Dreamstate Achieved

A heartening sign amidst all of the gloom: I dreamt for a short time this morning. I won't even attempt to get into the substance or symbolism of that dream state, but it was certainly a state of deep, restful sleep that lasted for at least a few precious minutes. Unfortunately, I spend the rest of the morning in my now-usual state of hypersensitive Stage 1. There was no sleep possible when Sarah was awake and getting ready for work while passing cars and the clanging of the garbage trucks doing their automated thing in the parking lot jarred me awake continuously. Still, I was asleep for a bit, and that was a start.

While I'm nearly certain that stress is playing a large part in this, it also feels like my body clock is completely out of whack: once the sun comes up, say 5 AM or so, sleep becomes at least possible, if very fragmented and frustratingly inconsistent. Until that point, I will occasionally feel very drowsy and lethargic, but unable to make the transition to a true state of slumber.

The worst part of the day is driving to (and arriving at) work and trying to get going without my usual shot of carbonated caffeine. I'll have a few "muuuhhh" spots along the way, but once I get home, my head somehow magically clears itself of cobwebs, which has rendered efforts to "nap" for a few hours from when I get home (trying to "cheat" myself a few hours of rest, in effect) completely unsuccessful.

I haven't completely run dry of ideas for how to combat this problem sans pills, but I am definitely within sight of the end of inspiration. I still have to try that Trazodone out, though I have very little real hope of those pills making any difference when nothing else works. I also want to try a return to our old comforter: shortly before all of this started, Sarah switched out our old heavy comforter for a newer, lighter blanket, and while I doubt that returning to the older model will provide a miracle cure, I feel it's at least worth a shot.

OK, back to work ...

Vent

Sorry, reader: this post is going to come off as unnecessarily defeatist and angry. I hope you'll understand and bear with me (or better yet, skip on down to the next entry). Normally, I try to ride these lows out without a word in here, but it's now a little past four in the morning and I don't do "peppy and upbeat" when I haven't had any goddamned sleep in 4 days.

That's right: my insomnia has not only persisted over the last month, but has also worsened to the point that right now, nothing can make me fall asleep. Zilch. Nada. Niechievo. Benadryl? Stopped working last weekend. Unisom? Hasn't worked in weeks. Even fucking Ambien, my only guarantee of a good night's rest, has no effect on me (and discovering that last night was a pretty nasty and spirit-breaking surprise). My caffeine intake is now near-zero (I'm not sure how much caffeine is in a Snickers bar, but that's all I've ingested since Tuesday afternoon), I've walked a mile or so every night in a vain attempt to make myself sleepy, listened to ambient music for an hour before bedtime the last three nights, and all of this has had absolutely zero effect on my condition. Tonight, in a final insult to normalcy, I took a Clairitin-D an hour before retiring, and the near-knockout effect it usually has on me every single time I take one utterly failed to materialize. Of course. Sarah has a bottle of Trazodone on her desk that I can try tomorrow night for the sake of trying it, but I have about as much hope in that working as I do in popping some Dexedrine and washing 'em down with a can of Jolt.

So, now what? Obviously, I'm going to have to see a doctor about this, and here is where we come to the oh-so-diabolical timing of this condition worsening: even if I wanted to see a professional and throw a lot of money I do not have at this problem, I simply can't do it right now. As I mentioned previously, buying a new car two months earlier than I'd planned to has utterly nuked my finances to the point where I have already-delayed bills and obligations lined up for the next 3-4 weeks, and they must be taken care of before I can go getting myself into another medical adventure.

Speaking of the Saturn, by the way: to the kid(s) who ripped the temporary tags off the back of my car for a lark (or whatever the hell reason it is you assholes decide to fuck around with anonymous cars): thanks a ton, jackass. That was really hilarious. Seriously. I just love spending even more money and time running around to the police department and the DMV on unnecessary, redundant bureaucratic bullshit. By all means, keep up the good fight and display your little prize proudly. You really stuck it to the man this time! Rock on!

In happier Saturn news, my long-awaited title to the car arrived today, which means I will soon be able to put plates on the thing (the sole task that is holding everything else up that I have to take care of behind it). However, I was also informed while getting my new temp tags that I will need to E-check the Saturn before I can put plates on it, which means that the balding driver's side front tire will have to be replaced this weekend in order for the car to get tested ASAP. The front tire was a known repair issue when I bought the car, so that is no big deal in and of itself. As for the E-check ... while it appears that I have nothing to worry about in that department, I hope y'all can understand that it's very difficult for me not to imagine another shoe waiting to drop here.

Oh yeah, at some point yesterday, the shelving units mounted on our kitchen wall came crashing down to the floor, splattering their contents all over the place. I strongly suspect the hand (or paw) of Moe in this, but who the hell knows for sure. I'm also very glad Sarah discovered this mess first, as I might have simply exploded on the spot. If there was a "good news" angle to this story: it's that a.) the cats weren't hurt by the collapse b.) the unit came off the wall cleanly and didn't pull out any chunks of plaster with it. Huzzah.

So, that's it. Venting operation completed. I cannot afford to take care of this insomnia until sometime in early-to-mid July, so I'm just going to deal with it by waiting it out, at last until I am out from behind the 8-ball. At some point, eventually, my body's demand for sleep will win out this battle and that will be that (or I will simply get used to the series of five-minute catnaps or whatever the hell goes on with me once the sun comes up). Until that time comes, I guess I get to sit around and read a bunch, maybe watch some movies, organize my sock drawer, meditate or however else I choose to kill off the hours between 12-6 AM. Whatever I choose to do, it will certainly beat lying in bed, wanting to scream and/or cry, and listening to the fans running for hours. Whatever the hell is wrong with me, one way or the other, it is not going to last forever ... it just feels like it right now.

The New Vicmobile

Following the failure of the Beretta to pass E-check, my initial plan was to coast into July and allow myself plenty of time to save up the necessary funds and search out a replacement vehicle at my leisure.

Life, as always, had other plans.

On May 21, I was returning home from visiting Dad at LakeWest (sadly, his home away from home anymore) and idling in line at the Chick Fil-A drive-thru when something gave under the hood of the Beretta. There wasn't a bang! or crack! or anything dramatic like that, just a sudden, tangible change in the character of the engine noise, coupled with a sinister new vibrating thrum that immediately began clattering the exhaust pipes noisily against the frame of the car. The Beretta immediately sounded rougher, louder, and wheezier than it ever had before, lending me to suspect that I had somehow just managed to wreck my brand new (and apparently useless) exhaust system. But no, this noise was different ... it was coming from the engine itself, not from the rear or bottom of the car. There was also a whiff of something burning: not gasoline, not rubber, not coolant ... engine oil?

I got the car back home and worriedly popped the hood, sniffing around and smelling that weird, wispy tang of something wrong while not knowing what it was. On Sarah's advice, I checked the oil and was relieved to see that I was still filled up and looking good. That led me to wonder about the fuel lines being clogged, or maybe the transmission being compromised. Sarah wondered if the gas tank had taken on water.

The next morning, to my consternation, the car's new running characteristics remained unchanged. I tried gunning the engine a few times on the way to work (in an attempt to "blow out" whatever seemed to be making my engine sound asthmatic) to no effect, and adding some fresh gas to the tank didn't seem to help either. In fact, it wasn't until I was cruising down Mentor Avenue in the homestretch towards work that I realized that the Beretta was actually running semi-normally once I had it cruising along in third or fourth gear: it was getting to that point where I was having problems. That led me again to wonder if the transmission was at fault here, and I found that to be the case later that evening as I noticed a large puddle forming behind the left front tire. I backed the car away from the pool and dabbed at it with a paper towel, immediately spying a thick blot of pink fluid spreading across the surface of the paper. En route home, I smelled that burning scent again, and noticed wisps of steam/smoke crawling up the side of the Beretta from the vicinity of the left front wheel well. Ah, hell, that would explain a lot of things, wouldn't it.

I had already resolved that there would be no additional repairs to the Beretta, no matter what. So, it was going to be showtime ... two months early. Beautiful. With nothing else to be done for it, I parked the Beretta in the rear parking lot at the condos, where it sits as of this writing: cleaned-out and awaiting to be towed and ultimately junked.

I did some car shopping online looking for something cheap and (hopefully) semi-dependable, while consulting a bit with my brother (who is far better versed in cars and car repair than I am). After some poking around, I'd found a possible candidate to look at, but ran into a timing snafu: Sunday and Monday are my weekends, and the used car dealership where I found my pick was closed for business on Sundays and would be closed the following Monday since it was Memorial Day. Of course.

At least with Brett being currently out of work, we had some scheduling flexibility that normally wouldn't exist between us, so we arranged to meet early Tuesday morning to do some looking around. Brett was pretty skeptical of my initial pick, a 2001 Sebring sedan, and it turned out he had good reason to be: after some close inspection of the dessicated inside of the drivers compartment, the damaged front clip, and a small coolant leak under the hood, the Sebring looked like a bad investment waiting to happen. Next!

With an hour and change to burn before I had to be at work, we headed up to Vine Street and started driving eastward, eventually coming across Transportation Outlet Inc. An initial pass through their lot didn't look very promising: I was not in the market for an SUV or pickup truck, and I also wasn't looking right now to take on a few years of car payments just yet. On the second pass, however, we finally came across what turned out 45 minutes later to be the new Vicmobile:


And there she is, folks: a 1998 Saturn SL2. Considering what I am moving up from, this rather tame acquisition feels like a freaking luxury sedan, despite the lack of CD player (the only demand I had for car audio was a working AM radio so that I could listen to Indians games on the road, so this was a forgivable omission). It's also about as far from the old hot rods of my early twenties as I could have imagined myself buying. Priorities definitely change as you age, and while my priority in 1994 was "how cool does it look and how good is the stereo?," the biggest priority I have in 2009 is "will this car be dependable enough to get me through, say, the end of 2012?" Brett thought so, and his approval of the car itself and the asking price was instrumental in me sealing the deal.

I feel a strange mix of emotions writing this: that exotic blend of giddiness and terrified accomplishment that only comes from spending most of your hard-earned money on something you really hope was worth the splurge. I think most of my friends felt this way when they walked out of the realtors office with the keys to their first house. For me, it was driving off the lot in this car. While the price was good, it was also at the very top end of my reach financially, which will almost certainly make June and July a bit of a monetary high-wire act (at least until this thing has plates on it), but so far it appears to have been worth the risk.

Happy updates are hopefully forthcoming.

Up

The opening 5 minutes of Up is a brilliant, heartbreaking montage detailing the life story of Carl Fredricksen from an awestruck child watching newsreels on the exploits of his hero, explorer Charles Muntz, to a lonely, elderly man coping with the sudden passing of the love of his life. To watch this perfectly-accomplished sequence without a lump in the throat is impossible: this is easily the most moving and poetic piece of animation I have ever seen and alone would guarantee this film a 4 star rating, but it is only the beginning of this wonderful, thoughtful, and very funny movie.

Carl's modern life is an unhappy, stoic grind: a retired balloon salesman, he seems to take pleasure only in playing the pebble in the shoe of urban developers busily converting his old neighborhood into a faceless, concrete-and-glass downtown plaza. To the people working around his house, Carl is a broken-down crank, antisocial and unlikeable and clinging to a quaint old world that no longer exists. Then, an unfortunate incident with a well-meaning construction worker finally puts the ball in the developer's court and Carl is given barely 12 hours to prepare for life in a retirement home.

Rather than give in to inevitability, however, Carl leafs through his wife's old adventure journal and, in a wonderful sequence, uses thousands of unsold helium balloons to lift his house from its foundation and send himself on his way to South America, where an adventure that once defined his half-forgotten childhood awaits. Of course, it is just when Carl is settling into his favorite chair, feeling self-satisfied and at peace at last that a wrinkle in his plans arrives in the form of an inadvertent stowaway on his house-turned-aircraft. Russell, a bubbly, overweight cub scout in search of his last merit badge (for helping the elderly, natch) is trapped on his front porch and childless Carl is forced to cope with his unexpected guest explorer.

I won't divulge what happens with the plot once the explorers quickly reach Paradise Falls, South America, though I'm sure many of you will be able to figure out what is ultimately behind a squad of malevolent talking dogs (whose audible thought processes draw some of the biggest laughs of the movie) and what all of this ultimately has to do with a gawky, seemingly affect-less flightless bird that Russell befriends and names "Kevin." There is also a surprisingly action-packed (and occasionally intense) final third that often feels more like The Incredibles than what you might have been expecting, yet still feels completely right nonetheless.

It's striking to consider that other animation studios have yet to figure out that you can create modern animated movies of peerless quality without having to rely on identifiable celebrity voices and constant, smart-assed pop culture references. As always with Pixar, clever character development and an accessible, enthralling story makes these movies as special and as universally appealing as they are. I can't sing the praises of these guys enough: this is a seemingly fearless studio whose standard of excellence continues to know no bounds, and with Up they have once again delivered what is very likely to be the best film I will see this year.

Up rating: 5/5

In Defence Of Compact Discs

The bed-headed 15-year-old slaps down a battle-scarred copy of Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon rescued from the 99-cent bin. I prepare to engage in the oft-repeated litany about the “warmth” of vinyl and how it's closer to how the ear hears than anything digital, etc. etc. etc.

But then he follows up with, “I really like all the ticks and pops.”

A blog post (linked in the post title) I can certainly identify with from a fellow record store lifer in the midst of the early twenty-first century vinyl resurgence who is perfectly happy with his CD collection, thankyouverymuch.

Observance

It's not very often that a picture gets to me the way this one did.

A brief, shattering reminder of what this holiday, mostly seen as merely "the kickoff of summer," is really about.

Terminator Salvation

Remember that line in Jurassic Park uttered by Jeff Goldblum about scientists being "so preoccupied with whether or not they could, they didn't stop to think if they should."? I always find it blackly amusing that the writers of such cautionary dialogue work for an industry which functions in exactly the opposite fashion. Remember back around 1996 or so when Lucasfilm thought aloud: wow, special effects have come so far so fast in only a dozen years that we can finally make all new Star Wars movies the way we wanted to the first time!?

Yeah, I think we all know full well how that little plan turned out.

It seems like this same kind of thinking also applies to Terminator movies, which is kind of ironic in that Terminator 2: Judgment Day (still far and away the best of the series) was the incredible technical achievement that nearly singlehandedly kicked off the modern age of digital special effects. While this leap forward in technology has admittedly resulted in some truly amazing spectacles (like, say, the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park), it has also presaged a whole new generation's worth of action sequences so inhumanly surgical and antiseptic in nature that they carry all the dramatic weight of a Mortal Kombat match.

In the wake of The Rise Of The Machines (the awful third film in the Terminator franchise), I felt insulted that the first two films somehow weren't enough for Hollywood and that trying to go beyond that seamless basic story was not only pointless and a blatant exercise in derivative greed, but would only lessen the impact of the originals (see also: the entire Star Wars prequel trilogy, Alien3, et al.). Unfortunately, Terminator Salvation, while certainly far superior to The Rise Of The Machines (I believe this is what is referred to as "damning with faint praise"), fails in the end to alter my opinion one bit.

Perhaps the most clinically interesting aspect of Terminator Salvation is that this movie is, in essence, a high speed mash-up of a dozen different science fiction movies. You can almost make a parlor game of calling out the influences for each scene and plot development as they come along. Director McG isn't so much a "director" in this project as a DJ, and this movie is a peak hour set of old classics reconstituted, remixed, re-arranged and played back at high volume. Bits of exposition, revelation and visual reference lifted from old science-fiction chestnuts are everywhere: Return Of The Jedi, The Road Warrior, The Matrix, Aliens, A.I., The Phantom Menace (uh oh), Blade Runner, War Of The Worlds, and, uh, Body Parts.

There isn't a whole lot I can tell you of the plot, but then again the foreshadowing is so heavy-handed in the exposition that even a third-grader can figure out the "central plot twist" to this movie. Let's just say that after a big (and costly) break in intelligence-gathering operations, John Connor (a quite frankly wasted performance by Christian Bale) and the human resistance are preparing to deal a devastating blow to the central hub of Skynet, though it also appears that the machines are also ready to hit first by targeting Connor and his unwitting father, Kyle Reese (and if you don't know how Reese can be Connor's unwitting parent, then you really must be terribly bored right now to be reading all of this).

Much like other recent franchise reboots, Terminator Salvation attempts to blaze a path to fanboy redemption by repeatedly paying homage to the original films: numerous shots, sequences, lines of dialogue and visual references pepper this new film, constantly attempting to create threads and associations to the Cameron films. Many of these nods elicit a knowing chuckle or a nod of approval, others become heavy handed to the point of distraction. Also like any good reboot, this new movie wisely forgets the previous chapter ever happened: the sole connection here to The Rise Of The Machines lies in the character of Kate Connor (whom we last met as a veterinarian played by Claire Danes).

As always, I try to not let plot holes and unexplained happenings bother me too much in films like these, though there are always a few bits that manage to penetrate my suspension of disbelief. Without going into spoilers, I'll list a few below:

1. Considering the fact that it possesses the sum total of all military and artificial intelligence prior to the point of its creation, are you telling me that Skynet never heard of or manufactured a Magnetic Anomaly Detector?

2. Do waterbots (or whatever the hell those things I saw in The Matrix a decade ago are now called) not work in the open ocean?

3. As with many similar-scaled baddies in movies like these, eighty foot tall headless robots have the disconcerting ability to noiselessly tip-toe up on one-story buildings while undetected by anyone inside.

4. Bad news for future dentists and dermatologists: everyone in the post-apocalyptic future has absolutely perfect skin and blindingly white (and straight) teeth. This actually becomes pretty distracting at times when things are supposed to be pretty intense and dramatic.

5. I sure hope anti-rejection medication is still plentiful in the post-apocalyptic wasteland.

6. At a few different points in this movie, I started to think about the beliefs and performances of the principals in the first two Terminator movies. After watching this film (and assuming it is to be accepted as canon), some questions can now be raised about why certain characters behaved the way they do in the first two movies considering what happens in this one.

7. I have had just about enough of this modern school of digitally-edited action film in which everything happens at the very last microsecond before disaster can strike. Sure, it was really cool about 15 or 20 years ago when people in movies first ducked just out of the way of airborne cars, or hit the dirt just as something huge explodes behind them, but enough already. It's time to find a new paradigm here, action directors ... I have definitely "been there and done that" as far as these sequences are concerned.

8. There is a rather glaring continuity error set up by this movie dealing with a brand new series of Terminator met by a handful of the main characters during the Skynet Central sequence (this error only becomes apparent if you remember Reese's dialogue from the first Terminator movie). I stumbled across this error hours afterward while editing this review, and I'll let y'all figure this one out for yourselves if you can.

Look, I'll be honest here and admit that I was diverted and amused for the movie's two hour running time. But let's call a spade a spade: Terminator Salvation is really just another in an endless stream of those factory-made summer blockbuster roller coaster rides: a lot of fun and thrills while it's going on, but ultimately pretty silly once you get your wits about you as the final credits roll. As long as you're cool with that, you'll have a fine old time.

Terminator Salvation rating: 3/5

Two Small Victories

~1~

As promised, I took an Ambien before bed time last night and slept wonderfully, though I guess getting any quality sleep would qualify as semi-miraculous after the last five days.

These pills require you to have at least eight hours of time handy to devote to uninterrupted rest, so until I get a handle on this (hopefully temporary) insomnia problem, I'll be heading to bed a bit earlier for a while in order to giving myself plenty of time to figure out if I'm gonna conk out on my own or with a bit of chemical assistance (be it in pill or organic form).

I'm not sure if it was the after-effect of the Ambien or if my internal sleep timer is still mysteriously out of sync, but I felt heavy-lidded and a tad lethargic at work this afternoon, though nowhere near as foggy-brained as I felt on Tuesday night.

~2~

The Cleveland Indians won only their second series (and their first in almost exactly a month) of the season early this afternoon against the Chicago White Sox. For a club that is playing with the worst record in all of baseball, only in the last game or so have the Indians begun to look like a team with nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Pitching remains crucial to the team having any chance for a successful season, and the call-up of Jeremy Sowers to fill the fifth starter role does not look like a long-term answer to that problem (especially with proven starting commodity Aaron Laffey now working in the bullpen as the team's long relief man). On the other hand, Cliff Lee has been pitching like a man possessed over his last few starts, having fully regained his incredible 2008 form and is only now finally getting some help from the Indians offense. This team has a long way to go to reach .500, but at least there is now a glimmer of possibility.

Sleepless

Having a very crappy start to the work week: didn't fall asleep until the sun was shining Monday morning, and wound up sleeping most of the afternoon away to get some winks in. Then it got worse: I managed maybe 90 minutes of REM sleep this morning (from, say, 11 AM - 12:30 PM) after eight hours of fruitless, frustrating stage 1.

Sooo, it looks like it wasn't the 5-Hour Energy Blast thingies after all (or, if it was, they have somehow thrown my circadian rhythms all out of whack). For the first time in my life, I have full-blown insomnia. Ugh.

Luckily, Sarah has Ambien. One way or the other, I will be very rested tomorrow morning. Beyond that point, we'll see how this plays out.

(Un)Naturally Wired

Last Wednesday, I decided to try out those Five Hour Energy things you see at the gas station in shotglass-sized sealed plastic bottles and come with, like, 8333% of your daily recommended allowance of Vitamin B-whatever. Greg has been using a similar brand off and on at work since giving up on pop, and he reported that they worked pretty well.

For those of you who have never tried one of these, it was like doing a shot of overripe, squished berry juice (there is also a Lemon/Lime brand which simply tastes awful). The concoction took about a half hour to really get working, but when it did I felt very bright-eyed and bushy-tailed indeed. Alert. Flushed. Smiley. Bouncing on the balls of my feet. "Yeah! Let's go!" That kind of thing. And, true to the label, there was no discernible "crash" at the end, just a kind of realization about six hours later that I no longer felt that spring in my step.

I tried another of these bottles on Thursday and then on Friday, and something kind of odd happened: the "rush" or feeling of excessive vitality did not recur either time, but suddenly my ability to fall asleep in a period of less than 2-3 hours was severely compromised. I think I went to bed at 2 AM on Friday morning and didn't really go beyond stage 1 until sometime after 5. Not good.

Friday night was the worst: no sleep at all, and Saturday is an 11.5 hour shift. Ugh. I went to bed at 1, closed my eyes, and basically listened to the Sarah's bedside fan whir and thrum all night until my alarm went off at 9 AM while I tossed and turned and cursed my own existence. Once "awake," I stumbled into the shower, feeling like a walking corpse, and swore off these stupid energy things ... after I had one more on Saturday to make sure I didn't keel over behind the counter at 5 PM.

The timing of this episode was actually kind of funny: a week ago, a couple of old Record Den employees had stopped in and we recounted some good old times. In the midst of this chat, we had a discussion of being able to pull all-nighters with little ill effect in our early-mid twenties and how we could never do one of those again these days! Ha ha! No way, Jose! Amusing.

Anyway, I managed to keep myself pretty busy on Saturday (spent the entire evening alphabetizing 1000 pieces of Sony/EMI product), and despite getting a bit headachey as evening fell, I managed to make it through the day. Once I fell asleep Saturday night (which did take a while), I was completely out the whole rest of the night. Mmmmm REM sleep. So relaxing.

So, yes, these things seem to work pretty well, but caveat emptor ... especially if you are an old and decrepit hippie like me.

Another Springtime In Hell With The Cleveland Indians

Nearly two years ago, following the Cleveland Indians' defeat at the hands of the Boston Red Sox in the ALCS, I took some solace in the loss to the idea that this team would be back to take another shot at a championship berth in 2008. My co-worker Jeff didn't share that optimism, and he reminded me of just how difficult it is in the game of baseball for any team to simply repeat a postseason appearance, never mind a championship. A few months later, the events of the 2008 season proved him correct, and as time goes by, I start to wonder if what we saw at the end of 2007 was a mirage and the true reality of this team lies is the surrounding years.

Jeff was more upbeat on his outlook for this year, as the run-up to the beginning of the 2009 season felt altogether different than the last few, from an extended period of spring training in the team's new facility in Goodyear, Arizona to the adjustments that had been made to address the weaknesses that had plagued the team over the previous campaign. Free-agents had been signed to shore up the perceived issues in pitching and defense, and new talent from the farm system was evaluated to build the best possible team for the new year. By Opening Day, the only true Cleveland shortcoming that could be immediately seen was the starting pitching rotation (now significantly weakened with the trade of C.C. Sabathia and the offseason Tommy John surgery to the elbow of Jake Westbrook). Once again, we are learning anew that the funny thing about baseball is just how completely wrong you always are when it comes to figuring out just how things are going to play out over a season.

So it was that I entered the 2009 season with the usual eternal optimism that afflicts us baseball fans: everyone starting off the marathon once again, anything being possible, expect the unexpected, etc. Boy, did we get it: at one month into the 2009 season, following their worst opening stretch in nearly a century, the Cleveland Indians sit dead last in the American League Central Division with a record of 8-14.

If there is one thing keeping the die-hards from standing in the middle of the Hope Memorial Bridge and staring down soulfully at the murky depths of the Cuyahoga River, it's the fact that despite the ridiculous level of hapless suck the team is exhibiting right now, the Tribe remains only a handful of games out of first place in the American League Central: across-the-board mediocrity seems to be endemic as of right now. One cannot assume this situation will last forever, of course, and I'd personally feel far better about things if the Indians can manage to finish the month of May at .500 or better ... a place this team has not been since, oh, last spring. Since there is no guarantee that stupid interleague play will be any kinder to this squad than last year's abysmal pounding, I'd like to have a little bit of cushion going before we run headlong into the Chicago Cubs, St. Louis Cardinals and Cincinatti Reds, thankyouverymuch.

The more things change, the more they stay the same: the Indians' offense, such as it is, remains helpless against off speed pitches and strikes out at a rate that leads the American League. Aside from the split series against the hated New York Yankees at their shiny new billionaire's bandbox, the Indians have scuffled at the plate, often struggling to produce even a single run with bases loaded and less than 2 out.

Not all is lost in this department: Victor Martinez has been batting nearly .400 and is certainly making up for time lost to injury in 2008, while Asdrubal Cabrera has found his swing again and is spraying singles and doubles all over the outfield. Travis Hafner, despite recently being added once again to the Disabled List, showed tantalizing glimpses of his past Pronk-like glory for a couple of weeks. On the whole, Cleveland batters have been patient and exacting at the plate, wearing down starting pitching early and drawing nearly 100 walks, which leads the league. That said, perhaps the batters have been a little too patient: the Indians' batting average with runners in scoring position has been abysmal, and coupled with the previously mentioned strikeout rate, has left the team hard pressed to come up with runs in the clutch, let alone at any other time, unless they happen to be blasted out of the yard.

After a disastrous start, Cleveland's starting pitching has at least gathered itself into a semblance of its usual form. The victories are mixed: on one hand, staff ace Cliff Lee has started to draw a bead on the form that led him to 22 victories in 2008, while the arguably more-talented Fausto Carmona remains maddeningly inconsistent and well short of his 19-game- winning 2007 form. Elsewhere, Anthony Reyes has managed to pull off a shaky kind of Paul Byrd-like highwire act, while sinkerballer Aaron Laffey and off-season signing Carl Pavano (of all people) have been the most consistently dependable starters to date.

Perhaps the biggest issue currently facing the Indians is the terrifying performance of their bullpen, particularly the once-trustworthy duo of lefty Rafael Perez and Jensen Lewis, who became our default closer in the second half of 2008. Even more so than the first half of last year's campaign, the bullpen has been a model of consistency in the category of "fail" since Opening Day. Perhaps the most glaring statistic I can put on the table: the bullpen has given up nearly 30 runs in the 8th innings so far this season (which is a hell of lot considering we have not yet played 30 games yet). The back end of the equation has also been a bit wobbly, with $20 million dollar closer Kerry Wood looking at times more like Bob Wickman than the ironclad game insurance Tribe fans had been expecting, though the jury remains out on that particular acquisition for the time being.

Lastly, shoddy defense, primarily at the corner outfield positions and the left side of the diamond has been a nagging issue, creating an extra strain on an already dangerously-thin pitching situation. While this in itself is generally not as damaging to our team as the pitching has been, the amount of extra outs being doled to opposing teams is a troubling issue, especially since more often than not, the Tribe's opposition finds ways to exploit these opportunities.

So, what and where are the fixes? Calling up new help from our restocked farm system has certainly been on the minds of many the last couple of weeks (certainly following the immediate splash made by reliever Tony Sipp), though it appears that no league-ready pitching exists in Columbus or Akron that has not already been looked at during spring training. I'm not even sure that calling up AAA-mashers like Matt LaPorta can do much for an offense that seems to have the talent, but is missing some vital spark somewhere that remains frustratingly intangible and inaccessible.

Once you eliminate the above, you have to focus on the idea of a managing change, and while every team has a group of fans who are always calling for heads to roll, their screaming sounds more and more like a viable option the more games this team loses. I am not now (and have never been) a member of that eternal "FIRE ERIC WEDGE" crowd ... but after seven years and one postseason run to show for it, I have to admit that my patience is at last beginning to run out.

Den Vignettes

Just when I was thinking that this year's batch of high-profile April Fools Day jokes were so stupid that they weren't even jokes, I get hard evidence that at least one of them worked: I actually had a 20-something person come into the store Friday afternoon and ask me for the "new Nine Inch Nails album," which, if none of you have heard about it, can be looked at here.

I almost felt bad setting the poor bastard straight: not because I'm sure he didn't actually see the above webpage (he told me that a friend of his e-mailed him about this "release," and I wonder if his friend bothered to read anything past the title), but because he mentioned that he had been to like five other stores around the county looking for it and my explanation at least made clear why he'd had so much trouble locating it. Oof.

In the department of "non-April Fools Day related inanity", I can tell you about the two teenagers who asked Greg if we carried any Metallica "vinyls" in the store. I used the quotes there because they pronounced the word "VIN-yulz," which for a moment had him completely baffled as to what the hell they were talking about. Dear lord ...

An Open Letter To An Apparently Growing Subsect Of The American Population

DEAR ARMED-AND-SUICIDAL PEOPLE OF AMERICA:

IF YOU HAPPEN TO FEEL THAT TAKING YOUR OWN LIFE VIA. THE USE OF FIREARMS IS THE ONLY RECOURSE FOR YOU IN THE WAKE OF YOUR LOST JOB/STOCK OPTIONS/CAR/GIRLFRIEND/WIFE/POKER GAME, THEN YOU ARE CERTAINLY FREE TO DO SO, BUT FOR CRISSAKES STOP ASSUMING EVERYONE ELSE FEELS EXACTLY THE SAME WAY YOU DO.

THANK YOU AND GOOD DAY,

vbc3

"Boo!"s And "Woo!"s

Yeah yeah, I've been a quiet, streaky blogger so far this year. Guilty as charged. I've been having a difficult time getting myself into a regular writing mindset for a while now, largely due to free-time issues (like, not having very much of it). That said, I am matching my 2008 output to date, so maybe it's a seasonal thing. Who knows, maybe I need to look into this Twitter thing.

Just kidding.

"BOO!"s

* Even though the exhaust system is brand new and the car had been running better than it had in a while over the last few weeks, I'd been having a bad feeling about how this year's E-check was gonna go, so I made sure to get it out of the way extra early for a change. That was probably one of my better ideas: not only did the Beretta fail, it completely BOMBED the test. From the near-hysterial reaction of the lady at the testing facility, it seems that my hydrocarbon exhaust level is about, uh, four times over the normal limit, suggesting that I am not far off from blowing unburned fuel right through my tailpipe. Even better, my CO levels are nearly twenty times where they should be. This is no longer a Chevy Beretta, people, I am now driving the fuckin' Deathmobile. I take a grain of comfort in knowing that my friend Andy will be so proud of my size 30 carbon footprint that he might give me a plaque or something.

Needless to say, the limit has finally been reached and the Deathmobile is now on its farewell NE Ohio tour, as I have about 4 months until the current tags expire. Said tags will not be renewed, nor will the Deathmobile be repaired again. Believe me you, I'm a bit incensed that I blew that last grand on it getting the power steering and exhaust systems fixed in December and January, but we (ultimately) live and learn. The question now becomes what do I do about transportation after the end of July? As of right now, I'm leaning strongly towards "new (used) car," and away from "take over Sarah's car and assume remaining payments."

Assuming I go with the former option, I'm going to need to step up the Amazon sales on my end a bit, if nothing else, while also increasing my currently-depleted level of savings over the three couple of months to reach a place where I am comfortable parting with a decent-sized down payment and setting up some attendant financing. More details and strategies as they emerge...

* Frustratingly, the obtaining of a permit for our new water heater has stalled completely. We have called the company that installed the goddamned thing twice in an attempt to get some idea of what to do or how to get a permit, and we have not been called back either time. Finally sick of waiting, I contacted the Willowick Health Department in an attempt to go straight to the top, only to be told that someone would be in contact with us. Of course, said someone has yet to call.

* My 2008 income taxes were e-filed earlier tonight. The results are about par for the course: I get a whopping 7 bucks from the state of Ohio (and that is only after declaring the substantial amount of dental work I had done last year), while the Feds soak me for 111. Grrr.

"WOO!"s

* Dad is back at home again and independently mobile, with a voice and demeanor that is slowly strengthening ... though I wonder if it will ever sound anything like it used to.

* Somehow, we followed up a miserable January at Record Den with the best February sales figure we've had since our re-opening in 1998. It looks like March is going to be close, maybe just a shade off target, which is still better than we thought we'd have any right to be considering the way everything in this country has allegedly gone to Hell. We are pleased and delighted with these results, but also wondering if maybe we are finally becoming the only game in town at long last.

* Our friend Dave Lynch was in town last weekend, and to herald his visit, Sarah and despite a water disaster with the worktub that soaked a part of the living room carpet a couple days previous, we managed to get the condo tidied up to an extent it hasn't been since last year. Now the onus is on for us to keep it that way.

* Opening day for the 2009 baseball season is exactly one week away.

* I still have not set up my new PC yet as I have bogged while backing up stuff on this old one. Still, this rates as a "Woo!" because this new baby is going to kick this old one's ass right off the planet. 4 gigs of memory. Need I say more?

Truly "Bigger Than Jesus"

No discussion of popular music in the 1960s (or the 20th Century, for that matter) could be complete without mention of The Beatles, and this week marks the 45th anniversary of what could arguably be considered the very height of Beatlemania.

On Billboard's Hot 100 singles chart for the week ending April 4, 1964, the Fab Four achieved a level of dominance never seen before or since as they staked claim to the Top 5 positions on said chart, while placing an incredible seven other songs ("I Saw Her Standing There," "You Can't Do That," "All My Loving," "Roll Over Beethoven," "From Me To You," "Do You Want To Know A Secret," and "Thank You Girl") at various slots down the list.

Below is a look at that week's Top 10 as it was published:

As you might have noticed, the Beatles singles listed above originated from multiple distributors, not just Capitol Records (the label they had signed to just before the hysteria had started, and their U.S. home ever since). Facing a stone wall of skepticism or outright hostility from the U.S. record industry, band manager Brian Epstein had scattered several Beatles singles among a handful of smaller independent labels over the second half of 1963 in persistent efforts to get a foothold in the U.S. market with no success at all. Then, as now, if you had an insufficient promotional budget to spend fostering radio airplay, your releases simply would not get on the air, and the labels that chose to work with Epstein had little or no national promotion budget to speak of.

Epstein's efforts at the time may have been viewed as a failure, yet they paid off wildly when the band became a known entity in America seemingly overnight. Thus, when "I Want To Hold Your Hand" went supernova in January of 1964 (with five million sold, it ultimately became the best-selling song of the decade), there was plenty of older Beatles product available to record stores who found themselves swamped by overwhelming demand for anything Beatles-related. Such was this demand that even cash-in novelty records recorded in the days and weeks following the band's Ed Sullivan Show appearance began to show up in the record charts as well in the form of "We Love You Beatles" by The Carefrees, "A Letter To The Beatles" by The Four Preps, "My Boyfriend Got A Beatle Haircut" by Donna Lynn and "The Boy With The Beatle Hair" by The Swans.

While managing to nail down the Top 5 slots on the Hot 100 is an impressive enough feat, one has to look beyond this amazing one-week snapshot to see just how stupendous the Beatles were in the first half of 1964. While they released their most epochal works down the line a ways, they would never again completely dominate culture like they did that spring. For starters, that mind-boggling roll call of twelve singles listed simultaneously on the Hot 100 would actually increase to an unbelievable fourteen entries on the April 11 chart as "There's A Place" and "Love Me Do" entered the fray alongside their dozen predecessors.

The April 4 chart may have been the only time the Beatles would control the entire Top 5, but their domination of the Billboard singles chart extends for months either way: on April 4, the band had now owned the entire top 4 for two straight weeks and the entire top 3 for four straight weeks (since March 14). If that wasn't enough of a stranglehold for you, consider next that the Fabs had also reserved the top 2 positions on the Hot 100 from February 22 to April 25 (1o weeks) and held down the number 1 spot with one song or another from February 1 though May 2 (14 weeks).

Oh, it gets better: The Beatles kept at least one song in Billboard's Top 10 from to January 25 to June 20 of that year (22 weeks solid), and managed to keep at least one hit in the national Top 40 for 39 consecutive weeks -- from January 25 (the week "I Want To Hold Your Hand" rocketed from #45 clear up to #3) all the way through to October 17 (the week "Matchbox" tumbled from #17 to #52, opening a nearly two-month period when no Beatles songs impacted the U.S. Top 40 ).

Lastly, and perhaps most incredibly of all, by the end of 1964, the Fab Four would amass 15 million-selling records in the U.S. (over 9 singles and 6 albums), and the total sales of these releases combined amounted to over 25 million records sold ... by one band in one year.

When Pets Attack

It's always fun in a disconcerting way to watch as your rascally, cuddly, lovable furball pet instantaneously transmogrifies into a fuckin' terminator.

Sarah was holding Moe as we talked in the office yesterday afternoon while it rained steadily. Sarah noticed a flutter of motion by the window and spied a pigeon who had just landed on the sill to escape the miserable conditions. She mentioned it to me and then asked Moe if he could see it, lowering him slightly so that it was in his sightline.

At first, he didn't seem to process it, but once he did, it was like this electric current just shot right through him. He immediately did that "turn to jellyfish" trick of his and squirmed out of Sarah's grasp and, in one motion, fell to the floor and then sprang straight for the window (which is about chest-high to me).

BWAP! The window was, of course, closed, and Moe flew face-first right into it. The surprise of this impact knocked him back down to the floor into a tangle of wires, but he barely noticed. In another spring-like motion, he threw himself back at the window. BWAP! Same result. Down to the floor he went again. Duh.

By this time, Sarah and I were pretty much incapacitated with laughter, while the pigeon, who probably watched its life flash before its eyes, took off in a hurry once it realized it was not going to be Moe's dinner.

One can almost imagine the thought processes involved in these few seconds of action:

Moe: purr purr ooo I wuv you guyz so much I just love being fussed over and cuddled and the center of attent-HOLY SHIT A FUCKEN BIRD!!! YOU ARE DEAD, BIRD!! DEAD!!! I AM GOING TO FUCK YOU UP RIGHT NOW!!!

*BWAP!*

Pigeon: AAUGGGHHHHH HALP O GOD O GOD

*BWAP!*

Pigeon: oh. heh. lol. *flies away*

Moe, of course, spent the rest of the afternoon keeping a very watchful eye on the windowsill. I tried to impress upon the boy that even if the window had been opened, and there had been no screen in it, he would have possibly nabbed the Mr. Pigeon in a flying tackle, yes, but then it would have been a 20 foot drop to the sidewalk afterward.

I don't think he cared.

The Wubbulous World Of Dr. Seuss

I think everyone knows by now that Google is always putting up different stylized logos on its homepage to commemorate holidays and special events. This morning, the following logo went up to mark the 105th birthday of Dr. Seuss:

Dunno about you guys, but I think this one is a keeper. :)

Some extra links, should you have the time:

Dr. Seuss's Seussville

Dr. Seuss Went To War: A Catalog Of Political Cartoons

American Art Archives display

Some videos available for streaming:

Green Eggs And Ham

The Lorax

The Zax

The Sneetches (Part 1 and Part 2)

(Youtube): Everything Is Amazing, Nobody Is Happy...

Comedian Louis C.K. sits down with Conan O'Brien and offers up some thought-provoking commentary on modern society with a dose of laughs.

Progress

A checklist of things accomplished and to be accomplished since the beginning of 2009:

* New exhaust system on car (ostensibly to pass this year's E-Check, though also to keep me from inhaling unhealthy amounts of carbon monoxide and keep me from smelling like the interior of an auto repair shop 24/7): check.

* Power steering on car repaired and functioning nominally: check.

* Possibly impulsive and ill-timed purchase of new, very speedy PC from MicroCenter, partially on a $200 gift card I'd received for Christmas: check.

* Heater unit maintenance to clear out a few years of dust buildup: check.

* Completion of re-inspection by Inspector Dickhead: check.

* Cleveland Indians 2009 spring training: in progress.

* Record Den sales status as of end of February 2009: cautiously optimistic following an absolutely awful January.

* Pointless obtaining of permit/plumber inspection for new water heater installed last year (by licensed plumbers, I might add) in order to get the city of Willowick off my back for this year once and for all: pending.

* Next six months of car insurance paid off: pending.

* A couple more dental fillings in April (which, if nothing else, finally closes the book on that ongoing project): pending.

* Dad's status on physical rehabilitation (following a late January bout with pneumonia in his other lung): pending.

* Current pace of Amazon sales: tortoise-like.

* State of condo cleanliness: cluttered.

* Setup/installation of new possibly impulsive and ill-timed purchase of new, very speedy PC from MicroCenter, partially on a $200 gift card I'd received for Christmas: delayed while trying to backup and offload ridiculous amounts of files from this one.

* 2008 income taxes: delayed until I can get needed dividend info from Dad.

* Scheduling of an ultrasound test at LakeWest Hospital (a very cheap and cost-effective procedure, I'm sure) to ascertain that Chuck is no longer hanging around: delayed awaiting the completion of "bill week".

Things are gradually becoming better than they were when I last updated this blog. My overall mood is improving considerably. There is a new U2 album next week. Baseball season starts in just over a month. Best of all: summer's comin'.

NP: (Various Artists) Cafe Del Mar Volume Five

Breather

Hi. Taking an hour break between applying coats of paint to the trapdoor access to the upstairs bathroom (located in the foyer ceiling) and the upper windowsill of the bathroom itself. After seemingly vanishing from existence for a wonderful two months after finding some new stupid shit to bitch about, Inspector Asshole has returned from whatever sabbatical he was on and now wants to schedule a re-inspection, like, yesterday. Good for him.

I think there is some kind of limited zen state I can achieve while painting. I can lose myself in the job and shed irritation with life and just kind of Be for as long as it takes to complete what I'm doing. Granted, dripping paint onto surfaces of different colors kinda hinders the calming effect of the chore a bit, but luckily, we've had none of that tonight.

Maybe I should do this more often. Anyone out there need a room painted by a rank amateur anytime soon?

I'll write some more eventually, but I've been in a pretty bleak place moodwise for the last week or so. Life sucks. It'll pass.