LIZARD PEOPLE: LIVE SHOW #1
Turf Club -- St. Paul, MN
February 24, 2009
SET:
1. Cash on Hand
2. An Epilogue
3. Double D-Day
4. This is Love (PJ Harvey cover)
5. Snozberry Beret
6. Ginger Grapevine
7. Cubesong
Nirvana -- "Scentless Apprentice"
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Friday, February 27, 2009
Thunderstrucken
As I promised earlier in the week, here's a band plug for the one who struck me with the thunderbolt:
FIRST COMMUNION AFTERPARTY
Before I write anything else I'd like to give a little disclaimer: this band is NOT original in the slightest. They rip off every cool aspect of stoner rock n' roll. But that's not to say that they're a shitty band. One of the main points I try to make in my own art is that rock as an entity is not original. It's all a copy of something that was stolen from something original and beautiful.
Rockers are all actors, playing the Rogers and Hammerstein and Andrew Lloyd Webber roles again and again. Sometimes I grow tired of the same "Phantom" show or "Cats" or "West Side Story". Other times I'm itching to get my cheesy show tune groove on.
Same goes for a night on the town at a rock venue. I was in the mood Saturday, February 21st, at the Kitty Cat Klub. I was with good company, I was slightly buzzed, I was horny. All of a sudden the stage emited this eastern mantra chant reminiscent of Kirtan gatherings. Then the wall of sound noise came through, a mix of Velvet Underground, Dandy Warhols, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Stone Roses. I love these bands, but I grow tired of them fast. The songs are in minor key, they're pretty sexy, they're pretty drugged out, they're dark and moody. But the songs go on forever. It's all a meditation. You have to be in the mood to meditate on the wall of sound. If not, you'll grow bored fast.
I was in the mood that fateful night, it seemed. My cohort Taylor came up and said "Peter, you've got to see these guys! They're totally a band you'd dig, and check out the bassist!!"
He wasn't kidding. Holy god, the music swelled, the room got distorted in waves, and the bassist, Sarah, was the only one in focus. From there, the music did a number on me. They blended all of those aforementioned bands together into something coherent and committed. I got them. I understood.
No one in that band is original, I'm repeating this. Everyone looks like a hippie, a keyboard player from the New Wave era, Mama Cass, grunge, current hipster poster child. They have nothing new to say, except that they love their influences. That's okay with me, because I love their influences, too.
That, and the bassist . . .
Here's their Myspace page, complete with some live show dates:
http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=24347166
Black Rebel Motorcycle Club -- "Love Burns"
FIRST COMMUNION AFTERPARTY
Before I write anything else I'd like to give a little disclaimer: this band is NOT original in the slightest. They rip off every cool aspect of stoner rock n' roll. But that's not to say that they're a shitty band. One of the main points I try to make in my own art is that rock as an entity is not original. It's all a copy of something that was stolen from something original and beautiful.
Rockers are all actors, playing the Rogers and Hammerstein and Andrew Lloyd Webber roles again and again. Sometimes I grow tired of the same "Phantom" show or "Cats" or "West Side Story". Other times I'm itching to get my cheesy show tune groove on.
Same goes for a night on the town at a rock venue. I was in the mood Saturday, February 21st, at the Kitty Cat Klub. I was with good company, I was slightly buzzed, I was horny. All of a sudden the stage emited this eastern mantra chant reminiscent of Kirtan gatherings. Then the wall of sound noise came through, a mix of Velvet Underground, Dandy Warhols, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Stone Roses. I love these bands, but I grow tired of them fast. The songs are in minor key, they're pretty sexy, they're pretty drugged out, they're dark and moody. But the songs go on forever. It's all a meditation. You have to be in the mood to meditate on the wall of sound. If not, you'll grow bored fast.
I was in the mood that fateful night, it seemed. My cohort Taylor came up and said "Peter, you've got to see these guys! They're totally a band you'd dig, and check out the bassist!!"
He wasn't kidding. Holy god, the music swelled, the room got distorted in waves, and the bassist, Sarah, was the only one in focus. From there, the music did a number on me. They blended all of those aforementioned bands together into something coherent and committed. I got them. I understood.
No one in that band is original, I'm repeating this. Everyone looks like a hippie, a keyboard player from the New Wave era, Mama Cass, grunge, current hipster poster child. They have nothing new to say, except that they love their influences. That's okay with me, because I love their influences, too.
That, and the bassist . . .
Here's their Myspace page, complete with some live show dates:http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=24347166
Black Rebel Motorcycle Club -- "Love Burns"
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Selfish Caregiving
Today, Miniapple visited the Minnesota Children's Museum in St. Paul. When I saw the posting about us taking this field trip I was totally stoked.
The first time I went here I wasn't expecting much, save for some lame exhibits. I was floored! They have an exhibit called Earth World on the 4th floor. It's nestled in a corner, you can't see any part of it when you're coming up the stairs. But when you get to the door, your eyes fill up with fake trees, man-made plastic mounds of dirt, ponds, gyms made out of grass and plastic ants. Even today, all the adults' eyes went wide with wonder. "Whoaaaaa!" You think back to your childhood, you totally want to go in and play along with the kids. If you're a teacher, there's a way . . .
There's a kid in my class. He's two. Long blond hair, uses a lot of D sounds with S's and T's and K's. I saw him eyeballing the large ant hill climber, which is a large network of tunnels you can climb through, complete with hidden slides, steps made out of dirt pebbles, odd crawl spaces, and surprise ants. You can use these surprise ants to your advantage if you want to go into the climber as an adult.
This kid was moving slow with his arms stretched out at his sides. He was scared. I bent down and said "Hey _____, you want to come with me to see the ants?"
His eyes grew wide with terror. "Anda?" Translated: "Ants?"
"Yeah, it's awesome. Come on, I'll help you through it. You'll like it."
I could feel him pulling away just a little, so I moved slower. With every turn you find yourself being more and more immersed into the ant climber. The lights grow dimmer, the walls get darker. His steps grew slower as we moved deeper and deeper.
We came to a tunnel opening. Inside was a huge plastic ant. This is fucking scary to small children. It's a monster to most. As I had hoped, he let out a little yelpish "No! No!" I turned around and said "It's okay." I crawled into the tunnel and knocked on the head of the ant. "See, it's fake."
I grabbed his hand, pulled him closer, and then moved past the ant, which was when he started smiling and laughing. He said "Dome on, Peta!" This is the situation where you can crawl in the space yourself to help the scared kids explore, acting as both the savior of your students' fear and secretly indulging your inner child, to which mine is too vast to ignore.
You also will be able to scope out another job: the slide handler. This kid and I came to the slide, after having said hello to many other students of my classroom. They all followed me, laughing. "PETER!!! PETER'S IN HERE!!!" The kids all followed us to the slide, where I helped organize a line together in order to have the kids safely go down the slide one by one. At the end of the line it was my turn.
You just have to know how to work the system without having your coworkers look poorly on you.
Other exhibits include World Works (a huge room full of paper making activities, light shows, water piping, Rube Goldberg machines, shipping and handling conveyer belts) and Our World (a mini town including a bus, a grocery store, a post office, a green screen dance room where kids dance and see themselves on TV, a restaurant, and a hospital). These places allow you to do play acting, one of the main things I love about working with children. I would go up to the restaurant cash register with a fake onion in my hand and yell "You sold me a bad onion! I want my money back!" This makes the kids bonkers. One yelled "No! You get what you paid for or else I'm calling the police!" I said "Go ahead! They'll agree with me!" They went on the horn, 911. They turned around and said "The police are on their way! You're going to jail!" I stepped back, arms up "Okay, okay. It's not that bad of an onion."
If I could be a professional amusement babysitter, taking kids to random fun places around town, that would be the perfect day job for right now. But, you usually have to be a teacher or counsellor to do something like that. So it's days like today when I feel the happiest in my current work situation.
Check out the website for this place:
http://www.mcm.org/
Antony and the Johnsons -- "Another World"
The first time I went here I wasn't expecting much, save for some lame exhibits. I was floored! They have an exhibit called Earth World on the 4th floor. It's nestled in a corner, you can't see any part of it when you're coming up the stairs. But when you get to the door, your eyes fill up with fake trees, man-made plastic mounds of dirt, ponds, gyms made out of grass and plastic ants. Even today, all the adults' eyes went wide with wonder. "Whoaaaaa!" You think back to your childhood, you totally want to go in and play along with the kids. If you're a teacher, there's a way . . .
There's a kid in my class. He's two. Long blond hair, uses a lot of D sounds with S's and T's and K's. I saw him eyeballing the large ant hill climber, which is a large network of tunnels you can climb through, complete with hidden slides, steps made out of dirt pebbles, odd crawl spaces, and surprise ants. You can use these surprise ants to your advantage if you want to go into the climber as an adult.
This kid was moving slow with his arms stretched out at his sides. He was scared. I bent down and said "Hey _____, you want to come with me to see the ants?"
His eyes grew wide with terror. "Anda?" Translated: "Ants?"
"Yeah, it's awesome. Come on, I'll help you through it. You'll like it."
I could feel him pulling away just a little, so I moved slower. With every turn you find yourself being more and more immersed into the ant climber. The lights grow dimmer, the walls get darker. His steps grew slower as we moved deeper and deeper.
We came to a tunnel opening. Inside was a huge plastic ant. This is fucking scary to small children. It's a monster to most. As I had hoped, he let out a little yelpish "No! No!" I turned around and said "It's okay." I crawled into the tunnel and knocked on the head of the ant. "See, it's fake."
I grabbed his hand, pulled him closer, and then moved past the ant, which was when he started smiling and laughing. He said "Dome on, Peta!" This is the situation where you can crawl in the space yourself to help the scared kids explore, acting as both the savior of your students' fear and secretly indulging your inner child, to which mine is too vast to ignore.
You also will be able to scope out another job: the slide handler. This kid and I came to the slide, after having said hello to many other students of my classroom. They all followed me, laughing. "PETER!!! PETER'S IN HERE!!!" The kids all followed us to the slide, where I helped organize a line together in order to have the kids safely go down the slide one by one. At the end of the line it was my turn.
You just have to know how to work the system without having your coworkers look poorly on you.
Other exhibits include World Works (a huge room full of paper making activities, light shows, water piping, Rube Goldberg machines, shipping and handling conveyer belts) and Our World (a mini town including a bus, a grocery store, a post office, a green screen dance room where kids dance and see themselves on TV, a restaurant, and a hospital). These places allow you to do play acting, one of the main things I love about working with children. I would go up to the restaurant cash register with a fake onion in my hand and yell "You sold me a bad onion! I want my money back!" This makes the kids bonkers. One yelled "No! You get what you paid for or else I'm calling the police!" I said "Go ahead! They'll agree with me!" They went on the horn, 911. They turned around and said "The police are on their way! You're going to jail!" I stepped back, arms up "Okay, okay. It's not that bad of an onion."
If I could be a professional amusement babysitter, taking kids to random fun places around town, that would be the perfect day job for right now. But, you usually have to be a teacher or counsellor to do something like that. So it's days like today when I feel the happiest in my current work situation.
Check out the website for this place:
http://www.mcm.org/
Antony and the Johnsons -- "Another World"
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Capital Strain
So I get off work around 5:15 today. I head over to Rainbow to do some grocery shopping. It's a zoo, the after work brigade has met again to do some frenzied consuming.
I'm slightly irritated, I'm hungry, I'm stuck in shopping cart traffic jams here and there. People move in and out as if they don't see you or care that other people are around.
I finish hunting and gathering, I search for a fast moving, short line. I see Aisle 11. A guy's just finishing up unloading his cart. I pick this one, just as an older feller with three items in his hands comes up behind me. I consider letting him go in front, but finders keepers. This game applies at busy times, I surmise.
I start unloading my cart, quickly yet carefully. After about a minute I hear the older guy say something like "Sixteen." I look up quickly, not knowing whether or not he spoke to me. He is staring right at me.
I ask "What?"
He says "Sixteen" with a little smile on his face.
I wonder what he's talking about. My age? I put two more items on the conveyer belt. As I do so he says "Seventeen, eighteen."
I look back and the smile is still there. I smile back. He looks like he could be autistic, he's just counting my groceries. I figure that maybe he'll count the rest in succession, on the last one stating the concluded number in a fit of jubilation.
He then lets out an exasperated sigh on number 20, and I look up again. That smile, I realize, is more a look of irritation than mongoloid serenity. A light bulb goes off in my head. I turn and look at the aisle sign and, as I had thought, I am in is the 15 items or less express lane.
I say "Oh Jeeze, I'm sorry, I didn't even realize that I was in the express lane."
He says "Well, you're here now."
I keep putting food on the belt, saying "Ah, it's not much more." I had about twenty items total. I'm pretty thorough in my bagging, and I'm pretty quick in paying for everything. Immediately after getting my receipt, the man steps up and says to the check out guy "Paper please!" in an almost English town crier fashion, rushed, official, and above all, irritated.
I kind of snicker at my internal thought process, he gets everything taken care of in about the time it takes me to bag five items, and then he swings past me, giving me the biggest stink eye I think I've received in the last three years.
His life seems hard. Or I tend to bring out the darker, irate sides out of people.
Autolux -- "Turnstile Blues"
I'm slightly irritated, I'm hungry, I'm stuck in shopping cart traffic jams here and there. People move in and out as if they don't see you or care that other people are around.
I finish hunting and gathering, I search for a fast moving, short line. I see Aisle 11. A guy's just finishing up unloading his cart. I pick this one, just as an older feller with three items in his hands comes up behind me. I consider letting him go in front, but finders keepers. This game applies at busy times, I surmise.
I start unloading my cart, quickly yet carefully. After about a minute I hear the older guy say something like "Sixteen." I look up quickly, not knowing whether or not he spoke to me. He is staring right at me.
I ask "What?"
He says "Sixteen" with a little smile on his face.
I wonder what he's talking about. My age? I put two more items on the conveyer belt. As I do so he says "Seventeen, eighteen."
I look back and the smile is still there. I smile back. He looks like he could be autistic, he's just counting my groceries. I figure that maybe he'll count the rest in succession, on the last one stating the concluded number in a fit of jubilation.
He then lets out an exasperated sigh on number 20, and I look up again. That smile, I realize, is more a look of irritation than mongoloid serenity. A light bulb goes off in my head. I turn and look at the aisle sign and, as I had thought, I am in is the 15 items or less express lane.
I say "Oh Jeeze, I'm sorry, I didn't even realize that I was in the express lane."
He says "Well, you're here now."
I keep putting food on the belt, saying "Ah, it's not much more." I had about twenty items total. I'm pretty thorough in my bagging, and I'm pretty quick in paying for everything. Immediately after getting my receipt, the man steps up and says to the check out guy "Paper please!" in an almost English town crier fashion, rushed, official, and above all, irritated.
I kind of snicker at my internal thought process, he gets everything taken care of in about the time it takes me to bag five items, and then he swings past me, giving me the biggest stink eye I think I've received in the last three years.
His life seems hard. Or I tend to bring out the darker, irate sides out of people.
Autolux -- "Turnstile Blues"Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Death to the Dry Spell
One year and two months later . . . I'm back onstage. Lizard People show tonight. Should have a recap up either tomorrow or Thursday. Depends on the editing of the video . . .
Citizens Banned -- "Shiva's Sanctimony"
Monday, February 23, 2009
Close Call
I was in the middle of a Patch session tonight. Figuring out ideas for the chorus in "In Hope", when my whole computer just "SHHEEEEEooooo" -- black. Nothing. Just a repeated blip of noise. Kristen heard it in the next room, "That's not good."
Freaking out, I got Louie to come down and fix it. My fan was covered in dust and is apparently dying. My computer overheated and automatically shut down to protect it from destroying itself.
After installing a fan Louie had lying around (it's awesome living with a tech nerd, especially one as savvy as him. He beats the shit out of any computer service squad in the country, I'm totally not kidding. It's one reason why the government campaigns want him for their tech departments), I found out nothing had been obliterated save for an effect that I had just been toiling with.
Goddamn . . . immediately I backed up all of my music files . . . too close.
Nine Inch Nails feat. Saul Williams -- "Gunshots by Computer"
Freaking out, I got Louie to come down and fix it. My fan was covered in dust and is apparently dying. My computer overheated and automatically shut down to protect it from destroying itself.
After installing a fan Louie had lying around (it's awesome living with a tech nerd, especially one as savvy as him. He beats the shit out of any computer service squad in the country, I'm totally not kidding. It's one reason why the government campaigns want him for their tech departments), I found out nothing had been obliterated save for an effect that I had just been toiling with.
Goddamn . . . immediately I backed up all of my music files . . . too close.
Nine Inch Nails feat. Saul Williams -- "Gunshots by Computer"Sunday, February 22, 2009
Bulletpointed Wholesomeness
A splendid weekend. Here's a quick overview:
FRI: 1. Watched "Mr. Show" with Marta's photo subjects. They were also subjected to my "ostrich strangling" singing practice session through the living room wall. Again, I'm sorry for the discomfort.
2. Got drunk by myself, recorded myself reading blog entries (read previous blog entry).
3. Watched "Juno" with Taylor and Marta. Sobered up.
SAT: 1. Lizard People practice. Long, but worth it. Realized I now have muscle memory on the drums. I covered my face with my knit cap keeping my hair in check post-shower, and played the fastest song of the set blind. The Force was with me, apparently.
2. Took a Lizard People promo photo in the living room. Our faces will become masks.
3. Took a much needed nap after watching "Rabbit Proof Fence" -- an interesting movie about some "half-caste" Aborigines who escape from an "orphanage" designed to turn them into full out Westerners in order to wipe out all "brown" traces of their heritage in generations to come. Fear for the Mulatto. It didn't hit too hard on my emotions and empathy, not as much as "Hotel Rwanda" or "Schindler's List", but I dug it.
4. Almost called it a night, but I gathered my strength and went out to Angela's birthday party at the Kitty Cat Klub with Taylor. We were surprised to find out that some "personal friend" bands were playing that night: Faux Jean, Idle Hands, and a band that wasn't "personal", First Communion Afterparty. This last was pretty good. I kinda fell in eros love with the bassist. Talked with her after the show. She wanted me to buy a $3 poster of theirs. Internally I thought this was ridiculous. But I played the game, I said, "I don't have three dollars on me, but I'll give you something else. I'll spread the word around about your band. I'll tell at least ten people about your upcoming shows." I'll write a band plug entry later in the week once I do more research.
5. Going to the back of the Kitty Cat where the party was happening was both a reminiscence into my theatre past and a good time to catch up with old friends, gossip about the horrid Guthrie Theater and the way they treat ensemble actors (apparently a dog in the cast makes $750 dollars a week -- the ensemble cast makes $100 for the ENTIRE SHOW, not a weekly pay, but for a two month run). Met some new people throughout the club, talked about Brazilian martial arts, left.
6. Had some much needed Taco Bell while watching a Lon Chaney Jr. serial called "Underwater Kingdom". Terribly awesome movie. Crashed hard into sleep.
SUN: 1. Sledding Ambush No. 2. Columbia Heights Golf Course and Como Park. Lots of faceplanting, daring eachother to do massive jumps (one was constructed for snowboarding -- I kept coaxing Marta to go over it, but Taylor was the first to brave it. I then yelled at myself to grow a pair, tried it myself, landed on one knee, bruised it horribly, Taylor landed on top of his head on another try). Tired, sore, abused . . . well worth it.
2. Some "Big Lebowski" watching. This movie will never get old.
3. Lizard People dress rehearsal. Also sore and tired after doing this. I think we're ready.
That's all to report. 'Twas a fulfilling, wholesome weekend. Made me think about the upcoming departure of Taylor and Marta in the fall -- I'm really going to miss them.
Rage Against the Machine -- "People of the Sun"
FRI: 1. Watched "Mr. Show" with Marta's photo subjects. They were also subjected to my "ostrich strangling" singing practice session through the living room wall. Again, I'm sorry for the discomfort.
2. Got drunk by myself, recorded myself reading blog entries (read previous blog entry).
3. Watched "Juno" with Taylor and Marta. Sobered up.
SAT: 1. Lizard People practice. Long, but worth it. Realized I now have muscle memory on the drums. I covered my face with my knit cap keeping my hair in check post-shower, and played the fastest song of the set blind. The Force was with me, apparently.
2. Took a Lizard People promo photo in the living room. Our faces will become masks.
3. Took a much needed nap after watching "Rabbit Proof Fence" -- an interesting movie about some "half-caste" Aborigines who escape from an "orphanage" designed to turn them into full out Westerners in order to wipe out all "brown" traces of their heritage in generations to come. Fear for the Mulatto. It didn't hit too hard on my emotions and empathy, not as much as "Hotel Rwanda" or "Schindler's List", but I dug it.
4. Almost called it a night, but I gathered my strength and went out to Angela's birthday party at the Kitty Cat Klub with Taylor. We were surprised to find out that some "personal friend" bands were playing that night: Faux Jean, Idle Hands, and a band that wasn't "personal", First Communion Afterparty. This last was pretty good. I kinda fell in eros love with the bassist. Talked with her after the show. She wanted me to buy a $3 poster of theirs. Internally I thought this was ridiculous. But I played the game, I said, "I don't have three dollars on me, but I'll give you something else. I'll spread the word around about your band. I'll tell at least ten people about your upcoming shows." I'll write a band plug entry later in the week once I do more research.
5. Going to the back of the Kitty Cat where the party was happening was both a reminiscence into my theatre past and a good time to catch up with old friends, gossip about the horrid Guthrie Theater and the way they treat ensemble actors (apparently a dog in the cast makes $750 dollars a week -- the ensemble cast makes $100 for the ENTIRE SHOW, not a weekly pay, but for a two month run). Met some new people throughout the club, talked about Brazilian martial arts, left.
6. Had some much needed Taco Bell while watching a Lon Chaney Jr. serial called "Underwater Kingdom". Terribly awesome movie. Crashed hard into sleep.
SUN: 1. Sledding Ambush No. 2. Columbia Heights Golf Course and Como Park. Lots of faceplanting, daring eachother to do massive jumps (one was constructed for snowboarding -- I kept coaxing Marta to go over it, but Taylor was the first to brave it. I then yelled at myself to grow a pair, tried it myself, landed on one knee, bruised it horribly, Taylor landed on top of his head on another try). Tired, sore, abused . . . well worth it.
2. Some "Big Lebowski" watching. This movie will never get old.
3. Lizard People dress rehearsal. Also sore and tired after doing this. I think we're ready.
That's all to report. 'Twas a fulfilling, wholesome weekend. Made me think about the upcoming departure of Taylor and Marta in the fall -- I'm really going to miss them.
Rage Against the Machine -- "People of the Sun"
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Metafiction
As I was finishing up the last blog entry about facial hair, Adri popped in a started laughing at the picture I was posting. I started to read outloud to sort of explain the photo, and he stopped me and said "Why don't you record yourself reading your blog entries?"
I had thought about that, actually. I love reading outloud. Probably the thespian in me. Sometimes I'll come out into the common areas of the house and ask "Does anybody want me to read to them?" Usually the only one that complies fully is Marta. She's even had me read a couple of the Karmath blog entries to her, as well.
So, thinking about recording my voice, I went out to get a bottle of wine (was a shut-in night anyway, snow storm and everything). I sat down and looked at a couple of my favorite entries, turned on the equipment, and started reading. I recorded takes of me reading entries starting at January 1st, ending a week later. I then listened to the entries and the MP3's, whilst slowly getting drunker and drunker.
So, for the rest of this particular entry, you can follow along with an audio track:
Listening? Good.
This whole entry got a little bit more potent, more . . . transcendental, you might say.
It's a Lizard People weekend. Lizard People practicing, drumming galore, for the show on Tuesday night. My arms are tired, I'm hungry, and I skipped out on a supposed photo shoot for Marta's photography class to write this/read this, have some soup, toast, and an apple, maybe take in a flick, go see Angela for her birthday get-together at the Kitty Cat Klub later. She apparently has Jenga blocks ready to be stacked. Drunken Jenga . . . I've done Strip Jenga. Kinda interesting. Back in high school. I got to my underwear. Some people were hiding themselves behind pillows. You know, that's a cop out, now that I think about it! What's the point if no one can see what you've lost? You're beaten, trodden, defeated! I want to see you bask in your naked weakness. You failed, and you should be punished.
This way of thinking is probably why I was never asked to play Strip Jenga again with that group.
Taylor and I had one of the most random, disgusting, awesome conversations this morning over my breakfast eggs and toast. To sum it up, using a quote from Taylor: "What would you lick if you were a professional licker?"
We had watched Juno the night before, and the author of the book had been a stripper at the nearby Deja Vu strip club before she became famous. She wrote a biography about herself, including an anecdote about some guy who would go into a private booth, watch her strip, and then lick the cum off of the ground. The guy actually got off on licking up other people's cum -- crusted, sticky, full of disease. He was nicknamed "Cumlicker".
This got us thinking: he should become a professional "licker". Paid to do freak show stunts, lick anything. Lick the most diseased thing you can think of. So, I surmised that I would go to a gas station in the middle of a highway crud town out west. I'd spill gasoline all over the floor of the bathroom stall, have two fat people who haven't cleaned themselves for at least two weeks have sex on the floor, cumming and all. Then I'd take a mop that hadn't been cleaned before (and had been used for at least a year at the establishment) soak up the filth and grime into a cleaning bucket, then drink the contents, lighting my mouth on fire after doing so. I'd bow, go off camera or offstage, then throw up (you could throw up, it was allowed, so long as you did it after your act).
Taylor said he'd do his act in Calcutta. Rats are not killed, cows poop in the street, any sort of substance you can think of gets washed into the sewers and out into the River Ganges -- a river people actually fucking bathe in for holy reasons. Taylor would lick one of the drainage pipes spewing out all of the city's combined filth. A little bit of religious significance. A lot of spectacular freak show.
This entire conversation was over eggs and toast . . . and I never had to stop eating. This puts things into perspective about my gross-out factor.
I'd have to say that that was one of the best conversations I've ever had with Taylor.
Tom Waits -- "In the Colosseum"
I had thought about that, actually. I love reading outloud. Probably the thespian in me. Sometimes I'll come out into the common areas of the house and ask "Does anybody want me to read to them?" Usually the only one that complies fully is Marta. She's even had me read a couple of the Karmath blog entries to her, as well.
So, thinking about recording my voice, I went out to get a bottle of wine (was a shut-in night anyway, snow storm and everything). I sat down and looked at a couple of my favorite entries, turned on the equipment, and started reading. I recorded takes of me reading entries starting at January 1st, ending a week later. I then listened to the entries and the MP3's, whilst slowly getting drunker and drunker.
So, for the rest of this particular entry, you can follow along with an audio track:
Listening? Good.
This whole entry got a little bit more potent, more . . . transcendental, you might say.
It's a Lizard People weekend. Lizard People practicing, drumming galore, for the show on Tuesday night. My arms are tired, I'm hungry, and I skipped out on a supposed photo shoot for Marta's photography class to write this/read this, have some soup, toast, and an apple, maybe take in a flick, go see Angela for her birthday get-together at the Kitty Cat Klub later. She apparently has Jenga blocks ready to be stacked. Drunken Jenga . . . I've done Strip Jenga. Kinda interesting. Back in high school. I got to my underwear. Some people were hiding themselves behind pillows. You know, that's a cop out, now that I think about it! What's the point if no one can see what you've lost? You're beaten, trodden, defeated! I want to see you bask in your naked weakness. You failed, and you should be punished.
This way of thinking is probably why I was never asked to play Strip Jenga again with that group.
Taylor and I had one of the most random, disgusting, awesome conversations this morning over my breakfast eggs and toast. To sum it up, using a quote from Taylor: "What would you lick if you were a professional licker?"
We had watched Juno the night before, and the author of the book had been a stripper at the nearby Deja Vu strip club before she became famous. She wrote a biography about herself, including an anecdote about some guy who would go into a private booth, watch her strip, and then lick the cum off of the ground. The guy actually got off on licking up other people's cum -- crusted, sticky, full of disease. He was nicknamed "Cumlicker".
This got us thinking: he should become a professional "licker". Paid to do freak show stunts, lick anything. Lick the most diseased thing you can think of. So, I surmised that I would go to a gas station in the middle of a highway crud town out west. I'd spill gasoline all over the floor of the bathroom stall, have two fat people who haven't cleaned themselves for at least two weeks have sex on the floor, cumming and all. Then I'd take a mop that hadn't been cleaned before (and had been used for at least a year at the establishment) soak up the filth and grime into a cleaning bucket, then drink the contents, lighting my mouth on fire after doing so. I'd bow, go off camera or offstage, then throw up (you could throw up, it was allowed, so long as you did it after your act).
Taylor said he'd do his act in Calcutta. Rats are not killed, cows poop in the street, any sort of substance you can think of gets washed into the sewers and out into the River Ganges -- a river people actually fucking bathe in for holy reasons. Taylor would lick one of the drainage pipes spewing out all of the city's combined filth. A little bit of religious significance. A lot of spectacular freak show.
This entire conversation was over eggs and toast . . . and I never had to stop eating. This puts things into perspective about my gross-out factor.
I'd have to say that that was one of the best conversations I've ever had with Taylor.
Tom Waits -- "In the Colosseum"
Friday, February 20, 2009
The Downside of Spirit Gum
Our beards have taken over.
The household is still growing their beards, except Adri. He will, though. He will.
It's all for next week's Mustache Party.
I want to cut mine something terrible. Everyday I wake up and find my hand inching toward my Gillette razor. "NO! NO YOU CAN'T!!!" And then I cry over my breakfast. Cheerios drowning in milk and tears.
One more week . . . I feel so ugly . . . one more week . . .
It's all these damn women!! "Let's have a mustache party! Let's wear mustaches!" How can you aspire to grow a mustache? Or buy one? Us men itch, whine, bitch, and moan. Women wear mustaches, parading them around, laughing and hoo-hah-ing in front of us. Do we strap on tampons, going "YAYYY!!! THE BLOOD FLOWS OUT!!! THE BLOOD FLOWS OUT!!!!"??!?!?!?!
NO!!!!
I never asked for this.
This month I've only wanted to listen to folk, to churn butter, to chop wood. To sit by the fire at night, watching embers glow and fly into the chimney. To smoke m' pipe and think about the whispers of my memories passed.
Every morning I feel my face, and every day . . .
. . . it grows . . .
. . . and grows . . .
. . . and grows . . .
. . . and I am changing . . .
A photo of me taken earlier today:
LOOK AT ME!!! LOOK AT ME!!!!
LOOK AWAY!!! . . . look away . . .
Harry McClintock -- "Big Rock Candy Mountain"
The household is still growing their beards, except Adri. He will, though. He will.
It's all for next week's Mustache Party.
I want to cut mine something terrible. Everyday I wake up and find my hand inching toward my Gillette razor. "NO! NO YOU CAN'T!!!" And then I cry over my breakfast. Cheerios drowning in milk and tears.
One more week . . . I feel so ugly . . . one more week . . .
It's all these damn women!! "Let's have a mustache party! Let's wear mustaches!" How can you aspire to grow a mustache? Or buy one? Us men itch, whine, bitch, and moan. Women wear mustaches, parading them around, laughing and hoo-hah-ing in front of us. Do we strap on tampons, going "YAYYY!!! THE BLOOD FLOWS OUT!!! THE BLOOD FLOWS OUT!!!!"??!?!?!?!
NO!!!!
I never asked for this.
This month I've only wanted to listen to folk, to churn butter, to chop wood. To sit by the fire at night, watching embers glow and fly into the chimney. To smoke m' pipe and think about the whispers of my memories passed.
Every morning I feel my face, and every day . . .
. . . it grows . . .
. . . and grows . . .
. . . and grows . . .
. . . and I am changing . . .
A photo of me taken earlier today:
LOOK AT ME!!! LOOK AT ME!!!!LOOK AWAY!!! . . . look away . . .
Harry McClintock -- "Big Rock Candy Mountain"
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Leg Up Aspirations
It's the middle of winter. Well, a little over a month is left, technically. But we're still in the thick of it.
I normally don't look forward to winter. In fact, I fear winter. Once November rolls around I'm kind of a Sour Simon. But there are are few things that make it somewhat bearable, things that I actually look forward to.
The list (in no particular order):
--Sledding all day, coming home to wool socks, dry pajama pants, and hot cocoa. Like burn your esophagus hot.
--Maybe take a snowboard lesson.
--Ice skating with a lady friend.
--Going out to a candlelit dinner by a fire, sipping wine.
--Travelling about town on "going out" nights whilst wearing a pea coat.
--Sitting at home all alone in front of a fire listening to folk music while sipping wine on a night before another workless day.
This last one is special for me for a couple reasons.
1) I've developed an appreciation for folk music only recently, probably starting with the release of the "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" soundtrack. I think it was the first step from constantly listening to loud, grungy, electronic Clear Channel shortsightedness to going to a more eclectic multi-vitamin plethora of genre and timbre. It's a symbol of growth and maturity.
2) Having a fireplace is a fucking privilege. College to post-college apartments and houses rarely have a fireplace, so when you're in front of a fireplace you're either at your parents house, a friends' parents' house, or on a trip, like at a cabin or a lodge. I aspire to have a fireplace in my future home. That is the only necessity of the dream house, that it have a fireplace. So, the fireplace is a symbol of aspiration.
3) Sitting ALONE. This signifies that I'm comfortable. I've made it career-wise, I don't have any obligations at the moment, but I'm sitting pretty knowing that I'll have future work in the coming days. It's a nice, long break from obligation. I won't have roommates, the significant other is either non-existent or absent for the timebeing, and kids? Again, non-existent or absent at the present time. Comfortable.
4) Wine. Fucking wine. A whole bottle for me. Need I say more?
Last night I saw Alela Diane and Blitzen Trapper at First Avenue. I discovered Alela through MP3 blogs, and I absolutely loved her voice. I sought out live shows immediately, and found that she was going to be opening on a tour with Blitzen Trapper. The thing about Blitzen is that some friends of mine know the band personally, to the point where they stay at one person's house every time they come through the Cities. So last night, I got to see these peeps for free, since we were on the guest list.
This also signifies new friends. A future for when the current brotherhood breaks apart. It's also a contact in the music world. It's a movement toward future comfort.
Both of these bands are folk, to some degree, Blitzen being a bit on the louder cusp, striding the Southern Rock/Nashville Bar Band sound. But they are both already on the list for the future event of the Folk Fireside Drunken Descent. And while listening to them and sipping wine, I'll think back to a time when I was a fledging musician recording in his cramped up poor excuse of a bedroom living with the closest friends he'll probably ever have -- a time that signified the start of his true career and destiny in life. A junction in the bars surrounding my Karmathian cage.
And then I'll drink to the present and future . . .
Blitzen Trapper -- "Furr"
I normally don't look forward to winter. In fact, I fear winter. Once November rolls around I'm kind of a Sour Simon. But there are are few things that make it somewhat bearable, things that I actually look forward to.
The list (in no particular order):
--Sledding all day, coming home to wool socks, dry pajama pants, and hot cocoa. Like burn your esophagus hot.
--Maybe take a snowboard lesson.
--Ice skating with a lady friend.
--Going out to a candlelit dinner by a fire, sipping wine.
--Travelling about town on "going out" nights whilst wearing a pea coat.
--Sitting at home all alone in front of a fire listening to folk music while sipping wine on a night before another workless day.
This last one is special for me for a couple reasons.
1) I've developed an appreciation for folk music only recently, probably starting with the release of the "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" soundtrack. I think it was the first step from constantly listening to loud, grungy, electronic Clear Channel shortsightedness to going to a more eclectic multi-vitamin plethora of genre and timbre. It's a symbol of growth and maturity.
2) Having a fireplace is a fucking privilege. College to post-college apartments and houses rarely have a fireplace, so when you're in front of a fireplace you're either at your parents house, a friends' parents' house, or on a trip, like at a cabin or a lodge. I aspire to have a fireplace in my future home. That is the only necessity of the dream house, that it have a fireplace. So, the fireplace is a symbol of aspiration.
3) Sitting ALONE. This signifies that I'm comfortable. I've made it career-wise, I don't have any obligations at the moment, but I'm sitting pretty knowing that I'll have future work in the coming days. It's a nice, long break from obligation. I won't have roommates, the significant other is either non-existent or absent for the timebeing, and kids? Again, non-existent or absent at the present time. Comfortable.
4) Wine. Fucking wine. A whole bottle for me. Need I say more?
Last night I saw Alela Diane and Blitzen Trapper at First Avenue. I discovered Alela through MP3 blogs, and I absolutely loved her voice. I sought out live shows immediately, and found that she was going to be opening on a tour with Blitzen Trapper. The thing about Blitzen is that some friends of mine know the band personally, to the point where they stay at one person's house every time they come through the Cities. So last night, I got to see these peeps for free, since we were on the guest list.
This also signifies new friends. A future for when the current brotherhood breaks apart. It's also a contact in the music world. It's a movement toward future comfort.
Both of these bands are folk, to some degree, Blitzen being a bit on the louder cusp, striding the Southern Rock/Nashville Bar Band sound. But they are both already on the list for the future event of the Folk Fireside Drunken Descent. And while listening to them and sipping wine, I'll think back to a time when I was a fledging musician recording in his cramped up poor excuse of a bedroom living with the closest friends he'll probably ever have -- a time that signified the start of his true career and destiny in life. A junction in the bars surrounding my Karmathian cage.
And then I'll drink to the present and future . . .
Blitzen Trapper -- "Furr"Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Heavenly Staredown
There are a couple of places I'd like to visit before I die. Riding 5 minute long rollercoasters down the mountains of Germany is one thing, for sure. But I found an interesting destination in the middle of China -- a place to not just visit before you die, but a place TO fucking die. The Heavenly Stairs, quite possibly the most terrifying hiking trail on Earth. I'm deathly afraid of heights, just looking at the photos of this place made me squeamish. You apparently have to use all the strength you can muster away from hiking up a mountain to concentrating that every move you make isn't your last. It's like you're staring into the faces of the angels in Heaven, whoever blinks first loses.
I think the reason I get like this looking at a picture of a place on the complete opposite side of the world is knowing that despite my agoraphobia, I would totally climb it anyway. I'm weird like that. I'd be trembling, freaking out, but going out on the planks at the top, knowing that I did it without incident, would be so fulfilling.
Maybe one day . . .
Check this place out:
http://www.magazine13.com/places/the-deadly-mt-huashan-hiking-trail.html
Alela Diane -- "White as Diamonds"
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Nexus
Taking a quick break from "In Hope". Just finished recording a number of takes with my completely destroyed violin from my middle school/high school days. Makes for some interesting sounds. Next up: chorus soundscape sculpting. Ick. Been sipping coffee to keep up for another three-ish hours before slipping off to bed.
I'm back full time at the school. This allows for double the cash, which makes it possible for me to start putting money into savings. Savings for trips, equipment, hospitals. Patch has now been committed to "Seven O'Clock Sessions" -- four hour blocks of time starting at 7:00pm on the dot every weekday. By 10:30 I'm pretty out of it. My brain is completely fried.
Less than a week until I'm back onstage. Kinda nervous. Just thinking about it makes my loins swell. You know that feeling you get when you know you're about to get laid by someone completely new for the first time, especially after a discussion with that person about doing so? I get that whenever I think about being on a stage performing. God, that's it, right there. That's all I need.
Well, that, and getting laid, too, I guess.
Jane's Addiction -- "Summertime Rolls"
Monday, February 16, 2009
Tomorrow is Today
Every President's Day, Miniapple Montessori has an inservice. They have morning lectures given by top Montessori teachers, health organization training, CPR and First Aid training. There's also a heavy bout of cleaning at each individual school in the afternoon.
The morning lectures are always somewhat refreshing. For one thing, they remind me that I'm too stressed out a lot of the time in front of the kids and that I might not be giving them the right kind of attention they need. Guiding, unrequited love, they call it. I agree with this statement.
We don't teach. We "guide". The kids form themselves, they are not "taught" anything. I think the term "teacher" is kind of misguided, in this sense.
Throughout the lecture, I kept thinking about how hard it is to give unrequited love when you yourself aren't fully in control of your life. My room is in shambles, I'm alone most of the time composing demos, I have a very limited food choice due to a small amount of money. My soul is in unrest.
Last week was a nightmare at the school. The director put in her two weeks notice, coworkers were stressed out, the kids picked up on that stress and were little tyrants all week long. I lost patience with myself, with my household, with my parents. It's not comforting to think that you have to go meet a quota with creativity each night instead of just relaxing. Besides, my room is on the first floor of an extremely noisy house. People's shoes click past my door almost constantly, post-school/work jubilated conversation takes place in the dining room adjacent to my abode, movies are watched with the surround sound on on the other side of the wall where my bed is posted, shaking the mattress like a massaging bed that costs a mere quarter per five minute session.
This environment is not conducive to creativity, relaxation, inner tranquility, growth.
I have a feeling that the coming seasons will bring two things: 1) Spring will have me cleaning out my room, stripping down the amp, keyboard, instruments in favor of some walking space. 2) Fall will most likely have me moving into a cheaper, larger abode (I say larger in terms of me having more living space rather than a cramped up room that I keep everything in. I need other rooms now to comfortably stash everything, which isn't much, but it doesn't fit in one room either). Taylor and Marta will most likely leave for Seattle in September or late August. I think that will be an ample time to move myself.
Maybe not, though. But it's something to think about. So far, this house has allowed me to be with my closest friends 24/7. We're still extremely close, living together has not tainted our relationship with one another. But we're moving apart from each other literally, and I can't afford to pay $500 a month for a cramped room. $400 for a cramped room sounds more reasonable. $500 for ample leg room is reasonable too. The element making up the difference right now is having the brothas from otha mothas together in one nucleus. The price you pay to be with true friends.
God, 2009's going to be interesting. Where the fuck am I going to be a year from now? Where will I be working the day job? How's about Patch? Where will I live?
A slingshot year. Gotta prepare . . .
Pearl Jam -- "Can't Keep"
The morning lectures are always somewhat refreshing. For one thing, they remind me that I'm too stressed out a lot of the time in front of the kids and that I might not be giving them the right kind of attention they need. Guiding, unrequited love, they call it. I agree with this statement.
We don't teach. We "guide". The kids form themselves, they are not "taught" anything. I think the term "teacher" is kind of misguided, in this sense.
Throughout the lecture, I kept thinking about how hard it is to give unrequited love when you yourself aren't fully in control of your life. My room is in shambles, I'm alone most of the time composing demos, I have a very limited food choice due to a small amount of money. My soul is in unrest.
Last week was a nightmare at the school. The director put in her two weeks notice, coworkers were stressed out, the kids picked up on that stress and were little tyrants all week long. I lost patience with myself, with my household, with my parents. It's not comforting to think that you have to go meet a quota with creativity each night instead of just relaxing. Besides, my room is on the first floor of an extremely noisy house. People's shoes click past my door almost constantly, post-school/work jubilated conversation takes place in the dining room adjacent to my abode, movies are watched with the surround sound on on the other side of the wall where my bed is posted, shaking the mattress like a massaging bed that costs a mere quarter per five minute session.
This environment is not conducive to creativity, relaxation, inner tranquility, growth.
I have a feeling that the coming seasons will bring two things: 1) Spring will have me cleaning out my room, stripping down the amp, keyboard, instruments in favor of some walking space. 2) Fall will most likely have me moving into a cheaper, larger abode (I say larger in terms of me having more living space rather than a cramped up room that I keep everything in. I need other rooms now to comfortably stash everything, which isn't much, but it doesn't fit in one room either). Taylor and Marta will most likely leave for Seattle in September or late August. I think that will be an ample time to move myself.
Maybe not, though. But it's something to think about. So far, this house has allowed me to be with my closest friends 24/7. We're still extremely close, living together has not tainted our relationship with one another. But we're moving apart from each other literally, and I can't afford to pay $500 a month for a cramped room. $400 for a cramped room sounds more reasonable. $500 for ample leg room is reasonable too. The element making up the difference right now is having the brothas from otha mothas together in one nucleus. The price you pay to be with true friends.
God, 2009's going to be interesting. Where the fuck am I going to be a year from now? Where will I be working the day job? How's about Patch? Where will I live?
A slingshot year. Gotta prepare . . .
Pearl Jam -- "Can't Keep"
Sunday, February 15, 2009
P.T. Barnum's Magnificent Inhibitionist
Today I'm suffering from post-Valentine pheromonic overload.
There have only been a few times where I've known that someone was eyeing me with that query filled with innuendo and intrigue. You can smell it. Chemicals waft between. I wonder if a stranger caught in the middle of a pheromone fight between two people gets a wave of startled horny-ness and out of control libido. I'm picturing someone acting not unlike Brad in Rocky Horror during "Rose Tint My World" -- "Help me, Mommy! Heeere it comes agaiinnnnnnnn!"
It's funny, because I think someone did get caught in the middle of our staredown. And he thwarted our gazes with his own. Can't say I blame him, honestly. She was kinda special.
I am pretty positive signals were happening last night. I think Marta was pretty positive, too, as she scolded me after the night was over for not taking more initiative and developing the chemical warfare into something more coherent and tangible.
Ahh, the life of a chicken-shit. Learn from my mistakes, people.
Jet -- "Take It or Leave It"
There have only been a few times where I've known that someone was eyeing me with that query filled with innuendo and intrigue. You can smell it. Chemicals waft between. I wonder if a stranger caught in the middle of a pheromone fight between two people gets a wave of startled horny-ness and out of control libido. I'm picturing someone acting not unlike Brad in Rocky Horror during "Rose Tint My World" -- "Help me, Mommy! Heeere it comes agaiinnnnnnnn!"
It's funny, because I think someone did get caught in the middle of our staredown. And he thwarted our gazes with his own. Can't say I blame him, honestly. She was kinda special.
I am pretty positive signals were happening last night. I think Marta was pretty positive, too, as she scolded me after the night was over for not taking more initiative and developing the chemical warfare into something more coherent and tangible.
Ahh, the life of a chicken-shit. Learn from my mistakes, people.
Jet -- "Take It or Leave It"
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Friday, February 13, 2009
When the Bloodline Simmers
All my life I've had a pretty strong rivalry with my brother. I can think of a few fights involving pens being stabbed into knee-caps, music stands used as cave man clubs, dog bones thrown at faces (usually this involved me being at the receiving end rather than the instigator). I don't remember when the fights subsided to mere emotional taunting, but it's still potent. It's hard to visit my brother.
There are two main causes to the repelling magnets within our relationship: 1) My brother loves to give unhinged advice and tries to exert control and domination over me. 2) I hate being corrected, taught, or dealing with people controlling me.
I've tried coming to grips with the second cause. It's the primary fuel for my demons and hardship throughout my life. I'm easily offended when it comes to people telling me what to do if I'm not prepared for the lesson plan.
Now, take the rivalry I have with my brother and place into the context of a Northeast Minneapolis household. There have been a number of former flings and romantic round-ups that have ended with the incestuous statement: "You're a lot like my brother." Kristen Swenson is no exception. In fact, she might be the sister I never had. And it shows, primarily in our rivalry.
We fight over the most trivial of situations. She tells me to turn off my coffee maker, she tells me to be nicer to people, she tells me to do this, do that. I tell her to shut up, calm down, you're making me nervous, you're not in control of me.
The repelling magnets hath been shown yet again . . .
Kristen is a controller. She likes to be in control, whether she knows it or not. She has to have a handle on the situation no matter WHAT the situation. That makes me nervous. It sparks something inside my semi-insecure brain that says she thinks less of me, she's a domineering force, and she'll dominate me if I don't retaliate.
I also like control, but more in the vein that I'm in control of my own life. I've never taken to peers giving me advice (although I have committed my fair share of hypocrisy with giving untold amounts of advice that was never requested in the first place). So when someone comes up to me and says "You know, you kind of hurt this other person's feelings. You should maybe say something to them." I fly off the deep end.
"If they have something to say they'll say it, I don't need you getting involved!"
I happen to think that I am in the right for saying that, it's not their business. But my response is a little over the top as well.
My goal: take those domineering situations and retort calmly and collectively state my rebuttal against being talked to the way a boss talks to their underlings. I'll be able to take the correction that I may or may not need to make in stride, file it under "IMPORTANT FOR LATER USE", and go on with my day.
I can't change Kristen, but hopefully this will change the way she talks to me. Or else I just won't notice it after I become a hindu cow with those red flag phrasings.
Maybe this is training for the day my brother and I mend the fault lines between us.
Alice in Chains -- "Brother"
There are two main causes to the repelling magnets within our relationship: 1) My brother loves to give unhinged advice and tries to exert control and domination over me. 2) I hate being corrected, taught, or dealing with people controlling me.
I've tried coming to grips with the second cause. It's the primary fuel for my demons and hardship throughout my life. I'm easily offended when it comes to people telling me what to do if I'm not prepared for the lesson plan.
Now, take the rivalry I have with my brother and place into the context of a Northeast Minneapolis household. There have been a number of former flings and romantic round-ups that have ended with the incestuous statement: "You're a lot like my brother." Kristen Swenson is no exception. In fact, she might be the sister I never had. And it shows, primarily in our rivalry.
We fight over the most trivial of situations. She tells me to turn off my coffee maker, she tells me to be nicer to people, she tells me to do this, do that. I tell her to shut up, calm down, you're making me nervous, you're not in control of me.
The repelling magnets hath been shown yet again . . .
Kristen is a controller. She likes to be in control, whether she knows it or not. She has to have a handle on the situation no matter WHAT the situation. That makes me nervous. It sparks something inside my semi-insecure brain that says she thinks less of me, she's a domineering force, and she'll dominate me if I don't retaliate.
I also like control, but more in the vein that I'm in control of my own life. I've never taken to peers giving me advice (although I have committed my fair share of hypocrisy with giving untold amounts of advice that was never requested in the first place). So when someone comes up to me and says "You know, you kind of hurt this other person's feelings. You should maybe say something to them." I fly off the deep end.
"If they have something to say they'll say it, I don't need you getting involved!"
I happen to think that I am in the right for saying that, it's not their business. But my response is a little over the top as well.
My goal: take those domineering situations and retort calmly and collectively state my rebuttal against being talked to the way a boss talks to their underlings. I'll be able to take the correction that I may or may not need to make in stride, file it under "IMPORTANT FOR LATER USE", and go on with my day.
I can't change Kristen, but hopefully this will change the way she talks to me. Or else I just won't notice it after I become a hindu cow with those red flag phrasings.
Maybe this is training for the day my brother and I mend the fault lines between us.
Alice in Chains -- "Brother"Thursday, February 12, 2009
Omens
After buying groceries at Rainbow today, I sat down in my car, put the keys in the ignition, and I saw a crow sitting in a bare tree right in front of me. In Westerns, this would be some sort of dark omen. Totally not unlike the major images of Stephen King's "The Dark Tower" series. It actually sort of freaked me out. Would I die on the drive home? Would I hit some patch of black ice? Would my eggs explode in the back seat? Would my milk go bad in a few hours? Fucking crows.
The newest recording project, "In Hope to Mend", is underway. It's a change of pace from what I've been toiling over since a year ago. Here's a clip if it ails ya:
"In Hope to Mend (Excerpt)"
Lots more to go. Different dynamics and sections. Should be a headache, which is par for the course, it seems.
Ane Brun -- "The Puzzle"
The newest recording project, "In Hope to Mend", is underway. It's a change of pace from what I've been toiling over since a year ago. Here's a clip if it ails ya:"In Hope to Mend (Excerpt)"
Lots more to go. Different dynamics and sections. Should be a headache, which is par for the course, it seems.
Ane Brun -- "The Puzzle"
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Stage Left to Center, Dramatic Pose, Center to Stage Right
More a personal reminder than public explanation: maybe it's the winter blues, the February blahs, the Valentine butterflies, but the irritation I've been plagued with as of late has turned to more a feeling of wanting to curl up and cry. Everything is making me emotional today. My coworker saw it on my face, too.
February is a peak for suicidal activity in the US . . . don't worry about me, though . . . I'm just reminding myself that I'm not alone in all of this funk.
Donovan -- "Mellow Yellow"
February is a peak for suicidal activity in the US . . . don't worry about me, though . . . I'm just reminding myself that I'm not alone in all of this funk.
Donovan -- "Mellow Yellow"
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Filtered Pockets
My household and related closest friends want to take a number of somewhat pricey trips this year. Lately, I've tapped into my spending habits and found that if I saved $40 of each paycheck (roughly 10% of the entire two week pay period) I'd have $600 around September. Adding into the equation: probable equipment needed for both Patch and Lizard People live practices/shows. Probable touring for Patch in the coming years. Probable medical expenses . . .
I can't afford to take these awesome trips that my circle will be taking. I'll be left behind, no doubt camera-less. Upon their return, I'll have a plethora of footage on my mechanical eye that'll make me jealous to no end.
My current budget is to spend $100 between each paycheck. That includes gas, food, and fun. My meals are figured out for the next two weeks before each grocery run, where I attempt to keep it all under $50. I usually spend about $10-15 worth of gas in that timeframe. That leaves about $40 for fun, $20 each week.
It works, for now. I don't need a ton of food in me, I'm usually sitting all afternoon looking at a computer screen (which I hate doing). I don't have a girlfriend, so that saves on going to too many events and spending sprees (one summer, I went over my minutes talking to my ex so much that I didn't make any profit off of my summer job. I paid $1000 to my mom for the fine.).
I'd love to take the epic House Boat Trip this summer. We shall see what jobs, music, the winds of life bring over the coming months . . .
All India Radio -- "Mexicola"
I can't afford to take these awesome trips that my circle will be taking. I'll be left behind, no doubt camera-less. Upon their return, I'll have a plethora of footage on my mechanical eye that'll make me jealous to no end.
My current budget is to spend $100 between each paycheck. That includes gas, food, and fun. My meals are figured out for the next two weeks before each grocery run, where I attempt to keep it all under $50. I usually spend about $10-15 worth of gas in that timeframe. That leaves about $40 for fun, $20 each week.
It works, for now. I don't need a ton of food in me, I'm usually sitting all afternoon looking at a computer screen (which I hate doing). I don't have a girlfriend, so that saves on going to too many events and spending sprees (one summer, I went over my minutes talking to my ex so much that I didn't make any profit off of my summer job. I paid $1000 to my mom for the fine.).
I'd love to take the epic House Boat Trip this summer. We shall see what jobs, music, the winds of life bring over the coming months . . .
All India Radio -- "Mexicola"Monday, February 9, 2009
David Prevails!
Against all odds. I beat the beast inside my computer.
"Typosgraphy" is done. It's raw, but she's done.
Listen to a clip here:
http://replicanation.blogspot.com/2009/02/no-ground.html
Bush -- "Testosterone"
"Typosgraphy" is done. It's raw, but she's done.
Listen to a clip here:
http://replicanation.blogspot.com/2009/02/no-ground.html
Bush -- "Testosterone"Sunday, February 8, 2009
Slithers and Dust
Got some footage of the Lizard People practice we had yesterday in our living room:
Tapes N' Tapes -- "Cowbell"
Tapes N' Tapes -- "Cowbell"
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Finally Striding
Call me a liar.
Despite the flaws, despite the crashing, "Typosgraphy" will be finished today in its raw form.
Enjoy some behind the scenes snippets including a guest appearance by Greg Strom, the man behind the Patch Live electronics . . .
Oasis -- "The Turning"
Despite the flaws, despite the crashing, "Typosgraphy" will be finished today in its raw form.
Enjoy some behind the scenes snippets including a guest appearance by Greg Strom, the man behind the Patch Live electronics . . .
Oasis -- "The Turning"
Friday, February 6, 2009
Lunar Whiskers
February is Too Damn Lazy to Shave a Mothafuckin' Beard Month. The beard will be sacrificed on February 28th, when it will be shaved just enough to become a handlebar mustache for Kristen's Mustache Birthday Dance Party.
This time the mustache will stay on the entire party rather than me freaking out like I did a year ago at our Burlesque Party, shaving it off mid-party. The crowd still hasn't forgiven me for that mistake. Hopefully this will remedy the ills that I gave to so many for a year's time . . . I can only pray . . .
Man Man -- "Top Drawer"
This time the mustache will stay on the entire party rather than me freaking out like I did a year ago at our Burlesque Party, shaving it off mid-party. The crowd still hasn't forgiven me for that mistake. Hopefully this will remedy the ills that I gave to so many for a year's time . . . I can only pray . . .
Man Man -- "Top Drawer"Thursday, February 5, 2009
Thar She Blows
Do you ever wonder what your favorite celebrities sound like when they sneeze? Does anyone ever think about this other than me? I always wonder how Trent sneezes, how the amazing falsetto belching Robert Plant sounds during a cold, what cool and composed Marilyn Manson sounds like blowing snot out of his nostrils at 80 mph.
Just another -ism on my part, I guess.
The Rapture -- "No Sex for Ben"
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Smell of Souls
I asked my coworker today: "If your soul had a smell, what would it smell like?"
She thought and said "Lilies and Lilacs."
I scoffed. "You can't just pick candle fragrances, that's too easy."
She said, "Well, okay, what about you?"
I thought. I said, "Wet gravel."
She said, "Wet gravel and death."
Nine Inch Nails -- "19 Ghosts III"
She thought and said "Lilies and Lilacs."
I scoffed. "You can't just pick candle fragrances, that's too easy."
She said, "Well, okay, what about you?"
I thought. I said, "Wet gravel."
She said, "Wet gravel and death."
Nine Inch Nails -- "19 Ghosts III"Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Defeated but Not Deleted
This time the Word Documents were checked. Nothing was opened. Outlook was not on.
"Typosgraphy" crashed upon every single attempt of playback. There are just too many files, too much information. New files layered on top of old files. I think I may have wasted a month of my time. This was originally supposed to only take a week of work, right before Christmas. I think it will live on only as the old demo I had made for Citizens Banned almost two years ago. I give up.
I'm going with "Fair Trade" instead. "Typosgraphy" will be a band demo, and will be re-recorded once "Sound. Of. Static." starts getting underway.
It's a depressing day . . . hopefully Greg can cheer me up with some of the wacky instruments and gizmos he's constructed later tonight. But first, have to write "Placebo", the brother song to "Fair Trade".
Hugs?
Gnarls Barkley -- "Who's Gonna Save My Soul?"
Monday, February 2, 2009
Don't Drive Angry
The weirdest holiday. Groundhog Day. My coworker made a weird face, an almost irritated face, when I reminded her about the holiday. This isn't some consumer "Hallmark" holiday brought up by card manufacturers itching to have a rise in sales on particular days. This is hokey. This is kid stuff.
The reason I like this holiday so much is that it gives me an excuse to enjoy one of the finer "holiday" movies on the market: "Groundhog Day". My favorite holiday movies include this one, "Scrooged", "National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation", and a plethora of Halloween movies, since I'm a major horror freak. Maybe she was irritated because she is outspoken against animal cruelty. Do the peeps down in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania mishandle the groundhogs? It doesn't mean shit compared to the symbolism of Martin Luther King day, but people could volunteer in animal shelters to make up for it all. It could be an animal awareness day.
There has been a 39% success rate in the groundhogs' predictions in 13 cities over the years. Looking at the predictions this year, there are more "6 Weeks of Winter" forecasts than "Early Spring", so there's a 2/3 chance that we might get an early spring. So, thinking about it, you almost have to expect the opposite of what the groundhog's shadow perception is judging by this almanac of historical record. That's the secret. If I was a betting man, I'd always bet against the groundhog.
But here's an interesting tidbit from Wikipedia's "Groundhog Day" entry:
"In western countries in the Northern Hemisphere the official first day of Spring is about six weeks after Groundhog Day, on March 20 or March 21. About 1,000 years ago, before the adoption of the Gregorian calendar when the date of the equinox drifted in the Julian calendar, the spring equinox fell on March 16 instead. This was exactly six weeks after February 2. Assuming that the equinox marked the first day of spring in certain medieval cultures, as it does now in western countries, Groundhog Day occurred exactly six weeks before spring. Therefore, if the groundhog saw his shadow on Groundhog Day there would be six more weeks of winter. If he didn't, there would be 42 more days of winter. In other words, the Groundhog Day tradition may have begun as a bit of folk humor."
In hindsight, Groundhog Day comes up short. Meaning it doesn't mean anything! When it was created, people were having fun with a stupid fucking groundhog! Whether or not he saw his shadow, Spring would come at a fixed time anyway. Either 42 days or six weeks, which is the same amount of time. What does that mean? The holiday is meaningless? Another superstition explained rationally? I feel cheated.
February is also Black History Month. I think Morgan Freeman says it best:
So, what's worse? Rolling your eyes at Groundhog Day, or acknowledging Black History Month? You have to pick one. I feel that if this were a serious conversation, we would no doubt come to the same conclusion about what day or holiday concept was more potent and relevant, especially since we've established the fact that Groundhog Day is meaningless with the 6 weeks to 42 days tongue in cheek "joke's on you dipshits" attitude. In that regard, the groundhog must die . . .
The Black Keys -- "Strange Times"
The reason I like this holiday so much is that it gives me an excuse to enjoy one of the finer "holiday" movies on the market: "Groundhog Day". My favorite holiday movies include this one, "Scrooged", "National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation", and a plethora of Halloween movies, since I'm a major horror freak. Maybe she was irritated because she is outspoken against animal cruelty. Do the peeps down in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania mishandle the groundhogs? It doesn't mean shit compared to the symbolism of Martin Luther King day, but people could volunteer in animal shelters to make up for it all. It could be an animal awareness day.
There has been a 39% success rate in the groundhogs' predictions in 13 cities over the years. Looking at the predictions this year, there are more "6 Weeks of Winter" forecasts than "Early Spring", so there's a 2/3 chance that we might get an early spring. So, thinking about it, you almost have to expect the opposite of what the groundhog's shadow perception is judging by this almanac of historical record. That's the secret. If I was a betting man, I'd always bet against the groundhog.
But here's an interesting tidbit from Wikipedia's "Groundhog Day" entry:
"In western countries in the Northern Hemisphere the official first day of Spring is about six weeks after Groundhog Day, on March 20 or March 21. About 1,000 years ago, before the adoption of the Gregorian calendar when the date of the equinox drifted in the Julian calendar, the spring equinox fell on March 16 instead. This was exactly six weeks after February 2. Assuming that the equinox marked the first day of spring in certain medieval cultures, as it does now in western countries, Groundhog Day occurred exactly six weeks before spring. Therefore, if the groundhog saw his shadow on Groundhog Day there would be six more weeks of winter. If he didn't, there would be 42 more days of winter. In other words, the Groundhog Day tradition may have begun as a bit of folk humor."
In hindsight, Groundhog Day comes up short. Meaning it doesn't mean anything! When it was created, people were having fun with a stupid fucking groundhog! Whether or not he saw his shadow, Spring would come at a fixed time anyway. Either 42 days or six weeks, which is the same amount of time. What does that mean? The holiday is meaningless? Another superstition explained rationally? I feel cheated.
February is also Black History Month. I think Morgan Freeman says it best:
So, what's worse? Rolling your eyes at Groundhog Day, or acknowledging Black History Month? You have to pick one. I feel that if this were a serious conversation, we would no doubt come to the same conclusion about what day or holiday concept was more potent and relevant, especially since we've established the fact that Groundhog Day is meaningless with the 6 weeks to 42 days tongue in cheek "joke's on you dipshits" attitude. In that regard, the groundhog must die . . .
The Black Keys -- "Strange Times"
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Alpha Recon Delta Beta Theta Peta Iota
TRANSMISSION 2/1/09 -- SUMMARY OF ALPHA RECON UPRAISED LANDMASS RUN "A" 1/31/09
REPORT BY COMMANDER KEAN
On January 31, 2009, a team of rookie soldiers led by myself embarked on a reconnaissance mission. We were observing upraised landmasses covered in crystal powder for the purpose of a future invasion upon unsuspecting children and families by my entire squadron of great American soldiers. We sought out five compounds, two of which were deemed "steep" and three "official".
We first travelled to the steep compounds, Hillcrest and McMurray Fields. Being our first stops, we were overjoyed at the prospect of using our Army approved sliding devices after being idle for so long in some dank basement. Lt. Haftek and I started the onslaught, followed by Lt. Neary and Lt. Doering close behind. Our conclusion: steep hills may sound promising, but they pale in comparison to most hills. They are quick, dangerous, and amateur. Jumps were constructed to spruce up the thrills, but they were cheap, masking the "weakness" of said hills. As a team, we have deduced that Hillcrest and McMurray are unworthy of our further attention.
However, the three "official" hills were a pleasant surprise. We ventured to Chelsea Hill in the middle of the Como Park Territory, a snowboarding/sledding hill complete with a tow rope for the snowboarding squadrons. However, a manmade pond alongside the left hand flank provided some shock when one of the younger members of the corp fell into the forbidden ice zone, causing slight terror on our parts, thinking the child had fallen beneath the ice. Thankfully, this was not the case.
Chelsea Hill offered a quick ride, small, rolling mounds, and a nice, smooth experience. The only drawback was that the sledding trejectories intersected with the snowboarders', making for an impromptu stop upon each run by feet braking. Minor, but worth mentioning.
Another hill on our list was the City Pages pick for Best Sledding Hill 2008: Wirth Park Golf Course's 10th fairway. This hill is sponsored by many companies, and holds a triathlon on occasion. It is long, smooth, and fast, but it doesn't hold any surprises. The hill is worth it, but the walk up for repeat slidedowns is tedious. We recommend snow tubes for this hill, not long, plastic instruments of awkwardness. They will most likely spin out of control, making for slight frustration as to the fact that you just walked five minutes up the slope only to fail upon descent. We approved this hill for the future invasion.
The hill that caught our attention the most was Columbia Heights Golf Course's 12th fairway. This hill boasts everything that we had come to admire in the hills we had ridden all day. It is long, it is steep, and above all, it is fast. The hill starts on a slight decline, pushing 40 degrees, but quickly turns into a 60 degree plummet of imminent death once you hit the 1/3 mark. Any sled will do on this hill. The walk up is slightly difficult, but not quite the tediousness of Wirth Park's walk. This is our top pick for a sledding hill in the Twin Cities urban area.
I'd like to commend my fellow soldiers on their amazing reconnaissance skills. They are true Americans.
Upraised Landmass Run "B" is pending, but will occur. This mission will be the invasion, there is no word from Central yet on its intended undertaking. But we will get the message out once it is set in stone.
END REPORT
1990's -- "You Made Me Like It"
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