Heavy Metal Band Recants Thirty-Year-Old Statement

SYDNEY--At a press conference earlier today, the legendary rock band AC/DC issued a surprise reversal of what has been a key band theme for the past 30 years. Lead singer Brian Johnson stated to the press corps assembled in front of the majestic Sydney Opera House, "Despite what we have been leading our fans to believe for these past few decades, AC/DC has come to the realization that rock and roll is, in fact, noise pollution."

Johnson, referring to the 1980 hit "Rock and Roll Ain't Noise Pollution," went on to explain what led to the band's about-face. "For years, we have produced loud, heavy music on albums and during live performances. Late last year, we received a letter from the EPA, which included results from a study they had done of listeners to our music." The study found that close to 95% of all AC/DC fans listen to the band's music at a volume level of eleven on a scale of one to ten. This correlates to a decibel level of 120, far exceeding the upper limit of what is considered "safe" to most experts. "With the realization that we were causing most of our fans substantial hearing loss, we had no choice to conclude that our music was and should be classified as 'noise pollution' per EPA guidelines."

The band remained noncommittal about their future. "We're just not sure yet," said lead guitarist Angus Young. "Right now, we're thinking about doing an acoustic album with Yo Yo Ma, or maybe working on a project with the Kidz Bop people. But we still have to talk things through."

The announcement comes on the heels of another classic rock shock. Last Wednesday David Bowie issued a statement to Rolling Stone in which he wrote that he was "no longer afraid of Americans." Bowie declined further comment, but was seen later that day at Disneyland. He was allegedly eating an extra-long hot dog at the time.

Go Ahead, Make My Day

"Go ahead, make my day."

"What?"

"I just always wanted to say that."

It was 7:34 AM.  I was still in my pajamas, sipping coffee and reading the paper.  Bravo had a thing for Clint Eastwood movies.  I don't know why; after having lived and worked with him for several years now, he made Clint look like a pansy.  I was certain that Bravo had already completed his customary morning workout regimen, showered and eaten by the time he did his bad Eastwood impression (the still-wet but perfectly groomed hair gave it away).

"Feeling cheery this morning, are we?" I asked, wishing the headache that daily verified my caffeine addiction would go away.

"Yes."  And with that, he was gone.

I had learned that short replies were never good.  I finished my coffee, folded up and set aside my newspaper, and began cleaning my gun.  I had just finished reloading it and placing it back in the holster when Bravo returned.

"Rico, come with me."

We were in San Diego at the time (on the lam as usual), and we proceeded to walk down to the harbor.  Bravo pulled me into an alleyway between two buildings and began to explain.

"We have been offered $3 million to dispose of Frank Coletraine.  His yacht is currently out to sea.  It should be returning to harbor tonight.  I have procured a boat and supplies for the job."

With that, we left the alleyway and met a man down by the water, standing next to a boat.  He was a large, fierce-looking man, whose country of origin I could not determine.  Bravo approached and spoke a few words to him in a language I did not recognize.  The man's eyes betrayed his fear of whatever it was Bravo had said.  He allowed us onto the boat, slowly backed away, then turned and ran as if for his very life.

The boat contained a scuba suit, some food and water rations, and a small arsenal of weaponry.  "I didn't ask for these," said Bravo, as he dumped all of the weapons in the water.  We headed out of the harbor and, once on the open sea, he bade me don the scuba gear.  Bravo pulled a GPS device out of his bag and turned it on.  It immediately displayed heading coordinates.

"I planted a tracking bug on Coletraine's yacht before he left," stated Bravo.

"And why, exactly," I asked, "did you not instead plant an explosive device on his vessel?"

"Where is the thrill in that?" was his reply.

Frank Coletraine did not deserve just to be blown up, anyway.  He had introduced large amounts of illicit drugs into the California coastal region.  He had felled ten police officers in four different skirmishes in the city.  He was at the top of the CBI's Most Wanted list.  He was also at the top of the Chinese Mafia's Most Wanted list, for recently kidnapping a senior member's daughter.  Bravo had contacts within the Chinese Mafia, and they knew well of his exploits.  They had hired him to get her back.  No wonder Bravo hadn't just blown the ship to kingdom come.

We followed the GPS device's directions for about two hours when we finally saw it.  A small spec on the horizon, Coletraine's yacht.  Bravo pulled a small object out of his bag and handed it to me.

"Rico, you will place this on the hull of the ship.  I will take care of the rest.  We will meet back in the boat."

I took the item and we slowly took the boat closer in.  A thick fog had begun to roll in, concealing us from our target.  (Sometimes I think Bravo controlled the weather, too; the experiential vindication of that idea would not have surprised me in the least.)  Guided by the GPS, we were able to row silently directly up to the yacht and secure our boat to her.  I slipped into the water and began to swim toward the front of the boat.  Once there, I submerged and attached the small device Bravo had given me to the hull.  As soon as it was attached, it began to beep slowly.  I was not desirous to see how long the beeping would last, so I surfaced and began to make my way back to our boat.

At that moment, I saw something.  It was a large, black object that had fallen from the yacht to the water.  Taking a moment to process, I realized it was a man, one of Coletraine's armed guards.  A few seconds later, I saw another, similar object land in the water.  And then another.  And another.  And another.  I dodged the bodies floating in the water and made it back aboard the boat just as Bravo was coming off the yacht.  He had the Chinese girl, still tied up, and he was sporting a bloody lip.

"One of them got lucky.  Now let's go."

We untied the boat and started the engine.  We were off.  The yacht didn't move.  

That night, back at the condo, I turned on the local news.  (It was always interesting hearing reporters' interpretation of the events I had lived.)  The Chinese girl was safe and back with her family, and 3 million of their dollars were safe with us.  As expected, the top story was on Frank Coletraine.

"The US Coast Guard picked up infamous drug dealer Frank Coletraine today in his yacht, 25 miles off the coast of California.  Coast Guard officials say they received an anonymous tip of Coletraine's whereabouts, and that they were able to locate his yacht due to a homing beacon that had apparently been planted on the ship's hull.  Coletraine was found on the deck, handcuffed and shackled.  Five body guards were found dead in the water, as well, and although autopsies have not yet been performed, initial examinations show no trauma of any kind.  Upon arrest, Coletraine was found to be quite shaken and was repeatedly muttering the phrase, 'Go ahead, make my day.  Go ahead, make my day.'  Back to you, Tom."  

He's Reading the Answers off a Card!

Today I reveal the depths of my nerdiness.

I was fixing dinner this evening, when I happened in on my wife watching the tail end of Jeopardy. I walked in on the Final Jeopardy clue, the category of which was "European Place Names," I believe. The clue was saying that this European country's name was formed from the Greek words "one" and "house." Well, being a good (Koine) Greek scholar, I knew that house in Greek is oikos, and one is heis, mia or hen, depending on its gender. (Oikos is masculine, so one would expect heis.) I was racking my brain to try to figure out which country it was, but alas, time ran out. The answer? Monaco. What?

At least all three contestants missed it, too. Alex Trebec mentioned that in Greek, mono was "one," hence Monaco (mono+oikos). Now there's only one problem: Mono- in Greek does not mean "one," it means "only or alone," as in the only one of a certain class (e.g., "only begotten son" in John 3:16 is ho huios ho monogenes). As previously stated, heis refers to the cardinal number. It is true that the mono- prefix in English has come to mean "one" (monocle, monopoly), but I felt that this question was quite misleading and, well, wrong.

I looked on jeopardy.com for some avenue to inform them about their mistake, but of course they don't want to hear from Joe Sixpack about errors in their show, and I don't blame them.* So what's a frustated, overly educated future Jeopardy hopeful to do? That's right, complain to you.

Hey, at least you learned something. Namely, that I am a big nerd.

*Addendum, 5/1/09: I discovered today that Jeopardy does provide a mechanism for reporting errors on the show. I stand corrected.

The Bean - Beatnik Poetry

The bean

The brew

French press

Mr. Coffee

How do I like it?

27 cups a day

Don't eat an orange

Arabica addicted

Organic fair-trade, please

Kitamu kraving

Bananas are okay

Summit tumbler

Cream and sugar

Turkish

Press the French

The brew

The bean

The Feud - Part I

We were on the run.

Bravo had assured me that his plan would go off without a hitch. Given past experience, I had no reason to doubt him. It really was a run-of-the-mill job. We had contracted our services out to an elderly man, an Ecuadorian varón named El Corazón. El Corazón was the patriarch of an ancient and noble Ecuadorian family, a family who had been engaged in a feud with la familia Pudín for seventy-five years. El Corazón was nearing death, and he wanted to take the Pudines with him to the grave. He asked us to do what he could not, and we happily obliged, taking a large amount of his pesos in the process. It was nothing we hadn’t done before.

When we first arrived in Guayaquil, I attempted to befriend Pachoso Pudín, the eldest grandson in the family. He was a young man, close to my own age, and I knew from El Corazón that he frequented a coffee shop on the port. He was a loudmouth, a braggart, and our target. I walked into the shop on a Tuesday morning and nonchalantly sat down near him. I ordered a macchiato and listened.

“No, you are a fool! Do you know nothing about me? Do you think that I could not do such a thing?” Pachoso demanded.

“I did not say you could not do such a thing. I merely stated my belief that you would not do such a thing, señor,” replied the other man.

“I will tell you what I will do or will not do! Get out of my sight, cerdo!” The other man smirked and walked out.

I took the opportunity presented to me. “You seem to have a way with people, señor.”

Pachoso turned and glared at me. “¿Tienes un problema conmigo? Do you have a problem with me?”

“Not at all,” I replied. “I notice that you are a passionate man, a strong man. It seems strange that you are in a coffee shop bickering with whomever enters, when you could be…”

My pregnant pause was the bait. Pachoso was the hungry fish. “Could be what?”

“Could be using your passion and strength to your advantage.”

His mood changed from rage to guarded curiosity. “What is your name, señor?” he asked.

“Rico. My name is Rico Sabor, and we have much to discuss.”

*****

Later that afternoon I returned to the hotel room, where Bravo, as usual, was reading a book. Not lifting his eyes from the page, he gave a brief nod of assent as I walked past. I sat down on my bed and recalled the events of the day.

After piquing Pachoso’s curiosity, I had informed him that I was a businessman with ties to the Peruvian underworld. I had been in Guayaquil for a few months looking for a suitable partner for some under-the-table business transactions. I had learned of him through a mutual acquaintance of his uncle, and I informed him that I thought he had the machismo to handle any unfortunate “tasks” that might have to be performed. I promised him a large salary and a cut of the profits to boot for his services. Although he was already rich with his family’s money, he was greedy. He was also a scared man on the inside, and he sought to prove his own machismo to himself through violence. He readily agreed to the deal without so much as asking a single question. El Corazón had identified his weaknesses perfectly.

By now Bravo had finished his book. He was an adept and skillful reader—devouring five pages per minute and retaining every word with his photographic memory. He could quote Shakespeare at length when pressed, or memorize the blueprints of a building at a single glance.

“He took the bait,” I reported.

“Good. Now we wait,” he replied.

To be continued...

My New Toys

Seagull Mini Jumbo M6 Cutaway QII. I bought this Seagull last week to replace my old S6, which was stolen last month. The MJM6 has a bright sound with a good amount of "pop" to it, compared to the S6's more mellow tones. I don't like its acoustic sound quite as well as my old guitar, but then again the MJM6 looks like it has hardly been played, and my old axe had years of constant action refining its sound. On the other hand, the MJM6 has a better preamp, so I am pretty sure it will sound even better plugged in than the S6. Plus, it looks totally awesome.

Seagull S12+. I have been wanting a twelve-string guitar almost as long as I have been playing. Finally, I got one yesterday. It replaces the other three guitars I used to have, which were stolen along with the S6. This guitar has the same great sound that my S6 used to have, except twice as many strings to produce even more of it. Plus, now I can play Life By the Drop just like SRV! Well, like SRV without the talent, anyway.

Whatever You Like

Tuesday, October 7, 2008, was among the most important days of the new millennium.  Why, you ask?  I'll tell you why.  This is why: "Weird Al" Yankovic, one of my favorite musicians of all time, released his latest single, "Whatever You Like", on iTunes.  It is the eponymous parody of T.I.'s hit song.  

As usual, Weird Al has taken a hit song, improved the lyrical content and performed it better than the original.  (Seriously, am I the only one that cringes at the horrible thought of T.I. singing?  Stick to rap, T.)  So, for your auditory pleasure, here is the better version of "Whatever You Like".  You should still buy it on iTunes, though.  C'mon, it's only 99 cents!