Troy

I went to go see Troy yesterday with my friend Sean Keener. he kept snickering. i'm no longer seeing movies like that with people who've lost touch with their inner 12 year old.

it's a fucking romp with spears and swords and men in dresses. (goddamn, i miss burning man.) what, you were expecting Shakespeare? or Homer?

the main problem with the movie, as i see it, is that you essentially had the hero of the movie played by Val Kilmer. hubris doesn't exactly win your heart, especially with someone you're inclined to hate, like Brad Pitt. (see previous post: hot guy all the girls like that you want to hate but end realizing is pretty cool despite.)

imagine Top Gun redone with Iceman as the main hero, and Tom Cruise's character replaced with some Greek looking mother fucker, and Goose played by Corey Haim. And Goose is the one that survives and gets Kelly McGillis.

and 'Highway to the Danger Zone' redone by John Williams and the London Philharmonic Orchestra.

Come to think of it, Tom Skerrit would've made a better King Priam.

this essentially, is why Troy was so awkward.

Loved it anyway.

Leo!

Apologize for the surfeit of exclams in the subjectlines lately. Blame it on psychopharmacology. Or an extraordinary amount of topics i'm excited about.

Leo is the creator of The Firmament at Disorient.

Wired 12.06: PLAY: "Music and DNA get sequenced. So does light. Artist Leo Villareal, inspired by cellular automata and artificial intelligence, programs the LEDs in his sculptures to look as though they have lives of their own. His most recent piece, Horizon, spans 24 feet, consists of nine tubes filled with 3,888 light-emitting diodes, and produces a million colors. Using the tenets of basic object-oriented programming, Villareal applies a simple set of rules to each light. These instructions (for example, move left until another illuminated LED is encountered, then blink) are combined to create a kinetic rainbow. 'Our brains are coded to recognize patterned light, to match it to something we know,' says Villareal, who studied art at Yale and virtual reality at Interval Research Corporation. 'Sometimes a piece looks like a hive of bees or the shimmering surface of water.' A solo exhibit of Villareal's work is on view through June 26 at Conner Contemporary Art gallery in Washington, DC."

portland polyphonic

New intro at the polyphonic spree page touting the band's new release 'Together, We're Heavy' stateside on July 13.

And, they'll be playing at the Roseland on July 17. This is not to be fucking missed!

It's a Saturday night. Gomez and The Thrills opening. Holy Fucking Shit!

I will offer you a 1/2 price guarantee on the show. But if you love it(and you will) you gotta buy me a beer.

polyphonic!

Gorgeous if slightly difficult to figure out flash game to get to a new Polyphonic song.

The Polyphonic Spree - The Quest For The Rest

WARNING GUIDE/WALKTHROUGH: On the first screen, click on the top thingies on the cactus a few times and they'll turn into fruit, and drop. Open the turtles eyes. Click on the naked guy in back.

Second screen is the forest. First half, move Tim up the tree via the toadstool thingies. then click on the branch, then the egg. Then click on the bush until it goes away, then guide tim inside the tree. Jump on the first flower, then quickly click on the toad. As the dragonfly leaves the flower will swing. click on it midway though it's backswing. Click on the stalk of the plant. You're 2/3 of the way there.

Click on the far right anemonae that has the thing coming out of it. Then click on the one next to it. Then click on the porthole. Then click on Tim in the porthole. The second lever turns on the sub. The first one raises it. Guess what the third one does.

Congrats. New polyphonic song.

here is a sunrise...

From the 'how the fuck did i miss them before' band category:

Teenage Fanclub - Ain't That Enough lyrics:

"Here is a sunrise Aint that enough
True as a clear sky, ain't that enough
Toy town feelings here to remind you
Summers in the city do what you gotta do

If you can I wish you would
Only if you feel you should
Bring your loving over
All adds up with circumstance
All stood up with taking stands
Bring your loving over"

not drunk v. sobriety

One month of unemployedness and pining like a high-school girl (NOTE: not high-school girl pining. that might give the wrong impression), not to mention too many bad influences, left me with a lot of evenings of which i remember not much.

So, I'm off the sauce for a while. Not that I won't have a drink, and not that I'm looking for sobriety, but I am going to have the goal to 'not be drunk'.

This, hopefully, will alleviate the following problems:
Missing my airplane. Note to others: while many drugs advise against combining with alcohol, you really shouldn't do it with anti-anxiety pills.
Getting stupid drunk at your friend's birthday party and embarrassing yourself and your hosts and generally pissing people off.
Running around naked in LA art loft apartments.
Losing my glasses deep in a couch.
Getting a tattoo which says, 'XXXX forever.'
Ruining my kidney.
Promiscuity.

I think most substances are still on the table. The effects of those have generally been pretty benign, or embarrassing in a good storytelling kinda way, and not in a 'Jesus Christ I'm sorry, I can't believe I did that' kinda way.

My neighbors across the back lot are having a little get together. I've not met them, and I'm 'not drunk', so i won't go over.

+Jimmy

I think we've just created some mini-self-referential blogosphere.

You'll have to go to the positive Jimmy blog to look at the Beasties video itself.

I feel like a proud papa, what with all of Ma Kook's blogs, and the ZFL blog, and now this one.

I would like to thank the blog that started me off, except that it wasn't really reading any blogs. I think that I was just really lonely at the beginning of summer 2002.

Actually, that might've been the world cup time, and i might've just been really tired.

Perhaps it was a combination of both.

+Jimmy: "New Beasties video worth seeing here "

Stranger than truth

"So much to discuss. Really, I'm about to burst..."

so starts the new Sports Guy story, but i feel that way about the post-Seattle self-destructive behaviour and subsequent hellabusy time at bssp.

used to come home from college all geeked-out about finishing the semester and getting a chance to have a break. inevitably, i'd get home, and think, eh, fuck. this is boring. and dull. and kinda depressing.

had a mix-up with my ride home from the airport, but didn't get a chance to properly holler. so, add that to the level of frustration.

at least I can, as Joe Montana's character on SNL said, 'Be [in my own] room masturbating.'

ESPN.com: Page 2 - Stranger than truth:

Let's play another round of America's new favorite game show, 'NBA Fact or Fiction.'"

PROMiscuity: The Space Ball presented by Flight to Mars

Back to blogging.

My celphone still isn't working. That's the major task for tomorrow. That and not being faced with the task of sleeping on a shitty couch or the floor.

While teaching a few kids at HoV's agency in Seattle 17 weeks ago (or was it just 1 week? hard to say), one of the cute girls, upon seeing my Burning Man inspired portfolio, that she was from Flight to Mars.

later she mentioned to one of Michael's co-workers that she was pretty sure that she'd met me before. actually, during the show and tell (here's a portfolio, here's a mini-book, etc.), she said, 'Oh, we've probably seen you naked.'

Hasn't everyone?

Anyways, if i'm not employed by the date of this event, i fully intend to attend.

PROMiscuity: The Space Ball presented by Flight to Mars.

the world is yours

working on a project for a new clothing line to debut at target.

this is an iconic image of my favorite band of all time, the Stone Roses. This is at their zenith at a massive outdoor 'special event' at Spike Island.

Spike Island.

magellan

i mentioned to marymichael that her friend Mike Ward is the blog's number one fan, and all of a sudden she was on the blog, and i had to figure out what i wrote about bssp just in case it was godawful or cocky or disparaging or something.

oh, the point: there's another miguel here at bssp. he's firmly ensconced, so i've decided that i'll be magellan.

i had a longer post, but it got erased.

The New Yorker: Fact

Ashamed, getting Spanish citizenship ASAP.

The New Yorker: Fact: "The roots of the Abu Ghraib prison scandal lie not in the criminal inclinations of a few Army reservists but in a decision, approved last year by Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld, to expand a highly secret operation, which had been focussed on the hunt for Al Qaeda, to the interrogation of prisoners in Iraq. Rumsfeld?s decision embittered the American intelligence community, damaged the effectiveness of ?lite combat units, and hurt America?s prospects in the war on terror.
According to interviews with several past and present American intelligence officials, the Pentagon?s operation, known inside the intelligence community by several code words, including Copper Green, encouraged physical coercion and sexual humiliation of Iraqi prisoners in an effort to generate more intelligence about the growing insurgency in Iraq. A senior C.I.A. official, in confirming the details of this account last week, said that the operation stemmed from Rumsfeld?s long-standing desire to wrest control of America?s clandestine and paramilitary operations from the C.I.A. "

skin cancer?

been a little obsessed with death lately, despite the lamictil.

if i do die, or really truly arrive at the end of the world before everyone else, i want my friend Jane Wright to play her song called 'My friend Miguel' at my wake, and I want a keg of PBR, and like with our dear gone friend Glen Maiden, I want everyone to raise a glass and say, 'To Fucking Miguel.'

and someone should have sex with my dead body.

this is what happens when the cheesy bar next door will not stop until 2am on a school night.

Starting over

The thing about SF, is that there's few enough friends, or friends that aren't friends enough, that I could start over, reinvent myself again.

And without the weight of any romantic entanglements, and with the momentum of new anti-convulsant, anti-depressant, anti-bipolar drugs, I could really start over. I might even permanently go to Magellan. Who knows.

I think I had a point here.

I'm overcompensating. Giving my people too much water before leading them into the desert for 40 years.

A list of songs of comfort and hope in the face of bad things:

Float On - Modest Mouse
Sit Down - James
Beautiful Day - U2 (listen to the lyrics)
This Song - (Kate's mix tape - please Add the artist to COMMENTS)

And if ya'll have anything else to add, please add it.

Nick Hornby

Is on the Nytimes Op-Ed page, because we don't have anything important to think about.

Hey, remember September 10th?

http://www.nytimes.com/2004/05/21/opinion/21HORN.html

The bar next door is still playing loud music, which with the sleep-deprivation technique reminds me of Burning Man, albeit without so much playadust, and a lack of drugs (tonight), and a decidedly higher amount of cable television. And I'm not wearing a sarong, and nobody's calling me Magellan.

Trying hard not to email. Opening another beer.

Is it self-destructive to go to the voodoo party and hang with the Bad Girls (i'll try to find a link boys)? Is it self-decorative to put on a sarong and act like brad pitt in troy?

Ward, bring me back some wildebeest jerky.

Warning: Real job.

So, I need to prove myself at Butler Shine, which means working hard and not surfing the net. which means no blogging. And if I get a job, things might get especially slow.

If that happens, I might give a few of you the password, and open the blog up to a bigger writing world.

Applications may be sent to Ideateller at the Microsoft supported email dot com.

I've got Bernie's sleeping pads and no desire to sleep. If this were not a crack neighborhood, I'd go for a walk.

Big Sis' friend Anne

Called her tonight, finally.

Apparently, she's found her niche. With former Turning Hand camp Burning Man people. Possibly the Bad Girls. I told her they all probably know me. Didn't tell her that they're about 70/30 on loving/hating me, with no in between.

She invited me to the Voodoo party on Saturday, which is not a voodoo lounge party, but some kind of auction, perhaps related to last year's thing with John D*** and Sorenne.

We'll get together at some point, I'm sure.

When I told her that Roxanne's my big sis, she laughed and said that Roxanne said, "Tell my little bro to give me a fucking call."

I just might. Maybe she can guide me through all of this Crush shit, while giving me shit for it at the same time.

Working for the Butler Shine

Quick side note: Why do I keep working for companies that involve polishing and buffing?

So, in the whirlwind, I forgot to ask what the hell I'd be working on.

Amy emailed today: Leap Wireless, Cricket division and Lucas Arts.

Sounds good. WTF is a Leap Wireless and a Cricket division?

I've vowed to start off at the agency on 8.5 and incrementally move up 0.5 each day until I'm on 11.

I'm somewhat afraid that I'll be down there 2 weeks, get offered a job, fly back up to get clothes to last a month, fly back up to pack my stuff, and find that I didn't get to laze my summer away.

That's a good problem to have though. And my friend Jen Leo (another soon-to-be-link) will be up here soon. And Claire and Bacchus and Dennis Grewvy and PeterSam and Rory and more.

Taking all my willpower not to email the Crush and say WTF?

Not going to Sasquatch now, for certains. HoV may be going down to SF to visit his gay brother and his partner, and to see Prince. His brother's partner (husband? brother-in-law?) will be in awe of me if I work on Jamba Juice, but that's another story for another blog.

Or, I could go visit my friend in Davis. 8^)

Or go down and visit Luccio in Santa Cruz. And Nemo, Captain of the Nautilus. No 'k' though, please.

Ah, what is that noise coming through the windows? I believe it's the sound of the fishmongers cries from the street.

Car crushes, Hope, and Miscommunication pt. III

In response to me saying, "I both want to turn my celphone off so I don't worry about it, and leave it on, because it's hard for me to give up hope."

So, on the way back in to HoV's apartment, he basically agreed that things are fucked.

As Kurt Angle would say, "Oh,it's true. It's true."

But I told him that I'll always have hope. Shipwrecked with a tiger in the middle of the Pacific, I'll have Hope. After a nuclear war, I'll have Hope. While lacerating myself with self-doubt and recreational drugs, I'll still have Hope. While chasing after a girl, I'll have Hope.

It's the problem growing up as a Cubs fan.

'My hope is a goddamn cockroach, it can't be killed. My hope is a goddamn worm, you can cut it into tinier and tinier pieces and each piece will live on, on its own."

"Those are two different things."

"Well, dammit, my hope is a goddamn genetically engineered cockroach-worm."

And so, I leave the celphone on.

And what is more, my friends, it rings.

It's Radcliffe, complaining about Spokane. I should have turned the phone off.

Car crushes, hope and miscommuniation pt. II

So, on to the more relevant self-pitying whiny little things, although all with a good alcohol and lamictil fueled positiveness.

Let's call my celphone Iraq, because it is completely and utterly fucked, with no hope of recovery. (we don't apply 'Hope' to faulty technology. that's just fucking insane.)

While waiting for Hazelrigg, I buy a Rilke book and a book called Happiness, at the Elliot Bay Book company, which again all deserve a link, but won't, if ever, get one until i'm back at my own computer.

Head into a bar close to Safeco, which is advertising $1.00 bud and bud light. As, I maybe meeting the Crush soon, I may only have 2 of.

Turns out, I get no celphone coverage in the bar, and the $1.00 drinks are only 10 oz. So, that means I can have 3.

Guy from CW calls in the meantime, but I don't get the call, just randomly get the message about 30 minutes later.

3 beers in, and no call from HoV nor the Crush. I walk outside and leave a message for HoV that i'm in the bar next to his apartment and i've got no cel coverage inside.

Where is this story going? I need an editor. (Everybody needs an editor - another link to come.)

HoV/Hazelrigg shows up, and we drink and talk for a while. He's recently single, ladies, and quite a catch. He calls me pussy-whipped for checking my malfunctioning celphone every 6 minutes. Like he's got a leg to stand on. (See: previous 4 years with ex.)

Eventually, I get a message from The Crush, something about a fender bender she got in earlier, and going back to the office to get work done before aflksjfsalfaklfjChicago ajfkdalfjaf safe car ride. Godddddamn celphones.

Called and left a message back. Then left a message with Hazelrigg's number since my phone sucks so badly.

She, of course, never calls back. So, HoV and I go and get sushi at a cool place on Upper Queen Anne.

And here's the weird thing: I'm bummed, but I really feel like it's her loss. I don't know that I've ever felt this way before about a rejection. I am not, and will never, ever be, ready to accept 'Everything happens for a reason' as a legitimate consolation. But, I still feel like she's missed out on something wonderful, and that A) there's nothing I can do about it. and B) it's not a reflection on me in any way, shape or form.

This is either a revolutionary breakthrough in my self-esteem progress, or a revolutionary breakthrough in weirdly used anti-convulsant/anti-depressant/anti-bi-polar medicine, or possibly both.

But this is really and truly how I feel.

Don't get me wrong, I am bummed. I do wish there was something I could say to change her mind, or at least see her in person and try, but I'm like fonzie. And what's Fonzie? Yeah, exactly.

Digression: I've totally missed the Daily Show while blogging.

BUT, I'm cool. And though I'm drinking, I didn't go out to a bar and get butt-hammered and drown my sorrows. Didn't pick up a crack whore right outside HoV's apartment. Didn't go back to Puddletown and buy a bunch of cocaine. Though, that still might be an option.

She doesn't deserve any of my self-destructive tendencies. Or, at least, she doesn't deserve them any more than she's received. (Simbaaaaaaaaaa!)

OK, on, contradictorally, to the next beer. There's a pub just outside HoV's window that will be open for another 2 hours, but that's more for keeping awake info than possible drinking info.

Onto hope, next. But first these important commercial messages. Or, not. Let's just go to the next post.

car crushes, hope and miscommunication

First off, you need to go download 'Float on' by Modest Mouse, so you've got the right tone in your head. If you can't download that song, feel free to take 5 weeks worth of Lamictil, get a job in SF, and head into a brave, new world.

So, (sorry m, you should skip this): I manufactured an excuse to come up to Seattle. Hazelrigg's birthday was today, wink-wink. And I needed to show my book around to CWRedCell and Publicis and Creature (who rock!). And, um, Radcliffe was out in Spokane doing focus groups. And Ozer went all Joe Namath on my friend Ashley from LA, and needed to be disciplined.

98% a scam, i do believe. What was that about honesty Hartley?

So, I had agreed as of last night, to meet The Crush (there should be a link here, but i'm drinking my way through the last of the Anchor Steam, and you can go to Homestarrunner.com, look through the email section, and find 'The Cheat is not dead' your own damn self. Samsel, if you do indeed read the blog, which your illustration (soon to be published via photoblog) indicates, please provide a link in the comments section you lurking bitch.)

Where were we? Oh, yeah. Attempting to explain while even if things get just a bit too heavy we'll all float on.

But, the Crush doesn't return the call during the day, though she said she was going to be crazy busy preparing to go to Chicago to do a press check even though she's a copywriter. Maybe she's dating Ryne Sandberg. I dunno.

Anywhat, Creature gets a hold of me. And asks if i'm free. Well, yeah. You're why I came up here. Ostensibly. Dishonestly. And they're surprised to find out that i'm actually in Seattle. I'll head down in 20.

Proceed to leave my jacket at the internet cafe on my way down. Get there and talk with Jim and Matt. They look at my stuff, like it, and then start telling me about a project they're working on. As we head to their concept-conference room, it occurs to me that they want me to start work RIGHT NOW. Or, at least ASAP.

'This may be a bit of an awkward question,' I venture, 'But did you guys need me to do work right away?'

Like Dustin Diamond, Schuh-reach.

'Well, I guess we don't need to show you this work then.'

A bit of miscommunication then.

We'll see what happens in the future. I'd still come up here and work with those guys, despite the next post.

Photoblogging

Before I move on to matters of the heart and self-esteem and 'Everything happens for a reason', on to a topic of perhaps more interest to anyone not being paid $125 an hour to listen to me: It seems that there's a way to do photos on the blog without having to get one of my geek friends to figure it out for me. (that means you j-go and keener).

Hopefully, I'll get it up (heehee) before I head down to Sausalito (the mini-sausage!)

Maybe this means that I buy a digital camera with my next unemployment check.

fantasy football

in what should be of no interest to anybody except the people directly involved. congrats to Troy on starting a fantasy football blog.

welcome to the blogosphere!

zfl blog

Butler, Shine

Quite suddenly, I'm due out in SF for a week of freelance.

Actually, it's in Sausalito, across the bay, but that's a minor point.

Got an email from the recruiter at 1:30 saying, 'Great book! Let's talk soon!'

2:40 John Butler calls saying, 'Great book! Really tight! I loved the 'Hefe - hefe - hefe, eh, beer!' thing in your radio spot.'

4:40 the recruiter calls me back and arranges for a week of freelance starting on Monday, flying out on Sunday night.

Jack, Jack, Jack be nimble. Quick as shit.

So, SF leads the race as of right now.

The only downside is that it looks like both Scotland and Sasquatch have been killed as feasible ideas.

Hot damn. Kudos to the crush for passing the info about Butler Shine on to me. Oh, and btw, the story of the Polish Economist will be posted shortly.

Yeefuckinghaa

Modest Mouse!

Strangely, our friend and phototgrapher Dave Emmitte has become good friends with Isaac. He did the photography for the CD. (note to self: blog about the lack of cover art when downloading, later).

'Float on' is the song I played 70 times on the way to the desert party (see 'Me in a tree', below).

Buy it now.

RollingStone.com: "No one is really more surprised about this success than me," says Isaac Brock, lead singer of indie-rocker heroes Modest Mouse, who, after a decade of struggles, disappointments and near-breakups, finally have a hit record. The group's fourth album, Good News for People Who Love Bad News, debuted at Number Nineteen on the Billboard Album Chart in April, is still hanging tough at Number Twenty-three this week and has sold more than 300,000 copies. Modest Mouse's video, "Float On," is an MTV buzz clip, and they were one of the first bands announced for this year's Lollapalooza.
"We've been such a slow-grow band for so many years, none of this fazes us," Brock says. Still, when told Good News is higher on the charts than Britney Spears, even he is impressed. "You're kidding me," he replies.

Good News is moody and eclectic guitar rock, but it's also filled with enough hooks to make it fit in among other left-of-center bands -- such as the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and the Von Bondies -- on modern-rock radio. In fact, retailers say consumers are eager for new and different sounds. "It's drawing a lot of Radiohead-type fans, people in search of something off the beaten path," says Bob Zimmerman, a manager for Tower Records in Philadelphia. "We've had so much throwaway stuff on the charts recently -- the time is finally right for something with substance.

...

As for Brock, he's recently had the words 'life is still sweet' tattooed on his wrist. 'Every once in a while this sort of thing happens in music,' he says. 'Whoever tries to figure it out fails, because even the people in the bands can't figure it out. Just do what you want, since that's the only thing that works.'"

Mike Ward in South Africa

Got this email from Ward:

"It rained here the other day. I felt it. Which means now I, like Toto, have felt the rains down in Africa.

(Amy Sobier gets a slash on that joke)"

Headhunter

Just got off the phone with my headhunter, Nancy Temkin that Mike 'Toto' Ward had put me in touch with.

She was supercool; we spent about 30 minutes talking about me and my dreams and desires. She's going to be putting me in touch with a lot of really great places. So, it's on. About 5 places in NYC are getting my stuff, and a few in SF.

It's on. The great migration is happening again soon. (Cue melancholy Native American voice): And so my people were forced to move again from their homeland. Only woe and sorrow have they known...

I believe this is my schedule in NYC:
Months 1-6: Kickass. Do unbelievably well socially, mentally and workily. Body, not so good.
Months 7-9 Struggle. Breakdowns start occurring in time-space-mood continuum.
Months 10-11 Nobody knows.
Month 12-20 Resighted in Washington Park with obvious heroin habit.

I cordially invite all of you to the first 6.

pants saved

Bought a brand new pair of Armani linen pants while thumping around Santa Monica. $84, tax included. but they look awesome.

However, i had the lack of foresight to bring them on the camping trip, and not only shroom my head off (see 'Simba' below), but fall asleep in them next to the fire (fahr, in the vernacular).

At the end of the trip (vacation not the other kind), i brought them to my trusty neighborhood dry cleaner. He's a really cool old Jewish man named Abe. Almost laughed at me. There were at least 4 different kind of stains on them (shaddup!) wine, grass, blood (really), and other things that could have been food, could not have been food.

Anyways, Abe had the technology. He said he soaked them, then dry cleaned them, then dry cleaned them again. I don't remember if he martinized them. I'll have to ask next time. He saved them, in short.

And then he admonished me about taking good pants camping. When I said, 'Well, I think I learned a lesson.' He smiled and said, 'No, you probably didn't.'

He's right, y'know.

puppy love

can someone please explain to me why the Cottonelle wet wipes (Will Smith: Like taking a bath in the middle of the day) have a picture of a puppy on them?

In Iraq, America's Shakeout Moment

Interesting for its (naive?) optimism, and the end paragraph. Much omitted from the middle.

The New York Times > Opinion > Op-Ed Columnist: In Iraq, America's Shakeout Moment: "American history sometimes seems to be the same story repeated over and over again. Some group of big-dreaming but foolhardy adventurers head out to eradicate some evil and to realize some golden future. They get halfway along their journey and find they are unprepared for the harsh reality they suddenly face. It's too late to turn back, so they reinvent their mission. They toss out illusions and adopt an almost desperate pragmatism. They never do realize the utopia they initially dreamed about, but they do build something better than what came before.....

Remember, the most untrue truism in human history is that there are no second acts in American life. In reality, there is nothing but second acts. There are shakeout moments and, redundantly, new beginnings. The weeks until June 30 are bound to be awful, but we may be at the start of a new beginning now."

nothing to say

but felt like i needed to post something.

ok, here's some randomness:
1. Burning Man doesn't start until August 30th this year. Which allows me to camp at the coast with the Portland Ad Folks. I feel like it might be my last Portland hurrah.

2. I hate calling people with an ulterior motive and shooting the shit before hand. 'Oh, hey, how you doin? blah x 100'. 'oh, and by the way, does anybody over there want to give me a job?'

3. I literally have a red neck. With slight purple shading.

4. I am wearing a pink Izod shirt that Ginger Robinson gave to me. Looks good against the tan/redness.

5. The new Magnetic Fields CD 'i' is pretty damn good. But no 69 love songs.

6. enough. bedtime. i've got ... hey, shit, i got nothing to do tomorrow. sweet.

Fuck the Kelly's (note: not Kelis)

We're goin' to the Daily Show! Whoooh!

COMEDY CENTRAL TV Shows: The Daily Show with Jon Stewart: "To request FREE studio audience tickets to attend a live taping of The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, call (212)-586-2477. PHONE CALLS ONLY PLEASE! E-mail requests for tickets cannot be honored.


The Daily Show with Jon Stewart tapes every Monday through Thursday at the Daily Show studios, located at 513 West 54th Street, New York City. Doors open at 5:45 PM. You must be 18 or over to attend (tickets are required for attendance). "

COMEDY CENTRAL TV Shows: The Daily Show with Jon Stewart

Man, after 2 weeks sans TV and video games, it sure is nice to be able to sit at home play video poker and watch the peerless Daily Show.

COMEDY CENTRAL TV Shows: The Daily Show with Jon Stewart: "With an election year, Stewart and 'The Daily Show' were poised to lead the way to the White House as the torch bearers of Comedy Central's 'Indecision 2000' election coverage. 'Indecision 2000' covered the elections, debates and candidates from the Iowa Caucus and New Hampshire primary straight through to the National Conventions and culminated on Election Night with a one-hour special. "

hey, me in a tree

IMGP0766

IMGP0698

The scene of the tiger cub.

IMGP0698

Hallucinating, I think

While tripping my balls off in the middle of the mojave desert, i'm not sure i could remember *my* name.

The wind was howling like a scalded hyena, and losing my bearing in the dark without a flashlight, i made it to the haven of my volvo rental car. See? they are boxy, but safe.

While riding out the mental wind storm, my back was killing me. (Note to self: if the bad trip didn't convince you to stop taking those, than the coinciding back pain should.)

Anyhow, I've had a weird Lion King mushroom fixation for a while. At Burning Man 2 years ago, I ended up tripping on a clear starry night. Out on the playa, 5000 feet up, 500 miles from civilization, the stars are resplendant. With the shrooms in my system, my brain started making its own constellations. That night, The Lion King himself kept appearing from behind the stars (defying the laws of astrophysics, but that's some other grad student's problem.) He'd make himself visible, smile and then wink at me. Then he'd disappear.

"You mean the Lion King was flirting with you?"

No, it was all reassurance. The mothering line 'Everything's going to be alright.' Words and comfort I've always needed to hear. He wasn't saying this mind you, but that, to paraphrase Sean Connery, 'was his game, that rogue.'

So, the Lion King would appear from behind the stars, wink and disappear. I'd giggle everytime he did so. Eventually, I lied down in the lilly field and just giggled until everything subsided. Fantastic.

This trip, however, was just the opposite sort of Lion King.

There were a few dogs at the camp, and I'd enjoyed playing with them during the few hours of daylight I'd been there.

So, I'm in the back of the car, immobilized by back pain, and I decide I need to get to the muscle relaxants in the trunk. (I have a prescription, so shut up.) It takes a few minutes to mobilize, but when I open the back seat's door, my fucking tiger cub goes bouncing out the door, running off into the night.

This, is not good.

It's dark, I'm tripping, I can barely make it to my trunk without getting lost, my back is killing me, and now my reality has lost all specific species consistency. So, while holding on to the door (temporarily forgetting the muscle relaxants) I scream into the night.

"SIMMMMMMMMMMMMBAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! SIMMMMMMMMMMBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! COME BACK! I'M SORRY!"

Mind, i've no idea what i've done, but some kind of latent Catholic guilt manifested itself in the trip.

After a non-specific period of time, someone from the main camp came walking by.

"Hey, did you lose your dog? We could go try and find it."

"No, man, it's my tiger cub. SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMBBBBBBBBBBBBBBAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

"Oh," smirk, "we've never gone off looking for a tiger cub." And he walks off.

Anyway the end result was that I spent the night back in the Volvo with the light on feeling a deep sense of loss and grief. It could be that my Dad's Dachsund is dying, or that the Modest Mouse song 'Ocean breathes salty' focuses on loss and death, but those emotions were there.

In some strange way, I think this solidified the good opinion of me in the camp. Strong folks, all. I'd have liked to have spent more time with them in LA. But freelance, greed and my own bed called.

Simba/Mushrooms ": "

The Yo-Yo Man

Another depressing visit to the PT this afternoon. Dig the hole, fill the hole, dig the hole, etc.

I'm willing to try almost any quack solutions. Such as this adult undergarment inspired product:

The BackSeat

2 continents

Had to apply a 'no-bitching' rule to Mike Ward in regards to his new job.

Subsection A.3.0.1:
If your job forces you to travel to 2 continents within one calendar year, you're not allowed to bitch about your job until at least 6 months after the visit to the last continent.

Cheers.

High School Fuck-ups

Why has nobody pointed out that this is the kind of shit that happens when your army is composed entirely of the dumbest asses of your high school graduating class?

And shouldn't it be obvious that they(the h.s. bathroom cigarette smokers/shop class skippers) couldn't have planned this on their own? Dropping cherry bombs down the toilet, they can muster by themselves.

This kind of AP mental torture and sexual humiliation is the kind of shit that smarter kids come up with. Pure and simple, it's a really sadistic form of hazing. Shit that only someone with a college degree and practice could come up with.

Anyone know a former fraternity president in our government?

The New York Times > Opinion > Op-Ed Columnist: World of Hurt

Catching up on my NYTimes columnist readings.

I've got to find a way to get rid of these squares.

The New York Times > Opinion > Op-Ed Columnist: World of Hurt: "Even if the secretary survives, the Rummy Doctrine ? using underwhelming force to achieve overwhelming goals ? is discredited."

LA Weekly: Features: Petting the Koala

I feel the same way about my dear Disorienters as the quote below. Lovely seeing you Singletrack, Squeege (who is *not* a goth, but actually from Brooklyn), Michelle (aka Red aka TBHITW), Rollergirl, Spec, Megan and I think I'm forgetting someone, but after my last two weekends, can you blame me?

LA Weekly: Features: Petting the Koala: "Koala bears are so cute. why do they have to be so far away from me? Hedberg asks. 'We need to ship a few over, so I can hold one, and pat it on its head.'"

LA Weekly: Features: Petting the Koala

Again, with the squares. LA Weekly might be off the blog. Shunned, like bad Amish.

I bought this guy's CD/DVD. My ex-girlfriend Frances and I had caught a 30 minute special on comedy central and giggled our way through it.

LA Weekly: Features: Petting the Koala: "His voice generates laughs on its own. One moment it?s a soft Cajun drawl, a few words later it shifts into a barrio staccato. Like archetypal stoner savant Jeff Spicoli?s, Hedberg?s diction is oddly formal. ?I bought a doughnut, and they gave me a receipt for the doughnut,? he tells the crowd. ?I do not need a receipt for a doughnut. I give you the money, and you give me the doughnut, end of transaction. We do not need to bring ink and paper into this.?"

LA Weekly: Music: Live In L.A.: Coachella 2004

I edited out the ?s in the above story, but not for this one. Deal with it.

And btw, all of these postings about Coachella are meant to a) inform you, the reader, and b) taunt Kate for cancelling. 8)

LA Weekly: Music: Live In L.A.: Coachella 2004: "You and whose army?
Two days, two vibes ? that?s what defined Coachella in 2004. The festival?s now-familiar musical vision of providing one venue to a diverse constituency of pop outsiders may have remained unwavering throughout the sun-baked weekend. But it couldn?t mask the disparity between Saturday?s historic music for the masses and a Sunday stroll around a nice city of little communities. Don?t believe me? Ask the scalpers who were short of tickets on May Day but couldn?t give them away 24 hours later.
Which goes to show that, as great a reputation as Coachella organizers Goldenvoice have developed for throwing together one of the world?s premier music festivals, its true secret weapon is a discerning audience that knows and acknowledges what it likes to see on a Grande stage. On Saturday, that audience united for the headlining triple bill of the Pixies, Radiohead and Kraftwerk ? to the point that N.Y. punk-disco revivalists the Rapture and ageless indie drone-pop auteurs Stereolab rocked their respective stages but had no crowd to show for it. But you couldn?t blame the audience for missing these performances ? they were too busy participating in Events."

LA Weekly: Features: Uncle Andy's Fun Afterlife

Hmmmm. Magic?

LA Weekly: Features: Uncle Andy's Fun Afterlife: "Before Kaufman died (or 'died') on May 16, 1984, he told several friends that he was planning to fake his death, disappear and return in 20 years, precisely. So, on May 16, 2004, Comic Relief, the charity organization Zmuda founded in 1985, will present . . . something. Something secretive, something at House of Blues on Sunset Strip. Title: Andy Kaufman ' Dead or Alive?
'So this May 16 isn't going to be exactly like Carnegie Hall,' Zmuda concludes across a wide, wide bowl of soup, just around the corner from the Nuart Theater, where last Andy Kaufman appeared in public. 'But it's gonna be in the ballpark.'"

Word in the Alleys

Another mp3 site, this one all indie and what-not. Although, it's very worrisome that they didn't listen to Wilco until recently.

Like a film critic that hadn't seen any of the Godfather saga or Police Academy catalog.

Word in the Alleys: "Word In The Alleys:
Is Pete and Sean. It's our attempt to demonstrate the music that we love, to celebrate heroes, victims and lost causes in the battle between 'Fuck art, let's rock' and 'Fuck rock, let's art'. Go make yourself a cup of tea, sit down and listen to a few songs. Hopefully you'll find a few things that you'll like."

more coachella

this year turned out to be a lot more about the people than the music, at least for me. perhaps that had something to do with the excellent company (from Davis, from NYC, from LA, from SF, etc.)

or the fact that my back hurt and i sat down and talked with friends most of the night while music played above me. maybe this is how short people feel.

for me, the two musical highlights split dance and rock.

on Saturday night, when the big tom tom drums started in during There There, HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGE. How can something so good be a 'walking disaster'? Answer: It's fucking not.

and then Sunday night, with Michelle the best hugger in the world, Basement Jaxx going off on 'Where's Your Head At?', replete with 10,000 bouncing maniacs offstage, and 10 gorilla suited people dancing onstage.

side note: my friend Tess's boss was one of the gorillas. he asked her after the show if she had seen him onstage. how would i know, asked Tess.

more soon...

MSNBC - Rock's Big Bounce: "Have you ever been outside in 106-degree heat? The air is crushing. You dehydrate instantly. You fantasize about cooler places, like Arizona. In 106-degree heat, the average indie-rock fan?thin, brittle, white as chalk?will spontaneously burst into flames. So it was a shock when 60,000 of them braved the elements recently for the Coachella music festival outside Los Angeles. Two days, all outdoors, all to see 82 bands with names that sound like parodies of band names: Death Cab for Cutie, Broken Social Scene, the Flaming Lips and one that could've been the festival's motto: ... And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead. (Yes, that's a real band. And yes, they're good.) Two years ago, the indie-rock scene was sputtering. Coachella was a quirky, decently attended event. And now? 'I had no idea it was such a big deal,' says Death Cab frontman Ben Gibbard. 'We were touring in Japan beforehand and people kept telling us they were flying from Japan to be at Coachella.'"

Well, we'll float on, good news is on the way

On the way out to the Desert party, windows down, a new song played over and over again. Probably played it 80 times over hours. I'm not exagerrating.

Maybe it's the sunshine, maybe it's the pills, maybe it's just the anthem under my skin. Hot damn.

More blog entries, and stories, and scandals and new additions to the family to come. (No, not in *that* way.)

And don't worry, even if things end up a bit too heavy, we'll all float on. Don't you worry, we'll all float on, alright?

Modest Mouse: Good News for People Who Love Bad News: Pitchfork Review: "'The World at Large' is followed by the first single from Good News, the awe-inspiring 'Float On'. Like The Moon & Antarctica's 'Paper Thin Walls', this song seems fundamentally different from almost everything Modest Mouse has released to date. In the past, even the band's upbeat songs have essentially been sped-up dirges, due in no small part to former drummer Jeremiah Green's restless, serpentine drum patterns. On 'Float On', new drummer Benjamin Weikel more than pulls his weight, his simple but inventive playing affording the song an anthemic character never before realized by the band. This anthemic side of 'Float On' reaches its apex in the song's fist-pumping finale, as numerous voices join in to sing/speak the chorus."

Strongbow Rooms

Wayne Coyne Hamster Ball Crowd Surfing (Macromedia Flash required).

coachella

registration required. here.

none required here: here.

i didn't see Wayne in the beach ball, unfortunately.