Ever go through those periods where you listen to the same song over and over again, on repeat, until it gets to the point where you just associate that song with a period of your life?

I’ve probably listened to the Stones’ “Rocks Off” thirty times in the past two days. So many songs off Exile have specific memories associated with them, but five years from now when I hear “Rocks Off,” I’ll think of this summer, and what’s happening right now. (Could be a lot worse, right?)

I can back up through the past year or so and link certain songs to what was going on (not that that’s special, I imagine most people can).

For reference, here’s a list:

The Clash — “Death or Glory”
Elliott Smith — “Alameda”
Pavement — “Spit On Stranger”
Beastie Boys — “No Sleep Till Brooklyn”
The Decemberists — “Don’t Carry It All”

Also, if you haven’t read Keith Richards’ book Life, go grab it. Now. If I had a time machine, there’s no doubt I’d swing through the South of France in 1972.

If you take a water taxi to Harbour Island in the Bahamas, you’ll get off at the government dock in town. (How you get to the water taxi is up to you—I flew from Miami.) Once you’re there, take a left at the end. You’ll wander past some colorful huts selling straw hats and shells, and pass some chickens and roosters wandering on the beach. A few minutes down the road you’ll come upon the Queen Conch, a small waterfront food stand. Here you’ll find the freshest conch salad around.

When you sit down at the bar and order, you write your name on a notepad, choose “regular” or “hot,” and watch the owner Richard and his wife go to work. You can grab a can of soda with your order, but if you want something “stronger,” Richard will advise you to head across the street while you wait. Wander over to the liquor store, pick up a few cold Kaliks, and sit back down. Richard will tell you “good choice” and hand you a bottle opener.

The ceviche-like conch salad consists of a few simple ingredients: freshly chopped, raw conch meat, chopped onions, peppers, and tomatoes. There is a massive chopping board that all the ingredients are prepared upon and slowly mixed by hand. A batch of onions will be chopped and added, and then a few full conchs will be carefully diced and added to the pile. Once it’s formed a big mound, Richard will slowly mix the pile together, like a kid shuffles a deck of cards, by moving them all around in circles.

To this, a mixture of fresh-squeezed sour orange juice (“the key ingredient”), salt, and lime juice are added. You can watch Richard and his wife as they slowly add the ingredients, mixing with care as they go, to get the exact combination of flavors.

There are a number of docks around the bay on Harbour Island where fisherman come in with their fresh catches and cut and de-shell everything. I had guessed that this was where the fresh conch from the Conch Queen came from, but I was wrong. Every two or three days, Richard goes out and dives for conch all around the small islands of the Bahamas. He snags about 500 per trip. On a busy day he’ll go through 150-200 conchs while making his salad.

Back at the shop, there are cages that sit in the water below the back deck and allow the conch to live until needed. When the meat has been collected, the shells are thrown into a big, pink pile to the side of the dock.

Maybe it’s the work that you know goes into it: the diving, the chopping, the careful adding and mixing, adding and mixing of the ingredients—the patience to create the perfect balance of tartness and spiciness to compliment the fresh conch. Maybe it’s the cold beer on a hot day in a beautiful setting. Maybe it’s the pride you see Richard taking in each batch he creates. Whatever it is, if you’re on Harbour Island, skip an hour of the beach, sit at the Queen Conch, and soak it up. If you’re like me, it will be one of the best things you’ve ever tasted.

I spent the past few days wandering around Southern California. I snapped a bunch of photos with Hipstamatic.

You can check out the rest of the set here.

LeBron James and the Cleveland Cavaliers are playing the Boston Celtics in the second round of the NBA Playoffs as I write this.  LeBron accepted his second straight MVP award before the game.  Every since I spent an amazing few days in Akron last summer, I can’t watch LeBron James play basketball without having my mind wander back to some of the spots we visited, and the stories we were told.  I’m from Boston and a Celtics fan through and through, but LeBron’s story is impressive, and sticks with you. I’ve relinked what I wrote last August below.

The Hills Of Akron — August 2009

I’m not sure what the current art world/political feelings are about Banksy, and I don’t really care. I always like his work. It’s funny, creative, and clever—and it usually makes a point. I was in L.A. earlier this week when I saw that some new pieces had popped up in advance of his film premiere. I had the afternoon free, so I grabbed my camera, did a bit of location research, and hit the road.

I was excited to coincidentally be in town to see this. I happened to be in New York in the fall of ’08 when the Village Pet Store, and other large pieces, were on display as well, so I’ve been lucky in the timing department.

So much of Banksy’s stuff gets defaced, stolen, or damaged, that I wanted to snap some shots as soon as I could. There’s something fun about going on a little hunt for street art like this. You have an address and a general description (La Brea and 4th, behind a fence), but that’s all. It’s a bit of a thrill to be walking down a block, looking around every corner, and suddenly spot what you’re looking for. My ever-patient wife—who has become a fan in her own right after seeing the NY stuff a few years ago—came along with me, snapping her own action shots along the way.

The Guard piece on La Brea was on a wall in a nondescript, under construction building surrounded by used car dealerships. It was behind a fence, and there was a security guard walking around the empty space, and sitting in his car. (You know, it would be pretty funny if that was actually Banksy in there in disguise—I always wonder about stuff like that.) Other than that carload of Japanese hipsters that pulled up and snapped some photos with their phones, no one else seemed to pay any attention.

The “Park” piece was on a brick wall behind a parking lot in downtown L.A. (near the theater where the premiere was held, I believe). Again, I knew the general area, but still had a jolt of excitement at spotting it. It’s odd/fun feeling to stand and get excited about something on a wall that thousands of people an hour walk by, most not noticing, almost all not caring.

Forty-eight hours later I’m back on the other side of the country and I see that the La Brea Guard piece is gone (look at the before and after) and surrounded in controversy. I’m glad I was in the right place at the right time, because it was a fun way to spend an afternoon.

This is a new thing that I’m going to try here. Stories About Songs.  I touched on it here, and it got me thinking—over all the years and all the shows that I’ve been to, there are some songs, some moments, that stand out above all the rest.  Sometimes there’s a clear reason, and sometimes it’s a simple memory strongly connected to a song that was playing at the time.  There’s usually a story behind them, and I’m going to occasionally share some of them here.

—

One year ago today I was in Hampton, Virginia.  I was there to see Phish, and it was a big deal.

Five years after announcing their breakup, the band was back for a run of three shows at the Hampton Coliseum, itself a special place in the hearts and minds of fans.  This was a group event.  The band has gotten back together, but our band had gotten back together too.  Some of my very closest friends were gathering to take it all in together.

It was hard to have musical expectations in that situation.  Five years after a break up—fueled by apathy and (sadly) drugs—I just hoped to have a good time, and hear some of the music I loved.

As the first show approached, people got to chatting: “What do you think they’ll open with?” “Do you think they’ll play…?”, etc.  Unless you’re very familiar with Phish’s music, it’s hard to appreciate the weight behind any of these songs; why fans may groan when the band starts up “Bug,” but jump up and cheer when they break into “Tweezer.” The names don’t mean anything.  It’s what’s beneath the names.

For a band that’s so associated with improvisation, a core group of their earliest and most highly regarded material is based on long, composed sections of music. Sweeping. Soaring. Technical. Epic. The type of material that doesn’t lend itself to a lack of practice and a haze of pills. Some of these songs were pushed out of the rotation as a result, and the fans knew it.

One of these songs is Fluffhead.  The ultimate combination of old fan favorite and Sweeping/Soaring/Technical/Epic.  On the way down to Virginia, my friend Byte said to us “I wonder if they’ll bust out Fluffhead?”  We chuckled.  ”They haven’t played it in years right?” “Nope.”

When the time finally came for the first show to begin, the energy inside the coliseum was at an all time high.  This was it.  It may be hard to understand how much this band and this music means to people. Years and years of travelling, stories, frustration, memories, and special moments were shared with the four guys that were about to walk on the stage.  And while time had passed, and everyone’s lives were different now, this was a moment that really, truly meant something.

So what were they going to play, or more specifically, what were they going to open with?  Anyone, myself included, would have told you it didn’t matter.  Just taking the stage was enough.  But everyone would have been lying.  It did matter.  It set a tone no matter how you looked at it.

We broke up.  We went to rehab.  We swore we’d never play again.  Now here we are.

When the lights went down as the band walked on the stage, the roar of the fans was about as loud as I’ve ever heard.  They all walked out and picked up their instruments like they had done so many times before, and like everyone thought they may never do again.

As the crowd continued their wild cheers driven purely by seeing them on stage again together, the first few notes of the opener started to drift out of the PA…

Fluffhead.

It was already so loud that it took a few seconds for the crowd to realize what they were hearing—for the shock to set in. All at once, this crowd that you would have sworn couldn’t get any louder turned the dial that stopped at ten up to twelve.

I honestly can’t think of a stronger musical statement.

We’re back and we’re not fucking around.

This one moment—this one choice—didn’t just set the tone for that show, or that tour, but for the rest of the band’s career.  And to be honest, it set the tone for how I would feel about them moving forward.  This was the real deal. So this is how it’s gonna be huh? They were clearly serious and I would take them seriously.

Of all the shows, in all the years, this one song—these few seconds as the waves of excitement expanded through the crowd—stand above anything else I’ve ever experienced. If you could bottle the feeling in that room at that moment you could solve a lot of problems. Pure, pure bundles of joy.

—Killington, VT  6 March 2010

I was in New York last week and had the chance to attend the opening of the new Nike Soccer Shop.  I grew up playing a lot of soccer, and while I don’t play as much anymore, I’m always excited by the opportunity to check out new gear and keep up with what’s going on in that world.

Located within the massive 57th Street Niketown, the Nike Soccer Shop is a new space dedicated to both the competitive player looking to get fine-tuned equipment, and the casual fan looking for the latest colors to support their team.  An entire section of the second floor has been rebuilt in the style of a classic soccer locker room, with wooden benches, and jerseys hanging in each locker.  Because the store gets so much international traffic (not to mention the rise in popularity of European club soccer in the past few years), there are individual lockers dedicated to every club team that Nike sponsors. (Side note: I asked one of the staff what the best selling jersey was—Barcelona, by far.) In addition to all the licensed gear, the Soccer Shop serves as a location where players of all skill levels can have a pair of custom boots designed just for them.

To highlight this, Landon Donovan (the all-time leading US goal-scorer and active cap leader) was on hand to demonstrate the design process.  While a score of press looked on, Donovan and a trained Nike staffer walked through having a custom boot created. He ended up with an old-school black-on-black look that I appreciated.  Personally, being able to see Donovan talk about soccer—a few hours before the World Cup draw no less—will add an extra level of excitement to the World Cup this summer.

After watching Donovan walk through the customization process, I was invited into the Nike ID lab to run through the design process myself.  It was an eye-opening experience. With the guidance of a Nike specialist, I was able to build a shoe that wasn’t just for wet grass or indoor, but could be tweaked down to the material on the instep, which is adjusted based on where on the field you play, the likelihood of taking shots on goal, etc.  And that doesn’t even touch on the cosmetic options.  Everything, down to the color of the stitching, could be changed to build a unique shoe.

I know that Nike ID has been around for a while, and the concept of building a custom shoe isn’t brand-new , but sitting there I couldn’t help but think back to when I was playing soccer as a kid.  The idea of a wet-grass removable cleat versus a standard molded rubber cleat was foreign to almost everyone.  They literally had to be mail-ordered (and good luck getting replacement screws).

I grew up a few hours outside New York City, and I’m fairly certain that if something like the Nike Soccer Shop existed back in the day, I would have been dragging my ass into NYC once a year before the season started for some custom goodness.

Last summer Lance Armstrong and Nike presented the STAGES art exhibition in Paris. The exhibition brought together over twenty world-renowned artists who donated pieces inspired by Lance, and his LIVESTRONG fight against cancer.

Last week the STAGES show opened a three-week stay at the Deitch Projects gallery in New York. I had a chance to attend the opening and take a closer look at some of the pieces. In addition to the works of KAWS, Ed Ruscha, Shepard Fairey and more, New York street-art legend Futura also had a piece that joined the exhibition in New York.

The scene was an interesting mix of art and sport, with everyone from local New York art scenesters to kids on skateboards to Nike executives in attendance. Many of the artists were on hand to discuss their work as well. It was hard to miss when Lance himself showed up about halfway through the event. While soft-spoken and understated, he was still the man everyone wanted to say hello to, or catch a glimpse of. There was a buzz in the room as he made his way through chatting with friends, having photos taken, and generally seeming to enjoy himself.

I spent a lot of time walking around looking at all the various pieces. There was a nice mix of paintings, photos, and sculptures. One piece that I kept coming back to was Tom Sachs’ object-art piece “Lance’s Tequila Bike For Girls.” It was a mixture of creativity, humor, and ingenuity that I loved. The bike was prominently displayed in the middle of the floor, so that you could walk around it on all sides and enjoy every little detail. Every time I walked by I seemed to notice something else.

At one point later in the evening a crowd gathering around the tequila bike. Tom Sachs and Lance had decided to put it through its paces. Everything that was needed for a good old-fashioned round of shooters—from the limes, to the knife, to the salt shaker and shot glasses—was contained within the bike. Suddenly Sachs was slicing limes and Lance was filling shot glasses with the motorized tequila pump. Everyone cheered as they threw down the shots. You’d be hard-pressed to find a more practical piece of modern art for the tequila connoisseur.

As much fun as it was taking in the scene and getting to see some amazing works of art, the cause that brought everyone there was never far from my mind. Throughout the night, the whole room seemed to be bathed in various shades of yellow, which has become so synonymous with the LIVESTRONG cause. It’s a testament to Lance, Nike, and the work of his foundation that the art world and the sport world can combine for something as unique as STAGES.

STAGES will be open to the public in New York: October 31 through November 21, 2009. The show will move to Miami during Art Basel Miami Beach in early December.

I was taking a train from New York to back to Boston recently, and—as I usually do when I am coming home from a trip—I started flicking through the photos that I had taken on my iPhone.  I’ve never stopped to give it a lot of thought, but this had become common procedure for me.  Suddenly I realized that with all of the SLRs and Point & Shoots and Flips that I tend to carry around, the images on my iPhone actually tell the truest story of what I’ve been doing.  Thumbing through my iPhone cameraroll is an accurate re-telling of what’s been happening in my life on a day-to-day basis.

I’ve always liked the camera in the iPhone, and have been relatively happy with the results that you can get from it, but I hadn’t stopped to think much about the role it was playing.  I enjoy taking photos, and I have a lot of fun doing so.  Still, with an SLR, and even a Point & Shoot, I spend more time thinking about the shot—how it’s framed, are the settings correct, etc.  With the iPhone camera you take the shot.  Maybe it comes out, maybe it doesn’t.  There’s a charm to that.

It also leads to a lot of shots that you may not stop to take with another camera: a sign at the airport, the cup of coffee you just ordered, a funny bumper sticker.  I used to keep boxes of old ticket stubs from concerts and movies, but now I take a photo of the movie poster as I’m walking into the theater, or the marquee outside of a show.  It makes a nice timeline.  I also takes tons of photos of food.  I probably have a photo of every meal I’ve eaten in a decent restaurant in the past year (much to my wife’s delight).

And it’s not just photos, it’s screenshots too.  A funny text or Twitter.  Something cool I see online.  A map of a trip.  It all gets dumped into the photoroll without much thought, but afterwards they become pieces of a puzzle that are easy to put back together.

You don’t have to read a lot about photography to see the oft-repeated phrase “The best camera is the one that’s with you.” While this has always been true, when I stop to think about it with regards to the iPhone, it’s incredible.  In the roughly two years that I’ve had this phone, I don’t think it’s ever been more than 30 seconds away from me. Seriously.  It’s usually in my pocket.  Sometimes it may be upstairs when I’m downstairs, but that’s about it.  I don’t go out of the house without it.  I don’t leave it home when I go somewhere.  It’s literally with me everywhere, and as result, I have photos of things that I may have never captured with a regular camera.

I’ve never kept a journal.  I have a website/blog/Tumblr dealy.  I have a Flickr photostream.  I have this column.  These are all outlets for sharing specific information that I choose.  I put at least a small amount of thought into everything I post on these sites.  I take a certain amount of pride in it all.

And yet I can sit, as I often do, and look at all the photos on my phone and feel like I’m watching the story of my own life.  As mundane as it sometimes is, I never get tired of it.

I made a quick run down to New York last weekend  to see the fine gents of You Look Nice Today perform one of their first shows on the East Coast.  The YLNT podcast, a self-proclaimed “Journal of emotional hygiene,” is one of my favorite things to listen to.

I gave up on explaining what I was going to see pretty quickly.

“You’re going to see a podcast?”
“Well, no…  I mean, I know them from the podcast, but it’s a normal comedy show.”
“Where do they normally play?”
“It’s on the Internet.  A podcast. But they do some live shows too.”
“What’s it about?”

My wife came along with me, being the good sport that she is.  I tried to play her some of the episodes in the car during the week leading up to the show, but every time I put it on, I got a puzzled look. “I don’t get it,” she said  “What are they talking about?”  I hoped she’d just figure it out as it went along.

Having never been to the Upright Citizens Brigade Theater, we got there a bit early.  We quickly found some decent seats in the small basement theater.  Shortly after, the ukulele refrain of the YLNT theme played through the PA and Messrs. Sandwich, Simpson, and Mann made their way to the three spotlighted chairs in the front of the room.

It’s an interesting experience to see something like YLNT live, having only really heard it in pre-recorded form.  The best part of the show is never knowing where it’s going to go (I don’t think they know either¹).  The non-sequiturs are absurd and brillant.

Watching live, you can see some of  this happening.  A glance in one direction.  A nod of the head.  You can actually watch some of it unfold.  There’s also a few awkward pauses, and a touch of nervousness—things that can be edited out for a podcast.  It was really fun to see how much these guys make each other laugh too.  You get a full picture.

I don’t listen to a lot of comedians, and I have only been to a few comedy clubs in my life.  I can’t really say how this compared to anything else.  I know it made me laugh a lot, and I know it made my wife laugh too.

Driving home after the show we played an old episode, and suddenly it made more sense to my wife.

“Who’s that?”
“Was he the one in the middle or on the side?”
“Why do they call him Sandwich?”

I’ll take that as a win.

¹ I have no idea how the show is put together, but I always imagine it similar to Curb Your Enthusiasm: a rough outline to get from Point A to Point B, and in between, anything can happen.