Angst in My Pants

Try Something Gnu

2010-05-26T21:12:00.000-07:00

After reading this New Yorker article about Chat Roulette, I had a brilliant idea. My most brilliantest idea ever. More amazing than peanut butter donuts. More stupendous than Green Cheese. More insane than toilets made of rose petals. We should have a Night of Trying New Things.

Because there's always stuff you hear about and want to try but never get around to or are afraid to do alone or don't have the Jaws of Life for. Like Chat Roulette. Or zorbing.

So here's a rundown of things we tried:

Turkish nutella - Delicious! Mixing white and milk chocolate for a taste sensation.

Yorkie chocolate bar - This is, apparently, not for "girls." However, when ladies ate them, they didn't turn into frogs or worse. Eh.

Pocky's Mens Bitter - More dude-centric food. What's with this trend? Pocky strawberry is way better.

Some crazy Chinese liquor - Soooo strong and kind of gross.

A durian - This southeast asian fruit smells as horrible as they say. Like sweat socks that have grown mold for a few years. We chopped it up outside so it wouldn’t pervade the house. The taste? Pretty awful. Hard not to smell at the same time.

The reissue of Exile on Main Street - The new songs are okay, nothing super exciting. According to this article, the songs aren't even necessarily from the French recording sessions or from 1969. And Mick re-recorded a bunch of the vocals. And I have no idea what this writer is talking about when he says the new "Loving Cup" is their best song ever. Sounds Stoned in all the worst ways.

Chat Roulette - Was hoping we'd get to see something like this guy. But really it was just penis, penis, penis, giggling teen, penis, penis. Both April and I had penis nightmares that night.

Miracle Fruit Tablets - These are awesome! You let one dissolve on your tongue and then everything bitter tastes sweet. Grapefruits are amazing, beer is super smooth, even durian tastes alright.

Oh yeah, and the orgy room was a big hit.

Here's some stuff people suggested for next time:

Salvia divinorum
pistachio-milk gelatin
sub-prime mortgage applications
heroin

Noise Pop Cometh

2010-02-19T15:51:00.000-08:00

So Noise Pop is next week, and because people have started asking me what they should go see, I decided to draft my Suggestion List (TM).

**Oh, I booked pretty much all of the fest, so if I don't mention something it doesn't mean it isn't good. Just not my ultimate favorites.

Here's what the markings mean:

* I will be here! Come step on my foot or kick me in the shins or pour coffee down my throat!

++ One of a kind performance. May never be seen again. Ever.

SO: Advance tix sold out. There'll be some available at the door on the day of.

Tuesday, February 23

* Opening Night Party: Har Mar Superstar at Bender's, starting at 5 pm. Not only is this show free, but you get to drink for free. All night! Okay, maybe this doesn't have as much of a draw as it used to, but still, how about you can get a free shirt that says "Be Stupid!" on it? See, to get in you have to go to Diesel, get a shirt, sign up, and then wear the shirt to the show. Two hundred people in Be Stupid t-shirts! That's more than three kinds of stupid

*++ Yoko Ono Plastic Ono Band at the Fox, later that night. Not sure how much moaning the 77-year-old will do, but she'll be backed by son Sean, Cornelius, and Yuka Honda, so it should be interesting, at least.

Wednesday, February 24

* Free Energy at Rickshaw Stop, 2nd band. Woo hoo! Free Energy used to be several guys in Hockey Night, who we put on a TKS disc years ago. They still sound a bit like Pavement, only now they've gorged on Thin Lizzy and T.Rex and Weezer, with production by DFA. Anthem rock! Probably the band I'm most excited to see this week. Also: the Splinters do the post-punk thing quite well too.

** Best Coast, The Sandwitches, Young Prisms at Du Nord. The headliner's decent but wow, what great support! Best Coast is girl-group shitgaze, the Sandwitches are like the Shaggs but good, and Young Prisms are My Bloody Manchester.

++ The Ghost of a Saber-Toothed Tiger at the Indy. Sean Lennon, his hot girlfriend, and Cornelius playing hushed sexy pop. Also: Lennon doing improv thing with Greg from Deerhoof.

Thursday, February 25

++ The Dodos w/ Magik*Magik Orchestra at the Palace of Fine Arts. Saw a preview of this at MOMA, and it was freaking beautiful. Full on orchestra filling out the experimental-folk of the Dodos. Like Sufjan Stevens without all the twee lyrics.

* Zee Avi at Rickshaw Stop. Adorable pixie singer from Borneo, with a voice like Jolie Holland. Also: Sleeper might be 2nd band Leslie & the Badgers, an LA country combo that could be TNBT.

Friday, February 26

*Bay Bridged Happy Hour with Hunx & His Punx, Weekend. Hunx plays adorable 50s-ish garage, and Weekend is sexy Joy Divisiony goodness. And you can be in bed by 9!

*SO Magic Wands w/ Atlas Sound, Geographer at Great American. Atlas and Geographer are cool and spacy and all, but local duo Magic Wands brings the heat. The next Kills perhaps?

SO Rainbow Arabia with Four Tet at Indy. Like an LA version of MIA, with more Arabic samples.

Wallpaper and the Limousines at Slim's. This is a big smile on the face. Good times for the dancing.

Saturday, February 27

* PEE at Du Nord. Want to relive the days when indie-rock wasn't on a major label (as much)? Welcome to the '90s, when herky-jerky combined cute and muscle for all sorts of confusion and noise. When are Tiger Trap reuniting?

++ Thao & Mirah at Swedish. Two awesome local singer/songwriters collaborating for the first time! Such pretty singing. Also: opener Carletta Sue Kay is a guy in drag with a piano. It's better than it sounds.

*Black Prairie, Trainwreck Riders, Birds Fled From Me at Rickshaw. BP is three members of the Decemberists playing bluegrass, spaghetti westernish country, and proggy pop - 1st time in CA! TWR rock in a country way, Birds is Rachel from Sleepy Sun doing spooky folk-psych.

Sunday, February 28

* Visqueen with Dizzy Balloon at Bottom, matinee show. I loves the nerdy pop of DB, but Visqueen is the truest to the original Noise Pop sound. Big guitars, muscular girly vocals, thumping drums. Yum.

*SO Edward Sharpe & Magnetic Zeros at Bimbos. Looking forward to the big-time hippie rock. Thinking of taking off my shoes. Plus: Northern Key is pretty gorgeous.

Oh, and here's a tiny hamburger, just because.

Couples Are Crazy

2010-02-10T23:05:00.000-08:00

At the end of last year, I read this article in the NY Times Sunday Book Review about how the new literary lions (cubs?) can't write about sex like the old literary lions. Dave Eggers writes about cuddling, whereas Philip Roth wrote about having sex with a plate of chicken livers. (Okay, ew. But hilarious, right?)

Well, one of the older books they mentioned was John Updike's Couples. I'd tried once, many years ago, to read Rabbit Run, because my dad had recommended it. Never got very far, but I figured I'd give Couples a try. After all, that Updike guy was a national treasure. And a Red Sox fan.

Turns out the book is pretty awesome. Not only does it take place in Eastern Massachusetts, but it's dirty as hell and fascinating much the same way that Mad Men is. It was published in 1968 but takes places in 1963, which should tell you all you need to know about what will happen.

There's a bunch of upper- and lower-middle class couples roaming around Tarbox, having sex or trying to have sex with each other's husbands and wives. It's pretty graphic -- check this out: "She would give herself to him in slavish postures, as if witnessing in her mouth or between her breasts the tripped unclotting thump of his ejaculation made it her own." Wow! Unclotting thump!

But there's also plenty else going on. I just love a writer who can come up with stuff like this: "I remember lovemaking as an exploration of a sadness so deep people must go in pairs, one cannot go alone."

One thing that I think is dated is how much people think about death in the book. Maybe it was the whole Cold War/Atomic bomb hanging over your head thing. But to have sex to stave off death? Come on! The French have it right -- sex IS death. Le petit morte.

Anyway, I highly recommend the book -- especially because I want to talk about the end with someone.

In other news, have you seen the new Charlotte Gainsbourg and Beck video? Holy crapolo, it's nuts!

Beck wrote all of the music and some of the lyrics for the disc, which has several tracks about her near-death experience. (Don't go skiing, ever, is the lesson here.)

I've been researching an article about French pop, so I've come across all sorts of cool '60s video, like this version of "Do the Locomotion" by Sylvie Vartan (did you know she was actually Hungarian?).

And also, wow, did things ever go wrong in France in the '70s. Check out Sylvie auditioning for ABBA … or Sha Na Na.

Um, and here's the ever-fascinating Francoiz Breut, with more people in strange animal masks. Must be a French thing.

Three kinds of sleeveface

2010-01-26T23:35:00.000-08:00

You know what time it is? It's time for another THREE KINDS OF STUPID dance party!

Yeah, we haven't done one of those in, like, a year. (Does anyone say "like" anymore? I just watched Wassup Rockers and they sure say "and then" a lot, but that came out years ago.) We're getting old. And busy. But we still know how to bring it. Or at least I think we do. I DJed a holiday party last week, and people seemed to be enjoying themselves (ie drinking and dancing badly but energetically). Too many Lady Gaga requests, but I guess that's to be expected these days. One guy even dressed like her -- to the undiscerning eye, aka me, he looked like a giant stalk of rhubarb.

So we've decided to make this TKS party special by also making it a Key Party.

I know, I know, key parties are soooo '70s. And creepy. Not this one. There'll be monkeys, donkeys, church keys, and many more keys for you to go home with. Who knows maybe you'll even meet that special someone (there have been 2 documented instances of future spouses meeting at TKS parties).

Like usual, there'll be a cool local band (Geographer) and a free cd. I got the idea for the cd cover from a book I scored over the holidays: Sleeveface.

Sleeveface became a big deal on Flickr ages ago, but people (ahem, us) are still discovering it. Really, I've just been too lazy to do it before now. And we didn't spend nearly as much time as some of these folks did.

Still, I highly recommend trying it. It's pretty dang fun.

Brent.

Los TKS.

Mas TKS.

With Marlo in the middle.

So see you at Rickshaw Stop for TKS020 on Saturday, January 30. Oh yeah, and for you vinyl fetishists, I just got a copy of My Bloody Valentine's Things Left Behind on LP at Amoeba. It's a collection of several extremely rare EPs and some of my favorite noise-pop tunes ever.

The most wonderful time of the year

2009-12-22T17:53:00.000-08:00

I've been meaning to put something up here about the Rickshaw's annual Holiday Throwdown and, now that Fresh Pink's been so kind to share her photos of the eventful day, I can.
It started out with all of us biking aimlessly around the city in the rain. Here we're circling the roundabout for 5-6 times.

Unfortunately, it was too slippery and April took a horrible fall on some train tracks. She toughed out the rest of the day, but it later turned out she had a fractured elbow! What a trouper!

Gathering our (first) wounded warrior, we all jumped onto Caltrain and road to Millbrae, where we rode some more.

Finally, we arrived at our first destination ... go-karts!

Elly and Josh took first in the very long 15 minute session. Twenty-two laps! Um, for the faster people. Not to get all competitive. At least I didn't plow into Amy so hard that her safety harness flew off! (Wow, was she ever purple the next day, when we ran into her in the emergency room.) No wonder Megan's looking a little nervous.

Time for stage two, so get on the bus until we're in Palo Alto ... for badminton!

More bus action leads us to ... a mechanical bull ride! I was going to take a pass -- bad back, allergy to looking stupid -- but finally decided to hop on. And crazy enough, I lasted over a minute and beat the bull! Didn't get tossed, got to keep a hat. Boy howdy!

Megan was a trooper too, giving the bull a try. This might be my favorite pic of the day.

Finally, we took off towards the city, singing along to ELO and getting progressively drunker.

Thank god for the Mexican food.

How do we ride into the sunset? With custom made shirts, of course.

More about My Mustache

2009-11-30T10:27:00.000-08:00

Why would someone walk around town for a month with facial hair that makes them look like a '70s porno star, a gay cop, or a child molester? For the kids, of course!

After watching the Mustache for Kids 'Stache Bash the last couple years at the Rickshaw, I decided to join the fun this year. The deal: you grow a from-scratch 'stache over the course of a month, and then you ask people to donate money in order to endure the embarrassment. All the cash goes to DonorChoose.org, which funnels money to teachers who need stuff for their classrooms. Very cool, right?

Here's my M4K page, and here's my donor page, where I've picked out a bunch of worthy classroom projects. I know no one's got any money these days, but if you've got anything stuck between the cushions of the couch, this would be a nice way to spend it. (A burrito is also a good use for that change.)

The Stache Bash is at the Rickshaw again this year, on Dec 17. See you there!

Here's the look at Day 13 of My Stache:

mustaches and muggers

2009-11-29T00:59:00.000-08:00

I was going to write about all the cool things happening this month -- an agent is interested in a rewrite of my YA novel, I'm almost finished with another YA NaNoWriMo 1st draft, I'm growing a mustache for kids*, and some other things I can't remember -- but instead I guess I'll tell you about almost getting mugged a few minutes ago.

What? Why are you writing this instead of talking to the police, you ask. Well, I got into my building and it's 12:37 a.m. and I don't want to have to wait for the cops to come and take a report that won't lead anywhere.

So here's how it happened:

It was a nice night so I decided to go for a walk. I used to do that all the time in San Francisco and even in Temescal. Seemed fine, I even left my wallet at home, just in case I got mugged (although I hear it's not good to not have something to give the nice muggers). It was nice and quiet up there above Park Blvd, where all the ritzy houses are. I got some good thinking done, stretched the legs, great, right? I did get a little nervous when walking across the bridge above the highway, remembering when H. got mugged years ago while walking over Geary Street at night, but there was no one out there and I figured I could always hop over the railing into the street, since there was little to no traffic. Plus, it feels so free standing over the freeway at night, the cars whizzing under you, all those people going places that you aren't (hmm).

Anyway, I got a little lost on the way back, but the houses were so nice and the streets so quiet that I didn't mind. Finally, I found 28th Street and that led to Park and I was almost home. But I figured I'd walk up 8th Ave instead of go down another block on Park until 7th Ave, since it would be a prettier view. Big mistake, apparently.

I was almost to my building when I saw a person walking towards me. I figured I would cross over, not really thinking much of it, since I was at the point to cross anyways. But then they started crossing over and I realized they were both wearing black hoodies. One of them pointed up and maybe said "spread out," and that's when I took off. Thankfully, I was heading downhill instead of going uphill or I would've been screwed. Out of my peripheral vision, I saw the one guy pull something out of his pocket and as I zipped by him he swung it at me.

I kept running but he was running right behind me, and it was impossible to tell how closely. I noticed there was a white new car double-parked in front of my building and I thought for a second that I should stop them for help. It's lucky I didn't since that was the getaway car.

As I got to Park, I couldn't hear the guy behind me anymore. But then I realized that what I'd been running to -- Dave's -- wasn't open anymore. Would I have to keep running until I got to Baggy's by the Bay or whatever it is called? Or would they jump in the car and come after me?

I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. And as I tried to tell them what had happened, I peaked up 7th Ave and saw that the car was coming down towards me. I thought about where I would run next. Could I make it back to my place, going uphill? I could never seem to get my keys out fast regularily, so now might be even harder. Should I hide?

Just then the car peeled out, turning up and away from me.

The police were very nice. The 911 caller was very expedient. My hands were shaking when I got inside the apartment.

Why live in a neighborhood where kids try to wack you on the head when you go for a walk?

In cheerier news, Dylan's got a new holiday video that seems inspired by spiked rum punch.

*Here's where you can donate for my mustache.

Train Off the Tracks

2009-10-30T15:14:00.000-07:00

There's a review of Train's new disc in the current issue of San Fran Magazine. It, well, it suggests that the band has "made the perfect disc for middle-aged divorcées to blast out the windows of their Chevy Minivans."

Apparently some middle-aged divorcées didn't take too kindly to such chitter chatter (even though, at the end of the review, it says the band is "underestimating that audience's intelligence").

Here's a quote:
"I won't bother to go into an amateur analysis of what kind of trauma would induce a (I am guessing) young man to have such negative feelings toward older women, but his review manages to insult our clothing and bodies ("many pairs of Mom jeans a-wriggling"), our purported emotional neediness, susceptibility to trite lyrics, clichés, and superficial cultural references (Sonny and Cher, the Doobie Brothers), and general bad taste in music. And cars (Chevy minivans). So we have a little class prejudice as well as sexism, pretty ambitious for a tiny review."

She thinks the review was pretty ambitious! And written by a young man!

If only I weren't already taken…

Tweet You

2009-10-09T12:58:00.000-07:00

You know what's killing blogging? Tweets. And Facebook. Seriously, I tweet once a day, and I write and work on the pooter all day, so I never really feel like blogging anymore. It takes too much time, it hurts my wrists, I get way less feedback.

You know what you can't do on F-Book? You can't put Grumpy Guy up on there.

Also, if you're like Brent and you live in the 2007s, you're not on those sites. Or maybe you boycott them like April. So this post is for you guys, because I still love you. This is what you're missing:

Breathless excitement over the upcoming Vampire Weekend album.

Even more breathless excitement over the upcoming Pavement tour, especially the shows in England.

Links to frightening pics of 40something TV stars, now staring in occasionally funny, often strange shows about cougars.

Links to the fun music blog of Carrie Brownstein (Sleater-Kinney), wherein she discusses whether it's okay to like the music of artists you don't, specifically the Black Lips guy, who just got in trouble for using the (other) f-word about the guy in Wavves.

A list of the top 20 books of the past 9 years, only 4 of which I've read (they've got ** after them):

#20: Gilead by Marilynne Robinson
#19: American Genius, A Comedy by Lynne Tillman
#18: Stranger Things Happen by Kelly Link
#17: The Fortress of Solitude by Jonathan Lethem **
#16: Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides **
#15: Varieties of Disturbance by Lydia Davis
#14: Atonement by Ian McEwan
#13: Mortals by Norman Rush
#12: Twilight of the Superheroes by Deborah Eisenberg
#11: The Brief, Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Díaz **yuck**
#10: Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro
#9: Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage by Alice Munro
#8: Out Stealing Horses by Per Petterson
#7: Austerlitz by W.G. Sebald
#6: The Road by Cormac McCarthy
#5: Pastoralia by George Saunders
#4: 2666 by Roberto Bolaño
#3: Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell
#2: The Known World by Edward P. Jones
#1: The Corrections by Jonathan Franzen **

Kind of awesome Soul Train footage of the original "Shack Up," later covered by A Certain Ratio.

Funny pictures from bachelor parties.

Links to weird Japanese themed bath houses.

My undying affection.

the douche is in the bag

2009-09-18T12:08:00.000-07:00

Inspired by a guy seen last night at the Rickshaw.

Popular Songs

2009-09-04T17:27:00.000-07:00

Hey, people sometimes ask me what I’m listening to and I always forget until I get home, which is where I am now. So here’s a list.

1. Mayer Hawthorne – A Strange Arrangement. Perfect recreation of ‘60s Detroit soul by young white dude. (Playing the Rickshaw on 9/15)
2. Yo La Tengo – Popular Songs. Same as usual: couple great pop songs, couple pretty ballads, couple of boring jams.
3. The Box Elders – Alice & Friends. Awesomely catchy garage-pop from Omaha, band so young they used to play with their mom.
4. Timber Timbre – S/T. Seriously spooky noir-folk from Canada. (playing Rickshaw on 9/18)
5. Taken By Trees – East of Eden. Woman from the Concretes goes to Pakistan to record with locals, covers Animal Collective.
6. Posies – “I May Hate You Sometimes.” How did I miss this one the first time around?
7. Bobby Blue Bland – The Voice. Again, how come I haven’t been listening to him for like 20 years?
8. Those Darlins – S/T. Three country gals from Tenn make fun(ny) twangin’ tunes. (Playing Rickshaw on 10/20)
9. V/A – Not Given Lightly. Morr Music electro-pop folks cover ‘80s New Zealand acts like the Chills, Clean, and Bats.
10. Fruit Bats – “Singing Joy to the World.” Guy picks up waitress at Indian Casino, takes her to Three Dog Night concert – now, that’s good songwriting.

And over there on Facebook, Michelle asked what 15 books come to mind when I think of most influential for me. Here’s my list.

1. Nick Hornby - High Fidelity
2. Grace Paley - The Little Disturbances of Man
3. John Steinbeck - The Winter of Our Discontent
4. Kurt Vonnegut - Welcome to the Monkeyhouse
5. JD Salinger - Nine Stories
6. Haruki Murakami - Norwegian Wood
7. John Irving - Cider House Rules
8. Jeremy Jackson - In Summer
9. Robert Christgau - '70s and '80s Record Guides
10. Lorrie Moore - Like Life
11. Woodward & Bernstein - All the President's Men
12. Jonathan Franzen - The Corrections
13. Gay Talese - Thy Neighbor's Wife
14. Andre Dubus - We Don't Live Here Anymore
15. David Sedaris - Holidays on Ice

And, might I suggest you buy the very first issue of Afar Magazine, which is on better newsstands as we speak. Yes, April works there and yes I have something coming out in the first issue. But don’t you want us to both continue to get paid to do these things? Right, I thought so. Don’t worry, the first issue is damn interesting, with articles about Scottish bog snorkeling races and Japanese costume cafes. (The writer of the latter article also wrote about Japanese guys who really, really love their manga pillows for the NYT.)

In other news, I went and saw Ponyo, the latest by Spirited Away director Hayao Miyazaki. It was only pretty good – nonsensical plot, bad dialogue, weird English diction – but it had a hilarious final theme, screwed over by Miley Cyrus’s sister and a Jonas brother. Truly bizarre lyrics. Check it out here.

Crunky!

2009-08-28T12:16:00.000-07:00

Hey look, Grumpy Guy's back!

Bruce and Susan just visited. This is what they brought us, besides the avian swine flu.

Paul turned 40 recently and celebrated by swiveling his hips a lot. For some reason, I didn't get a picture of him. But I did get a shot of Aidan learning a few tricks.

And April too.

As you probably read, a bunch of folks went to see Willie, Bob, and the Coog. It was pretty sweet, even if the music wasn't quite as exciting as I'd hoped for. I think I appreciated Willie's performance best. The Coog's set seemed super-slick and choreographed, although full of energy. At this point, Bob is just a shell of himself. You could understand maybe every third word and he looks really frail.

Still, Stockton was grand. We stayed in the same hotel as did the musicians' tour busses. I say tour busses because they never seemed to get off them. But we did get to see a wedding reception broken up by 12 of Stockton's finest and watch a meeting of Pocahontas and Redman, which is the second oldest fraternal organization in the US (and not a new stoner film by the rapper). I forgot my camera, so all you get is a shot of a stoner art car parked downtown the next day.

In case you missed Stallion's performance at Cato's, here's what it looked like.

Here's the best video I've seen in ages, by Jay Reatard.

Health care is a good thing, people

2009-08-20T14:35:00.000-07:00

Jeez, is this whole mess of nutbags screaming about health care reform making you as mad as it is me? I mean, really, just when you think people in this country can't get any dumber they do. Do they really think that Obama wants to kill their grandmas? Or that there's anything remotely Hitler-like about his health care reform? One guy wanted to kill a whole bunch of people and the other wants everyone to live longer. One guy was keen on making the Arayans live longer and the other wants, again, everyone to live longer. One guy hated the Communists and the other loves them. Or something.

But I guess the big problem is plain and simple: racism. The white folks are scared that the poor black folks will take their health care away from them, and white grandma will die because black grandma needs medical attention. But they know they can't say that so they whine and weep about how Obama hates America. They've even gone as far as saying that Michele Obama's mom is practicing "witchcraft" in the White House. Of course, it's hard to take them seriously when the person who wrote the article also wrote, "After 8 years of a president sent by God to lead the American people and rescue us from the horrors of 911 and Islamo-fascists, it comes to this."

Thank god Barney Frank is around to compare these people to furniture from other planets. It seems to me that the First Amendment covers speech; it doesn't cover screaming and yelling and bullying. It's like the 2000 election all over again, when Republican operatives pretended to be regular people and bullied the Florida recount people with fear mongering and intimidation.

Grrr.

Ain't Even Done with the Night

2009-08-12T01:18:00.000-07:00

Hey, guess where I’ll be on Saturday? Stockton, CA, brother. That’s where Bobby Dylan, Willie Nelson, and John Freaking Cougar Mellencamp will be rocking the minor league baseball park. I haven’t seen Dylan since ’89, and I’ve never seen Willie, but honestly I’m most excited about the Coog.

What’s to like about some guy from Indiana? (Sorry, Jake!) Check out his induction speech for the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame or his recent Fresh Air visit. Man, he’s cranky. And a bit more than bitter. And his songs, well, they’re silly (“I fight authority; authority always wins”?) and preachy and too Bob Seger-y. Hell, here he looks like the scary lovechild of Huey Lewis AND Lou Reed.

A song like “Jack and Diane” is just so fake – a 35 year old singing about being 17 – and yet it still feels right. Maybe because I’m over 35. And maybe because it seemed wrong when I was 17. But wrong in a good way. Dirty wrong.

I can still remember listening to that song and "Hurts So Good" on a car trip in ’82, blasting it on a tiny boombox, standing by a car in my short shorts and muscle tee and bowl haircut. I wish I had a picture of that time. Oh yeah, I do. Woah.

Best line of that induction speech, by the way? The Coog telling Billy Joel what the folks in Illinois thought of his Farm Aid performance: “Billy, they didn’t know you were Jewish. They just thought you were Italian.”

Blueberry. No, really.

2009-08-04T23:44:00.000-07:00

Things I learned on my trip to Northern Vermont:

My sister is still very cute, even at the ripe age of seven and a half.

United’s staff in Burlington is made up completely of 16 year olds. The kid at the counter? 16. The baggage handler? 16. The flight attendant? 16 and snarky, looking like he’d seen Rushmore one too many times. (Did you know it is against FAA regulations to bring your own booze onboard?) It’s like deepest Russia or Nebraska, where all the people with any ounce of beauty or intelligence immediately flee to New York.

What else? The loon really does sound crazy. Man, what a nutso racket they make! Also, the moose is a big freaking creature. And comic book guys in Vermont teach poly sci over the internet and own llamas and hot tubs that they rent out as part of B&Bs.

Also, they have Yelp here for some reason. There’s this tiny bakery/restaurant with a famously crazy New Yorker running it. All week long I heard how awful he was, but when we finally went it he was relatively normal. Both disappointing and relieving. He got an article all about him the New York Times.

A picture of my “ghoul friend”:

There’s not much to do around Marshfield. This bar of soap accidentally placed upright on another bar caused quite a ruckus.

The house they stay in is super old, with no toilet (can you say outhouse?), a bathtub that’s too small to really use, and so many dead bugs littered on the shelves that no one bothers to clean them off. That said, it’s right on the pond and the stove is pretty retro cool looking.

My brother’s really into fishing now. Here’s some perch he caught and I didn’t eat. Fish equals yuck in my book.

USAir now charges $7 for a ratty pillow and blanket. Seven dollars! Not a single person asked for one. Add on $20 per piece of luggage and $9 for a meal, and it’s worse than going to see a movie on an empty stomach.

Hmm, what else? April got Superfudge for Yi Rong, and she read it three times in a week. I read it too, and you know what? Judy Blume is funny as shit. But it’s weird now too, because she’s taken to updating her books – in Superfudge, the kid asks Santa for CDs and laptops, which didn’t really exist when the book was originally written. Is nothing sacred? Will Oliver Twist soon feature the wee lad asking for more Ben & Jerry’s Americone Dream instead of gruel?

Yi Rong and I made up a code, based around fruit. Cherry, blueberry, grapes!

After being married for over 20 years, my step-mom says her heart still beats faster when she sees my dad’s car coming up the driveway. That’s pretty cool.

French and Furry!

2009-07-10T10:47:00.000-07:00

In honor of tonight’s Bardot a Go Go and the ongoing Tour du France, this week’s Grumpy Guy is all in French!

Also, Wonkette recently posted about Anderson Cooper’s fascination with Furries, which directed me to this crazy Vanity Fair article about them. Tres bizarre. (But maybe not as bizarre as “crushies” or the fact that Congress actually banned crushie porn a few years back.) Remind me to tell you about the local musician who gets a chubbie every time he sees a girl with a stuffed animal.

Somehow, this all seems to go well with a night of French music that features the songwriter behind "Lemon Incest," especially since the video has him rolling around in bed with his own daughter.

Just so you know: I neither condone nor participate in either of the aforementioned activities.

Whatever Works

2009-07-02T16:34:00.000-07:00

She's back! Lorrie Moore is back!

I was trying to think of my five favorite authors of all time, fiction or non-fiction, and she's got to be on that list (along with Nick Hornby, Pauline Kael, Roger Angell, and jeez picking a fifth is hard, maybe Hendrik Hertzberg or Tobias Wolff or Andre Dubus or Robert Christgau or John Irving or Richard Price). "You're Ugly Too" is easily one of my favorite short stories ever, and I even wrote my own version of it, back in 2005. I just love her way with language -- some people think she's too clever, too white suburban, but I love its playfulness, its tartness. And now she's got a new short story in the New Yorker. Unlike with most of their stories, I don't feel that this one is incomplete. Another reason she stands taller than the pack!

I recently came across this video for Mayer Hawthorne. He's a 29-year-old white dude from Detroit making music that sounds like the Chi-Lites and Persuasions. Sweet smooth soul music, '70s style. And his first single was actually released on red, heart-shaped vinyl! Here he is walking around with it.

Recently, Entertainment Weekly ranked all the Woody Allen-directed movies, from 1 to 40. So, naturally, I decided to do the same, without looking at their list first. It wasn't exactly easy, since it's hard to remember some of them (the late '80s somber period is especially blurry). And I haven't watched the slapstick stuff for ages, so I'm not sure exactly how I would feel about it. So this list is how I generally think they rank (I've started rewatching some, just to see. A Midsummer Night's Sex Comedy was exactly like I recalled -- good concept that peters out at the end).

1. Annie Hall -- I used to think 1/2 should be flipped, but recently the creepiness of the age gap in Manhattan has gotten more disturbing.
2. Manhattan -- Still, a classic.
3. Hannah and Her Sisters -- Funny and serious, brilliant.
4. Zelig -- A sleeper (but not Sleeper). A faux-documentary before they were cool.
5. Crimes and Misdemeanors -- Evil Alan Alda!
6. Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex* (*But Were Afraid to Ask)
7. Love and Death -- only Woody could get laughs from Russian literature
8. Match Point -- 20 minutes too long and a couple frames too short (you know which scene I mean)
9. Sleeper -- ah, the orgasmatron.
10. Take the Money and Run -- drop the soap takes on new meaning.
11. Bananas -- slapstick goes south of the border.
12. Radio Days -- adorable!
13. The Purple Rose of Cairo -- news reels, Jeff Daniels, hooray.
14. Broadway Danny Rose -- Woody really has done more to fetishize the old times.
15. Alice -- William Hurt was born to play philandering husbands.
16. Husbands and Wives -- so hard to watch, and not just for the nauseating camera movements.
17. Stardust Memories -- Manhattan Lite, but still entertaining.
18. A Midsummer Night's Sex Comedy -- Shakespeare, in love. In lust.
19. Manhattan Murder Mystery -- What it would've been like if he'd stayed w/ Diane Keaton.
20. Bullets Over Broadway -- "Don't speak."
21. Mighty Aphrodite -- The last time Woody's old guy/young girl thing was palatable.
22. Scoop -- bumped up because Woody wasn't Scarlet's love interest.
23. Vicky Cristina Barcelona -- bumped down because it feels like elderly guy Landmark Theater porn.
24. Everyone Says I Love You -- a piffle, but Tim Roth steals the movie.
25. Shadows and Fog -- a bunch of stars sitting around, excited to be in a Woody movie.
26. Sweet and Lowdown -- just a piffle.
27. Melinda and Melinda -- half a decent movie
28. Deconstructing Harry -- Judy Davis deserves better.
29. The Curse of the Jade Scorpion -- so not funny, and Helen Hunt to boot!
30. Cassandra's Dream -- somber, grey, this truly is England.
31. Celebrity -- argh, gouge out my eyes!
32. Anything Else -- oof, is this what Woody thinks young people are like? Maybe he should date more of them.

New York Stories -- liked his part best, wish it was a full movie.

I can't remember anything about these:
Small Time Crooks
Interiors

I didn't see these:
September
Another Woman
Hollywood Ending
What’s Up, Tiger Lily?

The new one!
Whatever Works

Impossibly Cute

2009-06-19T14:44:00.000-07:00

My dad just reported this conversation between him and my seven-year-old sister, Yi Rong:

YR: Is Danny going to stay with April, not like his other girlfriends?

Dad: I don't know.

YR: Seems like they're pretty happy.

Dad: Yes, but it's pretty hard to know that kind of thing.

YR: Probably Danny doesn't even know.

Dad: Right.

Wow. Seven going on 37, I'd say. Could you get any cuter?

And, yes, they call me Danny.

The only thing stripping was the bed

2009-06-17T00:31:00.000-07:00

Just got back from Tim's bachelor party weekend and boy is my donkey tired.

Sorry, you had to see the movie to get that joke. Let me tell you, this was one crazy weekend! How crazy? Well, for starters we did a Macrobrew Blind Taste Test! Eric D poured us all little cups of beers in three different categories: Mexican, Cheap Domestic, and Fancy Pants Imports. Then we had to rank them in order of pleasantness. Talk about crazy!

No, seriously, who would've thought Tecate would finish first and Pacifico last? Or that Sopporo would be up top and Stella at the bottom? And two kinds of Miller would get their asses waxed by Bud and Pabst? Wow!

Drinking was only one of our games though. Because if you take 12-14 guys and stick them in a cabin in Dillon Beach without any women, they will immediately start playing games. (For Matt's we didn't have enough games, so we invented new ones!) We knew this ahead of time, so we designed a sort of Tim Decathalon, with brackets and everything. (Meanwhile, the ladies were home in Oakland, talking. Talking?!) We didn't exactly finish all the sports, but I can tell you that Brent throws a nasty Missouri Washer, Rolf plays some mean ping-pong, and Tim knows all about Beer (he had a lock on the latter contest, since the winner was the person whose answers were the closest to, well, his). Oh yeah, and John S may want to consider going pro in Disc Golf.

What else happened? We wrestled some California King Snakes.

We drank with Vikings and Mouseketeers.

We rode a time machine to the future to play foosball.

We played poker with freaky Menonites.

And, um, we looked good in leather.

We also were served beer and peanuts by David's kid, who's just about the perfect three-year-old host ever. That's a perfectly good reason right there to have a child.

Sov Story

2009-06-05T10:37:00.000-07:00

People have been asking me to blog about the recent Lady Sovereign show at Rickshaw Stop. Well, I talked to SF Weekly about it, so they've got a good account of the fiasco here.

I would stress that she acted like a total prat the whole time, fuming and pacing around the stage, calling the sound crap, while even she admitted it sounded great for the openers. (Hollywood Holt was just awesome -- that guy will be a star, if there's any justice.) She also told everyone that SHE'd give them their money back, which of course meant a run of people at the bar, blaming us for the sound and demanding their cash back, when the whole thing was of her making (it would've been better if they stormed the green room and demanded their money directly from her; maybe then she wouldn't have trashed the place). What else? She seemed drunk, but not as drunk as during the in-store clip that is on the SF Weekly site. She started crying towards the end of her last aborted song, which makes me think that maybe she's not ready for the big time. I mean, who lets their fans down by playing only three songs, then trashes the club (verbally and physically), tells everyone to get their money back, and then slips out the back door without saying anything to the management? And does the same thing night after night! Uncool.

In other news, some friends got married recently. I gave them this Burger Halen print by Thomas Lessner. He's from Philly and he's one of Amanda Blank's favorite artists. He paints lots of metal and soft-rock icons, and he did this hilarious ad for Sn*ckers (scroll down to the bottom of the page and click on the dude three times).

Hey, remember Cody ChestnuTT? The guy that the two girls in Me, You, and Everyone You Know demanded be the soundtrack to their blowjob competition? Well, apparently now he's found God, and he plays one long song at shows, where he requests no one clap. I liked him better when he "Looked Good in Leather."

Look, Grumpy Guy's back!

God Help the Scottish Girls

2009-05-15T10:37:00.000-07:00

Just the other day I was saying to April, "I wonder what Belle & Sebastian are up to." And today, there in my spam folder, was an email that held the answer to that very question.

It seems that back in 2005 Stuart Murdoch had written a song that he thought would be better for female singers than B&S, so after finishing B&S's last album he wrote a whole album of similar, symphonic girl-centric tunes. Being Scottish, he wrote a cheeky want ad, and then auditioned a bunch of ladies and now, with B&S serving as back-up band, the record is finished. There's even a full documentary about the whole process. You can see the trailer here.

Oh, the group is called God Help the Girl and here's the first video. The album comes out in June.

Oh Baby

2009-05-14T14:37:00.000-07:00

I've been following the Celtics' playoff run pretty closely -- even more so than during last year's championship run. In 2008 they led from start to finish; this year, their best player is out and they're stuck with a bunch of role-playing dudes no one's ever heard of. They shouldn't ever win a game, and yet they keep nailing those victories (along with some horrible losses).

I just love these dudes. Eddie House is short and stubby and runs like a cartoon character, with the feet going a mile a minute and not getting anywhere, but he hit 14 straight 3-pointers in one stretch. Brian Scalabrini is all effort and occasional talent, the scrappy white guy that most teams relegate to the end of the bench. (Here's a comic about him.) Rondo does this thing that players stop doing in the ninth grade, where he lets the ball roll to half court before he picks it up. And "Big Baby" is so heavy that he can't even dunk the ball. And yet, tell me you don't tear up a bit when you watch this video segment about how he grew up with a drug-addicted mom and no dad.

For game 4 against the Magic, Baby hit the last second shot to win the game. And then he went on a rampage, yelling the word "motherfucker" so many times that he could only be excused because it was Mother's Day. He also started a bit of a kerfuffle by nudging a kid on the sidelines as he ran by. The kid's dad freaked out, saying Baby was a "raging animal with no regard for fans' personal safety." Davis apologized, the dad apologized, everyone kissed and hugged and rubbed each other a bit, but not homoerotically.

Just be glad Talib Kweli wasn't supposed to sing the national anthem, or else there really would've been trouble.

In the spirit of weekend's celebrations, I leave you with some Erotic Falconry.

Hipster Gypster

2009-05-08T16:06:00.000-07:00

Have you been following the Hipster Grifter story? It's kind of crazy and sad, and maybe we're going to be seeing a lot more of these in the future, what with the blogs and the American Talentless and the coming Armageddon and such.

Twenty-two-year-old Kari Farrell was once just a poor Korean girl from Utah (what?). Now Dateline is doing a segment on her! And Gawker runs daily updates on her life. And she's even got a web site devoted to freeing her from jail. Um, yes, jail.

Apparently, Kari is a major con artist, and she's wanted by the Utah police for serious theft, forgery, and writing bad checks (what, they couldn't read her handwriting?) for up to $60,000. Her modus operandi? Saying she had cancer (for the girls), was pregnant (by you?), wanted to give you "a hand job with her mouth" (for the boys), or wanted to "throw your hotdog down my hallway" (yikes!).

All the details are hilarious. Or depressing. I can't decide which. Some guy's selling a supposed matchbook of hers, signed by "Ping Pong" (a degrading nickname given to her by the fine folks at Vice Magazine, where she of course worked for a very short period). People started making T-shirts and posters with her face and sayings on them. She called herself "Korean Abdul-Jabbar" (come on, that one's kind of clever) and she had a tattoo on her back that pointed out her love of beards. Her adoptive dad disowned her. Even the way she was caught -- some guy lured her to Philly with the promise of escaping across country in his band's van -- was crazy sad. And her "apology"? Not so sincere.

This New York Observer article has tons more details about her journey to the slammer. Or the top. As for her victims, I guess the Free Kari web site guy put it best: "They are the gullible idiots who think they’re amazingly lucky to have this wet Asiatic beaver just land on their lap."

Now, in honor of the Celtics game tonight...

Feeling Bookish

2009-05-03T23:42:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, I went to the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators conference in Davis. What did I learn? Lots!

Like…

Before they're born, elephants actually run in their mommies' stomachs, in order to build up muscle strength.

The author of the Poky Little Puppy, one of the most popular picture books of all time, was paid $75. With no royalties. (Not sure, but I bet he/she died a bitter woman.)

Margaret Wise Brown, the author of Goodnight Moon, was heavily influenced by Gertrude Stein. They both hated commas and other punctuation.

In the '70s, Donny & Marie Osmond got their very own children's book, just like other famed TV personalities Bugs Bunny and Bullwinkle.

Oh yeah, I also learned a lot of stuff about how to get published. But you don't want to hear about that.

On the way home, I was listening to a '90s playlist on my iPod, which led to me spending the next hour trying to figure out what was the best band of that decade. I decided that the deciding factor would be which group had the most great albums, not just the most great songs. And by great albums, I meant albums I still thought were great today. So, after much thought, it looks like there's a two-way tie for first.

Belle & Sebastian - 3 (although if you count the collected EPs it's 4)
Luna - 3 (wow, who knew they'd have such staying power?)
Yo La Tengo - 2 (while some folks, like Brent, would argue 3, I find Painful snoozy and Electro-Pura hit or miss, and Nothing Turned came out in 2000)
Pavement - 2 (seriously, Wowee Zowee and Brighten the Corners ain't that great)
Bedhead - 2 (but, man, what 2 great discs!)
Country Teasers - 2 (yes, 2! so great!)
The Sea & Cake - 2 (oh, The Biz rules)
Guided By Voices - 1 (Pee Ew Thousand, I say)
Stereolab - 1 (all you really need is Emperor Tomato Ketchup)

Thoughts? Omissions? Grouses?

Drunk and DissedOrderly

2009-04-24T12:16:00.000-07:00

We went with Gabe and Amanda to see the Sox play the A's last week. It's become an annual early season event, and just like last year, things went a bit awry (you may recall that after the game last year I got Amanda in trouble for blogging about DJing a scandalous dance party at the school where she works). This year, it was even crazier: April and I got thrown out!

April looks all sweet and innocent, but get a few drinks in her and take her to a stadium with other screaming, bloodthirsty nutcases, and you should see her go! Raining punches down upon everyone within reach!

Okay, so that's not exactly what happened. In truth, I brought a canteen into the stadium with some spiked strawberry lemonade. But the woman at the gate let me take it in -- she saw it and waved me through -- so I figured we were okay. And we were … for five and a half innings.

We were quietly watching the Sox get buried, eating our giant bag of popcorn and bunless hot dogs when these three security dudes come up behind us and demand to know what's in the canteen. Now, I'm not the best liar and I'd been sipping on this thing so I was a bit foggy, so I didn't give a very convincing answer. He sniffed at it, and shook his head and told us -- April too, but not thankfully Gabe and Amanda -- to come with them.

So we go. And they do that intimidating walk of shame, where they don't tell you where you're going, just to "follow that guy." So he led us halfway around the stadium to this little windowless room, where there's three old men bleakly shuffling paperwork. The guy who grabbed us stuck the canteen in another guy's face and asks what's in it. More sniffing. Which made me wonder if they're not allowed to taste things or if they just don't want to be sucking up other people's germs.

Anyway, they agreed it's "funny whatever it is." And so the guy said, "You have to leave. You can come back tomorrow but you have to go now. And if we find you back in here, you're going to be in serious trouble." Well, jesus, is it possible for us to get back in? Does this mean that that thing they do where they scan the tickets when you enter is all for show and you could come and go as many times as you want?

Anyway, at this point I pleaded for mercy. I mean, I paid $30 for each ticket and the Sox only come once a year. Couldn't they just dump it out and let us stay?

Hell no. The only cop in the room started to bark at us. "That's the chance you took when you brought that shit in with you! You're lucky we don’t fine you or throw you in jail!"

In jail. In jail? I was so stunned -- which I'm sure was his intention -- that I couldn't ask just what law we'd be breaking. Help me out here, Eric or other lawyers, but did they have a case? I looked on the website later and, while it does say that people can't bring in outside liquor, it doesn't list any city code.

At this point, I think maybe I should use April's gluten allergy as an excuse. But then I decided I didn't want to throw her under the bus -- and I doubted it would do any good anyway. Best to not actually admit there's alcohol in there, too.

As the guy went to pour the canteen out (or drink it, who knows), they brought in another rulebreaker. Another Red Sox fan. Hmm. Maybe they're trying to thin the herd a bit here, get rid of the people rooting against the A's. What was this guy being tossed for? Was it public hammeredness, because he was obviously wasted? Nope. He was smoking in the bathroom. So it's okay to get drunk as long as you pay $8 for their beer (or pre-party). If you're smoking, they will give you three warnings before tossing you. It's a financial dealing: we've been punished for not being wealthy enough to afford their commodity. It's not even that we're so cheap -- we spent plenty of money on food items.

One thing was eating at me, more than anything. So, as they're showing us the door, I asked how they knew. The main guy said he saw us, but I knew he was lying, at least a little. Because April hadn't had any of the canteen for three innings, and he didn't toss Gabe and Amanda, who had some as well. No, I think someone told on us. Maybe it was the crazed fans behind us, who seemed to have a personal vendetta against mind-mannered second baseman Dustin Pedroia (perhaps it was because he had just called his CA hometown of Woodland "a dump" in an article by one of my former SF Weekly associates). Or the family in front of us, who seemed pretty ungrateful when we gave them our little, fry-holding A's helmet. I think it was the latter, who may have been upset by our penis conversation. I'd brought up Michael Showalter's comedy routine, in which he says that men shouldn't have to wash their hands after they pee, unless they've been digging ditches with their pricks.

Now, was that worth being thrown out for? Come on, those guys behind us were threatening to cut Pedroia's privates off. Get rid of them.

At least we weren't at the Wednesday game, when Wakefield almost threw a no-hitter. I would've fought a lot harder to stay at that game. The truly sad thing is those guys in that room obviously hate their lives. And who wouldn't? Being so close to one of life's simplest beauties (a baseball park, jeez, I can get soppy here once in a while) and not being able to see it at all. Or even listen or watch the game, save for the reverberations off the concrete and an endless stream of drunk assholes being tossed out.

Oops, that's us.

If I've learned anything from this, it's that … well, if you want to bring in alcohol, buy a soda and then pour the booze into the cup, so you won't be seen. Oh yeah, and don't talk about penises.

Desert Blues

2009-04-17T14:17:00.000-07:00

You know how you can tell you're getting old? You like world music, all of a sudden! (This is not to say that people -- Ruxzs, cough -- who've liked world music all along are old, or wrong. Maybe they were right, actually, or at least, better than me.) It's funny how my patience for some things has increased (guys singing in languages I don't understand, or in the case of jazz not singing at all) while others have decreased (I can't imagine lasting through all the bands at SXSW anymore; hell, two bands is a struggle now).

Well, last night April and I went to the Tinariwen show at the Palace of Fine Arts. Dang, that was some hot shit. How hot? Sahara hot. Okay, so the band's from Mali, so that was an easy reference. But what a blazing hot story: They were nomads forced from their land by a despotic regime, only to meet up in a training camp for rebels in Libya and then fight in Mali's 1990s revolution (which, sadly, is sort of still going on, even though thousands of rebels turned in their guns at one point, leading to a artillery bonfire; can you see that happening in the states?). Having seen them, it's kind of hard envisioning them as fighters -- they were just so nice and sweet. And, according to this article in the Observer Music Monthly, they're very unmacho when it comes to marital rights: in the case of divorce, the women get to keep the tent.

Anyway, they ruled. So much so that the 60-year-old ladies stood up in their seats and began to dance. It was hard not to. Check this live video out and see if it doesn’t move you.

April wanted to get up and join the hippie dancers and old ladies, especially after she saw the tall dude doing the Snoop Dogg moves, but there was no way I was going to do it, which made her feel self-conscious. Maybe in 20 years it'll be different. Or if Peter Coyote, who was two rows in front of us, did it first.

And just to show I still love the twee stuff, here's a new video by the Slow Club.

L'entredeux

2009-04-13T17:50:00.000-07:00

You know, these big Hollywood movies are getting gayer by the day.

Have you seen the amateur Trader Joe's theme song? (Chris sent this, all the way from Australia.) It's kind of amazing and right on ("10 kinds of soy milk that all taste the same"). When I went to the store today, I asked the super-friendly counterperson if she'd seen it and she said, yeah, they all loved it.

She wasn't so keen on this fake training video, though. She said the company's not that laid back anymore. Yeah, well, I guess that sucks. Although the sexual harassment and the shirtless dudes and the crying don't seem so great. Plus, now they do that annoying thing where they recommend things you don't want, which kind of feels like the spirit of Aloha ... being forced down your throat. If I'd have wanted it, I'd have bought it. Jeez.

While I was in there, Mungo Jerry's "In the Summertime" came on and I suddenly heard the similarity between it and Harry Nillson's "Coconut." I can't decide which is better (or is that worse?).

I am loving this French lady, Marianne Dissard, who lives in Tucson and is playing the Hemlock on April 29. Apparently, her new album was written following the dissolution of her marriage to Naim Amor, another Frog musician living in Arizona. She sent all the lyrics and a tape of her favorite songs to her pal Joey Burns from Calexico and he came up with some cool, Ennio Morricone-and-Brigitte Bardot pop. The disc has translated lyrics and they're pretty sexy in a poetic kind of way: "The girls are like water and the boys fish them out/ The boys are drenched wet and get undressed on the boats to dry." Well, um, this video is pretty chaud.

Blipsters and bleensters

2009-04-07T14:51:00.000-07:00

We went for a hike this weekend to celebrate Kikibomb's birthday. Afterwards, people started talking about the difference between hipsters and scenesters. Everyone seemed to agree that hipsters were people who liked cool things and scenesters were just into being cool.

I brought up the topic of "blipsters" -- aka black hipsters. Like the ones in the recent film Medicine for Melancholy, starring Wyatt Cenac of the Daily Show. It takes place right here in SF, with Cenac playing an angry young man on a fixie who follows a girl around for 24 hours after first sleeping with her.

(At one point, Cenac does a Bill Cosby impression, which he says all black men do. See the end of this clip). I really loved the Coz as a kid. The chicken heart. The sneaker that made change. His brother Donald. Hilarious. So now I've been torturing April with my own horrible impersonation.)

Anyway, the movie's quite nice, the kind of film with regular people doing regular things. It's got sweet characters, prettily shot, lackadaisically paced -- what Tarentino called "a hangout movie." My favorite bit involves iced tea and a taco truck.

But the funniest part is near the end, when the pair decide to go dancing. "Black people dancing or white people dancing?" Cenac asks. They choose white and they go to the Knock-Out. The funny thing is they go to Soul Night, which is a bunch of white Djs spinning (mostly) black music, so they dub in modern dancy indie-rock made by white people. Not that anyone anywhere would notice, but it is a funny switcheroo. There's a few seconds of it at the end of the trailer.

I think the film's on demand now too. Yes, that's how we watched it -- which means we're helping kill off the movie theaters too, which makes, yes, makes me sad. Or, rather, melancholic.

I Love You, Man

2009-04-01T23:01:00.000-07:00

Have you seen this movie yet? It's funny. Plain and simple. But it's also kind of odd. I can't really think of another film about men that was written for women by a man. It's basically a female fantasy, come to life, but wrapped up in a buddy film. Fascinating. Especially when I realized that at several points in the movie, only female members of the audience were laughing -- and I mean really really laughing.

Kind of reminded me of being in one of the 15 student classes at Sarah Lawrence and realizing, in the midst of discussing some male/female issue, that I was one of only three dudes in the room. And that included the teacher.

Happy Grumpy Birfday

2009-03-17T15:50:00.000-07:00

Checking out my junk

2009-03-10T17:31:00.000-07:00

I have figured out what we should wear for the next TKS party. Of course, we'll need to get some midgets too.

Have you been watching 30 Rock? It's gotten so it's the best comedy on TV, even better than The Office. Don't believe me? What other show makes fun of Burning Man, Larry King, and Jim Morrison? ("Being terrible has never hurt anyone in the music business. Look at Biz Markie. Or the Doors.")

I guess the only show that's even close is Flight of the Conchords, and that's mostly funny during the songs.

Have you seen "Sugarlumps" yet?

Or "Too Many Dicks on the Dancefloor"?

"It ain't no good if there's too much wood." Indeed.

Cumbia, Not Kumbaya

2009-03-03T23:46:00.000-08:00

I've been researching cumbia for an article, and I keep coming upon all these great videos. First, check out this Samim song, which uses a cumbia sample -- you can't go wrong with dancing strangers and accordions, especially if there's a guy in a giant bunny suit.

And then there's this ridiculously catchy Los Pikadientes de Caborca song, which was a Top Ten hit in the US last year. I meant to play it at the last TKS party, but I couldn’t fit it into the set.

Going old school tecnocumbia, here's Up, Bustle & Out's "Cumbion Mountain"

And here's a trailor for the electro-cumbia club in Buenos Aires that's playing the Rickshaw on April 16. Get out your whistles.

Flying the Friendly Skies

2009-02-26T10:55:00.000-08:00

You know how, when you travel somewhere, people always ask you how your trip was? And you say something like, "Fine, a little turbulence, whatever." Well, that didn't happen this time.

Everything started well. Got to the airport on time, no one noticed I had 3.12 ounces of saline solution in my carry on, we traded up to exit row seats. Life was grand.

But then the pilot said they couldn't get the door closed, and please hold on for 15 minutes. Which became 45. Then he said they were looking for the part and it might be another hour. Our connection in Chicago was history. So we, and everyone else -- including my aunt and her friend, who were also flying to the wake -- scrambled off and began frantically called American Airlines. But they said we couldn't make it to Milwaukee that night, so we hatched a plan to fly to Chitown and drive the hour and a half to Milwaukee. Not fun. Luckily, we ran out to the front desk and they found us a spot on Midwest.

But then American wouldn't transfer my aunt's bag, which had this display of photos she'd made for gramma's funeral/wake. She was freaking out, so I let slip that, actually, our relative's ashes were in the suitcase.

And immediately I started seeing a horrible scene take place, right out of Curb Your Enthusiasm. They would hurry to get the bag, we would get on the plane, they'd run with it across the tarmac where it would burst open, and gramma's pictures would fly out. They would see there were no ashes and we would all be tossed off the plane and we'd miss bowling and brats and frozen custard.

So I said I was kidding. But she did try harder to get us that bag.

Then we had to go back through security, with only 20 minutes to reach the plane. This is when April's boot decided to malfunction and not come off. She was frantically hopping around, pulling at that zipper, sweating bullets, but the security people were, luckily, laughing, and they waved the wand around her, and we made it just in time. Thank you Midwest, for making us feel better with your free, hot cookies.

When we landed in Kansas City, we discovered they have a pre-911 airport, where each 2-3 gates has its own security area. Which means that the shops are outside of that area -- and you absentmindedly buy a coffee and then find you can't take it in. And then, they make you leave behind your shaving cream and shampoo and shoot your saline with this contraption to see if it's over the limit. (Suckers!) Now, if the people in big city San Francisco don't care about my toiletries, why should the hicks in KC? Seriously, who wants to blow them up anyway? Those Texans with their inferior BBQ sauce?

Finally we arrived! And an hour later we were able to find someone to get us our missing suitcase -- only 14 hours after waking up that day!

This is all a longwinded way to say I wish my family lived closer.

Because the next day was great. Or at least as great as a funeral can be. It snowed.

We told funny stories about Grams, including me telling the one about how she witnessed the toplessness of the Dykes on Bikes with my aunt at the Gay March in SF (which is something you're not supposed to talk about in the Catholic church, apparently, oops).

(Dad's in the middle.)

We looked insanely cute at all times.

We played the piano, even though we expressly were told not to.

And we bought swimming suits in the frighteningly empty Kmart and ate giant Turtle sundaes and played Salad Bowl (Celebrity without celebrities) and argued about a dumb movie (have you seen this Tropic Thunder?) and later made the argument all better by including the whole family in it.

At least Gabe is coming up for the weekend. (Ladies, start your engines!)

(He's the dashing dude in the middle. Girls -- and their mothers -- were clawing to get at him in the hot tub.)

Brew Town

2009-02-18T10:47:00.001-08:00

So, we're flying off to glamorous Milwaukee this weekend. What a pair of jetsetters we are. Bowling, beer, and brats, that's what we'll be doing. Along with a little death management.

My grandma died a month ago, and my aunt was traveling in Southeast Asia, so we had to wait until now to hold the funeral.

Gramma was a sweet woman -- very German, very Midwestern, in that she was rather stoic and loved to keep busy. She sewed like mad, stripped furniture, walked miles each day. I remember she visited my Aunt Katherine in Menlo Park once, and they were having an awkward time until they decided to pain the house. She had a big underground pool where I learned to swim, and whenever we'd visit I'd spend most of my time in the water. Also, she made great zucchini bread and loved the Packers and the Brewers. She even tangentially knew the Brewers manager George Bamberger, so we got great seats at the park during the '70s. (Beer was so intertwined in the culture that the Brewers' mascot slid down into a beer mug whenever they hit a homer.)

Gramma's maiden name was Heiman, which probably would've proved difficult during junior high if she'd been born a generation or two later. She'll be buried next to Grampa, who died when my dad was 12. (He was a major bowler -- see comic below -- and there's talk of a memorial family bowling trip when we all get out there.)

Gramma and I weren't exactly close. I saw her once every two years growing up, and I loved her like any grandkid loves a kind, doting, mildly reserved grandparent. But after she had a stroke about 10 years ago, she came to live with my dad's family for a few years, and my younger siblings grew really attached to her. It'll be strange because it'll be a sad event, but at the same time I've never been on a family trip with all my siblings, so that'll be nice, even if it's only a couple days.

I just hope we can go to Gilles for turtle sundaes.

Revolutionary Crap

2009-02-16T17:46:00.000-08:00

Now that Valentine's weekend is over, I can get back to being grumpy.

And yes there will be spoilers below.

What the hell is the deal with Revolutionary Road? That movie is a huge stinking pile of crap slathered on a giant dung cracker. It's so bad, I couldn't believe it. I was sitting there, thinking, "Either kill yourself or sail off to France, but do it quickly." I cared so little about both the husband and the wife that I really wished the worst would happen to both of them. Then there's the dishwater dull script and the "shocking" visuals and Kathy Bates' flabby arms. Egad. Pretty much the only two good things in the film were Michael Shannon's truth-talking loonie mathematician and the skinny ties -- and then Shannon had only three scenes, while the ties featured heavily in only two.

Want to know how bad this movie is? Even Kate Winslett can't save it. Not convinced? How about this? It was Mick Lasalle's fave US movie of 2008. He even gave 10 reasons why, and not a single one stands up. (Alright, I agree that it could've been interesting having a guy who wants to be a big shot and a lady who wants to be a beatnik claw their way out of a marriage, but jesus this isn't that film.) Methinks that maybe Lasalle's wife should check for the smell of another woman's perfume on his neck, if he thinks that extra-marital sex is a sign of creative barrenness.

Jake and Waldo, you have a lot to answer for. I want my $10 back.

PS. Citron not so good.

Urine Mirage Day

2009-02-10T19:11:00.000-08:00

Ah, Valentine's Day approaches. And you know what Werner Herzog says about love in that one episode of 30 Rock: "Love -- a urine mirage in a desert of fear."

Kidding!

April is sick, so she watched Hamlet 2 today. I only caught bits of it, but this line from one song seems appropriate for the upcoming holiday:

"You're as gay as the day is long/You're as gay as Barney Frank's dong."

On a similar topic, I read this fascinating article about women and arousal in the New York Times. Apparently, women get turned on by practically everything and everyone (including bonobo monkeys engaging in sexual congress -- ooh, I used "congress" in two very different ways this post -- but not including naked men walking down a beach). And they also get very turned on by other people being super-excited to be with them, which can explain rape fantasies and why ladies liked Bill Clinton so much. Also, the perfect man is Denzel Washington, because he will both protect you and throw you up against a dirty drainpipe before doing you.

I did some research on arousal recently (ho ho, not that kind of research) to see if there were differences between men and women. It seems, from my small amount of data, that men think about sex more often when they're not getting it, whereas women think about it more when they are (and everyone thinks about it more when they've got a boring office job). When imagining sex, men usually think about people they haven't been with or would like to be with, while women think of men they're with currently. Of course, there are many exceptions to these HARD and fast rules.

Anyway, we're going to Citron for dinner to celebrate on Sunday. Anyone been there and have suggestions?

Top 10s Gone Mad

2009-01-30T17:56:00.000-08:00

It's the end of January, when KALX holds its Best Of week. I'm missing it by two days (going to be on the air next Tuesday at noon), but I will probably play my Top 10 reissues of the year. Here's a sneak peak at part of what you might hear:

Nathaniel Mayer - (I Want) Love And Affection (Not The House Of Correction) (Vampi Soul)
Sir Victor Uwaifo - Guitar-Boy Superstar 1970-76 (Sound Way)
Rodriguez - Cold Fact (Light in the Attic)
Eduardo Mateo - Mateo Solo Bien Se Lame (Lion)
Hallelujah Chicken Run Band - Take One (Analog Africa)
V/A - Nigeria Special: 1970-1976 (Sound Way)
V/A - Dirty Laundry: The Soul of Black Country (Trikont)
V/A - You Got Yours! East Bay Garage 1965-67 (Big Beat)
V/A - African Scream Contest: Raw And Psychedelic Afro Sounds From Benin And Togo 70's (Analog Africa)
V/A - Authenticité: The Syliphone Years 1965-80 (Sterns)

And my Top 10 new music discs? They seem to change every time someone asks list, but here's the latest list:

Vampire Weekend - Vampire Weekend (XL)
MC Chris - MC Chris Is Dead (Self-released)
This Is Ivy League - This Is Ivy League (Twenty-seven)
Flight of the Conchords - S/T (Sub Pop)
She & Him - Volume One (Merge)
Apache - Boomtown Gems (Birdman)
The Submarines - Honeysuckle Weeks (Nettwerk)
Passion Pit - Chunk of Change (Frenchkiss)
The Dodos - Visiter (Frenchkiss)
Thee Makeout Party! - Play Pretend (Teenacide)

(Honorable mentions include Crystal Stilts, Kassin +2, Little Joy, Koushik, High Places, Wallpaper, The Hold Steady, Raphael Saadiq, Megapuss, Time Machine, Santogold, Sonny J, The Lucksmiths, The Vivian Girls, and Yelle.)

How about my Top 14 movies? Here ya go:

Man on Wire
Tell No One
Happy-Go-Lucky
Wall-E
Rachel Getting Married
Forgetting Sarah Marshall
The Band's Visit
The Edge of Heaven
Teeth
Roman de Gare
A Christmas Story
Towelhead
Baghead
The Visitor

And the number one video of a sibling helping to shut down the Israeli consulate in LA.

Embracing What Is Right

2009-01-23T14:10:00.000-08:00

Random thoughts after Obama's Inauguration:

Rick Warren sucks eggs, but he didn't do anything bad, other than try (and fail) to approximate a black preacher. Rev Joesph Lowery, however, was damn awesome -- from that gravely voice to his sweet jazzy rhymes ("We ask you to help us work for that day when black will not be asked to get in back; when brown can stick around; when yellow will be mellow; when the red man can get ahead, man; and when white will embrace what is right"). Let's get this man a weekly radio address and see what else he comes up with.

I have a sneaking suspicion that Dick Cheney rolled out in a wheelchair only so people wouldn't boo him. This is a guy who shot his friend's face off with a hunting rifle. He is not going to be taken out by a little box. Now, if he had his hand caught in a shredder, I'd understand.

I spent Inauguration night at a quintessential Berkeley gathering. I can't remember the last time I was 20 years younger than most everyone in the room. Or where everyone knew all the words (and sang along excitedly) to "This Land Is Your Land." Great desserts, though.
You know what's nice? Having the hippest president ever. Really. Yeah, Clinton busted out his sax on Arsenio, but he played like Kenny G. Did you see Barack dancing with Michelle, while Beyonce cried/sang "At Last"? Jesus, is it possible to be turned on and moved at the same time? No more Kenny Chestnut or Charlie Daniels or crappy cornpone. Now we get to see Sting (with a Taliban beard!) and Bono and Bruce Springsteen … oh, wait, those are all white guys. Well, Usher and Kanye West and Mary J Blige and Stevie Wonder were there too.

And just look at this pic from 1996, when the Obamas weren't in politics at all. That is one cool/hot couple.

You know what else is going to be fun? Watching Joe Biden screw up for the next four-to-eight years. Already, Jon Stewart is pointing out Obama giving him the "shut the fuck up" face during the second swearing in. Hoo boy.

Do you think Cheney is hurt by Stewart's constant jokes about him being Darth Vader and emitting a toxic gas instead of carbon dioxide? And was Bush hurt by Obama's blatant "let's wipe the screen clean" comments during his speech? I've got to say that speech gave me hope that he's going to be more liberal than he appeared during the campaign.

Then again, anyone who thinks that this country is suddenly all hugs and kisses isn't watching Fox News or going to this NYC baker's racist shop.

Holiday Rap Up

2009-01-16T17:35:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year! I have been busy trying to get my YA novel into shape to send out and getting the Rickshaw's winter calendar into shape, so I haven't really felt like being on the computer when I come home from the office (re: The Beanery or L'amyx). But here's some pics from recent times.

Me trying to teach Yi Rong how to do the "pig snoot." Somehow, she looks better doing it than me.

April came home for the first time and got along famously with everyone. In fact, the families seemed desperate to hold onto this one. Jeez, are they trying to tell me something?

And here's some photos from the Rickshaw holiday party. As usual, it was all kept top secret. Here we're taking the sketchy bike route through South Fremont. Or was it Hayward?

Eventually, we arrived at our first destination, iFly! Here we're gearing up.

Some funny shots of people flying.

What your faces look like after you've had the mask (and moustache) on.

This is destination two: ice-skating at Yerba Buena. Notice my perfect form. Frankenskater!

What's missing? The drunken dinner and the drunken bike ride home. Ah, good times.

Mustache Cup

2008-12-23T21:44:00.000-08:00

It's goonnnne, baby, gonnnnne. The mustache, not the year. Although 2008 is about to go poof too. (Sorry, Wendy, I tried to save the whiskers in a cup for you, but they proved too hard to handle.)

See, I had shaved the beard into a porno 'stache for the Mustache 4 Kids party and then I got sick and couldn't even DJ it.

How did my Ron Jeremy look, right at the end? Take a gander.

Nice, huh? Take a closer peek.

Maybe that's a bit too close. Better to take the long view.

Can you believe April didn't like it? That, when I ran into her friends, she wanted to scream, "It's a joke, it's a joke!"? Me neither.

So the holidays are almost over. I'll put up some pics of the annual Rickshaw craziness, but for now you can check out this video Waldo took.

And one Grumpy Guy for the road.

Near the Highway Robbery

2008-12-08T17:18:00.000-08:00

Remember that music blog I was getting paid to write? No? Well, I'm not surprised, since not many people read it. It seems even the people who hired us to write it forgot about it, and now they're deep-sixing the whole project, along with the entire New York office of the company. Merry fucking Christmas. Is there anyone not getting laid off these days? Are we on the edge of another dot.com bust? Will we all be wearing dirty diapers and eating garbage soon?

All I know is I'll be writing whatever farts come into my brain for the next couple weeks, so if you wanna listen/smell, come check it out.

In other annoying, money-sucking news, the Berkeley poo-poo stole April's car last Thursday. I guess stole is a little exaggeration, but it sure felt like it.

I had borrowed the car and parked it in Elmwood. When I went to move it, it was gone. No note, nothing. They should have to at least indicate when they take a car -- maybe leave a big cardboard cutout in its place.

Turns out April tags had expired six months ago. The woman at the DMV told her to smog the car and send the documents, and they would send the tags. They didn't tell her that she then had to call them to tell them she'd sent the documents.

Have you read Kafka's The Trial? That's pretty much what it started to feel like.

So this painter yells, "You looking for your car? They just towed it away." Luckily, he remembered the name of the company, so I could find out where the car had been taken. And luckily Kathleen had just called to say she was near the Bean*ery and would like to have lunch. Little did she know that lunch would turn into a six hour odyssey of awfulness.

I called April, who immediately took off from work to go get her car info, so we could go and sit in the DMV for two and a half hours to get the tags. Then she and Kathleen went to the Berkeley police HQ, which had closed at 5 p.m., because of course crime stops then. They had to jump through some more hoops just to buy a release form ($75) that said she had actually registered the car ages ago. (Mind you, we'd been stopped by a cop, who let us go with a warning.)

Then they had to go to the impound lot to pay $160 for towing a car that shouldn't have been towed, and naturally the lot was closed (another $80 and 30 minute wait to get it out after hours, with a threat of $60 more a day if you leave it there).

So, let's add this up. A total payout of $315. Half a day's work lost. Friend's time and gas and pregnant tiredness expended. Tons of stress. All because some idiot made the system ridiculously labyrinthine.

I hate Berkeley. This would've never happened in Oakland (there they just give you fix it tickets). I want to boycott Berkeley or get Ralph Nader to change the system or have Michael Moore write a movie about parking scams. But I guess there are more important things to do. Which is just what the town and the towers want you to think.

High Art

2008-11-29T15:25:00.000-08:00

Entertainment Weekly just put out an issue devoted to the 50 Sexiest Movies of All Time. And there's some gross omissions, along with some (really) gross additions. I mean, The Bodyguard? Really? Can there be two less sexy people in Hollywood than Whitney Houston and Kevin Costner? And Mr. & Mrs. Smith? If they wanted some Angelina, they should've had Tomb Raider on there -- I heard little boys giggled in delight when she came on the screen. I could go down the list (The Notebook? Ghost?), but suffice it to say that a decent chunk of the list seems to have been put together by your mom.

I had to come up with a list of the sexiest movies left off. Some of these were sexy when I saw them as a teenager and may not be sexy now. Now you tell me what I left off.

1. Lie with Me. This is like one long, sweaty sex scene, even when they're not having sex. Based on the Tamara Faith Berger novella.

2. High Art. Yowza, Ally Sheedy, all my teenage fantasies come true.

3. Women in Love. This featured the first topless woman I ever saw on film. Also the first naked guys by the fireplace wrestling. Confusing.

4. Wings of a Dove. I'm almost embarrassed to admit that I cried during the sex scene at the end, maybe because of the film and maybe because I'd had a boner for Helena Bonham Carter for a loooong time.

5. Something Wild. Yes, Melanie Griffith's voice is annoying. But the rest of her, not so bad (and that includes her kooky personality).

6. Going Places. A French film about two guys traveling the countryside, sleeping with nearly every great French actress of the '70s. Sweeter than it sounds. Pauline Kael turned me on to it.

7. Flashdance, Risky Business, Hot Dog, Fast Times. I could list a bunch more 80s teen flicks, but these remain the most vivid.

8. Un Coeur en Hiver. Is there a more beautiful actress than Emmanuelle Beart? Is there a more heartbreaking film that this? Does it say something weird about me that I can get blue and blue balls at the same time?

9. Coming Home, Klute. Think Jane Fonda was all about the workout? Check out her oral-sex-by-paraplegic scene in Coming Home and see if you're not all hot and bothered. And in Klute she's the best prostitute in film ever, save maybe for Leaving Las Vegas.

10. In the Realm of the Senses. Starts out hot and gets way disturbing, as lust turns to obsession (with a knife).

11. Sex & Zen, Delicatessen, The Tall Guy, Liquid Sky. Sex can be funny and sexy. Especially when it's built into a sword & sorcery epic.

12. The Lover. Yes, Jane March was young. Sorry ladies, but every guy who ever saw this film has it tucked away in their spank bank.

13. Wild Things. Pure trash, but who didn't want to see Neve Campbell make out Denise Richards back in 1998? Not Jake and I, who saw this on opening day.

14. Betty Blue, Diva. Same French director, same mix of melancholy and sex.

15. The Story of O, Emmanuelle, Score. Cheesy boner-inducing Eurotrash. At the Castro showing of Score, a guy was wacking it in the row in front of us.

16. L'ennui. Dirty old man gets comeuppance when he falls for younger woman who dumps him. "L'amour fou" would've been a good name too.

17. An Affair of Love. Two strangers meet in a hotel to act out a transgressive fantasy. And you never find out what it is, which only makes the sexual tension more ripe.

Still Grumpy

2008-11-22T14:07:00.000-08:00

Grumpy Guy turns 60!

Got Milk?

2008-11-16T23:39:00.000-08:00

I just got cable recently, which means I got to watch Keith Olbermann for the first time. And, well, he's kind of a blowhard -- but he's our blowhard. And unlike the blowhards across the aisle, he's not hateful. He's a blowhard for truth and justice. Which means he was bound to get an SNL skit spoofing him.

But the guy's spot on a lot of the time. Like in this "special comment" about the passing of Prop 8. I swear I got a tear in my eye while listening, even if it is as corny as he admits the rant is. It's a shame Keith Olbermann isn't gay, because if he was, he'd be getting a lot of action right now.

If you want to get your blood further in a boil, watch Dan Savage yell at some hateful mofo from the Family Research Council. How smug and evil is that guy?

There's also a campaign started to get this thing overthrown. I signed right up, because fuck if I'm going to let someone tell me people like my mom can't get divorced (again) like everyone else.

Oh yeah, and maybe I'm just paranoid, but I think the ad layout person at the Chron might be a Dan White fan. Check out the placement of the gun next to the Milk film screening in Sunday's paper.

Hope Follows a Dope

2008-11-10T22:14:00.000-08:00

You know what's going to be great about the next four or eight or kazillion? Many things, hopefully. But right not it's kinda fun watching all the crazies come out. (It won't be fun if one starts shooting, so don't get any big ideas.)

Like the lady nutjob who wrote KKK on her employees' time sheets in a diner in Florida. Or the drunk McCain supporter who bit the nose of an Obama man. Or this Republican congressman (!) from Georgia who suggested that Obama would turn into another Hitler or Stalin. Jesus, when do we get to throw this guy out of office?

What Obama might actually do is sign into law a ton of good shit that Bush vetoed. Right now he's considering reversing the international abortion gag rule, lifting restrictions on stem cell research, and banning the killing of cute, harmless puppies.

There's a fascinating piece in the New Yawk Times on why the racist white people of Western PA finally came around and voted for Obama. Turns out it was the economy, stupid (and stupid Palin, too, apparently).

It's been a blast watching all the Repubs eat their own: Mitten Romney's old flacks dissing Palin, Palin dissing Bush, and Fox News digging their own grave.

But even better is this bittersweet tale that Brent sent along, about the African-American butler to the president, who never thought he'd see the day a black man was elected to the highest post in the country. Get out your hanky for this one.

Tough cookies, nervous hours

2008-11-04T15:26:00.001-08:00

Oh god oh god oh god, please let Obama win. I promise I will believe in you a little.

Here's some photos from Halloween, when a bunch of us went to Root Division and then crashed a party in the Mission -- and then got thrown out after barfing and fighting. Seriously.

I am Tough Cookie.

Spoiled Milk kickin' it with Hester Prynne.

The dynamic duo.

Several people thought I was a cow.

Things started to get a little woozy.

Then some guy picked a picked a fight with Dan about the impending release date of Chinese Democracy.

Brent and Marlo came late, all hopped up on absinthe, and missed the fight.

From earlier today.

No more vengeful geeks, please

2008-10-24T17:25:00.000-07:00

I've been reading Fear & Loathing: On the Campaign Trail '72 by Hunter S. Thompson, since I figured it would be perfect for the election season. Well, the book's hit or miss (he does meander, after all), but it's fascinating to see who turns up in it. And how different the times where.

Thompson calls Supreme Court Justice William Rehnquist "a vengeful geek" after he was confirmed for the court. The terrifying thing is that, prior to Willie, the Democrats successfully turned away two candidates who were supposedly worse than him.

Ron Dellums shows up too, talking about how a Dem can beat Nixon: "It's time for someone to lead all of America's N**gers. And by this I mean the Young, the Black, the Brown, the Poor -- all the people who feel left out of the political process." You won't hear him talking like that today.

Seymour Hersh -- who later became a journalist for the New Yorker and exposed both the My Lai massacre and Abu Ghraib -- appears as Eugene McCarthy's press man. (He quit in 1968, calling Gene a "closet racist." Can you imagine Howard Dean's advisor Joe Trippi doing that?)

And Ted Kennedy's all over the early primaries, even though he hadn't declared. Just think, if he'd run that year he may never have dunked that girl in the river and we would've had another Kennedy in the White House.

It's weird looking back and wondering how everything might've turned out differently. Would crazy Texas girls be making up stories about Obama supporters carving up her face? Would John McCain's brother be calling 911 to complain about bad traffic?

You probably wouldn't need cheering up so badly. Well, go see Mike Leigh's new film, Happy-Go-Lucky. It'll make you glad to be alive, and that's saying a lot these days.

Where's Pitt the Elder when you need him?

2008-10-23T11:33:00.000-07:00

Argh, I didn't think this election could possibly make me more aggravated than 2000 or 2004, but here it is, ulcer time. Just when you start to get polls saying Obama's taking surprising leads in swing states like Florida, Colorado, and Nevada or getting a double-digit lead with young voters, Hispanics, and independents, you get freaky polls saying McCain is pulling even. And then you have McCain pulling the ultimate "I'll say it before you so you can't say it" ploy: Saying that Obama will do anything to win. My god, if that isn't true of McCain, I don't know what is.

Take, for instance, this crap about Obama's tax plan being socialist. Forget the fact that it helps the working class more than hurting them. The Daily Show offered a clip from 2000 in which McCain himself says that he believes when you reach a certain level of income it's good to pay a bit more.

Then there's McCain's own ACORN business, in which he's hired a Republican who's known for defrauding voters.

And Palin's running around in campaign clothes that cost $150,000. With that money Joe the Plumber could buy himself a mighty big snake.

One other bone to pick: McCain has this thing on his web site where you can make your own Joe the Whatever sign, and they'll supposedly send them to you. I sent in these:

I am Karl Rove the lying scumbag.
I am Sarah the homophobic zealot.
I am McCain the Bush suck up.
I am not hornswoggled by the Palin winking.

But for some reason, they didn't send them to me.

People keep saying I'm being an alarmist when I suggest that even if Obama wins we're going to have absolute chaos on our hands. Then someone goes and kills a bear and stabs it full of Obama signs, and people start to believe me.

Just when you think there can't be anyone dumber or eviler in office than Sarah Palin, along comes Michele Bachmann. John S. says that the only reason she got elected in the fine state of Minnesota is that she's from a district where there aren't many people and most of them are super rich. Hey, maybe she's never heard of McCarthyism. At least she spurred former GOP Governor Arne Carlson to endorse Obama.

Yes, I'm in need of cheering up. That's why I'm glad Kathleen sent me BoyBama (make sure you watch until the kid's ice rink breakdown).

And then there's this dance-off between the two (or three?) candidates. Badonkadonk.

Maybe we should just go back to voting with beans. Or stabbing each other on the way to the polls.

Who wants Obama to win? This one.

2008-10-17T10:28:00.000-07:00

Hey, I’m back. Was sick there for a bit, then April was sick -- and it had nothing to do with her parents.

We both read during Litcrawl last week. I read a chapter from my in-progress Young Adult novel. You know, the one I've been working on for the last year, after getting a draft done via NaNoWriMo. Well, I had to find five minutes of text to read, and I couldn't fine anything I liked. This sucks, I kept saying.

But then I found a part that mentioned Daryl Hall and the word "pussyhound," and when are those two things not funny? I'll tell you when. When your girlfriend's parents are standing five feet away from you.

But luckily they were out of my sightline, and April says they were laughing, so I guess there won't be more poisonings in the future.

Did you see the debate the other night? Dear god, can I say how much I hate John McCain now? The man has more facial tics than a puppy romping through a swamp. Check him out here, when he went back on Letterman to apologize for lying to him before about why he had to cancel an appearance. It looks like his eyebrows will explode at any time (and I always thought it would be his cheeks that ruptured), especially when his connection to G. Gordon Liddy is brought up.

Naturally, we're all sick to death of Joe the Plumber, who it turns out isn't officially a plumber. Seems he hasn't been licensed yet. I guess Joe the Almost Wannabe Plumber doesn't sound so great as a title. This guy hates government so much he refuses to give them any of his money, even his licensing fees (or his back taxes). Funny, he's going on and on about how Obama's tax plan is socialist -- someone should point out it's not so different from the current system, so that means we're socialists already. My god, Joe the Plumber called us socialists!

I caught Robert Greenwald on the Colbert Report last night. He's great for two reasons: One, he directed Xanadu, and two he makes all those left-leaning videos, about Iraq and Wal-Mart, and now John McCain. It's funny (did I say funny? I meant horrifying) how Letterman and Jon Stewart and Greenwald are the main people calling McCain on all his contradictions.

Obama's lead keeps increasing. However, now's not the time to get cocky. Do you remember how Al Gore had a double digit lead in 2000? Or that rural white voters still can't get over the idea of voting for one of "those people"? Or that there's another effect now in play, besides the Bradley Effect? This one says the polling numbers are off because poor whites don't like to answer polls to begin with -- and those are just the kinds of people who supposedly would rather not vote at all rather than vote for Obama.

Still, this election isn't all bad. At least we have that picture of McCain trying to suck the juices from Obama's tuckus.

Who exactly is a minor threat?

2008-10-03T13:18:00.000-07:00

So, if things couldn't get any worse, April's parents tried to kill me on Sunday. I could've sworn they liked me, but there I was several hours after dinner, with my head stuck in the toilet bowl, ralphing up all that food they provided. (That said, April didn't feel so great either, but maybe that was part of their plot.)

I guess I should blame PF Chang's more than her loving parents. They've always hated me over there. I remember one time, back in 1996 after I'd finished serving knishes at the Stockton Asparagus Festival, and they gave me salad full of roaches. Gross.

Anyhoo, the veep debate was last night. I only saw the first 30 minutes before going to work, but that was long enough to hear Sarah Failin' tell Joltin' Joe and the moderator that she wasn't going to answer any questions that she couldn't, er, didn't want to. Will the "liberal" media take her to task for being folksy instead of showing that she doesn't know a thing about running the country? Hells no! And I love how she went on and on about how many regular people she knew -- not bothering to mention that if elected she would spend the next four years screwing them all.

In other news, I saw My Bloody Valentine on Tuesday. Loud. That's how it was. And blinding. They had a light show that was so intense that Marlo passed out! Literally fell on the floor. She's fine now, but I don't think she'll be asking for that MBV box set for Christ's Birthday. I gotta say, if I hadn't had a brownie bite beforehand, I would've thought that show was the biggest Naked Emperor ever.

Meaning it was nowhere near as great (or bizarre) as this video of Ben Kingsley as Ian Mackaye

The world is obviously going to blow up any minute.

Here today, stolen tomorrow

2008-09-26T14:11:00.000-07:00

There won't be any photos on here for a while, mainly -- okay, completely -- because I got my camera stolen this week. Right out of my apartment, along with my laptop, my new phone (which hadn't been activated and was still in the FedEx box), two things I was supposed to send for BookMooch, and a bunch of coins. A bunch of coins! They came in thru the window for a bunch of coins.

At first I thought it was all the high school kids who hang out in the back yard, but that bunch of coins made me think this was a "professional" job.

A professional ass clown.

I've got renter's insurance, thank god, but it still means I lost that computer with all the stuff on it, plus photos I'll never get back, and I have to go without a phone for several days because the…never mind, this crap is boring. Let's just say it's weird to think of someone in my apartment -- and even weirder that I wasn't able to tell for a couple hours after getting home. And then slowly figuring out things are missing for the next couple days.

I guess it could be worse. David Letterman could be chewing me out for canceling an interview to rush off to save the country but really because he got a better offer from Katie Couric.

Also, Wonkette says that McCain ruined the bailout deal, so it must be true. When will the "mainstream" media get it together to tell people what's really happening?

And lastly, my college pal Tim sent me something saying that "Palin is a 'Post Turtle.'"

Explanation? "When you're driving down a country road you come across a fence post with a turtle balanced on top, that's a 'post turtle.' You know she didn't get up there by herself, she doesn't belong up there, and she doesn't know what to do while she's up there, and you just wonder what kind of dummy put her up there to begin with."

Need an example? Check out this snippet of gibberish from the Katie Couric interview.

Haikus for you

2008-09-19T12:32:00.000-07:00

Hey, do you love haikus as much as the next person (if the next person is a haiku lover)? Well, I wrote haikus about the artists at Treasure Island and put them up on my Listen.com blog, and then the Weekly did too. Now you can compare and see whose is better (mine mentions cocksucking, if that helps).

If you're like me and you're growing ever more nervous about the upcoming election (and I haven't even seen this movie about voter fraud yet), then maybe this NY Times article about a recent poll will put your mind at ease (a little). Obama's got more white women voting for him (and/or against Palin/McCain) than Kerry did. That's got to be good, right? Or gooder.

Thanks to Tim, I joined BookMooch this week. Basically, you put books you want and ones you are willing to part with up online and then people request them or send them to you. So far, I've sent 12 books and gotten none, but, um, I'm on a first name basis with my post office guy. And I'm sure any day now someone will want to part with their copy of The Other Hollywood: The Uncensored Oral History of the Porn Film Industry.

How did the Rebel Reading Series go, you ask? Good! I really wowed them, especially the part about fountains of blood pouring from a gal's pooper. That's a knee slapper. Well, I'll also be reading at Litquake's LitCrawl next month, so maybe you'll get another chance to hear it. Most likely, however, I'll be reading from my Young Adult novel in progress. Sorry, kids, no anal bleeding in there.

Going Off

2008-09-12T12:54:00.000-07:00

It takes longer to get there now. It didn't used to, but now it's like the mountain has gotten a lot taller.

I'm talking about getting in the show zone. I used to have a beer or two and then I would be right there, pumping my fist or nodding my head or hopping around. But the body just doesn't respond like it used to.

I thought it was the fault of the Fillmore, at first. April and I went to see Balkan Beat Box there this week, and they came out energized and the audience -- full of dreadlocked white guys, Burning Man circus types, horny sextegenarians, and clean-cut college boys -- was pumped.

But it took until the last song for me to relax and really get into the music. Why so long? Then I remembered that it had happened there before: LCD Soundsystem, Sleater-Kinney, both had rabid audiences, and both left me slightly cold. (Then again, Stereolab was awesome on the Cobra Phases tour.) But I think it's just me: I need more booze to get me relaxed and ready these days. Anyone else like this? Is it a matter of physiology or experience or just too much self-consciousness?

Speaking of relaxed and ready, I'll be reading about group sex at the Knock-Out tonight, as part of April's Rebel Reading Series. The lovely Hiya wrote this nice preview.

I think I go on (or off!) early.

Those Nutty Republicans!

2008-09-05T14:58:00.000-07:00

It's that time of year. Or rather that time of every four years, when the Republicans (and occasionally the Dems) make me very very mad. With their lying and prevaricating (what does that mean, ack, I'm too lazy to look it up). Dear God, do they ever know how to rally round the flag (or terrorist strike or hopelessly unprepared Soccer Pitbull). So much crap to spew, so little time. And the "liberal media" stands by and lets it happen. When John Stewart is the only one asking the hard questions, we have a serious problem. Watch here as he lays out the many hypocrises of the Repub leadership. Or where he points out that Sarah Palin has more executive experience than any candidate, including John McCain, and Eye of Newt Gingrich goes, "Exactly!" Then there's Samantha Bee's report from the convention floor, in which she tries to get delegates to use the word "choice" to describe Palin's daughter's baby dilemma. Looks like the one woman's head will explode if she speaks the word at one point.

At least we don't have Rudy "Dispeptic Venom Spitter" Giuliani as nominee. And Mike Huckabee seems like a nice guy -- shame about those awful politics. But can someone please stick a muzzle on Karl Rove? Or maybe a nice pair of prison grays?

You know how Wonkette started calling McCain "Walnuts" ages ago, because of his disturbingly distended cheeks?

Well, maybe they should use "No Nuts" for Palin.

Sexist!

I take it back. She's not hot. She's scary. I leave the last line to Conan O'Brien. "She said she's a life-long member of the National Rifle Association. Which may explain why she's in favor of shotgun weddings."

What, James Garner wasn't available?

2008-08-29T11:33:00.001-07:00

Wow. Just, wow. That John McCain is a maverick after all! He picked a young, hottt, inexperienced, anti-choice female governor of an unpopulated state to be his vice president. Stunned. I am stunned.

Did I mention she's hottt? (And looks something like that devout Hilary fan, Tina Fey?)

Wonkette sure did, way back in 2006. They also documented her past rear-end collision. Do you think they would be doing that if McCain were getting bonked from behind?

Anyway, I guess he can't call Obama inexperienced anymore. Whoopsie.

In other news, I'm getting paid to blog now. Only, not about hottt politicians or movies or what kind of jam I like. It's all about local music and it's on Listen.com. What's that? The local music scene's deader than McCain's testes? Wrong! Jeez.

In movie theaters, no one can hear you sweat

2008-08-18T00:58:00.000-07:00

One of the things I did in NYC was see movies -- a lot of movies. Here's a quick rundown, in case you were wondering about any of these (and cared what I thought about them):

Man on Wire: Amazing documentary about a kooky French aerialist who strung a wire between the two World Trade Centers in 1974 and then walked between them! If you see one movie this year…wait, have I said that already? It will make you happy to be alive.
Tell No One: If you see one French thriller a year…okay, yeah, this is really gripping. A real headache movie -- the kind that you walk out of and realize you've been tense the whole time, trying to figure out who's good and who's bad and what's happening. With nearly every great French actor of the past 20 years.

The Tenant: Who knew Roman Polanski was so funny? Or looked so bad in a dress? Brian DePalma stole a lot from this film.

Roman Polanski: Wanted and Desired: Not the best date movie ever, but an intermittently fascinating doc about the film director's troubles with his own libido and the spotlight-starved justice system.

Baghead: Remember when I was talking all about the Mumblecore genre? Well , this is the dudes who did The Puffy Chair, and it's half mumblecore uncomfortable relationship film and half couples chased by masked dude in cabin horror film. Like Curb Your Enthusiasm meets Friday the 13th.

Gonzo: Life and Times of Hunter S Thompson: He may have turned into a cartoon, but for a while there, he was the wildest journalist ever. Some great footage and stories, including the time he cut his hair while running for mayor of Vail, so he could call his ultra-conservative opponent a long-haired freak.

Vicky Cristina Barcelona: Okay, I saw this one here, but I’m including it. Kind of good, but it feels like soft-core porn for old Europhiles, equally enamored of Gaudi's architecture and Scarlett Johannson's lips. Shot a bit too much like an American Express ad.

So, it's good to be back in the East Bay, where I can have interactions like this one, which occurred after I propped my bike up against a tree and walked into the PO Box place to check my mail.

Crazed Berkeley type, speaking frantically: You should bring your bike in here, or else someone will grab it.
Me: I'm just going to be a minute.
Her: My bike got stolen a couple weeks ago.
Me: (Thinking of the recent Piedmont robberies) Oh yeah, was it outside here?
Her: No, it was at my home.
Me: Um, so you live around here?
Her: No.
Me: O-kay. (Going off to open my box)
Her: Well, I guess trust is a beautiful thing.
Me: Go away, batshit lady.

Goodbye Big Applesauce

2008-08-05T22:30:00.001-07:00

Today is the last day of my New York sojourn. (Boo! Yay! Both!) I was offered a sublet by a friend of Ryan's, starting in September, but I'm not taking it (again with the booing and the yaying, you cheeky bastards). Instead, I will give you a lot of pictures from McCarren Pool, where over the last few years they've held free indie shows every Sunday during the summer. And no, it's not full of water, although it would be cool to see Georgia Hubley do the backstroke. It looks like this (note the Slip & Slide):
There's also a place for dodgeball, but I resorted to just playing a game I like to call photographing the hipsters. Here's a bunch of guys who like Thurston Moore a lot. Why does no one want to look like Lee Renaldo? Poor Lee.

And here's a mini Russ.

And another one. Looks just like him from the back.

King Khan actually commented on this guy from the stage. Me, I think the feather on the marching band helmet is overdoing it.

This guy looked like a combo of Opie Cunningham and his dad from Happy Days, with a little white trash mixed in.

These two must've called up and asked what the other was wearing. "Oh yeah, the bandana? That's a nice touch!"

Finally, the show started. Wow, what a show. King Khan is like extreme Elvis if he slimmed down a bit and only stripped to his underwear (and was brown instead of pale white). And sometimes wore a blue helmet.

He had his own personal dancer.

He had his own rollerblading septegenarian bringing him bananas. Which he then threw into the audience. (One guy chucked it back and hit him in the balls.)

When he'd finished, he came back out for the Black Lips set wearing a backless dress.

And proceeded to end the show with a major paper fight.

The girl next to us actually caught a roll and put it in her purse. New York is expensive, but damn.

I elbowed Toby Keith

2008-07-30T22:53:00.000-07:00

He's the country singer who wrote "These Colors Don't Run," and it was an accident. Actually I thought he was part of the stagecrew, until I saw him turn a corner and head for Stephen Colbert's guest chair.

See, April and I got the very last standby tickets for the Colbert Report (drop the T -- it's French, bitch). So we were standing next to an old guy from Wisconsin who was far less interested in talking bowling with me as he was in staring at boobs with April. Anyway, Toby walked past and I knocked him a good one. Oops.

Turns out Toby is some kind of redneck Democrat or something, with a new movie called, get this, Beer For My Horses. He sang, which was not so hotso. Would've preferred the originally scheduled guest, the biker who stopped "journalist" Robert Novak from leaving the scene of his hit and run. After Novak caught the cancer, they didn't feel like making fun of him. Go figure.

Here I am outside the studio.

Earlier, we met Paul at PS1 for some disco and James Turrell light exhibit action. He's the guy who bought that crater 38 years ago and has been working on it ever since.

Not everyone liked the exhibit, which was a hole cut in the ceiling.

There were lots of other hipsters, many sporting these Roman sandals. Go Trojans!

April wants me to mention that girls without bras and mannequins with nipples are running rampant here. I have no pictures of that, but I have one of this guy, who forgot his pants.

We also went to the best burger place in town, Burger Joint. Bizarrely enough, this tiny grill is housed in the belly of a super-fancy hotel, denoted by a little glowing burger sign. If you don't order correctly, you get sent to the end of the line.

Look, the white trash aesthetic is out of control.

This place was in Chelsea, so I figured it was an art gallery, but no it was one of those clothing stores where they have three things on a table, each costing more than a small car. Great door though.

There are lots of multiple-use spaces here. Went to see Cause Co-motion at the Cakeshop, which has a bakery and a record store upstairs and a venue downstairs. And then I picked up a CD by a fantastic local band, My Teenage Stride (see their cute videos here and here), at Sound Fix, a Brooklyn record store attached to a bar. I wonder how many people do a lot of drunk purchasing instead of dialing. Smart business move.

I will leave you with a pic of April and I at PS1. I can't figure out how to turn it rightside up on this computer. Trust me, it's cute.

Hot and Crusty

2008-07-23T07:54:00.000-07:00

You know what's big in New York right now? Terrycloth shorts attached to a skimpy top, making for some kind of shorts-dress thing. They're everywhere! I tried to get you a picture of them but all I scored was this one.

These are all from the Santogold/Diplo free show on Sunday. Believe you me, it was people-watching heaven. I tried to take a bunch of pics all surreptitiously, so that's why they're a little off-framed. Especially these of the couple who butted ahead in the 45-minute line right behind us. I was so pissed. They just walked up and asked some woman an innocent question, then just stayed there. Stupid hipster bitches.

Anyway, here we are inside the Central Park Summerstage, watching Santogold and her Solid Gold Dancers perform their robotic moves in striped jeans (it was 92 degrees out).

I'm not sure if these folks were a couple, but I loved her mask. She was also pushing a stroller, which made me want to run up and see how she'd dressed the baby.

If you know me, you know I love funny signs. The only thing in this store window was a fancy old chair and a fancy weird floor lamp.

Here's our pal Sammich's shop. Who knew he was a professional tailor?

My dad's friend Jim swears by this deli, but I wasn't in the mood for sturgeon (ever).

Now doesn't this restaurant sound good?

Posters for the Pineapple Express are everywhere. Also, the Brooklyn Art Museum is feting the director, David Gordon Green, by showing his past films and the movies that inspired him. Like Turner & Hooch. I kid you not.

We will finish with a shot of April. You will notice that she's not facing forward. I told her I wanted to take a picture of her during the first time she ever got mad at me.

"The first time?" she said.

Summer Vacation

2008-07-11T16:34:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow, April and I leave for New York City. (Insert Pace Picante Sauce inflection here.) If you want to know what I'll be doing, I'll hopefully be hanging out here, showing off my awesome physique like this guy:

Good times, for sure. Maybe even some blogging, since I'll be gone almost a month. But no Grumpy Guy, since I won't have a scanner. Goodbye Grumpy Guy, it was nice to know you. Have a nice vacation, and maybe bring us back some Grumpy Tales.

Rock of Ages

2008-07-08T21:43:00.000-07:00

In memorial of the recent Feelies reunion, I give you my Top 10 favorite live shows:

*Feelies at the Warfield w/ fIREHOSE and American Music Club, 1991. I had no idea who AMC was and I kept wondering who had let Bob Seger into the building.

*Crash Worship at the Trocadero, 1995? Came home with a strange rash on my elbows from all the red wine, sweat, and condensed milk.

*Broadcast at the Bottom, 1999? All the lights off, keyboard intensity.

*Young Fresh Fellows at the Bottom, 1998. I was high, so I'm still not sure if they were the greatest band ever that night. Drummer had a giant gong.

*Terrastock SF at Custer Studios, 1998. Um, standing next to the singer for Bardo Pond while tripping balls and watching the Spaceheads has to be one of the most profound moments I've had.

*Belle & Sebastian at the Warfield, 2001. Like an orgasm after 4 years of foreplay.

*Neutral Milk Hotel at the Kilowatt, 1996? There were 50 people, maybe, and 10 were on stage.

*Extra Action Marching Band at a warehouse when they zapped a turkey
w/ a Vandergraaf Generator, Thanksgiving 2002?

*The Aislers Set at Purple Onion, 1999? Like being in the Cavern Club in Hamburg in 1961, or so it seemed at the time.

*Thunderbleed (aka Blind Vengeance) at the Vulcan Warehouse, 1999? Back when they had some guy who could sing.

Yes, I have a hard time remembering dates.

Bad Isn't the New Good

2008-07-07T01:30:00.000-07:00

I have been watching a lot of bad movies lately, and since I'd hate for you to make the same mistakes I have, I thought I'd tell you about them. Warnings are good. Critics who lead you astray are bad.

Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay. I passed up Iron Man for this. Seriously. I really didn't want to see Iron Man. And this wasn't so bad, although maybe it was the Vicodin that made it work. But really, I liked it better than…

Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle. Which I saw second. I guess I laughed a couple times, but overall pretty damn dumb. Not as dumb as Dude Where's My Car?, but dumb enough to make me give up my attempt to appreciate Unapologetically Dumb Films. Also, it plays like one big product placement, which fostered a bad taste in my mouth that the characters couldn't overcome.

The Foot Fist Way. Not even good as a Parkway movie. So slapdash and unfunny that it seems like it was written on a napkin and then they lost half the napkin right before shooting.

Cassandra's Dream. I liked the last couple of Woody Allen movies okay, but this was a stinker. Just repetitive and dull, with Ewan McGregor and Tom Wilkinson wasted. Plus, not a wiff of Scarlett Johansson.

Gone Baby Gone. Based on a Dennis Lehane novel and featuring two members of the Wire cast (including Omar!) and about Massachusetts corruption. How can you go wrong? Easy! Maybe there's just been too many films like this already or maybe Ben Affleck butchered the novel or maybe the Wire is just so much better than anything else that this seemed simplistic and obvious. Also, an Oscar for Amy Ryan? Was it a bad year for costume dramas?

I know I'm Not Alone. Michael Franti wanders around the Middle East with a guitar, talking to normal folks who tell us that war sucks. Well, duh.

All that said, I recommend Teeth, the vagina dentata coming of age film, and Wall-E, the sweet love story wrapped up in the apocalyptic cartoon story. Talk about opposite sides of the spectrum.

Also, here's a video of Jacques Dutronc and Jane Birkin to get you ready for Bardot a Go Go this Friday.

Phair Enough

2008-06-29T20:30:00.000-07:00

Have you looked at Exile on Guyville's cover lately? I'd never noticed how much Liz Phair looks like Stevie Nicks on there.

Last week, Chris and I went to see Phair play her entire 1993 album at the Fillmore. Would it suck? Would it be embarrassing? Would there be anyone under 30 there?

The answers turned out to be no, no, and no. For me, it was more interesting than great, although Chris liked it a lot. He reminded me how nervous a performer Phair used to be and how she was perfectly comfortable now. But she's never really been a great singer and her guitar playing hasn't gotten much better. So, unlike the Sonic Youth Daydream Nation show, the songs didn't sound better than they did originally. A little more Stones-y than on the album, however, which made it easier to see how they were influenced by Exile on Main Street.

It was still enjoyable, mainly because some of her songs are really pretty amazing. And dirty, way dirty. Which is probably part of the major reason why I originally liked them. Catchy and dirty? Bingo.

The oddest moment of the night occurred during "Flower" when she sang, "I just want your fresh, young jimmy/ Jamming, slamming, ramming in me," and a number of women from all over the audience whooped and hollered. Really? I could understand dudes whooping, but ladies whooping for another woman asking for some jamming, slamming, ramming? Not that the ladies don't like that sometimes.

Maybe it was all the pot smoking. Jesus, the 30+ white men and women sure do like the ganja. Doesn't a Liz Phair show seem like an odd fit for smoking out? It's not like there's trippy visuals or wild guitar solos. Just singalongs about doggy style sex with the TV on (from the Whip Smart-era encore, "Chopsticks").

One last thing. According to this article, we have Nash Kato from Urge Overkill for Phair's nipple showing up on the cover.

Bar Crawl

2008-06-20T17:19:00.000-07:00

April is doing some work for a travel guide, so we went to check out a bunch of high-end bars. You know, the kind of bars I'd be afraid to go into usually, because even if they are really splendiferous, the people in them would suck big donkey balls. And I don't need another cool SF place spoiled by fratboy hellspawn.

We were going to dinner at Town Hall first, so I ducked into Harlot. Bars like Harlot are not built for happy hours, especially on one of those SF nights where it's hot enough to wear short-sleeves. Also, Harlot is as black as your hairstylist's dye job or a goth girl's fingernails, only it's that kind of shiny black that gives black a bad name. Black shouldn't be slick. Black should be scary. Not yuppie scary, but Halloween scary.

Anyhoo, Town Hall was good, almost great. And afterwards we walked to Bourbon & Branch, password in hand. Now, I'd been doubtful about this place, because of the yuppie fucks who flock there and the ridiculous drink prices. Turns out, B&B is awesome (if ridiculously expensive, but hey the travel guide was paying). First of all, the whole speakeasy thing is cool without being annoying. The only sign outside says "Anti-Saloon League," and you have to go online to get a password and a reservation. Inside, it's the right kind of dark -- plush and sultry and shadowed, kind of like Anne Rice's vagina. They play old scratchy jazz and give you free drinks to start off and wow was my $14 bourbon cocktail some kind of amazing. Plus, there's a library that you enter through a fake bookcase.

Nothing was going to live up to Bourbon & Branch. Certainly not the Redwood Room at the Clift, even if they still have those creepy digital image "paintings" that seem to follow you when you move. The drinks were even more expensive than B&B, without all the cool atmosphere. That said, the giant chair in the foyer never fails.

Next, the Ambassador, owned by those dudes that throw parties for Paris Hilton and shit. It was totally empty, which meant we could sit in one of the leather booths with the phone built in (you can't call Australia, we tried). Drinks were eh and oddly they had no whiskey specials, which means it must be a Cosmo crowd. Oh yeah, they were playing some neo-soul music that white guys put on the stereo when they want to have sexy time.

Swig had a private party when we passed it, which meant we didn't have to go in, which was excellent because it looked like hell on earth or at least in the Marina. I do like the big open window though.

Let's see, Olive was Olive. Vessel is like an LA club mixed with a terrarium -- lots of different levels to sit at and everything was sparkly and I kept hitting my knees on things. Also, it's got those bizarre shared bathroom stalls where everyone uses the same sinks, and tables with speakers in them. The crowd was a weird mix of Blow Up kids and Walnut Creek hoochie types. I like the potted plant, though.

Finally, Otis. There were only two customers at 11:30, but the DJ was extremely happy and friendly. I'm not sure which is a better indicator of the plummeting economy: that Otis is empty or that LA Girls closed down.

Friday the 13th comes on a Friday this month

2008-06-13T12:38:00.000-07:00

Got my tax refund check this week. I will now turn all of that check over to Barack Obama. Yes, I could use some new underwear, but I think I need a new, better president even more. Thanks, W, for making things worse for John McCain yet again!

You probably don't read Esquire Magazine very much. I didn't, until somehow I got a free subscription. Now I feel weird about getting it in the mail, as if it should come wrapped in a brown paper bag. Maybe it's the pictures of scantily clad bimbos or how it smells of cologne. No matter, since they also have amazing article. In fact, this one about all the people affected by a soldier who died in Iraq -- from his fellow grunts to his family to the people responsible for delivering his body -- is the best thing I've read all year. See if you can finish it without a lump in your throat.

Have you caught the big to-do over the Obamas' onstage fist bump? Am I the only one who thinks we need a better term for that? And why no big to-do over his ass pat afterwards? I guess athletes have been doing that for decades, whereas they've only been bumping uglies (ahem) for a couple years. There's even a beer commercial about it. Can't wait to see the first marital slap video on Youtube.

And then there's the case of Alex Kozinski, chief judge of the U.S. 9th Circuit Court of Appeals, one of the most powerful judges in the country, who apparently thought he was only storing photos privately on his web site, which explains why he had "funny" pictures of naked women on all fours painted like cows and guys being chased by aroused donkeys on there. Won't these old people ever figure out the Internets?

Oh yeah, and April's friend's bday party wasn't that racist after all. Ha ha. But it did feature some wacky Quinceanera dresses, a guy at the next table punching his friend in the eye, and the purse that all the ladies will be sporting come fall (it's made from a piñata!).

The FBI's gonna pay me to learn how to surf?

2008-06-05T23:12:00.000-07:00

Last week, a bunch of us went to see Point Break Live. I have to say I didn't have the highest of expectations. I mean, come on, the movie itself was pretty bad, so how good could a live recreation of it be?

Pretty frigging awesome, that's how good. First, it stars my softball teammate Ted as Bodhi, the Patrick Swayze character. Ted is, um, well, Ted is kind of a hot head. He's been kicked off the Consumer softball squad about six times, once by me. (Long story, but suffice it to say that he was so mad that he called up opposing coaches and tried to play against us for the rest of the season.) He also had a speaking part in Heat, and he can still recite his one line, if you ask him. My dad liked him because he was nice to my then-15-year-old brother Joel when we all went out for burgers after a game.

Okay, but there's more. They're doing the play at the Xenodrome, which is the awesome space where I went to that orgy pre-party. It's kind of like Spanganga used to be -- i.e., the only theater in town where they'll let you squirt fluids into the audience every show. (Naturally, it's been bulldozed for condos come July.) But it's a small room, which means you're right in the middle of the action. Which also means that they hand out plastic ponchos before the show.

My advice: Get the ponchos and then sit right in front. Of course, you might walk out with matted hair and sticky shoes, but that's a small price to pay. It also may be good if you don't know Ted, because if you do he will knock you to the floor and recite lines while sitting on your back.

More advice: Each show, audience members audition for the role of Keanu Reaves' character. You do not want to do this. I swear. You will be tortured beyond belief. But it will be lots of fun watching whoever is stupid enough to want the role be tortured.

Anyway, it's funny as hell. Some of the dialogue is actually pretty good, and the guy who plays Gary Busey playing a drunk cop is spot on. Tickets sell out quick, so get yours way in advance. And, if you feel like it, paint words on your butt.

Deep Fascination

2008-05-30T10:28:00.000-07:00

So I'm working on this project for Amoeba Music's web site, in which I'm writing bios of bands. And it's making me go back and listen to artists I hadn't listened closely to in a while. Teenage Fanclub, the Country Teasers, Van Morrison, Jolie Holland -- all great all over again. And then there's the Feelies.

Oh, the Feelies. Never has a band been so hard to describe your love for. And yet it is a deep love. Deep and long lasting. Maybe it has to do with that show I saw in 1991 at the Warfield -- at that time it was probably the most exciting I'd ever seen, save for that Tom Waits gig in Cleveland in '87. They kept playing faster and faster and faster, until I was drenched in sweat from jumping around. Now, you've got to understand that in '91, I didn't dance. Jumping around at shows, too, was out of the question. So this was something special.

No band ever made me feel so euphoric, like I could jump right out of my skin with excitement. That slow building towards ecstasy, those mumbled vocals, that weird burning tension, those great covers (quite possibly the best version of "Paint It Black" ever, including the original). Wow.

I loved them from that high school reunion scene in Something Wild, when they did weird covers of David Bowie/John Lennon and the Monkees. I loved them from that Spin Magazine article in which a female fan said The Good Earth was a great album to masturbate to. I loved them for being such nerds.

One of them -- Glenn Mercer -- put out a decent solo record last year, with lots of Feelies on it. But he ruled out a reunion, because Bill Million was still happy living in Florida. According to this article, Million had quit the band in 1991 and moved his family south to take a job at Disney World -- without bothering to tell any of his bandmates. Health care, it seemed, was a bigger lure than alt-rock "stardom."

Still, something changed, as the band finally agreed to get back together this July. Two sold out shows in Hoboken and then opening for Sonic Youth on July 4. One miserable week before I will be in NYC. Arghhh! I guess I will have to make do with cool clips like this and this.

Oh, one more thing. Das Burning Man ist eine nooosance Man.

Who told you that? Steve?

2008-05-19T00:06:00.000-07:00

The Flight of the Conchords full-length just came out, so I went back and checked out the first season. Turns out I hadn't seen a few of the episodes. (If you don't know what I'm talking about, the HBO show's a comedy about two hapless New Zealand musicians trying to make it in New York, and each episode features two hilarious tunes.) I just watched the one where they get mugged, and they do that spoof of a Beastie Boys video -- called "Hiphopopotamus vs. Rhymenocerus" -- where Jermaine goes, "my rhymes are bottomless" and then can't think of any. It also has the "Kiss Is Not a Contract" tune with one of my favorite lines, "Just because you've been exploring my mouth/ Doesn't mean you get to take an expedition further south." Plus there's that nod to Crocodile Dundee, where Jermaine says to the mugger, "That's not a knife," and Brett points out that actually it is.

They even slip little bits of political humor in there, like when Jermaine asks why his sneakers still cost as much when they're made by slave kids. Plus, they do the best French film spoof ever, "Foux De Fafa." If you haven't seen it, what the motherflippin' are you waiting for?

Lush Lit

2008-05-11T13:22:00.000-07:00

I know I'm coming to this late, but I just started watching The Wire. Wow, that's some good TV. Michelle S's been talking about its awesomeness forever, and apparently Eric has been too, but maybe more quietly because I can't remember him saying anything, but he swears he has, so, sorry, Eric, for not listening more closely. You guys were totally right on.

I just finished the first season. If you don't know what the show's about, here's a short synopis: It's about Baltimore. And intercities in general, how politics and people and drugs and modern society all blend together to make everyone pretty miserable. If that sounds too brainy or too depressing, don't worry. It's really about people -- in all their wonderful, frustrating complexness. The good, the bad, the facts of life (only there's no Toodie.) You end up caring about nearly everyone, from the teenage drug mules to the bonehead cops to the conflicted lawyers. (Well, there are some people you never care for, like the career cops who want to sweep all the corruption under the rug, and the unconflicted lawyers who just want to line their pockets with drug money.)

Each season focused on a different facet of the city. First one was about the drug trade in the projects, and the next ones apparently tackle the longshoremen culture, the political morass, the school system, and the way the media covers (or doesn't cover) news. Check out this letter the creator wrote, following the show's run. Sounds like the kind of guy who should be running for office. Or at least be invited to dinner.

Richard Price wrote for the show at some point, and I've got to recommend his new book, Lush Life. It's got some of the best dialogue I'd read in years, just so juicy that reading it is like biting into the most perfectly ripe fruit, and it has the same complex character development as The Wire. It's a "police procedural" in structure, which means that it's all about the cops trying to track down a murder suspect, but really it's about how the Lower East Side of Manhattan has changed over the past 20 years. Price gets in the heads of so many different kinds of people -- rich, poor, young, old, white, African American, Chinese, men, women -- mixing humor, sorrow, and insight into the human condition. Really one of the best books I've read in ages.

Also, have you seen the clip of John McCain on the Daily Show recently? God, how depressing. Please let us not have his bullshit-spewing dinosaur as our next president. There was a time when I thought he wasn't so bad, but that time is long gone. Watch here as he avoids all the tough questions Jon Stewart throws at him, like he were a drunk matador. And you'd think if he were going to make a sad attempt at humor using a pop cultural reference, he could at least memorize the details, instead of putting them on a cue card. How exactly will he remember the important things, like when to change his diaper?

April was rewrite month

2008-05-02T12:04:00.000-07:00

I haven't been writing here much, mostly because I've been writing a lot elsewhere. In particular, I've been trying to rewrite a Young Adult novel that I first drafted during NaNoWriMo 2006.

In order to get focused, Chris thought up the idea of Manuscript Revision Month, in which we and a few other people would work extensively on a writing project, whether it be novel, non-fiction, or short story. We all came up with goals, and if we didn't finish we would have to place this horrific, battered Matisse print on our wall for three months. Also, we'd be trading manuscripts with each other at the end of the five weeks, so it'd suck if it still sucked.

Well, the deadline is Monday. And pretty much no one has finished. But I have gotten a lot more accomplished than I thought I would. And I can tell you a lot about the coffee shops of the Bay Area that we visited during that time. So, consider this my own little Yelp page:

SF:

Ritual Roasters. Hipster central. Well, you need a good battery here, because they covered up the wall sockets. And it's usually really loud, either with music or people making billion dollar internet deals. But the donuts are amazing, the energy is high, and I hear the coffee rules (although Chris says to stay away from the Ethiopian beans). Me, I like the chai.

Cocha, er, Socha. Outer Mission café, relatively new. On a lazy Sunday, they had this cute older jazz duo having a great time playing Monk covers. Very mellow, free internet, sure not to last so go now.

East Bay:

A'Cuppa Tea. Claremont. Site of the best chai I've ever had -- and the most expensive. Then, next time I went, it wasn't as good, but it was equally pricey. It's good and quiet and you can usually get a table, but the baked goods are old and stale and hard. I like the overstuffed chairs, but I've only enjoyed them from afar because they're always taken.

Far Leaves. College/Ashby. This place rules! All tea, all the time. No food, really, but they make you huge pots of tea that you heat up right at your table. Very studious, very meditative, plus the best iced tea ever.

The Beanery. Also College/Ashby. Everyone knows the Beanery is practically my second home. The perfect East Bay work café, with internet and outlets and a nice (if occasionally eccentric) staff. The best, soft chocolate chip cookies.

Espresso Roma. Same as above. Never been a big fan. The ice cubes, and thus the cold drinks, taste weird and metallic. Kind of stinky interior, so-so baked goods.

Café Milano. Bancroft/Telegraph. Big and open late with a somewhat cavernous vibe. All right cookies and brownies (you can see what makes a good café in my mind). Same staff for a decade, good turkey sandwiches, which used to be my meal du jour when I was KALX music director.

Café Strada. Up the street from Milano. Good snacks, outdoor seating with heat lamps. Nice vibe, if very studenty.

Whole Foods café. Near Grand Lake. Good: Free Internet, Kambucha. Bad: Loud '80s soundtrack, horribly overpriced food.

UC Berkeley Music Dept Library. Verrrry quiet, nothing to distract you except for odd magazines like Oboe Monthly. Downside: no drinks/snacks.

Youth culture killed my dog

2008-04-18T01:32:00.001-07:00

First things first: I need someone to explain Ghostland Observatory's popularity. Sure, they're the Pink Floyd of the electro-rock scene (this is a quick way for funny rock critic types to say that they use laser light shows, ha ha), and the guy has nice long braids (Brent thought he was a lady for most of the show) and it's nice to think that the guys in Suicide were right all those years ago. But jeez. Those screechy lyrics and those dull tunes. What the hells?

Onward. I went to the Chinese Olympic protests last week, and I had one nagging question: Who the hell invited the Wonderbread 5 to a Chinese themed party? Oh yeah, and when did "Smells Like Teen Spirit" become a party down good time anthem?

There were some great signs. Like this one, which I'm pretty sure was a joke. Ha ha.

I saw one fight. This elder white dude was arguing with a bunch of pro-China folks and one of them grabbed him, so he began shouting, "Chinese aggression! Chinese aggression!"

Oh boy, this guy's lucky the Beastie Boys weren't around to thrash him.

No matter which side you were on, your heart had to go out to this dude.

And there's always at least one guy who just makes no sense at all. Congrats, dude, you've offended everyone, including your own mom.

One last thing: Have you seen Priceless, the new Audrey Tatou comedy? It's hilarious! She plays a gold digger on the Riviera who matches wits with that guy from the Valet, who's just a regular broke shmoe who's in love with her. Mmm hmm.

What's your damage, Heather?

2008-04-09T01:03:00.001-07:00

I've been on a big '80s movie kick lately. It's been interesting seeing which stand the test of time. Here's the verdict so far:

Some Kind of Wonderful: (A-) Mary Stuart Masterson is still intensely adorable as the tomboy with a crush on Eric Stoltz. That scene where they practice kissing is a classic. Docked points for the locker room scene, mainly because her boxers were far less alluring than I remembered them.

Heathers: (B-) You know, this doesn't play so well now. Kind of zippy for a while, but then Winona Ryder becomes pretty unbearable and Christian Slater's maniacal behavior kills the tone of the movie. Lots of famous lines, though.

Can't Buy Me Love: (A-) Formulaic, obvious, and full of hideous 80s fashions. But I'm a sucker for this crap, and seeing Patrick Dempsey as a lawnmowing geeks is priceless. Plus it's got a very young Seth Green as a pain in the ass younger brother, and what nerd didn't want to buy Amanda Peterson?

Reality Bites: (D) I never saw this back in the day, and Jesus now I see why. You have to feel badly for Winona (who here proves herself to be the worst fake-laugher ever), having to choose between awful yuppie Ben Stiller and whiny slacker Ethan Hawke. Only Janeane Garafolo survives -- boy, does she ever. Rarrr.

Say Anything: (A) Well, yeah, this still sits atop the heap of teenage romances. That John Cusack was born to play a kickboxing slacker love magnet. But all the supporting cast is amazing too, from creepy dad John Mahoney to twisted rocker Lili Taylor to the dreamy Ione Skye (who I just learned is now married to singer Ben Lee, wow). And that ending, when they wait for the ding on the plane, is one of the best ever.

Next up: Sixteen Candles.

World serious

2008-04-02T23:07:00.001-07:00

So, I went to opening night at the Coliseum last night. It was awesome. The Red Sox won, and their fans weren't as obnoxious as usual. Everyone seemed in a really good mood, maybe because it was the very first game of the season. I went with Gabe and his girlfriend Amanda, who I found out works at the D**w School, where I DJed that dance party. Nice folks, and she asks more questions than anyone I've ever met.

But then, when we were leaving, they had to go and spoil it. I mean the guys in the regulation jerseys. Have they no shame at all? A regulation jersey, fine; a t-shirt with your team's name on it, okay. But a shirt with the name and number of an actual player on it? How old are you, eight?

It's always these guys that get drunk and take out their frustration with the outcome of the game by yelling at another guy in a similar shirt. It goes something like this (I swear, this is all true):

Guy in A's/Buck jersey: Beckett, he sucks!
Guy in Sox/Beckett jersey: World series champs!
A's: Patriots, 18-1. (See, here he's so flummoxed by his own team's lameness that he's switched sports.)
Guy: Two rings in four years. (Back to baseball.)
A's: 18-1, 18-1! (Sensing a sore spot.)
Guy: What's that? What? (Feigning a lack of hearing.)
A's: Patriots suck!

This is probably the same guy who started the "Sox suck!" chant in the seventh inning, when the Sox were beating his team 2-1. If they suck, then what do the A's do? Suck and blow? Yeesh.

Chasing the rooster

2008-03-27T17:49:00.000-07:00

Ho, man, what a birthday it was! I'm still trying to adapt to non-island life. As Jake said, when you get back you have a really hard time getting to all the things you have to do, because you've gotten used to not having anything to do. Except lounge around and go to the beach and "chase the rooster."**

People keep asking for the highlights, so here's a few: The birthday itself was one long day of fun. We went snorkeling for the second time, at a beach where these pools were made out of rocks. (Overall, we saw sea turtles, spotted puffer fish, a flounder, a protruding brow fish, and many more. No eels or sharks, alas.) Michele and Kristina made an amazing dinner, followed by Kathleen's super-chocolaty cake.

They presented me with an amazing zine that compiled hilarious comics made by many of my friends. Then, Kathleen and Eric broke out the Bolivian hats and the Bolivian absinthe, and a dance party ensued. And finally, we ran off to the beach and rode the waves in all our drunken glory -- until Chris accidentally squashed Kristina's toe. Talk about the icing on the cake!

Other highlights: Chris brought Not Quite What I Was Planning, the recent collection of six-word memoirs that was inspired by NaNoWriMo, and so we spent much of the week concocting our own. I'll share a couple of mine:

Red Sox fan,
Can die now.

Love the ocean,
Oedipus be damned.

Jumping off the rope swing at this quarry tucked away in the woods was pretty cool, even if Brent ended up kicking himself while jumping off the rocks. Kristina was pissed, because he was stealing her sympathy.

For some reason we're trying to simulate our catwalk tiger look here.

Also, shave ice! Not shaved ice, not sno cones. Shave ice, which is like a sno cone with a lump of ice cream beneath it. We also played a lot of games of Quote Unquote or whatever that thing is that Karen and Thaddeus so nicely lent us. Naturally, with the in-house internets, we spent time googling the quotes in all sorts of other languages and then retranslating them. So the Dutch saying, "the short man has a taller wife" becomes "the midget spares the rod" in the Ukraine. Go figure!

We also hiked the first two miles of the Na Pali Coast, which was rather hellacious. Thank god for the beach at the beginning/end, where you could float with the fishies and buy weed (and mead) from the woman in the white van.

John sent along a new shock game, in which you were administered random shocks if you picked the same number as the computer. Believe me, it's more fun -- or something -- than it sounds.

And we boogie-boarded too!

All good things must come to an end, eventually, so we packed up and flew home, where I decided to shave my week-long growth into as ridiculous a style as I could stand.

**Oh yeah, so "chasing the rooster," which happened usually around 5 a.m. when the wild beasts would start doodle-dooing, came to stand for the act of self-pleasurement. I can't recall exactly why.

A case of the cutes

2008-03-08T16:15:00.000-08:00

Okay, so it's been a while. I got caught in the Noise Pop whirlwind and then the mom visit whirlwind and now the Kauai preparation whirlwind (or tsunami or whatever they have down there). I figured I'd check in here while I can.

I'm in love with a new band: Herman Dune. It's a couple brothers and sometimes a sister, with some kind of confusing French/Swedish parentage. They kind of sound like Jonathan Richman if he was the brother of Jens Lekman and the sister of Kimya Dawson (of Juno fame, see more below). Very cute at times, with girl-group backing vocals, but also romantically miserable lyrics. They're playing the Rickshaw on March 19, and I'm bummed I won't be there, but at least I can watching this adorably cute video over and over.

On the subject of cute, I've got to tell you that nothing knocks the blues (more below, too) out of you faster than being interviewed about your job by your (also) adorably cute little sister. And when she said at the end of the phone call, "I hope I get to see you soon," I thought I would cry. Maybe I should try that on my next big interview. Somehow I doubt Mark Eitzel or whoever would react the same way.

So, yes, my birthday's coming up. And anyone who knows me well knows that I get depressed every year before my birthday. Never fails. But this year it hasn't happened yet, mostly because I'll be in Kauai. I can get depressed when I get back; right now, I'm just trying to figure out which beaches will have the best snorkeling. Of course, that didn't stop the Saturday blues a-coming on a little today. I think it had to do with dropping my mom off at the airport, because I seem to miss family more than usual these days, even if they drive me a bit batty at times. And then last night I met up with some ex- and current SF Weekly folks, which always gets me thinking about what I should be accomplishing in life. I always get competitive about that kind of thing, even if I'm fine with my daily life. I mean, I don't really want to compete with the guy who got divorced but moved a block away so he could be near his kids, even if it meant he was a lonely bachelor two weeks out of a month. Right?

Enough maudlinity. Have you seen the Diablo Cody impersonation? Ouch! Hey, I loved Juno and I loved the fact that an outsider in a bad dress won an Oscar. She seems normal and kooky, like one of us. But this SNL bit is pretty funny.

And that She & Him show at the Great American? Getting mixed reviews, but I loved it, even if Zooey Deschanel didn't exactly show a lot of stage presence. What a voice! I could've listened to them cover standards all night, along with her originals, which mix together Patsy Cline, Carole King, and the Shirelles. Here's a track from the upcoming Merge Records album

And now a preface to the new Grumpy Guy: In case they, by some amazing coincidence, they ever see it, the strip in no way reflects my general feelings towards my parents. Thank you and good night.

The Keys to Everything

2008-02-23T16:26:00.001-08:00

I lost my keys on Thursday. Never done that before. And it's so weird, because I lost them somewhere within a three block region, so you'd think I could find them.

I parked my car on Durant just below College, and walked to KALX. Halfway through my show, I realized I didn't have my keys in my pocket. I always put them in the same pocket, but I realized that I had a long coat on and may have put them in the coat pocket instead. But when I checked, the pockets were empty. Later, I retraced my steps several times, went to the UC Berkeley police lost and found, looked through the windows of the car. Nothing. Russ came and we poked around with his flash light, but didn't see anything. He was very thorough -- went back to KALX and looked everywhere, even in the T section, near Toto.

I don't have a lot of keys. I kind of pride myself on how few I have. But I did have the keys to Kathleen's car and to my home, and now I didn't have AAA and I didn't have a way to get home or get into my home. Luckily, Brent had borrowed Kathleen's car and never returned her spare keys, so he was able to come and save me. (Let this be a lesson to you: Always keep your ex-girlfriend's car's keys, until she asks for them back.) And, for better or worse, my apartment is somewhat easy to break into (not as easy as I thought but easy enough, um, but please don't take this as an offer).

Inside the apartment, I found a spare PO Box key, spare apartment keys, a spare bike lock -- everything but my mailbox. I guess I was more prepared than I realized, except that everything was in my apartment, instead of at some friend's house. Forget earthquake awareness; I need to start a dunderheaded awareness program.

Mad Men

2008-02-19T18:39:00.001-08:00

This was supposed to be a post about the Eye-Gazing Party, but I got horribly ill and couldn't go. (Luckily for you, MSNBC was there and filed this report.)

How ill, you ask? This was a bad one. I felt like I'd swallowed razor blades. My body ached everywhere, right up to my eyeballs. I had the chills and then the sweats. My voice, when I actually tried to speak, sounded like that lady bailiff from Night Court channeling Tom Waits after her fourth pack of cigarettes. I spit up big hunks of green phlegm, which looked a bit like alien jello. And then I started hallucinating. This wasn't as bad as the time back in 2000, when I was so dehydrated that I thought great winged creatures were beating on the windows, trying to carry me away and I had to crawl down the hall of my apartment to my girlfriend because I couldn't raise my voice above a whisper. But I did hear things. Scary things. Voices, like on that Lost show.

Most bizarre was the loss of appetite. It was just gone. This never ever happens to me -- I get the two-hour feeding need, no matter what. So it's really liberating to look at food and think, "Nah, I don't need it." It's probably also not so healthy to eat once a day, and then only a little.

So, what did I do besides drink gallons of water, take cough medicine, and sleep 12 hours at a time? I watched TV shows. First I finished the initial season of Mad Men, which I highly recommend. It's written by a bunch of the old Sopranos writers and has a similar mix of dark humor, pathos, and masculine cool. It takes place in 1960 and revolves around a New York ad agency whose main client is Philip Morris, so everyone smokes all the time. I mean, all the time. Pregnant mothers smoke, children smoke, dead people smoke. Apparently, they use herbal cigarettes so no one croaks on set.

It's definitely a more innocent time -- at one point, the main ad man calls television evil -- but it's also pre-women's lib, pre-gay rights, pre-everything, practically. So it's fascinating to see these straight-laced people discover pot, vibrators, divorce, homosexuality, and other "unseemly" things for the first time. Plus, there's this one woman, Joan, who, well, I don't want to offend the women readers of this blog but she's built like some kind of teenage boy's wet dream. We're talking Jayne Mansfield curvy. And they put her in these amazing, body-hugging dresses, and then have her strut around that office as if she were demonstrating every theory of gravity and physics at once. She's over on the right here.

Season two starts this summer.

Book em, Dano

2008-02-07T23:05:00.000-08:00

Suddenly, for the first time, I find myself in a book group. With my old knish friends Laura and Leslie and their significant others. Every six weeks, we will meet and discuss something that one of us has forced the others to read. I have a feeling that it will be a very loosely policed book group, since Leslie is already saying she just wants to drink wine and hear about dating mishaps. Laura picked the first book, Therese Raquin by Emile Zola. I've never read him, and I'm a little nervous about 19th century authors, what with all the description of the quivering hedges and such.

I just finished reading my Holiday Party Book Swap book, The Emperor's Children, by Claire Messud. It took me a really long time to get into the book, probably 150 pages, because the characters were so unlikable. Just rich or pissy or self-righteous, which was the point, of course. Messud swaps POV each chapter, which made it hard to get into the story as well -- and made me wonder if even the nice people I know would be perceived less nicely if someone could read all their thoughts. I'm sure I would be.

But eventually I found myself caught up in the churning plot, so much so that I was surprised by the big old honking tragedy that arrived (hint: the book takes place in the early part of this decade).

The novel also has some things to say about friends and family and how your perceptions of them change. One minute you're happy with them and the next they've disappeared or disappointed or done something so kind that you're brought that much closer. There's also a fantastically apt section about how sad it is that you laugh less as you grow older, especially in some relationships, and then things like this bit about reading books in general: "You do need to read them. That's what it means to be civilized. Novels, history, philosophy, science -- the lot. You expose yourself to as much as possible, you absorb it, you forget most of it, but along the way it's changed you."

This quote reminded me of a line from a recent Nick Hornby column in the Believer, in which he related how a friend, after finishing a book, waits a few days before starting another one, in order to give the book "more time to breathe." Hornby, though, can't read like that: "Those of us who read neurotically, however -- to ward off boredom, and the fear of our own ignorance, and our impending deaths -- can't afford the time."

Sometimes I think that's all life is, no matter what your life entails. Whether you spend your time working 60 hours a week or raising three children or staying up all night doing coke of strippers' butts, we're all just trying to ward off boredom and our impending deaths. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Between Here and There is Even Better Than Here and There

2008-02-03T14:34:00.001-08:00

I decided to add a new section to my CD library the other day: The favorite albums section. It just seemed weird that I'd have all these old records that I love tucked away in the CD alcove, so I decided to put them all together in one tidy area, where they could compare cover art and argue about who had better lyrics.

Partially, I realized that I listen to music in a different way nowadays. Either I’m trying to keep up with all the new releases, whether it be for the Rickshaw or KALX or Three Kinds of Stupid, or I put one song from a CD on a mix and listen to it along with a lot of other single songs. So there's a 2008 mix, a 2007 mix, an '80s mix, a singer-songwriter mix, a sounds-like-Pavement mix, a hip-hop mix, a songs-from-friends-mixes mix, etc etc. What I don't do anymore is go back and listen to old records nearly as much.

But after starting my new section, I had a revelation: the cd-changer revelation. Do you remember when you got your first multiple-cd player? Man, that was a sweet day. All that deciding which 5 cds to put into it, all that breathless anticipation of "what song will come up next?!" Well, now it was back! And it was goooood.

This should put to rest that question of whether I'm a nerd or not.

Of course, this process led to other realizations. Like: Luna's Bewitched is as near to a perfect album as you can get, and I'd forgotten how much I liked Quasi's Featuring Birds. Also, that first Rogue Wave record stands up to a lot of other classics, the first Human Television EP is pretty damn timeless (in that it still sounds great, but it also sounds like it could've been made in 1985), and I don't love Slanted and Enchanted as much as I used to (the drums sound like a wet box, which didn't used to bother me). Stay tuned for more fascinating revelations...

Foreign Affairs

2008-01-27T16:04:00.000-08:00

I really want to vote for Obama. I just wish he would be a little more specific about how he's going to bring about all this change. I mean, it'd be nice to have a president who was actually inspirational (even Caroline Kennedy compared him to her dad recently), but I'd also like to think he actually had plans for the future. Maybe he's just being vague so his opponents -- now and after the primaries -- can't call him on them. And all this "reach across the aisle" crap better just be schtick to win a general election. I'm okay having a Democratic president who reaches across, as long as he does it with a steel-toed boot. Some of these right wing nutcases got to learn there's a new sheriff in town. Listen, we saw what they did to old Bill Clinton. These people will take your outreached hand and twist it up your rectum.

Over across the pond, French President Nicolas Sarkozy has started a brouhaha over … well, what exactly? Apparently, he dumped his wife for Carla Bruni, a former model and rumored "pal" of Mick Jagger, Eric Clapton, and, um, Donald Trump. Hello, she's a hot, she's Italian, she can sing the feathers off a myna bird, and she likes to read books on the floor without any underwear on -- why is this a scandal?

It seems people are shocked at how open he's been about his paramour, rather than keeping her on the, how you say, down low. Jeez, I'd much rather see her prancing around in a bathing suit than Laura Bush. (This is the same country going nuts for this nude pic of Simone Beauvoir, taken in Chicago in 1950. Note that she's wearing her high heels, even when naked in the bathroom. That's class.)

Speaking of class -- bad transition, I know -- Tracie hooked me up with some CD-swapping people. Each coupled months they pick a theme and make a disc to trade. Next month's theme is Sad Songs. Got any thoughts? I'm trying to pick 15 of the most miserable, loneliest, sad-bastardy tunes of all time.

Movie Madness

2008-01-18T15:20:00.000-08:00

Have you been to the new Kabuki Theater yet? You know, the one that Robert Redford and Sundance bought up and made into a high-end cinema experience? I kid you not, there are now catalogs for wrought-iron windchimes on every table. And you have to pay $1-3 extra (depending on the time of your showing) per ticket for "an amenity fee." I asked the sullen ticket clerk -- thank god some things never change -- what it was for, and he said, "blatant robbery. No, ha ha, just kidding. It goes to keeping the theater green, which is really expensive." Huh.

Apparently, the carpet is made of recycled materials. The carpet that they put in, after tearing up the old one. Okay. And they use potato utensils, which is good, especially if you bring your own Bunsen burner and can melt them down (because there's no compost bins for them that I could see). Can you get $2 off if you bring your own coffee mug or fork? Um, no. Well, it says on the web site that one of the upsides of the experience is that there are no commercials, just previews. My god, do we have to actually pay more for something we don't want to have in the first place? (I guess, sadly, we do.) And also it's all reserve seating, which I'm supposed to like why? I guess it makes it easier to walk into another film and watch it, since no one is there to take your ticket at the doorway. (But doesn't that save them money on staffing?) And you can get your tickets online ahead of time and make sure all your friends get to sit near each other. Unless someone shows up that you didn't expect and doesn't have a ticket and therefore has to get one way across the theater from you. And who knows exactly where they want to sit before seeing the theater, anyway? And what if a big tall lady with a giant floppy hat sits in front of you? You're screwed.

Then there's the balcony bar. I'm all for being able to drink at the movies -- the Parkway rules! -- but the Kabuki's bar only looks out over one of its many theaters. So if you want to watch something else you're going to have to chug a $9 glass of wine at the bar beforehand or go as sober as George Bush at a prayer meeting.

All this doesn't mean I won't go there. Just that it puts more pressure on the film to be good. Sort of like when a baseball player making $10 million a year hits a bad streak -- you feel more pissed at him than usual.

I've got one suggestion, but I'm sure it'll never happen. Better previews, ie shorter previews. Like the movie I saw, The Savages. It was pretty much ruined by the preview. Almost every single surprise had been sucked out of the film, which was kind of slight to begin with (which is odd considering it's about death and family reconciliation). I think it would've been endearingly sad rather than nice but forgettable if I hadn't heard all the best lines.

For a nice rebuttal to all this carping, check out this Kabuki employee's post.

Oh yeah, and I'm really bummed I missed out on the No Pants 2k8 BART ride recently. Looks like a lot of fun.

Messing around

2008-01-12T14:51:00.000-08:00

Random thoughts from my holiday trip back east:

My mother and her wife drink a lot of milk. For some reason, this seems odd to me. Not that my mom has a wife, but that they drink a lot of milk. No one else I know does.

I had only one bad moment with my mom. I made the mistake of telling her about my new zen approach to dealing with my parents (no, I didn't phrase it like that). It's this easy: I don't let the little things bother me. That would've been okay to say, but then I gave an example of when we were in New Haven this summer, and Denise was trying to parallel park and my mother had her redo it six times, even though three out of the first five were fine, and I just looked out the window and tried not to get angry because it didn't matter. It was their dynamic, and if Denise wanted to be bullied, that was fine. Well, my mom stormed out the room, saying we were picking on her. She sure is sensitive, that one.

You know what should be outlawed? That thing where you have to hold hands at dinner and say something you're thankful for. Especially when your step-mother's nice-if-mildly-homophobic brother is over, and you just know he's going to make bad jokes about having to hold your hand.

My 20-year-old brother Gabe was home for the holidays. He had been out in LA until his program ran out of money. Apparently, girls were flying all the way across the country to sleep with him. Which isn't much of a surprise. When he came to visit at 15, he was already 6'3" with a big white-boy afro and clothes all of orange, and he was stopping cars dead on Market Street. While we were waiting for a bus, this beautiful Brazilian woman screeched to a halt and invited Gabe to compete in a teen modeling contest with a $250,000 grand prize. "You're exactly what we're looking for," she said. He didn't go, because he's a small town boy and it seemed weird to him. Yes, a quarter of a million dollars is weird. No, hot Brazilian women aren't. (Just ask 25-year-old brother Joel, who married one last year.) Oh yeah, and Kristina and Kathleen still talk about him in a tone that is a little frightening.

Anyway, upon my return east, I discovered that Gabe had changed. For one thing, his "death stare" had blossomed.

The death stare is one of the many fine features our father passed down to us. It is an intense, unwavering, slightly unnerving eye-lock that bores down upon its recipients. It is not malicious in intent; in fact, the user is usually just paying close attention to what the speaker is saying. But something about that gaze is a bit too much for some folks. Hell, even I find my dad's stare disconcerting at times.

I used to have the stare. Back in the mid-90s I remember a few girls telling me that I made them all squirrelly with my intent gaze. (Secretly, however, they seemed to like it.) But then I must've stopped or maybe the girls got hardier, because no one mentioned for years. Only recently did a friend bring it up. Maybe the death stare has returned?

Well, I relayed this information to the whole family, and everyone got excited about trying on their death stares. This is what entertainment amounts to in snowy Western Mass. (Secretly, I like it.)

Some Strachotas haven't quite got the stare down yet.

My dad told me two stories about him and my step-mom, Ellen. At a Christmas many years ago, when they were first seeing each other, my dad opened a present he didn't like or he owned already. And he said exactly that, which led her to think, "What the hell am I doing here? Who are these horrible people who tell the truth about their Christmas presents?"

I also asked him about how exactly he'd approached Ellen. Because at the time they first started seeing each other, they were both married (him not to my mom, but to wife number two, Gabe & Joel's mother). I wanted to know how he'd taken that leap of faith, considering that she also worked with him at the same school. It could've been a real disaster. But he explained that he always liked to jump into things -- whether it be relationships or work or piles of leaves -- because even if it turned into a mess, it would be an interesting mess.

So, I decided to take that as my mantra for the new year, and maybe you should to. I here proclaim 2008 the year of the interesting mess.

A little less conversation

2008-01-05T01:24:00.000-08:00

It's the new year, when a boy's mind turns to … top 10 lists. Well, I'll get to that, if I must, but first I'm going to give you some liner notes. Because, well, I made a year-end mix, and Karen asked what was the deal with that Elvis song, and I realized that many of them had stories behind them. These weren't necessarily the best songs of the year or the songs from my favorite albums; instead, they were just songs that meant something special. So here you go: If you've got a copy, you'll now understand them better; if you don't -- and you want one -- let me know.

A Little Less Conversation - Dan's End of 2007 Mix

1. Bob Andy - "Games People Play" - This can be found on a 3-CD box set of reggae covers of country songs by Trojan Records artists. What sounds like a horrible idea proves genius, as ska and rock steady artists make even the lamest of 70s soft-rock sound awesome.

2. Rilo Kiley - "Breakin' Up" - What could be worse than being in a band with your ex? Having her write a song in which she sings "Ooh, it feels good to be free" over and over. Chris says this album is a horrible major label sell-out, but I think it's half a genius major label sell-out (and half dullsville). This song out-discos Feist by a mile and should be required playing for anyone escaping a relationship.

3. MC Chris - "I Want Candy" - I have a large space in my heart for novelty rap, a category that houses this track from the Aqua Teen Hunger Force soundtrack. The guy played Rickshaw last year, and even though he's 5' 2" with a squeaky voice and a Boston accent, he had complete control of his rabid, stoned teenage audience.

4. The Honey Cone - "Want Ads" - At some point I downloaded the entire 10-cd Have a Nice Decade box set just so I could get this song.

5. The Mixers - "Love Hurts" - At another point I decided that I was going to quit KALX when I turned 40, so I should go thru all of my CDs and pull out the best songs to play before I left. That's how I discovered this '80s gem from the TV Personalities-sponsored UK comp, Waam Bam Thank You Dan.

6. The Morning Benders - "Damnit Anna" - Local boys, including Matt's cousin. It'd be a shame if they didn't get as big as the Kinks, or at least the Strokes.

7. MVP - "Stockholm Doesn't Belong to Me" - No story, just a great Swedish pop tune. Why do they do childlike melancholy so well? Must be all that sun.

8. Vetty - "Nicolas" - A crazy kid-pop French tune from the third Pop a Paris compilation. Someone needs to collect all these.

9. Eleni Mandell - "Make-Out King" From Miracle of Five, this Angelino's latest. Apparently she went to grammar school with Michele, and Tom Waits loves her. If she lived up here, I'd have a big honking crush on her.

10. Wire - "Mannequin" From UK punk band's first disc, Pink Flag, which I bought ages ago and didn't listen to much, until Matt's bachelor party, at which Eric -- and all of Continental -- went on and on about their greatness. Turns out they were right.

11. Ingrid Lucia & the Flying Nutrinos - "Love Is Coming Back" - This was one of the requested songs at a wedding Brent and I DJed at. I meant to play it as the bride and groom came down the stairs, but I played "Somebody's Baby" instead. Oops. Got a laugh, though.

12. Shout Out Louds - "Tonight I Have to Leave It (Russian Futurists remix)" - Remember when we didn't have the internet and we couldn't find remixes that make awesome songs more awesome? Remember when we didn't say "awesome" so much?

13. Laura Veirs - "Saltbreakers" - Waldo put this on an ipod mix at work, and I thought it sounded like a Breeders b-side. Instead, it's by a slip of a hippie girl from Seattle, who really couldn't be further from Kim Deal.

14. Flight of the Conchords - "Business Time" - Greatest musical spoof TV show starring a pair of New Zealanders ever!

15. Los Campesinos! - "C Is the Heavenly Option" - Another example that the '90s indie-rock scene is coming back into vogue, as it's a cover of Heavenly.

16. Magic Carpet - "Black Cat" - Sometimes you walk into Aquarius Music and find gold, like this '60s UK sitar-psych band's one album.

17. Elvis Presley - "A Little Less Conversation" - Okay, Alan played the remix of this at a Tease-o-Rama party, along with "Mambo No. 5," and I'd never heard either. So I went back and found the original, which has great lyrics and comes from a hilarious scene in which the King tries to put a fur coat on Ann Margaret at a pool party. Who thought this shit up?

18. Or, The Whale - "Call and Response" - The older I get, the more country I like. Especially if it comes with two cute girl singers and some serious tambourine work.

19. Emily Jane White - "Time on Your Side" - Stop asking, "Is it Cat Power?" She's local, she's a pal of Yuri's, add her to the list of artists who ended up in Rolling Stone after asking Russ to drum for them.

20. Stone - "Le Jouer La Nuit" - More French pop, here a Beatles cover.

21. Speck Mountain - "Hey Moon" People really like that Bat For Lashes woman, but I think these two girls sing better and make more arresting music. But I also thought that Low made some of the best sex music ever.

Alright, now here's my favorite albums of the year:

Peter, Bjorn, & John - Writer's Block
Jens Lekman - Night Falls on Kortedala
Vampire Weekend - Demo
The Lodger - Grown-Ups
Eleni Mandell - Miracle of Five
Parson Red Heads - King Giraffe
Eilen Jewell - Letters from Sinners & Strangers
The Black Lips - Good Bad Not Evil
Taken By Trees - Open Field
Amy Winehouse - Back to Black
Rilo Kiley - Under the Blacklight
Various Artists - CD86: 48 TRACKS FROM THE BIRTH OF INDIE POP
Various Artists - TROJAN COUNTRY REGGAE BOX
Various Artists - THE GREAT NEW YORK SINGLES
Various Artists - THE DARJEELING LIMITED Soundtrack

Deck the balls

2007-12-21T16:17:00.000-08:00

It's over! Finally! The holiday party season is kaput. I didn't think I'd make it all the way, but I did. Last night was the last one: The Tricycle Records Holiday Bash at the Rickshaw. About 99 percent of the attendees wore all black. Plus they all had black hair and drank black beer (Guinness), and the name of one of the bands was even The Blacks! Crazy.

But not as crazy as the Odopod Holiday Party. We're talking Stallion Massage Zone crazy! Here's a pic of me (Santa) and Stallion righter after we discussed Swedish vs. Shiatsu. Can't remember which won out.

The whole idea was that Stallion's Massage Zone would be so terrifying (you had to take off ALL your clothes for him to perform his "magic") that no one would dare take part. Even with the striking leather vest and the new age background music, some people still were brave -- or drunk -- enough to give it a try. Here's Yuri, who I believe was more drunk than brave.

Go back a couple more days and you've got the Hut Holiday party, which featured a serious heavy metal cover band playing. How serious? They kept yelling, "If the management will let us play more, we will!" The management, naturally, ran and hid, so they couldn't be asked if it was okay. I tried to get into the spirit of the night, right down to the old-school Pats hat Tim gave me.

And then there was the Rickshaw's official holiday dance party w/ me and Alan DJing the French pop (well, Alan DJed a lot of things, only some of which were French pop) and the Devil-ettes dancing around. I don't have any photos because I was, um, busy. You know, working and stuff. And then at the end of the night I got that crazy propostion. Crazy! As soon as I heard it, I thought, "I love this town!"

Here's a holiday Grumpy Guy for you. See you in the new year.

Happy Hollandaise

2007-12-18T00:39:00.000-08:00

So we had our Rickshaw Holiday party last week. It was your typical office party. We all stood around the water cooler, which had been dosed with acid, hoping that our regional manager would take a few sips, while the lousy portable CD player spat out "Do They Know It's Christmas" over and over. Eventually, Hugo threw up in the trash can, and Sally went home with the date rapist from accounting.

No, wait, that must've been a bad dream. We actually all got driven around town in Rickshaw pedi-cabs!

You can't see it, but we're tossing donuts while cruising Market Street here.

And then we went sailing under the Golden Gate Bridge. Magnolia tried to kill a seal with a whiskey bottle top, but luckily he outsmarted her.

Because no Rickshaw holiday party is complete without a few bruises, we headed off to Golden Gate Park for some archery. Now, you may be thinking, "How can you get bruises from shooting an arrow at a target?" Well, let's just say it's possible for those amongst us who are double jointed. Or something.

And then, as the sun was going down, we landed at Tommy's Mexican Joint, or whatever it's called, for more booze and vittles. Here Brett is rocking the shocker.

I'm not exactly sure how, but we all made it home alive. Cam and I sat in his living room for an hour before I could even find my way to my car. This year's party will be hard to top, for sure. Christopher may have to hire hot air balloons next year.

This nogtini's for you

2007-12-07T10:12:00.000-08:00

The holiday party season continues! On Wednesday night I went with Paul to the Yelp bash at Yerba Buena. Since Paul's girlfriend was performing as part of a hula hoop troupe, I was able to avoid the enormously long line by grabbing their boombox and slipping in with them. Smooth, I know. I didn't even have to wear fuzzy boots or glitter (not that there's anything wrong with those).

Those ladies sure could do some amazing things with a hula hoop. That said, the other troupe of furry booted girls with raver balls looked like a Hollywood ad rep's version of Burners.

Anyhoo, inside there was top shelf booze and little nibbles of food from cool restaurants and a hip-hop dance troupe that did a lot of grinding to songs about pussy. And, um, an exhibit that had something to do with the Dalai Lama. Ah, San Francisco, city of dichotomies.

It's funny how sometimes I just can't get into the spirit of things. The DJ was playing decent Top 40 hits, the nogtinis were burning a hole in my throat, the cupcakes were meshing well with the meatballs, but I just couldn’t get THERE. Wed 2.0 is a good thing, and it was nice to catch a little taste of that over-the-top Internet energy. But something was missing.

Then he arrived.

He must've been a VP in Sales or maybe Head of Online Gaming Opportunities (is there such a job?), but he was obviously part of the company. Otherwise, why would you kill the dance floor by letting a guy play the guitar riffs to Nirvana, Black Sabbath, and Sade tunes over a DJ's beats? Or have him sing Journey choruses without even a smidge of irony? Unless it was performance art. Whatever it was, it made the night. Pushed it over into the realm of the sublimely idiotic. Genius.

Women and children first

2007-12-05T14:30:00.000-08:00

Back in another lifetime, on another Internet site, we used to write Weekend Roundups every Monday. In honor of those more innocent times, here's my wrap up, a bit late and extended.

Friday: Had a boring date that I was 45 minutes late to. Stupid highway traffic -- can someone please explain how traffic jams work? You're on the bridge moving 5 MPH and then for no reason you're doing 40. Someone could get a Nobel Prize for figuring this out.

The bad date wasn't the woman's fault. Well, a little bit. She asked two questions in two hours, and even then she didn't seem too interested in the answers. Maybe she was hungover from the Van Halen concert the night before.

Anyway, then I went to see Continental's last show. There was free post-wedding beer and strange projections and lots of French air-conditioning. Oh yeah, and cool instrumental rock. RIP, Continental! I will still make sweet love to you.

Next, Paul, Brent, Marlo and I checked out the big disco party at Mezzanine. It was crazy packed, with maybe 72% of the people in costume -- either silly disco outfits or authentic outfits that were kind of silly. (It was a thin line, and I don't mean the kind you need a spoon for.) Escort -- an 18-person live disco band that I saw in Brooklyn this summer and is fronted by Ryan's sisters's boyfriend, a nerdy guy named Eugene -- was pretty dang awesome, even if the sound truly sucks there. But Paul and I agreed that disco doesn't really excite us, although I make an exception for Loose Joints' "Is It All Over My Face?"

Saturday! I started it off by getting a finger in the eye, which is still red and bloody looking, while playing basketball. Then I helped Cam and Kristin move into my old place, across from Karen and Thaddeus. Elka yelled at me a little, so it was just like old times. Ha ha. Oh, and it was really nice to see Ozzie again. What a great dog she is.

After dinner with Jake and Caroline at Bombay, I went to the NaNoWriMo Thank God It's Over Party. I had a way better time than Laura, who wrote about it on her blog, which you should read. Of course, it helped that I didn't get hit on by Bill, the scary septegenarian who got his head caught in a box at the party a couple years back. And I got several compliments on my two excerpts -- one about the difference between making out at 15 and 40, and the other inspired by the true story of a guy who mugged a family but only got wine and hugs.

When that shindig had cooled down, Chris and I headed off to Casa Lohnes for game night. I wish I had pics of Pants Off Guitar Hero, but you'll just have to imagine Tim and Matt rocking out with their boxers out. We also played Thumper, which I hadn't done since college. Naturally, the game devolved into crotch thrusting and boob clutching. Hilarious!

Let's see. Sunday, I saw Lust, Caution with Laura. That movie is probably 20-30 minutes too long, but it's still way better than critics have been saying. It helps to have a super hot girl trying to seduce Tony Leung, but also there's plenty of intrigue and tragic blah blah. I mean, you thought you lost your virginity under trying circumstances. Youch.

Then, last night Cam took me up to Petaluma for a brewery party (can't say which one, due to ABC nosiness). We rode a bus with 30 very excited, very poor 25-year-olds. Free booze! Free wieners! Free cheesecake! Free beer-infused chocolate mousse! Yes, add those things all together, and you get a bleery bus ride home. Half the kids were vomitatious, one girl made the kind of overture that must be super-embarrassing today, and then there was the guy from the Zeitgeist who yelled "I hate you all! Stay away from my bar!" at the end of the trip. Mmm, beer.

Whatever it is, I'm against it

2007-11-26T08:06:00.000-08:00

Last week, I went home for Thanksgiving for the first time in nearly 20 years. It was pretty sweet: I got to rake some leaves one day and shovel snow the next. I so love that first snow. Or the second one. Or any that happen when you're driving at night. To this day, it still reminds me of the POV of the Milennium Falcon.

For the actual T-day, I was at my dad's, where my stepmom Ellen made chicken, turkey, Cornish game hens, and lamb (although, sadly, not together, as they'd never heard of neither a Turkducken or a Turhenenamb). We worked off the meat bonanza by playing a little two-on-two basketball in the driveway, where I was vanquished for the first time by my 25-year-old brother Joel. (And he took me inside over and over. How embarrassing! I am already plotting strategy -- and getting them a new ball -- for Christmas.) Here's Joel with his wonderful Brazilian wife, Raquel (which is pronounced "Hackel" with a hard, gritty H), who showed that she could give as well as take the fouls of 13-year-old Micky.

Almost 6-year-old Yi Rong continues to be the cutest kid ever. Micky has become obsessed with quoting the Marx Brothers, and she's followed suit, saying out of the blue, "You gotta da fish?" (It's from Animal Crackers, as is today's title. See it immediately, if you haven't already.) I may have to adopt me one of these suckers myself.

One thing I noticed, once again, upon coming back was that they have way better insulation on the East Coast. This morning I laid in bed, wondering which window I'd left open, only to realize that it was just the naturally porous walls letting the cold air in. I guess I wasn't the only one that forgot about the changing weather though. Check out this sweater that Ellen left outside to dry:

I went to see Dan in Real Life while I was there. I was disappointed to find out that there was nothing in the film about my real life. No lesbian moms asking me if I'd vomited because she'd heard me "hurrying to the bathroom" one night (I'd told her about discovering the wonders of Kombucha after blowing chunks in the woods a couple years back). No friends that pour salad dressing on their already greasy pepperoni-beneath-the-cheese pizza. No sheer amazement at the fact that my mother got wireless DSL in her home. And no "No Loitering" signs in graveyards.

The only bad thing about the trip was seeing my parents get that little bit older. My mom had a hip replacement this year and she had to stop three times on the walk to downtown. And my dad, for the first time ever, is showing a desire to slow down and work less, which isn't a bad thing but it is pretty bizarre. He moves more tenderly, he forgets more (the running joke is he keeps renting movies he's already seen), and he sits on the couch a lot more. It's a slippery slope from here, but at least they're both happy now. Got to enjoy them while we can.

Or maybe it's just the air is too clean there. For the life of me, I kept forgetting tons of stuff, like what other movies beside Unbearable Lightness of Being and Blue that Juliette Binoche had been in (dad didn't recognize her), or what the name of Half Nelson was (dad likes teacher movies), or what Latin genre is the next big DJ thing (electro-cumbia, according to some). Well, at least I still have my hair.

Love, Forty

2007-11-12T14:59:00.000-08:00

Some random thoughts:

The only thing worse than a clown with a puppet is a clown using a puppet to perform magic.

Rollerderby is really fun to watch, even if there aren't enough Mexican cowboys in the audience. (They were all going next door to see the live cumbia or something.) The program for the match I went to featured an ad for a dentist with a picture of one of the girl's disgustingly mangled teeth and gums. They aren't fooling around out there. Also not fooling around: The tiki bar we went to, where they served drinks in small, medium, and larges -- and the medium was as big as my head. San Jose is a trip, man.

Also, the only thing worse than being a regular smoker? A coal miner. I saw one of their lungs, and it was the size of a grapefruit and the color of a goth girl's leather skirt. Nasty.

If you want a sweet French farce with a funny premise -- self-absorbed guy makes a bet that he can produce one single pal -- you should rent My Best Friend. Who knew Daniel Auteil would turn into such a comedian in his later years?

And, criminy, have you seen Lars and the Real Girl yet? It's so good! I really didn't expect a film about a guy who sends away for a life-like blow-up doll to be so affecting, but it was. I want Ryan Gosling to get an Oscar, just to hear him thank his co-star. Also, has Patricia Clarkson ever been in a bad movie? Or been bad in a movie?

So, my novel this year -- year 8 out of 9, save for the New Zealand year -- is about a grumpy guy who moves back to rural Vermont after his mom dies, giving up his career as a chef to sit around and mope, occasionally giving tennis lessons and digging graves. He hasn't dated anyone in three years because he's too something (see today's comic), and then he meets two women. One is a crunchy hippie lady who just started giving Eye Gazing seminars, and the other is a stuntwoman who's visiting the town with a movie crew. Will he overcome his own issues? If so, which will he pick? And will she then pick him? Did anyone see Manny Ramirez picking his nose during the World Series?

Superhalloween

2007-11-02T12:30:00.000-07:00

I worked at the Rickshaw for Halloween. Megan had the great idea of a unified costume front with superhero capes for all the staff, with shirts that had our abbreviated names on the front (OGM, CW2, CX, etc). I was the only one that got a shirt decal-ed, which meant that people all night were asking me who I was.

If I had tried to explain that I was Ruxx pretending to be the Great American Hero, it would've been super-confusing (ha ha). So I just said Superdan, which sounded rather lame.

Here's Magnolia as the Dancefloor Avenger.

Christopher was imitating this nutty Cadillac margarita guy from Bhangra.

Bobby was sporting mesh and Corry had, well, let's just say one girl asked if she could stare at her cleavage for a while.

Christina looks adorable in any hair color.

Waldo is either a lighthouse or a disco ball.

Here's Elijah, out in Parnassus Heights, getting his inner tiger out.

And here's the return of Grumpy Guy...

Fevered pitch

2007-10-30T00:13:00.001-07:00

Hot damn, they did it again. The Red Sox. It was actually kind of anti-climactic, just like in 2004 when they swept the Cardinals. The American League is so much better, it seems.

It also seems that I care way too much about the Red Sox. So much that it's kind of embarrassing. Just what is it about baseball that I find so fascinating? I mean, no other sport -- no other baseball team, even -- gets me this obsessed. After they beat Cleveland, I even went back and watched Fever Pitch again, just to relive 2004. It's a pretty bad movie unless you're a Sox fan and you recognize how insane the region is about the Sox.

At one point, a character says, "They'll break your heart," and everyone nods sagely, because it used to be true. So why love something that keeps kicking you in the teeth?

I started seriously following the Sox when I was eight years old. My folks had split up, I didn't have a lot of friends my own age, and my dad was living at the commune, so I wonder if I didn't get obsessed with baseball to take my mind off everything. It was something I could count on. Or rather, something I could count on failing me, but not leaving me. They were there next game, next week, next season, even if they always broke your heart. But I wonder if that construct -- the expectation of failure, no matter how hard you want something, no matter how hard you root for something -- imprinted a certain negative view of relationships upon me.

Or it could've just been the relationships around me.

Anyway, no matter. The Sox get me all teary eyed, I swear. Watching the video of the Game 4 celebration, I got choked up hearing ancient Christian dude Mike Timlin tell other ancient Christian knuckleballer dude Tim Wakefield that he loved him. How can you not love a team with an outfielder (Manny) who once slipped into the scoreboard in the Green Monster to use the bathroom -- in the middle of an inning! Or a closer who, when the team clinches the pennant, does a bizarre Riverdance while wearing a Bud Light case box on his head. Or a bullpen that startsd a bizarre ritual that looks and sounds like a water bottle drum circle. Or has two -- two! -- cancer survivors, a Navajo descendent who can beat out a grounder to second, an outfielder named Coco Crisp, the aforementioned knuckleballer, and a general manager who once snuck out of the park wearing a gorilla suit (Wendy says he was a jerk in high school, but my softball pal Gabe says his brother was very nice).

And how can you not love a team with adorably hot reporters like Amalie Benjamin? Christ, she's got her own fanclub already.

She looks a little like Joanna, I guess. I asked my hometown friends Gene and Chris if everyone there has a crush on her (Chris used to have crushes on all the Weather Channel girls), and Gene said, "Yes, but she's made cuter because of her sports knowledge." Like a guy who can appreciate Jane Austen, I suppose. Or notices when it's time to clean the bathroom.

Anyway, now I need to find something else to occupy myself. I guess it's good NaNoWriMo starts in two days.

Preposterous Tunes

2007-10-18T14:44:00.000-07:00

In the run up to the KALX fundrazor (yes, they spell it that way on purpose) and in celebration of the station's 45th anniversary, DJs are focusing on music from a different decade each week. Last Monday, Fresh Pink asked me to sub her show so she and the Fuzzz could get out of town, and I could get my '80s jones on. It was one of the most fun shows I'd done in ages, and I didn't even get to play half the stuff I wanted to. I guess I can play some of the rest on October 29, when Fresh and I will be doing our fundrazor show together (save your money for our show, hint hint). Oh yeah, and next Monday, October 22 from 3 to 5:30 p.m., we'll be sharing the '90s, which prolly means I'll be rocking the indie and she'll be dropping mad science on ya. For reals. Um, here's what I played on Monday (you may notice a few current things, which were supposed to take care of official station business):

My Bloody Valentine, Drive It All Over Me, Thorn
Chin Chin, Stop Your Cryin', 53rd & 3rd presents AGARR Retro
The Wake, On Our Honeymoon, Harmony
Plasticines, Zazie Fait de la Bicyclette, LP1
The Raincoats, No One's Little Girl, Moving
Manatella, Brandy, Fashionable Neighborhood
Emma Pollock, Adrenaline, Watch The Fireworks,
Throwing Muses, Green, S/T,
Three O'Clock, I Go Wild, Baroque Hoedown,
Primal Scream, Gentle Tuesday, Children of Nuggets Vol. 4,
Jesus and Mary Chain, Cut Dead, Psychocandy,
Shocking Pinks, This Aching Deal, S/T,
Doublehappys, The Others Way, Nerves,
Delta 5, Mind Your Own Business, Rough Trade: Post Punk Vol. 1,
Sexual Harassment, If I Gave You a Party, Anti-NY,
Jens Lekman, Kanske Ar Jag Kar i Dig, Night Falls Over Kortedala,
Jazz Butcher, Partytime, In Bath of Bacon,
Breathe Owl Breathe, Marshland, Climb In
Pylon, Crazy, Hits,
Young Marble Giants, Final Day, Colossal Youth & Collected Works
Rosehips, Room in Your Heart, S/T,
I, Ludicrous, Prepostrous Tales, Rough Trade Shops: Indiepop 1,
Shop Assistants, All Day Long, S/T
Les Calamites, The Kids Are All Right, S/T
The Black Lips, Veni Vidi Vici, Good Bad Not Evil
Replacements, Take Me Down to the Hospital, Hootenanny
X, True Love, More Fun in the New World
Violent Femmes, Ugly, S/T
Great Plains, Letter to a Fanzine, Naked at the Buy, Sell & Trade
Young Fresh Fellows, When the Girls Get Here, The Men Who Loved Music
The Mixers, Love Hurts, Whaam! Bam! Thank You Dan,
Primitives, Really Stupid, CD86
Fire Engines, Meat Whiplash, Hungry Beat
Embarrassment, Wellsville, Heyday 1979-83
The Chesterfields, Completely & Utterly, S/T
The Speedies, You Need Pop, Speedy Delivery
Brilliant Corners, Oh, BBC Sessions
Georgie James, Need Your Needs, Places
dBs, Black and White, Stands for Decibels,
Feelies, It's Only Life, Only Life

And yeah, that is a picture of me in 1982. Wow.