It's impossible to come across quality content on YouTube amidst a sea of 25-second live videos of Fall Out Boy shot on cell phones, so it's pretty amazing when you can track down a high-quality live performance of one of the greatest 60-second songs ever written.
Years ago, I interviewed the singer of this band. He claims that, despite having moved to Los Angeles, the lyrics to this song still represent absolute metaphysical certitude (his words, but cleaned up and edited into bigger ones).
That's right. I used to interview bands. Once or twice, I even asked a very pointed question about the size of a band's lead singer's arms and his subsequent ability to give bear hugs.
I thought this song might launch me into a poignant commentary (you know how much I love those) on how my experiences on both coasts have shaped my life (especially since I've had a couple Crystal Light & vodkas, which everyone knows are liquid nostalgia), but after five and a half years living in Southern California, I've realized that I've spent time in the two places (Washington and Los Angeles) that are basically places where people end up rather than aspire to live in (unless you dream of running Warner Brothers or being in the House of Representatives). I grew up in one of those cities, and ended up in the other. I still find myself occasionally benchmarking my experiences on the west coast against how they would be on the east coast. The east coast has history, thunderstorms, political intrigue, real newspapers and genuine angst, while the longest most grueling work day on the west coast somehow still feels like you're on vacation. People on the east coast are more informed but somehow less interesting. People on the west coast are nicer, but somehow more annoying. The east coast has real cities while the west coast has real beaches. The east coast has unprovoked road rage while the west coast just has a bunch of bad drivers....
To round this off without a Sopranos-like botched dismount... I'm announcing my retirement from making subtle jabs at everyday occurrences by comparing them to the east coast. Instead, going forward, I shall be continuing to remind myself that I live in neither Ohio nor Texas. The coasts are like linear and polar coordinates. That is to say, safe and equal, yet mathemetically different... And the conversion equation is brutal to do in your head.
Life is good, and it will be better once I get to Santa Barbara this weekend for the Flight of the Conchords show.
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