brainsplotch

It's cold here. Bitter cold, single-digit cold. don't-want-to-leave-the-house cold. This is the craziest, snowiest, iciest, coldest winter I can remember. But then again, winters tend to blend together into one big winter and none of them ever really stand out after awhile. If you were to ask me what the winter of, say, 2006 was like, I couldn't tell you. I have no recollection of it. Anyway, this winter has put a serious crimp on my running regimen. I haven't run since Sunday afternoon and I feel as if I'm already turning into a slug. I don't normally go more than two days without running and now it's been four days. It's just too damned cold to go outside and do anything, and the only time I can run during the weekdays is when the sun is down--and there's no may I'm running when it's dark and the temperature is in the single digits. I may have to wait until Friday afternoon to run again, as I'll have some time during sunlight hour...

(The first in my series of Tragically Hip album overviews, in which I investigate the discography of this criminally undervalued Canadian band). A long time ago, I mentioned that I wanted, at some point, to write in detail about one of my favorite--or favourite --bands, The Tragically Hip (hereafter referred to merely as "The Hip"). The Hip, as I've already mentioned here, are practically a national institution in their native Canada, but have only achieved cult status in the States (if that's an accurate description for how the band is viewed here--I really don't know). I should mention that I've only been a Hip fan since 2006, and am not as intimately familiar with the band's history as their more hardcore fans north of the border (or even some here in the States, for that matter). Also, since many of the Hip's lyrics relate to specific aspects of Canadian history and culture, I'll only engage in lyrical analysis if I feel comfortable in ...

This is my last post of the year in what has been a slow year on the Brainsplotch blog. This is the fewest number of posts I've written since I started the blog in 2008. I have to admit that most of my blogging energy has been spent on my other blog, Treasures from the Spartan Attic . With the MSU football team in the Rose Bowl, that blog has been more enjoyable to write to be quite honest. On a personal front, we just "survived" the worst ice storm I've ever seen in these parts. Our house was without power for almost four days, but we had it easy compared to some people I know. A few of my local friends had their power restored as late as yesterday. As the expression goes, "first world problems." Needless to say, it made for an interesting Christmas, as we celebrated the holiday in a stranger's house. We were lucky in that my in-laws (who also lost power) were able to move us all into a house in their neighborhood that still had power, and it just ...

I can't believe I haven't posted in here since October 28. Has it really been almost two months since Lou Reed died and I wrote my little salute? I was on vacation from November 22 through December 3. We went to the the Walt Disney World Resort in Florida and it was the first time I'd ever been there. I'd always had a hard time imagining what Disney World looked like, and was quite astounded by its immense size when I finally got there. For those who don't know this, Walt Disney World occupies 25,000 acres outside Orlando, Florida. It's land owned by Disney, and is essentially its own "Vatican City." It may as well be its own independent nation state. I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the experience. For one thing, I've never been to a place that operates with such seemingly effortless precision and efficiency. It's quite astounding. (I had a friend describe it quite succinctly as "benevolent fascism"). Yes, there's ...

The king of cool, Lou Reed (far left) with the Velvet Underground (and Nico) I don't know how much time I'll have to write tonight, but I wanted to get some thoughts in about Lou Reed, who is probably up in that great gig in the sky jamming with his fellow departed Velvet Underground bandmate Sterling Morrison. I'll just write extemporaneously, so bear with me. I'm sure this won't be nearly as eloquent as the many salutes and tributes I have already read in the two days, but I'll do my best. I know that I'd heard Lou Reed had a liver transplant and was probably not in the greatest health, but I was still shocked to learn, early yesterday afternoon, of his death. How fitting, and eerie, that he would die on the day of the week that he immortalized in song. I remember the exact date that I first time I heard the Velvet Underground. (I know that I had already heard Lou Reed via "Walk on the Wild Side").  It was Friday, November 7, 1986 and ...

The Tigers evened the ALCS at two games apiece last night. After another heartbreaking loss on Monday afternoon, Detroit came back to win last night in a game that wasn't quite as stressful as the previous three games in the series. Now, a word about the FOX broadcast crew of Joe Buck and Tim McCarver. I can't listen to those guys. Joe Buck is a droning windbag, and McCarver isn't much better. On Monday, I muted my television and turned on the radio so I could listen to the Tigers' broadcast team of Dan Dickerson and Jim Price. Even though the radio broadcast didn't sync with the TV--the television broadcast was about five seconds or so behind the radio--it made for a much more pleasant experience. Listening to Dan and Jim was like listening in to a conversation between two old friends you've known for many years, and what makes it even better is that you know they're rooting for your team.  Joe Buck and Tim McCarver, on the other hand, are like blust...

I'm still not over it. Usually, my angst and upset over sports losses is reserved for Michigan State football or basketball, but this Detroit Tigers loss to Boston hurts almost as much as any setback the Spartans have had. I'm still trying to absorb the fact that the Tigers blew a 5-1 lead with two outs in the eight inning and lost 6-5 to the Red Sox, in the process completely wasting a brilliant Max Scherzer pitching performance. As great as Max was on the mound, the bottom of the eighth was a terrible nightmare from the deepest recesses of baseball Hell. I was so despondent and angry that I couldn't sleep until well after 1 o'clock AM, and whatever sleep I got was of the fitful variety. I know to some of you, this may sound completely ludicrous, but what can I say? I take this sports stuff pretty seriously sometimes. (Okay, maybe not quite as seriously as the mess our country is currently in--but damned close). I can barely listen to the replay of the David Or...