Good Reading.

I've been gone for a while, because I haven't had much to say.

However, Larry has. Please click to see a great blog from a fellow who appears to be pretty alright himself.

Memorial Day.

I wish I did, but I have nothing to add outside of what I said last year. My prayers are with all those who fight to protect our freedom. Whether you agree or disagree with our government's policies, support of our troops should be tantamount in all our minds at this time. For all those who have fallen, I offer my thanks.

No Replacement- Ha!

Those who never really gave the Replacements a chance have a good opportunity on June 13 with the release of "Don't You Know Who I Think I Was: The Best of the Replacements."

The Replacements are one of the finest bands you're ever going to hear, and while any fan is going to take some issue with the track selection of a greatest hits album, this disc seems a pretty good place for a newcomer to start. And, as a bonus to those of us who already own all the albums, the band got together to record two new tracks, "Pool and Dive," and "Message to the Boys."

Good stuff.

Some time ago, I wrote a stupid little piece on Paul Westerberg that was supposed to run on A Small Victory. It never did, so I'm posting it here for the sake of housekeeping:

I never saw the Replacements vomit.

Take that, yell my way, and scream about Bob.

Tell me that I'm too young, and I'll take it and tell you that you're
too old. Get in my face and tell me "Sid," and I'll throw it back
your way and tell you "Matlock."

Paul Westerberg is important to me, and that's mine.

In June of '91, I was beyond enthused to be going to see Elvis
Costello at Lake Compounce. Opening for him were the Replacements,
about whom I knew little. My ninth-grade friend Ryan tried to tell me
about "Tim," and I didn't really listen. My friend Ben's older
brother wore an "All Shook Down" t-shirt, but besides that, I was
oblivious. Of the Costello/Replacements show, Harford Courant writer
David Yokomoto wrote, "for fans of peerless songwriting," there was no
better. So, I hoped for the best.

The Replacements were terrible. At 14, I was an arrogant fool. As I
sat waiting for Elvis to take the stage, the Replacements were little
more than impediments. They played "Skyway," and I fell upon my
knees, listening to the crowd sing along as I prayed for the feel-good
acoustic singalong to end. Periodically, I went to find my friend
Ryan, who was sitting elsewhere with a gorgeous co-ed to ask, "how can
you like this?"

And then, I was hit by a double shot of songs that I would later
identify as "Left of the Dial" and "Alex Chilton," and I knew that a
chink in the arrogance of my musical armor was broken forever. In the
midst of my teenage boredom, something hit me, and it hit me hard.
The weeks following the concert would find me scouting out local
record stores for Replacements albums, trying to get back the moments
I'd squandered waiting for Elvis to hit the stage. Something stuck.
The choruses stuck hard in my head. There was a voice there that
really meant something.

I got them all, from "Sorry, Ma…." to "All Shook Down" and back
through, completing my collection. A knock to my
know-it-all-musicality- here was something that had snuck through the
radar of Elvis, Graham Parker, and Joe Jackson. I was sent asunder.
I remember sitting in a dark room listening to "16 Blue," and, Jesus
Christ, "Answering Machine," and feeling that there was a guy out
there who actually GOT it. Blaring "Tim," with Ryan, I knew I had a
friend for life as we belted out "Hold My Life" together, delighted as
we realized, together, the cartoon origins of the pre-chorus. Christ,
WE were the "Bastards of Young."

I moved away soon after, and I was left on my own with the
Replacements. Alone in a bedroom in Dallas, I listened, over and
over, to everything Paul had to say. His first solo album hit, and I
had to have been the first kid in the Park Cities to pick it up. A
friend and I-- a friend really only in the sense that he had a car--
bought tickets and drove downtown to see Paul play solo. We were the
first in line. Way behind us, we saw him talking to a bunch of folks
in the crowd. He asked if I wanted him to hold our place in line so I
could go back and babble, and I decided that this was better left for
after the show. There was no after the show, as the bouncers refused
me entry based upon my age.

And, that was it. We went home. And, it hurt. In Westerberg, there
was a voice with which I could connect, and seeing him live seemed to
kind of seal some sort of deal. So it went.

I still sat there in my room listening. With few friends after my
mid-high school move to Dallas, I found "Here Comes a Regular" an
invitation to a future state of solemn hedonism. Someday, I thought,
I could sit in a bar and be all the things about which I thought, a
tragic and beautiful man. I could sit with folks who'd appreciate me.

Years went by. College, and whatnot, and I picked up all subsequent
solo albums, "Eventually," "Suicaine Gratifaction," and I liked them
all- but, they didn't hit the same way Paul had hit before.

So, we fast forward to a couple years ago, where I'm somewhere in the
neighborhood of 25 years old. Paul was really nowhere to be seen. I
didn't know what the hell I was doing with my life. Music didn't hit
the way it had before.

"Stereo" and "Mono" came out, and at the risk of hyperbole, my life
was changed again entirely. Paul had come back out of left field. He
came back in the same way Ryan had after a spell of silence. I
listened on headphones to both, intently, as I walked through downtown
St. Louis, convinced I was about to get knifed as a girlfriend
attended a conference. I had come to find that life at the bar could
be filthy and venal, and I understood the lines I'd let pass from the
same album as "Here Comes a Regular"- "You grow old in a bar." I'd
grown a bit, and Paul was there, too. Playing in the basement!
Playing every instrument! Singing of life the way it was for a real
person, not a celebrity, not a rock star. "Let the Bad Times Roll,"
"We May Be the Ones,"- Christ. Thank you. Anyone, tell me- can you
listen to "We May be the Ones," and tell me that there is not a
passion, anger, and frustration that goes far beyond anything anyone
stuck in a "Bastards of Young," mindset can accept.

I saw him live on that tour. He forgot songs, blew frets, and all the
stuff people liked to write about those shows. I hated the crowds,
all the folks who wanted to meet him on the bus afterwards, all the
folks who sang along. What I saw, there in the present moment, was
all that mattered. The songs still resonated. All hope for some sort
of circus was simply silly. God bless you, Paul, for that. I'm going
to miss the Chicago show this April due to a stupid work commitment,
but it just doesn't matter anymore. What matters are the songs that I
still play continuously, not the spectacle. Paul's given us a
catalogue we can go back to for pretty much any situation. He's alone
in the basement, giving us what we need as we go through life alone.

I don't care about the legend; it's for chumps who can't get on with
their own lives. I love Paul for reminding me that there really is no
moment in which to get stuck. You keep growing, you keep getting hit
with the nonsense that's life, and you keep on going. The best thing
you can have is a song to keep you company and know you're not alone.

Tomorrow morning, with a cup of strong coffee and a loud car stereo,
I'll remember that.

General Housekeeping.

Not much to say this evening. I tied one on, as the kids say, yesterday after work with my brother, and was a bit disheveled today as a result.

I still made myself run when I got home (after a short nap), which made me feel a bit better. Now, I'm showered and drinking some tea and ready to play some Mario Kart and then fall asleep. Wrapping things up.

Before I go, I want to point out a new link over there to the right, Joe's blog, JEEIII World Tour. Joe's a fine fellow with a good blog, and I recommend checking it out.

Night, folks.

I Lack Stamina.

I just went for a run.

What the hell was that all about? I wasn't even being chased! I feel rather crappy now, but kind of a good crappy. The run was a nice reminder of how out of shape I am, and how I should be doing things like running/getting back to the gym on a regular basis.

Go, me.