Anakin Sanjaywalker

Yesterday I watched a documentary on HBO called The UCLA Dynasty about the Bruins basketball teams of the 60's and 70's. Apparently John Wooden never talked about winning or losing, or about how "this is a must win for us". Those kinds of phrases are repeated ad nauseum by players and coaches today. Instead John Wooden's idea was this:

"Success is peace of mind which is a direct result of self-satisfaction in knowing you did your best to become the best that you are capable of becoming."

I like that idea and I've been putting it on repeat since I heard it. Maybe Coach Wooden was the Zen Master before "Big Chief Triangle" Phil Jackson.

After flipping channels and seeing a few moments of Hayden Christensen's acting style in Star Wars Episode III, I've decided that Sanjaya from American Idol has a strong future as Anakin Skywalker in the Broadway production of Star Wars that surely can't be far, far away.

My faulty hard drive was replaced by a faulty hard drive. I've driven to Pasadena so many times the traffic cops know me by name. Now my computer is back home and functional. Look out internets!

I got my copy of Campus Circle in the mail. I'm officially a published writer. Somebody email me a cookie!

Number Five is Alive

I'm holding an election. You can only vote once, and there are no two hour time limits. Hopefully we'll also avoid hanging chads, and Florida recounts. You can now host five songs on a music myspace profile, so I'm leaving it (mostly) up to the people to decide which song should be number five. Only three of the new songs have been mastered (Easy For You, What if I, Only a Rehearsal), so those are the only songs from the new album that are ready for an internet debut. Feel free to request any song from a previous album. I'm retaining my right to veto and my right to left, but other than that, it's on. You can vote by leaving a comment on this blog, sending an email through ZackHexum.com, or thru a myspace message.

What else is on the horizon?

My friends in Michael Buble's band are in town to rehearse. I'm buying red paint for an evening or two out and about.

I played lots of bass clarinet yesterday. It probably wouldn't have hurt to practice bass clarinet BEFORE Saturday's gig, but better later than never.

I re-watched the series finale of Six Feet Under last night. I miss the Fishers.

I'm still battling those chords I started on Sunday, but I've had a meeting with the joint chiefs and I think we're going to turn the tides today. Like the Tom Freund song says "I know what you're thinking" and no, "joint chiefs" is not a drug reference.

Cupcakes Runneth Over

Someone's got a case of the Mundees. I spent my weekend singing songs. I played The Mint on Friday and Zoey's in Ventura on Saturday.

Here's an approximation of my set list at The Mint:

satellite
two times two
easy for you
princess
only a rehearsal
spicy streak
what if I
simple city
how many times
some of the time
one spin

I can't guarantee the accuracy of that order because I made a lot of audibles from the line of scrimmage. I can tell you that a good time was had by many, if not all. It was a throwback to yesteryear and Brandon Rogers sang harmonies on How Many Times and lead on Some of the Time.

Here's the set list from Zoey's:

how many times
some of the time
my addiction
only a rehearsal
princess of darkness
simple city
satellite
outside opinion
treat me bad
easy for you
one spin
what if I
couldn't I just tell you
-----
met a girl like you once

Saturday was a split-the-bill, acoustic show with Geoff Pearlman. Geoff is a native Omahanian like myself. He jammed with my brother back in the Big O and our paths have happily crossed out in LA. Geoff has joined me on a handful of gigs in LA and at SXSW in Austin. This time I returned the favor and played bass clarinet and acoustic guitar for him during his set at Zoey's.

We were bouncing ideas around for a cover and Geoff noticed my copy of Todd Rundgren's Something/Anything. Geoff started playing "Couldn't I Just Tell You", which is a fave of mine, so I spent the next few days learning the chords and deciphering lyrics.

Other than that I spent Saturday and Sunday teaching music lessons and bouncing around a chord progression for a new song while I watched Kobe not quite score 50 points for the fifth game in a row. It's been a fruitful few days. My cup runneth over, and for that matter, so do the cupcakes.

Friday's show at The Mint was a birthday party for my friend Emy. Julie G. graced us with forty million cupcakes. I was given two gigantic boxes to take home. If I can't fit out the door when I finally leave the house today I'm blaming the cupcakes.

Before my cup and cupcakes started running over I had a moment of extreme frustration this weekend. I'm not going to go into any specifics details. Suffice to say, I had an audition that could've been a major boost for my career. I wasn't supposed to hear anything back, but I accidentally did hear just how close this unnamed life-changing event came to happening. It was one of those moments you have as an artist where you start calculating how long it would take to get through med school, and what would happen if you hung up your myspace page and threw your guitar in the ocean.

Now, it wasn't that serious. I'm in this thing for the long haul come hell, high water, or extreme poverty, but it definitely brought down the vibe and I'm not above complaining. And since this is the internet, and what else is it for (except for looking at celebrity mug shots)?

Everything turned around for me while I was playing The Shins during a guitar lesson. I've briefly mentioned their song "Australia" in a previous blog. I've had a few different moments where a song just catches me in a profound way. These are snapshots of my life. One was listening to Joni Mitchell's "At Last" on a tour with the One O'clock Lab Band in college, another time was driving 85 while playing "Summer Soft" on the 405 when there was no traffic, and most recently there was this Saturday. That song, Australia... I don't know.... I just needed it at that moment. It helped me refocus on what I want in life. I want to make music that makes people feel good, music that's inviting, uplifting, and smart. If I can do that, and make other people feel what I felt during that moment, then I'll have all I need. Umm, but while we're on the subject, can I borrow five bucks?

Tale of the Wristband

This story will appear in an upcoming issue of Campus Circle...

I survived SXSW. Perhaps you've heard about this festival. Perhaps you've heard that this is where bands go to "get signed", and how this is the hallowed ground where Zach Braff created Indie Rock. Maybe you heard that there are thousands of bands, and millions of record industry execs who use record contracts as toilet paper, and toilet paper as record contracts. None of this is exactly the case, but rumor has it that signing a major label deal can have a scatological ending.

Last year was my first time at South-by. I played an outdoor showcase at a taco stand. It's common to turn gas stations, pharmacies, and really any building with a roof or a port-a-potty into a venue for the festival. I went for the entire four days in '06, which is not unlike eating a quadruple-decker burger. You better pace yourself if you're going to see several hundred bands trying to out-rock each other. You're also going to need an extra liver if you have a wristband and feel the need to take advantage of the open bars.

There is a caste system at SXSW: the haves (those who have a badge), the also-haves (those who possess an official wristband), and the have-nots (the poor saps who have only their wits and a smile to get into the official shows). This year and last, I kept it real and had no wristband or badge to speak of. Last year I drove from LA to Austin and bought some beef jerky along the way. The top of the bag was purple and plastic, so I used all the pluck and moxie I could muster and taped it to my wrist. It bore a striking, yet ultimately useless resemblance to the official wristband. I saw great music, but it was not my homespun bracelet that got me past the bouncers, it was the timeless "who you know" factor. That would prove true this year as well.

Friday I attended a BurnLounge showcase. I was told to go to the back alley of Emo's to get in. The smell of the SXSW dumpsters is something that you must experience to believe. It's like seeing the Grand Canyon or meeting the Dalai Lama, only you'll have an unforgettable desire to wretch. We eventually found our way inside and listened to what seemed like an eternity of not-so-fresh hip-hop before a welcome barrage of indie-rock saved the ears.

Even if you are a "non-wristy" and get in free, there is still a price of admission. You get stamped, marked, prodded, and branded each time you get through a door. Have you ever seen a cartoon where a package is mailed around the world and it comes back covered with stickers and stamps? This is what your hands will look like. I was marked with two profoundly black letters that allowed reentry to the back alley of the club. The marker was so dark that I'll be trying to explain what "RC" means to my grandkids.

This year, I moved up in the world because I played in an actual indoor venue as part of an official showcase. Although without having a wristband it was possible I could've been denied entry to my own show. I played at the Six Lounge, which is Lance Armstrong's club. I was disappointed that Matt McConaughey and Lance weren't there wearing matching outfits, but the show went well and we celebrated by double-fisting all the free well drinks we could afford.

The great part about SXSW is the sense of community. It's like a Star Trek convention, except you don't wear pointy ears, you rock your really skinny pants and deliberately chaotic hair. For me, the finale of SXSW was playing in a late-night jam at the One to One bar where musicians would walk in the door and right to the stage to sing harmonies for their friends.

I didn't discover the next big thing this year or last, but SXSW is a necessary rite of passage for the modern musician. It teaches you all the essentials: know people, do your drinking before the open bar closes, and above all accessorize with a fluorescent wristband.

New songs to be sung

Last night was Brandon Rogers’ swan song on American Idol. I couldn’t be more proud of how he conducted himself on the show. I don’t have any hard feelings toward the process or the outcome. Brandon sang great in an unbelievably stressful environment, and handled himself like a true professional.

Earlier in the show you’d hear contestants who are barely in their 20’s say things like “this is my last chance in the music industry.” How can this be? There is no such thing as a destination for an artist. This is the good news and the bad news. Singers sing, painters paint, and doctors doctor because that is who they are. If it is your path, then you do it because you have to, not because you win a popularity contest, or because it can make you rich. There are between twenty-some and forty-some million people who have watched Brandon sing for the last few weeks. There are a multitude of doors that are opening for him. I feel fortunate to have witnessed and played a small part in a once in a lifetime experience of my best friend.

So what’s next? I have strings to be strung, songs to be sung, and thoughts to be assembled for you and for myself.

My muscles are sore from a trip to the local Y, and I’m anxious to see old friends and to make new ones at SXSW.

Till tomorrow…

State Prison Surprise

And we’re back…

My weekday blog streak struck out, yet I’m optimistic I’ll start a new one now.

Monday was the day of driving, seventeen hours in all. I saw familiar landmarks, such as the sign that reads “Dust Storms May Exist” as well as new ones. There is a sign in Arizona that reads:

State Prison
Surprise
Wildlife Zoo

This could be interpreted in a variety of ways.

All three lines could be read as one: “Welcome to the State Prison Surprise Wildlife Zoo.” Maybe they only have zebras and jailbirds inside.

You could divide the sign in two, “this exit, State Prison Surprise and a wildlife zoo.” I think a “state prison surprise” would be a casserole with a nail file or a shiv (is “shiv” a Yiddish word?) baked inside. Other interpretations could include, “don’t drop the soap or you’ll get a state prison surprise.”

Finally you could interpret the sign as three separate places or events, a state prison, a surprise, and a wildlife zoo. What is the surprise? I didn’t find out. I was deterred by the “don’t pick up hitchhikers who are wearing orange jackets,” sign. That’s a killer for local tourism, if you know what I mean.

Phoenix was a success once again. I played Fiddler’s Dream for the second time. This gig tends to be a bit rocky from a performance perspective. Like last time, we left LA that morning and drove six hours. As the locals say “it’s a dry heat” in Phoenix. That’s not great for the voice. Also, it was my first solo show in a good long while. There were kinks. I’m sorry, Squeeze, for gently wounding the third verse of “Pulling Mussels from the Shell”. Despite those setbacks I had a great time, stayed the course, and no one asked me for their money back.

San Antonio was a different story. I was originally slated for The Red Room, which I’ve played at before. Due to circumstances beyond my control, I was bumped like a standby airline passenger to The Revolution Room, which is just down the street from The Red Room’s new location. There are a lot of Rooms that start with R in San Antonio, so if you have Elmo Fudd Syndwome I’d suggest booking a different city. The turnout was modest but supportive in San Antone, and I had a good time on stage. Before the set, however, I was less than enthused.

I was playing the San Antonio Indie “SASW” fest, which is one of a few different concert series set up around the same time as SXSW in Austin. Due to whatever, I didn’t get paid for doing SASW. I have no problem with that. I was asked to thank San Antonio Indie. I have no problem with that. I was also asked to thank a beer company that was sponsoring SASW. I DO have a problem with that. If I’m going to sell out and thank a corporation for putting on a gig (pulling a “Tony Bennett at the Grammys”), I’d like to at least get paid something more than a free bottle of water and a whopping two spots on the guest list. I thought about thanking the wrong beer company, but I decided it best to simply stew privately and voice my displeasure on the Internets.

Back to the subject of gently wounding a verse, let’s move on to American Idol. Now every artist who has ever performed on a stage has had moments of forgetting lyrics. Frank Sinatra apparently forgot everything but the title to songs at the end of his career. The measure of an artist is not if he makes a mistake on stage, but how he handles it. I thought Brandon Rogers did a fantastic job of staying focused after his slip up during “You Can’t Hurry Love”. Of course having known Brandon for nearly a dozen years, I’m biased, but jeez! Did Brandon dump Randy’s sister or turn one of Simon’s four thousand black v-necked sweaters inside out?! They have a vendetta! This is reaching the “NBA-penalizing-Kobe-for-trying-to-draw-a-foul” proportions. I don’t know what the hizzle is going on here.

And furthermore, this “you performed like a background singer” crap is inaccurate and foolish. What does it mean to be a background singer? You have to be able to blend well, sing in tune, and usually be able to snap and do a few dance moves. Is that what they’re criticizing him for? If Einstein made a mistake while formulating an equation would you say he’s “calculating like a patent clerk”? Enough!!!!! Enough, I say!!

I didn’t get to watch the show live, since I was on stage shilling for Colt 45 in San Antonio, but afterwards I made sure my family used all four of the central time zone based T-Mobile phones and we got through forty hundredy times.

When we arrived at my mama’s place in Corpus Crispy at around 1:00 AM, I used my Californee Sprint network phone to try and, as they say in Chicago, “vote early and often”. I got a busy signal literally every time I called in. My mom thought I was trying to call Brandon, which then inspired a little riff…

“Brandon, I’m calling your number, 1-866-idols-01, but you’re always busy! I guess you’re too good for me now cuz when I do get through some dude just answers and thanks me for voting for contestant one. I thought we were friends!”

My mom used to say “Intendo” instead of “Nintendo”. These misunderstandings are a few of my favorite things.

On the drive home we drove through a Texas lightening storm of Biblical proportions. I was “blinded by the light” as the song says, we may have even been “rapped up like a deuce” or whatever the unintelligible next line is. Happily, we lived to tell the tale, or lived to the write the blog, in modern terms. Tomorrow, I’ll do it again.

blog meets dream

I had a dream last night that Barack Obama was at my birthday party. After the dream-party I stopped a mugging in progress and the police shot the mugger. In my dream I then thought "I'll have to write a blog about this!"

Yes, the weekday blog streak continues on and its essence has now entered into my unconscious mind. If I keep doing this for another few weeks I feel that I'm pretty much guaranteed to find the secret of life. I promise to share.

The good news of my computer being fixed was perhaps a little premature. I can't start it up now, so I'm bringing it back into the repair shop. If I were Simon Cowell I would say to my computer, "you've taken a lot of flack in the blogosphere lately, and no one should have to go through that. I just wish you were a better computer." This would be followed by my laptop crashing as it tried to start using it's own operating system one last time.

Brandon is in the top twelve! Hiyo!!! Thank you for voting for him.

There are dishes to do, promises to keep, and miles of floor I need to sweep so I'll bid you adieu for the day after one final thought.

Wynton Marsalis was on the Daily Show this week and said in regard to the state of jazz music, "the question for us as jazz musicians is just how to play better," and that "people play not as good today because the conditions are less extreme."

I agree that the issue of jazz is how to play better, but "play better" needs to be clarified. There are a large number of jazz musicians who play with technical facility that is equal or superior to the giants of the past, although that technical facility can be cumbersome and is often not used for the best artistic purposes. I further believe the problem is not that the conditions are less extreme. Jazz musicians are struggling to pay rent in New York City as much as they ever have and perhaps with less paying gigs, but more musicians vying for those few paydays. Also, the state of affairs the world over gives a cornucopia of social and political problems to be inspired about. The issue is that jazz music has reached a point where you will often sound archaic if you play music that is palatable, or your music will lack any discernible esthetic quality if you're trying to move the music equal to or past where Coltrane pushed it back in the '60's.

To me, to "play better" would mean to find a way, like Miles Davis and Thelonius Monk did, to play music that doesn't put an emphasis on virtuosity, but rather music that makes an artistic statement that is both simple and profound. That's simple enough to state, but the wheel already exists, and it's hard to improve on it

Let's keep working on that.

The State of the Album

I wrote this blog this morn, but was without internet till now. N-joy.

In a few days I'll hit the road to Texas. I'll be a reverse frontiersman headed back to the Lonestar State with guitar and saxophone in tow. The first stop will be Phoenix, followed by San Antone, and finally Austin.

In Phoenix I'm playing Fiddler's Dream again. There's video footage on YouTube from my last perphormance in Phoenix. This will be a truly unplugged performance. Real musicians don't use electricity! Right? *Cricket* *Cricket*

I'll spend a good portion of the day getting into my special vocal place (remember how Ron Burgundy does his vocal warmups?). The rest of the day will be devoted to laundry and listening to my faucet drip. This is my meditation on American Idol elimination show days.

But seriously folks, I remixed four songs yesterday in the studio. I'm wondering how soon I'll lose my objectivity on this mostly Lindbergh-esque solo venture. I've had help for sure, most recently Dave Johnstone playing great drums on "My Addiction", and pre-Idol, Brandon Rogers' excellent vocal production on more than half of the songs. Gif Tripp also mixed three songs already. Other than that, I've functioned as arranger, producer, composer, singer, and musician on the album. I'm considering getting a volleyball and giving a co-writing credit to "Wilson" so I can share the blame and the glory.

Here's a list of the songs that are done or in progress:

Only a Rehearsal: is mixed and on my myspace profile

What If I: is also mixed and mastered

Easy For You: this needs bgvs for the last chorus

My Addiction: I'm considering some lyrical changes, but this song is on the home stretch

Open to Close: only needs some mixing

If I Fell: Brandon and I recorded this Beatles cover we did on the tour very quickly, and it needs to be totally redone

Under Your Spell: meh

Where or When: this is a pop standard I recorded a few weeks ago, and is done

Disconnected: is a guitar-and-voice-only ditty that is ready to roll

Wild Animal: needs a serious overhaul

Satellite: the oven went ding and this turkey is ready

Hold On: is jazzy and ready

We Are All Nature: is done

Who Knew (Blue Moon): was remixed yesterday and is all set

Never Happens: is ready for mixing

Maybe the Last Chance: is written and needs recordin'

Door to Door: I started this song, it is needing drums and other stuffs

Chorale: this is an instrumental thing that's only a minute and a half or so long. I'm going to record three or four different versions of it and intersperse it throughout the record.

So all said and done I have eighteen songs (although I counted that list three times and got three different numbers= I'm not an accountant) that are ready or close to ready. At least three of those would end up on the cutting room floor at this point. I have one or two more songs in my head that should make this album. It will take another week to record those, and then... You may find yourself asking me: "Whatchu waiting for?" To which I would reply: "a million dollar contract" as Gwen Stefani sort of said. I need someone to pay for my green M&Ms, put the discs in the store, and put some ads in your newspaper or myspace. I have a label or two that will be coming to my SXSW showcase. Regardless of that outcome, I'm the metaphorical US Postal Service and neither sleet, nor snow, nor writers block will stop this album from coming out in the not too distant future.

You'll be happy to know that my hard drive crashed for the second time in six months, but that all of the data is still intact. Hiyo!

Swedish Neck Grip

It happened again, but this time the Where's Waldo game was a lot tougher because I was off camera. Yes, I was at yesterday's taping of American Idol, this time off camera, and with a haircut. Yes, I got to meet Randy, and yes, he knows who 311 is now.

I couldn't be prouder of Brandon. I've heard more opinions than a talk radio host after last week's show. As a result, I've learned the Volcan Next Grip, so don't be surprised if you take a nap if you have a song suggestion for me. If I'm a little grumpy about this, it all stems from the fact that I couldn't be more emotionally involved in this show if it were my mom on there.

Last night, I spent the solid two hours voting again. Thanks to everyone who did their part for Brandon. Instead of the Volcan Next Grip, you guys get a Swedish massage (if you treat yourself to one).

After having observed the live taping and watching the same thing on TiVo, it's amazing how much better everyone sounds in person with the band hitting hard, and the energy of the moment. When Brandon sang I had goose bumps the entire time and I couldn't help but have a ridiculous grin on my face the entire time. If I could bottle that feeling and sell it crack dealers would go out of business (maybe they'd unionize).

Blake did a good job on the 311 song, and the whole "I can't believe the judges didn't know 311" factor was perfect, because they must've said "311" fifteen times after his performance. There are 30 to 40 million people who watch that show every week. That's hefty advertising. For those of you who don't know the song, it's on the eponymous release (or the blue album, as the kids say), and it's available now at your favorite CD store. It sold a couple million copies back in '96.

The nerves that I had between Tuesday's "Time After Time" and Thursday's results show will be significantly less this week, because Brandon undeniably sang his ass off, and that's all you can ask for.

Meanwhile, the world keeps turning. There's war in the Middle East, and a meteorite crashed into a bedroom in the Middle West of America.

My studio plans were put on hold to witness Brandon really being Brandon yesterday, so today I'll get back at it.

Till tomorrow:

Thanks for stopping by, but mostly stay classy.

Exile from Cyberia

My hard drive is a fried egg. Today I turned on my computer only to see a little folder with the mac face on it: inappropriate! This is the fourth time I've been thrust back into the stone age since buying my iBook laptop two years ago. I guess I'll have to stop playing laptop baseball.

Today I'm headed to the studio to partake of the drums that Dave Johnstone laid down on "My Addiction", the song that I recorded two weeks ago. Thanks to the wonders of the internets, Dave received the MP3 of the song in question via email, then recorded the song in the comfort of his home studio and uploaded the drum tracks to a website from whence I shall download it and import it into the original session. I live about ten miles from Dave, but he could just as easily be in Siberia (or Cyberia, if you prefer).

My hands get sweaty when I realize that tonight is the night for Brandon to whoop that ass on American Idol. Get ready to vote!!!!! I'm considering inducing a ten hour coma, but instead I'll drive to Pasadena to get my dang computer fixed.

Lamar Odom is injured again and Luke Walton is still out. They're wisely considering defrosting Scottie Pippen and maybe Rip Van Winkle too. It's a dangerous time to be a Laker.

I'm looking at the headline "Spurs win sloppy game with Clippers". I was there. Did you see me on TV? I was wearing that same sweatshirt from my time in the audience on Idol, only this time I wasn't nervous or freezing cold. I'm totally "Where's Waldo" in this piece. Thank you Farfel, for the tix. Thank you Victor, for the stiff Margaritas. Next I need to work in a guest spot on Grey's Anatomy and start a fist fight with Isaiah Washington. Perhaps I could be the referee for "Celebrity Republican Career-Death-boxing" on the Ann Coulter vs. Scooter Libby episode. Where's my agent? Who's my agent?!

The Wind is Icy, Hot

Yesterday my brother Nick ran the Los Angeles Marathon. I made my
way downtown to show my familial support. Let me officially say that
twenty six point two miles is a long, long way, and I'm proud of
anyone who can traverse that distance without using an engine.

I didn't have a map of what was happening, just an approximation and
a lucky parking spot. I figured sooner or later I would catch up to
my brother since I was on foot at this point and so was he. This was
specious reasoning, but it eventually worked in my favor. I was
walking against the grain of the marathon over by Staples Center to
try and rendezvous with my brother. Seeing so many people running
and at least as many people cheering and blowing plastic trombones
was simply breathtaking. I got a big emotional rush being near it.
I then got a big rush of spray-on Icy Hot right up my nostrils. They
have volunteers who hand out Gatorade, bananas, and water as well as
a line where they spray your sore muscles with some sort of airborne
Ben Gay. I made the mistake of walking downwind of this line.
Gross, dude.

After walking for a good country mile in the wrong direction, I
jogged my way to the finish line and eventually met up with my
brother around Mile 25. I imagine he'll be posting a summary of his
marathon experience on LiberalHexum.org, so I'll leave the details to
him. Suffice to say, I ran shotgun for most of the last mile, and I
know he had a seriously sore calf. I'm really proud of him for
sticking it out and finishing the race. Way to go Nick!

Tomorrow is voting day for the dudes and mostly importantly, Brandon
Rogers, on American Idol. Get your autodial, and you Cingular folks, text messaging
ready. Consider this a weekly two hour marathon for your fingers.

An exercise in stress: Inside American Idol

Yesterday fate intervened on my behalf. A friend of a friend had been on a waiting list for American Idol tickets for a year and a half. They "pulled her card" the day before yesterday and one of the four tickets trickled down to li'l ole me. For those of you just joining us, my best friend Brandon Rogers, is a contestant this season.

I've watched a bit of Idol before this year, but only during the "wow, I can't believe someone told that person they can sing" audition episodes of the show. Let me tell you there is no way exaggerate how stressful these elimination shows are.

Joanne, the ticket mistress, got in line around noon and was number five in line out of what would end up being close to one hundred people. I spent the hours between noon and two o'clock pacing a hole in my floor. I've made the mistake of keeping up with the betting odds and some of the blogs that said that Brandon's spot on the show was in serious Jeopardy after the judges lampooned him for attempting to be subtle (taste is not one of the five senses on reality TV, lesson learned). From 2:00 to 3:30 I did my time in the line on Beverly Drive, and although it is LA, it was not warm in the shade. From 3:30 to 4:15 they corralled us into a holding pen where we were sheltered from the wind. Once we finally entered the studio I was split up from my three new traveling companions and shoved into the front row because I'm "tall" (at only 6'1" I could block a Ryan Seacrest jump shot sitting Indian stlye).

What you don't see at home:

-The entire set of American Idol fits about 60 people. Each contestant gets two guest tickets, one for mom and one for dad in most cases. Once it goes to the top 12 and the show is moved to the Kodak Theater, the contestants will presumably have more tickets to dispense.

-They keep TV sets icy cold. I believe that's because silicon looks better when it's chilled. My knees were chattering. I started clapping at random moments just so frostbite wouldn't set in.

-It was five o'clock Pacific time when the show started, and that marked at least the fifth hour in a row I'd spent fretting and obsessing (fretsessing?) over my friend and what would happen to him on this godforsaken TV show. When I got home later that night, I watched in horror as the camera settled on my face at least three different times. I was not bored! I was freezing effing cold, and had a high probability of having a heart attack at age 28 due to Idol-related stress. By the way, I took a healthy amount of ribbing from friends and family alike for looking like a psycho on national tv. Thanks, guys! Perhaps I should've taken my sweatshirt off or gotten a haircut to avoid that serial killer look I was sporting, although I think I would've instantly frozen solid to carbonite a la Han Solo in whateverStarWarsmoviethatwas.


Don't forget your scarf!

-Poor Alaina sounded even worse in person than she did on the broadcast. Singing on national TV after your dreams have publicly been crushed has got to be up there with singing at a funeral for "worst gigs of all time". On the other hand, I remember A.J. sounding even better in person than he did on TV during his swan song.

-As we were filing out of the studio all the contestants had to pose for group pictures and no less than ten of the twenty were weeping openly. That's going to be the poster I want on my bedroom wall.

My favorite moment of the night, which happened just after the end of the hour that this show was slotted for, was Leslie Hunt improvising these words into "Feein' Good":

"Why did I decide to scat? America don't care for jazz!"

Sing it sister, I'm not playing guitar for my health!

A friend later sent me a text message:

"Please note that three out of four people kicked off american idol sang bublé songs. Jazz pop kiss of death!"

A heartfelt thanks to everyone who voted for Brandon. The czechs in the mail. Get your redial skillz ready for next week!

Dr. Angelou

If TV is the new religion then watching Iconoclasts with Dave Chappelle and Maya Angelou is Easter Sunday. I learned stuff. For instance, Dave Chappelle can play "Round Midnight" by Thelonius Monk on piano! I'm totally voting to put him through to next week.

There was a fascinating discussion on the "n word" between them. Dr. Angelou said this:

"Now when I see a bottle come from a pharmacy it says p-o-i-s-o-n and then there's skull and bones, then I know that the content of that thing, the bottle is nothing, the content is poison. If I pour that content into Bavarian Crystal it is still poison."

Yao Ming. I'm going to meditate on that for a good long while.

Maya Angelou also had this to say:

"...courage, the most important of all the virtues, because without courage you can't practice any other virtue consistently."

Words, rhetoric, and dialogue are powerful tools. They are perhaps granted more power in the adolescence of this information age because of all the two-lane streets, like this one, that are connected to the "information super highway". I know that without the internet providing an outlet for my words, and more specifically, you the readers taking part in this symbiotic relationship, my writing skills would've stopped growing after I tested out of basic English Composition in college. Now mind you, I did use an incorrect "there" the other day, so they're's plenty of room to grow on my end. Thank you for reading.

The point of all this is we have to seek out words, sounds, and images to inspire us and share that inspiration. I stumbled across my latest inspiration thanks to some well placed billboards and a TiVo. Advertising and marketing don't have to be the devil.

And on that note: I hope to see all you SXSWers on March 17th at the Six Lounge.

R.I.P. to Shaun Livingston's knee. Legs aren't supposed to bend that way. I will not post the video because I might accidentally watch it again and I don't want to puke my scrambled eggs up.