Enough Already.

Let's talk about Market Share. Share of mind, share of market, share of wallet. A close friend of mine who happens to also be a brilliant business man once explained share of mind as a concept to me. He used Q-Tips as an example. He stated his illustration by simply asking me, "What do you use to clean your ears?"

"A Towel." I answered.

"Okay, but what do most people in America use to clean their ears?"

"Q-Tips."

"Right. Now, what are Q-Tips?"

"... uh... " [blank stare]

"Cotton Swabs."

His point was simply that most people in the world call what they're sticking deep into their ear canals by the name of the company Brand who most heavily markets the product, instead of by the name of the product itself.

MY point, however, is this...

I USE A TOWEL.

I offer you exhibit A:
In case you can't read the warning in the pic, I'll help you out. (This is on the back of a box of QTips, by the way)...

WARNING: Do not insert swab into ear canal. Entering the ear canal could cause injury. If used to clean ears, stroke swab gently around the outer surface of the ear only. Keep out of reach of children. Idiot.

(italics mine).

"So wait a second", you may ask. "Then what are Q-Tips for?"

"Well, first of all it's Cotton Swabs. Secondly, I'll answer you with exhibits B and C:

I have tried it all. I've kept just the pinky nail on my right hand long enough to scrap out the excess crap from my ear so that I always have the option. I have horrible sinus problems every day of the year, so there's always something in there. I've also tried the whole wet tissue thing, doesn't work for me. Then I started hearing horror stories about people slipping while they had a Q-Tip... er... Cotton Swab in their ear, and being deaf from then on. Then I realized that there was a simple solution to the concerns of both audio hygene and the physical safety of my precious ear drums.



Step out of the shower. Roll up the corner of the towel. Swab. Dab. Swirl. Wipe. Switch corners. Switch ears. Repeat.

I have had this conversation so many times with people who aren't plagued with either the sinus disease that is yet to be named but has managed to haunt me throughout my existence, or the fear of jabbing some compressed cardboard stick through the soft tissue inches from their brain. The conversation, as one I had just recently with Spektor, goes something like this...

"Oh my God, Q-Tips are so amazing. Don't you love using Q-Tips? Doesn't it feel great!?"

"Nope. I don't use 'em."

"WHAT!?!?!?! How do you not use Q-Tips? What do you use?"

"A towel. I dry off. I use the corner of the towel."

"HOW is that POSSIBLE!?!?!?! That's so gross! Let me see your ears..."

"k."

"You liar. You have to use Q-Tips, your ears are clean. How are your ears so clean?"

"Exhibit D, man. Exhibit D."

So, this is the beginning of my official revolt. No more BS. Halitosis is already too far (see Listerine INVENTING diseases so their products are needed), but what's going to be the name of the disease that represents caked up orange ear wax?

I don't know. And I don't care. I don't have nasty, greasy ears. They're clean.

But I'm not going to succumb to the peer pressure to cram little white sticks past the welcome ropes and into the private party that is my skull. No More. It's painful if you have crazy sinuses. It may feel great if you don't, but it better be worth your hearing. Count me out. If soap, water, and a towel can't make it clean, then it's goh'ne stay dirty.

Nah'm sayin'?

This. Is. Awesome.

The legendary Roots crew, and the pageant of symbols...

I've seen The Roots on a few occasions. All in Austin. Always amazing. Last night was no exception. What WAS an exception was the general... atmosphere of the setting in which they played.

I knew that they'd be in town for 3 nights. I knew last night would be the most accessible for me, being at BB King's in Times Square. I also heard that ?uestlove would be spinning, which is something I've wanted to see for a while. So I bought my ticket online, showed up to the venue right as the doors were opening, and walked into the equivalent of a 1968 Black Panther rally. No lie. There were SEVERAL people introducing themselves on stage as "Black Panthers for life". Which is fine. Whatever. I didn't wear my "Whiteboy" t-shirt (though I was strongly tempted to before I left - again, thinking I was going to a "Roots" show), so I figured, "I'm fine".

The first group comes out, a new local act with 3 rappers and a dj. They're in uniform. First words. "Black Power!" I think, "man, this is... neat."

"Hold up those black fists. I wanna see 'em all! Black Power!"

(At this point, should I put up a very white fist? Should I NOT?!?!? Should I just squat down on the floor and start text messaging friends? Should I just turn and walk away like I'm disgusted or scared in the first 10 seconds?)

Black August turned out to be probably the best performance I've seen by the Roots (yes, I stayed until the end - all 5 1/2 hours), and also the best possible culture shock for breaking me into the New York hip-hop scene. There are DJ's who are white, culture vultures who go to hip-hop shows who are white. There are writers, photographers, and media personalities who are white in the hip-hop world. Then there are people like me. Who don't know the meanings of the Black Muslim names that are thrown around. Who don't wear hats with the tags still on, and baggy shorts that reach to the tops of perfectly cleaned shoes.

I just like the music. I REALLY like the music. ?uestlove was so on his game last night, it was frightening (so I hardly noticed). Captain Kirk Douglas has officially made me fall back in love with guitar solos again. And Malik B. (bass) is ... really snazzy.

Stuff I love that I'll totally understand if you don't...

To Whom It May Concern:

I realize that I have ... peculiar tastes. I like a lot of things that very few other people enjoy. Understandable. I'm a preacher's kid, I work in technology, and I have spent the huge majority of the past 10 years in the indie music scene. I'm bored by political loyalty. I'm disengaged by predictable romantic comedies. I'm generally unimpressed with pop culture.

Having said all of that, there are a handful of things that I enjoy that I cannot actually endorse for anyone else. There are sounds, sights, colors, themes, feelings, and moments that strike a nerve with me and make me grateful which, having experienced the same, you may very well have the distinct feeling that your head is going to explode. I would like to list a few of those things here, if I may, just to clear the air. (This is not a line in the sand as much as an intervention I'm performing on myself.)

• Aqua Teen Hunger Force, The Brak Show, and others - I simply can't get enough of this, and I MAY know 2 other people on the planet who share my addiction. However, here they are.
  
  
• Blonde Redhead, Bjork, Tom Waits, and others - I have no intention of converting you on this, but the way Blonde Redhead blends their poppy melodies with intimately daunting vintage tones, or the way Bjork grunts and scraps in the middle of her damn-near-perfectly articulated lyrics and flawlessly discomforting production, or Tom Waits' ... Waits... iness.
  Jeeeeeeeze.
  Can't.
  Get.
  Enough.
  
  
• Chuck Palahniuk, Quentin Tarantino, Irvine Welsh - I know. It's "violent" and "gratuitous", but they're just so GOOD AT IT! Fight Club for me, like many people, was the introduction to Chuck P's work. But Choke, Haunted, Diary, Stranger than Fiction, and a few others later, and I've gotten some strange internal callousness that won't allow me to be moved by much else.
  
  Until I see the newest Tarantino film. Exposing a new and revolting side of both Hollywood (he does Hollywood so well that it makes Hollywood look stupid) and bad guys in general, QT has made my list of the top 10 people I'd pay money to meet if I could.
  
  Trainspotting is a great movie. But the book makes "To Kill a Mockingbird" look like it was scribbled in cat urine on an alley wall. Irvine Welsh creates worlds on paper (and therefore, in your mind) that will give you jitters at night and nightmares during the day. He shows you a way that people's everyday life can progress into utter surrealist chaos. Apocalyptic on an individual level. For that, I'm grateful.

This is my post for the day. Deal with it.

For the love song of a cricket's heat...

:: I think I wanna build a better myspace. All the other things popping up suck, and myspace is getting old. It's officially a Kludge (look it up). ::

:: Got a lot done today in the area of vocal treatments and other mind-numbing processes. Mixing and more tracking tomorrow. To give our ears a break, Roy and I watched the making of Medula by Bjork.

Ho.
Ly.
Hell.

I feel small enough to sleep on the hair on a cricket's legs. She is an alien. I knew the first time I heard that record that I'd have to listen 3985089p more times to understand it, but now that I've seen how they made it... I'm more lost than before. It'll be closer to 8x(apple) - [that's for you, Mario Brothers]. ::

:: I think Jerry Gibson (see my profile pics), may actually appear on the record, beyond my expectations. There are also a few instrumental ideas that may end up being used. Lots of instrumental moments already, but I'm liking where they go, so we may have more of it. ::

:: Roy found some ridiculous samples today, so we may also be building some things around them. ::

... the pleasure is all mine.
d. (aka "Rhinestone Druggy", or "Submit button", or "The So-Bots")