Union Tree Review like to keep things local. By local, I don’t simply mean to the city of St. Louis, but to the very neighborhood they live and play music. Union Tree Review describe themselves as a Cherokee Street band, and they are an ideal candidate to lead the charge of reviving the St. Louis music scene, or rather shine a spotlight on how awesome it is already.

The evidence can be found looking no further than the street they call home. Surrounded by burgeoning arts scene, awesome ethnic food, and tons of people involved in all aspects of local music, one could be content never leaving the block again. This setting is the perfect climate for Union Tree Review’s blend of indie rock and alt country. By adding viola and the occasional horn section to the soothing warmth of singer Tawaine Noah’s voice, their songs shine in the small venues and coffee houses of which their neighborhood is in abundance.

Union Tree Review look to bring elements of the Cherokee community together for their next album. Drummer Matt Strom explains “We’re going to hopefully create an entire album from writing the songs to the people recording, producing and mixing the songs to the people making the album art all within five blocks of each other.”

While Cherokee St. may be tight-knit, Union Tree are tired of the city’s insularity. Noah expounds upon his frustration: “For a while, everyone had their own band and they were wrapped up in that. ‘Oh, you have a band? Well, good luck!’” UTR think St. Louis bands need to be more proactive in promoting shows – and the group practices what they preach. However, guitarist Jordan Howe explains how spreading the word only about yourself isn’t good enough: “You want everyone to work and succeed. If we get a lot of people at our show and Humdrum plays too, maybe more people will come to the next Humdrum show.” It’s this level of cooperation that will elevate not only Union Tree Review, but the entire St. Louis music scene. Isn’t that what “keeping things local” is all about?

Quick Tracks:

“Foreign Eyes”
Simple, sweet but melancholy folk tune with great harmonies, viola and horns that accent the emotion of feeling old at the age of twenty four. One listen, and you can see how it was written after a breakup in winter, while staring out a window over a cup of coffee and shot of whisky.

“Let Me Be”
Song for the over-worked and under-paid, otherwise known as the anthem of the young, post-collegiate city dweller whose frontier is growing up. Slower, low key Ra Ra Riot and Anathallo meet Ryan Adams. This song is itching to be heard live.

You can hear some of Union Tree Review’s music at Myspace and Facebook
They also have a Twitter

That statement has been my life since viewing the first two seasons of the HBO police drama The Wire. Not only do I feel like I know a little something about the seedy underbelly that is the drug world, I also feel I understand a bit of the political divides within law enforcement on multiple levels. This apparent knowledge makes me feel both more hip and “in the know,” as well as suspicious of local businesses on the very street I live on. No joke, one suspected “front” is this pizza shop on the corner of Grand and Wyoming called “St. Louis National Pizza Company.” The place “opened” in, I think, the late winter/early spring but I rarely saw the lights on or anyone inside the place. Shortly after it opened too there was a sign on the front door that said “Cash Only for a few days.” This sign was left displayed for at least three weeks. STL Nat’l ‘Za also have this stock photo looking artwork all around that just feels like it’s supposed to look real. (I’ve yet to walk in and buy a pizza. Maybe that should be the next step in my investigation.) Suspicious? Definitely. But this suspicion is baseless, obviously, because the reality is I really know absolutely nothing about what I think I see.

But this is what the Wire does to you. In an ESPN podcast called the B.S. Report, writer Bill Simmons was talking to another writer by the name of Chuck Klosterman about the first several episodes of the season 6 of LOST. During the discussion somehow the Wire came up, and Klosterman made the point that the Wire “felt real.” It didn’t seem like you were watching TV anymore, but a documentary or at the very least a show that was based on actual events. Before creating of the show David Simon and Ed Burns were immersed in the violent drug world of Baltimore as a police reporter and a homicide detective respectively and set out to write a show loosely based on Burns life, so the show is very realistic. I don’t all the sudden have a policeman’s instincts, but, because of the realism, it feels like I kind of do.

The more I watch the show, and the deeper the show gets, the more I wonder how much the reality of the show’s universe parallels the actual reality of St. Louis and my own life. One of the next shows I plan to watch is Deadwood, will it make me feel as though I understand what it’s like to be a cowboy? To own a saloon? Perhaps. And by perhaps I mean probably not.

Either way, watching the Wire has been great. I can’t praise it highly enough, the show is probably the best drama I’ve ever seen, and I’m continually blown away by how well it is done. It’s irrevocably changed my life and the way I see the world, though I’m not sure if it’s for the better (or worse for that matter.) Again, the wool has been pulled from my eyes, yet what I see I do not understand.

Reasons for liking a band’s earlier work are as diverse as reasons for liking a band at all, but what seems prevalent is this appeal to snobbery: “see, I liked this band first, before any of you people had ever heard of them.” This is especially true of independent bands as mass popularity usually depends on a large event or sudden exposure of some kind like going on tour with Death Cab, or getting signed to Elektra, or having a song on Gossip Girl or Weeds or something.

Whenever a band explodes like that, it is easy for the band to change (maybe likely) or for original fan’s perception of the band to change (definitely likely.) When indie bands have the backing of larger labels, recording budgets get bigger which means the records are more self-indulgent, production is glossier and over-compressed, the packaging is slicker and there is a glut of promotion everywhere which really makes it difficult for fans to suspend disbelief that the dudes in this band are “like me” and understand “my problems” which is really just to say we no longer relate. So, do I care that a band I was friends with in college but now they’ve lived in California for over 3 years is releasing their 4th album, 2nd on a major label, that they recorded in L.A. for 3 and a half months? Not really. Maybe it’s time to move on.

Well, that’s how it normally happens anyway. But it’s not always so cut and dry. Case in point: Harvey Milk. Harvey Milk’s original full-length record, the one that should have been their debut but was lost when the recording engineer disappeared with the master tapes, was finally released in January of this year. What had only been passed around on shitty, re-re-re-redubbed tapes and even worse sounding mp3s the past 15 years has been remastered, and given to us all to compare to the rest of their catalog (you can actually compare the remaster to the original here. The difference it pretty incredible.)

The release of s/t, the long lost Harvey Milk debut, had me scratching my head. How do you listen to a debut that never was? Is this 15 year old album relevant now? Was it then? What do fans think? Do they love it or hate it? Or are they indifferent to it especially since some of the songs have appeared in other forms on most of their later releases? And if they don’t like it, what does that mean for preferring their “old stuff”?

The record itself is eviscerating. It’s like the sound of falling bombs. Vocalist Creston Spiers’ sounds like a man slowly dying, as though gargling his own blood. It’s not the best sounding Milk record, but I think that makes it sound better. After all, Harvey Milk is known their sludge and what sounds better on a sludge record than a few layers of dirt, grime and tape hiss?

So what’s the verdict? Do fans like it, hate it or not care? I think it’s awesome, which puts me in the camp that believes aggressive bands make their best music early in their careers. Those that don’t may prefer their more “polished” efforts like 2007′s Life… The Best Game In Town or are more into their blues/rock than their doom/rock. The indifferent crowd is difficult to understand. I get being accustomed to the later versions of the songs, especially since they reflect Harvey Milk having played through the songs more, tweaking them here and there, and the old versions seem less finished.

I would wonder what both groups think of Harvey Milk’s latest release A Small Turn of Human Kindness. The band has described the record as a return to form: the “Harvey Milkiest record yet.” The slowest, and heaviest album they’ve ever done sounds much like 15 years ago, and I don’t think you can like that one and not like s/t too.

But then again, reasons for and against are as varied as liking the band to begin with. What camp are you?

Further reading:
Decibel interview with Creston Spiers
Invisible Oranges: 1 & 2
StonerRock.com review of s/t
MishkaNYC review of s/t
Self-Titled Mag: Harvey Milk Tears Through Their Discography Hilarious!
ALTSounds article on s/t
The Aquarian
NYTimes Review of Harvey Milk live concert
No Rip Cord

The Swiss Army Romance is a voyeuristic trip through a 20-something’s diary that feels as naked as it is. Thoroughly sparse compared to the over-produced “big” sounding modern alternative rock that commanded the charts at the time; the album is just acoustic guitars and Carrabba’s strained voice. Like his first release, The Drowning EP, Swiss Army recalls deeply personal and painful experiences: homesickness, break-ups, cheating, being cheated on and death and all the songs are found in major keys. Unlike the first EP, as well as the majority of Elliott Smith’s lyrics which almost always turn inward and blame the singer himself for his pain, the lyrics of Swiss Army Romance are directed outward. Those to blame are ex-girlfriends, the weather, the road, his home town and the singer is somehow daftly unaware why these things are happening to him. Perhaps Carrabba has a knack for always picking the wrong girl, or for saying the wrong things, or maybe he really is the most unlucky guy you could ever meet. If taken literally, the lyrics reveal Carrabba to be not only naive but utterly childish in his simplistic thinking. Though aged 25 during the recording of Swiss Army, Carrabba seems much younger, seeing relationships through teenage eyes. The thought occurred to me that maybe Carrabba really is as naive and simple as he appears. Once the dust cleared from that revelation, I immediately thought of another simple and naive doofus: Michael Scott.

Michael Scott is the name of the boss in NBC’s “mockumentary” comedy The Office. He is played brilliantly by Steve Carrell. Throughout the series, Michael Scott is the socially unaware, arrogant jerk who wears his heart on his sleeve and constantly has it broken mostly because he plays the fool, but unintentionally. With his female employees Scott is inappropriate at best and an outright misogynist at worst. He’s racist, homophobic, and the moment any member of the opposite sex shows him any kindness he immediately imagines their future together as a couple: first comes love, then comes marriage and then comes sex but hopefully not in that order.

In the show’s first season, during the episode “The Hot Girl” a solicitor named Katy (played by the beautiful Amy Adams) visits the office in order to sell hand bags. When the receptionist, Pam, initially asks if Katy could set up her items in the conference room Scott interrupts to denounces the idea saying “No no no. No vendors in the office. That is a distraction.” After Pam convinces Scott to talk to her, he acquiesces and upon seeing Katy his jaw drops to the floor. Scott immediately breaks company policy because of the woman’s “hotness” and later in the episode, after awkwardly offering to give the woman a ride home after work, he begins to fantasize about maybe stopping for coffee, maybe being asked into her apartment, maybe sex and maybe even love. Though he confesses to a co-worker “it’s too early to tell,” how does offering a stranger, whom you met not even 8 hours earlier, a ride home spark thoughts of love? This is the logic of Michael Scott.

In another episode, (season 2, episode 7 “The Client”) Michael and his boss Jan Levinson were caught kissing in the parking lot after making a huge sale earlier in the episode. Michael, unwillingly at first, confesses the whole ordeal to the camera crew and says “I know we have to register as a consensual sexual relationship with HR. My question, do I do it as the man, does she do it as my superior? I don’t know.” Then Michael lets his imagination fabricate an amazing fictional context for his and Jan’s future that simply doesn’t exist by saying “…that leads to other issues that we may have, in our relationship.” Later Jan calls and accuses Michael of intentionally getting her drunk, or slipping something into her drink in order to get her into bed with him. Michael defends himself and says “This is just a fight. This is just a first fight of many fights we’re gonna have” as though their little tryst was the beginning of a life-long romance. You see the look on Michael’s face change from elation when he picked up Jan’s call to shock, disbelief then embarrassment. Michael frantically attempts to get the camera crew to leave so he can talk to Jan alone and spare himself the public debasement but instead hides underneath his desk, desperately trying to convince Jan that they are in love, they are meant to be together and that she just doesn’t know it yet. All that needs to be done is to recreate the circumstances of the previous night and all will be right with the world.

This kind of blind naivety permeates the lyrics on The Swiss Army Romance. They read like Michael Scott’s private journal. On “Again I Go Unnoticed,” Carrabba shrugs off a lover’s indifference with the quip “maybe you’re just feeling tired ’cause if it’s more than that I feel that I might break.” On the bridge of the song, Carrabba furthers this thought that maybe a night’s sleep will do the trick, that he’ll “wait until tomorrow, maybe you’ll feel better then.” Perhaps the same delusion that Scott convinced himself of, the expectation that all that needs to be had are a few drinks, or a few winks of sleep, will rekindle their supposed passion.

The next episode opens with Michael and every member of the office individually deconstructing a voicemail left by Jan about her coming to town for performance reviews. Michael is convinced that Jan not only doesn’t say what she means, but that each word she does say has a hidden meaning that would confirm his conception that Jan is in love with him. Or at least, as Pam says to Michael during their review of the message, the she has mixed feelings about their relationship, that she “feels conflicted.”

Carrabba too seems to think women speak in mysteries. At another point on the record, Carrabba explains he too is unable to understand female logical. As though, like Jan’s voicemail to Michael Scott, they never say what they mean. “Please send me signals that are anything but mixed cause I can’t read your rolling eyes.” The line of thinking, that there is a secret code within a woman’s words, reminds me very distinctly of junior high and high school. Growing up in the age of the internet and the birth of online journals like LiveJournal, DeadJournal, Xanga & Blogger, I recall scouring journals of the girls I “liked” as well as writing entires myself in order to get them to want me, to need me, “to notice me.” If I composed them just right I hoped beyond hope for a comment from that special someone confirming that she understood my secret language. In one particular entry, from my junior year of high school, after describing how I had been playing phone tag with “a friend” throughout the day I ended the entry with

“So I read their live journal, and im like. aww. oh well. to a certain extent, waiting sucks. like, you want to do something but you cant because its not straight yet. and so you have to wait for it to be straight. and im really being cryptic in the entry. well, they’ll know what im talking about. i just hope i dont have to wait forever…”

assuming no one would know except the one I want to know. Carrabba’s lyrics read like these notes. Secret message meant to be decrypted by those females set in his sights. Even the break-up songs sound like blog updates intended to catch the ear of that special, although probably ill-thought of, someone.

“Screaming Infidelities” depicts Carrabba as a doe-eyed, hopeful cuckold who would rather cry himself to sleep knowing his girlfriend is sleeping around then admit to himself that their relationship is over. In “Saints and Sailors” from The Places You Have Come to Fear the Most, Carrabba wishes to at least have a fight over the phone with his ex-girlfriend because even a bad relationship is better than none at all. This attitude it much like Scott’s taking Jan Levinson back though their relationship made him feel the worst he’s ever felt.

In other songs he portrays an arrogance that accompanies only people who cannot think about anyone but themselves. “Sharp Hint of New Tears” is Michael Scott after he digitally inserts himself into a family Christmas card of his then girlfriend’s in place of her ex-husband. “Why should I apologize for the things that you’ve done wrong?” he asks as though Carol has always been in love with him, even before she knew him.

Carrabba is not entirely without introspection. On the title track, he displays an awareness that completely escapes Michael Scott. Youth is fleeting, and like the teenage romances he chases, they won’t last forever. Eventually they’ll grow up, mature, and become real relationships based on more than looking cool and saying the right things. Eventually we’ll forget our youthful ignorance and naivety and not understand how it was possible to be so dumb. Maybe that’s true of Carrabba too. Maybe he wrote a lot of those songs well before they were recorded, or perhaps they were old emotions that had been kicking around his heart and his head for years, and recording them got them out.

Yeah, I’m reading your note again, Chris, and there’s not a word that I comprehend either.

Next up, how Chris Carrabba is Llyod Dobler becoming Rob Gordon.

I wasn’t exactly sure what I believed about Carrabba as a person. I wasn’t sold on his being completely legit, but I was also not overcome with my friend’s pessimism. There had to be some explanation that Dashboard’s songs could be an authentic reflection of Carrabba and his inner teenage boy. There had to be some part of him that hadn’t left behind high school emotional logic. There must be some part of him that is a child and speaks like a child. There must also be a part of him that has experienced deep pain. And this brings about the obvious question and the reason for this investigation. Is he serious? In what world does a 30 year old man write songs like he is 15? Is he for real? I think I may have a few ideas how.

In 1993 Elliott Smith, upon the prompting of his then girlfriend, recorded 8 acoustic songs that didn’t seem to fit with his current band Heatmiser. The songs were recorded to a four track tape machine Smith borrowed and were not meant for anyone to hear. He even tracked them underneath a stairwell in a basement to ensure complete privacy and emotional security. Listening to the record makes me red-faced; like Smith was writing secret letters to himself. They read like his private diary. The lyrics confess feelings of violence, hatred, self-immolation, and most of all, pain. The record was never meant to be released; it was more of a way for Smith to exercise some inner demons but the same girlfriend who encouraged their recording also encouraged their release and, fortunately for us, released it was.

Much like the making of Elliott Smith’s debut record Roman Candle (actually, it’s pretty incredible how similar both Smith and Carrabba’s rise to solo careers is,) Dashboard Confessional’s Chris Carrabba had a few songs that didn’t fit with his former band, and he needed to get them out. The resulting The Drowning EP evokes the same feelings as Roman Candle: pain, regret and an emotional honesty only found in death row inmates who discover Jesus while awaiting the axe to fall. The songs were written in July 1998 and recorded later by friend and producer James Paul Wisner, a rising emo recordist from Florida. The EP caught the attention of Fiddler Records which gave Carrabba an opportunity outside of Further Seems Forever; a band he felt increasingly awkward as a member (and had quit before returning to record their debut The Moon is Down.)

Stylistically, both EPs are very similar. Mostly acoustic guitars and vocals. A little harmony here and there. Roman Candle is colored with some electric guitar, while The Drowning EP is fleshed out with keyboards. Accidentals and key changes abound but both EPs are sparsely ornamented, naked songs left so to convey the inner pain of the tortured songwriter. The lyrics speak to an unnamed “you,” known only to the hand which scrawled the words in his private journal now sung for everyone to hear. Ambiguous and poetic enough for us to project meaning and to create meaning all our own which is one of the main appeals of Smith’s and Carrabba’s lyrics. But there is a distinct darkness present in Smith’s lyrics and music that just isn’t in Carrabba’s. Smith’s albums do not sound like an outlet as much as we are actually given residence inside his head. We see what he sees in the mirror, and it cannot escape him. Carrabba, on the other hand, sounds like he is purging his inner demons. The songs call out the demons by name which compells their escape.

On “Drowning,” Carrabba confesses a proclivity to imbibe by analyzing the behavior of others. “Are you drowning your fears in a glass of deception?” he asks to the object of the song and us, but mostly to himself. A confession that “truth is in a tall beer” and a revelation that one cannot take the easy way out or forget about problems at the bottom of a glass. And on “For Justin,” Carrabba is telling himself the past year of mourning over the death of his friend has caused growth, and resolution to “live a life you would think is sane.” Through the emotional bleeding, Carrabba wants to become better.

But for Smith it is not that simple. His problems seem bigger, heavier, more tragic and wrought by someone else’s hand. They cannot be erased by a simple chorus. All of the “No Name” songs, “Roman Candle,” “Condor Ave.,” “Drive All Over Town” all seem to deal with Smith’s father’s (or perhaps step-father’s) physical abuse of both himself and his mother. A pain that is deep, difficult to really understand and lasting. There is less hope here. The pain haunts Smith throughout his life, and he eventually commits suicide under very strange circumstances (a lot of which was motivated by drug use and alcohol among having an anxiety disorder and panic attacks. Again, heavy stuff.)

After Fiddler agreed to release The Drowning EP, they immediately rushed Carrabba back into the studio for him to record a proper full length. The songs that would become The Swiss Army Romance which marked a transition in Carrabba’s lyrical subject matter. More songs about girls! And this time with prettier sounding chord progressions and guitar tunings. The songs became lighter and simpler and somehow more naive. This naivety brought to light a whole new person of comparison for me: Michael Scott.

ABC just launched a fun, kind of terrifying, mystical, psychological murder mystery called Happytown. Great show so far. I’ve seen two episodes that you can also see at Hulu. It reminds me of one of my all time favorite TV dramas, and one you should all see if you haven’t, David Lynch’s Twin Peaks (which can also been seen over at CBS.) I’ve always enjoyed mystical shows (X-Files comes to mind) as well as crime dramas (I’ve been watching Castle lately too) so Happytown was right up my channel (or alley, or whatever.) Love the first two episodes (I mean, come on, it has Sam Neill playing a Dr. Weir-type character!) then today I was saddened to see ABC has decided to cancel the show.

THEY CANCELED A BRAND NEW SHOW AFTER TWO EPISODES! TWO!

Why? WHY ABC? Why do you cancel shows before they have a chance? What if you canceled LOST after two episodes because it was slow-going catching on? I’m just baffled.

Well, it may be hard selling you on the show now knowing it has already been canceled, but if you’d like to check it out, there’s a link towards the top of this post. And if it turns out that you like it, as do I, please consider sending ABC a quick “WTF are you canceling a show after two episodes?” message at their site. The link is this picture right below.

Some of you may have read tweets about musical performances at Hartford here, or here, or here, maybe here or finally here. Let’s start with that last tweet #coheedkid.

#coheedkid’s story it pretty simple really. He’s a 16 or 17 year old kid who is a very decent guitarist and really likes progressive/rock emo bands like Coheed and Cambria or the Fall of Troy, etc. Every week him and his chain smoking, refillable coffee and soda drinking friends will swarm upon our patio and remain there all evening. About 4 to 5pm, after school now that it has started again, they show up and are in and out of the shop all night. There numbers have steadily grown since August, them and their goth clothes & the girls with their Hot Topic skirts with the Misfits logo on it without a clue where it originally came from or any idea who Glenn Danzig is.

Whatever. They’re just kids. Now, #coheedkid is nice and polite and always asks if he can take our house acoustic guitar out to the patio to play for the evening. We always obliged, and appreciate his asking. Once Open Mic Night starts, he signs up somewhere in the middle of the evening and plays two songs. They’re usually both some progressive/rock emo song by Coheed and Cambria. That is to say, the kid can rip it on guitar, usually making a mistake or two, but when he tries to play AND SING at the same time, he usually guffs it up significantly. So each week, towards the middle of the set, I have two, poorly performed 7-minute songs to look forward to. But God bless ‘em for getting up there and doing it. Everyone’s terrible before they’re good.

#coheedkid’s not even the worst part. I’d be very happy to listen to him try to play those songs all night than have to listen to a few people who read poetry during the evening. Supposedly, all it takes to be a poet is the ability to rhyme if you based it solely on the crap I’ve heard. Aren’t you aware the poetry can be about more than your relationship problems or frustrated rantings? People don’t clap after your performance because it was good, they’re just happy the poem is over.

A brief aside about the sound system. Two mics, on mic stands, into a Crate acoustic amp. Awesome.

To preface #freepaperlady‘s behavior, I need to explain a bit about our store. We carry the St. Louis Post Dispatch. It costs $1 (plus 10 cents tax.) People often buy the Post, or bring their own in, and read it in the store over a meal or just coffee. Some even leave their’s behind for others to enjoy (or for us to trash/recycle for them, whatever.) We even have a little cart by the door underneath our dish bus that collects these used papers. This is a courtesy for our guests.

Well, in comes #freepaperlady (which as a nickname was coined by @travisbursik I think, he was the first person I heard say it anyway.) This lady is older, probably upper 50′s, who comes into the store in the last hour we’re open any given evening. Let me clarify, she only comes into the store in the last hour we’re open. She immediately looks underneath the bus for the day’s Post. It’s usually there. She picks up the paper, walks over to the bar and asksstops me from the closing tasks I’m busy doing to ask for a *ahem* free cup of water. After receiving such a cup, she then finds somewhere in the cafe to sit and spread the paper out. Literally, pages strewn about all over whatever table she’s sitting at. When she finally gets up and leaves the store, usually a few minutes before close, she doesn’t return the paper to where she found it & she doesn’t put her free water cup in the bus. She leaves it all on the table for me to clean up which is rude even for our paying (and tipping!) customers. We are not a full service restaurant and you’re not a paying customer. Thanks a lot biz.

Sometimes, and boy do I relish these times, they aren’t any Post’s left by other customers. Yep, no free papers for #freepaperlady. The other night was one such night! When she came in that evening, she went through her usual routine and after seeing no Post’s, she grabbed one of the free Riverfront Times which is also by the door and come up to the register for that cup of water. Well, the Post’s we have on sale are right there by the register, and we actually had two or so left. She asked me if she could just have one of the Post’s still for sale for free since “it’s so close to the end of the day.” Are you serious? I guess I could just give you a free cup of coffee as well since, you know, we close in a half an hour and I’m just going to dump it down the drain. Goodness. I tweeted about it here. While that was pretty hilarious, nothing compares to what happened tonight.

Tonight the woman came in and did her usual thing, grabbed a paper, asked for a water, make distracting small talk that distracts you from your closing task, but then the unthinkable happened. #freepaperlady takes the cup intended for water and fills it with half and half from the coffee station. This half and half hasn’t been used in hours and was probably last filled in the early afternoon. Yeah, room temperature milk that has been on the counter for probably 5 hours. Gross. Gross. Gross! It’s one thing to be cheap, but this lady is ridiculous. Next thing you know she’ll be asking us to refill the milk containers so she can have free cold milk. Then she’ll start adding sugar or honey from the condiments, or maybe even cinnamon & chocolate powder and make a free chocolate milk. I think if it gets to that point I’ll start calling her #hobolady and ya’ll will all be in on the joke.

Moving on.

A few more frequently tweeted abouts. There’s a ton of Mom’s who come into the shop with their non-descript kids for lunch. Because Hartford has a kids area, Mom’s feel pretty comfortable having group lunch sessions there so they don’t have to worry about keeping their kids entertained. This usually means a pack of wild, screaming 2-5 year olds and a bunch of oblivious Mom’s letting them run amok. One such tweets can be found here & here. (Also, #howfire is a meme I accidentally started on twitter last year when I misspelled wanting to spit “hot fire” onto something, or someone. The error was much to my chagrin and to everyone else’s delight. So much so that I eventually embraced it. Who doesn’t like begetting a meme? Unfortunately I don’t think the original tweet exists on twitter any longer. It appears twitter only allows you to go back like 3200 tweets. Lame.

There is one Mom in particular that I named #JoanCusakMom because she looks a bit like and sounds a lot like Joan Cusak. Nothing special or ridiculous about her, and she’s really nice, but she has that voice. It’s one of the few things that sets her apart from all the other Moms who buy $6 grilled cheese & peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for their screaming kids who only eat about half their meal before the plate and food is put into the bus and not the trash, $7 meals for themselves, a $1.50 8oz cup of goldfish and $3.80 latte and sometimes a $2.50 scone or scoop of ice cream but, oh God, can they not tip because they’re on a cash allowance from “Daddy” and only have so much to spend. At least that’s what I heard anyway.

As I coin new nicknames for our patrons I’ll be sure to let ya’ll know. Obviously as it happens on twitter first, then maybe later here if there’s enough confusion. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the explanation of #freepaperlady and you’ll definitely LOL a bit more in future tweets.

Oh, and one last work related tweet about when a customer asked me if we had any Stevia.

The song starts off ah la Jay Z’s black album minus Jay’s Mom’s monologue. A strong four/four beat with samples, keys, hand claps, and even the omnipresent, chipmunk-sounding female vocal. Excluding Alvin, the song is completely vocal-less for the :45 second intro (almost 1/3 of the song!), but when the vocals do come in I was completely surprised: the singer sounds more like the dude from the Shins than Kanye (or T Pain, but I think he’s a guilty pleasure of mine.)

Is this a mash-up I have never heard before? Indie Rock and Hip Hop? While it makes perfect sense for the modern white boy to comodify modern black culture, I would expect it to be more like Eminem or Andy Samberg, not Hipster Runoff MC’ing an uptown NYC club.

Passion Pit’s “Sleepyhead” reeks of MGMT to me (as if I’m an expert) but its up-tempo, happy club feel betrays its forlorn lyrics about destruction, isolation and the lack of understanding the other, even if they only happen to occupy the same dance floor. Wait a minute, does this remind you of classic white boy pain? Overly emotionalized lyrics about not understanding the girl on the other side of the room? Hmm, sounds like postmodern wire framed emo to me. Still rocks though… even if you’re dancing to this one by yourself. 5/5

Download it Passion Pit “Sleepyhead”

While browsing one of my favorite, funny websites at work this morning I came across an image that is similar to a few I found last week and blogged about here. While this picture of the “still loading” cat reminds me of blurry, fuzzy, incomplete jpeg images files of yester-internet-year, I also think of Star Trek and how it’s possible the cat is being beamed to or from it’s current location. Or perhaps its moving too fast to be captured properly. It’s a speed-of-light kitty.