Occasionally, death is creepy

The phone rings Monday night and it's my mom.

Me: Hi, Mom.
Mom (excitedly, without pausing to say something like "Hello"): You going to the funeral?
Me (trying to remember if a relative or close friend had died in the previous 24 hours): Huh?
Mom: Michael Jackson's!

Oh. That.

Of course, I did think for a few minutes about entering the lottery for the KOP's memorial service, but despite my love for recently deceased individuals who I've never met, large crowds, driving to Dodger Stadium to wait in line for stuff, Los Angeles traffic made worse by widespread street closures, and things that are generally overwrought, I decided against it. Sounds crazy, I know, but I think the right time to get Michael Jackson tickets was actually about 25 years ago.

And so I determined to skip the big to-do at Staples Center yesterday. But like any good child of the 80s, I did tune in for some of the online coverage.

There were plenty of creepy moments, ranging from slightly uncomfortable to cringeworthy - I'm looking at you, singing-to-the-casket-Usher - but I especially liked these two (click to enlarge images):

1) Video Michael reaches out for a low-five from Brooke Shields.


2) City of Los Angeles asks mourners to kick in a little coin to pay for all of the city's hard work in shutting down most of downtown for a day - with the clever spin that it would give Jackson "the world-class memorial he deserves." Right.

Wilco (the photos)

If you've been paying attention, you've probably picked up a hint, here or there (or here) that my favorite (currently active*) music group is Wilco.

I have heard them perform live in four states (multiple times in Illinois, once each in Wisconsin and Washington, and now twice in California), which won't sound that impressive if you're into Phish or the Dead, but I can say with certainty that it's a personal best - and, thankfully that's three more than the number of states in which I've seen Huey Lewis and the News perform. (Landover, Md., 1986! Whoooee!)

I'm enough of a fan that I bought their newest album, which is cleverly titled "Wilco (the album)," despite the fact that before purchasing it, I had listened all the way through about four times and don't really like it. But, eh. It's Wilco - I'll like it eventually. Besides, the CD cover is a picture of a camel. That sort of hooked me. And, further evidence of my fan-hood (fan-ness?): In flagrant disregard of my already-overflowing T-shirt drawer, I now own three Wilco t-shirts.

The point is that I was fortunate enough to grab a seat - well, not a seat, actually, but a very small piece of standing room in between the chests, butts and elbows of fellow fans - for one of Wilco's three sold-out concerts at the Wiltern in Los Angeles a few weeks ago.

See, it says Sold Out right there on the marquee.


The performance was just fantastic - among the best shows I've seen them play. (Unless Laura is reading this. In which case: Laura, don't worry, it was terrible.) The songs from the new disc even sounded good - including a surprise Leslie Feist appearance for the duet "You and I" - and the band played several of my favorites, including California Stars, Pot Kettle Black, Passenger Side and A Shot in the Arm.

If I were feeling more enterprising, I'd post a video clip for you (I might add one later), but for now, I thought I'd share one of the only photos I took that actually came out alright. Here are Mikael Jorgensen, Jeff Tweedy, Glenn Kotche and John Stirratt in action. (Not pictured are Nels Cline and Pat Sansone, in case you're keeping track.)



I'm sorry you couldn't catch the concert with me. I'd suggest you make up for it with 3 minutes, 51 seconds of muscial excellence - my favorite Wilco song, Jesus Etc.

* To distinguish them from the Beatles, my favorite group in the half-of-the-band-is-now-dead category.

Half the battle

A few people I know insist that I'd feel healthier and have more energy - and, possibly, my trousers* would fit better - if I incorporated more fruits and veggies in my diet. I'm skeptical, and, frankly it seems a shame to just ignore the Taco Bell/KFC right down the street.

(Just wondering - do any of you ever go to one of those combo places and order "dinner" from Taco Bell and get "dessert" from KFC? I'd be impressed.)

Not only that, but now I'm hearing that the fruits and veggies they sell at my local grocery store probably are all contaminated with god knows what, and that it's almost not worth buying produce unless it's certified organic, free-range, locally grown, tenderly harvested, nuclear-free apples and strawberries and whatever.

Which is great, because if there's anything in this world that gets me pumped up, it's the idea of paying $6 for a multi-adjective apple.

Happily, a few weeks ago, a new farmers market began operating nearby every Saturday. I knew this was my kind of farmers market, because in addition to leafy things I had previously only seen in photographs, this farmers market also has vendors that offer hand-ground chocolate and organic** pork sliders. Seriously, though, most of the stands had signs proclaiming their goodies to be organic and pesticide-free, which I knew would make my health-nut friends happy.

With their advice ringing in my ears, I knew I couldn't go to a farmers market and buy chocolate and pork. Or, I should say, I knew I couldn't only buy chocolate and pork. So I decided to invest in some strawberries, grapefruit, garlic, mint and - because my gorgeous wife loves them - avocados.

Which worked out well, because other than the avocados, which I knew would be eaten, I think I ate everything... well, everything except for the grapefruit, garlic and mint. And most of the strawberries. But let me tell you: The chocolate was truly out of this world. And nearly worth the $30 I paid for all of that other junk.

So now I'm just hoping that purchasing healthful food will help me stay fit and live longer. If so, I'm cruising toward 100!

*I'm going out on a limb and saying this is the first time I've written the word trousers on my blog.
** I have no idea if they're organic, or, indeed, if there is such a thing as an organic slider.

... And you can't beat the traffic

If anyone asks, I still tell them that living in L.A. is great. And I believe it. I guess I'm easy, but to me - whatever obstacles your hometown might throw at you - if you can walk out of your home or office and see palm trees, you're pretty damn lucky. And if you can look up and see cerulean blue skies approximately 361 days a year, even better.

The problem is that L.A. is in California, which as of today, is starting to pay people with IOUs. Or, as the New York Times calls them - and I'm just pointing this out because I'm an editorgeek - i.o.u.'s.

I think I might look into doing that for my next major purchases. I never did get that HDTV I kept yammering on about during the 2008 winter holidays. Think Circuit City would take an IOU for one of those? Oh, right, I almost forgot.

California's budget woes also mean that I'm on my way to a salary reduction for the next 12 months, at least. To lower our pay, they're apparently considering using unpaid days, or as they're better known, furloughs. I'm sort of on board with the idea, although every time I hear the word furlough, I think of Michael Dukakis and Willie Horton. So, that's not so great.

Still: Palm trees.

For posterity

No comment to make - I sort of just want to save this paragraph from the New York Times web site for posterity:

NBC, which had scheduled a one-hour tribute to Farrah Fawcett tonight at 10 p.m., has now expanded that special to two hours, beginning at 9 p.m., to cover the deaths of both Ms. Fawcett and [Michael] Jackson. CBS will broadcast a special report covering both deaths at 10 p.m.

OK, two comments, actually.
1) From my office window, I can see three of the helicopters covering the action - to the extent that someone still being dead is "action" - at the hospital where Jackson died. So I've got that going for me.
2) How big a bottle of Champagne is Mark Sanford drinking right about now? Yesterday was clearly the right time to admit having an affair with some chick from Argentina. Nice going.

Five more losers, Hollywood style

Despite all of the headlines it generated - not to mention the breathless publicists who were "shocked" - I don't think I really care at all about the news that the smarties behind the Academy Awards decided to start naming 10 nominees (up from five) for the Best Motion Picture award.

It almost as if all of these movie-industry pundits don't realize that it basically just means five more movies are going to not win the award, which they were going to do (or not do) anyway.

I do find the announcement ironic, though. This being the year that Ghosts of Girlfriends Past and He's Just Not That Into You were released, it seems like an odd time to expand the number of films up for awards.

- -

And, not that it's going to affect your day or anything, but I get to see/hear Wilco tonight! As my sister might say: Yeah, baby.

And one to go

In my first real job, one of my responsibilities was to call staff at sports teams all over the country to find out what their latest marketing plans were. If that doesn't sound like fun to you, don't worry: There were a few perks.

One of those perks was that after I had worked at that company for a year, the owner installed a heater in the bathroom, a long overdue upgrade because (1) our office bathroom was one metal door away from being outside, and (2) our office bathroom was located in Chicago, which, as you might have heard, gets a little chilly for five or six months out of the year.

Another perk was that some of the calls I made were to area code 803. That was especially nice whenever the recipient of my call was a woman, because I tended to think that South Carolina women have a great accent - somehow, noticeably better than that of their counterparts in both North Carolina and Georgia.

Apparently, however, South Carolina's governor doesn't find that accent quite as mellifluous as I used to, because Mark Sanford went south - way south - to hook up with a woman not named Mrs. Sanford.

As you've probably read by now, not only did the ex-rising-star Republican publicly admit today to having an affair - "extra-marital," the New York Times article helpfully points out - but he flew to Argentina to do it. That's first class.

Then he admitted to being AWOL with her in Argentina the last week, while his staff told people he was "hiking on the Appalachian Trail." Maybe they just meant that as a euphemism. Well, what the affair lacked in convenience, it did make up for in creativity, I guess.

I find this news especially exciting, because of that old rule of thumb about politicians' career-ending extra-marital affair admissions coming in threes. (That might not be the exact rule of thumb, but it's close.) Arizona's John Ensign - who must be breathing a sigh of extra-marital relief right now - was last week, now Sanford, and I'm thinking we'll have ourselves another before too long. When we do - as Sanford himself might put it - y'all come back now, hear?