Amoeblog

Photographic Memory, Part 3

Posted by Job O Brother, June 28, 2010 12:19pm | Post a Comment
This is another installment of music and/or movies that I’m reminded of when looking at old photos of myself, my family and my friends. It was brought to you by the letter R and the number 8. And through a generous donation from the Hindenburg Aviation Academy. And from Viewers Like You.

chad corbin

That's Chad, on your right. Next to him is him is his guitar, whose name escapes me, so I'll just call him Queezerwaroworolheethorlurl and never speak of him again. Chad remains one of the most complex and fascinating of my generation of Nevada City townies. You know how people say people never really change? Well Chad really changes, and depending on which point you select on the arc of his story, you'll see a man who bares little or no resemblance to his past or future. You could say that is the one thing that never changes about Chad: he always changes.

At the point in his life where the above photo was taken (in front of the antique store that never opened once in my entire childhood), he was a traveling minstrel with a particular fondness for Romani, Klezmer and Spanish music.


This phase is Chad's life fit perfectly with his non-musical obsession: collecting and playing board games and putting together puzzles. It was as though he wanted to get his autumn years out of the way first, so he could enjoy his senior citizenship drinking and gambling and gallivanting with prostitutes.

(Wherein your neon's flashin & your one-arm-bandits crashin.)

Posted by Job O Brother, March 8, 2008 08:47pm | Post a Comment

"Say cheese"

Oh, hey! Fancy writing you here.

Where? Vegas, baby. Yours truly is currently 29 floors above desert level, tucked inside the golden, looming Mandalay Bay Hotel and Casino on The Strip of Las Vegas, Nevada.

Corey, the dude I’m totally in a relationship with, and I left early this morning (if you ask him) or late this morning (if you ask me) and hit the freeway.

His car’s stereo plays MP3’s, and I’m notorious for making gigantic mix CD’s for the slightest road trip. (“Oh, we’re driving to Trader Joe’s? Better burn a ‘Going to Trader Joe’s’ mix!”) Corey, who finds my ravenous appetite for music overwhelming, manages to be patient as I force hundreds of hours of tunes upon him.

A couple weeks ago we were driving back from a romantic getaway in Santa Barbara, listening to the mix I had made for our trip to Disneyland, because we had already listened to the mix for driving to Santa Barbara on the way there (you following?). The mix for driving to Disneyland was mostly chipper, romantic songs – lots of doo-wop, some schmaltzy kitsch, with some Disney songs here and there for good measure. One of the songs was “Sweet Caroline” by Neil Diamond. Corey smiled and said, “Now this is music!”



What Corey would say, as he’s said to me countless times, is that he “finds an album he likes, then listens to it over and over for weeks – maybe months – until he’s tired of it”. MP3’s containing entire discographies, however, are daunting.