SAD VAN FAN.

Over the course of your lives,

(I told the children),

a lot of people are going to give you advice, and you'll hear about many different ways to do things. Sometimes, there's a bunch of good ways to do the same thing.

But sometimes, there's a single solution. And one of the most important things you can ever remember that is that there's only one way to rock.

So that above monologue was my preface to Van Halen. Slammed on the gas, zero to 30 in under 15 seconds, cranked the volume one past Spinal Tap, and we blasted down the autobahn. Or, as the authorities call it, Highway 14.

Ain't Talkin' 'Bout Love, Why Can't This Be Love?, So This Is Love?, Love Walks In, When It's Love,

...etcetera

(Hey, they love to love. I love that.)

At the end of my madcap recap of their greatest hits, I looked in the rearview mirror, and I was still the only Van Halen fan.

We continued in silence, but the song in my heart was unstoppable and it skipped a couple beats. Might have even Jumped. We'll try again in a decade.

Ain't Talkin' 'Bout Love
1978
Van Halen

Why Can't This Be Love?
1986
5150

So This Is Love?
1981
Fair Warning

Love Walks In
1986
5150

When It's Love
1988
OU812

FIVE THINGS That Made Me Smile This Weekend (Vikings, Robots, and Apple Crisp)

1. My children arguing about who is more left-handed. Reality: neither one, unfortunately. I have rarely been more proud though, for their simple
DESIRE to be southpaws. I am so sorry, children, that our genetics failed you. 

2. My son's discovery that his beloved scimitar (a type of curved sword) fits perfectly in the waistband of his underwear, particularly if unencumbered by pants. It
Is difficult to be in foul spirits when an elf warrior wearing a Viking helmet is chasing you around with a scimitar stuck down his underwear begging you to swordfight with him.

Vader vs. Viking (shot by Countess Becca)

3. We hit the open road in our automobile this weekend, and in a rare moment of generosity I would like to publicly give my wife an A+ for her travel snack pack she assembled. All bought with love and a few dollars from Trader Joe's.
A. Chopped yellow and red peppers.
B. Black and green olive hummus
C. Snap peas
D. Vegan trail mix cookies
E. Thai chili and lime cashews 
F. Grape tomatoes 

4. Watched An American Tale. Know how old it is? TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS OLD. Feels like my first brush with mortality. Wow...anyway, it held up well, considering it's been decades since I last saw it. It feels like one of the last traditional, sincere animated features. Not in a good or a bad way; I enjoy the snappy, self-aware, cultural referencing of today's animated films, but it's also enjoyable to experience that classic sensibility of earnest humor that exists more in its own universe, rather than acknowledging and referencing others. I think it would make a fine double feature with Ratatouille. 

5. I guess it's football season. I used to love football. I used to know a lot about professional sports. Matter of fact, I still do, as long as we're discussing the period from about 1985 to 1993. I've been planning to get back into the sports. In fact, I told my wife I'm going to be picking up a new hobby next year: sports or video games. I think she's very excited for me. Matter of fact, I already bought a game. Pacman. Goodwill, three dollars, plugs right into the telly, coolest thing ever. And I've already made it to the third level. Or maybe it was the second. No matter. I think she is quite excited for me. She played Pacman also, but she is not very good.

Also, I watched Pacific Rim (directed by Guillermo del Toro), and I enjoyed it, but it is nowhere near the movie that his Pan's Labyrinth was. THAT was a film from an auteur; someone out to make a different kind of film than anyone else. Rim, despite some moments and impressive robotics, was still more of a Transformers for adults, by way of Aliens. 

Also, my sister made some killer apple crisp. I had seconds, and thirds, and breakfast. 

Jolly weekend end, all 

FILM: Highlander

There's a part of me that wonders if there has ever been a better film than Highlander. There's a lot of great films, but in the end...

...drumroll...

THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE.

A Horrid, Awful Day in Which My Fatigue is Endless and I am Forced to Socialize

PREFACE.

My wife asked me: how much of this story is true?

I said: Oh, maybe twenty percent, but I'm not sure which parts exactly.

Oh. 
She said.

PREVIOUS TO THIS, EARLIER IN THE MORNING, I WAS TELLING MY CHILDREN A STORY.

Even though it's April, I'm going to tell you a Christmas story, okay?

- Okay.

It's a story about when my parents were very mean. Do you want to hear it?

- Yeah.

Okay (I said, and started the story):
So once upon a time, I was really tired. 
Can I please go to bed?
I asked my parents. 
I'm really tired.

NO! We're going Christmas caroling.

So I had to go out in the dark, and walk around to people's houses, and sing Christmas carols, like that Hark the Herald Angel one.

And I'm so tired. I'm only about ten, and my body is just fatigued and I just want to collapse into bed. Can I PLEASE go to bed? I beg.

NO! We're going to have hot chocolate now.

WHY??!! 
I wail. 
I'm so tired!

Drink it! Drink the hot chocolate!
They order me.

So I had to drink hot chocolate and play with other kids.

Are we done now? 
I ask.

NO! We're going roller skating now.

Aaah!! I have to put on roller skates?! 

Yes.

So we go to the roller skating rink and I put on roller skates and I have to roller skate around the rink listening to The Hokey Pokey over and over. 

I was a very good roller skater, and one of my tricks was that instead of learning how to stop, I just learned to skate very fast, and then ran into the wall and let it stop me. 
Painful, but my body was fine because I was young.

Then my parents said: 

You look like you need some food in you…EAT SOME LICORICE AND POPCORN!

Why??!  I'm not hungry!! I don't want to eat licorice and popcorn! I'm so tired! You guys are the meanest parents ever.

Stop grumbling or we'll make you eat a marshmallow also,
they yelled at me.

Okay, I'm ready to crawl into bed now…can I PLEASE GO!?

Yes, you can go to bed now…
JUST KIDDING! NOW…we're going to watch a movie!

You've got to be kidding. First you make me go Christmas caroling, then you make me eat hot chocolate, then you make me go roller skating, then you make me eat licorice and popcorn, then I have to go roller skating, and now you're making me go watch a movie? I need my rest!

We'd like for you to watch this movie, Joey.

So we watch this World War movie about these Germans and Americans fighting each other and how they all put up their guns over the holidays, or something like that, and the film ended and I said:

Is it over yet? Is it done? Can we be done now?

Yes, it's over. Thank you for being so patient. 

You're welcome! I shrieked. 

So then we went home and they said: You can go to bed now.

I crawled into bed and I laid my head down and I snuggled the covers up to me and I closed my eyes, and it was very late…

…and I realised:

I WASN'T TIRED ANYMORE! I threw off the blankets and I jumped out of my bed and ran to my mom and dad's room where they were pretending to be asleep and I jumped on them and I said

GUESS WHAT!  GOOD NEWS! I'm not tired now! Let's go do something fun!

They pretended to be very angry with me and threw me out of their room, and locked the door.

THE END.

A TREATISE ON ARCHETYPES AND HOW THE BEASTIE BOYS AND THE BEACH BOYS DON'T ACTUALLY SOUND THAT SIMILAR, IN CASE YOU AND MY DAD ARE WONDERING.

When I was a little kid, I thought my dad was really cool.

Later, when I was a teenager, I thought my dad was really…

cool.

Let me explain.


1990. Me, my Dad, and 11-year old sister Leanna

I would sit by by my stereo, the one I bought with mowing money, and listen to Portland radio station Q105 with a blank cassette tape and my sketchbook, listening for songs to identify, hoping that the DJ would actually mention the artist's name so I'd know who it was. There was no Pandora. There was no Google or Shazam or Spotify. I didn't even have a CD player (those were still early adoption luxury).

I would save up my money from hustling yard work and selling gift wrap door-to-door. I would buy blank tapes to record songs off the radio, and when I discovered a handful of songs I really liked, I would go to the local music store and pore over selections. Van Halen or Danger Danger. Poison or John Waite. Mariah Carey or Milli Vanilli. Bonham or Dio. Taylor Dayne or Alannah Myles.

Came home from school one afternoon with my new purchase. So excited. I played it soft. Played it loud. Mostly loud. Played it for my eight-year old brother Josh. Then I thought of the person I was most excited to play it for, who would think, "Okay, I agree with you Joseph…this is the greatest song ever."

So when my dad got home, I said Dad you HAVE to come hear this song. It is SO GOOD. You are going to love it. You gotta come in here.

So he came out to my room, which was a little conclave off the garage, formerly inhabited by a hairy dog, which I sometimes kept about as clean as that dog probably did. Clicked the cassette into place, and pressed play, and the opening, now unmistakable chords came on. Crunch Pause. Crunch. And then:

The voices, in tandem, kicked in, and I just started smiling, and my dad and I stand there, me smiling, with the Beastie Boys rocking through their fratboy-parodying phase with (You Gotta) Fight for Your Right (To Party).

You wake up late for school - man you don't wanna goYou ask your mom, "Please?" - but she still says, "No!"You missed two classes - and no homeworkBut your teacher preaches class like you're some kind of jerk

If there are two individuals who are more un-like A) the son in this story and B) the father in this story, then it would be the C) two people standing in the bedroom in that very moment listening to the 1986 party pastiche of punk, metal, and rap.

Your pop caught you smoking - and he said, "No way!"That hypocrite - smokes two packs a dayMan, living at home is such a dragNow your mom threw away your best porno mag (Bust it!)

As I later became interested in the pop culture and music histories of my adolescent era, I learned that it was a very particular early phase of the Beastie Boys that they quickly distanced themselves from, as they became political agitators more focused on weighty topics and his honorable Mr. Dalai Llama. But at the time, their party standard was the apex of teenage rebellion; the score for Youth Gone Wild and a billion insurgent fistpumping moments. I didn't realize this until later though. It was a fist in the face of authority and hierarchy that was represented by every person over the age of 20. A song about archetypes.

Funny thing about archetypes is that they rarely exist. They are like a shadow that disappears; once you become familiar with something, you begin to realise it's not really an archetype (archetype = fancier and more specific way of stereotyping something, like the simple, universal character that is instantly recognizable to most people. Think:

ARCHETYPES
the Wise Old Man (Merlin)

the Wicked Stepmother (Cinderella, Parent Trap)

the Eccentric Mentor (Mr. Miyagi in Karate Kid),

the Knight in Shining Armor (King Arthur, Galahad, Qui-Gon Jinn)

the Rebellious Teenager (Holden Caulfield from Catcher in the Rye)

In reality, archetypes are like a second cousin to Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle in science, which states that you change an event simply by observing it (specifically referring to particles in quantum physics :). Once you examine an archetype, it starts to lose its universality; it changes and becomes specific and detailed. And has a name. It starts to become something with an identity, a specific identity of its own. No longer archetype. The easy-to-classify Rebellious Teenager trope becomes

a 14-year old kid with a name, an identity, and a specific series of motivations, desires, and interests that stand a good chance of being shared if they're taken seriously and respected.


Steve McQueen cool, 1990-style

I never really thought that I represented the kid in the song, and I never really thought that my dad represented the father in the song. It is a great song (probably the Greatest Song Ever), but I don't know why I was convinced, as a 14-year old, that my father would think it was so cool too.

So you're wondering what he did. This is what he did: he listened to it in the same manner that he listened to the Beach Boys or Roger Whittaker, with incredible intensity, head bobbing, tapping his foot, one eye quinted. I imagine many thoughts roaming round his head about how to handle, or how to talk with his teenage son about listening to a song that is the very paragon of teenage rebellion, and in addition to being an antagonistic denouncement of parental authority, also casually references smoking and pornography. So I don't know exactly what he was thinking. For some strange reason, I don't remember feeling discomfort, which seems odd.

At some point, perhaps my teenage son will discover the Beastie Boys du jour, and I would like to think that I will respond sort of like my dad did. Which was:

to tap his feet and bob his head in a really nerdly way, and just be there. In the moment.

Not out of affirmation for the song. Not out of affirmation for the message or lifestyle contained in the song. But out of affirmation for me; his teenage son, and the message he wordlessly conveyed:

"This is important to you. So I'm going to take you seriously. Most importantly, you wanted to share this with me when you didn't have to. You have opened communication with me. I'm going to keep that open. And I'm just going to say something like "Wow That's an awfully catchy song. Thanks for sharing."

That's the kind of choice I hope I can make.

Time to go play the groovy new Trent Reznor Christmas album.

****

The Beastie Boys
(You Gotta) Fight for Your Right (To Party)Licensed to Ill
1986