If you don't know what "Get Yer Ya-Ya's Out" means, jump on the Google before reading...
Listened to it this morning while I worked out on the Total Gym. Still sounds as vibrant and dangerous as ever, even with the mp3 compression. The woman in the audience screaming "Paint It Black, you devil!!" The serpentine riff in "Stray Cat Blues," the sense of borderline anarchy in the crowd when they launch into that lean, menacing "Sympathy." The Stones so exotic and dangerous then, not the corporate machine they've become. Still, I couldn't help but find myself thinking back fondly to the 2001 tour opener at the Garden, when they played "Stray Cat Blues" and Mick, in his mid-50's then, lent the song an even creepier vibe when he sang "I know you're just 13 years old...I don't want no ID."
Anyway, this stuck with me all day because I had the great fortune to catch up with my friend Dave George over lunch this afternoon, boring his lovely wife Amy (and cute but oblivious year-old son) as we had our usual back and forth music conversation, an extension of a conversation that began decades ago, in junior high. We were lamenting the sorry state of FM radio, reminiscing about the good old days when we were kids and the radio was EVERYTHING, it MATTERED. It's where we discovered music new and old, listened to personalities that seemed like the coolest guys in the room and built our record collections off of what we'd heard. We're both passionate music fans in large part because of that early radio indoctrination into the Church of Rock.
Dave mentioned his love of Pandora.com, something I share. Great service-streaming music, commercial free, anything you like. Your own custom channels, as well as pre-programmed channels in formats similar to what's on FM, without the commercials and robotic jocks and the endless song repetition. No 300-song music libraries built solely on the preferences of a hundred people in a auditorium, rating 650 :30 song clips twice a year. No overpaid, ineffective and compromised consultants, just none of the things rock radio is doing wrong. Rock radio mirroring the record companies, heads in the sand as market share slowly erodes (relative to the labels)...WiFi in cars is coming boys, and when I can get Pandora or Brooklyn Vegan or Live365 in my car just as easily as any FM station, where do you think I'm getting my music from? Hell, I've listened to maybe an hour of FM radio since I left it; it's Sirius almost always. Any music style I want, commercial free, and PERSONALITIES between the records. Quick hits, not long drawn-out breaks. God forbid ANYONE violate the :30 break rule. But I digress...
So Dave and I are talking music, how we get set in our ways as we get older, dismissing new music as inferior to what we grew up with. I've heard that before, especially when I worked in radio, that the quality of new music just isn't as good as it used to be. I said it then, and I'll say it now: BULLSHIT. It's a crock. There's so much great music out there-surf the net, go to a local club and see a band play their asses off for 20 people simply for the love of making music, because they HAVE to play it. Go check out the bands selling out 2500 seaters every night across the country without any airplay, with minimal mainstream attention and a name you probably never heard. Go to Pandora or listen to Left of Center on Sirius. Educate yourself.
The problem with so many of the management types in radio at this point is that the zeitgeist has passed them by. The business has passed them by. The old paradigm is dead yet they cling to it dearly because they don't know how to build a new one, just keep tweaking what they already have. It's the equivalent of giving Grandma a boob job. It's too late to make her hot again. They don't know how to operate in a music world that no longer has a center, that no longer captures the attention of the majority, that doesn't have MTV or VH1 buttressing their programming. Grey's Anatomy is over. They aren't breaking records any more than your local FM station, save maybe the college stations. WERS in Boston is musically far more interesting than anything else on the dial and has upwards of 200,000 people listening every week. Music fans ARE out there, yet these people aren't being served because the powers that be are too busy trying to convince the public that FM radio isn't as lame and repetitive as the public keeps telling them it is. Uh, actually...it IS lame and repetitive. Don't argue the message, FIX THE PROBLEM!
In the end, over cheeseburgers and fries and a giggling baby, we compared our Pandora stations. Dave mentioning how he hears new music there that he digs, and would otherwise never have heard. Radio in Atlanta is just as disappointing as it is in Boston, evidently. Amy saying that she only leaves XM to get local news/weather/traffic, and then right back to the satellite. Meet the new boss, same as the old boss...
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Friday, December 14, 2007
Oy Vey, Yoga
I'm sipping a hot green tea as I write this...
It's been over three weeks since I quit smoking. The first week or so was miserable, but I made it and each day now gets a little bit easier. (And thank you all for the support, it is very much appreciated...the support of one person in particular has been amazing...) I no longer have the shakes, no longer dream of sleeping inside a giant box of Marlboro Lights, no longer appear to have the cocaine jitters like Ray Liotta at the end of Goodfellas, watching the helicopter watching him...stir the sauce, Mikey...
But is this the most significant lifestyle change I'll make (aside from quitting my job...), or just a harbinger of more changes to come? When I unemployed myself, I had several goals I wanted to accomplish (you're thinking "get a job" would be the number one goal, but then again, you're reading this stupid blog so how much thinking are you really doing?)
Anyway, near the top of the list of activities for this period of vocational absentia was "Work Out." Once upon a time, I was in excellent shape, went to the gym 4-5 times per week, the whole nine yards. But as the years went by and I was working a long succession of 65 to 90 hour weeks, finding time to stay in shape was very difficult. I'd get into periods of relative stability where I could work out and would do so diligently for a few months at a time, and then fall off the workout wagon again. Eating a somewhat healthy diet and then eating only sporadically, combined with Herculean doses of daily caffeine and a steady stream of cigarettes kept me relatively thin, albeit soft.
Several years ago, after relinquishing the gym membership, I did purchase a Total Gym for my house. Figured if I had the equipment right there in Chez Gins I'd be more inclined to use it. (The Total Gym is that apparatus Christie Brinkley and Chuck Norris endorse in the infomercials you've all seen...the ones where Chuck breaks a deep sweat yet his hair mysteriously remains unchanged...being Chuck Norris means having the worlds' strongest toupee glue). Once I veered out of the rat race, I started working out on the Total Gym 3 times a week. Enjoyed that first-week soreness, the inability to lift my arms above my shoulders and the reawakening of my "abs." But it didn't seem like it was enough, that it would counterbalance my more sedentary lifestyle these days. So I began exploring other home-based fitness equipment. Do I buy a stair-stepper? The small portable ones all seemed to feature lithe young women on the box covers, and while I'm sure they work for both sexes I felt a bit uneasy at the thought of "shaping my buns and inner thighs!" It just didn't seem like the right program for me. Same with the elliptical machines, balance balls (I said "balls"...), steppers, etc.
I'd always wanted to try yoga. Lots of friends and some family are regular practitioners and swear by it. So I found myself at Target (let's face it, you can find me at Target about once a week...love that place) perusing the exercise aisle. Pilates equipment, mini trampolines, something called an "unbalanced beam" or some such nonsense, jump ropes, stretch cords...ah, yoga stuff. Mats, gloves, bricks ("um, what's the brick for?" I wondered) and kits. I bought a Gaiam kit with a mat, strap, brick, and Rodney Yee introductory DVD called "A.M. Yoga." Figuring that that wouldn't be enough, I also bought Rodney's "Slow Burn Yoga" DVD, as it seemed like a great workout for a beginner. There I go, thinking again...
Next morning, I unfurl the mat in my living room, pop the DVD into the laptop, and commence with AM Yoga. Feels great...15 minutes of stretching, a bit of meditation...I can do this. So I do it for a couple of days, feels good, getting into the yoga mindset...and then decide to delve into Slow Burn Yoga.
The DVD opens with Rodney Yee (yoga master, and although the whole production is achingly New Age-y, he's a warm, inviting presence. I don't even know what type of yoga this is though, Hatha, Kundalini, Bikram...in the parlance of my people, we'll go with "fachachtah yoga."). So I start following along...flying cross-legged pose...staff pose...mountain pose...and lots of downward dog. Oy Vey. My feet don't quite rest flat on the ground, as my hamstrings are too tight. Feels awkward, ass in the air (keep in mind, I'm doing this in my living room in full view of the neighbors) and then one leg raised up and turned, into a lunge...this shit is hard! I get about 45 minutes through before giving up, face down on the mat, drenched in sweat and cursing Rodney Yee like he just stole my bike. The next day, I can barely walk. I'm moving sideways, like some half-man half-crab, and all pain. My thighs are screaming, my shoulders ache...what was I thinking again?
But I kept at it, and now can power through the full workout without seriously questioning whether or not I might die in the middle of it. Sure, full-boat pose is still the worst, lying on my stomach and reaching back to pull my ankles and lift both legs and chest together like some Bush-approved CIA torture technique. Half wondering if there's a Waterboarding Pose, these cruel yoga fucks. Also wondering when the involuntary farting might stop...I mean, we've all seen the YouTube videos of the yoga instructor (female) letting one slip during a pose. It happens, constantly. The body can only handle so much at one time; if you're expecting me to hold it in while precariously balancing on one leg and two hands, head turned sideways and needing to hold that pose for 20 seconds...you really need to lower your expectations. Just another reason to work out alone at home. And stop pretending to be disgusted...everyone farts, and almost everyone laughs afterward.
Seriously though...I now look forward to yoga, to the sweat and loosening of the muscles, the discovery of muscles I didn't know I had. It does feel great, my body feels so much better than it has in years. Less aches & pains, more flexibility. Seeing results too...definition in the shoulders and arms, the legs much stronger, the overall balance better...and after the morning session, I drink a big mug of hot green tea and feel the same sense of smug self-satisfaction all those other yoga fanatics have been feeling for so long. I'm a nonsmoking floofy yoga buff...ok, maybe it is time to crank up the job search...
It's been over three weeks since I quit smoking. The first week or so was miserable, but I made it and each day now gets a little bit easier. (And thank you all for the support, it is very much appreciated...the support of one person in particular has been amazing...) I no longer have the shakes, no longer dream of sleeping inside a giant box of Marlboro Lights, no longer appear to have the cocaine jitters like Ray Liotta at the end of Goodfellas, watching the helicopter watching him...stir the sauce, Mikey...
But is this the most significant lifestyle change I'll make (aside from quitting my job...), or just a harbinger of more changes to come? When I unemployed myself, I had several goals I wanted to accomplish (you're thinking "get a job" would be the number one goal, but then again, you're reading this stupid blog so how much thinking are you really doing?)
Anyway, near the top of the list of activities for this period of vocational absentia was "Work Out." Once upon a time, I was in excellent shape, went to the gym 4-5 times per week, the whole nine yards. But as the years went by and I was working a long succession of 65 to 90 hour weeks, finding time to stay in shape was very difficult. I'd get into periods of relative stability where I could work out and would do so diligently for a few months at a time, and then fall off the workout wagon again. Eating a somewhat healthy diet and then eating only sporadically, combined with Herculean doses of daily caffeine and a steady stream of cigarettes kept me relatively thin, albeit soft.
Several years ago, after relinquishing the gym membership, I did purchase a Total Gym for my house. Figured if I had the equipment right there in Chez Gins I'd be more inclined to use it. (The Total Gym is that apparatus Christie Brinkley and Chuck Norris endorse in the infomercials you've all seen...the ones where Chuck breaks a deep sweat yet his hair mysteriously remains unchanged...being Chuck Norris means having the worlds' strongest toupee glue). Once I veered out of the rat race, I started working out on the Total Gym 3 times a week. Enjoyed that first-week soreness, the inability to lift my arms above my shoulders and the reawakening of my "abs." But it didn't seem like it was enough, that it would counterbalance my more sedentary lifestyle these days. So I began exploring other home-based fitness equipment. Do I buy a stair-stepper? The small portable ones all seemed to feature lithe young women on the box covers, and while I'm sure they work for both sexes I felt a bit uneasy at the thought of "shaping my buns and inner thighs!" It just didn't seem like the right program for me. Same with the elliptical machines, balance balls (I said "balls"...), steppers, etc.
I'd always wanted to try yoga. Lots of friends and some family are regular practitioners and swear by it. So I found myself at Target (let's face it, you can find me at Target about once a week...love that place) perusing the exercise aisle. Pilates equipment, mini trampolines, something called an "unbalanced beam" or some such nonsense, jump ropes, stretch cords...ah, yoga stuff. Mats, gloves, bricks ("um, what's the brick for?" I wondered) and kits. I bought a Gaiam kit with a mat, strap, brick, and Rodney Yee introductory DVD called "A.M. Yoga." Figuring that that wouldn't be enough, I also bought Rodney's "Slow Burn Yoga" DVD, as it seemed like a great workout for a beginner. There I go, thinking again...
Next morning, I unfurl the mat in my living room, pop the DVD into the laptop, and commence with AM Yoga. Feels great...15 minutes of stretching, a bit of meditation...I can do this. So I do it for a couple of days, feels good, getting into the yoga mindset...and then decide to delve into Slow Burn Yoga.
The DVD opens with Rodney Yee (yoga master, and although the whole production is achingly New Age-y, he's a warm, inviting presence. I don't even know what type of yoga this is though, Hatha, Kundalini, Bikram...in the parlance of my people, we'll go with "fachachtah yoga."). So I start following along...flying cross-legged pose...staff pose...mountain pose...and lots of downward dog. Oy Vey. My feet don't quite rest flat on the ground, as my hamstrings are too tight. Feels awkward, ass in the air (keep in mind, I'm doing this in my living room in full view of the neighbors) and then one leg raised up and turned, into a lunge...this shit is hard! I get about 45 minutes through before giving up, face down on the mat, drenched in sweat and cursing Rodney Yee like he just stole my bike. The next day, I can barely walk. I'm moving sideways, like some half-man half-crab, and all pain. My thighs are screaming, my shoulders ache...what was I thinking again?
But I kept at it, and now can power through the full workout without seriously questioning whether or not I might die in the middle of it. Sure, full-boat pose is still the worst, lying on my stomach and reaching back to pull my ankles and lift both legs and chest together like some Bush-approved CIA torture technique. Half wondering if there's a Waterboarding Pose, these cruel yoga fucks. Also wondering when the involuntary farting might stop...I mean, we've all seen the YouTube videos of the yoga instructor (female) letting one slip during a pose. It happens, constantly. The body can only handle so much at one time; if you're expecting me to hold it in while precariously balancing on one leg and two hands, head turned sideways and needing to hold that pose for 20 seconds...you really need to lower your expectations. Just another reason to work out alone at home. And stop pretending to be disgusted...everyone farts, and almost everyone laughs afterward.
Seriously though...I now look forward to yoga, to the sweat and loosening of the muscles, the discovery of muscles I didn't know I had. It does feel great, my body feels so much better than it has in years. Less aches & pains, more flexibility. Seeing results too...definition in the shoulders and arms, the legs much stronger, the overall balance better...and after the morning session, I drink a big mug of hot green tea and feel the same sense of smug self-satisfaction all those other yoga fanatics have been feeling for so long. I'm a nonsmoking floofy yoga buff...ok, maybe it is time to crank up the job search...
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