Selinsgrove by Sunset: matchbox cars, party jams and door knobs

At 10 o’clock at night I found myself locked in the bathroom.

This particular Monday had started much earlier- around the usual time with all the usual tricks. There wasn’t much to report. Traffic was a tad bit heavier than normal, but nothing to get too worked up about. And as for most of the day- it was pretty straight forward. As days of the week go, it could have been worse.

Have you ever driven a Mitsubishi Eclipse? If you haven’t, then please never do. Driving that car is an incredibly unsettling feeling. You’re low. You’re very low. And the steering wheel is very non-adjustable. It has the comforts of an old roller coaster car. I felt like kind of a…hard to pinpoint one particular word that fit. Jackass.

But as stated previously, when it comes to traveling the Pennsylvania Turnpike, I am a beaten man. The state troopers have won. I used to drive fast. I drove impatiently. And while I still do, I certainly do not when driving the expensive and massively boring PA Turnpike. So this sports car I had- this teeny bopper matchbox car that could get up to 160…one sixty!...nearly double what the Corrolacoaster can do, would remain legal, never going more than sixty miles per hour. It seemed like a little bit of a travesty. But the car looked like a little bit like a travesty. It evened itself out.

It was a beautiful late afternoon in America.

The soundtrack was a mix of My Morning Jacket I had cooked up- a song or two or four from each of their albums except for the live one. They are such an amazing band. Play them loud! It’s hard to not drive fast when they get wailing, when the motor gets running. How can you not break at least one American traffic law when “Easy Morning Rebel” comes on? It’s one of those times where I felt that if you did get pulled over, you could just explain to the officer the situation you were in and they would simply understand. Because it’s America and speeding when a good rock ‘n roll song comes on the radio is what we do, what we were born to do and what should just be universally considered as something that while not entirely legal, is certainly understandable. Let ‘em live!

My Morning Jacket does not seem right though, when driving a Mitsubishi Eclipse.

The trip was finished with party jams and a promise to myself that we’d play at least one Rhianna song at our wedding.

You can fast forward a couple hours- through checking in to the hotel in Selinsgrove, PA and dinner and settle in back at the hotel and re-runs of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia before calling it a day. I did not think to bring my phone with me to the bathroom when I went to brush my teeth. The door knob was broken. It kept twisting. I was stuck. There are two sides to Ryno- Bolster and O’Connell, and both sides react to certain situations in different ways. O’Connell prevailed and thankfully, I had a roommate. He went to the front desk and returned with the old lady who was on duty.

This was a little before 10 o’clock at night and was about an hour before I finally did call it a day- in a different room and with My Morning Jacket still in my head.

Patriots 27, Giants 20

The Jack Johnson Morning

Some mornings are Jack Johnson mornings. This morning is a Jack Johnson morning. Today is Thursday, but it would be much cooler if today was Friday. It almost feels like Friday, which makes it worse.

What is a Jack Johnson morning?

1. You’re over-tired.
2. You’re inexplicably feeling the three beers you drank last night.
3. The office is quiet and daring you to be unproductive.
4. You’d rather be on the beach, a deck or even better- still in bed.
5. Sports radio can only seem to talk about Peyton Manning’s neck.
6. It’s not summer, but man you wish it was.

Jack Johnson is summer music. So a Jack Johnson morning can’t happen in the summer because really any morning during the summer months could be a Jack Johnson morning, just like any morning in the fall could be a My Morning Jacket morning and any morning in the spring could be a De La Soul morning. Jack Johnson mornings, much like Bob Marley, Sam Cooke or Band of Horses’ mornings, can only happen in the winter- specifically in the dead of winter.

Is it safe to say Johnson popped and fizzled? You don’t hear much about him anymore and an argument could easily be made that he’s released the same album five or six times, just with different names. I’d counter with, that’s totally cool. I like Jack Johnson’s music because it’s Jack Johnson’s music. The melodies are peaceful, the grooves are easy and the drums are so passive that they frustrate me to the point of ignoring them and then coming to grips with it. I am not looking for a Jack Johnson death metal album. I appreciate that he knows that. I appreciate that he records his albums in a solar-powered studio out in California and writes most of his material sitting on the beach in Hawaii. His albums sound like the beach in Hawaii. That’s cool.

But I really haven’t listened to Mr. Johnson in a while and I’m not sure why other than I just haven’t. I saw him live once and it was surprisingly great. It wasn’t epic and it wasn’t like seeing My Morning Jacket- it didn’t have that kind of excitement and energy, but it was cool in its own way. I wouldn’t recommend going to see a Johnson show with a group of dudes, though. It’s not that kind of joint. Go with your lady, drape your arms around her and just sway baby, sway.

A Jack Johnson morning is a reason why music is great- because of its chameleon-like nature and its ability to be there regardless of what kind of mood you’re in or morning you’re having. Tuesday I wanted loud music and yesterday I wanted some funky jams. Music was there for me. The days of the week might not be all that accommodating, but my I Pod is.

So here’s to a Jack Johnson morning. Who knows what the rest of the day holds, but it’s nice to know that we have the morning covered.

That’s a start. We’ll worry about the finish later.

Stone Rollin on a Moderately Sluggish Wednesday

20 Songs to start a Moderately Sluggish Wednesday:
1. "Tenderness"- Galactic
2. "Howlin’ for You"- the Black Keys
3. "How to Undress in Front of Your Husband"- Loverless
4. "Kampala Truth Work"- Max Tannone w/ Mos Def
5. "Ocean Breathes Salty"- Modest Mouse
6. "Music Man"- Paranoid Social Club
7. "Behind the Moon"- Matt Costa
8. "Turn Me On"- Big Boi
9. "I Changed My Mind"- Lyrics Born
10. "Love Gun"- Cee Lo Green
11. "Whispered Words"- Dan Auerbach
12. "Anytime"- My Morning Jacket
13. "Taylor"- Jack Johnson
14. "We Share the Same Skies"- the Cribs
15. "Promised Land"- Bruce Springsteen
16. "Black Thumbnail"- Kings of Leon
17. "Two Weeks"- Grizzly Bear
18. "East Jesus Nowhere"- Green Day
19. "Far Behind"- Eddie Veddar
20. "What’s the Altitude?"- Cut Chemist w/ Hymnal

5 Words/Phrases for a Moderately Sluggish Wednesday:
1. Coffee
2. Jamtastic
3. In-kind
4. Mood Technician
5. Palm Sunday

3 Thoughts for a Moderately Sluggish Wednesday:
1. 40 percent of the vote is a shitty result for having done 4 years of work in any state, let alone New Hampshire.
2. Someone needs to make a good movie about Billy the Kid and make it about his whole life, not just his years as an outlaw.
3. This could be a band name: Garbanzo & the Chick Peas, but that band might be terrible. Maybe a name like The Garbanzo Brothers would be better.

6 Sports Thoughts on a Moderately Sluggish Wednesday:
1. Patriots 34 Broncos 17
2. The 49ers will beat the Saints but it might include someone giving Drew Brees the wrong direction to the stadium.
3. I feel bad for Ryan Madsen. He was shooting for 4 years, 40 million bucks, but ended up with 1 year and 8.5 million from the Reds. The only thing that would get me back to Cincinnati would be a wedding, funeral or 8.5 million dollars.
4. I miss HBO’s Road to the Winter Classic mini-series already, but I’m looking forward to the next one about Freddie Roach, even though I could care less about boxing.
5. I wonder if I’ll have to explain to my kids whether or not wrestling is fake.

6. There are too many NBA games going on right now to keep track of. I picked the wrong year to try out fantasy basketball.

This peformance of "One Big Holiday" by My Morning Jacket is a great way to spend those few minutes on a conference call when you're not talking.

The Thursday Boom Boom Room: Quick Hits for the start of September.

Batteries and bottled water won’t be a problem the next time a hurricane comes around. Kim and I seem to be all set on that front. However, if Comcast doesn’t put more shows Ondemand, then we’ll have a problem. How do you have the entire season of Game of Thrones available except for the first episode? And really, you’re only going to give us three random episodes of season two of Madmen?

Shouldn’t Dick Cheney be answering questions about war crimes and not about his new book? Either way, he shouldn’t be allowed on TV before noon. Seeing his face is no way to start a day.

I’m pretty certain Rick Perry scares the bejesus out of me. And as far as Michelle Bachman goes- she has already entered the Not Even Funny Anymore Zone, a zone already occupied by George W. Bush’s presidency, steroids in baseball and Sarah Palin.

I still think it will be the Phillies versus the Red Sox in the World Series, but after watching last night’s Sox/Yankees game, I’m very excited for an American League Championship series featuring the two.

Pandora is out, Last FM is in. Grooveshark may be up next.

Since seeing My Morning Jacket last week, they are all I want to listen too. I’ve had to install a temporary ban on them in attempt to prevent myself from over-listening to them. Previous bans have been placed on Rogue Wave, the new Beastie Boys album, Local Natives and Rustic Overtones.

Restaurant Impossible is my new favorite show on TV. It’s amazing on some many levels. I love the devotion and passion of Robert Irvin, as well as his brutal honesty. The last five minutes of the show isn’t even the best part of me. I love the “come to Jesus” moment he seems to have with each restaurant owner at some point of the show and I have mad respect for Tom, his construction virtuoso.

Tucked in polo shirts are bothering me less, but not to the extent that I will wear them once summer is over. They are purely functional. I don’t necessarily feel like less of a tool when I wear one, but I at least feel a little more comfortable.

In the end, I miss flip flops the most.

I’m not sure the US is really in the position to be telling other countries (i.e. Libya) how to run their country.

Television has taught me one thing lately- I need to find some old valuable shit to sell. We watched this show, Buried Treasure, last night, where these two kind of creepy, kind of nice twins drive around in Land Rover and appraise random things people find in their attics and basements. Last night’s episode had them checking out old comic books (not worth as much as the nerdy owner hoped,) a violin (not an original and hence not worth a million dollars, only $300) and the prized possessions of a hoarder with a foul-mouthed daughter (sitting on shit worth almost $150,000.) We took one thing away from the show and that was that someone needs to leave us something that is old and worth money. We looked around the apartment and couldn’t find anything that fit that description and I don’t think I have the patience to go antiquing. Inheriting seems to be our only option.

I can’t wait to get married.

Trying to figure out what you want in life and how to get whatever that is might be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to figure out- even harder than deciding what kind of cereal to buy.

A pitcher should only be in the running for MVP if they flat out carry a team like C.C. Sabathia did a few years ago after being traded to the Brewers. If not, then they a just the Cy Young winner, not the MVP. I’m sorry Justin Verlander. You’ve pitched 200 innings and your team has played almost 1,500. That just doesn’t add up. It pains me to say it, but Curtis Granderson is having a hell of a year. I think the winner will be determined in the second half of September. I also wonder if we are looking at co-Cy Young winners in the National League with Roy Halladay and Cliff Lee splitting the award.

Still have concerns about Burnsy’s Dumpster Fire, my one fantasy team that matters. It’s the thin bench that concerns me. My other two teams, teams I put together just for kicks, look much better. That’s kind of a bummer.

Love the Pats this year, but the Steelers still scare me. I think the Jets will take a step back, the Chargers will be dangerous and the Packers will repeat in the NFC with the Eagles just getting to ten wins. My Superbowl winner? Probably nachos.

Hard to believe MTV can still have Video Music awards considering they don’t show videos anymore.

When the Red Sox inevitably build a statue of Jason Varitek outside of Fenway Park, it should be a hundred feet tall.

Thunderclaps of the Truth: a review of My Morning Jacket at the Mann Center in Philadelphia (8/23/11)

Jim James rocks a duster! There is a gorilla on drums!

After last night’s show at the Mann Center in Philadelphia, I’m sold- My Morning Jacket are the truth. They are the next great American rock band. For a hot minute, I thought that band might be Kings of Leon- but they seem to be headed down the same road Oasis went down and that road apparently leads to court rooms and ill-conceived solo projects with ridiculous names. Pearl Jam and the Foo Fighters are already great American rock bands. Nickleback is from Canada…so they don’t count. Plus their terrible.

The Mann Center is adorable, absolutely adorable. It’s nestled in the lush hills and lurking danger of Fairmount Park in West Philadelphia. The parking lots are fields, I think I might have a flat tire, and there is no overwhelming presence of Johnny Law to detour folks from enjoy some summertime tailgating. The people-gawking was top notch and Future Wife & I enjoyed Sly Fox beers and sandwiches from Wegman’s as we watched a potpourri of young adults pound beers, toss a Frisbee, run around gleefully with balloons filled with nitrous and hob-nobbers strutting around in designer jeans, expensive flip flops and sixers. Once inside, the venue is a classic, good time, American music shed- a simple amphitheater with well-placed beer stands, a comfortable lawn, and minimal security patrolling the more expensive seats; making it easier to dip in and out of better spots than the lawn seats we paid for.

Kim had wanted to see the opener, Neko Case, but she was just wrapping up as we headed up to the lawn carrying 24 ounce beers that cost as much as a Heineken at Yankee Stadium. We didn’t bring a blanket; we should have. I take the blame for that. Once My Morning Jacket hit the stage we stood up, but quickly realized that in our section of the lawn, we were the only ones to do so. So we sat back down, which was relaxing. The band opened with “Victory Dance,” the first song off of their new album and it was an intense opener with its thundering drums and a wild & loose James going guitar less, showing off his vocal pipes and playing with what looked like a touch pad sampler that was hanging around his neck. The lights were amazing. Kim and I talked about it later in the show- they were perfect; not too much, not too little.

I don’t get to many big old American rock ‘n roll shows anymore. We saw the Black Keys last summer, but that didn’t feel nearly as big as the show last night. Last night was one of those shows that is just worth the money you threw down for it. The songs were big, the band was big, the beers were big. Everything was just gigantic. The smile on my face was gigantic. Kim’s smile was gigantic. I couldn’t help but think that in a year or so, the crowds for My Morning Jacket will be gigantic. They have to be. The band is what’s next for us.

An added bonus- the show was seamless. With minimal effort, the band went from song to song with ambient music or drum beats or guitars carrying them into the next tune. There was very little banter as well; not one mention of the near-devastating earthquake that knocked over lawn furniture and cracked the Washington monument earlier in the day. I appreciated that. James was in his own world; a world that possibly wasn't even affected by the earthquake. He owned the stage like a ringleader of big rock ‘n roll circus- all while rocking the duster. He performed the first two songs of the encore- “Wordless Chorus” and “The Day is Coming” with the duster covering his head- he looked like the Phantom of the Opera. “The Day is Coming” is my jam, but I was happy they played “Holding on to Black Metal.” But they didn’t just rely heavily on the new album and the middle of the show, the meat & potatoes, was largely made up of older tunes; a highlight being “Golden,” as well as the end of “Run Thru,” which emerged from the rubble and debris of “Smokin’ from Shootin” before they went back to a new song, “First Light”- a fitting summer jam for a fitting summer concert.

Let’s briefly talk about the gorilla on drums- My Morning Jacket’s beast of drummer, Patrick Hallahan. I used to think that the drummer for Rage Against the Machine, Brad Wilkerson, was the heir apparent of Led Zeppelin’s John Bonham, but I was wrong. It’s Hallahan. His snare hits are like vicious thunderclaps. I imagine he could crush acorns with his bare hands if he wanted too. He drives the band like an Ice Road Trucker slamming through the Arctic Wilds. I bet he’s a gregarious drunk.

The economy is tanking, our country might be broken, the president has the gall to take a vacation- but on a delightful summer evening, on a grassy hill with the tops of Center City peaking out of the tree line, none of that mattered. The only pressing matters concerning the hordes of happy feet at last night’s rock show was whether or not we’d get treated to “Maghettah,” which we didn’t. But that wasn’t a bummer. Perfect nights are without bummers. Last night was what American rock ‘n roll dreams are made of. Kim and I made the decision to go with My Morning Jacket over Kings of Leon last month, it just felt right. Last night didn’t just feel right, it felt amazingly right.

Good rock shows leaving you wanting more.

Last night left me wanting the world.

My Morning Jacket is the truth. I am a believer, I am tired, I am ready to go again.

Part 5: I don't miss walking on the cobblestones...

Life is weird.

Life is weird in the way, that saying or even writing life is weird is weird.

This is one thing I've learned about life. I've learned that the best things in life steamroll. They don't happen, are pre-destined to happen, or just kind of f'n work the f out. No. The best things in life steamroll. They steamroll in the way that one thing becomes another thing and then another thing and then so on and so on. It's when things just click, when things just work out.

Tonight, I went out.

Going out is a rarity when I'm in Portland now. But Goddamnit- I'm kinda sorta on vacation and on the drive up- a drive that took approximately 97 songs and the entire Roots' album, Rising Down and the first three songs of My Morning Jacket's Evil Urges- I decided that I was going to go out and make the most of it. So I sent out text messages and I made a few phone calls. I made the occasional Myspace post and sent out a few Facebook messages.

I really communicated the shit out the situation in really, not that much time at all.

But tonight...holy shit, it looked like there was a firefly in the kitchen...I went out to dinner with Burly and it was fun, she was fun, she was awesome. She busted through a door that was secured with masking tape because her old soccer coach walked by and she wanted to say hello. Typing on this keyboard is like shooting an arrow with a bow. I even asked her if she wanted to go to Erin's wedding and I meant it.

After she left, I went back to the bar and met up with Amanda Panda Jellybean and upon securing a kickass picnic table, saw Obie walk down the cobblestones.

Obie! Hi yo!

That son of a bitch is gettin' married!

Our ten year high school reunion is only a few months away!

Didn't you hear about it on Facebook? I asked Keller.

No.

They have their own Facebook page.

But what if I don't have a Facebook page? Keller asked.

I guess that's where I come in.

Ah to hell with it, we're getting older. We're not old, but yes, we are getting older. We are getting mortgages and jobs at desks and wedding rings and testicular cancer and comments about our asses and receding hairlines and excessive facial hair and a fondness for good red wine and a desire to take cooking classes.

We are getting to be almost thirty.

We are going to get a pitcher.

Another weather advisory came across the Sox game tonight- threatening of thunder storms- but unlike last night, there weren't any. It was a nice night, an almost perfect Portland summer night. A good ol' Portland summer night with Gritty's and girls in high heals trottin' cross the cobble stones and rock stars and disc jockeys and dogs and some of the cutest gals in the world. Really damn close to one of those nights where moving home might not be a bad idea.

Close.

But not quite close enough.

Sox lose a heartbreaker, get swept by the Rays.

part 1: where anxiety happens...

This is it.

This is the day after I realized that shit, I need a roommate and I need to get on that, get it taken care of and behind me, right quick. The process is daunting, the process makes me uneasy and the process makes me leave the living room in the 9th of the Sox game to walk into my room, put on the new My Morning Jacket album, and write this sentence.

Millions and millions of people look for roommates everyday- I'm sure this number is a worldwide count. There is the internet and you put something on there- something that says that you're looking, here's a few scant details, a lil' sumpin sumpin about myself and then here you go, an obligatory picture of the rooftop deck. Guy or girl I've lived with both. The majority of Ryno doesn't really care- just looking for someone quiet, chill, up for a good time, and down for keeping a kitchen clean. Allison says I should ask personality questions and tell them straight up that dude, I like to watch sports- or as she says, sports all the time, which I feel is just slightly less than accurate. It's baseball season.

But personality questions never even really occured to me. I haven't had much time to put any real thought to this, I just posted the internet joint on the internet- the one with the email- last week. I've since revised it three times.

The process.

Really, part of me really thinks that really this will ultimately be really easy. I really sometimes think that and part of me really believes that most of the time. But then, ah...this is a living environment. I've never lived with someone I don't know, except for college and even then I...well...that was kind of similar to this, but not really, but slightly kind of.

Really.

So that's the story. The story might have been the Red Sox game or this kick ass new My Morning Jacket or lower back pain and why it sucks so much when you're sleeping. But no, the story is that the roommate search is in kind of full swing, the train has left- chugging and thumbing and God knows what might come from it except over dramatic lines like God knows what might come from it. Right now the good news is mainly about auto save, but the big story is the roommate one. The big story matters, the details matter, cereal matters.

How do I explain that cereal matters to a potential roommate? Do you lead with that or wait until you've already covered dietary restrictions and toiletries storage?

I just don't know.