Anyone who listened to five seconds of Dusty in Memphis
would never be able to watch American Idol
I received a letter yesterday announcing my acceptance into Mensa, the High IQ Society. About ten minutes later I started to wonder why I actually wanted to join in the first place. It must have solely been for the prestige and self-esteem boost, because looking at the Web site for the Delaware Valley Mensa chapter, where I will soon be moving, I see photos from their weekly meetings. A bunch of fuglies sitting at a round table in uncomfortable chairs, drinking warm soda from a 2-liter bottle someone brought. Perhaps there were also snacks someone made (I'm not going to post the link, that would be cruel. All you of sub-130 IQ, find it yourself!). I've had more fun at church youth group meetings. Seriously, it looks like I might enjoy my weekly staff meetings at my office job more. At least my office is full of very attractive people. My boss (I think she's my boss, it's hard to tell with the tiny amount of work I actually get done) is very cute, definitely the first cute boss I've ever had. Those office-sex fantasties (e.g. Boogie Nights
) have become frightfully relevant. OK, it doesn't go that far. I spend most of the day looking at blogs and thinking about music and lunch.
I apologize for the anti-American comment I made in the last blog. And you can tell I meant it, as I did not say "apologise." Lately I've been feeling like I don't want to live here, but there are many things about America and American music that I love. I suppose it's Simon and co. with their hip English music references, but even Simon lives within a couple hundred miles from me. Perhaps someone over in Europe could remind me why I'd rather be here, because I really feel this urge to leave to England and never come back. I need to go get in touch with my Anglo-Saxon roots. Visit somewhere dripping of history. Even living in the oldest city in America, I feel like this whole place popped up a few years before I got here.
I spent most of my teen years filling my head with music, and most of it was what I picked up out of Spin
and Rolling Stone
, a very biased view of indie rock (Spin's list of 100 Alternative Albums puts Pink Flag
highest of all limeys, at #12. Ever since college, I've flipped into the previously unexplored world of British Indie, and I've never looked back. My copy of Let it Be
is quite dusty indeed. Perhaps in upcoming entries there will be 100 Reasons why America Rules or 20 Best American Albums. I've got to get a little patriotic here. I really hate to be the kind of guy the right imagines all us lefties to be.
After having downloaded too much music over the past few months (years?) I decided to actually buy a CD. Hail to the Thief
, as it's too difficult trying to find a real copy of that on-line anyway. As soon as I get back to the office from the store, of course, I realize I've been had. Trying to understand Marcello's treasure map review, I pored over the liner notes. Something was amiss. Went to amazon.co.uk, and the cover's not the same! This is not the Queen's Radiohead album, it's a bloody American edition! Don't panik. No tracks have been removed or added or altered (I think...), it's just an issue of art. But still! Along with the obvious title, it's like they're trying to remind me every day that I live in this stupid country. I think my first album will have a UK edition with the same track listing but will only consist of white noise for 45 minutes.