The Daily Procrastinator

Our name says it all.  We are committed to procrastination.  And, in the spirit of procrastination, we will be taking the month of July off.  Some would call it a vacation.  We call it summer procrastination.

Wish you were here.

We’ll be back on August 1 with the “What’s TallGirl Drinking?” tour of the beers of Germany.  I’ll be taking detailed notes and will do my best to arrange for daily updates, internet connection permitting.

Until then, enjoy your Fourth of July celebrations, stay cool and please, follow our lead and don’t work too hard.

The past week has been a sad one, procrastinators. On June 23, Ed McMahon died at age 86 of various health problems related to his age. On June 25, Farrah Fawcett succumbed to her three year battle with cancer at age 62. Just hours later, pop icon and worldwide cultural phenomenon Michael Jackson was rushed to UCLA Medical Center, where he was pronounced dead of cardiac arrest at the age of 50. On June 28, television pitchman Billy Mays was found dead in his home with no apparent cause of death. He, too, was just 50 years old.

He was probably the greatest sidekick of all time.

This string of tragic headlines really has me thinking. Each of the four celebrities who went on to reap his or her reward this week affected my life in one way or another. The one I remember being aware of first is Ed McMahon. When I was a little boy, my mom loved to watch The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. I remember the rare occasions, usually during summer vacation, when Mom would allow me to sit beside her and watch the show. I always loved to listen to Ed McMahon laugh at Johnny’s jokes. He had the kind of laugh that spread to other people. My mother would sit and chuckle softly, trying not to wake my dad or younger brothers, while Johnny and Ed bantered back and forth. Being allowed to sit up and watch The Tonight Show with my mom was one of the first “big kid” privileges I ever earned. It was Mom’s silent acknowledgment that I was growing up. When Johnny Carson died a few years back, I felt a small part of this childhood memory slip away. Now that Ed McMahon is gone, as well, another small piece of my life has transitioned from dynamic reality to a crystallized memory.

Although the height of her popularity was a little before my time, I know that Farrah Fawcett was the sex symbol for guys my age and just a little older. Starting with her portrayal of Jill Munroe on Charlie’s Angels in 1976, Fawcett’s smile, and her hairstyle, became a mainstay of American pop culture. From television, she graduated to starring in feature films, most memorably1984’s The Burning Bed.

This 1976 photo is the world's best-selling pin-up.

This is where my memory of her begins. I can’t recall if it was in public school or CCD (that’s Bible study for kids, in the Catholic church), but I know that I watched The Burning Bed in a classroom somewhere as an example of the horrors of domestic abuse. I must say that it has stuck with me. I remember the lights coming on in the classroom after the credits rolled and all the students sitting dumbstruck. Many things go into the formation of an adult, and my father was certainly the most important influence on the way I undersand the way men should treat women. The Burning Bed is probably next on the list. The horror and sympathy I felt while watching Farrah Fawcett struggle against her abusive husband made a lasting impression on me. I’m sure that watching the movie at a young age added to the effect, but that’s how formative experiences happen. You just have to be in the right place at the right time.

If Farrah Fawcett was a little before my time, Michael Jackson was my time. Every kid I knew had a copy of Thriller. The lucky ones had it on newfangled cassette tapes. We listened to it on our boomboxes, cruised to it at the roller rink (although I never could skate),  swam to it in backyard pools, and danced to it in the middle-school gym. In fact, to this day, I can’t help dancing to pretty much any track from Thriller when it plays at wedding receptions. We didn’t have MTV at my house, but when Michael made appearances on network TV, I remember being absolutely fascinated at his unmistakable style of dancing. When I

Michael Jackson, as my generation remembers him best.

heard that he had died, I watched some live performances on YouTube out of a sense of nostalgia. It turns out that I’m still mystified at the way Jacko could dance. My body just can’t do that. In the years after his musical superstardom, I watched with the rest of the world as Michael Jackson faced one struggle after another. Financial missteps, public relations nightmares, criminal accusations, ill-advised surgeries, and tabloid headlines plagued him for years. Over the course of just a few years, he fell from the top of the world to the depths of public disdain. No other single person has served as more of an example to teach me never to take anything for granted. Anyone can fall from grace at any time.

Just when it seemed that the odd phenomenon of celebrities passing away in threes had been fulfilled, the pattern was broken by the death of Billy Mays, who most people know simply as “The Oxy-Clean Guy” or “The Guy Who Shouts About The Products He Sells.” Although he may not have been as major a contributor to American popular culture as Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, or Michael Jackson, he was no less recognizable, and he probably got considerably more face time on television than any of the other three, in the past few years. If Ed McMahon serves as a memory of my young life, and Farrah Fawcett is tied to one of the formative experiences that helped define the way I view male/female relationships, and Michael

That's the smile of a very determined fellow.

Jackson was not only the soundtrack of my childhood but also a case-in-point lesson about appreciating the good things in my life, what possible difference could a guy like Billy Mays make? After all, I never bought Oxy-Clean, Mighty Putty, or the Quick-Chop. Simply put, he was a model of determination. The products he sold to midday television viewers weren’t especially useful. Nor were they especially life-changing. Billy Mays knew his job, though, and he dedicated serious energy to completing it. Never for a moment did a person viewing one of his infomercials doubt that he believed 100% in the stuff he was hawking. Granted, he got paid to look that way on television, but who among us couldn’t use a little more firm determination in our lives and wholehearted belief in our work?

A good friend of mine, while discussing this week’s string of celebrity deaths, said that the only thing she takes away from them is the reminder that she’s getting older. I think there’s a little more to it than that. As each of these people fades from a living person in my world to a memory of a person past, I’m reminded that everyone–everyone–has something to teach me. Whether they’re teaching us about ourselves, giving us examples of who we should be (or not be), or simply modeling an admirable trait, celebrities are really just regular people put on display. They work like we do. They get ill and grow old like we do. They rise to great heights like we do, and they fall to terrible depths like we do. They’re more than just faces on the television. They’re lives lived publically so that we can watch their experiences and learn from them. I hope that I, and you, my fellow procrastinators, learned a thing or two from Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, and Billy Mays. May they all rest peacefully.

Readers, you will laugh at this: I just got my first video game system. Ever. How I find myself hanging with the crowd on this blog is a mystery to me. Nevertheless, I am the proud new owner of a Wii, and perhaps even more exciting, a Wii Fit.

Where are the sweaty users, collapsed in a heap on the floor?

The Wii Fit package features four happy people doing exercises. They’re dressed in white, smiling and generally having a good time. And I’ll admit, the first time I tried the Wii Fit at a relative’s house, I felt the same way. I had loads of fun as I stood there in my street clothes and bare feet, going through the motions without breaking a sweat.

And then I got one for my birthday.

Now, let’s set the stage for this. I work out between four and six days each week, depending on my schedule. I used to own a Pilates and yoga studio. My blood pressure is low, my cholesterol rocks, my BMI is awesome. I’ve done two half marathons in the last two years. I am the sort of person who takes their exercising seriously. Today, I tried the system out at home for the first time, wearing workout clothes and really doing the exercises.

The Wii Fit kicked my ass.

There’s no other way to explain it. I went through the poses one by one, Yoga section first. Breathing? Check. Half Moon? Check. Warrior? Bring it on. But then I got to the Strength exercises. Holy Christmas! The Push-Up and Plank? Brutal! Jackknife, done in pace with the whistle? Stunningly hard.

It wasn’t long before I was huffing and puffing and breaking a sweat. And don’t let the “fun stuff” fool you. The Aerobics and Balance Games may look easy, but it doesn’t take long before you’re pretty much wiped out. As I turned off the console and collapsed on the couch, I couldn’t believe how much of a workout I’d gotten from a video game. And I can’t wait until tomorrow to try again and hopefully beat my scores from today.

Greetings, procrastinators! I have returned from my foray into The Great White North! I hope all of you have been well in my absence. Now that my vacation is over, I can return to procrastinating, full-time. For starters, I want to tell you about a book I read (sort of) on my trip.

Nineteen hours each way is a LONG time to drive, and staying awake can be a bit of a challenge, since I like to drive straight through rather than lose vacation time by splitting the drive over two days. In the past, I’ve taken big stacks of music CDs, reserving the loudest and angriest ones for the last few hours of the drive. This strategy worked fine, but my mother was starting to get concerned that I always showed up at her house muttering about “Cowboys From Hell” or a “South Texas Deathride.” In an effort to stay awake without getting all hopped up on music that scares children, I decided to make the drive with an audiobook this time. It was a good call.

It just LOOKS good.

The Geographer’s Library by John Fasman is a 384-page tome in its hardcover incarnation, and it’s over 15 hours long as an audiobook. Honestly, this is why I chose it. I needed a book for a long drive. Considering that my selection was simply based on the length of the book, I feel that I got extraordinarily lucky. The Geographer’s Library is a remarkable, interesting, complex historical novel.

The book centers on two main plotlines. The first involves a Spanish Muslim cartographer, historian, and linguist named Al-Idrisi who served King Roger of Sicily in the 1150s. Al-Idrisi devoted considerable time and energy to collect fifteen priceless artifacts from all over the world, each of which was thought to be vital to the art of alchemy. Before he could fully understand their powers, though, the entire collection was stolen, and the individual objects  found their way to all corners of the world over the course of centuries.

Enter Paul Tomm, a journalist working for a small-town newspaper. When he is assigned to write a simple obituary for oddball university professor Jaan Puhapaev, his simple questions about the man’s life soon reveal that Puhapaev may not have been the man everyone thought he was. In fact, it seems he’d been trying to reassemble Al-Idrisi’s collection. But why?

Between these two storylines lie the individual tales of each artifact as they are bought, sold, stolen, and killed for throughout the course of history. Each one is an intriguing plot unto itself. Fasman’s descriptions of exotic settings throughout the Old World make these chapters especially rewarding to read.

Although I’m caught up in praising the book, I will say that The Geographer’s Library is not an easy read. I think that listening to it while I drove, which is far more passive than actually reading the book, probably simplified the process for me. I imagine that reading it might be a bit slow in some passages. Nonetheless, for readers who appreciate a remarkably well-written and researched book, I highly recommend Fasman’s tome. Imagine The DaVinci Code more intelligently written and without inflammatory intentions. I’m going to buy a hardcover copy of The Geographer’s Library for my bookshelf, and you should, too.

It's a beautiful day for a new era in baseball.

Fans, rejoice!  Donald Fehr, head of the MLBPA, is resigning.  As the head of the union, Fehr has done his best to drag the sport through the mud with his campaigning against tougher drug policies in the sport.  And we all know how well that worked out, right A-Rod and Manny?

Now, if we can just get Bud Selig to join him, maybe there will be some hope for saving the sport for future generations.

Don't call her TallGirl . . . Call her BEER GIRL!

Dear Internet, I am hereby preparing you for a future event.  In six weeks I’ll be departing for Germany for two weeks of sightseeing and, of course, beer.

It is my heartfelt desire that you can share in this experience with me.  How?  I, TallGirl, will take it upon myself to sample as many German beers as I possibly can and report these results back to you, our loyal readers.

I’ve found a list to get me started, but let’s be honest: these beers were probably reviewed by beer aficionados.  These are the kind of people, like wine people, who can detect notes of clove or banana or the mint plant on a neighboring farm.  I am not one of these people.  My reviews will be much simpler, highlighting drinkability and enjoyment.

So keep your eyes open starting August 1 for this valuable public service, only from The Daily Procrastinator.

I’ve been a big fan of the Greatest American Rock Band series from FlashCap, but because I’m a writer, I struggle with listening to music with vocals while I’m working, especially music that I know the words to.  None of my clients want the lyrics to “Hot for Teacher” interspersed with their web content.

Therefore, I present to you my favorite mellow music: Acoustik Guitar by John H. Clarke.  This guy is good.  Period.

Watch him play via YouTube.  Trust me, it’s worth a moment of your time.

Recently, I went for my first visit to the new Yankee Stadium in the Bronx. Say what you will about the excess of the Yankees, but it’s really quite a lovely stadium. It’s the kind of stadium that you would build if you wanted to remain true to the old structure, but with modern amenities and an endless budget.

And yet, there’s something about seeing the old Yankee Stadium, a hollow shell of its former self, that leaves me saddened for the parks of the past. These new “classic” parks are nice, but they can’t hold a candle to Fenway or my beloved Wrigley Field for sheer atmosphere. 

No ballpark has more character than Wrigley, with its ivy-covered brick wall.

Even though the new Citizens Bank Park in Philadelphia is lovely — dramatically better than the nondescript concrete donut that was The Vet – a lifetime of season tickets left me with a soft spot for its sights, smells… hell, even its Astroturf. I miss those horrible chocolate brown seats that burned the backs of my legs at every day game. I miss Cheryl selling peanuts. I miss the guy who shouted, “Everybody hits, woo-hoo!”

But what I miss, more than anything, was the accessibility of the old ballparks. Fenway and Wrigley aren’t awash in luxury boxes, seat licenses and empty premium seats like the new Yankee Stadium is. They’re parks for the fans. And no rebuilt park, with fancy concessions and corporate seating, will ever capture that feeling.

Let’s face it, almost any “greatest band ever” list ends up with the Beatles. Or Led Zeppelin, depending on what year it is and whether BRP had a say in it. To avoid this, the DP is going to add another adjective to the list, AMERICAN, and count down the top seven American Rock Bands (take that, you limey bastards!).

So here we are: the final 2.  Who will be the DP’s greatest American Rock…Ah, who are we kidding?  You’re not reading this, you’ve already scrolled down to see the results.  So here we go:

#2: Creedence Clearwater Revival

Fogerty was wearing flannel before Pearl Jam made it hip.

The case for: Lynyrd Skynyrd might be the quintessential southern rock band, but that’s only because the guys from CCR hail from San Francisco.  That’s right, the band that brought you swamp rockers like “Born on the Bayou” and “Bad Moon Rising” were actually west coast hippies.  From 1967 to 1972, CCR  ruled the airwaves with hit after hit, not only talking about women with songs like “Susie Q” and “Sweet Hitch-Hiker”, but also making social commentary with rockers like “Fortunate Son.” And you can’t tell me you don’t crank that one whenever you hear it – if you don’t, you can feel free to go back to your Yanni.

A few bullet points underscoring CCR’s No. 2 ranking:

- CCR was at Woodstock, though nobody remembers that because the Grateful Dead played forever, putting everyone to sleep,  and CCR ended up taking the stage at 3 IN THE MORNING.

- “Proud Mary” is CCR’s song, not Tina Turner’s.  Yeah, we said it.

- “Travelin’ Band” was a precursor to practically every other song about a band hitting the road  (e.g., Bob Seger’s “Turn the Page”; Boston’s “Rock and Roll Band”; Slayer’s “Raining Blood”).

The band would later break up due to internal problems between the members, which would influence other rock lead singers to act like jerks (yeah, Axl, I’m looking at you).  John Fogerty has a somewhat successful solo career, though for the longest time he refused to play CCR songs during live shows, leading me to believe that his live shows were HUGE disappointments.  Above all, CCR had RANGE, and produced some of the most memorable rock hits during their time.

But now it’s time for the GREATEST AMERICAN ROCK BAND:

#1:

Balls Out Rock.

Van Halen is THE American Rock Band.  Hedonistic and untamed, Eddie’s wild in-your-face guitar work and David Lee Roth’s showmanship would pave the way for many of the later 80s rock acts (including our #4 Guns N Roses).  Simply put,  without Van Halen, the 80s American rock era doesn’t happen, and then what would Pearl Jam (the DP’s #5) and Nirvana have to react against?  From their eponymous first album, Van Halen declared the rules for rock had changed, and disaffected youth would never be the same.  Look at the track listing for their first: “Runnin’ With the Devil”, “Eruption/You Really Got Me”, “Ain’t Talkin’ ’bout Love”, “I’m the One”, “Jamie’s Cryin”, “Feel Your Love Tonight”.  Hell, it might as well be the soundtrack to the Camaro.

And Van Halen was no one-album wonder.  The cleverly titled Van Halen II would give us “Beautiful Girls” and “Dance the Night Away” and more Eddie and more FUN.  Van Halen epitomized the rock lifestyle and attitude, and never took themselves too seriously, particularly David Lee Roth.  Women and Children First came  next, then later Diver Down (their fourth album, Fair Warning was a weaker effort, although “Unchained” kicks ass).  Then, in 1984, Van Halen gave us their finest album, coincidentally titled 1984.

Try getting this cover approved today.

Practically every friggin’ song was a hit.  If you can’t name at least five of ‘em, you were either born after 1985 or  before 1950.

Then the fallout: different ideas about the group led David Lee Roth to go record some songs that became dated the week after Crazy From the Heat was released, and Eddie, Alex and Michael welcomed in the Red Rocker himself,  Sammy Hagar.  5150 (which produced one of our favorite VH songs, “5150″), OU812 and For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge (subtle!) were all massive commercial successes, and further cemented the fact that Van Halen was and is America’s premiere rock band.*

Of course, all good things must end.  Eddie managed to alienate Sammy who left the band to go manage his bar and continue his solo career while  Michael Anthony was unceremoniously (and unforgivably) bounced from the group for the baby-fat burdened Wolfgang.  But Van Halen is the epitome of what American rock is, and for its music, charisma, and influence on American rock, Van Halen is the DP’s choice for best American Rock Band.

*As much as some of us here at DP admire Gary Cherone/Extreme for their non-”More Than Words” work, we, like the Van Halens themselves, believe VHIII is better left ignored.

Let’s face it, almost any “greatest band ever” list ends up with the Beatles. Or Led Zeppelin, depending on what year it is and whether BRP had a say in it. To avoid this, the DP is going to add another adjective to the list, AMERICAN, and count down the top seven American Rock Bands (take that, you limey bastards!).

Yesterday saw the start of our countdown with Lynyrd Skynyrd coming in at number 7 and Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers edging the boys from the South at number 6. Now, on to number 5!

#5: Pearl Jam

"Mookie Blaylock" probably wouldn't have made our list. Fortunately, they changed the name.

The Case for: All apologies to Nirvana (get it?  HA!), but Pearl Jam is the best band to come out of the Seattle “grunge” scene in the early 1990s.  But there’s just one minor problem with that statement of fact:  Pearl Jam isn’t grunge.  They are as straight-forward rock and roll as anything America has produced.  They are America’s version of The Who (even in a sad way), an influence they wear proudly on their collective sleeve.

Listen to Ten again.  It literally washes over the listener like the waves Eddie surfed while coming up with the lyrics.   But Vs. is really their masterpiece, from the breakneck pace of “Go” through the omnipresent “Elderly Woman . . .”   They’ve also released at least 72 different live albums, setting a world record in the process.   Prolific bunch, these guys.

Why aren’t they higher on the list?: Pearl Jam kind of suffers from their early success.   “Jeremy” was done to death, and the band kind of removed themselves from the mainstream by becoming more experimental (to some, at least), daresay self-indulgent, on their subsequent studio albums.   Personally, I forgive them, but this list was compiled by committee, so what are you gonna do?

#4: Guns N Roses

The REAL Guns N Roses

The Case for: Appetite for Destruction. It is an album everyone knows and likely owns.  It is an album that damn near everyone can sing at least four songs by heart.  But most importantly, it is an album that has not grown tired.  “Welcome to the Jungle”.  “Mr. Brownstone”.  “Paradise City”.  “Sweet Child O’ Mine” (which, BTW, has probably one of the most perfectly song-suited solos ever).   This is one of the most re-listenable albums on Earth and likely extended the life of LA’s music scene (for better or worse) by a good 2 to 3 years.   Lies and the Use Your Illusion set round out the legend that is GnR, but Appetite set it in stone.

Why aren’t they higher on the list?: Two words for you:  Axl friggin’ Rose.  Spare me the arguments about why the breakup was all Slash’s fault.  Axl is the reason that Chinese Democracy 1) took 13 years to complete and release; and 2) was too much “Estranged” and not enough “Nightrain”. Thirteen years for THAT?  Yes, expectations are a bitch but damn, Axl, shouldn’t there have been more than one catchy song (“Better”)?

#3: Aerosmith

Not yet ready for their Permanent Vacation

The Case For: Are you kidding me? The real question is why aren’t these guys higher on the list (to be answered later). The boys from Boston have obviously given the world some of the most memorable and powerful rock and roll over the past 30 years, and to try and list some of their hits here would probably be insulting to you, our constant reader. Still, “Sweet Emotion“, “Mama Kin“, “Dream On“, “Walk This Way“, “Back in the Saddle“, and I probably haven’t named your favorite – their catalog goes on and on and on. Download “Toys in the Attic” and you’ll know.

Why aren’t they higher on the list?: Honestly, the case could be made that Aerosmith is the premiere rock band of the United States. But you could also argue that they’re now a watered-down version of themselves, content with writing bluesy rock ballads to be played in Michael Bay action movies and cranking out a mediocre album every few years. They haven’t really had a good album since “Pump”. But hasn’t Aerosmith paid its dues? Shouldn’t they be allowed to take it easy now that they’ve achieved rock god status? NOPE, and here’s why:

Aerosmith is still karma-deficient for being involved in this Bee Gees focused tripe. THE BEE GEES!

Tomorrow: THE TWO BEST AMERICAN ROCK BANDS…EVER!