Lamb of God and Metallica

I was lucky enough to go see Lamb of God and Metallica last week, courtesy of my awesome nephew & godson Patrick, who insisted on buying me a ticket as a birthday gift. Never go against the family! Five of us squeezed into my little Saturn, and off we went to Fort Lauderdale for a slice of heavy metal bliss. A few photo links from the event: the crowd waiting in line to get in; Lamb of God; the obligatory cammo-loving, tee-pee-dragging cracker-ass cracker shot; Metallica's laser show; Metallica performing; Metallica saying their goodbyes.

Lamb of God performed a slew of old favourites and a few songs from their outstanding new album, "Wrath." Unfortunately, they had horrible sound issues, so that the only thing that could be heard clearly were the drums, and even that was intermittent. As a result, their set, which should have whipped the crowd into a seething frenzy, seemed oddly subdued and left us all pretty unsatisfied. If you hadn't heard Lamb of God prior to this performance, you'd have been wondering why they weren't named Lamb of Valium. The phenomenal breakdown that takes place halfway through "Ruin"? Inaudible. The inhuman, braying screams at the end of every chorus of "Laid to Rest"? Inaudible. The relentless double bass pedal insanity of "Black Label"? Inaudible. I recorded a videoclip of "Walk with me in Hell" -- yet another phenomenal, driving song, reduced to garbled static and rhythmic pounding by the crappy sound set-up:



Metallica more than made up for the disappointment of Lamb of God by playing two and a half hours of solid metal. It's good to see Metallica finally remembering that they're a heavy metal band, and not some Top 40 radio-oriented shite band. I always felt that the Black Album was a seminal turning point for the band. It was a terrific effort, but it garnered Metallica enormous mainstream success, leading to a proverbial fork in the road: would the band get drunk on the success and keep trying for it, or would they continue to produce high-quality music, and if the success followed, so be it? Load, Reload, the Metallicats, St. Anger, and whatever other garbage they put out following the Black Album is, in my humble opinion, a product of Metallica loving their mainstream acceptability and catering to it. Luckily, they took an extended break and came to their senses. Their new album, Death Magnetic, is outstanding, and is the rightful evolutionary heir to And Justice for All and the Black Album. I think Metallica themselves admit this, because their set consisted of seven songs from Death Magnetic (they are, after all, trying to promote this new album), two from Kill'Em All, one from Ride the Lightning, two from Master of Puppets (including an all-time underrated jewel, "Damage, Inc."), two from And Justice for All, three from the Black Album, and just one from the aforementioned garbage albums. It's great to have "good" Metallica back! I was lucky enough to shoot a videoclip of one of my all-time fave Metallica songs:

Now + here = Nowhere ???

A friend recently shared a music video with me (love that Facebook feature) that was pretty disturbing: Depeche Mode's "Wrong." That, of course, got me thinking about music videos, and what a huge new thing they were back in the teenage years. You may not believe this, but those were the days when MTV and VH1 did nothing but air music videos, and artists / bands went crazy trying to one-up each other in producing visual images that went with their music. Some videos involved travel to exotic locations (love those mullets!), others just made sure to throw in prominently featured T&A (great song, great band), others simply went for sex and violence (albeit subdued by today's standards), and we even had videos paying tribute to other videos.

But it seems to me that, at least during the 80s and early 90s, videos tried very hard for the macabre angle. Some of the attempts were pretty lame, like this effeminately mulleted post-apocalyptic hodgepodge, or this would-be werewolf lunacy (great song, though!), this wedding gone wrong, or this utterly cheesy elevator ride down to hell. But some videos managed to be truly creepy, like this nightmare of being drowned, buried, and stung by gigantic mosquitoes, this unsettling claymation (and a phenomenal song to boot), and the grand-daddy of all disturbing videos:

Milton Bradley

It seems like it was only last week / last blog post that I mentioned Milton Bradley's insanity. And that's because it WAS that recent. Well, Milton's tired act just played itself out, again, in yet another city. The Cubs have suspended him for the remainder of the season. Bradley's always been talented, and he can be quite pleasant when he's not crazy. Sadly, those quiet interludes of sanity are becoming less and less frequent in the maelstrom of his craziness.

I remember Milton's tenure in Cleveland very well, and it was a lot like his tenure in every other team he's played for. Loads of potential, initial niceness, and a rapid descent into lunacy. During his breakout season with the Tribe, Milton tried to pick a fight with Travis Fryman because Fryman rightly took Milton to task for not running out a ground ball. Of course, Milton cried racism. When manager Eric Wedge benched Milton for not running out yet another ground ball, Milton accused the entire organization of being racist, sulked, pouted, and effectively ran himself right out of town. The Tribe ended up trading him for about a nickel on the dollar, and yet it was a textbook case of addition by subtraction. Milton subsequently played himself out of favor with the Dodgers (he went after fans in the stands), the Rangers (went after one of the radio broadcasters who criticized him for not running out a ground ball), the A's (tore ligaments on his knees while being restrained by his own coaches as he tried to go after an umpire), and now the Cubs (got into dugout confrontation with his manager, accused entire Chicago fan base of being bigoted, embittered, and stupid).

Where will Milton Bradley go from here? I imagine some desperate team will take a flyer on him next season. The talent is still there, and even though Milton has a Monopoly on bipolar stupidity, some team GM without a Clue will pay him some Easy Money and roll Yahtzee on crazy Milton. Good luck.

The Crown Victoria breaks down

I didn't get a chance to watch last night's US Open women's semifinals live, because I was watching my beloved Buckeyes lose yet another heart-breaker they should have won. But thanks to the DVR, I was able to catch up and just finished watching Serena "Crown Victoria" Williams lose her match to Kim Clijsters. Down a set and trailing the second set 5-6, Crown Victoria was serving at 15-30, and committed a double-fault for match point because of a somewhat ticky-tacky foot-fault call. At that point, Crown Victoria lost it and went on a paranoid rant that would have made Milton Bradley proud. She spent the next couple of minutes alternatively preparing to serve out match point, then stopping, screaming obscenities at the line judge who called the foot-fault, then preparing to serve again, then stopping and ranting at the line judge yet again. Predictably enough, Crown Victoria's tantrum practically forced the chair umpire to penalize her a point for unsportsmanlike behaviour. Game, set, match. Would Crown Victoria have been able to mount an epoch-making comeback when facing match point against a player who appeared to have her number? Highly improbable, but not impossible. Regrettably, Crown Victoria's antics make the question moot.

I've always supported Crown Victoria, even though she's a textbook example of the "Gracious winner, sore loser" corollary. She heaps effusive praise on opponents after she's defeated them, almost to a fault, but when she loses, she refuses to give opponents credit, instead saying things along the lines of, "She made a lot of lucky shots, and I made lots of errors." Being a somewhat sore loser does not a sports villain make... but even the biggest Crown Victoria apologist might have a tough time defending last night's meltdown. I'm not passing holier-than-thou judgment here. I may not be a professional athlete, but it doesn't take a professional athlete to understand that emotions and frustrations are brutally magnified in the heat of competition, especially when the stakes are high. That having been said, Serena's "Ugly American" moment cost her the match, and possibly a few fans.

One week down, 42 weeks to go

After a week and a half of excruciating new employee inductions, coma-inducing orientation and staff committee meetings, mind-numbing guideline sessions full of TLAs (three-letter acronyms), and the occasional respite of a school spirit speech, classes finally started this past Monday, and I finally got around to my job: teaching. Well, kind of.

On Monday, first and second periods were shortened owing to a pep rally, so all I did there was take attendance and distribute class syllabi. The remaining periods, I was able to do what I had hoped: namely, to introduce myself at length, and to have all of my students do the same. With some of the classes, this activity quickly de-evolved into a chaos of excited questions about my tattoos. Go figure.

On Tuesday, I went through the tattoo show-and-tell lunacy with my first two periods, then caught up all classes on lab safety. One of my Chemistry students astutely noticed we don't have a fire extinguisher in the room. At least he was awake!

On Wednesday, more flat-out chaos: I marched every one of my classes down to the Library so they could pick up their textbooks. Since all the Science classes were slated to pick up their books that day, the wait took up most of the class period. Upon our return to the classroom during one of my Physical Science classes, I noticed there were still some ten minutes left until the bell, so I asked the students to go ahead and start reading Chapter 1, to which one unfortunate soul replied, in shocked disbelief: "You want us to read? ON OUR OWN?" It's gonna be a long year.

On Thursday, finally! Lecture time. Well, lecture time for the first four periods, since the school photos "grade X students go during period Y" designation left me with only half of my Physics students during sixth period (the juniors left), and only one Physics student during seventh period (the seniors left). At least I was able to help her with her Algebra II homework.

Friday was doubly good: no more administrative garbage or interruptions, and since we have casual Friday at our school, I was able to wear jeans and tennis shoes. The jeans aren't such a big deal, because even my dress pants are comfortable. But the tennis shoes were a gift from God -- I have blisters on my heels from a week of wearing dress shoes. Time to splurge yet more money I don't have to buy a pair of fancy sneaker-dress shoe hybrids.

All in all, the first actual work-week of my new job was: exhausting, because I found myself leaving school and coming straight home to prepare lectures and activities for the next day; frustrating, because I (the whole faculty, really) had to deal with an absurd amount of transferring students, the class sizes are absolutely enormous, and all of our schedules were shifted around the day before classes started -- yes, you read that correctly, and in my case, it was actually the NIGHT before; but also very rewarding, especially when it comes to my Physics students, who are attentive, funny, and understand that once we're on task, I need them to stay focused. It was tough keeping some of my other classes equally focused, especially my non-honours, we-don't-want-to-be-here Physical Science students, but aside from the occasional "QUIET, please!" warnings, I had no disciplinary problems. And if that's all I have to worry about when it comes to discipline, then I'll be thanking God profusely, because that kind of restlessness was to be expected during the first week of school.

May the next 42 weeks be more like Friday -- a nice, relatively stress-free, routine learning / teaching experience.

I just don't get it

I've tried, repeatedly, but I don't understand the fascination. UFC / Strikeforce / MMA / Affliction / Ultimate Fighting / Whatever just doesn't make it for me. Last night's card was advertised as an epoch-maker, because lots of supposedly spectacular match-ups would be televised, and the headliner was a battle of the best two female MMA / UFC / Whatever fighters. Well, I toughed out the entire card, again, and was disappointed and revolted, again. It isn't a problem of the sport being too barbaric -- even though I understand that all such fighting sports are barbaric -- because I love boxing. It isn't a problem of the sport being too seedy, because it's come a long way from those disturbing clips of that homeless dude fighting weirdos for cash or food; in fact, last night's event was as glitzy and well-produced as any stellar boxing card in recent memory. I can't even say, in good conscience, that it's a problem of a lack of skill, because I'm not well-versed on the finer points of take-down techniques, submission holds, or shoot (chute?) fighting.

For me, the biggest problem is that no matter what happens, MMA either fails to hold my interest or actually disgusts me. Last night was no exception. The four things that I remember the most from the two-hour program are not exactly selling points for the sport:

• Prolonged stretches where the fighters just circled one another, followed by a quick takedown by one of the fighters, and said takedown resulting in prolonged stretches where the fighters grappled awkwardly on the floor, until the referee eventually reset them because the crowd would boo the lack of action.

• Fighters taking entirely too much punishment. I don't think I'm being a hypocrite here. Boxing gloves are very well-padded, and I've actually experienced what it's like to get punched in the jaw by a gloved opponent. Sure, it doesn't feel too good, but to be honest, I've taken worse lumps playing soccer. I've also experienced what it's like to get pounded with a practically bare fist or get kicked in the thigh, and it's brutal. One complaint about MMA you'll never hear from me is that fights get stopped too quickly. In my opinion, the exact opposite holds true. Last night, some Armenian dude dropped his opponent with a crunching right hook, and there was no pause, mercy, or eight-count. Instead, the Armenian fighter immediately pounced on his helpless and halfway unconscious rival and landed at least five or six vicious blows on his face before the referee finally stepped in to wave off the contest. The bloodied and bruised loser was left to stare up at the lights with a thousand-yard glassy-eyed stare. It was scary and repugnant.

• Testing is sorely needed in the sport, and I don't mean the "what multiple learning profile is Fighter X" type of testing. Yesterday's main event pitted Gina Carano, the supposed face of female MMA fighters, against an opponent who goes by the name of "Cyborg" -- I shit you not. Carano is a pretty good-looking girl, so I can see why the promoters would want to showcase her. As a bonus, her name allowed me and a group of equally immature friends to make roughly one million "pounding Gina" moron jokes. This Cyborg person, though... yikes. To quote the Steve Carrell character from "The 40-Year Old Virgin": her hands were as big as Andre The Giant's, and her Adam's apple was almost as big as her balls. She was more of a man than I'll ever be. Predictably enough, the good-looking but not very well-skilled Gina took a hellacious beating from Cyborg. I suppose we should be thankful there wasn't enough time for lots of grappling, or else Cyborg might not have known whether to throw punches or penetrate and thrust. [Shudders.]

• There really don't appear to be too many rules. During the girl fight, while Cyborg had Gina pinned against the cage (yes, they fight in a cage -- draw your own conclusions), she was actually scratching Gina's face. I suppose that's pretty convincing evidence that Cyborg's a female after all, but still... that was just insane.

All in all, I was not impressed. Call me a stodgy old fogey, but I think I'll stick to boxing, where people try to punch each other's heads off in a civilized manner.

The fire sale from hell

To the remaining Tribe fans who haven't deserted the team after Larry Dolan took it over from Dick Jacobs, the current installment of the yearly fire sale does not come as a shock. Nonetheless, all of us are devastated by this latest round of trades. The CC trade last year was incredibly painful but understandable. CC was heading into free agency and had very honestly made it clear he would go to the highest bidder. Hence, getting something in return for CC before the foregone conclusion of his leaving at the end of the season made sense, even to CC's most ardent supporters. But this year's trades of Cliff Lee and Vicky Martinez are not justified by the same parameters. Both players had team options for next year, at roughly the same salary they're making this year. Why, then, not employ the same strategy as last year? That is, start the year with an intact roster, see if the team will contend, and, if things look bad as the trade deadline approaches, deal the marketable players who are heading into free agency for prospects. I like to think that we the Tribe Faithful understand that the salad days of Jacobs actually trying to field a winning team regardless of personal cost are over. We may be chronically afflicted with collective Sisyphus issues, but we're not hopelessly stupid, so we also realize that these are crummy economic times for everyone. But if Dolan hopes to make any money from his ownership stake in the Indians, he needs to field a competitive team.

Cleveland is a football town, and they'll support the Brownies no matter how putridly inept a team / coaching staff / managerial staff is in place. The attendance records for Browns games provides compelling evidence of this unconditional support. Since their return to the league, the Brownies' record of futility has been astounding, and yet they keep selling out game after game after painfully embarrassing blowout loss to the fucking Steelers game. Neither the Cavs nor the Tribe are granted the same luxury of seemingly unlimited support. The pre-LeBron Cavs were probably a few more lousy seasons away from being relocated (you can't convince me otherwise), and team owner Dan Gilbert has done a remarkable job of following previous owner George Gund's lead and investing oodles of money, time, and effort into building a first-class franchise. Sure, the fact that LeBron has blossomed into the league's best player hasn't hurt, but the point is still valid: unless you own the Brownies, you must spend at least some money to make money. The Cavs regularly sell out home games, and the crowd is enthusiastic and rabid, as it should be. The same scenario played out for the Tribe starting in the mid 90's and continuing into the early part of the current century. The new stadium, coupled with a team that actually started winning and became a perennial contender thanks to several shrewd trades AND lucrative player contracts (bears repeating: LUCRATIVE PLAYER CONTRACTS!!!), resulted in an unprecedented era of baseball success in Cleveland, as witnessed by the remarkable sellout streak of 455 consecutive home games.

If Dolan's only strategy for maintaining a positive bottom line is slashing the payroll, which GM Mark Shapiro has confirmed countless times, then the Tribe are in for a nasty free-fall of perennial rebuilding. Dolan would be better off selling the team to someone who actually has the capital to invest in team improvements and wait for those investments to mature, à la Dick Jacobs. Dolan would also be well-advised to sell the team before the average attendance plummets to the triple digits, something that was quite frequent in the 80's and early 90's. I used to work downtown back then, and can still remember walking to old Municipal stadium after work with friends and/or Fiancée No. 2 (she was a trooper), paying $5 for tickets, and, since the stadium would be practically empty, sitting anywhere we wanted -- even the ushers didn't give a shit back then, and with good reason: those teams were abysmal. I'm sure I speak for the remaining Tribe Faithful (all 13 of us) when I say that a return to those conditions would be nothing short of a catastrophe.