I Just Read About That…

SOUNDTRACK: CHAVEZ-Better Days Will Haunt You (2006).

I first fell in love with Chavez when I saw a video for their song “Break Up Your Band.” I loved the video, and loved the music. And, I basically became of fan of them because of this video, which I think I must have seen on 120 Minutes, way back when. Turns out that my memory of this video is the equivalent of my memory of Good Omens (cf. Good Omens). The video is on the DVD that comes with this collection, and wow, I don’t recall the video looking like that at all! Huh, clearly I am an unreliable narrator.

Chavez is such a great noisy dissonant band. Squealy guitars, weird tempos, and noise, noise, noise. Fun! But what’s really fun is their cover of “Little Twelvetoes,” a song from the School House Rock oeuvre. This song is SO bizarre, and that’s even before Chavez gets their hands on it. The premise is that people from other planets with six fingers and toes and each hand and foot could count to twelve as easily as we count to ten. And, they made up two new numbers that would fill in the gap between nine and ten so that their twelve could be our number 10. Therefore, they could just add a zero when multiplying by 12. Or something.

Wow, trip-E! Top that off with funky time changes and the Chavez version is breathtaking. This CD is a “complete collection” of songs by Chavez, so it’s all here in one place. The bonus DVD contains some “tour footage” that the band filmed during their first tour. It’s the usual “funny” footage and “bored driving” footage, but it is kind of fun to watch. The real treat though is that one of the band members is the son of Garry Marshall, TV guru. And, as a treat for the viewers at home, this film has a commentary track by Garry, and it is clear that he has never watched this video before. It’s pretty funny to hear him make up what’s happening in light of his son’s “tour” behavior.

[READ: Summer 2006] Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit.

I’m not entirely sure why I read this book. I enjoyed it very much, but I can’t recall what the impetus for it was. I read this when I was still at my previous job in Summer 2006. I think I happened across the title when I was living in Boston, and was first introduced to “gay and lesbian culture.” The title is also pretty funny. And so I put it on a list of books to check out.

I think in today’s market this book would be marketed as a “memoir” or some such thing. Back in the day this was called “semi-autobiographical” which doesn’t have quite the market cache to it. At any rate, it is a very compelling story of how a young woman, raised by evangelical Christians can escape the confines of her upbringing and taste fruits other than oranges (metaphorically speaking). It is funny, lighthearted and a bit heartbreaking. And, frankly, it’s pretty short. I can highly recommend this book for anyone looking to explore his or her (homo)sexuality, or who just wants to read a happy story about creative types.

[DIGRESSION 1]: I just realized its fairly hard for me to talk at length about non-fiction because the tropes and twists that fiction provides are largely absent.

[DIGRESSION 2]: The whole “memoir” thing leaves me rather cold. Regardless of the truth or exaggeration of A Million Little Pieces, as far as I’m concerned Autobiography and Biography are very specific things. They have an air of authenticity about them, where you can read these books and, if you so choose, do an informative report about them. Even an autobiography, when done right, can be informative and instructional. But contemporary “memoir” has this air of casualness about it that really undermines its credibility. This is not to say that they are not valid or useful or enjoyable, because they are those thing, I just hesitate to put them in the Biography section (as our library has done with works by David Sedaris and Augusten Burroughs.) Maybe these authors don’t intend their books to be “biographies” per se, but the whole idea of these books being marketed as “true” when what they are primarily is essays and stories, the kind which has been written forever and just been marketed as essays, leaves a bad taste in my mouth. (Nevertheless, I do laugh out loud with much gusto at Sedaris’ work… “A bell, though, that’s fucked up.”)