Crushing Krisis

Comic Books, Drag Race, & Life in New Zealand

Personal

pressure on my chest

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I claim not to make New Year’s Resolutions, but that doesn’t stop me from taking on a slew of new projects every January and getting crushed under their collective weight.

They’re not resolutions, I reason, they’re fresh starts. Lots of projects, blogging, and singing in store for the new year that simply didn’t make sense to start in the bustle of December due to all the holiday downtime. It’s a wishlist of personal creativity, every successive idea mounting like a weight against my heart and mind, lest I let it slip away.

Not coincidentally, I have a similar streak of getting sick every January for the past few years, which leads directly into my debilitating, house-bound February Funk. It doesn’t matter if I get a flu shot, take my vitamins, eat well, get good sleep, and slam down OJ all day. Somehow, some way, a tickle of sickness finds its way into my throat until it becomes tightness in my chest.

I hate it.

First, because I am not that person. I don’t get sick. Or, I didn’t, but now I do with great predictable accuracy, and I hate it.

Even more, I hate that it completely derails my ambition for the year – playing gigs, recording projects, and new songs all go by the wayside while I’m hoarse and scratchy for half a month.

This week I started feeling that familiar, dreaded tickle and fought back hard.  More vitamins, more food, more sleep, and more OJ. I seem to have staved off the actual illness, but I’m still feeling the after-effects – the pressure on my chest.

I hate it, and it made learning vocals to our new Filmstar song hard, it’s going to make my rehearsal of our Garbage tribute set suck, and it transformed the advertising tour of the airport I just walked through into a special kind of marathon.

That’s all fine. It is not getting into the way of my plans for 2011. There will be no February Funk.

In Review: Rolling Stone 1122 – Jimmy Fallon, Robert Plant

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I have a lifetime subscription to Rolling Stone, and I still eagerly devour each issue the day it arrives, just as I did as a teenager. Half a life later, with a communications degree and a side gig as a musician, my opinions on the mag are a little less reverential than they once were.

Since E has expressed … let’s say, not the strongest interest in my ongoing journalism critique, I’ve decided to spare her a ninth year of such twice-monthly boredom and move my review online, where she can skip it more readily and without feigning deep spousal interest.

RS1122 - Jimmy Fallon

Cover/Feature:  “Jimmy Fallon’s Big Adventure” by Brian Hiatt, cover by Robert Trachtenberg
The ice-skating cover is not exactly an iconic image, but it’s very Fallon, complete with svelte peacoat over a non-descript hoodie. The article goes through the typical Late Night Host feature motions, as if cribbing directly from the superior Conan article from just a few issues ago. It does a lot to explain Fallons’ constant mirth as the result of something other than a coke addiction, but otherwise is mostly a softball fawner about how much of a darn great guy he is.

Bruno Mars: “Mr. Showbiz” by Jonah Weiner
A solid profile that explains who the heck this Bruno kid is anyway and why/how he writes such explosive hits (see my review of his LP). Unfortunately, he comes off as a bit of an entitled prick in just about every statement he makes, even if it’s all carefully disclaimed as sarcasm. No good photos.

“Robert Plant’s Mystical Mountain Hop” – by Stephen Rodrick
A vivid article that helps to contextualize Plant’s new Band of Joy endeavor, an outgrowth (but not continuance) of his record with Alison Krauss. He takes a few veiled shots at other aging rockers trying to hang on their their glory and never comes off as surly or preening as Roger Waters in his recent cover story. I love the splash photo of him lunching on cassette tapes. Great shot, and Plant is at his kooky best as he contemplates his tangled lunch. I love it, as well as the absolutely gorgeous snap of him in white silk where he looks like the king of Rohan.

Matt Taibbi: “The Crying Shame of John Boehner”
Taibbi’s unfocused article harkens back to his salivating earlier pieces that were more in love with turns of phrase than making a point. After a mid-article recap of Boehner’s career there is no prevailing thesis or structure other than his unorganized laundry list of Boehner misdeeds, too often using the Tea Party as a straw man to represent the will of the country at large (seriously?)

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