My next band will be called Rhino Takedown

(via MAKE: Blog.)

Don't you hate that?

Ever have that moment where you think you're about to lock your keys in your car? But it's too late to do anything about it? And so there you go, just like a dope, closing the door all the while thinking, "Oh crap?" But then you check and it turns out you actually have your keys so it's fine? And then you're so overjoyed that you grab the next stranger you see and kiss them full on the lips, even if it's someone of the same gender and you're straight and happily married? And then you have that awkward moment where you've kissed this stranger and you then have to ask his name? And you offer to walk him to his car? And then the two of you go out to dinner, and you have a really good time? And you agree to go on a two-week Mexican cruise with him? And when you return, your marriage is destroyed, you lose all your money and wind up living in a friend's basement, working nights at a convenience store and crying yourself to sleep?

No, me neither. I was just asking.

The rambler

I was about to write a post called "Seven albums I couldn't do without" or something like that, and I decided to postpone it because instead of seven, I came up with 35.

You might say I have somewhat of a problem — an addiction, nearly. I own at least 1,000 CDs. My iTunes library says I have 14,651 items. I could press "play" at the top of my music collection and I wouldn't run out of listening material until the 40th straight day. That doesn't account for the LP collection (300ish?) in my closet.

You'd think that with that much music, I'd have "enough." And by "you," I mean my mother. When I lived at home and had to keep buying increasingly larger CD shelves, Mom used to tell me that in college, she had one little crate with a few records, and that was enough. She eventually gave up on telling me the story.

I couldn't possibly listen to everything in my collection with any regularity, right? So why buy new stuff? Well, it's because I'm hungry. Sounds corny, but it's the only comparison I can use. You know those fit guys you knew in school who never seemed to get full? (In some cases, these "guys" were tiny girls, which was even more perplexing.) These guys would eat a burger as an appetizer before chowing down a steak, and still have room for a baked potato and ice cream.

That's how I feel about music: I can never get enough. I've been trying to figure out why, and here's what I came up with: I'm a thrill-seeker. Not in the traditional sense of jumping out of airplanes or other stupidly dangerous shit, but in the sense of the thrill and excitement of a new experience. When I hear a record for the first time, it will evoke something different in me than anything else I've heard. It might remind me of another record or song or artist, but in a slightly different way. I'd rather have that feeling a thousand times than hear the same crate of records over and over again.

I then realized that this is how I live my life in almost every area. I have my favorite beers, sure, but I'm more likely to order something I've never tried, just to see if my taste buds are delighted in a different way. When Heather and I make travel plans, we seek out someplace we've never been, so we can see buildings our eyes never imagined (or have only seen in two dimensions), smell air that might be a little unfamiliar and meet people who have been raised in a different environment. And Netflix is a cinematic Godsend for a thrill-seeker.

Why am I telling you this? I'm not. I'm telling myself. Because any time I'm tempted to stick with what I know just because it's easier, I could use a reminder that what makes me happy isn't necessarily the comfort of familiarity — it's the thrill of discovery.

A friendly (a.k.a. passive-aggressive) reminder

Lessons I learned while making dinner by myself last night

Knives are sharp!

Related: It's difficult to prep food with your thumb wrapped up in a napkin.

If one dish takes 6 minutes to cook and another one takes 20 minutes, start the 20-minute one first.

If you ever think, "Hey, this could use more garlic," you should probably increase the amount slowly and keep tasting rather than just doubling what you've already put in.

For fellow obsessive-compulsive types: Being diligent about cleaning surfaces that have been touched by raw meat is important. Being diligent about cleaning surfaces that have been touched by dried herbs & washed vegetables is less important and just as time-consuming.

It was described as "mild," I suppose

And here I thought I was a trooper for switching guitars quickly after breaking a string mid-song. I'm pretty sure that a heart attack would slow me down a bit more. Not Buddy Rich (see Rich's face @ 3:00):


(via Death Cab for Cutie's Jason McGerr on Stereogum)

Things the iPhone has eliminated from my life

1. The need to slap my phone against my knee in order to get the screen to show up at full brightness
2. A previous lack of self-righeoustness
3. The "oh crap" moment when I realize I don't know the time and place of my first meeting/event of the day
4. The possibility of buying something in a retail store only to get home and find out that the internet has deemed that product unworthy or overpriced
5. That horrible feeling of being completely disconnected from the outside world while in the bathroom

When the internet works

I don't think I need to tell you ways in which the internet has failed us. We've all got stories, whether it's the crappy medical advice that made your boil worse, or the YouTube comment thread on a 4-year-old's birthday party video that has somehow degraded into a back-and-forth about Hitler.

But for all its hoo-ha and whatnot, the internet occasionally provides something of such great value that it makes me smile (only momentarily, though – you don't want people in the office thinking you're enjoying yourself). Case in point:

I have these pants. Dress pants. The hem had come undone on the right leg (perhaps the left, but that really doesn't matter). While they were not expensive pants, they were neither cheap, and I felt I had not obtained maximum value from them. So I thought I'd take them to a tailor. Trouble is, it's not 1950 and I have no idea where to find a respectable tailor.

So I hop on yelp.com and lo and behold, there's a tailor in Palo Alto who's received rave reviews.

When I made my way there, I was surprised by the nondescript business, one of a million that I would otherwise never have wandered into of my own volition. I went in, presented the pants, expecting a "This'll be a week," but instead the tailor asked, "Can you wait five minutes?" Sure.

Four minutes and $5 later, I hopped in my car with a pair of nicely hemmed pants and an honest-to-goodness smile on my face. This, friends, is when the internet gets it done.

Oh, to have roadies

What happens when a string breaks right at the beginning of a song? You GIT-R-DONE!

Five years wasted

For at least five years, I hung onto a two-foot strip of Velcro that I'd somehow acquired. I have no idea where it came from, but I figured, "Hey, free Velcro," and kept it in my life. The strip survived at least one move. It's a fighter.

At points, it seemed like I came in contact with this particular segment of Velcro so regularly that it became part of my day-to-day life.

"Why, hello, friend," you could occasionally hear me remark to the Velcro. "How are you this fine day?"

I had no real need for it, and knew that Velcro was readily available for purchase should such a real need arise, but still I kept it – just in case.

But last night, when I needed approximately two feet of Velcro for perhaps the first time in...ever, where was that old friend? NOWHERE TO BE FOUND. I fear I may have thrown it out in a fit of Clean Sweeping several months ago. Starting to feel that my quasi-hoarding tendencies are perhaps justified.