Make it chemical chemical.

(with apologies to Pretty Girls Make Graves)
I picked up three new albums yesterday when my eMusic subscription reset:
I already know the Heartless Bastards album is awesome, and the LCD Soundsystem was a no-brainer (eMusic allows a certain number of downloaded songs, and that single LCDSS song that clocks in at 45 minutes…one download). The big question is the …Trail Of Dead album. Despite their last few not-great releases, they still have enough cred built up from Madonna and Source Tags And Codes that I’ll check them out. It’s running a 72 on Metacritic right now, so I gave it a shot. One or two songs in as I write this, it seems ok so far.
I also watched some movies lately — Quantum of Solace, I’m Not There and Poor Boy’s Game — but I don’t feel like writing about them. Not sure what that means…this blog is basically 50% me writing about movies and 50% me bloviating about politics or hockey or some such. Could it be that I’m all movie-d out? For your sake, I hope not; I don’t imagine you can take much more hockeytics.

Four years ago* I ripped all 487 of my CDs to MP3 files, loaded them on to my player and never bought another physical disc. Since then my music has been exclusively electronic: either in my pocket or streamed wirelessly out to the living room. I was reluctant to part with my CDs though. Because of storage constraints on players I had to rip everything at 128 bitrate, and wanted to keep the CDs around for the time when devices would allow me to store everything at 320, or better yet, lossless FLAC.
However, even boxed they’re taking up a ton of room in the closet, so I bought a couple of CD wallets the size of New York phone books and stripped all forty dozen from their jewel cases. I spent hours sorting them alphabetically (you can see the early stages of that above…each tower is a letter) and jamming them into the wallets. The jewel cases, and all the ‘album art’ therein, will soon go to be with jesus. The CDs will go back in to the closet, waiting for portable media storage Ragnarok.
* Exactly four years ago, actually. I didn’t realize this until I searched my blog for the post where I described taking the plunge, and noticed the date. Weird how that happened.
As my brother has been blogging, his wife surprised him by flying him to Ottawa for a long weekend with friends and, as an added surprise, Nellie and I. He flew back to England this evening; Nellie and I returned to Toronto yesterday. It was a fun few days for us. I’ve known many of his friends since 1996 when I lived there with him for the summer, and it was good to hang out with all of them again. It was good to see Ottawa again too; I’ve not been there in a while, but it still feels a little like home. Best of all, though, was getting to help celebrate my brother’s 40th birthday in such great circumstances.
Highlights: an awesome Porter flight to Ottawa; surprising (kinda) my brother at our hotel; the food and drink at the Wellington Gastropub, including the Beau’s and a 2005 Raymond Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon (also overheard a great Grant Lee Philips cover of Echo & The Bunnymen‘s “The Killing Moon” on the stereo there); getting silly (where exactly did “chicken sodomy” come from anyway?) and reliving some memories at a Royal Oak (warning: awful, obnoxious music embedded in site); struggling the next morning until I could get some sausage and toast into me at the Elgin Street Diner; Winterlude ice sculptures; marveling at just how far Lego has come since we were kids; awesome homemade pizzas at mblogler/imspycat‘s place; playing the Wii with the kiddies; breakfast at the Metropolitan Brasserie with our aunt (where we loudly berated the Senate, even as Art Eggleton dined next to us); more pizza and beer at the Prescott where people who used to work with my brother were invited out to see him (funnily enough, three of them walked up and started talking to me, thinking I was him…by the third I just said, “Hey, how are you? That’s Tim over there.”); cheap pub breakfast at the Aulde Dubliner in the market; walking (not skating…couldn’t be arsed) down the Rideau Canal to the hotel before flying home.
That’s obviously an abuse of the word “highlights” but it really was a great weekend. My biggest problem with it was that I got very, very sick. Saturday night I felt a cold coming on; by Sunday morning it was severe, and by Monday morning it was brutal. It kept me in bed most of Sunday, made me miserable for all of Monday, and made our plane’s descent into Toronto excruciating. But it could have been worse: I could’ve been sick the entire weekend, or worst of all, my brother might have been sick. So it all turned out for the best. I didn’t even mind the cold; chilly as it got, the sun stayed out most of the time.
It was a great weekend. I’m really glad I got to be part of it.
[UPDATE: Ooh, ooh, almost forgot: the brother and sister-in-law brought me some Pierre Marcolini chocolate from Belgium. Zowie.]
With America’s eyes (and the eyes of others here in Canada and around the world) focused squarely on Washington for Barack Obama’s inauguration, some have taken a break to wonder about outgoing President Bush’s legacy. By the way, I hereby declare “outgoing President Bush” to be the finest three-word combination in the English language.
Ahem.
Anyway, The Economist‘s take on the Bush years — entitled The Frat Boy Ships Out — is probably the best and most comprehensive yet.
Other facets of Mr Bush’s personality mixed with his vaulting ambition to undermine his presidency. Mr Bush is what the British call an inverted snob. A scion of one of America’s most powerful families, he is a devotee of sunbelt populism; a product of Yale and Harvard Business School, he is a scourge of eggheads. Mr Bush is a convert to an evangelical Christianity that emphasises emotion—particularly the intensely emotional experience of being born again—over ratiocination. He also styled himself, much like Reagan, as a decider rather than a details man; many people who met him were astonished by what they described as his “lack of inquisitiveness” and his general “passivity”.
This take in the Globe and Mail is hard to take seriously, as it asks the question ‘Has Bush been judged too soon?’ and turns for an answer to David Frum, Bush’s former speech writer, who may be just the tiniest bit biased — though no more so than the two quoted counterpoints: an historian at the James Baker Institute for Public Policy, and Jimmy Carter.
A failed presidency, two unfinished wars, an economic mess unmatched in decades, America’s reputation sullied and most of his party, the nation and the world glad to see the back of him. When George W. Bush boards the big blue-and-white Boeing 747 that will fly him back to Texas tomorrow, the conventional wisdom will deem him among the worst of presidents.
…
Yet history tends to soften the harshest of early judgments. Even Richard Nixon, who after the Watergate scandal became the only president ever to resign in disgrace, has been partially rehabilitated by the passage of time and sober second thought.
Could it happen to Mr. Bush?
His admirers think so. Former Bush speechwriter David Frum expects the “assessment of history will be surprisingly positive.”
It all turns on Iraq, which far more than the economy, hurricane Katrina or anything else defines the Bush presidency.
I think that to hang Bush’s legacy solely on Iraq is wishful thinking, a hope I’ve heard repeated elsewhere among Republicans and conservative commentators. This seems less about logic than it does about pinning all hope for Bush’s reputation on his one endeavour that may have a fighting chance at turning out well. I actually think that, over time, Bush’s handling of Katrina will become even more damaging to his legacy…that he ineptly presided over the worst natural disaster in his country’s history will haunt him for decades.
However, what Bush may eventually be best known for bungling is the economy, and the infallible reputation of capitalism he inherited from past presidents like his father and, most especially, his hero Ronald Reagan. As The Economist puts it:
Finally, Mr Bush also demonstrated the limits of capitalist triumphalism. The Bush administration was as business-friendly as any in American history: Mr Bush was the first president with an MBA (from Harvard) and he appointed four CEOs to his cabinet, more than any previous president. The administration was also wedded to the fundamental tenets of Reaganomics: cut taxes and free the supply side and everything else will take care of itself. Mr Cheney even argued explicitly that “Reagan taught us that deficits don’t matter.”
Mr Bush now leaves behind a tax system in some ways less efficient than the one he inherited, in need of annual patches, and unable to fund the government even in good times. He also leaves behind a broken budget process. Any economic triumphalism is long gone. Many of the CEOs, most notably Donald Rumsfeld and Paul O’Neill, proved to be dismal administrators. Reaganomics helped to produce a giant deficit. The financial crisis has made re-regulation rather than deregulation the mantra in Washington, while government has acquired a much bigger role in the economy through its backing of banks and car companies.
“I inherited a recession, I’m ending on a recession,” he noted at his press conference on January 12th. He wasn’t asking for pity, only to be judged on what happened in between. Unfortunately, that economic legacy is littered with wasted opportunity, bad judgments and politicised policy. The budget surplus he inherited is now a deficit, the fiscal hole in America’s retiree programmes is bigger than ever, the tax system is an unstable, patched-up mess.
All that to say, he was a rubbish president. Good riddance. To put a soundtrack on this trip down memory lane, here’s my favourite story so far about Bush’s legacy: Eight Years Gone, in which blogger (and rock god) Carrie Brownstein lists
the music that arose during the last eight years — the bands and songs that wrestled with the fear, uncertainty, disenchantment and frustration that for many people defined the Bush era and the events that unfolded during his tenure.
My favourite song from her list was Bright Eyes‘ performance of “When The President Talks To God” on the Tonight Show, a sharp and caustic swing at the man Conor Oberst could scarely believe was leading his country, in the Dylan-est moment of his somewhat Dylan-ish career. If you haven’t heard it, you can hear it over at YouTube. Listen to it. Listen, and heave a sigh of relief.
As my brother did (we were both supposed to do it the same day…or so he thought…it’s a long story) back in December, I’ve narrowed my list of favourite songs from 2008 down to 33. The number’s part of the long story, don’t ask.
I actually took a rough stab at ranking them too, though I’ll no doubt change my mind next week.
The first time I heard that Constantines song I pulled it out of the playlist and listened to it on repeat. I couldn’t stop listening. It was never not my favourite song of the year.
OK, I think I’ve now listened to all the music I need to make the call. Here are my ten favourite albums from 2008, in alphabetical order:
If I had to pick a favourite from that pile I’d probably say either Mates of State or The Constantines, but nothing really stood out.
By the way, even though Vampire Weekend‘s album technically dropped in 2008, I heard all their stuff in 2007 so I didn’t include it here.
There are few things as jarring as your elevator going wonky partway through your descent from a high floor. Yesterday Nellie and I — and no one else, thankfully — were heading downstairs in one of our building’s elevators when, just passed the fifth floor, we felt a wicked shimmy. Immediately the elevator ground to a halt and a loud buzzer went off. Alrighty then. I’ve been stuck in elevators before, and I understand enough about elevator safety features to know we weren’t going to plummet to our doom or anything, so after a few wary seconds of making sure we weren’t moving any further, I pressed the call button.
The person who answered told us she was notifying our security guard and calling the elevator company, who should be there in about ten minutes. Great. We chatted while we waited, wondering which floor we were on. Our security guard came up and yelled to us through the door to sit tight. Which we did. For thirty minutes. Security guy came back to check on us once in a while, and told us he’d been calling the elevator tech to get a move on, and he should be here soon. By this point I was getting kind of annoyed, and maybe a little hungry (I’d been on my way down for a croissant) so I hit the call button again. I explained that it’d been half an hour, and where the ass was this technician anyway, Hamilton? This guy put me on hold — I’ll get back to that in a second — and came back on to tell me the tech was fifteen minutes away, blah blah blah, whatever. I asked him if he could do anything to speed things up and he just gave me a party line scripted answer that no, wait for the tech, he’ll be there shortly, wank wank wank. He was being so dismissive that I think I called him a jerk-off.
After about ten minutes (not fifteen! under-promise/over-deliver works hurrah!) security guy yells through the door that the tech has arrived, he’s gone to fix something, all should be well soon. Moments later the elevator starts moving. Up. Goddammit, I just want a croissant! Whatever. It goes to the 22nd floor…kind of random, sez I, since this is neither our destination nor the floor we came from. We get off to find a crowd of people, not knowing this is an accursed elevator, about to get on. We warn them that this elevator might not really be in fighting trim right now, and to send it away. They do, and we walk home to have pancakes instead. All’s well, we call security guy to thank him, and burn a tiny effigy of ThyssenKrupp‘s headquarters. After all, it’s not as if this is the first problem we’ve had with our elevators…they’ve ranged from quirky (doors don’t open for 60 seconds sometimes) to completely inoperative (leading to massive lineups, delays and kvetching) ever since we moved in. It’s probably been the biggest common complaint I’ve heard from other owners, and it sounds as if we’re not the first people to be trapped like this…security guy knew the drill well enough to ask for our suite number because he figured the chairman of the condo board would probably want to give us a call.
Anyway, back to the hold music: this might have been the worst part. I should point out that I don’t think Thyssen-Krupp owns the call centre where my elevator call terminated…it sounded like a security company who then contacts the elevator tech, but the operators certainly know the calls are coming from people trapped in elevators. I know the ins and outs of call centre mechanics well enough to know that putting people on hold is unavoidable, so I don’t mind it like some people do, but here’s the thing: there are times when hold music doesn’t make sense. I wasn’t calling to ask about your store hours, I was calling because I was trapped in a steel box suspended 60 feet off the ground. In such a situation I do not need to hear — and I am not making this up — a tinkly Muzak version of “Love Lifts Us Up Where We Belong”. I would like to hear beeping, or an occasional voice telling me someone would be right with me, or something else that suggests urgency on the part of the people tasked with getting me out of said dangling box, not the instrumental dreck I’d expect if I called Sears to buy an ottoman.
Now, about that croissant…
Ooh, fun. The CBC has given us a task:
Starting next week, Canadians will collect some choice homegrown songs for the new president to groove to as he takes office Jan. 20.
CBC Radio 2 is calling on the public to take care of business, tune-wise – to help select 49 songs from north of the 49th parallel that best represent the northern nation.
I didn’t bother reading all the comments. I’m sure the songs widely believed to define Canada were mentioned…”Helpless” by Neil Young, “The Canadian Railroad Trilogy” by Gordon Lightfoot and (Lord help us) “The Hockey Song” by Stompin’ Tom Connors, to name a few.
I’d suggest something less obvious but spectacularly Canadian: “Queer” by The Rheostatics. It mentions hockey and Kodiaks and family strife and gayness and a prototypically Canadian town (Salmon Arm)…how much more Canadian can you get?
Anyone else have any suggestions?
A little over a week ago I blogged about my 50 favourite songs of all time. A few days later my brother Tim did the same. When I showed my father our lists he immediately felt a compulsion to make his own list, to the point where he’d wake up in the middle of the night thinking about a song, and have to write it down before he forgot. He’s finally managed to narrow it down to a clean 50, which I’ve posted here in alphabetical order. Observations about the three lists follow below.
What I see by looking at all three lists:
Artists
Songs
Three clear messages emerge: