Because I Said So

"Blind Justice"

There's a new ABC showing premiering this Tuesday called "Blind Justice." The premise is that a homicide detective is blinded in the line of duty, but he insists on getting right back on the streets. With the assistance of his trusty dog, Hank, and his own finely tuned senses of smell and touch, he learns to be a "better detective and a better man."

I hope it's as bad as it sounds. Of course, nothing will touch "Dark Justice" -- judge by day, leather-wearing, motorcycle-riding vigilante by night (his family was killed so "now it's personal," yada yada). But that was over ten years ago. We're overdue for a gimmicky show with "justice" in the title, are we not? I checked out the show's website, and there's a picture of the police captain wearing suspenders. That's always a good sign. I'll post my review here later this week.

There's Nothing Sadder Than a Bored Robot

One of the advantages of working at a large ("Big Ten") university is that there are endless opportunites for intellectual development, the chance to attend lectures and presentations that jolt one's brain out of the work-a-day grind and into a state of heightened receptivity and stimulation -- such as robot demonstrations.

Asimo visited campus recently, and I went to see him. (I say "him" but it's clear that his voice was carefully programmed to be gender-neutral and pre-pubescent, and he is always referenced as "it" in the company literature. But he still seemed rather boyish to me.) The presentation had a very "PR" feel to it, and was no doubt meant to serve  as a tool for Honda to entice graduating computer scentists and engineers to come and work for them.

The emcee had obviously been through his whole spiel many times; his performance was quite flat. In fact, he was much more robotic than the actual robot. Asimo could not have been more charming. He cracked jokes, and waved at the audience, and did a little dance to some disco music. The little imp!

I wish the programmers would have let him off his leash a bit. It was clear that Asimo longed to follow the call of the wild (the robot call, which I guess would be a beep), to step into the footsteps of those who have gone before him, and water some plants, or shut down our life support systems, or clean some apartments. But all he got to do was perform robot parlor tricks like walking up some steps, and walking back down some steps, and kicking a ball.

Poor, thwarted Asimo.

Talk About...POP Music

I've been to two different restaurants for lunch this week, and both of them were playing music from the 1980s. Thus I have heard more songs by REO Speedwagon than I really deserve. There should be another word for "nostalgia" -- a word that means recalling things that, rather than impart a rosy glow, make one cringe in pain yet simultaneously feel a sense of thankfulness that high school days are long gone.

Jon and I were talking about music the other day, about the first records we owned and the first time we heard music that really blew us away. The first records I owned were 45s I purchased from a neighbor's garage sale, my favorites being the Beatles' "Hello, Goodbye" and Paul Stookey (of Peter, Paul and Mary) singing "Sebastian." My sister, Liz, and I also owned a bunch of Patridge Family records and a few by Bobby Sherman -- but I don't remember where they came from. (Probably the neighbors again.)

I remember buying one of Peter Gabriel's untitled albums ("Melty Face") from the cut-out bin at K-Mart. I never bought too many albums because I was poor and because when I was in high school and really started to love music, I hung out at Liz's apartment and listened to whatever was being played there: the Doors, Joe Jackson, Pink Floyd's "The Dark Side of the Moon" and "The Wall," Nico and the Velvet Underground, the Clash, etc.

The first music that really stunned me was Elvis Costello's "Trust" album. I was browsing the records at the library, and I pulled it out of a stack. It looked a little odd so I put it on -- wearing those big ol' headphones that were like strapping bagels around your head. I could never adjust them correctly, and they'd always slip down a little. (They were identical to those we wore during the school-sponsored hearing tests. To me, the beeps sounded like they were emanating from the center of my brain and half the time I had to guess which side they were coming from. But I digress.)

So I strap on the ol' jumbo headbagels and put on EC's "Trust" and DANG as Napoleon Dynamite would say. I checked the album out and brought it home to Liz, and we listened to "Shot With His Own Gun" over and over again. AND MY LIFE WAS NEVER THE SAME. Or maybe it was/is the same, but who can tell? I definitely feel like my life is richer because of all the music that I love and that has been a comfort, or a much-needed kick in the ass, or that has been thought-provoking or just plain entertaining.

This morning I hurriedly grabbed Joe Jackson's "I'm The Man" CD as I was on my way out the door, and listened and sang along as I drove into work. It made me think about Liz ("a little more JJ than EC") and Nancy K. (the most ardent JJ fan on the planet) and high school (but in a good way, if there is such a thing).

Call it nostalgia.

BONUS TRIVIA: Elvis Costello used "Napoleon Dynamite" as his pen name for a few years during the 1980s.

BONUS HEALTH TIP: Saying "That crap kids listen to these days -- that's not music!" or anything similar will prematurely age you, especially if you are already hurtling toward 40 as I am. Stop and remember how stupid it sounded when your parents said it, and how exasperated it made you feel. Then tune around the dial and find a current group or artist that you really like, and buy the CD. And watch those wrinkles fade away!

All New, But Is It Improved?

A brand new blog with a new (perhaps temporary) host. It's rather daunting, like having a new diary with clean, white pages spread out before me. Ah, the tyranny of the blank page! All my ideas have suddenly evaporated.

So...um...how are you?

I am fine.

It is nice here.