my songbook pt. 2

Time for another entry into my own personal songbook/mixtape/blog. Today's song:

"Fell On Black Days" - Soundgarden (1994)



I mentioned in my previous blog that the reason I never heard of Jeff Buckley was because I was too busy listening to Seattle grunge. I must qualify that to recognize that in my middle school days, as these were, my musical scope rarely extended off the Billboard top 100 charts. Its not as if I was a diehard grunge fan.

I listened to the radio. Grunge was all over the radio. I didn't grow my hair long, although I did try to bang my head to Stone Temple Pilots, Pearl Jam, Nirvana, etc. I did occasionally rock some flannel, but it wasn't a daily look. Its a little sickening to think that the only reason I liked grunge music is because so many other people did.

But the truth is...I've made no real music discoveries over my life. Since my iPod dominates my life, I no longer listen to the radio. MTV no longer plays music videos (that I know of) so I can't so easily glean my music from them. There are several musicians that hooked me back in those glory days that I still keep up with when they come out with new albums (side note I'm really digging the new Ben Folds album "Way to Normal"). I've realized now I've become hooked on accompanying music. Music that accompanies TV shows, movies, commercials. So I'm only indirectly choosing the music that I like. I'm thankful for the music supervisors of the world. The Stepanie Savages and Zack Braff's of this world.

What I can take solace in, is that my fandom is only rarely skin deep. Soundgarden's 1994 album Superunknown was hugely successful thanks in most part to its most popular singles "Black Hole Sun" and "Spoonman" Not to bag on those two songs, but most of their weight is based in a hella-creepy music video (that still turns my stomach a little bit) and a kitchen utensil gimmick.

From maybe the second go-round through my cassette, I was certain that "Fell On Black Days" was my favorite track. Chris Cornell's silky voice was most certainly the best of the era (I can't say that without mentioning that Scott Weiland comes in a very close second). This track serves as a ridiculous oppurtunity to show off his terrific range. It opens with that smooth guitar hook by Kim Thayill. For about two-thirds of the song Cornell sings softly yet firmly, but in the last bit he elevates to a controlled scream that still manages to sit under the actual music.

The song was written by Cornell and he describes it as "like this ongoing fear I've had for years...It's a feeling that everyone gets. You're happy with your life, everything's going well, things are exciting - when all of a sudden you realise you're unhappy in the extreme, to the point of being really, really scared." Reading that quote it suddenly makes sense why I identified with that song so well.

Soundgarden is the one band of that Seattle gringe mid 90's boon whose arch ended abruptly as I moved on to high school. Sure some of the others had bigger stories. Nirvana's lead singer stopped making new music, but new Nirvana CD's continued to come out. It always seemed weird to me that Dave Grohl fronted a popular band after Nirvana...why not stick to drums (maybe thats why I liked Queens of the Stone Age). Scott Weiland has had some trouble keeping out of prison, but he's back with STP. Getting to see them in October 2000 at Voodoo Fest was a special treat. He was clean and they played almost an entirely mid-90's set. My love for Smashing Pumpkins was partially shattered when I discovered Billy Corigan is a really spotty live performer. Pearl Jam wavers in and out of my interest. One good album, a bad one, a good one again; I stopped depending on them, (however Eddie Vedder's score for Into the Wild was amazing).

When the first whiff of the formation of Audioslave, featuring Chris Cornell back in the saddle with Tom Morello and the other parts of Rage Against the Machine, hit me I nearly cried tears of joy. And the marriage of those two rock dynamo's was a smashing success. I enjoyed all three albums they released; however the third was weak enough that it was no surprise that the supergroup wouldn't last too much longer.

I do still find myself longing for the old Soundgarden though. No offense to you and your politics Morello. RATM doesn't occupy the same time in my life as Soundgarden does. I was on the cusp of my musical awakening that I would experience my freshman year of high school. When I learned that I could listen to older music and enjoy it more than the songs on the radio. When I could listen to Led Zeppelin and hear pieces of of contemporary artists.

Listening to "Fell On Black Days" reminds me of time when my tastes were simpler. When all things in my life were simpler.

my songbook pt. 1

So I am currently reading the book Songbook by Nick Hornby. This is the limey bastard that wrote the literary inspirations for About a Boy, Fever Pitch, and most famously High Fidelity. This book is a collection of 31 essays on different popular music songs. In the first essay that is termed the introduction, Hornby describes a spectacular realization regarding why certain important songs are associated with certain feelings and sensations:

"If you love a song, love it enough for it to accompany you throughout different stages in your life, then any specific memory is rubbed away by use."

Not all of the 31 songs he pines about take him back to simply a certain place and time. But that happens for all of us. My father asked me some years ago to make him mix CD with several classic rock songs. As he listened the the finished product he talked about some of the tracks in particular and how they reminded him of his days in high school and so on. I realized that these associations explain my enjoyment of these silly "I love the 80's" shows on VH1. But I digress...back to Hornby's essays.

Some correspond to revelations in his personal and professional life. The end result, this book comes off like a mixtape of essays, much like a compliation lovingly constructed by Hornby's Fidelity character Rob Gordon. I was only about 5 essays into the book, when I thought that I could create a collection within this blog. One that would very much be my own.

I don't know how many songs I will end up featuring (the first shortlist I've compiled features ten songs, I figure I may find about five more). My big fight will be keeping movie chatter out of these blogs. I will try to limit focusing on songs that I have interacted with majorly having to do with movies.

I encourage you who read to comment on the blog...if you have a particular take on the song or the subject on the blog. I would also love to read your own mixtape of songs.

The first song I've decided to talk about is:

"Hallelujah" -- Jeff Buckley

This haunting cover of Leonard Cohen's 1984 song is my favorite version of the song even though its not the first version I ever heard. A quick iTunes search reveals that I have 7 different versions of this song in my collection (of the reported 170 different versions that have been produced. There is one other song in my collection that I have so many versions of...that I will also talk about soon enough.

Hallelujah has come to be known as a soundtrack song. Not a year goes by that it isn't featured in some movie of television show to underscore an emoitional celluloid moment. Its melancholy tone lends it to many emotional scenes to denote depression. Or it can be flipped with certain lyrics like my favorite "I used to live alone before I knew you" or "her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you" to partner with romantic undertones. Even Letterman used it recently in a homage to Paul Newman.

Truth is it is a beautiful song that blipped on my radar because of its use in the movie Shrek. I had recently bought a Rufus Wainwright album for my sister, and was captivated by his vocal ability. I recognized his voice, listening to the song in the film, and sought to learn more about this incredible song.

This was a time in my life when I began to fully utilize the internet to expand my knowledge of the music that intrigued me. A search revealed that this song was in fact written by Leonard Cohen, whose was responsible for another of my favorite songs "Everybody Knows." Thus began my long love affair with cover songs that were better than their orignials.

I was dissatisfied with Cohen's version of the song, but soon discovered that their were many others. Some of them were terrible (Bono's makes my ears bleed), but others like Buckley's were transcendent. Its remarkable when a cover of a good song can make it great or even swallow up the original entirely. Hendrix's take on Dylan's "All Along the Watchtower" is leagues better (it blew my mind when I found out that wasn't a Hendrix song). Other times, its a cheap ploy by a struggling artist: Jessica Simpson singing "These Boots are Made for Walking" comes to mind first).

But the reason this song has stayed with me is the ensuing things I found out about Jeff Buckley. An American singer/songwirter whose light was extinguished way too early. His album Grace came out in 1994, when I was too busy listening to Seattle grunge to pay attention to this soft singer's genius. This artist I had never heard of is to this day in the mixtapes and CD players of my idols. His stamp on music grows because he took Cohen's song and elevated it into the stratosphere, so that those who create art (movies, tv, etc.) constantly look to it for an emotional punch.

It reminds me how so many of us long to make an impact on the world, even if its the softest impact imaginable.

...Next song coming soon... :)

mad about Mad Men

its embarrassing to admit that I wanted nothing to do with the AMC TV series Mad Men at first glance. It idea of rehashing and glorifying 1960's Manhattan held no appeal for me. I decided that I would try and watch the show solely because one of the featured players was a relatively unknown actress named Christina Hendricks.

I had more or less fallen in love with Hendricks during her three episode arc on the failed Joss Whedon sci-fi western series Firefly. She was a conniving grifter buried in the gorgeous body of a voluptuous redhead. I am a true sucker for redheads in all forms of media and in my everyday life so the hook was not so hard to set. I was depressed to find that she had done very little mainstream work other than Firefly at the time, so when he image showed up in the promos for this period drama I became mildly interested. Turns out she can fill out the clothes of the period quite nicely.



So I randomly tuned in one night last year to what turned out to be episode 8 of 13 from the first season. The show moves a very deliberate pace, and because I was not up to speed with the subtlety of the characters involved I lost interest very quickly and dismissed the show.

Then the accolades at the end of season awards shows began to trickle in and I wondered what I had missed. The lead actor Jon Hamm defeated the favorite Hugh Laurie for the Golden Globe, and the show beat out Grey's for best drama. The SAG awards probably should have followed, but they became a ridiculous love-fest for the Sopranos.

So I queued up the first season in netflix and decided to take a closer look. The first episode "The Smoke Gets in Your Eyes" had me from the opening scene. Jon Hamm as Creative Director at Sterling Cooper (an advertising agency on Madison Avenue; ad men on Madison = Mad Men) is the epitome of all that is cool about the 1960's he's well put together, and well off, with the perfect life. He's unfaithful to his wife like so many men of his stature are in that era, but we learn throughout the series that he doesn't just troll the nightclubs for a nightly tryst; he seeks independent, complete women. These affairs contrast the vapid home life provided by his cookie-cutter housewife. As the layers are peeled back from Draper's character we find him to be anything but the man he projects.

Another character that piqued my interest was the brand new secretary Peggy Olson played by Elisabeth Moss. Olson, fresh from secretarial school, is assigned to Draper. She is wide-eyed and conservative. She's shown the ropes by the vampish office manager Joan Holloway (played by the aforementioned Hendricks) Holloway gives her tips on how to use her femininity to receive small perks around the office, and even recommends her a doctor. Olson also shows character progression, by proving to be more than a secretary, producing copy for two ad campaigns, leading to a promotion at the end of the season. She represents a remarkable duality of a woman who can think for herself, even though she has been raised to be subservient, but who makes the same mistakes of other women in her place despite her uniqueness.

The shows appeal lies in the 1960's cliches that reflect glaringly against today's ideals. Every character smokes cigarettes almost every chance they get, as the dangers of tobacco have yet to be fully realized. The workers at Sterling Cooper barely hide the bottles of liquor in their desks, and partake regularly throughout the workday. One almost believes that they rarely do any actual work. Yet many issues that are still pertinent today are addressed: closeted sexual orientation, marital infidelity, women empowerment in the workplace, escaping a family name, sexism, etc.

But ultimately the series is about our love affair with words, and our desire as a culture to be sold. Ad men make their living on that perfect catch phrase that lassoes the unsuspecting housewife into choosing one brand over the other. The breaking down of the advertising process is intoxicating, and no one seems to know the game better than Don Draper.

I was given chills by his pitch in the final episode of the first season, called "The Wheel." He was producing a campaign for Kodak's new slide projector, in which he must incorporate the new wheel mechanism they have introduced. He mocks the obvious choice other ad agencies would use ("Kodak has clearly re-invented the wheel"). He then delivers a breath-taking pitch while he showed slides of his own family vacation to the Kodak executives (I've broken the lines as it was delivered; with each break pausing for the changing of the slide:

"This device isn't a space ship,
its a time machine.
It goes backwards and forwards;
it takes us to a place where we ache to go again.
Its not called the wheel;
its called the Carosuel,
it lets us travel the way a child travels.
Round and around and back home again.
to a place where we know we are loved."



Its impossible to replicate Hamm's dynamite delivery, or to explain how the words are drowning in personal meaning, as their are several plot lines that hinge on these very words.

All I can say is the show is incredible and I can't wait to see more.

Saying no to free money/victory all for the message

It has been far too long since my last blog, The change in my employment has had a large part to do with that. Funny that I have had more free time now for quite a while, yet I have written less.

I recently watched the movie Deal, against the advice of every review I could get my hands on, and of course against my better judgement. The convergence of my two biggest interests (film and poker) must truly inhibit my common sense.

The poker boom is traced by many to the John Dahl independent film Rounders. The post Will Hunting vehicle for Matt Damon. Damon (and certainly his costar Ed Norton) and Chris Moneymaker have brought so many potential poker players to the world of gambling for a living. The movie arguably the best "poker movie" made to date. I tend to champion Steve McQueen's The Cincinnati Kid, over Rounders, almost strictly because Rounders is so evidently the more trendy choice.

Both films have major flaws that help anyone who wants to argue against the film's poker "supremacy."

The featured game in Kid is five-card stud, which is now an antiquated game, rarely played. In the final hand (spoiler alert) The Man draws an incredibly improbable Queen high straight flush (the odds of this in five card game are beyond astronomical, just being dealt a straight flush only happens 1 out of 72,193 times) to best The Kid's tens full of Aces(the odds of this match up of hands occurring are even more laughable: 332,220,508,619 to 1) This hand stinks of Hollywood, and the sheer lunacy of the probability of this match up occurring threatens to undo all of the great poker displayed in the film up to this point (The terrific hero call made in the opening hand by the Kid, and ridiculous bluff run by the Man on Pig are the highlights). After thinking about it though. I think its the only spot in which the Kid could be broken, and the point of the film can not be driven home unless he loses.

In Rounders, my major gripe occurs with the betting in the first big hand, in which Mike McDermott is felted by Malkovich's Teddy KGB. While the hand is based on a colossal misread by McDermott, he made two crucial mistakes in the hand. The first was playing with his entire bankroll. This mistake occurs more often than it should in real life, but one would think that a player with the skills of McD would no better (he even says it; "always leave yourself outs"). The second mistake is his $33,000 raise on the river. Mike holds the second nuts (nuts is pokerspeak for the second-best hand possible) with a nines full of aces full house. He assumes that KGB holds a spade flush, based on his analysis on KGB's play in the hand so far. The ridiculous occurs with Mike, assuming that KGB has a weak hand, raises his huge $15,000 bet into a $5,000 pot, a staggering $33,000 more. KGB can only justify a call with hand better than the one that McDermott holds. A player like McDermott would likely call in that spot, not raise.

But these are quibbling problems. Overall both movies offer excellent depictions of poker, and its encompassing lifestyle. The two most recent movies based in poker that I have watched; Deal and Curtis Hanson's stinker Lucky You, have one common plot point which irritate me to no end. Both movies end with the final table of a prestigious poker tournament, and the father/son and teacher/student combinations from each respective plot facing off against each other.

In both films the protagonist purposely folds a vastly superior hand to their opponent. Nice killer instinct guys. In what poker world would anyone fold a winning hand on purpose. It makes sense that the director wants to make a point. But in no way are there any poker players who would do this. Just pisses me off that poker is being sold to the masses this way.

Poker players are trying to win the money. They don't care about making statements. They win or they lose. They're all degenerates (though some more than others). Don't try and dress them up. Just accept it and move on.

I see scary plants

The Happening
(dir. M. Night Shyamalan)
(starring Mark Wahlberg, Zooey Deschanel, John Leguizamo)

(*** out of ****)

Movies like this walk a very fine line. One on hand, I love a movie that makes me think, but I hate a movie that is so absurd it makes no sense. The more I let all the parts of M. Night Shyamalan's sixth Hollywood endeavor germinate, the more I begin to believe that this film is more of the former rather than the latter.

M. Night's chosen path as a filmmaker reminds of one of those awesomely bad "No Fear" T-shirts that were popular for a hot minute in my formative middle school years: "If you're not living on the edge then you're taking up too much space." Shyamalan has consistently tread on that hair's breadth of a line between genius and poppy-cock (at least in my own estimation) since he burst onto the Hollywood scene almost ten years ago.

Shyamalan knocked one out of the park with his first film 1999's the Sixth Sense. The film with the "killer twist," scored huge at the box office, and landed eight Oscar nominations (including two for Shyamalan himself for writing and directing). It was unheard of that a "scary" movie could play so well for the snooty Academy, so it was not necessarily a disappointment when the film tallied a nasty goose-egg on the big night. Also raking in nearly $300 million in domestic box office on a modest $55 million budget is not too shabby.

Shyamalan has yet to replicate the magic of the Sixth Sense in terms of universal appeal, but he has stayed true to his own style each time out, sometimes to his detriment. With one harrowing exception M. Night has always recouped his film's budget in domestic box office receipts, and that generally keep someone interested in financing you're films no matter how weird they are.

His second film Unbreakable retained the high-powered star that powered his first success, Bruce Willis, and added the money hungry Samuel L. Jackson (I say that lovingly because Jackson seems to do every movie that he reads; he's been in some world class bombs). It was an homage to Shyamalan's lifelong fascination with comic books. His heroes didn't wear flashy colors, and the movie's twist was that the main character's were in fact the stereotypical hero and villain. The movie didn't quite break $100 million at the box office. It might have been bad timing as the first X-men movie had killed during the summer, and maybe moviegoers weren't looking for an offbeat, darker comic book movie.

For Signs, M Night. traded in John McClane for Martin Riggs, and regained his mojo with a $227 million rake. His alien invasion spooker, was well structured. I still maintain that the first reveal of the alien through the news footage is one of the best "recoil" moments in any film this decade. Then the twist truly ruined the film for me. Shyamalan nicked the alien's weakness from H.G Wells, and he made it even more absurd. How do those aliens choose to land on a planet covered with a the very substance that is deadly to them. YAWN! Talk about deflating the suspense.

The trailers for 2004's The Village, didn't inspire very much confidence. I vowed to not watch the film's due to the trailer's pandering to a horror movie's lowest common denominator. I was thus perplexed when my best friend insisted I give the film chance, giving it a must-see label. I entered the theater highly skeptical, and needless to say I was floored by what transpired.

After three films with pronounced twists, one can't watch his films without trying to unravel the mystery before the "big reveal" So I immediately went for M. Night's "dummy twist" proclaiming out loud in the theater "The monster's aren't real!" So as my guard was then lower I was completely blindsided by the real twist, that the film was in fact not a period piece, but a support group of those who had lost loved ones to crimes of passion, had fashioned an isolated community to attempt to escape from the evil that permeates our society today. I remember hearing people scoff at the idea of people foregoing the comforts of modern technology to live in a agrarian society, but I was fairly impressed by the message that even in a simple society you cannot escape man's inherent desire to harm one another to obtain that which they can't.

Oh and I developed an unhealthy fixation on Bryce Dallas Howard, the first in a long line of movie star and musician redheads, that I pine after still.

It was Howard's involvement in Lady in the Water, that ultimately disappointed me the most. Easily the worst of M. Night's canon. I was really disappointed that Howard would agree to star in such a horrible film. I honestly couldn't finish The Lady in the Water. It was the first movie of Shyamalan's to truly fail at the box office, only netting $44 million domestically despite a $75 million budget. Shyamalan had enjoyed a budget around that size since his breakout hit, but the Lady fiasco knocked him down peg, and this summer's the Happening was made for $57 million.

Now for the main event. The Happening is a meticulously structured paranoia thiller, with impressive notes of cringe-inducing horror, and mild comedic beats. The movie is really just meat and potatoes, which some will slam as over simplified, but to me is merely concise and effective.

The movie opens with the scores of people in Central Park suddenly stopping what they are doing, and deciding to end their own lives by whatever means they can. The news outlets in the film identify that toxin was introduced that flips the inhibitor in the brain that controls our human predication for self preservation. The toxin is suggested as a terrorist attack, leading those in major cities to evacuate. This is no "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" rip-off. Those exposed to the toxin are only a threat to one person: themselves. An enemy you can't see or defend against is nothing new, but one who turns you on yourself is a fresh take for sure.

The plot then follows race of a few people to avoid this toxin as best they can. The two leads are a recently married couple, Elliott and Alma. Elliot (Wahlberg) is a high school science teacher, a hopeless romantic, who may have married Alma (Deschanel) hastily. Also in their group is Elliott's co-worker Julian (Leguizamo) and his young daughter Jess (Ashlyn Sanchez). Julian leaves Jess with Alma and Elliott to go after his wife, who had made her way to a different town than their group.

It becomes based on the patterns of the toxin's release, that terrorists aren't behind the toxin, but that plant's are the source of the toxin. The first instances occurred in parks, and they are only occurring in the northeast United States, where there is the highest concentration of nuclear power plants. Thus this M, Night twist seems to have a very political theme: Human beings are polluting their planet to such a degree that plants have evolved in response and are sic-ing humans on themselves to even the playing field. It is suggested that the plants' are triggered by groups of people, prompting the survivors to split into smaller and smaller groups.

This twist is partial reversal on the twist from Signs, but for better effect. Our planet is covered with flora, and therefore, if plants were ever a danger to us, how could we escape their wrath. Mind you this a more elegant version that killer plants. The film does not contain.garish man-eating venus flytraps.

The secondary motivation that triggers the plants to release the toxin, is even more subtle and subject to much debate. It appears that anger and/ or hate is also a catalyst for the toxin's release. A small group arguing over who's in charge prompts a release, and an lone angry woman does as well. Towards the end of the film the remaining three leads: Elliot, Alma, and Jess find themselves separated in what they term to be the end of their lives. Due to their intense love for each other, which was confirmed and strengthened in their flight from this epidemic, they choose to face danger head on, to be together in their final moments. It is at this moment that the episode ends. One can be led to believe that they were simply fortunate that it ended, or one could argue that their love actually prompted these plants to "stand down." These three had abandoned their fear of death, dismantling the efficacy of the plant's toxin.

Thus the strategy of dispersing this toxin reveals its true genius. Facing an unidentifiable and seemingly inescapable foe, those in the line of fire would be hard pressed to feel anything but fear and despair, and even anger at their own helplessness. And they therefore will forever be the best targets.

Peeling back these layers of narrative construction like an onion, further reinforce my appreciation for this film. The acting was fair to middling. However scenes like one where Elliott pleads with a potted plant to not kill him only to find out the plant was plastic redeem the weaker ones.

James Newton Howard's score is Oscar-worthy, as is generally the case.

Overall my faith in M. Night Shyamalan is restored for the time being. He's prone to a make a misstep or two, so a film of this caliber doesn't not completely absolve him for Lady in the Water, but he's certainly out of the dog house. The film is not a homerun, but is most certainly a triple, which are generally harder to come by.

the worst place to wake up

When I came to, I was surrounded by annoyed medical professionals who calmly told me to lay back, try to relax, and to tell them what I had drank that night. My vision was blurred, my motor skills weren't all there, and my chest was on fire. Slowly I realized I had passed out for the umpteenth time due to drinking, and this time I had actually been taken to the hospital.

It was Homecoming my senior year at college. My fraternity made a little formal date party of the event, and I being of supreme wisdom had declined to bring a date. The idea of coat-and-tie tailgating seems absurd to me five years later, mainly because I associate tailgating with less than formal pursuits like shotgunning beers and messy barbeque finger foods. However our fraternity's alumni had put together a nice little spread under our tent, with jambalaya and several different bottles of whiskey. Little did I know that at the end of the evening I would be waking up in the second-worst place to wake up following a drinking stupor.

My most impressive blackout feat to this point in time had been our semi-formal party my sophmore year, when I had awakened in the bushes across the street from the New Orleans Convention Center at 7 in the morning, just next to the off ramp of Interstate 10. I was wearing my brown suit (which blended into the mulch I was laying in). I had however lost my tie, and one of my shoes. I cabbed it back to campus (amazingly I still had my wallet). The cab-driver mentioned that I was missing a shoe, and I agreed with him quietly, and we finished the ride in silence. That evening we had a fraternity meeting, and no one could piece together what happened to me. It would be the first of many times over the next three years that I would black out, and simply wander away at night.

In rampant denial of my alcoholism, I noted that my date to that night's function, had left very early in the night to take care of a friend of hers. With her gone I ceased to curtail my drinking to a reasonable level, and swiftly imbibed myself into a bush. If in fact the lack of a date catalyzed my drinking, it did not bode well for me two years later at homecoming when I was dateless for the whole event, and wearing that same "lucky" brown suit.

At homecoming senior year, I did not see one actual football play executed. I stayed outside the stadium for both halves, only venturing in for the halftime show to see the featured act Outkast. Filming an MTV special, they performed their latest hit Hey Ya! twice in a row, much to the chagrin of the full stadium standing in a light, drizzling rain. I focused on counting bottles that day instead of downs. I progressed throughout the day from Makers Mark, to Jack Daniels, to my old standby Jim Beam. We simply kept finishing the bottles so I had to move on to what I gauged was the next best thing.

I remember heading from homecoming to a bar following the game. We had some food out, and a keg tapped there was laughing and dancing ... This is where the memories end. When I came to, my "lucky" brown suit was still on me. However the hospital staff had cut right sleeve of the coat lengthwise to my shoulder, to put in my IV and get me rehydrated. I distinctly remember how curtly I was being admonished by one nurse in particular, as if to say "Christ, why do I have to babysit these drunk college kids?"

Oh and reason my chest burned was because I had been given a sternum rub to determine how deep my alcohol coma was. I had not come to as a some doctors knuckles had scraped up and down my sternum, prompting the destruction of my favorite suit coat and button-down shirt.

Once again, none of my fraternity brothers had any idea that I was in the hospital. My brother happened to be in town with a friend from high school, and he called my cell phone, and was given the story when a nurse picked up on my end. He came and picked me up at the hospital and left me in my own bed with a bottle of Gatorade.

I reflect on this story now, because I realize that waking up in the hospital is probably the next to worst place to wake up, and I really hope I never experience the first. In my estimation the worst place to wake up would in fact be jail. A good friend of mine recently told me that

...

I've been tossing this story around recently because an acquaintance of mine recently found himself arrested, and in that worst place, for the second time. I had seen him just prior to an incident which ultimately led to him ending up in jail again.

A good friend of mine who cares deeply for this person went out on the line for this unlucky individual, securing his bail through a bail bondsman. I don't believe he's gotten much support from those close to him for this decision.

My friend cares deeply for this individual, and feels that he doesn't deserve to stay in jail while he waits for his court date. At the advice of his lawyer he also believes that the judge will be more likely to be lenient should the individual show up in civilian clothes rather than an orange jumpsuit.

I've still not decided how I feel overall about the situation. I did not know the individual in question well enough to justify securing his bail as my friend did. I know many friends who I would jump to help in a time of need, and similarly those who would come to my aid. What if I should I do something to one day warrant ending up in jail? So my friends and/or family come to my rescue. What if I follow up that kindness, and end up in jail again? At what point do they stop trying to rescue me?

I hope that things iron out as this situation unfolds. I am simply a spectator to this contest. I can only wish for the best; I can't do anything to influence the outcome.

The board is set...the pieces are moving. I can only pray this ends well.

behind closed doors

Its a harrowing thought that these days, an exciting news story for me involves a town government possibly talking about things they shouldn't in closed session: things like grant applications. When did these things begin to pique my interest?

I tried to explain why I was finally handed something interesting to write about to my friends last weekend. As I laid out the details, I could see my friends' eyes glaze over: they had mentally checked out. They were no longer listening, but merely waiting for me to stop talking. One of them then compared me to the nameless, faceless teachers in a Peanuts cartoon, whose verbal output was a consistently unintelligible noise (while the noise is instantly recognizable when spoken, I find it hard to replicate in written words).



How do I explain that what I was assigned to write about was interesting? I tend to dismiss most of what I right in my summations of these torturous board of commissioners meetings as trivial and most certainly yawn-inducing. Endless people searching for exceptions to zoning ordinances so they can save $5,000 less on their million dollar construction project. Occasionally though the boards must talk about private matters, such as personnel issues or lawsuits, so they go into closed session. The public cannot know what goes on in closed session, until the matters discussed are no longer sensitive, at which point the closed session minutes are released.

Another time when closed session is needed is when the town is considering purchasing property. They can discuss the matter in closed session in order to protect their bid on the property. However the decision to use any municipal funds cannot be made in closed session; the public should know how the money is always being spent.

So recently we receive a press release from the state agency that has just approved a grant for one of our local governments. Further research into corresponding project reveals that it is contingent upon another sizable grant as well as matching funds from that government. Funny how that town had never to this point mentioned this project in their board meetings, despite having given approval for these grant applications.

So then the town announced support of the second grant recently, and suddenly the dollar amounts involved in the project were different (only four days later). The property owner was now asking for less than before, therefore the second grant would be for significantly less, and now the entire project could be funded without the town providing additional funds. Funny how that works.

This park project that should now be funded, should benefit the community. Thus the dilemma is: if a governing body conspires to do something away from the public eye, is it justified if the end result is beneficial? Who decided if the ultimate goal was beneficial or not?

I'm reminded of a similar ethics argument existing in the movie Gone Baby Gone. Should one who is charged with upholding the law, knowingly break the law to do what they think is right?

I don't tend to like politics, but seeing as I am technically the government reporter at this newspaper at which I work, I figure it was only a matter of time before I started rolling around in these sorts of issues. I can't promise I won't blog about politics in the future, but I sure hope my next political-themed rant is a long way off.