Posted by moonsover on 2:40 PM

Posted by moonsover on 11:58 PM

Let's say I was accosted while walking down the mean streets of Fruit Heights, Utah.  And let's say at knifepoint my mugger insisted I tell him (or her) my three favorite songs of all time.  Here would be my answers.  

(And if my mugger took exception to two of the three songs coming within the past five years (one from the past year), at risk of my life, I would have to tell her (or him) to eat it.  I'm not a walking Billboard chart.  I don't know how many weeks Bon Jovi's "Livin' on a Prayer" was my favorite song of all time, and I don't remember what supplanted it.  What I do know is that no self-respecting mugger would take issue with me saying that when the Porsche 997 came out in '05 it supplanted the classic Porsche 911 as my favorite car of all time, or if I said I prefer HDtv to a 1950's black and white screen.  Just because something's newer doesn't mean it's not as awesome or even awesomer.)

1a.  U2* - "Bad" (Wide Awake in America version)**

1b.  Interpol - "Not Even Jail"***

1c.  The National - "Apartment Story"****

* "Running to Stand Still" is another U2 song on my favorite songs of all time list.

** Curiously, the studio version of "Bad" off The Unforgettable Fire would not be considered one of my favorite songs of all time, but the Live Aid "Ruby Tuesday" version of "Bad" would.  

*** A number of Interpol songs have taken turns being my favorite Interpol song, or even favorite song of the moment.  But, while "Not Even Jail" has graduated to "Favorite Song of All Time" status (and "Pace is the Trick" is surely not far behind), in my book, it's quite possible to have transient favorite songs of the moment that you currently like more than your favorite songs of all time.  I don't think there's an Interpol song I like better than "Not Even Jail" right now, but if I had to choose my favorite U2 song of the moment, it would probably be "Until the End of the World."

**** Even as simple as it is, I just love this video.  I love when the red-shoed mystery girl starts swishing her skirt to the music.  She totally - and romantically - breaks the tension I didn't realize I was feeling.  It's a subtle climax, but I find it incredibly satisfying. 

Posted by moonsover on 9:30 PM

I think identifying favorite songs is less like a formula and more like a recipe.  I guess some people's favorite songs could be more like a formula and less like a recipe, but there's a good chance I'd call those people's favorite songs, well, formulaic.  

I also think there's a difference between favorite songs and favorite songs of all time.  I have a ton of favorite songs, but to become a FSOAT, it has to have an extra special ingredient.  So, at least for right now, here's my (rather vague and subject to extreme subjectivity) recipe for favorite songs:

Favorite Song

1 part intellectually pleasing lyrics (add philosophy, cleverness, and/or symbolism to taste, sift for vulgarity)
1 part sonic satisfaction (dice beforehand:  1/4 cup gripping beat, 1/4 cup tonal instrumental interplay, and 2/3 cup catchy hook or melody) 
1 part choreographed dynamics (blend pace, volume, and style, add to mixture while stirring)

... of All Time

2 parts emotionally ubiquitous catharsis (the most rare and secret of ingredients - that the song resonates with whatever emotion I may be feeling:  happy, sad, lonely, mad, and a thousand more nuanced feelings besides)

Marinate, bake, and serve.

Posted by moonsover on 12:34 AM

Janet Jackson and I have a ton in common. If you've met me, it's pretty obvious. Though ignominious, one such parallel is the reason for our weight gain. What can I say? We're committed to our craft. Now, as difficult as it was and will be for Janet and me, respectively, to reduce the poundage (which, frankly, is the theme of this reluctant weblog), the real tragedy is that we never got to play the roles we so desperately ate for. And let me tell you, nothing cuts this method actor deeper than losing a part to a guy in a fat suit. Thanks a lot Ryan Reynolds.

Ok, so I'm not officially an "actor."  You know how it is - no guild card.  (Not even much calamitous intent, for that matter.)  But, I am out of work, so I've taken to telling people that I'm in the thespian business.  It's a convenient response, it seems to legitimize my lack of employment, all while allowing people to maintain as much or as little a feeling of superiority as they choose.  Now, interestingly and awesomely, the very act of telling people that I'm a actor actually transforms me into an actor.  And, since I don't get paid for this acting, I have also become an actor who is (twice-over) out of work.  It's not fancy, but it might be the most enjoyable cognitive loop I've ever been a part of.  It kinda makes me feel like Rumplestilzkin.

You know, Ryan Reynolds is one of those unique artists whom I like more than their performances actually merit.  I'm pretty sure I even like him more than what what I perceive to be his personality deserves.  (Yes, that was a double "what."  A whatwhat.  What's a weird word.  Now I can't stop pronouncing "what" like "phat.")  Which means, Ryan Reynolds is an even more inexplicable manifestation of my out of balance fanhood than my other object of out of balance affection, Gwen Stefani.

Oddly, not only do I like both of these entertainers more than I like their entertainment (and, trust me, it's not like I hate their goods, that would be B-A-N-A-N-A-S), I think I might like them both as much as I do ... because of their hair.  As Mrs. Jenny Sherpa can attest, I have a weakness for pink hair and pig tails.  Put them together and you might as well have shown me a monkey riding a dog, because, man, I'm sold.  But with the artist formerly known as Mr. Alanis Morrisette-To-Be, sure, he has a good head of hair, and, absolutely, by the time this blog ends, I'd love to have a physique like his, but mostly I think I'm man-crushing on his beard.  If I could grow a fierce beard like this I would be unstoppable.  

Then again, it's like the Chinese always say:  "He who would array himself in a suit of fat is not beneath donning a beard of yak."  So who knows, maybe it's prosthetic.

Coming Soon:  Why I'm now mad at this guy for stealing my movie role and something about blogging.