Tuesday, August 16, 2005

It Must Be Summer…

What a difference a few days make. Today in the City of Brotherly Love, the wind blows and I actually cool off. Just Saturday, I was driving down to Cape May with all of the windows off my Jeep and I swear, I was the egg cooking on the sidewalk. Not accustomed to shore traffic, I found myself stuck in a bottleneck getting onto the Garden State Parkway from the Atlantic City Expressway. Secretly my hope was that every car on the road was going to the Borgata for the Stevie Wonder show, but no dice. They happened to be going the direction I was, yet my destination was past theirs.

Last week I had a party for myself. I, Matt Cummins of the band My Friend Autumn know one of the Dove girls. Okay, not anymore, but thumbing through a People Magazine bought for my beloved (Jen’s still not over Brad, Angelina really digs Ethiopia and Mohawks, Bennifer’s Garner is showing), I came across the fab or flab article about the Dove girls that had little bios. Julie Arko? Charlotte, North Carolina? Ha! She used to live in my neighborhood. Or I in hers, as I didn’t stick around Charlotte long enough to really claim any portion of it as my own.

I refuse to dish dirt, and besides, she is a spectacular example of reality in this otherwise Kate Moss-free world. Anyone who is not a celebrity that would wear their skivvies in front of a national audience gets an A+ in my book. Celebs get a B, because that’s their job… distract us with their pearly whites and flawless abdominal sections.

The first time I saw a Dove ad was on a bus stop shelter steps from Staccato in DC. Which brings me to the obligatory self-promotion. MFA will be appearing this Saturday Night at Staccato (18th and U) with our friends Private Eleanor and Middle Distance Runner. PE at 9. MFA at 10:30, MDR at midnite.


Thursday, August 04, 2005

Things That I Will Keep

Made a big leap in my late-late-late spring cleaning yesterday. Seems somehow in my last year as a vagabond, and the two moves that preceded it, I’ve been moving around boxes full of junk. Such boxes contain things I had predicted to be of sentimental value previously, but have since been relegated to “eBay?” status.

Surviving the cut: two Pearl Jam fan club 7” singles from ’92 and ’93, a Dave Matthews Band commemorative new years’ eve foam Frisbee thing from ‘95. These scream “eBay me later” as I do not recall ever being on the Pearl Jam fan club, but I do recall discovering Soul Coughing at said DMB show.

Not surviving the cut: many analog cassette tapes. We’re talking failed mix tapes for friends/loves/car rides, live shows for bands I used to dig in college, 3/8 of Van Halen’s back catalog (both with and without David Lee Roth) as incentive to buy the records on CD as I have long planned, handfuls of tapes I have no use for: Living Colour, Aerosmith (when they were druggy and hungry still!), Buddy Holly, Simon and Garfunkel, John Sebastian.

Amongst the rubble of plastic and ribbon I have found rehearsal tapes for Zero Beat, my old band, as well as hours of song snippets and demos while divining song after song. This is why you have to hang on to these boxes as long as possible. It is up to you to save your past from your future. There just comes a time when you know it’s cool to let go of that tape you made for that girl and didn’t give it to her. I mean, she is long out of your life for the better and you have far more important things to do: sip your makeshift martini and start digitizing the few live songs from Agents of Good Roots you want to keep… that and the recorded sounds of my brother and his friends skateboarding circa age 13 on the flip side of my dubbed Beach Boys tape.

Monday, August 01, 2005

A Story with a Moral

A wise man once told me a very useful parable “You steal a bike… you get hit by a truck, that’s just the way it works.” Never mind the fact that this guy had just rejoined his group after going to rehab, after a nasty heroin addiction, after pawning a majority of his bands’ equipment to score.

Not that I wish any acute, specific harm be done, as everyone has a mama somewhere; but please know, dear thief, the bike is broken and if you do not get the rear fork repaired immediately a) the sidewall of the back tire WILL blow and b) the repair will likely cost as much as the bike did. I wish the latter for you, not the former, as the former will find you a truck that is surely not as forgiving as I am.

You see, we were in the process of moving and 2/3 of the moving party saw you ride away. They were unable to confirm exactly how far you got before you realized the back tire was aggressively rubbing the frame AND the brake pad (which as you should note, will need replacing very, very soon).

Best of luck, may your curb hopping days be many and filled with safety.