join the King’s Army in suppressing the rebellion of the American colonists.  Much of the volume recounts the battles, trials and tragic circumstances of these African-American soldiers devoted to the cause of liberty, fighting others also devoted to the cause of liberty, albeit a different liberty.   This book brings back to light the real moral ambiguities of the American Revolution by presenting the circumstances from the often-ignored perspectives of royalists and slaves in the American colonies.  As in the first Octavian Nothing volume, Anderson reveals himself as a master at re-creating authentic 18th Century language and tone, having immersed himself for six years exclusively in writings of or about this historical period.  These are smart, challenging books that illustrate that books with the “Young Adult” label do not necessarily have to be patronizing or insulting to the intelligence and capacity of teenage readers.

Candlewick Press
561 pages
ISBN: 978-0-7636-2950-2
Release Date: October 2008

The Pox Party * Written by M.T. Anderson

In the Novanglian College of Lucidity in Boston, the young boy Octavian is raised as the noble son of an African princess.  He is waited upon and receives an education in science, history and philosophy, has become proficient in Latin and Greek, as well as a virtuoso of the violin.  And yet, his every action and bodily function is observed and recorded, and his mother, though a personage of royalty, is sometimes constrained from her own will by the men of the college.  In actuality, Octavian is a slave and the subject of a scientific experiment.  The philosophers of the college wish to ascertain whether, given the same opportunities, an African has the same capacities as a European.  When the college’s longstanding patronage falls through and the slave-owning funders of the college make it clear that they want the “experimental” education of the boy to fail, Octavian becomes personally aware of and subjected to the true horrors and rigors of slavery in the American colonies.  In the midst of the turmoil of the Revolutionary War, Octavian makes his escape, but has nowhere to turn in a land where people are crying out for liberty, and yet would hold him captive.  Written as a first-person manuscript that incredibly recreates the diction and writing style of the late 18th century, as well as incorporating actual letters and documents from historical figures of the period, this is a fascinating, harrowing book with a hint of hope, as the story of Octavian continues in a companion volume, Kingdom on the Waves.

Candlewick Press
351 pages
ISBN: 978-0-7636-2402-6 (hardcover) / 978-0-7636-3679-1 (paperback)
Release Date: September 2006

The Book Thief * Written by Markus Zusak

Who better than Death to narrate a story of World War II?  He knows all the intimate details better than anyone.  In The Book Thief, Death unburdens upon the reader a story that haunts even him, that of the girl Liesel Meminger of Molching, Germany.   Liesel, after watching her younger brother die on a train ride, is inexplicably abandoned by her mother.  She becomes the foster daughter of Hans and Rosa Hubermann.  Hans is a supremely good and patient man, while Rosa has a rough exterior and a filthy tongue that hide a heart of gold.  In the impoverished and absurd circumstances of Nazi Germany during the war, Liesel and her best friend Rudy negotiate the trials and adventures of early adolescence and develop a taste for thievery; particularly, in Liesel’s case, book thievery.  In due time, in their own dangerous and brave act of thievery, Liesel’s foster parents “steal” something of great worth from the very Fürher himself.  The world of the book is that of a very real and dangerous circumstance in which patriotism and duty to one’s country seem far distant from morality, and often there are no good choices to make.  So many innocent, decent people get caught in horrific realities because of rhetoric and definitions.  The power of words for both good and evil is a central theme of the book.

Death, in addition to telling the story with his expectedly dark and ironic humor, tired voice, and outsider perspective, also reveals to the reader that he has a heart.  This is one of those rare and precious books that, while describing dire and heartbreaking circumstances, are also filled with joy, life, humor, and humanity.  Death voices his perplexity over the paradox that so much good and so much evil can come from humanity, and, by the end of the book, I was left pondering upon the same quandary.   I highly recommend this book to any reader, probably 9th grade to adult.

Random House
560 pages
ISBN: 978-0-375-83100-3
Release Date: March 2006

I don’t know how they were able to intuit my music listening desires so well, but it turns out that NPR is streaming new albums in their entirety before they are even released, and they just so happen to be the exact albums I’ve been wanting to hear.  I guess it could just be that my tastes fall in with a key market demographic for public radio, but I’d rather not spoil the magic too much with those sorts of thoughts.

I just listened to the beautiful new album by singer/songwriter/violinist/guitarist/whistler Andrew Bird, entitled Noble Beast.  I think it will take a few more listens for me to truly digest it and describe it fully, but I’m definitely picking this one up when it comes out next week.

Now I’m listening to M. Ward’s album Hold Time, which doesn’t come out until Feb. 17.  Ward continues to write songs that sound like classic folk/country/rock n’ roll sides, all performed in his easy, seemingly effortless style and recorded with his signature old-timey, atmospheric production.  This album adds some occasional strings and keyboards to his usual mix of acoustic guitar and reverb, as well as some classic T. Rex-styled stomp on a few tracks.  All in all, it’s a bit of a Jack White meets Jack Johnson kind of album, and another one I’ll be looking for in February.

As of Monday (1/19), these good folks will also be streaming Animal Collective’s latest noise celebration masterpiece Merriweather Post Pavilion (which I’ve been listening to repeatedly since I purchased the early release vinyl version last week), and Bruce Springsteen’s soon to be released Working on a Dream.

If I were a good conventional blogger, about two or three weeks ago I would have written a summary of the past year, filled with pictures, descriptions of wonderful happenings, and lots of exclamation points! I may have even sent this out as an email or even paper letter to my family and friends!

If I were a good and true nerd, I would have posted all sorts of best of 2008 lists on my blog.

If I were totally awesome (please don’t think of Dell Schanze when I say that.     Oh, crap.), I would have listed all of my goals for 2009 in this place for inspirational and accountability purposes.

Indeed, I intended to do all of these things, and many more! (except maybe the exclamation points). I may even still do these things, albeit in a several-weeks-belated attempt.  Maybe I could cover myself by claiming that I am observing the Chinese, or “Lunar,” New Year this year; I guess I should find out when that is. For your information, the Chinese New Year, which shall be known as the Year of the Ox,  begins on January 26, 2009 of the Gregorian calendar.

If you’re at all like me you may be wondering,  “Why didn’t I compile all these lists and write all these summaries and post all these wonderful ideas over my extensive twelve day break from work?”  I honestly can’t find a good answer to that question.  During this same period of time  I did manage to beat Gin three times at Metropolys.  So that’s at least something.

I will offer this, though.  Lately, I’ve been extremely self-conscious about writing reviews. I’ve tried and failed miserably on a couple of music reviews intended for this blog that I never completed and never posted. I’ve forced my way through some book reviews for work, but have felt extremely self-conscious about them.  I want to become better at reviewing. So, among other things, I am going to start posting many reviews on this blog as a practice.  Start to look for my book and music and other reviews, if I ever get around to writing things on a regular basis again. Perhaps I will highlight my favorite albums of 2008 by posting a brief review for each one, with a sample track. If I get really ambitious I may give voice to the wanna-be foodie part of me and start posting restaurant reviews of some sort. And, on a different front, I’ve been meaning to post some of my thoughts from my all-too-infrequent gospel/scripture studies. At any rate, these are type of things that readers of this blog can look forward to in The Year of the Ox, if I will properly yoke myself and push my way into writing things again, like a proper draft animal. The bad jokes will keep coming, folks.  Thanks for watching and have a nice day!

Somehow, although living through the entirety of the eighties, I missed metal entirely.  How could this be?  I think it is at least partly because in the eighties I was a little only child and I had no older sibling or bad neighborhood kid to bring the likes of metal to my attention. I was accustomed to mainstream pop music and my parents’ singer/songwriters and soft rock.  In sixth grade, a friend of mine, whose dad was a DJ for the classic rock station Z-93, got me to start listening to Rush and Led Zeppelin, and at that point I thought I really had hit the hard stuff.  As an early teenager I found much of my favorite music in the grunge and alternative of bands like Pearl Jam and Smashing Pumpkins, and later, Radiohead.  The rhetoric of music writing at the time informed me that Nirvana and Pearl Jam had killed metal, and pointed back repeatedly to indie and punk bands of the eighties as their forebears.  Subsequent quests into the roots and branches of that music led me ever deeper into this world of indie music, comprising styles to which anything resembling metal seemed (upon a shallow look) anathema.  Metal seemed to be a genre of has-been guys with big hair, make up and bad come-on lines screeched in falsetto; meanwhile I was checking out Sonic Youth.  It’s interesting to me to realize now that I’ve spent my whole musical life tiptoeing around metal: I’ve listened to my share of classic hard rock, progressive rock, grunge, punk, post-punk, and post-hardcore, pretty much every single genre that borders on metal, without ever actually listening to metal.

My metal ignorance officially begins to end today.  For several months I’ve been curious about Death Magnetic, the Metallica album released this year.  I’ve heard a track or two on the radio, I read an article about the controversy of Rick Rubin’s superloud production on the disc, and I’ve wanted to hear it, but not badly enough to just go buy it.  Just last night a copy came into my hands, courtesy of my lovely and indulging librarian wife.  I feel that my 28 years virtually metal-free now place me in the unique position to be able to listen to Death Magnetic with ears somewhat fresh to both an extremely popular band and the genre as a whole.

So, what are Metallica on about in Death Magnetic?  Death, obviously.  Certainly not a new subject, it being a special source of inspiration and fear for composers and poets over the centuries.  But this is no “gather ye rosebuds while ye may;” rather, it is expressed in sentiments such as “choke the clock / steal another day,” and this touching quatrain:

Claustrophobic
Crawl out of this skin
Heart explosive
Reach in, pull that pin

James Hetfield sings as though his entire life has been filled with deathmatches in the coliseum and heinous, paralyzing car wrecks of twisted steel from which he was only freed by the jaws of life.  A perusal of the Metallica band biography does in fact reveal that they suffered a horrific bus accident in the late 80s, in which one of the original band members died.  This is a reality that provides a fair amount of credibility for some of this imagery.  “Jaws of Life,” in fact, would make an excellent title for a Metalllica song, but, unfortunately, it’s not featured here.  We are, nonetheless, treated with anthems and diatribes such as “All Nightmare Long,” “Broken, Beat & Scarred,” and “My Apocalypse.”

It’s just a little bit ironic to me that such dismal lyrics and titles are paired with music that is so full of energy and life, and yes, maybe just a little anger, too.  The musicianship is impeccable; there are guitar solos and tempo changes all over the place, lots of great riffs that aren’t overused, and in case you are even less familiar with the fundamentals of this type of metal music than I am, I should mention that they play very fast. The production is loud, muscular and clean (and by clean I mean no reverb or bombastic echoes), which is exactly as it should be to highlight playing of this precision.

Sonically, this band is far from death, which has made me realize that, rather than death, the songs are about the struggle to survive through life’s challenges, and I guess to a certain extent, the struggle to want to stay alive.  It’s a very common theme expressed in extremely dramatic fashion:  “Luck. Runs. Out. / Crawl from the wreckage one more time.”  I have to say I am somewhat impressed with Metallica, and am desirous to listen in on their back catalogue in more detail.  So far, my only regret or criticism concerning my foray into metal is that there aren’t more musicians willing to put this kind of strength, energy and ferocity into music that is not just about surviving life, but expressing the fun, joy and beauty of life.  In other words, why don’t more people play loud and fast and happy? Blah, blah, blah.  And now, I will try Fleet Foxes, who I have ignored until now mainly because of the hype.

[This “metal” experiment springs out of an attempt to fulfill my current end-of-the-year goal to catch up on 2008 albums that, for whatever reasons (busyness, ignorance, and an initial negative reaction to hype being the three primary ones), I haven’t yet given a chance.]