dakin sez

Gene Robinson's Prayer at the Inaugural Opening Ceremony

2009-01-20T08:32:00.000-08:00

An incredibly beautiful prayer from openly gay Episcopalian Bishop Gene Robinson at yesterday's opening ceremony for the Inauguration. A rather tough act to follow for Rick Warren, who delivers the invocation at the Inauguration proper today, and whose record on gays is, shall we say, questionable at best. (Regardless of his fence mending with the apparently easily snowed Melissa Etheridge.) In any event, politics aside, Bishop Robinson's prayer is a call for strength, tolerance, and wisdom, and it is a call that we could all do well to answer.

The text, below:

"O God of our many understandings, we pray that you will…

Bless us with tears – for a world in which over a billion people exist on less than a dollar a day, where young women from many lands are beaten and raped for wanting an education, and thousands die daily from malnutrition, malaria, and AIDS.

Bless us with anger – at discrimination, at home and abroad, against refugees and immigrants, women, people of color, gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people.

Bless us with discomfort – at the easy, simplistic
“answers” we’ve preferred to hear from our politicians, instead of the truth, about ourselves and the world, which we need to face if we are going to rise to the challenges of the future.

Bless us with patience – and the knowledge that none of what ails us will be “fixed” anytime soon, and the understanding that our new president is a human being, not a messiah.

Bless us with humility – open to understanding that our own needs must always be balanced with those of the world.

Bless us with freedom from mere tolerance – replacing it with a genuine respect and warm embrace of our differences, and an understanding that in our diversity, we are stronger.

Bless us with compassion and generosity – remembering that every religion’s God judges us by the way we care for the most vulnerable in the human community, whether across town or across the world.

And God, we give you thanks for your child Barack, as he assumes the office of President of the United States.

Give him wisdom beyond his years, and inspire him with Lincoln’s reconciling leadership style, President Kennedy’s ability to enlist our best efforts, and Dr. King’s dream of a nation for ALL the people.

Give him a quiet heart, for our Ship of State needs a steady, calm captain in these times.

Give him stirring words, for we will need to be inspired and motivated to make the personal and common sacrifices necessary to facing the challenges ahead.

Make him color-blind, reminding him of his own words that under his leadership, there will be neither red nor blue states, but the United States.

Help him remember his own oppression as a minority, drawing on that experience of discrimination, that he might seek to change the lives of those who are still its victims.

Give him the strength to find family time and privacy, and help him remember that even though he is president, a father only gets one shot at his daughter's childhoods.

And please, God, keep him safe. We know we ask too much of our presidents, and we’re asking FAR too much of this one. We know the risk he and his wife are taking for all of us, and we implore you, O good and great God, to keep him safe. Hold him in the palm of your hand – that he might do the work we have called him to do, that he might find joy in this impossible calling, and that in the end, he might lead us as a nation to a place of integrity, prosperity and peace.

AMEN."

It's VS Its

2009-01-13T10:55:00.001-08:00

Well, I'm happy to see that I'm not the only one who has occasional troubles with remembering the possessive versus contraction rules governing the use of an apostrophe and the word "It".

(For the record, "it's" is a contraction [which makes perfect sense!], while "its" is possessive [and does not make sense!]. Also, this is the exact opposite as it was explained to me by an English major and "professional" writer, so I feel somewhat vindicated in my confusion.... Unless this site is wrong and confused as well!)

Last Thoughts On 2008

2008-12-31T23:19:00.000-08:00

Update: This was meant to be posted New Year's Eve, but apparently didn't make it out of the draft folder, which is unfortunate. In any event, a few days later, the sentiment remains the same.

Well, at long last, 2008 is wheezing it's last dreadful breaths. I touched a bit on 2008 in the post before my birthday, so I don't know that I feel any inclination to go back into any of that. Instead of recounting 2008 as an annotated list of best records, worst moments, and greatest blessings, I think that I will share a little ritual that a friend is engaging in this New Year's Eve.

Take two pieces of paper, and, on the first, write down a list of your mistakes of 2008 (Think you haven't made any? You have.); on the second piece of paper write out your goals for the coming year. The first piece of paper, this catalog of your mistakes and missteps, fold in half and cast into the ocean, a river, or a creek. Any body of water really; this is the act of releasing your errors and regrets, thus enabling you to move forward.

Now take the second piece of paper, the one that sets out what you hope to accomplish in the coming year, fold it in half, and set it alight. Let it burn to embers, and know that you have just ignited your goals, and created a metaphorical jumping off point for their accomplishment. You're free now to move into the New Year with a hand at your back, and without the hindrance of the past holding you back or bogging you down. January First may just be another date, another day on the calendar, but it is symbolic nonetheless. It can be the clean slate that so many of us want and need so badly; whatever you need to make the changes that you've been making excuses not to. Take it, run with it; it's a rare gift in a life full of debits.

Thus far, I can say that I am wholly satisfied with these last hours of 2008. I took the dog on a five mile hike into the mountains outside of Pasadena; following two and a half miles of switchbacks, and an eighteen hundred plus foot elevation gain, we ended at the ruins of a hotel that burned at the turn of the century. We looked out over the valley, a late afternoon marine layer settling in, and I thought about how wonderful it was to be alive, breathing and existing, regardless of how messy the transitory may become. This evening I spent with family; eating food, talking music, science, tv, and tech, and playing board games before we all watched the ball drop in NYC. If this last day of 2008 is any indication of the 2009 to come, I'm ready to welcome it and embrace what I have every intention of making into a wonderful year full of possibility and wonder.

That Smiths Reunion Business? Not So Much.

2008-12-16T11:19:00.001-08:00

Well There you go. Per an article on NME.com yesterday, Johnny Marr officially squelched the latest round of Smiths reunion rumors.

Marr issued a statement to NME.COM saying that rumours floating around that the band were reuniting were "untrue". He declared: "The stories circulating about a Smiths reunion are, as usual, untrue."

So, again, there you go. It's unfortunate, but I tend to have mixed emotions about any reunion tour. Sometimes it's best to just leave things as they were, and if that means being sad that you were too young to have ever seen The Smiths play, well then, so be it. I don't doubt that they would have done a magnificent job, but you never know.

Anyway, Johnny is likely a little busy right now, what with Modest Mouse, The Cribs, lecturing at Uni in Manchester, and appearing in the latest (to be released) Harry Potter film.

OMG The Smiths May Be Reuniting!!!!

2008-12-12T20:39:00.000-08:00

Amazing. Spectacular. Transcendent. The Smiths. Reunited. Soon???

There has been one band that has managed to not jump on the reunion bandwagon that got to rolling over the past several years, and it is The Smiths. Rumors have circulated recently that there was a very generous offer were they to stage a reunion at this year's Coachella festival, and it appears that those rumors may be closer to reality than previously believed.

I've had the opportunity to see Morrissey twice in the past ten years (good lord!), and he trotted out a few Smiths covers, but that was the closest that I believed that I would come to seeing the actual Smiths. The Smiths, dear Lord, The Smiths!!!

Time will tell, but hopes are high that reconciliation and hundreds of millions of dollars will bring The Smiths back onto the stage. The real question is whether or not Andy Joyce and Mickey Rourke will be involved, as they were considered merely session players, and proved themselves to be terribly litigious. Either way, with or without them, I will be there, and sixteen year old Dakin will be thrilled.

Really Antony, Really??

2008-12-12T20:16:00.000-08:00

Antony and the Johnsons are touring (collective yay!). They are, however, not coming to Los Angeles, and are planning a trip to Seattle. Oh wicked, fate, what is this terrible joke?

There appears to be time enough on the schedule to slip in an LA date, though not if it's after San Francisco, as that would entail some backtracking. Fine, whatever, so be it. I missed them in Portland playing with a symphony, and I missed them playing a tiny theatre down the street from my last apartment (with Devendra Banhart and Coco Rosie!), and I suppose that I will just resign myself to missing them again. Or not. There are such modes of transportation (aircraft!) that can take you long distances in a brief period of time, so we shall see.

Still though, really? Really?

Tour dates below, and via Pitchfork. In other news, the new LP The Crying Light drops 01/20 via Secretly Canadian, which, while cold comfort, is a happy thing indeed.

02-02 Glenside, PA - Keswick Theatre
02-03 Washington, DC - Sixth & I Historic Synagogue
02-04 Columbus, OH - Southern Theatre
02-07 Knoxville, TN - Big Ears Festival
02-08 Atlanta, GA - Variety Playhouse
02-12 Chicago, IL - Vic Theatre
02-13 Milwaukee, WI - Pabst Theater
02-14 Minneapolis, MN - Pantages Theatre
02-17 Toronto, Ontario - Queen Elizabeth Theatre
02-19 New York, NY - Town Hall
02-20 New York, NY - Town Hall
02-22 Boston, MA - Berklee Performance Center
02-24 San Francisco, CA - Nob Hill Masonic Center (Noise Pop)
02-27 Vancouver, British Columbia - Vogue Theatre
02-28 Seattle, WA - Moore Theatre

Oh Hi There; How About Some More Reflection?

2008-12-10T18:21:00.000-08:00

Sometimes endings are beginnings, and obviously the reverse is also true. Los Angeles is wonderful, and I'm beginning to understand that there are some things that I've left behind in Seattle that I will have to let go of to move forward. If I don't, and don't do so actively, I will be captured in some sort of awful stasis; unable to move forward, and equally unable to move backwards. In short, there are people and emotions that must be released in order to avoid stagnation. It's wonderful to have people in your life that you love, that you would lay down your life for, but it's not healthy to live your life for them. We've all been the one left behind, waving at the U-Haul as our friends journey into their own lives (and likely we've all driven a few U-Hauls), but it's not healthy or good to hold on too tightly. There are relationships that we have forged that will carry us through our entire lives. People we have met who will hold us up and inspire us, and we will do so in kind; however there are others who may have made significant impacts that we must allow to simply dissipate. We must allow them the freedom to continue their own journeys as freely as we travel ours without hindrance or expectation; it was great while it lasted, but these partings, these partings they are inevitable.

Everyone that you know, that I know, that we know, we will lose someday. We will lose some of them to circumstance, to distance, to death; but we will lose them all. You will bury your parents, your best friend, your partner; or they will bury you. It is an immutable and unavoidable fact of life. It is something that we can't escape. My heart breaks into a thousand pieces, just reflecting on all of it, but at the same time, it makes it all so ridiculously beautiful. We have each other for such a short time, and there's so much that can be taken and learned and held and be wondered at. It's okay to let go, as long as we are conscious of what it is that we held on to to begin with.

I hope that you're reading; all of you.

Yup, Still Thinking About Those Civil Rights

2008-12-08T17:51:00.000-08:00

Getting settled in Los Angeles, and proper updates are on the way, but I did want to post what I feel is a very eloquent dissection of civil unions vs marriage.

And while we're at it, the amazing "Prop 8 The Musical". Is it possible to like Neil Patrick Harris even more than we already do? (Dr. Horrible, anyone?)

See more Jack Black videos at Funny or Die

And Off We Go.

2008-12-02T08:11:00.001-08:00

I checked my horoscope for today, and found the following. Well there you go. Currently it's 8am, and I leave within the hour. Due to a slight change of plans, I will be making this journey entirely on my own; a prospect that is both thrilling and saddening. I love you all, and I will see you (some of you) soon.

::Libra::
For December 2: You're still examining the upside and downside of making a major move. This change would undoubtedly impact your work, family life and housing situation. Deep in your heart, you feel a powerful urge to wander and explore something exotic, new and ultra stimulating. Sure, there are risks - and many of your friends or family members may not understand why you're even considering this big adventure. Before the end of the week, most of them will. There's a big part of you that needs, needs, needs more romance and beauty in your life. If that's in short supply right now, what have you got to lose?

Packed and Ready to Go... Soon.

2008-11-30T22:55:00.000-08:00

Well. Everything is packed. Everything has been put into storage, or into the trunk and the back seat of my car. Last night I slept barely four hours, waking myself with the fear that I would somehow oversleep my alarm and miss the truck pick up. Of course, this was not the case, and I made two car loads to storage, as well as a much needed coffee run before I underwent the tortuous experience of being rented a truck by someone who was "sorry, but I've never done this before".

The truck was filled without incident, and unloaded in the same manner; my friend Kevin had to head home for a computer problem for twenty minutes, and I was left alone to organize the mess of belongings that we had thus far stuffed into my 10x15 space. As I sorted the boxes, chairs, and paintings, I had a sudden moment of clarity; What the hell am I doing??

Suddenly the past few weeks of preparation were snapped into focus, and I realized that I was going to exist for the next several months with only the things that I could carry (or, as is more accurate, the things that fit into my car). Also suddenly obvious was the realization that these things that seemed so, so, minimal also constituted a large amount of stuff. The idea of being footloose and fancy free is a terribly romantic notion that I have bought into wholeheartedly, but really? I thought that it would all fit comfortably into my trunk. Not so, as I learned this evening. Close, but not so much.

Still though, as it stands presently, my keys are limited to the car key, the key to the storage lock, and, for the next two days, a shared key to my friend Becky's apartment. Inspiring? Yes. Overwhelming? Most definitely. Regardless, even if this is only for the short term, I hope to learn and gain so, so much more than were I to stay through another grey winter. As it is tonight, the fog has crept in, you can barely see past half a block on Queen Anne hill, and I am remarkably cozy. In three days though? Seventy five degrees and beaches. In three months? Who knows, though I am open to receive it, whatever it is.

Late Night Maudlin Street :: Recylced

2008-11-30T00:43:00.000-08:00

I wrote this during the move from Honolulu to Seattle, little over a year ago. All of the below still rings true, and I sit, beer in hand, in my packed apartment, listening to the track in question. This song has broken my heart from the age of 15 on, and I can't imagine eulogizing a home, a life, left behind without it. Now, though while I move onward from Seattle to Los Angeles --even for the time being -- many of the same emotions come into play. The loss, the longing, the hope, and the expectation. Everything has changed, even if, on the surface, very little has.

Tonight, well, last night if we’re to be totally honest, I was to start packing. As has been expressed in a previous post, I am in the middle of Tremendous Life Change. I am moving as much as I can afford of my current life in Hawaii back to what could be said to be my old life, but is really my new life, in Seattle.

Yesterday, I turned thirty two. Thirty was spent in the middle of a hectic move to Hawaii, a move that was even more hectic because I allowed my then partner to shoulder all of the responsibility in getting us here. Sure, I helped, but not as much as I could or should have. Part of it was that I was resistant to change, and, even at the cusp of thirty, acting the part of a spoiled child. This time is different. This time I have only myself to answer to (because who wants to be in a relationship with a spoiled child? Exactly.), and must handle things differently.

Jamie suggested that I take some time out of the packing to do a post about Music for Packing, which, really, truth be told, is Music For Leaving. Because I am. I am leaving; I am leaving my partner of more than four years (who, in the spirit of our new found honesty left me), I am leaving friends, I am leaving an established career; I am choosing not to live my life for other people.

We could be clever. We could bluster about how we moved neighborhoods in Seattle in a Darvocet and Percocet haze to Les Savy Fav serenading us with “We’ve Got Boxes”. We could laugh when we remember the move from Kansas to Seattle, marking the miles with Modest Mouse and “A Life Of Arctic Sounds”, because, don’t you know, five hundred miles is a long way to go inside a car? (And don’t you know, once we got there, we pined away the nights with “Busby Berkely Dreams” by the Magnetic Fields?) But let’s not. Let’s share a beer and continue to be honest. Lets talk about “Late Night Maudlin Street” by Morrissey.

This song, oh, this song. This song, off Morrissey’s first solo effort Viva Hate, all the way back in 1988, is the song that for years has eulogized our passing from one physical space to the next. There has not been a move in recent memory that has not entailed sitting in the middle of the floor with a beer and Morrissey’s sad, sad lament about changing house drifting through speakers. I am moving house, a half life disappears today... It captures the ache and promise of new beginnings so perfectly. It is the ache of lost love, of a life that you’ve left behind; it was, is, and will always be, to me, perfect.

The rain pours down at the back of the Nu’uanu valley, where I currently live -- teasing me with the promise of a dark and potentially lonely winter in the Northwest. I’m drinking a beer, sitting at my computer, and listening to “Late Night Maudlin Street”, over and over, so many times that it’s embarrassing. It is, however, like a friend’s arm around your shoulder, fingers pressed into your bicep, and promising that everything really will be okay.

Oh, truly I do love you...

One More Thought On Loss

2008-11-25T16:21:00.000-08:00

Today as I was putting things into storage and rushing around with preparations for the impending move, I was reminded of a quote that sums up what I think that I may have been somewhat trying to convey in the last post. It comes from the play Angels In America, and was spoken by the character Harper.

"Nothing's lost forever. In this world there is a kind of painful progress. Longing for what we've left behind, and dreaming ahead. At least I think so" -- Tony Kushner

And it's true; it was this painful progress that I was attempting to speak to in my last post. However, when I remembered the quote, I remembered the last line as "I hope so", which made it so much more poignant to me. Yes of course we hope so, but honestly, I can't quite put my finger on exactly what it is that I hope to be so. For the time being, I suppose that Hope will be my blanket; Hope will be what carries me (though indeed, it carries all of us) through however much longer I may feel that I need to be carried. Hope is redemptive, and is a close cousin of Faith, though perhaps a more wistful and less certain cousin. Faith is Certainty, while Hope is the middle ground between Certainty and Dreams. Hope is what, along with Faith, keeps us going from day to day.

Regardless of what you may fear that you've lost, or are losing, you can only hope that you will reconcile this with what you may gain, whatever that is. It is not yet even 5pm, and Seattle is nearly completely dark, bundled in it's own blanket of mist, so much so that I can barely see the Space Needle from my window; just an illuminated outline with the not yet completed Christmas lights atop the spire. In light of all of the transition and change in my life, I am refreshingly less cynical than any time in recent memory. Bundled in Hope, I'm ready to move forward into the future, whatever it may be.

Half Formed Thoughts On Loss

2008-11-24T17:51:00.000-08:00

Sometimes we lose. The world is full of loss; we lose people, we lose jobs, we lose everything that we've ever had. Sometimes we lose our keys. We lose our minds, we lose the present to the past and the future to the present. We lose brain cells by the bucket load every day, often accelerated by whatever means we choose to deaden the pain of those losses. Every day losing and loss, whether we see it or not. It's strangely and horribly consuming, this shedding that we experience every day, like leaves fluttering off a tree. We are becoming lighter, leaner, yet paradoxically more burdened.

Yet we go forward still, every day. Every day in spite of so many setbacks, and so much loss, so much of it that can't even be avoided. It's marvelous, really, this going on and moving forward. What is it that keeps us from throwing our hands up and giving in? Shouting "enough!" to the heavens and slumping down, defeated? Is it faith? Is it hope?

Or is it that we somehow understand that through losing, we are, ultimately, able to win? Is it that, if you live your life without defeat, you never truly hunger for victory? We may get pushed around sometimes, but one day, we'll be pushed too hard. We'll throw that punch, the other guy will go down, and it will feel damn good. Damn good.

Saturday night I drank champagne and toasted the very idea of Possibility, and tonight, tonight were I to have champagne, I believe that I would toast Loss. Loss who, with all of her cruelty and indifference is nevertheless shepherding us to a better tomorrow as better, stronger, wiser people. Raise your glasses and bow your heads friends; place one hand over your heart, and let us solemnly, wistfully, and yes, because me must, joyfully, toast.

Janelle Monae :: Yow!!!!

2008-11-24T09:05:00.000-08:00

Janelle Monae may be one of the best, most interesting new artists that I have had the privilege of being introduced to over the past year. Hailing from ATL via KC KS, Janelle Monae, I think will prove to be one of the more interesting voices in R&B that we've seen in some time.

Ms. Monae manages to channel Prince, Outkast's Andre 3000, James Brown, and, perhaps, a little David Bowie for the sheer spectacle that she has created. All in all, Janelle Monae is one of the most exciting new artists, and I can't wait to see and hear more from her. Sadly, I found out about her weeks after her show in Seattle, which I can only presume was sheer, jubilant brilliance. Also, the chance to have seen her at one of the city's smaller clubs (Chop Suey) is an opportunity that likely won't be coming around again.

The Things I Will Carry

2008-11-21T19:00:00.000-08:00

Above will be, aside from clothing and my car, the whole of my possessions for the next few months; and my camera, as it's difficult to take photos of the camera with the camera. Just books and electronic essentials, as well as a notebook, a good pen, and my passport.

The books are a mix of some old friends (Nicole Krauss, Jonathan Safran Foer [two of my favorite books, especially when read as companions], Cynthia Ozick, Kazuo Ishiguro, and David Sedaris), the afore mentioned James Frey, some insightful nonfiction from Oliver Sacks and some dry, dry, dry instructional nonfiction in the form of HTML4. Also included, but not purchased yet are The Gnostic Gospels by Elaine Pagels, and Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert, as this is also, ultimately, a journey of the spirit.

Of course, this many books is likely unrealistic, as I think that I've managed to finish one book in the past three months -- and it was a short one. (A Single Man, by Christopher Isherwood, and which may also make it's way into the pile due to the location and themes addressed.) All in all though, I think that I've chosen these particular books as guides for wherever it is that I'm trying to go, and especially as I embrace this trip as a sort of vision quest. All said though, I really do need to make it through that HTML4 for Dummies if nothing else.

So yes, this will be "my life" in terms of possessions for at least two months; crazy, no?

We'll All Have Our Bright Shiny Morning

2008-11-20T18:39:00.000-08:00

What are we doing?
We're leaving.
Where are we going?
California.
We can't just get up and go to California.
Yes, we can.
We can't just walk away from our lives.
We don't have lives here. We're just stuck. We'll end up like everyone else, drunk and mean and miserable.
What'll we do?
Figure it out.
We're just gonna leave and go to California and figure it out?
Yeah, that's what we're gonna do.

--James Frey, excerpted from Bright Shiny Morning.

The above was, literally, the first thing that caught my eye when skimming through a copy of Bright Shiny Morning today. I was spending time with a friend, beginning the bittersweet process of saying my goodbyes, and she suggested that I add this to my reading list, as Los Angeles and her history are central characters. To say that it resonated would be, of course, something of an understatement. While the motivations for my own journey are far less dark, and much more an adventure and an exploration of myself than a mere running away, the end result is that yes, I am going to California to "figure it out".

Packing is almost complete, departure dates have been set, and there is an almost electric excitement about me. Often I have found myself critical of my reluctance to have adventures (though in truth, I've had my fair share), so perhaps this is also something of a test. There is something that I want, and have felt that I've needed for some time, and here it is, a door that merely needs to be walked through. Perhaps it's the ease with which everything fell together that leaves me a little nervous, but in truth, isn't serendipity to be celebrated?

Right now, with so much uncertainty in the world, let's focus on the beauty and the wonder of possibility; a belief that, in the end, everything really can be wonderful. Let's suspend for a moment, if we can, the concept of chance. Instead, let's believe, if only for just now, that everything is a puzzle, a gift to be used to our advantage in making us the people that we want to be. It's not that things are hard, it's that they're blessedly easy, if only we can step back and marvel at yes, the beauty and wonder of it all.

Westward and to the South

2008-11-18T10:05:00.000-08:00

Growth is painful. it marks us with stretch marks, wraps rings around the insides of trees; bands of experience and expansion that are physical evidence of what we have come to call “growing pains”. We are marked inside and out as we grow and change, sometimes for the better, and sometimes for the worse; regardless, there is always evidence, if only you know to look hard enough.

Lately I’ve had my own growing pains, becoming more persistent over the past year, until by the beginning of November I felt almost as though I was knitting new bones. My growing pains stemmed from self awareness and the realization that the past year had taken me further from my goals rather than closer. Unhappy in career and locale, it was a perpetual struggle of two steps backwards for every one forward.

Friday I made the decision to move to Los Angeles for the winter after a week and a half of serious re-evaluation of, essentially, every aspect of my life. What I hope is that this will be my spirit walk, my vision quest, that brings me back into sync with my goals and brings me closer to achieving them. The hope is that I can walk away from my life, just for a short time, and come back more centered and focused, and the better for it. Essentially, a chance to hit the reset button and see the world with eyes that aren't nearly as tired.

By Monday, I had cancelled my now expired gym membership, given notice at my apartment, begun packing, and found a storage space. Suddenly everything is frighteningly, vividly, Kodachrome real. The reality of the people and places that I will be leaving (yet again, only temporarily, so why the deep melancholy?) settles like a cold fog, replacing the bright optimism that existed when this was all mere fancy. There will be time enough to bask in California's golden sun, cooling toes in her oceans and roasting marshmallows in the embers of her wild fires; today we mourn our losses, real or imagined.

All of this is coming at a cost, as does everything, and with that cost is tied the hope that the gains will offset the losses. In the end, a life of what if and missed opportunity is as dry and bitter as a mouthful of ashes. Nothing wondrous is ever achieved without risk, even if, in the end, the risk isn’t even that great.

Join The Impact Seattle

2008-11-15T16:44:00.000-08:00

Today was the national Join The Impact protest, and out here in Seattle, announced today, it is officially "Marriage Equality Day". Every November 15, per Mayor Greg Nickels speaking at today's rally, we will celebrate the right of all people, regardless of color, gender, orientation, or faith to be married. Good on you, Mayor Nickels; it doesn't change my position on your liberalization of zoning laws (in a way that is, to my mind, anti preservation), but I'm touched that Seattle's gay community has your support.

The rally was, in truth, inspiring. It was heartwarming to me to see a gathering of people from across the spectrum of Seattle's citizenry; especially older straight couples and (gay and straight) families with their children. Especially inspiring was the knowledge that, moving forward, things will be different, and to borrow a line from the fight for African American rights, yes, "we will overcome".

See the full gallery here.

Keith Olbermann Has Something To Say

2008-11-14T21:29:00.000-08:00

MSNBC shouting talking head Keith Olbermann addressed the topic of gay marriage and Proposition 8. Definitely worth watching and forwarding. A good perspective on an issue that is, yes (sigh) about equal rights, and not special rights. (For the record, I love him; he may be our Bill O'Reilly, but he possesses a humanity and an intellectualism that is otherwise largely absent in punditry.)

(Update: This totally makes me teary eyed every time I watch it; let us all be written in the Book Of Love.)

Downloadable Protest Posters!

2008-11-14T21:23:00.001-08:00

The folks over at Against8 have some great downloadable posters to use tomorrow for the march; download them and march, march, march for equal rights!!

Radiohead as interpreted through Troll 2

2008-11-14T21:13:00.000-08:00

All right, so via Fey Friends comes this gem. I admit, I have never seen Troll 2, nor even Troll 1 for that matter. However, I do love me some Radiohead. As a matter of fact, I'm listening to "The Bends" right now!

Regardless, I agree with the assertion that this may be the best Radiohead video ever. Yes, that's right, ever. Election, politics, Palin, gays, etc... Let's take a break and remember what the internet is for! Fun things. And porn, but that's not what we're about here... Also, the puppy cam! Loves it.

My Rights Are Your Rights

2008-11-14T20:04:00.000-08:00

It's been incredibly inspiring to see the amount of reaction, on a national level, to the passage of Proposition 8. The real question, however, is why is Proposition 8 different than the marriage ban amendments passed in both Florida and Arizona? What makes California so different and special, and worthy of our ire?

Is it that, for God's sake, it's California? That we just can't fathom how something like this could pass, even by a slim majority, in a state that is known as the liberal bastion that is California? Is it that we've written off all of those Southern and "fly-over" states that we don't want to live in anyway?

No, the answer to the question of "Why is California exceptionally important to the fight for Equality" is that Proposition 8 effectively amended the state Constitution to take away rights that the state supreme court had already ruled existed under the Equal Protection Clause. In effect, Proposition 8 amends the Equal Protection Clause to remove gays and lesbians. It is a dangerous benchmark, and opens the door to remove gays and lesbians from existing legislation that protects us against discrimination in the workplace and in fair housing laws. Discrimination that, by the way, we are only protected against on a state level; there is no federal law in place protecting us period, and state laws are, naturally, on a state by state basis. In fact (and has been mentioned) Arkansas passed a law in this past election cycle that prohibited adoption or foster parenting by any "unmarried couples", a law that admittedly was drafted with the intent of countering the "gay agenda".

Let's not argue about the importance of establishing gays and lesbians as a "protected class" of citizens. Instead, let's talk about all people having the rights to "Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness" as set forth in the Constitution. To argue otherwise is as ridiculous and nonsensical as to argue that it's acceptable to discriminate on the basis of hair, eye, or skin color. We are all one people, globally, regardless of anything, and it is not harmful to anyone or anything to admit as much. Those who lead by fear are not leaders, but dictators.

I leave you with a famous quote from Pastor Martin Niemöller, from the Holocaust. This hung in my bedroom in high school, and it served as a reminder that, again, we are all one people; and as one people, we have a duty to see that everyone's rights are protected. As a gay American, I have a value equal to everyone else living in this nation and this world, and it is true that "No one is free when others are oppressed." Gay, straight, black, white, regardless of nationality or faith, in the end, we are all one. And we must never be lead to believe otherwise.

"In Germany, they came first for the Communists, And I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Communist;
And then they came for the trade unionists, And I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a trade unionist;
And then they came for the Jews, And I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Jew;
And then . . . they came for me . . . And by that time there was no one left to speak up."

In Germany, they also came for the gays, and no one said a word. It may not happen again in the same way, with camps and gas, but once we see the erosion and seizure of one group's civil rights, we open a door that leads down a dark and terrifying corridor. Stand up for your neighbor's rights, and you stand up for your own. We are living in historic times; let's guarantee that it's a history that we can be proud of, all of us.

Fight Back Against The Family Research Council

2008-11-13T16:03:00.000-08:00

The Family Research Council sent out an "Action Alert" via email and on their website urging their supporters to email Governor Schwarzenegger to urge him to reverse his position of support for the overturn of Proposition 8. Well, if they can do it, so can we. Email the governor and let him know that you are grateful for his support of your rights, and the rights of all Americans. Just a quick note of "Hey thanks, keep doing what you're doing" should suffice.

Email Arnold here.

Join The Impact Saturday!

2008-11-13T14:35:00.000-08:00

"All, too, will bear in mind this sacred principle, that though the will of the majority is in all cases to prevail, that will to be rightful must be reasonable; that the minority possess their equal rights, which equal law must protect, and to violate would be oppression."
-Thomas Jefferson-

This Saturday, people across the nation, and in every state, will meet and march to our city halls to demand equality, and show that we will not be silent as our rights are stripped away through legislation. Find information on your city here, and please join us, regardless of sexual orientation, nationality, faith, gender, or age. Let's take hold of the opportunity to truly be one united voice asking that we honor the spirit and the principles that our country was founded upon.

Shut Up, Elton John.

2008-11-12T14:41:00.000-08:00

Oh, Elton John, you silly vapid, selfish queen, you. How nice, Sir Elton, that you have blessed us with making your home in Los Angeles and taking the time to pontificate on our quaint political processes. Via USA Today (the favored rag of the business traveler and the third rate motel), Sir Elton made clear his views on exactly why the opposition to Proposition 8 failed.

"We're not married. Let's get that right. We have a civil partnership. What is wrong with Proposition 8 is that they went for marriage. Marriage is going to put a lot of people off, the word marriage."

"I don't want to be married. I'm very happy with a civil partnership. If gay people want to get married, or get together, they should have a civil partnership," said John. "The word marriage, I think, puts a lot of people off. You get the same equal rights that we do when we have a civil partnership. Heterosexual people get married. We can have civil partnerships."

The thing is, Sir Elton? We already had marriage. It was there in the California Constitution (it's like a Yankee Magna Carta, dear), the state supreme court affirmed that it was there, and then it was taken away by bigots wielding fear and lies. No one "went for marriage"; this was thrust on us, and we stood up to protect the rights that we already had protected under the Constitution, and they were taken away. Similar to how in Arkansas they took away the rights of unmarried people to foster and adopt children; something that we also would not be allowed under a "civil partnership".

So please, take your hair plugs, your collection of novelty eyewear, your hideous Oscar party, and yes, even your "Tiny Dancer" and fuck right off back across the pond. P.s. Love the outfit; though doesn't it seem a bit tasteful for you?

photo via Andy Kropa AP

Circulate the Proposition 8 Repeal Petition!!!

2008-11-06T13:41:00.000-08:00

Well, the amount of time spent patting ourselves on the back over the election results was short lived -- for me at least, and many others that I know. California passed (by a slim margin, but certainly a large enough margin to cause concern) Proposition 8, the amendment to the state's constitution revoking marriage rights for gays and lesbians. As disheartening as it is, opponents of the ban are refusing to concede defeat, and there are already multiple lawsuits working their way into the court system. At issue is the fact that the ballot initiative is discriminatory, and unfairly targets a portion of the population, and violates the equal protection clause that it seeks to amend.

Additionally, there is a petition that I urge everyone to circulate, but please know, you are only able to sign if you are a California resident, age 18 or older. If you are not, please do not sign it, but do what you can to make people who are eligible aware. The petition is an entreaty to Governor Schwarsenegger to overturn the ballot measure, and currently has, at last count has over 113,000 signatures. Please, make your voice heard! We changed history once this week, let's do it again. (Update: While writing this, I was able to see the number of signatures go up by over 2000 s in the span of a few minutes. Inspiring!)

Can't sign? Circulate this link.

Below, the full text:

To: California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger
I, myself, and many Californians I know are disgusted with the hatred that the passing of proposition 8 brought. I am asking you to read this over, THE FACTS, not the propaganda. Open your mind for a minute, and realize that this is terrible for future generations as well. How do you know that your future children or grandchildren won't come to you and tell you they are homosexual? Wouldn't you want your child to live a life in which the love they found was supported? Plain and simple, if you are an American, you should believe in preserving the constitution. Proposition 8's passing took away the 14th amendment for a group of people, and I would like to give it back.

Facts v. Fiction
Proposition 8 would eliminate fundamental rights for a group of Californians. It’s unfair and it’s wrong.

Fiction: Prop 8 doesn’t discriminate against gay people.
Fact: Prop 8 is simple: it eliminates the rights for same-sex couples to marry. Prop 8 would deny equal protections and write discrimination against one group of people—lesbian and gay people—into our state constitution.

Fiction: Teaching children about same-sex marriage will happen here unless we pass Prop 8.
Fact: Not one word in Prop 8 mentions education. And no child can be forced, against the will of their parents, to be taught anything about health and family issues at school. California law prohibits it.
California’s top educators including Superintendent of Schools Jack O’Connell and California Teachers all agree: Prop 8 has nothing to do with education.

Fiction: Churches could lose their tax-exemption status.
Fact: The court decision regarding marriage specifically says “no religion will be required to change its religious policies or practices with regard to same-sex couples, and no religious officiant will be required to solemnize a marriage in contravention of his or her religious beliefs.”

Fiction: A Massachusetts case about a parent’s objection to the school curriculum will happen here.
Fact: California gives parents an absolute right to remove their kids and opt-out of teaching on health and family instruction they don’t agree with. The opponents know that California law already covers this and Prop 8 won’t affect it, so they bring up an irrelevant case in Massachusetts.

Fiction: Four Activist Judges in San Francisco…
Fact: Prop 8 is about eliminating a fundamental right. Judges didn’t grant the right, the constitution guarantees the right. Proponents of Prop 8 use an outdated and stale argument that judges aren’t supposed to protect rights and freedoms. Prop 8 is about whether Californians are willing to amend the constitution for the sole purpose of eliminating a fundamental right for one group of citizens.

Fiction: If Prop 8 isn’t passed, people can be sued over personal beliefs.
Fact: California’s laws already prohibit discrimination against anyone based on race, religion, gender, or sexual orientation. This has nothing to do with marriage.

Fiction: Pepperdine University supports the Yes on 8 campaign.
Fact: The University has publicly disassociated itself from Professor Richard Peterson of Pepperdine University, who is featured in the ad, and has asked to not be identified in the Yes on 8 advertisements.

Fiction: Unless Prop 8 passes, California parents won’t have the right to object to what their children are taught in school.
Fact: California law clearly gives parents and guardians broad authority to remove their children from any health instruction if it conflicts with their religious beliefs or moral convictions.

Sincerely,

The Undersigned

WE FUCKING WON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2008-11-04T20:15:00.000-08:00

Good job America! We won. We made history. Proposition 8 remains to be called, but we have proven that we are up for fighting the good fight. John McCain, you were a good guy, but you made some poor decisions. Sarah Palin? Suck it. Joe the Plumber, you are neither a real "Joe" nor a real "plumber". Enjoy those last remaining 15 minutes Joe and Sarah; we won't miss you.

Update: Just listening to John McCain's concession speech, and I must say that sir, you are a true class act. Your concession was eloquent and touching, and you made strides to unite us as a nation; you regained my respect, and I hope that your own legacy as a committed servant to the service of your country endures.

Again, we have made history. We are one step closer to changing the world.

Election Day!!

2008-11-04T08:42:00.001-08:00

Today we make history.

I'm on pins and needles for the Presidential election as well as the Washington state gubernatorial contest and, duh, Proposition 8 in CA. The plan is to avoid any election coverage after 7pm PST, go to yoga, and emerge at 9pm with a new president. All will be right with the world, angels will trumpet on high, and the Dow will gain 2,000 points in the morning -- and manage to hold on to them. The world will breathe a collective sigh of relief, and there will be such astonishing international goodwill that everyone will manage to overcome their differences and we'll see an end to violence in Africa and the Middle East; North Korea will open it's borders, and Cuba will hold open democratic elections.

Nonsense, of course, but just last night I was discussing with friends the likelihood of a "rubber band effect" if we do indeed see an Obama presidency. Is it possible that the harm done over the past eight years can be overcome by the US dramatically changing course, electing our first mixed race president, and dropping the arrogant and contemptuous attitude that has defined American politics for far too close to a decade now? I think that it is possible. I don't believe that it will be immediate, but I do believe that we can show that we are making a good faith effort to be a good global citizen. We know that we made some pretty big mistakes, but hey, we want to do better, and we're trying.

Pins and needles people, pins and needles.

Wow. Just Wow. McCain Adviser Lies Openly And Belligerently

2008-10-30T16:49:00.000-07:00

So apparently, Barack Obama is not only a socialist and a domestic terrorist, but is surrounded by anti-Semites. Who are these anti-Semites? Watch and learn. (Hint: Michael Goldfarb can't manage to come up with another name, and when pressed states simply that "I think we all know who number two is".)

When W was elected, one of the pundits made the observation that "in four years, that little blue dress is going to be a happy memory"; referencing, of course, the Lewinski scandal that almost brought down Bill Clinton. Eight years later, it's likely that everyone could go for a cigar, and I have a feeling that if McCain were to somehow be elected, Iraq, Katrina, the economy, and Cheneyesque transparency in government will also all be happy memories.

While you can argue that the actions and rhetoric spilling over from the McCain camp in the past few weeks is the result of a campaign in it's death throes, it's more believable that this is a preview of how they will choose to govern. The Bush administration has proven that it's not necessary to rely on facts or truth to advance a self serving and damaging agenda, and at this point in the campaign, McCain is proving that he, and the people he chooses to have in his employ, are much more similar to the farce of the last eight years than we ever would have thought. The Straight Talk Express is proving itself to be anything but, as we are faced with another round of easily disproved lies and recriminations; from William Ayers to "socialism", to Joe the not-quite-a-Plumber. We all know that the bar for political discourse was irreparably lowered by the employ of Rovian campaigning, but did we know that it would become the absolute train wreck of a limbo competition that it has become? How low can we go indeed. Six more days and we will likely have an answer.

Proposition 8 Supported By Thoughtful Reason

2008-10-30T11:18:00.000-07:00

The below video clip (via Towleroad) is an example of the fair minded and well reasoned arguments being employed by anti gay marriage supporters in California.

Too busy too watch? The verbatim quote is: "There was another time in history when people, when the bell tolled. And the question was whether or not they were going to hear it. The time was during Nazi Germany with Adolf Hitler. You see he brought crowds of clergy together to assure them that he was going to look after the church..."

To one Mr. Brad Dacus, I have this to say: Really? Are you going to go there, of all places? Comparing pro equality supporters to Nazis? Or are you merely inferring that supporting marriage equality is akin to kowtowing to an amoral and ultimately murderous government? Ironic, really, that what Nazi Germany did to Jews, Gypsies, Catholics, and, yup, Gays, is pretty much exactly what the Pro 8 crowd wants to do the Gays. (In so much as restricting rights and freedoms, to be clear -- there's really no need for any more incendiary rhetoric.) Bad analogy, Mr Dacus, bad analogy.

Broken record time! Donate, donate, donate!! Can't donate? Vote! Can't vote? Raise your voice and be heard!

Write To Marry Day

2008-10-29T18:52:00.000-07:00

Today is Write To Marry Day, a day where bloggers are posting their pleas for the defeat of proposition 8 in California. I've been incredibly busy, and, sadly, have not had a chance to say (yet) as much as I would like to on this topic. Following is a post that I had begun some time ago, but had to put down due to time. So, in honor of the occasion, I've spiffed it up a bit and hopefully it will suffice; also appended are some fantastic "No On 8" youtube spots, which are clever and wonderful (and hello, gay speakeasies!), but also make some brilliant points.

If you are unable to vote "no" on 8, please, please, please donate here. The campaign needs to raise another $3 million in the days leading up to the election to compete with the influx of money going into the pro 8 camp. This is a matter of massive historic significance, so please, please, do whatever you can to help -- whether it's donating, voting, or educating. There is a tremendous amount that we take for granted with little or no thought to those who fought before us; this is our chance to make them proud.

Recently on Towleroad, I happened across an incredibly well thought out and impassioned argument regarding the important and historic nature of Proposition 8, how it's all about civil rights and not marriage, and exactly why it's imperative that it not pass. I touched on this issue somewhat myself in my post from 10/12, though my arguments focused on drawing a parallel between gay marriage and interracial marriage. What my argument lacked, and what Prince Gomolvilas tackled (and tackled well) is the human factor.

In short, this issue is about civil rights. It is about me. It is about you. It is about your children, your grandchildren, your nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles, and parents. It is not about religion. It is not about "tolerance". It's about changing the world for the better and taking one more step in ensuring that every citizen of this country shares the same set of rights. And it's not unreasonable. Below is a particularly poignant excerpt from the article.

There are people out there who want to change the law to designate an entire class of people as unequal to, as less than, every other class of people. If we lose this battle, I don't care that we're losing marriage; I care that you and I will, in the eyes of the law, be inferior to everyone else. And when our opponents see that our inferiority is validated by the government, it will allow them to continue on their path of dehumanizing us. That's what denying a class of people an equal right does. It dehumanizes them. And it is the dehumanization of a group that creates a culture in which people feel that it is okay to yell "fag" at me when I'm walking down the street; that it is okay for kids to be bullied and beaten at school; that it is okay for a jeering mob to incite a gay 17-year-old to commit suicide by jumping off a building. These things happen because gays are demonized. And gays are demonized when they're made out to be an inferior class of people. And they are made out to be an inferior class of people when they are not allowed the same rights as everyone else.

(I'm) Particularly Partial To The Potter Puppet Pals

2008-10-18T20:05:00.001-07:00

Remember when I used to write about music and personal reflection and things instead of just dialing it in and posting videos of random interweb ephemera with a little verbal slap and tickle preceding them? No? Neither do I.

In keeping with this great tradition (like turkey at Thanksgiving!) I submit to you, dear reader(s?) the Absolute Best Thing On The Internet (Today). Behold: "The Potter Puppet Pals And The Mysterious Ticking Noise"!

It's Saturday night, woo hoo.

A Palin Presidency

2008-10-16T14:29:00.001-07:00

Wow. I just found my favorite website for the next three weeks (ok, the next five days; my attention span has been a little shot lately)! It's PalinAsPresident, and it's a virtual advent calendar counting us down to the election. Every day there is a little change made to the site; doors that open, objects that move, countless predictions of imminent catastrophe made. Curious to know just how a Palin Presidency might go down were something to happen to (a somehow bafflingly elected) McCain? Well, this pretty much lays it all out. Don't scoff though, remember all of those things that the "Bleeding Heart Liberals" predicted from Dubya? Yeah, that "I told you so" is somehow just as gratifying as I thought it would be -- which is to say, not at all.

You know, I would love to get into it all, but really? You should just check it out for yourselves because I don't want to spoil a single surprise. Ok, the baby names "Cashew", "Carport", "Rake", and "Purple" posted on the wall made me howl the first time I saw them, but that's all that I'll tell you. Maverick!

Thanks CNN!

2008-10-13T12:01:00.000-07:00

First of all, I refuse to get on my soapbox and talk about how irresponsible it is for the media to be running with a string of Depression features over the past couple of weeks. It's inappropriate, not necessarily accurate, and frankly, I find it somewhat disturbing the amount of glee editors seem to take in fueling fear. Things have been frightening enough over the past few weeks without reading articles about stealing chickens and eating squirrels.

The end all be all of Depression reporting comes to us today, however, via CNN:

"It was a uniquely disgusting thing ... to see my grandfather take a stewed, skinned squirrel's head, smack the skull's dome with a heavy silver tablespoon, and dine on the brains," LeBlanc said.

Not nearly, I'm sure, as "uniquely disgusting" as reading about it over your lunch. However, I see your tale of squirrel brains, and I raise you a video of how to prepare "squirrel melts". Actually, don't bother watching this one. Really. I mean, of course you will, but I would advise against it, so don't say that you weren't warned. You may never want to eat anything again. Ever.

Matthew Shepard Ten Years Later And The Fight For Marriage Equality

2008-10-11T10:32:00.000-07:00

Today marks the 10th anniversary of the death of Matthew Shepard, the 21 year old University of Wyoming student who was brutally beaten and left for dead in a field because he was gay. (The initial motive was likely robbery, however, the long and the short of it is that Matt Shepard was beaten, pistol whipped, and tied to a fence post by people who ultimately decided to brutalize him based on his sexuality.)

In the past ten years, admittedly, a lot has changed. As of this past Friday, Connecticut became the third state to legalize gay marriage at the judicial level, reasoning eloquently that “Interpreting our state constitutional provisions in accordance with firmly established equal protection principles leads inevitably to the conclusion that gay persons are entitled to marry the otherwise qualified same-sex partner of their choice." Still though, as the fight for equal rights (yes, equal, not "special") is advancing, we are still experiencing set backs, as states pass amendments to their state constitutions declaring that marriage is to be defined as "between a man and a woman". During the 2004 election cycle, Arkansas, Georgia, Kentucky, Michigan, Mississippi, Montana, North Dakota, Oklahoma, Ohio, Utah and Oregon have passed amendments to their constitutions doing just this, and this year Arizona, California, and Florida have measures on the November ballot to do the same.

It is important that voters in these three districts stand up and fight for equality, but it is of utmost importance that the marriage ban in California, Proposition 8, not pass. Currently California allows gay couples to marry after the recent Supreme Court decision, so a constitutional amendment would be a massive set back for marriage equality. The rights afforded to same sex couples through marriage are essential to legitimizing relationships, and extend much further than any proposed domestic partnership legislation ever could. Without marriage rights, same sex couples lack visitation rights for hospital stays, are exempt from tax protected inheritance rights, and are disallowed equitable ownership of property. (The last alludes to the manner in which a married couple may hold title to a property, as contrasted to two unrelated persons, and the subsequent tax liability when ownership in the property is transferred or dissolved.)

It is preposterous to imagine that we can somehow legitimize one consenting couple's committed relationship while delegitimizing another, and justifying this requires a baffling amount of logical acrobatics. It wasn't so long ago that the same arguments were made in favor of disallowing mixed race marriages, and the same arguments made in favor of prohibiting miscegenation fell when confronted with basic and inalienable human rights. The conceit that the will of the majority can restrict the rights of a minority is wrong headed and purely unConstitutional.

It's not possible to stress the importance of, if you are in California, being sure that you vote, and vote "no" on Prop 8; if you're not in California, it's still possible to affect change by donating to the cause here. This is an historic time in American politics, on all fronts, and I can only hope that when we look back in the next ten years, we have accomplishments for which we can be proud, as a people, and as an equal, unified nation.

Sarah Palin Secessionist?

2008-10-10T19:30:00.000-07:00

There's been a great deal of fuss lately from the McCain/Palin camp regarding Barack Obama's association with one William Ayers, who had been a member of the Weather Underground -- a domestic terrorist group active in the 1960s, and responsible for bombing the pentagon in 1972. (The Pentagon sustained minimal damage, and no one was injured or killed in the incident.) Ayers later became a legitimate figure in the Chicago educational system, also working closely with Chicago Mayor Richard Daley, and helped to secure a $49.2m grant from the Annenberg Foundation to reform the public education system in Chicago. He was also awarded Citizen of the Year in 1997 by the city of Chicago for his work in education. As you can see, a dangerous character indeed; someone existing entirely on the fringes of Chicago's political scene, a Kaczynski of the brownstones.

Not so much. While Ayers indeed has a checkered past, he is by no definition currently a "domestic terrorist".

Sarah Palin, on the other hand apparently is very legitimately and recently linked to a very real group of secessionists in Alaska. As a matter of fact, she has addressed their national conference (this group so anti American that they literally want to remove themselves physically from the Union) as recently as 2008. The group is the Alaskan Independence Party, and while I don't see any record of violent activity, I can't help but think that involvement with a group that includes amongst it's goals separation from the United States (and taking with them all of those natural resources that we seem to need so badly right now) is not only unpatriotic, but the height of treason.

The real question is: Why aren't we talking about this on the national stage??

The video below should be of great interest; in it Sarah Palin expresses her support of the party alongside video and audio recordings of party members.

update: apparently this issue is beginning to attract the attention of the press... (via jed report)

Read the referenced Salon.com article here.

Betty White on Sarah Palin "She's a crazy bitch!"

2008-10-10T13:14:00.000-07:00

Oh Betty White, America's wonderful, racy, saucy, and delightful grandmother! During a recent appearance on the Craig Ferguson show, Betty proclaimed Sarah Palin a "crazy bitch" and expressed her appreciation of Barrack Obama. God love her. Watch and be amazed. (As a side note, it makes me sad that both Rose and Dorothy have been looking a little Baby Jane lately.)

And this is a perfect segway into some political talk! Huzzah!

via Fey Friends

Time Lapse Kitteh

2008-10-10T13:05:00.000-07:00

Things have been, in general, kind of a bummer lately. Not on a whole by any means, but every one is likely a little stressed of late. For that reason alone, I think that it's time for a cuddly kitten video... Time lapse footage of someone sharing the bed with their cat, and the tossing and turning that ensues. While this does, in truth, make me miss my last cat, it also makes me happy that I do not currently share the bed with a pet; especially around the end of the clip when the cat is obviously bored and acting out.

As an added bonus (or not, depending on your view of vicious ear worm songs), please enjoy "The Kitty Dance", and yes, enjoy it for days and days, because it will never leave your head. Creepy or fabulous? Both? Yup, you got it.

Ruminations On The Eve Of 33

2008-10-02T19:59:00.000-07:00

Well, it is the night before my 33rd year; my birthday eve. I've been thinking about a year end recap for some time now -- forming my thoughts for an end of December post. Mainly I've been looking forward to a chance to kick 2008 in the ass on it's way out the door. On many counts -- both for myself and for those near me it has been, in short, a thoroughly rotten year. There have been deaths in the families of many of my closest friends (as well as myself), some overtly tragic and meaningless, and others while not so sudden, still inhabited by the sense of loss that we feel when separated from those we love, those who've known us all of our lives, those who, deep down, we're not really sure how to get along without. There has been hardship, be it economic or personal, and there have been growing pains, as we all lurch awkwardly further into adulthood.

In the past year, I've moved across an ocean, leaving behind someone that I loved very much; I've made new friends that I couldn't imagine living my life without; left behind others that, while I do care about, we just haven't been good for each other; I've met and faced challenges both personally and professionally that I hope never to wrestle with again; my goals for myself, for my life, have changed -- crystallized. There are babies born (a godson!) and others on the way, marriages (and likely a divorce or two); endings, and beginnings. It's far from hyperbolic to say that we live in wondrous and terrifying times; we have an african american man (from Kansas and Hawaii!) running for the highest office in the nation (a nation that teeters ever so precipitously on the potential of absolute collapse), gay marriage is on the ballot in California, the economy is stuttering and threatening the stability of this entire global spiderweb in which we are all entangled; Lindsay Lohan is a lesbian! Ellen married Portia! We stand at a precipice, and know that we absolutely must jump -- we just don't know whether it's going to be for the better or for the worse. Personally, I hope and believe that it will all be for the best; change is good, the good guy always wins, and massive change is what we need to right the wrongs of (let's face it) the past eight years.

In short, it's been a year, and I have some new grey hairs to show for my efforts. While there may be, at times, a near crippling fear, there is also, at heart, a deep hope and a belief that things will always be better and always look up. A willingness to remind myself of what I have and what I've gained, even in the face of all that I feel that I've lost. For everyone in my life, I love you, and treasure you, and hope that you forgive me my maudlin impulses.

In lighter news, as this is a birthday post, while no one is obligated to get me anything, I have just the thing if you're looking for the ideal gift (barring, of course, cash gifts in large, non sequential bills); a two plus foot porcelain statue of Chairman Mao. While he is a bit dear ($285!), I'm sure that our friends at the West Seattle Antique Mall may be willing to come down a bit, and if you pool your resources, it's really not all that much, is it? Of course, if blatant consumerism ironically celebrating a Communist leader isn't quite your thing, I would also be more than happy to accept the gift of a baby muntjac deer.

The chairman in his luminous glory; and he would look fabulous on a sideboard.

Oh.Em.Gee. Look at his teeny little hooves!!!

Christian The Lion May Make You Cry

2008-09-05T10:47:00.000-07:00

Jesus. This video of Christian the lion reunited with his "parents" after being separated by several years in the wild just made me weepy. Here I am, on a Friday morning, sitting at my desk and getting misty eyed over human lion reunions. Well, whatever -- it's a beautiful story, so enjoy! Then you can be weepy (in a good way!) too!!

Soy Vay Fusion Perfectly Represented On Grocery Store Shelf

2008-08-24T18:26:00.000-07:00

Soy Vay is an awesome little company that makes hands down the best terriyaki sauce that you have ever in your whole life had. The story is that a Chinese girl met a Jewish boy, and Soy Vay is born! Much deliciousness ensues. While buying rice wine vinegar today, I discovered that they also make a dressing for Chinese chicken salad, in addition to all of the terriyaki goodness.

I also noticed that the stocker at the local QFC engaged in some brilliant placement. Please note the bottle of dressing nestled happily between the Jewish and Asian "ethnic" sections. Straddling the line and bridging the great divide between two ancient cultures, just as it should be.

On a fairly unrelated side note, during high school, I lived almost entirely on Manischewitz egg and onion matzoh crackers and sugared green tea, which means, I suppose, that I too did my part to bridge that divide. Go me!

Neko Case :: Fox Confessor Brings The Flood

2008-08-19T21:10:00.000-07:00

The rain. The damned rain, and so cold for August. Such is the price and the peril of the Northwest Corner, and every time the bill comes due there is bitter complaint before we settle back, coffee or beer in hand, melancholy in the heart, and find some music to complement the dreadfulness.

Tonight my choice is Neko Case's brilliant and under appreciated (to my mind) 2005 release Fox Confessor Brings The Flood. A sombre affair with twelve too brief tracks of country twinged accounts of desperate characters and personal remembrance. The album opens with the tale of "Margaret vs Pauline", two girls who couldn't be more different -- One left her sweater sitting on a train, and the other lost her fingers in the cannery. Everything is indeed so easy for Pauline, who Fate holds firm in her cradle, while Margaret's jaw aches from wanting.

The album continues with the track "Star Witness", and, while I promise not to do a track by track recap, this one bears mention. It is, as I recall (this is a blog dear, not the Times), a recap of a shooting, the aftermath Case was witness to. The despair of the family, the witnesses, while the police attend with indifference; another day on the job. This is nothing new, no television crew, they don't even put on the siren; her nightgown sweeps the sidewalk clean; oh don't let her die. All in all, biting social commentary on the way that tragedy and violence is viewed when it happens to those without the benefit of privilege. (Also, the horror of the lyric Hey pretty baby get high with me, we can go to my sister's if we say we'll watch the baby also bears repeating.)

Case continues in this vein, dark songs about dark people, moving in a new direction musically, not quite forsaking the honky tonk roots that brought her to where she is, but building on them, crafting something new. (Something new and exciting, and I am on veritable pins and needles for the followup!) The music still shows the influences of classic country, but it is not as pronounced as her last, Blacklisted, and is certainly leaps and bounds beyond the swing of The Virginian. As a singer, Case has always tended to be drawn to the darkness -- both Blacklisted and Furnace Room Lullaby (the very title dark, sexual, violent) depict her in photographs on the cover the victim of some horrible violence.

The darkness is seductive, and Case's childhood in the South Puget Sound is consistently pervasive in her music. The final track on the record, "The Needle Has Landed" references her departure from the area, being left at the Greyhound the day she moved away, and she promises that "if i knew then whats so obvious now , you'd still be here baby". And who hasn't made that promise, really? If you knew then what was so obvious now, there's always something that you would take back, something that you would fix. Right?

When I Pass Into The Great Unknown...

2008-08-19T19:09:00.001-07:00

I would like to officially request that, on the occasion of my death, I am not propped in a corner so that I may join you for a three day wake. Please also, please do not feel any sort of obligation to put my face on a t-shirt, or any other article of clothing that you may wear out into public. Though some of you may be likewise tempted, do not put my name on the back of your car in adhesive letters with any sort on "In Memory Of" messages. It would also not be advised that you have my likeness tattooed anywhere on your body (these things never turn out the way that you hope!), and while I do understand that your grief may at times be insurmountable, know that sometimes something so simple as a tasteful bouquet may speak volumes. (The more daring among you, however, are more than welcome to drink my rendered ashes in a tea, as there is a certain poetry to this action, or so I've always thought.)

It's not that I plan on shuffling off this mortal coil any time soon (though one never knows, things happen, and etc), it's just that it appears that you need to make your wishes known as concisely (and as soon) as possible. Take the case of one young Puerto Rican man, 24 year old Angel Pantoja Medina. He was recently found lifeless beneath a bridge, but had, thankfully, thought to express to his family that, were anything to happen to him, he should like to stand for his funeral, thank you very much. "He wanted to be happy, standing", said his brother Carlos, and stand he did, though it appears to be more of a lean or a prop, for yes, three days. It's not the idea of a three day wake that bothers me so much as the thought of having myself propped in a corner for three days like a cast off from the wax works. ("Oh well! We'll get it right next time! Madame Tussaud is just going to have to wait on this one" the waxsmith says as he takes of his gloves and rubs his hands on his pants before heading home to his supper and his family.)

I'd think, and again, this might just be me, that were you the family, you might also have the inclination to lay your loved one down for the evening. Could you really sleep knowing that your sibling, child, parent or partner is propped in the corner of the dining room? What if you needed a glass of water or the toilet in the night? Wouldn't that be a shock to run into, half asleep and likely still a little boozy (so I'd hope, were it my wake)? "Jesus! Oh, sorry; you scared me! Oh. GOD."

My grandmother's funeral was planned (and years in advance) much the same way some people plan weddings; in short, with military precision. Hymns were accounted for, speakers requested, singers lined up; I can't recall, but there may have even been an alternates list if any of the A list talent happened to precede her. What she didn't account for, however, (though in reality I'm sure she quite expected it) was her youngest daughter getting lost on the way to the cemetery. The cemetery itself was a family plot some 80 miles outside of the city, and only the immediate family made the journey. Everyone arrived in short order (my grandmother first, as she was the first of the family to any event) and we waited. My two young nieces chased each other around fir trees almost as old as the charges they watched over, waving found pheasant feathers in the Kansas wind while the rest of us wandered among the stones. My mother and sister and I, walking slow circles, stooping and reading names of countless frontier babies. Beside the casket stood the minister, talking to my father with the men from the mortuary (boys almost, younger than me), impatient, and ready to shovel dirt and be on their way. Eventually my aunt arrived, all apologies and in a cloud of limestone dust from the road, and things got under way, this having been the only hitch to an otherwise flawless (though heart heavy) day.

Perhaps death is the last chance to dictate our terms to the living; a funeral the one party where you're allowed to want everything just so with no compromises. One wonders if the dead receive any satisfaction in this; in our running around fulfilling their wishes, often without question. Our hearts heavy like stones in our chests, like lead sash weights pressing into our stomachs, as we promise This time, this time I promise I won't let you down.

photo Juan Alicea Mercado / AP

Michael Phelps :: America's Boyfriend

2008-08-16T20:43:00.000-07:00

I'm just saying...

See the rest here.

(Also, the handlebar mustache? Please grow it back. Right now. Immediately.)

Seattle Hempfest :: Fun For The Whole Family

2008-08-16T18:24:00.000-07:00

Like the swallows to Capistrano, yearly the great unwashed (literally!) converge on Seattle's Elliott Bay, Myrtle Edwards, and Sculpture Garden Parks for Hempfest, a happy go lucky event where people who don't live in the city arrive in droves so that they can be edgy and celebrate the fact that they smoke marijuana. Lucky for me, it's adjacent to my neighborhood, so as I dodge seemingly disoriented pedestrians, I can participate in the experience without even actually having to attend! It reminds me of the time that I saw Manu Chao at Sasquatch, but not quite as death wish inducing.

Having had to drive through the mess twice today, I have the urge to bolt the windows and blood the doors.

Hempfest: Oh look! Doesn't that look like fun?? (Survey says: No.)

Cool Kids :: The Bake Sale E.P.

2008-08-08T19:55:00.000-07:00

There's something about summer and hip hop that goes together like chocolate and peanut butter, or, perhaps more appropriately, gin and juice. I have heaps of "summer" playlists in my iTunes library -- well, if not heaps, at least one each year for the past five years -- and all of them are heavy on the hip hop. Something about the sun just makes me want to turn up the bass and roll down the windows, so a new discovery is always a welcome addition to my sunny weather collection.

Recently on a whim I picked up The Bake Sale E.P. by Cool Kids, and was thrilled with what I found. Cool Kids deliver slick and spare "Goin' Back To Cali" era L.L. Cool J style beats with a modern and wry sensibility. They rap about shoes and BMX bikes, and are almost impossibly referential; the song "88", for instance, manages to riff on Missy Elliott, channel Jay-Z from Beyonce's "Crazy In Love", and then segue directly into "The Safety Dance". Genius.

You're easily grabbed (as you should be) by the first track, "What Up Man" with the repetitive "tick tick tick tick ticka tick tick" making way for the flow that follows. The E.P. continues in the same vein through the remaining nine tracks, and the sound overall is busily simple; harkening back to a time when hip hop was fun and it was all about the beats. It's heavily recommended that you pick this one up before the nights get too long and you feel the urge to turn on some Elliott Smith and pull the covers up.

M.I.A. :: Paper Planes

2008-08-06T21:16:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been totally addicted to M.I.A; it may be the summer, and mostly I've been listening to Arular, but I can't get enough of "Paper Planes". It may be the gunshots, it may be the cash register, or it may be the line about having "more records than the KGB", but something about M.I.A.'s third world empowerment rap is grabbing me by the throat.

Also? "Maya" Arulpragasam is dreamy, and it's refreshing to hear someone sing/rap about actual real issues and not just the superficial or self absorbed nonsense that has come to characterize "pop" music.

Anyway, not to get too into it, but here is the vidoe for "Paper Planes". Enjoy!

Duke Kahanamoku Vans

2008-08-06T19:12:00.000-07:00

I like me some shoes -- which is a little ironic to anyone who knows me, because I also like summer to the point of almost always being outfitted in a pair of flip flops (or slippers, as we like to say in Hawaii). However, I also enjoy fashion, and flip flops are not always appropriate -- and who doesn't enjoy mixing it up a little, anyway? Recently I stumbled upon a pair of Vans that blew my mind (because I am also a sucker for classic "Aloha" graphic prints) -- "The Official Duke Kahanamoku Surfers".

The story, per the Vans website, is that the founder of Vans, Paul Van Doren (then not even in the shoe business at all!), met the legendary Duke at a surfing competition in Hungtington Beach, CA, and was inspired to take the print from the Aloha shirt of fellow "surfing legend" Fred Hemmings (founder of the Vans Triple Crown Surf Competition) and create a line of shoes. Vans has recently re-released the shoes in a limited edition, and is donating $10,000 to The Outrigger Duke Kahanamoku Foundation, which benefits Hawaiian athletes.

There are heaps of colors to choose from, the money goes to a great cause, and they make summer all the more summery, so get them at The Nordstrom Rack (the link to the Vans site says that they're totally gone!) before they're gone (which they may be, but check The Rack)!

Santogold :: Santogold

2008-08-06T18:00:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been listening to (and obsessively) the recent eponymous debut from the band Santogold, and, now that summer is in full(ish) swing, I am ready to declare it The Number One Summertime Record Of Dakinsez. (There are a few others in the running, and I may get to them in due time [Fall, perhaps?], but for now, this is The One.) I was initially drawn in by the cover (a fabulous, glittery mess that proves that, at heart I am no better than a crow), and was hooked by the amazing opening track "L.E.S. Artistes"; after that it was an uphill climb through a stunning and sunny record.

Santogold is the creation of Santi White, who possesses a very impressive resume that includes a Wesleyan education, a stint as an A&R rep for Epic, songwriting for artists as seemingly disparate as Lily Allen and Ashlee Simpson, and tour support for M.I.A., Bjork, Coldplay, and Architecture In Helsinki. She played the role of lead vocalist most recently with the punk rock/ska outfit Stiffed, and appeared on the 2007 Mark Ronson LP Version. Additionally, she worked on the single "My Drive Through" with Julian Casablancas (The Strokes) and Pharrel Williams for Converse -- which explains the converse graphic ad posted in the window of a vacant shop by my house that caused me to pause, point, and say Is that Santogold??!! Answer? Yes.

The great, brilliant and glorious thing about this record is that it's all over the map, but manages to do so in a brilliant and cohesive way. There are elements of Siouxsie influenced Yeah Yeah Yeahs (as well as straight up Siouxsie influence), M.I.A, reggae, dancehall, ska, and The Pixies (no, really!). The last time that I heard a record this diverse and proud of it's influences was the No Doubt record Tragic Kingdom (and we all know what happened with them!). In description, it sounds a little schizophrenic, but Santi White pulls it all together to create something that will have you driving too fast with the windows down, hosting a living room dance party, or just rocking out while you make dinner.

I for one am looking forward to whatever great things Santi White comes up with next; and as a matter of fact, there is already a collaboration with Diplo in stores right now that I am too lame to already have. In any event, this is one to watch, and I can guarantee that Santogold is going to see a great deal more visibility in late 2008, early '09. (it's not just for summer!)

Enjoy the video for "L.E.S. Artistes" with explosions, faux violence (with meat and fruit!), horses, and smoke. it's both beautiful and ghastly!

The Spiderbite Song :: For Laura Musselman

2008-08-03T17:42:00.000-07:00

Dear friend and noted photographer of all things wonderful and rock musicy Laura Musselman recently had a run in with one of our eight legged friends. As these things tend to go, it didn't end well for either. In solidarity, I present a cover of The Flaming Lips classic "The Spiderbite Song" by the band Justice Of The Unicorns. This is not, from what I can tell, someone named "Justice" who formerly played with the ever enjoyable band The Unicorns. It is something else entirely, and is presented by a, um, a singing "catface". So there you go, and here you go.

Joni Mitchell :: California (BBC 1970)

2008-07-31T12:44:00.000-07:00

I went through a time recently where all I listened to was Blue by Joni Mitchell; there was something comforting in the folksy simplicity, and while the music was infused with nostalgia, it was also fairly up tempo at times. Perhaps it's because of where I will be taking my life soon, or perhaps it's my own embrace of nostalgia that longs for some sort of mooring, but the song "California" stayed with me more than anything else on the record.

The song embraces the experiences that created the person that she is (was) while simultaneously longing for the comfort and anchor of the familiar. Obviously I can relate -- though the California that I long for is the optimistic place of my youth and my youthful perception (a place that I've not lived yet); a place where the skies are clear, the ocean blue, and the hills full of gold. My hopes for California are great, my heart is open for something remarkable, and I want to believe that I will accept no less.

Here, right here, you can see Joni singing (and with dulcimer!) on the BBC way back in 1970.

Up Late And Thinking, As Is The Habit

2008-07-31T00:04:00.000-07:00

Try as I might, and hope as I will, I'm afraid that I will always be a Night Person. Take right now, tonight for instance. It's just after twelve midnight, and all I can do is sit on the couch and enjoy the stillness. No cars pass on my otherwise busy street, the windows are open, and the Mountain Goats emote quietly on the stereo. Again, the stillness is breathtaking.

It all takes me back to my parent's house; a house in what, to some, may still be the country. In reality, it is a house in a not quite suburb, a development that encroached, twenty years ago, into the woods and farmland that still surround it. While strip malls and civilization may be knocking now, the Chisholm Creek still flows behind, and deer and bobcats still silently navigate the woods behind, and surrounding, in all cardinal directions. My favorite time was always night, when the stars popped in a way that I've only seen in a few other places in the world; places far more remote. I would open my windows and lay in bed listening to the calls of coyotes rising above a chorus of insects and frogs, dreaming of places far away; dreaming of a life that I am still chasing.

Here I am now, on this couch, in a city far away, longing for the past and thinking of the future, and wishing that I could hold on to this moment forever. It's been a long time since I've greeted the dawn, and I have no desire to. Morning is best experienced as early as possible after a good night's sleep, and it's not in me to want to stay up late and go to bed when the sun rises. If I sleep past nine, even on a weekend, I feel filthy and lazy, and fret about the daylight that I've wasted. It's something of a paradox, admittedly, but a paradox that, I believe must come with old age and the push and pull of responsibility and the last of your wastrel youth. These days, these nights, of staying up late, they don't come so often, and they feel numbered. It's hard not to want to hold onto them, tomorrow be damned.

Tomorrow, however, always comes. The alarm goes off, and I rouse myself, cursing my laziness should I sleep past eight, and I push myself through a day that passes in a haze -- until roughly nine pm or so, when I encounter what I believe is called a "second wind". The hours always seem to drag after five, six, seven, until the clock hits ten that is, and suddenly there is so much that I have to fit in before my scheduled bedtime within the hour. Often I get into bed with the computer and watch just one more episode of The Office, and suddenly it's nearly one am, and all I can do is marvel at where all the time has gone.

For now though, I'm here. Hanging on to what I have, mourning what I've lost, and hoping that some day I can reconcile the two. The stillness is calming, the lamplight hides the dirt on my rug, and, while melancholy, there is something that I can identify as an uneasy contentment. It is an embrace of this fleeting life for whatever it is, and I can't imagine that's such a bad thing.

RIP Nicodemous

2008-07-25T21:06:00.000-07:00

As some may recall from the post regarding the super rats that have chosen my backyard as their homestead, there are some large and frightening rats in residence a little too close for comfort. They are also, as has been mentioned, so large that they fear no man, and openly travel through the trees and the ramble (and sometimes along the top of the fence!) in broad daylight.

This evening, while grilling in the backyard with friends (a completely civilized affair: swordfish steaks, caprese' salad, corn, hydrangeas on the table, cloth napkins, whole nine yards, etc.) we heard a sound from the direction of the wall. We turned to see what was agreed to be The Biggest Rat That I Have Ever Seen sitting placidly at the top of the wall. He disappeared into the bushes with what could only be described as a "sauntering bound" and, just as I was turning to head into the house.... there was a great rustling in the brush, shaking the branches -- reminiscent of a riveting and horrifying New Yorker article on Tigers-- and then a piercing scream. Followed by absolute silence. From silence death springs, receding back into silence; the air as still and charged as after a lightning strike

My friend Heather took a drag from her cigarette, and, nonplussed said "Yep. A Cat. They're lethal." All I could manage was a "That was awesome; thank God!" happy to see that not only were the neighborhood police on the job, but that the Natural Order Of Things was being restored. As I sit typing, I hear rustles and squeals from the other side of the fence, and I know that I can sleep a little easier tonight knowing that the first stone has been cast in a continuation of an age old war.

Black Kids :: New Record = Fail, But Results In Revolutionary Record Review Format

2008-07-22T09:25:00.000-07:00

Today brings grey skies, an unwelcome chill, and the best record review evah. To be honest, it's not that I don't like Black Kids -- "I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance With You" was as catchy as it was wordy, and they do a better Wish era upbeat Cure than the Cure itself... but we can see how something this purely derivative has something lacking in the shelf life dept. (Speaking of, whatever happened to the Rapture?)

Even before the record came out the backlash began, and the positive press that I had been reading turned about as quickly as a pitbull confronted with a toddler wrapped in steak. Or bacon. In any event, the record just came out, and Pitchfork just reviewed it (today!), and this is what they had to say:

Maybe Sparrow :: A Tale Of Not Leaving Well Enough Alone

2008-07-20T15:02:00.000-07:00

Several nights ago, walking home from a late night hamburger run, I happened to catch a flutter of movement from just beneath a parked car. When I bent down to take a closer look, using my phone as a flashlight, I discovered that what I had initially thought was a baby bird, was in fact an injured adult female sparrow. I reached down and cupped the bird in the palm of my hand, wondering what I might in fact do to "help" it. I considered moving the sparrow off of the road, and placing it in the neighbor's hostas, but no, I thought, surely a cat would get it -- and, while this was likely the happiest ending possible, it seemed cruel and uncaring to leave nature to the whims of nature.

For those that know me, this is all likely little surprise. I am a person who has never been able to Leave Well Enough Alone, and my sister and I habitually "rescued" baby birds from their nests, only to have them die from something akin to well intentioned neglect. It wasn't just birds, however; our backyard was a veritable Auschwitz for urban wildlife. Aquariums on the deck held crayfish, frogs, tadpoles, box turtles, and whatever else we could wrestle away from the clutches of the great outdoors. (All with the aid of a diabolical "net" ingeniously created by our maternal grandfather -- a Maxwell House coffee can with holes drilled into the bottom and sides, and then attached to a broom handle. It allowed us to take great scoops of water, vegetation and silt from Sleepy Hollow creek and then paw through it in the hopes that some poor creature had failed to evade our reach.) I'm sure that we fancied ourselves to be zookeepers, naturalists, and scientists doing all of this for the sake of the greater good. The truth, however, is that not even the most inexperienced zoologist would ever fill a wading pool with tadpoles and crayfish or play with thumb sized frogs in the front yard (though we were always diligent to keep them wet and protect their skin from drying out). We were just curious and enamored with the natural world, and could find delight just as easily with a freshly dead robin as a in a juvenile crow that we could teach to fly by launching it from our fingers.

Favorite books and movies at the time were all centered around studious young people and their animal boon companions, which was most often a raccoon, as in the case of Rascal, a book set at the turn of the century, and which I rechecked from my elementary school library each time it came due, so much so that the card was my name, over and over, in a juvenile scrawl. This book remains a favorite, and I remember imagining with awe the grandparent's parlor filled with taxidermied trophies, and even a (by then extinct) passenger pigeon. Also, the Disney film My Side Of The Mountain, in which yes, a studious young man, retreats to the wilderness with his pet raccoon and along the way adds Peregrine Falcon to his menagerie. (Not only was the Betamax copy of this film worn almost entirely through, but it sparked a deep and desperate desire for a small falcon of my own; of course, this was when Peregrine falcons had been driven to the brink of extinction by pesticides, so I was more than happy to settle for a small kestrel. Of course, the realities of falconry likely would not have played well against my afore mentioned soft heartedness, so it's for the best that this dream remained unrealized.)

In the here and now, however, I walked home with my new ward cupped in the palm of my left hand, while my right clutched a bag of hamburgers. She looked from side to side, and was remarkably calm; seeming to find nothing at all strange to this new turn of events, and I resolved that, not only would I heal my poor little cripple, but that I would dub her "Edith Piaff", after the French chanteuse whose nickname had been "The Little Sparrow". My mind of course, was embracing the novelty of a sparrow friend, and conveniently ignoring the reality of "How does one care for a crippled and likely mortally injured bird?" (Though I was also repeating to myself wash your hands before you touch anything, do not touch your food, and for god's sake, do not touch your eyes!)

Once inside the house, I determined that a shoebox was likely the best and safest place for Edith Piaff to spend her first night at her new home, and I explained this gently to Edith, as I lowered her onto my dresser, and asked that she stay still while I fetch a box from the closet. I turned my back, retrieved the shoebox, turned back, and Edith Piaff was gone. It was at this point that the harsh voice of reality interrupted what had, admittedly, become something of an uneasy reverie. It was almost 1:30 in the morning. I worked the following day. There was an injured sparrow somewhere in my bedroom. I had to do something about this before I could go to bed. This whole sparrow business was unlikely to be resolved tonight, and unless, by the grace of god, Edith Piaff passed to the great cabaret in the sky overnight, I had things that needed to be figured out. But first I had to find the sparrow, and dear god, please do not let me step on her. (This had actually happened in the fourth grade with a Zebra finch that I had absolutely adored -- and hence taken from his cage in an attempt to tame him. It's still a bit much to get into, but let's just say that the trauma has yet to really subside. )

Locating Edith Piaff was accomplished easily enough by looking under the dresser, where I found a no longer sedate, and now snapping sparrow wedging herself between the wall and the leg of the dresser. After much But I'm trying to help you! Edith Piaff was now in her shoebox, and was none too happy about it. I filled the box with dried grass (like a nest!) from the backyard, which Edith Piaff promptly burrowed under to hide, ostrich style, or perhaps in an attempt to asphyxiate herself. I began to have the feeling that a cat would have been merciful at this point, and the reality that, yes, yet again, I had been Unable To Leave Well Enough Alone began to sink in fully.

I left Edith Piaff somewhat less distressed in her shoebox in the kitchen sink (the thought being that, were she to escape, she would not fall off of the counter and further injure herself), and went to bed, my head filled with the realization that in the morning, things would have to be figured out. I woke the next day, the first thought in my head the sparrow, and made my way to the kitchen. In the sink, Edith Piaff had indeed broken free of the shoebox (an admirable feat considering that she was most definitely not in the best of health) and glared at me somewhat apprehensively from the stainless basin. I gingerly picked her up and placed her back in the box, a fate to which she seemed somewhat resigned, all the while wondering just what it was that I would have to do next. Clearly my kitchen was not in her plans for the immediate future, nor was a complete convalescence, and now the best that I could do was undo the damage that I had done.

I decided that the humane thing, or, rather, the thing that would be easiest for the both of us, would be to return her to the wild; "the wild", of course being beneath my hydrangea bush that was sheltered from the sun and afforded some degree of protection from predators. I took her box outside, lifted her gently, and placed her beneath the bush. She looked at me in a way that could only have meant "What fresh hell is this?", as I gently moved her to what I felt was a "safer" spot. Our goodbyes were brief, as the neighbors were in their backyard gardening, and I really didn't want to get into explaining the mess that I'd put us both in. I emptied the grass from her shoebox, turned, and headed inside, trying as best as possible to shake things off and start my day.

When I returned home from work that evening, I went immediately to the backyard to check in on Edith Piaff. Not surprisingly, she was nowhere to be found, and I could only hope that she secreted herself further into the ramble where she could mend and return to the trees, trilling her sorrowful songs, and both of us the wiser for our encounter.

Losing Things: My New Hobby

2008-07-17T10:02:00.000-07:00

Lately (or maybe for awhile now) things have been disappearing around my house. Nothing big, and certainly nothing that I use every day, but little things. First I noticed that two t-shirts had gone missing; a grey ringer and a dark blue shirt from the band Duster. Not a huge deal, as both of them had been relegated to the "gym wear" section of the dresser, and hey, maybe they're mixed up in the laundry, right? Then it was a Gang of Four cd (Entertainment!) that could have been left at a friend's house, even though I know for a fact that I brought it in with a pile of other discs (all accounted for), yet it is still nowhere to be found.

Most recently it is a paring knife. A small, ridiculously sharp, bright yellow paring knife that was my favorite of a set of three, and had been a gift from my sister this past Christmas. This little knife lived it's entire life in my care between the knife drawer and the sink, with occasional stops in the dishwasher that I use as a (largely ineffective) drying rack. Never did it stray beyond the kitchen to perform tasks elsewhere in the house. There was no opening of letters or cutting of twine, no fending off of spare-changing hobos or dressing of wild game. No, this knife lived a sheltered life with its somewhat less colorful kin in a radius of basically ten square feet, with very little variation to it's daily routine. However, apparently one day it was there, removing the membrane from a jalapeno (was this when I had it last?), and the next day (or was it days?) it was somehow gone.

Gone or misplaced, that is. I have been known to do incredibly stupid things when not paying attention, and especially in the kitchen. I recently swore a blue streak into the phone when I discovered that I'd put fresh (and organic!) blueberries in the freezer instead of the refrigerator, and god only knows how many things i've found in the cupboard that really, really should not have been there. (Usually discovered before any real damage is done to perishables.) Point is, the knife, the cd, and the shirts could easily all be together in the back of a closet, subconsciously hoarded for some real or imagined apocalypse.

When living alone, you lose the luxury of someone else to blame. There was many a time when I would stomp around the house muttering "stupid Chris", only to discover that it was I who put a bottle of honey on that stack of bills, or it was I who had positioned all of those things just so on the table so that I could so easily knock them off, or that it was I who had thrown away all of those important papers that I left right here on the counter and I need them right now, what did you do with them? I was also typically responsible for my own lost car keys, "what happened to those last six beers", and "what happened to that thousand dollars in the checking account". The answer to all of these being, naturally, "oh".

No, when things go missing and you live alone, you become paranoid. You start sizing your friends up when they come to visit, watching them out of the corner of your eye. You know that it's ridiculous, and that your friends are hardly the type to run off with cds or your gym clothes, but wasn't so and so just complimenting that paring knife, just the other day? Of course, this inevitably goes the way of the "Stupid Chris" game, and you are left with a deep sense of shame (a chasm of shame, really) when you find the knife in the wrong drawer (but who put it there?), or the cd on your desk, or the shirts stuffed behind the bathtub. You wonder just what kind of person you are who would suspect your friends or your partner of running off with your things, or drinking your beer, or putting honey on your papers. Sadly though, you know the answer is likely that you are the person who would run off with a pretty yellow paring knife after drinking all the beer and knocking the magnets behind the fridge. On the way out the door though you may stop and think, "hey, isn't that my copy of Arrested Development Season Two? I've been looking everywhere for that!"

Damnit. A perfectly good excuse to eat deviled eggs shot to hell.

2008-07-02T15:35:00.000-07:00

Well, days off have been scheduled, as well as BBQs; outfits have been laid out, and lazy beach time has been penciled in. This is what you do with a holiday weekend. You plan fun. However, Seattle, big bad abusive relationship that it is, has other plans.

Anyway, bumping along with my day today, I happened across the weather forecast for the weekend. Thunderstorms tomorrow are exciting, but then the weather pretty much bites it until the day that I return to work. Whatever, Seattle; this is why we don't get along.

Fun With Tattoos and No Fun In Fremont

2008-07-02T12:24:00.001-07:00

Last week, my friends Laura, Jesse, Dre, and I had the misfortune of attending The Worst Party In The World, at The Worst Bar In Seattle. There was promise of "free booze" and "free food" and an appearance by a somewhat iconic member of the late 90s NW indie scene -- compete with new band! We raced over there, to this Worst Bar In Seattle, and discovered that invitations had been misread and that "free booze" was cut off at 7p; exactly the time that we arrived. The plentiful free food was neither, and consisted of a "clever" and "ironic" selection of tater tots, miniature corn dogs, and some sort of awful looking white bread bun sandwiches. I believe that there may also have been chili, but, unlike Dre, I wasn't so brave as to raise the lid on the institutional cauldrons on the "buffet". Granted, tater tots may be "cute", and clearly someone thought that a group of "hipsters" would relish the irony of greasy "trashy" food, but chili? How could anyone think this is a good idea to fill people with chili and beer in a cramped bar and then expect them to stay for music that lasted until closing? Clearly this was not thought through very well.

long story short, we bought drinks, decided that we had to leave immediately, had debit cards held hostage until we drank $10 worth of $2.50 beer (insuring our return) and decided to go to Laura's for Rock Band and wine. Along the way we got temporary tattoos, courtesy of Laura via Dave Eggers, and an otherwise horrible evening was on the way to being salvaged. That NW icon, however? Yeah, total no show. A shock, that one.

Me, with ibex (not, as Laura posted, "Goat").

Jesse, with "Be My Co-Defendant".

Dre with the baffling but cute "Power Of Attorney"; which begs the question, why a bat? Anyone?

Whatever Happened To... Bubbles The Chimp?

2008-06-30T00:03:00.000-07:00

Still, airless late summer nights lend themselves to thoughts, and late night thoughts are often the ones that you shouldn't dwell upon. for instance, a passing thought on this silent and nearly stifling summer evening is "whatever happened to Bubbles The Chimp"? He was there, and then he was not. The silence surrounding the transition certainly belies what is likely a terrifying truth -- from a cancer reasearch center he came, and perhaps to a cancer research center he was dispatched.

Whatever the fate of Bubbles (and it is all merely conjecture), it is certainly no less horrifying or heartbreaking than the fate of Nim Chimpsky. No need to get into a lengthy diatribe on the ethics of animal research, and merely let that account speak for itself.

Photo by Herbert Terrace

Amy Winehouse :: Fabulous, tragic, and HILARIOUS

2008-06-29T23:26:00.001-07:00

Oh, Amy... Watching this, it's better if you close your eyes and imagine Helena Bonham Carter in Sweeney Todd; it's magical, I tell you, magical!

"Oh, no, she's dead..."
"This isn't even a pop quiz anymore, it's an intervention, Amy!"

Impressive, and not even lipsynching! Also, in a fight? Bitch will take you down. (And then maybe/likely fall over herself.)

Dakin and the Rats of NIMH

2008-06-25T22:40:00.001-07:00

Recently, while enjoying a bbq in the back yard with friends, we had an uninvited guest. A very large and not appropriately shy rat. Having lived in Seattle and Honolulu, which likely both rival New York City in terms of frequent rat sightings, it wasn’t nearly as traumatic as it would have been in comparatively rat free Kansas. Nor was it nearly as traumatic as the rats that took up residence in our storage room (or who tried to eat through our floors) in Hawaii. Also, on a scale of rat trauma, it fell significantly below the time that we had the rats fighting and chewing in the walls above the bed in Seattle years ago. No, this was pretty mild, and, at most, prompted me to jump up and close the door to the back porch. No biggie.

A few days later. I was taking laundry to the basement laundry room, and I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Oh yes, it was my rat friend, skirting along the rock retaining wall that borders my backyard and the neighbors above -- in broad daylight. This seemed like rather ballsy behaviour , and I went over to the wall to take a look; and also with the intent to give him a good scare and say “you’re not welcome here! and tell your friends!” What I discovered gave me a little scare instead.

When I approached the wall, the rat darted into a hole in the rocks, turned around, peered out, looked back at me, and disappeared. Into a burrow. In the wall. I stepped back and took a long look at the wall, and discovered that it was full of holes. Holes that led into what was likely a lengthy network of tunnels that in turn led to the Rats of NIMH. The Rats of NIMH that fear neither man nor daylight and had taken up residence in my backyard, a mere twenty or so feet from my house.

Upon discovery, I ran into the house and called a friend, leaving a voicemail that said simply “I have a horrible question for you that I already know the answer to... Rats live in colonies, yes?” I then sat down on the couch aware of the fact that I had likely fifty or more rats living in my backyard, and, more importantly, what am I going to do about it?

Having been a vegetarian for thirteen or so years (but no longer), I have qualms about killing things. I leave spiders alone (and sleep with one eye open), have never set a mouse trap (hoping that maybe they’ll just leave on their own), and have been known to escort cockroaches the size of my thumb outside in a covered wine glass. While I’m also unable to kill flies, I have, however, been known to poison and spray the swarms of ants that invaded our cottage in Hawaii, all the while telling them that really, you brought this on yourselves. Poisoning something soft and brown, however crawling with pestilence, on the other hand, is just beyond my capacities. I’m in an ethical quandary, you see. The rats and I likely cannot coexist for more than a finite period of time, and something must be done, but I just don’t want to be the one that does it. Neither do I want to phone the landlord and say “hey, there’s some killing to be done”, and what if one of the neighborhood cats gets into the poison? Or catches a poisoned rat and dies? I just couldn’t live with myself. No, better to do nothing and avoid the consequences.

So we wait. The rats becoming larger (they could go one on one with the cats) and more emboldened; why just today I saw one the size of a yorkshire terrier dragging a ham back into the burrow! I’m left to ask: “Is my reluctance to act based on a childhood filled with animated films of rodents railing against the totalitarian machine (The Secret of NIMH, as well as favorite Watership Down), or is it a general soft heartedness that has left me ill equipped to deal with the modern world? Don’t get me wrong, I doubt that I would have lasted a week on a farm once I learned where the delicious steak really comes from, but somehow this is different. It feels as though there’s a decision to be made, and that I’m just forestalling the inevitable and tragic conflagration to come.

In the meantime, I’m left wincing at the rustle of leaves, turning and expecting a hundred beady blood red eyes prepared to settle an age old score.

above, the burrow

From the Archives: ::(We Really Like) Daytrotter.com::

2008-06-25T22:24:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, a lot of the time, and to be honest, most of the time, there are things that we like at Duck & Cover that we, for whatever reason, never get around to talking about. There are countless bands that we love love love, like Lennie and his mouse, but, instead of loving them lifeless, we do something worse. We fail to mention them; and it's not that we have illusions about having some great influence, but little bands need all of the love and support that they can find, especially the really good ones.

Fortunately for everyone there are many, many other sites on the internet that do take the time to promote music that they love, and give it to the world instead of keeping it in their pocket as if it were some magical talisman. At Duck & Cover, we like to consider ourselves Enthusiasts, and not critics. Musical criticism is mostly all bosh, frankly, and I'd rather talk about something that I really love than deconstruct something that I don't think is all that great. Besides, what if I'm wrong? (It happens often.)

One such site that we have enjoyed for the past year plus is Daytrotter. Daytrotter is the internet home of Futureappletree Studio 1 in Rock Island, Illinois, and they exemplify how the internet can be such an exciting and vital place for music. You see, at Daytrotter, they invite artists into the studio to record a special session, and then they distribute the tracks as free downloads. The novelty of this, to me, is two-fold. First, people like free music, but free music that an artist had to pay to record is not so great for the artist -- it's something of a losing proposition, aside from esoteric "exposure". Secondly, the sets are typically 3-4 songs in length, and are the perfect format to get to know a band's sound. I can't begin to tell how many stunning bands that I've gotten to know via Daytrotter's format, and the most exciting thing is that it's top quality one off live material, so it automatically appeals to the collector/completist in me. (There's also always the excitement of checking back in after a month away from the site, and finding a handful of favorite artists just waiting to be downloaded.)

Artists who have participated in the Daytrotter sessions include, but are certainly not limited to: Bonnie 'Prince' Billy, Vampire Weekend, My Brightest Diamond, Dappled Cities, Quasi, Death Cab For Cutie, Thao Nguyen, Dirty Projectors, Sunset Rubdown, Six Parts Seven, Shearwater, Okkervil River, Low, Fleet Foxes... so, so many bands all deserving of your adoration! See the complete list here, and happy downloading. Hopefully you'll see some old friends and discover some new favorites in the process!

Oh! And before I forget! The accompanying illustrations by Johnnie Cluney make it all the more better!

From the Archives: ::WEB COMICS ROUNDUP:: the final word

2008-06-25T22:23:00.000-07:00

Oh Noes! Here it is the last day of April, and "Internet Comics Month" failed to deliver the grandeur promised all those many days ago. In fact, it could be said to have ground to a screeching halt through a near willful lack of followthrough from one half of Duck & Cover. In my defense, if you were able to view our drafts folder, you would see that there are many, many writeups of many, many comic artists that were begun, walked away from, and never returned to. Good intentions, road to hell, broken promises, typical, etc.

So. This is going to have to serve as a bit of a roundup, and for that, I do apologize. Each and everyone of these artists has something very cool to offer, and deserve much more attention than what they're about to receive.

::Cat And Girl::
Much as the title implies, it is about a cat and a girl. It is an "experimental meta narrative". It is also awesome. Cat and Girl had won my heart with Dorothy Gambrell's character's delightful cynicism, long before I discovered the first reference to Robert Rauschenberg and Jasper Johns. Cat and Girl ably navigates the circumstances and quandaries that your typical self aware quasi hipster encounters in their day to day life with a dry and cutting wit that also hits uncomfortably close to home. But in a fun way, like Stuff White People Like -- but before the book deal, and before they officially (circled if not) jumped the shark with that Oscar Parties entry on Oscar Day. (Boo!) Also, look for Bad Decision Dinosaur, who pops up to advocate bad decisions. (Duh! Napoleon so never should have listened to him!)

Gambrell's Girl is possessed by the horror and ennui that so many of us encounter when confronted by the reality of Life In America. Sad? Buy more. Angry? Buy more. Happy? Buy more! Disturbed by the albatross that is the Iraq "war"? BUY MORE. Also, hit up the all you can eat buffet before those food prices limit us to two plates per visit!

(not the best illustrative example of the above, but an inside joke at D&C)

::Marlys Magazine::
This is not so much a "web comic", but it is the internet home of Lynda Barry and the characters that populate her fantastic Ernie Pook comic strips, and you should absolutely make the time for a visit. For those familair with Lynda Barry and the divine Ernie Pook series that was routinely found in the back of "alternative newspapers" in the late '90s (and now, too... I think?) you know that Barry writes from an unhappily nostalgic place. Barry's comics center on growing up poor and other, with her main characters covered in freckles, with outrageous hair, unattractive glasses, and seem generally isolated in their sometimes claustrophobic lives. There is a busily austere beauty to Barry's work, and I have always greatly enjoyed reading everything that she has done (and am one of the few people that I know who purchased and own a copy of her 1999 novel Cruddy), and her collection of 100 Demons can never fail to break your heart or cause you to cringe in recognition of your own failings. For we are Lynda Barry, and Lynda Barry is we.

:: Laura Park::
Laura Park is an artist residing in Chicago, who, while not publishing a web comic per se, does have a webernet home for her comics and art. I'm not sure what to say about Laura Park, other than that I am absolutely crazy about her work. Her draftsmanship is impeccable, and, while her work tends towards and autobiographical bent, I feel that her work has more of a graphic novel feel than a comic feel. Of course, a graphic novel is indeed a comic, and I know nothing about these things, but those are my thoughts. Also, look for the occasional cameo from Duck & Cover favorite Julia Wertz of the Fart Party. (It was through Wertz' work that I had the good fortune to discover Ms. Park.) Laura Park loves great music, cooking, and has a cat and a pet pigeon -- named Nixon. A pigeon! Take the time to read every single on of her comics, and you can love her as well. Laura Park also deserves a much more extensive write up than this. Perhaps sometime in the future?

From the Archives: Sigur Ros :: Two Videos From Some Time Ago

2008-06-25T22:15:00.000-07:00

Stumbling through some old cds long in storage, I stumbled across a Sigur Ros 2 disc set that, according to my itunes is ( ) Untitled #1. One of these two discs was a dvd of video work -- two taken from the band's dreamy first release Aegetis Byrjun, and the third from the just then released ( ). The first two songs, "Svefn-G-Englar" and "Vidrar Vel Til Loftarasa" are stunning and heartbreaking, and the videos capture the spirit of the music (and Sigur Ros) very well. The third, a video by Floria Sigismondi (whom you may recall from the Marilyn Manson video for "Beautiful People") for the song "Untitled #1 (Vaka)" is very pretty as well, but a bit more bleak and conceptual. I mean, it's nice, but it won't break your heart, and it's not nearly as visually arresting, so what's the point, y'know? (Which makes me feel like a horrible person and a bad critic, because I really do like this video, just not nearly as much as the other two. Mainly this is because, though I may pretend to be edgy, at heart I'm a terrible sap who loves to be emotionally manipulated by any sort of media. Books, music, film, visual art, email, voicemail, whatever; I am putty in your hands.)

I'm not going to go into any detail with the following videos, and am instead just going to encourage you to watch them. If you have seen them, it was likely a very long time ago (like me!), so you should watch them again. If you don't shed a few stray tears, you've only your black cinder of a soul to blame. Please note, however, that Sigur Ros is best listened to on headphones, and loud. (It puts you in the moment, you see.)

From the Archives: Daft Punk :: Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger

2008-06-25T22:14:00.000-07:00

Somehow winter still has her claws in the Pacific Northwest. It's almost May, and we're forecast snow this coming weekend. Snow! (I'll spare you my usual tirade about what physically impossible acts may be performed on this particular part of the country, my own little corner of hell.) In any event, we were teased by 80 degrees over the past weekend, only to be thrust back into the 50s and below (with rain!) immediately after.

Needless to say, it has not been happy times. I am on day three of a nonstop Neko Case marathon, and, while it is indeed comforting, Neko tends to be a little, dare we say, dark? Sometimes you just need to take pause and make your own sunshine, or perhaps be steered to some on YouTube, as is certainly the case here. (Even though I firmly believe that YouTube is leading to the complete downfall of Western Civilization, and exposing the ugly underbelly of the American experience, I can sometimes forgive it. Times like this.)

Back story? Dunno. Two french boys, "Jay" and "KIng Julian" made an absolutely hands down amazing video for Daft Punk's "Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger" (as a response to a similar video by two girls), and then put it on the interwebs. This is about as much homework as you can expect from a blog. I mean, I'm not sure if you noticed or not, but the internet's not really big on fact checking. Anyway, enjoy.

F

From the Archives: Fruit Mystery :: What Did Happen At The Zoo??

2008-06-25T22:12:00.000-07:00

In the Edward Albee play Zoo Story, something has happened at the zoo. We learn this because a man (Jerry) has approached another man on a park bench (Peter) and told him as much. (Among other things -- other very personal and inappropriate things-- and, by and large, it is far from any conversation that we've had or would care to have on a park bench.) In any event, something, something awful, happened at the zoo, and we never learn just what that thing was.

In the flash game Fruit Mystery (developed by Australian Brett Graham) something has also happened at the zoo. However, this time, we have been made privy to just what that something was -- someone has fed the animals, and there have been dire consequences. However, sometimes, as is certainly the case with Fruit Mystery, answers spawn more questions. Of course now, our thinking has shifted from "What happened at the zoo?" to "What really happened at the zoo, if anything at all?' This glimpse of a half truth, or exaggerated truth, or complete falsehood is far, far more vexing than than the implied and ominous "something" that Albee had goaded us with.

Without giving too much away, we revisit Brett's trip to the zoo and are able to feed the animals from a selection of fruits, vegetables, and corn chips at the bottom of the page. This seldom ends well, and the game is paused. Why? So that we can read and learn. Again, it's best not to give too much away, and really just urge you to play the game immediately and repeatedly. Be sure to navigate the rest of Brett's site, as more questions are posed than are answered in many, many ways.

PLAY FRUIT MYSTERY **NOW**!

From the Archives: The Fart Party

2008-06-25T22:09:00.000-07:00

Before leaving Honolulu I found myself spending a lot of time drinking away the sad and surfing the internet (much, um, much like now, in Seattle, but I, uh, wear pants instead of shorts[?]), and I happened to stumble across The Fart Party, an autobiographical comic written and drawn by Julia Wertz. The Fart Party manages to come across as both remarkably vulgar and deeply touching. (I'm reminded of the later work of R. Crumb, but I know next to nothing about comic art, and I did just see a retrospective, so likely I'm just full of it.) Wertz presents comics that are either fully fleshed out and beautifully minimal or quick stylized stick figure vignettes, that, while "easy" succeed due to her impeccable sense of framing and narrative. (To clarify, that means that they are not "easy" at all, and are just as enjoyable as her more "formal" work.)

When I first discovered the Fart Party, I literally read through the entire site in one sitting, absolutely unable to get enough, and deeply saddened when I was done. Wertz, as portrayed in her comics, is the type of person that you can imagine becoming fast friends with. An accomplished drinker with a highly developed sense of pathos, as well as a delightfully self deprecating sense of humor, an (apparent) unabashed fondness for poo, a filthy mouth, and, above all, a good heart. All of this combines in The Fart Party to create a wonderful, hilarious, and readable comic. What am I talking about? It's just fucking hilarious. Go buy the book from Amazon (now!) and read it every day at fartparty.org (even though it's apparently only updated "thrice weekly", but you should still check in. Just in case.)

Of the comics below, I can immediately relate to both of them; especially drunk email (seriously -- breathalyzer; how hard could that be?), drunk dialing your mother (shockingly this has never happened -- on accident. [cringe]), and reflecting on major life changes and the manner that it relates to who you are as a person. See, you can laugh and your heart can break a little, and sometimes at the same time.

From the Archives: Bea Arthur and Rock Hudson sing about Teh Drugz

2008-06-25T22:06:00.000-07:00

Sometimes the internet is a horrible place, like when YouTube comments reveal the true base nature of humanity, or a site can't be navigated to simply change the billing address on a credit card (Bank Of America?!?!?). Other times the internet is a wonderful time machine, a veritable cabinet of curiosities; and today is certainly one of those days.

Via a commenter on Gawker, this gem was happened across. Rock Hudson and Bea Arthur singing a catchy little song together lamenting the times "when 'smoke' was Luckies, and 'high' was gin" on "The Beatrice Arthur Special" on CBS, from January of 1980

Easily the gayest thing posted since those Gay Unicorns. And Hey! This is a song too! Just like those unicorns! And it's a catchy one that will be stuck in your head for days! Months even! I think I want this as a ringtone! How do I make one of those!

In any event, enjoy a beautiful campy moment from the history of American television, and marvel that Rock Hudson can manage an irony free reference to "Amyl Nitrate".

From the Archives: The Exquisite Agony of Antony & The Johnsons

2008-06-25T22:04:00.000-07:00

It may be the chill that has crept into the air as of late, or perhaps that coupled with the surprisingly clear weather in the South Sound for the past week or so, but something is drawing me, nay, pulling me to the embrace of Antony and the Johnsons. Which record? Oh, all of them. I have a particular affinity for "Cripple and the Starfish", the second track off Antony's 2000 release; a song that, like the popular "Fistful of Love" from 2005's near flawless I Am a Bird Now, romanticizes, begs for, domestic violence.

I am happy, so please hit me; I am very, very happy, please hurt me

Such is the way with Antony and the Johnsons; pain and memory (though what is memory, if not, so often, pain?), sweet nostalgia, plaintive cries for love, of love, for violence, of violence. It's heartbreaking, and breathtaking, and uplifting and inspiring' all of this delivered by Antony's deep yet reedy vibratto laid over piano driven, distinctly non pop music. Think a less wry, less coy, less prideful Rufus Wainwright, and you're very close.

In fact, Wainwright made a guest appearance on I Am a Bird Now, along with many others, including Lou Reed, Devendra Banhart, and Boy George. Antony is also no stranger to the guest spot, having made appearances on Coco Rosie's debatable second record (Noah's Ark), singing on the stunning and lamentably spelled "Beautiful Boyz". Most notably and recently, Antony has appeared with Bjork as the voice of "The Conscience" on "My Juvenile", off her recent release Volta. (This is the introduction to a more mainstream American audience, though the Brits had the good sense to award him the prestigious annual Mercury Prize in 2005 for I Am a Bird Now.)

There's something warm and wonderful in Antony and The Johnsons that works as well on a chilly night spent in by yourself as on a perfect spring evening, windows open to a warm breeze, prostrate on the couch with a cocktail in hand. It does lend itself to heartbreak, but it's just so stunning and dynamic that it can't really inspire anything but a sense of wonder. Go ahead, pick up a record, any record, and give it a go. (Assuming that it's an Antony and The Johnsons record, I mean, it wouldn't work with, say Spiceworld; well, it would, but not the same.)

From the Archives: The Dirty Three :: Whatever You Love, You Are

2008-06-25T22:03:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it’s not enough to survive winter. Sometimes you want winter to cut you just so that you can enjoy the warmth of your own blood, however fleeting the pleasure. Sometimes you want to traverse dark roads bundled in shadow and avoiding the eyes of passing strangers. Sometimes you wish to visit a place inside yourself that is far less civilized, a place that, though you’ve been many times before, still requires a map to locate.

This map can take many forms, and has, for centuries, done so for many people. Some wish to find these roads through drink or pills or violence; others, the more sane, the more austere prefer music. Not anything will do of course, it must be, preferably non vocal, with no real importance placed on the composition’s simplicity or complication. it must, however, possess a certain quality that is impossible to define or explain until it is experienced.

The Dirty Three certainly has such quality, and can be retained for use as such a map, and easily so. Personally, I would choose 2000’s impeccable Whatever You Love, You Are, an album whose presence in my life I owe solely to Jamie. When I first moved to Seattle in the fall of the same year, a friend bought me tickets to Shannon Wright with the Dirty Three opening. Having just moved to a new city, and not really knowing anyone, of course I would rather stay home and mope. Little did I know what a mistake I was making. A year later I had the chance to see Nick Cave at the Paramount Theater with Warren Ellis in the supporting band, and had a pretty decent idea of the size of my mistake.

On Whatever You Love, You Are, The Dirty Three are the musical equivalent of a good cry. The music is dark and brooding, yet fraught with a beauty as delicate as the finest filigree. Emotions reel with Warren Ellis’ violin, while Jim White’s percussion makes want to open your chest to let the pressure off of your rotten heart; Mick Turner’s guitar makes you roll on the floor, tearing at your hair. it is cathartic and exquisite; it is bliss.

As the final strains of "Lullabye For Christie" fades from your speakers you shake your head and return to reality. You’ve travelled your dark roads and come back unscathed, though likely a little changed; behind your eyes lurks a new wisdom . However, isn’t that the allure of travel?

From the Archives: Califone :: Roomsound

2008-06-25T22:02:00.000-07:00

Winter in the Northwest comes upon you hard and fast. Fall’s flirtation is brushed aside, and with the fervor of an angry drunk Winter barrels into the room. One moment you shed your coat after a trek uphill, stopping to rest and wiping sweat from your brow, the next a gale wind is driving you back inside, back to comfort.

Suddenly your light jacket is no longer sufficient armament against winter’s chill, and you must arm yourself with tweeds and a scarf, and where did you put your gloves? You take comfort in soups (Matzoh ball! Lentil and chard!), a good wine, the company of good friends, and of course, proper music. The music of winter does not fight off the chill, it does not transport you to days of sunshine and garden parties. The music of winter embraces the cold and the darkness, but nonetheless comforts you with it’s own ambient warmth.

Today the winter wind is blowing hard, the waters of Seattle’s Puget Sound are an angry gunmetal; passing boats rock up and down, fighting the race of the waves to the shore. I am bundled in a grey pullover, and there is matzoh ball soup heating on the stove. I have chosen Califone’s remarkable 2001 release, Roomsound, as my toddy for the afternoon. It was on an afternoon like this, in 2001 that I first heard this record, in an apartment not 10 blocks away, with a view of the cold, cold city pressing against my windows, not at all unlike today.

Six years later, the record is just as wonderful, just as warm. I may have changed and grown by leaps and bounds, lived and gained countless new insights into myself and my life, yet Califone is much the same. The sounds are layered upon layers, the heart is Americana, but the soul is something darker and more complex (yet what could be darker than Americana?). Califone happens in the spaces between the percussion, a busy layered sound coupled with near monotone vocals that inhabit the music as another instrument. Combined it is both comforting and disconcerting, like a song by Nick Cave or the Dirty Three. (The shared reliance on atmosphere, on the unspoken yet implied threat of violence, the music’s energy barely kept in check by the musicians, straining to be released and allowed to run free, teeth bared.)

I am seated at the table by the windows, matzoh ball soup at my side, and Roomsound on my headphones. It is 4pm, the sun is disappearing behind the Olympic mountains, behind the cloud cover, as though it too is retiring from this viciously cold afternoon. The ferries cross the sound, a strong wind blows. and the lights of the city slowly wink on. There is a feeling settling over me that feels feels suspiciously like contentment.

Califone :: Roomsound

Highly recommended

From the Archives: Electrelane

2008-06-25T22:00:00.000-07:00

As per Electrelane's website, and following the genius of 2007's No Shouts No Calls, Electrelane is calling it quits for the time being, or, rather, "the foreseeable future". Well, we all know what that means. That means no more Electrelane, forever.

Why is it that good bands call it quits all the time, yet Aerosmith, The Rolling Stones*, and The Eagles will always be around? Help me out here, 'cause I need to know.

*Not to discount amazing records such as Sticky Fingers, Beggar's Banquet, Exile On Main Street and Let it Bleed, but, c'mon people, when was the last time they put out something like that? Seriously. It's like going to see Flock of Seagulls on tour. Play "I Ran", and let me get on with my evening.

If you don't have/haven't heard No Shouts No Calls, buy it now! And if you had a chance to catch the band opening for The Arcade Fire last summer, count yourself among the fortunate.

From the Archives: My Baby Don't Mess Around...

2008-06-25T21:59:00.000-07:00

It's entirely possible that "Hey Ya!" by Outkast is one of the best dance songs ever (evah!), if not one of the best songs ever written by humans. Granted, it's likely that this may be doing some sort of disservice to other worthy contenders, but... right now... at this moment... well, "Hey Ya!" just made one of it's rare appearances on shuffle, and it's impossible for me not to jump up in my empty apartment and scream "Brilliant!"

Which I am doing right now, on the internets.

There was a time when I feared that I would grow tired of "Hey Ya!". It was 2003, I had gotten my first iPod a year before, and was more than happy to have the genius (again, brilliant!) double opus of Speakerboxx/The Love Below as a constant player in the car, on the bus, walking through the city... But then, well, it was everywhere. Over Christmas we listened to it ("Hey Ya!") repeatedly while myself and my friend Angela snorted No-Doz with a Nordy's gift card (christ, don't ask!) and danced in her apartment, then later at a bar that I shouldn't have been at, making out with people that I shouldn't have been, then again at a New Year's party, where we listened to it twice, at full volume while a friend of a friend drunkenly tried to sing karaoke all by herself (sad!). (Later too, or perhaps earlier, I made out with two girls that New Year's that no one knew, so you see, this is a song for making out, as well as dancing!)

"Hey Ya!" was everywhere, yet somehow it never grew old, I never tired of the hooks and the lyrical twists and turns ("I don't to meet your daddy/ Just want you in my caddy/don't want to meet your momma/just want to make you comma"). The subject matter of "Hey Ya!" is, ironically, not so much the stuff of great dance songs (aside from the invitation to "shake it like a polaroid picture"), as it's the tale of love gone wrong; a love that has staled, and neither party is ready to let go, unwilling to let the relationship take it's course. We've all been there, and "Hey Ya!" has it's poignant moments when Andre 3000 implores "why, oh why are we so in denial/when we know we're not happy here." But then, we don't want to hear him, we just want to dance.

"Hey Ya!" is the party that you never want to end. Song ends, hit repeat, and dance to this shit all night. With friends, with strangers, alone in front of floor to ceiling windows writing what very well may be a lame blog entry. Just listen, dance, enjoy, repeat.

ice cold, bitches.

Oh, and the official word from Polaroid is that you really shouldn't shake their photos for a faster development time; just FYI.

From the Archives: New Release Roundup :: In Haiku!

2008-06-25T21:57:00.000-07:00

All right, 2007 has been a great year for new releases, and I have to admit that we have been remarkably remiss by covering barely 1/8th of them. For the record (the not so timely record) we heard, enjoyed, and had big opinions about The Shins, St. Vincent, Spoon, Okkervil River, the National, New Pornographers, Electrelane.... A veritable laundry list of what I have come to think of as my generation's adult contemporary. We just never got around to sharing those opinions; and, to be fair, there has been SO MUCH new music that we barely got around to thinking that the new Okkervil River was one of the best things ever before we had to take some time to wonder who St Vincent reminded us of.

In any event, my iTunes has been flooded lately with an influx of new music, so much that I can barely take time to give it all the attention that it needs... and writing a full review? No thanks, and especially not five or more. So as a compromise, I have composed the following Haiku poems for some of the more exciting and notable releases of the past few weeks. (There's also an older one thrown in that it would be almost criminal not to mention. I'll go ahead and throw their name out there, because they are hands down no shit goddamn good: Vampire Weekend! Vampire Weekend! Vampire Weekend!)

Without further ado, Haiku:

iron & wine/ the shepherd's dog hushed whispers big sound does it seem bearded to you? the south is rising
beirut/ the flying club cup poland to paris life is still a cabaret edith would be proud
les savy fav/ let's stay friends art rock whatever that is i do like your e. t. purse mr harrington
jens lekman/ night falls over kortedala stephin merrit but more gay yet not really so lush morrissey pop
dirty projectors/ rise above (reinvention of the black flag classic) a sexy concept happiness transcends aggro a little much dischord
vampire weekend/ vampire wekend e.p. a happy fusion of sounds too many to site you must buy it now
radiohead/ in rainbows not ok comput er or kid a but thank god not amnesiac

From the Archives: Music For Packing and Leaving

2008-06-25T21:56:00.000-07:00

Tonight, well, last night if we’re to be totally honest, I was to start packing. As has been expressed in a previous post, I am in the middle of Tremendous Life Change. I am moving as much as I can afford of my current life in Hawaii back to what could be said to be my old life, but is really my new life, in Seattle.

Yesterday, I turned thirty two. Thirty was spent in the middle of a hectic move to Hawaii, a move that was even more hectic because I allowed my then partner to shoulder all of the responsibility in getting us here. Sure, I helped, but not as much as I could or should have. Part of it was that I was resistant to change, and, even at the cusp of thirty, acting the part of a spoiled child. This time is different. This time I only have myself to answer to (because who wants to be in a relationship with a spoiled child? Exactly.), and must handle things differently.

Jamie suggested that I take some time out of the packing to do a post about Music for Packing, which, really, truth be told, is Music For Leaving. Because I am. I am leaving; I am leaving my partner of more than four years (who, in the spirit of our new found honesty left me), I am leaving friends, I am leaving an established career; I am choosing not to live my life for other people.

We could be clever. We could bluster about how we moved neighborhoods in Seattle in a Darvocet and Percocet haze to Les Savy Fav serenading us with “We’ve Got Boxes”. We could laugh when we remember the move from Kansas to Seattle, marking the miles with Modest Mouse and “A Life Of Arctic Sounds”, because, don’t you know, five hundred miles is a long way to go inside a car? (And don’t you know, we got there, and we pined away the nights with “Busby Berkely Dreams” by the Magnetic Fields.) But let’s not. Let’s share a beer and continue to be honest. Lets talk about “Late Night Maudlin Street” by Morrissey.

This song, oh, this song. This song, off Morrissey’s first solo effort Viva Hate, all the way back in 1988 is the song that for years has eulogized our passing from one physical space to the next. There has not been a move in recent memory that has not entailed sitting in the middle of the floor with a beer and Morrissey’s sad, sad lament about changing house drifting through speakers. I am moving house, a half life disappears today... It captures the ache and promise of new beginnings so perfectly. It is the ache of lost love, of a life that you’ve left behind; it was, is, and will always be, to me, perfect.

The rain pours down at the back of the Nu’uanu valley, where I currently live -- teasing me with the promise of a dark and potentially lonely winter in the Northwest. I’m drinking a beer, sitting at my computer, and listening to “Late Night Maudlin Street”, over and over, so many times that it’s embarrassing. It is, however, like a friend’s arm around your shoulder, fingers pressed into your bicep, and promising that everything really will be okay.

Oh, truly I do love you...

Apologies, but, yet again, there is not a DRM free track or "Late Night Maudlin Street" to accompany this post. Look it up though, purchase it ala carte from iTunes... You will not be disappointed.

From the Archives: Explosions In The Sky :: All Of A Sudden I Miss Everyone

2008-06-25T21:54:00.000-07:00

Dakin is in the middle of planning a trans-pacific move, from the blue water and flawless days of Hawaii to the cloud cover and drizzle of Seattle. Moving is always a difficult task, even if your move only takes you across town. When you cross oceans and time zones, a certain melancholy can take hold as you say "fare thee well" to a handful of new friends, while (in this case) falling back into the open arms of those that you had previously left behind. There is always an intrinsic feeling of being cheated that is imparted by the people you must doff your proverbial hat to, always accusations of some sort of abandonment... and why do they never understand that this is not an easy task? Perhaps things are different with each parting, as you leave your family in the midwest and follow dreams to the nw, then follow bigger (yet simpler) dreams to an island in a sea of blue, then, yet again, you chase even bigger dreams (is such a thing possible?) back to the fog and chill of the pine forests. In short, each goodbye becomes more bittersweet... For too long, you may have been the one who was left, and promised that someday you would be The One Who Leaves, only to discover that this is no easier. In short, he has taken a moment from the planning and goodbyes to pen this review...

Life has got me down, and that's why I've chosen to listen to Explosions In The Sky All Of A Sudden I miss Everyone (remixes). EIS is like the warmest bath, the rattiest sweater, the coziest fire. SIE allows you to revel in warmth and comfort and push the world aside, if only for a moment.

The album art features a man adrift with a light held aloft scanning a flooded once civilized landscape; alone and searching he is a symbol of isolation in a post apocalyptic world. He is obviously the survivor of something dreadful -- Katrina anyone? -- and yes, you believe that he does indeed miss everyone. He misses everyone because his world has come apart at the seams, everyone's world has, and he has, again, found himself adrift with the detritus pushed forth by this calamity.

The music of EIS could be said to embody this sense of loss, of heartache, of the great distances that we all traverse, in so many ways. EIS is instrumental beauty, all of the crash and crescendo of Godspeed You Black Emperor with none of the pretense or conceit.

Fall is approaching, and summer passes, melting all of the hope and promise that summer invariably brings into the muted colours and dried husks that fall leaves scattered across the sidewalks and beneath the trees. In light of such, EITS All Of A Sudden I Miss Everyone, and the companion disc of remixes is just the tonic that will guide you through all of life's sudden or premeditated changes.

Recommended? Goodness, yes. For whom? For anyone who feels

From the Archives:Arcade Fire :: Live 05.27.07 :: Portland, OR

2008-06-25T21:45:00.000-07:00

THE ARCADE FIRE
27.05.2007 Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall

The show opens with the fall of the house lights; the audience cheers and then becomes slightly restless as monitors flicker around the stage; grainy footage of a television evangelist, a hefty southern woman in sequins, paces breathlessly and decries “people pleasers” as “butt kissers” repeating over and over again that “we have no more time, no more time” and tells women to “take off those high heels”. She rushes back and forth whipping her crowd into a hallelujah frenzy, and then fades into static.

The band arrives, and it is immediately apparent that we are in church, and they are the evangelists. They immediately, with no banter, and no introductions, slam into “No Cars Go”; the audience, surging forward as Win invites “There’s plenty of room here at the front, come on down!” Security wrestles with the crowd, and manages to push them back, but not before a few people manage to make it to the space between the front row and the stage. There is a teenage boy held back by security, just to the right of us (we are third row); he has thrown himself against the security guard, just to get those few inches closer. He is punching the air , shaking his head, screaming “I love you Win, you’re beautiful!”; he is in ecstacy. He is the perfect portrait of a pentecostal worshipper, possessed by the spirit, lost in the bliss of his god.

The evangelical theme pervades the evening, with the monitors showing distorted black and white video feeds of the band playing, switching from angle to angle, looking not at all unlike a televised revival from the fifties or sixties. A pipe organ hangs from the beams, while the scrim is a colored projection of the Neon Bible itself. Regine Chassagne plays the perfect Tammy Faye to Win Butler’s Jim Bakker. She flounces, she pouts, she engages the audience, drawing us closer, gesturing to us to sing along, cupping her hands to her mouth on “Neighborhood #1(Tunnels)”, miming the chorus. The rest of the band are the gospel choir, singing along, shouting, making it clear to us that they may be creating something tonight, in this room, but they are experiencing it just as intensely as we.

They play all of the favorites, tightly, flawlessly; rushing around, changing instruments, their energy boundless, their enthusiasm contagious. Regine dances and preens her way coquettishly through “Haiti”, her be sequined Madonna gloves catching and reflecting the light as she dances tirelessly. After “Neon Bible”, they cover “Distortions” by Clinic, and, by the end of the song, the crowd is nearly silent. Someone shouts out and is shushed by someone elsewhere in the auditorium.“I picture you in coffin’s, my baby in a coffin/ i love it when you blink your eyes... I want to know no secrets here....free of distortions.”

Towards the end of the evening, Win thanks the crowd for coming, and segues into “Neighborhood #3 (Power Out)”, taking full advantage of the stage lighting, pulsing vertical bars of bright white light into the crowd. The crowd moves as a whole, fists punching the air, feet in constant motion, it seems that it may not be possible to be moved more than this moment... And then the band is jamming, slamming a crescendo onto the end of the song, and slowly, slowly, it becomes “Rebellion (Lies)”. The crowd pushes forward, again, fists in the air , punctuating the chorus of “Lies! Lies” and then Win Butler stepped off the stage.

He stumbled through the front, standing on whatever would support him; the crowd rushed to meet him, some briefly overpowering security. Win stepped over chairs, and climbed onto the back of an empty seat directly in front of us, standing not five inches away, continuing to sing, while we danced and punched the air, enraptured. He turned and headed back to the area in front of the stage where he was engulfed by fans who instead of overtaking him, supported him, helped him onto the back of a chair. Surrounded, he continued to sing, taking a camera pointed at him and turning it back on it’s owner, snapping off photos, singing into someone’s outreached cellular phone, surrounded by love, by bliss.

The atmosphere, by the end of the night, is that of pure ecstasy. My hands hurt from clapping, my throat aches from singing along, shouting, my arms ache from throwing them in the air, my feet from jumping, my legs from dancing. There was not a moment this night that we were still. I look from side to side, watching the crowd move, all of us held in place by our assigned seats. Here and there I see someone standing, arms folded, and all I can think is “How?”

editor's note: the photo above is from the prior night's show at the Sasquatch Music Fest, as we declined to take a camera into the Portland show (stupid!).

Arcade Fire/PDX, OR 5.27.07 "Distortions"

Arcade Fire/PDX, OR 5.27.07 "Rebellion (Lies)"

from the Archives: Elvis Perkins :: Ash Wednesday

2008-06-25T21:44:00.000-07:00

Months ago, I received a phone call from my friend Laura, and she said "Oh my god!" (or, rather, as Laura is more apt to say "OMG!") "have you heard Elvis Perkins?!!" There followed a debate about Elvis' parentage, and his paternal lineage as relates to his father, the actor Anthony Perkins; most often connected with not only his role in Alfred Hitchcock's "Psycho" but his identity as a gay man (who died of AIDS in 1992)-- a fact that led me to (ignorantly) proclaim "nuh'uh!" This led to an over the telephone search of wikipedia ("no, no, cross reference THIS!"), which revealed that Mr. Perkins' father was indeed Anthony Perkins, and his mother was the photographer Berry Berenson, who was a passenger on one of the flights flown into the World Trade Center September 11, 2001.

That out of the way, and the almost mythological (in the scope of it's tragedy) tale of his birth and eventual and current life as an orphan ttroubador told, we may focus on the beauty; the dare I say, genius, that is Elvis Perkins. While Mr. Perkins may not do anything exceptionally new or stunningly different, what he does, he does well. What he does breaks hearts, holds the capacity to change lives (oh, if only you listen closely enough!); what he does is create what just may be your new favorite record.

Perkin's voice is a marriage of Jeff Mangum of the Neutral Milk Hotel, and Rufus Wainwright; the music stripped of fuzz and pretention, pure emotion and beauty crying out from the strains of an acoustic guitar, backed by the sparest percussion. I am reminded of Mangum's acoustic record/bootleg "Live At Jittery Joe's", yet the songs are much more accessible and less obtuse; my heart breaks without having to think to myself "yes, but what does it MEAN?" I want to curl up in the refrains, I want to lose myself in these plaintive vocals, I want to cry when he tells me that "It worries me, it worries me, that there's someone on my mind who i don't see/ i close my eyes to disappear, into the fields of stars between my ears." i don't debate that I tend towards the sappy (oh, but don't say saccharine!), and that my heart may break at the drop of a hat, the drop of a shoe, but, conversely, how can your heart not break? How is it possible not to break into a million pieces; how is it not possible unless you've not bothered to listen?

Elvis Perkins is a must listen for those who love the Neutral Milk Hotel, for those who have shuddered along with Rufus Wainwright, for those who have hidden their faces behind hands as Sebadoh forced tears to bloom, bright and wet, at the corners of their eyes. Love him, embrace him; feel, feel, feel.

Elvis Perkins
Ash Wednesday

Highly Recommended

From the Archives: Will Stratton :: What the Night Said

2008-06-25T21:42:00.002-07:00

While Jamie is off gallivanting and carousing on a random island (located off the coast of a country that, itself is an island) Dakin blogs on tirelessly from another island (which is, by Dakin’s estimation, much more island like than Jamie’s).

Will Stratton
What the Night Said

Amazing, really, that, within the past six months, Duck & Cover has been cued in to the talents of two amazingly gifted nineteen year old singer songwriters. (Makes us feel a little, well, not dirty – not like that NAMBLAesque Harry Potter with the horse -- and not quite icky, but definitely old.) The first, being, of course, Zac Condon of Beirut (and, apologies for the fact that the promised review of Lon Gisland e.p. never materialized; we’ll get to it eventually), and now the first bit of 2007 brings us Will Stratton and his remarkable debut What the Night Said.

WtNS is a beautiful record that has, thus far, garnered comparisons to Sufjan Stevens and Iron & Wine; comparisons, which, while I can see the similarity, seem to sell Stratton a little short. As human beings, we like to label and compare so that we have a frame of reference, but let’s just let Will Stratton be Will Stratton. (Although, “Night Will Come” seems to lean towards some Harmacy era Sebadoh, but that may just be me.)

This record is remarkably cozy and familiar, and appropriate for any use that you may apply to it. For instance, it has passed the “play it loud while cooking dinner” test, as well as the “play it softly as background” test and the all important “Listen, really listen on Headphones” test. Not only has each test been passed with flying colors, but each listen has resulted in at least two consecutive trips through the record. For those that may not be picking up on the subtext, that means that this record is very good.

Opener “Katydid” immediately catches you and pulls you into the record, and you float on through a sea of lost loves and broken relationships, the music wrapping itself around you like a favorite jacket (or perhaps a well loved quilt). “Sonnet” picks up the tempo a bit, complete with a bouncy arrangement and hand claps. (We do love hand claps around here.) The record settles back down with “Oh Quiet Night”, and continues quietly on with beautiful lyrics about headlights sweeping bedroom walls, crippled skies, and empty kisses. In short, the songs are astonishingly beautiful, accomplished, and lyrical, and almost guaranteed to make their way on to the “Best of 2007” list of anyone who hears this record.

From what I can tell, there are not that many venues through which one may purchase WtNS, aside from iTunes, but when Jamie gets back from afore mentioned gallivanting and cavorting, we’ll see to it that we have a purchase link loaded, as well as a song preview so that you can hear for yourself just how hopelessly amazing and breathlessly beautiful and just stunning this record is. (Also, if you’re in the know, you may say “hey, why no mention of Sufjan’s oboe playing on this record? Don’t you know??” Well, yes, we do, but let’s let Will have his moment in the spotlight, shall we?)

Will Stratton
What the Night Said
Stunning Models on Display

BUY IT TODAY

From the Archives: Lifter Puller :: Fiestas and Fiascos

2008-06-25T21:42:00.001-07:00

Fiestas and Fiascos
Lifter Puller
2000 Self Starter Foundation

There once was a band, from Minnetonka, or Minnesota, or, well, actually, they were from Milwaukee... as were, I believe, Laverne and Shirley. They were here, they were now, they were discordant, they were literate, they were, arguably, beyond brilliant. They told stories, and then they were gone. Eventually, they were reborn as the Hold Steady, and, to a good degree, they were very similar. However, we are not here to talk about the Hold Steady. We do, however, love the Hold Steady; one could go so far as to say that we have a big boner for the Hold Steady. Again, however, our feelings for the Hold Steady are not up for discussion. We are here to discuss Lifter Puller, and, more specifically, the brilliant album "Fiestas and Fiascos".

Many years ago, I bought tickets to a show at Brownie's in NYC -- a club that most everyone will remember as being "important". Well, as clubs go, and importance goes, Brownie's closed for reasons that escape me, and, in any event, I bought tickets to the Very Last Show at Brownies in NYC, which was also a reunion of Lifter Puller... and then we didn't go. Tickets were purchased, but, sadly, flights were never booked, and an amazing opportunity was, literally, thrown away. However, this is not about Brownie's, or regret, or missed opportunities. This is about Lifter Puller, Nightclub Dwight, the Guy with the Eyepatch, a bar called the Nice Nice, and the place where they all come together, a record called "Fiestas and Fiascos".

In short, there's simply not much that can be said about "Fiestas and Fiascos", other than the fact that it is sheer and total brilliance. In fact, this may be the anti record review. There's not much to say other than, if you have not heard this record, then you must. If you have heard it, and don't love it, you are personaly deficient. An entire review could be written quoting Craig Finn, and anyone who spent their formative years in the Midwest will especially appreciate his tributes to 3.2 beer, mini-thins, park sex, hard drugs, and dangerous living. (We're from the Midwest, don't question us. We know about these things. Well, maybe not the park sex; that's just dirty... Well... oh, never mind.) There is easily a novel hiding in plain view amongst the lyrics of Fiestas, and it's impossible to describe the exhileration that Finn's literacy can incite. Each song yields something brilliantly quotable that makes you forget everything you just heard; and they manage to do it over and over again. Seriously, this is music that you can get lost in, and still consistently be amazed as the words unfold like a chinese puzzle; forever amazing.

Smokin' Weed and Makin' Money indeed.

Recommended? Only for the cool kids

From the Archives: The Perils of Poultry

2008-06-25T21:40:00.000-07:00

this evening, i decided that i would roast a chicken. now, roasting a chicken is something that i've never done, which, after 12-13 years of vegetarianism isn't that far beyond the scope of belief. it always sounds so homey, so french; roast chicken, or i've just put a chicken in the oven to roast. that sort of thing. the weather being somewhat drizzly and damp, and being under some duress at work, i thought that the comfort and distraction was just what i needed.

to begin, i went to the store on the way home to select the chicken. granted, i have no idea whatsoever how much an entire chicken costs, especially at hawaii's inflated prices. (i'm reminded of arrested development, when the mother says "a frozen banana, michael? how much could that cost? ten dollars?") the answer was graciously little, in fact, in the area of a dollar a pound. i thought about all of these things, as well as the evils of the factory farm as i fondled my chosen bird; four pounds of foster farms "young" chicken. i glanced longingly at the fourteen dollar free range chickens, thought back to afore mentioned duress at work, and said a little prayer for my chicken's joyless life among it's legion of doomed siblings.

fast forward a few hours later. in the kitchen, i've lovingly sliced a bed of onions and tossed them in olive oil, laying down a fragrant pyre in the required "small roasting pan." now comes the part where the chicken must be handled, and manipulated into dinner. i remove said chicken from it's little body bag, and proceed to "remove the giblets". when reading those words, i had imagined what it was like the last time that i handled a chicken: remove chicken from bag, give a good shake, and the packaged "giblets" fall to the sink. grimace, transfer to trash, and proceed. not so with foster farms. no, the removal of the innards requires insertion of the hand into the cavity, and then the subsequent scooping of liver, heart, and what i believe to be a gizzard (and possibly some other parts, but i lost count rather quickly) into the sink. then the parts must be transferred to the trash prior to removing the fat, which is also done by hand. all the while, i admit that i was a little squeamish, but i handle such things in the way that one cleans up after a sick child or an errant pet; the entire time i occupy my mind with the mantra "don't think about it, don't think about it" until i've completed the task.

moving on, and with that little bit of unpleasantness behind us, i rinse the cavity, as well as the chicken, season inside with salt and pepper, stuff with quartered lemons, and brush with melted butter. now it is time to truss the legs with... with... kitchen twine, which i do not have. not to fear, i think to myself, wasn't it cook's illustrated who suggested a substitution of dental floss? perhaps, but neither cook's illustrated, nor the barefoot contessa seems to have taken into account the tactical difficulties that one may encounter while trying to tie dental floss around the legs of a greased chicken. it was difficult, it was not at all as graceful as the picture in the cookbook, but it was done, though with some effort and repositioning of lemons in the cavity.

now we come to the impetus for my decision to document my first roast chicken. it is now time to "tuck the wing tips behind the back." again, we are dealing with the same buttered chicken, laying seductively on (her? his?) it's bed of oil tossed onions. in life, the chicken did not pace, contemplatively, with it's hands(?) behind it's back. no, the chicken walks (struts, really) with the wings firmly at the side, unless of course, the impulse strikes for a good stretch, or something alarms it. what occurred next, were my little chicken to have known what it's future held, would surely have inspired alarm. "tuck the wing tips behind the back" is certainly a deceptive way to frame the brutality that was required next. the only thing more alarming than realizing that you must break the wings of the chicken is the realization that you cannot break the wings of the chicken. it is greasy, you are squeamish, and you suddenly want very much to once again be vegetarian. however, again, there is a task at hand. "don't think about it, don't think about it... etc" in the end, it was not necessary to break the wings, and, while, again, not nearly as lovely as the picture, we got into the oven.

i have to admit that i was rather shaken by the sheer violence of such a simple act. in fact, i'm still a little off balance, but i have to say that, after all that, the potatoes were a snap. quarter potatoes, toss in oil, add salt, pepper, thyme, oregano, reassemble on a baking sheet, and off they go, into the oven, and seemingly none the wiser. not at all like the poor chicken, who, violated, crisped and browned quietly on the rack overhead.

A Not So Subtle Metaphor

2008-06-25T17:15:00.000-07:00

Growing out of the compost bin...

Here We Go Again

2008-06-25T14:20:00.000-07:00

This is not so much a beginning as a continuation. I've started and stopped countless blogs for countless reasons -- Livejournal, Blogger, tumblr, Blogger again -- for varying reasons, but mostly for the reason that I just wasn't into it. This is no exception. Most recently I co-edited a blog called Duck and Cover Music, and, ultimately, I just wasn't that into it. Like every new relationship or endeavor it started promisingly yet faultered when you got into the meat of it. The format no longer fit my goals, my style. It was like a too small wool suit that gapped at the sleeves and the cuffs, scratching and irritating exposed skin.

This is like a new suit; somewhere that I may (hopefully) come to express what I want out of a blog; something that just, you know, fits. I'm sure that it will scratch and tug, but, ultimately, instead of an ill fitted suit, it will be more akin to a new skin that grows with me; though tight at times, it's for the best. So, enjoy my selection of personal narrative, music reviews, mp3s, bits from the web, and, ultimately, assorted ephemera that I acquire along the way. I'll also be migrating over pieces from my work at Duck And Cover that I think are worth giving the archival treatment and a second airing. My "style" tends toward the overly formal and the inconsistent, but I hope to work these things out with time; ultimately my goal is to entertain and practice my writing. I hope that you enjoy what you read, but mainly I hope that I can be bothered to update with some sort of frequency that inspires repeat visits.

If it doesn't work out, hey, there's always next time, right?