The Dow Is Up!

I just saw this post on Pitchfork under the worst albums of 2005:

Matisyahu
"Just your average Hasidic reggae rapper. Yeah, you heard me. This guy is a straight-up Hasidic Jew from New York who busts mad flow over dancehall and reggae beats. This is the future of music." --Sam Endicott, the Bravery in The Guardian

I have got to find this album somewhere.

Their review of R. Kelly's "Sex Weed" is equally great:
Some of your jaws are agape right now. An R. Kelly track on a worst-of-2005 list that's not "Trapped in the Closet"? But "Trapped in the Closet" was so spectacularly weird, and such a bizarre cultural oddity that, even if only as a curiosity, it was completely fascinating and engrossing. "Sex Weed"? Not so much. Stretching the metaphor to its breaking point and beyond, Kells sings, "Girl, you got that sex weed/ I just want to hit it all the time." Not only is this just dumb, but half of these supposed double-entendres are so desperately reaching, it frustrates to no end. "Just one look at you, I've got contact/ Can I get a pull of that/ Girl, your shit is the chronic/ 'Cause I can tell by the way you roll it up/ Make a playa wanna smoke it up." How is he gonna smoke it up? It doesn't even make sense!

Okay, I admit it. I like Weezer. Or rather, I liked them. What the hell happened to them? Their latest album, Make Believe, makes me believe in Satan, because on He could put out something this bad. This album is downright Bolton-esque.

I didn't always like Weezer. I remember the Sweater Song ("Undone") coming out in high school. I liked it. But not enough to buy the album. I was too busy buying INXS's Welcome to Wherever You Are, Soul Asylum's Grave Dancers Union and Spin Doctor's Pocketful of Kryptonite. (Excuse me for a second while I try to keep my dinner down.)

Before long, Weezer dropped off the map. I kept hearing good things about them courtesy of an email list I subscribed to, herein after referred to as "The Sugar List." (Yeah, it's loosely based on Bob Mould's band Sugar, but the actual topics varied. They included Bob's guitar set up, lyrics to his songs, how cool Husker Du was and various other non-Sugar items. Yes, I'm a dork.)

After college, I was working at a company that had internal Want Ads. I saw the first Weezer album for $5 and I thought, why not. I was blown away. It was amazing. "Undone" might have been my least favorite song on the whole album. It was solid from beginning to end.

Shortly thereafter, I saw Weezer's second album, Pinkerton, on the Want Ads. I had to take a stab at it. I was blown away yet again. The album was a complete 180 degree turn from the first album. Then to top it off, they turned another 180 degrees. And then another. And yet the French judge only gave them a 9.5. How about degree of difficulty, you stupid Frog! Let's see if we help you the next time Panzers are rolling through Paris. (I really need to stop smoking crack now that I have a kid. Sorry.)

Apparently, Weezer really did disappear. There were rumors that they moved to Nepal to knit sweaters for the shirpas. There were other rumors that some idiot was making up rumors on his blog. Either way, they took about 5 years off. Inconceivable!

When they returned in 2001, they did it in style though. First off, they named their album the same thing as the first album (Weezer). I found that rather amusing. It was almost as if they were saying that they had reinvented themselves. (Little did we know, that wouldn't happen for a few more years, when they somehow managed to reinvent crap.)

I rather enjoyed the new album. It was 10 songs that clocked in at under 30 minutes. The songs were poppy and danceable. In fact, I did much dancing in my room to this album after my roommates went to bed. That would no doubt explain my mad dance skills today. Weezer managed to sell out stadiums all around the country and were the biggest thing to hit alternative music since, um, something that happened in 2000. Wasn't that when Meatloaf released his new album? It doesn't matter.

(By the way, one of my favorite stories of all time happened at one of the Chicago shows. After the opening act, the Aragon Ballroom plays a cornucopia of music. As it turns out, they played Bon Jovi's "Living on a Prayer" right before Weezer went on stage. So, when the cut Bon Jovi short so Weezer could reemerge in Chicago after 5 long years, the crowd booed. This story still pales in comparison to the Philly fans booing children who were hunting for easter eggs. But that's a story for another time.)

The next year, Weezer released Maladroit, which was okay. It had some good songs, but nothing all that special. Apparently, it was quite a taxing album to write because Weezer took another 3 years off. There were more rumors than I could possibly make up about what they were doing. They claimed they were working on the album. In fact, they even claimed to have finished it except for some editing before deciding it sucked. So they tossed the whole thing. I think somehow they threw away the wrong album. When they finally released Make Believe, the first thing I thought was that I should throw the album out.

There are a few standout songs, like "Bevery Hills" and "We Are All on Drugs." But the truth is that those songs wouldn't have made the cut on any of their prior albums. Part of me thinks that Weezer is pulling an AndyKaufman on us, playing a big practical joke. "Okay, we're going to keep putting out progressively shittier albums to see if the stupid public will keep buying them. When sales drop low enough, then we'll release all the good stuff we're storing away. I think we can keep this up for the rest of our careers. I just hope these horn-rimmed glasses that make me look cool last as long."

Well, I'm onto them. And I'm here to spread the word to all 3 of my readers. Together, we can band together and stop their evilness. Then maybe we can get another self-titled album that'll get me dancing alone in my room late at night. Because that's exactly what the world needs.

As a stay-at-home dad (or Mr. Mom, if you will), I tend to run all my chores during the day. That included 3 trips to the supermarket over the last 2 days. Yeah, I'm not very organized. I've noticed that there are 4 distinct types of people out during the day.

Group 1 is the working class. They're taking time off of work to get some things done. They're always in a rush. I used to know what that was like. Now my concerns seem to be centered around not having my child jump out of the shopping cart in the parking lot or trying to wedge him into his car seat before he has an aneurysm from screaming his head off. (By the way, I'm mildly amazed that I spelled "aneurysm" right on my first try. Spellcheck has ruined any spelling ability I once had. I guess even a blind squirrel can find a nut.)

Group 2 is people with kids, which includes me. It's funny because I feel like I've been accepted into the club now. Today, I was checking out at the supermarket (for the first time) and the mother in front of me offered to bag her own groceries so that I could get out of there with Luke's diapers. Then, on my second trip to the supermarket, I let a mother cross the road to her car after someone from Group 1 tried to run her over. She smiled and waved, so I did the same. Then we went out for coffee and talked about soap operas while playing Canasta. Good people in Group 2.

Group 3 is old people. My mom always hates when I use the term "old people" since she's nearing 60 herself. But 60 year-olds aren't allowed in this group for years. When I say "old," what I mean to say is "cheating death." These are the people that are on the lam from the nursing home, are dying of hunger, and are thus at a supermarket for the first time since the 1950's. They can never seem to understand how the supermarkets are organized. "I don't understand why the apples are here, but the peanut butter is on the other side of the store." They also have way too many coupons, all of which expired years ago. And they only have 2 methods of paying: by check or by pennies.

Group 4 is what I'll term "Former Mothers." I know, once you're a mother, you're always a mother. These are people who once had to take care of their own children, but now they're all gone. This group is commonly known as "Empty Nesters," but I really don't like that phrase because it reminds me of that terrible sitcom starring Richard Dreyfus that aired right after Golden Girls. Maybe it wasn't that bad and it just paled in comparison to Golden Girls. I mean, how can anything possibly follow that dynamo?

Anyway, Group 4 can't help giving out mothering advice. It probably doesn't help matters that I'm a man. They must think that I lost a bet or my wife's in the hospital or something. Otherwise, what the hell would I be doing with my kid. Not only am I looking after him, but I somehow got forced into taking him to the store with me. What a poor soul. I must need parenting advice.

Luke has had a cold for the past few weeks, just like everyone else. It's not a big deal. In fact, he seems perfectly content except for a little runny nose. (Mom and Dad, meanwhile, were bordering on death for several days.) Yesterday, at the supermarket, it was just about nap time and Luke was being fussy. He also had some crusty snot on his upper lip. (There's really no good way to put that, is there?) One helpful Former Mother told me that I should take him to the doctor. After all, if a kid has a runny nose that I'm too lazy to clean up, he must be dying. I told her to call 911 immediately. Get an ambulance here stat! My kid's fussiness must mean that he's fighting for every breath. Or maybe he just needs a kleenex and a nap. Can the ambulance bring that?

Today, Luke was being fussy again. No snot, but he wanted to be held the whole time I was in Kohl's. (You know you're getting old, by the way, when you think The Gap sucks and Kohl's has cool clothes.) As I'm waiting to check out, the Former Mother in front of me noticed Luke being fussy. So she told me he must be teething. I didn't have the heart to tell her that when he's teething, it's accompanied by explosive diarrhea, though in retrospect I should have. The checkout lady was an even more helpful Former Mother. She suggested that Luke might have outgrown his shoes and that's why he's being fussy. Or, it could be the Indian burns I was giving him in the changing room. Am I not supposed to do that? I really need more parenting advice.

As I'm trying to write a story about my recent trip to Joliet, I've got the Dropkick Murphy's "Live on St. Patrick's Day" album playing in the background. It's making it quite difficult to write because I find myself singing along way too much. So I figured I'd take a break from Joliet to write about what a great band the Murphy's are.

It's no secret that I like punk music and the Murphy's are certainly punk. But they're an odd form of punk. They're a bunch of self-proclaimed drunks from Boston who happen to have Irish heritage. I know, what a shocker. Someone from Boston is Irish? Never!

The Murphy's wear their Irish heritage on the foreheads. Literally. They have shamrocks tattooed on their foreheads in much the same way that Charlie Manson has a swastika on his. Okay, I made that part up, but it wouldn't surprise me if it were true.

What makes the Murphy's truly unique as a punk band is that they have a bagpipe player. That really allows them to kick open the door as far as the type of music they can play. For example, their live album has numerous Irish drinking songs, some hardcore punk songs, a gospel song, and just about everything in between.

But what I love most about the Murphy's, which is extremely obvious on the Live album, is that they're having a lot of fun with the music. And so by extension, I have a lot of fun listening to it. It gets me pumped up and excited. It makes me want to bounce off the walls. It makes me want to get Luke out of his crib and start slam-dancing with him. Most of all, it makes me want to drink, and there's nothing wrong with that.

Anyway, if you haven't heard of the Murphy's, you might want to give them a listen. I give the Live album 5 stars (out of 5). I think it's BS to do that with a Live album since they're generally just Greatest Hits albums. And you can't give THOSE 5 stars. But I'm willing to make exceptions for the Dropkick Murphy's.

On a recent trip to Joliet, I got the chance to see Utopia, right off Interstate 55. It made me shudder so violently that people passing our car must have thought I was having a seizure. In fact, I almost drove the Outback right off the road so that I could put down some money to buy property in the Eden that they created in the Southwest suburbs of Chicago.

I should probably say at this point that I grew up in the Northwest suburbs of Chicago. The house I was raised in was probably built in the 1950's. I remember farm land by our house that was eventually turned into an office building or a Stuckey's. Or both. In fact, I firmly believe that there should be a Stuckey's in every office building. But that's a discussion for another time.

For those who aren't hip to all matters Chicago, all the housing used to be in the city. Well, except for those Daniel Boone types who liked to live outside the city in their log cabins, trapping raccoons to sell to fur traders. But the 1950's couldn't last forever. Eventually, the trappers were forced out by city-dwellers who wanted cheap housing, good schools, less minorities, and a Stuckey's on every corner. Generally, the immigrants stayed in the south suburbs because that's where the bars were. Meanwhile, people who had teeth tended to stay in the northern suburbs. That's the way it was and we liked it.

A crazy thing has been happening lately. I know this isn't unusual to Chicago, but the suburbs are expanding quicker than Aretha Franklin's waistline. (Seriously, someone needs to have an intervention with Aretha. "Honey, we love you and respect you. But do you really need to buy your own Krispy Kreme?") The Southwest suburbs of Chicago are growing the fastest and it's apparent if you drive down I-55 towards Joliet, which is where I happened to espy Utopia.

But before I fully describe Utopia, as it exists in the Southwest suburbs, anyway, I'd like to point out some weird trends in this housing boom. The first trend is towards bigger houses. Some of them are just ridiculously huge, as can be witnessed by the McMansions (not my term, but I like it) in Arlington Heights and Hinsdale (to name just a couple locations).

Bigger houses aren't necessarily a problem. Families are bigger now than they were 20 or 30 years ago. Okay, there are less people in them now, but physically they're bigger. The average weight of a family 20 years ago was 400 pounds. Today, it's 10,000. That's right, five full tons in each family (on average). Anyway, I'm not complaining about bigger houses. The problem is that the lots they're being built on aren't getting bigger. So you have these HUGE houses on these tiny lots. They just look silly. They remind me of New York City in the early 1900's (because I went there once in my time machine), where people could hang out their windows and practically touch the neighbors. I think it's only a matter of time until there's a clothesline hanging between every house.

Okay, I've wasted enough time talking about housing trends. On to Utopia. I'm kicking myself for not stopping to take a picture of what I saw because words alone will not do it justice. It reminds me of the old saying about pictures: "Pictures are worth more than an idiot describing something in a blog."

Utopia as I saw it was simply a group of townhomes. Believe me, I was as shocked to discover this as you are to read it. (By the way, I applaud you for getting this far into the post.) Townhomes are nothing new. They're all over the place, especially off I-55. But these townhomes were special. First of all, there were several hundred of them. Second, they were all identical. (I know, it just keeps getting better.) Third, they were all on straight, narrow streets, thus heightening the similarities. Fourth, they were all just a stone's throw from a major interstate highway. Finally, they were all painted a wonderfully drab shade of grey. I'm letting out a sigh of content just thinking about it. To make matters even better, they were all right by the new Ikea in Bolingbrook. So now all those wonderfully identical townhomes can be furnished in wonderfully identical (and crappy) furniture! I can almost see the sign now welcoming the homeowners into this Utopian complex: "Welcome to Homogeneity. Please leave your soul at the main office."

One of my friends and I have a long-running joke where we try to come up with band names and/or bar names. For example, this weekend we were playing a game of Trivial Pursuit and someone said that she would be getting on the "bandwagon of degradation." Right away I said, "That would be a great band name." I probably shouldn't be using quotes there since I was quite intoxicated at the time. But if I couldn't use quotes every time I was intoxicated, I'd hardly ever be able to use quotes.

One of the features I'll add to my blog is a running list of band names and bar names. Generally, I'm better at coming up with band names than bar names. If you have any favorites, let me know and I'll add it to the list.

This was all inspired by a few of my friends who formed a band. They started as Busted Bottle. Then they became Joe Bigsley. I was not consulted on the name change, so I've been advising them on future name changes (without invitation or cessation, of course). They broke up and recently reformed under the name A.M. Prizefighter. Now I believe they're calling themselves King Friday. Check out their website and go see them if you're in Chicago. They're not terrible. (That's what they get for not changing their name to Futon-a-thon.)

And if you're opening a bar or forming a band and want to use one of the names from my list, please feel free. All I ask for in return is 100% of your profits or your first born child. Actually, I have enough problems with my own child. And I doubt that any band/bar owner who would use one of my names would ever make a profit. So I guess I get nothing out of the deal. Only seems fair since I'm not really contributing anything worthwhile.

I've really turned into quite a slacker over the last few days. It's the last week of my winter break. I've been putzing around the house a lot, trying to get over a cold. I'm hoping to get into a more steady routine next week when school begins. I'm hopeless without a schedule.

The good news, though, is that it seems like I can finally answer the question "What do you want to do when you grow up?" I want to retire, that's what. And I think I found a way to do that. I got an email from a professor at school indicating that she's going to have a class on portfolio management this semester. I'm going to take the class, and that'll be what I do when I grow up. (At least for the next couple of years.)

What is portfolio management? Well, there are people with money. You may know some of them. They have this money that they want to invest, but they don't know how to invest it. Should they buy GE? Should they buy Microsoft? Who can tell? I can tell. (Or I'll be able to in a few months.)

Portfolio managers basically buy a bunch of stocks and bonds and put them all in one "portfolio." Then investors can buy the portfolio and not have to worry about buying any individual stock. Instead, they have to figure out which portfolio to buy. And by last count, there was over 100 billion of them.

The great thing about being a portfolio manager is that you don't have to be good at your job. It's all about being lucky. In the history of portfolio management, there have been only 2 analysts who can consistently beat the market: Warren Buffet and Peter Lynch. Everyone else is just a retarded monkey throwing darts. Which is how I plan to pick my stocks, by the way. Now if that isn't a ringing endorsement to (a) hire me and (b) invest in my portfolio, I don't know what is.