Netflix, I've learned to love you again and it feels like the first time

I was smitten in the beginning, and I was never fond of the video store. I remember Blockbuster sending me a notice. "For your convenience your credit card has been charged for your most recent rental and late fees." Gee, thanks Blockbuster. Convenience? There was nothing convenient about anything to do with that store. Movies were constantly checked out. Even finding DVDs in 2002/2003 was difficult. Like they thought VHS would never go away. Long live the tape. Netflix? Oh, that's just a fad.

Netflix treated its customers right from day one. No late fees. Pick the number of discs you want out at a time and pay a certain amount each month. They used to let you tell them when you sent back your movie and they would credit your account and send the next one. I always thought that was incredibly cool. You could make up for the mail delay and have a steady stream of movies being sent to you. But people must have abused that policy. Now Netflix has to physically receive a movie in order to release the next one in your queue. I don't blame them, but it took away part of the charm to get rid of that feature.

I've been a Netflix subscriber for about 10 years, although I took a year or two break somewhere in there. For the most part I've been very happy with the service. They almost always have what I'm looking for, and they're really good at getting a replacement disc out in the rare case a disc is unplayable, and they'll trust you if there's a disc lost in the mail, which has happened to me a couple of times. Although they usually end up showing up eventually.

The biggest problem I've had with Netflix has always been with the wait. It doesn't take that long, two or three days at most, but in that time my mood can change quite a bit. The documentary that sounded so good on a Sunday afternoon might end up seeming overly academic and about as attractive as Sunday's leftovers by Tuesday night. In the last couple of years Netflix solved this by introducing their Instant Viewing service. The problem was it only worked if you had a pc, and I'm a mac guy. In all the years of enjoying Netflix it was the only time that I actively looked for their customer service info to complain. Lots of people did. Eventually they introduced the Roku player, which for $99 you could hook up directly to your TV. Then a few months ago they finally introduced the streaming service to macs. Problem is you have to have a newer Intel mac. The service is not backwards compatible. Soon after they partnered with a couple different manufacturers to provide Blu Ray players that worked with the Instant Viewing service. Eventually I caved and bought one.

The best thing about Instant Viewing is that it solves the wait problem. Currently I have 200+ titles in my queue that I can browse through on my TV. Click on a title and you see a brief description and a rating (up to 5 stars). Sometimes there are really recent films on there, but often it's the stuff that's been out for a few years. But still, the selection is amazing and it far surpasses any kind of cable on demand movie service.

Sure, I still wish I could get Netflix on my laptop, but the times when I'd actually use it are very few and far between. Lying in bed, maybe. More often it would be on a trip. But that's what books are for.

Netflix has the model for the future, and it won't be long before we're able to stream everything. Movies. TV. Even music. (Well, if they ever pull their heads out of their collective asses, but that's another story...)

Whenever I talk to someone who rents movies but doesn't have Netflix I'm surprised and ask always ask why. It seems like such a no-brainer. Super affordable. Convenient. Good selection. And now you can stream it anywhere you have an Internet connection. Well, as long as you don't have an older mac.

Just today I got an email from Netflix. Subject line was Arriving Later. That perked my interest. Then I opened it up to read that my next selection had to be sent from a different distribution center and would take longer than normal. 3-5 days instead of 2-3. They went on to say that they sent my next selection for me, so that I could enjoy another movie while I waited. I liked that. It's made me happy. And happy is an emotion I seldom feel when dealing with cable companies or video stores.

House Cat

I have a friend who has a cat and always brings her cat along with her on any extended trip she takes. She puts her in a carrier and tucks her under the seat in front of her. No sedation. Nothing. And apparently the cat is quiet and hasn't sparked any air rage incidents yet.

I'm not about to take a flight anywhere, but I am getting the urge to take a roadtrip. Somewhere. Anywhere. Maybe nowhere. Just go. Get in the car and go. Everything I need to do what I've been doing lately is right at my fingertips. Laptop. Cell phone. Internet access as long as I'm in a somewhat populated area. Of course it could get kind of expensive traveling across the US. But I did stay in a hostel in New York once and it wasn't that bad. I'm pretty sure they wouldn't accept cats though.

Dogs seem to require a lot more responsibility than cats. You constantly need to check on them. People I know who have dogs have to go straight home from work to let the thing out. And they can't stay out too late either. Forget about spending the night. But you add in a family to the mix and the problem is solved. Maybe not completely, but it's a lot easier. Yet, with all of this responsibility, dogs are a lot easier when it comes to road trips. Who can resist the image of a dog sticking it's head out the window as you speed down the highway on a gorgeous summer day? They like riding in cars. You ask them if they want to go for a ride and it's like they've won the doggy lottery.

The same can't be said for cats. Or can it? I'm starting to wish I had taken my cat for a ride as a kitten and gotten her used to it. I wonder if I could still do it. Would it be too late to get my cat accustomed to riding in my car? Or would it be a torturous experience for both of us? Howling down the highway. Black fur everywhere. Jumps out the window at toll booths.

Then there's the litter box. You can tuck it away in a remote closet at home, but it's more difficult to hide in a compact car, which in a way makes a good argument for an SUV. Sure you may only get 14 miles per gallon, but is that too steep of a price to pay for the distance between your sensitive nose and the box of shit you're packing for your road trip? I think not.

But I'm not about to get an SUV. And the idea of doing a test run to say, the outer limits of Anoka County with my feline friend doesn't seem that appealing either. Maybe they're known as house cats because with rare exception, that's exactly where they plan on being. I mean, you never really hear of a house dog, do you?

Confessions of an record club addict

BMG Music Service is no more. They announced that they will stopping the service effective June 30, 2009. The news of their closing follows Columbia House, which folded a couple years ago.

I'm showing my age here, but I remember when BMG Music Service was RCA Music Club. RCA was always was less intimidating than Columbia. With RCA you got six or seven free albums and then had to buy one. Columbia offered 12 albums, but then you had to buy six or seven. With shipping and handling charges of a couple bucks per album, and "regular club prices" of $10.98 or $11.98 for a album or cassette, by the time you did the math you really weren't coming out ahead with Columbia. But RCA/BMG was almost always a much better deal.

I remember how excited I was the first time I cut out the form from the Columbia House ad featured on the back of a Parade Magazine in the Sunday newspaper. I'd carefully fill out the form, double checking the numbers to make sure I copied them down correctly and wasn't ordering Culture Club instead of Motley Crue. Finally I'd drop the card in the mail and anxiously await for my box of albums to arrive. I'd run home from school everyday to check, and it wasn't too long before it arrived. My first shipment consisted of the following records, and I do mean records- albums, vinyl, 12 inch:

Ratt- Out of the Cellar
Billy Squier- Signs of Life
Motley Crue- Shout at the Devil
Dio- The Last in Line
Huey Lewis and the News- Sports
Masters of Metal compilation
Twisted Sister- You Can't Stop Rock and Roll
ZZ Top- Eliminator
The Cars- Heartbreak City
Sammy Hagar- VOA

There had to be a couple more, but those are all I can come up with. It amazes me that they're so memorable, but really why should it? I've been into music my whole life, and this was certainly a way to dive headfirst into the deep end. It was like Christmas, except that I can't remember ever waking up to find 12 albums under the tree. I remember my dad picking up Dio's The Last in Line and saying, "This looks like hell...," so I can't really picture my mom picking out Shout at the Devil or Out of the Cellar for a stocking stuffer.

I remember my dad frowning on the idea of me joining a record club, but at the same time he was aware that I hadn't entered into any legal contract and was a minor. They weren't going to come after me if I didn't hold my end of the bargain, which I don't think I ever did with Columbia House.

Was anybody seriously interested in the "selection of the month?" I remember their language quite clearly. "If you would like to purchase the selection of the month do nothing. It will be sent to you automatically." I had checked "hard rock" as my category, which included everything from Motley Crue and Twisted Sister to Bob Seger and Bruce Springsteen. You had to be quick with the reply cards in order to stop the selection of the month from being mailed to you. And when you're a kid finding a stamp is a pain, especially when you're trying to hide from your parents that you're still in a record club. Or worse yet, you've joined another one.

It didn't take me long to discover a fool proof way to get out of the record clubs, even if that wasn't my intention. Having missed the deadline on my "I do not want the selection of the month. Send nothing" response card, I inevitably ended up receiving a few selections of the month in my hard rock category. Rather than keep John Cougar Mellencamp's Scarecrow and pay $11.98 + $2.00 shipping and handling, I soon found an easier way to solve my problem. You take a sharpie and you write "Refused. Return to Sender" on the package and you drop it in a big blue mailbox. Problem solved.

Of course the record companies hated this. They certainly didn't appreciate the fact that they were getting charged twice for each shipment. A couple letters eventually came before they terminated my membership. No final bills. Just silence. "No more selections of the month for you kid." But I didn't have to purchase my 5-6 records at "regular club prices' either.

RCA was so much more manageable. Even as a kid I could see myself holding up my end of that agreement. Get six free. Buy one. Get two more free. That was part of it. There was an enticement. Buy one and we'll send you two more. They're catalog wasn't as good, and sometimes with all the free albums coming my way I had a hard time figuring out what I wanted. Still it allowed me to complete my catalogs of U2 and Van Halen albums and explore 80's pop drivel like, well, Phil Collins and the Thompson Twins with little investment. Half of my cassettes probably came from RCA. Buy your one album? Get two more free. Sign up a friend? Four free. It was never ending. Then, after buying your one album you were free to quit and sign up all over again. Use your initials instead of your first name. Deliberately misspell your last name. Every little trick seemed to work. I had friends who claimed that they used neighbors addresses and fake names to get their shipments. I was never that brazen, but hey, there's a reason my full name isn't on this site. Wouldn't want BMG coming after me after all this time.

I've always been into an album's packaging. Sitting down with an album and getting lost in the cover and lyrics was an important part of the listening experience. Because the record companies manufactured their own titles, the packaging often got the shaft. It was most noticeable on cassettes. With their minimal real estate for packaging, the clubs would cut it down the images on tapes even further. Gone would be the fold out inserts. The album cover reduced to white with a tiny reproduction of the album cover and huge block type with the name and the artist. Eventually I learned that if you ordered RCA titles, the actual albums on their label, not the one's that were licensed to them, you got the real product. Actual artwork. Everything. These title didn't have the "Manufactured under contract by RCA Music Service" stamp on them either, so you could "return" them to Musicland and pick out something else, claiming it was a gift from your Uncle. This worked a couple times.

Eventually I got sick of the clubs. I had fast food dough and didn't want to wait six months for a new album to show up with a hatchet job of packaging. I had discovered good record stores. I could ride my bike and buy a new cassette for $7.99 the day it came out.

I revisited RCA, which was by then known as BMG, in college. Cds were dominating the market and I needed to catch up. I remember my shipment contained Van Morrison's Astral Weeks and Concrete Blonde's Bloodletting. Beyond that I'm drawing a blank. I think I bought my one disc, got a couple more free and got out. And I'm sure I returned at least one selection of the month by refusing it and returning it to the sender via the big blue mailbox.

A couple years ago I flirted with the record club yet again. Now known at yourmusic.com, BMG offered cds at $5.99 a title. You had to buy one each month, but there was no obligation. Cancel anytime. And you could buy as many as you wanted. The only catch was that if you didn't have something lined up in your purchase queue you'd be charged $5.99 a month regardless. It was great for boxsets. I bought the Dylan remasters...14 or 15 of them all in a box for $5.99 a disc. I think it's now $6.99 a title and apparently is not closing down. I got out of it though. I couldn't find enough that interested me that I didn't already have.

I wonder if a similar model would work for today's kids. It seems like it would be a fool proof model for digital music. Make signing up contingent on a credit card number. But really, what fun would that be? They'd be missing out on the best part: ripping open that box, tearing off the cellophane, opening up the gatefold sleeve of all of those albums and thinking it's the greatest day ever.

5 Coffee Shops in 5 Days: Bob's Java Hut

Sunlight. What a difference you make. Warming our lonely northern region of the world with your seductive charms. Melting old man winter's latest dump and turning it into vital vitamins and minerals that will water the dormant brown grass and cause it to grow green again. And charming the pants and sweaters off young woman everywhere in exchange for more revealing clothing.

I love you Mr. Sunshine. You can pour in on me all day. That's why I'm sitting at the front window table at Bob's Java Hut. Calling it a window isn't very accurate. It's a garage door that pens up when the weather is nice and dogs walk in and out. Bikes are everywhere. The motorized kind. But today I don't see any motorcycles or dogs. It feels like a greenhouse, except it's devoid of any plant life. The only green is the color on the walls. And it's a mixed bag of people. Not the biker kind though. A younger crowd, Tattoos still covered up by winter clothing. A fair amount of them nicotine addicts who take their smoke breaks with a hearty dose of 39 degree weather instead of smoking inside like they could in years past.

It's supposed to be nice this weekend, and next week, and fingers crossed, maybe from now on? Okay, that's a tall order. But this winter has been an absolute bitch and really, don't we deserve some decent weather? I want to turn off the heat. That's what I want. To turn off the heat. Because right now I'm thoroughly enjoying the natural heat coming from our favorite distant star and it makes me feel glad to be alive.

It also makes me think of They Might Be Giants.




Bob's Java Hut
27th and Lyndale, Minneapolis

5 Coffee Shops in 5 Days: Kopplin's

It's nice when you walk into a place and it feels like a continuation of the music/vibe you have going in your car. I was listening to the new Neko Case album, Middle Cyclone, on the drive over to the Hamline University area of St Paul to visit a place called Kopplins, and when I walked in the door they too were playing Neko Case. It gave me something to talk about right away and dovetailed nicely into a discussion of today's coffee selections.

Kopplin's takes their coffee very seriously. They have 5 daily offerings, but they don't brew it by the pot. No, no, this stuff is too good for that. At Kopplin's each coffee is featured in a framed description on the wall. They read like fine wines. You can buy a sample, two different cup sizes, a carafe or get it by the pound to take home and brew.

The barista helped me select a Columbia blend. I was fascinated by the process as she selected a small amount of beans (maybe 10 or so), grounded them up and brewed a tiny amount into a cup for me. To be perfectly honest here, I wasn't that crazy about the coffee. It tasted incredibly bitter and didn't have that depth that I like. I was instantly reminded of the Gevalia coffee I sent away for several years ago, when as an ad student I was assigned the brand to do ads for. This coffee tasted exactly like that. Maybe that Gevalia really was some fancy pants coffee and I just didn't realize it. But at $3.75 for barely 8 ounces of the stuff, I can't say I'll be ordering it again soon at Kopplin's. Not the Columbia coffee anyway.

I've been here twice before, but both times were later in the day and I had already had my coffee intake. One time I had hot chocolate and it was amazing. Real chocolate. Thick, dark, bitter. The other time I had a latte and it was pretty damn good as well. Presentation on both was amazing.

I like this place. I love people that are passionate about what they do, and the owner of this shop is really into his coffee. The energy is contagious.

The place itself is small and cozy. Red vinyl chairs are comfortable, and so are the booth seat that lines the wall. The music is great. Neko Case, Calexico, Yo La Tengo. Headphones are unnecessary.

Places to plug in the laptop? Ummm...not so good. I don't see this as a place to get serious work done, but it's a great place to have a cup of coffee (better blend next time) and check the email. And I'd like to come here at night sometime. There's a certain coziness and romantic air to it that I would imagine would be amplified by darkness.


Kopplin's
Hamline Avenue, St Paul

Looking Back: Bob Dylan's Empire Burlesque

I think I'm missing two Bob Dylan studio albums. Saved, his ultra religious born again album of the early 80's and Down In The Groove from 1986, which by most accounts is among his very worst. The news of a brand new Dylan record on the heals of a career renaissance consisting of two excellent studio albums (1997's Time Out Of Mind and 2001's Love and Theft), a recent above average album (2006's Modern Times) and an amazing collection of unreleased recordings from the last 20 years (last year's Tell Tale Signs) is incredibly exciting. And it's prompted me to look back at a Dylan album I may have overlooked.

1985's Empire Burlesque gets some occasional high marks from some Dylan fanatics who frequent message boards. The album is the follow up to 1983's Infidels, which along with 1989's Oh Mercy seem to get all the high praise for being worthwhile Dylan albums of the 1980's. But Allmusic gives Empire Burlesque a 4 star review, and the original Rolling Stone review by Kurt Loder is quite positive. I have a copy of it on vinyl that I only listened to once all the way through, if that, and at least ten years have passed. I thought about digging for it, but it's just as easy to download a copy as it is to weed through the vinyl buried somewhere in the deep recesses of my closet.

The production is hard to get past. This is 1980's modern production techniques at its worst. Female background singers in the foreground. Synth drums. Processed guitars and vocals. It seems like everything that is vital about the recordings are pushed to the background, with all of the inorganic touches and flourishes brought to the forefront. "When The Night Comes Falling From the Sky" sounds like it could have been recorded for Miami Vice.

The album feels upbeat by Dylan standards, and he's singing in his high register, which is something he's rarely done on his three comeback albums. There isn't much weight to the lyrics. He seems concerned with vague personal issues, which is a far cry from the politics of the previous record. But his voice works well within the disco beats and snappy trumpets on songs like "Seeing The Real You At Last." The opening song, "Tight Connection To My Heart" is catchy and memorable, but ultimately empty. The background vocals seem to devour the song and strip it off any power it might have. "Clean Cut Kid" hints at some lyrical brilliance and provides a solid rock song that might have had some real staying power had the recording not been so cluttered. But it's nice to hear Dylan cutting loose.

The slower songs work better here. "I'll Remember You" and "Emotionally Yours" are straight forward songs, and it's hard to not to read too much into Dylan's lyrics and think about the biographical object of his affections. Still, there's something so pedestrian about the songs. Like Dylan owed his record label an album went to work to write songs the way any mortal would, and it's a far cry from any of his classic albums, or even Infidels, the album that preceded it. The rhymes are predictable. The lyrics are simplistic. And a sound that is so unlike Dylan. Yet there is something quite likable about it.

Apparently these tracks were originally produced by Dylan. It's hard to fathom him adding all of the studio glitz, and if some of the demo tracks that surfaced on The Bootleg Series are any indication, the blame can be put solely on the producer, Arthur Baker. Ron Wood played on a couple tracks and has said that Dylan seemed removed from the recording process. What makes the record so fascinating is what makes any Dylan album fascinating. That it came from the same guy who brought us all of those amazing records. This time it's as if the producer thought he could get Bob Dylan on top 40 radio. As for Bob, Ron Wood seems to say that he walked away after recording the basic tracks. It sure sounds like it.

There is one song on here that really does Dylan justice. Featuring little effects, just Dylan, his guitar and harmonica, with his voice dead center, "Dark Eyes" is the clear standout on the record, and makes the album worth discovering.

The very last song on the album, it instantly reminds me of other Dylan classics that close out his albums. "Highlands" comes to mind because that song strips away the Daniel Lanios' production (although way less intrusive) of Time Out Of Mind the same way this one strips away Arthur Baker's and leaves us with unadorned Dylan at his best. The fact that it comes at the end of such an overproduced record makes it stand out even more.



It works as a nice fan-created (but abridged) tribute to George Harrison too.

5 Coffee Shops in 5 Days: Dunn Bros.

Spring forward/Fall back. That's how it's supposed to go. Every Spring we set our clocks forward an hour to allow for more daylight so our inner farmers can get out there and harvest whatever it is we feel the need to harvest. Then in the Fall we set our clocks back as much out of tradition as the desire to send our proverbial kids off to wait for the bus in the daylight instead of darkness.

No act of former, and I do love saying former, President George W. Bush was without controversy, but his extension of Daylight Savings Time just may be his greatest (only?) accomplishment. It's certainly the only time he really "enlightened" any intelligent minds out there. Bush and light, by any definition, hardly go together.

I'm starting to think that there isn't any realm of the physical world that is immune from being Bush-whacked. What if by setting our clocks forward an hour last Sunday morning we confused the hell out of Mother Nature and now she doesn't know what to do. So she throws us back a month weather wise. You thought you could tame Mother Nature by prescribing time and order to everything under the sun. Well take this. Single temps. Snowy weather. Across the region well organized girls reach back into their closets to get out their winter wear once again.

I finally bought a new battery for my laptop, and it's paying off today. A three block walk in 2 degree Minneapolis temps (with wind chills far below that) just begs for some time next to a fire, and Dunn Bros. never disappoints with their gas fireplace and the well worn, but comfortable stuffed chairs that surround it. I usually have to shy away from sitting here in search of a power outlet. But not today. I can type on my lap while my feet get toasty warm. Around me is a sea of laptops, mostly Macs but a few Dells and HPs are out there too. Across from me a guy has his laptop open and his cell phone lies next to it, but he's ignoring both, putting technology momentarily aside so he can focus instead on his knitting.

It's really hard to find a better cup of coffee than Dunn Bros. They roast it right on the spot daily. It's robust. Strong. Full of flavor, like a fine wine. While I've heard some people compare the smell of their roasting process to that of a dirty diaper, I rather like it. If this is what baby poo smells like then maybe I ought to get busy raising some children.

I like the community of faces here. The employees are cool, and I got the guy who fills my cup to the brim when I pass on the cream, which always starts me off right. I haven't talked to many people, but I do recognize several, although I'm here a couple hours later than I normally am. I blame Daylight Savings Time for that too.

This year, this season, this month, this week, we have sprung forward, but also fallen back. And in the pursuit of finding a new coffee shop to shake up the surroundings a little bit, I'm back at my old standby. And you really can't beat it. Great coffee. Warm fireplace. On a busy street which provides some great people watching. Across the street from a casual restaurant. A few blocks from home and apparently smelling like poopy diapers. Ah, the comforts of a home away from home.


Dunn Bros.
Bryant Avenue and Lake Street, Minneapolis

5 Coffee Shops in 5 Days: Java Jack's

It stopped snowing outside, but I kind of wish it would turn into a blizzard. It feels like that kind of day, and I want to sit back and look out at crawling cars crunching down on fresh snow and be glad I'm not out in it. Not that I wish to inconvenience people with long commutes. I just want it to feel like a snow day.

I swear I've been here before, and I'm pretty sure it was called Java Jack's when I was. But that was a long time ago. 10 years probably. And if this is the same place the look and feel of it has changed drastically. The place has been gutted. Gone is the cozy feel of dark rooms and heavy drapes.

The front of the building now consists of two garage doors framed by brick. In the summer they must open up and provide a really nice open air environment. Dogs are welcome. There's even a sign on the wall that says that unattended children will be given a puppy and a cookie. It's another neighborhood type place. People from all ages hanging out. Very few laptops. They serve food too. Subs and sweets, but also pasta dishes from a business that shares the space with them.

I don't know. Part of the reason for visiting five different coffee shops is to find a new place to work. This isn't cutting it though. At least not during the winter months. People are too loud and it's incredibly drafty in here. I suppose the big glass garage doors don't help much. Nice environment for a summer night though. That could be the crux of the problem. All I can think about is summer and it's not doing much for my winter disposition. I'll have to file it away for that. But to get what I've come here to get done on a snowy March day? Not really cutting it.

Java Jack's
46th and Bryant Avenue, Minneapolis

5 Coffee Shops in 5 Days: Cafe Tempo

It's stuck in the middle of a neighborhood I'd love to live in.  I see a couple duplexes and my mind starts to wander.  The sleepy bedrooms.  Inner lives hidden behind brick exteriors.  And smoke coming from a chimney reminding me that it's still winter.  As I look around the coffee shop I wonder if any of the six other people drove here.  My guess is they took a short walk from one of these houses to work on something or read the newspaper.  Or just to get out of the house.

This could be the rare coffee shop where the people without laptops out number those that have them.  And there's only two people with macs if I count myself, which is a far cry from most of the places I frequent.  Two 90's era bulky monitors offer Internet service for those who don't bring a laptop.  A middle aged guy is standing at one of them.

I wish I hadn't eaten lunch, as the prices are only slightly higher than the groceries I fixed for myself.  Sandwiches and soup at the prices you feel they should be.  Turkey sandwiches for $4.95.  Grilled Cheese for $3.95.  It's like they bought the computer monitors in 1996 at the same time they wrote their menu on the blackboard and haven't updated either since.

The coffee is strong, but flat.  There's no character to it.  Certain coffee roasts will instantly remind me why I drink the black stuff and put up with the occasional sleeplessness it provokes.  But this just feeds the need. 

Power outlets and strips are abundant near the tables.  I'm sitting by the front window, directly below the "Open" sign.  I know I should wrap up this post and get to writing my piece for my writing group, but I want to stall.  I'm not feeling that open yet myself.  Not ready to catch that inspiration wave and ride it.  The art on the walls isn't helping.  It's frilly and girlish.  The type of stuff people dabble with in college but abandon soon after.  

The music is equally uninspiring.  But it's not obtrusive either.  It's flat like the coffee.  Norah Jones light.  Cities 97 with every last remaining rough edge sanded down.  The walls are nice though.  Sky blue with an earthy green back room to accent them.  And there's space here.  It's sort of the ideal neighborhood coffee shop.  Not sure it's a destination or not, but with food this affordable, I'm certain I'll be back.

As for a place to work, I suppose it's time I give that a try.

Cafe Tempo

42nd and Grand, Minneapolis

Norem Ipsum remembers the VCR

When I was 16 years old my Aunt called to ask me if I'd be willing to go over to her house and teach her how to use her VCR. She treated it seriously. Like she was hiring a babysitter, providing a set time and payment. She said she had tried to figure it out herself, and so had my uncle. But they just couldn't get the hang of it.

A whole generation of people could never figure out how to program their VCRs. For me, it really wasn't any different than programming an alarm clock, yet people seemed to be able to get out of bed in the morning. Maybe it was the end time that threw them. You program an alarm clock and you're not telling it to wake you up at a given time and then stop after an hour. Although the snooze function might do that. And if you ignore it all together it will shut off eventually. Or at least mine does.

My aunt had a onscreen programmable VCR, so it was a breeze to me to explain to her how to record her favorite shows. The first one my family had consisted of these tiny buttons and a green digital display. It was also in mono.

After onscreen displays, the VCR+ was introduced. Now, the ads claimed, you didn't have to know how to program a VCR, all you had to do was enter a code. Open up your TV Guide, find the listing for the show you want, and enter the seven digit code and you were good to go. I had a VCR+ and it always seemed easier just to program the damn thing. Besides I liked to have my timer start a little earlier and go a little later to be sure that I wouldn't miss anything.

Today's DVRs really aren't that much different that the VCR+. The programming is on screen, only instead of pulling out a TV Guide and putting in the number, the name of the show is already onscreen for you. It saves you a step. But you still have to do some manual tweaking. Set 60 Minutes to record during football season if you don't believe me.

The other day a friend asked if I remembered when video stores used to rent VCRs. It was in the early 80s when not everybody had one, and it wasn't that uncommon for someone to rent a VCR and a few movies, in much the same way that someone might rent a video game system and some titles today. But here's the catch. Almost everybody who records television is renting a machine today. It's digital, but it's still a video recorder. Whether you have cable, DirecTV, Dish or pretty much any other service, you are renting a DVR. Was it the ease of programming that got people to forget that they were pretty much getting the same thing with their VCRs? Or was it the ability to record and rewind live TV?

Recently I started shopping for a stand alone DVR. Sure there's Tivo, but you need a subscription service to use that. And really, why do I need to pay someone so I can record my shows? I don't need to be able to do it from my computer or cell phone. I just want to be able to record the beautiful signal I get through the air with my HD antenna.

They're not that common, but I did find a couple models. It seems like most will record directly to a DVD or DVD-RW, which would answer another complaint I have about modern video recorders, in that they don't make it easy to archive stuff. The cable and satellite company's DVR set up to record and erase after viewing. The DVD burning models are relatively cheap. But if you want a DVR with a hard drive get ready to spend some serious cash. And I never could find one that had a hard drive and a DVD burner.

So here I am, wondering how we got here. How we went from having $99 VCRs to endlessly renting DVRs through our cable/satellite companies or paying for a Tivo subscription service. I know I can do it on my own. But because everybody is following this model, it makes it really difficult and expensive to get that new improved VCR.

characters in a coffee shop

Things I have observed at my coffee shop in the last week:

A guy that looks incredibly similar to my friend Jon.  I almost want to wave him to my table, before realizing that the guy has at least 10 years on Jon and looks like he spent some time with Ted Kaczynski and is only retreating from isolation temporarily to have coffee with some of his old army buddies.  And Jon lives in Chicago.  What's really surreal about it is that he keeps looking at me like he knows me too, which made me wonder what kind of character I represented to him.

Then there's the old man with a voice like Tom Waits.  He's saying filthy things to a woman, and even though I can't see her, occasionally I'll hear her voice.  She tells him to be quiet.  To calm down, which is polite considering all the raunchy things he keeps saying he's going to do to her.  Eventually one of the employees comes over to tell him that he is going to have to leave if he can't settle down.  He's quick to apologize and begins to gather up his stuff.  I thought my friend had a better suggestion.  She told me I should go over to him and whisper in his ear that he's a very naughty monkey.  I missed my chance on that one.  But once he left I leaned forward to try to get a look at the woman who was sitting across from him, and there was nobody there.   I stop laughing.

Yesterday I saw a short, pudgy lesbian version of my friend Pat.  She had his clothes on, and wore glasses like his.  Even her hair was similar.  But Pat would never carry around a book titled "I'm A Man."

Then there's today.  I see the dog first, which can't be helped.  You don't normally see dogs in coffee shops, or at least not the one I frequent.  It was a nice looking golden retriever, and when I took a closer look it became pretty obvious that it was a seeing eye dog.  Then I noticed the guy next to the dog, who was wearing sunglasses and in a wheelchair.  I get back to my work and don't pay that much attention to him.  After a while I look up and see the writing intern I recently worked with heading my way, which was right by the door.  I called out to her to say hi and I asked what she was up to.  She was in a big hurry and nudged towards the guy in the wheelchair and told me that she was working as his photography assistant and had to get going.  I took a closer look and verified the sunglasses and the seeing eye dog, but I also noticed a camera around his neck.  So the writer I used to work with is now a photographer's assistant for a blind guy. 

It takes some strong coffee.

Last night I had Ben and Jerry's and didn't eat the whole pint.

Last night I walked to the convenience store on the corner, bought a pint of Ben and Jerry's and didn't eat the whole thing. Usually this is impossible. I'll take a spoon and carefully skim the top of the ice cream and try to get equal portions of goodness in each bite. I'll marvel at how much better rich chocolaty ice cream is over its frozen yogurt counterpart, and eventually when at least a quarter of the pint has been consumed, and...err...57% of my recommended intake of fat, I'll put the pint away. But no matter how far back in the freezer I put it, I can't bury it from my mind. I know it's there because it tastes damn good. And this is where the games come in. Maybe I'll take my spoon and just have one more bite. Because it's only one, and really, having another taste isn't so bad because if I look at the pint it still looks like I have a quarter of it left. Okay, maybe a third. But it's at least a third. By this time it's started to thaw, making it more difficult to shave a tiny portion off the top. This is where the heaps of chocolate and peanut butter and caramel goodness really start to show their character in large tablespoon amounts. And I start to think about how I really don't do this that often and that maybe it's not so bad. I'll hit the gym tomorrow.

Okay, let me say this again. Last night I had Ben and Jerry's and didn't eat the whole pint. Does this mean I'm getting more responsible about my health? Have I finally comprehended the 2,000 calorie a day diet? Am I trimming back the excesses of yesterday and embracing the mantra of "less is more?"

Or maybe I make the mistake of picking up Everything But The... instead of Chunky Monkey.

Classical, you are not a good writing soundtrack

I'm not adverse to classical music. I'm really not. I enjoy the masters of classical music. Or at least I respect them. But I'm not about to go home and put on a little Mozart or Bach. It's just not going to happen. At least not more than a couple times a decade.

I seems like classical music must have been some sort of compromise at my favorite coffee shop. Every morning for the past few weeks I've heard nothing else. It doesn't seem like the baristas are choosing their classical carefully either. I'd imagine it's required no more thought than selecting a channel from a subscription service.

On the days that I've forgotten my earbuds I don't stick around long. The music makes me tense. Like it's the soundtrack to some action that should be happening among all the people typing quietly at their laptops. Guy with cookie jumps up and steals the laptop from soy latte girl and bolts for the door, weaving his way through oncoming traffic and bouncing off a beer delivery truck parked across the street. Enter Jack Bauer who repels down from the video store building in an attempt to get the contents of the laptop's hard drive. Now that would be more like it.

There's no such action today, but the soundtrack has changed. We're on a light rock and soul channel. Most of the songs sound only vaguely familiar, but I like it. I'm at ease. I can think.

Again, nothing against classical music. If I lived 300 years ago and had the means, I'm sure I would have dug it as I dipped my quill in my ink. Oh wait, that's right. There was no prerecorded music back then. No wonder it doesn't work.

The future is now. You are here.

Google has a new product that it is rolling out to mobile devices today, as well as personal computers in the near future. They call it Latitude, and it will give you the ability to google people in ways straight out of a science fiction novel.

The technology has been out there for a while. iPhone users were quick to discover apps like Loopt, which essentially does the same thing as Google's new application. Loopt worked on a small scale though, allowing you to see other iPhone user's physical map location as long as they gave you permission. But with Google involved the difference is in scope. Soon this won't be a novelty app, but will be something very real. Your friends and family can track you, sure. But what happens when your employer has you sign an agreement to be tracked as a condition of employment? And when this gets in the hands of a jealous lover?

It's all about control. The future is here, and to a large extent you can decide how much you want to participate in it. But people become conditioned. They post things to the internet for all to see that might have previously found its home only in a well-hidden diary. Is a location finder going to be any different?

Sure, this could be a lot of fun. Exploring a new city with a group and friends that all have their location finder turned on could provide a sense of security, as well as autonomy. You could feel free to do your own thing, but know precisely where a friend is if you need to find them. Bar hopping, wedding receptions, vacations, etc would be a blast. It would also be great if you were going on a long road trip. I drove from Minneapolis to Bowling Green, Kentucky recently and would have gladly turned this on so the people I was visiting could see where I was at and adjust their schedules. Sure, using a cell phone to call and say that you're an hour or two away really that hard to do, but this type of tracking could be provide an added sense of security. You go missing and your friends can see where you're at.

I don't know. I have over 100 friends on Facebook and have probably talked to less than 10 of them in the last month outside of Facebook. With this, I can't imagine I'd ever leave it on for long. But then, I'm sure I'll be conditioned by society like everyone else. "Todd is at the corner of West Lake Street and South Bryant Avenue. Here's a map."

Is now a good time to go off the grid? Ha. Could you do that even if you wanted to?

Soup Kitchen 2009

It seemed like a good idea. Free breakfast for everyone in America. Just stop by Denny's between 6am and 2pm. Immediately I texted two friends that I usually have breakfast with. My schedule was fairly open on Tuesday and the promise of the Grand Slam breakfast sounded appetising, even though I hadn't been to a Denny's in at least seven years. I thought I'd stop by around 10am, but as soon as I hung up the phone with my friend on Tuesday morning I started to worry. East Lake Street. Free breakfast. Would there be lines? And why are we both driving separately?

Turns out we didn't really have to worry about parking. When people expect free, they expect free, and there were plenty of parking meters available in directly in front of Denny's. The line was another story and I couldn't help but have flashbacks to seeing Obama in February of last year and waiting in line for hours in the freezing cold. But that was to see the future president. This was for the Glam Slam breakfast.

I'd guess that there were about 50 people waiting. If temps hadn't been in the single-digits and we had dressed more appropriately I think we would have stuck it out. As it was I couldn't really imagine that once we were done shivering in the cold we'd be greeted with the relaxing breakfast we had begun to crave. One with eggs and pancakes, yes, but also with high doses of wi-fi and time killing. In the end we went to one of our normal breakfast haunts. And looking around, I'd have to guess we weren't the only ones to arrive via Denny's.

The news media is reporting positive things about Denny's free breakfast. Apparently they served over 2 million people yesterday and averaged 130 Glam Slams an hour. But will people think of Denny's next time they're hungry for breakfast and come back to pay full price for it? Or is just a sad reflection of the desperate times we live in?

Vic Chesnutt and Elf Power, 400 Bar 1/31/09

Vic Chesnutt remains one of my favorite singer songwriters. His first four albums for the Texas Hotel label in the early 90's are nothing short of incredible. Little, West Of Rome, Drunk and Is The Actor Happy? stack up there among the greats. Twisted lyrics. Brilliant revealing songs. Interesting character studies. And a song called Lucinda Williams that served as an introduction to her for many of Vic's fans, including myself. There are worlds to discover in Vic's music. Especially on those early records.

Shortly before Vic released his Capital records debut, About To Choke, he became the subject of the Sweet Relief charity album which works to provide health insurance benefits to uninsured musicians. It gave him short term exposure to the alternative rock scene. But is was brief. It's hard to put a label on Vic, and he's not exactly radio friendly. He's occasionally alt-country, but I cringe at calling him that. Sometimes he's acoustic, but not always. Really, what do you call a man who is known to play trumpet with his mouth with no trumpet in sight? Eclectic? For sure. But if we're talking music labels, singer-songwriter is the only one that really fits.

After About To Choke, Vic came out with The Salesman And Bernadette, an album he recorded with Lambchop, and which to this day remains one his most underrated albums. Promos came out on Capital, but the actual record was postponed and eventually released on Capricorn. Since that time Vic has released several albums on various independent labels with a vast array of collaborators and producers. Van Dyke Parks. Bill Friswell. And now Elf Power.

I didn't expect much from Dark Developments. My expectations for new Vic albums has been tempered a bit. It's not that North Star Deserter, Ghetto Bells and Silver Lake aren't good albums. They're probably great, and I really need to go back and listen to them. They just don't sound much like those classic first four albums I've come to appreciate. Neither does Dark Developements, but this album is quite good, and is sounding even better to me after the show I saw at the 400 Bar. Elf Power were the perfect band to be backing him up at the show, providing a muscular foundation to allow Vic strum his guitar frantically and wail like and old bluesman. But the best part of the show came during the encore. Two songs from Little. A song from The Salesman and Bernadette and a new dig at George W. Bush called "Legacy."

Catch him on this tour.

Setlist:

Mystery
Little Fucker
And How
Teddy Bear
We Are Mean
Stop the Horse
Bilocating Dog
The Mad Passion of the Stoic
Phil the Fiddler
Old Hotel
Independence Day
Rabbit Box
Legacy

Right before your naked steaming laptop eyes...

I'm not much for video games.  Never have been.  But I was a true Van Halen freak back in the day, and I suppose there will always be a little VH in me that all those Sammy Hagar fronted albums and endless reunions will never be able to destroy.  So I get a kick out of this flash game where you get to shoot "assteroids" out of David Lee Roth, who is in permanent jump position.  Of course I suck at it, but I do manage to pretty much destroy Sammy Hagar every time he opens up his mouth and screams "55."  Give it a try.

Also make sure you check out Diamond Dave singing "Running with the Devil" with all the instruments removed from the track.

Judge this one by the cover: Bruce Springsteen's Working On A Dream

This is Bruce Springsteen, so a little respect is in order. And maybe some repeated listens. But first we have to downplay our expectations, which isn't easy to do. Long the perfectionist, Springsteen is known for taking years between albums, obsessively pouring over track listings and details, and leaving entire albums worth of material for the archives. The quick turn around of this album, which follows Magic by just over year, was surprising. Not since 1992's Human Touch and Lucky Town have we had such a burst of activity.

Unfortunately Working On A Dream sounds as creatively stagnant as Human Touch, with only a handful of songs reaching the quality of the slightly better Lucky Town. But that's where the comparisons to those two records should end. The problem with Working On A Dream lies more in its ambitions. Following the larger than life tour for Born In The USA, Springsteen put the E Street Band on hold and spent the next decade plus trying to reinvent himself. Stumbling on records like Human Touch, but succeeding on Tunnel of Love and 1995's misunderstood The Ghost Of Tom Joad, which seemed to give him a new identity that he could use for years to come. But as Springsteen began to look back with 1998's Tracks, rumors of an E Street Reunion were inevitable, and it happened the following year. For a while it seemed like Springsteen was balancing out the occasional E Street Band record with interesting detours like 2005's Devils And Dust or 2006's The Seeger Sessions, but now we have two back to back records that seem to be aiming for the music for the masses pop domination of Born In The USA. While the bombastic nature of Born In The USA obscured many of the songs messages, that record at least had several very good songs. Which is a lot more than can be said for Working On A Dream.

Springsteen has always been a little over the top, but the pedestrian lyrics of so many of these songs are quite surprising, and you don't have to look any further than "Queen Of the Supermarket" for a good example. "I'm in love with the queen of the supermarket/as the evening sky turns blue/a dream awaits in aisle number two." And that's about as good as it gets. "Outlaw Pete" is one of the better songs on the album, but even it begins with "At six months old he'd done three months in jail/
he robbed a bank in his diapers and his little bare baby feet/all he said was folks my name is Outlaw Pete." This is not "A Boy Named Sue," and these are not novelty songs. They're serious ones, which makes the lazy and sometimes downright embarrassing lyrics all the more puzzling.

Musically the album goes straight for the center of the road, and Brendan O'Brien's production is partly to blame, but so is Springsteen's recording style. Gone are the days of the E Street Band banging out endless tracks in a studio with the hope that some of them will see the light of day. Instead this record and its predecessor were largely recorded with a smaller band within the E Street Band and used the full band as overdubs. The result is a sterile flat sounding record that lacks any urgency. Bruce is in good voice, and the record sounds good as background music, but we expect more from him.

There are some highlights. "Lucky Day" is an uplifting pop song that you'd be hard pressed to get out of your head, and "The Last Carnival" seems like a good way to wind down the record, but so much of the album is almost immediately forgettable, even after several listens. "Working on a Dream" is an okay pop song, but it seems to lack any substance. If a fluff piece, which should resonate with a large percentage of his audience. Namely the folks that still don't know what "Born in the USA" is about.

Tacked on to the end of the record as a bonus cut is one of Springsteen's strongest songs in recent memory. "The Wrestler" was key to making the Mickey Rourke movie work, especially in the preview, and it's also the record's highlight. After listening to the album it's hard not to listen to the song from Springsteen's point of view. "Have you ever seen a one-legged man trying to dance his way free/if you've ever seen a one-legged man then you've seen me."

Hopefully he doesn't see himself that trapped, and the next detour from blandland is just around the corner.

You Read A Book (I'm Writing An Album)

The holidays are long over, winter has worn out its welcome, and it's time again for February Album Writing Month. The idea is to write an album worth of songs, 14 of them, over the course of the shortest month of the year. It started out in Madison, WI in 2004 and now has participants from all over the country, as well as different corners of the world.

For me February has always seemed like the ideal month to do something like this. Fight or flight kicks in around this time of year with the incessant winter weather of Minneapolis, and FAWM is the perfect distraction. Of course winter tends to work its way into the lyrics. 2005 was the first year that I participated and my lasting song from that year is called "Snow From A Window." Write what you know, I guess.

I've always written songs in batches, sometimes with long periods of inactivity between those creative spurts. I still get those moments of inspiration throughout the year, but I seldom finish a song during those times. Instead I grab a tape recorder and try to get as much of the idea down as possible, knowing that come February I'll probably finish it up. Or at least get it to the demo stage. Sometimes I have a large collection of song fragments, like in 2005, when after neglecting songwriting for much of the previous 3-4 years, I was finally able to take those "song starters" and finish them up. 2006 I wasn't so lucky. I had very few song fragments and had a very busy February. Only one song got finished and it isn't one of my best. 2007 I skipped completely. But 2008 I was very productive. Maybe because I had a couple years worth of song fragments again, although most of the songs that I recorded that year were written from scratch.

This year will be a bit of a challenge. I have a couple of uncertain things going on in my life, so the time issue could be impacted. And I don't have that many fragments this time, but I probably have a clearer idea of what I want to do. Of the starters I think I have 2-3, but I'm sure I'll find more as I go digging. That's part of the fun. And of course I can always go way back and try rewriting old forgotten songs. 14 is the goal, but last year I almost quit after 10 because I felt like for me, I had done what I set out to accomplish, which was to write a body of songs. This year I'll certainly try for 14, but if I was to write 8-10 songs that I was happy with it would probably be enough for me.

Check out my FAWM progress or register yourself at www.fawm.org.

1999- MULE VARIATIONS

Tom Waits records are events. Or at least they were when Mule Variations came out in 1999. It had been 7 years since his last real record. 1993's The Black Rider was more of an exercise in theater than a proper record. But even if you count that one, it had been a long wait. 1992, Bone Machine, I'm living at home while I take some time off from college. By 1999 I'd grown up a bit. For better or worse, Tom's characters were a little more real to me. And he always had some interesting things to say.


Got to get behind the mule, every morning and plow

I had a cat I hated. A kitten actually. A kitten with a rotten personality. I was feeling really down that winter and thought I'd go to the humane society and get a furry companion. A few minutes in the little room and I had bonded with him. "A Siamese," the lady at the counter said, "oh, you're going to have your hands full." I wasn't sure I liked the sound of that.

Niko was a waste of a good name. He liked to climb me like he was a monkey climbing a tree. And he never avoided my face either. I had to close my eyes and hope that he wasn't easily startled as he made his journey towards the top of my head. He liked to sit up there. Right on top of my head. I'd pull him off and put him on my lap or the floor, and then he'd run up my body and do it all over again. And more often than not, he'd jump from my head onto my papers. The little bastard had no respect for me working out of my home.

Mr. Curt lived across the hall. His first name was Curt, but I liked to add the Mr. because he was a very fastidious man. He didn't like me to do laundry after 9pm, for example, because he thought the noise would keep him up- even though the washers and dryers were in the basement and we were on the second floor. And if I had a girl over, no matter what hour she came over or left, he was sure to notice. But he was a good guy. We had our own little Kramer-Jerry Seinfeld relationship going on. The doors were usually wide open, and it wasn't long before he took quite a liking to little Niko.

I don't recall Niko ever making the journey to the top of Mr. Curt's head, so maybe that explains why Mr. Curt liked him so much. Then again, who doesn't like a kitten? His nose had likely never been clawed either, and therefore wasn't hindered in anyway in its sensitivity to smell. "Is little Niko liter trained?" Well, yeah. Or at least I thought so. I mean the stuff in the box was all covered up. I had my suspicions that maybe he was having accidents though. When this happens your nose kind of goes crazy and you think you smell it everywhere. So Mr. Curt was sort of my validation that maybe there was something wrong. I had stockpiled a huge stack of envelopes from the newspaper clipping service I used for sales leads, and I had a sneaking suspicion that he was doing his business back behind my couch where the bulk of those clippings were stored.

Presidents Day. I have the day off and decide to go record shopping. But I don't quite trust Niko. I'd had him about a month, and my apartment was starting to get a little funky smelling. Nothing I could pinpoint though. So I put Niko in my bathroom and closed the door. At least that way I could keep track of him.

So I come back to my funky smelling apartment. Mr. Curt is gone. He didn't have the work perks that I had, and didn't have the day off. I open the door to check on Niko and see him on top of the sink, ready to pounce on me. All around him, on all of the white porcelain are little tiny brown specs. It didn't take me long to connect the dots and trace them back to Niko.

Bye bye Niko. I didn't like him anyway. And he was kitten enough that I didn't feel too guilty. "It just wasn't working out" isn't an excuse that would keep him from getting adopted.

Mr. Curt on the other hand wasn't too happy. I guess looking back it was sort of like his cat too. I did tell him where he could find Niko though, and he didn't seem like he was in any hurry to go there and adopt him.

You don't meet nice girls in coffee shops

You don't. You meet them in rock clubs when your three sheets to the wind after seeing another band perform at another club a few hours earlier. The key was in my car door, but the night was beautiful. The perfect summer night. I didn't know who was playing at the 7th Street Entry, or even if I'd know anybody there, but I was set on making the most of the night.

Margaret liked rock and roll. And she went to shows by herself. If there's a weakness I have for women, that's it. You go to a rock show by yourself, you're pretty cool in my book.

We dated for close to a year and saw a lot of rock shows. Then we broke up. Right after having breakfast in a very coffee shop like place. To the sounds of Joy Division. To this day I can't think of a more miserable band to break up to. Awful.

When you share my bed, you share my name

I always thought this was a real bad ass thing to say, and I love Tom for saying it.

When the weather gets rough, and it's whiskey in the shade, it's best to wrap your savior up in cellophane

I'm not a church going man. I wasn't in 1999, and I'm not now. Some of my favorite songs in the whole world deal with spiritual rebirth or the longing for personal salvation though. Chocolate Jesus, however, is not one of those songs.

It does sort of present an interesting idea though. I mean, maybe taking a little time out on Sunday to enjoy a little Chocolate Jesus wouldn't be such a bad thing. If it's dark chocolate it's going to be rich in anti-oxidants, which is good for you. And there's a sort of zen-like quality that comes from taking a few moments out of your day to really focus on something. Even if it's something you eat. After all, people focus when they're taking communion. The way I see it, you're just consolidating things.

Come down from the cross, we could use the wood

Ouch. This one could really put someone in their place. You probably want to be careful who you say this to. I can think of a couple relatives that almost got this verbage from me, but I came to my senses before actually saying it. Again, pretty bad ass.

She's my black market baby, she's a diamond that wants to stay coal

I can't stand it when people ask why other people are still single. Hate it. I mean, right now, I wouldn't mind being married. Does that mean that the next person I go out with is THE ONE? No. Not at all.

It's also weird when people ask what "type" you're looking for. Usually I want to say "someone not like you", because usually the people who ask are so not my type. But I think I'm going to start saying that I want a diamond who wants to stay coal. Seriously. That's my line (well, actually Tom's) and I'm sticking with it.