CleverDonkey.com …Musings, Commentary, Opinions, and Drivel

Nino’s Restaurant

2817 West Dallas

Houston, Tx 77019

713 522 5120

 

This year we decided to do the big evening out for New Year’s. Our daughter would be up in Indiana (instead of down here in Houston with us) and so we would be left to our own devices for evening entertainment if we so chose. Lucky for us, our favorite live band was playing at our favorite club and we decided to make a whole evening of it.

Of course, the perfect start to that type of evening has to be the just-right spot to eat. In a place like Houston, there are so many great spots to choose from, even when I limited myself to the spots near the house. I was looking for the exact right combination of ambiance, price, location, and food to fit the evening’s adventures. I knew I was going to go dressy with the outfit but I didn’t want to totally over-kill, money-wise, on dinner: it was just going to be the two of us and neither of us are big enough drinkers to make it worth it to go all-out with the wine-and-after-dinner-ports type feast.

I knew I wanted a known quantity; for a fun evening out I wasn’t interested in breaking new ground. Most important on the list was good food. Next was an intimate ambiance, not too clattery. And of course, not too much of a schlep: close to our house (in the Heights), close to downtown. One of my first thoughts was Vincent’s… we love the rotisserie chicken, it’s so close to the house, and it hit that perfect mid-price point I was looking for. When making the reservation, I switched to Vincent’s next-door brother restaurant, Nino’s, instead — similarly wonderful food (including that famous chicken), but with a more intimate atmosphere.

The New Year’s reservations process was pretty straightforward; we had to give a credit card and confirm on the day. We were also warned to get there on time or risk losing our table and that we’d only have a two-hour window for dinner. All seemed like reasonable rules, given the logistics of the holiday. The staff handled everything smoothly when we arrived: they sat us exactly on time at a great little table in the center of the downstairs floor but nestled near a plant stand so it still felt private. Everything proceeded perfectly from there; our orders were taken precisely and accurately, our drinks brought out fairly quickly, and our appetizers, entrées and desserts perfectly spaced. And the food was fabulous! I had Penne alla Vodka (pasta in a tomato cream sauce with vodka, one of my favorites) and Scott had the Pollo Pasquale (chicken stuffed with sausage and mushrooms, very tasty)!

The very precision of our food delivery, actually, was an amazing feat: going out on New Year’s Eve is pretty much like going out on prom night and Mother’s Day all rolled into one; even a well-oiled restaurant machine can get overwhelmed with large conflagrations of young couples and big family groups. Although Nino’s seemed able to handle the influx of crowd, New Year’s Eve is definitely amateur’s night out, and I think the staff at Nino’s knew that. Actually, there’s my disappointment with the evening. While mechanically it was flawless, it lacked the normal warmth and intimacy that we’ve come come to love about eating at a Mandola restaurant. When we sat down and ordered our first drinks (I started out with an espresso and a Pellegrino, Scott with a Diet Coke), I speculate that our waiter pegged us as penny pinchers in from the sticks because we didn’t order any wine or bar drinks right off the bat (I needed a little caffeine first!!). His service was robotical after that. He got our appetizer and entrée order at the same time and was one notch less communicative than abrupt the entire time, I’d say. He may have just been busy because of the holiday crowd or he may just not be that kind of smoochie-face waiter, but I did expect more of a “gracious host” type feel from the Nino’s waitstaff.

Of course we’ll go again, both to Nino’s and Vincent’s. The food’s too good, and we’ve received outstanding service at both places before. I’ll chalk up this particular service experience to a busy holiday night, and really, it’s a minor nit I’m picking with this review. Our food was still of excellent quality and came out with perfect timing. Our waiter did still attend to our drinks (perhaps a little more when Mr. Mandola was within earshot) and he wasn’t rude, just… dismissive. Next time I’ll hope for a little more of that family feel.

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Garage Door Doctor

Vince Johnson

Repair Specialist

New Installation

Openers

281-578-7659

Houston, TX

I always like to give local people and places props on our website when I can, and I’m long overdue to put some good words about the Garage Door Doctor up here.

Our mid-80’s Heights garden house (think townhouse, but with no shared walls and an apron of land) is a cute almost-Victorian affair, with wood siding, fishscale details, and lots of white trim. When we bought the house, it included some very heavy custom-made wooden garage doors, which steadily deteriorated in the moist Houston humidity (so has the wood siding, but replacing it is a task for another time). Finally it got to the point that Scott wouldn’t let me walk under the doors while they were moving for fear they might finally disintegrate and fall on my head.

We finally called the Garage Door Doctor at the recommendation of our friend Bruce, and boy was I glad that we did. He scheduled himself to come out within a few days, for an afternoon (mornings, he told me, were reserved for all the ‘my garage door fell down on my car’ emergency fix calls he inevitably got each day). On the scheduled afternoon, he called me at the promised time, swung by our house to measure the doors (good thing, too, as he discovered that they were a weird custom size), and told me he’d be done by the end of the day. I left him in charge of the garage and took advantage of already being off work to go run business-hour-only errands.

By the end of the day, he’d magically transformed our sad dilapidated garage doors into two beautiful new metal ones with brand-new tracks and springs that even had a safety cable (so the springs don’t fly wildly if they break), integrated with our old garage door openers. He even transferred our custom barrel-lock disabler cable, that allows us to get in with a key if the power’s out. He did a great job, even sweeping up when our old garage door did indeed disintegrate into bits as he took it off the rails. The work was fabulous, fast, and well worth the price. He charged $695 for the whole deal — the new doors, installation, and hauling away those nasty heavy wooden doors for us.

If you need new garage doors or any work done on ones you already have, I recommend the Garage Door Doctor.

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The Heights Spa

440 W 19th St

Houston, TX 77008

(713) 864-8088

The ambitiously titled Heights Spa is really still just a nail shop, but it’s a nice one. And so far, it’s worth its slightly higher price versus its assembly-line acrylic competitors. The shop is on 19th, in the new section of strip shopping centers just a few blocks west of Yale & all the antiques shops. It tries (and succeeds) for a calm ambiance — the smallish space feels cozy and serene, with curving walls, all indirect lighting, and soothing sage and earth tones throughout.

Their services include manicures, pedicures, facials, and waxing, but I’ve only done the manicure/pedicure route there so far. The shop, although small, is already expanding into the space next door to accomodate its healthy business. Their ‘spa pedicure’ is a little more expensive than other spots (about $40) but it’s worth it: sea salt scrub-down, mint mask, and lots of massage with lotions and oils — all from the very comfy heated and massaging princess pedicure pedestal chair. Their solar nail acrylic refills take longer than at other shops, but for good reason. Their pink and white refills are very precise and even, with a smooth arc of white at the tip. And they take the time to really shape the acrylic all the way back on your nail without grinding your cuticles into a bloody mess. They’re so careful and delicate; I’ve never had ONE slice from the Razor Nail Board of Death so common at other shops.

For the foreseeable future, The Heights Spa will be my new nail shop of choice — decadent pedicures, super careful solar nails, and so close to home. If you’re in this part of the city and you want a salon-quality manicure/pedicure with the convenience of a drop-in nail shop, this is the place for you.

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This is the resurgence of garage rock, hunh? I’m no expert (couldn’t tell a Hive from a Vine if I had a bad case of both), but I have to say, if you’re going to listen to non-groundbreaking musical stylings, I find that straight-up, just-one-shade-above-playing-at-a-local-bar type rock-and-roll ain’t a bad way to go.

So far everything about this CD experience has been nearly straight out of the late 70’s. I bought it low-tech: I heard their song once on the radio, thought it catchy, and went right out to Best Buy to get it without hearing / researching any further (“How retro,” comments engineerboy dryly). The album looks low-tech: I’m convinced the cover art might actually be the “Stillwater” album from Almost Famous. Either that or Jet found the guy who did the cover art for my mom’s album The Best of Bread, circa 1976. The sparse liner notes don’t even contain lyrics and are remarkably free of any shout-outs to their homies. Even the couple photos of these guys are of a taken-on-the-subway-with-a-shaky-35-mm quality. However, later during the day I buy the CD I realize the song I like is one of the tunes on the new iPod for PC commercials… so it’s not all throw-back, I guess.

The rock on this album (we’ll drag that concept out of the dustbin) is straight-up and fun, if not exactly revolutionary. I can name about five bands that might want to consider suing Jet for too closely resembling their sound — they are a remarkable blender combo of AC/DC, Bachman Turner Overdrive, Lynyrd Skynyrd, The Clash, and Golden Earring. Oh, and I think the Bangles might even have a quarrel with the tambourine intro to “Are You Gonna Be My Girl”. (Ok, so maybe I’m missing the point of garage rock, but stiilll, synthesize your own sound at least a liiittle bit). Nitpicking aside, when the songs rock, they rock. The current hit tune is a fun blast, “Rollover DJ” is kicky and exuberant, and “Cold Hard Bitch” (the most AC/DC-esque of the bunch) is excellent. Makes me wanna don my Nascar tank top and head to an ice house. As a matter of fact, if this album had more of its rocking songs on there, I’d give it a higher rating. There are a few too many Beatles-inflected piano intro songs on there… I’d make a joke about the Kiss pioneer power ballad “Beth”, but it’s low-hanging fruit — the last would-be-soulful tune on the CD is called “Timothy”, so the joke’s just too easy.

All in all, though, it’s an enjoyable if uneven ride. I can skip past the slow tunes pretty easily, and the rest is unchallenging and unpretentious. If you think modern music is pretty much crap since, oh, 1983 or so, then this is the album for you. Mynagirl says, “Rock on!”

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Da Marco
1520 Westheimer Rd
Houston, TX
(713) 807-8857

It’s easy to miss Da Marco: the small converted house is set off the street right at the most harrowing narrow-laned portion of the Westheimer curve; the sign is well-lit but competes for eye attention with the nearby tattoo and body piercing joints. Those eclectic surroundings, sprinkled with top-notch food choices is, of course, a major part of the appeal to this section of Houston. This gracious Italian eatery fits right in.

Last night was our first trip to Da Marco; we wanted an upscale (but not outrageous) dinner treat before heading over to the SkyBar. The entrance to the restaurant leads you into a tiny 3′ curtained area, and from there the hostess escorts you another three feet to the small bar. Jacketed waiters efficiently weave through the small non-smoking dining room — the feeling is intimate but not overly cramped. The place was very well candle-lit, although a bit too warm in the bar area because of the open wood-burning bread oven just behind the well-roasted bartender. The families and couples dining there on this visit (a Friday night) were a comfortably mixed bunch: everything from middle aged couples in jeans and tennies, to younger couples in suits and evening dresses, to at least two very authentic-looking garrulous Italian families.

Our white-linened table was nicely placed near a back wall and our waiter was affable and knowledgeable. The wine list was all Italian, with only a few selections available by the glass. The menu was structured in a traditional three-course format: antipasti, pasta, and entrée. The off-menu selections were presented via a chalkboard and included an oxtail pasta selection as well as main courses of rabbit and in-house aged angus beef. Our meal for two included:

antipasto Frisée with pears, candied walnuts, and some type of wonderfully soft ripe cheese	antipasto Giant sea scallops with orange segments (two bites into which Scott proclaims, “this might be my new favorite restaurant”)
pasta An unbelievably good sweet corn ravioli with huge bits of fresh lobster meat	pasta Mouth-watering porcini risotto with fresh hunks of ripe parmesan
entrée Very tender pork tenderloin with figs in a sweet balsamic reduction, accompanied by a very tasty cheese polenta	entrée Fabulously tender duck in a sweet glaze, accompanied by mashed sweet potatoes and wonderfully grilled brussel sprouts

Total meal cost: $140 before gratuity

Alas, we skipped any dessert / coffee course, as we were full and ready to move onto the remainder of our evening’s entertainment. But Da Marco’s definitely delivered what we were looking for. The food was unbelievably good, the waitstaff attentive (the steady stream of fresh bread and ripe olive oil was quite evil), and the ambiance and people-watching were perfect: not too clattery, nicely candle-lit, and a fun mix of patrons. And, as a big bonus for us, it was all smoke-free. There was a separate dining room completely enclosed by French doors — it could be that’s a smoking dining room; I meant to ask but was too busy eating and enjoying myself. Regardless, the bar and main dining room were wonderfully free of even a trace of smoke, and it made the entire experience enjoyable and relaxing.

Da Marco definitely delivers for its cost. If you’re looking for excellent food, an Italian wine list, and an intimate and attentive dining experience, then this is one of the best choices in this part of Houston.

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I’ve decided I’m a vegetabletarian. I might be the first and only. You see, I’ve been in a bind for a couple of years. I am an animal lover, and lately I’ve been feeling flat-out odd about eating them, as I’ve done for all of my life up until now. I’m sure in a post-apocalyptic world I could become hungry enough to kill an animal for food, but as the child of a comfortable and genteel age I am uncomfortable at the thought of a living, breathing creature dying for me to eat its flesh.

But until recently I haven’t seen a practical alternative to being a regular, card-carrying member of normal, meat-eating society. Veganism is, like other religions, a form of deluded zealotry I cannot connect with; even more moderate vegetarians can be a general pain in the ass — the pariah of the group lunch, the impromptu dinner with relatives, the summer bar-b-que, and any other social situation where being an overly vocal picky eater makes the entire event a drag for the normal people who just wanna eat their hot dog.

The other general problem I have with vegetarie-egans is that sometimes they seem to claim that humans aren’t meant to eat meat. Clearly, humans, like many creatures on this planet, evolved to eat meat, and I find it ridiculous to dispute that. For the record, I do, however, revile hunting as the sport of psychopaths and evolutionary retards. I think there is something fundamentally wrong with someone raised in our modern-day society who can consciously cause pain and terror in a living creature for fun. Even if hunters do eat their kill as did our cavemen ancestors, it doesn’t make any difference to me… there are lots of things our ancestors did (raping, stoning an unwanted child, killing a neighbor over a small dispute) that would be illegal or immoral by even the loosest of today’s standards.

But if you look closely at the factory farming industry, I’m not sure they’re much more concerned with animal pain and suffering than the hunting retards (although presumably the guy killing the chicken in the meat factory doesn’t actually enjoy it). Animals, especially the smaller ones, are given such a minimum of space to live that you can’t even imagine it. I read one article that equated the amount of space farmed chickens have to a human living in an elevator with 10 other people for his entire life — doesn’t really seem what nature intended, does it? As a kid, you’re often not really aware of those kind of things; you eat a Happy Meal and you’re happy. But as an adult, I find myself wishing that I could eat the meat my body wants without worrying that my dinner was kept in a cage and force-fed through a tube.

So, let’s imagine for a moment that one factory farming company’s owner (the companies are more likely all multi-national conglomerates, but play along here) decides to be a kinder, gentler factory farmer. Animals get a lot more space to move around, conditions are much more humane, the animals are happier and killed quickly with no suffering. The critters have less hormones put into them, so they’re more like their “natural” selves — they aren’t as big, though, so one chicken produces fewer pounds of meat. Mr. Factory Farmer takes his product to market, making sure he’s still competitively priced with the other meat vendors. And he goes out of business. Americans buy with their dollars, and not enough Americans care or know about the conditions of their food before it becomes food. In a normal day, they go about their business with work, money, love life, kids, and other daily concerns. The buy the meat they can afford, or the meat that’s available to them when they need a meal on the go, and that’s about it.

So what alternative do I have available to me if factory-farmed food makes me queasy but I think vegetarians can be a kooky, unrealistic bunch? I have the same daily concerns as the rest of Americans; I can’t quite move out to a farm and produce my own means of subsistence. I work for a living; if I want to look like I’ve dressed for the office, I wear leather shoes. Well, as far as I can work out in my own mind, the answer is vegetabletarianism — my own personal concoction of a lessened reliance on factory farmed meat products without the dogmatism I perceive in today’s vegetarianism. It means that if I can buy meat that’s raised in a manner I can live with, I might eat it, even if it’s at a premium price. It means that I buy eggs at triple price because they’re from free roaming hens.

However, it means that if I’m at my mother-in-law’s and she’s cooked a big meal with brisket, I won’t refuse to sit down with everyone else. I won’t make a big production about fixing a veggie meal just for myself. I won’t excoriate my fellow diners with how they’re eating cruelly farmed meat. In short, I won’t make a pain in the ass of myself. I’ll try to live in the real world — minimizing my reliance on factory-farmed meat but recognizing that I might sometimes be in a situation where I can’t stick to that 100%. Keeping my eye out for places and companies that sell ‘happy’ meat; ordering it when and if I can. The best way in our country to effect change is with the pocketbook. And who knows, maybe there are other people out there who don’t like factory farming but can’t commit to the only alternative they see in society — vegetarianism without compromise. Maybe a practical approach will catch on with others like me, and you’ll start seeing high-priced, cruelty-free ‘vegetabletarian’ products at your local store.

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One of the wonderful things about a friendship and relationship is the glorious dance of discovery and compromise that comes about as you mix and match your preferences, likes, and dislikes with those of your mate. Often, your similar likes are what bring you together in the first place: a shared reverence for the Beastie Boys’ Paul’s Boutique album, the ability to quote from The Princess Bride, a fondness for wry humor and a well-turned phrase, a love of technology.

Then, as you get to know each other better, you find that some of your tastes don’t always match up. I remember being a bit taken aback when I first learned Scott found my morning staple of NPR pretentious and tedious, and instead revealed that he had been a Howard Stern listener. I was surprised by his look of pained endurance (much like a faithful hound dog getting a medical procedure) as we watched one of my favorite all-time movies, the Burt Reynolds / Dolly Parton musical The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas. In turn, I’m sure he was disappointed when we watched one of his favorite movies, What’s Up, Doc? and I was irritated and impatient with the female character’s nasal voice and intrusive meddling.

However, this experimentation also leads both parties to the wonderful broadening of experience and taste as you are exposed to things your mate likes that you also find delightful. I now love the movies So I Married an Axe Murderer (“We’ve got a piperrr down!!”) and Doctor Strangelove (“I do not avoid women, Mandrake… but I deny them my essence.”). He and I now both watch his favorite show of Seinfeld together constantly, and I even loved Howard Stern’s movie Private Parts. Similarly, Scott now listens to Eminem and Busta Rhymes with me and even enjoyed 8 Mile after we saw it together. He loves the short-lived cartoon show The Critic that I introduced him to and watched The South Park Movie at my urging (loved it).

Over the years of our friendship, relationship, and marriage, Scott has always loved Weird Al Yankovic. God forbid the Coolio song “Gansta’s Paradise” be played, lest Scott feel the need to belt out Weird Al’s parody, “Amish Paradise”:

It’s hard work and sacrifice

Living in an Amish paradise

We sell quilts at discount price

Living in an Amish paradise

That parody annoyed the hell outta me! First of all, I liked Coolio’s song, and the Stevie Wonder song on which it was based. Weird Al’s song spoiled it for me! Because, after enough repetitions of Scott singing or playing the Weird Al version, I would hear the Weird Al lyrics in my head even if I was listening to the Coolio version.

Years ago, when Scott bought the album “Running with Scissors” and played the song “The Saga Begins” (about Episode One of the Star Wars series), I thought the lyrics were mildly clever but I wasn’t a big Star Wars fan, so it didn’t really do much for me (sung to the tune of “American Pie”):

Oh my my this here Anakin guy

May be Vader someday later; now he’s just a small fry

And he left his home and kissed his mommy goodbye

Sayin’ “Soon I’m gonna be a Jedi”

“Soon I’m gonna be a Jedi”

Then he played a song I thought was pretty funny, because it hit me squarely in my mid-20’s demographic: an original zydeco ditty called “My Baby’s In Love With Eddie Vedder”.

She says the way he grinds his molars is really sexy

She thinks he’s so darn dysfunctional and Generation X-ey

…

Now, every time I see him, well, he looks so grim

I guess it really must suck to be a rock star like him

What a pain in the butt to have so much success

Spending all his time moping and avoiding the press

But my girl can’t get enough of his sullen demeanor

Like he’s some big tortured genius and I’m some kinda wiener

I have to say, I found that one to be pretty hilarious. He pretty much nails Eddie Vedder right on (only Weird Al would think to describe him as having a “walleyed stare”) and aptly makes fun of how hilarious it was that Pearl Jam was so popular and fiscally successful as they seemingly eschewed material things and boycotted the music “machine” of MTV and Ticketmaster. And I thought that the song “Jerry Springer,” a rapid-fire parody of the song “One Week” by the Barenaked Ladies, was sorta funny.

So, at this point, I thought Weird Al could be funny in a hit-or-miss kinda way. Some of the songs were amusing but goofy — clever, but not genius.

Then… I heard… “All About the Pentiums”. It was a hard-rocking parody of a Puff Daddy song I’d never heard of called “All About the Benjamins”. “All About the Pentiums” is about technology, and I found it hilarious! To wit:

Hey fella, I bet you’re still livin’ in your parents’ cellar

Downloadin’ pictures of Sarah Michelle Gellar

And postin’ “Me too!” like some brain-dead AOL-er

I should do the world a favor and cap you like Old Yeller

You’re just about as useless as Jpegs to Hellen Keller

It’s tacky and crude, but completely funny! The song is laced with references I would categorize as “true computer geek” talk, the kinda stuff you can’t just sit down and write about unless you truly are a computer and Internet person:

Got a flat-screen monitor forty inches wide

I believe that yours says “Etch-A-Sketch” on the side

In a 32-bit world, you’re a 2-bit user

You’ve got your own newsgroup: alt.total.loser

So, “All About the Pentiums” became one of my favorite songs. I even put it on my Flash card for going running — it’s got a pretty good fast beat! Then, Scott bought Weird Al’s most recent album, Poodle Hat, and I realized that Weird Al is truly a genius.

The song, “Ebay” (parodying a Back Street Boys tune, or so my embarassed stepdaughter informs me), again nailed me right in the demographics. I’m a pretty regular Ebay shopper and seller, and the song made pretty clear that Weird Al had done his homework about Ebay:

I am the type who is liable to snipe you

With two seconds left to go, whoa

Got Paypal or Visa, what ever’ll please

As long as I’ve got the dough

And then… I heard the song “Bob”, an original Weird Al composition in the style of Bob Dylan. I chuckled as we listened to the nonsensical lyrics in the style of “Subterranean Homesick Blues”. The the last line of the song played, and Annalisa sputtered from the back seat, “that line, that’s one of … those… things!!!!” We listened to the words again:

Ah, Satan sees Natasha

No devil lived on

Lonely Tylenol

Not a banana baton

No “x” in “Nixon”

O, stone, be not so

O Geronimo, no minor ego

“Naomi,” I moan

“A Toyota’s a Toyota”

A dog, a panic in a pagoda

Yep, that’s right. Not only was the song a dead-on homage to Bob Dylan with its harmonica and strange crooning style, but every single lyric in the entire song is a palindrome. And so is the song’s title, ‘Bob’. I felt a series of synaptic explosions as the sheer genius of the song really struck me. And I was officially converted to being a full-time Weird Al fan.

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This movie came up randomly on cable last night, and it’s ridiculous and almost so silly you want to turn it off. But we just couldn’t! First of all, it’s hard to resist such a cast:

• Sir Alec Guinness
• David Niven
• Maggie Smith
• Peter Falk
• Peter Sellers
• Truman Capote
• … and VERY young James Cromwell

The premise of the movie (which is a Neil Simon, by the way) is spoofy in the extreme: a psychotic and eccentric millionaire has invited the world’s greatest sleuths to his rambling, creaky English country house for a planned murder that they must all solve. The sleuths include:

• Inspector Sidney Wang, a very toothy and hilariously un-PC Chinaman Peter Sellers
• Dick and Dora Charleston, an upper-crust British crimefighting couple (Niven and Smith)
• Sam Diamond, a hard-boiled San Francisco private eye (Falk, doing his best Bogart)
• Jane Marbles, a tweedy old English sleuthing bird
• Monsieur Perrier, an uptight and constantly ravenous crime-solving Belgian

The targets to be spoofed can hardly be mistaken. Having grown up on Agatha Christie novels (I literally read every single one and every play by the time I was 12), this was too hilarious to pass up. Although the premise hasn’t aged that well (what with the Clue movie, Austin Powers, and the like), the actors were so great in their adopted personae. Alec Guiness is especially hilarious as the blind butler; he looks like he’s just having the best time. Truman Capote is perfect as the effete marionette-master eccentric millionaire.

Of course, the murder occurs and the sleuths band together to try and solve the crime. There’s much silliness and slapstick, but some of the dialog is truly hilarious. To wit: Dick Charleston (David Niven) is inspecting the naked body of the dead butler (Guiness) for signs of a gunshot wound. “Wait, I think I found one… oh, nevermind, not a bullet hole.” It’s delivered so deadpan you almost miss it.
The movie has enough of these type of treasures to make it truly worth it. It’s a trifle, an old movie spoofing an even older literary genre, but it’s pretty darn funny. Set a Wish List on your TiVo, and check it out if you’re ever in the mood to watch something but you’re not sure what. This would be perfect.

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It’s Christmas Day, and we’re watching TNT’s Christmas Story marathon (http://us.imdb.com/Title?0085334), and I am again (as I am every year) amazed at the wonderfully crafted, perfectly told, exquisitely cast, and fabulously created story that is this movie.

I’d seen it as a child but didn’t really remember it. Scott re-introduced me to it two years ago, and I was absolutely blown over! The movie is nostalgic without being one bit smarmy, hilarious without being smart-ass, and wonderfully narrated without being distracting (as a matter of fact, the adult voice-over is so well done, it’s almost the star of the movie). The characters are richly told — Ralphie is believable throughout, whether he’s hopeful, sad, fearful, or angry. Ralphie’s mother and father are both wonderfully imagined, fitting within their early 50’s archetypes without being caricatures. The scene where the father attempts to repair the “Major Award” while the mother tries not to laugh in the background is pure genius.

If you’ve never seen this movie, I really recommend it. In my all-time top list of movies, it is absolutely perfect from beginning to end. I resisted it for years because if you haven’t seen it, it looks like so much pseudo-sentimental Christmastime dreck. However, if it looks silly and smarmy from the outside, it’s just as amazing and wonderful on the inside.

*Tiny plot spoiler*

As an aside, Scott and I both love this movie so much we decided to order Chinese food last night (Christmas Eve) instead of our planned Christmas Eve home-cooked feast. I think we’ve decided to have that as our annual tradition, now. (He even tried to order the Peking duck!)

*End spoiler*

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I like Eminem’s music. A lot. I bought “The Eminem Show” when it came out, and it’s been in nearly constant CD player rotation since. Even my favorite I-listen-to-classic-rock older guy is starting to find it interesting and catchy. (Although I have to admit I didn’t even try to expose him to the music until after he saw and liked 8 Mile).

My first introduction to his music was from my nieces and nephew controlling the constantly-on TV during summer family gatherings. Eminem was a relief after what seemed like a solid week of Real World histrionics. The video was “What I Am” from his disc The Marshall Mathers LP. It seemed catchy and at least somewhat interesting, lyrically. When the “The Eminem Show” was released, I bought it on spec. Let’s see if this guy actually has anything to say, I thought.

Before I launch into any blisteringly insightful analysis of why I like Eminem’s music, I should provide you with my general taste requirements for music:

Marie’s Grand Musical Requirement Number One
It’s interesting, musically. I know this sounds self-evident, but my main requirement for liking something is that it has a good bassline (“I Wish” by Stevie Wonder), interesting harmonies (“Mrs. Robinson” by Simon & Garfunkel or anything by Gillian Welch), a great beat (um, somewhat embarrassingly, I offer “Jukebox Hero” by Foreigner), or a relentless but interesting hook to keep me, well, hooked (“Jump Around” by House of Pain or “Insane in the Membrane” by Cypress Hill epitomize this category).

Marie’s Grand Musical Requirement Number Two
It’s interesting, lyrically. I am a play-it-super-loud-until-it-wears-out kinda music listener. (I think I get this from my dad, who shares my penchant for sternum-rattling stereo volume in one’s car). I’m also in the Car Singer’s All Time Hall of Fame. This means that I end up knowing every single word, breath, and nuance of a song when I play it for even a few number of repetitions. So… if it’s lyrical drivel, I just can’t tolerate it for too long, even if it’s decent, musically. (Witness my short infatuations with a Britney Spears song or N*Sync – well produced pop songs, all right, but not very compelling). Songs I would consider lyrically amazing include:

• “The Boxer”, also by Simon and Garfunkel:
I have squandered my resistance for a pocketful of mumbles, such are promises

• “Strawberry Letter 22” by Shuggie Otis, a little more well known by the Brothers Johnson:
Stained window, yellow candy screen
See speakers of kite – with velvet roses diggin’ freedom flight
(See, it doesn’t even have to make sense to the non-mind-altered, it just has to be interesting!)

• “Barroom Girls” by Gillian Welch
Oh the night came undone like a party dress
And fell at her feet in a beautiful mess
The smoke and the whiskey came home in her curls
And they crept through the dreams of the barroom girls

• “Empty Smile” by Robert Frith
I guess I am the black sheep
My brother’s an only son

• “Living Dead Girl” by Rob Zombie
Operation filth
They love to love the wealth
Of an SS Whore
Making scary sounds
(Again, who knows what the hell it means, but I can guarantee there isn’t another song with quite that combination of concepts floating together – other Zombie songs excepted.)

Okay, so those are really my two main requirements for really liking a piece of music. I will add a third partial-requirement, however – it may actually just be a passing phase of mine, or maybe a preference but not a requirement (a “nice to have”, as we say in the projects business).

Marie’s Musical Preference Number Three: Songs in the Key of (Someone Else’s) Life
I find myself liking songs that have a perspective, specifically a perspective from someone who’s perhaps not in my particular age/race/socioeconomic bracket. I’m not sure why this is – maybe it’s analogous to the escapism we all enjoy in movies and TV (everyone watches the Sopranos’ Mafioso protagonist but they probably wouldn’t agree with mob principles in actual life). Maybe it’s the manifestation of my Sociology and Anthropology degree – I want to hear and understand others’ origins and points of view, or maybe it’s just a cheap and safe way for a middle-class white girl to pretend she’s walking on the wild side. I listened to “Sublime” for weeks because of this appeal: there’s nothing like the succinct but emasculating Hispanic bravado of “Tell Sanchito that if he knows what is good for him, he’d best go run and hide… Daddy’s got a new .45”. Most of Everlast’s socially-conscious folk-rock has this appeal for me, too, especially their hit “What It’s Like”.

Oh yeah, um, what was this topic about, again?
In any case, Eminem’s The Eminem Show CD hits me soundly in all three categories. It’s excellently mixed and produced (thanks, Dr. Dre), has unbelievably tightly-woven and self-referential (even occasionally self-deprecating) lyrics, and it’s got that didn’t-grow-up-in-Georgetown perspective that I find fascinating.

On the purely musical side, I can’t really give you a flavor of its sound without providing a clip or two (and “no thanks” to any legal issues that might arise out of that one). But it’s got these incredibly catchy little hooks created out of keyboard, drum, saxophone (synthesized, maybe – I’m none the wiser), and whatever it is that emits that West Coast rap squeal. “Business” has this relentless siren-like whine woven with a simple but pervasive little keyboard motif. “Without Me” (beyond any doubt, my absolute favorite song on this album) starts with no more than a basic upbeat drum theme with a sax ditty, and it provides an interesting-but-not-distracting canvas for the trademark Eminem lyrics.

And now to his lyrics… the area where I have to give Eminem total and complete respect. (Would it sound too white-girl-poseur to say that I give him “props” for his lyrical content?) They are amazing – dense, funny, relevant. They trip from one concept to the next, handing over rhyming themes from the end of one verse to the beginning of the next.

Moreover, however, the lyrics are often about something interesting, something a little beyond the normal pop or R&B drivel.

I present a sample:

“Square Dance”
Yeah, you laugh ‘til your motherfuckin’ ass gets drafted
When you’re at band camp thinkin’ the draft can’t happen
Til you fuck around, get an Anthrax napkin
Inside a package wrapped in Saran Wrap wrappin’
Open up the plastic and then you stand back gaspin’
Fuckin’ assassins hijackin’ Amtracks, crashin’
All this terror, America demands action,
Next thing you know you got Uncle Sam’s ass askin’

To join the army or what you do for their navy…

A little profane, but at least somewhat relevant to the current political environment. It’s more interesting than “Bye, Bye, Bye”, anyway, even if it will sound dated in five years. Of course, Eminem is also very much about the environment where he came from, and that is pervasive in his songs:

“Cleanin’ Out My Closet”
Now I would never dis my own mama just to get recognition,
Take a second to listen to who you think this record is dissin,
But put yourself in my position,
Just try to envision,
Witnessin’ your mama poppin’ prescription pills in the kitchen…Bitchin’ that someone’s always goin’ through her purse and shit’s missin’
Goin’ through public housin’ systems, victim of Munchausen syndrome

And another common theme is his travails as the publicity-hounded, often rash (and thus often-sued), hated harbinger of evil white rap’s emergence into the suburban mainstream.

“White America”
All I hear is
Lyrics, lyrics, constant controversy
Sponsors working round the clock to try to stop my concerts early…Surely hip hop was never a problem in Harlem
Only in Boston
After it bothered the fathers
Of daughters starting to blossom
…
So to the parents of America
I am the Derringer
Aimed at little Erica
To attack her character

These serious/“politically aware” themes could get tiresome in their aggressive self-focus, but for me, somehow they don’t. Maybe it’s because the music is catchy enough to carry it along. I think for me it’s the fact that the words are strung together so quickly, they pass you by before it feels like you’re being made to wallow in his self pity. And his use of language is so clever (in my opinion, and I’ll exposit more on that in a moment), that it just lets him get away with what would come across as overblown histrionics if delivered in any other musical style.

But, Eminem’s “serious artist” side aside, I especially love when he’s silly or making fun of himself. He does this on his two catchiest songs on the album, “Business” and “Without Me” (which, incidentally, won best video of the year at the MTV music awards and is the song with the infamous Moby “36-year-old bald-headed fag” reference).

“Business”
You can even call collect
The most feared duet
Since me and Elton
Played career Russian Roulette

A reference, presumably, to Eminem’s appearance on the Grammies with Elton John, which was viewed as ‘groundbreaking’ because of Eminem’s reputation as a homophobe. The song is sort of a throwaway piece about being in the hip-hop music biz with Dr. Dre, but its light lyrics and instantly-head-bounce-inducing beat make it quite palatable.

“Without Me”
I’m gonna enter in up in your skin like a splinter
The center of attention
Back for the winter
I’m interesting
The best thing since wrestling
Infesting
In your kid’s ears and nesting… Testing… attention please
Feel the tension soon as someone mentions me
Here’s my ten cents…my two cents is free
A nuisance… who sent ( you sent?) for me?
…
Sometimes it just seems everybody only wants to discuss me
So this must mean I’m disgusting
But it’s just me, I’m just obscene
Though I’m not the first king of controversy
I am the worst thing since Elvis Presley
To do black music so selfishly
And use it to get myself wealthy

What can I say… this is my favorite song not just because of its beat and catchy sax riff but because the lyrics are fun and seem to indicate that he doesn’t take himself so seriously… at least not ALL of the time.

Marie’s Newly Discovered Fourth Preference: More than Rhyming
Content aside, however, the thing that truly makes his music hypnotic for me is the actual linguistic structure of the lyrics. Perhaps this is old hat for true hip-hop experts (and I definitely do not claim to be one of those) but the way he goes beyond just rhyming lyrics is mind-blowingly interesting and novel for me.

Look at the sample I excerpted from “Square Dance”. He’s not only relentless with the rhymes (repeating the same rhyming theme seven or eight times, depending on whether or not you argue with ‘drafted’ rhyming with ‘happen’), but the lines have a parallel sound structure beyond just the last word being rhymed. The last seven lines of that first verse include the soft “a” sound before the ending word, a parallelism that sounds infinitely more structured than a pop song that just rhymes every other line. Again, the best word I can come up with is hypnotic.

One of my other favorite tricks of his is when he takes the ending sound and wraps it around to the first word of the following line (“kitchen” and “bitchin’” in “Cleanin’ out my Closet”, “nesting” and “testing” in “Without Me”, “early” and “surely” in “White America”). He does this line-wrapping without a traditional pause to signal the beginning of the next line, which makes the concepts and sounds an enjoyable rapid-fire assault.

But wait, isn’t he a punk and a misogynist?
Yes, of course he’s still the pistol toting hothead you’ve read about in Entertainment Weekly, and many of his songs on earlier albums include lyrics about strangling women (specifically, “whores”) and there’s a whole song where he enacts taking his now-ex-wife into the woods to kill her.

There’s less of that kind of thing on this album, but even on this album he does sometimes fit what Scott described in his 8 Mile review as the “very definition of a punk-ass moron”:
But I can rap, so fuck school, I’m too cool to go back
Gimme the mic, show me where the fuckin’ studio’s at
And don’t even get me started on the album’s graphic and infantile song “Drips”, which paints a sordid little scene of sex, infidelity, and venereal disease (hence the title).

Yep, but I like the music anyway
But somehow I seem to forgive all that because he’s bright enough and clever enough to win me over with most of his lyrics, or I just take the “take what you like and leave the rest” approach with the Track Select button. (Luckily, one has the luxury of purposive sampling when it comes to matters of taste).

In the end, it comes down to whether or not I like the music, and I really like it. It’s not only well-produced and lyrically intense, it’s got a whole new way of delivering sound, rhyme, and concept that I find amazing and infinitely listenable. It’ll probably be a few months yet before I even take the CD out of daily rotation.

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