Photo Update 5/11/10

We took a trip to Brooklyn...

We met a very nice, little pup.

It was raining on the train ride over.

But people were still cozy when the sun went down.

New York: Chapter Nineteen

New York Chapter Nineteen from Tim Lane on Vimeo.

When I Buy a House

THIS advice sounds sound.

Parade

Easter Sunday

Wishing I Had a Bike in NY...

Early Morning Shoot

Helping the Helpless

Recycling in New York City is a pain.

Nobody does it.

Not only do they not do it, they rely on arcane practices that I last remember seeing in grade-school. It almost seems like they go out of their way to be environmentally irresponsible. They constantly drink coffee out of Styrofoam cups and throw away newspapers.

This is why it was interesting for me to see pasted on the trash cans in the subway the proclamation that all trash in the subway cans was sorted and recycled. New Yorkers, despite their best efforts, are doing the right, "green" thing.

Vinyl Lives

The evolution of how we listen to music goes something like this: from the primordial ooze of the phonograph, we came to 8-tracks, cassette tapes, vinyl records then CD’s and finally, MP3’s. Lately, however, we’ve been hesitating on the last step, jumped back over those scratch-prone CD's and landed squarely on the sexy black of vinyl -- and record sales are up big.

There are many reasons for this surge in vinyl ranging from the inane (it is in vogue) to the genuine (there is a distinct sound quality that comes with vinyl that many people prefer) but for me, the thing that has really set it off is with new technologies companies have taken the risk out of vinyl. 

It isn't a question of listening at home or on your ipod anymore, we can have it all.

Take for example one of my most favorite recent purchases, the new record by the band She and Him. This record, titled "Volume Two," comes in a beautiful, art-laden sleeve with vinyl inside, but more importantly, with a code. With this code you can click over to Merge and also download the MP3 version for free. This seems like a simple concept but for years this kind of thing was not offered and you had unappealing choices on your hands (pay for the vinyl and the MP3, just buy one or the other and be tethered to your choice or pay for the vinyl and illegally download the electronic version).

Hardware has also changed to take away the choice between vinyl and electronic. Most companies have begun to produce turntables that can transfer any record onto your computer through a USB cable. This has not only taken the risk out of buying new records that may not have that magical electronic code in the sleeve, it has bumped the value of those three-for-five used vinyl deals you see at thrift stores and in in sidewalk milk crates. You can buy that sweet, old Smoky Robinson record you found at the church sidewalk sale and listen to it on your way to work.

And this, my friends, is how vinyl is still relevant. 

Rabbit, Run by John Updike

I just finished reading Run, Rabbit by John Updike. It instantly elbowed its way into my top ten books read of all time. One of the most interesting issues raised in it is appropriate reactions to feeling trapped.

Without giving too much away for those of you who have yet to read it (and believe me, you really should) the biggest issue in Rabbit's life is a sinking feeling of being hemmed in. He has a young wife and a young son with a another child on the way. His life, he feels, is one of work, TV, sleep and routine.

One day, while coming home from work, he plays basketball with a group of neighborhood boys. Rabbit, having once been a standout basketball player in high school, runs the boys ragged. He finds himself to still be great. To still have something come to him easy and natural.

Later when he runs (I assume this is not giving away too much given the title is Run, Rabbit) he longs to reclaim that young, free spirit he once had and tasted ever so briefly in his basketball game.

For him everything is a sign. From the old man who sells him a map to how easily his car starts. In his head he noses constantly towards a rightness he has trouble defining. And since he has this trouble defining it, the process of arriving to it changes as easily as the circumstances. First his salvation lies in the far off waves of warm beaches, then it is in the arms of another woman, then it is back in the arms of his wife (OK, there is basically the whole story, sorry). It is always something different for him. And he never realizes that for him it isn't anything, it is everything. It is the actual act of running, of moving, of never putting roots far enough to handle a windy day.

Throughout he thinks excuses in his head. How if his wife had just done this, he would have stayed, how if the roads had been kinder he would have made it to the beach, how if his new woman had answered him in the night he would have stayed with her till he grew old. It is never an issue of him and always an issue of others.

It's a shockingly honest and surprisingly still fresh look (despite the fact that he describes shooting the basketball underhand) at what it means to really shed the skin of adolescence and take on the heavier hide of responsibility. I think it is especially poignant for the people of my generation who are used to instant Twitter feeds and iPhone updates. If something is wrong today, we think of sweeping, grand changes to make it better for tomorrow.

I see this in myself.

And yet...

To read of Rabbit struggling, failing, succeeding and failing again is to look upon myself and my generation from a wider angle and wonder.

It also has one of the most gripping scenes I've ever read in my entire life involving a baby, whiskey and a bathtub. I cried from the written word for the first time in a very long time.

To update my top ten list (rough draft):

1. East of Eden

2. Cannery Row

3. The History of Love

4. Run, Rabbit

5. The Brothers K

6. Let the Great World Spin

7. The House on Mango Street

8. Everything is Illuminated

9. Sweet Thursday

10. The Road

Hey DJ, Put That Record On

Yo, I got a record player for Christmas.

There were troubles, sure.

Me, being strictly an MP3 computer speaker type of listener, didn't know that to get a record player wasn't enough. I needed record player + speakers + a stereo receiver + records (had some, needed more). So there went January and February, fallow without the fat tones of vinyl.

But...

I persisted. I got speakers first. Then a receiver. Then I put it all together and on Monday afternoon, I placed my Horse Feathers album (bought on a whim about 10 months ago and signed by two of the three band members through the persistence of Dan) on the turn table.

I sat on my couch. I listened to a pop, and a soft curtain of fuzz. And then. The first track filled my small apartment. I leaned my head back and listened.

And listened.

And listened some more.

Until it was over and the record stopped spinning and the arm calmly went back to its cradle. And I thought to myself, what had I just done for the last 20 minutes? I'd listened to music.

In our lives today music is what we get from the mouths of tiny, white earbuds on our way to work, going for a run or cleaning up the kitchen. It is what we do while driving the car, it's what we hear in movies and bars, it's what we listen to while holding on a phone call.

It's never just by itself.

But there it was for me. Just music. In the arrangement the band intended. And I was a captive listener.

It was completely different. Wonderful even.

My friend Ben used to spend hours in his room listening to music on his oversized headphones. He said, "we never just listen anymore."

I thought him crazy.

Not anymore.

I need to find a vinyl shop.

New York Chapter Eighteen

New York Chapter Eighteen from Tim Lane on Vimeo.

New York: Chapter Seventeen

New York Chapter Seventeen from Tim Lane on Vimeo.

SNOW

The rumors were there by 7:30.

Snow. Did you hear? Snow.

Soon they spilt from the main office, ran in leaping bounds along the second-floor hallway, making stops in each and every classroom along the way.

Snow. Could it be? Snow.

Keyboards clacked away as everyone tried to concentrate on work but kept being pulled away time and again to refresh weather.com and see if a new update had come from the Internet gods. Then. Amazing. The DOE site posted an affirmative. There would be no school for public schools tomorrow.

Snow. Lots and lots of it. Snow.

But, we weren’t home free yet. Biting fingernails, more checking. This time for emails from our director. How could they? They wouldn’t really. Are we going to have school when the rest of the city is joyfully making snowballs and going out for sledding.

Snow. Seen only from the windows of another regular workday? Snow.

And now… We wait… Click-click… Tap-tap…

Manuary

Hey, I wasn't looking to get into this. It just sort of fell in my lap. I came back from Christmas Break and I hadn't shaved in a couple of days. There was a little stubble peppering my jaw, but nothing too spicy. Then in came my boss.

"Tim," he said, his face lighting up in utter joy, "I didn't think you had it in you."

"In me what?" I said.

"In you to do Manuary."

Manuary, you see, is an event held for back office employees during the month of January. The way to win said event is a little unclear. I'm not sure if it relies on length, thickness or the overall gnarl factor. But, because he was so excited, I had to commit.

So now, as it is the 28th, I have gone almost a whole month without shaving. It's gross. My mustache is a magnet for food, my beard constantly itches and when I'm wearing my wool cap, I resemble a homeless man.

If I don't win this, I'll be very disappointed.

Life Just Got Better...

Life just got better by about 5,000,000,000,000,000 percent.

And here's why:

1. They just opened a super chill coffee shop.

a. It serves my hometown favorite, Stumptown

b. It is in the bottom floor of my gym!

I am shivering with anticipation. Amazing.

With all of this in place, it's going to be harder then ever to leave this place.... I heart NY.

There is a Mish-Mash in My Brain

Being home sick all day I've been watching a lot of Hulu.com.

There's one ad that keeps coming up again and again. It has Ms. Piggy, Kermet and the whole gang volunteering for a free ticket to Disney Land and then subsequent scenes of them in the Magic Kingdom, spinning on tea-cups and having a wonderful time.

Isn't it weird that Jim Henson is mixing with Walt?

This is like the Red Sox haning up a Yankee's logo in Fenway. Like a dolphin dating a shark. Like putting diesel in your engine.

Blasphemy.

New York Chapter Sixteen: Going Home

New York Chapter Sixteen from Tim Lane on Vimeo.

Rollin in my Walker

Here’s something I’ve been pondering…

What’s going to happen to rappers when they grow old? Let’s look at some startling facts.

1. Jay-Z turned 40.

2. Dre is clocking in somewhere in the mid-40's.

Reverend Run is a family man.

Rapping, the essence of it, the very charm of it, is in the youth and energy. The act of rebelling against the old. Like Rock and Roll, it builds its fan-base by revolutionizing, shocking, and making music people can dance to. The difference is that old Rock and Roller’s have a tried and true career long into their grey years. The good ones, after all, are still virtuosos on their instruments. BB King’s guitar still shreds, Carlos Santana still bends notes like silly putty and Bono and the Edge still get down. The fact of the matter is, that no matter if they stoop, no matter if they lose their hair, what they do will still sound good.

I wonder if it’s going to be the same for Jay. Is he still going to be credible dropping those club hits featuring the next young singer 10, 20, 30 years his junior? Will the kids still jam to the Hova when he can’t open a jar of jam on his own?

Should rap stars be looking more closely at their retirement plans or will a comeback tour for Jay at the age of 60 be able to pay the bills?

Just a thought.

For An Amazing Read

Check out "The Stone Diaries" by Carol Shields. A book that started out a little slow for me but rolled and rolled, picking up steam until I felt like I knew the characters, was personally invested in their life. And funny. Boy, the lady had me laughing. Humor, I've come to believe, is the most versital tool in writing. It can slice up the anatomy of every emotion, especially sorrow, with the precision of a scalpel.