A Blessing Or A Cursive

Think back to 3^rd grade. What useful things did you learn? Anything? Well, that may depend on your definition of “useful.” Is it a skill that you can pull from the mental Rolodex, whether it may or may not ever be needed? Or is it something that doesn’t ever need to be dusted off, since it’s a skill you use all the time? I would personally say it is generally the former, however, there are times we are taught things that are so pointless, so useless, we feel guilt for wasting the brain cells storing that knowledge.

What could possibly be so offensive about the banality of 3^rd grade that it’s getting a blog post devoted to it years later?

Cursive.

Ah yes, the lowercase W’s bridge to nowhere,  the whimsical and carefree capital L,  lowercase S’s forward thinking nature, and of course, Z’s ridiculous, aesthetically disgusting curves and corners. Remember learning those? Of course you do. Because you learned it. You had to in 3^rd grade. That was the first time you ever wrote in cursive and were you proud. Now tell me, when was the last time you used it? Yeah. 3^rd grade.

*As a quick aside, signatures don’t count as cursive. Yes, we learned to write our names in cursive, but for all intents and purposes, by the time you’re actually signing things that matter, your signature is the first two shapes of your name followed by lines, dots, and other lines perpendicular to the previous ones. And pretty much anyone who does write an entire signature in flawless cursive is over 40 anyway. 

So why is it that cursive is rendered useless the moment it is learned? Simple. Writing is a form of communication. Sometimes with yourself, but more often than not, with others. And have you ever TRIED reading the cursive handwriting of others? No thanks, I already scraped a fork on a chalkboard for three hours this morning. Using cursive to communicate with others is such a universally poor idea, we invented typewriters (for hipsters) and computers to save us from the horrors of reading the cursive of others. Cursive is something we learn to forget.

So what role in society does cursive play, if any? Ho-ho, so glad I asked. In fact, this seemingly archaic system does serve a purpose. A grand and beautiful purpose, one that brings joy to millions of people day in and day out. A purpose that I take particular delight in too. So what is it exactly?

Sports uniforms. Duh.

You cannot go wrong designing a sports uniform with your team’s name or city in smooth, seductive script. Between professional and collegiate sports, the extensive list of teams utilizing cursive script on their uniforms doubles as a list of some of the best uniforms in sporting history. Even football, which barely has room for anything besides a couple numbers and an ego on their uniforms, finds ways to add class with a nice cursive logo on the helmet occasionally. And some of the best uses of cursive can be found on collegiate hockey sweaters. So, in honor of making 3^rd grade worth our time, here are some of my favorite examples of great cursive-styled uniforms:

Baltimore Orioles, Circa 1983

Of course I love the Orioles' uniforms; they're the Orioles. They haven't changed much since the last time they won the World Series, and last year marked a new road uniform that is essentially a throwback to their earliest days, with "Baltimore" in script across the chest. And when they wear their alternate "O's" caps, then it's just a blissful, Baltimore baseball cursive overload.

Chicago Bulls, Circa early 80s

Chicago axed their cursive road uniform after MJ's rookie year. I guess they used up all their good decision making mojo drafting him. These made a huge comeback during the throwback craze in the early 2000s, for obvious reasons. They're awesome. Not much is cooler than a young Jordan, doing his thing, WITH HAIR. Reggie Theus ones result in negative swag, though. Beware.

Michigan State University Hockey

Another favorite of mine, discarded. The classic, fan favorite MSU cursive hockey jersey went the way of the dinosaur last year, after MSU's rebranding scheme to coordinate all sports. On the bright side, I think the new hockey sweaters are the best uniforms out of the whole bunch. No matter what though, that cursive "Michigan State" will always mean hockey to me.

Kansas City Royals, Original Powder Blue Edition, Circa 80s

Bo knows sports. Bo also knows cursive lettering makes you look extra-cool breaking bats over your knees and running on walls after chasing down deep fly balls. Kansas City has always been a proponent of cursive, and I salute them for it. Mainly because there's nothing else to salute them for, given that they've been awful the entire time I've been alive. Bo Jackson rules.

Michigan State University Basketball, 1979 National Champs

Didn't think I would leave this one out, did you? Magic Johnson, cutting down the net after leading MSU to their first National Championship, in the most important game in college basketball history. Rocking cursive. If I win the lottery, I'm buying the rights to these uniforms and outbidding Nike to put our basketball team back in these. Go make your own mess in Eugene, Phil Knight. These are perfect.

So there you have it. Got a favorite yourself? Let me know, I'd love to hear about it. Got a letter to send me in cursive? Throw it away. C'mon, it's 2011.

Great Tune, Late To Bloom

In my younger days, I had a hair trigger when it came to music. If an artist was lucky, they might get their album listened to in full before I proclaimed final judgment. And more often than not, it would be a random assortment of songs, shuffled out of order (I cringe just typing this), and if I strung two or three songs together that didn’t impress, the music was going out the window. Figuratively though, not literally. Because that’s littering, and littering is for the birds.

Thankfully, I have matured musically, if nowhere else in life, since my high school days. Unless I’m completely offended by an album’s contrived inclusions or glaring inadequacies to the point it’s obvious the record company shipped it DOA, every new album gets at least five (cinco!) full play-throughs before I decide if it has enough value to justify a place in my collection. And that particular change in musical methodology has saved this sound-sinner from a life devoid of some amazing music. And the essence of this revelation can be encapsulated in one band: Cut Copy.

This electro-synth-pop/indie/whatever Australian group is one I first encountered about three years ago, after being given their album, In Ghost Colours (2008), by a friend. After getting back to the dorm and throwing it on my iPod, I was immediately enamored with the first track, “Feel The Love.” But as much as I felt the love for the first track, I didn’t have much for the rest of the album. So there it sat, untouched, on my hard drive for about a year. Eventually I resolved to purge my computer of unwanted music, and part of that process became giving each album a fair shake before giving it a yay or nay. I soon realized how amazing the album really was, and how foolish I had been.

After getting over the embarrassment of being so ignorant and depriving myself of one of the best albums I had ever heard, I began wondering why it was I had been so initially short with it. Most of what I came up with pertains to the state of the “modern” music listener, but that gets me too far off track right now, so I’ll save that for another time. After gorging on In Ghost Colours for days, I searched out their first album, 2004's Bright Like Neon Love. Much like In Ghost Colours, I wasn’t crazy about it, but this time, armed with self-realized wisdom, I gave it time to grow on me. And grow it did. Another beautiful, catchy, energetic album. At this point, you would think I learned my lesson, with two great albums and a new favorite band to discredit, rather easily, the error of my old ways.

So, when I heard last year Cut Copy was releasing their third album in early 2011, I had two thoughts: a relieved “THANK GOD, ” and a slightly pained  “How long is THIS one going to take before I realize how much I like it?”  After hearing the first track, “Take Me Over” (Listen: HERE) off Zonoscope (2011), I decided the answer to my second thought would be nary a second.

After months of waiting for the album to come out, I listened to “Take Me Over” about 50 times, finally on non-YouTube quality audio. Ah, sweet relief. However, once I settled into a fair listen of the album, a morose dread came over me. WHAT IS THIS?!?! I thought, feeling like the Tootsie Pop I had been given actually had a center made of coal. And the wrapper didn't even have a star.

Did they really drop the ball here?

Uhhgggggg!

Why is this happening?!?!

Nooooooooooooooooooo!

The first track, “Need You Now” took 53 years to finally kick in, “Sun God” was more than 15 minutes long so it could not possibly be good, and none of them were “Unforgettable Season.”

Obviously, I still hadn’t learned my lesson. After stepping back and reminding myself that Rome wasn’t built on the first listen of Caesar’s Summer of ‘62 B.C. Mixtape, I reminded myself how the last two albums evolved: from “Why do people listen to this?” to “Why doesn’t EVERYONE listen to this?” Slowly but surely, each song became more endearing, every lyric fit more snugly, and the idiosyncrasies of the beats and movements revealed themselves after seemingly hiding behind an idiot-proof cloak. The aforementioned “Need You Now” is now my favorite song off the album, “Sun God” is full of enough ingenious measures to provide a lesser artist with two albums worth of backing material, and “Unforgettable Season” is still where it belongs, on In Ghost Colours.

In summation, the point of this all is that many things can get better with age, even things that at first seem to be beyond such logic, since in reality there is nothing that changes about a song between the first time you hear it and the 100^th. (Unless there’s a remix. Swizzy!) There can be however, a change in you though, whether it’s your mood, stress, or your subconscious willingness to accept something. I don't know why some songs and albums take longer than others to strike the right chord in your mind, especially when you're aware that it happens. But it does, and you just have to deal with it and give them a shot. You wouldn’t give up if a flower didn’t bloom the day after you put the seed in the ground. Give yourself a chance to let music bloom too.

Sidenote: I will say my least favorite song on Zonoscope is “Pharaohs & Pyramids,” the track Pitchfork singled out as the best on the album. Go figure.

Problem In The U.S.A.

Today has been wholly unproductive, save for a few hours this morning after having a couple cups of coffee, leaving me predictably wound-up. Rather than take responsibility for this, I'm going to pass the blame.

I have had a song stuck in my head for the few days. A song I cannot stop thinking about, singing to myself or listening to. A high fructose corn syrup coated, digitally manufactured song marketed at 12-year-olds devouring their parents disposable income. It's not even a song I like, should like or ever will like.

And it's all your fault, JARED SULLINGER.

ESPN needs to play that months-old footage of Delvon Roe acting again, to cleanse my mental palate.

Everything Starts From Somewhere

Ah, the debut post of a blog. Shall it be witty? Thoughtful? Enlightening? It may be all or none (emphasis on none) depending on you, the reader. Mainly it shall be two things though, in my estimation.

The First: Informative.

My plans for blogs have always been scuttled by my lack of direction in selecting a topic.  I find it hard to stick to one thing, when the best thing to happen that year, week, day, or hour may have occurred outside that  restrictive bubble. So don't expect any consistency on a consistent basis. I do hope you enjoy the pun that is my title, though. I can't take credit for it however. Or the pictures I'll post. I don't own them, but I appreciate the people letting me use them, and I will do so in good faith. Thanks.

The Second: Celebratory.

It's the first post! Yeah Woo!

Thanks for looking at my words. Here's a great picture of John C. Reilly to enjoy: