The Last Goodbye

Twenty years.

That’s how long Trent Reznor has been playing live under the moniker Nine Inch Nails. Tonight marked the last night of the Wave Goodbye Tour. The Wiltern Theater in Los Angeles, CA. They played 38 songs, with three encores, and tons of special guests, including Mike Garson (of David Bowie fame), Dave Navarro, The Dillinger Escape Plan, Atticus Ross (Trent’s main studio cohort), and Gary Numan.

I was first introduced to NIN through a friend in fifth grade. He kept writing the famous NIN insignia on all our clubhouse posters. I asked, “What’s NIN?” He said in a bratty tone, “It’s Nin. If you don’t know what it stands for, you can’t be in the club!”

He kept yelling “Have you heard ‘Hurt’?!” I responded, “No.” “You can’t be in the club! ‘Head Like a Hole’?” “No.” “Can’t be in the club.”

A day later I heard “Head Like a Hole” on a Time Life Metal compilation commercial on TV. Then I listened to the radio all night long, mainly during the Total Request hours, on Milwaukee's Lazer 103 for “Hurt”.

I got “Closer” instead.

Not long after that, “Closer” came on the radio while my mom was driving a group of the kids she babysat (we were all the same age, our younger siblings were also present, so roughly a group of 10 and 8 year olds). The snotty know-it-all was present. The song came on and I yelled, “Mom, turn it up! It’s . . .”, I turned to the know-it-all, “NINE – INCH – NAILS!”

He said “Oh, this is the bad song.” I could tell he hadn’t heard it, but he knew of it.

The famous chorus “I want to fuck you like an animal”, bleeped of course, but we still got it, sounded. My mom said, “Oh god . . .” yet continued to keep the song on. The entire car was silent. I had never heard anything that sounded remotely like it. I was currently into Weezer, Nirvana, Pearl Jam, grunge and post-grunge. This was synth, hard, and theatrical. It took what I loved about Genesis and Queen and turned it into something forbidden.

My mom said she liked the song, but not the lyrics.

We went to Blockbuster Video soon after that and picked up the Woodstock 94 video compilation. Nine Inch Nails’ “Happiness in Slavery” was featured on it. I had never seen an act like it. The band was covered in mud, Trent was throwing mic stands this way and that, it was seven minutes of noise, screaming, and intensity. I was spellbound.

My brother bought “Further Down the Spiral” around that time, since it was one of the few NIN releases to have been sans Parental Advisory sticker. I didn’t grasp the concept of the remix album, but I was still spellbound. My brother wouldn’t let me listen to the CD, so I snuck a listen at 5:00am one morning before school. Track 2, “The Art of Self Destruction, Part 1” was what did it. This song may forever go down as one of, if not THE, most inspirational pieces of my upbringing. That, “Closer”, and the Woodstock version of “Happiness in Slavery”.

I made it my mission to buy every single Halo (the cataloguing system Trent uses to make it easy to collect official releases of his work). Parental Advisory Halos were stashed at my dad’s, where they were allowed. They wouldn’t have been if they had heard “Closer” at the time. In eighth grade I showed my stepmom “The Downward Spiral” album. She forbid the CD ever to be within earshot after she heard “Closer”, “I Do Not Want This”, and “Big Man with a Gun”, all songs about fucking.

Anybody who knows my own music can tell you my two main influences. NIN was the first and most lasting. They will always be number one in my book. So, tonight is symbolic. It’s corny, but it’s bittersweet for me to say goodbye to a legend in a live sense. Trent will continue making music as NIN, but the live splendour will not be had any longer. I’ve seen NIN live five times. The best way to end my live experiences was at the Minneapolis “Lights in the Sky Tour” stop. Front and center for the biggest show NIN will ever put on.

And now, no more . . .

*NINE INCH NAILS -- LIVE AT THE WILTERN THEATER 9.10.09 -- "WISH"*


Nine Inch Nails -- "The Art of Self Destruction, Part One"

Cloudy with a Chance of Assholes

Assholes unite once the barometric pressure goes awry.

I would research this more, but I’m sans internet at the time of writing. Whenever the kids at the school are cranky, annoying, lethargic, we tend to blame it on the barometric pressure. Today, it wasn’t the kids. It was the coworkers. Or it was just me.

I was snippy with everyone. I felt judged, I snapped back at people, I was basically unpleasant to be around. Grumpy, to say the least. A parent asked how my day was. I’m usually honest with them, which goes against what the higher ups would like us to say, I s’pose. I said, “It was a grumpy day.”

She said, “Me too! All of my coworkers felt the same!”

I said, “Yeah, I think other coworkers here are feeling it, too! Maybe it’s the barometric pressure.”

“Maybe, I said that to someone at my work. I think it’s true.”

So, what, pray tell, is the forecast for grumpiness when it comes to barometric pressure? Would I be able to tell when a high pressure system of asshole-ness will be infiltrating my psyche when I look at the weather forecast?

Is there a field of research related to the correlation between psychology and meteorology?

The Vines -- "Outtathaway!"

Noah's Miracle Slide

I had planned to write a blog about how I would kill Shannon's kitten in revenge for taking bites out of my left foot while sleeping four nights in a row, but then a coworker, who just resumed work after taking the summer off, made the original intent drab and arbitrary.

During the summer, my coworker worked at Noah's Ark, another one of my holy stomping grounds. He was a lifeguard turned manager, and I was completely intrigued by the inner workings of the waterpark. Near the end of the convo I asked him, "So, bein' that you were totally immersed in the inner gears, what are they planning for next year?"

He smiled. "Dude, it's . . . it's insane. A looping waterslide."

I gawked. "WHAT?!"

"Yeah, you stand in a telephone booth thing, then the floor drops out and you go through a speed slide into a loop."

I'm terrified. Because I know I'll have to ride it.

Oh my god.

Yeah Yeah Yeahs -- "The Sweets"

Laborless

A day to relax, set up by the Authority of the Calendar.

I spent it driving home through the gorgeous valleys and hills of western Wisconsin, amidst the golden rays of the Harvest Sun and Christian hymms emitting from my car stereo. WPR replaced the hymms once it became too unbearable.

The farther I traveled, the more my headache disappeared.

Bon Iver -- "Wolves (Act I and II)"

The Good Son

The reason I'm in Milwaukee is so that I can see my brother off to India and Kenya. This isn't just a study abroad venture. He's been there, done that. No, he's going to LIVE in these places. I have a feeling he'll end up in Kenya for a good period of time.

My brother and I have an interesting relationship. We don't get along. In fact, whenever I'm around him I feel inferior. I feel trapped within the body of street-smartless buffoon. It's all insecurity on my part, but it's doubly magnified when I'm in the presence of my brother.

We are the complete opposite. Take a look at me, take a look at my brother, a buzzed, Abercrombie, K-Swiss rap hound. Popped collar be damned, he is the image of the Hollister Brigade's Fall Catalogue. I've got my girlish figure, my long curly locks, my hip huggin' booty jeans, small t-shirts, and dirty feet sandals. He pumps Jah Cure, I pump the Volta.

He's not being a jerk. He's not antagonistic. If something doesn't give him pleasure he'll let you know. He's quiet, he doesn't give away too much. He only says what he needs to say. But he's quick on sarcasm and wit, so he stays afloat in his social cicles. He has a strong personality. I've always had problems with strong personalities.

He loves me. I just never feel it. If one of us dies the love will be shown on each of our faces. Until then . . . I just wish I felt accepted around him. I never ridicule him, he always seems repulsed by me. He hugs me, he retracts quickly because he thinks I smell. If another family member remarks about me, "That beard is a chick magnet. Whoo!" he'll remark, "No it isn't." He means it, it's not just a harmless punch. It's a lesson he's trying to teach.

Maybe he is teaching, but it's a lesson developed by me. My brother is the instrument I can use to face my demons, of which I have many. I don't have to be bothered by anything he says. I could just say "We're different. That's it." But it's harder than that. I've never met anyone that has made me feel so uncomfortable.

We were brought up by the same parents. My parents split when we were young, and they both developed different ways of raising us. I turned out a lot like my mom, my brother turned out like my dad. This also sheds light on my relationship with my father, which is similar to the one I have with my brother. I feel judged whenever I'm around them.

Or maybe I'm judging myself and they're just repulsed at my internal battlefield. "Grow up!" they seem to glare.

I'm trying. Just not in a way they're comfortable with.

Fever Ray -- "When I Grow Up"

The Price of Peace

Back to Milwaukee. A secret visit sans friends. It's all family this time. And to recoop by my lonesome via Stephen King and Corona Extra.

I tend to find that I gain a large headache by the time I leave Milwaukee after trips there. Either it's from stress, or it's from being dehydrated by too much coffee and beer. Milwaukee also tends to be a place of respite, if I sought it out. If not, if people know I'm there, the phone rings 24/7 to go out to bars I feel so out of place in.

I don't mean to be rude to my friends. I need to be nice to myself. I just want to read.

Most of the time that doesn't happen. The family is all over the place, in my room, through the sunroom, the porch, etc. Milwaukee is a last resort to free peace and quiet.

So that leaves me with this thought: in order to have peace and quiet I'll have to cough up $50 to stay at a fucking motel?! Go camping?! That's a hassle in itself. It takes hard work to have peace of mind. You have to seek it in this day and age. It never just comes to you.

You need to travel hundreds of miles. You stop at a Kwik Stop. "So, eh, where you goin' buddy?" the attendant asks. You answer, "Peace and Quiet."

He shakes his head. "I've never found it, man. But good luck."

There's also the saying that peace is within. But the literature will tell you that to reach peace of mind, you must travel thousands of miles within your brain to find it.

Thousands of miles.

Shit, I'll settle for the Motel 6 down the street . . .

Health -- "Die Slow"

How the Swedes Kill Kittens

Rising like a demonic cube out of the wastelands of Bloomington, as if the Highway 77 commuters were wrought with consumer drought, stands IKEA, a blue behemoth of a furniture store. This isn't a review. This is about the evil clutches IKEA holds over me, and just how genius they are at wrapping an otherwise clueless consumer like myself, a young adult who could give two shits about home furnishing, turning them into an interior designing whore frothing at the mouth at the sight of every product within its padded walls.

I attribute IKEA to be not unlike the Cube of "Cube". The Cube is a prison wrought with booby traps. It is a Rubiks Cube, with a set of mathematical probabilities etched into the framework, making it so that the prisoners who mysteriously find themselves inside need to delve into their high school algebra knowledge in order to escape unscathed.



IKEA has a designated pathway. Go through the showroom, become inspired, see their products in action, feel jealous, see everyone around you succumbing to the Scandinavian greed devil, shake fervently, cry out in defeat, write down the product number of their weakness, proceed to buy the product in a huge warehouse downstairs, the pit of furniture Hell.

Today, I didn't come to IKEA with the intention of buying anything. I was helping my new roommate Emily pick up an As-is dresser. As we climbed the escalator, I didn't think anything would happen to me. Upon turning the corner, Emily went into a pre-made showroom. I followed, looking at all the products. That's when I felt the devil inside start to wake.

Opportunities opened. I saw a reading lamp over a bed and I thought, "Hey! That's nice. I wish I had a reading lamp over my bed . . . wait, it's only seven bucks . . . what's this in my pocket . . . a check card? I can . . . where's the lighting department?"

Pillows: "Hey, I have one pillow and a blanket acting as a pillow . . . maybe I can just get one . . ."

Candles: "I like candlelight. The candle holders are so cheap . . ."

Every department started to rain down possibility. I became an interior designer, needing a little bit of everything in each department. It became so consuming that I felt I NEEDED to buy things. My house wouldn't be complete without something from each department.

IKEA also spits you out into a dark parking garage once you're done. It's dark and ominious, it makes you feel guilty. It's like masturbating. It seemed somewhat dirty and pleasurable at the same time. Yeah, sure, why not, right? I'll clean up afterward, it won't be that big of a mess. Here we go . . . oh man, this gets better and better . . . oh, ohhhh, OHHHHHHH!!!! . . . fuck . . . Jesus . . . oh, man, there's shit everywhere . . . ohhhhh, why did I do that? Man, now I got to take a shower and get cleaner from underneath the sink. I hope the roommates don't see me going to the kitchen covered in goo. Why? WHY?!?!?

Apply this to IKEA . . . in the parking garage, you look at your armload of crap and think, "Oh man, why did I do this? Now I have to find a place for this shit. I don't have room . . . Goddammit, where's a towel?"

IKEA: I hate you and love you at the same time.

The Dust Brothers -- "Corporate World"

Bites of P'nash

When Citizens Banned was on the fritz, Adri was secretly collaborating with a friend, Erica, playing bass for a little pet project of hers called Sharp Teeth. He would blushingly state that his new band was playing a show, while the rest of us would calmly state, "It's okay. It's okay to be in two bands, man."

CB filtered into a fraction of existence, culminating into another pet project, Lizard People. But in between CB's demise and Liz Peeps' little stint, Sharp Teeth gained recognition across the country. They were a hit band, a charting band on the college radio circuit.

Taking Riot Grrl zest and giving it a good dose of Hole and Veruca Salt, Sharp Teeth have honed their crowns to pearly whites.

Today, they kicked off their first tour at the 501 Club in Minneapolis. They'll be doing a ten day trip around the Midwest this week and next along with friends Disasteratti, who are definitely one of my new favorite local bands of the Twin Cities.

Sharp Teeth -- "Let Me Stay Alive"

Four Down . . .

Fourth goodbye:
NAME: Marta Haftek
ASPIRATION: To study the intricacies and mysteries of Anthropology within the confines of a Washington State University graduate program. Post-Wash, she will travel the world in search of ways to apply her anthro-knowledge, most likely in the vein of Public Health. Epidemics and Pandemics beware, this woman will smite you!
BEST MEMORY: My favorite memories of Marta probably happen to be memories best left forgotten on a conscious scale for Marta, but they are ingrained, memories that have built our friendship to what it is today. Marta would pop into my room every so often when she wasn't busy and talk about relationship woes. The door would close, tears would be shed, laughter would be had. The reason I pick these "not-so-nice" memories is because without them we wouldn't be so close. She trusted me and I trusted her. I always welcomed her talks, because they fueled future outings, such as to the post-Winnipeg Opera spin-a-thon in front of Northrup Auditorium and the front and center viewing of Nine Inch Nails' "Lights in the Sky" tour. The talks would continue until they didn't hurt so much anymore. They were now associated with positive experiences. True growth has never been so exemplified as in the presence of these experiences with Marta. It was humbling.

I love you, Marta. UGHHHH!!!!!!

Ismail Darbar -- "Dola re Dola"

Three Down . . .

Third goodbye:
NAME: Taylor Stevenson
ASPIRATION: To suffer to the whims of his girlfriend, Marta Haftek, as she embarks on grad school in Seattle, WA. While there, he will no doubt be continuing the ongoing struggle of becoming a successfully paid screenwriter. Lately, he has had success in this field, namely in regards to his script "Comfort". Always the renaissance man, he has each finger dipped in a different brew of art and creativity simultaneously, meaning his painting will continue, his photography, his music, website design, inventions, wooing Marta, etc. Nothing beats his writing, though. God, I'm jealous of the man's ability to write. Poetic, illustrative, mature, if he keeps to it he'll be one of the greats. I hope he'll be recognized in time.
BEST MEMORY: A recent event. The second Lizard People show. Our entire friendship has been one of shared stage aspirations. Taylor was the main commissioner for Citizens Banned, he was the vision behind Lizard People. We've had our ups and downs in this realm, having had many fights and disagreements. But with Lizard People we let emotions take a backseat ride and let the music do the talking. The second show occurred at the Acadia Cafe. It was a show full of laughter, of good spirits, kick ass rock, and the crowd liked us. We were in giggles the rest of the night, arms constantly around each other, friends who've learned to just go with the flow.

That's the story of Taylor and me. Learning to take things in stride. Taylor is a sponge of ideas. If you look at him you see his eyes shifting, producing new ideas every minute. The guy is a constant day dream machine. If there was nothing planned one day, if you're around Taylor, you'll develop a plan within the next hour, as he'll have something cookin' in the pot. I've also learned the most through him, having been tested in emotions and experiences. I've always come out more mature in the end. I have a lot to thank him for in regards to me growing the past three years.

From Wizard Sticks jests to 24 Hour film fests, Nine Inch Nails in the Rave to analyzing Nick Cave, covering PJ Harvey to destroying fly larvae, I've done it all with him.

It's almost like "Well . . . what am I gonna do with my free time now that Taylor's not here?"

I'll miss you, man. Truly will.

The Smiths -- "How Soon is Now?"