Stuff 'N' Nonsense

Rick Roll'd but He Didn't Rock

I confess: I was so immersed in the world of hard rock and heavy metal during the mid to late 1980s that I didn't even notice the mega-success of Rick Astley. "Welcome to the Jungle" and "It's So Easy" were my versions of ear candy; no way was I going to be caught anywhere that might have "Never Gonna Give You Up" blaring through the speakers. So the first time I was Rickroll'd I wasn't even sure what was going on.

I don't remember the tempting blurb that accompanied the link. I just remember clicking and landing on what appeared to be a cheaply-made YouTube video of a guy who looked about 20 (if that), dressed in cheesy '80s garb and singing some equally-cheesy '80s song that sounded vaguely (very vaguely) familiar. Was it a parody? Nobody could possibly have made a video like this seriously! Whatever it was, it wasn't what I had been expecting when I clicked the link, so I went back to the original site to see if there was some way I could have clicked on the wrong thing, or if the link itself was wrong. I had no idea it was me who was wrong. When I am clueless, I'm clueless in the extreme. My first exposure to Rickrolling zoomed right over my head and left me in the dust for months.

Eventually I figured out that yes, this was a real, authentic pop music video circa 1987, and this goofy-looking boy really had been a big celebrity. And I also figured out how really dense I can be. But once I got the joke, I was delighted over it. I'd click on the most brazenly prevaricating links in hope of landing back at "Never Gonna Give You Up." Imagine my bleak disappointment when these links really did lead me to the latest killer app, free download of the latest Metallica album or a 50% Best Buy coupon.

And finally, on Thanksgiving Day, the Rickroll made meme history: at Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade in New York City, the Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends float contained a Rickroll in the live: Astley himself interrupted the show to lipsync to his vintage hit.

I thought I'd never say this, but Rick Astley, you rock!

A Repeat of Last Year's Holiday Diet Post

I posted this article last year on December 17, a little late to do most of you any good, so I'll link to it again here, now that the official holiday overeating season has just begun:

How to Survive the Holidays in Your Skinny Jeans

The Liberal and Progressive Holiday Survival Kit

Not from me. Someone else wrote it, and I'm just passing it along — I suggest printing out a copy and taking it with you:

Worried About Thanksgiving Fights with Right-Wing Family Members?

How to counter 10 of the most common myths conservatives believe about progressives.

"Oh, Lordy. It is that time again. Thursday is Thanksgiving — the official kickoff event of the 2008 holiday season. For a lot of progressives, these festivities also mean that we're about to spend more quality time with our conservative relatives over the next six weeks than is strictly good for our blood pressure, stress levels, or continued sanity."

Continue here to read all the fab tips.  

Michelle Obama Will Be Fine, Thank You Very Much

This is 2008, not 1978, so why are reporters debating whether high-powered career woman Michelle Obama will be able to adjust to being First Lady, as if the title required her to suddenly become a Stepford wife who meekly hides in her husband's shadow? This clip from CNN really rankled me. Nicole Lapin and Susan Roesgen discuss whether Michelle Obama will be able to retain her identity without her job. Give me a flipping break! Just because the majority of First Ladies have put on that enigmatic, Marabel Morgan face, don't think they're sitting daintily at home, drinking tea with the other Washington wives. At the very least, our First Ladies have been representatives for the United States, traveling around the world on goodwill missions, supporting issues that are important to them, and if there are young children, doing their best to create normalcy for their kids in one of the most abnormal situations imaginable. At best, they're Eleanor Roosevelt.

But that only scratches the surface of what offends me about this video. What I find really disgusting is that it bows to the outdated notion that a woman who has a career has no heart, that since they have satisfying work, their family life and marriage must logically take a back seat. The majority of married-with-kids career women — and from all signs, Michelle Obama is in that majority — have the ability to balance work and family, and give priority to whichever needs the most attention at any given moment. And most women, even those whose careers are their lifeblood, will always put their children's needs first. Women with big careers aren't ball-busting freaks — well, some of them are, just like some men with big careers are misogynistic assholes. But most are human beings who care about their families more than the next big promotion. And guess what? Most men are too.

As I watched the Obamas campaign for the presidency, I was impressed by Michelle in many different ways, but what I liked the most about her was that she seemed real, she seemed sure of herself, and she had the ability to be a supportive wife and good mom without losing her identity as someone strong and powerful. She's not some outmoded cliché — either the career-lusting harpy or frail flower who lives only to sit home and bake cookies. She's someone who does what needs to be done, like find new schools for her daughters, lovingly give her husband reality checks, and who has the smarts to make the most of her new job as First Lady.

So I'm not worried that Michelle Obama will be frustrated by her new role in the White House. On the contrary, I think it's a challenge she'll embrace and she'll make the most of it.

Humans Take the Blame by Sparkle the Designer Cat

Today's entry is by guest blogger Sparkle.

A few months ago, I was reviewing a cat book (for that is the only kind of book I read) called Cats Rule, which is meant to be a list of rules by cats. Well, I figured out right away that most of this, ahem, wisdom came straight from the human imagination and not from cats. So I started making up my own, real cat rules, one of them being: "Rain, earthquake or wind? Blame your human for them." Because as we all know, anything that a cat has not caused must logically have happened because of something a human did. Well guess what? I've discovered that when we're suffering from awful weather, it really is the fault of humans! It's called global warming, and its effects include extreme weather. So yeah, hurricanes, heat waves (and I bet even those earthquakes we get here in California) are all human-made. I just hope this global warming doesn't kill off catnip bushes. That would be a real tragedy. Maybe even a cause for feline revolt.

Apparently humans can do a lot to reduce their impact on the environment, but I'm skeptical. If the humans I live with are any sort of example, they make a lot of promises and never carry through with them. "I'll feed you in five minutes!" more often means, "I'll feed you when you're so hungry, you knock something over to get my attention." If there are any cats out there who have some thoughts about how to get humans to take action, I'd really like to know!

10 Reason the 2008 Cat Writers Conference Ruled

1. Being able to sit in a circle with other people the first night, introduce ourselves and no one felt dorky about admitting that we already miss our cats — who most of us had seen just hours earlier.
2. Spending three days with really nice people, resulting in a hiss-free zone.  
3. Not being the only weirdo cat writer. Everyone was a cat writer and none of us were weirdos.
4. The CFA International Cat Show, where I got to visit with Sparkle's breeder, who I hadn't seen in about 6 years. In fact, there was a whole row of Somali breeders!
5. Being so overwhelmed by the plethora of cat toys and treats at the cat show that I wound up never spending money on any of them. I even forgot about the fat, $2.50 palm-sized bags of hyper-potent catnip. (Sparkle does not agree that this was a good thing.)
6. The goodie bag that did contain cat toys, catnip and treats. (I am redeemed in Sparkle's eyes.)
7. Getting to do a book signing for Dear Sparkle, where I attached Sparkle “paw-tographs” in addition to my own signature.
8. The great lunches, dinners, open bars and more, courtesy of a load of very generous sponsors. I did not have to buy food once!
9. The seminars and panels, which were a great chance to both network and learn stuff, and where I met one of Sparkle's Twitter followers!
10. Being surrounded by so much talent at the Awards Banquet. It was awesome — and inspiring!

Axl Rose Is No Creative Genuis

...which is why I have no enthusiasm for the once-highly-anticipated release of Chinese Democracy. I haven't heard it yet. I may or may not give it a listen outside of the tracks and snippets floating around on the radio and on the internet. Guns N' Roses was a great band, a band whose sum was greater than the whole of its parts. That band ceased to exist when Steven Adler was no longer part of it. Adler was undoubtedly the least talented member of GN'R, which only proves my point even more strongly. It wasn't Axl or Slash or any other member of Guns that created something transcendental; it was all of them together — the chemistry, the clashes, the streets, the drugs, the girls and the sleaze they shared. Separately, they are musicians with varying degrees of talent. And none of them on their own is capable of creating the type of music that defines an era. Case in point: Appetite for Destruction (with Adler) did exactly that; Use Your Illusion I and II (sans Adler) did not.

David Bowie is a creative genius. Bob Dylan is a creative genius. Beck is a creative genius. Axl Rose may have been the focal point of GN'R, the place where all the elements came together, but he was one-fifth of a band that needed the other four-fifths to achieve brilliance. So to call the project that made Chinese Democracy Guns N' Roses is an outrageous lie and an abomination.

Yeah, I may give this album a listen. Or I may not. Somewhere out there is a new group whose chemistry is about to make history. And I'd rather spend my time hunting that out than waste it on some guy who has the gall to think that keeping a band's name can recapture a magic that died two decades ago.

My CWA Conference Playlist, Part II

Here it is:

Claw Hammer, Thank the Holder Uppers, 1995

Listening to this record is like being parachuted into the middle of a noise forest where the players' diverse musical ideas are linked by only the merest of threads. It's cacophony at its most glorious, exhilarating dischord, a dream that would be a nightmare coming from any other grouping of musicians. I know the latter as fact: on the flight to Atlanta, I put on the headphones and let the disc run while I napped, a smile glued to my face. For me, Thank the Holder Uppers was love at first listen, so much so that I even remember the time and place. It was a winter evening in the ramshackle house I was renting in Silverlake and I had a stack of CD advances to peruse. The night was black like an empty palette. Claw Hammer was meant to happen to me right then, a color explosion that continues to reverberate now, even though the band has long been history. Unlike the other groups who are accompanying me to Atlanta, Claw Hammer were L.A. locals, guys who wisely stayed away from the Sunset Strip to follow their own curious path. Jon Wahl's vocals share a lot in common with Captain Beefheart, a perfect accompaniment to the bang and slash and crash of the music, a blend of rock, jazz and the kitchen sink. There's no subtlety to Claw Hammer; what makes them great is that they're musical sophisticates who take their smarts and shove 'em right in your face. The quartet made the leap from indies to Interscope right when the major labels were looking for the next big thing after grunge. I could have told them Claw Hammer wasn't it, but I would have kept my mouth shut anyway because these guys deserved some decent money before retiring to the graveyard of unappreciated bands.

Cheap Trick, All Shook Up, 1980

This is the one album in Cheap Trick's 30-plus-year history that causes the most debate. You either hate this album and consider it one of their worst, or you decry the critics and hail it as one of their most underrated. Since I took it with me across country along with just three other discs, you can guess which side I'm on. In fact, I think it's one of my favorite Trick records in part because it is so vilified by certain parties. Maybe these listeners hate it because they expected the Rockford quartet to continue pumping out hooky, angst-y power pop for the rest of their careers. Instead, the guys went out on a limb to mine the unexpected, with legendary producer George Martin bringing production elements that were welcome surprises for a guitar rock band in 1980. Martin added electronica and orchestra to Trick's sound while keeping emotions raw and Nielsen's guitar as appealing and heavy as ever (keep in mind that back then, Cheap Trick was considered metal). As in all Cheap Trick's best work, there's wry humor mixed in with anger — in fact, this disc has the kind teeth baring ferocity (and soaring beauty) that only an iron-lunged singer like Robin Zander can deliver. No wonder this album inspires the passion it does. It takes risks for its era and that probably scared a lot of fans — after four albums, they thought they knew everything there was to know about Cheap Trick, and they were wrong. That's exactly why I celebrate it. And to top it all off, the album cover concept was influenced by my all-time favorite artist, Rene Magritte. I adore All Shook Up so much that I've tentatively titled my memoir High Priestess of Rhythmic Noise, which is a riff on one of its song titles. It's the least I can do to show gratitude.

Okay, now comes the logical question... "Janiss, why don't you have an iPod?" It's on the list. Trust me.

My CWA Conference Playlist

You can always tell my frame of mind by the albums I pull out in anticipation of a trip. This time around, it's obvious I've been a little depressed because the four vintage discs I pulled are all loud with a humorous bent. My financial life is bleak, my office — the whole house, in fact — is a mess, so I need something that'll make me smile. Three of the CDs are from the early to mid-1990s, the fourth is from long, long ago and is the only one that's still in print. So here's the playlist:

Tad, Inhaler, 1993

Back in the early 1990s, grunge came along and in a flash, the brand of hard rock exemplified by Guns N' Roses went out of fashion. It was a feeding frenzy up in Seattle as A&R executives snatched up every band that ever wore a Pendleton. After Nirvana, I couldn't care less about the ones that became mega-stars. Pearl Jam, Soundgarden? Yawn. My favorite group from the era was a larger-than-life quartet called Tad, who like many other bands, had released several albums on Sub Pop before hitting the major league. Fronted by Tad Doyle, who once had a day job as a butcher, they were brutal, loud and explosive. Tad was a brilliant exaggeration of that lumbering, thundering lumberjack vibe that surrounded Seattle before the rise of Bill Gates and Chris Cornell. Really, they were too smart for their own good. Even though some great hooks and melodies festered underneath the beard stubble and noise, a major label wouldn't have any idea what to do with them. So unfortunately, Inhaler, their first record for Giant, was also their last for the label. The guys plugged away for a few more years before disbanding, which was sad, since I wrote one of my favorite features ever about them. I miss Tad, but I'll always have Inhaler.

Big Chief, Platinum Jive, 1994

Big Chief was another Sub Pop alumnus, but these guys didn't come from Seattle. This ultra-cool quintet came from Detroit, and with a blend of influences that included funk, 1960s R&B, blaxploitation flicks, and some of the rollingest rock you ever heard, they sounded like it. Their tunes were almost always delivered with a sly wink... or an unexpected kick in the behind. Big Chief got caught up in the wave of grunge signings because of their buzz and their association with Sub Pop, but they were nearly as far from grunge as Curtis Mayfield is from Eddie Vedder. Needless to say, the big label they signed to, Capitol Records, had no idea how to promote them. Too bad, because Platinum Jive contains most of what was good about Big Chief (there's more rock and a little less funk, but it's always heavy on the fun). Platinum Jive is a "concept" album, containing the group's "greatest hits" from 1969 through 1999 (which was five years in the future) — the liner notes are a treasure trove of jokes and great visuals, with graphics courtesy of the incredibly talented Mark Dancey, who was also one of the band's two guitarists. After Platinum Jive tanked (yet another black mark against the major labels), the band broke up. In keeping with my untiring search for soon-to-be-unsung bands, I wrote a feature on these guys too, but I haven't uploaded it yet.

Wow, I'm out of time... I'll have to cover the other two later.

Getting Ready for the CWA Conference

I'm finishing up packing for the Cat Writers Association Conference in Atlanta. The suitcase is half filled with warm clothes (the high temperatures in Georgia right now are lower than the Los Angeles lows), and half filled with Sparkle's books. I've also tossed in a few "pawtographed" book plates for Saturday's book signing (why just a few? You try to sit a cat down to pawtograph a bunch of book plates!). And I'm also packing a few vintage CDs. Things are going to be busy and I probably won't have much listening time, but I wanted something to fill in the gaps, like mid-flight when I'm bored of my InDesign tutorial or waiting at the airport with no free wifi.

I'll upload the playlist before I leave in the morning.