My Month with the Aliens

I have not posted on this blog since February 13th, 2008. . . the day that I know only as 'yesterday'.

Let me explain:

The week of February 11, 2008 was a pleasant one. I was enjoying my nightly updates of the 'Lovesong Countdown' for Valentine's Day. It was mild, Arizona winter week. Life was good. But on the night of 13th, it happened.

I woke in my bedroom to a flood of bright soft light. From the window, I saw a strange figure slowly approaching me, its silhouette a shape the likes of which I had never seen before. I was frightened but at the same time very calm. My first reaction was to grab Karolee, dart for the kids' bedrooms, scoop them in my arms and run.

But I was paralyzed. Frozen and defenseless. In my peripheral vision, I could see Karolee sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware of my impending and terrifying adbduction. And then at once, everthing was black and silent.

And then . . .then . . .I . . .well . . .after that . . er. . . umm . . .I don't know.

I wish I had more to tell, but when I opened my eyes, I was back in my bedroom. Karolee was asleep. The house was silent. Everything looked normal. The clock radio read 3:24 am. I found I was no longer paralyzed! I leaped from the bed to check on the kids. All three were snuggled in their beds, fast asleep.

Everything was too normal. I felt strange. My joints were stiff. I knew it could not have been a dream. It was on the way back to my bedroom that I had the sudden implulse to run downstairs to get my cell phone. I didn't know why; who would I call? What did I need? What was going on?

I found my phone on the desk in the office. As its bright LCD screen came to life, casting an eerie glow on the walls of the darkened study, I noticed immediately that the date was set incorrectly. It read 'March 24, 2008'. Why would I have set the date on my phone over one month ahead?

I didn't know why, but the date was wrong . . . or was it?

Panicked, I ran back upstairs, and shook Karolee until she woke. With groggy eyes, and speaking in an irritated tone she asked, "What do you want? It's the middle of the night!! And why are you fully dressed?"


Fully dressed?! What in the . . .

I looked down and she was right! I was dressed in jeans, flip flops, t-shirt, and my old grey jacket. When I asked Karolee what day it was, she looked at me like I was nuts. But she replied anyway, as if grudgingly 'playing along' with whatever stupid game this was that I was playing.

"It's March 24th, Monday night, Jake" she said, ". . . or actually March 25th now since it's technically morning. . . 3:30 am in the @#$&@ing morning to be exact, you jerk. I have two get up in less than two hours to run. Thanks for waking me. GOOD NIGHT!"
If she was upset for waking her before, she was positively fuming when I asked her what we did together that day. She told me that I went to work, got home right before she went to her girl scout meeting, and that I watched our neighbors' kids that night too.

Whoa. Keanu-style Whoa.

I'm still trying to figure it all out. According to Karolee and the kids (and my co-workers, and our neighbors, and everyone else I know), I have been at home in Arizona, living life normally for the last month. But the last thing I remember is that alien walking toward me and the bright light and feeling paralyzed, over one month ago.

I have no explanation, but I know I was abducted by aliens that night. I have two pieces of solid evidence:

1) If I had really been home the whole time, then how does one explain the fact that I hadn't finished my Valentine's day love song countdown on this blog?! Right. You can't. Because I WASN'T here. Everyone who knows me KNOWS that I always follow through with everything I set out to do, especially if it has to do with music.

2) That night, when I discovered I was fully dressed, I found a post card in the inside pocket of that old grey jacket. I am not crazy. I just want to be normal again. Someday the world will believe that my involuntary trip to Planet ZpxF3.01-- that this kidnapping-- was all too real. Maybe someday I will remember. I don't know. I don't have the answers. All I know right now is that there is no explanation for this :





























I don't seem so crazy now, DO I???!!!

5 Songs A Day - Day 3

Greetings, my peeps. I know you're dying for more of the love, so I won't keep you waiting any longer. Today's five are all totally mainstream, unapologetic pop music. Here they are and they're all good ones:

1) The Way I Am - Ingrid Michaelson
2) She - Elvis Costello
3) Crazy For You - Madonna
4) Hold Me Now - Thompson Twins
5) Littlest Things - Lily Allen

5 Songs A Day - Day 2

Good evening, dear lovers of love songs. You chubby, gushing cupids of togetherness. For tonight, I tried . . . tried . . . to think of ones that you may not have heard before. But you may have. I really don't know. Tonight's 5 are:

1) You and I Both - Jason Mraz
2) Super Duper Love - Joss Stone
3) Blue For You - Men at Work
4) My Love is You - David Byrne
5) Perfectly - Natalie Imbruglia

5 Songs a Day Until Valentine's - Day 1

I like love songs. No, I love love songs. I admit it. If you haven't figured it out by now, I'm sappy romantic schmuck, OKAY?!! Anyway, in honor of Valentine's Day, I wanted to do a 'Top 5' playlist of the best love songs ever. But after about 30 seconds of contemplation, I realized this would be an exercise in futility. There's just too many good ones out there. So considering it's exactly 5 days until Valentine's day, I settled for a doing a Top 5 each day. But they can't exactly be considered a 'Top 5' either because to place them in any particular rank and order would not only be unfair to the artists that wrote them, but totally inaccurate because each of the songs can be ranked in about 17 different ways depending on why I like them. So whatever. The point is that I'm going to post 5 of my favorite love songs until Valentine's Day and you can listen to them on the cute little red sappy mp3 player to the right of this post. Here are today's five (and I stress in no particular order):

1) Send Her My Love - Journey
2) In Your Eyes - Peter Gabriel
3) Thank You - Dido
4) Our Love Is Here To Stay - John Pizzarelli
5) Like The Deserts Miss The Rain - Everything But The Girl

Giorgio Armani Is Not To Blame!

I like to think that for the most part I'm sort of a happy, positive, good-natured guy. As such, I consider hate to be a generally destructive emotion. But a recent email conversation I had with a friend reminded me that there are a few things in life that I do, so truly and passionately, hate. Our dialogue reminded me of two things specifically: 1) Acqua di Gio cologne and 2) the song 'Take My Picture' by Filter. Curiously, the cologne smells really good and the song's actually pretty cool too. Perhaps I should explain.

Almost a decade ago, I held a job as the General Manger of an Einstein's bagel shop. At first, I thought it would be a very cool job. Kind of a 'hip' place, good bagels, decent coffee, laid back atmosphere, etc. But over a short period of time, I came to detest my job at Einstein's so much that my feelings escape accurate description.

Anyway, we used to listen to a lot of X96 (a fine alternative radio station in SLC) in the kitchen when we were baking. At the time, 'Take My Picture' had just been released, so they played it no less than eighty-seven times a day. Naturally, I came to detest it. (I'd like to note paranthetically that I also detest Blink 182. Not because of Einstein's necessarily, but because they're horrible and the fact that X96 overplayed 'All The Small Things' around that same time too didn't help. With that said, I should note sub-parenthetically that 'Blink's' singer, Tom LeLonge, now sings for Angels and Airwaves and they're pretty catchy actually.). But I'm already getting way off track and my hate for the Filter song goes much deeper, so back to my explanation . . .

We had this thing in the kitchen called a proofer. It looked like a big stainless steel refrigerator, and was basically sort of a low-temperature steam oven. All of our bagels were shipped to us frozen and pre-shaped. At night, we would take the frozen bagels, place them on baking sheets, and then place the sheets in 6' tall baking racks. Each rack held about 20 sheets, about 300 bagels in all. We'd roll the baking racks into the walk-in cooler to thaw slowly overnight-- a process known as 'slacking'.

Each day at around 3:30 am, when my baker would call me either from the county jail or a 'kegger' telling me he wouldn't be in that day, I'd show up for work by myself to bake fresh bagels for the morning rush. I would take the baking racks out of the cooler and begin applying toppings (e.g. cinnamon/sugar, garlic, minced onion, sesame seeds, etc) to the bagels as necessary. Once the bagels were topped, I would roll the rack into the proofer (big steamer fridge-looking thing) to bring the dough up to a consistent internal temperature and proper level of humidity. The pre-baking temperature and humidity of the dough are essential for ensuring the bagels will have that delightful, chewy texture. If the dough isn't wet enough, the bagels will have a dry and bread-like consistency and no one wants that. If you wanted to eat bagel-shaped bread, you'd buy your bagels from a supermarket. If the bagel dough is warmer on the surface than in the center, or if the center is still partially frozen when you put them into bake, the bagels just turn into crap.

Sorry, I got side-tracked again for a minute there. To the point: The smell of raw bagel dough is not in and of itself a bad thing; nor are garlic, caraway seeds, cinnamon, or asiago cheese in any way offensive by themselves. But when you open that proofer door to retrieve the rack of raw, multi-flavored, fully-topped bagels from their hot steam bath . . .man oh man . .. the aromatic assault of humid, toe jam-esque funk is nauseating beyond description. (Imagine combining the smells of sweaty gym socks, cinnamon, garlic, chocolate chips, and yeast, and you might kind of get the idea.) And since I'm not a morning person to start with, I already began each day with a stomach ache. To make matters worse, I would down something like 11 or 12 espressos throughout the morning to keep me awake.

I started my job at the bagel shop right after New Year's. Everyone who knows me knows that I love cologne and Karolee had given me a bottle of Armani's Acqua di Gio that year for Christmas. It's a light, clean, almost soapy smelling cologne and I LOVED it. So like anything I get excited about, I went totally overboard and wore WAY too much of it everyday for weeks on end. But after a month or two of waking for work in the middle of the night, getting kicked in the nostrils every morning with that warm cinnagarlic-footonion-dough smell, and drinking myself sick with espresso, the cologne started to make me gag. Every time I put it on, all I could think of was asiago cheese. It was like a $60 bottle of cologne and I had to give it away to Karolee's brother because I couldn't stand it anymore.

Hearing that Filter song has almost exactly the same effect. That song actually SMELLS bad to me. I still gag every time I'm near someone who's wearing Acqua di Gio. I lasted at Einstein's for all of about 8 months. I don't hate the company, though I do blame them for causing me to know what it is to really, really hate something. And I don't hate the guys from Filter for writing that song, and I don't hate Giorgio Armani. But I bet NONE of them ever has ever baked a single bagel.

So now you know. . .

Please. Don't hate,

Jake

In Case You Wanted Something To Listen To . . .

I added a few more March Hare songs tonight for your listening satisfaction. Go ahead and have a listen. Let me know what you think. Tell me if you love it. Tell me if you hate it. Please feel free to comment. Any comments are welcome, although I generally prefer the ones telling me how cool you think this stuff is.

You can stream all the songs on this page from the new player I added, or if you actually like them enough to want your own copy, you can download them from this here post. (to download, right click on the name of the song then select 'save target as'). I'll add links to more songs as we finish them.

I didn't make 'Milky Way' available for download on this page as I wouldn't want to upset the copyright police. If you really want a copy, leave me a comment here or email me. Or if you'd like, we can arrange to meet in a dark alley way to make the handoff. Either that, or I'll just send you a link. Or, even better, pick up a copy of the original, vastly superior version of the song by The Church from their circa 1988 'Starfish' album. (every song on that release is amazing). But you know, whatever works for you.

Lost at Sea
Misplaced Experts
Strange

Welcome to America! What would you like in your Super Bowl?

I make no secret of the fact that I am not a football fan. In fact, I'm not a 'sports' guy at all. For the most part, I don't play, watch, or really care one way or the other about them. There's just not much there to hold my interest. Given the choice, I fully admit that I'd rather curl up on the couch with my wife to watch Say Anything or Shakespeare in Love (for the 47th time) than hang with boys to 'watch the big game'. And most contemporary psychological theory would tell me that's okay. Back me up here, Oprah. But I digress . . . .

Despite my almost categorical disinterest in sports, as a kid I did devote that requisite three hours per year with my family downstairs on the couch. While we inhaled our hoagies, Doritos, and clam dip, I did my best to feign interest as we watched the big, sweaty, testosterone-and-steroid saturated men in helmets dance their ackward end-run cha cha's across our giant 20" Technicolor RCA.

The appeal for me was more the combination of clever commercials and junk food than the game. An hour afterward, I would have been hard pressed to tell you what the final score was. But did you check out that new Dr. Pepper commercial?! How'd they get those people to dance on the ceiling ? Probably super powers or something. Amazing. To this day, I love Lionel Richie and Dr. Pepper equally.

So speaking of Dr. Pepper, multi-million dollar airtime, and unbridled capitalism, I was reading the Tribune last Saturday. As expected, the news in Arizona is of course all a buzz this year with Superbowl hype. I normally skip right over the sports section, but as I was making breakfast Karolee was scanning the headlines. She started reading an article to me about what people are willing to pay these days for a good seat. Any guesses? $500? Nope, you can't even tailgate within city limits for that. $1000? Keep trying. (although your Grover Cleveland will will buy you a big new wall-mounted plasma and all the Keystone Light you can drink).

Okay, you really want to know? The average price for a ticket (in the nosebleeds, mind you) is around $4000. The most expensive ticket is upwards of $18,000!!

That's one-eight-comma-zero-zero-zero.

When she read that, I stopped my egg making mid-scramble and rushed to the table, sure that there must have been either a typo or a misplaced decimal. But sure enough, someone-- apparently lots of someones-- out there are willing spend $18,000 to get close enough smell the B.O. and Gatorade. That's around $6000 an hour to sit on a plastic seat, watch some football , and bear witness to a 'live' Britney lip sync (tube sock arm-cozies and all) or experience a celebrity wardrobe malfunction. Maybe you get free appetizers and cocktails.

But $18,000. . . I was speechless. I don't consider myself particularly thrifty and I'm not immune to materialism. But something about this struck a chord. As I stood there mystified, my mind was reeling. My vision blurred. My stomach began to turn. TV commericals from my 1980's adolescence started swirling and overlapping in my head. For an instant, I was Sally Struthers, standing outside a desolate plague-ridden Ethiopian village, pleading to 30 million white, middle-class suburbanites on the other side of the camera lens. "For just 79 cents a day, this poor emaciated little girl can receive three meals a day, clothing, and the medicine she so desperately needs . . . "

Then it all clicked.

Those charity case commericals used to get under my skin. There was actually a time long ago when I wondered why so many foreign cultures despise Americans. If you're still wondering, you don't have to look beyond my newspaper. I even saved a copy for you.

It's not you they hate. It's not me. It's not even wardrobe malfunctions. It's not who we are. It's what you, me, and Britney can and often do become. And it all has to do with perspective.

From the 'outside world's' perspective, Americans live in a big, fast, pretentious, overcommercialized, overweight, shallow, misguided world. Yes, we all know this. We are the Ugly Americans. Everything has become Walmart. People spend more on cars than I did on my house. My house could provide shelter for 17 families in Mogadishu.

Our counterparts in foregin countries see us bask in our ignorant, wasteful, overconsuming, and sheltered bliss. They see our shrines as football arenas packed with money-laden fanatic fans watching armored warriors battle for domination. They see . . . well . . .you get the picture. I don't think the Superbowl is inherintly evil. I don't think that capitalism, sports, or 'finally getting your piece of the pie' are bad things either. I like pie.

I was going to go into the this elaborate, scathing criticism on the shortcomings of Western society and how disconnected we've become from the things we claim to value-- like charity, compassion, identifying a freind in need, helping those who can't help themselves. I was going to talk about all that, but I won't. Karolee told me I need to drop it.

She's right. But . . .

What I will say is that if you feel even just a teeny little bit like I did when you found out that a ticket to the Superbowl costs $18,000, then there are things you SHOULD and SHOULDN'T do about it. You SHOULDN'T spend an entire week festering and obsessing over how warped and selfish this country has come.--like I did. Instead, you SHOULD sit down on the living room floor on a Saturday night and talk to your wife (or husband) . He or she might remind you that change starts with helping our own families, neighbors, friends, donating clothes you don't need, etc. And with that said, I hope I'm not a hypocrite.

I, like everyone else, could be doing a little bit more. I don't have an extra $18,000, but I probably have an extra $1.80. Buy a bum a Coke and sit down and talk to him. Listen to his story (I had a friend named George whom I should thank for that suggestion; without his example I would have never gained the insights that I did from Phil and Freddie 'The Dreamer' Wall). Go volunteer somewhere. Get to know the family next door to you. It doesn't matter. If you give a little more, someone else might not have to take so much.

I just hope someday Americans, with all that we have access to, will reach a point at which they care as much about that filling that emaciated little girl's rice bowl as they do packing the Superbowl. That's all.


Keep it in perspective,


Jake

Happy Birthday Baranga

Karolee pretty much said it all on the family blog, but things just wouldn't be right if I didn't send my own birthday shoutout to this crazy, sweet 4-year old. You drive me insane, you make me laugh until I hurt, I hold you almost entirely responsible for these gray hairs that keep appearing on my head, you're incredible. . . just like your mom. And I can tell by the look on your face that you agree. Thank God for you, baby doll.

Happy birthday Miranda.

All my love,

Dag

Weekday Mornings

At 31 years old, I find that I’ve reached a point in life at which I love early mornings just as much as late nights.

Today I woke to the sweet sound of Maddy's soft, sleepy morning voice. She was awake-- ready to have Mom do her hair, eager to select today’s hottest fashion, and famished from her adventures in dreamland. I hopped out of bed with a greater sense of urgency than usual since we had less than half of an hour to get her out the door and off to school. We were rushed, but considering that our internal clocks are set to Fritz-Mecham Standard Time (FMST) which runs anywhere from 7 to 23 minutes behind the presiding time zone, it was nothing unusual. Rushing is something to which we’ve simply had to adapt.

But provided we have enough time, the early weekday morning ritual is one I cherish. Sometimes we talk a lot over cereal and sandwich-making; other times we’re still sleepy and silently enjoy that daddy/daughter time together at one of the calmest hours of the day. (Miranda and Pitter Patter generally don’t start stirring until Maddy's off to school). On the best days, Karolee will have just finished her morning run by the time Maddy and I make our way downstairs. Sometimes we’ll make parfaits with yogurt, fruit, and granola. Occasionally Karolee will have old-fashioned oatmeal or German pancakes ready. Whatever the daily fare, it’s a rare chance for the three of us to ease into the day over breakfast, coffee (well, for me anyway), newspaper horoscopes, and tales of fervent 1st grade boy-chasing.

I love those mornings.

Despite the aforementioned FMST handicap, our running behind today was primarily due to my having stolen a few minutes too many of what I consider to be the very best kind of sleep . . . those sensuous nine-minute intervals in between snooze cycles on the clock radio. As parents of three, Karolee and I both enjoy precious little sleep. We each set the alarm a bit early most days to ensure we’ll have at least two or three chances to stave off the unwelcome AM torrent of incessant beeping and FM static.

Note: We intentionally set the radio dial between stations (Country and/or Top 40 stations work best as they’re all basically total crap) to achieve the most jarring combination of noises possible. This helps to ensure that we will actually wake when the alarm sounds.

There’s a subtle psychological gratification to playing the “snooze game”. It’s just one of the myriad ways in which we fool ourselves into thinking we have control over our external world; that we can somehow manipulate it according to our needs or desires. If time is an unyielding oppressive taskmaster, then our stupid clock radio-- in its gloriously brazen discord-- is his obnoxious, autocratical henchman. The truth is that despite our own wishes to the contrary, inevitably we all surrender to the taskmaster’s command. But it can be immensely satisfying to whack his henchman squarely on the head a couple of times before we do. . .

JF

A Letter From God (It is Sunday after all, right?)

This is a lyrical piece by a freestyle MC from the UK who goes by the handle 'Scroobius Pip'. I hadn't heard of him before this afternoon. Karolee stumbled upon him online and we were both impressed. If you know me at all, you already know I love this kind of 'street prophet' heady intellectual hip hop stuff. The first thing Karolee and I thought to compare him to was sort of a British (gentile?) counterpart to Matisyahu (of whom we're both huge fans).

However you care to label him or his style of expression, it's hard to argue with the understated salience of this piece. Personally, I was blown away-- both by his message and its delivery. I can't wait to dig into more of his work. Some of his material is available on YouTube and MySpace (you can link to that page from his name above). From the looks of it, he's pretty much keeping things street level, but I wouldn't be surprised to see him blow up the way his 'kosher counterpart' (forgive me) did. But enough of my words . . . Happy pondering. This one'll make you think.

Panic Division is the Coolest Band in the World.

You would be better off if you were to watch the video for 'Big Day' by the Panic Division. Thus, I have provided it for you below. If you have doubts, you should know that I recently received confirmation from a number of trusted sources that they are indeed the coolest band on the planet. This band is amazing. Seriously. Please enjoy.

Think the Giant Orange 'Jake' Header is Silly? Me too. (but it's staying)

Okay, I updated the page a little bit, added some songs that Matt and I have been working on, etc. There isn't much in the way of words here yet, but when I think of some words, I'll put them here so you can read them if you want. But if you don't want to, then by all means, don't. I'm tired. It's late. Sleep well.

Please go away immediately.

Good evening and thank you for deciding to read this post. Chances are if you're visting my page you already know who I am ( I am Jake). If you don't, please leave immediately. Your time would be better spent reading the blog of someone you know or with whom you share common interests.

If you do know me, please also go away immediately. There's nothing here yet. That isn't to say that there won't be, because there will be. Oh yes, my friend . . .whatever your name is . . . there will be. It's very likely that this blog will become your favorite virtual place. I can't believe how good it's going to be.

But for now, you really should either hit the back button on your browser (the page you just navigated from is more interesting than this) or get back to work or help your wife (or husband) (or Mom or Dad) with the laundry. You know there are piles of it. And how long have you been putting off getting that oil changed? If you have over 15 minutes to spare, maybe that's what you ought to be doing.

I'm sorry to disappoint you, but there just isn't anything to see here yet. And please, don't think I'm trying to force you away. I'm not. I care about you and would hate to think that you wasted more than the 15 seconds it took you to read through the fifth sentence of this blog (that's the one in which you were instructed to go away).

But please do check back because boy, is there some good stuff coming. Just not now.

So please. Go.

You're still here!

Come back later.

We're closed.

Good night.