If You Love My Bloody Valentine, Read This Book

I'm halfway into a book called, "Perfect from Now On: How Indie Rock Saved My Life," and it's amazing. Like someone shined a light on my musical journey through indie rock and wrote a book about it. The writer grew up in Grand Rapids, Michigan (about an hour from where I spent my formative years) and, as a kid, listened to bands like Duran Duran, Journey and Sammy Hagar-era Van Halen. Then one day a cooler friend of his played U2's "War," and his life changed forever. The book is a virtual Who's Who of every single fantastic band you ever loved... The Smiths, Joy Division, The Pixies, Dinosaur, jr., The Stone Roses, etc... The writing is funny, poignant and sometimes makes you cringe because that person dancing in front of the mirror to "Everybody Wang Chung tonight," was YOU. The best bits about this book, though, are the copious footnotes and the appendix at the back which has tons of lists that are guaranteed to cause mayhem among indie-rock circles. Read it. You'll love it. Trust me.

Permanant Marker

I've never been a fan of pencils. Not even in elementary school. In fact, I was probably the only 2nd grader who had arguments with the teacher about writing with a pen. I guess pencils just weren't permanant enough for me. I didn't like the idea that anything I wrote with a pencil could be erased so easily. So it might seem strange that I've taken a very strong stance against tattoos. Now in the interest of full disclosure, I did flirt with the idea of a tattoo for several years. I knew what I wanted (a quill), where I wanted it (on the curve of my right hip) and why I wanted one (to dedicate myself to a life of creative writing). There was a certain weekend in the summer of 1997 when I was fully committed to driving down to Newport, Rhode Island (tattoo joints were illegal in Massachusetts... damn puritans!) to get permanantly inked. But around this time, when everyone from suburban kids in Peoria to 60-year old grandmothers decided tattoos were cool, I came to the conclusion that they weren't. At least not anymore. I have a cut-off date. If you got a tattoo prior to 1990, then it's cool. After? Not cool. You see, tattoos used to be about nonconformity. Living on the fringe. Not being part of the mainstream. It was about not giving a damn and individualism. Except it wasn't just the tattoo. It was the philosophy, the politics, the fierce resistance to everything mass-produced, mass-marketed and mass-regurgitated. Today, getting a tattoo is no different than having your ears pierced and just as common. Which is why I'm abstaining.

A Big Jerk

Having a newspaper column means that sometimes I get emails from people who respond to a particular column of mine. It's flatering that someone will read words I've written and be galvanized to actually sit down and write me an email so I've always written back a friendly reply. Recently a woman from Boston contacted me, and I wrote back enthusiastically because I used to live there. Since my editor is interested in any reader feedback I receive, I forward all these emails to her, usually with a line or two from me. In this particular case, I wrote, "Another fan. Ha. Ha." Unfortunately, I was distracted by a phone call, and instead of forwarding it to my editor, I accidentally hit the REPLY button and then SEND. It was one of those moments where you wish there was a 30 second window to retrieve an email before the other person receives it. I felt like a big jerk but especially when I opened the terse email she sent a day later that said I should keep better track of my reply messages. What could I say? She was right. Something that was meant to be funny took on an entirely different tone. From her perspective, it sounded like I was making fun of her when, in fact, the mockery was totally self-directed. I'm not so full of self-importance to belive that I actually have "fans." My first instinct was to write back an apology and explain the mistake, but, really, it just sounded like an excuse for bad behavior. Besides, I'm just self-flagellating enough to consider her poor opinion of me my just desserts. But, just in case "BostonTheresa" is reading this, I'm really very sorry, and you're right... I am a jerk.

Last Night's Show

It's been explained to me that most cool bands don't come to Charleston, SC because it's off the beaten path. Apparently, tour buses roll down 95 and hit all the major cities on the East Coast, and then veer off towards Atlanta. Which is why I bought tickets immediately when I found out the Cold War Kids would be swinging through Chucktown for a show at the Village Tavern. It was fantastic. This band's got a really unique sound... indie rock with a bluesy kick. The lead singer pounds out jangly tunes on the piano, and the bass is aggressive. My favorite moment of the night came when members of the Toyko Police Club (who opened) came onstage with buckets, sauce pans and even an empty wine bottle to help out on a truly raucous version of "St. John." It was incendiary. The VT was packed with Southern hipsters who grooved to the tunes while Marlboros dangled from their lips. I was standing at the back of the room, and two songs in, all I could see was the guy's shoulder blades who was standing in front of me, but then this truly cool girl invited me up on the bench where she was standing, and for the rest of the show I had full audio and visual. If this is the last band I see for a while, then I'm okay with that. And if you haven't discovered the Cold War Kids yet, what the eff?

Music by Numbers

If you have iTunes, you need to check out a cool feature called "Play Count." It reveals a lot about what you listen to, and sometimes it's kind of surprising. Like I've played "Lucky Man" by the Verve 305 times. This is a song that I really love, but I didn't realize how often I listen to it. Or "God Killed the Queen" by Louis XIV which I've listened to 207 times! I remember being obsessed with this song for a couple weeks two years ago. I've listened to "Bohemian Like You" by The Dandy Warhols 189 times which kind of makes sense because every time I go on a road trip, it's on the rotation. "No Fiction" by the Charlatans UK, 187 times. This song is without question one of my favorite songs of all time. It's great to just kind of groove to. I've played "Na Na Na Naa" by The Kaiser Chiefs 132 times. "Island in the Sun" by Weezer 129 times. What's just as interesting are the songs that I hardly listen to at all by some of my favorite artists like "The Kick Inside" by Kate Bush which, apparently, I've only listened to 5 times and "Heal" by Catherine Wheel which has only been played 4 times. What I've learned, is that there are certain songs have resonate with me in such a fundamental way that they've become part of the soundtrack to my life while others might make guest appearances now and then but gradually fade into oblivion.

The Stranger Among Us

On a recent Saturday, at 4:30 am, I got a phone call from someone who had learned that the guy she'd been dating for 7 years had gotten married last summer. It was incredible! I was almost tempted to disbelieve it, but there was so much heartbroken certainty in her voice that it was obviously true. This was a guy that I knew. He'd spent Holidays with my family, and a group of us had gone on vacation together. The irony is that I thought he had a problem with committment because he seemed incapable of moving the relationship forward. Instead, he had a problem with honesty. People in relationships fall in love with other people all the time. It's complicated. It's messy. But it happens. What doesn't happen, most of the time, is the person lying for months, years? about his feelings for the unsuspecting girlfriend. I suppose this particular situation was aided by the fact that it was a long-distance relationship which meant that he could see his new girlfriend in the open and my friend would never find out. But she did. And now she's having to question every single thing that happened while they were together. Even things that might have been the truth are suspect. I feel nothing but contempt for this man. He's a coward, and since I believe in Karma, I know that at some point in the future, he will hurt as badly as my friend is hurting now. Why is it, that the people we end up hurting the most are the ones we're supposed to care about the most? I think it's pretty evident that this guy only cared for himself.

Trivia Taken Seriously

Recently, I just started this new column called "Head2Head Trivia," and so far, it's been a real eye-opener. I didn't realize how seriously some people took this stuff. Case in point... not ten minutes ago I read an email from someone who objected to my trivia question about Gilligan's first name (the answer, apparently incorrect, is Willie). This person proceeded to regale me with minute details about the fact that Gilligan NEVER had a first name used on the show and then, the coup de grace, he called me "Poopy Pants" Bradford. I am not even kidding. What I want to know is how this person has the time to sit down and write me an email for no other purpose than to call me... that. It's completely absurd. My second column appeared in the paper today, and I can't wait to see what other lunatics will be emailing me about Shakespeare. And for all you people who don't have access to the "Preview," here's a small taste...

1. Which play is thought to have a curse on it?
2. Who says the word "love" more... Romeo or Juliet?
3. What play has the shortest scene?
4. Which play is performed more than any other?
5. Keanu Reeves was in the film adaptation of which Shakespeare play?

The Drop-Back Rule

How do people not know this rule? It's one part common sense, two parts common courtesy. When you're walking on the sidewalk with a friend, a couple buddies or a whole freaking pack, and someone is walking towards you, what do you do? Drop back to allow the individual some space on the sidewalk to get past. But, incredibly, a lot of people don't know this very important rule. Too many times, I've had to step off the sidewalk or had to squeeze past, brushing/bumping shoulders or had to literally step into some foliage while the other people hogged the sidewalk. Even when I'm out for a run, people don't seem to want to move out of the way, and that's when it gets fun because I will totally body-check someone if they don't give me room to run past. So, if you're one of those people who simply didn't realize that there was a Drop Back Rule or you're willfully ignoring it, do everyone a favor and adopt it. The world is a big place, but sidewalks aren't.

Breaking News

So, walking down my street this morning, I had a sneaking suspicion that a movie is being shot just a few doors up from where I live. What would make me think this, you ask? Well, for starters, there's tons of people standing around, talking on cell phones and working on laptops. Cables and wires everywhere. Trucks and trailers lined up along the street. Parking spots blocked off with "Charleston Police Dept" barricades. And, when I was walking past one of the trailers, I saw a pair of Ugg boots perched on the top step, proof positive that a celebrity is around because everybody knows they wear Uggs. Well, except for Pamela Anderson because she apparently was only made aware that the boots are made from sheepskin. There's a certain kind of irony in her saying, "I'll go naked before I wear fur" for PETA while sporting a pair of Uggs, but I've gotten sidetracked. I'm going to find out what's going on. But if it's an actual movie being filmed on my street, how cool is that? Stay tuned.

Don't Let Me Down

The other day someone was supposed to help me build a bookcase. If you're familar with the situation, you'd know that I bought the wood over a year ago, and it's been sitting on my veranda ever since, much to my annoyance. Originally someone else was supposed to help me build it. Never happened. So, deciding to take matters into my own hands, I casually asked this person for some power tools that I could borrow and build the damn thing myself. Instead, he offered to help. After playing phone tag for a week, he finally said he could do it on Thursday which happened to be my day off. I never heard from him. The point to this rambling story is this. People are constantly letting me down. Maybe I care too much. Maybe I expect too much from others. Is the solution to simply not have expectations at all because that way you can't be disappointed? Should I expect that the people in my life will inevitably let me down so that I can be prepared when it happens? The saying is, "No man is an island," but maybe if I were and completely self-sufficient, I wouldn't need to rely on other people so therefore wouldn't be disappointed. It's definitely something to consider.

Mea Culpa

To all 2 of you who actually read this blog, I feel an apology is needed. I've been M.I.A. for the past week, and I have no good excuse except that I'm completely obsessed with a little thing called Yelp. I feel like I've been running around with something younger and racier behind my blog's back, and I know I need to stop because eventually I'm going to get caught, but I just can't. Not yet. So, accept this apology and know that I will come back. Soon.

A Peek Inside My Bag

Some people can leave their apartment with everything they need in one pocket... usually keys, money, ID. That's great, but I'm not one of them. I'm what you'd call a "Pack Rat," but in my defense, everything has a purpose. When I head out, it's pretty much for the day so I need to pack accordingly. We'll start with the bag itself which is a tote bag. I like roomy ones with long enough handles that can go over the shoulder. Obviously, I got it at Urban. The heaviest thing in my bag is my laptop. This is probably the one thing I never leave home without. It goes everywhere with me since I'm always using my spare time to check my email, post something on my blog, work on my columns, spend time on Craigslist and Yelp, look up airfare to various places, etc... The next thing in there is my Kate Spade daily planner which I've had now for about 4 years. I'd be lost without it, and if that makes me completely anal, then I'm fine with that. As long as I have my planner. My cell phone, keys, and little scraps of paper hang out in the side pockets. I carry a notebook that's stuffed with pages ripped out of magazines of things like cool websites to check out, DIY projects for my apartment, tips on buying a used car, how to throw a wine-tasting party, that sort of thing. My wallet which actually has money in it because I went to the bank yesterday. Bikini bottoms... don't ask. Several Le Pen pens... the only kind I use. Lip balm which is one of my obsessions. A Netflix envelope that needs to be mailed. Bottled water. The cord to plug in my computer when the battery dies on me which happens all the time. Hand cream because my hands are really dry. A sunglass case but not the sunglasses because they're propped on my head right now. Gum. Spare change in the bottom of the bag. And that's it.

Any Takers?

So the offical lineup for Bonnaroo 2007 was announced last Wednesday, and I'm not kidding when I say that it's every single band you've ever loved in the past year and wanted to see live. Bands like... The Hold Steady, Hot Chip, Cold War Kids, The White Stripes, Wilco (okay one sucky band has to be included... Ha! Ha! Brian), Flaming Lips, Franz Ferdinand, The Decemberists, Kings of Leon, Wolfmother, The Black Keys... I could go on. Bonnaroo used to be a hippy-dippy kind of festival where people with dreads and tie-dye grooved to jam bands, but it's not like that anymore. I think an argument could be made for it being the coolest festival in the U.S. now. It's 3 days in the middle of this farm in no-where Tennessee. Doesn't that sound like the best time ever?

New Music

This is what I'm listening to now...

1. "Wincing the Night Away" by the Shins
2. "Alright, Still" by Lily Allen
3. "New Magnetic Wonder" by Apples in Stereo
4. "Weekend in the City" by Bloc Party

My Yelp Reviews

Look Out Jimmy Page

I am the proud owner of a brand new used acoustic guitar! I'm going to practice every day so that when Robert Plant needs me to step in for Jimmy Page, I'll be ready.

It's a Southern Thing

What is it with Southerners and money? Having lived below the Mason-Dixon line for about a year now, I've had time to study a perculiar quirk of the Southern species. They count out exact change. Every time. Now, if a purchase of mine comes to $1.02, well then I'm going to dig through my bag for the two pennies. But, a Southerner doesn't just root around for pennies. Oh no. If the change is .84 they'll still search for it and spend 10 minutes doing so. Doesn't matter if five people are in line behind them. They'll look. Maybe it's the smaller town that allows more elbow room for finding exact change. I come from a place where if you tried to dig out that .84, you'd definitely hear angry rumblings behind you. In a big city, you slap down a Lincoln and be grateful for the change. Southerns are also all about the Benjamins. I've never seen so many $50's and $100's in circulation. And it's a deliberate thing too. If you go to the bank to cash a check or withdraw money, they'll give you $20's so people are specifically asking for the bigger bills. I will admit to a certain thrill of knowing that there's a crisp $100 bill in my wallet (not that this has happened in a really long time), but when it comes to money, I'm modest. You won't see me tossing a Ullyses S. Grant on the counter to pay for a newspaper. That's just ridiculous.

It's Not Kelly Slater, But...

After the flurry of comments left about yesterday's entry, I'm kind of inclinded to keep posting photos of half-naked surf gods. Hopefully I won't alienate anyone by writing about a book I just finished reading. It's by the lead singer of Franz Ferdinand and is a collection of columns he wrote for a U.K. newspaper about his food adventures while on tour with his band. Having worked in a variety of restaurants, he turns his culinary experience and a truly experimental attitude towards food into witty, insightful essays about life on the road and the food that he encouters along the way. Things like pufferfish in Japan which will kill you if not properly prepared and bull's balls in Spain which, I have to admit, made me a little squeamish when I was reading that particular entry. The book is kind of a back stage pass to what life is like when the band plays their final encore on stage and how they fill their time until the next show in the next town. A fast fun read.

Surfing 101

This is Kelly Slater. He's the greatest surfer of all time. Not, incidentally, a character on "Saved by the Bell." And (ahem) what he looks like has nothing to do with my admiration for his incredible talent. Okay, then. Class dismissed.

If I Ruled the World

If I ruled the world, there'd be no movie sequels.
If I ruled the world, abusing an animal would be punishable by death.
If I ruled the world, nobody would have to work during the Tour de France in July.
If I ruled the world, Bob Marley's song, "Get Up, Stand Up" would be the National Anthem.
If I ruled the world, short people would always be in the front row.
If I ruled the world, "The Simpsons" would be cancelled, and "Arrested Development" would be resurrected.
If I ruled the world, the World Series, the Stanley Cup and the NBA Finals would only be 1 game.
If I ruled the world, Global Warming would be an environmental catastrophe, not a political issue.
If I ruled the world, I'd be on the Bestseller List.
If I ruled the world, Kelly Slater would be my personal surfing instructor.

Going... Going... Gone

Last night I deleted someone from my life. It wasn't that hard. Press a button on a cell phone, and you can electronically erase someone from its memory. Same thing with an email address. Too bad it can't work that way with my head. It's true that friends come and go in a person's life, but when you've been friends with someone for years, you kind of expect the relationship to always be there. And when it just disappears without explanation, that hurts. There's an entire section in bookstores dedicated to helping people get through the pain of breaking up with a boyfriend or coping with divorce, but try to find a book that gets you through the loss of a friend. Sorry, but you're basically on your own for that. It wasn't easy, deleting this person. In fact, I put it off for a long time because I wanted to believe that our friendship was still there, but what I was clinging to was the memory of a once-strong friendship that had faded over the years. The truth is, people change. They grow apart. And keeping a cell phone number can't always disguise the fact that the friend you want to hang on to has slowly become a stranger.

The Envelope Please...

This past year, I've seen some pretty good movies/documentaries. My favorites include "Marie Antoinette" (the soundtrack is so kickin' by the way), "An Inconvenient Truth," "Little Miss Sunshine" and "The US vs. John Lennon" (the subject of an earlier post). The Oscar nominations were recently announced, and I've thought long and hard about who I think will win (as opposed to who should win... there's a big difference). So here's how I think it'll go down on Oscar Night.

Best Picture- Babel
Best Director- Martin Scorsese
Best Actor- Peter O'Toole
Best Actress- Helen Mirren
Best Supporting Actor- Eddie Murphy
Best Supporting Actress- Abagail Breslin
Best Foreign Film- Pan's Labyrinth

Um... I'm notoriously wrong about these kinds of things so don't expect any sort of money back guarantee.

Calgon Take Me Away

Rain today. It's falling out of the grey sky in sheets of wet. The palmetto trees sway in the wind, dead branches falling to the ground with a soggy "swoosh." My umbrella bends from a strong gust, and rain sneaks underneath to spit in my face. Stepping off the curb into an ankle deep puddle, I swear as the moisture seeps into my socks and make squelching noises on my cold walk home.

Footnote: This amazing photo was taken by me (yes, I know how talented I am) a year ago on the island of Eleuthera in the Bahamas.

Do Do Do Do, De Da Da Da

For weeks, rumors had been swirling that The Police would be reuniting in 2007 which is the 30th anniversary of the song, "Roxanne." Well, ladies and gentlemen, we are one step closer to that actually happening. It's just been announced that the legendary 80's band will be performing at the Grammy Awards on February 11th and that a confirmation of an upcoming reunion tour is also expected. I'm not sure how to convey the depth of my excitement in a blog so you'll just have to imagine me jumping up and down right now while I type this. There are certain bands/musicians that I wish I could've seen in concert (Bob Marley, The Clash, Led Zeppelin and Thelonious Monk), and The Police have always been in my top five. If this reunion tour happens, I could get my wish.

Rocking a Pair of Green Suede Boots

One of my biggest fashion disasters in high school was a pair of green suede boots. It was towards the end of my love affair with all things Esprit, and I had seen this super popular girl at my old school wearing them at a basketball game once. I was 16 and going to the mall in South Bend (IN) was Nirvana to me. Mom and I were browsing in the shoe department at L.S. Ayers when I saw them. Green. Suede. Esprit. It's amazing how desperately you can want something that 10 seconds ago you didn't even know existed. I was convinced that I couldn't live without these boots and waited in giddy impatience while the sales associate went to find my size. He came back with two boxes, apologizing for not having an 8 1/2 and bringing an 8 and a 9. Despite being a true 8 1/2, I saw this as only a minor setback. The 9 was way too big, my toes lost in a warehouse of empty space at the end of the boot. Pulling on the 8, I was inwardly dismayed. They pinched. Walking in them was uncomfortable, but I turned to my mom and declared they felt great. I loved them and would wear them everyday. One Friday, a few weeks later, I visited my old school and got to spend the day with friends. I was wearing a Hard Rock Cafe t-shirt tucked into a pair of Guess jeans. I strutted my stuff through the old hallways, past the cute boys and the popular girls in my green suede boots, with one sound repeating itself in my head, "Ow, ow, ow (damn it!) ow, ow, ow...."