On Buying a Netbook

Rare are the events in life that change everything.

That's a good thing, too, because such radical change can be a pretty traumatic experience. Trust me. I know.

These are the life experiences that result in major upheaval in people's lives; large scale epiphanies that lead individuals to rethink fundamental life choices.
I have recently had just such an experience. My life will never be the same. I bought a Netbook, and everything has indeed changed.

For those of you not in the know (like me until about a week ago), a Netbook is a mini laptop computer. It has all the basic functionality of a standard computer but in a much more convenient size. Some computer weenies turn up their noses at Netbooks claiming that they are insufficient for certain activities like online gaming. However, since I'm not a 15 year old Asian male I suspect I'll be just fine with a Netbook.

After all, my Netbook has a reasonably fast processor, a large hard drive and a bunch of accessories like a web cam so it's perfect for important things like blogging, Facebook, emailing, Skype, managing photos, etc. It has also been "ruggedized", which is supposed to mean that it can withstand a little more rough-housing than your average electronic gizmo. It's a perfect travel companion.

As a result, I am well prepared to turn my back on over 20 years of a professional career and hit the road. I've had a job my entire adult life, but now I've chosen a different direction. Ah the freedom! No more "bored" meetings. No more last minute panic sessions trying to realize additional revenue before month end. No more regular paycheck. (Hmmm. Perhaps I should have thought that one out a little better...)

Regardless, starting this January me and my Netbook are going travelling. We'll be on the road for over six months - seeing old friends, making new ones and visiting an incredible variety of destinations. It'll all be happening here at Dave's Digglings, too. So please feel free to follow along, or better yet, participate! After all, these sorts of events don't come 'round very often.


(OK, truth be known, certain other events have occurred in my life that may have also had some more than minor influence on this new direction. Like, for example, immediate termination of employment from a large multi-national corporation. But hey, it's my blog, and if i say it's all about buying a Netbook, then it's all about buying a Netbook!)

Disposable Music: Dave's Top Ten Tunes for 2009

Is it just me, or is production a thing of the past? Now, I’m not suggesting that we return to the self indulgent over-produced world of Alan Parsons or anything like that. Good God no! But, did you happen to listen to the 2009 release “Horehound” by Jack White’s latest project The Dead Weather? The sound is appalling! I realize Jack is a fan of sparse production, but the cymbals sound like someone hitting rice paper with a spoon and the recording levels are pushed so high that what should be an ear splitting wall of aural pleasure ends up sounding like the shitty speakers in your Dad’s old K-car. And Jack’s not alone. Bad production seems to be the trend in popular music. What gives?

Well, I have a theory, and it goes something like this: you get what you pay for. Those “masterpieces” from the 70’s cost millions of dollars to produce. Even with today’s advanced recording techniques, some basic sound engineering goes a long way to producing a good finished product. Yet it all costs money, and in today’s digital world music is basically free. Anyone with a kindergarten level understanding of economics knows that you can’t earn a living by investing lots of money in something that you give away. The music industry is no exception.

So I think Jack has it right - throw an album together as fast as you can, screw the production and tour like hell. At least people still pay to see bands play live. And with that, here in no particular order are my top ten tunes for 2009:
(Sorry Jack, I just couldn't bring myself to include The Dead Weather. Great live show, though!)

British Port Authority – He's Frank
How is this not the single of the year? Combine Fatboy Slim’s beats and sense of humor with vocals by Iggy Pop and you’ve got an instant summertime pop classic. Roll down the windows and let the sun shine in!

The XX – Crystalised
The first single from this London quartet (now a three piece) is a perfect example of their dual vocals and indie pop style. Worth the hype.

Atlas Sound – Quick Canal
When I first heard Quick Canal I had no idea Atlas Sound was the solo project of Deerhunter’s (whose Microcastle was on my 2008 Top Album list) lead singer Bradford Cox. Doesn’t matter. Quick Canal is a succulent stunner, with just enough background noise to keep me interested.

Spoon – Got Nuffin
Another great track from Austin’s veteran hipsters.

Modest Mouse – Satellite Skin
Ok, gotta admit, I’ve got a soft spot for these guys. Still, No One’s First… is an EP with as much variety as any of their albums. It’s like they didn’t feel the pressure to create a cohesive album, so just compiled some tracks on a long EP. Works for me.

Animal Collective – Summertime Clothes
Man these guys are weird! Ain’t it great?

School of 7 Bells – Wired For Light
Twins! What more can I say?

Fever Ray – When I Grow Up
Has anyone ever heard of a Swedish band called “The Knife”? Me neither, but all you ever hear about Fever Ray is that it’s a side project of The Knife’s lead singer. Regardless, after listening to the album Fever Ray, I’m afraid for her two children. Very afraid. This is dark stuff.

Cymbals Eat Guitars – And The Hazy Sea
They do a pretty good job of filling a very large hole that was created when Pavement ceased to exist. “And The Hazy Sea” opens their debut as well as Stephen Malkmus could have ever hoped.

Kasabian – Underdog
Got their groove back on this one, sorta. Sounds like the boys are still popping pills, which is a good thing for us.

A Place To Bury Strangers - Lost Feeling
Nothing new here, but thank god someone out there still makes music with loud fuzzy guitars and distorted vocals. The Jesus and Mary Chain would be proud.

Obits – Milk Cow Blues
Nothing new here either, but thank god someone out there still likes to rock. April Wine would be proud.

Now, for those of you who were counting, that is actually twelve tunes, not ten. Let's call it "Dave's Top Ten Tunes Plus Two for 2009". And, as a reward for those of you who have been patient enough to read all the way to the bottom, here's a link to where you can download each of these fine tracks for your listening pleasure: http://www3.telus.net/public/diggling/ . (Download the zip file DigglingMash2009, unzip, and enjoy!)

Singles Going Steady

Hey Everybody,
Interested in hearing some of the best songs from 2008? Well, download the following file and treat yourself to 18 of the finest tracks from the past year:
http://www3.telus.net/Digglings/DigglingMash2008.zip

editor's note: I had written a clever introduction for this post which included a list of the tracks, but in my rush to bring it to you, I managed to lose it in cyberspace. So instead, it's short and sweet for today's post. Enjoy!

A Year of Great Songs: Dave’s “not-exactly” Top Ten List for 2008

The past year in music saw releases from a wide variety of artists in all genres. From newcomers like MGMT and Vampire Weekend to veterans such as Alejandro Escovedo and Beck, there were plenty of new songs bouncing about between my ears. 2008 was indeed a year of great songs.
However, 2008 presents me with one slight problem. My annual Top Ten list is for albums, not just songs. I like to recognize artists for compiling an entire record (is that word still relevant?) of songs that works as a whole from start to finish. Listening to an album is all about appreciating the artistry of a musician or group of musicians, experiencing the ebb and flow of emotions that they have captured for your senses and enjoyment. Repeated listens become like a visit with an old friend.
For me, this was a rare occurrence in 2008. I found myself all too regularly hitting the “skip” button to avoid certain songs, or even more commonly I’d listen to my favorite two or three tracks and skip the rest of the album. Great songs, but a great album? Not so much…
This year’s list has been adjusted accordingly. I’ve divided it between “great albums” and albums with “great songs”. And as if that wasn’t enough, I’ve thrown in an extra category “just because”. Enjoy!

Great Albums – the Top 2:

The Seldom Seen Kid by Elbow
The boys from Manchester have most certainly hit their stride. Guy Garvey’s smoky vocals are once again at the forefront of the band’s self described “prog without the solos” style. Hands down my album of the year. The critics apparently agree as The Seldom Seen Kid is this year’s recipient of the Mercury Prize – the annual award for the best in British music.

The Golden Hour by Firewater
Returning from an extended trek through Thailand, India, Pakistan, Turkey and Indonesia (which he chronicled on his blog Postcards from the Other Side of the World), lead singer and mastermind behind Firewater Tod A has used recorded music from his travels as the backbone of the very world wary “Golden Hour”. The combination of a Joe Strummer-like lyrical style with such influences as Klezmer and Indian wedding music results in perhaps the most satisfying “socially conscious” record since the early Clash.

Great Albums – the rest:

Microcastle by Deerhunter
Deerhunter have abandoned their uneven experimental noise from the early 2000’s for a fuller, more accessible sound on Microcastle. The release has been criticized by their hardcore fans for being too pop oriented. I say lighten up hipster snobs and enjoy this blissfully melodic breakout release!

Jean Lee & the Yellow Dog by Ed Kuepper & the Kowalski Collective
The grandfather of Australian rock has been silent for a few years. But finally, there's this ambitious loose concept album, based on the only hanging of a woman in Australian history, in 1951 of prostitute/alleged murdered Jean Lee. Long, varied, constantly and effectively surprising and involving, it's just plain fabulous.

Rook by Shearwater
Wow! How much emotionally charged songwriting can you fit into a 38 minute record? The answer lies in Shearwater’s expansive “Rook”.

Real Animal by Alejandro Escovedo
Ok, perhaps not a perfect album, but Real Animal stands as testament to one of music’s most underrated performers. From his early days with punk pioneers Rank and File (when he lived alongside Sid and Nancy in NYC) through to a recent battle with Hep-C, Alejandro has written an extensive catalogue of music straddling a wide variety of genres. This album pays homage to his past, and looks forward to a brighter future as the world seems to have finally caught on.

Great Albums – honorable mentions:

Mission Control by The Whigs
Guitar based indie-rock, for those who like it served straight up.

Attack and Release by The Black Keys
Nothing new here from the Keys, just another satisfying blues romp. What’s wrong with that?

Albums with Great Songs:

Consolers of the Lonely by The Raconteurs
To be honest, this should be in the great album category because it really is pretty strong throughout. Jack White has taken over the band, and Consolers is full of his characteristic riffs and screeches. It also casts a nod to some of Jack’s influences (most notably Led Zep) and boasts some musical diversions not seen on the band’s first effort. However, there are a couple of songs that I can only describe as absolute stinkers, and am never able to get through. Thus, the skip button comes into play every time. Sorry Jack.

The Very Sexuals
Delicious Bowie-like harmonies abound on this rookie release from Holland’s Very Sexuals. It’s too bad they only keep it up for the first three songs. Still, the album can be downloaded for free from their MySpace page, and for those three songs it’s well worth the effort.

Oracular Spectacular by MGMT
In 2008 these new darlings of the indie circuit have gone from playing half empty bars to sold-out arenas, all on the strength of Oracular Spectacular. It’s well worth the hype, containing perhaps the single of the year (a toss-up between “Time To Pretend” and “Kids” – you decide which is better).

Vampire Weekend
They’ve spent the year battling it out with MGMT for the most hyped band of 2008. I still love “(Who Gives a Fuck About an) Oxford Comma” (how brilliant is that?), but found the rest of the album lost my interest after only a couple of listens.

Feel Good Ghosts by Cloud Cult
In a year without a release from the Flaming Lips, at least we have Cut Copy. (What’s that? There was a Flaming Lips release? Who knew?) Like The Lips, Cut Copy is all over the map, with sometimes theatrical extravaganzas, other times simple ditties. Hear both on “When Water Comes to Life” from Feel Good Ghosts. I’m listening to it now, and have stopped typing so I can lead the orchestra.

Exotic Creatures of the Deep by Sparks
Included here solely on account of the Queen-like harmonies and laugh-out-loud funny lyrics of “Lighten up Morrisey” and “Photoshop (Me Out of Your Life)”.

Modern Guilt by Beck
Not up to his usual standards, yet Modern Guilt still produced two of the best songs from 2008 – “Gamma Ray” and “Profanity Prayers”.

Album Title of the Year:
When Life Gives You Lemons You Paint That Shit Gold by Atmosphere

Civilized Wilderness – Sea Kayaking in Sechelt Inlet

To some, embarking on a three day kayak trip into unpopulated areas of British Columbia’s west coast would be considered a rugged backcountry experience. To others, it’s simply another excuse to eat and drink exorbitantly, while providing just enough physical exertion to be categorized as an outdoor activity. I’m most certainly in the second group, as demonstrated by our kayak excursion this past weekend.

Now don’t get me wrong, the BC coastline is home to many wild animals and the chances of encountering a bear are pretty good. The closest shower and electrical outlet are many miles away, and (thankfully) there is no mobile phone coverage. You don’t have to go far to be pretty remote.

However, traveling by kayak provides one distinct advantage over more traditional back country options such as hiking, and that advantage is storage. So, despite the remoteness and somewhat rudimentary means of getting there, the kayaker can bring along a reasonable array of creature comforts. For me, those comforts revolve around food.

Before you write me off as a complete sloth or nut bar, tell me how this sounds? After a day of paddling in clear water surrounded by mountains and forests, you return to camp for a cocktail and appetizer. Then, as the sun sets you recline against a log on the beach and enjoy a glass of wine while brilliant colors dance across the sky. As darkness approaches, it’s time to light a fire and prepare a gourmet feast. You eventually retire to your tent with a belly full of fine wine, and slip into a deep sleep to the soothing sound of waves lapping against the shore.

Not so crazy after all, huh? I call it “Civilized Wilderness”, and even though I’m bound to hear loud protests from the extreme sports crowd, I’m convinced there is no better way to experience nature.

On our weekend we paddled with dolphins, saw countless jellyfish and multi-colored starfish, and stared in awe at some stunning scenery. We also swam in the surprisingly warm ocean at a number of uninhabited beaches. Meanwhile, we enjoyed cool late afternoon Gin and Tonics, lightly seared sushi grade ahi tuna, melt in your mouth tenderloin, a variety of spicy Indian curries, assorted grilled vegetables and even brownies with steamed milk and Bailey’s Irish Cream. Not to be overlooked were beautiful bottles of wine to accompany every course.

Good friends, great food and stunning scenery! Indeed, what more could one want?

Iqaluit Bound: A Photographic Venture Into Canada's Arctic

The bumper sticker said it all. I certainly wasn't in painfully PC Vancouver anymore. I had embarked on a journey into a world so different from my own it's hard to believe it's still in the same country. Mind you, this is Canada after all, and you can travel a long, long way without crossing an international border. It took me longer to fly to Iqaluit way up in Canada's northeast than it would have taken for me to fly to Bali. That's far.

What follows are a few snapshots from my trip accompanied by some impressions from this ice-covered wonderland.

The first thing that hits you as you step off the airplane is the cold. My flight was greeted by temperatures dipping below -20 Celsius, and winds gusting over 50 km/hr. The conditions were such that the plane was forced to stop on the tarmac about a two minute walk from the terminal. Seasoned northern travellers are prepared for such occurrences by keeping their winter clothes on board as carry-on. I walked to the terminal in my light sweater and t-shirt, shivering and cursing the entire way. By the time I got inside, my right eye had frozen completely shut. My guess is that the locals were mocking me by loudly discussing how wonderful it was that spring had finally arrived. I kept my mouth shut and attempted to defrost my face.

The sun does shine in the Arctic (quite often, in fact), and when it does the stark beauty of the place is stunning. Shown here is Iqaluit from the neighbouring village of Apex, looking across Frobisher Bay. Mind you, without the clouds the temperature drops. It was -34 one deceptively sunny morning.

The ocean freezes in the northern winters, and the combination of tides and wind results in an incredible mish-mash of broken ice, with striking, twisted shards forming beautiful modern sculptures.

Nature isn't the only artist in the north. The Inuit people are famous for fine soapstone sculptures. This carving of a traditional hunter was perched atop a traditional weaved basket, and fetched a whopping $3,000 at an auction I attended.

Other indigenous art includes fashion, utilizing local furs such as seal, caribou and polar bear. These would probably not be practical in rainy Vancouver, as persons wearing such fashion would immediately be shot by someone who lives between Commercial and Victoria Drives.

Still, Lord knows how I love to shop, so I picked up two of these outfits...

The north also presents some startling contrasts, and with that some difficult social issues. On the left is the first Hudson's Bay trading post in the region, established on Frobisher Bay in 1620. It's quite remarkable that western explorers came to these harsh environs that long ago. But what's even more awe inspiring is that the Inuit people had called this rather uninhabitable land home for many previous generations.

The resulting meeting of cultures has not been a smooth one. Today, Iqaluit is the land of snowmobile cadavers, like the one shown on the right. The town boasts two snowmobile dealerships, and no snowmobile service centers. The locals have no need to service them. The government buys the Inuit new ones every two years so the machines are basically driven until they stop, then abandoned.

Amazing what a government will do to try and make up for the sins of the past.

And so Iqaluit evokes a wide variety of emotions along with its barren landscape and occasional discarded tire...


...or boat left to the mercy of the ice.

The conditions are pretty harsh for any living creature, including the dogs and crows...



...although I certainly wouldn't want to be a local polar bear!

Even so, there's still time to play some outdoor recreational sports, like hockey and basketball.

Where does it all lead? Hopefully not here!

Hell Hath No Fury Like a Kopite Scorned

Sports fans are an unruly lot. Poke your head into a sports bar during pretty well any sporting event and you’re likely to witness all sorts of rowdy behavior. From yelling at the plethora of TV screens and constant “high fiving” (a predominantly North American trait), to swilling and spilling beer, the sports bar crowd is a unique, primarily male microcosm of our society. And, it is just such a mob that I found myself firmly planted amongst for hockey viewing yesterday evening.

It all started harmlessly enough. A couple of buddies and I met up after work at a downtown Vancouver sports bar to down a few pints and take in a Vancouver Canucks telecast. There were several hockey games on the various screens, and plenty of people on hand to cheer on all the different teams. In typical Canadian fashion, there was some polite competitive jawing going on between fans sporting an assortment of jerseys, but it was all in good fun.

However, as the evening progressed I couldn’t help but notice an increasing number of another sort of jersey. Unlike the pullover style hockey sweater, these jerseys had collars, and all of them were red. That’s when it dawned on me: red means The Reds, as in the Liverpool Football Club. It’s mid-February, and the second round of the UEFA Champions League is just getting underway. The bar was most certainly filling up for an international football match, which on a world scale far outweighs the significance of a hockey game.

Still, I was puzzled because the matches are played at night in Europe, which means the live broadcast in Vancouver should be at mid day. One member of our table turned out to be a fellow from Liverpool (I suppose I should have known by his flipped-up collar and, well, accent…), and he explained that he had been in the same bar earlier that day to watch Liverpool take on arch rival AC Milan. He was now back in the bar to watch the rebroadcast of the same game. He also pointed out a few “blokes” who had watched it with him, but had remained in the bar since that time. They also planned to watch it all over again, provided that they could keep their heads up off the bar. Such is the dedication of the average football fan.

As such, football fans, especially the English, are a whole breed apart from hockey fans. You’ve probably heard the term “English football hooligan”. It is more or less interchangeable with the term “English football fan”, and refers to an unbridled passion for a specific club (and the English national team) as well as a general state of drunken disorderliness. English fans are notorious for violence at matches both home and abroad, and as a result have actually been barred en masse from attending World Cup games involving their beloved English squad. Liverpool fans, who refer to themselves as “Kopites”, are some of the least reputable, as displayed in the 1985 European Cup final against Juventus F.C. where they essentially killed 39 Italian supporters.

Which brings me back to the sports bar last night, and the growing presence of red clad Kopites. Our pal from Liverpool felt quite at home, especially since he already had 5 pints or so under his belt and posses the prerequisite accent. Meanwhile, my buddy Gary and I were starting to feel strangely outnumbered by Liverpool football “fans” in our hometown establishment. So when we looked up from yet another deep hockey oriented discussion to see our pal chatting with a rather large, crooked nosed skinhead in a red jersey, we wanted to do our best to fit in. Since he was sitting right next to the guy, Gary put on his best face, stuck out his hand for a shake and exclaimed “Hey buddy, nice win today!”

Just like that, our lives were in grave danger. Well, not necessarily mine, but most certainly Gary’s. I had some lesser sort of guilt by association, but Gary had committed a mortal sin.

Almost immediately, this massive Kopite dropped Gary’s hand and slowly backed away. His face grew redder and the veins in his skull began pulsating to the extent that I was sure they would soon explode. He glared unflinchingly at Gary as his mouth began to froth a little around the corners.

“Why you f*ckin’…!” he began before his voice trailed off.
Finally, after much hyper-ventilating, he thrust his chin forward and shrieked, “I’m going to kill you!”
He then turned on his heels and charged off to a nearby table where he started gesticulating wildly to a group of red jerseys, occasionally turning back towards our table and pointing at Gary while nodding menacingly.

Unbeknownst to us, the fellow had just been telling our pal from Liverpool that he had gone to great lengths to get through the entire day without learning who had won the match. He was just about to sit down and watch it with his mates who had all accomplished the same feat.

But fate was not on his side. Gary was. And his perfectly orchestrated plans had been dashed right before his now glazed eyes.

An idle death threat, you ask? Something not to be taken seriously, perhaps? Well, maybe you should pose that question to certain Italian families? I for one wasn’t sticking around to find out. A woman scorned has nothing on a Kopite burned, and I was headed for home before this one unleashed his fury.

Oh, and if you’re curious, I did receive a text from Gary this morning, so I’m assuming he survived the ordeal. In the end, if I know Gary, he probably had them all charmed in no time, and has been invited to join in with them for the airing of the next match. Just like a Liverpool fan, Gary never seems to walk alone.

Confessions of a Sports Junkie

Sport - a particular activity (as an athletic game) so engaged in
Junkie - a person who derives inordinate pleasure from or who is dependent on something

Thus defined, a sports junkie would be an individual who is mad about playing sports. In terms of physical and mental health, this generally wouldn’t be considered such a bad thing.

In our society, however, the term has morphed into a description of an individual who is mad about watching sports, primarily on TV. A sports junkie is therefore some sort of extreme sports fan, as in fanatic.

Fanatic - marked by excessive enthusiasm and often intense uncritical devotion

One could certainly draw into question both the physical and mental health of just such a specimen. (For those interested in carrying out any scientific study, I would recommend doing so on February 3, when essentially the entire male population of Sports Junkies will be glued to their televisions and couches, gawking in awe at the Mecca of all Sports Junkie events – The Super Bowl. The much rarer female Sports Junkie may also be present, although sitings of the female are scarce indeed.)

I’ve never really thought of myself as a Sports Junkie, although a number of my close friends, especially my sister, would beg to differ. My thinking has been that I actually have other hobbies and activities that keep me occupied, so my entire life is not spent in front of the tube watching sports. In my mind, that makes me a casual sport watching enthusiast.

That said I’ve been known to watch 3 NFL football games in a row on a Sunday. Regardless of the fact that this is done as part of an exclusive “Haute Cuisine NFL” club, where we consume high end food and drink and discuss politics and philosophy while cheering on the Seattle Seahawks, some would say this makes me an addict, and thus a Sports Junkie. My sister finds the behavior appalling and in need of an intervention. I find it charming, amusing and quite, well, normal.

Nonetheless, an event occurred last night that I’m afraid leaves no doubt in the great Dave-as-Sports Junkie debate. For last night was the Men’s Semi-Final at the Australian Open. (That’s a tennis tournament for those of you not in the know, one of the four major annual tournaments). It promised to be a memorable match, with Roger Federer, the world’s number 1 player, taking on his most likely eventual successor at that lofty designation, Novak Djokovic.

Federer has been number 1 for as long as anyone can remember, but Djokovic has been closing in on him; beating him in some minor tournaments, and challenging him at several majors. Last night’s match promised to be something special, and I was determined to watch it – live.

There was just one small complication. The Australian Open is held in, where else, Australia (Melbourne, to be exact). I live in Vancouver, Canada, where the live feed started at 12:30 in the wee hours of the morning. If I were a sane person, a “non-fanatic” as it were, I would have set the VCR and watched the match at some reasonable hour over the upcoming weekend.

But a true aficionado of sport is not satisfied with day-old product. No, a true fan needs to see the match as it happens, with no chance of finding out who won prior to watching the events unfold. It’s almost as if the knowledge that the combatants are actually engaged in competition as you watch means that you’re a part of it. Sure, you’re half way across the world as you jump and scream during set point, or gnaw your nails to the bone during a third set tie breaker, but that’s the excitement of watching sports on TV when it’s live. Doing the same to a taped version of the same event would just be silly. Right?

So last night as I went to bed around 11, I set the alarm for 1 AM and promptly fell asleep. It was rather difficult to shake off the cobwebs when the alarm pulled me out of a deep sleep, but I managed to find the match on TV and propped myself up to watch history unfold.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the five set marathon match I expected, but rather was a three set dismantling of the world’s number 1 by his younger opponent. There was some great tennis, but in the end, it was no contest. Djokovic had prevailed in less than three hours and the clock had yet to strike 4 AM. This was in its own way good news, because it meant that I could squeeze in another three hours of shut eye before my alarm would go off a second time, signifying it was time to get up and head to work. My late night sports watching plan didn’t seem so crazy after all.

There was just one small unforeseen problem. After the match I couldn’t sleep. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself otherwise, I was wide awake. Consequently, instead of merrily snoring away for the few hours I had left to do so, I all but finished reading Billy Bathgate, channel surfed and essentially watched the clock slowly march on towards dawn...

Thus, I am here before you to admit that, in certain cases and according to some people’s interpretation of the definition, I am indeed a Sports Junkie. I must be. The dark, puffy circles under my sunken eyes are a telltale sign, as is the incessant shaking of my hands and the odd head twitch I seem to have developed. My co-workers have been whispering about me all morning over at the water cooler. And, as with many other addictions, it has led to harder stuff. I’m currently on my third double espresso of the day. Sports Junkie, meet Coffee Junkie!

Dave's Top Ten for 2007

Wow! 2007 – What a great year for music! Paring down this year’s releases to ten titles was indeed a chore. After much deliberation, I used the “heavy rotation” method, which simply means I chose the albums that spent the most time in my CD player and on my iPod. The ten that made it to the top are listed below. A few of the releases that almost made the grade follow.
Here goes:

But wait, not so fast. First, an oversight from 2006 that deserves mention.
Bobby Bare Jr.'s Young Criminals Starvation League - The Longest Meow
The son of a country legend, Bobby Bare Jr. has a long and uneven catalogue, but with The Longest Meow, he has produced an offbeat, country tinged, heartfelt masterpiece. (OK, not quite a masterpiece, but it deserves a listen!)

Now, on with the main event!
The 2007 Top Ten (in no particular order…)

Blanche - Little Amber Bottles
The ultimate “evil twang” album. Film noir meets alt-country in a most tasty way.

Shearwater – Palo Santo
Rerecorded, repackaged and re-released for 2007, this sadly overlooked release from last year sounds even better now. Soaring tortured vocals, art house instrumentation – certainly not background music.

The White Stripes – Icky Thump
Clapton is God? Sorry Eric. Jack White IS God.

PJ Harvey – White Chalk
PJ strips it down to produce a haunting, keyboard dominated release. Best listened to well after dark by candlelight.

The National – Boxer
PASTE magazine’s top album of the year could very well be mine, too.

LCD Soundsystem - Sound of Silver
Hey North American Scum! James Murphy’s beats will have you dancing long into the night.

Great Lake Swimmers - Ongiara
I never thought anyone could “out folk” Iron and Wine, but Tony Dekker et al have done just that. In a word – gorgeous.

Eddie Vedder – Into The Wild
It appears Eddie has grow’d up, and we all benefit. A smart, mature effort highlighted by an incredibly addictive cover of Indio’s “Hard Sun”.

Oakley Hall – I’ll Follow You
NY’s Oakley Hall (Papa Crazee from Oneida) have released their finest country-rock-hoedown to date.

Spoon – Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga
The most accessible album yet from Austin’s indie darlings. They have all it takes to break into the mainstream, from tight edgy grooves to an extremely charismatic front man (Britt Daniel), but do they really want to?

Honorable Mentions:
Grinderman (Nick Cave)
Caribou – Andorra
Lee Hazlewood – Cake or Death (album title of the year)
Low – Drums and Guns
Queens of the Stoneage – Era Vulgaris
The Purrs – The Chemistry That Keeps Us Together
Heavy Trash – Going Way Out With Heavy Trash
Soundtrack – I’m Not There (Dylan Covers)
The Twilight Sad - Fourteen Autumns and Fifteen Winters

Airbound Again: Random Musings from Columbus

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is a metal detector. It therefore detects METAL. If you are wearing, carrying or otherwise have anything on your person that IS metal, it will detect it."
Yes, certainly patronizing, but then again, surprisingly effective!

You know you're flying a low cost airline when their slogan is "Hungry? Thirsty? Bring cash."

When was the last time the national security level, as designated by the Office of Homeland Security, set to something other than "orange"? I fly a lot, and I don't recall if there even are any other colors. As we are constantly reminded by annoying loudspeaker broadcasts, the orange designation indicates a "heightened" level of security due to an increased "threat". However, they neglect to elaborate on the exact nature of this threat, choosing instead to implore us to report any "suspicious activities" to airport personnel. Are we destined to remain in this state of orange for ever? I pine for the good old "mauve" days...

You know you're flying a low cost airline when they wait until your scheduled departure time has passed before informing you that your plane will be delayed by at least an hour.

I like Christmas carols.
This may come as a bit of a shock to you, given my track record of general disdain towards many of society's norms and traditions. But don't worry, it came as quite a shock to me, too. Let me explain.
As I sit in this airport waiting for a delayed departure, my fellow passengers and I are being inundated with Christmas music. Now, my first reaction to this invasion of my privacy was in keeping with my usual conditioned response to all things pertaining to Christmas, or as I prefer to call it, the greatest display of rampant unbridled consumerism known to mankind. This would explain the sneer on my face as carolers sang of mistletoe.
However, moments later as my thoughts wandered elsewhere, I was surprised to notice that a smile had appeared on my face. Upon further investigation I realized that the smile had nothing to do with something humorous, or was the result of some cute girl smiling at me (remember, I'm in an airport in Columbus, Ohio and school is out - any cute girls have left the state). No, the smile was the result of the Christmas Carols and there was nothing I could do about it.
"But why the smile?" I asked myself. "I hate Christmas Carols!"
Or do I? It's true, I really dislike Country stars crooning away about Bethlehem, and could certainly live without another Norman Rockwell styled muzak interpretation of a holiday standard.
But, the truth of the matter is that Christmas Carols make me think about my mother, and she LOVED Christmas, carols included. My mother was a woman who started planning for Christmas in February, and was buying little thoughtful gifts for people each year before spring had even sprung! And Mom loved to hum and sing along when Christmas carols started playing on radios and in malls (and probably in airports, too). They made her happy, and brought back memories of her family.
So, for this moment, I'm happy, too. And it's because of the memory of my mother, and yes, because of Christmas Carols.

2010 Olympic Mascots from Hell!

It was a very big day up here in Vancouver, host city to the 2010 Winter Olympics, for today was the day our esteemed Olympic organizers announced the official Mascots! That's right, just like every Wal-mart has its greeters, every Olympics have their Mascots.

For the 1988 Winter Olympics in Calgary it was the unforgettable "Hidy" and "Howdy", cowboy hat wearing polar bears that were conveniently mass produced into cuddly little stuffed toys for all the delegates to expense and bring home to their children. Sheer marketing brilliance!

Not to be outdone by our fellow Canadian Olympic city to the east, the 2010 Winter Olympics in Vancouver will have not one, not two, but three official mascots…and a marmot friend named Muk-Muk.

Each of the critters has a "west coast" feel. Miga the "sea bear" is a combination of an orca whale and the Kermode spirit bear. (What the...?!?) Quatchi's a sasquatch and Sumi is a mythical thunderbird spirit who loves to snowboard. Their side-kick is a marmot named Muk-Muk (thankfully not pictured here).

I can't say I've ever been more embarrassed to be a Vancouverite. Those "things" are absolutely horrific and we are so PC it's ridiculous. By trying to include every possible ethnic and spiritual group represented in BC we have created characters that are so ugly they will frighten small children!

But maybe it's not too late. Maybe we can quickly rescind those abhorrent characters and replace them with a single, all encompassing mascot that not only represents every PC cause we can think of, but also provides ample cuteness for the obligatory stuffed toy market.

And, of course, far be it from me to pass up an opportunity to make a suggestion. Here goes...

Let's scrap Miga, Quatchi, Sumi, (the damn Marmot, too), and produce a character that makes us all proud!

Yes, the new mascot should encompass:
West Coast Indian art,
Indian spirituality ('cause you just have to),
Japanese "anime" characters,
an Indian (from India) God or two,
some sort of Chinese letters,
a cutesy bit of West Coast pagan folklore (Sasquatch is good, Ogopogo would have done, too),
an Orca (what could be more West Coast, maybe a whale with eagle's wings?),
and most importantly we should stuff a joint in it's mouth to represent the true spirit of West Coast winter sports!

Now wouldn't that be much more applicable and child friendly?

And finally, maybe we could name our little beast something like, oh I don't know, how about Dave?

Who lives longer and why?

Discussion Topic Number 2: Article in the Economist claims that females live longer than males because males use up all their energy attracting, competing for, and hanging onto their women. That's the way it is in the animal kingdom, the article suggests, so that's gotta be the reason for the same in the human race. My response to a friend who sent me the article follows. Anyone else have anything to add?

So, the point is that women live longer than men because men use up all their energy chasing, and keeping, their women?!?
Apparently that's what we have learned by studying the animal kingdom, although for this specific subject animals represent an imperfect test group. Thus, the leaders of the study discussed in the economist feel that to prove the hypothesis they need to take those lessons learned from the animal kingdom and apply them to a test group that generally dies of old age, namely us. If humans show a trend whereby women outlive men, then it is somehow inverse proof that this is a relic of our animal ancestry.
Hmmm...
To prove their hypothesis scientifically, the next step should be to look at specific subsets of our human test group. We should compare generations of men who have married early and lived family life without much challenge (with respect to "defending" their women) from society, to generations of men who remained single longer, competed for a fair number of partners and so on. If there is a definitive age discrepancy between these subsets, then we may have something to help support their hypothesis.
Still, my guess is that in both groups men would still die younger, and at about the same average age. Why? Well if it's strictly a matter of we humans being animals, as put forward by the study, then it's simply "built in" and has nothing to do with our day to day lives as human beings.
I think that's bollocks. In my opinion there are two major factors as to why women outlive men:
1) physiology - Women's bodies are built to last longer than men's. Call it the child rearing factor.
2) life style - Men are dumb testosterone filled pigs. Many more of us are killed off in our teens trying to ride our bikes or cars over canyons. How many Darwin awards have you read that were about women? If we live through our teens, men tend to drink, eat poorly and generally take part in unhealthy activities to a much higher degree than our female counterparts, and we do it for many, many years. Just compare how long men spend on the toilet on a Sunday morning compared to women (and the lingering odors that follow) and you'll "catch my drift". Add up all that abuse on the male body and later in life it spells heart attack, stroke or whatever other ailment that finally does him in.
If there is any difference between the two male groups discussed earlier, it is probably that the longer one remains single, the more opportunity he has to do irreparable harm to his body, and perhaps that could lead to a slightly lower life expectancy. Now that's worth studying, although I suspect slinking out to the shed to avoid yet another badgering barrage from the spouse probably leads to some harmful habits as well, which would tend to even things out.
Either way, when it comes to the life expectancy competition, men don't stand a chance. Whether or not males in the animal kingdom exhibit the same pattern, perhaps due to competition for mates, really has no bearing. However, if we change the rules a little in our human test group, and call it a FUN competition, we men may actually come out ahead...

Where Will The Water Come From?

Hi all!
I've been having some interesting email discussions with friends over the last few days, and figured I'd share them with the Digglings in hopes of starting some virtual conversations.

The first topic results from the "state of emergency" declared by Georgia's governor with respect to water supply issues. I hold this topic close to my heart as it is a large part of what I have done in my career over the years.
So here goes, discussion topic number 1:

The US is literally f*cked when it comes to water supply issues.

The SW has been in trouble for years (too many people living in the desert for crying out loud!!!), Florida's problems have been well documented (as the Everglades rapidly dry up and what used to be Lake Okeechobee is presently on fire), and now places where water seemed plentiful are being affected, like Georgia. It should really come as no surprise because part of Florida's woes result from increased usage by those ahead of them, namely Georgia! The problem is simply moving upstream.

Now, I apologize for going all Naomi Klein on you here, but it is very much related to the "disaster politics" she refers to in her Harper's article last month. She describes the dismantling of public agencies and utilities that are in charge of basic infrastructure, things like highways, bridges and levees, and how private companies are now profiting from the resulting catastrophes. Consider the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina - the US contracted out even the most basic aspects of emergency recovery in New Orleans (they actually contracted the very contracting!) because the Federal Agencies are no longer equipped to do so.

Now some may suggest this is a good thing (profit and all that, I get it), however the well being of our precious natural resources, the ones that humankind relies upon for our survival, can not be left up to private enterprise. Corporate mandates do not include exemptions for the folks downstream. They don't involve putting a little something aside for a rainy day, or in this case for a day when the rains don't come.

The purpose of Federal and State water agencies is to oversee the use of water, and protect the resource. Unfortunately, they no longer have the money (which inevitably restricts their power) to do the job. The result is we see PGA golf courses being built in areas suffering from ten year droughts, and huge housing developments in similarly sensitive locations. Do this enough times and the result is the governor declaring a national water emergency for a state once famous for it's heavy rains.

Go figure.

9/11/07?!?

It's been a while since the Digglings had a political post, but for those of you who thrive on that sort of thing, the wait is over.

What follows is a short thread of correspondence resulting from a friend sending me one of those "In memory of all those slain in the twin towers on 9/11, pass this on to everyone you know, but if you don't care and don't stand for freedom, go ahead and delete it" emails. She sent the email asking "What do you think?" I responded to her, then got another friend to comment as well.
The exchanges are as follows. You'll note that my other friend is obviously much more level headed than me.

But first, the original message:

Thought you might be interested in this forgotten bit of information..........

It was 1987! At a lecture the other day they were playing an old news video of Lt.Col. Oliver North testifying at the Iran-Contra hearings during the Reagan Administration. There was Ollie in front of God and country getting the third degree, but what he said was stunning! He was being drilled by a senator; "Did you not recently spend close to $60,000 for a home security system?" Ollie replied, "Yes, I did, Sir." The senator continued, trying to get a laugh out of the audience, "Isn't that just a little excessive?" "No, sir," continued Ollie. "No? And why not?" the senator asked. "Because the lives of my family and I were threatened, sir." "Threatened? By whom?" the senator questioned. "By a terrorist, sir" Ollie answered. "Terrorist? What terrorist could possibly scare you that much?"
"His name is Osama bin Laden, sir" Ollie replied.
At this point the senator tried to repeat the name, but couldn't pronounce it, which most people back then probably couldn't. A couple of people laughed at the attempt. Then the senator continued. Why are you so afraid of this man?" the senator asked. "Because, sir, he is the most evil person alive that I know of", Ollie answered.
"And what do you recommend we do about him?" asked the senator. "Well, sir, if it was up to me, I would recommend that an assassin team be formed to eliminate him and his men from the face of the earth." The senator disagreed with this approach, and that was all that was shown of the clip.

By the way, that senator was Al Gore!

Also: Terrorist pilot Mohammed Atta blew up a bus in Israel in 1986. The Israelis captured, tried and imprisoned him. As part of the Oslo agreement with the Palestinians in 1993, Israel had to agree to release so-called "political prisoners." However, the Israelis would not release any with blood on their hands. The American President at the time, Bill Clinton, and his Secretary of State, Warren Christopher, "insisted" that all prisoners be released. Thus Mohammed Atta was freed and eventually thanked the US by flying an airplane into Tower One of the World Trade Center. This was reported by many of the American TV networks at the time that the terrorists were first identified. It was censored in the US from all later reports.

If you agree that the American public should be made aware of this fact, pass this on.
Subject: 9/11 Do Not Break - it is 3 years strong
This has not been broken since 9/11/01, please keep it going...This has been kept alive and moving since 9/11. In memory of all those who perished this morning; the passengers and the pilots on the United Air and AA flights, the workers in the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, and all the innocent bystanders. Our prayers go out to the friends and families of the deceased.
Send this to at least 10 people to show your support.
PLEASE DON'T BREAK IT!!!!!!

OK! OK! I get it. Pass it on already.

Oops. Sorry. Didn't mean to be so opinionated in my introduction. Still, couldn't help it.
Regardless, here's my response to my friend's question asking "What do you think?":

Hmmm...
What do I think of that?

Well, here goes:

I think that the Republicans should get it through their heads that 9/11 is over. Americans, and the rest of the world with them, will never forget the terrible events of that day. However, American political policies need to be based on something other than fear related to the twin towers.

I think that finding a way to somehow blame 9/11 on the Democrats is idiotic. Bill Clinton's sternest warning to George W when handing over the White House was to be wary of Osama Bin Laden. George went on record saying he was more concerned with Iraq.

I think the debacle of Iraq, and the blood of each dead or maimed soldier, should be slung like a noose around every Republican's neck. Marching into Afghanistan to depose a Taliban regime that was harboring Bin Laden and was in support of the 9/11 attacks? Yes, and that's why the international community supported those efforts. But, to deflect money, resources and lives into a misguided grab for oil in Iraq? That's abhorrent, and those behind it should be held accountable. Instead, they are all making big bucks off their stocks and royalties as the war machine profits the likes of Halliburton and Lockheed Martin. (Dick Cheney really is the Anti-Christ)

I think any senator who goes on record suggesting that we send an assassination team after a suspected terrorist is nuts. That's against international law, and can be prosecuted as such. Al Gore is no idiot. Poor little Ollie North IS AN IDIOT! Watch the entire hearings and tell me that he was intelligent or trustworthy. True, he was the fall guy for those who told him what to do, and that is unfortunate. But he's no saint or martyr, either.

I think the Israelis have an effective way of sneaking into "enemy" territory and killing individuals as they see fit. Perhaps that would have been an equally effective means of eliminating Bin Laden, but I doubt if that would have prevented 9/11. Besides, somehow justifying the bloodshed done in the name of Israeli "self defense" in order to defend current US efforts in the Middle East is naive and misguided.

And finally, I think that email propaganda such as this, much like the supposed boat brigade email claiming that John Kerry was practically a terrorist himself, is propagating hate and misconceptions to the minds of the gullible and moronic. Unfortunately, just such a message, one that continues to promote the concept of fear to the American people, can be surprisingly effective.

So, as you can see, I really don't have much of an opinion...

And finally, the much more appropriate and human response of a very good friend from the States:

I read the Osama bin Laden related message and reply. What a wonderful world this would be if there were only a handful of “bad guys” (as Republicans call them) and their motives and guilt were obvious and beyond question. But, of course, it is a dangerous oversimplification to think that, Wow, if somebody had followed Ollie’s advice then the world today would be shining and safe. BS. Oliver North was a criminal and an idiot. Should he have been “rubbed out” by people opposing his views? No.

My stand is that there are bad people in this world, evil ideas, dangerous cults, and destructive philosophies. There are also good people, positive ideas, productive groups, and constructive philosophies. There is also the gray area in between, where we have all ventured and where we continue to stumble into every now and again no matter how much we don’t want to. Assassination squads are evil, no matter who they target. Torture is evil, for whatever purpose. Killing and destruction in the name of promoting peace or in God’s name does not ring true. Yes, I believe in self defense and in people defending their values, but I also believe that people should lead by example and take care of each other. Take the high road, or at least strive to do so. Terrible situations and destructive people are always around us. They always will be. Sometimes they are us. Strive to be on the side that promotes kindness, not pain. But, be prepared to endure pain. It is part of life. That is my stand.

My Left Foot: Hobbling Through the ACL Festival

Fire Ants. I hate them.
Two weeks ago I didn’t even know what a fire ant was, but today, they’re at the top of my most hated list. Sure, there are other unpleasantries in life, like rope burn and slow drivers in the passing lane, but they don’t even come close.
Yup, fire ants. I hate them.

My first encounter with these nasty insects occurred several weeks ago while in Texas for the Austin City Limits (ACL) Festival. ACL is a huge music event hosted every year by the organizers of the TV show of the same name. The festivities are held in Zilker Park, a beautiful 15 acre green space located in central Austin, and include over 130 bands on seven stages in a three day weekend. I’ve been to the festival four years in a row and have seen some amazing bands. This year’s lineup promised to be equally impressive. For a music fan like me this is as good as it gets.
I love this festival.
I hate fire ants.

First on the agenda in Austin was to hook up with my buddy Scott and play a round of disc golf. Disc golf is an addictive activity (I can’t bring myself to call it a sport) that attracts primarily males in their 30s and 40s. Most of them are retired ultimate players whose bodies have finally cratered after years of hurling themselves about a field chasing Frisbees. Ultimate is a real sport, disc golf is kinda like shuffle board in comparison.

I met Scott and his friend Ken at the disc golf course on Wednesday evening. We stuffed the obligatory 12 or so beers into a cooler and teed off. The game of disc golf is similar to standard golf in that you direct an object, in this case a specialized Frisbee, towards a target some distance away. In golf the object is to get your ball into a hole. In disc golf, the target is a metal basket. The player has a specified number of throws to land the disc in the basket in order to make par.

About half way through the round of 18 holes my tee shot landed in some tall grass. The rule is that you play your next shot where the disc lands, so I stood in the grass, lined up my next throw and let it go. No sooner had I begun to stroll towards where the disc had landed than I found myself leaping about with sharp stings on my left feet. I looked down to see a bunch of little black ants feasting on my foot and ankle.

They were fire ants! One moment I had been blissfully strolling through the park, the next I launched my beer into the air and shrieked as a troop of these insidious little buggers attacked me in unison. Fire ants don’t bite randomly. That would give their victims a fighting chance. Instead, they have a remarkable ability to get in position and assault their victim at precisely the same instant.
It’s true. I looked it up on the Internet.

Fire ants also possess particularly odious venom that they inject into their prey. I looked that up, too. It’s a heinous toxin called alkaloid venom (piperidine). According to wikipedia “For humans, it produces a painful sting, which leaves a sensation similar to what one feels when he gets burned by fire — hence the name fire ant — and the aftereffects of the sting can be deadly to sensitive individuals.”

Are you ready for some foreshadowing? I’m a very sensitive guy.

None of that mattered to me Wednesday night on the golf course. I was a few beers into the round and intent on not completely embarrassing myself in front of my buddies. A few ant bites weren’t going to ruin my first evening in Austin. I hastily crushed all the ants I could see and stormed off after my disc.
At this stage I did not hate fire ants. I merely disliked them.

Thursday was a new day and with it came an opportunity to participate in a grand ole Texas tradition. Scott and some of his cohorts had scheduled a float on inner tubes down the “mighty” Guadalupe River, and they had invited some friends and me to join in the fun. I met up with Alec and Katherine, two other pals from Vancouver who were in town for ACL, and we went about getting geared up. (Of course in Texas “gearing up” means filling the car with beers.) The trauma of the fire ants and humiliation of being trounced on the disc golf course were already a distant memory.

Our drive to the Guadalupe wound through some beautiful Texas hill country between Austin and San Antonio. This year the region had been unseasonably rainy, so the shrubs and grass were as green as in springtime. As it turned out, the extra precipitation also resulted in spring water conditions for the Guadalupe. It was considerably higher than its usual September trickle. We were in for a fast, fun float.

We spent several idyllic hours drifting along the river bathed in hot sun, watching the beautiful limestone riverbanks go by, spotting turtles and, of course, swilling beer. Each of us (ten in total) had our own tube, and as a group we had two extra tubes with special bottoms on them for holding our beer coolers. These cooler tubes served as the center around which we tethered our individual tubes. We even had a mascot, as Kyle brought along his dachshund, stylishly outfitted in a wiener dog life preserver. These Texans certainly know how to float in style.
Time was of the essence for the drive back to Austin. After all, I had four tickets to see Spoon play a sold out show in a small club Thursday night. That’s right, I was about to embark on a three day, full-on music festival and was spending the night before it began by watching a live band!

Each year ACL gets under way at noon on Friday, and I’m there to welcome it like the old friend it has become. At least that’s normally where I am at noon on the opening Friday of ACL. This year there were slight complications, complications involving some rather irritated looking bites on my left foot. The bites had been uncomfortable on Thursday, but nothing that worried me. By Friday morning, however, the bites were worsening and my left foot was beginning to swell. So, instead of greeting the festival with my usual fervor, I spent the morning at a pharmacy getting antibiotic ointment and Band-Aids. This year I met ACL in a somewhat aggravated fashion at around 1 PM.
Most of my friends were already there, however, and I soon forgot about my increasing disdain for fire ants as we raised a round of Heinekens and headed off to see the first of many bands.

It’s one of things that make ACL so great; not only are there lots of bands to see and discover, but the outdoor stages are all easily accessible so you can see as many of the artists as you desire. Other festivals have long lines to get into venues, or are so crowded that it’s a hassle to move around. ACL overcomes this by limiting the total number of tickets to a manageable number, thus providing festival goers with the ability to run back and forth between stages to catch glimpses of different shows, even if they happen to be on simultaneously.
Friday’s musical line-up was full of old favorites as well as opportunities to see new bands. I managed to catch (in this order) Joseph Arthur, The Heartless Bastards, The Del McCoury Band (the king of Bluegrass with his band, all dressed in full suits despite the sweltering heat!), Bela Fleck and the Flecktones, Peter, Bjorn and John, Blonde Redhead, Crowded House (you’d have been singing along, too), LCD Soundsystem, Queens of the Stone Age and The Reverend Horton Heat. Despite all that coverage, I still missed some notables, including M.I.A., The Killers and Bjork.
The hi-light was certainly LCD Soundsystem. Their albums are primarily the heavy electronic musings of DJ/producer James Murphy, but their shows are 100% live interpretations played by a full band. The crowd bounced, danced and pumped the air through the entire set. Also of note was the Reverend, who seems to have found some new inspiration since the last few less spirited shows I’ve attended. The musical history that he and his band mates put together, including covers of Greensleeves, Bill Haley and Black Sabbath, was truly memorable.

It was dark and had been a long day. The festival was winding down, so we did what any sane group of exhausted concert goers who had just spent 8 hours in 100 degree heat would do – we hopped in a taxi and headed downtown to see another show. We were treated to a noisy, countrified set by Brooklyn’s Oakley Hall.

By Saturday morning, things were getting serious with my left foot. The throbbing had kept me awake throughout the night, and it was now noticeably larger and redder than its counterpart. I overheard some kids calling me “elephant man”. Several adults were somewhat more constructive, suggesting I should “get it looked at”. Well, the festival had hardly started and I was not going to be slowed by some stupid ant bites, so I iced my foot for a few hours by the hotel pool, and was back in Zilker Park by 3:00 to see Steve Earle.

Steve has become somewhat of a protesting troubadour these days, and his acoustic set was not lacking for anti-Bush sentiments. The line “Just another poor kid fightin’ in a rich man’s war” pretty well sums up his attitude. St. Vincent, a solo female artist who also plays in the Polyphonic Spree, came on next and had probably the best song title of any artist at the festival with “Jesus Saves, I Spend”. The only other notable for me from Saturday was Brooklyn’s Clap Your Hands, Say Yeah. Preferring more devilish topics, they had the crowd singing along and boogieing to such indie pop tunes as “Satan Said Dance”.

The reason for my somewhat limited music exposure on Saturday was that I was no longer running, or even briskly walking for that matter, between the stages. I had been reduced to a rather awkward looking hobble, which when paired with the bright red tree trunk that had replaced my left foot, really impressed the ladies. A visit to the festival medical tent had merely resulted in a few Benadryl tablets and a suggestion to lay down for a few hours with my foot elevated.

I took that advice (and the drugs) and headed into town that evening to see Queens of the Stone Age play an incredible gig at another intimate Austin club. It was a show I had been looking forward to for a long time and had bought the tickets months previously. Those nasty ant bites weren’t getting in the way of this one. My sister Beth chose not to go as she figured it would be a testosterone fest. She was right. As my buddy Dave put it, it was the first show he had attended where he felt small. He and I are both six feet tall and have seen countless shows, yet it was the first time either of us had struggled to see over the mass of bulky figures that pressed towards the stage in front of us. Still, it was a magnificent wall of sound produced by QOTSA that did not disappoint. The pharmaceuticals, the beers and the band had me completely oblivious to the state of my foot, at least until on the way out when one of the testosterone crowd lost his balance and stepped back onto it with his shit kickin’ cowboy boot. I literally cried my way home in the taxi.

Sunday promised probably the best line-up of any day at the festival, and everyone was ready for a full on ACL experience, everyone that is except for me. If my foot had looked gnarly on Saturday, Sunday morning it was, well, gross. We hummed and hawed about what to do about it until I insisted that the show must go on. So, we headed back to the park just in time to catch Yo La Tengo assaulting the crowd with a 13 minute guitar based dirge from their latest album “I Am Not Afraid Of You And I Will Beat Your Ass”. They are without question one of my favorite bands, partly because of how they effortlessly shift from this kind of noisy affront to silly pop tunes and even beautiful love songs. Their back catalogue is packed with more gems than Sonic Youth.

We took a quick peek at a thoughtful Irish singer songwriter named Fionn Regan before checking out another Brooklyn band, The National. For a band whose albums are characterized by slow, sometimes folky yet tortured songs about loss and struggle, their live show is surprisingly loud and powerful. The torment and angst are accompanied by frantic electric violin and heavy rhythm guitars. All of it is there to support a lead singer who literally leaves himself, body and soul, on stage. He was so exhausted after their set had finished we couldn’t imagine him performing another song.

Unfortunately, once The National was finished, so was I. As they had worked their way through the set, some tell-tale redness had started to work its way up my ankle. My sister had seen enough. She grabbed me by the ear and pulled me off to an emergency medical clinic. It was quite a heart warming show of concern for her brother (or complete exasperation with his stubbornness, I couldn’t tell) that she was prepared to give up her afternoon to accompany me to the emergency ward. She had only one stipulation – she had to be back to the festival in time to see Bloc Party at 4:30. Brotherly love has its bounds, after all.

There’s not much to report from the hospital visit, other than that the doctor’s first words when he saw my foot were “Ew! That’s pretty disgusting!” He diagnosed it as an allergic reaction to the bites that had turned into an infection from all the dirt and sweat encountered at the festival (and possibly from the Guadalupe River float). His recommendation was some heavy antibiotics and bed rest. He was not impressed when I asked him if it was a problem to get dirt in the dressing and bandages he had carefully applied. He knew where I was going with that, and replied “I guess that’s a choice you’ll have to make; it’s either your foot or your festival!”

Almost as if to spite me, he called the nurse and got her to stick a great big needle in my butt for a tetanus shot.

Solely to appease my sister, I agreed to accompany her back to the festival so that she’d arrive in time for Bloc Party. The sacrifices I have to make to preserve family ties – truly remarkable! We paid our cabbie an extra big tip and got to the park in record time. Sure enough, we had just found a good spot near the front as the band came on stage. Beth danced her face off and sang almost every word as I sort of swayed about and sweated.

Their performance was energetic as always, but I was tapped out. The rest of the evening is more or less a blur to me now. I seem to recall seeing some combination of Wilco, Regina Spektor and Ghostland Observatory, all from afar sitting in whatever reasonable facsimile to a chair that I could locate. With huge regrets and in a lot of pain, I hobbled out of ACL before the headliner, Bob Dylan and his band, had played a single note.

To add insult to injury (literally), that night a wonderful Austin artist named Alejandro Escovedo was performing a midnight set at the legendary "Continental Club" across the street from our hotel. The rest of the gang had a few more beers and went to see the show while I lay in my hotel room - mumbling, sweating and feeling much like Marlon Brando at the end of Apocalypse Now.

It was a memorable ACL, but not necessarily for all the right reasons. Monday morning found me in the airport on my way to San Diego, bandaged foot elevated for all to see and smell. I had begun to murmur in a slightly delirious fashion and would not have looked out of place with all the homeless folks in downtown Austin. The murmuring took on a regular pattern, almost mantra-like. If anyone had come close enough, they would have been able to make out the words as I repeated them over and over:
“Fire Ants. I hate them.”