Stillness is the move

Here they are, the much anticipated, and pined for, year end awards! On a scale of 1 to ten, 2009 was a vomited upon, steaming mound of fecal matter floating idly in a cess pool. Yeah, it stunk, but I'm hoping it will prove to be a blessing in disguise; the presentiment, the seed of positive, healthy changes. Ear to the ground, I'm hearing similar sentiments from more than a few others, at least the part about the year being a foul one. You know, a lot of fine things happened this year, I don't want to forget about that. Perspective, people, is a good muscle to flex.

Enough of my meanderings, let's hand out some awards.

Best BFF (canine)

Baby Boy Z. Poochey Bottoms. Poocherific. Zicolicious. Licious. Super Dog. Whatever the name he happens to be going by, Zico is the only game in town. I defy you to spend five minutes with him and not fall in love with him. You'll want to be BFFs with him, but you can't because I'm his BFF, son! But you can still hang out, the two of you, that will be allowed.

Blockbuster News Item I Can't Get Real Worked Up Over

The whole Tiger Woods scandal. Yawn. I grant you, it's good copy. Just doesn't interest me.

Favorite Album

It arrived at it late, but better late than not at all: Bitte Orca, by The Dirty Projectors. First of all, it's got lovely and intricate female harmonies throughout. My favorite kind. And the musicianship, especially the guitar playing, is top notch. The best thing about the album is the songs. What craftsmanship! I've listened to it about ten times and am still digesting it, still discovering morsels of greatness. The implied influences are all over the map, but taken together make one cohesive, refreshing, and unique collection of songs. I hear Yes, King Sunny Aid, Captain Beefheart, Aliyah, Neil Finn, Paul Simon, Slint. But when I do, it's passes quick, a wisp in the wind.

Favorite Album (Runner Up)

Actor, by St. Vincent. Much of the same qualities I like about Bitte Orca are shown here. I love her voice, I love her songs, I love her musicianship.

Let's make this award a tie. Marnie Stern's latest, which I won't name here because it's would take up a paragraph to do so. She comes off like a cheerleader on speed with a sinister streak who grew up on Van Halen and math rock. Her teaming up with Zach Hill on drums reminds me of Joni Mitchell's pairing with Jaco Pastorious on at least two records. That is a good thing.

The "I'm Not Done With You Yet, You Little Piece Of Shit!" award

2009. Driving through Cambridge earlier, I was going about four miles per hour, maybe less -- through the driving snow -- and slid into the car in front of me. The most gentle tap you could imagine. Seriously. We got out of our cars, inspected the damage, which was nonexistent, and this is what followed.

Me: Looks fine to me. I can't even tell where I hit you.

Him: Well, I'd like to exchange insurance information, just in case.

Me: (wanting to get this over with because we're in the middle of the road at a stop light with people skidding out all around us) Here, I'll write down my license plate # and....

Him: Let me do it, I can read my own writing better. (He goes into his car to get his own pen. Guess mine wouldn't have done the trick. He comes back with a stack of papers -- his whole insurance policy) Can I see you insurance information?

Me: I don't have any, per se. I can tell you the name of the company.

Him: Why don't you have insurance.

Me: I do. I just don't have any documentation with me (A brief aside. Am I the only one who doesn't keep his insurance info - a card or what not -- in his car? Should I have this? Is there a card everyone carries around? )

Him: (shakes his head) Well, how am I going to get your information.

Okay, I'm agitated now. There wasn't even superficial damage to either of our cars, and this guy's making a big deal about this. I finally say, "Look, if you really want to delve deep into this, really flesh this thing out, then I suggest we meet somewhere safer than the middle of a snow covered, busy, road. Otherwise, I'm leaving. You've got enough of my information." He got in his car, turned around and headed the opposite way. I didn't follow him. As I drove away, I saw that he had pulled over into a parking lot. Guess he wanted to explore the matter further. I kept going. Fuck him! I'd still be there now with him, most likely, filling out paperwork, undergoing a thorough psychological profile, and most importantly, having my time wasted. Over less than a scratch .Glad I got hooked up with this anal son of a bitch. Oh, 2009, you do surprise!


Well, this is getting lengthy. Looks like the rest of the awards will have to spill over into another post. Have a happy and safe New Year's Eve, readers. I'm not sure what I'm doing yet. I might just end up spending it by myself. We'll see.