Now Let's Just Hope They Don't Become Self Aware

I found this video about Siftables a while ago, but just figured out how to code video for this blog and still think these things are really cool; I would love if this is the direction human/computer interfacing is going. For computers to be able to communicate with us through physical actions beyond point and click is a pretty amazing concept; if they can understand the difference between "pour" and "stack," learning physical empathy like "hug" vs. "punch" may not be far behind. Maybe. Either way I want a set, mainly because, as I'm sure was this guys original intention, they definitely have untapped potential to be a really fun drinking game. Its also crazy to think how fluent and comfortable our kids will be with computers if these are these Legos of the next generation. Just watch it already. Enjoy.

Lazy Poem Post #2

Yet again, I punish myself for neglecting my blog by forcing myself to publish yet another of my questionably publishable poems. Be gentle.

the last two nights

I spent the last two nights breathing steam
Careening past the outer trees in the lower field
Where I got lost that once watching stars
I remember fireflies, and remember not remembering
Seeing them until a moment at dusk
When all of a sudden we were surrounded.
Maybe they were there all along, darkened
Like a thousand lights of a city under siege
Waiting for a lull or a breeze
To catch your hair and make us watch
Until we lost them against the fading
Light where it sank blinking between
Branches and leaves.

No leaves now. Grass is somewhere, buried.
We could dig that landscape, but now we’re bundled
Padded and separate, bouncing off each other
Into opposite corner pockets.
And though it might be quieter now,
Muffled, with drifts piling,
I glance and still see shaded by your coat
The moon of a smile, so I settle
Into our step, the familiar bob and weave.
I can roll with the punches, I think
Until this all melts
Down around me like an old coat
Melts and flashes again.

Stay Classy, 'Merica.

So I realize that lately I've pretty much been using this to put up articles from my new job and haven't been doing much original writing, but I was late night Stumbling last night (yeah, I do that) and came across an article in the Huffington Post that seriously disturbed me. I wouldn't say frightened me, because despite how ridiculous all the retaliation against Obama right now may be, I'm still, perhaps naively, not yet ready to jump on the Keith Olbermann bandwagon and say that this sort of rampant bad taste in protesting led by Glen Beck and other such newspeople will lead to "domestic terrorism." I'm not that scared...yet. But I do believe he makes some very good points, and the article does present some evidence to support his theory (see picture of man holding a sign that suggests Obama be...waterboarded?) By the way, I was going to put that picture up, but decided against it, because I think that is only contributing to the problem, and here I'll get to my point. These people, who come up with signs like those found on that article, do not care so much about the issues that they are fighting so strongly for as they do about simply having some sort of issue to fight for. As with anything, by giving it press you are perpetuating the idea, not necessarily an opinion about it. Especially on the internet, images and media content are so readily separated from text that even a site like the Huff Post, which is obviously against such protesting, can serve to merely propagate the images alone, and the messages in them. But I digress. There is obviously blame to be had on both sides; while I smirked conspiratorially with author John Wellington Ennis' quick-witted comments after each picture, those are as unproductive as the methods of the protesters themselves, if maybe slightly more informative. That being said, I wholeheartedly agree with his feeling of frustration and outrage with these people. I must say, all of this town hall yelling and such seemed like passing news, something quirky and slightly funny, but nothing more harmful than the joy of the inevitable local color that is a product of our town hall system. But a sign that is a digital composite of Hitler, Obama, and ...the Joker? Now that takes some hate. And a lot of time, time that I think should be spent perhaps writing viable counter-proposals and phrasing coherent arguments. It looks like since the ultra-liberals got their turn with Bush, all the people who thought the "hate the president" shctick looked fun but were on the wrong side of the party line are finally getting their chance. And although I count myself in on those who publicly defamed our late president for his many apparent failings, perhaps now we are reaping what we've sown?

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Smaller Banks Get A Break

New legislation may mean good things for small town banks.

It’s Tough Times, But Your Local Bank Might Have an Advantage

"With all of the new rules that have been placed on large holding companies in the last few months, the traditional advantage experienced by larger banks has been shrinking. Of course, your local mom-and-pop banking institution isn’t going to directly compete with a global lender like JP Morgan Chase or Bank of America, but there are distinct differences that allow these smaller lenders to offer some products at rates that larger banks wouldn’t dare to in this current financial climate..."

Read the full article on My Bank Tracker

Marathon Season at MyBankTracker.com

Another day, another article. This time we look at upcoming US marathons, and the banks that sponsor them.

A Better Kind of Bank Run

"Get out your sneakers and pain relievers, it’s marathon season again, and corporate sponsors are already lining up to get their names affiliated with these huge annual events that can host up to 35,000 participants and millions of spectators. Whether you are planning to run, volunteer, watch, or just be anywhere in the vicinity of the 26 mile, 385 yard courses that will spring up in multiple cities this fall, you are bound to see a lot of top banks named among the sponsors..."

Read the full article at My Bank Tracker

Banking on Stadiums

Here's an excerpt of an article I wrote for work on bank stadium sponsorships. Check out the full article here at MyBankTracker.com

"Considering the big name banks that have purchased stadium naming rights, sports branding appears to be the banking equivalent of a status symbol; instead of buying a Lexus, banks will buy naming rights to demonstrate economic stability, project a more fun image and hopefully gain a client-base amongst sports fans. Or maybe it’s just the spirit of competition. Either way, it could prove important that banks back a winning team. Although the loyal fan will see every game no matter what, overall stadium attendance will generally be higher if a team has a winning record. If this is true, it might be in a bank CEO’s interest to watch some SportsCenter before deciding which team’s stadium they are going to put their name on next..."

Lazy Poem Post #1

So since I've been working and haven't had much time or energy to put anything up here lately, I've decided an optimal cop out for everyone is that for every week or so that I'm not able to post, I'll put up an old poem or short story, as a castigation for me (who hates the idea of his innermost musing being stripped bare for all the internet to see) and an opportunity for you to 1.) see some poetry that probably two or three people, including my mother, have seen or b.) to further punish me by writing stinging critical remarks on the comment boards. Diligite justitiam, o judices terrae. Go ahead. Have your way with me.

Turbines

There’s nothing to this discussion.
I decided that a few minutes in
It would be a loss of words
And I was still, if not more, convinced
After scant political phrases
Shot 'round your tongue and gum.

Already I was thinking of a record
Filtered down from a high window
And the fragile voice that retraced its fall,
Or one young tree on the street
That held tight to its tattered leaves
Even this late in September,
And how I'd felt with both of these
A false and arrogant pride,
And how later we thawed shapes in the frost
Leaving green circles under our blanket.

I wish I'd have strained then
To hear whispers slicing through the air
Rather than now having to block a windy roar
That whips past my ears
And slams me shut like a screen door.

Some words filter through
Little waffles of sentences
Criss-crossed in meaning
Till they're almost indecipherable:
Sprawl. Toil. Harmonize.

Lollapalooza 2009

While the early bird may get the worm, concertgoers at Chicago's 18th Lollapalooza were rewarded for showing up later on in the festivals 3 day lineup. Friday's lineup, though filled with great names like Bon Iver, Ben Folds, STS9, The Decemberists, Of Montreal, and Kings Of Leon, to name a few, was subject to a disappointingly somber set by headliners Depeche Mode, perhaps brought on by the rain that pounded Grant Park for most of the day.

By Saturday, however, the weather was looking up...way up. Temperatures rose to the high 80s, and correspondingly the sets were higher in energy, including a stereotypically laid-back yet angry set by Atmosphere. Arctic Monkeys and Santigold were Saturdays surprise successes, though perhaps not their devoted fan base, who packed in both concerts and helped those unfamiliar with their lyrics by singing, or shouting, along. A slightly disappointing set was Animal Collective, who was highly anticipated but, perhaps attempting to promote their other less well-received work, or perhaps just bored with their traditional set, neglected to play many of the favorites from their newer and more accessible album, Merriweather Post Pavilion. The Yeah Yeah Yeahs pulled off their surprise headlining show, sitting in last minute for the Beastie Boys, who unfortunately had to pull out due to the medical condition of MC Adam "MCA" Yauch, but Tool was the show to see that night, giving a predictably energetic and muscially tight performance, with a stage and lighting show that matched and perhaps even exceeded the music.

But it was Sunday that Lollapalooza outdid itself once again, packing in so many big names that the only complaint that could be had was having to trek from North Lolla to South to catch the headliners at the larger stages placed at opposite ends of the park. But there were so many smaller bands at the side stages that generally the walk would be pleasantly interrupted to catch a few songs coming from the lesser known, but still formidable names. The shaded breaks in the side stage were welcome, especially as temperatures rose to over 90º and higher in the sun-baked pits around the Budweiser and Chicago 2016 stages. There were a variety of plans one could follow and still see a full day of great bands, but one of the best routes we found in the late afternoon heat, starting at 2:30, began at the Kaiser Chiefs, who played an lively set on the North side, led by frontman Ricky Wilson, who somehow found the energy to jump around and even climb the stage rigging during . Next were The Ravonettes, right next door on the Playstation stage, who despite a slow, strum-heavy set, were able to keep a large audience intrigued with thier high harmonies and stripped down sound, accented by a simple floor tom and snare drum set. Then it was back to the Budweiser stage for Neko Case of New Pornographers fame, who did her solo career justice with a great set of originals backed by a great band featuring her pedal steel guitarist (name?). After we made the long but necessary hike to the South stages to catch The Cold War kids, who delivered a fantastic show complete with crowd surfing and their standby yellow maraca, used on "We Used to Vacation" to smash a cymbal set on top of a concrete block and on "St. John" to beat Nathan Willett's probably very expensive Fender Starcaster in the cacophonous finale. We stuck around for some of Snoop Dog, but the heat and crown drove us back to the North Side, but not before stopping to see a few songs by the frighteningly thin Bradford Cox of Deerhunter. ( I recently found out that this is due to a condition called Marfan Syndrome.)

Back on the North side, we were treated to one last song by Lou Reed...and then another...and then another. His lingering feedback and of-key solos eventually bled into 20 minutes of the Band of Horses concert that was supposed to have started on the next stage over, and while respect must be given to this pioneer of indie rock...come'on, Lou. Finally Band of Horses was able to go on, and played the set of their lives to a very appreciative crowd, who were rewarded for their patience when lead singer Ben Bridwell shouted "We're gonna have to blast this shit out!" when Jane's Addiction started on the other stage 45 minutes into thier set, and continued to valiantly battle the larger stages sound with 4 or five more favorites. For the final show, it was a toss up between Jane's Addiction and The Killers, so we caught both, appreciating the return of the festivals original 1991 headliner and then the Killers hits as the night finally cooled the park to a comfortable 75º as we danced farewell to Lollapalooza 2009.

Stay Gold, Grandma

I've been away from my post for a while, home visiting friends and family and taking a much needed break from the trudging day to day life of the city, and most importantly to celebrate my grandmother's 87 birthday. It's a annual affair, an excuse for the whole family to get together and spend a long weekend at the beach in early August. At this point in her life, as morbid as it might sound, we also never know which one will be the last, so each celebration outdoes the one before, having to be successively larger to be duly extravagant for Grandma's "final blowout." She, of course, being oblivious to the macabre designations of each years party, has come to expect that we outdo ourselves, and continues to outlive our ability to invent exciting new gags.

This year, as our aging family tried yet again to find something to do with my timeless Grandmother, she, bored with our vacation lethargy, asked my younger cousin to drive her to the bar to watch the rest of the Red Sox game. While she doesn't quite follow which team is up to bat or when the images on the screen are replays or live action, she knows that as long as the score after the Red Sox name is higher, things are going well. My cousin, who as a newly licensed driver and the only one of our family who is not yet 21, has happily taken on a job as family chauffeur, and cautiously but skillfully navigated us to the nearby seafood restaurant where the bar, decorated in a collectors dream of Boston memorabilia, had the game viewable from any angle on multiple TVs. My grandmother, who is a huge fan of Broadway, growing up in the Roaring Twenties when preforming in the big shows in New York was every young flappers dream, was advised by her mother to "Never have to be asked to perform," and subsequently has expected a similar outlook from not just her grandchildren, but the general public. She attributes this, and I'm inclined to agree, to that fact that she was raised in an era before the so-called social alienation brought on by the "Ipod Generation," when going up to someone who you didn't know didn't elicit a sneer and an expectation that you were selling something. Needless to say, immediately upon entering the restaurant, she told everyone in sight that it was her birthday, and elicited surprised smiles and a variety of responses, from "congratulations" to "god bless yous." She would always accept these graciously, but upon turning around would mutter with a smile that they could have sang, or that their singing "could have had a bit more oomph." She even asked the waiter if he could get the bar to sing a short rendition of Happy Birthday, which to my surprise he was able to do.

Now of course it is hard to not be enamored by an older woman dressed in a pink suit with a birthday hat and a sparkling wand, but still this kind of public openness and the willingness with which it was received made me think about how rarely we interact with the people that are around us everyday and yet are practically non-entities in our everyday lives. Everyone who has ever been in food service has heard a thousand stories of customers who treat their servers rudely, or perhaps even worse, as if they were another computerized interface that people have to deal with to get what they want. People have become so used to ordering food through a speaker, taking money from an ATM, and finding information or buying products online, that people often don't seem to value the human element when they interact with people in service positions. Many people would actually rather order online than be faced with what has become almost a nerve-wracking process of human interaction. And that is the scariest thing; people who have become so cut off from normal everyday interactions with people that they don't remember (or never knew) how to carry on simple conversations with strangers, other than the pre-programmed "What can I get you today" or "Would you like a bag for that." Will kids who grow up interacting with computer screens and listening to MP3 players on subways eventually need lessons on day to day communication that were once given simply by going to the local grocery store or meeting kids in the park for a baseball game? Now if its not texted, its not worth being said, and even those monosyllabic messages are the most basic information: Where, when, who, what, and then rendezvous for a movie, and then say goodbye, texting about how it went to each other later. My grandmother, on the other hand, who doesn't understand "whose internet" I am surfing when I connect somewhere other than my house, had a restaurant full of otherwise self-indulged patrons looking up from the messages in the bottom of their drinks to smile, sing, and form a human connection with a complete stranger for a few minutes on her birthday. That being said, she doesn't have 500 Facebook friends...

7/19 Dirty Projectors @ East River State Park

(Since this review is coming in a little late, and my memory of the performance might be a little hazy, you should also check out the review by Nate Chinin in the NY Times.)


Fortunately, I was somehow able to jump the long line of neon and jorts clad hipsters forming along Kent Ave. in Williamsburg on July 19th and sneak into East River State Park for the Projectors show, after a brief frisking and conversation with the event employees about the dangers of water confiscation at a concrete venue in 80º heat. Finally, I joined the flow of people walking down towards the river and pushed in towards the stage as the sun began to lower behind Manhattan in the distance. The crowd sowly hushed as Longstreth and Deradoorian came out and picked through a nice acoustic version of Two Doves. Through I'm probably not as familiar with their catalogue as many of the people reading this post, I have been listening to their new album Bitte Orca pretty much non-stop for the past month or so and was very impressed by their ability to replicate such a complicated studio sound in a live setting. Especially with the pretty sketchy levels. The bass, which for the most part was being handled saucily in the expert hands of Nat Baldwin, at times sounded like a cat being dragged over sandpaper and kind of pissed me off...I mean, these guys are only beginning to gain popularity, but they should be beyond having blatant sound issues at their concerts. (My apologies for this rant if it was an unknown problem such as a blown speaker, that sucks...but STILL.) Other than the sound issues, however, the show seemed to come off without a hitch. The remodeled shipping dock on the East River was a perfect setting for the gritty apocalyptic lyricist Longstreth, whose screeching yelps in Police Story convey an anger and echoes of the imminent rebellion of his Black Flag influences, denied by the defeated lyrics which claim "Understand / We're fighting a war we can't win." Lots of new stuff from Bitte Orca was played, and a rousing cheer came from an otherwise unduly sullen crowd (perhaps dehydrated after having their water nabbed) when Amber and Angel synced up for their now almost trademark arpeggiation on a very uptempo version of Gimme Gimme Gimme. Also very well received was Stillness Is The Move, Amber's spotlight piece and the subject of their new music video. Though I loved the song, and thought the version done on the 19th was near perfect to their album, the cantankerous critic in me had to notice that at times Amber's voice live seemed forced and a little piercing on the upper ranges. Reading that back, I sound like such a douchebag, but hey, it was still incredible that she was even singing at those dog whistle decibels, and the studio version she nails it. All in all it was a flawless live performance by the whole band, highlighting the groups seemingly androidal ability to execute hopelessly complicated Soukous style guitar riff while simultaneously being able to break down into dirty post punk jams. I'm looking forward to seeing these guys really take off.

Big Big Radio. Web radio magic. Check it.

Some good ol' Brooklyn kids created Big Big Radio as a way to find great new bands and bring their music to the masses. Streaming podcasts, short bios, and downloadable studio sessions abound...check it out.

www.bigbigradio.com

In the beginning...there was a word.

About This Blog: "To Cry Wolof" is a recently coined term used to describe amateur etymologists who make unfounded claims as to the origin of a word or phrase simply due to their phonetic similarity. A pun on the idiom "to cry wolf," it was named for the assertion, now widely considered to be false, that the term "hip" or "hip-cat" used by jazz musicians and beatniks in the early 19th century is derived from the word "hepicat," a word which in the West African language Wolof means "one who has his eyes open." None of this has anything to do with the post other than the fact that I am interested in etymology and hipsters annoy me. Enjoy.