The Orange-Fingered Dawn: If you were to go through the books on my shelves, you could easily spot my favorites. They're the ones that bear orange fingerprints on their pages. I tend to eat while reading—a bad habit from my earliest childhood—and only my favorite books have the privilege of being read while I'm eating my favorite snack food: Cheez Doodles.

For some time, it's bothered me that I keep reading—and Cheez-ing—the same works of fiction over and over. I'm not that flexible with my nonfiction preferences either, but my nonfiction reading's positively voracious compared to my fiction. Since I graduated college, I have, for the most part, only read and reread the same small handful of fiction authors:

1. J.M. Barrie: The Little Minister, Peter Pan (an incredible, multilayered, beautifully written book that everyone should read), and his plays, plus a number of other novels and books of essays that I read because I'm a completist but wouldn't reread.

2. G. K. Chesterton: The Man Who Was Thursday, the Father Brown stories, The Ball and the Cross, plus, as above, a ton of other fiction that's not as good.

3. Philip K. Dick: Most of his novels and all five volumes of his short stories. I haven't read any of the biographies of him, but would like to.

4. Hans Christian Andersen: All his stories (one of my favorites being "The Swineherd," which only takes about five minutes to read and is well worth it). Tried to read The Fairy Tale of My Life too, but it was surprisingly unreadable.

And that's really about it. I've read other works of fiction in the past five years that were fun while they lasted—Wuthering Heights, Shirley Jackson's short stories, Penelope Fitzgerald's Gate of Angels—but nothing that made me want to seek out other works by those authors. (I did also read the impressive Carrie Pilby, but there's no other work of Caren's for me to purchase—yet.) So I thought I'd put out a call to my friends and any lurkers who read this—can you recommend some good fiction for me? As you can see, I like fairy tales, but ones that are aimed at adults at least as much as children. I don't like historical novels, unless the plot and characters are fascinating. I don't like anything about war, or dysfunctional families. I don't like stories that celebrate crimes like adultery, murder, etc.

I do like stories that play with time, as well as ones that pose ethical questions. I like ones with characters that I care about and can identify with in some way. (I once had to stop reading the copy of Evelyn Waugh's Black Mischief that a friend purchased for me because I couldn't take an entire novel of straight satire, with no sympathetic characters.) I do like humor, very much, if it's within the context of a good story (and not the irony-laden basis of the story itself).

So—got any ideas for any new (or new old) books for me to stain—I mean, obtain?
9:59 PM  |

Rhymes With "Geezer": Is anyone surprised to know that, when it comes to pop music, this femme, who is vehemently clinging to her last few months of early-thirtiesdom, is, shall we say, not on top of the news and ahead of the times? My friend Mike Pollock informs me (in what must be a speed record for the swiftest answer to a Dawn Patrol question) that the song I inquired about in my last entry is more than a year old: "Photograph," by Weezer.

Since I did suspect that the mystery song might be a Weezer tune, I now feel partly vindicated, but, more than that, disappointed that no similarly catchy guitar bands seem to be getting airplay these days. I would have rather it have been someone I'd never heard of—that would have given me more hope.

Coincidentally, I accidentally listened to Matthew Sweet's "Sick of Myself" today—it was on an old, unlabeled tape that I put into my deck out of curiosity. Although I'm still mortified at how dark and cynical the song's lyrics are, I couldn't get over how great it sounded musically. I think I must have taken it for granted when it got its brief run of airplay—it's really an exciting, well-done tune in the classic, non-skinny-tie power-pop mode.
1:01 AM  |

Fab Faux: I was just in the Quick Chek, where I've often heard rare and bizarre tunes (the most notable one during their Muzak days, when they were playing a piped-in instro version of "Nutbush City Limits"—which the helpful store manager had to identify for me) and heard the most interesting contemporary tune since...well, since I heard the DJ Sammy version of "The Boys of Summer" a couple weeks ago (thanks to Roy Currlin for identifying that one).

This tune, maddeningly enough, lacked an easily identifiable title hook. I was only able to catch a couple of lyrics: "I just can't let it be/It's in the photograph." Still, I have faith that a member of my impressively knowledgeable Dawn Patrol readership can identify it for me. It should be easy enough for anyone who follows the Triple-A radio format to place it, as it's the most Beatlesque pop tune I've heard since...well, since the last Weezer album. (Naturally, the references to being unable to "let it be" and a "photograph" reinforce the Fab feel.) For all I know, maybe it is Weezer. At any rate, although I'm not sure I like it enough to buy it (it had a hint of that contemporary "alternative" feel that sends me fleeing to my Freddie & The Dreamers best-of for shelter ["Freddie Shelter"!]), I always like to know who's making catchy guitar-based pop music nowadays.
12:00 AM  |

Monday, May 26, 2003

Add 'Em in Eden: Michael Lynch just e-mailed me an attachment with an e-mail suggesting I might use it for Tuesday Night Trivia. But when I opened it, I was completely, er, nonplussed:

In case you're wondering, (B) is Doug Mayer, bass player for the delightfully named Contrarians and formerly of Michael's own Lynchpins. No relation, so far as I know.
12:21 AM  |

Saturday, May 24, 2003

Sister Smile: Had to share the stunning photo above that my stepfather took of my beautiful mother and sister. It was taken in an Ohio town where my mother and stepfather witnessed Jennifer, a rabbinical student, lead a service at the congregation where she has been a visiting rabbi for the past school year. Meaning that the lovely scarf she's wearing in the photo with Mom is really a tallis.
6:15 PM  |

Wednesday, May 21, 2003

Heir-Raising Tales: Just got home to an e-mail from a friend of a slightly older generation who displays a wonderful ability to joke in the face of adversity: "My wife and I are going through all kinds of fertility programs to produce a heir. Probably easier to produce a hare!"
8:33 PM  |

Anno Trivius: Thought I'd share the press release I wrote for TNT's first anniversary, as I'm quite proud of it—and even prouder that Caren and I have had such a successful year hosting the game:

JUNE 3 MARKS ONE YEAR OF TUESDAY NIGHT TRIVIA, MANHATTAN'S MOST OVEREXPOSED BAR QUIZ!

In honor of the first anniversary of Tuesday Night Trivia, the only New York quiz game produced by bonafide newspaper folk (broadsheet babe Caren Lissner and tabloid tart Dawn Eden), we've created a special quiz to thank those of you who have made our game a media buzzword. Name the publication where each of the following Tuesday Night Trivia quotes appeared:

(A) "It's probably not as fun as 'Rock & Roll Jeopardy' on VH1, but prizes include $10 and $25 bar tabs."

(B) "[The players] think hard and laugh hard."

(C) [From an article naming Tuesday Night Trivia one of the "Top Five Bar Trivia Nights":] "Come for the banter of the quizmistresses; stay for the $3.50 pints."

(D) "Media types are flaunting their know-how at a new trivia showdown on Tuesday nights at the Baggot Inn."

(E) "An investigation has revealed that Mr. Blair did attend Tuesday Night Trivia, but copied his answers from a neighboring team."

Answers: (A) New York Press; (B) Time Out; (C) New York; (D) Women's Wear Daily; (E) Just kidding!

We would be grateful if you would put the following in your listings:

Heineken presents TUESDAY NIGHT TRIVIA every Tuesday, 7:30 p.m., at The Baggot Inn, 82 West 3rd St. (between Thompson and Sullivan), Manhattan, (212) 477-0622. *SPECIAL FIRST ANNIVERSARY PARTY ON TUESDAY, JUNE 3, WITH EXTRA BONUS PRIZES!* Come with a team, or show up early and the quizmistresses will hook you up with one. Prizes include bar tabs ranging from $10-25, plus Heineken gear. Admission is free, with a two-drink minimum during the two-hour game. Information: Tuesdaytrivia -at- aol.com.

7:30 AM  |

Sunday, May 18, 2003

Separated at Birth? For some time, I've wanted to do a "Separated at Birth" on my dad and James Mason, but I haven't been able to get the right photos for it. When this latest image of Dad arrived [I won't tell you which of the above photos it is], I realized that now was a good enough time to get the Spy magazine-style urge out of my system. I am doing this without Dad's knowledge, as he's been getting the comparison for years and has said he doesn't like it. I believe his reasons are because (a) James Mason is about 30 years his senior, and (b) James Mason is dead. But, hey, if modern-day women can stand being compared to Marilyn Monroe, I think my dad shouldn't mind being compared to the dashing architect-turned-actor.
11:32 PM  |

Saturday, May 17, 2003

What Is the Matrix? I was in Bleecker Bob's last night with a friend of mine who was visiting from out of town. He's a cute guy, possessing the three W's—warmth, wit, and wcharm—and I've had a crush on him for the 10 years I've known him (though the crush falls into the gently-enjoying-his-company category rather than the furiously-carving-his-and-my-initials-into-woodland-greenery category). I won't name him for fear of embarrassing him, though I think he should, if anything, be proud of the prowess I am about to detail.

Normally, I wouldn't set foot in Bleecker Bob's, because its namesake banned me back in '95 after I criticized his prices and service in New York Press. But my friend wanted to see if the store still had the same Tom Jones album that had been there since '96, so we went in and I made my usual beeline for the cheapo 45s.

A Friends of Distinction single caught my eye. It was a yellow-label RCA promo, and what interested me was the song, a Sedaka-Greenfield tune I'd never heard of. I asked my own friend of distinction if he knew anything about it.

"It's probably from 1968 or '69," he said. "There, see how the matrix number starts with a 'Z'? That means it's from '69.

"RCA used a letter for each year, in sequence," he went on. "'66 was 'T.' They skipped a letter—either U or V—because one of the letters looked too much like the other."*

As he spoke, I realized something. I was really happy. Happy psychologically—what a luxury to record-hunt with a pal who carried around such information in his head—but also in another way. I could feel my heart beating faster. Just hearing him talk about matrix numbers actually got me hot.

Now, I know that the fact that said friend is cute had something to do with it. Not every record hound with near-"Rain Man" abilities could affect me that way—otherwise I'd have nabbed the guy in a rumpled suit who used to canvas stores looking for 45s that were pressed at certain plants. (He could tell you when and where a disc was made just by looking at the matrix number and the typeface on the label.) Likewise, I wouldn't have been so intrigued had my friend been reciting a 1966 railroad timetable—or even a weekly singles chart—from memory. But there was something about his taking the trouble to know something that was so simple, yet so functional. It seemed somehow manly. Like he were telling me about some other thing that guys know, like how the stock market works, or what is a high-pressure front, or what good wine can I order now that I can't drink anything French...

Nah, that's not it. I really don't know what it was. Just that it felt good to hear my friend explain the matrix numbers, and, on top of that, it made me feel young to even think that I could still care about such things. Now my mission, should I accept it, is to find a marriage-minded man on the younger end of the 33-and-death spectrum, living in the tri-state area, who knows matrix numbers and reads G.K. Chesterton. Hurry, operators are standing by...

*I have since discovered that my friend was slightly off. According to a Web page on Elvis recordings, 'Z' was 1970. But he was right about their skipping U or V (it was U).
5:34 PM  |

Friday, May 16, 2003

I Really Creamed Them: Seeing the name of the female-fronted band Moisturizer in Pierre Jelenc's wonderful Gigometer reminds me of the time I received an unsolicited e-mail from them. I don't know how they got my address, but they did. Now, as a once and (I hope) future rock writer, there's one thing I like even less than unsolicited e-mail from bands who have sent me bad music. It's unsolicited e-mail from bands who have never even sent me their music and therefore have no reason to even think that I would care about them.

Usually I respond to such intrusions with a simple, "Remove me from your mailing list"—in capitals if I've gotten up on the wrong side of the bed. I was about to do the same to Moisturizer when I had a flash of inspiration:

Dear Moisturizer - Remove me from your mailing list. Signed - Astringent.

To Moisturizer's credit, they responded with appropriate softness, sending a nice e-mail thanking me for making them laugh. Then the correspondence ended. I guess you could say it was no longer absorbing.
12:05 AM  |

Thursday, May 15, 2003

Being for the Benefit of Mr. Lynch: The always-interesting music webzine Fufkin.com has an excellent new piece by my friend (and Dawn Patrol jingle writer) Michael Lynch on Sergeant Pepper vs. Satanic Majesties. Amazingly, Michael, who will call me at odd hours just to tell me that he purchased new Stones reissues (he knows I hate them), takes the Fabs' part. Gary Pig Gold is in favor of the Stones album that produced such forgettable "drone" numbers [Lynch's term] as...as...believe it or not, I've really forgotten the title. But you'll read it in the article, as well as inspired (and frighteningly well-informed) references to Herman's Hermits' Blaze, Dylan's "Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands," and the Monkees' "Head."
11:49 PM  |

Tuesday, May 13, 2003

A Berry Good Web Site: I've been meaning to tell you about the fascinating official Jan Berry Web site, which I heard about through its webmaster, Berry biographer Mark A. Moore (whose own Web site is interesting too—he's also a Civil War historian).

Mark contacted me after reading the Jan & Dean CD review of mine from New York Press that I'd put up on Gaits of Eden. In that review, I'd striven to explain to readers who only knew "Surf City" just how creative Berry was as a producer, and how much the music world lost when his career was arrested by his horrible accident. Mark's Jan Berry site features his own exposition on the artist, and it's by far the best—not to mention truest—work of Berry apologetics that I've seen. Here's an excerpt to stimulate your appetite, reprinted with permission:

It's important to realize that Jan (with two different partners) had major hit records before the "surf and drag" era; and he had additional hit records after that genre had faded. He was a Screen Gems writer and producer, and as such he honed his trade by writing for and producing artists outside of "Jan & Dean." Yet his biggest successes came from records he co-wrote, performed, produced, and arranged himself. Jan & Dean-at the height of Beatlemania-were one of the Top 10 selling "singles" artists of 1964. That's quite a legacy, considering the act was led by a writer and producer who did his best work as a full-time student-first as an undergraduate in "pre med," and then as a full blown medical student at the California College of Medicine. How many of your favorite rock-n-roll acts gave music their full-time attention? Pretty much all of them. Jan Berry holds a well-deserved place as one of the founding fathers of the West Coast sound. His productions-despite misinformed and knee-jerk statements from writers and critics over the years-have stood the test of time. All from an artist, writer, arranger, and producer who dared to give music his part-time attention. When you get right down to it, music was a hobby for Jan Berry. Dig that, and remember it.

5:30 PM  |

Tuesday, May 6, 2003

I'll Sit Belonely (on Mumblesday)
Once upon a Times there was a wee lass who had a mumble and a stepladder. On Mumblesday, she wanted to taker mumble out for a ride and lunge. But her stepladder wanted to lunge along. "No," said the wee lass. "My mumble is my mumble, and you can lunger anytime of the yeah. This is the won day I should be Abel to make mumble feel lubbed." Butter stepladder wouldn't bulge. So the wee lass had to head lines for Fox' sake all Mumblesday long, while mumble and stepladder did other fumbly business. The end.
12:17 AM  |

Sunday, May 4, 2003

Reservicing the DJs: My best find of the WFMU record fair was a mint-condition promo copy of Sagittarius' "My World Fell Down," a wonderful gift from fellow fairgoer Michael Lynch. What I love about this particular pressing of that classic 45 is that it says on the label, "Special Radio Reservice." Could one of you experts out there please tell me what Columbia meant by that? Were they sending it out again in case the stations jettisoned it the first time around? At any rate, the phrase has a certain delicious mystery that reminds me how it's all those little details that make record collecting fun.
11:47 PM  |

Saturday, May 3, 2003

Catch Us If You Can: Just got a thoughtful e-mail from Lynn Briggs, who, along with her husband, John, runs the official Web site for Mike Smith of the Dave Clark Five. She passed on this photo of Dawn Patrol jingle writer Michael Lynch and me dancing onstage at B.B. King's to Smith's live performance of "Bits and Pieces." The photo came to her from Mike's wife Charlie, who asked her to send it to me. I am duly impressed, and very grateful! (My account of that special evening, illustrated by Bruce Alexander's great photo of me awestruck by Mike Smith, is in the Dawn Patrol archives.)
3:57 AM  |

Carl Signer: I felt kinda lonely at the Carl Reiner book signing yesterday, since none of the friends I'd invited made it down (though Ron Hogan did send his regrets). But I got to thank Carl for the happiness his work had given me, and I got his "To Dawn" autograph on my copy of his new book, My Anecdotal Life. He was very pleasant, witty, and in good spirits.

As I was leaving the bookstore, the woman who'd been in front of me on line showed me what she'd had him sign: a copy of the Mel Brooks/Carl Reiner LP 2000 and Thirteen. But what blew my mind was that she'd previously gotten it signed by Mel Brooks. So there they were on the album cover, Brooks and Reiner, each with his name perfectly signed above his head. Wow.
3:31 AM  |