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Entries from September 2006

Friday, 29 September 2006

Short and Sharp

Here's today's Friday 10.

01 Break My Body - The Pixies.

02 Under Control - The Strokes.

03 Dog Style - Viletones.

04 Church On Sunday - Green Day.

05 As Tears Go By - Rolling Stones.

06 Outdone - Uncle Tupelo.

07 Suck My Left One - Bikini Kill.

08 Say It Loud - I'm Black and I'm Proud, Pt 1. - James Brown.

09 When I Come Around - Green Day.

10 Kid's Allright - Bettie Serveert.

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Now you: put your digital jukebox or MP3 player on "shuffle all songs," and let us know the first 10 songs you hear.

[posted with ecto]

On iTunes right now: Plague #3 from the album Weighting by Rollins Band

Wednesday, 27 September 2006

What Fatherhood Has Wrought

Yesterday I picked off the floor a pair of my 2-year old son's socks.

And I smelled them.

And was upset that they smelled like nothing at all.

I miss him even when he's asleep.

.

[posted with ecto]

On iTunes right now: Brazil from the album Pottery Pie by Muldaur, Geoff

Monday, 25 September 2006

Are You Ready For The Healing?!

Tonight, with great fanfare, they are re-opening the Superdome for football. They are pulling out all the stops, making a night of entertainment out of it. Goo Goo Dolls, Green Day, and U2 will be performing, pregame. The latter two will even play a new song; something about saints. Then, of course, the football and all the inevitable talk about how special this is. How – for the people of Louisiana – this is their Super Bowl.

But something’s not right. This “eventification” of tonight’s game smells bad to me. If the Superdome had simply been the site of an American tragedy, then memorializing it, and moving on, might feel OK. But that building is the site and the symbol of one of this country’s most horrifying failures. It was a destination of last resort, where the most desperate could go and wait to die. Those who died inside or near the Dome were victims of involuntary manslaughter through the criminal negligence of our federal government. That’s something you don’t put behind you or forget, or heal with football and a blowout pregame show. It’s disgusting and crass, how the television industry and corporations (like the NFL) fatten their wallets and goose their ratings by attaching empty words like “remembering” and “healing” to their televised all-star suckfests.

[posted with ecto]

On iTunes right now: Living In Fame from the album Sandinista! by Clash, The

Friday, 22 September 2006

"I Feel Like Metal Is My Culture"

200609201941My Yankees playoff tickets arrived yesterday. I've got "home game 2" for the ALDS (which will be against either Minnesota or Detroit), "home game 3" for the ALCS, and World Series game 6. Nice set, there. (Unfortunately, if the Yankees have home field advantage throughout, and they probably will, that ALDS game will conflict with Tilly and the Wall at Bowery Ballroom. I was really looking forward to seeing them again.)

I've only been half-interested in the first two episodes of the new series of Survivor, When Races Collide, but even half listening to last night's episode, I heard one guy spew an (unintentionally) hysterical and great line: "I feel like metal is my culture, instead of Hispanic being my culture."

Maybe today we'll get the travel call from the adoption agency. If that were the case, we figure we'd fly out of NY on Wednesday. We don't know when this call is coming, so we don't know when we're leaving. We just have to be ready. Later today, we'll drop H off at my mother and father's house to chill with them for a day and a half while S and I buy furniture, build furniture, get the crib ready, and turn the office/guest bedroom into the nursery/office. It's pretty wild to think that in five days I might be in Seoul, Korea, and I don't even know yet.

Today's Friday 10...

01 The Unheard Music - X: I saw them again last month, one night in NYC and once out in Sayreville, NJ. In New York, I thought they might have been a bit off their game. Of course they were tight, and sounded awesome, but the performance in Jersey was the better of the two. But who's complaining? A mediocre X concert is still better than a great show by _______. (How far do you want to go? Nickelback? Talking Heads? U2? Yes, yes, and yes.) The version of Unheard Music I heard was off the criminally out-of-print Live at the Whiskey A Go-Go disk.

02 It's Getting Late - Galaxie 500: I'll probably never delete Galaxie 500 tracks from my iPod. Though I rarely seek them out, I'm always happy to hear them when they come on. "It's Getting Late" is from Today. That, This Is Our Music, and On Fire are the entire officially released studio output of this great band. All three records, plus b-sides and outtakes are compiled in the box set. Dean from G500 went on to form Luna, as you know; Naomi and Damon continued recording as Damon and Naomi. I think I'm going to break a lazy habit, and pull out some Galaxie 500 disks to hear today. A Head Full of Wishes is far and away one of the best fan sites you will ever visit. It's put together flawlessly and has everything you need or need to know about Galaxie 500, Luna, and all the solo permutations (including Weeds of Eden!).

03 Lady Coca-Cola - Métal Urbain: The album this is on, Les Hommes Mort Est Dangereux, is the only one the band ever made while they were together (though I think it's a compilation of their singles). French noise terrorist Eric Débris went on to form Dr. Mix and the Remix with one or two other members of Urbain. While Dr. Mix is sort of a rock and roll noise outfit, Urbain is for sure a noise noise ensemble. Not easy listening, but great music isn't easy. Nevertheless, "Lady Coca Cola" will empty a room, if you need to be alone. Great! You can also get "Lady Coca Cola" on the Anarchy in Paris disk from Acute. Wikipedia has some Métal Urbain info, as does TrakMarx.

04 Monolith - T-Rex: From the great Electric Warrior. I must have been about ten years old when I "bought" that album. I loved it so much; cool wordplay, great riffs, and all the songs sounded like different genres. I was enthralled. (It wasn't like Kiss or the Stones or the Beach Boys at all!) When this song came on this morning, I was trying to remember how it was that I started listening to T-Rex. By the late 70s, there sure wasn't much coverage of Bolan and the group in any of the magazines I read, like Creem, Circus, and Hit Parader. I can't remember any of my friends or my older sister's friends listening to them. I honestly don't know how I started listening. Maybe I heard "Get It On" on the radio and just started tracking down the records on my own. When I was about 11, I wrote a letter to a UK address on one of the albums, and ended up joining the T-Rex Fan Club. Every month or two I'd get a newsletter and an EP or single that was only available to fan club members. I remember that one of the greatest songs I got was called "Sing Me A Song," and the sleeve said Bolan write and recorded it as the theme to a BBC television special. By now, all that fan club-only music has found the light of day on comps and reissues, but the vinyl singles I got from the club are among the most rare and valuable stuff in my collection.

05 Four Thousand Days - Luna: This is a good song from Days of Our Nights. I remember when that came out, thinking it just wasn't on par with any of the Luna records before it. It was the beginning of the era of diminishing returns for the band. I guess that makes DoON the last Luna record worth having. It's too bad they started sucking so hard; at their peak -- their Slide to Pup Tent streak -- they were among the best.

06 One Shot - Rollins Band: "You get one shot / Don't miss me" is a couplet from the Badass Hall of Fame, I think. The Nice album was pretty much kicked to the curb by critics and fans and, admittedly, it took me some time to come around to it. I kept my ears on it, and I've grown to love it. What serious fucking grooves got laid down on it! It was engineered by Clif Norrell -- a master. In the last year, I've probably listened to Nice more than any other Rollins Band record. It's still in print, but I'm sure you can find it for little more than shipping costs on eBay.

07 Perfect Circle - REM: I actually won that first REM record. I was in Seaside Heights, it was the summer of 1983, and I put a quarter down on one of those boardwalk wheel games and won the album of my choice. It was something that would happen a lot in the early 80s, because I spent so much time down the shore and when I did, I never left those album stands. Are you kidding?! The chance to win new records for just a few quarters?! I came home with armloads. Anyway, it's not hard to figure out why, even more than half my life later, a week doesn't go by when I don't listen to a song of this perfect album. I don't know if there's a remaster out there, but the mix on the CD is far inferior to the vinyl. That's not elitism or thumbing my nose at anything, it's just... there are notes and entire layers of sound that I loved on the record that are noticeably lost in the digital mix I have. Whatever. I read somewhere that the band chose to call the album Murmur because it's the easiest word to speak in the English language. That is, science has proven that saying murmur requires the least effort of the tongue, throat, lips, and larynx.
On a tangent: Did anyone else know that forty is the only number that, when spelled out in English, has its letters in alphabetical order?

08 It's A Long Way Back To Germany - Ramones: Tell me: Why was there an image of Joey Ramone on the screen during the open of FOX's Saturday afternoon game last weekend? It was part of an Audioslave music video intro that made very little sense it was an audio and video non sequiter. Maybe using Joey in the visual was someone's way of grasping for credibility. I just can't find my way to Audioslave. Can't explain why.

09 All Tomorrow's Parties - Velvet Underground: What a vocal. What a band. What an album. Henry Rollins once described Nico as "darkness and cold distance on two legs. The enchantress of the Abyss." That's perfect. I haven't seen Icon yet, but we've got it Netflixed. I'm sure it'll ship sometime after we watch the 11th season of Lost.

10 Baghdad - High On Fire: This is Matt Pike (from Sleep)'s newer band. A seriously ass-whomping outfit and a heavy record from start to finish. If you've never heard Sleep, start there with the amazing, DNA-distorting Dopesmoker cd. (It's loud, slow and low -- the guy in the apartment above mine told my wife he can hear me playing my bass. I don't play bass, but I was recently listening to Dopesmoker everyday for weeks.) Then work your way through the spinoff bands: High on Fire, Om, and Kalas. You won't be disappointed; they'll smash your mind to pieces -- in a good way.

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Now you do it: Put your mp3 player or digital jukebox on "shuffle all songs." It's Friday, so let us know the first 10 songs you hear.

.
[posted with
ecto]

On iTunes right now: Buggin' Out from the album The Anthology by Tribe Called Quest, A

Thursday, 21 September 2006

The Type of Memories That Turn Your Bones to Glass

"Daddy, what did people do before weblogs," my older son asked me the other day.

No he didn't. He is 27 months old, and speaks in much shorter sentences, Hemingway-like in their directness. ("Mommy go?" "Roast beef?" "Gun show!") And, he's not even my "older" son quite yet. As I write this, he's still an only child, blissfully ignorant of how close to a change in that status he is.

But he did raise a valid question about life in the pre-Weblogian era. Remember when diaries were for girls, "journals" were just diaries for boys, and one's innermost thoughts were held most inner? Remember when you had to be arrested for a multi-state killing spree before your aggro-psychotic screeds would be published for the masses? (Sure, they'd be accompanied by a bad hair day photo and the headline THE LUNATIC'S RANTINGS, but still.) I don't have to go into the thousands of ways the Internet and weblogs have changed the way we share boring or private information, but I will contribute to the sharing of it.

I recently opened a file folder packed with some of my moldiest of oldies, and found a ready-to-be-discarded pile of some random writings. Back when I wrote this stuff, I immediately recognized it as subpar, pointless, or silly. Reading it today, I see weblog posts. Go figure.

Here's a sample. I guess it's from around 1993, when I was already old enough to know better and be smarter. Though I'm tempted to re-write 95% of this before I post it, here it is, as I originally typed it up more than 13 years ago.

The Crotch Outlaw Rides Again
I've got a western outlaw in my shorts. It's not my sexual organ ("he" is the reincarnation of Kubla Khan -- but that's another tale altogether, bub). I've got a western outlaw living in my Loomies. Recently, he made me switch from jockeys to boxers as he desired more living space. His name's Ornery Clive, and he's got a long, shaggy gray beard, beady eyes of cold blue, and an itchy trigger finger. Clive's exactly four inches tall and wears a dirty red Henley, ripped brown trousers, pointy black boots, and a pair of six-guns on his hips. Clive stopped wearing a ten-gallon hat, as I bitterly complained of chafing.
I'm not sure why Ornery Clive took up residence in my pubic frontier, or exactly how. All I know is that one day I woke up and saw a large lump in my shorts. I figured it was early-morning timber, but then I heard a belch coming from my cottonies; the last time I checked, my penis didn't have a digestive tract. I quickly accepted Ornery Clive as my partner in life. I now value Clive's "down-home" advice and common sense -- sometimes the western outlaw is all that gets me through the day. "Now, Tom, I wouldn't be doin' that so soon after eatin' -- you'll get cramps," Clive cautioned me when I wanted to dive into the hot tub one day. "Tom, vote for him -- he's got a sound environmental policy," Clive would counsel in the polling booth. As you can see, Ornery Clive has proven useful -- and fun, to boot!
"Tom, ask the barkeep to make ya a Prairie Punch. Here's what it's got in it..." Then I'd tell the bartender what ingredients to put in the drink, and soon, everyone in the establishment would order one and I'd be a tavern hero. One day, Clive used his "frontier sense" to save me from stellar embarrassment: "Tom, she's a he! Get out now!!"
Don't start thinking that this was a one-way relationship; I taught Clive bundles about modern life. I taught his how to floss, what color pocketsquare to wear with certain neckties, the perils of using too much seltzer in an egg cream, when to downshift, and how to read and write. Presently, I'm schooling Clive in advanced hydro-thermal dynamics and the proper preparation of ceviche.
Women react to Ornery Clive in all sorts of ways: some run away in fear, some are more interested in him than me, and some want Clive to "watch" us. Actually, I like it when Clive watches -- he's a perverted little devil and gets such a kick out of it!
I think Clive and I will get on famously for many years to come. I plan to make my fortune in gold mining with Clive's help. We've all sorts of plans: the gold mine, the western fast-food places, the western-wear shops, the travel books, and much more. Yet, there's someone who might get in the way of our placidity. See, Clive just informed me that he discovered a miniature Sal Mineo in his drawers! I ask, What can Sal Mineo teach Clive and me? We shall see. We shall see.

.

[posted with ecto]

On iTunes right now: Freight Train from the album O.F.R. by Nitro

Wednesday, 20 September 2006

Will the Exhaust Fumes Harm the Baby?

From good friend SO'C, an email. Simply:
"Get this."

He obviously thinks we are weller-heeled than we actually are.

[posted with ecto]

On iTunes right now: Something About What Happens... (L) from Bowery Ballroom, 05.27.03 by Williams, Lucinda

Monday, 18 September 2006

Can I Take It?

Here's an update:

We got our approved I-600 form in the mail this weekend, disproving my long-held belief that "nothing good ever comes on Saturday." This means that the only remaining steps in the adoption of baby W are for the Korean government to send a fax to our adoption agency here in NY giving us travel clearance, our agency to tell us the fax has arrived, and for us to go to Seoul.

This all could happen any day now. Any day. Depending on when we get the clearance, we may be ready to fly within 1-3 days. Good thing we went to IKEA and Buy Buy Baby this past weekend.

S called some airlines this morning, to check prices. She let her mom know the latest travel guesstimate. (We've asked my M.I.L. to travel with us. We'll need her eyes and hands and insights as we bring one child halfway around the world and come back with two.)

Now, my A.D.D.-addled brain (ADDled?) is jumping through every detail of secondary and tertiary importance. (Because the big stuff I leave to the professional: my wife.) Who will move our car on alternate-side parking days while we are away? Which side of the back seat is the baby's car seat going in on? That luggage catalog that's been dog-eared and shuffled around on the end table for three months? It's time to place our order. I hope the new laptop battery arrives soon. Do I own anything with gel in it?

I went to the government's Department of Homeland Security site to pull all the latest info on what we can and cannot bring on the planes, and -- typically -- found it to be no help. The best source for this info is the TSA, which has a very detailed list of what may be carried-on ("toy transformer robots"), what may be checked (flare guns), and what must be left at home ("flares in any form"). This list has more shocking surprises than a Paris Hilton pap smear. It flat-out doesn't make sense.

Knitting needles? Sure, bring them on board! But leave your mouthwash at home, Stinky, fresh breath is too dangerous up in the friendly skies. Here's some of what you can or cannot have your backpack when you stuff it under the seat in front of you:

Bubble bath balls NOT ALLOWED

Cigar Cutters
ENJOY YOUR FLIGHT!

Corkscrews
ENJOY YOUR FLIGHT!

Right Guard Spring Fresh Gel deodorant
NOT ALLOWED

Eyeglass repair tools
(including those small screwdrivers) ENJOY YOUR FLIGHT!

Neosporin
NOT ALLOWED

Knives
NOT ALLOWED

Purell Anti-Bacterial Hand Sanitizer
NOT ALLOWED

Nail Clippers
ENJOY YOUR FLIGHT! (Great. Can I have back the clippers EWR security took from me in 2002?)

Nail Files
ENJOY YOUR FLIGHT! (Never mind the fact that, with a little sharpening, they're every bit as dangerous as the box cutters used on 9/11)

Box Cutters
NOT ALLOWED

Personal Lubricants
ENJOY YOUR FLIGHT! (The Mile High Club obviously has a powerful lobby.)

Scissors
(with pointed blades up to four inches) ENJOY YOUR FLIGHT!

Toothpaste
NOT ALLOWED

Corkscrews are OK? Holy shit. I hope I have my knitting needles on me when a terrorist makes for the cockpit door brandishing his corkscrew. A lot of this doesn't make sense to me. I wonder what would happen if I filled a bag with many allowable items from the list -- three cigar cutters, ten scissors, five nail files, five corkscrews, a dozen knitting needles, six eyeglass repair kits, and my tube of Scandinavian personal lube jelly. Would I get on? (Would I get off?)

You can't really blame the airlines for all this nonsense. They're taking their cues on security from the federal government. Besides, the airlines are too busy delaying flights, making sure there's so little Sprite on-board that I can't get a full can, and editing the next boring issue of the in-flight magazine to be certain that the puff piece on Ray Romano doesn't actually cross the line into the informative.

But that's not what I wanted to write about.

I just wanted to tell you all that the Baby W Threat Level has gone from "Any Week Now" to "Any Day Now." Lots to do. Like, if the Department of Homeland Security has figured out how to Google, try to get my name off the Watch List.

[posted with ecto]

On iTunes right now: Moonshake from the album Future Days by CAN

Sunday, 17 September 2006

Late To The Party Dept.

Hey! Guess who just arrived? Me and Mrs. Sticking Point. Sometime, round about August, we decided to stock our Netflix queue with batches of all those TV shows you all have been talking about at parties, while we stood silent in the corner eating appies off our cocktail napkins.*

Though we haven't yet gotten to season one and two of The Shield (I'm a Michael Chiklis freak, and yet -- have never seen a single episode), we have been burning through the first season of Lost. Here's something you already know: this is an extraordinary show. There are episodes of this first season (the pilot, "Confidence Man," "Raised By Another") that are already among the best TV shows I've ever seen.

As much as I'm enjoying each new disk as it arrives, I'm concerned that Lost is taking the edge off of my overarching fear of flying. Or, more precisely, of dying in a plane crash. Sure, my heart stopped during the pilot episode when the tail of the plane shears off and rows of seats disappear into the clouds. (Both times they showed it.) But something else is happening. I think I'm being conned into the misbelief that I could survive just such a catastrophe. The once horrifying daydreams, in which my 777-200LR spirals into the Sea of Japan, have morphed into survival stories. In the new versions, my half of the fuselage lands roughly but safely on a Pacific Island, where I live for years with my friends the omniscient surgeon, the musician, and the former Iraqi Republican Guardsman. (Not to mention the lithe, freckled fugitive felon with dark secrets and a heart of gold. Yow!) And none of us have any bills to pay!

I love the show, but I'm going to stop watching if it continues to reverse the paralyzing airplane fears I have been sowing all my life. I have a more-than-14-hour flight to Seoul coming up. If I'm not white-knuckling it, praying to my too-long neglected God, and monitoring the wings while keeping a lookout for fundamentalists with hair gels, what the hell else am I to do?

- - - - -
The truth is, I keep my fear of plane crashes well fed. I'm like a kid wiggling his loose tooth. It's kind of morbid, I know; I just can't help it. My Firefox bookmarks include governmental info sites on various crashes, as well as over-the-top creepy stuff like this, a site that features transcripts and MP3s of cockpit voice recordings from plane crashes. Against my wife's best advice, I've read this. (The subtitle is "Tragedy and Triumph Aboard ASA Flight 529," but it's mostly tragedy, believe me.)

Maybe my biggest problem is not my fear, but my efforts to stoke it.

- - - - -
*Alright. The truth is, we don't go to / get invited to parties anymore, unless half the guests are under 5. But I hate to let a metaphor die with dignity. And we have heard you all talking about these shows, though it was probably on the subway.
- - - - -

[posted with ecto]

On iTunes right now: Bottle Of Fur from the album Saturation by Urge Overkill

Friday, 15 September 2006

Putting The Numb in Number 7

200609142320
I downloaded the new iTunes, number 7, this week. Yecch. It's clunky, slow to load, a hassle to install (searching for "gap info," are you kidding?), and the interface looks an awful lot like a piece of Microsoft software on a Dell. In spite of all this, a damn enjoyable Friday 10 this morning.


01 Destiny Street
- Richard Hell & The Voidoids: This is off the Groups of Wrath comp, but as far as I know, it's the exact same mix as the one from the album.

02 Bulletproof (L)
- Rilo Kiley: From a boot I have of their great 08.09.03 show in Austin. It would be perfect, except for one annoying "fan," some wannabe riot grrl who spends the entire show screaming, "Jenny you ROCK! Wooooo! Wooooo" or "Jenny you FUCKING ROCK! Wooooo! Woohoo!" She does it during ballads, during guitar solos, even during the between-song banter. As far as I have read on the so-called Internet, there are plenty of RK fans who'd like to wring her neck.

03 We're a Happy Family
- Ramones: "Sitting here in Queens / Eating refried beans..." If you don't have Rocket To Russia, what are you doing here?

04 Looking Down The Barrel of a Gun
- Beastie Boys: How great is the lyric "Twenty-four is my age, and 22 is my gauge"?

05 Sixteen Blue
- Replacements: I once read an interview with Westerberg where he said he wrote this song for Rod Stewart to sing. He was probably drunk or lying (or both) when he said that. "Sixteen Blue" is primo teen angst from the 'Mats album newbies should start with, Let It Be. I haven't bought the remastered version of it; I always liked the sound of the original vinyl and first-edition CDs, and from what I've read, the source material went through hell, so I always had my doubts about any remasters of the Twin Tone releases. If you have (or have heard) both, let me know what you think.

06 This Gun Says
- UK Subs: So happy to hear this one today. One of my all-time favorite U.K. Subs songs, a four-star single. I think you can only find it comps these days (apart from the UK 7"). It's on the real-cool Punk Archives disk on Jungle. Get it. Any disk that has "Ghetto" by Wall, "Decapitated" by Broken Bones, "Living With Unemployment" by the Neurotics, and this UK Subs track is another mandatory addition to your collection, I think.

07 I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend (L)
- Ramones: This was live at the Roxy 08.12.76... thirty years ago. I think this was one of the live tracks tacked onto the remasters that were released a few years ago. Maybe Subterranean Jungle or Pleasant Dreams.

08 Skinner
- Winston Holmes & Charlie Turner: Everything I know about Holmes and his guitarist Turner is what it says in the liner notes for the first volume of the Times Ain't Like They Used to Be comp. It's a collection of American roots 78s from the 1920s and 1930s. Great compilation; I have a few volumes of them. They won't get as many accolades as the Harry Smith Anthologies, but they're just as good, if you ask me. Worth checking out. There's another great song on this one, called "The Sinking of the Titanic," by Richard Brown -- I listen to that one a lot. "Skinner" is my favorite track on this. Here's the record label's page for this volume.

09 We Don't Need The English
- Bags: It's shocking how together some of those punk rock outfits of the early 80s were. Just dead on musicianship and chops. A lot of people just don't know that and don't give these groups the musical credit they deserve. The Bags were among the best. This mix of the song is from the Yes, L.A. comp. Former lead singer Alice Bag has a very thoughtful and well-written weblog here.

10 She Knows
- The Lurkers: People who come to this site with any regularity know I'm a Lurkers fanatic. "She Knows" is from the must-have second album God's Lonely Men disk. Get it today and enjoy that "where have you been all my life" feeling. They're not quite punk, not quite "pub rock," but one of the all-time greatest British rock bands.

.
Now, you! Put your mp3 player or digital jukebox on "shuffle all songs," and tell us the first 10 songs down the chute.

.

[posted with ecto]

On iTunes right now: Isn't It a Pity from the album On Fire by Galaxie 500

Thursday, 14 September 2006

You Know?

I'm watching the Yankees postgame wrapup show on YES, and I am -- again -- curious about why Hideki Matsui still needs a translator. He's been here an awful long time to still need it. The translator is even translating the questions, not just Matsui's answers.

But that's one thing.

The other is the fact that Matsui's translator suffers from You Know Disease. Here's are translations of two of H.M.'s answers tonight:

"Yeah, you know, I mean, as a Yankee, you know, player... of the Yankees, I think it's, you know, I mean, it's like, the greatest moment, you know, to be able to do a curtain call."

"You know, I mean, regardless of what's going on, you know, with the game... you know, there's kind of like a sense that, you know, regardless of what happens... that, uh... you know, somehow, you know, we're gonna come out, you know, on the winning side."

Wow. Now, assuming that Matsui is not actually saying all those you knows (because why would the translator repeat them?), I can't understand this at all. Phrases like "you know," and "I mean," and the word "like," are like aural commas in a conversation. They act as cues that the speaker has more words to come... as soon as he thinks of them. It's like me telling you, you know, I have more to say, so don't stop listening yet. I am, you know, trying to choose the right, you know, words.

But why does a translator need to do this? That's a really bad habit, if you turn "I just want to go out and play my game. I'm not looking at the stats or the numbers. All I care about is that we win ballgames" into:

"I just want to, you know... go and and play my game. I mean, you know, I'm not looking at the, you know... stats...."

Is this guy even translating? Or is he making it up as he goes along?

[posted with ecto]

On iTunes right now: Someday from the album Is This It? by Strokes, The

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