My friend Eric tweeted late last night,” ‘Up in the Air’: politely misguided liberal fantasy, or egregiously clueless and downright offensive in parts Piece Of Shit?”

It made me think of the clip above. I watched Up in the Air earlier this week and wondered what the fuss was about. It tries to do a lot, but I’m not sure it accomplishes very much. It’s boilerplate romance-gone-wrong fare, freighted with a message about how our priorities are wrong and somehow the horrible economy will help us figure out what’s important. Sorry, Mr. Reitman, but the notion of making lemonade doesn’t work when you can’t afford the lemons in the first place.

For people who’ve never been laid off, it seems like the stuff dreams are made of. You’re freed from a job you probably hated anyway; you get some severance, or at least unemployment; and you can reevaluate things and move on. Which is the logic that informs this amazingly hilarious Onion article I read way back in October 2003, when I was about six months into what would be a 2+ year underemployment bid.

I felt that the testimonials that came at the end of the movie from folks who’d lost their jobs in the recent downturn echoed the hope the Obama campaign gave them. Their optimism and their reliance on family to support them in their time of need were both very poignant, but Reitman conveniently leaves out all the stories from the past few years about folks who’ve lost their jobs and have then gone on to violent attacks on their workplaces and communities.

Is Reitman the new W.D. Howells, that is, someone who puts a smiley face on realism? There’s but one “dead end” in the movie, the woman who follows through on her threat to commit suicide. Everyone else just goes on their merry way, for better or worse. Whether it’s finding a new job, or having an affair, or just running away from it all thanks to a nearly infinite supply of frequent flier miles, everyone can find an escape from the humdrum, if not outright happiness.

I think it’s that that people dislike about Reitman’s movies. The simple-mindedness. The breezy dialogue. The beautiful people. The whole ‘resiliency of the human spirit’ trope, which sometimes just seems a little more realistic than the way it’s presented here. Reitman’s youthful, privileged worldview makes it difficult to see things differently than he does, that is, through a lens of infinite possibility. The problem is that Reitman’s skies, like those in Up in the Air, are sunny and cloudless.

Sorry for not having written more often last month. I feel like I’m still mentally digging out from all that snow. This week has erased almost all memory of 24+ hour snows, but I still harbor a fear that we may get nipped again before March is out.

In the meantime, bask in the glorious sunshine!

I’m sorry, but a Sam Peckinpah film with a happy ending is hardly a Sam Peckinpah film.

I heard an interview with the band last night that made Transference more appealing than it is. Daniel and Jim Eno made the album’s weaknesses sound like strengths. There’s no hiding the fact that their efforts to make an “uglier” record succeeded, so why not embrace it?

They knew what sound they wanted and produced the record themselves, but that’s not the issue. Transference is immediately recognizeable as a Spoon record; the problem is that it’s not a very good one. You’d have to go back to the daring, equally uneven Kill the Moonlight to hear something as infuriating as this. Sequencing, not production, stops Transference in its tracks.

Spoon buried the best songs in the middle third of the album, starting with “Written in Reverse” and ending with the plaintive strains of “Goodnight Laura,” a song that veers dangerously close to maudlin which wouldn’t be so bad if this weren’t a Spoon album.

We’ve come to expect great things. Their sound might be best described as Billy Joel songs as reimagined by Wire. Songs like “Sister Jack” and “The Underdog” burnished their reputation as a band on the cusp of greatness. There’s nothing of that caliber here.

Transference should’ve been Spoon’s magnum opus, the product of two decades worth of hard work from a band at the height of its power. Instead it’s the album you can tell the uninitiated they can safely ignore.

Part of the problem is that people will settle for bad pizza. I would not. I tried pizzas all over town in a quest to find something I could honestly endorse without reservation. It was impossible. People would recommend their favorite spots and I’d bring a pie home only to discover their favorite wasn’t up to snuff.

Helen and I had been feasting on Gianfranco’s pizza, which I would pick up down at 3rd and Market. It wasn’t bad and was a far cry better than most of the delivery spots that serve Port Fishington. (I’m sorry Rustica, but your pizzas are all too smoky and soggy for my personal taste. Santucci’s isn’t bad, actually, but outside the delivery range.)

We decided enough was a enough and driving that distance for pizza was just silly. We searched the neighborhood for something decent, but Cassizzi’s wasn’t cutting it. We finally had to break down and take the nuclear option: calling ahead for pickup at Tacconelli’s.

I’ve put this off for some time. We know it by reputation and had even tried it a couple times, but weren’t so blown away that it seemed worth placing a pizza order at 11 a.m. Pizza is a spontaneous dinner!

Well, after two consecutive nights of Tacconelli’s pizza, I can safely say we’ve been converted. It’s worth the hassle, especially if you live within five minutes drive of Tacconelli’s like we do. We’re no longer pizza nomads, wandering Philly’s desert.

Oops.

I found myself staring at a grey screen, the fan whirring out of control. Fun!

Now I’m trying to figure out whether I should take it to an Apple store, or just visit a repair service now that my Applecare term has ended.

Feel free to offer your two cents in the comments!

I got the chance to talk to punk phenomenon Jay Reatard after his SXSW ‘08 set. He had a tremendous vitality and frenetic energy that was contagious. His reckless abandon and go-for-broke spirit will be sorely missed.

Without getting bogged down in all the hows and whys, I’m really excited for 2010 already. Two of my favorite bands, Spoon and Liars, have albums out this January and it’s the time of year where I obsess over these releases, often at the expense of ignoring worthy albums that come along later in the year’s promotional cycle.

I used to think it was stupid for bands to release albums this time of year. Boy, was I wrong! When LCD Soundsystem releases albums in the dead of winter, they capture more attention than they would if they tried to shoehorn their stuff into the March and October gluts. It’s the perfect time of year to really get familiar with a record. You’re trapped in the house or car anyway, so you might as well crank up the stereo.

I celebrate the new year in music by deleting everything in iTunes and starting over fresh. Right now I’m listening to Spoon, but I’ll be checking out new music from Yeasayer, Ted Leo, Liars, Blood Feathers, Vampire Weekend and Gil-Scott Heron (!) soon enough. What a great way to start 2010!

It’s been almost two years since I went up to New York for Mariah’s Comcast commercial shoot. Back then I was pretty optimistic about the direction her career was headed. It’s been pretty amazing to watch the balloon deflate.

I managed to get tickets to her recent Atlantic City show at the Borgata. The seats were amazing. The performance? Not so much. I think Helen summed it up best when she said her performance was more Atlantic City than it was Vegas, that it was more kitschy than cool. I’d say that was spot on.

After I read Jon Caramanica’s terrific review, I was looking forward to finally seeing her perform. Man, was I ever disappointed. It was a brutal combination of bad sound, bad dancers, and an overall lack of enthusiasm from Mariah, who seemed to just go through the motions. The backup singers (and backing track) were so loud I often couldn’t tell when she was singing and I feared that might have been done intentionally. Overall, it was just a lackluster performance by one of the few remaining superstars in music.

I know I’m late to the party, but what a fun documentary! I wish I could catch their show at the TLA next weekend.

Anvil! The Story of Anvil reminded me a bit of American Splendor, except Harvey Pekar’s tendency to accentuate the negative aspects of publicity are 180 degrees out of phase with Lips’ outlook. Who knows how far they’ll take it, but it’s great to see that they’re capitalizing on the film’s success and getting out on the road. It should be a great show!