Suggestaholic!

 While driving to work yesterday, I started thinking about Beatles solo albums and which was my favorite from each band member.
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I was trying to resist thinking like a music critic (which I am not), and just determine my favorite records from John, Paul, George, and Ringo. That is to say, which ones I listen to most often, not necessarily the ones critics say we should be playing… Live albums and best-of collections don’t count, because that’s cheating.
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Here’s what I came up with:
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John  An easy choice… John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band is one of my favorite albums by any artist. It’s filled with great songs stripped-down to their essentials, a little bad attitude, and some screaming. It was John’s first post-Beatles album, and it sounds nothing like the Beatles. A classic.
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I also like the pure pop stuff he was doing at the time of his death, but had a hard time with all the Yoko caterwauling in-between. Ya know?
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Paul  I enjoy a lot of his albums, most notably Band on the Run and Venus and Mars. But the one I listen to most often might surprise some people: London Town.
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There’s not a bad song on it, and the album has an energy and aura I love. Some of the tunes are completely goofy, but they’re supposed to be. Everything attempted works, and I think the record is significantly underrated.
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The CD has two bonus tracks, “Girls School,” and “Mull of Kintyre,” which make it even better. London Town is pure comfort food for me.
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George  This one’s difficult, because of my ban on best-of collections. George wrote and performed some great songs, but almost all of his albums are uneven.
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I have a nostalgic fondness for George Harrison, probably because it came out during a happy time of my life. All Things Must Pass is considered his masterpiece, and I like it. But there’s a lot of strange shit on there, and not necessarily strange in a good way. Cloud Nine is solid, and was a big hit, but it sounds too much like ELO.
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Since I have to pick just one, I’ll go with George Harrison. But one of the compilations would probably be a better choice. You know, if there weren’t so many strict rules around here.
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Ringo  Another slam-dunk. As far as I know, Ringo only released one really good solo album, and it was called Ringo. He had all the other ex-Beatles helping out on it, and a bunch of interesting songs to work with. Including “I’m the Greatest,” written by John Lennon.
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I recently listened to it for the first time in years, and was surprised how much I liked it. But, to be honest, it’ll probably be 2015 before I break it out again…
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So there you go. What are your opinions on this subject? If you were to pick just one studio album by each Beatle, what would they be? Use our comments link below.

 If I were to quit my job today, say goodbye to my friends and family, and spend the rest of my life reading in a well-lit room, I couldn’t get through every unread book I currently own.
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I might, barring catastrophic paper cut trauma, make it two-thirds of the way into the stacks, before the dementia finally kicks in and I start arguing with my fourth grade teacher again.
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So I don’t read too many books twice; I’ve got my hands full trying to finish them all the first time ’round.
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Over lunch today I gave it some thought, and believe the titles listed below are the only ones I’ve read more than once. There are plenty I plan to revisit in the murky future (The Risk Pool and Nobody’s Fool are at the top of the list), but so far, I think this is everything. In case you were wondering.
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A Confederacy of Dunces The author, John Kennedy Toole, reportedly became so depressed over the initial (lack of) response to this novel, he killed himself.
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Following the suicide, Toole’s mother began sending the manuscript around to publishers again, and it was eventually released, hailed a masterpiece, and awarded the freakin’ Pulitzer Prize.
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But that’s not why I like it (although it’s a pretty kick-ass back story), I just think it’s hilarious.
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The main character, Ignatius J. Reilly, is one of the most memorable literary creations of them all. He’s a rotund, lazy-as-hell intellectual with a chip on his shoulder, and his monologues and takes on modern society are comedy genius.
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If you haven’t read it, you need to. And if you have, you know what I’m talking about. One of my all-time favorites.
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The Catcher In The Rye Angst-ridden high schoolers and homicidal maniacs love it, and so do I. It is, of course, a great book, and I enjoy it on that level.
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But I’m also drawn to the atmosphere J.D. Salinger creates. The scenes are so vivid it’s almost like time-travel; you’re with narrator Holden Caulfield throughout the novel, experiencing what he experiences, in a fully-realized 1950 (or thereabouts).
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The book packs such a wallop, and is so deceptively simple, it makes everyone who reads it believe they can write a great book too. It’s been said that The Catcher In The Rye is directly responsible for burdening the world with a million bad novels, and for some reason that appeals to me.
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And like Holden, I, too, cannot stand the phonies.
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Time and Again Speaking of time-travel… I’ve already gone on at length about this one. In the past. Maybe someday I’ll go back there, and watch me type it? Wouldn’t that be a wonder?
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Norwood When I think of hilarious books, A Confederacy of Dunces jumps immediately to mind, but Norwood ain’t jumpin’ too far behind.
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Norwood Pratt is another unforgettable comic creation. He’s a Southern hick ex-Marine, traveling a great distance to collect a decidedly small cash debt. Along the way, of course, he has many adventures.
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This is an absurd road novel, written by the mysterious and reclusive Charles Portis. The humor is so dry, you’d better keep some Gatorade handy. And a change of underwear wouldn’t hurt, for when your bowels fail during laughter.
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The follow-up novel, The Dog of the South, has almost exactly the same premise and tone, but is so funny it doesn’t matter.
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Both books are must-reads. Good God are they good.
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To Kill A Mockingbird I was forced to read this in high school, and went into it with a bad attitude. I just knew it would be another exercise in Torture by Literature.
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In my own defense, however, I’d been made to read The Scarlet Letter the previous year, a book I found to be so crushingly dull, I wanted to walk downtown, pick a business at random, and slam my face through their plate glass window. I never finished reading it; I’d just take the zero, screw it.
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But this one was different. It was the first mandated novel I actually enjoyed. In fact, it was probably the first real novel I ever read. At that point in my life I was hung-up on the Beatles and baseball, and stuff like that.
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I was shocked (shocked, I tell you) to realize I was enjoying the book so much. Instead of a black black dread, I actually looked forward to sitting down with it again. I could see it all playing out in my brain, like a really good movie. I had no idea reading could be so… enjoyable.
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Several years later I revisited To Kill A Mockingbird, to see if my fondness for the book was well-placed. And it was.
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The Hoke Moseley Series by Charles Willeford  Probably following a re-read of The Catcher In The Rye, I decided I was going to write a novel. The premise, now that I think about it, was very similar to Norwood and The Dog of the South. Huh, wonder if I realized it at the time? Probably not. In any case, one of my preparations (delays), before starting to write, was to read these four books again.
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Charles Willeford had been a writer of so-called pulp fiction. For many years he cranked out cheap dimestore novels, to pay the rent. And during the process, he became very, very good at it.
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The Hoke Moseley Series was written years later, after Willeford had gone legit, but is reminiscent of the earlier works. The four novels (Miami Blues, New Hope For The Dead, Sideswipe, and The Way We Die Now) feature the battered and burned-out Hoke Moseley, a Miami homicide detective, reluctantly working another case.
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The reason I decided to re-read the series, was to pay special attention to the incredible spare language Willeford uses. I don’t think there’s a single unnecessary word in any of those books, they are almost completely fat-free.
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The series is fun, twisted entertainment, but it’s the skill in writing that blows my mind. Like Salinger, Willeford made it look easy. Heck, I could do that, you think. Then you sit down and try it, and realize just how good those guys were.
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The Hoke Moseley series was cut-short at just four books, by Willeford’s death. If he’d continued with it, I think Hoke would’ve become as iconic as John D. MacDonald’s Travis McGee. As it stands, the four novels are highly recommended. And recommended again.
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And as best as I can remember, those are the only titles I’ve ever read more than once. What about you? Do you revisit books you especially enjoyed? Tell us about it; use the handy comments link below, won’t you?

 I recently mentioned how I was worried about Woodentops Factor, when it came to the new REM album. It sounded too good too soon, and I was suspicious. But now I believe enough time has elapsed for my official not-anticipated-at-all verdict:
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Accelerate is a keeper.
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The action line on this CD, before it was even released, was that REM is rocking again. That sounded encouraging, because their last few releases have been kinda, you know, dreary. But it wasn’t enough to stop me from being skeptical.
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One of their most “rocking” and popular albums, Monster, also happens to be one of my least favorite records in the band’s catalog. I tried to like it, I really did, but it sounded forced and false to me. Yeah, they sold a metric shitload of it, but quality and popularity are two different things; one doesn’t necessarily guarantee the other. Ya know?
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So the promise of a rockin’ REM wasn’t enough to get me excited. Intrigued? Sure, but my jaded soul wouldn’t allow full-on excitement. And even when I listened to it a few times and thought it sounded really good, I wondered if it was a trick of some sort.
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But now that I’ve lived with it for a few weeks, and have played it almost daily (often multiple times), I’m comfortable in proclaiming it Very Good Indeed. When it’s all said and done, I believe Accelerate will be remembered as another bright spot in REM’s bright history.
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The band sounds rejuvenated, like they’re having fun again. The songs are excellent, and just like the old days, little snatches of interesting words reveal themselves at random moments. The guitars are big, but not a “monstrous” sludgy mess. And it only lasts for 35 minutes, the approximate running time of a good ol’ vinyl LP (something that warms the heart of an aging hipster).
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Yes, I’ve been loving it from the very first listen. And finally I’m at peace with it.

 A couple of years ago I didn’t know a thing about Jean Shepherd. I’d seen his name associated with A Christmas Story, one of my favorite holiday movies, and had assumed he was a woman. I mean, Jean, spelled with a J, is a woman’s name, isn’t it?
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But, of course, he was a man. In fact, he was the writer and narrator of A Christmas Story; he was Ralphie all growed-up. The movie was based on his real-life experiences, which he chronicled in magazine articles and books, and on his long-running radio show in New York City.
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I started to learn about Shep, as he’s known to his fans, after a reader of my West Virginia Surf Report (dr. drofub) sent a note suggesting I check out recordings of his radio program.
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The good doc’s enthusiasm, coupled with the Christmas Story connection, prompted me to troll the internet for more information. And the dude sounded right up my alley…
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I decided to take the plunge. I went to eBay and bought more than 800 recordings, in mp3 format, for some ridiculously small amount of money. And he’s been a part of my life ever since.
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It was one of the best eBay purchases ever!
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From the late 1950s until well into the 1970s, Shep lorded over an almost timeless radio show, broadcast late at night. He told stories, reacted to odd newspaper articles (always from a unique perspective), provided commentary about modern life, played kazoo, acted like a maniac, and let loose with what often sounded like stream-of-consciousness.
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Then, at the end, he usually knocked you on your ass by tying it all together in a bracingly smart, hilarious finale.
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It was almost breathtaking; his best shows are works of genuine artistic achievement. I can’t help believing that what sounded so effortless, must’ve actually required a large amount of planning and advance work. I mean, nobody’s that good. Right?
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In any case, I consider Jean Shepherd a friend now (even though he died in 1999); I listen to him almost daily. I’ve got ten of his shows from 1966 on my iPod right now… Just the sound of his theme song has the power to vaporize an entire day’s worth of stress.
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And as late as a couple of years ago, I didn’t know a thing about him…
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Read about another radio genius.

 Following is our recent trip to London, boiled down to the important part only: the beer. Quantities have been omitted, to protect the guilty, and because I can’t really remember the details. But it should give you a general idea of our travels, and our major accomplishments, within (and without) the UK…
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Samuel Adams Boston Ale (at Samuel Adams Brew House restaurant, Newark Airport)
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Carlsberg (while flying, “free” on British Airways)
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Bass Ale (in the hotel room, purchased at a small grocery store around the corner)
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Boddington’s (with dinner at the hotel restaurant)
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Stella Artois (in the hotel room, purchased at a large grocery store around another corner)
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John Smith’s Bitter (at Oddfellows Arms pub, Stratford-upon-Avon)
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Boddington’s (at the hotel bar, before turning in for the evening)
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Fuller’s London Pride (at Red Lion pub, near Westminster)
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Timothy Taylor Landlord (at The Courtfield pub, outside Earls Court tube station)
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John Smith’s Bitter (in the hotel room, purchased at the large grocery store)
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Adnams the Bitter (at The Duke of Marlborough pub, Woodstock)
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Greene King IPA (at The Phoenix pub, Burford)
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Bass Ale (in the hotel room, purchased at the small grocery store)
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Boddington’s (at the hotel bar again)
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Young’s Bitter (at The Lamb and Flag pub, near Covent Garden, London)
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Fuller’s London Pride (at The George pub, near Fleet Street, London)
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Smiles Best (also at The George)
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Timothy Taylor Landlord (at The Courtfield again)
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Yuengling Lager (in our family room, upon returning home from the airport)
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And that’s our trip to England, told only in beer.
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The ones that really stand out? Stella Artois, because it wasn’t any good. Carlsberg, because it was skunky and kinda yuck. Timothy Taylor Landlord, because it was my favorite beer of the trip. And Fuller’s London Pride, because it was especially tasty, as well.
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The rest run together in my mind. That’s not to say they were bad, because they weren’t. In fact, they were all really good. They just comprise the big mushy middle we beer-drinkers know a thing or two about.
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Read the full travelogue.