Alright,  I think I make my debut tonight..

I lost my wallet at ATL on thursday, so I didn't have any ID or Cash for my four days in D.C.  Gina was my sugar-mama though.  I had to delay my flight a day to wait for my passport which was stuck in a crate at Dulles for two days.   This is the second time a typo has cost me over 1000 on my first day of work.  And yet I still don't proofread.

BTW, someone found my wallet and went on a spending spree at the Lithonia super wall mart. I wish I could get that guy like this guy got those guys. He got them good.

D.C. seems like a fun town. I had a a great time.

I am at Brad's right now. 

They are coaching on dinner Alissa, at Absynth (the place with the purple tablecloths)..  I must have mentioned them about 200 times in these pages.   The best burger on the planet. The best cocktail makers on the planet.  I never got their Ricotta Dumpling recipe.

Well, I can't complain. Everyone says they made me look good. I figured they would, once i realized they were making michelle out to be picky and tense..      To my ear I sounded drunk, but I have no ear for myself. I guess I always sound that way?

Oh, I got an email from Glenda, The stylist I mentioned last week. She has been voted the "best cut and color" in SF, according to 7x7.   Congrats Glenda!  

MORNING UPDATE:

Dad admonished me, sternly, saying  "What did you say about 'liking them dumb'?  I don't like that one bit".  

Neda says, "Michelle seems nice".

Andy Says: "You are definately not metro....Jeans have no bearing" . He also says, having recently 'fallen' for John Prine, "Something about the song "Clay Pigeons", which I know is a Blaze Foley cover, grabs a hold of me every time I hear it.  Okay, that was way too
brokeback. "

Matt M, otherwise known as Skid, or Fat Matt,  or Spank, is blogging from Germany,   Funny guy.  He was my target audience for my first blog.

yesterday, the first thing on my mind regarding the show was that I needed to get a new wardrobe.

After 15 minutes, my new concern is to see what the love coaches say about me.

Alesandro Rocks.  I need to take my  'i'm an idiot' jokes to the next level really make an ass of myself. . Umm... nevermind, I have a few friends who do this,  not my thing.

Man, if they make me look as bad as they did that lawyer dude, i'm screwed.. 

Brad's first two comments are under my previous post. I may not get around to moving them.

C'mon people, I criticized Dan Brown and Got a slew of phone calls and emails. I show up on a lousy t.v. show and everyone is quiet. This disturbs me.   This is your chance to really lash out. To really explore the space.   I respectfully ask that you not say anyhing critical about anyone I have dated, as that would be poor form, TV show or not,  but other than that, fire away.  You're witty people, and I can take it.

No, Brad doesn't have a blog. I hear that his daughter does.  She's the one who gives me crap for my t-shirts being too tight. She says I should go work in Ansley, or host a T.V. show on the oxygen network.  Anyhow, I'll make sure Brad Live-blogs the next few episodes.

I had to look up what a Mimbo is.  Notice the super hip bowling shoes, and the retro, atari-inspired, t-shirt.

Tons to talk about. But I'm not gonna, on account of I got no time, England plays in 20 minutes. (How about that Crackin German  opener?!)

Three world cup games a day, a new job, an old job, and a new company will do that to you.   I went and paid for a haircut the yesterday, to look clean for my new Job. You show me a guy who goes to get a haircut wearing a bright yellow t-shirt, and in 40 minutes, I'll show you a a guy with a gay haircut.   I miss Glenda and Patrick, the only two stylists I ever went out of my way to return to.   

Also, for the new job, I bought some new clothes. 

According to websites devoted to T.V. shows,  I make my first appearance on the 19th.  Having now seen a couple previews  the reality of the whole thing is setting in (no pun intended, Brad).  The reality is this: I have to get a whole new wardrobe.  The stuff I was wearing in S.F. was old to begin with, but I especially can't have people recognizing me, "I know you, I saw you on that t.v. show, AND YOU WERE WEARING THAT EXACT SAME OUTFIT". How humiliating that would be.

So I went to buy some clothes, but since I was wearing a gay haircut, I ended up buying a powedered blue polo, and some slim cut jeans.  The hair makes the boy apparantly.

Grrr...

In other news: Lots of bean talk on the wire. Apparantly there is a big match this saturday.

If I had heard Damien Rice’s “Older Chests” first, I would have dismissed him as having too  much style, and not enough substance.  Had I heard his single, Cannonball, first, I probably would have grudgingly said that the guy could write a catchy song, but that one is  probably the highlight of an unremarkable, formulaic,  album.   Alas, I heard Bower’s daughter first, on Launch Cast a couple of years ago, and knew I would have the buy the CD some day.

Well yeah, Cannonball is so filled with what   Pitchfork Media

 calls “overwrought, acoustic sap”  that there really isn’t room for much else.  When Rice locks into his verses of paradox couplets (“courage teach me to be shy…a stone taught me to fly”) the song coasts by on the strength of his  persuasive voice and catchy melody. He makes you  comfortable, and to his credit, he manages to tie the song together before letting it get too foolish, “Water, washing me dry” or some other such nonsense.  Oh, its all nonsense, I reckon, be he never goes off the deep end, so after you hear it once and realize the worst its going to get is “love taught me cry” you can just sit back and enjoy a very listenable song.

That “Older Chests” sounds a lot like what I would hope to find on better songwriters’ editing room floors.    

Like time, there's always time
On my mind
So pass me by, I'll be fine
Just give me time
REPEAT

Ugh.  It’s a pretty song. It would be a good one to add your own lyrics to. Please. Somebody.

But Bower’s daughter really hits the spot.  Hits it  hard and fast.   The song structure, delivery, and lyrics work perfectly together to deliver a potent message.  It’s a terrific song.  Sentimental to the gills, but brilliant, and brilliantly executed. Listen to it, and Cannonball, here.

As good as this song is, it may not hold up too well, with all its dramatics. Don’t consider this to be too big of a knock on the song though as I would like to buck a disturbing trend of people judging art by how they hold up to repeat viewing. It’s a nice feature to be able to enjoy a movie 15 times, but if it loses something on its second or third viewing, that first amazing first experience shouldn’t be discounted. You aren’t supposed to marry the thing.  The same is only slightly less true for music.

People talk about the earnestness of Conner Oberyst, which is a palpable quality of his music.  Conner’s is a Bright earnestness. Rice’s is always bit more painful. Considering that all his songs are of a darker nature, you might find his agony a bit contrived.  The terrific song “Volcano” goes some way alleviates that concern. If you want a song that you can listen to a few dozen times, that’s the one.  

The rest of the album too maybe. It seems uneven too me but I can see a lot of people liking it.    I’ll keep listening, on the strength of the first 5 songs, and Staci’s recommendation.  But her, and everybody else, shouldn’t be listening to this CD, without first devouring Ryan Adam’s Heartbreaker, and Bright Eyes’ “Its morning, I’m wide awake”, which are truly great albums by obvious contemporaries.

( I was going to call Rice a sad man’s Jack Johnson, but that’s a pretty sloppy statement. The comparison, inaccurate as it is,  would have let me make a few points about Bob Schneider (opera singers) and Leonard Cohen (Eskimos), but mostly I would have been able to point out that both Rice and Johnson have an eminently engaging nature too them, yet Rice manages to not lecture you on EVERY DAMN SONG.   Jack was on at the Virginia Summer-fest trying to get me to recycle or something.  Stick it up your ass, Jack)

Happy Hour at Brio, Pool Party at the Renaissance, Virginia-Highlands Summer Fest, BBQ Ribs at Brad’s, The Filthy Fifty Workout, Righteous Room,  6 Feet Under with my Cousin,  Grand Central Station Pizza with Alex’s Family.   This was a good weekend.

After the summer-fest let out  I ran into Kristy and DaveK on the street.  Kristy was hiccupping every third word, and DaveK was harassing cars.  And women, though that was for my benefit.   Apparently I need the help.  Even my dad chimed in on that subject  this weekend, asking the whereabouts of every  girl I ever introduced to him until finally saying,  “Let me give you some advice Sean….. you are a bit of a slob”.  

Maybe I am, maybe I ain’t.   You try moving all your stuff back into  your high-school bedroom, and keeping it orderly.  I don’t know that anyone’s ever broke up with me because I was a slob.    Rich likes to ride me about my distaste for deodorant. He says a girl I dated mentioned it to him.   I just take it as a depressing sign of the times that a whiff of pure man-style Sean is considered offensive, but when I go out  I have smell the cologne of every guy in the restaurant.     Maybe I’ll go buy some of that Hummer Cologne, pour some of that over my head and see how you like it.

So yeah, finally DaveK blew out a flip-flop, playing fogger in traffic. I offered him one of the two extra pairs I keep in my car/locker (slob, remember), but they ended up taking a taxi back north.  By the time I caught back up to Brad and Staci, they had befriended two Italian Dames who live in New York but were in town for the oncology Convention.    (Cousin Gina was in town for the same conference. I took her to 6-feet-under for friend green tomatoes and alligator. If you are reading this in Long Beach, Vote Ulaszewski for 2nd District  tomorrow)

They were really cool girls so Staci invited them to dinner Sunday night,  and it was a great evening.  After Brad cooked up some ribs  (Rubbed, no boiling)  I drove the Italians back to their hotel, and was prodded by one of them, to the dismay of the other, to reveal my political affiliations.   The inquiry was insistent, and yet  delivered with such a forced disinterest that I knew she really was hoping I would give her a “its all right I hate BusHitler too”  signal so she could drop the pretense and get to her point.  The invective swings both ways of course; The night Rich and I met DavidK and Kristy, Rich got stony silent when the subject of Al Gore came up. Three of us managed a light-hearted conversation about the man/machine that is Al Gore, such that I still have now idea what their political affiliation is, yet, it was obvious Rich thougt it bazaar that I would refuse the neat opportunity to bash the guy.  Personally, I think he's a bit to comical to be a villian.

I told my self a while back that I would answer political-afilliation questions  with a straightforward, sturdy, “I am a Republican”, but these days the Republicans  are so disappointing.  It's not the war, either, its the completely wasted opportunities:  Spending and Tax Reform being the two that spring to mind.

Interstingly enough, Democrats who want to appear as centrists use the word 'disapointing' the same was 'centrist' republicans used it during the Clinton years: "I am just disapointed that such a great political mind misused his popular support", their story went. There is nothing wrong with the expression in theory, but it's most often a ruse, since people who say things like that can't name one  position of the opposing party that they agree with. I have no problem listing a half dozen good things about Clinton's presidency, though I have genuine  contempt for the guy. I hold Al Gore, and Kerry, and Hillary in much higher regard, strangely enough.

So when I say I am disapointed , I mean it.   DaveM pointed that this morning’s headline is “Bush to support constitutional ban on gay marriage”.  Right, that’s the friggen problem George, gay marriage.   Granted, one headline does not tell the whole story, but still, what a crock. Vote Ulaszewski.

On a light note, someone asked me where I was from this weekend and I said "Atlanta".  The relief I felt when I realized that I didn't have to expand on it, was palpable.  I may play the aloof card a bit -The reluctant speaker who feigns exhaustion when asked to talk about the more interesting things in my life- but it's a genuine relief to be able to meet the "where are you from" question with a succinct, uninteresting, "Atlanta".

Then I drove back to Marietta.