Island Coconut

Learning English

2012-01-15T09:28:00.000-08:00

A piece I wrote on Ron English for the KCRW blog, which can be found here.

Ron English is an American artist and the benevolent Big Brother to popular culture mash-up painting, coining the term “POPaganda” to describe his own signature blending of high and low cultural touchstones. KCRW is very excited to announce that this vanguard street, political and popular artist is the designer of our Winter 2012 artwork. I met up with Ron on the eve of his Corey Helford Gallery opening to learn a bit about his beginnings (as well as his mind) and I’m happy to share what I’ve learned with you. Enjoy this introductory course to Ron’s work and check out more about him at his own web site, POPaganda.

At four-years-old, an hour-long timeout was once assigned to young Ron English as punishment by his mother for playing with firecrackers in his family’s backyard. As timeouts traditionally go, he was seated alone in a room and directed to sit for one hour. Unknowingly, Ron’s mother left him alone with a box of crayons that until that time had gone unused. When Ron’s mother returned, she found him so immersed in drawing that he refused to stop. At first his mother thought he was continuing his bad behavior but she quickly realized he was drawing withsincerity, if not obsession. It was then, that at just four-years-old, two fundamental truths were unearthed about Ron English – he was mischievous and he really liked to draw.

This explains why so much of English’s art includes being blown up.

It also sheds some light onto the inspiration for Ron’s latest body of work – himself.

Currently on view through December 10th at Culver City’s, Corey Helford Gallery, “Seasons in Supurbia” features Ron’s interpretation of his childhood memories. This includes “Combrats,” Ron’s GI Joe clown children decorated in bright yellow, blue and pink camouflage, riding asupermarket quarter-operated cartoon pony (also decorated in bright yellow, blue and pink) as well as several portraits of Mickey Mouse with gasmask faces, sexualized bovine cowgirls and manyother motley, but well-loved, Ron English characters.

“I made this show very Pop Surrealist. This show is about myself. I thought I was the most ordinary person that ever existed. But then you realize as time expands, whoever you were, your experience was extraordinary and time makes it extraordinary… So for this show, I was trying to think about how we were the first generation that was totally saturated with media. We had a lot of cereals pitched just to us, cartoons and the first mass-produced toys. But there’s not a huge conversation about how was it for the receivers of this? What was this like for them? You lay in your yard and you imagine the Grand Canyon was this little ditch you dug – everything was expansive. So I was trying to play with the idea of the ever-unfolding imagination of a little kid.”

An Austin boy living in New York via the mid-west, Ron’s soft tone is attached to no dialect and he looks today much like he probably has most of his life – black t-shirt screened with his own MC Supersize character, grey blazer, shaggy blonde hair, goatee and black-rimmed glasses. He’s the leader of Comic-Con. And he really is. Along with his mighty portfolio that ranges from street to gallery to museum pieces (Ron is in the permanent collections of Rome’s Museum of Contemporary Art [MACRO] and Paris’ Museum of Modern Art), much of his work is also available as very limited-edition toys in the same cartoon culture mash-up of his paintings. Marilyn Monroe with Mickey Mouse boobs and a 3’ Charlie Brown with his skeleton showing can be seen at Corey Helford now.

But there was a time of course before all of these portraits, toys, gallery openings and museums. In much the same way that Kool Herc was the first DJ to spin a break-beat, Ron English is considered the first artist to bring commentary and cultural exposé into street art. He started with billboard takeovers. On these takeovers, using extraordinary wit and clever imagery, Ron flips corporate identities onto themselves with a guerrilla art tactic often referred to as Culture Jamming. The result is the exposure of the subliminal drivers behind commercial messaging and the control they effect on popular culture. His billboard subjects range from cigarettes to fast food to even the beloved Apple computer. Most well known may be MC Supersize, Ron’s obese cartoon image of Ronald MacDonald which also starred in Morgan Spurlock’s, “Supersize Me.” The effect of Ron’s Culture Jamming work is so poignantly accurate it smarts. The viewer is shocked by their new realization with a sensation like, “How’d I miss that?”

When I asked Ron about how he started his billboard enterprise, I was surprised by their fairly serendipitous beginnings, “I worked at a photo lab. They had a wall that was the exact same size of a billboard. Every day they would throw away used piles of seamless paper after models stood on them for photo shoots. They also had tons of paint from a catalog shoot where they photographed stacked up paint cans. So I went out and actually measured a billboard and said to the owners, ‘You know, your wall is the exact same size as a billboard. Why don’t I come in after work and I can take that seamless paper and that paint and I can paint billboards. I’ll post them up and you’ll see them when you come to work. It’ll be fun.’ They said sure. They were real nice.”

Nice indeed. This was a time when Ron had difficulty showing in galleries because of his young age of 20. Mid-‘80s Dallas galleries would tell Ron they were interested in established artists that were at least 30. So Ron continued to make his billboards, bringing large photo reproductions (also produced at the photo lab) to underground warehouse shows. A few of Ron’s friends liked his billboard ideas and began creating their own. After some time a crew was born and they began to collectively turn the city into their art gallery. In a night they’d paper billboards throughout Dallas, then get a keg and enjoy their citywide opening. A daring idea for the mid-‘80s, such activity today is practically a career path. For Ron and his friends, it was a really good time. As Ron puts it, “None of us thought we could make a career out of this anymore than we could make a career out of taking bong hits.”

But a career has followed Ron and whether it’s a billboard or a gallery painting, what’s wonderful about all of Ron’s work is his brilliant wit backed by extraordinary technique. His commentary is direct, mining just below the surface to raise Main Street’s subliminal monologue above a murky corporate ground. He combines pop culture shots with intricately detailed messages. Viewers become dramatically engaged with his work and disappear into Ron’s bizarre rabbit-hole world. As a result, viewers often begin to question their commitment to the tattled on messages – whatever they may be. Ron is a master with the effect of light in painting to bring dimension to his work as well as the effect of light to bring dimension to his message.

I’ll end with Ron’s commentary of an alien from outer space’s perspective of our relationship with cows and how to keep things interesting:

“What if an alien came, they’d say, ‘Oh, you have this weird relationship with cows. What is that all about? You take your mother’s milk away from your babies and have them drink cow milk, and then you eat the cows, what else do you do with the cows?’ If you’ve always known something, it’ll never be strange. But when you go to another country and everything’s weird, or another city and everything’s weird, and then it kind of normalizes and then it’s not interesting anymore. How do you keep things kind of interesting? Like when I was a kid, to keep from being beat up, they would ask me to draw stuff but as an artist that’s the first trick you learn so it’s not interesting to you anymore.”

Perhaps that’s what all the sexy bovine cowgirls are all about.

Ron English is on view at Corey Helford Gallery through December 10th with “Seasons In Supurbia,” featuring 18 new paintings as well as sculpture and toys. Corey Helford is open to the public and is located on Washington Boulevard in the Culver City Arts District.

CAFAM in Pacific Standard Time: Art in LA 1945 – 1980

2012-01-15T09:12:00.000-08:00

A piece I wrote on CAFAM for the KCRW blog, which can be found here.

For anyone still unfamiliar with Pacific Standard Time: Art in L.A. 1945-1980, it’s like a Southern California art history class with no pre-requisites, SATs, GREs or student loans to encumber your studies.
Specifically, Pacific Standard Time is a 6-month monumental coordinated overtaking of the Southern California arts community via museum and gallery exhibitions. Reaching from Santa Barbara to San Diego, more than 60 museums and arts venues will be participating. There will be free dates and shuttles and it will further the discussions of Los Angeles as a longtime substantial participant in the international art scene. It begins with the post-World War II era and continues to the ‘80s.

One outstanding PST participant will be the Craft and Folk Art Museum located on the Wilshire District’s Museum Row directly across the street from the La Brea Tar Pits and LACMA. A venue with a rich California history, their intimate galleries feature exhibitions that merge skilled craftsmanship and design with the telling of a people’s story. In a conversation with CAFAM’s newest Executive Museum Director (former Education Director at MOCA), Suzanne Isken spoke about the importance the museum and founder Edith Wyle were to L.A. growing as a real arts capital, “Edith was a real mover and player and shaker to the art scene… and [CAFAM] was a real center. People came, artists came. She was a very active and important person – passionate about the work she was doing and very into the dissemination of information across cultures. She would travel and curate exhibitions and bring these other cultures to L.A. at a time when people didn’t really know about these things.” Officially opening their doors in 1974, behind these revolutionary efforts of Edith and CAFAM, the L.A. arts community was given a home to play in.

Two Pacific Standard Time exhibitions will simultaneously be on view at CAFAM – Golden State of Craft: California 1960 – 1985and The Alchemy of June Schwarz.
Golden State of Craft represents 75 groundbreaking artists that all contributed to forming the history and language of California Design. Their work propelled craft into new and uncharted directions, whose effect has had a lasting impact on contemporary art practices. All artists of Golden State have previously shown at CAFAM.

The Alchemy of June Schwarz: Enamel Vessels from the Forrest L. Merrill Collection celebrates the exquisite beauty of the work of a veritable, “Living Treasure of California,” as recognized by the California State Assembly. June Schwarz, now 93, was an innovator in the process of electroforming in art – the use of a chemical bath to build layers of metal onto objects. For June’s work, by hammering, sewing and pleating these metals onto her vessels, forms evolved that created a stunning and intricate interplay between the corroded surfaces and vivid color.

When speaking about these shows, Isken says, “Our physical plans are not as large as some of the big campuses but these artists are amazing. These are artists not shown in the large institutions and who really deserve a look and social recognition. They’re inspiring. You walk out thinking, ‘I want to do that,’ or, ‘I want to make something,’ or something you really feel a part of. It’s a special brand of hope.” Her excitement for the entire Pacific Standard Time program continues with the perspective, “With PST there’s a sense of history to all of [the programs] that’s both charming and a nostalgia. It allows you to look back at your life and what you were born around and see the objects that were made in this time and have a larger sense of who you are and where you came from. And that’s pretty exciting.”

Golden State of Craft: California 1960 – 1985 and The Alchemy of June Schwarz will open to the public this Sunday, September 25 through January 8. CAFAM is a KCRW Fringe Benefits partner. Members who present their card at the ticket counter will receive 28% off admission and 10% off purchases made in the store.

Art in Town: Kim Tucker & ShoeboxLA

2012-01-15T08:46:00.000-08:00

A piece I wrote on ceramic artist Kim Tucker for the KCRW blog, which can be found here.

Your first impression of Kim Tucker’s ceramic figures is one of whimsy. They come in the size of small children or as smaller miniatures participating in what appear to be regular people activities. They are innocent and dressed in coveralls or what may be cotton skirts or maybe a frock. In a flash of a millisecond, you’re moved to tears. They are human and fantasy. They are vulnerable. You notice their fragility as if co-opting on their clay make-up, a material that easily breaks when not handled delicately. You see their shapes are awkward, their expressions are often somber and some are adorned in strange bumps or smiley face blemishes. There’s a desire to protect them like your own children or a friend, while acknowledging their familiar sorrow within yourself. It cannot be ignored. Using a medium traditionally built for decorative arts of elaborate shapes and vases, Kim’s twist in creating her menagerie is even sweeter. You must experience her work for yourself.

Kim recently exhibited a show with Shoebo xLA, a unique monthly pop-up gallery that creates installations in creative spaces. This event was a 3-hour show at All Star Lanes, a bowling alley in Eagle Rock. I missed it. I was crestfallen. The idea of her ceramic breakables in an All Star Lane gallery seems like the ideal setting for the emotional twist she infuses into her figures. The great news is ShoeboxLA will return this Sunday, October 30th from 2:00 – 4:00pm with a second show for Kim at Vlad the Retailer on Heliotrope in Los Angeles (a couple doors down from Scoops and Cafecito Organico Coffee near LA City College). This is a wonderful chance to enjoy Kim’s work for yourself and one of ShoeboxLA’s intelligent installations - and some yummy Scoops salted caramel ice cream, to boot! See you there.

little hunter - chicken little

2011-11-02T18:57:00.001-07:00

I don’t mean to be so selfish right now but I really do hope there is a heaven. I just miss her so much. I don’t know what I’d see when I get there. I held her body and it was so heavy and pliant. Everything happens so fast.

Myrna 1998 - November 1, 2011

i love you baby kitty

Talking With the Street Folk

2011-08-28T09:02:00.000-07:00

A piece I wrote on Lydia Emily for the KCRW blog, which can be found here.

Lydiaemily is an L.A. street artist, part of an adventurous movement comprised mostly of graphic artists that manipulate Photoshop. But Lydiaemily is a folk artist in this scene and has risen up by analog. She doesn’t even own a copy of Photoshop, relying on Kinko’s to convert her iPhone photos of finished pieces into B&W images. Once converted, sheets are printed, painted over and tucked into the trunk of her car, next to sticky paint brushes and a bucket containing a coagulated water and flour mix. Later it’s all whisked away on a Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, chaperoned by Lydiaemily to be pasted up across the city in the wee hours of the night.

Lydiaemily paints oil on canvases sizes 24”X36” with the backgrounds covered in meticulously cut slices of the Sunday New York Times. These are then glazed on to her canvases, framing her realistic portraits of world political players and political themes. In one sentence, written across the base of the image, floats to-the-point commentary calling out their political deeds. They are bold statements and have the effect of, “A-ha! Got you!” as Lydiaemily paints the news stories behind the news stories. She forces a challenging political commentary onto a public canvas.

Although a gallery artist for over 15 years, it was rare when a gallery would hang one of her political pieces, traditionally selecting her images more pastoral and innocent. Her political portraits were protests but were often misunderstood. Not long after a wary gallery owner took down an early version of her portrait of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad amidst complaints from collectors, his image painted on top of the words to his disturbing 9/11 UN speech, did Lydiaemily take her first walk into Kinko’s, introduce herself and leave with several bundles tucked under her arm of 11”X14” and 8-1/2”X11” color copies of her portraits of Ann Coulter, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, Hamid Karzai and her powerful, “The Truth May Not Set You Free,” portrait of Julian Assange. Each of them went up on the street. After that, Lydiaemily as a street activist went viral and she became known. Today, in only a matter of months, the galleries want her back, she’s up in new ones and she’s receiving international accolades, including her participation in the upcoming Milan show, “Inner-Walls,” the first women-only world wide street art exhibit in Italy.

The on-the-edge method, the accessibility and response to her messages and the support within the street art community have been a positive experience for Lydiaemily. She’s saddened by what she observes as unnecessary factions in the community, insider arguing between different cliques. “There’s a very serious street art community. Most people really look out and really hope that each other will succeed. Some don’t,” says Lydiaemily. “Take any group of beings and put them in a community where they’re all trying to have spot on a wall, where there are no rules, and there will be fighting.” She believes if the artists unify, they could rise to great heights, “If we’re all hungry and excluded and taking our money and time and we’re all risking our freedom in the eyes of the law and breaking out onto rooftops – if we all have this same type of goal, what is there to fight about? ...[we] could be worldwide, the amount of work that we could get done would be unstoppable and what keeps [us] stoppable is the arguing. The type of pieces the community could do would be incredible.”

To date, Lydiamily’s been in street scene shows both locally and nationally, including Lab Art Los Angeles’ most recent, “Miss Danger On the Loose – A Female Street Art Exhibit.” Over 600 people attended opening night. By the end of the evening, empty spaces spotted the walls, representing the sales of Lydiaemily portraits that went home with collectors. She participates in collaborations with her peers, trading work with each other with what she refers to as, “the same excitement as kids trading baseball cards.” Her Winston Churchill portrait garnered attention from Churchill’s estate and a print now sits with his family. For Lydiaemily though, the inclusion of one of her Obama “Hope” Bombs in a Huffington Post L.A. street art pictorial has been her greatest thrill.

Lydiaemily is presently on view at Lab Art on La Brea through August 18 and will be participating with solo and collaborative pieces in the, “L.A. vs. War,” show, recognizing the 10th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks as well as Milan’s upcoming first ever women-only world wide street art exhibit in Italy, “Inner-Walls.” Her art is also on view throughout the streets of L.A. and San Francisco and the web site, http://www.lydiaemily.com/.

Google It

2011-02-24T21:13:00.000-08:00

Every Day

2011-02-15T14:51:00.001-08:00

I've always had the same dream that became a great fantasy.

One day I realized it was probably a fine idea.

Trish. None Other.

2011-01-14T09:36:00.000-08:00

We believed Trish’s beautiful voice of Broadcast was what raised her above our common fragility. It’s possible that her tragic and sudden passing holds the source of what made us all lovers of her and of Broadcast too. She was simply sublime. We believed she surpassed our humanness, but last night she succumbed to pneumonia. We are heartbroken. We miss her. We cannot imagine the loss her family and loved ones must know today. Our thoughts are with them. We miss you Trish. We thank you. Rest in peace.

Jandek is NOT a Unicorn.

2011-01-08T11:20:00.000-08:00

Technically, I want to see a unicorn. More importantly though, I want to see Jandek. How about tonight? Sure. That's doable. So I'm cool about the unicorn thing.

Whoa. I Wrote Abour Ed Ruscha.

2011-01-08T11:01:00.000-08:00

KCRW's edited version of this article is posted here.

“How did I not know Ed Ruscha was at the station recording a Guest DJ Project?! That is so cool!” This is what I shouted to Rachel, KCRW's Music Publicist, as I high-fived her over this latest Guest DJ Project.

As KCRW’s Drive Director, I’m part of the small group that has a day job at the station, so I get to enjoy the wide array of guests that visit KCRW to participate in our programming. Ed Ruscha is a significant icon creating significant icons. He’s a major contributor to the birth of the Pop Art movement. He’s an artist. Ed Ruscha visiting KCRW’s Guest DJ project… this is big news.

Ruscha works with minimal and simple images. Viewers are left contemplating a delicate afterglow behind the impressions of his work. Constructed with the same minimal principles, hearing Ruscha’s picks of Doo Wop, blues and folk makes sense. Of course it’s the music he grew up with but it’s also the music he chose to grow up with. These genres’ are composed with simple arrangements that produce organic, sincere and real music. Without pomp and artifice, people exist in the lyrics. Stories and a human element. I see this in Ruscha’s work. Stories, people and so much beautiful commentary in his artwork’s seeming simplicity – all ideas spoken with just a few visual notes from artist-songwriter Ruscha.

It’s exciting to hear the musical Top 5 picks from an artist like Ruscha. His work exposes him as an outstanding thinker with revolutionary contributions to our visual language. A list of favorites like these offers a peek for onlookers to connect intimately with such a mind’s inspirations. It’s a benevolent paparazzi. Which makes the small tale of his last pick even sweeter.

Ruscha’s final song selection was one of his son’s, also an artist and a fairly active DJ, Eddie Ruscha Jr. He discusses the innocent song naming process that also involved his grandson’s participation. Listening to the story, it’s hard not to acknowledge that Ruscha’s proud of his family and loves the sanctity and intimacy that art creates, the tale closing with, “…and that's how these things get done.” Things are made without affect. These things simply exist and we can play with naming them. This final inclusion is the humbling pick. The most human pick. The artistry. Sharing the song and story with our Project is touching and the feast of why these Projects are so engaging. Another simple masterpiece from Ed Ruscha, brought to you by KCRW’s Guest DJ Project.

Here's To The End of Hiatus and The Promise of Reunions.

2010-11-11T09:27:00.000-08:00

From Here to Nowhere

2010-11-10T21:17:00.001-08:00

For many years, I've wanted to live at The Brewery. And I will be starting December.

We'll live in an area referred to as the Garden Path. Garden District? Hm. I'll call it the Garden Path District.

We stopped by for a visit this week and the train yard behind the site was making noise. Organic, rolling metals, tracks and mechanicals. I imagined men with grease on their faces, hands and coveralls, shoving coal and levers to push these steel symphonies through America. I saw Carl Sandburg. And the trees blew. It was a very windy night in Los Angeles.

Half of our home will be for living and the other half will be for living. The half that's for the living will have a heavy creative focus and the other half that's for the living will have a heavy creative focus. One side will have a bathroom, washer/dryer, bed. The other half will not.

Sartre the Unicorn.

2010-08-29T21:16:00.001-07:00

It's another wonderful Friday afternoon and everything is exciting. I'm going to write a thesis, encoraging lively discourse from learned halls and hallways. I'll get a PhD. I'll curate new exhibitions, indoctrinating creativity into our supermarkets. Finally. Omaha will get why it's important to recycle and that Obama is not Muslim and if he were, it's OK. I'm going to inspire not only the children but the worn and educated. With my visionary humanities work, I will put an end to crime, to poverty and to hatred. I'm so excited.

On Sunday, I can't write one more paper. I can't afford a mortgage. My miracle Education Arts Unicorn seems so far away. I stare at her now, glowing on her mountain. All I can think, "What will I do?"

Breakfast of Champion.

2010-07-31T08:43:00.000-07:00

I'm buying a loft. I feel like the jokes on me while at the same time, I'm going to get a tax benefit on my rent for once. That I like. I'll miss a garden but I'm not ready for a garden. The pressure is on to get into my photography, my musique concrète, my writing, my painting and you.

I'm going to not care. Every minute or so, I will not care. Again. Again. Again.

Type Slowly.

2009-10-04T11:39:00.000-07:00

Expanded. Now with less rock critic.

Tab One:
It’s hard to say which came first, the indie rock scene or Pavement’s perfection of it, but in the early ‘90s Pavement arrived and their fast growing roster of heavy-on-the-pop post-punk tunes took hold and indie rock history followed. Crafty pop jams built with witty lyrics, treble-kicking guitars, plunging bass lines and Ringo-rivaling drums defined their sound. “Cut Your Hair,” their largest single from their bestselling, Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain, showcased their mastery of the low-fi edge, while their preceding Ode to a Cool Chick love song, “Summer Babe,” mastered distorted instruments for a chic and inviting pop anthem. But Pavement’s greatest mastery was their profoundly evolving sound. Take Wowee Zowee’s “Rattled By the Rush,” where gliding melodies present Pavement’s musical interpretation of a Nashville urban sprawl, all the while still retaining Pavement’s boyish charm.

Next up, Pavement’s profoundly evolving sound.

Tab Two:
The thing about Pavement is you come for their raucous attitude, but you stay for their welcoming veneer. When Wowee Zowee arrived, many fans wondered where the noisy jams went but weren't upset by the thoughtful orchestration of their new slower pace – somehow the music seemed friendlier. So as Pavement matured, so did their fans. Songs became melancholy with a psychedelic circus quality, as in, “Motion Suggests,” where keyboards slowly swirled amidst carefully syncopated guitars and washboard instruments or songs became brilliant as heard in Pavement’s Terror Twilight and Brighten The Corners. On these last albums, a great melding of passion and practice create spot-on pop music like the apparent love song, “Spit On a Stranger,” or the tuneful, “Shady Lane.”

Not Tonight.

2009-04-27T18:56:00.000-07:00

Is there such a thing as "Going Out Burn-Out"? I have it.

After 20 some odd years of what I call, "aggressive going out," I have pretty much lost my ability to tolerate a show. I get bored. The consideration of going, the ticket dilema, the waiting to go, the day of, the outfit, the shoes, the loss of comfortable couch and early pajamas, the creeping fatigue, the drive over, the parking, the price of parking, the walking to avoid the fee of parking, the talking loudly so you can be heard and hear your compatriot, the compratriotism, the other compatriots at the show, their small-talk, the expensive diet coke, the opening band, your band, the threat of an encore, the audience and then finally, the joy of going home, so tired, it's the middle of the week, you have to go to work tomorrow, to a job where people eMail you how shitty you are, only because they don't believe you're a human, maybe even a nice girl, knows a few jokes, has a boyfriend who likes to play with her, enjoys writing, fumbling with music and learning to draw, photography too, wants nothing more than to do a good job in spite of you and not a hideous, emotionless, idiot droid.

Unless I can sit at the show.

So what do I like now? What do I want to do?

I like to read four books at once, fifth being a dictionary. I like to listen to music at home, comfortable and warm, leaving the pomp away. I like to watch baseball. I like to play cut and paste with musical programs. I like to doodle. I like to write. I like to look at photography. Hiking in parks oddly placed. Bicycles. I dream.

Numbers are So Cool

2008-11-16T00:53:00.000-08:00

Everything has a neat name. Everything has cache. Especially if you use the number of it. Like me. I'm No. 1. Or my apartment address is #10. We're a 10. Get it?

I finally saw Gang Gang Dance tonight. I wasn't expecting a dance party like they gave. I felt like I was in New York. I've never been. I also wasn't poorly affected by the young age of most of the audience and actually really enjoyed a lot of the sincerity I saw from them. They weren't so indie rock. They were artsy punk and having a lot of fun. Hooray! Cool shoes.

Gang Gang Dance have not sold out at this hour. This was a thought I had. Did I miss their heydey? Would the cool kids not be there because they've already seen it all? GGD has something out on Warp now but I don't know if they're a Warp band for keeps. But their funk would have me think so.

Drums, guitar, keys, samplers, drum pads, loops, two drums for the singer and a tip of my hat for Ari Up meets Nina Hagen on the dance floor. They covered an MBV song too. Holy Shit. I turned aghast to Ahn, first afraid of a blatant rip off of "I Only Said"'s opening trill. Then the similarity didn't end and we agreed - it was a cover. I always used MBV as part of my Gang Gang Dance description.

Sick Of It All.

2008-11-15T06:29:00.000-08:00

Opened the latest Spaceland Blast eMail - this covers Spaceland (hardly go to anymore), The Echo, Echoplex and others. But mostly those tres L.A. nightlife hot spots.

Every time I am disturbed with something, there's always another something reviling within me first.

Fine. I know.

So anyways... I open the eMail and there they are, staring back at me - lackadaisical and scruffy, relationship challenged for both intimate and general social betterment, politically well read for current propositions, beer drinkers. I think I have an attitude problem.

Actually, I know I do.

But truly. Move me to the farm. I just want to make art. Aye! There's the rub.

Open this post and here I am, starting back at you - bitchy, opinionated, breathless in a state of perpetual chafe, relationship challenged for both intimate and general social betterment, well read in all politics.

Every Friday and Saturday Night...

2008-11-10T16:29:00.000-08:00

I'll just say one thing, God is good. Miriam Makeba died on stage singing and singing Pata Pata.

When I was probably 10 I found my dad's copy of Miriam Makeba's first album. Lucky little girl to find this spirit of Miriam Makeba's sweet foreign sound. After I discovered Miriam, it was years before I would consider a spin with her husband Hugh Masekela's LP. How could he compare? Would I dance around and sing like that? Hard to consider that from a trumpeter. But that was the humor and dedication. Couldn't risk missing listening to her.

I sang along with no idea what I was saying. She was just so groovy and it was so good. She had joy. She makes you discover that a wiggle is a dance and your smile is your groove.

The song that got me the most was The Click Song. I loved her introduction explaining the click was referring to her dialect. But what I loved the most was how she belted out those last notes, so loud and full. She chimes and resonates like jubilant honey. You swear you're living for real now. You have discovered bliss. You've discovered heaven on earth.

The Garden of Earthly Delights

2008-11-10T07:36:00.000-08:00

Chris' new job - The Thirty Meter Telescope.

That's a big telescope. He actually worked on some of the designs a few years back. The Canadians took it, didn't do much so he's going to do it again. Here's what they say: "A 30-meter telescope, operating in wavelengths ranging from the ultraviolet to the mid-infrared, is an essential tool to address questions in astronomy ranging from understanding star and planet formation to unraveling the history of galaxies and the development of large-scale structure in the universe. The 30-meter aperture permits the telescope to focus more sharply than smaller telescopes by using the power of diffraction of light. The large aperture also collects more light than smaller scopes, allowing images of fainter objects. TMT will therefore reach further and see more clearly than previous telescopes by a factor of 10 to 100 depending on the observation."

Dig? Word.

I like the new telescope project. Now Chris wants to go to camping possibly so we can enjoy the starry sky he's building to. I love to camp.

So bailout the car companies - they are too big to let drop. BUT they must Go Green. Create jobs by creating Green Jobs. Same thing as when we made military ships during Truman but now we're Green and peaceful.

Swimming Pool

2008-10-13T07:11:00.000-07:00

I dreamt I swam in my new pool. I swam poorly but in reality I am a fish. I dove and kept cruising right to the bottom. Couldn't find my swimsuit then *BLING*, a Magic Dream Swimsuit appeared. A one piece.

After the winds die down I hope it's warm enough at least to enjoy some laps in it. It's so small, I hope I can make a lap in it. Its safety insurance bars are annoying and funny looking. But I want to swim in it still.

I dreamt that a bag lady started yelling at me, trying to freak me out. I wasn't having it. She didn't know I wasn't the one to pull that shit on. She got it.

So that was weird and so was diving to the pool in my Magic Dream Swimsuit. Do you ever think about what Hilary Clinton dreamt of after Sarah Palin got on the McCain ticket? I mean the symbolism driven by so much depression, anger, pride and fear must've been so juicy.

Loosing My Mind.

2008-10-03T20:51:00.001-07:00

Just am.

Let's See How This Goes...

2008-09-24T18:10:00.000-07:00

On Friday I'll be burying a friend. Carol Rozio. Carol von Spreken. Carol was my first best friend and we spent every day together during our childhood. We met in Kindergarten. I would follow whatever she did, well in my mind or not. Especially for the time and place of our friendship, Carol was a dear friend. I hadn't seen her in years but I knew a year and a half ago that she had cancer and that it was serious.

The past couple weeks I learned just how serious it was. She was absolutely attacked by cancer. I had no idea of the level the shit was eating at her. I cried for her pain, her husband and her two year old. Her husband was with Carol to the very last moment of her life. She was 36. Thank God he could ease some of her pain. Someday I hope the profundity of his love from his presence there will give him solace in his grieving. I hope it can give him joy that he was able to experience such a love.

I woke up Monday morning with a very fresh dream of Carol in my mind. It felt like we were really together. She didn't want me to see her in her deterioration but I let her know it was OK and she became beautiful. Then we just sort of hung out. Did some stuff. You know... it was nice. I woke up thinking, "Did it happen?" I thought she was OK. I learned a couple hours later that she did die that morning. I was tremendously grateful for my dream with her.

Friday is the memorial. It's worked out perfectly that I can go with who I want to and when I want to. There's nothing like being there for Carol.

Here we are on a trip to Balboa Island when we were probably 11 or 12. She's the dorky blonde on the end. She turned out anything but dorky.

Mochi Ice Icream.

2008-09-01T08:02:00.000-07:00

Love it so much. It's perfect.

You get bread and ice cream. Better though, as we all know, it's ice cream that's not too creamy and bread that doesn't need butter. It's the most ideal container for cold flavor.

I love it. It's been decided. It's my favorite food.

Feeling Groovy.

2008-08-20T22:24:00.000-07:00

K.

Slept. Ate. Slept. Slept. Talked to some friends. Laughed. Not so bad. Not at all. I let myself get way out of hand. I want to congratulate Chris on making it through his first pledge drive. And afterwards to celebrate both of us finishing tremendous work projects, Chris took me to Pace.

Pace is a restaurant in Laurel Canyon. This is a part of town I would love to live in with former residents Joni Mitchell, Jackson Browne, Carole King, etc. landing there first. I often think of Laurel Canyon as the Echo Park and Silverlake of today and imagine my friends all playing and hanging out there then like they do now. I also wonder, did it cost a fortune to live there then like it does there now? Was it the Echo Park of L.A.? Cheap and unappealing but after their coolness tagged the property, did rates rise? I don't know. But for a long while I fantasized about what Pace was like on the inside. What could this woodsy, L.A. bohemian nook be like? It's pronounced, "PAH-chey," and translates to Peace. Ironically, or with naivete, I didn't realize that it was an L.A. hotspot, a place to be, a place to be seen and in the know. Or at least that's what the internet paparazzi shots are showing.

We looked very pretty. It scared me. But that's just my neurosis. Yep. But I like it. Looking pretty. Especially with Chris. And in summary, we're dining out more. It's good for us. Or not! Not important. We just like going out.

Soundtrack A+! Food... OK. B? Not so sure. The chocolate sauce was good. Next trip is the italian place in the mini-mall off Melrose. Lou's. Yum.

NorthSouthEastWest

2008-08-13T21:16:00.000-07:00

Worse.

Grand Innocence

2008-08-03T08:14:00.000-07:00

What will I do when I don't have this job anymore? My blood feels sick. Poisoned. I've got that thing with trouble breathing, can't sleep enough so I'm over tired and can't figure out how to stop it all so I can sleep. It seems once this pledge drive is over, another will be right there and someone will be there to complain that they don't like or agree with a decision of mine and they are all million dollar decisions because we're putting on these two million dollar drives.

I've been riding my bike more to compensate for the lack of motion I've been exercising these past couple months.

I really need to expand my personal world view from grandiosity to innocence.

Feeling Groovy.

2008-07-24T06:45:00.000-07:00

Today I looked at my stacks and piles of books. I read some Robert Bly. I moved Harry Potter over so I could see what the big one under it was. I couldn't remember.

"Oh yeah." It's Emerson. I wanted to read Emerson after our last hike. The hike where I thought I might have asthma.

I was just anaerobically exercising. I want a buff heart.

I might be suffering from anxiety. Not so sure. I haven't been breathing much I guess, and I've been focusing on minutiae quite a bit lately. But that's because it makes me feel good and I can't remember what I was doing anyway. "It's the little things in life." But my mind! Sharp as a tick! Tack?

Who cares about another 40 CDs?

When I saw Emerson I felt good.

My stacks and piles of books, made me feel good.

Here, There and Everywhere

2008-07-05T09:17:00.000-07:00

It has been way too long.

I've had to take work home (including over the birthday San Francisco trip) and any free time has been taken up with creating an orientation slideshow. I'll be sure to share that with you all later.

San Francisco with Chris can be summed up with Coit Tower and 7PM Dim Sum as seen here:

There were also the dozen, long-stemmed red roses delivered to the house we were staying at on the Saturday which was my birthday from my rad boyfriend Bubbie.

There was also the Berkeley Morris Dancers that showed up at Sutro's Bath House around birthday day (Summer Solstice - brings the weirdos out). It was the unseasonably hottest day on record since 1973 in San Francisco. It was indeed this troupe:

We saw Seun Kuti and Egypt 80 in Stern Grove, amongst a forrest of Redwoods and hippie nymphs.

Devendra Barnhart wished me a happy birthday at the Hollywood Bowl. That went like this, "Happy Birthday Laura..."
I think, "That actually sounded pretty." "Ha! OK guys. Thanks!" We all laughed. Chris, Maura, Tracy and I in our box at the Bowl. Tickets I got from work. I did play the birthday card but... Devendra doesn't know that (or me). But we all laughed, "Of course it's me. There's no other Laura." I imagined Laura was some slightly trust-fundy psuedo-Hippie chick sitting backstage, getting ready for some fun.

I get a text, "THAT WAS SO COOL! WHERE ARE YOUR SEATS GIRL?!"
Who the hell is this? I don't know who this text is, "Maura - Do you recognize this phone number?" She must get a kick out of me sometimes.
"Center box, back. Who is this? Where are you?"
Long awesome story short - IT WAS ME! I'M LAURA!
Ariana arranged it for me and the texter was my boss. They were up in the Garden Boxes. I fuhreeeeked out as damage to Chris' squeezed fingers would prove. My dreaming began. I decided that the Hippie Chick Laura was more of a Bohemian now. At the end of Devendra's performance he wished me well again, this time in both English and Spanish and I jumped, "I'M LAURA!" Felt pretty bomb kids.

Maura also talked about some of the work she's begun with her position as Music Director at KSCR, including having The Wedding Present come in. Not surprised by this but so happy she's doing it. Read up, pay attention, follow along and know that you knew her when.

I played softball. I'm as surprised as you. I'm sorry but there are no pictures to prove this. However, I was sore for the running as I am a powerhitter (I'm as surprised as you) and I got a run + second base. And now I've begun running with Chris. We want to improve for softball and I'll need to begin training for the Amazing Race.

4th of July: We rode our bikes at breakneck speed to catch the fireworks last night and followed it up with a midnight viewing of Wall-E.

I think we're caught up.

Southwest Like a Cow...

2008-06-18T21:28:00.000-07:00

But we're happy we'll be together. The youth is not wasted on the young.

A little stalling, a little writing. I'm folding warm and cold clothes again to trip up to San Francisco for five days. This time I'll bring Chris with me. Last time I was there, he was promising an eMail and photos of his machine and now I can show him the bed I was sleeping in when his eMail arrived. I am that cheesy and I am that excited. These same hosts are letting us crash at their place while they travel to the Terrastock Festival I was writing about then too.

If I had any idea then what I know now today I wouldn't want to know it because the discovery has been so rad.

I'll also be turning 37 on the first day of Summer this Saturday.

We'll be seeing Seun Kuti (that is "Kuti" as one of Fela's 30,000. I joke, but you know...) and I'll be able to meet a label friend I've made from my new responsibilities at KCRW.

We're going to sleep a lot and work a little. Unfortunately, we just have to do that. But I'm also going to show him my treasured Philz Coffee. Oh God. Philz.

And I'm only bringing the one Harry Potter.

Swervedriver Sans Tonic

2008-06-04T21:38:00.001-07:00

Right now I am demanding this moment to sit. Who's my oppressor? Who won't let me go?

Hi! Me. Man am I tired. I might just be really hungry... I don't really know. But dinner's gonna be good and cheesy tonight.

And you?

I went to Swervedriver this weekend. I argued with Chris, "NoNoNooNooNoNo. The recordings you're hearing just aren't demonstrating how saturating their guitars can be. How overwhelming and thick they lay their six strings down. Blankets of distortion warm you with chimey fragrance. Oh yes. You just don't know. Let's go to this semi-pricey event and I'll show you when you see them play for yourself. RaaavVEEeee Down. Hit the ground. Rock on!"

How do you handle the realization when a band you really loved doesn't sound like that band anymore?

"They don't have The 'Ness." Huh? OhMyGod. I panicked. I "dated" a guy who was in The Ness. What are you talking about? Chris continues, "Laura, so much of what you play me is so awesome and I really like the stuff. Swervedriver just sounds like an L.A. rock band. Oh yeah, you're really hot and I think you're very smart." OK. So maybe I embellished his comments and added that last bit, but what was said about Swervedriver was said and I argued with Chris regarding his assumptive stated Swervedriver facts. "Whatever Chris. WhaTTTEVVVer. You like '80s Rush." I probably did say that but I think his taste in '80s Rush is cute. Oh yeah. I like Moving Pictures too myself.

Swervedriver has become an L.A. Rock Band.

OHMYGOD! FUCK! NO. No. Impossible. Impossible that my taste in the early '90s was so unsophisticated. Isn't it? Come on. This is bad. They are... they are... they are boring me.

But it wasn't a good scene. I knew something was wrong as soon as we arrived.

We entered the hall. Henry Fonda Theatre. Looked like they blocked off the balcony - didn't want the crowd to appear too thin when people chose to wander upstairs so they could SIT through the rock show. And the crowd? Oh wow. I knew we wouldn't be enjoying cocktails at MENSA but this was like a Filter Magazine showcase at Spaceland. Sorry. That's somewhat of an L.A. joke.

I'll try this. "Oh shit! It's an early '90s underground L.A. rock band reunion show! What have I done?!"

Chris and I wandered upstairs outside. The mix was better and we could discuss what was happening. I needed help then. I felt so cold.

"But they were on Creation."
"I know Laura."
We stared out to Sunset Boulevard, holding each other, dreaming of a city with proper public transportation and sustainable vegetation support. Later we drove into the hills.

Hey Bo Diddley

2008-06-02T23:21:00.000-07:00

It's when those bigger-than-life spirits stop and go away that life becomes confusing and at the same time so amazing.
With the little ball and bag of bones that he was given, he made himself to be Bo Diddley.

ClusterFUCK

2008-05-23T10:58:00.000-07:00

It was in 1996 - '97 I met Ben Knight and his girlfriend now wife, Kristina. Ben became a very significant and important vinyl partner. Attracted and drawn to him first by his strange KXLU radio show, Mirrored Audio Parkways, I liked him and his radio partner (a short-lived boyfriend who quickly became an ex a few months later). We bonded over our love of Pavement, Velvet Underground, pop music and vinyl. Their show reminded me of my friends from San Francisco. We enjoyed discovering the intuitive lineage of any good music. For us '97 was the introduction of groovy '60s Brazilian music and the bizarre, psychedelic, outer space soundscapes of formidable Krautrock.

We used Julian Cope's brilliant music survey, "Krautrock Sampler," for proper genre schooling and guidance of Julian's keen insights. We talked about Moebius and Roedelius.

I saw Cluster last Thursday. I almost missed them. I had trouble making out the advertisement from dublab's eMail update. Fortunately, Chris came through, telling me about a cool gig at the outdoor art gallery Farmlab, also located beneath a freeway bridge near Chinatown and Downtown L.A. He bought the tickets and we got to hang out a day earlier in our schedule too. Totally rad.

Keeping each other warm, we wandered the outdoor space, kissing under stars and watching trains roll by. Mi Ami played No-Wave Post Punk guitars and I noted to Chris to talk to him about the Contortions. Cluster then set up in front of a concrete stage - the base of a bridge. There they stood. Chris and I were the first seated in the front. Aside from keeping each other warm, the only real benefit to sitting on the cold concrete floor was how well we could enjoy the blue-green LED lights that turned the black sky yellow. I wish I had a photo of that.

They played in front of this illumination:

And they totally sounded like this:

What we heard were mostly ambient sounds and keyboard pulsations. Something like a Medieval gait in outer space. Their music was gentle. Their presence was the same. Dieter Moebius mostly tended to the LED curves of what we later learned to be their mixer, probably balancing between the MicroKorg and ...I'll have to ask Chris again what the other keys were. Not much structure ever seemed to evolve but that was the balance they orchestrated. That's what we came for.

Towards the end, it hit me, "Fuck. That's Cluster."

People Say I'm You.

2008-05-08T21:46:00.000-07:00

Less coffee. Less Diet Coke. Never thought I'd see the day but I must or I'll never sleep again. I know I'm giving up my chance for postmortem self-preservation but let's not be greedy. More music. More sports. Lots of happiness. Enjoying contentment.

Writing. Music. Inspiration. That's nice. Remembering the optimism of 18. Yes... 18. 13 wasn't much fun. Late bloomer, I found something once I got over it. I believe even the lawyers refer to the flora as Emancipation. Sounds like something from Calvin Klein. But only if you say it as a whisper. A joke then, a joke now. Don't say it as a whisper. Shout it from the roof tops! You're emancipated People! Move!

So maybe here's this:

Walk to work while walking to school. Listening to Estelle and Kanye and they've already lost their fresh. My Top 40 Faves usually do. Good thing there's always another one in an hour to take the sad one's newly worn place. Can't wait to hear them! I'm also excited for the J. Spaceman and Sun City Girls I just got from work. That's longevity. The optimism of 18.

I also met Janeane Garafalo at work last week. After so many years, Janeane is not a mirror. But we are kin. We are. "Personality." That's all I could say to her. "Personality." "People say I'm you."

Personality.

"Honey, You Got Any Tums?"

2008-04-27T21:43:00.000-07:00

I met a nice young man a couple months ago. He said to me, "I play bass, but I'm really an engineer."

Oh cool. I like sound. I like to play around with engineer things too.

But then he corrected himself...

"I mean I'm a Mechanical Engineer. I work at CALTECH."

Wha'?

"You make things?"

"Yep." He smiled. But he was innocent. He didn't understand the implication of his career upon my fantastical nature.

Then The Wooden Shjips started. For 30 minutes I enjoyed the psychedelics as well as the fantasy about what kind of fingers this CALTECH Alumnus / Mechanical Engineer cum bass player might have. And most importantly - would he be asking me for my number?!!!

Smarter than the average bear, he asked me for my number and my eMail, "Oh good! I can write to him!" Many of you know, I like to write. I especially like to write at you.

"Thanks! I'll eMail you some pictures of the machine I'm working on once I get to Louisiana." He was going to Louisiana very early the next morning. It was time to assemble the LIGO's optical something-or-other. I think it was a part of the Interferometer that's measuring gravitational waves from outer space on a theory. Um... All I know is he did send me the pictures and I love to listen to him teach me about it today. I also enjoy thanking him for the contribution he's making towards Mankind. Grandiose of me but it is a kind gesture on his part.

We talk about Mr. Feynman and he showed me where his image was added to a mural in the dorm he lived in years ago.

He got me flowers on his birthday. He wears a knit cap when it's cold but for baseball he's got a Dodgers cap - even though he's from Kansas City.

We like to go to the Ball Park and sit in Row W. And stuff.

Current Events.

2008-04-10T22:10:00.000-07:00

So happy :)

My Boyfriend Stephen Malkmus. I Love Him...

2008-04-05T09:20:00.000-07:00

This new album, Real Emotional Trash, is the best he's done and I'm excited about our upcoming nuptials.

"... and radio music. That still exists. There's Mudvayne, Nickelback—radio music for people who don't love music, but like music. It's still there."

I love him. Such a genius player. And he's got fingers for days...

Bits from messages as I moved press across the virtual freeways:
Old men shouldn't be screaming but if I ever hear Fillmore Jive live again, I'm stripping naked then and there. Fillmore Jive was one of the only Pavement songs I ever made an effort to learn the name of. I felt it was important for live performances or when communicating with others regarding what I love.

Best interview... just wit wit wit for days. Not even wit. Thought. Lingual pattern to elicit the ineffable and kisses from fans.

The full interview is here.

The closing dialogue just rips me to shreds.

But of current events... What to do? Tortured by kindness and frustrated by systemic differences. Not postures, even though assumed as such. Ay. There's the rub.

The Five Minute War

2008-03-23T07:35:00.001-07:00

Things move so much faster now that we have the internet.

Civil unrest breaks out after Republican presidential nominee, John McCain is determined to be the winner. Lied to again, America is exhausted and a war is sought upon the White House. The experience with Gore will never be forgotten. Obvious before, America can't risk apathy one more time. We're losing our houses over it and can't drive to work anymore. With the furor that bees take to defending their hives, the people of America destroy the White House. It would take no more than five minutes.

I saw the following show last night at The Smell, "Perhaps you've heard of our pal Lucas Abela from Sydney? Among many things, he performs as Justice Yeldham, playing an amplified broken glass pane with his face.... mm hmm, wacky stuff." Words and sentiment only Professor Cantaloupe could communicate. Wacky stuff indeed. Mr. Yeldham yelled into the pane allowing the audience to see that funny G-Force face like in the Air Force training movies from the '50s. A horrible, shrill grumble of feedback is produced. I begin purring like a kitten.

The pane at first is roughly 3-1/2' long. As the performance continues, spit collects and is easily visible to the audience. We watch him lick, scream and blow all over the glass. He breaks it over his head. His lip curls over the top and finally blood starts from his left cheek. I feel horror and look around, "I hope you jaded sons-of-bitches are really freaked out right now." I'd be so sad if we wouldn't allow ourselves the real experience of Justice Yeldham - if our lives, our childhoods were so fucked up that we couldn't let escape our fear, compassion and disgust for something so disgusting. When he's done, applaud the fuck out of his performance.

Kristof said he wasn't into it. I think he said he didn't appreciate shock value for art. I thought and responded that I felt it might be much more than a spectacle. Like he was screaming, "This is my mother! My father! It has become my World!" Being on stage is part of the extremity of the angst. To be seen. I didn't feel like it was a spectacle for a spectacle. 100%, Justice Yeldham played the glass with his face and mouth and bled and screamed till it was all complete. We weren't paying $5 for, "The Shutter," or "Doomsday" this week. I just hope we all can react sincerely and appropriately. I'm much more positively stimulated by this than the Los Angeles breed of hipster bar bands. Those parent issues are just not for me.

Maura was brilliant as usual, "What if he triggered really neat samples or something." Totally. I'm so proud to be an Aura. That'd be hilarious to hear Spring Swallows or the coos of fair maiden and water nymphs instead. Can you imagine? On stage the geeky, weird kid that licked school bus windows and pressed his gums against the pane was performing with a vengeance while our ears were tickled pink.

Just freaking good anyway. I don't get enough noise in my diet so much anymore.

Sick Day Three... It's Been Awhile

2008-03-07T18:01:00.000-08:00

The subscription drive came and went. Before it comes, I disappear. When it comes, I disappear. After it comes, I'm set in my ways and I disappear. And then I went to San Francisco to disappear. Now I want to go back to reappear. I've got a cold and I've disappeared. I go out to disappear.

It's been awhile. I haven't seen my friends in so long. I want to see Yacht tonight. I won't make it. I can't breath out of my nose and I don't really want to be a mouth breather out there. It's hard enough as it is. This cold will keep me local to Venice. Another time.

I only saw Maura when she picked me up from the airport. It was a treat though. I recommend you always have a good friend pick you up from the airport.

I saw Tracy when I gave her the keys to my apartment. She kept my cats entertained during my absence. It was a treat too.

Stefanie put San Francisco into words for me. Fanny writes, "SF is so very different from LA. I could never live down there, because of the cars and the pretty." It was just that. The pretty? In San Francisco I felt normal again. Real as well. The cars? I could use the city. In two days I walked for a total of 10 hours around San Francisco.

I walked from the Mission District to downtown, got on a bus to Golden Gate Park and spent a couple hours walking through that perfect example of public works. I made it to the Inner Sunset where I used to live. I've lived in every San Francisco borough that a college student and newbie work professional could. The next day, I took a two minute BART ride downtown, started through the Tenderloin... turned around... walked up Nob Hill, walked down Nob Hill, walked through North Beach to Coit Tower and back to Kathy at work in downtown.

I'm looking through my pictures.

And with regards to the Autechre show in April, I have just been informed of the following:
It's all hardware.
Specifically "two elektron machindrums and an mpc1000"
The room is pitch black and you only see a red light. Which is Autechre passing a joint back and forth.
I think I have stopped breathing.
I have asked to be buried in that room.

Sick Day Two

2008-03-06T09:56:00.000-08:00

I hate being sick.

I hate daytime television. I actually wish I had cable. I would love to watch The Discovery Channel all day long. Pretty pictures. I learned on Oprah yesterday that Benicio Del Toro thinks it's like other planets on earth. Wow. Benicio. You are so... so...

Instead I'm watching commercials discussing some lady's husband's low sperm count. And she's smiling. They both are! Lady! Your husband's a pussy! Literally. And you're talking about it on daytime TV. Oh yeah. I am also challenging the idea that the installers of Empire Carpets are really that good looking. No way. Their crew is picked up every morning on the corner of Sunset and Gower and fashionable smiles are not their forte.

I have received eFlowers from the nice boy from the MidWest because I am sick. Pretty amazing. He comes with no internet personality at all. I find this amazing. No MySpace page! This is good stuff. He is an anomaly. For the purposes of study, I must investigate this most fascinating creature. And also because he's so nice to me.

Wow. Price is Right. Go Women's Lib! Go Equal Rights! One of the Showgirls is pregers. Looks like a good nine months in there. But certainly not the jacuzzi model. Oh no. But it looks like a good nine months UP there. And Drew Carey! The dude is magnanimously underwhelmed. I bet he's getting paid one magnanimous wadload. Isn't that right? Go Drew. I also sense some serious perv. Go Drew. This is the world's stupidest show. I tried to be a contestant on it once. It was closed the one day I went. I use my ticket as a bookmark now as a reminder of what a dork I can be.

I finished Portrait of Dorian Grey. Now I can focus on Ableton again.

Whoopi Goldberg cut her hair. Wow. Bow down to the pressure. I know Whoopi. It's hard. However, I am deciding to really embrace my Tomboyism. After so many years of vintage dresses, I can't put the jeans and cords down. I just can't.

Correction: The View is the world's stupidest show.
Actually, it's a draw.

I am thrilled with the Project Runway winner. A slight pest at times, I'm really impressed. He even shops at my friend's store, Opening Ceremony. Go Owley Patrol.

An update on the teeth. So funny. I've become such a lightweight but last night when rinsing with Listerine (as directed by my hygienist), I nearly passed out. Swear! The alcohol was so much! I guess you're not supposed to drink the whole bottle.

I'm joking!

It was only half.

More later...

My Name Virtually In Lights

2008-03-04T11:05:00.000-08:00

My first published review...

Click to dig. It is also in print. Ultimately cutdown to fit but here's the missing materials...

"From an underground scene already regarded as next level productions of second wave musicians incorporating technology to speak for their art and soul, consider Misel Quitno’s music to be a first from a third level.

Classically glorious in ingenuity, more acoustic and less electronic, always a beat… each track blends sounds, clips, warps and tones that amuse, befuddle and warm with technique. It’s mystifying to comprehend how something so strange is so inviting. But Misel Quitno is, and he’s gliding us out on sweet infinite waves."

Next? Wire.

Get Your Pop Rocks Off

2008-02-28T20:55:00.000-08:00

Um... whoa. Jim Noir's kinda really cute. I had no idea.

I always thought he was just a doughy Brit.

No.

2008-02-27T13:04:00.003-08:00

Can't leave. Not on the most perfect day.

Must find a magazine to work for in San Francisco. Must...

Tu Lan. Go To Tu Lan.

2008-02-26T12:48:00.000-08:00

Whenever I learn someone's going to San Francisco, I always say, "Go to Tu Lan. Go to Tu Lan."
They never do. They really should.

When I learn someone's from San Francisco, I like to ask, "Do you love Tu Lan?"
Not many have. But many of my friends are Vegan and Tu Lan is no place for a Vegan.
However, still surprising to me since it's been there so long doing what it does.

Go to Tu Lan...

The best Thai coffee too. The best.

Tuvan Throat Whispering

2008-02-24T11:18:00.000-08:00

I made coffee that was too strong this morning. Yes. I did. Making coffee at other people’s houses is difficult. A note should be left or some kind of review made before it’s too late. Mostly before it’s time to make the coffee and the houseguest might be left to fend for their coffee-needing selves. I can't believe I didn't inquire about a review.

I’ve made bitter mud. Two sips. My shit is jacked up.

Went to see Six Organs of Admittance last night. So fun to hang out with Kathy at a show. She talks a lot. No really. Read the depth in the meaning of this sentence. This is Kathy w/ a K fact. But Kathy is genius level so her content is incredibly factual, topical, abundant and a large portion lies so much with good music. She is also 41, which you would not believe if you were to ever see this little girl. But her age tempers her awareness to keep moving with her audience and not just ramble at them. It’s a guided tour. You're often pleasantly entertained by the surprise wrap up of one her details.

But her knowledge was important last night. She wanted to get to the show when the doors opened. We wanted to have good positioning. She and I are very small. Generally, early show arrival includes worrisome hanging out for hours through dull bands and forced dialogue and many fake people. (L.A.?) But since we were hanging out, I was genuinely entertained. I also got to do a lot of looking. Our positioning perched me on a shelf so I was taller than the tallest. I got to live the good tall life for a night. And in San Francisco for crying out loud.

Who knew there were so many faces?

I leaned into Kathy, “Um…there are so many cute boys here.” Referencing “boys” already represents I'm indulging a handicapped perspective. But there were a lot of good looking faces. “I don’t see them.” Kathy was teasing me and stating fact. If I needed to be “down on the scene” (pun intended) there were plenty to choose from. But the truth is and my exxxposing note, “So many. I want to have an orgy.”

But Ben Chasny. I'm focused now. He's moved in around the block from Kathy. He’s personable on stage and self-effacing within his publicity. He makes modal fairy psych music on a guitar. Master of distortion for a tragic mood. He performs a Tuvan Throat Whispering. Fascinating. While singing one vocal, Grimlock, the Evyl Fairy Troll-Wort from the Thrid Level, whispered from deep within his belly.

Then Elisa Ambrogio joined him. She is a heavenly noise goddess. She plays guitar. They screamed six strings for awhile. She is in Magik Markers. I watched her endlessly. I had already noticed her way into I’m A Gun – heavy pummeling alcoholic stoner noiserock – but didn’t realize she would be next to do it. (And better). So then I loved her more.

Chasny played backing riffs to Elisa. The last show of the tour and his pedals gave out. He thought it was his guitar. Total bummer interruptus on my very heated night. They were totally fucking shit up. So much noise. The kind that really reflects your overly sophisticated and well designed internal mood with screaming guitar sound. He was bummed about the mechanics, gave a fuck, fought for it and ended the night on a very high note.

Bought the Limited Edition touresque LP. “What’s this sound like?” “It’s the noisier side.” Great. Here’s my $15. Still hot from the night, I smiled purty at the MerchBoy.

Then we drove out of Potrero Hill and I stared at the city lights. Just like the girl in the hipster car commercials.

Two small girls on the 49 making Googly Eyes.

It's Enough To Be Here.

2008-02-23T10:27:00.000-08:00

There's a coffee place in San Francisco (Philz Coffee) that brews one cup at a time. It's dangerous. Most / Everyone says it's just too strong.

Philz' coming to L.A. and has already been interviewed on my work’s Good Food show. I made friends with the owner's son and he gave me a piece of baklava. I’m leaving it for my SF hosts. Must let work know Philz is coming to L.A. Trouble…

I also solved the Chronicle’s Cypher Puzzle over my second cup. It was a quote from Gene Hackman. Funny considering today’s Word-of-the-Day from Dictionary.com. Their sentence: “Unlike important men of affairs, novelists can turn midnight into sunrise and solve nettlesome world problems wherever their imaginations decree.” I was thinking about being a writer of enthuse from a nondescript place of origin. Like Los Angeles.

6 Eye Columbia. Neat.

2008-02-22T23:10:00.000-08:00

Papalote. Plus.
St. Francis Fountain. We're worried about David.

White Pee. Countrified Noise Jamboree with a Dr. Sample. Plus.
Holy Kiss. Boo. But the singer doesn't think so. There's something for everyone.

Tomorrow Philz and a walk up the hill. For sure.

Some Things I Excel In. Some Not So Much.

2008-02-21T08:12:00.000-08:00

Off to San Francisco today. I expect a lot of sitting in pleasant pastures.

Real English?
I'm hoping to get all over the city and find some pretty views after enjoying some pleasant walks...
That's the best I can do.

I have to check my bag in. Hair care product alone, I'm not able to keep to the the (2) Bottle of Liquids minimum. Are you fucking kidding me?

Kathy w/ a K

2008-02-18T20:56:00.000-08:00

Kathy and Josh came and visited in December. Now I'm going to San Francisco to visit Kathy and Josh.

She left me her 2007 Best Of, "Toof." "Toof" references her missing front tooth that happened last year. She's getting it fixed.

I met Kathy at KUSF in the very early '90s. "Nevermind" had just come out. A few years before, Kathy's ex was the original label to first put out "Bleach." "Alternative" things we're very big. Kathy knew so much about music and I was amazed. I was dried up on VU, grunge and dub and really needed some serious musical guidance. So she and they began to show me everything. AMM, Uncle Tupelo, Caroliner Rainbow, The Monks, even Nick Drake... I was barely 21. I began private repeated listenings of "The Battle of El Goodo." Commonplace today, but these were all first told to me when nothing else like them were ever discussed before. I needed to hear them. Exactly those and just right then. Somehow I knew they existed. Etched into my mind, I can still see Eric as Music Director in the Music Meetings holding up, "The Mummies." I thought, "These are really important bands Laura. Pay attention." Shit I did. And then Eric would laugh about just what the fuck these bands were doing. We all loved it. Sometimes Eric and I would play music together. Mostly Neil Young. When Eric wore his Jandek shirt to the SF Jandek show, people asked who that was on his shirt.

So "Toof." Just the name alone makes me laugh for Kathy. She's tough as nails, breaks just like a little girl, loved Lennon. She was the girl in New Orleans who wore the black arm band when he was shot.

There's a Bright Eyes song titled Kathy w/ a K. It's her. She was first to tour manage him. She worried about how fragile and nervous he was, how he always sounded like he was going to break - which made her laugh - and now he's become a big-time (ahem)... heartthrob. Anyway, Kathy w/ a K always says things like, "A classic if ever there was one," and was the first to tell me about Lester Bangs. She's Southern polite and Brooklyn smart. She's incredibly petite, dresses in Converse, grandpa sweaters and wears wingtips for dress-up. I am amazed when she considers me a "girlie" friend and we share fashion tips and advise. She's been quitting smoking for years but presently smokes American Spirit Blue - an improvement from Camel Filterless (or whatever cigarette she would tear the filter off of). She loves bunnies and Winnie the Pooh. She'll give you socks for presents because she loves socks so much. My cashmere argyle are still a favorite. The recent pink and black striped thigh-highs are somewhat befuddling but I'm way down for them. Kathy would always pull some kind of sexy girl thing out - in Converse high-tops. But she always got her man: The smart music geek that had social disorders. That's what you get when you love song so much and you're as smart as shit like Kathy is. So Josh is her gem. He actually talks to her friends. Like me. He's even picking me up at the airport. We've reviewed going keyboard shopping during the week and he'll probably comment on how I need more RAM - my computer is coming with me. He's right.

Now she works for the Tenants Rights Union of San Francisco. For her, a dream job. This is after working for Homestead Records, booking folkprogrock festivals, bringing Ghost to America, Bevis Frond, Windy & Carl, Glenn Jones - and I'm totally blanking on everyone else. These are the Go-Tos. Obviously.

So to get her 2007 Best Of? I get excited for her lists. I still have the Best Of 2006 eMail saved in my Yahoo account.

Her notes open (centered as shown and in an Excel document):

"of course I wrote this brilliant thing about the How of listening changing the What, listening on the ipod, listening on the commute, not listening as often to complex long beautiful comtemplative [sic] stuff like richard bishop or william parker, not this time, not this year, not that I didn't, but rather I didn't all the time, what dominated was the commute ipod song not the challenging but rewarding, not the albums... then I accidentally deleted it. sorry."

I love that, "not the challenging but rewarding". Good shit Kathy.

I miss her complex comtemplative educational bits on this one. But still I'm listening to her show and I'm reading her notes. She's on the air to me. It rocks like the only person to talk about Lime Spiders to me would. She loves songs with energy and excitement. Passionate sincerity that seems melodramatic but it's just the point and I liken it to the true loyalty she gives to her friends. Like the pop-punk-not-trash-futility of Ted Leo & the Pharmacists. Think about just their name alone. Pharmacists. That's not for kids.

I don't doubt any of us who get a copy of "Toof" aren't thrilled to have it. It's the Kathy w/ a K show.

I'll close with her LCD Soundsystem comment (I tell you, I was surprised to see they made it, but LCD is way good music, she knows a good song and after reading her notes, I at least knew it was Kathy): "one of those singles-things: the album was way too... modern(?) for me". The song she listed? "All My Friends." Aside from the sentimental connotation this song has when reminiscing about an old friend, the lyrics had already reminded me so much of Kathy. The beginning... the part all about astrological charts and sex? That part is so Kathy w/ a K.

Good stuff.

Ditching On Campus. A Pop-Up Post.

2008-02-14T10:18:00.000-08:00

I’m at work practicing my backstroke.

Apparently I like the color green. Walking in to work today I noticed I’m all dressed up in it with my big green bag, my puffy green jacket and my green “cashmere” sweater blouse – very girlie. Goes great with the black cords and checkered Vans.

My work is sick. We’re small to begin with but the majority of people here, aren’t here. Last count was 11 out. We’re maybe 30 deep. Maybe. Most endearing was the staff eMail sent by our Station GM. A chicly, swift woman, originally from Brooklyn. This is pretty much her station. She started it all in ’78 in the former woodshop of the Jr. High down the street. Her co-creator was once jailed for not releasing his Patty Hearst interviews to the FBI. First Amendment rights released him. They were KPFK back then (Pacifica radio). In ’84 we moved into the basement of the Student Union we now reside in. She is a personality Los Angeles loves to hate. I find her invigorating and love working with her during our drives. We rock it. Example: Her last 4-1/2 hour shift of pitching =’d $127,000. It takes a lot to get that right and it’s then that I’m like a cat ready to pounce. I become incredibly Stoic but my secret is… I am blissed out. Everything’s intense and focused. Eye of the MotherFucking Tiger. And I like being a cat.

Side note to mention: We raised 2.15 million dollars in 11 days. My boss said to me in all of her 14 years of being here (she is our GM's subset) she has never seen a drive run the way this was. It was obvious a new regime was in. She actually said regime. She congratulated me. This was my second drive as the director. How can I be soft about this? Because to hear that really made me happy. This place has put me through a lot. Example right now: Rolling Stone remixes. Please. Don’t make me say it again. Sigh…

So our GM’s eMail? Goes on and on about the flu shot she arranged and “asked” us to all take (she held my hand while I got mine) and that it was resilient for only one strain. So don’t blame her for half of work being out. Ego? On this one? Totally. How else is L.A. going to hate her? Apparently we are under siege of a different virus and everyone should duck. That’s me paraphrasing. Her endearing eMail? She consistently spelled “flu” as "flue". This is the woman Los Angeles loves to hate. L.A. is fucking stupid. They should love this woman without shame. She is crazy like a fox and has hired me to run the subscription drives. You have no idea… They’re missing out. Anyways, I decided she was referring to soot and how it’s akin to what the Industrial Revolution did to our world.

Then I started thinking about Globalization.

I’ve been having a religious experience with Wire’s “154”.
New Malkmus track at the station. New Monade too.

S.F. is next week. I’m so excited. I’m going to walk across the Golden Gate Bridge. Lived there for a good 7 seven years and I never did that.

Well, maybe just halfway.

California Winters

2008-02-10T09:02:00.000-08:00

Saturday, February 9. Los Angeles, CA. 70° F.

So warm. The idea of the gym seemed like a waste. Calling Sevie seemed like a good idea.
Sevie is a Sherpa. Of sorts.

We drove up to Topanga Canyon, just 30 minutes up the coast. There were frogs. I climbed a very steep rock.

Don't eat me.

Sounds.

2008-02-08T21:38:00.002-08:00

I worked my way backwards with Dimlite. Middle and back rather. My first full length came after enjoying a fresh mind expansion from Rush Hour’s Beat Dimensions release. A title that came out mid last year. This collection showcased the top creative producers and beatheads. I don’t like to call these guys producers. Sound innovators? Sure are. Creatives is better. Geniuses is gushing.

A few really stood out. Less maybe. Dimlite did.

Starting as I did from his second release, This Is Embracing is so well constructed, smooth and incredibly complex. Knobs turning, pads beat with abstract precision. Each track layers sounds, clips, warps and tones that amuse, befuddle and warm with technique. I fell instantly in love with his music. Now just getting to his first release, Runbox Weathers, it’s very similar but so much rawer. You can hear his genesis and it’s very pleasing. “Oh? That’s your Point A.” It’s a pleasant, totally unexpected surprise. The sounds are simpler and the execution is too. It is therefore a dirtier release, while still magnificent. The ear and mind of Dimlite directs brilliant digits.

So today we meet Misel Quitno. A non de plume for Dimlite’s nom de plume. The evolution continues. It’s just like in your dream. The prettiest one. Invoking Raymond Scott in a neo soul super space, a delicate unreleased '80s French soundtrack, slightly fusion, psych folk acoustics, musique concrete, songful science fiction... Misel Quitno is regality expressed as an artist. Classically glorious in ingenuity.

At special times, you notice something familiar, soon realizing it was Dimlite you were thinking of. But the reunion of what you're hearing now, shows the bloke's moved into a different neighborhood. Same family, just years later with new shoes and new fall semester clothes.

I want to marry him and have French babies with him. Neither he nor I are French.

Like Two Bitter Strangers. A Correction.

2008-02-07T07:19:00.000-08:00

Terror Twilight is a great album.

Capistrano Swallow, Answer to Your Inner Voice

2008-02-07T06:35:00.000-08:00

I've started taking meditation classes.

Like real meditation.

Turns out the teacher is a disciple of Swami Kriyananda, a direct disciple of Paramhansa Yogananda. A couple years ago I got halfway through his book, Autobiography of a Yogi. I didn't realize this was the study I was signing up for. This pleases me though. It's the practice my dad studied when I was a kid. I didn't realize that either. I have always said the dad I knew then is different from the dad I know now. Both are good dads to know but the the former had a really mellow vibe. It was great to have it around when I was little. One thing he would say about the teachings that's always stuck with me is that they believe we don't have a body. I think I'm smart but I couldn't get that. Fortunately, our teacher reviewed this philosophy in our first class. It makes sense now. I get it.

I'm hoping this helps with my hopelessness. That doesn't make any sense. Just give me the truth. I signed up when for the first time in my life I realized I couldn't figure something out. The pain seemed excruciating. But I finally knew I just needed to sit.

Chips and Dips.

2008-02-04T12:08:00.000-08:00

Love the new Hot Chip. Didn't expect anything less. Every time I see those geekfunkfuckers I dance for hours and declare at their exit, "YOU'RE NOT DONE YET!" I am not alone.

One of the frontmen is around my height. He's little. He's the higher tone. He's the funkiest of the bunch.

I had to mention a point about why Hot Chip is good and why Vampire Weekend is annoying. My immediacy... sorry that my post is elementary.

Considering Hot Chip's, "One Pure Thought." The song is Zulu. Afreakan. These guys clearly have roots in music. Not fad. Even starts off with guitars rather than groove. But the music isn't simple. You're drawn in by the changes and the fun hooks. Traditional Hot Chip. I feel like I'm talking about Barbie or something. It's got a groove. And I can really get down to it. But seriously - I think it's in a harmony within the song. They do a little chanting riff comprised of "I won't be on my way, I won't be on my way," and then lay octaves above with a melody that trails down. It's so pretty and it's a smart blend. Intriguing.

And jokes. There's a thing about sense of humor that really connects me to things. Seems strange to put it into music though. Right? Music is just our emotional tone. Literally. But! If you can put some wit and a wink into a song and still pull it off, it represents genius. You're not telling a poo joke just for a laugh. It's poo with point.

That's Hot Chip. They're music is regular dance. But IDM as it is intelligent. But their brand of IDM features no krinking juxtapositions to MAKE you feel IDM'd. That's the wink. It's just dance funky but the cliche is so dead-on that their excellence in technique makes it go to "the next level." Voila, C'est IDM. Whatever.

Give the same to Vampire Weekend, and it's a bunch of snotty kids who enjoy their dad's African section in his Hi-Fi collection. Their youth is their novelty not their craft. Nothing changes in the music. It's note for note practically.

Yes. I am playing on my own simile. It is trite? No. It is complete.

Their publicity kit states, "Will make you 40% happier." Or something like that. Definitely the 40%. My work's music librarian was saying, "Yeah. And that's it."

Exactly.

"I'm only going to Heaven if it feels like Hell. I'm only going to Heaven if it tastes like caramel."

I love Hot Chip.

While we're here, take a moment for this, Planning To Rock.

Conflict Of Interests.

2008-01-31T23:39:00.000-08:00

Woke up with this thought on my mind...

Why is it that the truth scares us, but to lie makes us feel safe?
Until we learn the truth.

Interesting what we do to protect ourselves.

Put It To Me Rose Marie.

2008-01-28T23:39:00.000-08:00

"I'm Not There." The soundtrack is an indie rock festival at Chapel Hill. "I'm Not There." The soundtrack is the music department at my radio station. "I'm Not There." The soundtrack is available as part of the Eclectic Pack from our Music Director.

Packs at work are created during our subscription drives so people can get on and off the phone with us quickly, knowing they're selecting a "sealed with approval by KCRW" premium for their support. This, along with the other benefits of membership and support to us is enough for many members. But the packs specifically... We move calls, they get stuff. It's a win-win. What does this mean to you? It means that many times in a day as advertisement of our Eclectic pack I'll hear Richie Havens jam out, "Tombstone Blues," or Jim James (backed by Calexico) ominously howl, "Goin' To Acapulco." However, I'm surprised by just how much my timbers shiver to this latter track. On principle, I am not a fan of Jim's band. To know me is to know this is not a statement of elitism. Just taste. Of fact. They are the American Coldplay. They are unimaginative and predictable, charming by a dull halcyon effect. Not fair to the human psyche. Pandering. But this song is getting me. I vividly remember how solemn and bizarre a scene it was on screen and how those images were so visceral accompanied by that song. It is Dylan imagery after all. Just how poignantly obtuse do you want it? It heavied a cool evening. Enjoyably.

For certain, the soundtrack isn't a solid hit for me. I'm glad we mostly play just those tracks. If they threw in some of the Yo La Tengo, Charlotte Gainsbourg or Malkmus AND Lee Ranaldo's (my fave Youth) version of "I Can't Leave Her Behind," (a version sung so nicely by Malkmus, using the SM canorous twang, softened with his late-in-life submission to romance, a bit of sincerity for the heroine and some reverence for the author)... If we played some of those, I would be wholeheartedly proud of my station's accomplishments. In the meantime, I really do adore my workplace. I'm grateful. We're a group of bright and energetic folk. Even the lame ducks are at least birds of a different feather. Furthermore, they allow and pay me to exert control while wearing Vans. I'm totally into it.

Here's a site with all the CDs we have available. It's a shiny but very new creation of ours - listing CDs on our site - so forgive if it navigates like a 15 year old girl driving stick. It's Beta and made in something like 10 days.

So back to Dylan.

Along with the accompanying new friendship of the gifter (once an unnecessary nemesis), another late happening I've enjoyed as a work perk has been a brand new copy of, "The Johnny Cash Show: 1969 - 1971." It is outstanding.

The broadcast studios were obviously located in the Lord's backyard, while his big Dad-In-the Sky BBQ'd franks, dogs and poured pop for the guests. I don't use that lightly and I mean it specifically. Music has an ineffable backstory that shakes and tickles from invisible staves and Johnny Cash collected this phenomena in his show. Yeah - he was party planning with the Lord.

Narrated by Kris Kristofferson and opening with a young yet arriving Dylan, no' doubt - this DVD and performance is tops. I feel so bright eyed by things like this, I wish there were a way we could kiss time. I guess that's why we make stuff.

I've enjoyed learning that Dylan's brilliance was somewhat calculated by him. Meaning - Dylan pretty much knew what was available to him and that in the beginning, the trail was probably so brightly lit that Dylan smirked with the excitement, exposing his own inside glow about the deal. It can be seen in this performance.

To make us present now, I'm going to SF in a couple weeks to hang with my original music posse. Goin' to have some fun. We'll be seeing Six Organs of Admittance. And I'm reading The Picture of Dorian Gray. I've never loved a gay man more than I love this writer. He is so horrible. Quel philosophe. In the next two weeks I'll also be enjoying the last two shows of this season’s Arthur Magazine Sunday Festivals, but still, I’ll be surprisingly envious of my SF friends. They're going to Terrastock 7 in freakin' Louisville over my birthday weekend - which is also the first day of Summer. It'd be kinda cool to see all that music on the Summer Solstice, ya' know? But considering Kathy has booked previous Terrastocks as well as tour managed a lot of these bands, she deserves this trip. Me? I'm just not financially set up for it yet. However, I too deserve the show and I'd let you take me for the ride.

HOLYSHITIVENEVERDONETHATBEFORE

2008-01-27T18:16:00.001-08:00

All of 'em...

And I can already see my next word, NAESOREF.

One Wafer Thin Mint.

2008-01-26T16:15:00.000-08:00

Brownies, muffins, lasagna, salad (whatever), chicken mole enchiladas, coffee, Mani's, olive bread walnut rolls, sourdough, egg bagels, ice cream, saag paneer, tzazaki, mousaka...

These are my days. Day two. So many carbs and coffee. When did my fantasy become my horror?

Are 11 days of binge eating really so bad? Generally, I eat salads everyday and I was once obsessed to popularity with broccoli. We are all so healthy.

Today I told someone, "Take it down. Now." And I was talking about his attitude. I couldn't believe I said it. I must remember to focus. But it was true. He wouldn't get over the idea that a volunteer, "might need to take their medication." He wasn't insulting her. This was his concern. I told him I thought she was a creative. Episode Abstract: "I saw a crazy woman. She rushed by us and sat down in her green jacket. Then... She was gone. I went by your desk... and now there's a green jacket at your chair! I saw a crazy woman put a green jacket on your chair!"
He sure did. It was me. I own a green jacket. "Take it down. Now."

Furthermore, it's the dead of winter and my beach is packed. Mr. Cho thinks I should get my hose out and start spraying from the second floor.

My one concern tonight? How to get the cat food to last through till tomorrow.
And we're going to run out. Rufus is going to kill me.
And I have got to wash the dishes.

Vampire Weekend Tonight.

2008-01-25T19:25:00.001-08:00

I just can't wrap my opinion around Vampire Weekend yet. They have got to be so young with their proud attitude of their culturally rich pop music combo. They do have one up on Paul Simon. It's absolutely true. If Paul Simon weren't Paul Simon, quite possibly Graceland would just be an album some little white guy made singing in the shower while listening to the African section of his Hi-Fi collection.

But still. They are youth. The false modesty, genre name dropping, songs about girls on campus...
After my recent Pavement revelation, I'm just not so sure about music that is quick too make me bounce with glee. And they do. Great to get dressed too but so very innocent. Yet so insincerely sincere. Perhaps that's a condition of their seeming affluence? I say seeming but their alignment to ivy league and literary classes is questionable. Rich white guys are just so droll. And hence I am having difficulty.

There's great potential for them to seriously blow up. I hear Hot Hot Heat on the bill and the teens going wild. Coachella. Spin Magazine...

I think I'm mostly having a reaction to the awkward phrasing vocals they use. Anytime there's affectation, I get weary. Affect for effect? That's a cheap shot, a shot in the dark, a crutch. I work at a station that milks these crutches, so I've heard and I see quite a few - and guess what...I believe they just might be coming in for a performance.

But guess what even more - I totally want them to.

And they lyrics to Oxford Comma are pretty great.

See. I can't figure it out.

Back to the vocals. Check out this video: A-Punk Video
Great music. Really dig. But why does he sing this way? Is he from the Congo? However, I do dig. Totally.

But then there's their disingenuous humility. I can't knock it. Try this Fader article. I think I'm just having a case of White Man Mistrust and they really aren't so bad. Like rich boys that kill to have fun with society because regular good times are just too easy.

Sure. I bet that's what it is.

Rainy Day Drive.

2008-01-24T07:55:00.001-08:00

KCRW Subscription Drive begins tomorrow. I'm in charge.

No really. I am.

Tuesday we had to shut the entire station down. Shut it down. We almost caught on fire. Major electrical problem that needed to be fixed at 1PM rather than AM. Dig?

Attached photo features, "Singey" - The Fire Culprit.

Fire Marshals are scheduled to visit this week.

It's raining and will continue to through at least Monday, Tuesday of next week. After a past Fire Marshal visit, we have all of our food services outside. And we've got some delicious food. Yum.

We've got tents and we work hard. At least it'll be exciting. Aside from the usual hysteria.

I wonder if my dream last night about my top staffer buying cocaine and hiding a drug problem is reflexive of my concern.

What's really crazy is how uncannily similar Singey is to our latest mascot:

Rattled By The Rush.

2008-01-23T21:31:00.000-08:00

Newer Pavement is sort of annoying and I don't know who I am anymore.

Actually, that's not true at all. Firm ground now. Terra firma, c'est moi voila.

After my 40th listen to the new Radar Bros., I realized I really missed Wowee Zowee and Terror Twilight and Brighten the Corners and I really wanted to hear them again. Decided to make them mobile and checked out all the last records from work so I could import them and play with them on the iPod. Understandably, I would want to blast them from the car (like I used to) or enjoy them on the treadmill (like I do now). Et cetera. And I only have the vinyl. And the two Deluxe Re-issues.

Of course.

OhMyGod. Jesus Christ. WTF. Holy Shit.

Those last albums...not 100%...but shit. So freakin' goofy.

I'm sad.

Heartbroken. C'mon Mr. Malkmus. Why couldn't we just play chess and read books together? Why couldn't you just make your crazy word poetry for me and let me look at your pretty, pretty fingers? What happened? When did it happen and how come I didn't notice...until now? I would never say he was affected but - but maybe unnecessarily punctuative.

No wonder I've never been a Jicks fan.

HOWEVER

In a state of panic from me, M(aura) did come through. She's my aural doppelganger. She reminded me, "Frontwards and the album from whence it came," to quote.

Ah...Slanted and Enchanted. Good old Gary Young - I played a show with him too. We're even both listed on the poster. He had alcoholic eyes. Man. And my song! Summer Babe. My birthday is the first day of summer. All of these things that further solidified my belief that Stephen and I would one day be married.

Guitars. Treble Kicker. Indeed. Pentatonic Pop Scale. It's so simple. Crossword Puzzle Lyrics. Screams. So much screaming. I could just eat him alive. Wish I could. New liner notes reference their need for girlfriends. If only I could've been there with my googly eyes...

Regards,

La Shu

P.S. Wowee Zowee and Spit On A Stranger are still pretty cool though. Just sayin'.

Nina Simone, God Damn.

2008-01-21T22:49:00.000-08:00

I love Nina Simone. She used a lexicon of her own discovery and it made her a master translator. I would've loved to have seen what she would've done with Borges. I've started reading Wilde. It'd be neat to have seen what she'd do with that fop as well. For whatever reasons, it hasn't been until hearing her sing, "Suzanne," that I even comprehended what Leonard Cohen put down.

Love and spirituality. We dance a little and then remember God. Rhythm. Isn't that just life?

Meet The Chamber Strings. Again.

2008-01-20T07:29:00.001-08:00

I first encountered Kevin Jr. on stage at Spaceland. It was my second year off drugs and I was so excited to see someone else, so cool, playing such great music who also didn't use drugs.

My first years of sobriety were very naive in that regard. Via another Chicago transplant, I connected with Jr. and decided to let him sleep on my couch so I could help get The Chamber Strings back together. I instead ended up learning about real drug abuse psychosis.

After Kevin printed enough material on the Scientologists following him to exhaust my printer cartridges, I asked him to leave. The day Kevin left, I received an eMail from his former bandmate on the social networking site, Friendster. I thought it was a joke. Jason didn't know Kevin was at my house, that I had ever even come into contact with him - nothing. Jason was just eMailing a girl he saw was a fan of The Chamber Strings on Friendster. Just that.

I think it's now been four years. Chamber Strings bass player Jason Walker is a dear friend and I am really happy with how great a new batch of songs from The Chamber Strings are.

I can detest the victim in anyone. Even more when you try to make a buck with it. Kevin Jr.'s newest songs are nothing less than this. But committed so thoroughly, the pathos are delicious and witty and with no apologies. Backed by Kevin's great lyricism and a band that plays so well, you can't deny The Chamber Strings are such a great band.

The Chamber Strings

Radar Love.

2008-01-19T15:59:00.000-08:00

New Radar Bros. is really good. I think it's very friendly. Like a Pink California Floyd.

They've made some great harmonies. Outstanding production. With sounds similar to Mercury Rev's, Deserter's Songs. The emotional tasking of a musical saw. There's the Ohio River Boat 7" and the album made between Wowee Zowee and Terror Twilight. But like the unreleased sessions of all of these albums. Well...that's using a reference lightly. Sort of. Then the sweetness of Bill Holt's, Dreamies. Rhythm and melody. And Bill Callahan too.

But it's not committal. Perhaps there's too much fine quality to fall in love with. You're kept intact and won't need to ask for more later. It's always on tap. Not like the way Palace Brothers my fail you. But you'll always cry for more Will. The hard truth? The suggestion of abandonment can really make you love someone. But while Auditorium sings stability, it also rises to a lush tease, warranting a little fear in melody. Heightened reality.

All that partnered with a steady kind of love? Radar Bros. are tops then for an indiewhitepicketfence.

Sometimes that isn't so bad. It's really right.

There is just so much warmth in a Pink California Sun.

Radar Bros. on Merge

Thread Count.

2008-01-18T21:56:00.000-08:00

I see a thread. But I can't see the start. I wanted to cut it.

It looks like it runs only from my last affections to me. I could cut it. But it really goes through him, from behind him, running away, continuing. Ironically, it's coming from me. Not from him. And before him but going away from me, but really following me, is me and what I put there, continuing all the way down to its Genesis. What was that first source? I want to know. Because I need to tell it something.

It's not him. It's me.

Why did we fall in love? Ideas. Many. Intertwined.

Listening to Nina Simone sing, "Suzanne." Basically everyone's minding their own line. That it's the greatest and frays the most. But the connectivity is impossible to ignore. So I'm just entangled in more of my thread. Fear. A Hobgoblin. What about nervous laughter? A conversation with a friend? In this case, seems I don't get to have that. Of all the lines, for some reason that one was cut. Fear.

The one thing I can't straighten out is it seems he knew what to expect from himself. It seems he knew his behavior. It seems he was willing to drop me before even knowing me. I don't understand. Or rather, I don't want to understand because I really do understand.

No. I don't understand.

If there is a thread, then he and I are both knots on each other's string.

It's us.

Skyscrapers At Night, Moonlit Delight

2008-01-18T07:28:00.001-08:00

I think I'm happiest when I'm Downtown at night. It's sweet. A still and woken satiation made for me by the moonlit dichotomy of The Big City L.A. I see my mind stirring behind any group of 64th floor windows. At 3AM these glowing silver plates are bright and reflecting like mercury - my Gemini communicator. I really do think I can see myself in the windows. But it's just my mind. It slows me till I'm stupefied. They look brilliant and I need their humbling to make me dumb.

In the back patio of Downtown L.A.’s La Cita, another edition of dublab’s, “Give Up – A Sad Dance Party,” was happening. Surrounded by friends, hipsters and scenesters, people much cooler than me, people I was much cooler than, my hair not good, my lipstick too light, jeans that should’ve been washed – frumpy young man, comfortable in her new down green jacket with fur-lined hood, sweet tooth tingling…gazed through La Cita’s black and yellow striped awning. It was something like a circus.

I could see the surrounding buildings that dwarfed the tiny Mexican bar. Rich.

La Cita is a dive bar. Was a dive bar. One that was bought by one of the hipsters. I think it’s the Short Stop owner, which is another bar I’ve never been to. I don’t go to bars much. At La Cita you can imagine the Mexican Cowboys that were there way before we were. They still visit during the day. I discussed the possibility of a mechanical bull with a friend. Otherwise, the platform and mirrors just don’t make much sense. Oh La Cita!

Continuing…

Blinking Christmas lights in disco colors. And our friends playing the records. The skyscrapers were perfect. Everyone thinks I should move to Silverlake or Echo Park but I really don’t want to. I crave the solitude the L.A. lofts fake out. I don’t want thin plywood walls. It’s fine that no one minds that you play your music loud in town. It’s more that I don’t want to hear them and, very kind of them, I don’t want them to hear me. Ever.

Continuing…

The skyscrapers at night mirror us. Major commerce going down by day. Lots of activity. The human energy alone probably illuminates these offices. And at night, they’re completely empty. Skeleton workers. Anyone there at midnight is not happy. They’re either cleaning, snorting, fucking, lying, cheating, dying. I have been that and all of the above - there in the Arco Building down the street.

But now I’m not Downtown or East Side. I’m West Side. Freeways help me move fast, but I’m covering a lot of territory when I do and it’s very quickly losing its spice.

So I learn to live on Venice Beach. It’s not surprising that I really only care for it at night. It plays the same trick as the skyscrapers but there are no facades. The Venice Night Crew are homeless, don’t clean, don’t wear suits but do wear their drug use and desperation on their sleeves. However, being at the end of the world, we’ve got the most authentic pitch black. It’s depth seeps into your mind and cushions your frustrations, turning them into glory. North, the mountains feature the Santa Monica Pier and Palisades twinkling red and orange stars. Every time I round the corner towards them, I pronounce, “Aw,” and feel a slap that hits my temple.

Why can’t it always be this way?

I hear the black sea making its world turning sounds.

It’s hard to learn that I trusted so much, to perform so many acts, to learn that I am nothing.

Still, I am moving.

Day Job.

2008-01-15T20:11:00.000-08:00

Featuring PB & J and Kitten...

Amazing Dates.

2008-01-06T19:21:00.000-08:00

Nice guy asked me out. We both liked The Amazing Race. As any guy does, his first date appeal was for me to come over and to "cuddle" on his couch while we watched the last four episodes he had saved in his Tivo.

I tell you I was tempted. I love that show and I'm just not able to watch it with any regularity.

During coffee I realized there wasn't going to be a second cup. I kept thinking about those last four episodes.

I still don't know what's going on in that series.

EXTRA CREDIT: Fellow that asked for my number last week at Toi with Tracy, when we talked on the phone, he asked if I had any children.

I'm not doing this stuff anymore.

Rufus the Dog. Money Is a Bitch.

2007-12-28T16:55:00.000-08:00

A lump was discovered on Rufus. It probably would've gone unnoticed much longer had a foreign hand hadn't rubbed his belly for an introductory, "Hello." Rufus and I mostly focus on head scratching.

Apparently I went into shock. Didn't really notice how much until I was alone with Rufus and I started diagnosing his condition on my own.

"We're up at 4AM every day for food and door. Feisty. Cuddly. Drinking. Eating. So much eating. I'm calling the vet…" There was never any question. We were always going to the vet. That was just to keep me calm in the interim while waiting till we got to the vet.

Rufus has always done everything for me and he runs like an Ever Ready Battery. He doesn't seem to mind any of it. Takes the pills when they come and looks at me funny when he gets hit by a car. The neighbors love him and his demands are made humbly when he visits their homes. He cuddles and he snores.

I decided whatever the deal, I owe him whatever they ask.

But the shock.

It seems so often that I might have a range of three emotions: Love, Joy and Fear. Fear then tapers into anger when fingered inappropriately, which then dovetails into rage. Or rather: Fear irrationally crescendos into rage whenever fucking picked on. But at least it's a crescendo and of course it's irrational. It's fear. And it always feels picked on. It's fear. Yeah, yeah, yeah…it's fear. It was easy to bargain with myself when I got to the vet.

There are dogs there. Rufus is a cat. I walk in and my brain starts up at me, "Fucking DOGS!" " And his BOYCHILD BRAT!" "Don't they have cages for that shit?!" "No crying." So dramatic. And my eyes are welling, so the Aviators stay. "Rufus has a lump…But he seems fine," and I give them the checklist from my Armchair Doctory. Usually I'm just picking up his special cat food. But I feel the ire, "HELLO?! YOU AGREE, RIGHT?! HE'S FINE?!!" And I ignore it.

I look at the photos of gargantuan furry bellies instead.

Relief arrives. Partially feeling welcomed by my own efforts to smile at my patrons rather than scream the bloody murder that was icing its way over my terrain. It's the resident senior citizen with his dutiful cat and wife. They're in today and they've turned Rufus towards them. Thank Fucking God. Me and Rufus really, really needed a little tenderness right, right then. I wanted that sweetness. I was absolutely terrified. The delicacy that protects an event by such selflessness…understanding and compassion. When you're depleted it's pretty grand when the Calvary arrives. And in such cute uniforms. Just smiling and being nice. Just tell me that my old cat's going to be fine and I can take him home and continue to feed him his way too expensive special cat food that he and Myrna eat way too much of which then turns them into the aptly titled, "Dinosaur Cats," that they are.

$533. Whatever.

“Fame!”

2007-12-15T18:27:00.001-08:00

1982
The television show, "Fame." I was 11. Myself - I too went to a couple of schools that worked around, "Theatre." One element of what this might represent is I was a young girl enamored with song, show and therefore a hook.

"Fame," had several songs in an episode. I was so stricken by one (or two) of this shows hit TV songs, that I rode my Schwinn to the local library, hoping I'd find a copy of it there. I just had to hear the song again.

Collector Selector that you bitches!

:)

2007
Song in my head in the shower this morning.
Wow. That wasn't just any song. More like one of those "mash-ups" so popular these days. In this case, it was a mash-up if perhaps Michel Gondry were the DJ.

Anyhoo…This morning sounded like a Moondog composition performed by Giorgio Moroder, with lyrics and accompaniment by Laurie Anderson singing, "O Superman."

Yep. All that while I deep conditioned.

That is precisely how it is.

See? Michael Gondry.

So my big news? Of course...

Here it is!!!
Yeah. I have no fucking idea what is so wrong with me either:

"It's not the machine..." Sigh.

Bill Callahan / Sir Richard Bishop show at The Echoplex

2007-10-26T22:19:00.000-07:00

I went to the Bill Callahan / Sir Richard Bishop show at The Echoplex in Echo Park, CA on Friday, October 5, 2007.

Here is my review:

The concert-goers were all adults. It was refreshing for me. I came in on the last song of Sir Richard Bishop. What the fuck? That sucked. Seeing him live is a good journey. He sounded awesome. People were saying, however, that he told a horrible joke, pulled a comedy routine and it wasn't any good. That actually was residual Sun City Girls behavior.

Someone kept shouting, "Chosen One!" Really? You're an ass. But I can't decide if it would've been worse if the fellow was shouting, "Star Wars!" Bill was good about it. As the show began to wrap up he finally replied, "Not tonight. I mean no insult." Or some kind of, "I'm not saying you're an idiot in front of all these people but somebody's got to shut you up, you idiot, and since you think I'm really going to consider your cat call, I'll have to tell you, 'No. Shut up.' But all nice-like because I'm wearing a suit."

I was tired. He was great. He played beautiful music. But it was a sit down show. It was. When music is performed that's better to intellectually consider rather than rock out to, it's better if you're sitting down because nothing is moving you. Rather, nothing is holding you up. Your mind's just wandering along with the songs. Better also if it's a Friday night and you're just tired. But I was able to sit at the end. Found an ottoman in the back. I literally lied down. And like I was saying, this was bliss. The venue has speakers all over so you can enjoy from any spot.

Then I really heard him and he was great. He really made me smile and gave me hope with his poetry. I love that with so little orchestration and so little traditional construction, you can really feel like you're witnessing a life in art. He's also a character. Facial expressions that made him look like the words were being pinched out from all over his face. It made me think of listening to Nashville Skyline for the first time. "Why're you doing that? I think I like it." When you hear him sing on the record, it doesn't sound like that's what's happening. When you see it live, you want to love him. And think, "Is that because of Joanna?" When I would see him in the early '90s and it was Cindy Doll, I kinda just remember a guy that I wished were my boyfriend but since I was no Cindy Doll, that would never happen. Ah...the esteem of our 20s. But I don't remember facial mechanations. And then I missed my early '90s boyfriend.

Friends that I met at the show said he looks like he got a little botox. You know...they were actually right. They said it's very popular with the indie crowd now. I thought that was really funny. 
The indie-lovers were a little annoying. The couples just bugged. So much tender touching. Uh. No. I totally don't want to see that. It makes you think about the indie-penis of that guy, and you just don't want to. "Look at me. I'm so deep, loving my alt-signifgant other at the Bill Callahan / Sir Richard Bishop show. I work at a record label."

Love,

L

Whip It Out.

2007-09-20T06:04:00.000-07:00

For those of you who already know, please, don’t ruin the story.

So at work, I’m interviewing for a new coordinator. And today, we met with Gabe.

Gabe’s cute. We like that. We don’t have many of those at work. And since I really only called those I thought were qualified, we know he’s got what it takes. And with the way the interview went…

We’re reviewing marketing and researching and the like. I honestly don’t know how he came to say what he did. I imagine it was regarding my tits. I’m joking. But seriously. It was funny…

“….whip it out…”

Cute little dude with nice chops just said, “Whip it out,” to me.

Hired!

And the woman that I am just started to giggle. Looked away. Stared at Beth. She was fine. But not me. Whip it out was all I could hear. Or see.

I think he actually said, “I have taken Christ the Lord to my bosom and am now free,” but I heard, “whip it out.”

1000 points to my friend Gage (not Gabe) for his response to the story: “I’ve seen that movie.”

Me too Gage. Me too.

The American Way

2007-09-09T08:14:00.000-07:00

No WAY!

A line wrapped around the building and a guy in a Spiderman Speedo and black wig was interviewing this group.

I was going to my gym - Gold's Gym in Venice, CA. It's a very well known gym as being the Mecca of Body Building. Honestly, it is the best gym I've ever been to (in my long line of 3 gyms, I can say this). But it's a magnificent blend of neighborhood workout / health enthusiasts and overgrown / overtanned body builders (both male and female).

It's inspiring.

This line? The interviews? The speedo? They're bringing back the "classic" competition network show: American Gladiator.

I watched a little of the auditions - the mini obstacle athletic course they built. There must be a twist about the Everyday Man competing because they were. I pondered the possible twist of this spectacle. Um...former wrestling champions come in to encourage or take down the contestants? Spontaneous doping tests? Hot dog eating competition?

I Play, While You Balloon.

2007-09-05T06:39:00.000-07:00

Saturday night at Trader Joe's, I watched a sweet two-year-old girl playing with two green balloons. She was tied up in the string with the two balloons bouncing around her. It wasn't the image of a child dancing in glee like a commercial that's played during daytime soaps. She was more matter-of-fact about hanging out with her two toys. There was a give-and-take she seemed to understand. "I play, while you balloon." She was satisfied.

Then one floated to the supermarket ceiling.

She stood transfixed. Her dad tried to get her attention so they could leave. It was a balloon, the physics won out and the balloon floated away. He could handle this and knew she would too. But there wasn't really anything to handle. Actually, the situation became that she was hypnotized by the balloon bouncing around the ceiling. It did seem like she was a bit bummed, "But...you were just here. It was fun. How am I supposed to go on without my balloon?" I too became hypnotized. I wondered if driving home she'd think about her balloon and what it might be doing...or maybe on a family picnic, she'd get a flash – a memory – about that time at Trader Joe's when she had two green balloons and they were all tied up around her and how perfect everything felt. Nothing else mattered except for the balloons.

I thought about it. "I bet she does miss that balloon. I feel for her, but it's just a balloon. I wish I could explain to her about her predicament." It is ultimately insignificant. Loss.

And self-centered as I am, I thought about me.

Me and my contenting balloons. Playing and hanging with my own green rubbery toys, generally filled with hot circulating air. Or not. Whatever. I have my toys and my toys float away and I feel such anguish when they do. Such a betrayal when toytime is over, so unexpected and unwelcomed. With a seemingly ineffable morbid grief, I watch my pulsing heart as it lies beating its last measures on my bedroom (living room / kitchen / supermarket) floor. "Oh, how will I ever play again? Will there be another balloon? Wait?! Worse - Who's playing with my balloon now?" I'm staring at the ceiling, transfixed by grief - and now fear too. Over balloons.

Aye. But I have only lost a balloon. It is ultimately insignificant. Loss.

I am certainly not saying that the balloon is nothing. I am saying the loss is.

Let Me See You Smile

2007-07-30T22:30:00.000-07:00

I am absolutely exhausted. Another twelve hour day. Truly, it's not really so bad - these don't happen too often for me. And I'm in charge! But I do dislike how I adapt to them. I'd like to be cool 100%. Instead I'm processing often and when too much math is thrown in (ed note: Excel formulas), I don't deal well.

The girl who replaced me at work when I left for 5 months, is still at my work. She's great. She's very bright and does her present job very well. It's her given profession and talent. She also did our common job very well. Thing is, so do I. However, even though she only had the luck to enjoy our common role for one "semester," she constantly tells me that I'm "doing a great job and that I just need to keep going, it's hard work but keep it up!"

I really don't want to hear it from her. Today I let her know.

I was surrounded by Excel formulas and they weren't about to end.

I apologized. Pretty much immediately.

Apparently, my heart isn't in it though. She just looked up at me and said, "I was only trying to help." And I just wanted to slap her. Wow. We both don't appear to give a shit. She totally didn't hear me and I totally wanted to connect my fist with her KXXWlovin' teeth.

I'm including a picture from the movie Heathers. That is because she and I, this is pretty much where we're operating from right now. Dissecting. CutCutCut. Bang Bang. Shoot Shoot. Happiness Is A Warm Gun...

Fortune Cookie - A Bedtime Story

2007-05-27T08:52:00.000-07:00

You know how the game works. The idea is that fortune cookies are truly the legends to one's bedtime style and prowess. What you do is take your cookie's fortune, add, "...in bed," to the end of the incantation and WHAM BAM THANK YOU MA'AM, you're one wondrous sex machine.

For your entertainment (OK...really my entertainment), I'd like to share some of the cookies I've recently encountered. I'm including a translation after the adding of, "in bed," or if you will, post-coitus. (And you better believe it! I keep a whole carafe full of these things. I think it's actually because I have one of those brain chemical imbalances that makes people hold on to things that have no real purpose in the universe, but for some reason we can't throw out the trash).

FORTUNE: Your mind is creative, original and alert. (in bed.)
TRANSLATION: Positions. Surprise! And ahem ;).

FORTUNE: An admirer finds you charming. (in bed.)
TRANSLATION: The admirer brings out the charm.

FORTUNE: You will soon receive an unusual gift. (in bed.)
TRANSLATION: Awesome.

Whatever Happens. Don't Forget To Breath.

2007-04-29T20:41:00.000-07:00

Nothing is outside.

Nothing comes in.

Something on the inside has got to get out.

Sophmoric Irony.

Music Makes The World Go 'Round.

2007-04-16T14:15:00.000-07:00

Sonny Rollins.

Next up, dublab Give Up compilation.

Perfect timing.

Like finding a 10er in your pocket when your $5 away from $0 in your account.

And next up after the penny royalties, Stars of the Lid.

I think I'm excited. That's kinda funny. SOTL aren't necessarily exciting. But when you're blue and there's a tone that meets the fuzz on the TV, it's understandable how you can feel excited.

More perfect timing.

The Fallen In Love

2007-04-15T18:44:00.000-07:00

Trust gone awry...

Sweet selfishness and greed.

Bitter tastes that turn good times bad.

Walking away, they aren't angels because it's over.

They aren't angels.
They don't know Love.

They aren't angels just because they're singing.

They aren't angels just because they're children.
Children are innocent.

Trust gone awry...

Simply just the fallen in love.

Consistent. RepetitionAh, RepetitionAh, RepetitionAh...

2007-04-01T09:01:00.000-07:00

(THE FOLLOWING POST WAS ORIGINALLY WRITTEN MARCH 18, 2006)

I want to be so artistically advanced that I can appreciate Lou Reed during a present day live concert. But I don't. I just don't. I listen to Rock N' Roll Animal's musical technicians carefully rocking their jams to new versions of some Oldies But Goodies, and I want to see Lou do this and not the other. Precision Rock usually harshes my mellow but when there's cocaine up the nostrils of an avant-garde junkie and it's 1974 and we're still gonna try to do this rock thing people! - THAT show is where I wanna be. I listen to his first solo and fantasize of singing backing vocals like one of those glam ladies, "I can't stand it any more, more!" Yeah! Tears welling up, "You're right and I'm wrong" Can I play that? Can I smoke it? I listen to VU Live and while pondering the formative sex of the ass on the cover, I feel like I'm hearing them for the first time and oh how wonderful that was. Our first date and I was already asking, "Where have you been all my life? I'm so glad you finally found me." I was 13. I began my obsession with heroin. And I get it. I really do. Heroin is crap. It all is but he really nailed it when he wrote Heroin. He really did.

So what's tonight's point? We're melancholy. The Bush administration is setting up another scene to play for the purpose of forwarding their goals - Iran wants to talk about Iraq only to not talk about their nuclear ambitions. Fuck You. Fuck Bush. Like I've said before, said phrase loses its sweet sentiment there. In other news, I'm surrounded by a chronic ennui after listening to so many broken records today. I should go and forget and leave them in the sun. I'm grateful for what I got, I see where you're coming from, I know to go won't take the blues away but the thought of burning cigarettes shooting to the center of my head seems so much more reliable than Plenty Fortune but not much more than tiny kittens.

You're Simply Too Delicious.

2007-04-01T08:55:00.000-07:00

Delusional and gracious while fat and punitive. I swear small conversation has never reflected such truth, made me so bored or taught me so much.

We never sleep, never leave, never arrive. Neither of us. So if there’s safety in numbers, why am I so scared of you? Such big talk for such small minds. It must be that the focus of our discussions just isn’t sincere. So, it isn’t love after all. Is it? It’s fear. You won’t leave if you never arrive. And we’ll never sleep if I the boogey man in my closet is keeping me up.

Change is so hard. Correct. Evolution has taught us such. Usually that’s saved for an object leaving your life. Not behavior. Right? We’re all set and warriors when our faithful icons have worn out their effect and we have to put them away forever. “I can no longer go there, wear that, call them…,” ad infinitum. It makes my hair too frizzy and my butt big. But what about when the icon turns out to be how we pass the salt? Are we then even able to see that? I must, must, must now ask myself, does passing to the left really satisfy me? Or do I know deep down in my soul that it’s to the right? Or can it be that sometimes I can just nudge it in your direction? Can the direction sometimes change too? For so long I skipped the salt and went au natural. I felt safe. My heart beat a little longer without all that extra sodium. But Oh Salt – you Curious Bitch…

Excuse me, but please - don’t take away the salt. Can’t you see? It’s all I know now. All I know is all I have. I believe in the salt. Anything else just isn’t fair game. Anything else just seems black as pepper.

After enjoying a little flavor, I finally see that it isn’t love, it’s fear. My focus has been so insincere. I didn’t know. I thought I knew. It was only that I believed it. Now my hair’s totally frizzy and my butt’s getting bigger. We cannot have that. Ah, Sweet Vanity, you are my Eskimo. But my faith has become ingrained and the palate is so rich now.

The Church Of Rock N' Roll.

2007-04-01T08:45:00.000-07:00

So I continue my work replacing precious lost records burned and destroyed by the great fires of 2000 - 2002. Last month eBay ate my homework. I've been nothing but reaping the rewards of this too. I gladly feed the hungry beast.

But today - so weird. My Orchids / Epicurean double LP arrived with the usual, "Thanks for the business!" card inside. But this time the card offered a free video to a better family life courtesy of The Church of Later-Day Saints.

Huh?

Since when do the Later-Day Saints collect Sarah records? It's this LP that even features the sweet little quote, "the philosophy of Epicureans taught that the highest good is temporal happiness which is to be achieved by the practise [sic] of virtues." Or am I missing something? Is this card part of a collectible piece complementing the Epicurean philosophy and I'm just not hip to it? I'm cool with that. Just let me know.

But I don't think so.

So also please tell me what part of, "Pristine Christine," is conjuring Beelzebub? Is it those FIERCE opening guitar licks? They do make me scream... What about songs like, "Say Yes to Everything"? Whenever I hear it I think, "Why not?!" Isn't that the point? And it's always about love too. Yes. Yes it is. It's always soft, there's always sunshine, you're always walking in it and when you're not, it's the music's sanguine melody - I'm thinking Field Mice here - that'll grant you any necessary salvation anyway. There's no harm from tremendous reverb, poppy snares and infinite optimism. Not since I last checked. The free video seems completely unnecessary. I get a better family simply by just placing the needle on the record.

Wait a minute! WOW! That could be a great campaign! These guys are totally missing it:

"Put the needle on the record, not your arm!"

Who's with me?

But I should say before I continue to hastily mock this group of anti-masturbatory zealots a.k.a. The Mormons - absolutely no relation to The Monks - I must acknowledge and give praise to at least one of their flock for capturing an unforeseen amazing story of Rock N' Roll with the film, "New York Doll." [Tell it to us Tracy!] If you haven't seen it, you're only hurting yourself. This movie is absolutely overwhelming and will utterly destroy you. It's a sweet salve featuring fabulous true tales of glam all over it. It also features David Johansen with a little spittle in the corner of his mouth sometimes. You don't want to miss that. Out on DVD soon.

Further disproving my point, the sweet, peculiar gent who took me up and furthered my education for all of this pretty music is presently enjoying a lockdown rehab plan, nursing the psychotic wounds of a real nice speed addiction. So I'll admit, my theory is not fact. This poppy little music collector is certainly no saint as my philosophy of the music might try to insist. And me? I'll just say pretty pop's not my only vice. Still, with this mean caffeine addiction of mine and love of broccoli issues, I think perhaps my eBay seller was thinking more about my friend instead of me. I'll be sure to forward the card.

Sincerely, The

2007-03-05T23:59:00.000-08:00

Fawning over bears
Gets you mauled

Kindling young wood
Leaves splinters

Running with scissors
Can poke an eye out

Feeding the tadpoles
Can take a lifetime

Do you have a lifetime? Can you afford to lose your head? Scar your body? Poke an eye out?

Staring at stars
Can blind you

Living in the stars
May asphyxiate

Dreaming too much
Wrinkles your linens

Sleeping with the enemy
Gets you killed

There’s no room for a doe-eyed lumberjack whittling logs into paper mâché milky ways.

Match your shoes with your dress, young lady.
Your path needs to be sensible.

Ah. Tonight.

2007-02-07T21:41:00.000-08:00

Heavy. Gold. I go. Diamond. I fall. Drip. Emotion. Paint. Involved.