the count is 0-0

on average there aren't that many good Mondays in a year, but today is one of those rare glorious ones. Indeed baseball's opening day is upon us, and with it the return of all that is good for us fans. Johan Santana's starting on the mound for my beloved Mets, and that's pretty much all that's gonna matter for the next few hours.

OK, let me run through the official Opening Day Success Check List:

Beer? Check.

KFC? Check (fast food on a Monday night, the recipe for success).

Blackberry off? Check.

Good times? Most definitely, check

parting shots

after spending 5 years in Paris as the bureau chief for the New York Times, Elaine Sciolino is about to move to a new post and last week filed her leaving piece, called A Guide to the French, about things she learned in the City of Lights. Even though she seems appreciative of her time there, the article doesn't exude too much warmth warm, toward the country or its inhabitants. From harping on France's obsession with history, to underscoring French women's evergreen sexiness, the list reads more like a jumble of slightly amusing observations than a true attempt at describing what makes the French so, well, French.
Where New Yorker correspondent Adam Gopnik had managed to make light of the tons of small annoyances one encounters when living in France in such a breezy and enjoyable way in his book Paris To The Moon, Mrs Sciolino sounds mostly like an outsider who never really figured out how to adapt to the charms and frustrations of this old country. It's far from bad, and she actually nails some of the details about life in France that generally take some time to understand (for instance the air-kiss thing, one of the big mysteries to Americans when they move to France), but there is unfortunately no sense that she understood the country beyond those details. Not to say it's an easy thing, in fact it's not one I'd necessarily try to describe myself even after spending nearly 10 years there, but if you're going to try, moving beyond the cliches might be a good start. Stating that no one says "bon appetit" before a meal make me wonder what type of French people she encountered during her stay. Methinks a lot of Varenne-St Germain-Montorgueil types and perhaps not too many of the 99.5% of those she's trying to describe. I might be incredibly dismissive here, but that's the feeling I got from reading her article.
In the end the reader's response to this piece will depend on their initial opinion of the French. Which means that publishing it will have had no positive impact whatsoever. And that, unfortunately, is fast becoming the norm when it comes to the traditional news media's cultural relevance.

random Monday nights are the best

gee, I wonder if they mean that in a good way

Vampire Weekend - Vampire Weekend

so, Vampire Weekend. What to say that hasn't been said 36 789 times in the past few weeks on music blogs around the world? Actually, it's pretty simple: this is fantastic music. Beyond the "new Strokes" labels being banded about, at the heart of their debut album is a desire to give it their all, to meld their influences (afro-beat and indie rock with a varnish of Ivy League preppiness) in a way that is neither overbearing nor self-indulgent, and to basically make music that is fun to listen to, yet rewarding after continuous listens. A lot of what's on this record has been heard in various forms before (Paul Simon's Graceland, Talk Talk), but the freshness and sheer exhbuberance of the songs makes worrying about the orginality of this work a moot point. What's most satisfying is that the songs on here bounce around, yet never have that sticky-candy attribute that many pop songs seem to acquire so fast.

In a year where winter has never really happened, it seems fitting that January would see the release of a great summer album. There are songs to drive to Hyannisport to, to reminisce about your college days and to wish for the weekend to last forever. And if the summer never really comes around (see: last year), what better way to tide us over to the next one than this pretty little gem of a album?