Wipe Off That Grin, I Know Where You've Been

I did my part to conserve oil and natural resources today by taking San Francisco & Oakland's public transportation, called the BART. It stands for, you guessed it, Bay Area Rapid Transit and is the only subway I've ever been on that is carpeted. No idea why. My guess is that they have to replace it a couple times per year, although they don't really have winter here, so maybe it doesn't get that bad. Can you imagine a carpeted MBTA in Boston? Even worse, can you imagine how it would smell? Yeeesh.

Anyway, I was on my way to work this morning, sitting in carpeted, muffled acoustic glory on the BART, when it occured to me that this is the 20th anniversary of my first trip to San Francisco, which was back when I was, ahem, 13 years old. It was during our February school vacation and I was in 8th grade, hopelessly in love with and "dating" Tracy Pirro and thinking I was really the shit because I had given her the "Naughty Naughty" 7-inch single by John Parr. Man, I loved that song. I gave it to her as a "going-away" gift because I was leaving for San Francisco for an entire week with my family. I remember lamenting that being away for a week was simply way too long to be seperated from her. She apparantly believed the same thing, as we'll find out later.

Anyway, it was my first time on a plane and also, I believe, my first time out of New England. Since that time, San Francisco remains my favorite "non-home" city to be in.

I mention all this because that week brought another personal first: the very first time I had heard of and seen a compact disc. Why I remember this now, I have no idea, but it is as clear to me as what I did last night. The fam and I were walking around San Francisco and night had fallen. For some crazy-ass reason, we sauntered into an audio store and were poking around when a guy in a suit, a salesman, asked us if we had ever heard a compact disc. All of us said no and gathered around as the salesman dropped a Phil Collins disc into the $1000 dollar CD-player and blew our collective mind. Not because it was a good song, either. I can assure you it was probably an embarassing song, in fact, but I would venture to guess it was no more embarassing than "Naughty Naughty."

There you go. I wonder if anyone in my family remembers this otherwise forgettable stop in the audio store? Why do I? Most importantly, what the hell happened to twenty years? It often stops me in my tracks when I think about the passage of time and that my own parents were only in their late 30s when we made this trip - an age I am rapidly approaching. Stunning.

In a sort of sick sidenote, I came back after that vacation to find out that our science teacher had been arrested for child molestation while I was gone. Of course, he was the teacher that all us kids really liked. Funny guy, good teacher, etc. It was horrible - and naturally, the talk of the school. I also came home to find out that my glorious four weeks with Miss Pirro was kaput. Over. I should have asked for the damned John Parr record back. I'd bet you anything I'd still have it. 

Go Ask Alice, I Think She'll Know

So I'm sitting here, exhausted, with a million thoughts just bouncing like those ping-pong balls in the lottery machine on the 11:00 news.

At this moment (roughly 9:15pm), I'm sitting in my hotel room in San Francisco at The Argent Hotel, perched on the 31st floor half-staring at my laptop, but mostly staring directly out in front of me, over my laptop screen, at a sprawling view of the San Francisco skyline. Through the glass, my eyes scan the darkened city and despite the daily transformation from bright to black, the sounds all remain the same. Sirens. Horns. Life. Just how I like it. Buildings stick up out of the ground and people live their lives in each of the little lights which shine out from each little window. They all have their own story to tell. Dots of light. I'm simply one of thousands upon thousands of boring, mundane dots of light tonight. Singularly, most of us have nothing compelling to say at this time. Aggregately, a fascinating novel could be written about what's gone on in our little dots in the last 2 hours alone. It's why I love cities.

Before I left to come out here last week, Stephanie and I had seen a documentary about one Alice Waters, a counter-culturer from the Berkeley of the 1960s. She isn't well known for extreme or even wacky politics, as most of the characters out of that area were most asscoiated with at the time. She simply owns a restaurant and has made her name via her "philosophy of always using the highest quality, fresh, seasonal ingredients, grown and harvested in an ecologically sound manner."

I became convinced that the timing of the documentary was a message - when I get to SF, go to Berkeley and check out Chez Panisse. Well, better luck next time, Jeff. I called at 2pm today just to see if I could get into the Cafe (not even the dining room) and was told that the next available time they have for the Cafe was 10:45 tonight. Looks like I'll plan a little more in advance next time.

My trip to Los Angeles, as most of my trips to Los Angeles have been, was bizarre. In short, it involved almost meeting Ryan Seacrest, a cab ride which turned out to be one hour and $70, having a Filet Mignon lunch at Morton's steakhouse at 11:45am and a stroll through the hideously offensive Universal Studios Citywalk. It all happened a little too quickly and it was quite a blur.

The most amusing part of the L.A. jaunt, however, was my call to Expedia to cancel my L.A. to S.F. flight due to a meeting going long. Bear with me here. My original flight was scheduled for 3:15. Our meeting went late and the place we were was, as I mentioned before, a one hour cab ride to LAX (because of traffic volume, not mileage). So on the recommendation of a local, I booked a flight out of Burbank Airport, or, as it's called now, Bob Hope Airport. Anyway, I call Expedia at about 1:30pm and I explain to them that I need to cancel my LAX flight at 3:15. The woman on the other line says to me, "I can't do that, sir, that flight is already in the air."

Now I'm perplexed. I look around to make sure that I'm actually on the planet Earth and I confirm it is, indeed, 1:35pm right now. I tell the woman that the plane cannot possibly be in the air because it's 1:30 and the flight is scheduled to depart at 3:15. She says "I'm looking at the clock, sir, and it's 3:36 right now so that flight is an active flight."

Once I found out she was located in the Central Time Zone, it all became clear to me. I then made things clear for her......can you believe it?

I barely realize Easter is tomorrow.

I went and had dinner tonight at The Thirsty Bear Brewery on the recommendation of the concierge at the hotel. It was so-so. Remind me to never again drink a beer that has slight vanilla flavoring. Thanks. Anyway, give these folks credit - they don't just serve crap pub food, they offer a variety of Spanish-infused meals, served as tapas. Maybe I just picked the wrong ones, but it was take-it-or-leave it.

Anyway, the point, Jeff. I did a lot of driving today (more on that when I get home and post the pictures) and I've barely uttered a word to a single person other than myself today. That can drive any human crazy, so I'm sitting at dinner and all kinds of strange thoughts are going through my head. I finish up my dinner, pay up and start progressing towards the door. I stop to grab a mint there at the front and the very instant after I say "have a good night" to the host at the front, all the lights in the place just go dead. Complete blackout. I smile at the host and walk out. It felt very X-Files and my imagination went wild. What if I made the lights go out with my mind? That would be sweet.

Apparantly there a Mexican soccer team staying here at the hotel, because outside the hotel's doors, seemingly at all times of the day, are soccer fans wearing the uniform of the Mexican footballers, lugging posters of players and actually waving flags. They swarm anyone associated with the team as they walk in or out. This morning I thought I'd dress "athletically" and wear some Adidas striped gym pants and a gray striped fleece to see if I could fool them and have them swarm me, just to see what it's like. And what the hell, I'd sign some shit for 'em. Alas, no swarm. Just another dot of light. 

This Is Highly Irregular, Michael

A day of days. I was supposed to leave Boston this morning on an early-morning flight to Los Angeles, but as many of you know in the northeast, you can't plan anything this winter because it snows every day. I woke up at 5:30 and called in to find out my flight was cancelled and that they had re-booked me on a 10:30am flight with a stop in Newark. Fine. The good news: I went back to bed. The bad news: I had a layover in Newark.

So I'm sitting in the airport in what is, quite possibly, America's worst city and I have a two hour layover. So what do I do? I turn on my cell phone and start poking around at my options. I changed the font color. I changed the wallpaper. I found all kinds of shit I didn't even know existed on my cell phone. I had previously set my ringtone to be The Clash's "London Calling," but after scrolling through some recent Modtones offering, I got my discovery of the day - a Knight Rider ringtone. Now, whenever you call me, I'll get that synthesizer-laden Knight Rider theme music from the early 1980s. Sweet, yo.

The flight to Los Angeles? Largely uneventful, other than the fact that it turned out to be a twelve hour travel day and I had to sit next to two teeny-bopper cheerleaders, which, at first glance, might sound like not such a bad thing to a red-blooded American male, right? But after an hour of listening to giggling, gossiping and endless talk about makeup, it got old. Fast. Especially when they interrupted me not once, but twice, during the movie just to ask me what time it was.

The movie, by the way, was After The Sunset, featuring Woody Harrelson, Pierce Brosnan and Salma Hayek. As far as airplane movies go, not so bad. Tomorrow: another flight, this time to San Francisco.

Terry Schiavo: please just let her go. 

Hands Across America

The original intent of my post today comes further down. But when I was thinking about that subject line for today, I remembered back to Hands Across America. This was an event which took place in May of 1986 and involved five million people joining hands and forming a line which ended up stretching 4,152 miles. Back then, I was fifteen and probably more preoccupied with things like pizza. Regardless, this was a charity event intended to help feed the hungry and combat homelessness. It clearly didn't work, but that's beside the point. Realistically, you can't expect one event to change the world. But in the 1980s, a lot of people sure tried.

What I mean is this: whatever happened to the "huge event for a cause?" Oh sure, we had several charity events after 9/11 and a couple after the tsunami last winter, but how come in the last 20 years or so it takes a tragedy of epic proportions before someone puts together a massive one-day movement? How come Live Aid only happened once? Why don't we hear about the AIDS quilt anymore (1987)? Did acid rain just go away? Are musicians still "not gonna play Sun City?" OK, that last one is a reach. But do we care as much these days?

Anyway, I shudder to think about a simple question: where have people's hands been? When scanning a random blog post about germs the other day, I realized that I don't think it's so wierd now when I bunch up my sleeve and use it to open bathroom doors when I exit the bathroom. When given the opportunity to dry my hands with a cloth or a paper towel, I'm going paper towel every time, dudes. Every time. I'm definitely NOT one of those people who totally freaks out and obsesses about germs, either, as my wife might attest. I just try to be aware, that's all, especially in public bathrooms. The CDC recently did a study and the results were that one in three people don't wash their hands after using the bathroom. How many of those folks participated in Hands Across America, I wonder?

Recently played via Pod:
Anders Parker - "Come On Now"
Buttercup - "Deal With The Devil"
Drive-By Truckers - "Daddy's Cup"
Elton John - "Levon"
Sloan - "Backstabbin'"
Sixteen Horsepower - "Redneck Reel"
The Clash - "I'm So Bored With The U.S.A."
Eddie Fontaine - "Nothing Shaking (But The Leaves On The Trees)" 

¿spooky o no spooky?

 

Oh, We're Halfway There

I've been thinking a lot lately about this blog. It's hard to believe I've kept it up for over three years now. All that time, mostly writing about myself. Some of you who know me better might be thinking that it's actually not such a shock that I've managed to talk about myself for that long now and maybe the ones who really know me well are convinced that I feel there's not enough time left in eternity for me to stop yapping about my existence. Heh.

That's a bit melodramatic, I know. I wonder, though, if anyone feels like they know me any better because of this blog? Or someone who just happens to come across it on their travels in cyberspace one day - what do they think? It may or may not surprise you, depending on who you are, but I do tend to be a little quiet in, uh, real life. More inward, I suppose. The people who are real close to me probably don't see that. Crap. Who cares?

Anyway, here's the deal. Like life, we all go through phases. For example, I once went through a phase, right after Achtung Baby came out, where I wore a lot of black, grew my hair out and gelled it and went nowhere without my black leather jacket on. I'm glad there are limited pictures of this era, but in a way, I wish I had more pictures to look back on. I've always been interested in photography, yet I have barely any pictures of myself or things in my life previous to this blog. It's one thing that really makes me sad from time to time.

What does it all mean? Dunno. But you can expect to see a lot more pictures being posted here in the near future. Not slideshows, per say, just pictures. Despite my claim to being narcissistic, most of them won't be of me. Like I said last week, I keep this blog for a couple of reasons:

a) so one day my children or other family and friends can look back and remember, possibly even celebrate, what a freak I really am/was.

b) most importantly, it's my outlet. The place I come to remind myself that creativity, photography, zaniness or venting are still alive and well. The place where I go where there's really no rules, no work, no problems, just me and my brain. This is really where the name RustedRobot comes from.

The name itself denotes a rotting of sorts. In a nutshell, the meaning is pretty simple - I can't imagine myself sitting in an office pecking away at a keyboard my entire life. You rust that way. You become a robot and I can't - won't - let that happen. I won't become the eqivilent of one of those skeletons on display in biology classes - year after year of just.....hanging on wires. Or a RustedRobot - it's parts just defaulted in place due to lack of grease. When you try to move the robot, it's just stuck there. If you wait too long and try to move it, it just breaks. It gives up. I strive to NOT be the title of my own blog. Funny.

Now you all know I'm nuts. Anyway, this isn't turning into a photo blog or a Flickr page, don't worry. Lately I'm just interested in taking pictures. Hope you enjoy some of them.

In the news, seems there are some people out there who are more nuts than Scott Peterson. Birds of a feather, I suppose. 

Reaching

I took this picture as I was driving to my sister's house in New Hampshire last Thanksgiving. As you can't tell, it was a somewhat cloudy, gray day and I was getting very close to her house when I drove by what seemed like an open field. But when I looked closely, I could see a couple of beat-up, old cars and trucks sitting there in the distance. Sensing a good picture opportunity, I U-turned, parked on the side of the road and half-jogged a ways up to where the cars were. Why did I half-jog? I don't know. I guess when you're not sure if you're allowed somewhere, you just want to get in and get out quickly.

There's not much else to the story. I took a few pictures, including this amusing picture of an old truck, apparantly still registered. Note both fairly amusing bumper stickers.

So, my only point here, really, is that I discovered a new tool in Photoshop where I can screw around with all kinds of stuff, as you can see from the photo. Problem is that I did this back in November and I can't remember what I did. Shit. Oh well. Perhaps I'll remember sometime and more importantly, perhaps I'll have something more interesting to write tomorrow.

OK, howz about some recently played songs from the Pod? Yeah.

Chasing Heather Crazy - Guided By Voices
Fire - Jimi Hendrix
That's The Way (Live) - Led Zeppelin
Sheila - Tommy Womack
Someone Else's Song - Wilco
The Phoenix - Cary Hudson
Running To Stand Still - U2
Shiver - Coldplay 

Sing Me A Song, You're The Piano Man

Ever wonder what it would be like to hear Ben Folds do a gangsta rap song, where every other word is completely vulgar and inappropriate, yet it's a piano ballad? Did you ever yearn to hear a Dr. Dre song on piano? Well, Ben Folds has got a treat for you, my chillren. "Bitches Ain't Shit." Enjoy. Hat tip to Laurita for this one. 

Backyard: The Morning After

The past month or so has been a real bitch weatherwise. It's that time of the year in New England when you hear the same old quotes on the radio and television - exasperated people, as if pleading for their lives, crying "I'm so sick of this" or "Where is spring?" Even The Boston Globe has run their annual "we have no subjects for op-ed today, so let's talk about winter's last gasp" column. Well, I am more or less among them. I've about had it, really. This winter has been something along the lines of the 4th worst winter for snowfall in our state's history or something and it's evident in my own attitude lately.

However, among all the cursing as I clean off the car for the umpteenth time or the sheer pain-in-the-assity of shoveling our walkways yet again, there came a time recently when I stepped out to the backyard and saw this. It was an achingly quiet, sharp, clear morning after a snowstorm and I looked out back to find a completely untainted, beautiful sight like the one above. I felt like I was capturing something special with this shot, something I'll look back on in the years to come and relish - the silent beauty that came attached to this. It was a silence and a hushed moment you just can't capture with a snapsnot and at the same time, I had a bitter wish for it all to just go the hell away.

And yes, "pain-in-the-assity" is a word. 

Next: Concerts On The Back Of A Horse & Buggy?

Housecleaning issue: In case you missed it in the comments section, my friend Rick nailed the "other part" of the New York City cab photo. Most of you caught on to the fact that it appeared as if my cab were heading towards certain doom by going the wrong way down a one-way street. However, what you were seeing "in front" of the cab was actually a reflection off the plastic of what was behind us. What gives it away is if you look to the left-center of the picture, you'll see the cab's actual windshield. Thanks for playing.

In other news, I can't help but chuckle heartily at this article, detailing how record labels are now trying to expose and promote their recording artists through mall sound systems. Now, I don't know about you, but if I'm at the mall, I'm certainly not making any attempt to listen to what's on the sound system. Mostly because the mall is a collection of various other sounds that pierce my brain and drive me to drink, such as children screaming or teenagers yelling across to friends about how they'll be in Abercrombie for the next 17 hours. Speaking of annoying, one of the newest mall developments are those low-rent "middle of the walkway" mini-stores. It's bad enough I have to be at the mall - who the hell authorized these people to stand there with their hair products, those little remote control cars, or even worse, those stupid seemingly self-hovering little UFO things? Sheesh.

Anyway, record labels have this shit all wrong, folks. If they really want to expose thier artists, how about setting up RSS feeds for each of the artists on their websites and stuffing that pipe full of extras - news stories, new exclusive audio clips, interviews, etc? If there's one thing kids are doing more than going to the mall these days, it's sitting for hours in front of the computer monitor with their jaws drooping on the floor, drooling and IM'ing. Get with it. The mall ain't the place to discover music, my peeps.

The quote that really made me laugh, though, was Aslyn, an artist I've never heard of who is currently being promoted by Capitol Records at mall sound systems. She says:

"It's awesome. For people who might only listen to the radio on the way to and from work, the chances aren't great they'll hear my song. Plus, I love to shop."

Well, that's so, like, totally awesome, Aslyn. Next time I'm at the Sbarro (read: never) I'll listen as hard as I can. Or not.

Last, but definitely not least: another stunning photograph, this time of Niagra Falls, courtesy of the Earth Observatory. 

Hamm's Beer, Anyone?

Some funny quotes coming out of Red Sox spring training camp, courtesy of today's Boston Globe. Even though the identity of the players who are subjected to steriod testing is supposed to be kept confidential, slugging DH/1B David Ortiz (aka Florida Evans from "Good Times") came right out and told everyone he was one of a handful of Sox players who was chosen for testing.

"They pick me [to be tested] every time. I don't know why. I don't know if it's because I'm a big guy or what, but all I know is all they are going to find is a lot of rice and beans."

The quote itself is pretty funny, but when I envision the lab scenario as the test results play themselves out, that's when it gets even more funny to me.

Geek #1 in lab coat: "Here's Ortiz's results."
Geek #2 in lab coat: "Holy canoli, man. Have you ever seen such levels of rice and beans?"
Geek #1 in lab coat: "Not in my twenty-seven years as a middle-class lab tester with horn-rimmed glasses have I seen anything remotely like this."
Geek #2 in lab coat: "Did you notice all the pudding, too?"

Ah, anyway. The other amusing quote comes from Terry Francona, the Red Sox head coach who looks a lot like one of those little h'orderve mini hot dogs. Reacting to news that Red Sox pitcher Curt Schilling had been called to testify by Congress in light of the steroid scandal, Francona made his opinion known about the chances of Curt Schilling ever testing positive for steroids.

"Are you kidding me? Have you ever seen him in the shower? If Snickers are considered illegal, he may be on them."

I will not be envisioning any kind of scenario in that regard, sorry. 

In A Story We Reported Earlier....

Two items I need more feedback on:

- The New York cab picture. Most of you caught on to the fact that it appeared as if the cab I was in was heading in the wrong direction down a one-way street. That's the easy part. There's something else about the picture, though, and it has to do with the one-way street thing. Can you tell me what it is? (picture below)

- I got a few guesses regarding the source of the name RustedRobot and I enjoyed the attempts. However, nobody got it yet. Keep guessing if you want, someone is bound to get it.... 

Everything Is Calm In The Back Of A Cab

This is a picture I took from the back of a taxi last week while I was in New York. Actually, I was heading out of New York, on my way to the airport to head home. At the outset, you may be wondering why I've posted a mundane picture from the back of a cab. But look at the picture closely and let me know what you see.

There seems to be a heck of a lot of articles and conversation recently regarding blogging, specifically people who are being fired from their jobs for blogging. Delta Airlines, Google and Microsoft have all garnered press recently for dismissing employees who wrote something either derogatory or questionable on thier personal blogs about their employers.

Yesterday on CNET.com, an article was posted on the legalities and guidance around blogging about your employer or while on the clock. The SearchViews weblog posted an interesting diatribe regarding the perceived chasm between accredited journalists and rogue bloggers. The quote I found most interesting:

"While the courts wrangle with the First Amendment issues of blogging (which could go on for years), we’d like to see the search engines take some responsibility. Not for the content itself, but for the classification of that content. If Yahoo can separate News listings from their standard web listings, the clarification of first-hand certified reports vs. secondary op-ed and summary presentations should be possible....And as for how that classification would be plied, it seems fairly obvious that the sacred tradition of journalism might lend itself to a Verisign e-commerce-style certification system. And here’s the most important part, so the search engines don’t accept any undue responsibility (or further shape our perception): The engines should develop filters that leave the reader to evaluate the merits of which content they’ll consume."

A Verisign e-commerce style certification system? Search engines actually calling out first-hand vs second-hand reporting? I'm just not sure creating a class system for bloggers or pitting them against the press or each other via search engine result pages is the answer. Truth be told, I don't know what the answer is and maybe I'm just reading this wrong. Am I?

Eventually, I suspect we'll get to the point where certain bloggers will simply become trusted sources and others won't be as reliable or respected, much like we see today with the New York Times and same-city combatants like the New York Post. Each of those traditional outlets has its supporters and detractors - should they be called out seperately or be subjected to a certification system because of it? In the blogosphere, the toes are already in the water - certain sites are starting to emerge as trusted sources. I just don't think we need a Verisign system or regulation for it at this point. I'm not saying the Post is a "second-hand news" publication by any stretch, either. In terms of classification, though, there's an indisputable difference and the readers already do evaluate the merits on their own.

As for blogging about your employer, well, that's just plain stupid. One should know better than to spout off about the hand that feeds you. One should be intelligent enough to, at the very least, drop an inquiry into your employer about what the consequences would be if you disclosed information or spoke in a negative manner about the company you work for. That's just common sense and I have little sympathy for people who don't possess the capacity to realize it.

Personally, my own blog is an escape from my work. I largely do this to maintain a creative outlet for myself and to keep my brain healthy and active on all things NOT work-related. While I may mention Ask Jeeves here and there, it's certainly not my aim to focus this space on the search business. For one, I ingest plenty of it 8-9 hours a day, and for another thing, there's more than enough solid sources out there if you want information on that stuff. 

I (Don't) Wanna Be Your Dog

I love dogs. Love them. If I am out walking in almost any environment, I will gladly approach a dog and pet it, unless it's a Pit Bull or it looks otherwise agitated. 99% of the time, it's a darn pleasant experience. The past couple of nights, however, the local news has been reporting on two dogs on consecutive days who have been electrocuted while on walks with their owners. At two seperate locations! The culprit? None other than NStar, the local electric company/monopoly, who left not one, but two streetlight wires live, sticking out of the ground after removing the posts from the sidewalks. What a bunch of morons. Dogs are being walked everywhere in our fair city. NStar, a quick lesson for you: dogs put their nose in everything on the ground. Take some freakin' responsbility and at least turn off the power to the wires if you're gonna leave 'em in the ground. Idiots.

Anyway, according to this morning's Boston Globe, one of the families is suing NStar and looking for $740,000 in damages, which, not so coincidentally, is the exact salary of the President of the company. I hope they get their money and then some. NStar is lucky their ignorance hasn't cost them more, like in the form of a couple of human lives.

However, if this family does get that handsome payoff, the pessimist in me wondered if the local pound might see an uptick in activity. A strange thought, but I'll bet you anything there's evil people out there who would gladly give up a dog's life for that kind of payoff. OK, I'll stop now. I feel bad for even thinking it, maybe I'm having a day of shaken faith in the human race. Rest assured, I could never, ever, ever bring myself to do something like that. 

What About The Cleveland.....Nevermind

While eating breakfast this morning and reading my Boston Globe (yes, I still do read the physical newspaper), I happened to come across the article on Arnold Schwarzenegger detailing the criticism he's receiving for attending a body-building contest in Columbus, Ohio. Unbeknownst to us, apparantly the bodybuilding circuit is comprised of dozens upon dozens of contestants who, shhhhhh, use steroids and other illegal supplements to blow themselves up into the ridiculous buffoons they are. Illegal supplements, you say? Bodybuilding? Can't be!

Of course, I jest. That's not even the point of my post. My point today is that there's a line in the story that really cracked me up in a very sophomore-in-high-school kinda way. Here goes:

"In Columbus, Schwarzenegger fans as well as critics will be waiting to see whether he addresses bodybuilding's worst-kept secret. The governor watched the women's finals last night and planned today to award the top men's prizes -- $100,000 and a Hummer."

I know, I know - it's very Beavis and Butthead of me to post that, but I can't help it. It's too damn funny. 

Kill Your Radio

On that same plane ride I mentioned yesterday, I managed to ingest the latest Wired Magazine, which was chock full of some excellent writing, none more compelling than the article on the future of radio. For me, the medium of radio is one I view with extreme frustration, yet it holds a spot very much near and dear to my heart because it was radio (and my parents small vinyl collection of wide-ranging music styles) that gave me this disease called music snobbery.

I actually remember radio before there were digits, too. You rock'n'roll hounds from Massachusetts surely remember WCOZ and WCGY before they were 93.7 and 94.5, respectively, right? We never knew WBCN as 104.1. It was always just 104. Anyway, before and after school, I almost always found myself alone for a while, so it was an odd occasion when I didn't have the stereo turned up incredibly loud, sucking in anything they had to offer. My tastes back then wasn't so surprising - I'd pretty much love anything Tom Petty released. AC/DC could pretty much do no wrong and of course, there was my first true love, Led Zeppelin. It was all brought to me by radio, until I could afford to buy vinyl myself (first purchase: Back In Black).

Early in my high school years, I realized that radio wasn't enough, though, and I started to really expand my tastes. The Replacements offered a sound that I found to be revolutionary. The Clash had songs on their albums that just crushed the ones I heard on the radio. Of course, there was always The Ramones, who were criminally underserved on the mass exposure side of things.

College only advanced my desire. I could go on for days about how college changed my music listening habits and turned this into a simple obsession, but I don't have the space for that now. Let's just fast forward to today. Radio, as we know it, is sitting right there with the Pope - on the way out. A couple of years from now, you won't even recognize it, really. During most of the 1990's, while in the music business, I absolutely detested radio and everything it stood for, which was basically consolidation and profit margins. Most stations were owned by a conglomerate, whose central office was doing most or all of the music programming and taking advanced forms of payola to play music. In some cases, these conglomerates were actually using one central DJ on several stations around the country. How's that for warm and fuzzy? I wasn't at all optimistic about the future of radio.

But then the internet came along and it took a while, but the IPod and satellite radio seem to have at least gotten the train back on the track. Conglomerates have realized that in order to survive, it's the new order. They've cut back on the length of commercials and finally realized that what makes radio so compelling are two things: feeling the local love and, oh yeah, music.

Anyway, long story short, traditional radio is banking on the emergence of digital radio, or, as you'll probably hear it called, "HD Radio." The sexy-ness of HD Radio lies not in the dramatically improved sound quality - let's face it, your average consumer really doesn't care much about the sound quality. The real kicker here is that stations will be able to send multiple signals, which means if you miss the Red Sox game on WEEI, you can effectively "Tivo" it and store it for later use. Not bad, not bad.

Furthermore, your possession of this HD Radio will enable you with the ability to grab video, software, email and text messages. The article points out that "within a few years.....radios will have....a buffer - a TiVo-like device that stores broadcast signals at the listeners' command. You program it to store All Things Considered for the drive home. Maybe on the show there's an alert about a new virus. You punch a button and download an antivirus update into your buffer from NPR "B", then take that into your house when you get home. Or perhaps you hear a review that makes you want to get a movie or an album, which you download as you drive. Meanwhile, your radio, which taps into the automobile's GPS unit, is constantly scanning for local traffic reports, and when a pertinent one appears, interrupts and then resumes the stored All Things Considered."

Now we're talking! In the end, however, I'm still a little skeptical. When you step back and look at it from 10,000 feet, one simple fact emerges in my eyes: personal selection. Let me say it like this, peeps: If you were at a restuarant, would you want someone just bringing you what they think you'll like to eat? Uh, no. So, today and tomorrow's radio will still be setting the table and serving the dinner they want you to eat. For many people that's all they need and that's fine. To an extent, there will always be that market and there's probably plenty of room for it, at least in the short term. Cool.

However, today's world (hello, Ipod) allows us to pick what music we want to hear, when we want to hear it. On our terms. Anytime we want. That incredibly simple but powerful realization has not gone entirely mainstream yet and when it does, and it will, that's when things will get real interesting, for the empowerment you feel when you realize it's completely on your terms is very difficult for the traditional and satellite radio companies to combat.

All that said, after reading the article, I am far more optimistic about radio's future (particularly talk radio) than I was yesterday and I really hope they maintain their niche - radio is what made me the music fan I am today and despite the fact that I gave up on it in the late 1980s, I owe a lot to how it shaped me. I just hope there's room in some way, shape or form as we move onward in a fascinating time in our world. We also shouldn't forget Podcasting - an early movement right now that could have a dramatic effect on the whole business. 

You Never Know

I've been meaning to mention this book now for a couple of weeks and finally I'm getting around to it. Many Are Called is a collection of photos taken by Walker Evans from 1938-1941. His goal was to capture people in as natural a state as possible by sitting on the New York Subway with a camera hidden inside his jacket shooting the actual pictures through the small button hole at the end of his sleeve. The pictures, shot entirely in black and white, are just incredible. None of the subjects are aware that they are having their picture taken (more on this later), which lends itself to stunning realism. Nobody is posing for photographs, instead their faces are preoccupied with the private thoughts of everyday life.

Paging through, I realized that this book is timeless for many reasons. One, these pictures were virtually shot on the same lines and through the same long, dark tunnels of the New York underground which we see today. The expressions on these people's faces are no different than the ones I notice today when I go underground. It's just different cloth draped over their bodies and a newer generation of humans. The subway has always been one of my favorite places, not because it's fun or anything, but because being underground, hurtling through stops and tunnels, somehow brings out a silent honesty in people's faces. The sociologist in me savors that.

This book is not without controversy, though. My gut tells me that Evans must have gotten some pictures that would be questionable to publish and as much as releasing those pictures in Many Are Called might have spurred sales, he probably opted not to go that route out of fear and/or respect. I'm not entirely sure how I would feel being photographed so closely without my knowledge. I believe, though, that if people had known they were being photographed, it would have dramatically changed the scope of the project to the point where it just probably wouldn't have been done and it definitely wouldn't have been photographic art, in my eyes. Either way, if you're at all into photography, I consider this book a must-have and as a final recommendation, I encourage strongly to not pick your nose on the subway.

A lot of people have asked me where the name RustedRobot comes from. I usually answer with a short "it just kinda came to me," but I'm going to tell you today that the statement is only partially true. It did just come to me, but there is a foundation behind it and I don't think it's that hard to figure out. Brownie points to the person who can guess correctly. 

Sit Back, Relax.....

For me, the power of music can pop up in the damndest places. Take, for instance, my recent flight back from New York. Anyone in the northeast U.S. is aware that we've been getting what I'll call "snow events" approximately every 47 seconds this winter. Along with that comes your inevitable wind gusts and other various unacceptable deliveries from that old bag mother nature.

Seeing as though I travel quite a bit for work, living in New England means that for roughly 5 out of the 12 months in a year, I'm a good candidate for interesting flights due to weather. Our approach into Boston was very much that - interesting. It wasn't snowing, but I know that when I look out the window of the aircraft and I can see whitecaps flowing over each wave in the Atlantic and small ripples on the water caused by wind, I'm freakin' in for it. In the past, turbulence didn't really bother me. For some reason, though, it's starting to and I don't know why. In a recent conversation with my wife's cousin, I discovered that she, too, is inexplicably more nervous about flying with each passing flight. Aren't we supposed to be less nervous the more we do something? Whatever.

Anyway, on approach the plane was really jumping. This wasn't normal turbulence, either - I can handle that pretty well. I finally said "screw it," pulled out the IPod and dialed up Anders Parker's "Feel The Same" from the new album. I closed my eyes, leaned back and wouldn't you know it? I barely felt a thing until we hit the ground. It was like magic. And yes, I'm still talking about the Anders Parker album, because it's so damn delicious to listen to. You are really missing out on one of this decade's best releases if you don't have it.

I read a very interesting article on the future of radio so I'll post some thoughts soon. In the meantime, please enjoy this amazing story (hat tip to Paul).