five fragments

- So apparently I frequent Whataburger far too much. It’s not like I’ve developed a paunch or anything, but I had a moment last week, while eating lunch at CiCi’s with a pair of co-workers, when this blond girl sitting nearby looked really familiar. I couldn’t place her, but it became clear this afternoon as I was parked at the drive-thru window, waiting on my No. 5. The girl, who in all honesty didn’t look too bad at the pizza parlor, was stationed behind a register. Those visors really don’t do anyone any justice, do they? A mystery solved.

- Most sports announcers are either dumb or vaguely douche-y, but Mr. Al Michaels outdid his cohort this evening during the Colts-Patriots broadcast. Referring to the much-hyped battle between Peyton Manning and Tom Brady, Michaels let this stinker go (paraphrased): “Not to overstate this, but this game is like a paint-off between Michelangelo and Da Vinci.” Perhaps a breath before he had called the two quarterbacks “artists.” Memo to Al: the fat guy next to you is supposed to be the stupid one.

- For at least a couple of weeks now, I’ve had this idea bouncing around that I’m just going to put down, barebones, because it doesn’t seem to be coalescing, and besides, it’s not like I write for Frequency anymore – where else would it go? And probably I’ll only be able to sketch out a vague outline here, but it deals with two of my favorite current rock bands, TV on the Radio and the Hold Steady. Both have released terrific albums this year, and I’ve had the chance to catch concerts from each group over the past few months. And I feel like there’s a sort of thematic link that I can’t quite articulate, but it deals with the idea of rock concerts being communal experiences – that these groups can quite literally bring people together, albeit at some shitty rock club with filthy, sticker-caked bathrooms, and that they can also foster a feeling of belonging to something greater – not just a “scene,” a phenomenon Hold Steady singer Craig Finn seems particularly contemptuous of, but more like a feeling that there are others out there who get it, whatever that may be. (I warned this would be vague.) And beyond that there seems to be a dash of religious feeling – after seeing TV on the Radio three times, their shows reminded me of nothing more than my perception of a religious revival, with singer Tunde Adubimpe’s flailing arms and charismatic (yes in that sense) persona. Finn & co. have it too – last year’s “Separation Sunday” dealt with Catholicism and faith, and on new track “Citrus” Finn talks of how barrooms and taverns can, through an alcoholic haze, bring sad, lost souls together. And for this listener, both groups are among the absolute best concerns going currently.

- Here’s a segue – after finishing up at work ~11:30 Saturday night, I was in a good enough mood to return to the crappy, black-lit college bar a few blocks from my apartment before turning in. As I walked in, I asked if there was a cover. No, I learned, there wasn’t – and by the way, the band was real good. Naturally they were the sort of Texas country band who revere crap bands like Reckless Kelly and seem to think that twangy covers of Sublime are somehow needed at this late date, but they did cover Neil Young (“Keep on Rockin’ In the Free World,” if you’re wondering). But what was of the most interesting to yours truly was their name – as I took pains to inform one old pal that night before I made the brief drive home – the J.C. Carpenter band. Initially, I was just disgusted with the boring methodology: I mean come on, the best part of being in a band, as near as I, someone with nearly no musical capacity whatsoever, can tell is the act of choosing a name. Here are a few that a group of college friends and I came up with one summer, as we toyed with the idea of buying guitars and drums from thrift shops and making horrible noise (never realized): Manimal, Unclaimed Freight, Dick Cheney’s Pacemaker. Here’s one I made up just now: Unpredictable Urine. See, it’s easy. Later I realized the name probably had to be some sort of Biblical allusion – I mean, come on, “J.C.” Carpenter? And yet, believe it or not, none of the psuedoreligio gobbledegook I talk about in paragraph 3 came in to play. To the best of my knowledge there were no songs of praise or beloved dusty hymns. You can probably find them on myspace, in any case.

- After downloading it on a whim, I’m really liking the Joggers’ “With a Cape and a Cane.” Also, finished “Wonder Boys” this afternoon – very enjoyable read. The movie was fun, as is its source material, natch. Semi-anxiously awaiting Dave Eggers’ new novel, “What is the What,” which was written in an autobiographical fashion in the voice of one of Sudan’s Lost Boys. Reviews I’ve seen – and taken with a grain of salt, as they were all direct links from the McSweeneys Web empire – have been uniformly positive, and I’m hopeful, even though nothing he’s published since “A Heartbreaking Work..” has hit me the way that youthful yawp did. I liked “You Shall Know Our Velocity” well enough, and “How We Are Hungry” had its moments – but, basically, he’s still riding on the goodwill generated by the memoir. I’ve meant to reread it; not sure if it’d grab me in the way it did when I was 15/16 – in that respect, it’s sort of like Salinger or something. Perhaps I’d like it even more, though – after revisiting Vonnegut a few months ago, it was easy to remember why I was so quick to devour his stuff as a teenager. The new book is allegedly on its way. I’m sure that, at the very least, it will be remarkably well designed.