After my friend’s wedding last weekend, realized this was the biggest omission from my wedding playlist. Amazing wedding song.
When I woke up, I made this plan—not an especially exciting one—to take my headphones, a journal, and a pen to a nice coffee shop, order an endless-refills mug of coffee, and sit in a quiet corner to work out some thoughts on a record that I’m reviewing soon.
So I go to find a free parking spot, which isn’t especially easy in this particular part of town, but I see one, go to grab it, and as I do, a woman in a nice SUV pulls up, looks me in the eyes and smiles, smug-like, with a look that said to me, “Sorry sweetie, this is my spot.” The hashtag #whiteprivilege appeared above her head as she parked her car.
Furious, I drove to a Panera on the other side of town, far away from the bourgeois coffee place. With my subpar cinnamon roll and less-expensive coffee, I was silently declaring war. On who or what? Unclear.
If you see me driving, know that I’m busy assuming the absolute worst about people, particularly people in expensive cars.
I mean, this lady found a free spot on a street where all the other free spots were taken, and due to her position on the road, she happened to get it before I could. Maybe the look on her face was meant to communicate, “Oh man, sorry dude, but I need this spot because I’ve got a thing” and because I felt angry in that moment, I just read it as “Ahahahaha, fuck you dogg, this one’s mine."
I need to figure out this whole “empathy while driving” thing. I’m apparently really bad at it. I’m also really bad at empty revenge. And having quarters in my car, I’m bad at that too.
(Footnote PSA: Do not search Twitter for the hashtag #whiteprivilege. It is a rabbit hole you do not want to go down.)
That’s too bad, but, uh, Mashable? That ain’t Brooks Whelan.
I wrote a tribute to Tommy Ramone and talked to BBC Radio 6 about him.
That’s my grandfather, Jack Rowsey, who died 14 years ago. We called him Pappaw Jack because all of my grandparents (except one, what’s up Grandma Linda) had very Appalachian nicknames. Today, he would’ve been 78.
I have a lot of memories of him. Almost none of them are about him riding a motorcycle or living in a trailer behind a gas station. He was a funny, caring man. I miss him all the time.
"Music seems to be going through a deeply unfunny phase. Drake, Kanye West, Arcade Fire, St. Vincent, the National, Eric Church—saviors, all of them, dragging their artistry around like shackles. In this caste, goofballs remain second-class by birth. To define humor as a bulwark against pain and seriousness is still giving seriousness the upper hand. What if it was the other way around? What if being serious was just the wall we had to break through on the way to being funny?"
Mike Powell makes a case for musical goofballs in his latest Secondhands column. (via pitchfork)
Another essential read from Mike Powell, who refers to Charlie Brown as “bitch of the universe” and I nearly woke Morgan up laughing about that.
Timmy’s Organism - Monster Walk (live in 2013)