Dumb Nostalgia

man, is that how I feel today...

2011-07-14T13:22:00.001-07:00

here sometimes

2011-07-05T19:19:00.000-07:00

sure did have fun with blonde redhead last week...

summer came

2011-06-01T20:40:00.000-07:00

for now

2011-05-11T20:42:00.000-07:00

a low point

2011-04-17T00:19:00.001-07:00

vacation. badwater basin. 282 feet below sea level.

things are happening

2011-03-16T20:20:00.000-07:00

happy

2011-01-05T21:53:00.001-08:00

a lot of potential

2011-01-05T20:05:00.001-08:00

Things new and old

2010-08-16T15:01:00.000-07:00

famous for a day

i feel like a morning star

2010-07-03T08:50:00.000-07:00

It's been a bit quiet here lately. I guess that I've been away, swimming and adventuring away from this big, old city, and generally getting certain things in order, and relishing in the disarray of others. I'm here sometimes when there are things to say. Lately not.

this happend in 24 hours in Toronto

2010-06-21T21:28:00.001-07:00

another weekend away

2010-06-16T16:09:00.000-07:00

far and few between

2010-06-08T15:13:00.000-07:00

I spent the better part of last week soaking up the Midwestern summer in Indiana. I was faced with a long, sleepless night of travel, and greeted by the smiling face of a great uncle who I had never known. I stood on the grave of my great-great grandmother. I walked through the grass on the old family farm. It was both deeply meaningful and eerily psychedelic all at once. These are some thoughts without words since those are often the best kind.

After a flood of family history I found myself in Ohio to frequent both the local swimming and watering holes, and watch my little sister graduate, with honors, from college. This world moves fast sometimes.

honestly

2010-06-08T15:12:00.000-07:00

a rather fine book as well

2010-06-08T15:00:00.000-07:00

lovebuzz

2010-05-26T14:44:00.000-07:00

It was a good day filled with ripe avocados, abundant sunshine, terrible horror movies and excellent bookstore finds. In spite of that, I'm off to the vacant Midwest to take some pictures and give my little sister a high five. Back soon.

falling face first into the new age movement

2010-05-17T15:21:00.000-07:00

I'm back in LA after being here and there for a few weeks. It was nice to be away. It's been nice being back. I'm not really moved either way. Last week we drove up to Big Sur to see Yo LA Tengo at The Henry Miller Library. Nothing is ever bad in that magical little spot off the 1. The show itself was a little slow and low for my liking, and most of the golden oldies that I happened to be in the proper psychological mindset to enjoy were confounded by the addition of an avant garde horn player from San Francisco who honked his way across some of my favorite musical memories. Alas.
I segued my visit into a week-long stay in Big Sur as the fulfillment of a belated birthday present from my dad. I ended up staying out at Esalen which (if you'll excuse my brief, and unqualified history) is a former Indian (Essalen Indian) holy site because of it's natural, hot mineral springs. White man came and built hot tubs, and then Aldous Huxley taught us about human potential, Hunter S. Thompson worked the night gate and everyone made sweet sweet free love (mostly in aforementioned hot tubs) until the bitter end of the 1960s. These days Esalen is a bit of a new age paradise with lots of workshops centered around art and creativity, a meditation center, a working farm which provides the food for each meal, and an outstanding view of The Pacific.

On the way down through Big Sur I ran into an old friend of mine who had been playing a show with his band somewhere between SF and LA. He's a bit of a psychedelic warrior and totem of good times, so I took our chance encounter to be a good omen. I won't give it away, but his first name is "Farmer."
So, I checked into my room, and sank into my surroundings. I was there for a photography workshop with a heavy-handed dose of zen meditation.

All of these things, from the names of various yogi, to the identification of particular sprouts, to the homeopathic remedy for priapism are pretty unfamiliar to me, in fact, as you can tell, I frequently mock certain new-agey exploits with such vigor that it wears me out sometimes. It was a tough, hacky-sack strewn line to cross, but it ended up being a really remarkable experience. And why the hell not, it was the most amazing place on Earth after all.

The classes themselves turned out to be pretty rigorous. Six hours per day of class time, plus added exercises and assignments in the down time kept me pretty occupied, though I found just the right balance between "work" and sitting on the rocky beach or lying in the hot tubs for hours and hours each night.

I met some really great folks, and learned a thing or two (I think). It was quite a place, and quite an experience.

I left feeling bittersweet and sunburned and drove the six and a half hours back down to LA with just a few minutes to spare before my old pal Steve's new band went on at The Echo. They were great and amazing and all of those things that happen when your friend's band plays a really good show, and they're a little drunk and bubbly and climbing back into their van to drive to the next show and it's all good times. Go see Hurricane Bells because its the right thing to do.

The next day I was right back into the swing of work and traffic and stress and nonsense with a tacky fashion show in Orange County (or 'behind the orange curtain' as I've been told). It was the antithesis of a drunk and bubbly night in Echo Park with friends. More like a hot day in the parking lot behind an art school, but bar a few power outages and a little sunburn it all worked out well in the end.

Saturday we pulled double duty and stopped by a friend's annual 'spring fling' which occurs, without remorse, well after the start of Spring. It was nearby to our house, in fact just over the mountain, and featured lots of long hair and beards, several live bands and one very large margarita.

Then we tore over to The Hollywood Forever Cemetery just in time to catch the start of The Wizard of Oz projected onto a big, white wall. It was the first of many movies of the season, and it's just what you do in the summer in LA. I paid my respects at the grave of Johnny Ramone on the way out, and called it a night. I am now back in the swing of things.

minor oversight

2010-04-29T19:31:00.000-07:00

The brown angels are a gang of miscreants with a keen knowledge of photoshop, access to affordable sticker printing, and lots and lots of frequent flier miles. The black angels are a psychedelic rock band from austin, texas. Last week two worlds collided, and fun was had. That's really all that needs to be said.

north, again

2010-04-29T11:12:00.000-07:00

I'm freshly back from Mexico, but I'm heading up to Big Sur for Yo La Tengo, Henry Miller, some hot springs and some photography. Not a bad collision of events at all. I'll see you in a week or so.

full moon, dirty heart

2010-04-29T11:09:00.001-07:00

Some friends and I hiked up Coldwater Canyon last night to check out the full moon. It was well worth the death-defying drive down Mulholland, and the stumble through the woods. Just a little wind in the sails.

on the edge

2010-04-26T19:10:00.000-07:00

how to make a baby elephant float

2010-04-17T20:16:00.000-07:00

Shit goddamn, how the days go by. It's been over two weeks since I've even had occasion to look at this thing, and I'm not even a little bit sorry. I've had my head pretty buried in work lately, and not the intellectually fulfilling kind at all, so nothing really much to report other than time spent earning money, and therefore time wasted unless said money is spent on something silly like renting a bouncy castle for an afternoon or spending the weekend smoking cuban cigars in a bathtub filled to the brim with warm tapioca pudding. Both, and neither of these things sound appealing to me, all at the same time.
Coachella weekend is currently coming and going for me. I have mixed feelings. It's hot and dry out there, generally bad for my skin, and an affront to my new-found distaste for loud music (with a few exceptions). Many of my friends are out there this weekend though, and while the urge to drive out to the desert most likely won't outweigh me sleeping off Saturday night well into Sunday morning, and then making pancakes, part of me wishes that I were there. Just a little bit.
Home for good has been pretty nice. I'm finding the gentle balance between over-stimulation and sheer boredom to be a challenge at times. I joined a gym. I bought a bike. I do fucking yoga. I have hobbies. I like to attend trivia night at the local bar. I walk the dog around the lake once a week. I am becoming an old man.
I'm getting a little break from the routine next week, and heading down to Mexico, up to Chicago, and then down to Austin for some shows. I'm actually looking forward to them. The band are old friends, the places familiar. Next month I'm disappearing into Big Sur again, but his time with a little bit more structure, and for only a week. Hopefully it will give me something to talk about. Thanks for being there.

I'm not saying it's anything

2010-04-01T16:30:00.000-07:00

I'm just saying it's there.

idle hands and down time

2010-03-25T10:30:00.000-07:00

I've got some, it's true, and it's making me a little bit crazy, but not nearly as crazy as, say, not working at all, which is how I spent my last week after a few things fell through. I've been wrestling with being under-stimulated and generally being in one place from day to day. It's not going so well, but somehow with rather spectacular results. I've been gardening like a bastard, and decided to harvest and dry some of the herbs that had been threatening to overtake the back half of the house. Take that. In the event of the looming apocalypse, I've got us all covered for Rosemary, Mint, Cilantro and Parsley.

I also decided to make some garlic and herb olive oil from aforementioned herbs.

Get some (in 2 to 3 weeks).

And then came the bacon infused bourbon. I found a recipe here, and ran with it. It's all pretty simple, and unless you've got more than five years of sobriety under your belt you'd be a fool not to try it.

Fry bacon....

Procure bourbon (I prefer Trader Joe's $10 'Rebel Yell' mostly because it's $10, but also because it's called 'Rebel Yell), and cheesecloth (which has very little to do with cheese).

Decant (that means pour into a thing, right?) bourbon.

Mix with bacon grease/drippings/pig sweat.

Let it all settle, put it in the freezer for a few hours until all the fat separates. Spoon out said fat, filter the bourbon through the cheesecloth, and then shazam...

Success!

and cheers....

Just about there, but I wanted to make some meatballs and sauce to go with the bourbon and olive oil.

Oh, and some peanut butter cookies just because. And then I slept for 3 days and woke up not knowing where I was or why I smelled so strongly of garlic. The I remembered that I'm a crafty little fucker when I want to be.

those were them days

2010-03-17T18:08:00.001-07:00

I went to see the Radar Brothers at a shitty art gallery....

2010-03-14T19:04:00.000-07:00

and all I got was this lousy picture not fully capturing the truly odd surroundings including, but not limited to a mural of fruits and vegetables, and a crazy Mexican guy with a yin-tang nipple tattoo who kept shouting words of vague (and occasionally threatening) encouragement at the band.
Man, I sometimes forget how good that band is.
In other news, I started working here, and I'm not sure if it's terrible, or relieving or great, or the worst decision that I've ever made. It is two things though: loud and dirty. Not necessarily deal breakers.

who's counting?

2010-03-14T19:03:00.000-07:00

high desert, low life

2010-03-09T21:20:00.001-08:00

It's been a busy few weeks in town here. I had some work on a nonsense commercial to keep me busy before we were swamped with house guests for two straight weeks. Tonight I'm talking it over with a bottle of cheap red wine and some expensive cheese that doesn't look like something I should be eating at all, but will be damn delicious all the same. Jamie came out from wherever it is that he's been hiding, and crashed in our basement drank out bourbon and stole my car. Lexi's folks came down for a weekend, and Ally's brother was lost in LA, via Glasgow for a good few days as well. Since he was without transport (as they say in the Highlands) I took him up to Griffith Park to see the observatory, and marvel at the remarkably poor sculpture of James Dean on the front lawn. It reminds me a bit of a 3-d Archie cartoon.

Ally, Gza and I also went out to the Zoo last week. I hadn't been to the LA zoo before, and can't say that I ever had an inclination to go, but the weather was amazing, and it was a good day for a walk through the park. Ally's brother really enjoyed himself because Glasgow's native animal population is limited largely to things that eat fried food and carry knives.
I guess that meerkats are supercool in Britain right now, and are being used in commercials selling everything from mobile phones to real estate, so this was a bit of a celebrity encounter.

We watched the rather bizarre and violent mating rituals of a pair of Zebra along with a class of bemused and rather appalled schoolchildren (we were rather appalled as well, I have to say, though not appalled enough not to try to get a photo of the scene), and then decided to throw popcorn at the lions just like the sign suggests.

Afterward we had a little new-rave freak-out in the gift shop. Eagle trumps wolf every time in the jungle disco.

On the way home we stopped by Zankou Chicken (this began my entire week of eating far too much delicious food) and got 1/4 roasted chickens with humus on pita bread with a bucket of Dr. Pepper on the side. Damn.

Saturday morning I got up early and, I suppose just because it was there, I went to the gun show in Glendale. It's pretty much the next town over, so I was a little curious to see what the neighbors were up to. It seems that they are rather actively involved in arming themselves to the teeth in anticipation of our government's imminent collapse or the ever-approaching apocalypse. I guess I've been doing it all wrong by stock-piling canned goods and trying to grow vegetables in my backyard. The way forward seems to be to fill a truck bed with cases of 50-calibre ammunition for the helicopter door gun that you've got mounted on the roof. I was way off.

If these shirts weren't $17 I might have bought one just to set back the cause of those selling them just a little bit by wearing one, like the time I bought the 'Jesus is my BFF' t-shirt at a truck stop in Arizona. Take that.

Duly noted that adjacent to the t-shirt that screams conservative heterosexual christian American is a holster that very closely resembles the lower half of a woman's bikini.

Picking on the gun show crowd is a little like shooting fish in the face at best, I suppose. Guns are fun, and I hate freedom. I had just hoped for a little bit more fun from a gun show. No bouncy castle, no cotton candy, just lots of machismo and paranoia. Bummer.
Hey, where has that guy been?

To cleanse the palate, and ease my slanted world-view post gun show, I decided to head out to the desert for a few days (somehow letting it slip my mind that there's a massive marine base in 29 palms mostly because the high desert looks almost exactly what I'd imagine Afghanistan to look like, and also because it's totally acceptable to blow things up out there because damn near everything is dead anyway).

I took the dog with me on his first major adventure away from home. He was not quite as excited as I was to see the congestion and busyness of LA die out, and give way to drifting sand, tumbleweeds and space. In fact, he slept for the entire 2+ hour ride there.

I managed to get a room at the 29 Palms Inn on shortish notice, which was a nice thing.

I checked into a small, adobe house called the bottle room for obvious reasons. According to the hotel staff Spock had stayed there before me. I was a little let down to realize that I wasn't finding Leonard Nimoy's hair in the shower, but actually that other little dude from the new Star Trek movie. Ahhh well.

I had time for a walk out in the desert before the sun set, then I had a steak in the hotel restaurant and commiserated with the locals over a margarita at the bar while a Captain and Tenille-esque couple hacked through show tunes on a little electric piano nearby. Good folk those desert people.

Dog and I decided that it might be a good idea to check out the local drive-in theatre after dinner. We caught a $5 double feature of Valentine's Day and Wolfman. Against my assumptions the dog was not fond of Wolfman, and instead snored so loudly though the first half of the film that I didn't catch most of the dialogue. Still desert drive-in was good times.

Up early the next morning, and I hit the Yucca Valley Swap Meet (or 'Swap Mee' if you believe what the sign tells you. Hey, 'Ts' are a commodity in the desert).

The swap meet was mostly a permanent collection of people who live in the desert selling things that they uncovered in the sand of their back yards to other people who live in the desert. It's basically an elaborate excuse for a social gathering and, judging by the guy who had a monopoly on broken (and sandy) blender parts, commerce rarely enters into the equation.

It was good fun just to walk around and chat to some folks about where they found their old cowboy boots or how a pair of skis happened to end up in Yucca Valley.

I went for a drive through Joshua Tree Park early in the morning. The sun was barely up, and it was still pretty cold, and very very quiet.

Some rain moved in quickly and everything got pretty surreal. As surreal as a thunderstorm in the desert gets, I guess.

I started the drive back to LA, and stopped several times along the way at cactus farms, garage sales and flea markets. At one in particular there seemed to be endless tables of Mexican candy flanked by a wall of wide-eyed children.

Somewhere along the way back, around the exit towards Coachella is the regionally famous robotic dinosaur museum cave roadside attraction.

It was feature in a little film called 'Pee Wee's Big Adventure.' Maybe you've heard of it.

I got back home a few hours later, and went out for tacos with Jamie who had been both watching the house and tearing around LA in search of trouble.

And then had some deep fried shrimp heads at the sushi spot because that just seems like a good thing to pile on top of tacos.

I'm finding myself starting to settle in here a bit more each day. Work is picking up, and things are just swell.

Lucas' Prominent Personality

2010-03-07T17:33:00.000-08:00

I just ordered some nonsense from Amazon, and, when I checked out, it suggested what they call a 'pay phrase' which is mean to somehow ease me into the warm embrace of the novel that I may have ordered that much quicker, but it also seems to imply that I have multiple personality disorder, and that the 'prominent' one is the same one that has a credit card, internet access and burning desire for PG Woodehouse.
Also, I just googled 'Dabid Lynch,' and then couldn't remember why. Things are going well.

Varied Explainations

2010-03-01T17:19:00.001-08:00

I've been absent with little or no reason. It's been busy here in the southland. Occasional work, and more frequent play have dragged me away from the computer, which is a pretty nice thing. I've also got this small, furry child to contend with. He's a handful at the best of times, but manages to melt my cynical old heart more often than not.

So, sorry, sorry, sorry if you keep up with this thing. I'm slowing down and adjusting priorities and things have been less photogenic lately, but it's all coming back to me now. I'm a little torn between going to the gun show this weekend or going to the desert. Time will tell.

let there be

2010-02-28T17:24:00.000-08:00

and the rains came

2010-02-08T22:07:00.000-08:00

a dog-shaped hole in my life

2010-02-03T19:28:00.000-08:00

filled

all fiesta-no siesta

2010-02-01T19:42:00.000-08:00

I got back from Mexico on Thursday night, tequila-soaked and road-weary, with a bit of an upset stomach and a marginally weakened sense of pride. I had sworn (or maybe just strongly advised myself) that I'd stay local, and try my damnedest not to tour, but things don't always work out the way that you (by you I mean me) want them to. I ended up swallowing some pride and going out for a brief 3 shows in six days. Not too shabby, and it pays the rent. Plus the shows were in Mexico which means that they were equal parts exciting and frustrating.

It was also the end of the line for this particular band and their particular album cycle. That means that a band, at this pace, following a week of shows in Mexico may be staring down the barrel of almost three years off. This is generally a cue to cut loose, and cut loose we did.

Hard to complain about the crew as well. I've spent the better part of five years with some of them.

For better or for worse.

The shows were a blast, the work was totally exhausting as I was a little cranky and out of practice, but I got to see some friends, get out of the country for a week, and fill myself with delicious street meat almost every day. I'm glad I did it in the end.

Adios, hasta luego and all that jazz.

A secret diary, a clandestine daydream.

2010-01-31T19:57:00.000-08:00

Seriously though.

2010-01-21T13:20:00.000-08:00

How awesome is this shirt? I just found it after several months of lethargic unpacking. I got it the last time Mogwai played in SF, and I know about seven people who might actually appreciate it.

Overstimulation

2010-01-21T05:11:00.000-08:00

The first few weeks of this year have just flown by in a fit of aimless, new-city driving, fruitless job searching and general culinary over-indulgence (you can get anything out of a taco truck in this magical city. Anything.). A few weeks back we hit The Wiltern to see Sonic Youth. Our old pal, and newly minted avocado farmer Dan was making some flashy flashy lights for them. I am slowly learning that my tolerance for rock music is waning. This may be on a sliding scale to how much I am being paid to listen to said rock music, but that's just an untested theory. Maybe I'll slide over to classical or maybe musical theatre. The show was pretty great though, and I love some Sonic Youth (and as a bonus there was no trumpet playing or free jazz-leaning on the night), but after about four songs I wandered aimlessly into the lobby to peruse the merch stand. I ran into my friend David Scheid who I haven't seen in ages, and haven't even spoken to since I moved to LA. We ended up spending the remainder of the show talking shit at the bar and making a subtle start towards the stage whenever we heard the start of a song that sounded like teenage riot. Oddly enough the start of damn near every one of their songs sounds like teenage riot. Indie rock fake out.

I spent another few days cobbling together some lights for an LA band/friend. I realized a little too late that the stands I had ordered were about four feet taller than the ceiling in the basement. I opted to turn everything sideways, since that's how the project seemed to be going anyways, at least metaphorically (or maybe metaphysically). A little out of practice, I guess.

It all turned out pretty bright and flashy in the end. The music was all good and dancey too, so a good fit all around. The whole mess ended up being operated by the keyboard player via a series of programmable foot switches that we toyed with most of the day. She was running samples, singing backup vocals, playing keyboards, running effects and then triggering lights, strobes and a fog machine with one foot. She never missed a beat, and made my otherwise tacky (not my fault, tacky was on the rider) setup look pretty professional. Solid.

Other than that it's been a culinary explosion (intestinal malaise be damned) out here. Canter's deli has the best potato pancakes outside of Warsaw. There, I said it. Also, they are still hawking this Guns and Roses biography written by some member of the Canter family. There is nothing more unsettling then sucking down an egg cream while staring into Axl Rose's sad, vacant nineteen year-old eyes.

One of my Christmas presents (to, not from) was a pair of tickets to the Lakers game last week. Good fun, and some further entrenching into our new adoptive homeland (what?). It was pretty great, and a real change of pace from desperately pleading with any local SF sports team to at least not lose by the largest margin in the history of sport, again. The Lakers, rather lackadaisically put The Bucks to shame (it looked like high school try-outs, no joke) and did it all with a live marching band and Rick Springfield on their side. Yeah, it was a weird night, but a good time all the same.

It's Lily's birthday today. Or maybe yesterday. Either way, tonight I am going to Koreatown to eat my weight in BBQ. I'm going to roll into bed tonight swollen, and stinking of Kimchi and charcoal. And happy. Yes, very happy. Last weekend a bunch of us, in a fit of boredom more than anything else decided to put an advance order in for an entire roast duck and drive out to Monterey Park. Mostly because it was there.

It started out innocently enough with a little bit of roast duck on a plate nestled beside a duck shaped, tin foil sculpture filled with duck guts and veggies.

But then quickly turned into a bull fight, wherein us patrons were the inexperienced, terrified matador, and the waiters, who seemed to multiply before our very eyes carrying a plate in each arm, were the charging bull. We were quite literally overrun by duck parts in varying guises, and wallowing in an array of sauces. We started employing an overstock system of plates and dishes below the table, while still maintaining maximum coverage on the actual table itself. It reminded me of two separate incidents, both of which took place in South America. The first was at a churrascaria in Rio where the goal is to quite literally clog your system with meat where you are then rolled into the kitchen and, I believe, served to the remaining patrons. There was a large table of Japanese tourists sitting beside me, and they would occasionally nod off, sleeping for five or ten minutes at a time, and then awaken refreshed and, impossibly still hungry for more meat. I felt like sleeping after the second round of duck soup and duck dumplings and duck hot dogs and duck martinis.

The second story which comes to mind involves Ally, again the lone vegetarian at a table of overwhelmed and bewildered carnivores. Several years ago, against the better judgment of several members of a touring party, and I believe most of the United Nations, I went out for sushi lunch in Belo Horizante. Ally watched as I pointed to a rather harmless looking lunch special that, in a picture, displayed no more than six pieces of fish, but in reality was an unending train of forty of fifty pieces of sushi, and failure. Lots of failure. This is nearly the same face he made that day, years ago when I asked if he felt up for renouncing his vegetarianism and helping me lay waste to a duffel bag full of raw fish. It's a look that says less 'I'd like to help you out,' but more 'I'm rather glad that I ordered the white rice and diet coke. Your problems are your own.' Thanks.

I'm off to Mexico for a week tomorrow. Adios.

On mother nature and the destruction of los angeles

2010-01-20T17:50:00.000-08:00

It has been raining since Sunday in Los Angeles. The mountain has given it up, and is spewing boulders across the road. The streets are flooded, and LA drivers seem rather convinced that these are signs of an impending apocalypse. I was a doubter myself until a tornado touched down in Long Beach yesterday afternoon, and this morning not one, but two planes were struck by lightning landing into Burbank. Needless to say this is uncharacteristic weather for Southern California. I would moan and complain about the relative lack of daylight, temperatures in the 50s, and seemingly unending water from the sky if I weren't locked in my house in the hills with a bag full of avocados, a book of british tv shows on DVD, several nice bottles of wine and a bit of a headache from many hours of both drinking and bowling last night at a birthday party. Sometimes I wonder who it is that I am becoming. Other times I just go with it.

what if you throw a party and no one comes?

2010-01-20T17:08:00.000-08:00

Not true...there were lots of people there actually.

you and your goals....

2010-01-20T16:55:00.000-08:00

we shave face

2010-01-16T23:44:00.001-08:00

if this then that

2010-01-16T23:41:00.001-08:00

Got the week all laid out...

Further (still)

2010-01-08T17:55:00.000-08:00

It's good to be back in LA. I've got Lakers tickets for Sunday, and it sounds like Sonic Youth is playing tomorrow night. Getting the balance right.
Still bits and pieces to do around the house. Most of it involves tending to the man-eating plants in the backyard and then trying to talk the pound into letting me take home the 3-legged dog. In the meantime the St. Vincent DePaul thrift store as kept me occupied with strange housewares and just generally odd and impractical things that I seem to fill the new house with daily. Yesterday I perused the used book section ('section' is pretty liberal, it's a pile actually) where I came away with a nice Vonnegut book a few weeks back. It was a less than fruitful excursion unless you count the laughs, which you should.

I was always told that this was a dirty expression. Maybe not, but still, it conjures an image.

Well, why not.

If you're ever LA-bound look me up. I may not have a futon for you to sleep on, but I've got plenty of tacky reading material to keep you busy. See ya.

Came and Went

2010-01-04T11:18:00.001-08:00

The holidays were all a blur of unpacking and last-minute shopping, with very little fanfare, and a wild card stomach infection to spice things up a little. All in all it was pretty pleasant (bar the stomach cramps, and serious aversion to anything with more flavor than a drink coaster). We drove back down towards LA on New Year's Eve, having missed the boat on some rather wild Joshua Tree festivus due to some tired brake pads, and equally as exhausting mechanics in Monterrey. We decided to stop off in Pismo beach, sit in some hot springs, get a massage, eat a big Italian dinner, walk on the beach, pop a bottle of champagne and then fall soundly asleep, fully clothed before finishing a single glass.

Hope that this new year is more fruitful than daunting. Best of luck,

fat lady sings

2010-01-03T19:47:00.001-08:00

happy new year

2009-12-31T12:38:00.001-08:00

Frequent Flier

2009-12-29T11:35:00.000-08:00

I'd just like to point out that The New York Times devoted a quarter page to my friend and associate David Scheid for his numerous and unholy globetrotting exploits. Good show, old sport.

Reason For Leaving:

2009-12-21T12:49:00.000-08:00

[further] journeys in los angeles

2009-12-18T19:08:00.001-08:00

After weathering (literally) about a week of inclimate weather, and a rather despiriting stomach infection the skies cleared, and other than staying away from delicious food and drink for the next five to seven days things are looking up. Lexi and I decided to celebrate these gastrointestinal and atmospheric changes by actually exploring this city that has been little more than a string of used furniture stores and home depots to us for the past few weeks. After a brief walk through the holiday lights in Griffith Park last week , and after a little 'rebel without a cause' nostalgia we decided to come back and check out the observatory.

The panorama is pretty unreal. On a clear day you can see the Angeles National Forest to the North, downtown, Hollywood and Beverly Hills to the South, and planes landing at LAX just at the edge of the Pacific to the West. On an unclear day you can see a broad line of deep brown smog spread over the entire city which, although far less picturesque, is still a sight.

We were accosted by a rogue coyote on the drive up, so welcomed the indoors which houses a planetarium, a camera obscura, and a Foucault's Pendulum (one that has been there since the 1930s, and seems to attract the exclusive attention of the elderly, which is strange since the physical manifestation of time's passing is something that I hope not to ponder in my old age). They also have a working Tesla coil, which may be why the elderly and infirm wheel themselves in a panic towards the opposite end of the museum to gaze at the slow moving, less electric bolt-throwing pendulum. Much to my dismay the go button was under lock and key so I could only imagine what it would have been like to turn David Bowie's tophat into an alley cat or however that thing works.

Thank you, no. Even Leonard Nimoy couldn't convince me to go inside something called the 'event horizon theatre.' I'm pretty sure that an eyeball-less Lawrence Fishburne is just hanging out in there waiting to ruin another six weeks of my nightly dreams.

Yeah, I guess that's pretty cool.

There are a few massive telescopes that are apparently open to the public most nights. This was a 12" Zeiss which I'll bet is pretty stellar on a clear night.

Well, as you do.

Good times for sure. A little stop by Amoeba on the way home, and now it's time for a nap.

a wise purchase

2009-12-18T18:59:00.000-08:00

an apt talisman

Still

2009-12-13T19:17:00.000-08:00

raining in LA

SF

2009-12-11T17:07:00.000-08:00

You live on in my memories as a dusty old sweatshirt hanging on a forgotten rack in some vintage store at the edge of the world.

touche'

2009-12-10T18:25:00.000-08:00

Journeys in Los Angeles

2009-12-09T20:15:00.000-08:00

On many a recommendation from friends far and wide, we checked out Galcos Soda Pop Stop on York the other day. It's a little shop that's been around since the 1800s and they sell mostly, well, near exclusively, soda.

And candy. Lots of forgotten candy that I could only assume was discovered, untouched, in an ancient warehouse somewhere. Abba Zabba?

Cheerwine?

Lots of strange and wonderful beers of the world too. No India beer, which is elusive like the white wolf, and only available, I hear, in Woodland Hills, damn near 45 minutes out of town at an amazing Indian restaurant. They did have a shelf of Dixie Beer, which I've had in Baton Rouge, and is referenced incessantly in James Lee Burke's noir detective novels.

They also had all kinds of micro brew sodas. The Fukola Cola was a strange concoction of cloves, guarana, ginko biloba, Kola nuts, sage and dill weed. Oh, and lots of caffeine. It made me think of Manhattan Specials (which they also sell at Galcos), those espresso sodas that East Coast college students used as term paper juice before they discovered the wonders of writing about John Keats under the influence of designer club drugs.

Dr. Pepper in little glass bottles? Be still my 8 year-old heart. I think that LA and I are going to be friends.

Many Moons Ago

2009-12-09T20:14:00.001-08:00

A Rather Festive Showing

2009-12-08T19:00:00.001-08:00

I woke up this morning to see snow on the mountains surrounding LA. For a moment it seemed a bit more like Colorado than California. I think I saw a Saint Bernard with a keg of Brandy strolling through Eagle Rock this afternoon. It is now 45 degrees in East Los Angeles. The world has gone mad, and I'm thinking of bringing in the plants.

Took a shit and died

2009-12-07T19:35:00.000-08:00

It did.

Christmas Spirit

2009-12-07T19:19:00.000-08:00

Winter has arrived in LA today. There is nothing better to do except unpack a box or two, and lie on the couch (new, and red velvety) watching Jersey Shore. I'm cold and worn out. I have done unspeakable things this week; things that I swore I'd never do, like go to Ikea, and eat sushi at a mall food court. I have been bested not once, but twice by what is commonly referred to as a 'shower caddy.' Trials and tribulations. Alas, the holidays are here. Get your LED menorahs while they are hot (or not).

This Christmas everyone is getting something really nice from me because I decided, against the better judgment of my accountant and therapist to sell all of my gold jewelry to an elf outside the lady footlocker in the mall. It was a risky move, but I stand by my decision. I mean, clearly I wasn't the only one. I just wonder what that little guy was going to do with it all. Sell it to a leprechaun, I presume.

As long as we don't lose sight of what the holidays are really all about. Jeebus. And to all a good night.

Southland

2009-12-06T21:18:00.000-08:00

Home Sweet-Goddamn-Home. If I never see another cardboard box again I will be totally content. The next time I move (and there is bound to, and always will be a next time) I am hiring a team of mules and someone who knows what to do with a team of mules, and we are going to knock that move out in 30-45 minutes.

The scene of our last week in San Francisco. Everything was in boxes (bar the Devo energy dome which never really fit anywhere and almost ended up on my head while driving a rental truck down to LA). The weather got cold, and the house got colder the emptier it got. We sold the couch and TV within an hour of each other, and still had several days left. It got grim, sparse and weird.

Gone gone gone is San Francisco. Gone are the random acts of senseless violence. Gone are the street urchins and their patchouli funk who, in spite of their intense desire for it, can't muster, between themselves, the correct spelling of 'Marijuana'.

Gone are the passive aggressive neighbors who thump on walls, don't say hi to one another in the hallways, and who, recently and rather inexplicably have been leaving their pants outside their door. It must have been a hell of an entrance.

And one last, final gorgeous sunset from the living room window to bid me farewell.

Our last night in town served as the first and last 'drink our booze and undo several days of cleaning' party in the old apartment. Remarkably (or not so knowing the general fortitude of my associate's livers) a full case of beer disappeared, followed closely by the remainder of many bottles of vodka, gin, tequila and I believe several things that were only fit for cooking or de-greasing a bike chain.

9AM Friday morning we picked up a truck feeling battered and fried, and still a little shaky from the night before which, to my dismay spilled well into the morning as folks stopped by to wish us well. We assembled a pretty solid team to help us out. They were strong as oxen (carrying boxen) and aren't half bad looking either. Thanks.

The seven-hour drive down was a killer. The winds going over the Bay Bridge nearly sent me and damn near everything that I have ever owned into the bay. We pulled into LA around 8:30, exhausted and stinking, and were met by our LA pals who pried us with fizzy wine, and decided it would be a good idea for them to move most our furniture in under cover of darkness while we sat by and watched. After a brief flurry of boxes, bed frames and profanity we threw in the towel and went out for late night Mexican. Dan settled on a burrito, nothing special, but when it turned up it was easily the size of a horse's leg. Ally provided a side by side comparison here. That my friends, is a four blackberry burrito. The tin man is missing something of great value.

Not for the faint of heart, but Dan fears neither man nor burrito (even one that is equal in size and density to his own arm). He did an admirable job of standing it on end, looking deep into it's eyes and devouring at least three pounds of it. Good show, old sport.

The last week has been filled with rampant and hurried furniture shopping sprinkled with fits of unpacking. It has all been a bit exhausting, but it's starting to come together. Check out my TV. Whaaaaaat?

stay the same

2009-11-21T23:44:00.001-08:00

The woods seem pretty far away these days.

Purgatory

2009-11-21T12:18:00.000-08:00

Now that all of the furniture has been sold off on Craigslist my prospects of being comfortable for the next week are looking pretty grim. I've got a small persian rug that I paid far too much for a few years ago (and that I may never part with), a pair of grade school cafeteria chairs that I found on the street (one of which, to my dismay, was missing a rubber foot and carved an 8 inch-long gash, resembling the side of the A-Team's van into the hardwood floor in the living room), and a small 3-tiered bookshelf which is equal parts writing desk, footstool and cereal bowl-holder (on respective shelves). Soon enough this will all be shoved into a moving van, driven six hours down the I-5 and crammed into a house on Mt. Washington. When I'm done I plan on making one big box out of dozens of little ones and lighting it ablaze in my new backyard. Sort of a Wicker Man, but for moving. And then I will sleep, the long, uninterrupted sleep of the overworked but satisfied. This past week has seen me driving to Oakland four more times than I have in all my years in San Francisco combined, and going to shows back to back (though to be fair it was all friend-oriented, and all very good). The Dirty Birds (Aka Them Crooked Vultures) were really something else. I'm waiting for the appropriate series of descriptive words to fall into place. The only thing that comes to mind is loud, fast and whatever latin-derived word meaning 'having balls' you can recall. It was the good stuff.
As an aside, if anyone in the greater Los Angeles area has a fetish for carrying boxes up stairs your services could be well put to use next week. Just saying.

Wishful Thinking, Maybe

2009-11-21T11:41:00.000-08:00

This Machine

2009-11-21T11:35:00.000-08:00

Dear author of this note,
The fact that you covered this device with a black cloak and then called the mysterious shape a 'machine' makes me want to touch it twice as hard as if it had just been a coffee pot sitting on a table.

Regards,
L

who knew?

2009-11-17T17:10:00.000-08:00

traveling sideways

2009-11-15T10:39:00.000-08:00

Thanks to some amazing folks, some amazing times, and a pretty incredible new house, I'll be moving down to LA at the end of the month. I'll be adopting, borrowing or kidnapping a dog, stretching out under an orange tree and receiving visitors and well-wishers bearing house warming gifts of gold and silver, or more likely booze and food. Until then it'll be cardboard city in the old apartment and back to some u haul-racing, good-time moving madness.
Sit. Stay.

days at rocky creek

2009-11-15T10:23:00.000-08:00

I feel good now, on my first night in the cabin. I had a sickly sad feeling of uncertainty wash over me on the long drive down the rocky dirt road tonight, but now, here I feel alright. There was the idea of putting all this off, of working here during the day, of whipping this old cabin into living shape, slaving in the sun, cleaning, bleaching, killing mice, and then shutting it up and driving the long way back into Monterrey to wash my clothes, take a hot shower and sleep in a soft bed. Now, it seems, I've stuck my foot into the bear trap, and I'm here, if only for the night, for good. I'm into a mug of dirty bourbon and these cigars that my grandfather used to smoke make the night seem less lonely. I'm feeling a little wild and alone, but generally alright for once in what seems like a very long time. I've taken several steps back from rock shows and crowds and airports and buses, and now all I can hear in a low hum of tinnitus and the paced rush of the creek below. I can make out the faint splashing of animals down for a drink. Dead leaves falling on the porch still make me jump a little, and I'll bet that those four-legged demon bastards will run this place ragged tonight. I'll lay out more snap traps and ammonia in the morning, and hopefully crush a few tiny faces in a mighty spring. The nights, I think, will be the hardest here. Once the sun goes down, and without the measured distractions that electricity can offer I'm alone with my thoughts. Words like purpose and direction mean very little in the woods here. I plan on hiking my days away, and seeing what I can of this amazing place on foot. I'll wear myself out so that sleep comes easy. Hopefully I'll write like I write now with a hand detached from a head, moving along on its own. Here's to solitude. Here's to turning 30 with no place in the world. Here's to Big Sur.

-from sometime in early October.....

Sur

2009-11-07T21:41:00.000-08:00

Often, when following the trail which meanders over the hills, I pull myself up in an effort to encompass the glory and the grandeur which envelops the whole horizon. Often, when the clouds pile up in the north and the sea is churned with white caps, I say to myself: 'This is the California that men dreamed of years ago, this is the Pacific that Balboa looked out on from the Peak of Darien, this is the face of the earth as the Creator intended it to look.'

-Henry Miller
Big Sur and The Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch

days long gone and forgotten

2009-11-02T11:13:00.001-08:00

I feel like I'm sunk in the summer doldrums here today. The weather has finally gone warm and clear in San Francisco, but my skin feels both hot and cold here. It is a weird between seasons, between phases time. Everything seems muted in this big city, and even old songs seem to have lost their meaning to me. The birds outside my window have gone from vibrant to unfamiliar and vaguely threatening. My time here is brief. A new home beckons, wherever it may be.
The other day I went to a friend's Halloween wedding dressed as a slim, bubba ho-tep Elvis with a pompadour that struck out a good half foot from the front of my face, and a pair of gold, wrap-around sunglasses that brought me to the verge of vomiting after wearing them for a few hours. This all was a coup in a life lived lately of stringent international deadlines and heady, red-eye travel. I've missed so many important dates, weddings, funerals, births and deaths that I'm amazed folks still keep in touch with me, and consider me a friend. I've been gone and separate from that world for several months now, and it feels pretty ok. I guess I'm not really sure how to get back into this thing here. All of this dirty interneting. All of this airing of my digital laundry. A few months back I had decided that if I continued my current pace, and careless lifestyle, that I would be a rather unhappy guy. I decided, with my 30th birthday rapidly approaching, that I would quit my job, move out of my apartment and find somewhere obscure, remote and wild to live for a few months, and maybe set myself right. I had, on a lead from a friend in Portland, investigated the Oregon Forestry Service's disused fire watch towers that they occasionally rent out to those pure of heart, but determined that while wild and remote, a fire watch tower might not suit my less than responsible with fire, less than law-abiding needs at the time. I settled on Big Sur as a place to escape. It just seems to be what you do here. I packed up a box with some canned food, a coleman stove, some books, a radio and some warm clothes, and lamped out to an old cabin with no electricity or plumbing, no pipes or wires. It was a tangle and fight for most of it, but I came out alright, and am feeling like a new man. I'm hoping, in the next few days, to piece together most of a journal that I kept with some pictures and post them here. Thank you for your concern, but I am quite well, and no, there are no bears in the mountains.

behind the wall of sleep

2009-10-07T11:19:00.000-07:00

and this tide is coming in

2009-09-14T23:41:00.001-07:00

It's all been a bit strange, so I'm off to the woods for a while. Maybe Big Sur will ease my troubled mind, soothe my weary bones, and let me slip comfortably into my 30th year. Until then....

later

2009-09-09T18:10:00.000-07:00

where are you now?

2009-09-08T22:49:00.000-07:00

i was always fond of you

2009-09-08T14:48:00.000-07:00

that right ain't shit

2009-09-07T23:33:00.001-07:00

Seriously though, in the last 2 weeks I have quit a job, had a car break down, sold said car, bought a new car, had a computer give up the ghost, had it resuscitated, found a place to disappear to for a while, and now I think that I might just sit down for a few days because everything hurts.

I will sleep right through you

2009-08-27T12:16:00.001-07:00

Once again.

Let's go get lost

2009-08-23T12:31:00.000-07:00

The Lost Coast, where the 1 and 101 highways pull away from the California coast is where some of the world's best camping is hidden away. Between rolling pot fields stashed beneath giant redwoods, and connected by near-impassable fire roads it's a rather clandestine spot tucked away in the northwest. We spent a few days searching around for the quiet spot,and after a rather harrowing experience nearly tipping the old camper van into a ravine and dragging it through the mud along a jeep trail we were rewarded by this sunset. We were also rewarded by a park ranger's hearty laughter when we told him where we had just tried to navigate the old vanagon. Laugh it up Smokey.

The place we found was pretty out there. Wild Elk roamed freely through out campsite, and there was, later on, plenty of local flavor as some locals made their way to the beach to tear ass out of the pristine dunes on their four wheelers, and light fireworks off to the pulsing beat of what could only be described as some combination of the soundtrack from 'A Clockwork Orange' and that last Shellac record. Weirdness abound. I prefer the Elk, though they could have gutted me like a fish in a second if they had chosen to.

Look at how happy he is.

We ended up leaving the locals be and settled for a grove of Eucalyptus trees,

A long-dormant harbor,

A desolate, black sand beach.

And a little bit of peace and quiet just up the road.

We spent a few nights nestled next to the comfort that the nearest person was several miles away. It was quiet, and bar a few bastard raccoons and an owl or two, remarkably serene.The fog rolled in quickly the next day though, and left us in the cold.

We headed inland the next day and swam in the river just for a bit of balance. It was an excellent, and restorative trip all around. Tomorrow I fly to Belfast with the smell of campfire on my clothes, and a clear vision of the wild in my my head. Hopefully it won't be my undoing. One more week of this, and then it's the end. See you there.

Campfire Blues

2009-08-22T00:47:00.000-07:00

It's been a rather spectacular dereliction of duties over here. I've been off stumbling through the woods of Northern California and Oregon for the past two weeks, and before that I clawed through the misery of a job that I should have let go and walked away from a long time ago, and a hundred other things that I've let get me down for a hundred reasons that don't seem so important right now. I'm having a cloudy moment of clarity. A momentary sense of reason. I'll offer these few things as a means of a possible explanation. My sister and I drove up to Portland a few weeks ago. It was our first trip together as near-adults, and the most amount of time that we had spent together in years. It was an awesome union. We saw some Mexican wrestling, had Japanese barbecue, and I reveled in the fact that she has four webbed toes, and a gold tooth lodged into the same spot where I have one.

We camped a few nights beneath the massive California Redwoods. A shelter from the storm, of sorts.

We cooked all kinds of fantastic crap on a campfire. That's actually a secret family recipe right there involving macaroni and cheese with baked beans. Actually those are the only two ingredients and it's not much of a secret, but it's a hell of a dinner when you find yourself in the woods.

Then we drove through a tree, because you can (and because it's called a drive-through tree), and it's what's expected of you when you're in the land of big trees and backwoods opportunism. We made it up to Eugene for a few hours, and then up to Portland where I tooled around town for a bit. Jamie had just come off of a tour, and we spent a few days getting the camper together for a drive back down to SF. He ended up with enough complimentary food and booze from the tour caterers to choke a rhino. Magic. We did some minor repairs (like fixing the headlights) jumped into the camper van, and headed to the coast.

It's hard not to love a VW camper, packed until it pukes with High Life and cookies.

We camped out at Cape Lookout for a night. I jumped into the ocean, and dried out in time to watch the sun burn itself out in the Pacific.

I stayed up most of the night staring at the stars, and watching the remnants of the Perseid meteor shower.

And then we headed South to evade the law in Arcata, and get lost on The Lost Coast.

Days Measured in Doses 2

2009-08-20T12:00:00.000-07:00

Sturm und Drang

2009-08-03T16:05:00.000-07:00

Where you're at is where you are...

2009-07-27T19:36:00.000-07:00

500 miles of elbow room

2009-07-21T15:55:00.001-07:00

I'm back home after a rather disastrous Canadian vacation that I'm not fully prepared to discuss yet.

fleeting

2009-07-16T18:50:00.000-07:00

Everything was easy, everything was good

2009-07-13T13:28:00.000-07:00

dirty rainbows

2009-07-13T11:43:00.001-07:00

Dublin flashed me a little rainbow before I flew home yesterday. I guess it hated to see me go.

Current Membership

2009-07-09T04:55:00.001-07:00

Euro mouth

2009-07-09T04:08:00.000-07:00

I've got a wicked bad case of Euro mouth today. That's when, after spending the best part of two weeks in the company of folks who understand every third word out of your mouth, you spew vulgarity so freely that it would make ODB blush. As is often the case, I roll into a country (like Scotland, for example) where people understand me quite clearly, and it takes serious restraint to control myself. Either that or I get knifed in Starbucks for saying 'can I get an espresso, or are you going to be a dick about it?' All's fair in love and festival season though. In Switzerland our bus was parked directly next to an active sewage treatment plant for 14 straight hours. Really?

I suppose it could have been (slightly) worse.

Wait, what? The Swiss are devastated.

At this open-air freak fest in St. Gallen the organizers decided that rather than simply feed traveling bands and crews a few solid meals in a cafeteria-style catering setup, that it would be a gas to print up tickets bearing varying denominations of Swiss Francs, and issue an arbitrary number to each person, so that everyone has to do the impossible math of ordering chicken fingers from a Swiss waitress while counting little pieces of paper. All rather frustrating until a few of us stumble upon a stash of tickets at the end of the night, and the catering staff, rather begrudgingly, fork over three bottles of champagne and two bottles of top shelf wine because we had roughly $17,000 in fake currency. Take that.

Dear god, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here.

The few winners of the festival season so far. Mogwai, Grace Jones (who is solidly out of her mind, but it's an amazing show in spite of/because of it)....

...and Nick Cave (who has an ever-evolving case of Euro mouth, evidenced by the off kilter remarks about his own genitalia made to a Belgian audience).

And then some of it has just gone sideways.

In other news I won the last round of 'wallet chain buckeroo' the other day with a soup ladle trump card.

Yesterday our merch guy, Zeke, told me that the British once hung a chimpanzee in a public square because they thought it was a french man. How's that for European cultural relations? Also, don't ever drink with anyone named Zeke in Prague. Several of us got laid out by what was only described later as 'the green ferret.' Sort of like the green fairy, but a bit nastier, and with more fur. The following day was pretty unpleasant, as our bus driver can attest. He was cursing as he vacuumed up broken glass and glitter from the carpet in the back lounge. That said, it is always best to ease yourself into Germany with a screaming headache and a short temper. Send it on.

Days Measured in Doses

2009-07-06T12:39:00.000-07:00

Home in one week.

Great British Cooking

2009-07-06T12:34:00.000-07:00

There is absolutely no such thing. May I state the following examples of gastronomic torment:

Danger of Collapse

2009-07-06T12:00:00.001-07:00

sleepy

2009-07-06T11:39:00.000-07:00

After three days of blazing heat, inhumane conditions and general European disarray, I walked into a grocery store in Hamburg and confused this upturned feather duster for a cashier, and was a little irritated when it refused to acknowledge me. I'll be lying down for a few hours now.

All killer no filler

2009-07-02T13:43:00.000-07:00

out of touch

2009-06-29T17:20:00.001-07:00

plenty of time

Strange Symmetry

2009-06-25T14:45:00.001-07:00

Our first of many festivals began on a tattered red carpet stretched across a homemade bridge in Croatia. The carpet eventually led end to the woods and quickly gave way to dense forest. Good omens, to be sure.

Straight back to covering most of the civilized world with 3 different types of confetti.

I checked onto the traditionally hellish Euro-submarine for the next few weeks. I have never quite understood why or how buses are made to be so remarkably uncomfortable over here. It defies the laws of decency on all fronts. Either way I'll be sleeping on plywood that smells just a bit like urine as I'm gently rocked about by an irate Austrian manning a slowly dying transmission.

And another thing...

A few of us took advantage of the scarce pleasant outdoor hours before the rain, unbearable heat and carnivorous insects descended, and sat by the river.

I was entertained by all manner of watercraft that tore back and forth.

Really anything buoyant within shouting distance of a paddle was given a green light.

Seriously anything. I was five minutes from tipping a disused refrigerator into the depths and using a rolled up newspaper as an oar.

Oh do your worst, Euro food. I'll take the Zob.

This got passed around quite a bit, and ended up with my old pal Richard. It became fondly known as 'tofluenza.' I would describe both it's color and texture (as I am, and will forever be ignorant of its taste) as sickly.

Later that night we got down at a Slovenian truck stop. All of us were pretty sure that it just said hip hop. Whatever.

Apparently it's commonplace in Eastern Europe to have available, at 3 in the morning, both duct tape to be used expressly for bondage, and women's underwear in a can.

Today I'm shaking off a 14-hour bus ride in St. Galen, Switzerland. There's a good deal of sitting in the sunshine and eating bread implied.

Followed directly by a trip to the spa and several hours riding this goddamn water slide. Shazam.

maybe tomorrow

2009-06-25T14:06:00.001-07:00

Home was short and hurty, but mostly good times. Shellac was great, and I've never had a bad time when alcoholic arnold palmers and the castro theatre are involved.

Somehow recently I have turned into a complete and total mess seemingly both inside and out. For some reason I've been more concerned with the out, as I'd turned my little part of the world into an elaborate game of desktop buckeroo. With each new day comes a fresh attempt at organization that leads, without fail to the pile shifting from desk to floor and then back again. Trauma.

So I shoved it all into a bag and flew to Croatia. That's right up there with "my dad got bit by a dog in vietnam" in the category of things that I never thought I would have occasion to say out loud.

I was bracing myself for a hellishly long flight to Frankfurt in the very last row of a 25 year-old airplane operated by a crude bunch of sadists otherwise known as Lufthansa's flight attendants. At the absolute last minute I managed some sort of 'hand of god' upgrade to business class, had a few cocktails, watched a documentary on the great barrier reef and passed the hell out for about nine hours. When I arrived in Frankfurt with a few hours to wander around before my flight to Zagreb, I deftly talked my way into the first class lounge. I say 'talked my way into' as if it involves anything other than speaking English loudly and quickly to a German. It was a nice break though, and I got to take a shower, and make use of the complimentary internet.

There was even a breakfast buffet. I figured what better way to ease myself into the rough and tumble world of European cuisine than with some white rice and water.

The flight to Zagreb was brief and utterly terrifying. The plane made those sounds like that thing from Cloverfield makes when it's eating the Brooklyn Bridge. It was mostly due to the thick and heavy clouds that seem to cover the city at all hours of the day and night.

It seemed to only get thicker and more forboding as the day went on. This is never a happy sight when you are embarking on three weeks of outdoor festivals.

I had a little walk around, and in my weary state found Zagreb to be a pretty ok place. It wasn't nearly as strange and Yugoslavian as I had imagined. It was decidedly Eastern European, but everyone seemed pretty good natured. I faded pretty early and spent the rest of the night in the hotel trying hard to avoid the two channels of televison that I got. One was a scambled version of the news, and the other was some sort of vaguely Slavic porn that seemed to involve chance encounters with the guy who works at the Kebab shop down the street.

And just like that it had all begun again. Send in the clowns.

happy father's day

2009-06-21T18:02:00.001-07:00

and some days everything is alright

2009-06-18T17:48:00.001-07:00

No, Thank You

2009-06-16T16:53:00.001-07:00

do not fuck around

2009-06-16T16:33:00.000-07:00

I'm bruised and sunburnt, exhausted and frustrated, but I'm glad it's summertime even if it's still cold in SF (and it is almost always still cold in SF unless, of course, I am somewhere else or leaving to go somewhere else). I'll take the occasional overcast day though rather than the blistering Tenessee Bonnaroo heat. I lucked out and managed to catch a good day. I saw some TV on the Radio, hung out with my sister, and left before Phish brought their noodling cacophony to the drug-addled masses.

A few days, and a few thousand miles earlier I woke up on a beach in San Diego (or Oceanside really). I was fighting off a vicious summer cold, but I held it together to do some tacky radio show on the beach, hit a few terrifying local army/navy/survivalist stores, barbecue a few steaks and watch the black keys. Now that was a solid work day, and one I'll be sure to recount the next time someone asks what I do for a living.

Somewhere along the way we made a late night wal mart stop. This is usually something that occurs between the hours of 2 and 4 AM, and under the influence. Usually a half dozen Heinekens and a pocket full of unspent per diems will prompt even the strongest of wills to meet back at the bus with fishing poles, nascar t-shirts and chewing tobacco. This time a few of us just decided to take the display bikes for a spin through the store. I ended up with something that had training wheels and streamers, but handled like a dream. We also failed to calculate the time, and seeing as it was 10:30, the store was packed with families still doing some leisurely shopping. They were only slightly taken aback by our behavior. I also, for some reason, came away with a rather large watermelon, presumably purchased at a low, low price.

The next stop was in Phoenix or Tempe or really just some little speck or another inside of a warehouse in the middle of a vast desert in Arizona (which, in those conditions, is not unlike doing a show inside of an oven or a house on fire). I'm not entirely sure how the show went, but I'm pretty sure that afterwards we got caught trying to blow up the wal mart watermelon in the parking lot with the fireworks we bought a few days earlier.

From the stringent 'no blowing up things especially, but not limited to over-ripe fruits in public' restraints of Arizona, we were off to the lawless no man's land of El Paso. This is about as far as I got to Mexico this time around. Juarez inevitably leads to tears, sickness or scrambling for bail money, so I decided to stick stateside. That, and I wasn't interested in losing my head in some sort of drug related crossfire.

It's a good spot, thought. Certainly one of my favorite places in Texas (alongside Deep Elum, and outside of Texas), though I don't know that that says a whole lot.

On our night off a few of us went out for Mexican food and came away a couple 44oz frozen margaritas. As you do. It truly was a heroic undertaking.

Then we went to go see Up in 3d. I think that just about everything is in 3d after a 44oz margarita, but at least you get the added effect of looking like Devo hanging out at the local mall with your sweet, futuristic douche goggles on.

It was also roasting, window smashing hot in El Paso, but I'd imagine you knew that already.

We did some show, again at a warehouse, and again on something that looked like a moonscape if the moon were 108 degrees and smelled vaguely of tamales.

The production was a shambles, and I spent a good part of my day covering up massive pornographic clown tapestries that were hung on the stage, but the crowd was pretty fired up. At the end of the night all that was left was some blood, confetti and lots of girl's shoes and earrings. I suppose I could interject a cat fight reference here, but those girls were no joke, and I'd hate to cross them, so I'll leave it be.

Now I'm home for a few more days, and then Euro madness begins with a quick trip to Croatia. I think I'm going to drag some folks to the Shellac show tomorrow night since I find that I'm not punished enough by loud, angular guitar music lately.

Sounds nice

2009-06-16T10:16:00.001-07:00

heading home

2009-06-14T00:19:00.000-07:00