Amidst the Bile

If there was one good thing to come out of this whole food poisoning/stomach flu whozeewhatsit of the weekend, it's that the monkey, the harbor master of my seemingly unstoppable caffeine addiction, has apparently been slaughtered. After swearing off caffeine for the past couple days, I woke up this morning with nothing but drowsiness abound m' noggin'. Not even an ounce of a caffeine headache all day.

I killed you . . . I KILLED YOU!!!!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!!

Yeah Yeah Yeah's -- "Way Out"

Woody to Carl

One of the first ideas I had for this blog when I first started it was to compile my favorite Pixar scenes together in celebration of the opening of "Up". Here is a pretty accurate list of some of my favorite Pixar moments through the years:

10. "Wall-E" -- Basically any scene with the character Mo is awesome. His erratic and incessant cleaning causes him to be a cute little OCD robot with the best vocal sounds ("Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa"):


9. "The Incredibles" -- Having been in forced retirement, the Supers have succumbed to domestic life. One of the greatest aspects of this element is how certain Supers adapt to their new 9 to 5 day jobs, restraining themselves from rescuing others, and how they interact with their families being cooped up from what they were destined to do. In the opposite scenario, when danger is too great, and the Supers are a necessity to save the public from certain peril, needing to come out of retirement and into the limelight, we have beautiful scenes like this:


8. "Finding Nemo" -- When Nemo escapes from the dentist office fish tank instead of potentially being killed by the torturous hands of Darla, the dentist's devil niece:


7. "Geri's Game" -- I think this shows the connection that Pixar has with children and adults. A chess game is hardly entertaining to young kids, even for adults, for that matter. To watch, at least. But I think the true aspect of Pixar, their mission statement, is embedded in this short. Young and old coming together to create something unique and wholesome:


6. "A Bug's Life" -- The scene where we are introduced to the PT Flea Circus Troop. I fucking love this, especially with the line "BURN HIM AGAIN!" at the end. Watch until minute 6:04, the clip goes on longer than I had wanted:


5. "Presto" -- I remember being in a kind of bad mood the first time I saw this. After this was done in the theater, I was completely and utterly happy. Pixar is the master of the "Pick-Me-Up":


4. "Toy Story 2" -- The scene where the toys cross the street disguised as road cones. In a word -- epic:


3. "For the Birds" -- Another awesome short. It also happens to be my mom's favorite Pixar moment:


2. "Lifted" -- Pixar does sci-fi for the first time. Made me jizz a little:


1. "Toy Story" -- The scene where the toys get revenge on the evil Sid will go down as my favorite Pixar moment. As a little kid, this was the coolest scene ever. It was creepy, funny, and you felt victorious and empathetic for all of the characters involved. This is the scene that started my small obsession:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GJZ4CZBnraY#t=05m46s

Gogol Bordello -- "Start Wearing Purple"

Upchuck

I woke up today feeling really woozy. I dry heaved in the toilet right before I left for work. Coming in fifteen minutes late, I slowly trudged up to the director. "Hey, if there's any way, any way at all possible, to let me home early, please, please let me go home."

She took a look at my face and said "Alright," with a knowing glance. I apparently looked like hell.

An hour later I threw up in the adult toilet. I left five minutes after and felt like crap the rest of the day.

Here's the kicker:

I missed out on my students' graduation because I felt so crappy. Crappy enough to miss out on a proud day for the kids. What the fuck is up with my body?!

The Zombies -- "Going Out of my Head"

Sad Jesus

Tonight, Miniapple had its Spring Program at St. Lawrence Church, complete with a potluck at the end. A couple of days ago, while sitting in "rehearsal" with the kids in the pews waiting for our turn to go up and sing, the kids were asking about Jesus on the cross.

"Who is that?"

Me: "That's Jesus."

Kid: "He looks sad."

Me: "I think he's actually supposed to be happy. People think he died to make others happy, so that made him happy."

Kid: "Happy?! What?!"

Me: "Hey, don't look at me. I didn't make it up. A lot of people believe in that stuff."

Kid: "He's scary."

Damn straight, son.

Also, while cleaning out our classroom a little as we wind down the school year, my coworker found a piece of paper. It was a note written to a former teachers who used to teach in the same classroom by a parent of a child long gone from Miniapple. It was written after a conversation the parent and child had had about Montessori Method and its history.

Here's the note verbatim:

"February 13, 2004

Tracy and Amy:

Sally is very excited about Maria Montessori history. Here are two things she has picked up from the prep she's getting for Italian Day at the end of the month:

1. When Maria Montessori died Amy took over the school. It was really hard work, but Amy understands how to do things like Maria Montessori so everything about the school is good.

2. Maria Montessori taught children to only use their hands for gentle things. Sally told me that when she goes to Meadowbrook next year the children will be throwing spitballs all the time. If she gets hit by a spitball she will tell the kid who threw it to stop. If the kid doesn't stop she will punch him. I asked Sal, "What about using gentle hands?" "Well, I won't punch him hard," she said.

Thanks for all you do for Sally. Being at Miniapple has been a wonderful experience for our whole family."

If I could just sit and talk with children all day, that'd be all I would need. Sharing laughs and animal crackers.

The Hives -- "Outsmarted"

Brass Tacts

Day 4: "In Hopes to Mend" practice. Here's my "In Hopes" live setup:

Greg's setup:

Apparently, "In Hopes" inspires this reaction in other band members:

Gorillaz -- "Tomorrow Comes Today"

Tumbleweed Triumph

I cleaned my epic disaster of a room/studio yesterday. It is barren. Tumbleweeds pass to and fro along the worn wood floor.

Compare and contrast:

A bedroom
A studio layered on top of a bedroom
Now picture the second pic to be even messier than what is already depicted. Paper, dust, mouse poop, shoes, clothes, nuts and bolts, candy . . . I hated my room.

Now, I look forward to stepping into my abode rather than loathing it.

Radiohead -- "Everything in its Right Place"

For the Fallen

While the stereotypical memorium minds dwell on ribbons placed on the bumpers of cars, I think of this film. Then I think of the ribbons placed on the bumpers of cars. And I remember the taps being played a week ago at the soldiers cemetery nearby as the sun went down below the horizon, and I think of the bad acid trip that ensued after.



Nine Inch Nails -- "The Good Soldier"

Post-Haste

After doing some Myspace and Facebook related Patch work, I biked down to Solera, in somewhat of a funk due to the fact that I had missed a block party over at nearby Memory Lanes in Cedar/Riverside. May 24th is symbolic for Patch, being that it was going to be the day that Schuyler was to be finished with mixing/mastering. Today I would have had the finished product in my hands, ready for the masses. Unfortunately, that is not the case. Now Christmas will be the "release date".

Solera, in downtown Minneapolis, was holding an event called "Carnival", based off of the Brazillian traditional festival (I'm talking out of my ass here, I was just rollin' with it, I have no clue where "Carnival" came from) originating in the Fuechenga Tribe and their celebration of La Chupacabra y el Perro con Tres Cabezas. Upon arrival, there was no place to park my bike. I looked a fool trying to find a damn sign post to chain it up to, a garbage can, a bench. After a little finangling (with a garbage can across the street), I met the gang outside on the street sharing Sangrias. Apparently, the event was free before 9:00pm, so Adri, Laura, and I high tailed it into the restaurant.

We walked up to the hostess in the front. We all just stood there looking at each other. Adri started doing the swinging arms back and forth with mouth puffed up routine, slightly nodding. No one said a thing. The hostess finally broke "What . . . do you guys want?" I said "Where do we get hand stamped?" The hostess pointed through a door "That way."

We traveled "that way", stopping at someone who had a stamping pad and a cash box outside of a stairwell. I asked "Is this where we get stamped?"

"No, you want to go straight up."

So, we traversed the stairwell. At this point it became abundantly clear that I was slightly underdressed. I was in blue jeans and long sleeve shirt, my Friday "working with children" clothes. I was also toting my tote bag. Not stylish. The bouncers were in high class suits, the women all around were in expensive dresses and ensembles, most of the civilian men were in either suits or looked to be playing the part of a Spring Break on San Pedro Island college spring breaker -- still dressier than me, for this particular event.

After climbing five floors, we made it to the roof. Music bumping, wall to wall people. I was in the world I rarely ever traverse into anymore -- not rockers, not indie heads, but the world of the corporate clubster. These aren't hipsters. These are the rich snobs of my peer group. These are clubsters. Spiked hair, striped button up shirts, women all cloned from the same assembly line in Area (Studio) 54, slightly older women who will hump your leg because you are either A. Small and adorable and non-threatening, and B. They're bored. Most likely it's a combination of the two. Actually, that's pretty much it exactly.

We couldn't move, the people were giving us strange looks, I didn't feel up to snuff for the occasion. We traversed back down with drinks in hand to meet the gang outside sitting in the comfort of their own space. I commented that if there was ever a place, this would be the place to get "roofied". Mild smiles from all. I wasn't on my A-Game apparently.

The post-strange world encounter conversation dealt with the plethora of sites on the internets dealing with Fuck my Life, Post-Secret, Twitter, Text from Last Night, all the blog sites that make it seem that your life isn't as bad as you might make it out to be day in day out.

I started drifting in my head whilst sipping on my Mojito (seemed to be the drink of the weekend). Adri had mentioned how Bukowski had said that "normal" people were dangerous. I feel that Solera was the "Normal People Convention" for that particular evening. These people scare me. Well, I guess most people scare me, to some degree, but there's something off about "normal" people. Their strict code of conduct produces anger toward anybody or anything. They are the most in tune with their basal instincts. They are the people who cyber bully peeps on every single forum known to man (show me one comment area in YouTube that has more than ten comments where the comments haven't resorted to personal bashing, either against the subject in the video or against another commenter). They are the people who hate the outsiders because they want to be one too. They want pussy, they want cars, they want tans . . .

I'm generalizing. But these cliches haven't gone away. Not really. Maybe I'm the normal one trying to break into an outsider convention. Maybe there are more of me than the people I eye suspiciously when traversing these clubster meccas. I eye people at First Avenue, too, the Hipster Mecca. Maybe I give the eye to everybody, just like they eyeball me.

We're not different, in the end. That's why I found myself at Solera today. And that's why I should have thought more on how I was going to dress and blamed myself for the insecurity rather than eyeballing everyone else's great clothing choices.

Here's my "Post-Secret" post: I hate every person's outfit and style because I can't afford to spruce up my own.

Beck -- "Tropicalia"

A Slice of Heaven

A couple of weeks back, the day I handed the first four tracks off to Schuyler, I had been sitting in the Dinkytowner waiting for my food. I was reading City Pages, drinking coffee. I came across a Dish review, something I don't normally read. It was on the topic of a food based road trip around the Upper Mississippi River area near Red Wing and Wabasha, MN. I love Red Wing. It's a place of sanctity and debauchery, a place where my mom and her friends come up and we drink ourselves into a stupor of political rants and a drunken spluge of compliments. My mom and I have gotten really close because of these trips, actually. I look forward to Red Wing visits every October, which is when they come up and I go down for the Art Festival they hold every year.

The article in City Pages described how the author's entourage had stopped off in a small town in Wisconsin called Stockholm. A place called the Stockholm Pie Company was situated there. Apparently, the pies make grown men cry, and makes even near death victims crave a taste of luscious rhubarb after falling into the river ice, skipping out on a hospital visit. They then moved on to nearby Pipen, WI, to take in another restaurant, finally ending up in Red Wing, to make the story short.

I texted Marta, saying "We should take a day trip for pies, fish, and alcohol!"

Fast forward to today: I wanted to take a trip for Memorial Day weekend. I was originally planning on visiting the Badlands in South Dakota, but the weather was going to be crappy. This morning, I thought of the article, and ran out into the living room where Taylor and Marta were talking. I said "HEY! You guys wanna go to Wisconsin to take in the best pie ever?! And then go to another town and eat, end up in Red Wing for drinks?!"

They weren't sold. I offered to pay for drinks in Red Wing. Taylor was sold. This made Marta sold on the subject.

We dressed, packed into my car, and drove an hour and a half southeast to Stockholm amidst the beauty of Lake Pepin, a wider section of the Mississippi. Across the water, rolling hills stretched as far as the eye could see with fresh green leaves peeking out after only a week's time after the long, horrid winter. We stopped near a small antique shop, and walked into the Stockholm Pie Company. We started to read a laminated version of the article I had read in the Dinkytowner to see if there were any recommendations from the author. There were none. So we embarked on choosing for ourselves.

We almost couldn't.

Seeing all of the pies, all made from scratch, in a fridge across from the register, all the choices scratched into the chalk board serving as a menu, the two slice deals, the root bear floats, the ice cream . . . I almost lost it. I settled on a 2 1/2 slice deal: Strawberry Lemon and Peanut Butter Fudge. Holy crap, I've never tasted a pie that delicious! It seriously was a slice of heaven, as they so correctly advertise in their logo.

We took in some wine tasting at a nearby cheese/wine shop called The Good Apple. Afterward, we walked down to the river, cutting through a small campground, and came out onto a warf jetting out into the middle of the river. Upon entering the clearing, the wind blew into my body. I breathed it in and sighed "God." Reminds me of the dad in Beetlejuice. "It's perfect. Juuuuust perfect!" It seriously was great to get out of the house, the city, and into the country in such a beautiful locale.

We walked back into town and took some back roads, looking at a church, gardens, backyards. Cafes were decked with small gardens and fountains, promising relaxing times with espresso and ice cream. It was a European town. I'll be back one day.

We moved on to Pepin, WI. Not as pretty, but the view by the river was still stunning. We stopped at the Harbor View Cafe, decided we were still full from the pie, and walked out onto another warf. We took in a duo singing and playing covers of old classic standards, country songs, bossa nova, and folk, complete with violin, banjo, acoustic guitar, hollow body electric, creating accompaniment from a Boomerang pedal system, where the player first plays an intro instrument, then presses a button that triggers a recording of the first instrument to continue playback, wherein the player can then move onto other instruments to layer on top of the first instrument. We do a little bit of that in Patch, actually . . .

We went back to the restaurant and found out that the wait was going to be an hour. So we got a frisbee out of my car and played a little bit of awkward disc in a parking lot of a boat launch. We went back to listen to some more music and to buy some beer at a nearby bar, but upon getting our drinks we found out that debit cards were not accepted. So I had to run to a nearby gas station to get cash. Immediately after paying for the drinks our name was called. Luckily the Harbor View allowed us to bring the drinks in with us.

Here's where the day took a mood swing of sorts. We were instructed to look at a menu posted on a busy section of wall, where we had to dodge an ongoing bustle of traffic going to and fro between the kitchen, bathrooms, and tables. All of the prices were $13 and up. Jeesh. We all had to settle on the smallest price, a lasagna dish. We sat and talked about feminism, why domestic abuse will never cease in the world, all sorts of interesting topics. The waitress was less than adequate, unfortunately. Marta and Taylor wanted to split the dish, trying to save on cash that was already in question of emptying out a bank account. We were to find out later on that Marta's salad, which was supposed to be included with the meal, was charged an extra $7. They didn't split up the salad along with the lasagna. It was seven dollars, but that's a bit much for us tight wads. She didn't explain initially. Plus, the waitress ran into my shoulder with my cesar salad, didn't seem to care for us (since we were probably the table that would produce the least amount of pay amongst the midlifers all around us). It was the only time I felt like paying less than the standard minimum tipping amount. I don't recommend this place to my peers. I recommend going to the nearby Pickle Parlor, which is actually ON the river and sports a deck outside with, most likely, a menu you can look at in the comfort of your own lap, with reasonable prices. I guess City Pages is for the heavy income midlifers as well, as we were a little shocked at the prices. I always thought City Pages was for our crowd. Strange . . .

Taylor and Marta were in somewhat somber moods from then on, which created a sense of lone enthusiasm on my part. I was floored by the sunset, the town of Lake City, MN on the way to Red Wing. No one shared, vocally at least, the same enthusiasm.

We got to Red Wing just as the last of the sunlight was fading. We tried going to an underground restaurant called the Port of Red Wing, the restaurant my mom and friends have taken me to the last couple of years, but they were closing up. We ventured to the bar that the City Pages article had given kudos to, called Norton's Downtown and Lucky Cat Lounge, apparently owned by the former bassist of Husker Do. It looked like a cruise ship. Not only were we the youngest people there, finding ourselves within the confines of Hawaiian shirts and khakis, but the decor of the place resembled a midway within a Carnival ship. Lots of emerald greens, pink and blue lighting, orange floors, newly made wooden chairs, IKEA lighting systems. The live band resembled either a wedding band or a bar band taking residence within the resort towns of Cancun or Cozumel, Mexico. Marta and I had Mojitos while Taylor had a Mighty Arrow beer. We were tired, and the mood had not lifted. Marta and I went to dance awkwardly on the dance floor for a song, alongside the older wedding dancers doing repetitive movements screaming "In Only 5 Short Lessons, YOU TOO Can Dance!"

This got us laughing, while Taylor made a phone call to his mom. He found out some bad news on his dad's side of the family, which of course would not lift the mood for him, and things pretty much went back to neutral. I still blame the waitress in Pepin.

We got back around 11:30 or 12:00, I'm not sure. All I know is that I crashed within 10 minutes of unlocking the back door to be let inside.

In summary: start on the Pepin Lake circle tour early, around 11:00am. Visit Stockholm, take it in as you digest the best pie you'll most likely ever try. Go to Pepin for Lunner, go to the Pickle Parlor on the riverside. Travel to Lake City, MN for another snack, like Calimari or french fries. Have a walk around the marina. Then go to Red Wing before the sun goes down to take in a little bar hopping before going home around 10:30.

This first time was a test run. The next time we will have the time of our lives . . .

Miles Benjamin Anthony Robinson -- "Woodfriend"

Outer Walls

My stepmom comments "You're not a little kid anymore. You need to eat healthier. Your body is telling you it needs more." The best place to find food while at the supermarket is along the outer walls of the store. There you will find the fresh food, not the packaged, fake, processed, canned plastic food in the regular aisles. You've got good and bad products. The aspect of product within the food industry is relatively simple. Stick to the outside, not the inside. Bang, you've got it!

With any other sort of product you've got more intricate aspects to deal with. With music you need to say something new while staying within a relatively recognizable sound. Actually, I think that goes for any sort of art. You can't have a completely new format. People won't know what to think. You'll fail as an artist. No one will seek you out.

This is product and marketbility. These are words that most artists fear. I also happen to think that this is why most artists fail.

Product, commercial, marketing -- mention these words around artists and it's like you've said the most offensive raunchy swear word around their children. Honestly. Get it out of your thick headed skulls that these words pertain to selling and money!!! Think of them as "Winning an Audience Over".

People ask "What's your process in writing music?" I honestly write an outline, then record, finding sounds and thinking of how I feel as the song progresses. I close my eyes and feel my heart rate, my attention. If I even once start to think of something else I need to work on the song. Or video. Or anything.

I'm putting myself in the place of an outside listener. I make believe I am somebody else listening to my music. I delve into the side of my brain from my theater training, becoming different personas. I become a personal trainer, a female PR rep, a peer musician, a hipster, an Animal Collective fan, an art framer, a car enthusiast. I try to imagine how all of these people would feel listening to my music. Some I can't imagine liking my music in the slightest. That's okay. But in the end, I feel like I keep the outside world involved by going through this process. If I like it, and I feel like at least five people from different walks of life would give it the time of day, then I save the work and put it in concrete for all to see.

I don't think a lot of artists do this. If they are doing their art for personal reasons, to get feelings out, that's one thing. But if you want to be a full fledged artist you can't forget about who you're selling your stuff to. If you don't give a shit about your audience, guess what? Your audience won't give a shit about you, either. End of story.

Think: How marketable is your art? Will people get it? If you can't describe your art, you're done for. If you say "It's beyond words. You decide for yourself," you're toast. Even if the work is abstract, you need to know what colors are aesthetically pleasing, that arouse chemicals to interact within the brains of onlookers. The message is up for grabs, anyone can interpret two lines going vertically down in the middle of your canvas, but if you don't choose the right colors or right kind of paint (oil, tempura, hell, fucking magic markers) you've rendered your art pointless and a waste of time.

Your finished piece of art is a product. There's no price tag on it. It's done, it's a product of hard work, integrity, creativity. A product is something that is finished. It's not a scary term. Marketability is the notion of how vital it is within the societal schema. Will people care? Will your work get noticed? Do you have a shot at becoming a full time artist, doing what you love?

Today, we had a small cookout. After our burgers, brats, and Grain Belt, we sat around and looked at awkward family photos. For some reason, one person started mentioning how in the 50's there was a commercial for a refrigerator brand. In the commercial, a fridge was opened, but it was never shut. The cameras never filmed it. Apparently, that brand hardly sold their product because women were uncomfortable with the notion that the fridge wasn't being shut. It created mild distress within the brain. It ultimately led to people passing that particular brand over for other, less distressing brands. The company heard about this, made new commercials in which the fridge doors were being shut somewhere in the spot, and they started selling more fridges.

Little things like that. You need to know how people feel. If there's a scraping sound within a song I write that causes people to skip the track I need to go back and change that sound. I want people to listen to that track, whether or not I loved that sound. It that's all it takes, sure, I'll compromise. If a record company says "Only come out with this type of sound. It seems to suit you the best. I want to hear more "Switch" songs." I'll say "Alright, but they're going to all be a little different, and I'm going to make albums with other songs, too. I know 'Switch" is the most accessible, but it doesn't mean that's going to be my one defining sound. I'll work with you as long as I get to do 75% of what I want to do."

That's my opinion on how to make a career in art. It's not the most thought out, and some of you might disagree. But if you want to know where Patch came from, a lot of it came from this style of thinking. I don't think it makes Patch any less potent or pure. I think it's honest art. As honest as I can possibly get.

The Whigs -- "Right Hand On My Heart"

The Dangling Carrot

Day 3 of Patch Live V1.0. "Trachomanic" was on the schedule. Upon scripting, both Greg and I decided it was a little too big a job to tackle at this point in the game. It's funny, since this song was originally designed to be super easy, a breather song to record in lew of opting out of "Sound. Of. Static" recording. Little did I know that it was going to be the motherbeast for recording (it took three months), mixing (after a month of mixing back in August 2008, Schuyler still needs to do a complete revamp of mixing for it in September 2009), and live showmanship. Whoops.

It is the goal of Patch, the carrot dangling right in front of our faces for this current version and era. I say THIS version and era because I've got harder and more complicated ideas lined up.

Patch -- "Trachomanic (Unmastered)"

Battle for Betty

Yes, I've named my computer. I name all of my most treasured posessions.

I've had two mic stands. One named Big Bertha I (who perished in a mic stand throwing cry baby fest of rawk with Citizens Banned), the other named Big Bertha II (also perishing in a throwing bout at the Uptown Bar, also with CB). My current one is Silver Bullet. I don't think I'll be taking her out of the house. She is a session stand.

My computer is named Betty. She has been rabid for months and months, plaguing the last round of recording with the Vundo virus. I accidently deleted rundll32.exe from my computer in one of the battles, so today Louie is attempting to breathe new life into Betty, exorcise her demons. So far, the results are pending . . . I think we're going to have to reinstall Windows.

Oh, Betty, hold on now. Hold on there, Betty.

Ram Jam -- "Black Betty"

Bugs Bunnies

I was tired. Kids were crowding around me while I was sitting on the picnic table, asking for stories. I have a cough, so I didn't feel like talking to the kids extensively. All of a sudden one of the kids screamed "WHAT IS THAT?!"

I turned, thinking it was a kid reacting to an ant on the picnic table. I saw a little creature come out from under my butt, underneath the seat of the picnic table. It looked like a pathetic rodent. Upon quick closer inspection I found out it was a baby bunny. Like pure, fresh out of the womb, baby bunny. It couldn't even walk. It looked blind. It looked scared out of its wits.

I yelled "EVERYONE STOP! DON'T MOVE!!" Of course, the kids picked up on me looking at something and ran over. The entire playground of pre-schoolers ran over to see what the matter was. I'm pretty sure the bunny was stepped on at least once due to kids running around. Another teacher became privy to the knowledge and started rounding them up away from me. I pushed the bunny back under the table asking for a bucket and some latex gloves. The bunny nestled underneath a table leg, hiding. Kids kept coming over. We were all literally screaming "STAY BACK GODDAMMIT!!!"

I dug underneath the table and pushed the bunny out carefully and picked it up and put it in one of our sandbox buckets. I then opened our playground gate, traversing a crowd of children actually reaching up and trying to steal the bucket away. The Id and Ego thing is completely true with children. There's no fucking control of impulse. Again we were screaming "KEEP YOUR HANDS AWAY!!!"

I'm pretty sure the hustle and bustle would have killed that little guy. The kids would have ripped it to shreds. I'm not kidding.

I put it in some nearby bushes, got a dish of water, cut an apple up and put everything just outside the bucket. Keeping an eye on it from the playground, I thought the ordeal was over. A kid came up to the table and said "THERE'S ANOTHER ONE!!!"

I yelled "WHAT?!" I went over, looked down, saw only gray fur. As in, disembodied fur. It looked like dust. I didn't think anything of it, thinking that's what he was talking about. I said "It's nothing!"

The kid pointed again "AHHH!! IT MOVED!!! THEY MOVED!!! LOOK AT THEM!!"

I followed his finger. More kids started screaming.

Underneath a table leg, the one I hadn't been working to push the little rabbit out from under, was a rabbit nest. Five tiny bunnies were nestled in a pile of woodchips and gray fur. They were stroking themselves, seemingly unaware of the peril traversing every which way around them. I quick got the bucket I had left in the bushes, complete with the dish and apple, and put the baby bunny back with its siblings. We rounded the kids up and put them inside, fearing for the nest's safety. The kids were still going apeshit all afternoon. The energy from the teachers wanting to protect the rabbits were being sucked into the kids, coming out in a form of complete chaos.

The thing that scared me was the fact that the first bunny, upon closer inspection, was covered in crawling bugs. Little lice looking insects crawled in and out of the fur. After dumping the bunny back with its family, I tried killing a bug that was left over. After my lice debacle last year anything resembling lice or fleas deserves to die. No questions asked. Their kind failed to gain my empathy. It jumped all over the bucket. I think it may have had wings, but I wasn't sure.

All I know is that if I get lice again right as I quit my job due to this stupid nest, I just know everyone I'm close to will say "I totally saw that one coming."





Deerhoof -- "Gore in Beans"

Trekkin'

Patch Live Day 2: "Typosgraphy" script for Greg.

Me to Greg yesterday: "It's not that I don't trust that you'll be able to play the instruments if you're drunk before the show, it's that I don't feel you'll be able to figure out how to work the cables."

Working on the end electronic blasts. Trying to come up with a good voice and effect setup.

By accident, I found a loud burst of static noise on the keyboard, and Greg had been on a loop effect on the pad. I started going apeshit on an A# and Greg made the most chaotic blips from the resulting noise come out of the speakers. This captures my "We found it!" face.


Success. Thursday: review so far and "Trachomanic". I have to look into PA systems and heads.

White Rabbits -- "Percussion Gun"

Broom Stick Revolver

Today is a day for the Greatest Hits of Peter's life tracklisting. Not that it was necessarily a GOOD day . . . it was one of the weirdest days. And yet, it's so fitting.

May 17, 2009 was the first day Patch ever had a live rehearsal. It's also my mom's birthday. It's also my biggest hero's birthday. It's also the day I did my first "Trip Sitting". It was also the day I was first pulled over by a cop.

Item 1: Taking place in Greg's apartment, we worked out the entire script for the live version of "LCD". I think it's doable. Still needs practice, obviously. Success on this front.

Item 2 and 3: Apparently, according to English folklore, it is very unlucky to be born on this day. Well, no wonder Trent's been basking in a sea of darkness all these years. My mom: I'm not sure where she stands in the midst of bad luck.

Item 4: To protect the innocent, let's just say that it started with this:

and ended with this:

and this:



I was slightly terrified. This is more a story to tell in person . . . along with . . .

Item 5: I've never been pulled over by a cop before. A few cops have come up to my car a number of times asking about shady business. And I've technically gotten stopped while walking while outside my house in Milwaukee back in high school. Last night I parked my car in my driveway and a cop was right behind. So, second time in my own driveway, first time stopped for traffic related endeavors.

Coming home from Item 4's ordeal had shaken my nerves. I was completely out of it and daydreamy. I apparently ran through a red light without even knowing it. That's what kind of an ordeal Item 4 was without actually describing it here. The cop was so pissed for some reason, demanding "You knew! C'mon! I'll let you off with just a warning if you admit to knowing you went through the light!"

I had to say "No, I'm sorry. I don't remember."

I came THIS close to getting a ticket because of my honesty. But here's why:

She was grumbling, and I retorted by saying "It's been a long night, ma'am, I was daydreaming and frazzled. I'm sorry."

She yelled back, with the K9 freaking out in the back, which in turn freaked out all the dogs in the goddamn two block vicinity, "Yeah, you think you've had a bad night?! I just watched somebody get their face shot off!! Whatta ya think of that?!"

I said "Yeah, that's . . . that's worse than mine."

She gave me the ticket after a bout of grumbling "Coulda let ya off . . ." and such. After I had the pink slip in my hand I said "Can I ask? I'm curious. What light did I run through?"

She stopped, calmer, thank god. She said "The Broadway and Monroe one. You stopped and then went right through."

I started laughing. "Jeeesus Christ! Oh my god!"

She squinted. "You . . . really don't remember, do ya?"

Laughing, I said "No. I'm sorry. I said it's been a hard night. I was completely lost in thought."

She stopped and then reached out "Alright, give me the ticket."

I said "Thank you so much. I'm so sorry."

She said "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Remember I let ya off, now. I let ya off with a warning!"

I said "I'm truly sorry you had to witness someone getting their face shot off. Really."

She said "Well, thank you. I guess I still have a face, I can't complain."

With that, she pulled out of my driveway.

Still has a face . . . if that's the moral of the day, I'm stumped.

Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young -- "Carry On"

Jimmy Crack Porn

I would say that I might have had the best fit of laughter today after meeting one of the weirdest guys I've ever had the pleasure of shaking hands with . . . so far.

Drummer Dave and brother Matthew held a barbeque birthday bash at their home in Lakeview, MN. First off, I'm so goddamn happy for Dave and his family. He's really pulled through for them, held on, and climbed the entire barrel from which he has seemed to spend a number of times at the bottom of. I fucking love the guy. Incredibly inspirational. "Karmath" is actually about him . . . I don't think I've ever told him that.

Sitting around his backyard campfire, we look over at his next door neighbor's house. It's a goddamn mess. A junkyard of trash, machinery, and the biggest woodpile known to man ("It's bigger than his house!"). It would make a beaver cream itself.

I asked about him. Dave said "Yeah, he's uh . . . he's kind of nuts. He's sporadic. He's cool sometimes, but other times he's a little . . . I don't know."

I was picturing some creepoid American Psycho character, watching us from his window. I went inside to get some food and came back to the fire. There was a new face, dressed in plaid, long white hair, face haggard from years of smokin' and drinkin' and shovelin' the shit o' life for so many goddamn fuckin' years . . . he was your regular regular at the local watering dive holes. I donned my "Whelp, here's a man who's going to want to tell stories and you're not going to be able to relate but you're just going to have to put up with it" face.

This was the most foul mouthed drunk I've ever met. And I freakin' loved him!

It wasn't so much the stories, although one about going to a strip bar too early in the day ("GET OUTTA HERE, WE AIN'T OPEN!!") was kinda funny. It was the way he talked.

"I had her puss in the puss, cum all over m' face, and I'm goin' 'Yessir, yessir, Imma tryin' to oblige but yer see I can't." The dialect of too many years of hard American blue collarage.

I can't describe it. I think the following clip describes it best. Picture a foul mouthed version of this feller:



That's also the way we had to bail, too. After Adri and I got into the car we kept going over some of what he said and we almost died laughing. I'm sure he'll be popping up in inside jokes from now until the day we die.

Frank Zappa -- "Peaches en Regalia"

Apples and Oranges

Adri, Greg, Kim, and I traversed the dangerous treaches of the southeast Northeast quadrant to take in some Bulldogs. Wasabi tater tots (that I had to almost spit out), Kastel Rouge (thank you Ricardo), and a well timed "I think I should go" (you had to be there).

As the night raged on, Greg went home . . . little too burnt out . . . and the three of us walked over to Mayslack's, a neighborhood bar in a neighborhood of neighborhood bars. Along the way, we discussed the intricacies of honesty vs. white lies in the face of telling someone they are fat.

Interesting point: how the fuck can you get mad at someone calling you fat? I know I'm not fat, but I used to be . . . slightly. I did hear some griping about my +20 lbs. But it never made me mad. It made me think "Whelp, yeah, I'm fatter. Out of shape. Either I do something about it or learn to accept it."

So when someone asks the age old inquiry "Does this make me look fat?" why do they get so angry at the response? Either they're not fat enough, too skinny, just right but they wanna be fat . . . I don't get this. You know your body. You look at it in the mirror every day. You know if you're fat or skinny. If you find out you're something not up to par with your ideal self-image, you convince yourself haphazardly that you are your ideal self-image.

When you ask someone else to back you up they don't agree. You get angry that you failed at convincing yourself you're not up to code.

It's like having an apple but wishing it was an orange. You get an orange marker and color it orange, add different textures. You ask someone "Does this apple look like an orange?" They say "No, it looks like an apple." You get angry.

Is it that different?

And to answer your question, yes, I am called an asshole more often than I'd like to be called.

Little Boots -- "New in Town"

Delayed Due to Departure

Schuyler called today. He said he wouldn't be able to finish up the mixing/mastering of "Schematics" by the time he'd be leaving for Hawaii and Romania for the summer on May 24th. We'll have to wait until September to start back up again.

Nothing would be changing on the live front. Greg and I are starting to shovel shit out this weekend. Taylor started work on the cover art and website themeing today. I guess we'll have more time to sit on everything. Make it better in the process.

Kind of depressed. Schuyler was saying "Why the time table? I don't get that. Why does it have to be done so early?"

I guess I've been so obsessed with being done with recording that I wanted to just be done with the whole project in full as soon as possible. Well, I guess I can take all of this in a long stride, plan out more for the future. This will be good. I still have the unmastered files to tote around.

Maybe this is for the better . . .

The Antlers -- "Kettering"

Repression of Torture

A somewhat tumultuous day. From stress to relaxation to moody blues to anger to drunken buzz . . . "Life is hard", to quote Adri.

I had a nightmare last night. I usually don't get nightmares and they don't pertain to the "someone's chasing you" "worst day ever" embarassment fiasco flaunted in most pre-teen 80's movies. My dreams deal with killing others, naked zombies that punch me in the balls, old people dead in the freeway being run over by my car outside of a ratty old theme park that should be Six Flags but instead resembles a Ray Bradbury carnival showcasing the rides at Hardees.

Last night's dream was interesting, though. I usually don't care about dreams. Whether it's in movies, people recounting their dreams. This was strange. Strange enough to recount.

I had to kill a bunny with the face of an old human lady.

It was dying anyway, but for some reason I felt like it had a chance to live. It had cancer. I had to strangle it, ravage it, tear off its ears.

It started out as a full 60 year old woman wearing a turquoise blouse and gray slacks, hair pulled back in a pony tail. Her face was sunken, lines all over, gray color. She looked sad. Yet she couldn't talk. I was instructed by some intuition inside that I had to kill her.

I grabbed her neck and started to drain life. Explosions of feelings swept through me. I looked at her. She was crying, her face said "Please don't. I can make it." Maybe it said "I know you have to kill me. But I don't like it." I cried myself, yet continued to tear, strangle, bite. All with my bare hands, I had to kill her.

She wouldn't die.

After a few times, with electric bolt feelings and stress shooting through my head, she turned into a rabbit. I think this pertains to the torture I once submitted a bunny to in kindergarten. I had to take care of the teacher's pet bunny for a weekend, and the whole time I held it by its ears, threw it into the wall, stomped on its back. I hate thinking about what I did. I still feel guilty. Maybe this dream was repressed guilt over what I did some twenty years ago.

The dream ended right before the last squeeze. The squeeze that would end the poor thing's life. She looked at me. Her face telling me everything, no words were necessary. I can't describe it. All I know is that it was the catalyst for waking me up. It was that intense of a look. A plea.

And then . . . push . . .

Basement Jaxx -- "Where's Your Head At?"

Death of a Diner

Just got wind of some weird news this evening: a local hangout of mine, the Dinkytowner, is closing down. It's only two blocks away from the school, so I tend to venture here on days I get off early, or to take up happy hour, to take in a Sunday brunch. One of my coworkers at Miniapple works here as well on certain days of the week. Citizens Banned played a couple shows here. Come to think of it, this was where I met my roommate Adri. Lots of memories. It'll be weird to see it go . . .

The following was taken from City Pages:

**The Dinkytowner Cafe bids farewell on May 31
By Andrea Swensson

The Dinkytowner Cafe has announced its last official day of business as Sunday, May 31. After much speculation in the past week about the future of the Dinkytowner, which has become somewhat of a home base for the grassroots hip-hop community in the Twin Cities, co-owners Kyle McCarty and Brian Elias sat down with City Pages for an exclusive interview to disclose the full story on the fate of the music venue and restaurant.

McCarty calls the events leading up to the bar's closing "a perfect storm" of a situation. "It has to do with a few different entities. It has to do with our past ownership, and it has to do with a bank, the city of Minneapolis, and especially our landlord," he says.


Fresh out of college, McCarty and Elias took over ownership of the Dinkytowner back in January of 2004, along with McCarty's uncle, who has since given up his co-ownership and left the state. A recent defaulted loan in the uncle's name got the bank sniffing around the Dinkytowner, as it was still listed as one of his assets.

"My uncle's long gone--two years ago, now--but the bank came after us anyway," says McCarty.

"Which put it into a spiral with the landlord and the city," Elias explains.

"A week before it was put into receivership [with the bank], we had a meeting with the city, and they had just done a health inspection," McCarty says. "And they said you have to get these upgrades, which would cost us $50,000 to $80,000."

Because their landlord had transitioned them to a month-to-month lease a few years ago, McCarty and Elias say they were hesitant to invest such a large sum of money into a situation that could easily be pulled out from under their feet.

"The bank took over in early April, and that's about the time it started getting wishy-washy," says McCarty. "We didn't know what was going on. I certainly didn't know what was going on."

Dinkytowner booking manager Dan Kane, who runs a promotions company called Ten Thousand Breaks, caught wind of the situation and started to get nervous about his job security. Kane bowed out at the beginning of the month, with a show on May 7 marking his last involvement with the club. Recurring Dinkytowner events, like the popular DJ night Last of the Record Buyers, have since been moved to other venues.

But McCarty and Elias say that they plan to keep the bar hopping right up until the end.

"The main reason we're staying open is for the employees," McCarty says. "We care about them. If we just shut down, they'd be screwed along with us, and we know that we can stay open and we can help them out. And obviously we've got a lot of bills that we have to pay, and we're still going to have to pay them after we close, so we want to chop it down as much as possible before we close."

"We're trying to support the staff that have been here for the last five years," Elias says. "It's just a bad situation and we did what we could."

"Not to say in the end that we won't open up a new Dinkytowner in a different location," says McCarty.

"We're definitely looking at coming back," Elias agrees. "We don't plan on just letting it go."

As for the future of the Dinkytowner's current space? "The only thing that we know is that [the landlord] is planning on giving it to his kid," says Elias. "That's what he said. There's all this speculation as far as what's going on. We can't tell you for sure."

Those who wish to support the club, which has been in its current location since 2000, should stop in for a drink and one of the venue's legendary greasy breakfasts, and attend the final show on May 30. The show will feature Unicus, who has been a longtime performer at the club, along with Kanser, More Than Lights, The Poetz, 90 Sevan, and host Big Trey. (18+. $5. 9 p.m.)**

Alice in Chains -- "Over Now"

Hogwash

Miniapple visited a small petting farm up in Hugo, Minnesota today. It was a lacking field trip. The kids, the adults, both didn't seem to have much fun. Waste of time. For one thing it was too far away. The kids were getting restless on the school bus. Plus, one kid had the foreboding gray face of nausea on the way back. I placed a garbage bag inside her shirt, acting like a net for impending spew. Luckily, she kept it in.

The thing that made the trip noteworthy happened after we sent the kids through the pig pen. One farmer had been taking us through, and another farmer ran up to him.

"You lettin' them kiss the pigs?"

Tour guide: "Hmm? Yeah, they're kissing 'em. Huggin' 'em. Havin' a good time."

Frenzied Farmer: "Well, there's that sickness goin' around."

Tour guide: "Yeah. Yeah, there's that. We're not s'posed to let 'em kiss the piglets."

(He said this as a statement rather than a question. Really odd, as if he knew all along but chose to give my students the swine epidemic. He was obviously playing cool, trying to be the good, well composed host.)

Frenzied Farmer (looking at me): "You've heard of the sickness, right?"

Me: "Oh yeah, the swine flu. N1 something or other."

Frenzied Farmer: "You don't let them kiss the pigs now."

Me: "I was unaware of any kissing."

Frenzied Farmer: "Cuz it's not the pigs you should be afraid of. It's the kids. The kids are now the ones giving it to the pigs, the pigs spread it to more people. There was a farm up in Canada where a one and a half year old kissed the nose of a pig. Gave the swine flu to the poor little piggy."

Here's the kid he was referring to:
I'm pretty sure this kid did NOT have the swine flu. It's just a joke. Sadly, a toddler DID die of swine flu, but it was in Texas, not Canada. I just think it's funny that no one knew what the hell they were talking about or really what they were actually doing on the farm.

I wanted to tell him about the captions on the pic, but thought he wouldn't get it. This was a little too "Beverly Hillbillies" for me. Plus, I thought he might get into some apocalypse related hogwash, thinking that that kid actually did kill us all.

The Beatles -- "Piggies"

Mama Said

Got Mom a plant thingy, my stepmom tons of tea. First time mailing boxes at the post office. Kind of an ordeal. Good practice for Patch related shipping.

Throw Mama from the Train:


Genesis -- "Mama":


Lenny Kravitz -- "Bring it On"

Phase 2

Today I started to embark on the logo, the "Schematics" design, the website, the live band plan. All are happening at the same time.

Holy god, the calendar is getting full.

Taylor agreed to help out in the logo and the "Schematics" design. Barcodes, appendages, screaming heads, neverending stories . . . Louie's doing the website with me. Schuyler's going to town on mixing this weekend (had a little bit of a scare regarding our small timetable today. We only have two weeks!).

First live performance June 19th?

Rodriguez -- "Sugar Man"

Wave Goodbye

Trent and friends are kicking off their final tour tonight. I'm totally glued to their new Iphone app at nin.com. Real time updates, along with Twitter.com in another tab. I'm about to have some dinner, grab a bottle of wine at the nearby liquor store, watch the show unfold before my very eyes hundreds of miles away from the venue in West Palm Beach, Florida. I love Web 2.0.

Break a leg, T-Rez!

Nine Inch Nails -- "Non-Entity"

Emporiumnesia

I walked into the Electric Fetus today, and it felt like home. For you out of town readers, the Electric Fetus is probably the best record store in the Twin Cities (they have two other locations: Duluth and St. Cloud). I biked there from Miniapple (after a very informative staff meeting dealing with neuropsychological development: the most NEEDED element in child care. I'll have more on this later when I have more stamina and will power to write a bigger blog entry). Upon walking in, I was in my element. Extremely nice people, extremely nice atmosphere. The indie music emporium.

I hope I can get a job here . . .

El Grupo Nuevo de Omar Rodriguez-Lopez -- "Warren Oates"

Another Green World

Having lived life through eating, sleeping, recording for a year and some change, I'm left perplexed today. I don't know what to do myself. Plan the gameplan of Patch for the next couple of months? Take a break?

It feels great. Mainly because I know that even if I'm taking a break, Patch isn't. The symbollic nature of ending recording means that it's not entirely in my hands anymore. Schuyler is working on the mixing probably as I type either in his apartment or at a studio at the University. Last night I visited him in the U's electronic music studio. He had been working on "Typosgraphy", especially regarding the first 1:30 and the drums in the main section. The raw file was huge to begin with, but he made it twice as big. I'm excited for the results. I trust he can make this almost sound apocalyptically epic.

Alright, I think I'm going to figure out a gameplan for the next few months. Taking a break feels too foreign.

The Postal Service -- "Brand New Colony"

My First Test Audience

I tried a little experiment today . . .

I had the same rendered CD from the raw track listening party (more of a get-together, I guess) last night with me in the car as I drove to work. I parked and looked at the CD player. I was wondering how the kids would react to my music.

I plopped the CD out and carried it into work. At 11:00, circle time, I asked the kids if they wanted to hear the product of what I did every night when I left them to go home. With an extreme amount of enthusiasm they said "YEAH!!"

I put the CD in, and being unmastered and all, the volume was really low. The CD player could only play it so loud, so it was hard to keep their attention intact, but here's why:

I started playing "Typosgraphy". Around thirty seconds into it my voice starts up. The kids' eyes lit up. "That sounds like you, Peter," one child said. Then three quietly agreed. The song's main purpose is to surprise people into paying attention. That's actually one of the made-up meanings for the word "Typosgraphy". It was magnified in the children.

The music BLASTS into a huge wall of sound and guitars. The kids' eyes got wide, and they all started flapping their arms frantically while laughing/screaming. I had to pause the song and calm them down. Then I said "You guys wanna hear the next one?"

"YEAH!"

"Trachomanic" started up. The stop/start nature of the first verse is supposed to mimic a mechanical fly. The kids found this hilarious. Two stop/starts in the kids were rolling in laughter. I had to pause again. Wait. Then the song picked up into its main groove. The same flapping occurred. I had to halt the listening party completely in order to maintain a sense of order before lunch, or else lunch would have been a disaster of food mess, nobody eating, spills.

After nap, I brought out "In Hopes to Mend", saying I had to skip around parts because some of it was inappropriate. The beginning piano started, and one kid asked "Is that inappropriate?". Once the groove started, the kids started a dance party. Butts were shaking all over the room. I put "Switch" on, making them promise to be quiet, seated, and restrained (in kid terms). The same "Inappropriate" questioner had his eyes half-closed and was shaking his head in an almost trance, like a blind black man listening to blues on the porch humming "Mmmm-mmmm . . ." Once the end rolled around, a super intense collage of guitars, effected air raid sirens, and screams, this same kid got serious and said "Can you turn it off now?"

I asked him "Why?"

He said "Can you turn it off?" No reason. It was either too long for him to sit through, or it was mud to his ears. I think it was a bit of both.

As a child left with his parents in the evening, he said to his parents "I heard Peter on the radio!"

Oh, if only . . .

Brian Eno -- "Another Green World"

SUCCESS!!!!

My celebratory wine was opened today, consumed by the household while sitting in the living room listening to 24 minutes of music.

One whole year. Holy fuck.

Bill Conti -- "Gonna Fly Now"

Today?

There is the distinct possibility that I could be done today. If I start within the hour, and I don't run into any snags . . . "Schematics" recording could be complete. That literally takes the pain of my cold away. I'm smiling through sniffles.

What sniffles?

Rachel Goodrich -- "Little Brass Bear"

Dodging Bullets

Of course, the day I wanted to record vocals, the last round of hard vocals for this EP, I started coming down with a cough. All day yesterday I drank water, swallowed, lubricated the throat. Fortunately, I pulled 97% of the vocals off. I just have some screaming left to do -- which actually may still prove difficult given that the cough has worsened.

The entire session last night was a game of cat and mouse, where the cat caught up to me numerous times, but somehow I was able to slip past. Until the very end, that is.



And now . . . feverish, achy, dying. Only two days left. Can't stop. Can't stop.

Cage the Elephant -- "Ain't No Rest for the Wicked"

Mayday Mayday

A month of transition . . . and mending of mental wounds.

Enjoy a little diddy from "May Day" (Grace Jones):


Tool -- "Lateralus"