New ways to interrogate and identify with friends, family or perfect strangers

Are you tired of the doll-drum of generic meet and greets or family gatherings? Want to connect with the in-laws or vague family friends without having to rehash their trip to Istanbul for the umpteenth time?

After another hectic holiday season I incorporated a new line of question and answer to entertain not only myself, but avoid divulging too much personal information to perfect strangers. Just because you are genetically related to someone I hang out with does not give you liberty to analyze my career choices.

Maybe I found my passion waiting tables and cleaning-up after ungrateful rich children.

For the record, albeit I was born and raised in the fine state of Michigan, I do not care about any Ohio State versus Michigan State and/or the University of Michigan rivalries. I don’t follow sports, especially American football. Any attempt to incite a competitive reaction is made further moot by the fact that I now live in LA.

Besides, everyone knows that Ohio is Michigan’s sewage drain. As eloquently put by dear Aunt Marge, Those commie bastards.

Thus, I turn the tables onto my counter-part and ask what are their favorite albums of all time. This is similar to the desert island list or the "best music of the year" questions. This is specific to albums, not just artists which presents an interesting challenge.

Respondents are not allowed to pick greatest hit albums that conglomerate every single that an artist releases. Even compilations are a cop-out in my book, but can be admitted with enough conviction and fervor. In a day and age where MP3s are downloaded faster than artists can release music, this question is best made for people over the age of 15.

The real fun of the game is to learn about personal music taste. The answers are just that, personal lists about how certain albums by amazing artists influence someone you know. There are no right or wrong answers. Although disagreements, discussions and modifications are encouraged.

And yes, you only get five.

No matter how many people rave over the White Album or Abbey Road, my unapologetic favorite Beatles album is Sgt. Pepper and the Lonely Hearts Club Band. My affection is founded due to the cohesive nature of the album like a well orchestrated narrative. Yet, it is the opposite reason with the varied, dissimilar narratives that attract White album aficionados.

My list has been modified over time after hearing amazing lists with artists I had little to no exposure to or had plum forgotten. Jeff Buckley has made a fierce comeback on my playlists. David Bowie masterpieces and Demon Days by the Gorillaz have been rotated on and off my list depending on my mood that day.

Response times are always an intriguing indicator. Musicians seem to be able to throw out a list with rapid fire. Others widen their gaze and tell me how they are going to have to get back to me. Either response is legitimate.
Rapid fire is more fun though.

So here is my list in no particular order:
Disc I- Led Zeppelin
Hunky Dory- David Bowie
Sgt. Pepper and the Lonely Hearts Club Band- The Beatles
The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill-Lauren Hill
Wincing the Night Away- The Shins

Deny what you will this is my list. David Bowie is part of my childhood so it pains me to pick just one. The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust often appears on my list instead. Disc II by Zeppelin is amazing throughout, but the nostalgic connotations with Disc I is too hard for me to part with. A Night at the Opera by Queen tries to sneak in, but I just can’t commit.

I lied about the order, Wincing the Night Away is my top album of all time. No explanation required.

Now it’s your turn. What’s your top five?

Trapped in a steal box of emotion

Trying to entertain my parents is like convincing a cat that bath time is a leisurely activity. I love those two, but if allowed they will sit inside a hotel room only to emerge for a short walk before bed.

Grandma Peach has a pacemaker and two bad knees and still has more chutzpah than these two.

Sister and I decide to plan activities for our parents' big California visit. If you organize a day then parents feel obligated to participate.

The Getty is a fine way to show the beauty of LA and cater to our parents' taste. Pops loves to look at static, yet historic monuments. Mama digs scenic walks and when pops is content. Perfect.

Thank you sister for swallowing your distaste for all things ancient and historical.

Poor thing got taken to the Getty Villa on some cruel joke. The place is chocked full of statues of men throwing discs with leaves covering their dainty junk. This person obviously had never met my sister.

This is also the perfect opportunity to play papa-paparazzi. I am in possession of a fantastic film SLR camera that has only been collecting dust.

So we pack ourselves into sister's car and Pops and I sing along to the Beatles while sister tries to ignore the vein pulsating in her forehead.

We wander around the grounds on the pristine day. The skyline was actually visible due to a surprising lack of smog. I shoot every inch of it pretending to know how to adjust the lens.

I haven't used a film camera since about 1995. Pops is a former professional photographer. Now he is just the most anal person to ever take a picture.

He helped me find the right aperture and didn't even make fun of me for loading my first spool of film wrong. So much for documenting my trip to the Japanese gardens.

The Getty is beautiful.

There are some solid impressionist pieces, my personal favorite. The traveling exhibit was phenomenal. Irving Penn is a rad dude. Anyone that can see a photographic opportunity with an overweight man selling chamois in the street is alright in my book.



Now that I set the scene for our lovely outing, let me say we tried to leave the Getty at 5:00 p.m. Sister wanted to jump on the 405 to get home.

For those of you who don't realize what this foolhardy attempt means, I would rather wait in line at the DMV all day than sit in bumper to bumper traffic with my darling family.

Driving with Pops as a passenger is like bringing a seven-year-old on a road trip.



This is where things go downhill.

I tell her to avoid the 405. Dad starts babbling about needing to find food as soon as possible. Sister yells that she doesn't know how else to get home and that we will be meeting her boyfriend in two hours for a nice meal. Dad informs her that he must eat something now. Mom backs him up talking about low-blood sugar and needing sustenance.

The pitch in sister's voice starts to escalate.

Jill the trusty BMW guide leads us to a closed entrance ramp for the 405. Sister has the navigation system, so she never bothered to learn the streets anywhere in the city.

Sister's voice starts to rise. I sense the tone.

sister: "I don't know where we are, so if you want to tell me side streets to get home, then tell me."

me: "Tell me where we are and I will tell you how to get home. I own a map."

sister: "I don't know where we are, Katee."

Dad (clicking away on his phone): "Hey, I found a Burger King nearby. We can get food there."

sister: "Dad, I need to figure out where we are going."

me: "Dad, not the time."

Mama tries to calmly explain that we will find food after we figure out how to get home.

We navigate through a quiet residential neighborhood. We maneuver through busy streets. Jill leads us into the thick of traffic. The flow of traffic gets denser. We pull onto the thick of traffic on Centinela. We are stopped.

Damn you, Jill.

Pops starts to complain about stopping anywhere, just any gas station for food. Mama warns sister to not make a turn around in this heavy of traffic, voice strained. I am looking at sister. Her voice is tense. I apologize for not telling sister to take Barrington as we sit in traffic. Sister tells me to fuck off. I hum to the Beatles. Dad gets antsy about his food choices. Mama goes on once again about low-blood sugar.

me: "I swear, if you two make her stroke out and we have to be in THAT car stopped in the middle of traffic, I am going to be more than pissed."

Sister stops at 7-eleven and we all evacuate the car. Sister dials boyfriend alone in the car.

me: "Hey dad, I want these chips okay?"

Pops (to the cashier): "How fresh is your hotdog?"

We made it home in about an hour and a half. Glad to say we made it home safely and in time for dinner.

sister: "Is that what you guys are wearing?"

Needless to say, there were no more excursions for this visit.