SEA-LIVING

New Blogs:

2009-07-25T08:36:00.001-07:00

Robocratic-States is the blog I'll stay at for probably ever.

Alleged-UFO Photo-Blog is my current side side project of curating UFO photography.

Sometimes the wind picks you up n dusts you off n sets you down inside a Cracker Barrel restaurant off i-80

2008-07-30T17:26:00.000-07:00

http://robocratic-states.tumblr.com/

Robocratic-States is another blog I started. If nothing new shows up here, check there.

Lunch hour

2008-05-12T16:01:00.000-07:00

So today I was eating lunch at Chipotle, which is the healthiest lunch restaurant option around my office. Today was supposed to be a travel day, but my afternoon appointment was canceled, so I was cleared to take a full lunch-hour, with an emphasis on hour. Thank my lucky stars. I could enjoy eating and the prospect of an easy afternoon.

As I was standing in line, I was behind two guys who I guess were early in their college years. I can make guesses like that because I just completed my undergraduate degree, and I put myself into enough debt to be able to ascertain such things. Credibility: assured. I digress, but one guy asked the other guy what he had been reading. Before I get ahead of myself, let me describe them by their appearances. Dude #1 had the 'Ages of Empires' enthusiast caucasian look down pat, complete with overstuffed backpack. Dude #2 was wearing all-black and mirrored aviators, not like he was doing coke and listening to Fischerspooner in 2002, but rather, like he was spearheading some ill-advised beatnik resurgence. So dude #1 is asking dude #2 what dude #2 is reading these days. I'm trying to discern what kind of burrito I'm going to have. I love the Chipotle. If hell had beer and Chipotle, you now I'd be on evil like white on rice.

Dude #2 answers, without looking at dude #1, "This book, man. And it's changed the way I look at things." The attitude itself reinforces the all-black outfit and mirrored aviators as some messianic intellectual thrusting into the face of some sort of oppression that dumb white kids face, like boredom or perceived mundaneness. Then he holds up the book: Charles Bukowski's Post Office.

Because I can't figure this kid to be between jobs or women, I have to assume this kid is a little too into what he's perceiving to be the unmitigated allegory of what life is. I also assume that this boy must have been adhering to the same social norms and role in a way similar to his counterpart prior to indulging in the Bukowski novel. While I commend the boy for finding a work of literature he somehow connects with, I even as a life-long nerd sympathizer can take solace that I never so dramatically reveled in the book I was at the time reading. Certainly, among my favorite books, Howard Zinn's A People's History of the United States or Thomas Pynchon's V never inspired me to hold the volume up high like some artifact delivered from on high, and never in a chain restaurant.

Intense fandom of things results in either prodigious inspiration and the continuance of something, like why people still go nuts about ensure the legacy of Black Sabbath (for example), but without conscience or the ability to have their dreams smashed every once in a while, a Mark David Chapman scenario could possibly occur.

Once someone wrote, that the Loch Ness monster was nothing more than a brontosaurus that never got its shit together enough to go extinct like the rest of the dinosaurs. And it makes sense to some degree as a social analogy. Perhaps we've been galvanized in our moronic ways so much by hydrogenated oils in our food supply and reality TV that when we find some work of art whether it be a novel or an album or whatever, we hold up high in a Chipotle, as a trophy won in a challenge we never knew we were forced to play.

If the Loch Ness monster / Brontosaurus analogy does make sense, I want to be among the first to go extinct: direct me toward where the doomsday comet will strike.

Difficult lessons to learn when you are learning about punk #1

2008-01-23T20:35:00.000-08:00

I work with this 19 year old girl who is way into punk. Like most neophyte punks, being 'punk' is more specifically about displaying the trappings of such, ie dressing in old plaid pants, dyeing your hair, and seeing basement shows. One knows they're speaking to a neophyte punk when they say something like 'My band is covering an Iggy Pop song... "I Wanna Be Your Dog" ', or 'Sonic Youth, aren't they a generic grunge band?'.

One of the most difficult lessons to learn when you are learning about punk, is that about as soon as punk began, the band Wire reinvented that specific wheel, sans the usual boring trappings:

Consequently, there are seldom earnest covers of Wire songs, due to the many difficult lessons to learn when you are learning about punk.

My photo-website exists now...

2007-12-20T12:57:00.000-08:00

http://www.rustle-troyer.net/

So go there!

"Jonathon Livingston Tick Farm"

2007-08-26T15:44:00.000-07:00

Important news...

2007-08-15T10:45:00.000-07:00

Forgive the long times between posts, but I have important, important news.

This last weekend, my girlfriend Megan and I took a trip up to Lake Superior. It was her birthday and our anniversary, as well as a much-needed occasion for the each of us to get away from the pressures and somber occurences of Minneapolis / St Paul & Chicago.

While resting on a hike, I proposed to Megan with a ring, and she said yes. I'm still overwhelmed with a lot of positive emotions and I'm not sure how to channel it all into words, but it was the happiest day of my life thus far. The weather was perfectly sunny yet cool enough, the wine good, the scenerey beautiful, and that night we laid down by the shore and watched the meteor shower.

I will now be splitting my time between my beloved Twin Cities and the equally-beloved city of Chicago with my beloved. There are lots of details to follow.

Braid was a band from Illinois.

2007-03-29T13:48:00.000-07:00

Todd Bell, former bassist for seminal Illinois punk pioneers Braid (and also Hey Mercedes, who I never quite got into) came into my coffee shop today while I was roasting. I wasn't acting dumbstruck at all, though I insisted he let me buy his coffee, since I have most of their seven-inch records, and we chatted for a few minutes and he seemed like a genuinely nice human being. It felt right to at least feel a little indebted to him to buy him a $3 au lait.

It got me to thinking a little bit about the nature of music and punk and bands. And being 19 and male and stupid and naive.

I say that being 100% mindful of sounding nostalgic, which is an emotional state that I have always thoroughly disliked. 19 was actually a dumb age, and I like you, the reader, too much to lie and say that adulthood was a fun and exciting new thing to enter. My dad had thyroid cancer, and I was anything but calm or wise about that situation. I was in the first adult-sized relationship and made tons of mistakes (and had them made upon me ((figuratively, mind you)). I had barely a clue about what I wanted to do about school. My friends at the time were in similar situations. Nothing was ideal lifewise, really. Like I said, I equate the situation with dumbness, not fondness. Though seeing these bands and being exposed to this music and drinking cheap beer and having these friends made this time worth living.

The music, I guess, as I've been trying to place exactly what that value is that I've regarded it with, is not the typical cliche of something that I felt I connected with or felt that it provided an outlet or safe haven. Rather, I think that was maybe the last time I felt like I appreciated an artfrom for what it was, free from hipster fashion, peer opinion, or scene politic. Maybe I shut it out, maybe I was negligent of such trappings, or I was just stupid at the time.

However, I realize now how positively awesome that time was for learning about art and listening to music. I could learn a lot about how to act now through the context of being at the age that I was when I got hooked into Braid. I had better not act so jaded about art and music, and when the opportunities arise to be frustrated with scene anything, I ought to shut it out. Like how being 19 and aimless and naive, enjoyment through various contexts is a pretty dumb way to be twenty-four.

If you get a chance, a lot of the Braid recordings still sound amazingly fucking awesome. The scene kind of folded immediately after they broke up. The songs "I'm Afraid of Everything", "Hugs from Boys", "Jimmy Go Swimmer", and "Roses in the Car" still strike me the same way they did in 1999. And true to form, some of people I listened to Braid since 1999 are still my closest compadres.

2007

2007-03-13T22:59:00.000-07:00

Any fears about 2007 that I have are almost quelled by this glimpse of the Fucking Champs new album art work.

Making beans hot so they can be coffee for money & hipster avoidance

2007-02-12T08:15:00.000-08:00

I'm roasting coffee for a living again. It can be a tedious thing to do, and a lot of the time I have to be completely focused, like many jobs. Though, Wednesdays I have to work as early as 4 am. I do get to set my own hours (I come in when I want for the most part), get to guzzle down free coffee, and I have virtually no interference from work place politics, because I work by myself. Thats right, lone wolf-style. No overhearing about inter-workplace sexual relations, various gossip, or psuedo-simian jockeying for hipster dominance. All those things wrought my last job, which was waiting tables in an organic foods cafe. The boss of said job had little resolve when it came to dealing with serious problems and distributed criticism a little too unreasonably. My current boss is a decent bloke with a pleasant demeanor and largely trusts my judgement.

The pay is a little low, hours may fluctuate, and I can't really leave to go pee if need be, though that comprises the majority of the nuances. Sometimes, like exactly right now, I get a little too fucked up on coffee: which actually is awesome compared to other occupational hazards, such as the ones that include scenarios where you're smarter than your boss or you have to deal with the public. Though it should be known that while working in a coffee related setting, its actually pretty retarded to romanticize overconsuming coffee. Also, burns happen all the time roasting coffee, but the consumption of coffee heightens the senses you see, thus helping to circumvent the chances of serious injury.

All in all, its a refreshing change from the usual and its paying the bills kind of.

RU5TL# D45TRPY3R

2006-09-13T17:56:00.000-07:00

Status update:
+ It's getting totally fall time in Minneapolis: almost time for jackets in the afternoon even. It seems like just the other day we were all sweating bullets and I spent fourth of july at D4th of July at the triple rock. Autumn in the middle west is something to behold.

+ School is now a week away from being done for a little bit. Hurray. After a few days of non-school, I head down to Chicago with my girlfriend Megan to see the Cubs play their last home game of the season and also to get some drinking out of the way. Things are changing and getting better. I am often happy when I am not thinking about school.

+ If you like the month of October, but have been referring to it as Rocktober for 3 or 4 years, as have I, I think you ought to use a different nickname for October. May I submit to you, 'Octoberquest'? Don't thank me, thank the Major League Baseball (its their infographic on MLB.com). Though I think Octoberquest has fertile possibilities for all things fantasy-related. Imagine all across this great land Americans would say things akin to: "It's Octoberquest, better play Dungeons and Dragons," or "Hey, it's Octoberquest, lets get wasted on something and watch the Dark Crystal," or "It's Octoberquest... let's put on a Hawkwind tribute show."

+ I'm keeping the beard. I like it with my glasses.

I need a campari.

2006-09-08T17:18:00.000-07:00

I am worn the hell out. I am busted and almost non-functioning. I am too old for school and I think about art-things too much. I want to just go to parties and talk to people and drink 2 1/2 beers before going home.

The first Challenger album had 5 songs about shitty jobs.

2006-08-28T12:57:00.000-07:00

Found myself unemployed again. Uh-oh! Woes can be stacked high as you please, and then you can bowl them over with whiskey. I'm not feeling too bad about the situation: I'm only feeling a little upset about finding another job that will serve simply as a means to an end.

I remember when I was 18, I was working at Bob's Produce Ranch and we had this incredibly inane employee retreat. At the retreat we were shown a series of videos, one of them highlighting the maintainence of your work ethic while on the clock. The solution, as I recollect, was to associate your ill-feeling about the job with the ironic capitalist anti-virtue of selfishness. So, for example, if a customer was testing your patience, you were to say something to yourself like, "I am certainly an ass for not being my nicest to this stranger that is only speaking to me to satiate some desire for their own asinine fulfillment, so I ought to treat them like they just cured cancer and brokered peace between Israel and Palestine."

The video then cut to footage of guys working at Seattle's Pike fishmarket. You know, the one that is famous for the guys who throw fish around and make smart-ass comments about throwing fish around. The narration practically sung praises of the tossing and catching fishmongers as being champions of work ethic. Which I thought was a hilariously innappropriate juxtaposition, because I'm sure making smart-ass comments and throwing things around at work, which would make any job more enjoyable, would typically be seen by management as being a behavior worthy of termination. I thought this was especially true while working at Bob's Produce Ranch, where you had to clock out before using the restroom. And you know that any management that won't let you piss on their dime will be the last to honestly listen to your new progressive workplace practices.

It seems that the only way to avoid shitty jobs, like hangovers, is to not get one.

So I am taking a few days off from worrying about unemployment. I have some meager savings and my wits about me, so hard times are definitely nowhere near where I am.

Taking Pictures

2006-08-16T16:31:00.000-07:00

My new photoblog will happen in a couple days.

When I do, it will be viewable right here.

Good news.

2006-08-09T11:53:00.000-07:00

During the last couple weeks, I've heard a lot of rumors about Ilford Photographic discontinuing various supplies. I don't shoot much black and white film, but when I do, I almost exclusively use Ilford. I was concerned for a little bit, but now, now I am at ease.

Photo friends, check this out. Non-photo people, this man is British. Check it out here.

Garden State, redux.

2006-08-09T09:26:00.000-07:00

Loyalist Militiaman at the Moment of Death, Cerro Muriano, September 5, 1936

2006-07-31T07:21:00.000-07:00

The intriguing essay behind one of my favorite photographs "Loyalist Militiaman at the Moment of Death, Cerro Muriano, September 5, 1936." by Robert Capa. The man in the photo was likely a believer in either democracy, anarchism of some form, or communism. He was felled by the fascist bullets of General Francisco Franco's rebel army.

Dick Cheney takes 60 dumps a day.

2006-07-13T06:28:00.000-07:00

Haliburton gets cut from the team like a jaundiced waif with asthma.

Mash-up!

2006-07-12T22:04:00.000-07:00

Oh, and the jam of the century

Thanks WFMU.

Donald Rumsfeld takes 40 dumps a day.

2006-07-12T20:32:00.000-07:00

Still! The guy is a maniac about his fiber. Man, I think maybe I average one a day.

Oh but wait, pooping aside: Ev'body in Camp X-ray is now protected by the Geneva convention! They way they should've been from day one! Yay! So we can expect the same for all those secretly brought to secret CIA prisons? Right? Man, I'd like to believe it, and think that at least one step was taken in a right direction, but somehow, I'm not too sure.

Let's remember these key concepts:

Trust - the assured reliance on the character, ability, strength, or truth of someone or something.
Honesty - fairness and straightforwardness of conduct; adherence to the facts.
Justice - the maintenance or administration of what is just especially by the impartial adjustment of conflicting claims or the assignment of merited rewards or punishments.

And just so it never happens to us:

Facism - a political philosophy, movement, or regime that exalts nation and often race above the individual and that stands for a centralized autocratic government headed by a dictatorial leader, severe economic and social regimentation, and forcible suppression of opposition.

And the way it is supposed to be:

Democracy - a government in which the supreme power is vested in the people and exercised by them directly or indirectly through a system of representation usually involving periodically held free elections.

Instant Depression Remedy for when you hear your ex on NPR:

2006-07-08T13:41:00.000-07:00

-3 Miller High Lifes
-1 copy Roxy Music "s/t" lp
-1 Bicycle

Drink two High Lifes. Listen to the self-titled Roxy Music album twice, then revisit the song Virginia Plain twice after. Bike for an hour and a half. Come home, drink final high life, go to sleep.

Dis-happiness is a predatory bird which circles the sun, so you ain't aware its upon you.

2006-07-06T15:21:00.000-07:00

Wow, I heard her on the radio today: un-fucking-mistakenable. Shes so bright, intelligent, beautiful, funnier than I could ever be. She does things right, immersing herself in activism. A year ago when I came home, I was a wreck over the whole thing, and I now I feel like I am again. Shit is supposed to fade and you're supposed to feel stronger and not feel like your regressing after that ol' constant of time seperates you from whatever made you feel bad.

It definitely didn't occur to me that I was going to get stun today: man, was I mistaken.

I could pour a drink, hop on my bike for an hour or two, or go somewhere and watch a ball game. The thing is, I can't move. I'm just gonna sit still for a while, listen to the first Roxy Music album, and try to figure out how to snap out of this.

Hey man, somebody had to kill cinema sooner or later.

2006-07-03T09:05:00.000-07:00

We here at Sea-Living are not sure to feel how about anything that has "Based on Hasbro's [Action Figures]" in it's teaser trailer. Though, how would I feel about it after sneaking in a 40 oz of Old English in to the theater? Still not sure, but maybe if we were to go to the director's IMDb page, we could see all of his previous crimes against art and intellectualism, right? Right! With a track record like that, no forty on Earth is fit to accompany one on such dangerous terrain. Chaulk up another childhood favorite destroyed forever more.

Though, in safe and familiar places and with things and people I know and love, away from anything having to do with the director of Bad Boys II, I'm still listening to the Hades Kick 'Ate'-album, which I found the spring I graduated from high school. Not a whole lot else has survived five years. The Hades Kick's song "Compass Leads" has been one of my trademark jams since May two thousand ought one. Don't front.

Several ex-girlfriends still express confusion as to why someone would enjoy such a thing. Maybe a certain human heart doesn't care to be understood: maybe all it needs is albums, beer, and just a bit of human to human love.

I stopped knowing what I was talking about in January 2003.

Bud Melvin

2006-06-30T07:43:00.001-07:00

Bud Melvin's name conjures images of an overweight elderly man who wears bolo ties and drives an older model Buick. Bud Melvin is actually a Chicago / Alberquerque singer-songwriter and artist named John Poston.

Male singer-songwriters seem to be a dangerous sort: one can almost never know what they are going to encounter. The spectrum of such artists can range from justified reverence (Dylan, Bragg, Young, Drake, Smith, Waits) to legacy founding modern darlings (David Pajo aka Papa M, Johnston, Jeff Tweedy), once prostigeous icons until mid-80s / early 90s f-ups (springsteen) to ill-intented insincere opportunists (Bright Eyes) to that guy playing acoustic Nirvana who we saw at the bar last night. It's easily decipherable: on end of the spectrum furthers a craft, the other is working for dollars, pitchfork write-ups, and anonymous sex.

The main problem with singer-songwriters who are great and deserve praise and recognition are most foremost, the imitators. How many transparent songs must we be subjected to? How many 'next Bob Dylans or next Nick Drakes' will be marketed to us and our fellow citizens? Are by association, the next generational answers to the living classics going to corrode those who they ripped off by diluting the pool with people who already sing a little bit like Dylan or a lot like Leonard Cohen?

A solution to enjoying singer-songwriters has baffled me. Fresh air in the genre is as tough to come by just as it is in country (real country), which is suffering a similar plight.

Bud Melvin offers something different. He's not out to promote himself. He is selling his music, but he's not going to seek you out on myspace and advertise himself in your comments section. His site, constructed of rudimentary html, offers no link to an online Spin interview. A brief browse through his site reveals a healthy distaste for things capitalistic.

His music is emulating the standards of finely woven pop we're programmed to enjoy but the indiosyncracies keep us about an arm's length away, not to keep you away so much as to give you the opportunity to get closer if you want to. The instrumentation is comprised of layers of banjo, acoustic guitar, and most interestingly, a hacked gameboy. Other traditional and non-traditional elements surface including lap / pedal steel guitars and what sounds a lot like beatboxing. It is interesting to hear how close this motley assortment of instruments and their unusual juxtaposition within his songs risks bringing him close to novelty, but keeps him in a place of shear sincerity. His vocal stylings shift from one song to the next: in "Goodbye Pirahana", his doubled vocals sound reminscient of how I imagined a friendly monster might sound when I was a child. In "Hi Goldfish", his voice is quiet and shy. Though in "Moonglow" he crowns so Vaudeville-ingly-esque, before a steel guitar riff seals the MP3 file Bud has posted.

His music is certainly a strange animal. Though, it's a sincere, well-developed animal, and you can cook while listening to it. Its such a shame stuff like this doesn't surface more often.

Mp3s
Goodbye, Piranha
Hi, Goldfish
Moonglow (first 1/2)

He'll kick you apart / he'll kick you apart.

2006-06-29T08:16:00.000-07:00

aww yeah, you went for the forty? I put one of those away in college.

2006-06-29T07:07:00.000-07:00

Good morning. I just woke up. There's still eye crust on muh eyes. Last night I made it until bar close: 3 PBRs and an appetizer plate for this guy, so it wasn't a very indulgent night of drinking.

Last few days have been a hoot. I had a filling get knocked out of one of my mollars. I tried to sleep despite the searing pain, which didn't work. Desperate for sleep I tried to take every painkiller in the house which was nyquil and advil, but they didn't really make much of a difference. I went to work for a couple hours before the dentist opened.

After I got a new filling and slept for a good six hours, I went to Tuesday's Twins vs Dodgers game. Not a terrible game, but the crowd got totes unruly and was not very welcoming to the low-ranked Dodgers. Across the aisle, two guys with necks thicker than basketballs got into a fist fight. Though the real clincher came when I tried to leave the metrodome and my kryptonite combination lock was broken, whilst still locking my bike to the pole I shackled to. I called MPLS PD's bike recovery squad, and they said that they had dispatched a car to come, cut my lock with a blowtorch, and then confiscate my bike for 60 days since it was unregistered and I had no proof of ownership.

Panicked, I set the combination on my lock and put all my energy into trying to tear it off. After about 9 tries of giving it all my strength, the lock popped off, thus saving my bike.

Only love can break your heart.

2006-06-26T15:26:00.000-07:00

1. Fashion tips for the week of 6/26/06: white turtleneck, sportcoat w/ far too many cuff buttons, and helicopter related paranoia. See below. Courtesy WFMU's Beware of the Blog.

2. Nothing like the monetary bends to give you that bi-weekly haunting right on the dot. I'm kind of feeling frustrated with the fruits of labor: working a lot and not having much money after buying film and photopaper. Though, I've got beer and Minutemen albums, so all is well the ends well. Or what-ever.

Yesterday, after my typical 800 am - 330 pm server shift, I went and served ice cream at the new Guthrie, as seen below.

I was selling only three slightly non-traditional flavors of ice cream to the masses. Oreo, personal favorite, as well as peppermint bon-bon and vanilla. Still had a million requests for chocolate and strawberry even after many explanations that we only had three flavors, none of which were strawberry or chocolate. I loved how people got in the mindset that I personally conjured the spirit of Francisco Franco to smote their expectations with three totalitarian ice cream flavors of Oreo, P-Mint Bon-Bon, and Vanilla.

Though, I incidentally befriended some cool people. I met the former bassist from Low and we talked about music for a while. I still think Alan Sparhawk's last name is totally made up.

I also ran into one of my professors. I saw him eating from a distance, and was tempted to yell a heckle akin to 'large format cameras suck' or perhaps 'photography is for losers, business management degrees are better." Neglecting my duties, I instead spoke with him for a while on the subject "how when you do art and you love art, but you can't make art because the ideas stopped coming to you". His advice was to take a few days off work and shoot everything that could possibly be a composition until my conscious got the better of me for neglecting work and my personal life. Which I'd like to do, but leads back to where I was about not getting paid. So I'm giving up on worrying about money. I should have my new camera by Friday or Saturday, and then a few days straight of days with nothing going on but photos.

3. Power animal for the week of 6/25/06 - 7/01/06: adorable Kitten.

4. Saw Down By Law last night. Splendid: Waits, Benigni, et al. "I scream-a, you scream-a, we all scream-a ice cream-a!"

Everythings Gone Green

2006-06-23T07:25:00.000-07:00

It is important that when all four of your roommates leave your house, you play some records kind of loud. This morning I have spun my copy of New Order's "Everythings Gone Green", recently acquired from Olde Ebay for only ₤1.99 including shipping. I love this band. The first two albums and the early singles are genius and overlooked.

Over fourth of July I had intended to be in Chicago, but I've commited to being here to feed Lydia, the cat who lives in our house, so I'll be in Minneapolis. However, I was thinking about having a movie party or something, since we have a cavernous living room, and I have access to a digital projector. "The Warriors", I am thinking.

I love sharks! Yea, I love them!

2006-06-21T08:53:00.000-07:00

Grackles of Austin TX

2006-06-20T15:39:00.000-07:00

1.

Weird dreams are happening with startling frequency. Lately, I've been dreaming intermittently of Austin TX parking lots, filled with those great-tailed grackles they have. Making noise and what-not, with their displays of territorial dominance by bending their necks backwards.

My friend Colin and I used to duck out of work early from Kinkos to grab a burrito from time to time. We'd sit outside to eat and maybe have a smoke. Those grackles would be all around, and they'd offer themselves as the kind of comic relief we'd be due. We'd always talk of instigating battles between them and the sororiety girls of UT Austin.

The great-tailed grackle is my power animal for the week of 6/19/06, or until I can stop thinking of why I'm dreaming of them.

2. Tomorrow I will go to a meeting to make the most lucrative barter of services I could ever possibly imagine. I will trade photographs and some money for the services of a fashion designer. Ultimately, if all goes well, I will have the winter coat that will last me the next decade or so. Winters come and go, and with each, I seem to collect 2 or 3 coats, almost none of which I wear the following winter. Though, I have one that I purchased for $1.50 at Savers three years ago, which somehow has survived peril countless times. Nonetheless, I need a coat that will at least get me through my 20's.

It's a little early to be discussing winter coats, but I'm really intrigued by the idea of making my own clothing. Should prolly get some screening supplies sometime soon too. Should make / recycle some t-shirts.

3. This kid is the coolest.

2006-04-10T10:48:00.000-07:00

After spending an afternoon yesterday in the company of divorced middle-aged men, I can firmly attest, nothing makes you want to rescind on an offer to help a man move than the mysoginistic hubris of one who believes his soul was sucked out of him by his former spouse.

Rocktober was a while ago, man.

2006-03-25T10:46:00.000-08:00

One warm spring day, I skipped school, as I did with some frequency. I was all of about 16. I was perusing through the bins at the Electric Fetus, and I found a cut-out copy of Polvo's Exploded Drawing double album. I purchased it, went home and listened to it, and found inspiration I didnt know that would be lurking under the simple album art. After a couple consecutive listens, the out-of-tune guitars playing a mixture of abrasive classic rock still riffs and eastern melodies (one of their best lyrics: 'we just bought a sitar. be prepared.') I knew what had to be done: I had to pick up an instrument. So I picked up the bass guitar, mostly because I was fascinated by the size of the damn thing.

And now, after seven years of playing, I'm feeling down in a bad bad way. Playing in a band has always been something I had wanted to do; to channel dynamicism and energy into racket. Now, defeat has kind of filled some of that space.

Nearly two months ago, I answered a craigslist ad: "Bass player wanted. Some experience good. Our influences: Lightning Bolt, Mars Volta, Sonic Youth, and older Modest Mouse." After a dozen or so re-schedulings, we made it happen this morning.

When I typically play bass, alone or with people, I try to drink two beers. It gets me physically loosened up and seems to get the stream of consciousness going. So, I showed up to their practice space with my amp, some pedals, one of my basses, and a six of red hook in bottles. The guys helped me unload my stuff and we set up. I shook hands, offered beers, and tried to be as congenial as possible. The dudes were all 19 and while none of them accepted a beer, one was particularly not happy with the offer of liquid grains. I explained that all I need is two to get me relaxed and with flow. They seemed to shrug it off.

We set up and got ourselves tuned. I downed the first beer. We chatted about our interests and school. The drummer erupted into a beat, and I went in, as I should and so did the other guys. It seemed to kind of work. We stopped after about twenty minutes to break. I bought a bottle of water and returned to the space. One of the guitar guys noticed on the back of my bass's headstock I had scrawled a Minutemen lyric. From the song History Lesson pt 2, the 'Hey Mr Narrator...' lyric. He asked me why I had written it. I explained, "It's just a happy song. It's about enjoying music with your friends. It felt like an all right thing to want to be reminded of." I admitted it was kind of dorky, and he replied with a drawled-out 'Oh-kay' and kinda frowned a little bit.

Regardless, we went back to playing, and eventully, everyone started noodling around, doing their own thing. The drummer started playing some weird tribal-esque beats, which I tried playing along with. It sounded good and the drummer and I kinda meshed with it. The guy who didn't like my Minutemen quote stopped me and asked me to turn down my treble on my amp, producing a more dull thud. While I was trying to make enough of an adjustment to appease both parties, I looked to the drummer who looked pretty annoyed all of the sudden. Once I got the treble watered down, the other guitarist chimmed in: "we were thinking, like we would write the songs." He was repeatedly pointing to himself and the other guitarist. I looked to the drummer again, an he was staring down at his kit.

"How many songs have you written?" I asked. "None yet." He said, "But we thought we'd write them, bring them to you, and you guys would supply the drums and the bass and fill in what we've written. Cuz thats kind of how songs work."

Fundamentally, I've always believed that rock music in any form should be about collaberation. I've always thought, the sum of several different styles often champions a prima donna being backed up by several invertabrates. I wanted, in that moment, make a stand for myself. I felt paralyzed.

It's never been my goal to out 'indie-rock' anyone, to resort to posturing and seeing who can make the most obscure references. Never have I cultivated an extreme indie-rock fashion sense, though I have a total Ian McKaye hair-did that should trump most others. It seems to me, most bands that are successful are built on respect and solid interaction within their mutual styles. I don't have it in me to be a scenester.

"Do you feel like we could get together next weekend and work with some stuff?" The guitarist asked, "like what we need is a drummer and bassist who don't play in a way that [dominates] over our guitars." "In all honesty", I said, "I don't think it would be respectful to anyone, their influences, or the investment of their time to fit into any role without an equal amount of input. I wouldn't feel right asking anybody to surrender that." He countered, "Well, you'd write your own bass line for our songs. It's just that we have a vision of what we want for our band."

I turned off my amp. "Nothing personal," I said. I unplugged the cables and coiled them. "I just want to play my own stuff just as much as stuff other people come up with." I put my bass in it's case. "I don't think the stuff I will come up with will work out very well for you or I." I shook their hands. I went home.

I'm feeling bad. I don't feel like I said or did anything wrong, but I feel like seven years of playing alone and aspiring to play in a band has been a kind of silly goal. I've made an effort on at least 11 countable occasions to form a band, none of which have resulted in anything. I feel bad, like break-up bad. When I see people like Ian McKaye or Mike Watt or Kim Gordon in interviews, I'm thinking that I'm more cut out to appreciate what they do, rather than try to do any of it for my own satisfaction. I don't want to call it defeat, but thats what it feels like. And not defeat by any particular person or thing other than discouragement.

I have been working in photoshop almost all day.

2006-03-18T23:43:00.000-08:00

Rooms without windows, fluorescent lights. I'm losing it. Day in, day out: I'm in the digital lab, where the computer screens are precisely calibrated, but the thermostat is stuck on 82 degrees. It gets hotter after about ten of us have been on the computers for an hour or so. Claustrophobia sets in, big time. It's a sweat box.

Sometimes, I meander over to Mackenzie's pub off of Hennepin between classes or when the labs get to be too much. I usually sit at the bar, order either a Grainbelt or a Shiner, and stare out the window.

The other day, after a Mackenzie's break, I felt like having some sort of chips for a snack, and while in the lounge, I overheard an animation student tell a rape joke. Where is the instant balancing of karmic scales when you need it?

I don't have a girlfriend, but if I did, she would be Adobe Photoshop CS-2. Don't get me wrong, I like this particular version. I just don't like it every waking moment. Adobe Photoshop is also a prude, BTW. Kidding.

I'm still feeling really good about this major. I think when I enrolled, I think I had a lot of ideas about going out to find what I was looking for, not so much retouching the photos I had taken. The atmosphere is not the most conducive to relaxing and the fellow students can be douches.

Though, I'm looking forward to spring break. I will also wear these shoes that I just ordered while I am in Austin. They are the same kind of shoes that Japanese olympians wore to the Rome Olympics in 1960. They have rising suns on the sides. I won't wear them here until after the snow melts.

For about 5 more days, I am getting my ass kicked by school. Do you worst school. I'm fucking tired and girlfriendless and I ain't got no job. Its you and me, school. Mano-A-Mano. I ain't got shit to lose, that makes me a more intense opponent.

Hannah and her mother.

2006-02-13T15:44:00.000-08:00

It's no surprise that in approximately 23 years of living, life lessons have been dropped on me consistently, as they should. Sometimes we learn first-hand: like don't hang around dogs with notorious reputations or not to mix hard liquor with beer with pizza with wine. Other times, we learn by example, hopefully from a safe distance, acknowledge the lesson and keep going.

In March of 2004, I was at the end of my first art school tenure. I felt that my life in Minneapolis had stagnated, and I walked the line everyday between staying in MPLS and moving to Austin, TX. Everyday was more of a malaise than the previous. As the days progressed, I began to lean towards the latter, and my diligence in my studies and enthusiasm for the city of lakes diminished to all-time lows.

It was in these final weeks of that semester that I happened to witness a sight, so profound in it's sickly attrociousness it still pains me to this day. Call it a low-level traumatization, if you will, but acknowledge the moral within this story, and may it's bitterness and self-torment never become your companions.

I had registered for a required course that was called, if my memory serves me correctly, 'Theories and Practices of Computer Learning'. The purpose of the course was to put to good use my developed skills of interactive media combined with my ability to wield aesthetics. Essentially, make pretty flash pages on the internet that instructed persons how to do something.

As if the course content wasn't exciting enough, the class was taught by man whose name I can't remember. I think I will call him Craig. Craig, from the get go, seemed to ensure that we were unfortunate to have registered for his class. He was in his late 40s, balding, clad in Cosby-esque sweaters, and not one to comfortably interact with any of us students. He assigned a lot of work out of the same dull text that most of his lectures were pulled from. If I had to do a free-association with one word that summed up Craig, it would be 'drab'.

I attended his class for three weeks and only completed one major assignment: a step by step guide to cleaning a coffee roaster. Following the grading of the projects, Craig admitted to the class that he was rather dissapointed with the results of 11 art kids who were dulled beyond hope forced to make the most boring assignment ever. To redirect our understanding of what Craig wanted, he showed us a powerpoint presentation of a trip he had taken, entitled simply enough, 'Hannah Goes to England'.

The trip had been to England, where Craig had gone with his wife and daughter, Hannah. They had gone to Picadilly Circus, the Roman Baths, and Buckingham Palace. It was raining in every photo, though Craig was quite happy in the photos, not quite the same form that hovered back and forth in front of the class. He appeared tired and suffering from malnourishment typically resulting from eating anything made by Chef Bourrade.

Each slide in the presentation would play a different Beatles Mp3, mostly stuff from Rubber Soul, I think. Whatever warmth had been established with this presention was quickly slaughter without mercy, as in ever couple photos, Craig made sure to note his ex-wife as 'Hannah's Mother.' At first, I didn't know: there were other things I was dealing with, and I usually used the time to space out. It wasn't just one class that this occurence was limited to, but he used the presentation in his lecture for three days. I'm still not sure what the relevance of the presentation had to what we were learning. At this point, I think I was only attending class to hang out with a classmate named Rachel and to drink between classes on occasion.

The last day I attended class in my first round of art school, Craig was all anger and spite. The man had exhibited his own anger to a room of strangers, who were alarmed and intimidated. Craig was the engineer of a runaway train, which he crashed and made us all aware of his inability to maintain his equilibrium. What he hoped to accomplish, I didn't really learn, though I did learn a couple valuable lessons: among them, never let them see you bleed. Not so much 'never', but dumping all your problems on strangers doesn't promote any real healthy dynamic for alleviating your problems.

I don't know what happened to that guy. I haven't seen him since my return. After that last class, I went to work and switched over to full time and began saving a couple thousand dollars for my move to Austin.

AUSTINITES

2006-02-10T09:16:00.000-08:00

AUSTIN PEOPLE.

HOW ARE YOU? I AM DOING OK. ACTUALLY NO, -I'M SUPER FUCKING EXCITED TO RETURN TO AUSTIN. March 29 - April 3.

I kind of need a place to stay. I've got a couple places lined up, but any more would be greatly appreciated.

Were-wolves!

2006-02-08T18:29:00.000-08:00

Feeling good, feeling all right, feeling tired. Hardcore darkroom mornings make it tough for the human mind to function correctly, I believe the amber colored light is all about making all work. Kind of like I'm a honey bee. Some one decided to steal $75 worth of photo paper from me the other day, and today I was guarding my new stash of the light sensitive stuff like some kind of wolf-man. Though, not like a were-wolf, but more like a reverse were-wolf.

Further more, my pal Joel informs me that in D&D, there are wolf-weres, which are like super were-wolves. Then later today, I ate a chocolate bar with a pair of wolves on it, but it failed to provide me with any amount of wolf-like energy.

Because I worked hard this morning and the events of last night, I treated myself to a special lunch: good food can put everything in it's right place. Especially when you had 3 beers with it and you have to work an hour after finishing beers and meal.

I'm also riding the psyched-dragon because I totally got a new job: cutting up fruit and making salsas in the back room, away from the customers (more like crust-omers) and all the stupid shit they've got with them.

Someone I never expected to find on Myspace, I found on myspace. While I'm not sure about adding her, she has a cool protest photo on her page. I'm not one to wax nostalgic, but I'd be lying if I said that I didn't enjoy the arrangement that we had. She was the first person I gave a copy of my key too. Aw. Times change though.

A Million Little Farts

2006-02-05T07:31:00.000-08:00

James Frey's A Million Little Pieces re-shelved in libraries as fiction.

I totally missed the week almost every other blog had a James Frey post. I wasn't really mad so much at Frey, but rather the current state of literacy in this nation. Though Frey's 'scandal' confirmed one thing we already knew: don't mess with Oprah.

Doctor, prescribe yourself some social tact.

2006-02-01T14:32:00.000-08:00

If you become a doctor, never say: "We've got your test results, and we'd like you come in".

Now, I'm going to get zero sleep tonight.

I wish Mrs. Julian Casablancas hadn't deleted her livejournal.

2006-01-31T17:48:00.000-08:00

My sister saved my ass from becoming grass. The night before, my friend backed out of allowing me to take his portrait, simply because he wanted to sleep in the next day and the morning in question was essential to getting the photos I needed for my project.

Before I could descend into anxiety, my sister agreed to let me take her picture. All of the photos turned out pretty well: my sister can effectively channel a Sally Jesse Raphael meets Margo Tennenbaum spirit when she feels fit. My sister has a sailboat next door to her house, named 'Upward and Onward', which I totally photo-ed. We also captured the aftermath of a visit by neighborhood racoons when her roommate forgot to take the trash off the back step where he had left it instead of placing it in the proper recepticle. The assignment was about portraits, but I elected that a potrait amidst racoon shit and strewn trash is a portrait, nonetheless.

In summation, my sister is awesome. If you do not know her, you should meet her, she is quite awesome. We used to get into some awesome fights when we were kids. One time, she removed the curtain rod from above her window and then charged me with it.

Down-ward-ly Mobile Splendor

2006-01-26T07:29:00.000-08:00

A few days ago, I went to my storage locker and began emptying it out, as the price to insure a storage locker with a little couch (loveseat) and a full-size slightly burned IKEA bed has risen to $20 a month (as my dad explains in one word, Katrina). I brought home my loveseat, carried it in solo, risking a back injury.

The day of the purchase of the little couch was a joyous triumph in my life. When fire gutted my apartment, I was able to clean the soot from it's cushions. When cans of lonestar and bottles of shiner were spilt onto it, I quickly cleaned it.

Last night, I came home from work, and quickly made white russians with vanilla rice milk. Sat down on my couch with my feet up, while reading the new issue of the New Yorker. I quickly fell asleep, leaving half a white russian, but I awoke with such a painfully bent spine. Such a weird happiness is gained by such a simple lonesome night, but I did miss it indeed. Though, if you are gonna feel a little lonely, vices are prime outlets. My three are alcohol, reading, and my little couch which, I haggled down from $185 to $100 at a Salvation Army.

Little couch, you are the closest thing that I have to an awesome dog.

Lazer Lazer Lazer Love.

2006-01-24T09:02:00.000-08:00

I've been on the internet far too often lately, and in my travels I've been however fortunate one can really be when one stumbles onto WickedLasers.Com This is indicative of a growing subculture, - a laser subculture. The site sells high-powered laser pointers that shoot green laser beams. These green lasers are more powerful than your standard Office-Max red laser. Green lasers can ignited matches, burn through euro-format office paper, and 'disperse' birds.

With the utility of lasers becoming more and more consumated, one can wonder when exactly they will become instruments of violence. Which begs, will we call them 'laserings' or 'zappings' as opposed to 'shootings'? I for one would prefer the term 'laserings', but I do not welcome laserings, the inevitable drive-by laserings, police officers lasering innocent bystanders, or epic laser battles fought on the surface of Mars. Hopefully by that time, the US will have refined its own foreign policy and the roads will be dominated by hydrogen fuel-cell powered cars.

Here are some videos from the site's video page:
Green Laser on CSI Miami, Laser + Bling + Porn Groove (vaguely reminiscent of the Knight Rider theme), and never do this, because it is not cool.

C'mon, you like Bjork, right?

2006-01-22T08:55:00.000-08:00

http://abcnews.go.com/WNT/story?id=1518556&CMP=OTC-RSSFeeds0312

Oh, I love you, Iceland. Do you have Grain Belt Premium there? Just let me get my BFA and gather up my records.

You sauced your office, Winston

2006-01-20T12:28:00.000-08:00

I've been bummed out a lot lately. School, work, and an attempted move have Sea-Living straight up dog-all-alone-out-in-the-yard feelings shooting through our aching back. What I need is an ass-kicking, but I'm not about to ask for it. Instead, I need some quiet moments and a lord of the rings viewing to bust up the beaver dam that's blocked up the river of my human heart. That should work. If you went to that diner with me last night, that was the lowest things have been for a while. I think a day off or two is in order, before setting off on some projects. I miss my couch.

Things are on the upswing. We get so down, we forget we have the records, the bass guitar, and the books to distract us when we slip into tunnel vision and can't help but focus on the anxiety attack potentially at hand.

As a kid I was restless, and unable to focus on things, because I was always trying to get something better. It never went away, it made me move to Texas (which was good and awesome), but I need to learn patience. I need to focus and relax. I'm in school for chrissakes.

2006-01-17T12:47:00.000-08:00

The barbarians are at the gates
The barbarians are on line two
And no, they will not hold for you

I've been stressing out lately, big time. There's a lot of factors about that I've been feeling anxious about, but I've been dumb enough to forget about all the good things I have going for me now, and this weekend will have several awesome things in store for me.

This morning, I awoke late and had to shoot two rolls of film double for today. I forgot how good it can feel to lose yourself in that creative trappings. Anyway, I snapped off 72 exposures in like 45 minutes. It was about 10 am, so I plugged in my bass amp and played away, hoping that my neighbors were already awake.

Anyway, it feels good to know that there are controls in place before your job smashes you down to earth, school eats through your meager bank acount. Now, if I could just change my living arrangement.

My friend Josh won a Pulitzer: I remember a particularly hot Austin TX afternoon when he and I smoked honest-to-goodness cuban cigars in 96 degree heat. Way to go, Josh.

2006-01-15T19:35:00.000-08:00

The last few nights have been pockmarked by my mistake of being drunk, then consuming cake. I had several beers on friday, then I ate this delicious cupcake with espresso and caramel frosting. The result: the gut-rot of the century. Fer crissakes. You'd think a handsome and smart boy like muhself would have the wisdom to avoid that fate twice, but no.

The next night, I gladly drank several Pabst Blue Ribbons with my grandma while we looked at slides from her trip to African in 1979. When divorced, my Grandma had a good idea: take the first alimony payment to the other side of the globe. My dad brought a slide projector to show all of her slides. So I sat transfixed to projected images of all the animals of the mighty African continent: elephants, cheetahs, baboons, zebra, giraffes, and lions. It's crazy that my Grandma got close up photos of lions and to this day will chat with you over cans of PBR if you've got the time.

After beer #5, I indulged in a pineapple cheesecake, followed by another slice of a more traditional chocolate cake. The next morning, I again clutched my aching stomach, cursed the appeal of cake upon being heightened by wonderful PBRs.

Anyone want to grab beers with my grandma sometime? She's more of a leftist than I, you will be shocked.

2006-01-12T12:39:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting down after an hour-long expedition into the skyway, a little parched from hauling my mobile scoliosis-inducing slack-cave on my back (camera, ipod, books, smashed sammich). While walking, I enjoy being exposed to the colloqiual shop-talk of the American Business person.

From what I gather from overheard conversations, the firm has lost partners, which has development worried about cut backs. As a result, second and third quarters could be the worst since the first half of 2003. Tough times, I know.

Though I don't fret much for the business person: so long as there are plenty of steaks and fine dress shoes in convenient supply, I think that the troubles concerning the expense reports and the switch from the Denver office will simply melt away like a pad of butter on so many aforementioned fine steaks.

It's times like these that I am glad that I've accepted my more lowly fate.

2006-01-09T12:39:00.000-08:00

To all Sea-Living stockholders, you have a cause for joy. I made my return to academia today, and I was neither late nor compelled to skip out. It is true that I was quite tired from a late-night malaise of academic-anxiety, and though I faded in and out during the first few minutes of my first lecture, I was able to regain self-control.

Some of my old classmates are still there. Some people I didn't like two years ago are still there, though they have mustaches now. My friend Eric, who was once a print shop attendent, now runs the place. I forecast drinks @ Mackenzie's in the not so distant future. For the uninformed, Mackenzie's touts itself as a 'Scotch Bar With American Flavor'. Which means they want to evoke the conglomeration of the flavors of single-malt Glenfiddich and state fair corndogs. The places I drink so you don't have to...

I enjoy the Minneapolis skyway system: it's somewhere between Cloud City from the Empire Strikes Back and a habi-trail that your 3rd grade class used to have for hamsters to bridge between two cages. In 3rd grade, our class hamster had babies. Shortly thereafter I learned hamsters, of course, live for nothing more to commit infanticide.