The Least You Can Do Is Stop Re-producing.

"You're coming off kind of contrived and pretentious.
You're not saying anything we haven't heard before."
- Against Me! - "Don't Lose Touch"

You might recall that I recently launched a verbal attack against the language-abusers who drop the word "organic" at every wrong turn. I take this opportunity now to downgrade those people on my "list of people who deserve anal leakage" and add a new group of offenders to the throne. After all, it's the least that I can do.

Anytime someone offers a hand, whether it be to help a friend move furniture or possibly a dead body (thanks again, Tony), the gesture is usually met with a sincere debt of thanks. That gratitude is then returned with a casual remark, something like: "it's the least I could do." Pleasantries all around. But most times, remarks like this don't come off as pleasant. As a matter of fact, they come off as smarmy and obtuse.

Because, in the grand scheme of things, whatever you've done to reciprocate that phrase--"it's the least I could do"--chances are, there's something much less that you really could have done. After giving a friend a great recommendation to your current boss, trying to help them get back on their feet after a recent lay-off, the friend might say "thanks a lot, Jim. You've really got my back. I appreciate it." Seizing the opportunity to sound humble, you casually drop the phrase. "It's the least I could do," you say. But it's not. It's not, because the least you could do is NOTHING! You could have kept your mouth shut and never uttered a word to your boss in regards to your friend. And nothing is less than what you did. Nothing is the least you could do.

So the next time you find yourself about to lay this line out there--presumably just before you cut yourself a fun-sized slice of humble pie--think about what you're saying and then stop. And then kick yourself in the balls.


This Entry In Song:
Barcelona - "Response"
The Bravery - "Every Word Is a Knife In My Ear"

Be Back Soon,
Shaky Jake

Watching Trains and Feeling Small.

"I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean."
- Lee Ann Womack, "I Hope You Dance"

As I waited for the subway the other day, perfecting the art of staring blankly into space and wearing earphones like an introspective dunce, I couldn't help but let a smile slip across my face. A child--perhaps 7 years old, perhaps not even that--was waiting anxiously (and dangerously) near the edge of the platform, watching for the train to come. His anticipation building with each weary look toward approaching headlights, he could barely contain himself long enough to shout his excitement at his grandfather.

"It's coming, it's coming! It's almost here!"


I watched his hands grasp at his face, trying to figure out the best way to greet the arriving train. Should he run alongside it? Air five it? Attempt to hop atop it and ride it into Universal City like a bronco? Ultimately, he decided on a mixture of awkward flailing and whimsical jumping. "It's here! The train's here, grandpa!"

As this scene unfolded--the child seizuring at the sight of a dirty subway train, his grandfather bemusing interest--I wondered if I would ever get so excited over something so small again. As corny as it all is, the little things in life often pass us by. And as the great Ferris Bueller once said: "Life moves pretty fast. You don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."

So to all of us workaholics, thumb twiddlers, and shoegazers: slow down and watch for the trains.


This Entry In Song:
Barcelona - "Lesser Things"
Jack Johnson - "While We Wait"

Be Back Soon,
Shaky Jake