My Impressions of the Loudoun Towns

What follows is a scholarly account of the various communities of the county of Loudoun. Please keep discussion civil:

Waterford: The locus of Loudoun County. The hub of the universe. What else can I say? I kid. As I’ve said earlier, growing up here was a lot of fun. It’s notorious for its snobby, aristocratic attitude, which masquerades itself as historical purity to circumvent the straight-up rich disdain of places like Middleburg, a place with much less white guilt than Waterford. Perhaps many in Loudoun hate Waterford because of this self-righteous liberalism. I think all the complaints about slow speed limits and preservation and what-have-you are really just politics, and ultimately I’m not sure what the root differences in psychology are between liberals and conservatives (in fact, Loudoun County’s branch of liberals are pretty conservative themselves in regards to a lot of things other than politics), but in any case, as Bethany has said, there is a lot of grousing and bullyknocking from the other, genetically inferior residents of Loudoun towards Waterford.

Really, I couldn’t give much less of a fuck about this, because it’s a nice little village (not a town, since it’s unincorporated and lacks a showy mayor strolling around and hitting on girls half his age) with some beautiful stuff. It also has the pool, which I believe we’ve posted on before and dominated a large part of our childhoods. My pick for the #1 town in Loudoun, but yes, this is incredibly biased.

Leesburg: The real hub and locus of Loudoun County, it is also the capital and I assume most populous town in Loudoun. Although notorious for its increasingly rampant strip malls and rows of townhouses on the outskirts, I still think of the downtown when I think of Leesburg, and it’s not a bad one. I think of running along the bike trail past Loudoun County High School or even the famous Bermuda Triangle of Leesburg, which is the lost area which houses the ABC liquor store (complete with the surly employee who sure as fuck is not going to card you for that bottle of Mr. Boston or Bacardi [if you are trying to get laid]), Roy Rogers, Safeway, and now the workplace of all Loudoun Valley High School graduates—Verizon. It’s not very unusual for a town of its size, but that’s not really a bad thing. At least it has a pretty big downtown area. No, it’s not just by the courthouse, but expands from the Ida Lee out to areas like Loudoun County High School out to Blockbuster (fuck the Blockbuster in Purcellville).

Purcellville: An area I’ve avoided since high school because of all the types that Bethany mentions who I don’t want to see. I’m sorry, but after I graduated I don’t want to be associated with the post-grads like Taylor Dooley or Greg Rickert who go after the Valley chicks for years afterwards and basically just stay in some sort of grey area locally forever (meaning until now). I have mostly through my years associated Purcellville only with school, since that was about my only reason to venture into it. Perhaps this has left a sour taste on my mouth. The better parts of town are the parts towards the west side, with the community center and the bike trail, etc. I’m sure it’s different if you grew up here, but I’ve just always associated it with the annoying kids of Valley—the bad kids who would hang around smoking cigarettes in the parking lot because they actually had parking lots in their town, unlike ours. Because of my avoidance of it, I tend not to really know much about it, so take that as you will.

Hamilton: This always seemed like a stop between Waterford and Purcellville, but I do not mean that in a bad way. I like Hamilton because it seems like a normal small town without any sort of redneck or white guilt prejudice, which are the two battles continually being fought in Loudoun County (the white guilt one is obviously winning, and has defeated the rest of NOVA a very, very long time ago). I haven’t particularly gone to it very often, other than Ashley Wallace’s house, but I always felt it was a nice place. It also had the best playground in the county growing up. I believe we went to the elementary school there for FUTURA in elementary school. I associate this town with house league soccer and rattails.

Lincoln: The famed moral battleground in the dissolution of the Waterford trio of me, Daniel, and Greg. Daniel remained neutral, Greg sided with Round Hill, and I sided with Lincoln. Known for its wide variety of strange denizens, from Luke Burgher to Kristin Feickert to the Faroes to Kyle Anderberg, they seemed to have a pretty tight-knit town actually, probably because they seemed to have so many people of the same age and temperament. It’s notable for its easy-going spirit, perhaps fostered by its Quaker roots, as well as being the site of many back roads where Loudoun Valley kids got high for the first time in the backseat of a Jeep with Taylor Dooley driving. There was a period where James Jones and I went here every day, and it was a great one. I like how it’s set up, with its dirt roads along the forest, instead of having a real downtown area.

Lovettsville: Apparently this is the rival of Waterford, but who knew? Again, I haven’t been to it all that much, other than to go to Molly Darr’s house and occasionally drive through it. Seems like a nice enough place. It distinctly has a feel of more backwoods than even the rest of Western Loudoun, especially when you look at the window and a mountain is looming ever closer, like the moon slowly grinning its way towards the earth in The Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask. Bethany says it has a Confederate vibe, and I’m not sure if this is true myself because of limited experience, but it definitely feels like more of a rural town than others.

Hillsboro: My connections to this small town (I believe it also might be unincorporated) are twofold: my ex-girlfriend Alex lived here right off Rt. 9 and my grandmother’s house has always been here. This town is a bit darker and seedier than the rest of Loudoun, probably due to its place on the way to the racetracks of Charleston, WVA. It is basically nothing more than a collection of houses right off Rt. 9, but it has an air of gambling and boozing and unshaven rednecks about it, and it’s best to watch your step here, in my opinion. Things get different in Loudoun the farther west you go, even past supposedly Western Loudoun places like Purcellville and Waterford.

Lucketts/Taylorstown: Very small parts of Loudoun tucked away in the corners, I learned from my mom yesterday that Taylorstown is named after my dad’s ancestor who settled there around 1730, first as an indentured servant. Does anyone actually go to these places? I think not.

Round Hill: The “bad boy” of Loudoun County, this was Greg’s moral homebase during the war waged in the hearts of Waterford. Full of kids who started smoking when they were 13 and who had no qualms about showing that off to girls a sixth younger than them, it actually feels like a town that has some semblance of unity that we missed out on in Waterford when I go there, however infrequently. I think the fact that it has a diner lends itself an air of small-town togetherness. I wish we had that in Waterford. That is Waterford’s greatest weakness: it has no real sense of unity, other than a incredibly self-righteous sense of white guilt liberalism, probably because it really has no fun hang-out spots for people to gather in. In Waterford there is a tremendous sense of behind-closed-doors cattiness among the residents that I suspect does not exist in the other communities. Mostly because the people are all rich and retired, so they can afford to do such things. Round Hill has always been a community of posing bad boys, but in comparison to Hillsboro, it really seems kind of quaint.

Middleburg: This is a rich place, but at least it has no bones about showing that it is what it is. I don’t particularly come here often, but it’s known for its horses of course. I believe Jackie Kennedy once lived here, although I might be mistaken on that one. She at least owned a store or visited or something. I would say these people are snobby and all dicks, but then again I’ve never met any of them. I suppose Daniel has had closer encounters with them (described here).

Upperville: Haha, what else can I say about this place other than James Jones? Wild-child and the ultimate hedonist of Loudoun County, everyone hates him now, but only me and Daniel and perhaps Johanna Faroe and Molly seem to remember how great of a kid he used to be. I couldn’t care less what he has done since, he was a charismatic person, the Jim Morrison of his generation, degrading into bloated filth and excess, but none of us can forget the glory years of his youth. Perhaps a sign of his demise was when his family moved to Beacon Hill, which is an annoying “suburb” of Waterford full of McMansions. On a side note, does anyone think that any of these houses even look nice? When you see nice, old stone houses in various parts of Loudoun of equal size and much more beautiful architecture, it makes the crappy, ready-made mansions in these areas look very paltry in comparison. But most people in NOVA have never seen beautiful architecture, so they continue to see these large pleasure palaces as signs of wealth and prestige, when in reality they won’t be around for more than a generation or so and the old historical homes will still be standing and admired for a long time (at least if the Waterford Foundation doesn’t give up its battle and lets them all be bulldozed).

Paeonian Springs: Um, well I like the downtown part, mostly just because it has the bike trail. I’m not even sure if this is a town or not. Perhaps someone else can give a better take on it.

Ashburn: Home of the dull, listless sirens that seem to lure those who remain in Loudoun, this is an area I’m rather not fond of, but unfortunately I also work here. It lacks any sort of town spirit like the ones I described above in Loudoun County. Basically just a development of endless townhouses and shopping complexes, this is truly an area devoid of personality, much like its residents. I can’t imagine ever wanting to live here, although Heather from my work wanted to live here, probably because she grew up here. This is going to sound incredibly snobby, but I don’t give a fuck because I grew up in Waterford, but when I think of people who grew up in Ashburn, I think of those who grew up texting instead of reading, and losing their virginity at age 13. I haven’t ever really been proven wrong on this.

Sterling: While it’s another pseudo-suburban wasteland like Ashburn, it at least feels less like upper-middle-class white, non-intellectual paradise than Ashburn does, because of its multitude of immigrants, whether they are Hispanic or Vietnamese or Pakistani or whatever. It feels a little bit less annoying for that reason. On the flipside, it probably has the worst crime in the county. But then again, I don’t live there, so I don’t worry about it. Traffic around Drainesville Road is always a sinkhole, and lends some credibility to the name of that road. The area around Borders was pretty depressing to work in, though, and Sterling is basically just an infinite number of lines of townhouses heading back towards the airport. God help those who live here.

Bluemont: I’m throwing this in at the end. I forgot about it. It defines the southwestern corridor of Loudoun, high up on the mountain towards Winchester, and reminds me of something almost out of Lord of the Rings because of that mountain. For that reason alone, it’s a bit of a romantic town for me. My only experiences with it really are through Kelley Anderson and Terry Daley. I like both of them, so therefore I like the town. I’ve never been to its annual fair however.

--Edward

Is it just me or...

Does the "nightlife" of Loudoun County scare you? I'm telling you-- the concept of grabbing a drink at "Magnolias" in Purcellville or "Shenanigans" in Leesburg makes me so frightened to the core of my being that I could cry. I don't know if it's the atmosphere of the establishments themselves, or just the notion of running into people that I really, really, really do not want to see. I'm honestly nervous just typing this... like at any given moment I'm going to be kidnapped from my home and taken to "Bunkers" and forced to sit down and "catch up" with the Everhart twins, or Alex Byrd. I think this will become a recurring nightmare for me...

Sugar Coat Much?

How did they forget the Wal-Mart in Leesburg and the TWO 7-11 in Purcellville, among many other great attractions?

West(Loudoun)side Story: A Tale of Two Towns

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way."

So waxed the grand master of realist prose himself, Mr. Charles Dickens, when reflecting deliberately, purposefully upon the state of affairs in the kingdom of Western Loudoun County--A geographical area so tersely travailed by the rabid rivalry that has taken hold of two townships for the last half century. Yes, the towns in which I refer to are, in fact, Lovettsville and Waterford. Not since the days of the Punic Wars, when Rome's resplendent conquering of Carthage was dubbed the day the earth did tremble, have two villages so vehemently been at odds with one another. And the Children of the earth did cry out, "What hath God wrought?"

I often find myself postulating about the modern remake of the film, "West Side Story" (no I don't), wondering if it will, in fact, be set in our modest dominion. In this revival, I will most certainly play the young Maria, a girl from the wrong side of the tracks, desperately dreaming of life abounding in the town where the grass is really greener. You see, since I was a child, I was very much aware of the inherent idiosyncrasies of my beloved hometown. I knew that Lovettsville was a community rapt with country bumpkin bucolic charm. I was well acquainted with the Redneck (You're damn right I'm capitalizing this word. Show some respect, people) raucous hang-out spot dubbed "the Pit"--a parking cul de sac in the middle of town, nestled in by our claim to fame (the 7-11) wherein the hicks of Lovettsville all would commune together to recount the absurdities of a day in the life of the modern farm worker/construction worker/bus driver/whatever the hell kind of goddamn profession these men had. I knew that country radio stations were the only presets in the automobiles owned by my neighbors, and that Roy Rogers fast food was preferred over any newfangled McDonald's Happy Meal. Conversations were simple, and social gatherings always involved strawberry wine and grain alcohol. My proverbial garden was indeed small, but life was sweet, sublime, stainless.

Fast forward to the sixth grade when I became friends with an expansive crop of kids, hailing from all over the county. The first true "best friend" I recruited went by the name of Sarah Cross; we bonded over our mutual love of 1950s culture, broadway musicals, and all things Elvis Presley. I remember recounting to my mother the fresh information I'd expertly gathered from Sarah when asking permission to have my first middle school sleepover at Miss Cross' abode. The look on her typically unassuming face when she heard the words "she's from Waterford," have been forever ingrained in my now riddled psyche. "What's wrong?" I so intriguingly inquired. What followed in her guarded explanation has heretofore shaped my views on societal intersubjectivity. Like the very moment when Romeo learns that his Juliet was spawned from the Montague's arch nemesis, my world imploded in upon me.

How could I have been so blind? After this life-altering exchange, I began gathering various forms of insight regarding the intricacies of said rivalry. The first morsel of malice I picked up on: most Waterford residents don't actually know there is a dueling opposition between them and Lovettsvillians (Ha--how aptly dubbed!). They don't know, or they pretend not to know. Every Lovettsville citizen that has lived in the town for more than ten years will be completely well versed on the general distaste for all things Waterford. We're taught by our elders to harbor certain resentments when referring to our classier neighbors. For instance, the overall attitude of the town itself: so quiet, so quaint, so charming, so fancy... all of these attributes are used to sarcastically point out the underlying sense of snob mentality that permeates Waterford culture (or should I say "H20ford,"... oh yeah, we hate that stupid nickname, too). Then, there is the communal mantras perpetuated by the township itself. The bumper stickers reading "20 means 20 in Waterford," referring to the speed limit within the town, the fucking Waterford Fair and all that entails, the goddamn school house and stories of field trips to that sacred sanctum of Waterfordness, the infamous pink house in the middle of town, and the overall acknowledgement that the majority of Waterford residents are innately bred liberals. In part, Lovettsvillians must be suffering from a deep-rooted sense of demonic jealousy and disappointment in themselves, fearing their own unsophisticated, childish and backwoods behaviors are never measuring up to Waterford--their metaphorical, overachieving older sibling.

This is where I come in as the prodigal anomaly. As soon as I befriended Sarah Cross and spent my first night away within the walls of whimsical Waterford, I became acutely aware of my own heritage and geographical shortcomings, wishing so intensely that I could have grown up in the national historic landmark itself. I soon became fast friends with a one Miss Aubrey Clendenin, Mr. Joshua Nesbit, Lauren Dennis, Caitlin Nicholson, Tim Cotter, Nick Clarke, and Greg Rickert (funnily enough, it wasn't until 9th grade that I truly became friends with Edward and Daniel. I blame this entirely on them). Oh, how I lamented the day when I'd have one of these classy cronies over to my humble house, set amongst the trees on a dirt road in Lovettsville. Were they too aware of the conflict of interest involved in our young friendship? If they were, they never showed it. My parents became weary over the time I spent pleading with them to move me into the city limits of Waterford; I promised them a multitude of perks (better grades, a better social life, a better appreciation of living history) that would undoubtedly follow after my relocation. Clearly, they never took stock in my burning desires to be transformed into a little Waterfordian debutante. I did my best to include myself into the culture of the town--spending as much time as I possibly could between Aubrey and Sarah's houses, even going so far as to date Greg Rickert, a local. Though I did have momentary glimpses of glory wherein I was so fully embraced by H20ford's citizens, I felt that, on the whole, I wore a gold star that would forever tip off all residents to my true nature.

And so it is— I stayed a Lovettsville resident throughout my youth and into my high school career. I was shipped off to college, I traveled the world, living in Manhattan and LA intermittently, and I've recently come full circle, returning back to the place from whence I came. They say you can never go home again, but here I am, as I live and breathe. My first day back in Lovettsville, after such an extended vacation from Virginia in general, was existentially uprooting to say the very least. After years of inner turmoil, wishing I'd sewn roots in Waterford Elementary's school grounds, spent my youth volunteering for the fair, came home each college break to the darling, meandering streets of the town that time hasn't tainted, I believe I've ultimately experienced a complete reversal of my own psychosis. Though I cannot yet divulge the details of my change of heart, I do know that I inexplicably enjoy the town of Lovettsville today more than present-day Waterford. Sure it has it's obvious flaws; the "squircle" that leads you into a complete cluster-fuck every time you try to drive towards the post office, the hillbilly connotations that pervade even now, the lack of jovial communal gatherings, the absolute reverence for all things Confederate, and the absence of any beautiful women, to name a few. But, in my own modest (yeah right) opinion that none of you are even asking for, I feel that Lovettsville has something Waterford never did, and never could— avidity, zest, earnestness, pep, irreverence, or, a total disregard for social graces or morality, in essence. Lovettsville has some bruises, some dirt under her fingernails. Waterford perpetually stands in full regalia and grace.

That is not to say Waterford should not still be revered as a haven of history and ineffable magnetism. Quite the opposite, really! Waterford is a mecca of all things charming and could truly never be tarnished by the curse of time— I have been, though. Time is the thing that knocks upon my skull, my heart, my soul, begging me to adapt, to evolve. I look back on the me of yesterday and it feels as though I've stumbled upon someone else's autobiography. I no longer yearn for someone else's backyard, but, to be fair, I also no longer feel at home in Loudoun County in general. I take pleasure in the (delusional) notion that I'm a citizen of the world, no longer confined to my own limitations and self-prescribed Dickonsonian or "Maria" tendencies. In short, I relate more, now than ever, to Lovettsville's grittiness and transmogrifications than to Waterford's preserved, pellucid perfection, unaltered by the outside changing world. Call me crazy (and I'm quite certain you will), but, to me at least, Lovettsville is "Runnin' Against the Wind," whereas Waterford will always sing out, "Strawberry Fields Forever" within the confines of my own feeble mind. Surely, I digress...

Basically, what I'm trying to say, though not so succinctly or eloquently or even effectively...... LOVETTSVILLE RULES. WATERFORD SUCKS. DEAL WITH IT.

Landoun County

See what I did there? Landoun County? Loudoun County? Dumb. But it's all about the land in Loudoun.

The countryside of hills tumble down from the Blue Ridge Mountains into a valley that plateaus into the encroaching DC area. These hills, populated by deer, coons, squirrels, and musk-oxen (in my head) became at some point 30 or so years ago the prime spot to be and live and commute into DC, to basically have your cake and feast on it too. It's pretty much exactly what my parents did when they moved out from Arlington to ye olde Waterford. I imagine the commute, although long back then as well, was hardly the pavement glacier it is now. Basically everything from Leesburg on out along Route 7 was rural, unfettered goodness. But people started to have the same idea as they got tired of the less than sparkly Arlington landscape (at the time). And the bulldozers started showing up and carving out little American dreams here and there for everyone with a checkbook and a taste for meadows of fireflies and babbling brooks of golden fairies. It was a grand time I'm sure for all involved.

Then after a decade or so, maybe sooner, I'm sure it became apparent to those who had already found their patio, grill, and gardens. With more people taking the land everyone came to look at, you're just looking into Joe J. Commuter's backyard and his jerkwad kids making fun of each other. But it didn't stop. More gold rushers showed up, building this time crummier houses at cheaper prices in less identifiable places (like along highways in between towns cuz there wuz space there), and caring less about what it all looked and felt like.

"No worries," they said, "We'll build a McDonald's. And we'll build a Wal-Mart. And what about an Outlet Mall! And a Target and a Kohl's and a Party City and a PetsMart and a Pizza Hut and a Home Depot and a Lowe's and a Giant and a Shoppers Food Warehouse and a Burlington Coat Factory and a Steinmart(!) and a bigger Mall and a HUGE Car Wash that's real fancy!"

But how to get to all these pods of food and stuff and shit?

"Make Route 7 bigger! Make it go around Leesburg, build a sweeping overpass over it all, put in stoplights and widen the fucking roads so we can go faster and fit more!"

What about the people that can't afford to own cars?

"LOLWUT! Fuck 'em! Everyone can afford a car, this is America! And if they still can't, push them toward the slummier parts of Leesburg (or the slummier parts somewhere out of the county altogether) so they can at least run across highways to get food and supplies and even skip across six lanes to the DMV to wait for hours to apply for a license to use on a car they might afford in twenty years. Careful on your way back across the road boys!"

======

Loudoun continued to blossom and shove its bulbous head into the DC area's radar. 57,000 in 1980 turned to 140,000 by the 2000s, and the population as a whole demanded its water, electricity, and ROADS. The great highway to rule them all, the Greenway was built and then jacked up its price; so to avoid the hell of stoplights n' traffic on 7, you gave away your two first born to ride the luxurious Greenway (because of all those forests you get to see just beyond the 8 lane highway's edges). More and more, the landscape would blink and open its eyes to a new parking lot for a Wegman's, a parking lot for a Costco, a parking lot for a Parking lot.

It's not that these places themselves don't offer some good old fashioned shit, or that these houses don't house wonderful people (some of them). It's that the collective effect of this smorgasbord all adds up to no one really giving a crap about what it was all about in the first place. The land.

In the first place, it wasn't just land to have and take a dump on. But now, all that dumped-on, cemented/pavemented land is now is a spitting image of Iowa suburbs, upstate New York suburbs, Texas suburbs, sun-cooked Arizona suburbs, and so on. It's a portal to another homogenized place around the country that no one really cares to remember the name of, to recognize where the place stops or begins, to identify with anyone or anything.

But there are still parts of these places, and of Loudoun, that aren't baking asphalt. There are towns and family-owned shops and actual communities living together collectively. And even for the outliers, there are houses at the end of long drive ways that care to embrace the hillside rather than subdivide it into cardboard fortresses. There are people worth more than their cars, mortgages, and kids' college funds.

You just have to keep driving west. Drive west and driving no longer becomes a chore or an eternity of hating other people through glass, it becomes a joyride, an exploration, a goddamn thrill, jumping around curves over fields through forests and along rivers. And then you get out and you're alive in the world not dead in man-made facelessness.

======

Loudoun County was the richest county in the United States in 2008. It dropped since then. Forbes says it's now second place, to its easterly neighbor Falls Church. The 2011 median income of Loudoun? $112,021. Shit son. And what does it have to show for itself?

For some, it's just a lot of a lot of nice cars, jumbo houses, and backyards that if you even peek at, the nervous suburbanites will call the cop who sits two feet away in cul-de-sac #3582 just for that purpose. "No looking at the rich people; they feel threatened." Basically, they have a lot of things. Things they can compare to each other's things, things they can salivate and slob over, things they can jerk off to and go to sleep hugging between their arms and legs. Cool story bro. Things are cool. I like things too. You can get what you want if you want (and have the means). I ain't stopping you. But if that's all there is, then fuck man, fook.

But for others, they have land (and things), or they have a little land that just hasn't been shat on (and things). Again, the land isn't all gone yet. You look around and you're in one of the most beautiful places you'll find. That's the other side of the county (west!); people own acres and acres of land to represent such a steep and stupidly high minimum income. It all comes at a high price, but if there's so much goddamn money in the county, why not enjoy your things and your land too (please no more Party Citys). Hey, you earned it, or at least inherited it.

Where does that leave us? With a lot of people who don't care, some that do but don't really, and others that really do care. And you end up with burgeoning towns-turned-blacktops with highway tentacles (Leesburg), other towns that aren't towns but a collections of houses and shopping centers and parking lots gathered in the vicinity of a sign stuck between manicured bushes and five USA flags (Ashburn), towns that are quickly slipping into an abyss of shit from something that once had character and meaning (Purcellville), towns that really care, have a lot of time, a lot of money, are really proud and in danger of being too pretentious or wrapped up to really keep in touch with reality, yet still hold a place in my heart for being home and old-fashioned and stuck up in keeping it that way (Waterford), and towns that hold themselves nicely to the hills and streams and forests around them (Lovettsville, Taylorstown, Hamilton, Lucketts, Hillsboro, Bluemont, Philomont, Round Hill) and still others that are ungodly, impossibly rich that I don't know much about (Middleburg) and probably others I'm forgetting. Be proud and for once give a damn about living in such a beautiful place you rich, lucky bastards!

Topic o' the Month for May: Loudoun County

Yes, some might say this is an exclusionary topic since a lot of our writers (some of them?) don't live in Loudoun County, but let's be honest, not many post these days anyway and this is a topic just too rich with hilarious and hopefully controversial topics. I hope everyone gets down and dirty this month and doesn't just keep it safe. But then again, it might only just be me and Daniel, and as everyone knows, we are two of the safest people ever. Bring out your dead!


--Edward

Technocratic Psychobabble: Names and Commentary

Technocratic Psychobabble

-Hunky had been going to night school for, oh, say two, three years, but he'd never seen anyone this bad-ass before. The Masonic midget-leper gave him a high-five on the way out and flashed his ass crack to the delight of everyone.

: A delirious return to writing after some presumed sort of meditation and regeneration following “Coming Down”, I wonder how long it took for Edward to start kicking it again with his pencil and paper (perhaps not even that long). You don’t even have to go past “Hunky” to know you’re in for a treat on this stupid joyride of a name. I love that the narrator takes time to debate how many years he wants to say Hunky’s gone to night school, but not to get it right, just to sort of amuse himself with how each number sounds. Edward’s secret (not-so-secret) talent was to combine adjectives, personifiers, amplifiers, characterizers, and tenderizers like “Masonic midget-leper” into actual figures to dance ambiguously across his stories, not unlike a certain Dylan (why doesn’t anyone ever ask why Bob Dylan’s songs sound so much like mine?!). Is it necessary for such a complex sounding character to be in this sort of funky jerk-wad of a name? Probably not, but then again, sure why not. What’s awkward and therefore funnier about the image of this class clown in adult school (a great concept in the first place) is that because this guy’s a midget and gives a “high-five” as he walks by Hunky, I would imagine that even though Hunky’s sitting at a desk, the midget still has to jump to complete this act of yeah-I-know-I’m-cool. The final touch of the butt crack is so good that it even earns the use of bandwagon in “everyone”, because that’s a bandwagon I want to be on (I actually will be going to night school for a photography class in a couple weeks bee tee dubs). (83%)

-Bert struck writer's block at the end of the fourth page in his thirteenth novel. Four pages too late.

: Who are you, me? Got enough numbers there Mr. Math Magician? “Struck”. And the weird apparent meaning in this (if you don’t get too distracted) is wild enough to earn this a place in my already established kingdom of strange abstract trash that will likely endure the death of everything else because it’s too complex and useless to do anything else, like Styrofoam. (54%)

-The Black Shirts confiscated my house and liberated my wife from sexual slavery. Buncha cheeseheads.

: One where I’ll forever remember the ending line but never the beginning. Not to say that the beginning isn’t great, because it’s ridiculous and hilarious. “Confiscated”, “The Black Shirts”. Whadafuck man. And that it seems at first like the Black Shirts are the bad guys for taking the house until apparently you realize the narrator is sexually enslaving his wife. Wut. “Buncha” and “cheeseheads” couldn’t be better partners in that phrase though, regardless of any/everything that may come before it. (73%)

-"Here me out, Isaiah. I have a message for you," I said as we hid inside the black temple. His finger was on the nuclear armageddon button.

: Haha, I like the mind-clearing simplicity of the direction that these names have been going (night school, domestic violence, and world destruction) as a contrast to the relentlessly deep, murky, and deceptive directions of much of Edward’s previous college writing. This sounds like a sort of calm one might get even after the craziest of circumstances, like whatever it took to obtain a nuclear armageddon button. “Hear me out” is such a casual phrase, it’s stupid and great. “Black temple” may be more or less than it means here, best not to stare. I have a weird feeling this one may get better in time. (64%)

-The old cripple wheeled himself down the grassy hill slowly, taking in every detail as if this day was to be his last, smiling at the rising sun. Randy shot him in the face and took his wheelchair for a joyride out on Grand Street.

: It’s like I wrote the first sentence and Greg the second. But it was Edward with the design to merge such things. “Old cripple” is a priceless character that you can’t lose with, even (or especially) when you use the act of shooting yet another person in the face and proceed to raise the pot even more with “Grand Street”. I feel like I could buy this name at Wal-Mart and never stop loving it. (78%)

-"Yeah, he had britches all right. Seven thousand pairs of 'em!" She stared at me in awe, and I slipped the five into the policeman's pocket.

: You know I’m a sucker for conversation names, and an even bigger one for conversation names with the entirety of the dialogue cut off. It’s an absurdly simple and great gag (see Lloyd’s joke during the montage in Dumb and Dumber in the ski lodge). My favorite part here, other than “seven thousand” is that she stares at him in awe as opposed to any other state of mind. (60%)

-The rotten cheese atheist rained on my parade one too many times.

: More cheese, but a great “depressing” name, a type I’m of course quite fond of; also like the definitive nature of the whole thing, not leading one way or another. (65%)

-"Tuesday night we're going over to the coliseum. Should be fun. Varsity Blues vs. Picasso's Blue Period. The bag of Twizzlers is up for grabs!" Veronica gave me a sneer that showed this wasn't the right time.

: This has stood out in my mind from this list (along with “buncha cheeseheads”) for its extreme and jarring structure. It seems like another name got written over top of another and then someone just transcribed them together, a form Ryan patented earlier than we ever knew. But if you say anything about this, you just can’t knock the fucking Blue Period, what a great damn period and concept. “Should be fun”. (73%)

-The great artist Samuel studied twenty ugly faces and twenty attractive faces for his masterwork. His mother scolded him for putting her in the ugly set.

: One of the great names that no one remembers enough. Somehow combining an original conceptual piece with not just childish punchlines, but an endearing underbelly of Samuel being an artist of odd taste and intriguing skill, plus just for the choice of “scolded” is such a nostalgic term in the face of all these cold-growing-colder-world names. Edward was always about great artists, great art, great history, basically anything that stands the test of time, whereas I tended toward the fleeting, the non-sequitor, and the abstract. It was a fine balance, and our themes often overlapped, but I’ll be looking for Samuel some years down the road to see how he’s faired against the weathering and aging of all things. (84%)

-Jebediah felt a cold chill when he peeked under the robes of his nine-year old cousin and saw the hard, wrinkly skin of disease.

: one for the disturbed audience sitting restlessly out there. Something about describing the skin in general versus specific anatomy makes this name worlds darker, though I can’t really describe why. “Hard”. (“Disease”.) This shit is best kept in the drawers (and pulled out when drunk and looking for shock and/or laugh). (70%)

-I sat quietly on my stool at the Hedonist Club while a horsy looking Oriental woman gave me a lap dance, pondering the validity of the establishment's name until Big Hairy Roger came in with a pair of flamethrowers and we got to killing some Native Americans.

: haha, this name is so reckless and careless it’s wonderful. It returns to the days when writing loose held more weight than writing deep. Not to say that loose writing can’t be deep or vice versa, but in this name, it’s all about getting your fill and getting the fuck on to the next course. “Horsy” gives this all the credibility it needs. I also like that the protagonist is on a stool. Go figure. It also feels like something out of Watchmen (the flamethrowers and nonchalant genocide). (67%)

-Frito took his daily trip to the methadone clinic and wondered what the use was anymore.

: a whopper. A too-full-about-to-burst water balloon. This comes mostly from the sharp drop off of the whole thing after getting used to Edward stringing us a few characters, plot twists, or at least descriptors before closing up shop. It’s hard not to look past this one’s cold eyes. (75%)

-Ray the carpenter spotted the armies of Vandals and Goths pouring over the hills towards our village. After he warned everyone and fled to the forests with the women and children, the local defense forced readied the proton torpedoes and launched what few TIE fighters we had. Everyone was ready to spill Germanic blood. I could see it in their eyes.

: the flow of this name from the distant background right to the face of the narrator makes the trip of this name feverish and surprisingly ambitious. Obviously a wild take on time periods and fantasies (and a welcome one – “Vandals and Goths”), it starts out in the third person, switches to a collective “we”, and then finishes with the reader staring into his compatriots beside him. A steady rise to relevance. “That’s some heavy stuff Doc.” (68%)

-"Oh, yeah, he's a conformist, but he's real good with the bow and arrow." I agreed with him. He was a good shot.

: stupid, great, and tactful. (62%)

-Osmosis Jones vs. Jones the cat from Alien.who wins?:

I knew it was only a matter of time before I arrived at this name. We (right?) all know of Edward’s feelings towards the Alien series (meaning the first two…), and none of us should really disagree. I love the ending to this though. (58%)

-Francie doll was a Persian's woman-stout, astute, able-bodied, her nipples were pierced. We spent a few nights up studying the ancient Babylonian texts before she aborted my only child.

: fuck, this one just made me laugh out loud. I completely forgot about this name. Although it doesn’t really stand out from Edward’s many names in terms of being thick with historically shaded descriptors, casual sex (although now that I look, the only actual reference to sex is the abortion), academia, and fun, jaunt-narratives from a first-person narrative, I just thought the quick “before she aborted my only child” ending was hilarious. It makes the opening meticulous details into a great diversion for both the narrator and reader before slapping down an event that, in contrast to a pierced-nipple, able-bodied woman up for shagging and deep nights (is “doll” just a nickname?), is stupidly tragic. “Only” gives the narrator a touch of longing and just makes the flip at the end funnier. “A Persian’s woman”. (86%)

-Gorilla junction* *The gates to paradise

: elegant, innovative, epic. For pretty apparent reasons, this name stood out from the rest of the many names Edward threw my way in college. This is the kind of name that appeals to my innards because of its unorthodox spacing, use of the asterisk, and let us not forget of course the sheer scope of the name in physical appearance and literal meaning. (78%)

-Ronnie had wet nightmares after Janis Joplin came into his room and tried to fuck him

: hard not to laugh or at least smile here. Females raping males (let alone a (the) female rock legend raping a tweenager-sounding boy) manages to get away with a lot more as a concept that the reverse, and here it is us, not Ronnie, who reap the benefits. (70%)

-While she was in the shower, Marty McFly rummaged through her underwear drawer, found her rosary beads, and licked them with relish

: this reminds me of a name long ago Greg wrote about Jake losing his manhood in his drawers or something, god knows. But Edward was all about these feverishly weird actions, not unlike something out of David Lynch’s head, and like his movies, this one will leave you strange blemish on your body you can’t quite remember how or when you got it. (63%)

-Her storytelling fitness regimen was starting to wear me out. And I had the suspicion some of the other kids were on steroids.

: one of the cleaner closing sentences you’ll see in these parts. I’m not sure what a storytelling fitness regiment entails but the ending makes it all worthwhile. (65%)

-The half-ton silverback gorilla and I raced across the plain, his sinewy muscles rippling beneath blankets of midnight fur. My breathing was harsh and labored, and I looked into his angry eyes for a second before pressing harder. The dull and mighty thumps from his strides pounded in my ears as my legs were weighed down by the insidious tentacles of lactic acid. Open sky was overwhelmed by a canopy of trees, birds chattering the triumphant cry of our arrival into their domain. Suddenly I came to an abrupt stop, and the great beast pushed on. I watched as its massive spinning frame plunged over the edge of the cliff and laughed at its insignificant brain. I was a little tired, but I was going into the city to get laid by a hooker.

: the first real glimpse of Edward’s taste for mini-epics since Coming Down, and this one itself is reminiscent of all the early narratives like the wings of a wombat-through a coke bottle name, the Rickert biopics, religious v. nature v. man scriptures, various out-of-body pain/pleasure dream-time happy hour names, and even back to the well-represented primate centered names like gorilla in a tuxedo and Sir Roger Hubert fighting Oboe the biggest damn ape he’d ever seen. As you can tell, this name comes from a long lineage of deep ancestors, and it doesn’t disappoint. Carrying the semi-repeated theme of doing something weird/deep/abstract and then blowing a load in the cheapest foulest way without a second thought back, this name does follow the same pattern of previous names on this list. However, what those names before it lacked in heart, adrenaline, and reverence, this one fills in sweetly. The descriptions (“midnight fur”, “insidious tentacles of lactic acid”) of the gorilla, the jungle, and the jungle birds, are raw and primal like something out of Heart of Darkness, but then smartly contrasted with an abruptly mocking and innately modern vision of the dim-witted animal charging full speed to its death, while the lazily intelligent man goes to get some good-old fashioned easy pleasure (even though he is tired). Great choice and order of the words in “but I was going into the city to get laid by a hooker”. It’s tough because I end up wanting the descriptions and wild scenery of all that builds in the name to continue with the gorilla off of that cliff, but it does seem fitting for this list that the chaos, confusion, and fury of existence be contrasted with how easy it is to toss life away and detach self into nothingness. (90%)

The Beatles, Album by Album--Conclusion

I will try to keep this short and sweet, because I know I've already bored everyone enough. I know this hasn't been the most popular blog series ever and that it was an exhaustive process, but what I wanted to shine through in my analyses was my love for the Beatles, so that maybe I could inspire others to dig into their catalogue. Like many great things, you can see their talent and their unique sense of artistry by listening to them in only brief amounts, but to truly see the depth and impact of their career, it really requires dedicated listening to their entire output. More than any other band in pop history, their career is required listening. There are many artists out there with great albums and singles, but no one did more in such a brief time to change the face of popular music as the Beatles did, and no one has such a perfect collection of records. It blows my mind that their entire recorded output was released in just seven years. There is both a conciseness and an epic scope to their career. I hope I managed to convey some of these things in my posts, but if not, please do not blame this on them. The fault is entirely mine.

I will include a list of the other posts in the series for easy access here:

Overview
Please Please Me
With the Beatles
A Hard Day's Night
Beatles for Sale
Help!
Rubber Soul
Revolver
Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band
Magical Mystery Tour
The White Album
Yellow Submarine
Abbey Road
Let It Be
Past Masters, Vol. I
Past Masters, Vol. II

Anyways, I hope everyone likes it. A Good Moleman to everyone!

--Edward

The Beatles, Album by Album--Past Masters, Vol. II

Collecting all of the non-album singles of the mid- to late-period Beatles, this CD expectedly has lots of hits, but some of them we've heard so many times that they deserve relistening so that we understand afresh what makes these such legendary recordings. I know that a lot of these songs I've heard so many times on the radio growing up that I basically tune them out when they come on. But if you listen to almost any of the Beatles' songs with a blank slate, they will manage to astonish you with little details that you never heard before.

"Day Tripper" is a huge leap from the songs on Past Masters, Vol. I. Although singles that came out and were placed on the album Help! (the title track and "Ticket to Ride") somewhat bridge this gap, there is still a leap in John and Paul's songwriting in 1965 and 1966 that makes this their most experimental period. There is an irony and wit in the lyrics of "Day Tripper" and "Paperback Writer" that wasn't present in pop music before this. "We Can Work It Out" is a great showcase for the contrasting personalities of John and Paul. They both seem to be approaching the same problem, and we are led to believe that the whole song is some sort of argument between themselves that they want to settle so they can make music together. Paul's answer is "We can work it out," while John's response to their bickering is "Life is very short, and there's no time for fussing and fighting, my friend." In the end, I suppose, they did work it out, because they came up with a great song about it! "Rain" was a big step for them, heralding the psychedelic masterpiece Revolver. It has early trippy vocal effects and harmonies, as well as acid-drenched lyrics. Ringo's drumming really drives the psychedelic groove, providing you with something to latch onto while your ego vanishes and you melt into the music.

There is a distinct jump on here between "Rain" to "Lady Madonna," which sound years apart. They are indeed a year apart (which in terms of the Beatles' development is a very long time), as the 1967 psychedelic singles weren't included on here, since they are on Magical Mystery Tour. While a lot of this 1967 psychedelic period I've described as sloppy and overflowing with excess, their singles did manage to really exemplify the beauty and promise of the period, especially the "Strawberry Fields Forever"/"Penny Lane" single, which probably is their finest. In any case, none of these singles are on here.

"Lady Madonna" is a good example of a song that I tend to block out whenever I hear it. It's been played so many times that I just don't usually pay much attention. But it really is a fun song, and rides completely on Paul's White Album-era, genre-leaping charm, where it seemed like he could tackle any type of music with equal aplomb. He has some arresting vocals on here--he was able to convey great empathy for the subjects in his songs through his lyrics and singing. It always seemed like Paul was endlessly interested with others he saw in the world around him, whereas John was most interested in himself. This just shows that there are two different kinds of artists out there. Again, in "Hey Jude," Paul delivers such compassionate vocals in a song about someone else. In this case, it seems to be about a friend getting over a girl, and Paul convinces him beautifully that things will be alright. Of course I've heard like everyone else that this song is about Paul trying to reassure John's son after John's divorce of his first wife, but the lyrics really have nothing to do with that. The song is an absolute masterpiece, and contains the finest coda in all of rock music (and that is including "I Want You [She's So Heavy]," 'Hotel California," "Comfortably Numb," "November Rain," and "Fade to Black"). Again, Paul's vocals in this period just showed absolute and complete confidence and control.

We have the more commonly played version of "Revolution" on here, complete with fuzzed-out-yer-ass guitars and a great keyboard solo. Who hasn't heard this? Supposedly the one on the White Album is a little edgier because John sings something like "But when you talk about destruction/Don't you know that you can count me out (in)," but let's be honest--the single version sounds a lot more hard-edge. That guitar tone must've been pretty slamming in 1968. "Don't Let Me Down" is a song I ignored for many years, but treating it as a classic soul song (much in the vein I talked about with "Oh! Darling" here) has really helped me appreciate it. The bluesy keyboard work of Billy Preston and the great guitar work complements John's passionate howling on the choruses. The raw, sub-English simplicity of the lyrics ("She done me good") really reflect the primitive power that love can have on us. Soul music is all about simplicity, about what is not being said more than about what is.

"The Ballad of John and Yoko" carries John's self-obsession in his songwriting to somewhat annoying heights. It seems just like a laundry list of his life and what he thinks are the media's attempts to destroy the perfect love between him and Yoko. As seemingly pointless as the lyrics are, it's still a catchy song. John's song "Across the Universe," which we previously heard in a different version on Let It Be, is unique-sounding on here in its stripped-down format without Phil Spector's production. It was originally released on a charity album for the World Wildlife Fund, and complete with animal sound effects, a children's choir, and gentle wah guitar that sounds like ripples in a pond, it really does depict the beauty of nature and the universe. It is one of the Beatles' most poetic songs. "You Know Me (Look Up the Number)"...you could probably answer what this is about just as well as me. It's a pretty haphazard parody/comedy song, but it's actually not half-bad. I fucking love Paul's vocals on this track. It reminds me of a Monty Python movie or something. And apparently Brian Jones of the Rolling Stones plays sax on here. Definitely one of the least-heard Beatles songs ever.

--Edward