Jaded Lens

John Wayne's Secret Vagina

2006-05-24T15:33:00.000-05:00

I really shouldn't call this post "John Wayne's Secret Vagina." It's like punching my old man in the face.

I just posted a myspace bulletin for "The V Game." Basically, you take the title of a movie and replace one word with "Vagina." Hilarious results ensue. But I made a big discovery while thinking of an answer:

ANY John Wayne movie is perfect for this game.

Some examples:
The Vagina of Katie Elder (Sons)
Vagina Grande (Rio)
Operation Vagina (Pacific)
The Sands of Va Gina (Iwo Jima) (I'm going to hell for that one)
Vagina! (McClintock!)
Flying Vaginas (Leathernecks)
Vagina Straight Ahead! (California)

But, by far, the best are his movies with multiple possibilities. Some further examples:
The Green Vaginas / The Vagina Berets
Angel and the Vagina / Vagina and the Badman
Overland Stage Vaginas / Overland Vagina Riders
Vagina in the Sky / Island in the Vagina
and my personal favorite:
Reap the Vagina Wind / Reap the Wild Vagina

Remember, I'm only pointing out a phenomenon here, so please, "Don't Shoot the Vagina (Messenger.)"

Today's Top 5

2006-05-22T21:09:00.000-05:00

Top five bands/music whose fans I like to make fun of:

1. KISS

Chuck Klosterman said it best when he said, "Most bands want to be The Beatles. KISS wants to be Coca-Cola." He is 100% correct. KISS is the Star Trek of rock.

2. Slipknot

Seriously, guys. Come on. Masks? There's another band out there who would truly send you to Hell. Gwar. Fuck you. I know Gwar borrowed aspects of their schtick from other bands, most especially Alice Cooper but such is rock. Slipknot is just a bad impersonation. There's a difference. You kids need better heroes.

3. Sugar Ray/Smashmouth

The last I heard of Sugar Ray they were playing the infield at some two-bit car race in Richmond, Va. Aren't the members (not to mention the sound) of these two bands interchangeable? Remember that really bad period of absolutely terrible SoCal rock in the late 90s?* These guys, plus that Ever-band, what were they called Everlast, Everglade, Everlake?** They were terrible. All of them, including Len, Lit, and especially Offspring. Can we just forget about them now? Has everybody else already forgotten them and I just cling to their memory as the symbol of everything that was wrong with the late 90s? However, that Sugar Ray guy, Mark or whatever, the one who became a VH1 veejay, was really great on Rock n Roll Jeopardy. He's the Raymond Babbitt of post-'50s musicology. (Just go look up the name on imdb.com...) The part of this that makes me the saddest is that the coming of Sugar Ray and Offspring signaled the end of the great musical movement of my teenage years. We only got 4 really good years. Come to think of it, maybe that was enough.

4. Speaking of VH1, any band from VH1's "Bands on the Run."

No, SoulCracker does not rock. The girls in Harlow aren't that hot, except for the bass player under the "Female Bass Players are always mega-hot" corollary. BotR winners Flickerstick actually played a Wednesday show at Jammin' Java in Falls Church, Va. I think more people actually went to see the opening band.***

5. Norwegian Death Metal.

It's time to leave your mother's basement.

*This does not in any way include Sublime.
** I looked it up on allmusic.com. Everclear. Their name puts them at the top of the "Top 5 Bands Who Ruined a Potentially Great Band Name by Sucking."
*** I slipped in this entire entry just because I wanted to make fun of Flickerstick, my arch-nemeses.

"The Atheist's Nightmare"

2006-04-28T14:09:00.000-05:00

Kirk Cameron And Bananas

Look for the face he makes right after he says, "Ease of entry."

This one actually made me shed a single, mirth-filled tear.

Birthday coming!

2006-04-27T08:45:00.000-05:00

So those in the know already know that my 28th birthday is fast approaching on Sunday. (The party's Saturday night at Velvet Lounge for those who didn't.) Perhaps as a symbol of my inevitable slow march to old age, my dishwasher arrived yesterday and never have I been happier. I am truly excited, feeling like a kid who gets exactly what he wants on Christmas morning. If that's not a symbol of getting older, I don't know what is. "Excitement for appliances" has to rank pretty high. But I don't care. Up until yesterday, "lazy on dishes" ranked at the top of the "Why is Max so dirty?" list. No more.

Here's a picture of me hugging the dishwasher (which looks like a huge microwave):

Look at that lower lip bite! I must be super-excited.

Some other things I realized this morning:
1. New appliances rock but are easy to stumble into when bleary eyed and not-so-bushy-tailed.
2. Referring to yourself in the 3rd person should only be reserved for sex. ex. "Rolfe is inside you now."
3. Three Iggy Pop songs in a row on my iPod during the ride to work is not only dangerous, but fun.

3 Post Day.... Possibly

2006-04-20T10:02:00.000-05:00

So I'm really excited this morning. It's more a mark of my rapid aging, but still, I'm excited nonetheless.

For those who don't know, I turn 28 in 10 days. We're celebrating at Velvet Lounge on Apr. 29th with three bands, City-State, The Sad Little Stars, and Pawns. It's going to be a fun night and, as I see it, I work there for very little pay, so why not take advantage of the perks? There's a cover charge, but I'm working on getting an extended guest list, more than my usual four people.

But that's not why I'm excited. For about three years now, I've never known what I truly wanted for my birthday. That streak ended today. My friend sent me a link that might possibly change my life. A DISHWASHER! A portable one that plugs into the sink and fits on top of my counter. This rocks and it's on its way to my own countertop as I write this. I can't believe how giddy this is making me. Ridiculous.

My favorite people

2006-03-28T15:47:00.000-05:00

Today I got an oil change and tune up for $20 from my old pal at the garage down the street from work. That guy is awesome. While I am not able to be this man myself, I am relieved to see that he and his kind still have a place in this world. It just wouldn't be the same without them.

Today he wore a simple Slayer t-shirt, and, since he wore a Cinderella tshirt during my last visit, I'm led to believe that he lives in a world of perpetual 1987. He exudes the very epitome of '80s metalhead, with his flowing mane capped by a blank black hat, black leather varsity jacket, tshirt tucked into faded acid washed jeans held in place by a silver-tooled leather belt and sensible thick-soled black leather shoes. You just know that somewhere in his deepest closet there exists a jean jacket with a Def Leppard logo stitched onto the back. Sometimes a man must even hide from himself.

His wife, with her bleached blond hair teased to the sky, adjusts her off-the-shoulder black top when she hears his conversion van pull up in the driveway. Greeted with a kiss, he idly tugs on her simple polished chain belt, spinning it back and forth through her acid-washed belt loops, and tells her to put on her black Indian moccasin boots as it's time to hit the road. WASP is playing at Jaxx. "Can you believe we didn't know?" he asks. Sometimes a man has to do what he must when there's rock in the air.

But she's ecstatic.

Later, after Chris Holmes' heady guitar riffs whip their inner teenagers into a frenzy, the moonlight glints off the chromed Busch beer tire cover, dancing across the slightly swaying ceiling of the conversion van in a dangerous counterpoint to The Scorpions' "Rock Me Like a Hurricane." As you all should know, when this van's a-rockin', well, you get the point...

Snakes on a Plane, Bitches!

2006-03-22T23:49:00.000-05:00

First off, I'll be making the trip back home to visit my River City Hoodrats next weekend (Mar. 31st.) I think right now the plan is drinks at the Purple Onion Saturday night if anyone wants to join us. I might even be staying through Monday, depending on my mental state upon submission of my final grad application.

Second. "Snakes on a Plane" starring Samuel L. Jackson. This is the dumbest yet possible greatest movie ever. Apparently, Sam just decided to make the most awful movie possible, completely tongue-in-cheek. As the story goes, the working title was "Snake on a Plane" and the producers tried to change it to "Flight 425" or whatever and Sam refused to continue shooting the movie unless the title remained "Snakes on a Plane."

Just say "Snake on a PLANE, mothafucka!" in your best Sam Jackson voice. Endless fun. I can't wait to see the promo interviews.

Catch the trailer here. "I've had it with these snakes." *click*

(I apologize for the use of improper language. However, I must say, it was definitely necessary and worth it.)

Weird, huh?

2006-03-14T19:19:00.000-05:00

Your #1 Match: ENFP

The Inspirer

You love being around people, and you are deeply committed to your friends.
You are also unconventional, irreverant, and unimpressed by authority and rules.
Incredibly perceptive, you can usually sense if someone has hidden motives.
You use lots of colorful language and expressions. You're qutie the storyteller!

You would make an excellent entrepreneur, politician, or journalist.

What's Your Personality Type?

I paid $100 during college to take the Meyers-Brigg test yet a poorly spelled 40 question internet quiz gets the same exact result. Actually, I took it twice. My Extrovert/Introvert score switchd exactly, 9 on E the first time, 9 on I the second. INFP is the standard for historical researchers, librarians, and missionaries; ENFP people are best suited for journalism and politics. I've done them all to a modicum of success. Scary.

This also led to the "Max should join the Peace Corp" debacle of 1999, leaving me stuck for an afternoon at Sweet Briar College in Lynchburg, Va., aka the "College for Girls Who Like Horses a Little Too Much." I guess the cute girls of the exclusive all-girls school world don't visit Peace Corp seminars, but the Nathalie's do. Peppermint Patty and Marcie too. I just wanted to work in Nepal.

Now, Top 5 things from the past week:

I can write here until my face turns blue. However, I cannot write more than 500 words on my grad school personal statement, which is due to GWU in two weeks and needs 200 more words and a conclusion.
Neil Bush's son is an idiot, but is it funny or scary? Whichever, I'm willing to bet this video comes back to haunt him, nawhaI'msayin?
Dan from Analog Jetpack banged his head on a stage light, almost blacked out, then played the rest of the set with only a 3-string bass. The man's a genius.
My car sucks. She no longer loves me. Two breakdowns in one week. What I do, Martha? Bitch... I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. Here's a car freshener...
My St. Patrick's Day show at Velvet Lounge is going to rock. Telograph, Koshari, Deleted Scenes. That is the order. Come. Here's the Flyer:

Tigertronic is Dead

2006-03-09T16:16:00.000-05:00

It's time for a new update. For real. I've missed writing here a lot, even if only to get my thoughts on the page while filling some extroverted need for attention. Here's an attention grabber:

I think my band, Tigertronic, is dead.

We've fallen victim to the Contrarian Virus, which endangers democracy-based bands across the world on a daily basis. Here's how it works:
1. A new band forms, socializing happens, dreams are shared, music is played, alcohol (in this case, large, sometimes scary amounts) drank.
2. A decision-making group arises in the band, democratic rules abound, compromises are made.
3. One person in the group begins to feel left out. He/she begins to disagree with everything, if only to have a larger say in the workings of the band. They are known as the Contrarian.
4. The Contrarian desires to rule the band and become the main decision-maker, causing major amounts of strife, and sucking all fun from the band. In his/her own mind, they will cause so much hassle that eventually all will simply ask him what he wants instead of upsetting the rest of the herd by proposing new ideas without Herr Contrarian's prior advice.
5. Band breaks up from non-interest due to excessive negativity and everybody goes their own way.

This has happened to every band I've ever been in where democratic rules were enforced. It's shockingly similar to Aristotle's own theories on democracy and its eventual yet inevitable decline into tyranny. Funny how ancient political theory can still relate to the modern world, huh?

But in order to save the beast, sometimes we must kill it. The three main songwriters (including me) will soldier on in a different form and the same name, but it just won't be the same. However, I'm out there looking for a new band as well, hopefully controlled under an iron-banded dictatorship. I just want to play music.

There's promise. Check these guys out and let me know what you think. They're doing the whole alt-country/indie rock Wilco-thing that I've been listening to and playing in garages since the age of 16. Maybe it's time for a return to my Southern roots? Plus, they play mah jong every Friday night. Better for the complexion, that Mah Jong. There's some other options, including some pretty big local bands I've booked before (and whose flyers have appeared here,) but I can just hear my Hammond rumbling along humbly underneath or a flashy trumpet sounding out brightly on a few of these Rosemont kids' numbers.

Last night, I was really down, losing the faith, wondering if music should mean as much as it does to me. Gazing at the black, dingy tolex of the Fender Rhodes, I figured it was time for a good cleaning. Wedged back along the wall, dust rag impossibly dirty, a batch of my old piano books were found hidden in the well of my amp. Pulling out a selection of Claude Debussy, I flipped the switch and started into "Claire de Lune," my piano masters' class recital piece from my 3rd year at UVa. Clunking through, clumsy, ill-tempered (in a clavical way), I felt that old familiar warm tingle creep up the back of my neck, raising hairs, mingling, swirling, flushing my cheeks, teasing the corners of my mouth into a smile before settling in my eyes, becoming shiny and brilliant. Last chord slowly sings its way off into the distance. There it was, lost but no forgotten, found exactly where I had left it.

Don't worry about me, I'm fine.

That Sanberg Kid

2006-03-05T20:43:00.000-05:00

That Adam Sanberg on SNL is the only kid on that show worth watching. Natalie Portman got in on the fun this week. Gotta love that keytar at the end:

If you like ninjas, check out Sanberg's previous project, "The Bu."

Shotgun Ink

2006-02-15T09:53:00.000-05:00

CBS Scraps 'Love Monkey'

2006-02-14T17:20:00.000-05:00

CBS Scraps 'Love Monkey'

Well fuck you too, CBS.

Get away from me, crazy white man!

2006-02-07T16:39:00.000-05:00

Breaking News:
AP - Al Sharpton rejected a good night kiss from his date after a horrible night on the town. This picture was taken just moments before Mr. Sharpton delivered a firm "Good night and good luck" handshake:

But seriously, the look on Al's face is priceless. "Get this man away from me before somebody takes a picture!"

My Hometown

2006-02-07T14:18:00.000-05:00

One more post for the road. I found this letter in the Danville Register & Bee's "Letters to the Editor" section that I like to call civic pride, Danville-style:

Why is it that some citizens cannot afford the recent hike in electric rates and need assistance just to get by, but our city continues to keep Christmas lights lit in downtown? It seems to me that what the city is paying for those lights could go to someone who needs the help. As of Jan. 26, the lights were still up. Great job, Danville.

Hilarious.

Wednesday Night

2006-02-07T11:03:00.000-05:00

This dude seems a little crazy, but his music's pretty good and very original. I'll be over at the Grog with Mayor Herb around 10:30 if anybody wants to come out and have a drink tomorrow night.

Quiz Day

2006-02-07T10:04:00.000-05:00

4 jobs in your life (best to worst)
Lifeguard
Librarian
Research Analyst
Intern

4 movies you could watch over and over
The Goonies
Almost Famous
Wonderboys
The Life Aquatic

4 TV shows you love to watch
Lost
Entourage
The Office
Northern Exposure

4 places you have lived
Danville, VA
Charlottesville, VA
The Ghetto, MD
Glover Park, Washington, DC

4 place you have been on vacation
Australia
New York, NY
Edinburgh, Scotland
Dewey Beach, DE

4 websites you visit daily
House.gov
gmail.com
myspace.com
heresahint.org

4 of your favorite foods
General Tso's Chicken
Anything Ethiopian
Gravy
Chicken Marsala

4 places you'd rather be right now
On Mars in my habitable Mars pod eating a Mars bar.
Going against the grain.
Sydney, Australia (b/c it's summer there and the surf's good right now.)
Making a difference in just one person's life for the price of my morning coffee.

4 bloggers you are tagging--not tag-backs!
(in order of likeliness to respond, most to least...)
The Road Revisited
AustingHill
Beowulf
Tuesday in August (never gonna happen.)

Promoting Yet Again

2006-01-31T13:04:00.000-05:00

Come check it out as The Run In are one of my favorite local band, and, of course, there's always Telograph.

(Sorry I haven't written much later, Mr. Blog. I currently live only for grad school applications.)

CNN.com - Gonzales defends wiretaps amid protest - Jan 24, 2006

2006-01-24T16:54:00.000-05:00

CNN.com - Gonzales defends wiretaps amid protest - Jan 24, 2006

Heroes:

In other news, there's this little tiny piece of asphalt stuck to the ground under a mound of caulk that I like to stand on and occasionally kick when I go outside to smoke. Today, that little rock broke away from the ground while I was bouncing my shoe off it. This made me unreasonably sad.

Television

2006-01-18T09:33:00.000-05:00

I can't wait until the baby boomer retires and we can finally have a musical character on television who doesn't constantly worship Bob Dylan. While I deeply appreciate the stylings of Mr. Robert Zimmerman, it's time let our TV characters listen to music that came after 1979.

That said, "Love Monkey," a new show centering around the adventures of a NYC A&R exec starring that guy from Ed, is probably one of my new favorite shows, second only to "Lost."

Thoughts on Bands and Girls

2006-01-17T16:26:00.000-05:00

I got an interesting email from a female friend today who hasn't been seen or heard from in a while. She said, "Oh, well, I guess you must be beating away the girls with a stick, playing keyboards in a band and all, making the girls swoon." Um... The answer to that question is no.

Just for future reference, this is a list of the order in which rock musicians in bands get laid, from my own experience being in and around bands.

1. The Drummer - Most people automatically assume the frontman comes first, but few realize that the drummer pulls more than anyone else. He is the beat, the rhythm personified. It's the same as being the best dancer at your local salsa hall.
2. The Lead Guitarist - Obviously. Girls imagine him blowing smoke in their parents' faces while roaring away on motorcycles.
3. The Singer/Frontman - However, this guy moves to #1 if he also plays guitar and calls himself a "songwriter." Being an alright singer helps, but it's really not required.
4. The Keyboardist - Again, like the lead singer, a keyboardist can move up the list by use of "songwriter," as long as said songs are not Billy Joel ripoffs, because as we all know, only church girls listen to Joel and you're leaving that date high and dry. However, the Keyboardist songwriter may never move above #3 on the list. The Drummer and guitarist/songwriter will always win. Actually, scratch that. The Keyboardist will always be #4.
5. The Lonely Bass Player - I guess it's just the fact that nobody ever really notices the Rock Bassist. His musical contributions can rarely be easily identified, outside of Led's John Paul Jones and John Entwistle from The Who. Think about it. It takes a lot to identify a great bass player for the average listener. This translates directly into this hierarchy. They're not flashy, they're just holding down the fort while the others can advertise for women with their impressive displays of solo virtuosity, aka "blowjob notes." This doesn't really transfer over into other genres though. The jazz bassist never goes hungry.

Writing this list made me think of a funny story I heard from David Lee Roth (DLR.) Apparently, Sammy Hagar and John Entwistle were hanging out at Cabo Wabo, Hagar's club in LA. Sammy turned to John and said, "Ox, here we are, two rock legends, just hanging out!" John replied, "No, Sammy, one rock legend and Sammy Hagar..."

Aca-What?!

2006-01-10T14:26:00.000-05:00

Aca-What?!

The title of this entry is a clicky link!

I find it shocking that an a capella group is looking for men who are "good with [their] mouths." I just hope they get the beatboxer who also plays a mean set of air drums.

Passing moments

2006-01-05T15:05:00.000-05:00

Do you ever have really quick moments where you return to suddenly vivid memories that follow a specific theme at the most mundane times?

For instance, Tuesday night, I stood on my porch smoking my 8:30PM cigarette when all of a sudden I was hit by a barrage of my most guilt-induced embarrassing moments of all time. I have no reason why, but it hit hard and quieted me down for the rest of the night, hanging overhead like a dark cloud on a beach.

Then, last night, I headed outside for the same smoke when I was instantly struck by a barrage of my greatest moments in public mockery. Needless to say, this put me in another weird mood, but this one more of a "Laughing Mr. Lens" which others found slightly perturbing. I will share one memory from this sequence however:

When the first of the new Star Wars movies came out, I was still living in Danville. My friends and I went to see it at the midnight showing simply because it was an excuse for us to stay out really late. Just before the movie started, this movie employee felt the need to "warm up the crowd." Standing in front of everybody, he gleefully shouted, "I just want everybody to realize that this movie is completely digital. It's the first film with no film!!! Woohoo!" The crowd fell to a hushed silence and continued to stare at this crazy man like a dead animal in a sack. Enter me. Ringing out from the 10th row, I clearly said, "Man, I feel embarrassed FOR you." Instant laughter from a sold-out theater for no less than 2 minutes.

So yeah, that's it. One of my greatest moments in public mockery. I know, I know. I'm terrible. Yes, I know. Here's that guy, putting his enthusiasm and nerdery out for public display, and here's me, Mr. Snide. Hopefully Mr. Solo there learned his lesson.

Obscure curse words

2005-12-30T13:54:00.000-05:00

Sergeant James and I were walking past Max's (no relation) Ice Cream Parlor yesterday and heard a little boy call his sister a "bozak." My immediate reaction: "Good effort, kid, but poor use of the terminology." Then we walked past The Grog & Tankard's open door, where Mayor Herb was laughing maniacally. Needless to say, we felt obliged to join in for a solid 2-minute laugh riot. I will now replace my usually curses with bozak, as in "Hey, will you quit showing off and pass the mayo, ya bozak?" But the real question remains, is bozak making a comeback?

The End.

War on Christmas

2005-12-15T11:58:00.000-05:00

Googlympics

2005-12-14T10:34:00.000-05:00

While recuperating from an all-around exhausting weekend and workday on Monday night, my roommate and I quickly became bored with the night's TV menu so instead decided to devise a new game, one which quickly became our newest obsession.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present you with the Googlympics.

Googlympics consists of several events and feats of web strength involving the search engine Google. Here are the events that have been accepted by the Googlympic Governing Body so far:

1. "Opening Games"

When 2 Googlympiads enter the field of play*, each athlete must input his/her first and last name into the search engine.** The athlete with the least number of hits goes first in the first event.

2. "I've Got More Than You"

Quite simply, the object of the game is to get more hits that your opponent using one-, two-, or three-word searches. However, once a word has been used, that word may not be used again (unless you're playing by "Toolbar Rules."***) After each round, the loser of the last round gets to go first. At the beginning of each round, the loser of the last round must also stipulate whether he/she is going for a one-, two-, or three-word search.+

Here's an example:
My roommate: "Hardcore Porn" 7,330,000
Me: "web search" 3,630,000,000

Obviously, I win and he starts the next round, stipulating the number of words in the search.

3. "I've Got Less Than You"

Exactly like the previous event, using the same rules as above but, instead of aiming for the maximum hits possible, your goal is the least amount.

4. "Timed Play"

Same rules as the above but instead of judging by the amount of hits, the contest is decided by the longest length of search. However, there is no inverse to this event since Google does not allow measurements less than 0.01 seconds.

5. "My Historical Figure is More Popular/More Obscure Than Yours"

Quite simply, a player stipulates between popular/obscure and searches for a historical figure, at which point the opponent must perform a search on another historical figure and either get more or less hits based on the stipulation. You may substitute the Historical Figure category with others, such as Actors, Musicians, etc. However, there may be NO cross-category contamination, i.e., Actor vs. Musician. Also, only main professions apply. Just because Keanu Reeves plays guitar in Dog Star does not mean you can put him up against Roger Daltrey. Ever.

6. "The Big Chase"++

This one is slightly different with a higher degree of difficulty. The player calls for "The Big Chase," stipulates search length, performs the search and then specifies the conditions of the opponent's search. The goal is for the opponent to come as close as possible to the amount of the original player's search quantity and stay within the conditional number given by the opponent. However, some by-laws exist. The conditional number must be within an acceptable range and approved by the opponent prior to his/her search. For example, if my roommate searches for "NFL League" and gets 20.1 million hits, an acceptable range would be 3 million on either side, unless of course you want to play with Price Is Right Rules. Bargaining to determine an acceptable conditional number is legal, keeping in mind that the opponent must eventually agree to a conditional number while the original player reserves the right to switch events prior to the opponent's search. However, once the second search is completed, the game is on and all decisions are final.

7. "I'm Feeling REALLY Lucky"

This game is a showdown, a battle of wits using one-, two-, or three- word searches and the Google's I'm Feeling Lucky button. The goal is to successfully land on an adult porn site without using any terms from the following categories:
curse words
body parts and body part slang
proper names
sex acts and fetish names

8. The Googlathlon

The final event at any Googlympics is the Googlathlon. Using 5 of the events above+++, players compete in a predetermined even number of contests, with the majority winner emerging as the "Googlympian of the Century."*+ The loser of each round chooses which event will be played next. For example, my roommate goes first after the traditional Opening Games ceremony and calls for "I Have More Than You" and loses. In the next round, he calls for "Historical Figure, Obscure" and loses. The he calls for "The Big Chase"*+* and wins. Then his opponent calls for a "Time Trial" and wins, etc., etc. If a tie exists after the predetermined number of events, the tie will broken by a contest of "I'm Feeling REALLY Lucky."

* Both athletes must use the same computer to avoid any judging controversy.
** As shown on your Googlympics Membership Card, also known as a driver's license. A Social Security card, birth certificate and passport will also be valid for Googlympiads under the age of 16.
*** Toolbar Rules refers to the Google Toolbar, which can actually be used to chronicle your last 24 searches. Once a word leaves the toolbar cache, it can be considered "back in play."
+ Any misspelled words result in an immediate loss. If at anytime Google asks, "Did you mean ____?" and the word was indeed misspelled according to Dictionary.com, then that athlete is disqualified. This rule applies to all Googlympic events.
++ Most people are confused by the "The Big Chase." "Why does it matter?" they ask. However, a high caliber Googlympiad will recognize the importance of "The Big Chase," especially during the Googlathlon.
+++ Excluding "Opening Games" and "I'm Feeling REALLY Lucky" due to their use at the beginning of the game and as a tie breaker, respectively.
*+ Googlympiads may feel free to distribute Gold Medals as they wish, especially made by Cuervo (Gold) or Coors (Extra Gold.) However, as in life, there are no second place prizes.
*+* During the Googlathlon, "The Big Chase" may only be used after 5 consecutive losses by the loser.

Additional By-laws (which the Googlympic Governing Body may revise and supplement at any time.)

1. No contest may be won by a return of zero results. All searches must have a hit list > or = to 1.
2. Much like steroid use in baseball, Googlympiads may not seek to enhance their results with the use of any search modifying symbols, including the + and - signs. The names are both entered as appearing on the membership card, regardless of any popular connotations which might already exist.
3. The Googlympic Governing Body finds you; you cannot find it. However, at each Googlympics, a member of the Governing Body must be present in order for all results to be official and to hand out all medals, at your expense, not theirs. Please contact Jadedlens with the time and place and arrangements will be made.

Republican scum...

2005-12-12T09:59:00.000-05:00

I saw this picture and couldn't help myself. (At least I went the clean route.)

Bored at Work

2005-12-02T16:31:00.000-05:00

I got bored at work this afternoon so I made this b/c I liked it:

Tigertronic is the new band my friends Rohit, Richard and I started in the back seat of a taxi cab during a debaucherous night two weeks ago. I'm going to be playing a myriad of instruments, including the Hammond Piper II, keyboards and probably bass as well when needed. I couldn't even begin to describe how excited I am to be playing good, progressive music with like-minded, highly talented musicians again. We had our first practice Wednesday night, pounding out two potential songs (after a few admittedly misguided steps.) We're adding some other people and have found a practice space. I always promised that I wouldn't play in another band unless I found people that I not only liked personally, but who were looking to push the boundaries of my own musical ability with songs that I would love to play. I feel like I've finally found just the right people. I almost can't contain myself because it feels so natural. Everything's just clicking. It's going to be a fun ride.

Nelson Muntz says...

2005-12-01T10:19:00.000-05:00

HA ha!

What a crook.

And there are more MZM bribery charges and investigations on the way, which are rumored to include the evil Katherine Harris and others, making me glad I erased something from my resume years ago.

(Btw, Fox played my favorite Nelson Muntz "Haha" moment in the 6:30-7:30 daily reruns a couple of days ago. In the episode when the Springfield Catburglar steals all of their most prized possessions, Bart reveals that he has a stamp collection that was also stolen and his family starts making fun of him for it, and, just at the end of the scene, the phone rings, Bart answers it, and it's Nelson's "HAha" and then hangs up. Hilarious.)

Please Raise Your Right Hand

2005-11-21T22:24:00.000-05:00

I just wanted to post a quick note. I haven't been able to post for the past week or so because I'm currently serving on a jury in District of Columbia federal court. It's really not as bad as people say and it's been a really interesting experience so far. Hopefully, I'll be done with this by the middle of this week. Everybody have a great Thanksgiving. I can't wait to get home (probably on Thursday morning) and see everybody back in Danville!

If you normally email me at my work address, I will not be able to check it all week so please use jadedlens78@gmail.com.

Finally, I must say, the courthouse is a really interesting place. There's so many stories to hear and people to meet. Last Thursday when I started, I not only saw a guy get arrested right in front of me, just jerked out of the line and handcuffed with the biggest "what the f*ck just happened?" look I've ever seen, but I also met courthouse character Darrell, who sat down next to me at 7AM and told me all about God, Michael Jackson's neverending love for children, and how to take boys and girls to baseball fields and preach to them that kissing leads to the Devil, so they don't "conjugate" (his word) too early. Frightening yet hilarious at the same time although I sincerely hope nobody allows their children anywhere near that guy.

Seeya next week,
Rolfe

Hey... Remember the 90s? + Weekend Thoughts

2005-11-15T10:27:00.000-05:00

It's been awhile since the last post so I figured we'd start today with a look back, all the way back to the 90s.

Hey. Remember Zubaz Pantz? You know, the worst fad in the history of fashion?
Here are wrestling superstars The Road Warriors to jog your memory:

Get it? Jog? The kneeling one is even wearing the classic Buffalo Bills NFL zubaz. How July 4th, 1992 of him. "Dare to be Different" indeed. EBay fittingly (...) has it's own special link just for Zubaz. Even scarier, some rocket scientist out there is willing to pay $43 for a pair. You know that guy voted for Bush.

Speaking of Bush, his approval rating is down to 37% according to a CNN/Gallop poll and 52% of Americans no longer find him trustworthy. Could the fly-over states actually be waking up, rubbing the sand out of their eyes, and jumping out of bed to land in a karate pose of action? I certainly hope so.

At breakfast Saturday morning (I refuse to call it brunch), my friend called me a slut. She shouldn't say these things and then test her theory while people-watching at 11AM by pointing out strange women in passing crowds. I would like to refute her assetion by saying that all men, admittedly or not, are at least somewhat slutty. And besides, there's a difference between being slutty and just being easy. It's in our genes/jeans. However, if one must ask if he/she is slutty, then slutty he/she must be. The only honest answer to that question is "maybe just a little," and there's nothing wrong with being a little slutty. It's fun for everyone!

(I can't wait to get comments on that paragraph. I know at least one person will write, "Isn't that what they call a double-standard?" But that's not the case here at all...)

My upstairs neighbors vacuum at the strangest times, like 11PM at night or like last Saturday, at 9AM. This leads me to believe that they are actually spies and must run the vacuum to successfully hide their secret communiques for fear of bugs. My other neighbor's cat Jarvis is funny. However, he's no Chalmers, who has been missing in action lately.

Finally, my friend Nan is hosting a birthday party this weekend, with 4 bands, kegs, food, the works, with the door donations going to benefit hurricane victims. If you're in the city, come out, it's going to be a whiz-banger of a good time. Here's the invite:

HELP NOW II party: 100- candle birthday and H4H benefit, Saturday, Nov. 19th

1320 florida Ave NW @ Aaron Estes/Gwen Bingham+ roomie's house
7pm-7am
$5 donation for habitat for humanity 21+
donations for booze appreciated;)

the run in (8pm) -thebonapartes (9pm)-greenland (10pm)-thomas lunch(11pm)
3 deejays, beer, food, gwen's homemade choc chipper hot out of the oven all night, beer, birthday cake, did I mention beer?

spread the word, bring all your friends...The rowdier the better!

*Max's Note* If you haven't seen them yet, Greenland is not to be missed. I finally caught their set last Saturday night and it was truly good. The Bonapartes are also one of my local favorites. Come out. I guarantee it will be fun.

Sergeant James

2005-11-07T11:11:00.000-05:00

At the the tail end of my return to social life Saturday night, after attempting to drag my visiting Danville friends from their favorite establishment to no avail and spilling beer on my pants in the process, my friend and I were walking back to the apartment when I heard a familiar growl and gruff, "MY MAN MAXXX!" echo out from the cubby hole stairs of the Advanced Video Store. Spinning around just in time to catch the screaming specter in my arms, Sergeant James quickly had me in his famous headlock, jumping up and down, screaming to anyone who happened by on the street that he'd finally found his favorite white boy. My terror-stricken friend required an explanation.

Sergeant James is a homeless man who appears in my neighborhood from time to time, travelling through looking for work on construction sites, sleeping in my laundromat and preaching to a dozen or so of his disciples every Sunday morning from the steps of the Advanced Video Store. It causes quite an uproar among the homeless whenever he appears. I once called him the "King of the Streets" when he'd been drinking too much scotch and gotten a little loud, which is the only time I think he's ever been angry with me. He said, "Max, I am the king of no man. That's what white people just don't understand. You ain't ever gonna understand me, son, but you can keep trying if you like."

I've been trying for the past couple of years, ever since I moved into my neighborhood, to piece together as much about James as I can. He normally doesn't like white people. The first time we met, he was selling bad directions to a group of white suburbanites from Maryland for $1 a street. I instantly liked him. I ended up buying him a sandwich, to which he replied, "Well, thanks for the sandwich, but you wouldn't give me the money for a loaf of bread because you think I'm gonna buy liquor-poison with it, right? Well, I probably would. But I thank you for the sandwich, Soldier." Over many a drunken conversation since, James now refers to me as his "white son" and has led to many funny stories, including the time my friend Stephanie came to visit and he tried to climb up on top of the bushes at a bar and another time when my parents were here and he kept calling me his son, to which my dad replied, "I'm sorry, but actually he's my son and he's not for sale."

James has many strange and revolutionary ideas. Not revolutionary as in the cutting-edge type, but in terms of actual revolution. Let's not misunderstand that he's sane. He is not. One night he was preaching to me about Martin Luther King, Jr., quoting MLK exactly. Needless to say, I was highly impressed at first. However, the conversation promptly turned to MLK's murder at the hands of a government capable of mind-control, which is influenced by the flight paths of various UFOs. He has his good and bad nights. Sometimes, he's completely coherent; other times, it's all UFO's and secret FBI conspiracies.

James once warned me not to think of him as safe. He sees himself as a pit bull, lightly caged, but well-tempered when treated properly and sleeps under the bleachers of the baseball field sometimes to renew this feeling. For this reason, I step very lightly around James and make sure to keep our conversations relatively short. I've tried to gather bits of his history, but like everything he says, you can't believe it 100% but I've learned to tell what's true or false over time. To hear him tell it, he has a sister and family in Pennsylvania where he goes when he gets "street tired," he was a Sergeant in the Army during Vietnam, and was born and raised in Baltimore.

This Saturday night was the first time I've seen James in about six months. I'd thought that he was either in jail, up in Pennsylvania with his sister, or something worse. My fears slackened when he said he'd been working on a construction site up in Pennsylvania at his sister's house. This time, he said that he had a present for me. Whipping out a bundle of loose leaf papers from his pocket, he made a big show of presenting me with what he called "The Knowledge," which I wasn't old enough to understand. Then we went through a series of "Hey, give that back" and "Here you are...The Knowledge is yours" before he finally let us escape. When I finally got up to leave, he stood up, clasp my foream and gave me a quick half hug, telling me that it was good to see his son again. I think at this point my friend's jaw hit the ground. Here's my favorite quote from the pages he gave me:

1. "Death has no more dominion over him... or me." for I love him as I love my God. Let his speech be always with grace: James, season him with salt.

James claims to have committed his writings to memory, but I'm sure I'll have to give him this paper back at some point. Some of them are a little more disturbing, revisionist history and faux intellectualism, written in a steadier, almost artistic hand while others fall into bad spelling and poor pensmanship. He even quotes Abraham Lincoln's parable of the shepherd, sheep and wolf. It might be the oddest collection of quotes I've ever encountered. I'm more inclined to think that some of the writing is his, but the rest are passages from Malcolm X and Nation of Islam writings given to him by some type of recruiter from the research I've done this morning, especially since much of Baraka's "Black Art" is quoted on one of the pages. My roommate and I were studying them last night and the more we look at it, the more we think it's some type of prison manifesto, which has been copied by hand and distributed among prisoners.

Unknown Shadows

2005-11-04T10:04:00.000-05:00

I know most people don't look at me and think, "Wow, there goes an underground hiphop enthusiast." Nevertheless, MF Doom and his various incarnations have dominated my immediate airwaves all week. While prefer his work as Madvillain, especially the song "Accordion," MF Doom's collaboration with Danger Mouse, entitled Dangerdoom, for the album "The Mouse and the Mask" has played almost constantly in my stereo and in my head ever since my friend Kevin left them on my computer last Sunday. The album's a bit of cross-promotion for the Cartoon Network and features samples from the Adult Swim shows, mostly from Aqua Teen Hunger Force, which made me a little nervous at first but once you get past that (if you're not into it already), it really is an amazing album. The backing tracks make me want to dance and instantly make me feel cool. I really don't know how else to describe them. Sometimes one of the songs will get in my head and I just want to start dancing right at the Coke machine here in the office and I have to restrain myself. That's pretty powerful b/c everyone who knows me knows I ain't no dancer.

When I'm not doing that, I've been playing around with my Casio SK-1, adding in sounds to a few of the weird piano riffs I've been writing. I only told you that so I could show you this picture:

I'm finally off of the antibiotics for the eye thing so tomorrow night I can go out drinking! Thank god I can finally leave my house and not have to wear sunglasses.
Pax.

Mt. Everest

2005-11-01T16:40:00.000-05:00

So, I've kind of lost the will to read. Admittedly, laziness has made my choice of books quite simple. My written diet of late mainly consists of terrible works of genre fiction I read when I was in the 8th grade. However, I plan to renew my once vaulted caliber and quantity of written word processing by tackling the Mt. Everest of books:

Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace

It's a whopping exercise in convolution, 1,088 pages with another novel hidden within the 400+ pages of footnotes, requiring at least a three bookmark system, and wielding a vocabulary that truly tests the extremes of Webster's Dictionary. This is a book you don't sit down and read. First, you must sit down and plan how to read it. I've attempted it twice, never making it beyond page 200. Tenzing Norgay would be truly ashamed had he not died on that lonely mountain top. But the time has come. I will eat, sleep and possibly even bath with this book, but I will not rest until it is finished.

Quote of the Day:

My friend and I were just lamenting the Hegelian existance of modern American life within the rise of the corporate mindset when he summed it up perfectly with the quote, "Whatever happened to the days of secretary fuckin'?"

But We Were Just Joking...

2005-10-28T09:23:00.000-05:00

So this morning after the 10AM smoke, my work buddy and I were walking back to our desks when we passed President Bush giving a speech on the TV. I slowed down, hoping for a reaction to today's pending indictments, but instead heard him say "...these people do not share our values..." and immediately continued to walk. How long has he been giving that same speech? 4 years.

So anyways, my friend made a joke that he keeps waiting for Bush's speeches to degenerate into WWF wrasslin' interviews, with Mean Gene Okerlund holding his microphone, the whole nine. "Let me tell you sumthin', Mean Gene, we gotta show these fundamenta-ta-talists who's boss. They hate our freedom, so we've got to kill 'em. Look at the pythons!" Meanwhile, Dick Cheney is sneaking up behind him with a steel chair or whatever. The point is, we were joking. Then, I looked at CNN's website right afterwards. No kidding, this was the picture:

So it's official. Pres. Bush is turning into Hulk Hogan.

Here's another funny but kind of depressing link for oppressed liberals:
http://www.thefrown.com/frowners/becomerepublican.swf

Merry Fitzmas, everybody!

Cursed

2005-10-27T21:17:00.000-05:00

After a series of misadventures over the past week, I finally wound up in the doctor's office today. I would've gone yesterday, but I left my insurance card at home in a pile of business and dentist cards. See, I've been cursed since last Friday. There's been rain soakings, bank overdraft penalties, rolling cherry stains on trousers, and finally, on Monday, my eye began to hurt. I wrote it off as simple case of sinuses run amok, but Wednesday morning I awoke to a full-blown, sweller of an eye infection. I look like somebody punched me in the face.

As it happened, my buddies The Strugglers came to town last night to play a show at the Warehouse Next Door. After several hot compresses, my eye looked presentable enough that I could forget about it and enjoy the night. The guys played a great show along with The Revival and Brandon Butler, who played with a full band of seering blues extraordinaires. I eventually forgot about the eye and became quite bold. One of my 20 year-old self's biggest idols, Ian Svenonius of The Makeup, walked through the door. Long story short, I eventually ended up getting to say a rather quick hello; he was really nice and smiled but he stared at my lame eye the entire second we were face to face. But you know? At least I still met the guy. Hopefully, we'll chat more next time, after I've healed up. I'm still stoked. That man profoundly changed my young mind and I will forever see him as America's closest answer to Mick Jagger. "Free Arthur Lee!" Fugazi's drummer was also there but I didn't get to meet him.

Randy, Jimbob and Lauren played one of my favorite Strugglers song, "On the Way to the Grave," which was written while I was sitting on our couch in Charlottesville. The Revival, who I first thought was good but a tad tedious, finally had a full accompanying band rather tha just Josh solo with his two huge amps and it was truly great. They played a cover of "Femme Fatale" with Josh's sister on violin, completely vulnerable and lush, just like the original but with his own twist. It's hard to imagine, but he managed to take a rock n roll cornerstone and make it his own. I'd never seen Brandon play before, but I really liked his set. Blistering blues followed by sparse alt-country with a few heavy honky-tonk rockers thrown in to make us dance. He's also a really nice guy and finely tattooed. I wish him nothing but luck on his new construction business. It was a good night.

Today, I finally felt like the curse was breaking. A few things happened today to change my luck:
1. A man was snoring so loudly in the waiting room that he woke himself up. Everyone laughed at him and he took it all in stride, making a little joke, and we all shared in one of those moments when complete strangers feel the slightest of bonds and ease for even a mere moment.
2. At the doctor's office, I checked off the box marked "+10 weight LOSS in past 6 months." When the nurse asked me how I lost the weight, I told her that I lost the weight by taking Kung Fu. I think I said Kung Fu at least 6 times in 30 seconds. "Well, this might sound strange, but I lost it by training in Kung Fu. My friend started doing Kung Fu and she got in great shape, so I started doing Kung Fu and the weight just melted off. I've been gaining a little back lately though because I haven't been going to the Kung Fu dojo as often and started eating cheese again." I still don't know what possessed me to say that but it brought a smile to my face.
3. At the pharmacy, this old man "couldn't get his wallet out of his pocket" so he asked the 23 year-old guy standing next to him to "help an old man out." Gross yet hilarious. I couldn't believe the guy dug it out for him. He reached into that old man's back pocket like a baskets of cobras, snatching it out so quickly that it flew from his hand to land several feet away. It's too bad the old man didn't have any popsicles.
4. I got some chicken mcnuggets for lunch. While in the McDonalds, this white guy jumped line in front of this black guy. The second guy, smiling, was like, "I know you think we all look alike but we people too. [To me:] Ain't that right, brotha? We people too." The cashier looked over at him and smiled, immediately throwing up the Black Power fist and saying "Amen, brother!" Turns out, this guy was the cashier's husband. Getting up to the front of the line, he says, "How you doin', suger? I've been waiting to get here all morning." She says, "Husband, you talkin' to me like we the only ones here." "Baby, to me, you are the only one here." You know that look of mischief wives get in their eyes sometimes? It blossomed.

Weight Watchers recipe cards, circa 1974

2005-10-25T11:22:00.000-05:00

This one's quick and lazy (and somewhat rude):

1. Embrace mackereality.

2. Thing I Miss About Living in a Small Town #8:
I miss seeing people I know when I'm driving around town. I've lived here for 5 years and I've never seen anyone I know just driving around the city. In Jonesville, Va., everybody waves because it's assumed they know each other. The town is that small. They even have a patented "two finger wave from the steering wheel" move, just to save time while maintaining their manners. The newspaper prints who had guests for Sunday dinner. That's actually kind of sweet.

3. Last night was pretty cold and dreary so I stayed in to watch TV rather than going to my usual haunts for Monday Night Football. I ended up watching "Las Vegas," which almost demands its own commentary track. First off, infamous "that girl" Vanessa Marcil is involved. (Every bad show needs at least one direct connection to 90210.) Second, the star of the show, on ABC, is James Caan. JIMMY CAAN! Awesome. In the show, Jimmy plays a casino owner/former CIA Agent. Huh? The Jaded Roommate said, "You know he wrote the back story for his own character. It was in his contract. I'm surprised they don't say, 'Casino Owner/former CIA agent/owner of the biggest cock in the world.'" This led to a really bad joke by me about how Jimmy Caan immaculately conceived a baby, but, being such a great guy, payed for the abortion himself. Sorry... I know... At least I know where I'm going...
Bottom line, this might possibly be the "Most Ridiculous Show on TV" if not for all of the weird alien invasion shows. IMDb.com says it's been around since 2003. What? Thankfully, I've weened myself from most television and now listen to Def Leppard's "Hysteria" in my room while reading terrible fiction.
(Speaking of truly bad music...)

4. For those of you who love the 80's, here's a Queensryche video we should all forget:
"Eyes of a Stranger"

But this isn't just any Queensryche video, people. It's the final track from "Mind Crime," which has been lauded as the greatest concept album ever. In my opinion, that's the most dubious award an album can ever win. "Your album is the best collection of songs centered around the same batshit crazy idea and/or lunatic fantasy you wrote in your mom's basement." Here's a synopsis of the album's story from the band's own website:

6:00 P.M.
Our friend Nikki, charged with several counts of murder involving members of this city's political and religious leaders, has been committed to State Hospital under heavy security. London-born nurse, Debbie, seems determined to administer the tranquilizer and give us her personal feelings regarding her patient. Hmm? Injection completed, Nikki listens to his favorite tape and retraces his past.

I Remember Now
page: "Dr. Davis, telephone please Dr. Davis, telephone please Dr. Blair, Dr. Blair, Dr. J. Hamilton, Dr. J. Hamilton" News Broadcast: "...the Soviets... In other news the bizarre murders of political and religious leaders that have shocked this city over the last month seemed to have ended as suddenly as they began. No terrorist groups ... responsibility for the slayings, but police have a suspect in custody under observation in a state hospital. His identity is being withheld pending further investigation. Sports and weather next..." Nurse: "It's ten minutes past curfew, why are you still up? Hello? Hello? Perhaps you need another shot. Ah, that should do it. Sweet Dreams, you bastard." Nikki: "I remember now, I remember how it started. I can't remember yesterday, I just remember doing what they told me..told me..told me..told me."

Anarchy-X
Weeks ago in Occidental Park, hundreds of people gathered for a political rally. There was a man shouting above all the others: "Do we have freedom? Do we have equality? This country's changing! It is no longer for all of the people! It is for some of the people!" The man's name? "Dr. X."

Revolution Calling
....Ring!....Ring! The phone hasn't stopped ringing since the hypnotic meeting with Dr. X. His plan is brilliant in its simplicity: assassination and replacement. He calls it, "Operation: Mindcrime," and Nikki is the key player. Nikki has a weakness. He likes the needle. Dr. X makes sure Nikki feels good so he can do a good job. The chosen "Death Angel" is then easily manipulated through subliminal suggestion over the telephone. The password into Nikki's brain is "mindcrime."

Operation: Mindcrime
Nikki was a loser. A street kid, left to fend for himself at a young age. He was independent, and unpredictable, but harmless. Except now he had a philosophy, and that made him dangerous. "Revolution!" was the word on his lips as he stood in the streets and screamed, "Hey, listen to me!"

Speak
Mary worked the S&M shows in Times Square. At seventeen she met Father William, who arranged her cloister with "Our Lady of Immaculate Pain." A new life. A different way of living. Except for her debt with him, which was expected to be paid in full, weekly, "...on the altar. Like a sacrifice." When she was eighteen, Father William introduced her to a man named Dr. X. Now she works for him.

Spreading the Disease
Nikki spends quite a lot of time these days in his room; drawing gruesome, detailed depictions of his victims' deaths upon the dingy white walls. Drowning in guilt, he sees Sister Mary as his only means to salvation. He lights another candle and flips through the TV channels one by one. The familiar face of Father William appears. Is it wrong? Is it right? ....Ring!.....Ring!....."mindcrime!!" Decision made. News Broadcast: "...informing Washington, a technical violation of the 1972 ABM Treaty..." Preacher: "...I'm asking for hands to be uplifted in just a moment. God the Holy Ghost is calling out to embrace you. I want you to reach deep into your hearts and your pocketbooks and take his hand. Nikki: "Bless me father for I have sinned" Preacher: "Some of you are in a state of rebellion right now you're saying..."

The Mission
A long, satin black sedan slides to a stop in front of Nikki. The rain, beading on the dark, tinted windows, distorts his reflection. Bemused by his melting facial features, he's startled as the electric window descends revealing the smiling face of Dr. X. "Kill her," he said. "and get the priest as well." "Kill Mary?," asks Nikki.

Suite Sister Mary
Father William lay crumpled on the stairs leading to the sanctuary. Mary watches in disgust as her lover Nikki's troubled face dissolves into the leering, drooling face of the priest huffing and puffing above her. "...Altar...sacrifice..." something snaps inside her head. Nikki feels the coldness overtake her. He pulls away, vowing to kill Dr. X and set them both free of their master's manipulations. Pulling closed the huge door behind him, he stumbles into the rainy night to keep his appointment with his "maker."

The Needle Lies
After Nikki leaves, Mary is plagued by the vision of Nikki turning into Father William. As they made love on the altar, the memories came flooding back. Years filled with men who has used her, degraded and beaten her, and driven their hatred and coldness into her heart. Once, she thought Nikki was her hope. But now he seemed like all the rest. She hated him. She hated men. She hated life. "Anybody home?" Unable to shake his addiction, and feeling beaten in his confrontation with Dr. X, Nikki returns. "Mary?" He finds her dead in her room.

Electric Requiem
Unable to accept Mary's death, Nikki runs like a raving madman through the streets calling her name. Everywhere he looks he sees her face.

Breaking The Silence
The police arrest Nikki. The charges are: disorderly conduct, carrying a concealed weapon without a license, and resisting arrest. They know he's a junkie because of the tracks on his arms. His weapon also matches the one used in a string of recent killings. Nikki isn't making much sense now, babbling on about perverted priests, some kind of covert operation, and not believing in love.

I Don't Believe In Love / Waiting For 22
Left alone, Nikki thinks of Mary; of the night she died, and why. He wonders about his future. Who will be there to care for him and be his friend?

My Empty Room
Charged with several murders, Nikki is committed to State Hospital to overcome his addiction. Awaiting trial, he suffers insomnia and is delirious. Searching through his past, he tries to find reasons for his actions and his weaknesses. Staring into the mirror, he sees a stranger.

Eyes of a Stranger
page: "Dr. Davis, telephone please. Dr. Davis Dr. Blair, Dr. Blair, Dr. J. Hamilton, Dr. J. Hamilton"

6:01 P.M.
"I remember now."

wtf? For real. The only reason that I bring this up is because my friend sent me a link to their album announcement of "Mindcrime II."

Lotto Fever... Catch It! (and more...)

2005-10-19T11:20:00.000-05:00

I feel like the Charlie Bucket of lottery players today. My friends keep calling and saying things like, "How many Powerball tickets did you buy? I bought $30 worth." Call me old school, but I'm just going to buy 3. Charlie Bucket won his golden ticket with his third Wonka Bar at much higher odds so I won't tempt fate and pull a Veruca. Hopefully, the lines at the convenience store down the street won't be too long when I get off of work. For the record, this is the 2nd time I've played the lottery, not counting my mom's Christmas stocking gift of five scratch off tickets per year.

Mark Jenkins is an amazing street installment artist. I've been scanning his website all morning. For those of you in DC, he's the guy behind those statues of tape men and babies around town. I saw his Tresmaria installment on 16th St. a few months ago and have been waiting to hear an explanation for months. He has a really great website with pictures, articles and even a tutorial on how to make your own tape sculptures. (I'm going to try it out this weekend with my red buddha statue.) Make sure you see his article from the Washington Post about the tape men attacking the Post's art critic. Here's my favorite of his Storker pictures:

The funniest Saturday Night Live skit of all time is the "Gerald Ford Dead Today" pre-taped memorial skit. Here's the transcript:
http://snltranscripts.jt.org/96/96dbrokaw.phtml
"You will be if you break the Gerald Ford story!"

Going Downtown.... Danville style.

2005-10-17T14:07:00.000-05:00

This past weekend I went back home to Danville, Virginia, for a little break from the big city. Sometimes, DC can be a bit overwhelming and I need to get away for a few days, not to realize that I miss it and love it, but because I just need some time to relax and not worry about traffic, gigs for bands, work and everything else that causes me stress. While I didn't even come near doing everything that I had planned, I still had fun and it was great to see my friend there, as always.

Saturday afternoon, my parents were busy scraping the dust and paint flecks from their new windows and refused my help, so I grabbed their trusty Fuji digital camera and ventured downtown to take a few pictures. Downtown Danville has always had a very unique, almost reverential vibe for me. There's always a new mystery to find or some little feature of architecture that goes almost entirely unappreciated. It's a constant reminder of a different era of Danville's boom times, when it was known as the "World's Biggest Tobacco Market." Even more so, downtown Danville stands as a monument to a time when artistry and invention could be worked into even the most utilitarian buildings. Mostly though, for this trip, I concentrated on the fading paint of Danville's wall advertising, put there before billboards became popular. I've watched them fade over the years and wanted to capture my favorites before somebody painted over them as a part of Danville's latest attempt to revitalize the downtown area.

Let's start with the advertisements:

This one's always been my favorite, for obvious reasons. However, I saw that the Wilco warehouse out on Hwy 29 has been turned into a Purina animal feed distribution site. Trading in one kind of cake for another, I guess.

I had a bit of fun with this last one.

And this one is my favorite picture of day:

The sun was hitting that wall perfectly plus it was the hardest picture to get. The street corner where I took a lot of these pictures, right over near Green St. by the old Schwinn Bicycle store, is notorious for drug dealing and even a couple drive-by shootings. (I'm dubious of the drive-by reports though; there's a police station only 100 yards around the corner. I think Danvillians just say these things so they can scare each other or be shocked about something.) However, the building with the Dr. Pepper ad houses a heavily-tagged carwash, which is a reputed front for several local drug dealers. I was definitely being watched while taking those pictures.

I just thought that one was too funny to pass up.

Here's some other pictures I took around the area:

The Hotel Leeland is a residential hotel and has always held a sort of mythic status with my friends and I. It's where all the crazy people seem to end up, the last stop before the train out of town, either upstate or up the creek. It's also where all the prostitutes plied their trade when we were teenage skate punks hanging out in the underground parking lot across the street. If Sid Vicious had died in Danville, his body would've been found in Room 21 of the Hotel Leeland.

This picture always makes me think of Mexico or something. Look at Martha flashing the camera in the bottom right. Oh Martha, have a little dignity.

When I was a kid, I was really into castles so this warehouse was always "The Tower" and I would stare at it in awe every Harvest Jubilee. I even tried to draw it a few times when I was in the 2nd grade. That aside, this really illustrates my earlier point. This is a tobacco warehouse. Why have a tower? Artistry abounds in these old buildings so why not have a tower? This is also across the street from the building where I found the whiskey still and 1930's era stash of Coca-Cola syrup bottles, from before the days of carbonation.

Yet another example of the little things to be found downtown. This is a mural underneath the roof of the Danville Register & Bee's front entrance. I had never thought to look up before. Surprises are everywhere.

This is an old photo of The Temple, a local show venue, and the gothic boutique next door. These shops have been closed as they are currently trying to sell the Sonic Building (Danville's only skyscraper) and turn it into condos. I don't know how I feel about that. While it'd be nice to finally reintroduce downtown Danville to everyday life and get more commerce and personality into the area, part of me frets that so much of the old downtown will be lost in the mix.

The next few times I go home, I'm definitely going to be photo hunting, hopefully culminating in trespassing to find that whiskey still underneath Craghead St., getting some pictures of Sammy and his Downtown Records shop, and finally taking the time to line up a shot of the Living Tunnel fallout shelter at night. (I found a specific point where you can lie down on the street in front of the tunnel and the red lights from the traffic signal behind look like eyes. Plus the tunnel is eerily lit at night so the whole thing looks really haunting.)

*NEW NOTE*
I got bored today at work and tried to edit the power line out of the Pepsi photo above. I don't know, the line's gone now, but the middle P looks fake. What do you think?

Reason I Like DC #34

2005-10-13T07:45:00.000-05:00

I love living in the city, most of the time. Getting gas this morning, I went inside to pay and was on my way back out to Martha the Jeep when this Ford Escape loaded with tourist retirees from Texas pulls up out of nowhere and starts honking their horn. I slowly turned and gave them the full "DC Attitude" look. They actually looked somewhat afraid. Then, I'm pumping my gas and the other two guys at the pump, both DC residents, said, "Fucking tourists" and "Next time, you need to walk in past their car a little slower." Awesome. Those tourists, however, now have a story to tell their children. "Remember how mean and rude those people in DC were?" We ain't mean, we just got different rules.

Stupid Post

2005-10-12T13:30:00.000-05:00

I was all set to write this whole article today about why men of my generation are confused and still play with video games and lightsaber's after the age of 12. I probably wrote about 5 pages on the subject before I realized that it was a pretty dumb subject and got bored with it. Anyways, here are some highlights:

Yesterday, my company took us all to play paintball out in the woods. I didn't get to play but a lot of the guys who did took it way too seriously, buying specialized paintball equipment and wearing camouflage. I laughed and laughed when the best player of the night turned out to be a 25 year-old girl, who iced guy after guy in her white sweatshirt and running pants. I also got to make a lot of "floating head" camouflage jokes, which are normally only applicable at Walmart during deer hunting season. By the way, these guys were also the same ones who now play with remote control cars during their afternoon break. Ridiculous.

Then basically I wrote a lot about how 80's cartoons and movies like "Red Dawn" were, while not planned, propaganda to prepare us for the next war that never came, presumably with Communism as a whole. Good Vs. Evil = Democracy vs. Communism = Autobots vs. Decepticons, GI Joe vs Cobra, etc. But we never had a war so now we're all confused about our place in society and the computer revolution of the early 90s gave us all the means to buy the toys we never had as kids and never grow up.

So I guess the last paragraph I wrote was the point I was looking for:
I asked my dad once what he thought about all this silliness, why I still felt like a boy trapped in a man's body at times. He said that the change to manhood is never complete until your first child is born, the responsibility changes your life forever. I think that's all that really needs to be said.

Origin of Species

2005-10-07T15:17:00.000-05:00

So today I'm truly living up to the name "Jaded Lens." Here's a story about where that name originated:

Back in the summer of 1999, I was working for a Congressman on Capitol Hill. I gave tours, wrote correspondence, worked issues, etc., etc. I was known as the best tour guide on our floor in the Longworth Office Building. I knew how to work the staff at the Senate Cloak Room, the best times to sneak onto the floor during recess, all the quick shortcuts, the secrets of the Old House Chamber, George Washington's crypt, and even the history behind most of the state statues. All of this history overloaded my brain. The Capitol, the White House, indeed even the US Mint, ceased to sparkle. Finally, I was leading a tour for two Southside Virginia families when the Backstreet Boys turned out for a photo op in the Capitol Rotunda. The young tweener girls in my group immediately lost their heads, screaming and yelling and running all amok, supported by their parents, who then forced me to use my knowledge of Capitol shortcuts and hiding places for evil. They got their picture, but I lost something in the process. After that, I figured, "What's the point?"

I quickly became labeled as "jaded" by our office manager. "He's jaded, he used to be our best but now he ceases to wonder at the grandeur that is DC." So anyways, one day I'm lounging at my desk reading Roll Call when the left lens of my glasses popped out for no reason. Without even pausing to contemplate what had happened, I squinted my left eye and continued reading the article. The office manager saw this whole episode and said, "Wow, that must be your jaded lens." I kind of liked the ring of it.

Gloom

2005-10-07T10:01:00.000-05:00

We went so long without rain here in DC that I've forgotten what it's like to be gloomy on a rainy day. I must be solar powered. Days like today are near impossible for me. The root canal stole all of my money and cancelled my trip to my hometown, but I did learn something new about baseball. My jaw hurts like hell and I can't eat my bagels for breakfast anymore. I've already referred to myself as "The Loneliest Boy in the Whole World" twice this morning, forgotten to pack a Portishead CD to combat the gloom, and offended a Congressional staffer.

Here's that conversation:
Me: Hey, I'm Rolfe from the NLD. I just need to update my staff roster for your office.
Her: Oooo-k. I'm going to transfer you to our Deputy Chief of Staff who will help you with that.
Me: *sigh* Ok, whatever.
Her: Is that alright with you?
Me: Well, not really because all you're going to do is send me to her voicemail, I'll leave one, and then she'll never call me back, meaning that I'm just going to have to talk to you again on Monday. What's the point? This whole thing is going to take 4 minutes. Why make it some drawn out process when we're talking 4 minutes here?
Her: Hold on, sir. I'll put her right on the line.

Then, the deputy Chief of Staff:
Her: Sir, we usually just send these out as emails or fax.
Me: Ok, fine. Send it here, blahblahblah@blahblah.com. Take it easy.
*click*

For those in the know, that's probably the rudest I've ever been on the phone, professionally at least. I've tried to get people fired for less. I know my assistants will read that in absolute shock. This is what the rain does to me.

Danville Register Bee | Authorities bust up moonshine operation

2005-10-06T10:07:00.000-05:00

(Click the title just above for the link.)

Gotta love my hometown. Axton's right outside of Danville and where my grandpa lived and my mom grew up. Uncle Jesse brewed up 343 gallons, just enough for three trips over the Hazzard Co. line for them Duke boys.

The funniest part about this is growing up listening to my father and my grandfather trading stories about finding stills on their property. My Dad told me once how, when he was a kid, they had to cut down a piece of the woods to make a new field and found the copper pipes from three different stills hidden back there. Of course, those were probably leftovers from the days of Prohibition, back when anybody with a corn crop was up to some sort of alcoholic chemistry. My grandpa once had a friend of his go blind from drinking bad moonshine. It was only temporary but they also used to mix a little moonshine in with their gasoline, just for that "extra kick." These two hill-billies used to show up at his store every now and again with a trunk full of jugs to sell and they'd stink up the whole town. Floating down the Powell River, I've had stills, illegal fields, just about everything pointed out to me. That's just a part of living in the country, I suppose.

Bulletin

2005-10-04T12:21:00.000-05:00

*NOTE* I will not be coming to Danville this weekend due to dental surgery bills. However, I will be home the next weekend of Oct. 14th, after I have been paid.

Here's a quote:

"That's why I say it's tough to live holy and resist temptation because those demons get prettier and prettier. Their bodies get better and better. It's one of the toughest fights I've had in my life."
- Carl Everett, White Sox DH

Amen, Carl.

Pocketbook Full of Confidence

2005-09-29T13:41:00.000-05:00

Candace. Where are you? What have you been up to?

I found myself thinking about you today for the first time in a long time. I was telling my friend a few tales of our silly adventures. You always popped up out of the ether whenever I needed you most, when I was full of self-doubt and sinking into a pit of depression. You were there, ready to prop me back up again, feeding me self-confidence like candy from your purse.

Remember the first time we met? We were at some stupid New Year's Eve party in NoVA where neither of us knew anyone except the person we came with, so we ended up hanging out together on the porch, passing joints and talking strictly in British accents.

Remember our first "date" when I took you to the redneck bar for pool and we danced to "Freebird" and hung out for hours talking about machine guns and radios with a man who couldn't get his wedding ring off? He tried to kiss you in the parking lot and you said, "Get off me, you gross old man. I'm with him." He still paid for our cab. Later that night, you pricked our fingers with your chef's knife and we wrote our first initials on the backs of each other's hands. Then, you burnt off your left eyelash while attempting to light the candles and I got a blister on my lip from your bowl. You made fun of me for looking like a crackhead and I gave you a yellow magic marker to color in a new eyebrow, which you did, and we both laughed and laughed. Later that night I made you stand in front of the mirror so you could see how your eyes lit up when I called you "Kitty Kat."

Remember our next date when we lay in the field underneath the power lines, remaining totally silent while the planes flew overhead? You saw a flashing blue light in the distance and we ventured through the woods to investigate, only to get lost for 2 hours while never going further than 100 yards from your apartment.

Remember the "MRG's Mix Tape" scam? Remember the time we almost got to meet Stevie Wonder but then lost the guy's phone number? How many times did we listen to side 2 of "Talking Book" while you berated me for my fascination with David Bowie? I'd guess at least a hundred.

Remember your first night in your new apartment in Alexandria? Laura came over and we dared ourselves to stay up all night. You fell asleep with your knee in my back like always and then I passed out, only to wake up at 5AM with Laura calling us "sleep pussies." I had to ride the metro all the way back to New Carrollton at 6AM with melting hair-spikes from you girls and your mousse, wearing nothing but a coffee-stained white tshirt and your ex-boyfriend's exercise pants while businessmen stared at me over their copies of the "Wall Street Journal." I was late to work that day.

Remember the time that guy accused us of being pool hustlers and tried to fight me? I threatened to cut him with a steak knife in the parking lot and you told him that he'd seen "The Color of Money" too many times. Later that night, he paid our entire tab after we beat him and his partner in 7 straight games. Then, as we walked around the corner on the way to the hotel, you grabbed me and threw me up against the stone wall and told me you loved me. I told you I loved you back. I still don't drive down that street.

Remember our last phone conversation? You were scared I was going to fall asleep at the wheel while driving the ten hours home from my sister's wedding and die, so you called every 30 minutes to make sure I was ok, right up until I pulled into my driveway.

But that's all in the past. I wonder why you ran away like you did. Just up and disappearing, gone without even a phone call. I know about your troubles with the state of California but you never exactly explained the charges, did you? Still, I sometimes dream about you, out there somewhere, robbing banks or working the kitchen on an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico.

I still carry these memories around like spare change in my fifth pocket. I even developed a heart-wrenching crush on this girl last year just because she reminded me of you in only the smallest, most artificial ways. You always were "the real deal." Anyways, I almost lost my job because of that plus I missed out on at least two real relationships, one of which could've lasted a lifetime, only I screwed it up by thinking too much. You remember how I do that sometimes, right?

Later, Gator.

PS.
I'm getting a root canal tomorrow. Ouch.

5:42AM Oddities

2005-09-27T08:16:00.000-05:00

I went to bed early last night, hoping a good night's sleep would finally break the headlock that Mr. Fatigue currently has locked around my neck. My roommate and I had once again spent an entire evening firmly entrenched in Disc 5 of "Lost: Season 1" (aka crack cocaine) so I drifted off to sleep, expecting weird dreams.

Unfortunately, I was awoken at 5:42AM by stirrings around the apartment. Getting up to head towards the bathroom, the loud scramble of feet heading into my roommate's bedroom made me laugh. He'd probably stayed up drinking a second bottle of wine by himself and was walking around the apartment naked or up to another of his usual drunken tricks. Shocker.

Back in bed, I contemplated getting up early and going for a run despite having another hour worth of sleep before the 6:45AM alarm. Turning on the television, I watched a few minutes of an infomercial for Oranglo and then woke up at 7:15, alarm blaring with Bill O'Reilly talking about his children's book on the Today show.

But something happened while I asleep. I had a dream, a really, truly weird dream in three acts.

Act I

The dream opened in my old church in Danville, Mt. Vernon Methodist. I was at church with my sister, dressed as a complete stereotypical rock n roller. For some reason, this really dorky kid, who I grew up with but never really hung out with b/c his dorkiness included wearing Star Trek uniforms to school assemblies and playing with light sabers after the age of 12, kept harassing me the whole time, all the while ensconced under the protective arm of his father. (*Note* In this dream I'm like 16.) Finally, my sis and I had enough of his antics so she casually said over her shoulder, "Leave my brother alone." He said something to her and she got mad. I was infuriated so I leaned over and said, with quiet intensity, "If you don't shut up, I'm going to punch you in the p*ssy." (What does that even mean? Even I don't talk like that but it was just so vulgar that I had to include it here since I remember that part so vividly.) Then I had this really strange conversation with my piano teacher about the numbers from Lost matching up to algorithms produced when playing Mozart's fantasias.

Act II

I was actually a member of a KISS cover band but we just wore the makeup, not the whole outfit b/c that just wouldn't be cool. I remember saying, "That'd be like Boy Scouts who wear the uniform AND the socks." (I've actually said that very phrase in real life.) I was rocking the bass while, oddly enough, Claire, the pregnant woman from Lost (sans pregnancy however,) played all of the Ace Frehley parts of "Detroit Rock City" with ultimate precision.

Act III

Flash forward (?) to the practice space where I was hanging out with Claire and talking about music and how we were really going to "rock out" to this one song in our next show. We even choreographed a little bass and guitar "rockstar move" as a signal to know it was time to let fly the musical fury. Just as Claire started to put on her Ace Frehley makeup, Paul Stanley, or at least a Paul Stanley look-alike, bursts into the room and declares it Rumble Time. It turned out this guy was in a KISS cover band with his other three identical quadruplet brothers, called Paul and the Stanleys, which dedicated themselves to Paul's solo work and only the songs he wrote with KISS. Then I woke up just as Paul #1 was about to throw the first punch.

What a weird dream.

Thanks

2005-09-23T13:48:00.000-05:00

Thanks to everybody who showed up last night for the show. It went wonderfully!
I was seriously beaming all night, from the first hit of Laura Burhenn's Wurlitzer to the end when the soundguy called me the "golden boy." I think the last official count was well over 100 people, to the tune of 120-140, but at that point, it was 1:30AM and I could barely remain standing.

So, thanks for everything! Please be on the lookout for my next show, hopefully coming at you again from DC9 on Thursday, Nov. 10th. Now, who wants to be on the bill?

FAZED - Video Viewer

2005-09-20T14:48:00.000-05:00

Wow.

FAZED Video Winner

I only have four things to say about this before I die of laughter:
1. Those kids at the beginning are doing the right thing. They must be clairvoyant like the stereotypical blonde children in horror movies who know when the monster's about to strike.
2. I love how when the keyboardist comes in late, the lead singer looks over at him like, "Dude, don't fuck this up." Or at least that's the look I imagine he has on his face.
3. Watch for the really weird looking bigfoot/REO Speedwagon fan/hobo who appears after the first chorus. Is he turning down their amps? No respect.
4. My favorite part comes right before the mid-point of the song. As the singer launches into the last bit of the chorus before the solo break, the sun glints of the bass head followed by apparently my father walking by the camera, looking directly into it and laughing.

This really just proves my theory that Europe's "Final Countdown" always (ALWAYS) equals high comedy, however intended or, in this case, not. For more proof on this theory, please see this:
http://www.stanford.edu/~scodary/tkam.htm

Happenings

2005-09-20T07:48:00.000-05:00

I'll probably edit this and write some more later today, especially about the travesty that was Sunday night's show.

But for now, I want to let everybody know that I'm promoting a show on Thursday, Sept. 22nd, at DC9. I'd love for people to come out as my entire reputation is sort of hanging on this show. Here's the flyer:

Hope to see everybody there!

Finally, a NEW Update!

2005-09-15T10:55:00.000-05:00

I took a little break so here's a post that's pretty boring. Suffice it to say, it's Thursday and I'm still recovering from last weekend. It was a good weekend though. Friday night, I went to a Katrina benefit concert with my friend (and hopefully bandmate) Richard and his friends at American University. The funniest part was before the music even started, Richard and I were outside on a smoking expedition when we were first accosted by the holier-than-thou hipster scene which seems to follow Laura Burhenn around like the plague. It was pretty great though as it's spurred several inside jokes which are tons of fun. I also made the discovery that all of Cartel's music is the exact same tempo. I tap my foot to the beat when listening to bands and after 3 songs I noticed that my foot tapping had not changed. Even their fast songs were played at that same tempo, only double-timed. Ridiculous. Maybe that's why it makes me want to sleep? I ended the night listening to the White Album and drinking a beer. I've really missed The Beatles.

Saturday was a banner day. While doing laundry, somebody's mom complimented me not once, but twice on my clothes-folding ability. Somewhere, hopefully my mother smiled. On my way out the laundromat door, I received a surprise call from the old area code "434." Patrick and the legendary innocent John Martin were making a surprise trip to DC, in order to see the Redskins season opener. Of course, they were staying with me. What happened once they arrived is still somewhat blurry, but I do remember being at my bar, Bourbon, then trying to extricate them from a house of ill repute for several hours, pulling the front of my pants down just enough to prove to some girl that I'm truly a redhead, doing a shot with my neighbors and jumping on a coffee table, and falling asleep while playing poker. The last time I remember a clock, it read 6AM. One note though, I've never really understood the allure of strip clubs. It's like paying for the milk but never getting to drink it. (And by the way, if this keeps up, I'm going to have to apologize to my mother after every column.)

On the Seventh Day, I rested. I guess the lack of sleep catches up with all us old-timers eventually. Watching the Guins and NYC band Bravo Silva (who are really good but a little too into fashion) at Galaxy Hut late Sunday night, I thought I was going to pass out before I even got to my car.

Looking forward to this weekend, I've really got to get the word out for the DC9 Sunday night show. The Makers, Greenland, and Thomas Lunch and the Drugs, @ DC9, $10, doors at 9. I know it sounds expensive, but The Makers are really worth it. Ever since the illustrious Shannon Jackson introduced me to them a few months ago, I've been dying to see them live. This show was put together by my friend and mentor Nan and it's really going to be a doozy. Here's the poster:

Finally, just so everyone knows, I'm planning my next visit to Danville on the weekend of Oct. 7th since the North Theater's showing "Gimme Shelter" on the big screen. Too bad I won't be able to stick around until Sunday for the midnight showing, but still, I'm excited. However, I won't be sticking around for their showing of "Eden's Curve" as that might be the worst movie I've ever seen. I'd planned to go home next weekend but there's just no money for it, plus I'm finally starting to get the shaggy mane back and there's no reason to get it cut just yet. It feels so good on my neck...

PS. You should check out my friend Richard's band Panda Sanchez. Hopefully he'll start playing out soon, even more hopefully with me on a multitude of instruments as I'm dying to start playing out again. His stuff is really atmospheric yet intricate, reminding me of some of Radiohead's slower songs from Kid A and Amnesiac. I'm personally thinking about starting a proto-punk band, ala The Stooges, called Bourgeois-Jihad.

To thumb or not to thumb?

2005-09-06T11:00:00.000-05:00

Here's a question that spawned endless debate among my friends all weekend. When gigging, flipping the bird, shooting the ultimate gun, giving the old one finger salute, whatever you want to call it, is it proper to stick the thumb out or keep it folded in?

Personally, I prefer to throw out my thumb and flex only the outermost two knuckles of my index and ring finger. I feel that this gives the flattest surface on the back of my hand from which the intended insult may radiate outward. When I curl in all fingers save my favorite, I feel that my hand becomes too twisted and fist-like for the insult to be properly received and translated. Plus, the "extra flex" also requires a twist and tilt of the wrist that really just takes too much time. When I'm speeding around whatever offending Maryland driver gets in my way or posing for a red-light camera shoot, I really only have a matter of seconds to make the offensive party aware of my true feelings. The power of my flat, back-handed delivery is quick but unmistakable. However, I will concede that occasionally my hand is already balled into a fist when stuck doing 25 mph in a 55 mph zone so it is easier just to extend the middle finger rather than get caught up in proper form.

The delivery of the middle finger is almost as unique as the print on its tip. I think it also has to do with the way we point. Watch your friends whenever they point at something. Some extend their index finger with the rest of the hand curled up in a loose fist. Classic. Others use their middle finger to point. Some like to use their whole hand, pointing out the specific information with a tapping finger. A few sad souls points with the devil horns of the metal fist. Personally, I prefer to shoot the gun when giving directions on a map, catching the eye of some lady, recommending my favorite dish at a local restaurant, or pointing out my favorite Bible verses. (...) Anyways, other odd "finger prints" include men's imitation of a machine gun, people's arm movements while running, and smiles.

Here's some more information on Middle Finger Symbology:

Straight Dope on the Middle Finger's Origins
The Legal History of the Middle Finger
A Little Evolutionary History

Sorry Mom!

God bless Mayor Nagin

2005-09-02T12:47:00.000-05:00

Please listen to this interview with Mayor Nagin. He's the only one making any sense. Here it is:

Air America Interview with Mayor Nagin

God bless him. If only all of our politicians thought like this...

Meanwhile, Bush is in Alabama taking photos...

Trying Not to Say "I Told You So"

2005-09-01T09:00:00.000-05:00

http://www.hurricane.lsu.edu/_in_the_news/houston.htm

First, realize that the picture above was taken on Tuesday, August 30th, 2005. The same day that a gigantic hurricane made landfall, obliterating one of the nation's largest cities. Meanwhile, Pres. Bush was fooling around with a guitar. He was also on the tail-end of his five week vacation.

Second, look at the date on the article linked above. December 1, 2001. Now, check out that third and fourth sentence. What the fuck? You mean, our "President" had received warning about the two biggest disasters of his presidency months before one and years before the other yet refused to do anything about it? In a normal world, I'd say this is shocking and appalling, but, you know, I'm really not all that surprised. In today's bizarro world, I warn my friends living in San Fran to buy flashlights and crackers. How did the Republican Congress and our esteemed President deal with this warning? They cut the Army Corps of Engineers budget for New Orleans by $71.2 million in the fiscal year 2005, followed by more proposed cuts in 2006. Where'd that money go? To fund the Iraq War. I know it's pretty hard to blame one person for a natural disaster, but it's a little easier than normal in this case. The man did absolutely nothing to prevent this disaster. He, like Nero, literally spent his time fiddling. (Well, almost literally, but they're both stringed instruments so the metaphor sticks.)

Gas was $2.89/gallon this morning and is supposedly going up at least 20 cents by noon. People like this continue to spread their hate, insanity, and fear. August had one of the highest casualty counts so far in the Iraq War, not to mention failed constitutional talks and a stampede, which killed or injured over 1,000 Iraqis, caused by the mere rumor of suicide bombers. Fox 5 continues to report on the danger of everyday appliances, especially hot tubs. We went from the most prosperous boom times in American history to the lowest depths imaginable in little more than five years of the Bush Administration.

I was talking to my Mom this morning and we had a really interesting conversation about hypocrisy and evil in the world. I feel so guilty for turning her into a liberal. Now, she's stuck in a town with no respite from the loud mouth arguments of Christian fundamentalists and crazy Conservative would-be militants. However, in a way only my mother could, she perseveres through their hate with a grace all her own. "Max," she said, "all of the people complaining the most are the ones who voted for Bush. It's really hard not to say, 'I told you so.' But, in the end, it's just not worth it since they've got to realize it for themselves for any meaningful change to occur." I'm trying to follow that advice. Hopefully, people will finally begin to see the corruption, short-sightedness and incompetence of the Bush Administration and his Republican cronies. Hopefully, we'll get some real change for the better in America. However, there's a reason I named this blog "Jaded Lens."

Here's where you can help:

http://www.redcross.org

* (added later) * I just went outside to sit in the sun for a bit since it's below freezing in my office. While out there, I overheard a group of salespeople talking about the pending removal of Louisiana's star from our flag, seeing as how it's now no longer a real state and not worth saving since they have nothing to give us. They followed this with further comments about stupid people who live in Tornado Alley, etc. Um, Maryland ain't weatherproof either, dumbshits. The whole thing made me sick. Some people have no class. Others have little or no hope.

Beaten Up

2005-08-31T10:09:00.000-05:00

Lately, I've been getting beaten up about my past relationships a lot. It just seems that my love life has been a constant source of conversation among people around me, regardless of the fact that I've really been trying to steer away from the topic. I know they mean best and I don't mind when my closest friends, who know who they are (and most of them read this blog from time to time), bring up the fact that they don't like how I'm being treated, that I'm being led-on and used, etc., etc., because it shows they care and I love them for it. But it gets a little depressing sometimes.

Anyways, one of these said relationships recently ended for a really trivial reason but one that bothered me so much that it drove me crazy. Now, this woman was great otherwise. But she committed two deadly sins. First, she once changed my radio station to a New Country station and started singing along to Garth Brooks or Brooks and Dunn or whatever. Then, she used the phrase "Get 'Er Done" during multiple conversations between us and some of my friends as a punchline, no sarcasm, no nothing. "Oh, that guy's just so funny." I remember instantly catching the "eye contact signal of horror" from one of my buddies and returned it earnestly with the "I thought I knew this woman but now am utterly shocked and mortified" eyebrow arch/wide eyed combo. Things fell apart fairly quickly after that.

Hearing this, my female friends said, "See, M. This is your problem. You have these arbitrary rules mostly based on pop culture and other trivial BS and once they've been broken, you never go back. This is why your relationships fail." My guy buddies' instantaneous reply: "Perfectly Reasonable." I mean, come on, "Get 'Er Done"? That phrase should come with naked lady mudflaps and a confederate flag sticker. I've told them that I threw out the rules a long time ago (against my better judgment I might add), but some things just can't be unsaid.

But this is a two way street. For instance, the key to my heart has always been clever nicknames. I not only live to give them but I like receiving them as well. (...) If a little thought is put into it or it's bizarre or even just strange, I love it. Besides, if a woman ever called me "Tiger," I'd be hers until she was done with me.

Washington City Paper Cover Story: The Drone Ranger

2005-08-30T13:11:00.000-05:00

If anybody ever wants to know the crazy bullshit that I deal with at work constantly, this article touches on them all. It's the perfect indictment of the modern workplace.

http://www.washingtoncitypaper.com/cover/2005/cover0826.html

Just for the record, I got a bit on an inspiration today, so I might not disappear like I threatened earlier. If I get some time tonight, I'll write it out (since it's already composed in my head) and post it up here tomorrow. Let's just say Iggy Pop is involved.

Does she write you $12 checks?

2005-08-30T09:28:00.000-05:00

Lately, this blog has begun to feel like shouting down a well. I'm probably going to be taking a break for a while. Nobody leaves comments anymore and it just seems a bit pointless. Well... I like doing this, so I'm probably just not going to post so much. I'm just going to post things that I really have time to work on and that I like, so there probably won't be much coming up here since at the moment, I am completely blocked. However, for those in the know, I am currently putting together a team of mustached Scientologists with aviator sunglasses to shoot the photo essay. If you want in on the zoological fun, give me a call. It should appear here sometime soon, like within the next month or so at the latest.

One last bit of advice, everybody should go see 40 Year-Old Virgin. It's absolutely hilarious.

RETURN THE SUIT - Return Gus Grissom's Mercury Space Suit Back to his Memorial Museum

2005-08-29T09:34:00.000-05:00

You might have read about this girl in the papers. She's collecting signatures in order to petition the goverment to return Astronaut Gus Grissom's spacesuit to his museum, established by his family after his death in 1967. Click the title of this entry to check out her website and sign the petition!

Work

2005-08-26T14:41:00.000-05:00

Start work today:

Ending work today:

Blood Drive Day

2005-08-24T08:11:00.000-05:00

Today is the Red Cross' "Blood Drive Day" here at work. Since arriving about 15 minutes ago, I've already gotten two "Are you giving blood? Why not?" comments. I don't even bother to explain because I personally feel that those willing to question another's ability to give blood would never understand my answer.

I basically grew up in UVa Hospital's Children's Ward. From the age of 2-9 years old, I had a series of nine operations to repair a birth defect which pretty much erased my right ear. Cartilage was removed from my right uppermost rib to form an earlobe (leaving the infamous "knife fight scar") while skin from my neck and hips was grafted over top or used to form an ear canal and ear drum (which later proved useless when a CAT scan revealed that my auditory nerve was severed.) I was one of the first children to have this type of reconstructive surgery. Oddly enough, while attending UVa, I worked in the med school library and ended up giving lectures to future doctors about the importance of bed-side manner while attending children. I also learned that I had somewhat dubious fame, as slides of my operations were still in use in the Plastic Surgery department.

During my month to two month stay per operation and the biweekly follow-up visits afterwards, I would constantly be submitted to blood tests. If you saw me as a child, you'd probably think I was a heroin addict due to the tract marks on my arms, the scars of some remaining to this day. However, I was also intensely afraid of needles and fought to the teeth to avoid them at all costs, both from blood tests and IV units, which I was notorious for ripping out. Many times my mom or dad would have to help the nurses restrain me. I would then promptly faint, causing even more problems, especially with bruising. Years later, while taking Accutane at age 16, I was again required to take blood tests, five in total, and while I no longer fought tooth and nail, I only managed consciousness through one of these. To this day, even the smell of blood makes me queasy but I've learned to deal with it in a variety of ways to avoid a fainting spell. However, I do not actively pursue the use of these techniques.

So, if you care to ask why I do not give blood to the Red Cross today, this is why. People usually get the story about my sister and her frying pan, but that can be saved for another time.

My Launchcast Station

2005-08-23T16:01:00.000-05:00

I love my Yahoo Launchcast station. This is the track listing from the past hour or so I've been listening:
Grandaddy "Stray Dog and the Chocolate Shake" (Great song from a great album.)
The Pixies "Monkey Gone to Heaven" (one of my favorites...)
The Minutemen "King of the Hill" (easily my favorite Mike Watt bass line)
The Who "Bargain"
AC/DC "The Jack" (What? An AC/DC song about easy women with a double entendre title? Never!)
Ted Leo & The Pharmacists "Me and Mia"
Smashing Pumpkins "Thirty-Three"
Pavement "Loretta's Scars" (I hadn't heard it in so long, I forget how much I love this song.)
Iron & Wine "Teeth in the Grass"
From Bubblegum to Sky "The Gurls & Shoo Be Doo Wop" (An aptly named band)
Lynyrd Skynyrd "Gimme Three Steps" (not my favorite Lyrnyrd song.)
The Police "Omegaman"
Elliott Smith "Oh Well, Okay" (of course...)
Guided by Voices "Non-Absorbing"
Le Tigre "Seconds" (If it's not Decepticon, then I don't like them.)
Sonic Youth "Chapel Hill" (I saw them play this live at Cat's Cradle in Chapel Hill when I was 16. It was amazing.)
Earlimart "All They Ever Do is Talk" (amen, brother.)

Welcome to Danville!

2005-08-23T08:28:00.000-05:00

Speaker says a mentor led him from gay lifestyle

I think too often we dismiss the sheer ignorance that exists. "Nobody could honestly believe that!" Well, here's the sad truth that they do. Of course, it doesn't help when the town newspaper covers it as well.

I've tried for years to explain how crazy the fundamentalists in Danville can be. Here it is, guys! Just remember, not everybody in Danville thinks this way.

Hostage Negotiations

2005-08-22T10:43:00.000-05:00

I've been absent-mindedly playing with a short length of copper wire at my desk this morning. It measures approximately 2 9/16" in length and 1/8" in diameter. While obstensibly sheathed in gray plastics, there is also a second clear plastic sheath on top of the gray. "ANT 11 OR AWM NW-1" is printed on the top layer of the sheathing. The wire bends quite well, providing a decent amount of resistance yet only regains its original shape with some difficulty, usually requiring the straight back of my stapler as a guide. Using the sharp metal edge of my ruler, I strip away 1/2" of the first layer of plastic to expose the gray layer underneath. I'm suprised to find that this second layer is not plastic, but indeed some type of rubber/vinyl. It will be sent to the lab later for further analysis, but my educated guess is nylon. Using the sharp edge of my fingernail clippers, I strip away the gray rubber/vinyl to expose a magical world of unicorns and castles lying beneath. Damn you, Scientologists. Foiled again.

The End...?

The 9:30 Club Ticketing

2005-08-19T14:48:00.000-05:00

Decemberist tickets for Sunday, Oct. 2nd on sale today. Be there or be square. (Click above for the link to buy.)

ARGGGGG! I really want to leave work now! Where's my clone when I need him?

(To get that joke, go down to July 1st, 2005.)

Breaker 1-9 for a Radio Check?

2005-08-18T15:06:00.000-05:00

My work day has spread out before me like the never ending fields of the Great Plains. Arriving late to work today due to an hour and half of what I like to call "extra sleep," I've got another 3 hours or so before I finally get to leave the office, shouting a little "I'm free!" while skipping across the front door threshold.

On days like today, stuck inside while the most glorious of days passes by outside, I like to think about what life would be like had I chosen another, radically different career. Today, there's a huge green GCI delivery semi-truck parked across the street. What would my life be like as a truck driver?

At the age of 3, my dad read "Big Joe's Trailer Truck" to me every night before I fell asleep. I often imagined myself hauling all sorts of stuff, from GI Joe action figures to fireworks (hey, I was a kid), around the country in my sturdy Mack truck, a big buckle on my belt and a big, well-worn truck stop baseball cap, with the mesh in the back. Around age 9, my cousin Wormie (Yep, Wormie) told my dad the coolest sentence I'd heard yet: "I'm earnin' my bread on the red-eye, hair-pinnin' lumber from Boone to Peach City." Later on, my cousin Randy, Wormie's brother, actually became an indenpendently-contracted truck driver, despite having a degree in civil engineering. I asked him once why he chose to drive a truck for a couple of years instead of jumping into his chosen profession. His reply: "There's just something about the road, Lil' Max."*

Nothing's better than cruising the highways with a good mix CD. Whenever my friends hit the road, I always make sure they're armed with a good mix of songs, both old and new, but always with a flair of '70s rock. I'd bet that I've probably made around 200 mixes since I left Danville for college. This past summer, I drove 8 hours straight from DC to Jonesville, Va. Hitting the mountains at high speed, I leaned out the window, feeling the cool wind in my then-long hair, while "Flirtin' with Disaster" blasted out of my stereo. There's a special joy that comes when you realize you've got the entire road to yourself for as far as the eye can see.

In my imaginary life as a trucker, I know no barbers. I'm the Last American Cowboy and my beard grows long and wiry while my hair creeps down from my "Purolator" baseball cap to drape across my shoulders. My truck would have an American flag in the grill and naked lady mudflaps. I could say things like "Watermelon 500," "Wiggle Wagons," or "Double Nickel" in everyday conversation. I'd get me a hound dog named Buddy, and we'd drive across the country together, always on the lookout for the coppers and wild women named after flowers, stopping to fish in creeks and rivers with my trusty Ronco Pocket Fisherman. I'd be a Truck Stop Casanova with the CB handle "Rolfe Diamond." I'd play my Dirty Old Man Card 50 years too early. Buddy and I'd listen to nothing but '70s Arena Rock and Old Country, like Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings or this guy:

There's something about the road, indeed.

For more information on becoming a trucker, check out:

American Trucker
"Diary of a Trucker" from the Kansas City Star
Truck Drivin' School Locator
The locator's great b/c they actually sell mesh hats on the same page. Awesome.

*I'm referred to in my family as Lil' Max, since I was named after my dad and am the youngest member of my generation, as was my dad before me.

WOAI: San Antonio News - White crosses at site of anti-war demonstration run down by pickup

2005-08-17T16:06:00.000-05:00

WOAI: San Antonio News - White crosses at site of anti-war demonstration run down by pickup

*Updated (plus I took down a bit b/c my friend was really hurt about the character flaw comment and he's entitled to his opinion just as much as me, even though I was pretty angry when I wrote it.)*

What kind of bullshit is this? I don't even know what to say. Utter outrage.

This woman, Cindy Sheehan, has almost singlehandedly started, or at least rejuvenated, the anti-war movement in America. She's been mercilessly slandered in the media lately, with news of her divorce and possible tax evasion charges. And now some crazy redneck drove his pickup truck through her memorial to her dead son.

Yep, crazy redneck. Here's his picture:

Let's hope that orange he's wearing is a prison uniform. Plus, he's from Waco, TX, and I think we all know how stable those people are. Between natives David Kouresh and Shannon Elizabeth, I'm surprised the town continues to stand.

Here's a picture so we know we're not alone:

(an AP photo from the 2005 Inauguration Protest. Just a note, my friend and I are standing behind the big green sign. In probably not my finest moment, I flipped the bird to the President of the United States. That I will not take back, my friend.)

Action-packed

2005-08-15T21:10:00.000-05:00

This past weekend was pretty action-packed. Friday night, I had a small part in booking the band Pawns from Brooklyn at Velvet Lounge. They did a great job and brought out a huge crowd. Even I was surprised! Apparently, there was a little trouble between the drummer and the door guy after I left, but I think we've all agreed just to blame it on the (considerable) heat.

Saturday night got out of control, which started out with a visit from my new buddy, the cat I wrote about in last week's "Weekend Thoughts." I've named him Chalmers and my neighbors and I have decided that if we all see him one more time, I'm going to adopt him, since he seems attached to me for some weird reason. Anyways, I like having him around, even though I've always been a dog person. Here's some pictures:

Chalmers owns the Saturday night porch.

"Wha'chu want, sucka?"

Action Kitty

"Maaaan, you lazy, Chalmers."

Other happenings from Saturday night:

I went over to Galaxy Hut to catch Telograph's big show with The Hint. They were both great. I hadn't seen that kind of energy from Telograph in a long time. It helped that the place was packed, even though I'd put the temperature, indoors with the AC on, at about 90 degrees. My girls, Ember and Sue Ann, came out and we had a great time, drinking too much, acting crazy, telling stupid jokes, etc. It was just like old times. The estranged stalker even showed up, meaning that everyone was all winks and arched eyebrows. Luckily, she got drunk and got down with some random dude, so the rest of were "off the hook." I can't stress enough how much every member of the Hint looks like they should be best friends with Marc Bolan from T.Rex, even their van is a '73. I also managed to catch the end of Seed Is' first set at Whitlow's on Wilson. Their brand of hiphop, heavily influenced by gospel, always makes me smile. Hopefully they'll start playing more shows up here.

Just one note to guys. When you're acting like a drunken jackass at a bar, don't try to manhandle my friends.* You step out of line and I'm going to step in. However, it was nice to be called a hero even if it was because some drunk guy, whose friends probably ditched in a gutter after he puked all over himself, decided to get a little touchy feely.

Sunday was lazy. Despite a pretty wicked hangover, I was up early to teach and run errands in Georgetown. I'm going to take my camera next time as the N Street rowhouses have some of the most interesting architecture I've ever seen. After the lessons, I hung out with my old buddy John and his new old lady, Perry. Like I said, it was lazy. We sat around and ate and laughed and told stupid stories about John yelling things out of car windows until we were all about to pass out from exhaustion. Sure, I got absolutely nothing done, but it was a lazy day, much like the lazy cat above, and much like the end of this blog entry.

* Don't refer to your fists by name when threatening somebody, even if it is in your own head. It's hard for you to keep a straight face and is no time to be making silly Anchorman jokes.

Monday Morning Commute Soundtrack

2005-08-15T08:34:00.000-05:00

Man, I had an action-packed weekend! I also have this afternoon off as I'm finally getting my cable-modem reinstalled so no more internet-less weekends.

Here's my Monday Morning Commute Playlist:

1. "5-4=Unity" Pavement
2. "Big Heartbreak" The Rosebuds (everybody should listen to them.)
3. "Stop Breathin" Pavement
4. "The Good That Won't Come Out" Rilo Kiley
5. "Bonita Applebaum" A Tribe Called Quest
6. "A Summer Wasting" Belle & Sebastian
7. "So Long" Rilo Kiley
8. "Invisible Man" The Breeders
9. "In the Wilderness" Mercury Rev
10. "The Piano Has Been Drinking" Tom Waits
11. "Travelin' Band" Creedance Clearwater Revival (again, the perfect "must drive fast to survive song."
12. "Huddle Formation" The Go! Team

From WBEZ in Chicago | This American Life

2005-08-12T14:39:00.000-05:00

From WBEZ in Chicago | This American Life

There was a time when I kept track of time at work by the number of This American Life radio stories I'd listened to so far. After 3 stories, I knew it was about time for lunch. After another 5, time to go home. Everybody should listen to at least a few of these stories. Each week, Ira Glass and friends tackle a new topic, exploring a new concept or idea through very different methods, from entirely new angles. Some of my favorites include "Notes from Camp" (only because it reminds me of my summers at Camp Cherrio), "Music Lessons," "Americans in Paris" and "Secret Government." "A Very Special Sedaris Christmas" from 1997 is by far the best Christmas episode, but "The House on Loon Lake" left me completely captivated. It's probably the best thing I've ever heard on the radio. Start with the Our Favorites link and work from there!

Have a great weekend!

New Weekend Thoughts

2005-08-08T12:57:00.000-05:00

My weekend thoughts from this morning was pretty sloppy, so I figure I'd clean it up a bit. Today I'm having a "Reinhold Messner" kind of day. For those who don't know, Reinhold Messner was an Italian chap who became the first man to climb Mt. Everest alone and without oxygen tanks. (Tenzing Norgay need not apply.)

Anyways, Friday night was fairly uneventful. I had nothing planned and figured I'd just putt around the apartment, playing the songs in my newly crafted Max's Huge Book of Stolen Songs, 2nd Edition. It's filled with guitar tabs of songs by David Bowie, Belle & Sebastian, T. Rex, Velvet Underground, Bobby Dylan, and more. I figure by learning to play these songs, I'll not only become a great guitar player at long last, but will fuse them all together to become the greatest rock troubadour in all the world.

Joining me in my laziness was a very curious calico cat. I spied him watching me while I was porch-sitting, and then later caught him as he hunted me through the high grass. Eventually my little friend bolted out of the stairs, did the little static electricity rub that cats love, and then settled next me, his head on my right love handle, just hanging out. I reached over and scratched him behind the ears, which I don't think was very appreciated so I let him be. Five minutes later when I got up, I looked over for him and he had completely disappeared. It seriously freaked me out. Back inside the house, eventually I got bored and walked over to The Grog & Tankard, scouting out a band to fill a slot at Velvet Lounge on Aug. 24th. (However, let this be a lesson to said band. I left them my phone number and the show details, but they never called until Monday morning, after I had filled the slot with another band who fit the bill better.)

Saturday was Clean the Apartment Day. After scrubbing the kitchen for a couple hours, I moved onto the bathroom. It is now completely clean.............(Sorry, we had to wait a second for the cheering from every female friend I have to die down.) After that, my new friend Richard came over, and we recorded some chord progressions on the always amazing Hammond Piper II. Here's a good pic so you get a sense of how great it truly is:

Later in the night, we went to see my guys, The Guins, at Staccato Lounge. The previous three bands were all jam bands or cover bands so it was somewhat lame. Not that I hate jam bands, but they really do need to figure out a way to keep their songs from getting too stale. One band played a song for 25 minutes. 25 minutes! It was maddening, not even Miles Davis would play a song that long, not because he couldn't but because he knew he shouldn't. Maybe these bands should get a group of people to dance right in front of the stage, and then end the song when they realize that nobody's dancing anymore? Oh yeah, they had that. Too bad I don't have pictures though. The dancing was hilarious and included me falling off of a bar stool onto a 6'4" woman, who then asked me to sign the band's mailing list. I think I've already addressed this topic. (Hilarity Highlight: My friend signed up as phishisover@jerrysdead.com.)

The third band from Saturday night at Staccato played three of the most ambitious covers ever, "Castles Made of Sand" (my favorite Hendrix song by far), "Superstitious" (which I still haven't seen covered well, only adequately), and "The Ocean" by Led. "The Ocean" cover was really good, but I've always seen it as an odd cover choice when it comes to gettin' the Led out. (I don't know if I actually believe that or just wanted to write "gettin' the Led out.") The best part came when they started the song, my friends immediately stopped their hippy-dancing antics and tuned in. I guess The Led is the tie that binds. Too bad this band's set was 1 hour, 15 minutes long, incurring my wrath with the bartenders, who, as always at Staccato, were class acts. The Guins, consummate professionals, played their hearts out like always, even opening up with a choreographed cover of T.Rex's "Cosmic Dancer." I've already written about this, but Saturday night, I felt pretty proud of them, rocking as they were.

I left a little drunk and got caught up in an "incident" with a drunk girl who refused to pay her cab fare. Virginians, if you're going to come into the city, please learn the Cab Zone System. Otherwise, you get what you deserve. This was my second truly great cab ride in as many weekends. Last weekend, I got free fare home because I rode around for an hour, helping the cab driver con Northern Virginians into rides to the Metro, for only $10 a pop. Much the same situation this time, but with different, more hilarious results, including me, laughing terribly, pointing out of the window and saying, "Yes, we're laughing at you." It was deserved, trust me. I ended up getting $2 off my fare for "being cool." Thanks, cab driver!

Sunday was pretty uneventful. I taught my new student, who's continuing to perform better and better every lesson, but mainly just lay around the apartment, regretting my decision to cancel the cable modem. I started reading Chuck Klosterman's new book, "Killing Yourself to Live: 85% of a True Story." So far, it's a doozy. I don't think it's as good as "Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs" but definitely better, at least in the beginning, than "Fargo Rock City."

Today so far has been pretty great. I altered my commute this morning to drive through the Chinatown warehouse/market district. It's almost like taking a left turn into Beijing, with nothing written in English, forklifts wizzing by at astonishing rates, people carrying sticks of dead, unfeathered chickens or bags full of ginger, rice and noodles strapped to their backs, plus it all has a very Communist feel to it. I got some good news this morning, followed by booking Bang Bang Bang into that slot on Aug. 24th. Those guys are really great and I've been wanting to see them forever. Finally, here's my commute soundtrack from this morning:
1. "Cascade Range" by The Strugglers (forthcoming, but damn, Randy, that song is amazing.)
2. "Knives Out" by Radiohead
3. "Theologians" by Wilco
4. "Sunday" by Sonic Youth
5. "AM180" by Grandaddy
(6. Then I listened to Howard Stern, but it was really racist and I didn't want to hear that sort of chatter.)
7. "A Summer Wasting" by Belle and Sebastian
8. "Tom Courteney" by Yo la Tengo
9. "The Wanton Song" by Led Zeppelin (For that crucial moment when, in order to merge into my turn lane, I must be doing at least 75 mph in order to beat out those cars coming onto Rt.50 from the Beltway. "Hot for Teacher" is also really good motivation for this moment.)
10. "Deceptacon" by Le Tigre
11. "Cold Blooded Old Times" by Smog (which is the perfect song for pulling into the parking lot on Monday morning.)

It doesn't get much better than that.

Life Beside the Stage

2005-08-04T09:03:00.000-05:00

"So you're not in the band?"

I hear that same question every time one of my bands plays. The funny thing is, I can also predict how good or bad a venue experience will be by how they treat me after hearing my answer. After explaining that I only manage and placed my band on this bill or put together the entire bill for the booking team or owner, the good venues' door guys normally say something along the lines of, "Right on, bro. Hop in, grab a beer and come back here so I can tell you my band and give you my demo." The bad venues will say, "If you're not playing onstage, either give me $5 or get out of here." The door guys at the truly terrible venues have to ask their bosses.

I really don't mind paying the cover. My bands usually pay me back since I work for free, but there are principles involved. Besides, I do a lot of work on these shows. Free admission to see some of my favorite bands, including my own guys, is my only reward. A good venue knows that a guy like me, who does this strictly as a hobby, forms relationships with a lot of local bands and is good to know when an out-of-towner cancels three hours before a show because the van broke down in Richmond. Good venues also take care of their bands, either by booking them on bills that make sense, giving them a decent sound check, free beer, or even a full meal, not to mention money. I have yet to see a venue pay any of my bands over $200 for a small club show, but that's just how it works at this stage in their careers. The good smaller venues make up for the lack of money with the little things, even when they don't have a built-in crowd. In one extreme case, a bar in Baltimore gave a touring band enough healthy food to fill their van cooler for 3 days since the club couldn't give them much money. The band's drummer almost cried. (Drummer are ALWAYS hungry.)

On the other hand, bad venues treat everybody terribly. The door man's the kind of guy who saw "Road House" too many times. There's excessive "Security." The bartender's too busy flirting with coeds and doesn't fill half the orders he should. The bathrooms haven't been cleaned in two weeks and rats live under the stove. There's absolutely no show promotion from the club, not a even a free ad mentioning the show in the local alternative weekly. While customers are not happy with the bar, it's not like the bar cares because the customers aren't regulars. There are no regulars. On top of this, the sound is horrible, with no PA, no monitors, no sound guy (leaving the band, or even worse, me to do all the mixing), and there's usually either some cheesy light fixture bought in haste at Radioshack or huge, white lights that could fry eggs. Finally, the bad venue pays out only the barest minimum to the band, while refusing to reveal the trigonometric equation used to determine the amount paid. I've seen more than a few bands walk out of a bad venue with a mere $4 for two hours' work.

Different bands handle the low pay in a variety of ways. Lately, there was a famous incident at a local club (one of the good ones actually) where an out-of-town band, disappointed in their low pay, stole almost $1000 worth of mics and other equipment. Not only did the club owner call the next six stops of their tour and have the shows cancelled, but the staff appeared at the band's next appearance in Baltimore, threatening to beat the shit out of the band unless the equipment was returned. The band got so scared that they essentially called the cops on themselves. The next day, the thieving kid returned the equipment to the club, with the news that not only had he been kicked out of his band, but their tour was completely cancelled and they were limping home to Georgia. Instead of choosing this terrible route, bands should realize that the only way to deal with a bad venue is to never play there again. Eventually, the club will dig itself into a hole with the local music scene and either change themes or close down. Bad venues never turn into good venues, unless ownership or management changes hands. While nearly every club is a mix of both good and bad, the key is finding the ones that suit your style of music with the most good qualities.

*Just one caveat here. I personally love the dirty rock club, as my friends can attest. It's in a basement, smells terrible, everybody smokes, people are taking whiskey shots and talking jive or dancing oddly, teenagers are smoking pot in the awful bathrooms, there's something heavy onstage, be it the band or the 10,000 megawatt sound artillery system, and everybody, even the arrogant record store employee, is loving every minute of it.*

Of course, at any show, the best part of the night comes when my band hits the stage. Not only am I watching them, but I'm keeping an eye on the crowd. Which songs make them dance? At what point in the set does everyone herd towards the bathroom or bar? Which songs make people want to smoke? Which songs provoke the DC-patented "I'm not dancing but my knee, neck and shoulders really like this song" response? I only point out these specific things because every set for any musician has a bathroom break song, a "time for a beer" song and finally, a "let's all light a smoke" song. The last one always cracks me up, because the smoke song usually comes after the best song, like the audience has just collectively got done having sex. Don't believe me? Watch for it at your next concert.

However, the most important thing I do is look for the crowd members who seem to be enjoying the show the most. I always talk to those people and their friends after the set and usually introduce them to the bands. This is the best way to build a fanbase. Any time a casual fan can tell someone else that they "know the guys in the band," they'll come to every show and bring their friends, unless they were friends with the band before they started gigging. Those guys will only show up for the first two or three shows and then they're on their own.

Sure, a few things about managing bands sucks. First, you have to deal with a lot of ego. Rock n Roll has fulfilled Lester Bangs' prophesy by becoming an "Industry of Cool." Cool is an almost palpable commodity, and dealing with people who buy into it can be a pain. The only way to beat this is to stay relentlessly natural. Second, I used to get stuck soliciting email addresses for the mailing list. I've cut this out, mainly because if someone wants to sign the list, they'll walk over and do it themselves. Otherwise, most people just look at me like I have a nametag reading "Spammy McGee." Third, and possibly the worst, sometimes I'll get stuck sitting through some Blink 182 rip-off band or an acoustically-armed Jason Mraz wannabe with songs bad enough to make the hair on my arms stick straight up. However, these problems are easily endured with a little patience and some high-decibel count ear plugs. Everyday I get to test my intellect and talent to solve ever-changing problems. Most times, patience and persistance are my best weapons.

The biggest payoff comes when seeing my bands blossom into a great live act. There's nothing better than seeing a room full of people caught up in the moment of one of their songs, eyes closed, dancing, laughing, or sometimes even singing along. At that moment I realize why I do this; I'm helping bring something wonderful out into the open. After really good gigs, I walk up to help the guys offstange and give them the silliest grin that no amount of posturing can hide. I hope they appreciate it when they see it. It's the highest compliment I can give.

Finally, my absolute favorite part of doing this is all of the great people I get to meet. Whether they're other musicians, booking for clubs, making posters, or projecting films onto the sides of skyscrapers from moving vans, these people always have some great piece of advice or some new philosophy to explore, both professional and personally. I want to thank them all as they really make this whole experience worthwhile and hope that even when I stop managing (which will probably be sooner rather than later with grad school application time approaching), we'll continue to forge amazing friendships.

Tuesday Morning Blogging, Version 2.0

2005-08-02T09:24:00.000-05:00

I'm bored at work, so here's a few thoughts:

1. I said goodbye to a friend last night. Hopefully, we'll see each again sooner rather than later, but until then, as always be safe out there on the road, good luck and godspeed.

2. Today is my friend's birthday. Happy Birthday, Vitamin C!

3. I wrote a little while ago about Mt. Rushmore. Apparently, the faces got washed but did they really have to bring up Honest Abe's not-so-honest coke addiction? I mean, he went to rehab like three times for that:

4. Here's some more "Knowledge" from those zany Scientologists. I'm fascinated by their "Wall of Fire." People, I beg you, please do not go read about this on the Internet though. Unless properly prepared, it could kill you by pneumonia or emsomnia! I would've done it myself as I've braved the highest valleys and the lowest mountains, but Tuesday morning is no time to take my life in hand. Other tidbits:

In OT Level-7, which is no longer in use by the Church (yeah, ok), this is Exercise 48:

1. Find some plants, trees, etc., and communicate to them individually until you know they received your communication.
2. Go to a zoo or a place with many types of life and communicate with each of them until you know the communication is received and, if possible, returned.

Wow. I also learned this about cats:

"Blinkers." Yes, these are part of one of the invader forces. We do teach that human beings have their origins elsewhere than earth. The invader forces are part of that history. They were not made by performing genetic engineering on earth cats, though. They come from another planetary system. Earth cats have a small component of their DNA. DId you ever wonder why cats are so unlike other animals? Did you know that aspirin is toxic to cats? Well now you know why.

Double Wow. Thanks for the information, Looney McInsaneski. I'm now going to the neighborhood pet store to buy a cat and name him "Blinkers the Evil DNA'd Earth Cat."

5. I'm trying this ASAP. The pictures alone are hilarious. Finally, something Fred S., his wife Frieda and I can do as a family. Too bad I'm the hunter and they're the prey. Squirrel Fishing!

Salon.com Arts & Entertainment | I Like to Watch

2005-08-01T10:21:00.000-05:00

Salon.com Arts & Entertainment | I Like to Watch

"[TV show] 'Rock Star' doesn't mean that rock 'n' roll is dead. It just means that God is dead."

Ms. Havrilesky is one of my favorite Internet columnists for a reason.

Right Turns Down Wrong Streets

2005-07-29T12:55:00.000-05:00

After being surrounded by sympathetic friends and family for the better part of the past week, last night I decided that since I've got the apartment to myself for the next couple of days, I would just stay in and decompress. Of course, there was nothing to write since my home internet hook-up has apparently been on vacation for two weeks. The "night in to relax" always sounds good on paper but rarely works out in reality. By 9PM, I was laid out on the couch, bored out of my mind, reading Radar magazine (still don't know what to think of it) and listening to old, mid-90s Sonic Youth at louder volumes than the moment prescribed. The ants were crawling all over my forlorn dinner plate and ocassionally venturing up my arm, making nap-time impossible. Since my roommate is more allergic to cleaning than a dog is to chocolate, my apartment was invaded by thousands of tiny, black snowmen with legs while I was gone. I'd cleaned the entire apartment earlier after work so now the leftover ants were desperate for anything, especially the apple core abandoned on the plate.

Television on Wednesday night sucks. Feeling bored and a little bit sad, I moved to the floor where I lay staring at my upside-down book shelf. Usually I'll just lie there and stare up at the books, trying to remember which have been completely read ("On the Road" goes without saying), partially read and how much I actually did read or why I stopped ("Paper Tiger" 63 pages b/c I just wasn't in the mood at the time), or never even touched except to move from apartment to apartment ("In Exile from the Land of Snows" it was a gift which means there's a 90% chance I won't read it but I hear it's good.) Curiously, my gaze fell upon an oversized blue, shiny spine and I had to think for a minute to place it in my library. First my leg twitched, then my shoulder swung wide and I was semi-up, slugging across the floor towards the book shelf, wheedling through the stack of forgotten Miles Davis photo-journals to pull out the mysterious book. It was my George Washington High School Senior Yearbook. Wow. I'd forgotten I'd carted it around from dorm room to one apartment after another since leaving Danville in 1996.

Reading through the signatures hastily signed in hallways and courtyards, I notice the same buzzwords repeatedly, "such a sweet guy," "keep in touch," "don't give up your music." However, "it's been great getting to know so much this year" sticks out the most. Thinking back, I guess that schoolyear and the summer before represented some sort of awakening both socially and personality-wise. No longer the shy kid, I remember boldly entering parties of the popular-elite, weed-toking hippies, or pimply band geeks, all with the same gusto and verve that lately has been relegated to only my brightest of days. I miss that ability to chat up anybody and form some sort of connection with them, however tenuous but regardless of wildly differing background, interests or cultural differences. Age and experience have their drawbacks as well.

Missing among the signatures are many of my fellow alumni that I now regard among my best friends from back home. I realized that I really didn't know them that well then. Only after the next party-filled summer and subsequent visits home from school had we grown to know each other. It's nice to think of those friendships as they formed, how much stronger they became once the shackle of high school class warfare was released. Sheer circumstance leads to friendship ninety-nine percent of the time. Sure, most say proximity as well but rarely is a good friendship planned. That's one of my favorite facts of life. (Sorry Natalie, seat taken.)

However, I also noticed that many times, I had trouble placing faces to the names. People who thought I was "smart" and "fun" were forgotten, at least until I looked up their picture. How many friendships do we heave over the side in order to pave way for new ones? Coming across a huge glossy of my high school friend Lyndsay Gillespie, I had to think when I last saw her. Seven years ago? Then, Lyndsay and I were really good friends. She played trumpet with me in the band and, especially during my senior year, became my partner in crime. Signed next to her photograph, she wrote, "Max, You are my favorite 'man in band.' I'll miss you so much next year. You simply must return to visit in order for me to smile. I hate you for going to UVa." among other things, scrawled across almost a full page and continuing onto the next. Seeing this made my nose crinkle to expose a silly grin. During my junior year at UVa, she confessed that, even though she was now all but engaged, she'd had a crush on me in high school. Looking at this now, how did I not realize that? It's not surprising that I didn't as I'm still pretty dumb in matters of love.

Even still, seeing this picture of Lyndsay made me remember our afternoon of big-time mischief, skipping class in order to sneak into extra-curricular activity yearbook photos for groups to which we never belonged. Hunting through each group photo, I found a few of them. There we are, members of the Math Club who never attended a single Math-stravaganza. Again, appearing in the backrow of the Future Farmers of America, Lyndsay actually holding my arm to keep me from running, thinking we'd been busted. Lyndsay, solo in the Drama Guild, shooting a gun at the camera with a cheeky wink at me, off-camera because I refused to look like "that much of a dork." (I remember actually saying that. I mean, I was in the marching band and I still said that...)

Finally, the coup de grace, Lyndsay and I both, in the very center of the picture, flaunting our crime for all to see with our Future Business Leaders of America pals, big, silly fake grins on our faces, flashing a thumbs up to the camera, cat-a-corner style. Needless to say, at this point my current self burst into a huge laughing fit, despite my empty apartment. I seem to remember that we were in a bunch more but the yearbook staff got tired of our antics and clipped us out of the rest. I also remember Lyndsey telling me that she tried again the next year but she was being watched as we'd inspired a whole slew of copycats, forcing the school to take roll before group shots. Some say pride is a sin.

I don't know how to end this entry. It's strange, the things I remember when looking back, the events that took place, forgotten lessons, and circumstances that I only now realize have shaped me into the man I am today. That's a pretty grand statement, a cliche wrapped in sentiment. However, for the most part, my only regrets are the people that have faded over the years. I've been spending a lot of time in my hometown as of late, both voluntary and not, walking the streets of downtown Main Street and photographing personal landmarks of my childhood. Danville has captured my heart again, making me no longer ashamed to call it my hometown, secreting it away from my everyday life as a sort of refuge. I guess last night my yearbook did much the same as I got the best night's sleep I've had since last Thursday.

Thanks everybody!

2005-07-28T09:43:00.000-05:00

I'd just like to say thanks to everybody for their calls, prayers and even flowers (wow, guys) over the past few days. For those who don't know, my grandfather passed away last Saturday. Your kind thoughts and regards really helped my family and me through a tough time. I'm happy to say that everything went off as swimmingly as possible, with an outpouring of support and kindness from friends, meeting relatives I hadn't seen since I was 5, and even a kind butterfly who stopped by to offer her condolances to my mom during the graveside service (which was truly bizarre and I might write about later.) Thanks again.

Friday Night Disco Lights

2005-07-22T09:17:00.000-05:00

If anybody's looking for something to do tonight, I'll be here:

In other news, I just got out of a 2 hour meeting. Check out my notes:

Might as well be a bullseye! Woohoo Count = llll\ll

I chew pencil leads to get stoned
Through the wood, bites to the bone
It makes my teeth tingle
Let's mingle!

Why are we here, my dear
These pretty colors are not clear
I cannot hear
Let's be brief.

Why am I here? x3

This has nothing to do with anything I actually do. Why can't that woman's water break so we can all get out of here?

/end notes.

Everybody have a great weekend!

Peace Corps

2005-07-21T16:08:00.000-05:00

Peace Corps

I just decided that if I don't get into grad school next year, I'm joining the Peace Corps. I like to go live somewhere in Southeast Asia for a couple of years and help people. People are not meant to spend 1/3 of their day trapped in a cubicle. Sure, it's extreme, but when I'm knee deep in rice paddies, building an aqueduct with nothing but a shovel and a hat, maybe I'll be happy again.*

*I wrote that yesterday. Damn, cubicle boredom really had me down. That's a bit much even for me!

Lunch-time Blogging

2005-07-21T11:03:00.000-05:00

I'm bored at work so I thought I'd do a little blogging:

"I'm keeping the painting. It was a gift."

Wedding Crashers is everything I expected. Sure, the middle gets a little drawn out, but damn, it's funny. They used double-punchlines viciously, starting the giggling with the first and then knocking me out with the second. I missed two really good comebacks b/c I was already laughing. Brilliant! My roommate had two things to say afterwards:
1. "The funny part is that I've now taken Vince Vaughn's drinking and smoking, somewhat sleazy movie characters as role models." So true.
2. "How many people do you think will be arrested for crashing weddings this summer?" A lot.

My Vince Vaughn/Will Ferrell/Ben Stiller/Wilson Brothers comedy troupe of movies Top 5 must be updated (they all must contain at least 2 of the above):

1. Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story ("Later...dater.")
2. Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy (This is really a tie with Dodgeball.)
3. Wedding Crashers
4. Old School (I think I've just seen it too many times.)
5. The Royal Tenenbaums (Maybe not as funny as Zoolander, but I love this movie. It's one of my Top 10 Favorites Since 2000.)

I'm hesitant to include Wedding Crashers so early, but it was that good. We'll see how if I still feel the same way after I've watched it 20 times, like the rest of them.

Other thoughts:
I no longer have internet access at home. The person with the wireless connection must've moved away or gotten wise to us, but the weird thing is that I was pretty certain it was the Glover Park community wireless. I need to do some research.

I've had a really good week right up until today. I'm just really bored and no one's online yet to chat. Btw, if somebody out there ever feels the same way, my AOL IM is tacopronto68 and I'm here 9-5. Plus, they've stopped selling both my brands of deodorant and ear plugs at the grocery store next to the office. The ear plugs really bother me because they were perfect. They were minus-22 decibel count (perfect for live shows, no muffling just reduction) and really comfortable. I've never seen those kind anywhere else so I've got no choice but the minus-30 white foam that are really uncomfortable and I usually throw out halfway through a show. This is not good.

Some woman in lunchroom today started hassling me about my packed lunch. Granted, stapling the tops of plastic bags together, each respectively containing an apple, a PB&J sandwich and patato chips, might be a bit low-class, but are lunchboxes or other lunch organizers required post-elementary school? It'd be like having a Trapper Keeper instead of a briefcase or maybe the other way around, but who really cares? Leave my lunchtime accessories, or lack thereof, alone.

I need some new jokes. Almost all of my friends have already heard the Big Five. These include the infamous pirate joke, Michael Jackson/Neil Armstrong, rednecks and the bag of chickens, rednecks playing 20 questions, and the cop with the radar gun. However, I have added "tally ho" and "garden hoe" to the repertoire.

I'm Just a Boy With a New Haircut

2005-07-20T07:49:00.000-05:00

And that's a pretty nice haircut.

I like to call this one "Charlie Bucket Does Acid."

Now, if only somebody would "hit me like a puzzle."

Weekend in Danville

2005-07-18T12:24:00.000-05:00

I went home this weekend after what has amounted to the longest break from visiting Danville I've ever taken, around 5-6 months (I'm not entirely sure of the date of my last visit.) It was actually fun, for the most part. Sure, there was the usual Danville sketchy factor, but that always seems to happen. I returned home with a few of those good Danville Stories my friends love to hear, along with a little bit of my old accent. They always hear my accent and get tempted to join me for a trip home sometime. Next visit, I know for a fact I'm bringing a couple of the gang back with me, just so they can get the full experience, hopefully sometime in October after the humidity's fallen.

First, I got tricked by a conspiracy between my mom and my barber and now almost all of my hair is gone. Still, I kinda like going short every now again, at least during the summer, but my hair had fans, you know? Oh well, Rolfe Diamond WILL live to fight another day. I came to work this morning and my assistants were calling me "Ringo" so I guess it's not all that bad. I can deal with being a 1965 Beatle, if necessary. It's a big shock to everybody so far. My friend gave me a big hug this morning and said she knows I'm sad about it but she's happy she can see my eyes again.

Friday night was weird. I don't like being sober at night in Danville, especially at parties b/c I always feel a little too old, even more so when I realize that I'm talking to gorgeous 18 year-old girls who I taught how to swim when they were 7. However, the rousing reception I received from my friends really made me happy. I enjoy being cheered from time to time. I love seeing those guys and just hanging out, getting all caught up and enjoying ourselves. Dad and I went fishing early Saturday morning and caught about 100 fish, but they were all pretty small. Reidsville Lake is really beautiful and I'm mad that I forgot to take the camera in the boat. I visited my grandpa at the nursing home that afternoon. He really surprised me with his quick wit as I hadn't seen him that coherent and excited to see me since he first got sick a couple of years ago, cracking jokes and asking how many girls I was seeing this time. I was tempted to bust him out and go for a drive in the country like we used to, but it just wasn't in the cards. Apparently, Mom hipped the nurses to my old ways and they kept a strict eye on us. The instant I nonchalantly walked over to the wheel chair, our visit became somewhat supervised by nurses who were "just straightening things up." Oh well. Saturday night was fun. I met some new friends, saw my buddy Sparky's blues band, Maxwell Streets, and even danced a little. I know, I couldn't believe it either but I'm not going to turn down a girl twice when she just needs to dance. Sorry for the toes! That night ended in a bit of the usual Danville sketchiness, but all I'll say is that helping out people in need is both a gift and a curse sometimes. Luckily, someone's forlorn puppy apparently wandered by and helped out a bit.

Sunday morning started super-early (again) with my dad and I working on the car. I was a bit bleary-eyed and more than a bit hungover, but Martha the Jeep needed a tune up. Once we put in the new spark plugs and fixed the belt so it didn't scream all the time, we realized that it was well past time for a new muffler. Martha now sounds like a chorus of my friends from last summer, who visit every 17 years. Therefore, Martha, I christen thee "The Flying Cicada." However, whatever we did really improved gas mileage, so I can stand the rattle if my neighbors can as well. I also went to church. Here's where I write the part about Christianity and I not getting along and how I've been ejected from the Methodist church one too many times to forgive, organized religion bad, etc., etc., but you get the point. My childhood piano teacher, Bob Capen officially retired after the service and afterwards we had a reception. Bob has impacted my life in so many different ways. Everytime I sit down to teach a new student, I'm reminded of the lessons he taught me that I'm now passing on. I was a terror as a student, committing sins that my own students have paid me back tenfold. But, now as a teacher, I completely see the necessity of even my most hated of his lessons and can now appreciate him even more. Since moving away, I always try to stop by and have lunch with him when I'm in town and we've had some of my favorite conversations about life and the art of making music while slowly munching on peanut butter-filled celery stalks. I know that, while we'll continue to be friends and I'll always visit his garden in Greensboro on my way to Moore's Music, I'll miss him playing some crazy toccata or rare requiem on the organ the next time I'm trapped in a pew. As he finished his last official recessional piece, by Felix Mendelsohn (on of my favorite composers b/c he's also Bob's favorite), my mom cried. I'll admit, it was a little emotional for me too. The drive home was nice and lazy, including a brief stopover in a Charlottesville to say hi to a couple people and a lucky break from a state trooper (I didn't even have to namedrop!).

I'm working on a more serious article to post here rather than the usual prattle about how I spend my time. Of course, I got absolutely no work done on that this weekend but look out for it sometime this week.

Random stuff

2005-07-12T15:41:00.000-05:00

Apparently Mordecai from Royal Tenenbaums is just as excited about returning to space as I am. He just had to get a closer look, I guess.

Other random thoughts from today:

Does anyone else think that I could make a killing selling "Jesus Sandals" to born-agains?
Just imagine the possibilities. "You'll be literally walking on water in our patented, aqua-filled soles."
Blasphemous, I know.

My favorite line from this article is "People will believe anything the media writes about, but, yeah, it's true." (paraphrased)

Bizarre Sex Habits of the Extreme Right-Wing
Maybe they should check out my post on fainting goats? (see the archives...) Can't you see that? Some slackjaw and his son walking through a Georgia fainting goat pasture. "AHHHHHH! Alright, Bubba, she's down. Give 'er all ya got, boy!"

Several days later... "Mr. Sanders, I caught your son Bubba out in my goat fields the other day. I just got Billy Jean back from the vet, and well, there's some good news and some bad news, Grandpa..." But there is NO way that goat's having an abortion, let me tell ya. I need to get away from this line of thinking before it turns into a sitcom...

Remember, The Guins tonight at Velvet Lounge, 9:30PM. Be there or be damned.
(Yes, I'm bored at work today.)

Notes from the weekend...

2005-07-11T09:03:00.000-05:00

Just a few thoughts from this weekend...

Is Karl Rove on his way out? Do you think he knows the level of his own evil or is he just willing to break a few laws to further his own agenda? In an normal, reality-based administration, he'd be history but these guy have shown that they're willing to do anything to win, including commit felonies, so I really don't know.

I wrote a bad joke:

Q: What do you call a loose woman who works out at a gym?
A: A Bally Ho.

Middle Distance Runner is a good band.

Weekend of Rock, Part II

2005-07-07T07:41:00.000-05:00

Earlier I didn't get to finish writing the second half of my amazing weekend of rock. I'll be sorta brief.

After waiting around for gang members to get back from Delaware, Sunday night started off at my friend Nan's cookout. In a stroke of genius, she'd decided to throw a big bash at her house prior to that night's show at Iota, partly to gather the troops in one place before heading over to the show at Iota that night (which she was promoting) but mostly just for fun. I met a whole slew of wonderful people but most noticeably the guys from Middle Distance Runner, playing this Saturday at DC9, and Thao Nyugen, whose music is amazing and will be playing with my childhood buddy, Neil Allen aka The Virginia Reel, at Galaxy Hut on July 25th. However, as most of my friends know, I can't pass up the opportunity to play with a dog, so the biggest highlight was throwing tennis balls and otherwise horsing around with Nan's black lab, Caroline. She's a great dog!

After a brief interlude at the Indian food deli, we arrived at Iota. I really like this club. It sounds great, the layout is strangely intimate with really great artwork, a small load-bearing wall in the middle, giving people a lot of corners in which to hide plus there's a sidebar and a patio in case your ears need a break as it's pretty loud. They also play intermission music that I really like. During the band changes Sunday night, we got The Thrills, Belle and Sebastien and even a little Smog (I think.)

The lineup for the night, in order of appearance, was Brice Woodall (his name makes me think of car dealership, Brice-Woodall Chevolet), The Revival, The Cassettes, and Cartel. Brice was really good. I'd met him earlier at the party. He plays solo acoustic onstage which he livens up a bit with a sampler that plays drum beats and a backing track. While his choice of hats was rather unfortunate (that short brimmed army cap that everyone seems to be wearing on the indie scene), his music was well-crafted and he even incorporated hand claps, but I'd be really interested to hear him with a live backing band. He's gearing up for a move to Chicago, which must be turning into the new Brooklyn. I can't say I blame him though as he'll fit in perfectly there.

The Revival was up next. Apparently the lead singer's back-up had run off on tour with another singer-songwriter and forgot to tell him until after he confirmed for this show. He was really good, with exceptional stage banter. My favorite quote was "I'm going to finish this one off with a ballad." They were all ballads. I guess it was more the delivery. Even still, the big British guitar sound he got from a Orange amp head filled up the background nicely and his lyrics, while strained, sounded really genuinely and were well-written. I enjoyed his set and hope to hear him with his full band soon.

At this point in the show, I've got to paint a bit of a picture. The stage is fairly big for a small club stage. However, from the very beginning, there was very little room to maneuver b/c it was literally littered with small instruments and various pieces of odd equipment. From stage left to right, there was an accordion, a Moog, a violin, something flat on legs that I wasn't quite sure about, then the big Orange cab, a drum with a bicycle horn and the smallest kick drum I've ever seen, a steel electric guitar, and a standup bass. Turned out, this was The Cassettes stage setup. When they hit the stage, what followed was 45 minutes of some of the weirdest yet entertaining music I've seen since I first saw The Make Up live. The Cassettes' whole gimmick surrounds them as a group of former Russian Slavic sailors, or something in that vein. They all wear somewhat strange, old-timey costumes onstage, replete with handlebar mustaches and play the whole bit out to the nines. The music reminds me a lot of The Decembrists in that it plays on that strange line between new and experimental while narrative and antiquated at the same time. The mystery object towards the rear of the stage turned out to be a homemade theramin, played by the abled Arthur, who once played homemade instruments at planetariums and later regaled us with one of his own bawdy tunes. Their quirky energy filled the air and held the crowd in its thrall the entire set. For the second time in 2 nights, I was genuinely sad when a band announced their last song. Amazing.

The last band was another well-hyped DC band, Cartel. I really don't have much to say about them. Their set paled in comparison to The Cassettes and I truly felt bad for them having to follow that act. Again, like The Bonapartes, they just seem to be following the Interpol music standard with very little interesting deviation. Beyond their outstanding first song, "Fleets," I just lost interest since the songs ran together so easily (re: sounded the same.) The one thing about them I really didn't understand is that for a few songs, the lead singer allowed the guitarist/keyboardist to sing the lead parts. The only problem with this is that the second guy's voice sounds like a worse version of lead's voice. Why even bother? The other guy was also miming his lyrics to the crowd, which I consider the lowest of low-class moves. Save it for dinner theater, pal. I passed most of their time out on the back patio, talking about bad British business cards with cheesy tartans and the emergence of zombie dogs with the guys from The Cassettes. (*However, I listened to Cartel's EP this morning and it was promising, plus their last song Sunday night was brand new and it gave me hope to still expect good things from them.*)

CNN.com - New York Times reporter jailed - Jul 6, 2005

2005-07-06T16:16:00.000-05:00

CNN.com - New York Times reporter jailed - Jul 6, 2005

Judith Miller is in jail. There IS a god.

Now, before people start jumping all over me and making speeches about the First Amendment, etc., let's stop and just consider what exactly is going on here in this particular case. Basically, the anonymous source in this case used his own free speech to punish others, namely Amb. Wilson and his wife, Valerie Plame, for using their own right to free speech to refute claims made by the Bush Administration using proven fact. There might have been fatal consequences for his actions, something which we'll probably never know since her outing could have exposed hundreds of inside sources, Chinese scientists, diplomatic hideouts, etc. This is not like the time Murphy Brown went to jail to protect her source at the contaminated food factory simply b/c the man could not afford to lose his job. (And you remember that episode correctly, you'll remember that Murphy was later screwed over b/c her source refused to testify against his company b/c they gave him a big, fat raise and left her to rot in jail. I hope Judith Miller saw that episode.)

Plus we all know it was Karl Rove. I always laugh a little when I see his name in print. Isn't it a little unfortunate for such a wannabe conservative icon to share a first name with the founder of Socialism? Why didn't he drop the K for a C a long time ago?

Final question, can someone tell me why Bob Novak isn't in jail as well?

Weekend of Rock

2005-07-05T10:39:00.000-05:00

This weekend, I decided to stick around DC and take my alter-ego, Rolfe Diamond, out for a spin. He likes aviator sunglasses so once I'd found the perfect pair, I hit the town with a few musicians and started hunting for a good show. Starting at Velvet Lounge, they were taking forever to get started and we really wanted to see Greenland, a local act that's been playing a lot of shows lately. Since they were taking forever and Greenland was second, we ran across the street to my favorite venue, DC9 (although I am biased now), and caught the first band, The Pawns, who'd just moved up to Williamsburg, Brooklyn (no comment.) They were good, but at first I was really non-plussed b/c every song sounded like they'd just taken the bridge from a popular indie rock song and straightened it out in a full song. One song in particular was just the bridge from "Spiders" by Wilco, which is really awesome, but then they just made it the verse and wrote a new chorus/bridge. It's something that's easy to do so I didn't judge them too badly for it. (*correction* I was just informed that this is part of their schtick, which explains a lot.) Even so, they made up for it with their rock n roll moves and the amount of energy they put into their set. I always enjoy a good band who's willing to have some fun! They also live right down the street from El Pollo Loco in Brooklyn, which serves one of my favorite chicken dishes. I spoke with them briefly after the show and they were all good dudes.

So after that set, it was back to Velvet Lounge for Greenland's set. However, when we got there some crappy, Jason Mraz-bought-an-electric-guitar-to-sing-for-the-ladies band from NoVA was playing. The booker had changed the bill lineup the night of the gig and we'd missed our band! Ridiculous but really, what else can you expect from Velvet Lounge these days? That place is going downhill fast. First, some out of towners steal all of the mics b/c the club refused to pay them, and secondly, all they'll book are these crappy NoVA bands with a Greek draw. What do you expect? There's other clubs out there, people, and might I suggest Warehouse Next Door? I went there last week and saw three of the most original sets I've seen in a long time, on a Monday to boot!

Met some more friends outside and back to DC9 we went. Hello Tokyo was onstage and they were great. Their lead singer was really awesome and, man, can she bite a finger. Unfortunately, they'd also recently left DC for Williamsburg, Brooklyn (again, no comment.) The Bonapartes were up next and I grabbed a booth seat b/c I really wanted to listen to this band without overhearing "Tiffany" talking to her booty call on her cell during the entire set. The Bonapartes were alright. I'd been expecting so much more from them due to the sheer amount of hype they're getting around town from both club booker and press. They sound like Interpol. That's about all I have to say. It just didn't come off as terribly original. I enjoyed it, they were good at what they did, but I was just holding out hope for something original that obviously wasn't in the works. This is a big problem with DC music in general, and I really wish somebody could get their own thing started. A few are trying, namely The Guins (*disclaimer) and Thomas Lunch and the Drugs (a fairly new band I just heard yesterday that needs to play some live shows as I'm interested to seeing them live.)

Finally (finally!), The Hint took the stage. I'm now an enthusiastic fan. For the first time in forever, I was sincerely sad when a band announced their final song. Jesus. They were a monster. First off, they're a little Strokes-y without being shallow. They dress like Marc Bolan from T.Rex. Their songs are well-crafted and they pull off their live show without coming across as cheesy. I can't say enough good things. It was one of those performances where you find yourself having so much fun that you find it impossible to remember all the little details b/c you were so caught up in the moment. Telograph has a show with them at Galaxy Hut in August and I just can't wait!

http://www.thehint.com

We ended the night eating ribs these guys were grilling up on the corner of Vermont and U Street. Apparently they're opening a soul food joint for the late night set and were trying to spark some interest. They got my attention; $5 of their ribs fed me for 2 days! Amazing. I hope they deliver...

Salon.com Arts & Entertainment | Missionary man

2005-07-01T08:49:00.000-05:00

Salon.com Arts & Entertainment | Missionary man

I'm oddly fascinated by Scientology. This Salon article is the first in a series of four and offers a really good explanation about just what's going on. It's just so freaking crazy. I mean, an alien warlord brought the bodies of aliens from across the universe to Earth and then set off all of the worlds volcanos at once, freeing their souls which later settled into our bodies? What? Yesterday I was horrified to learn that both Beck and Jason Lee were $cientologists.

My Radio Station @ Yahoo

2005-06-30T09:13:00.000-05:00

Hey guys. If you need something to listen to, I've got a radio station set up over at Launch.com/Yahoo Music. I've spent a little time setting up the rankings and all that so it should be pretty good. Just beware, they throw in randoms every now and again so I can't take responsibility if something terrible shows up in the mix! (Click the title link for this post to get there...)

Fisher Price: My First Concert

2005-06-22T20:33:00.000-05:00

I was reading bulletins over on myspace and one caught my eye, entitled "1st Concert." People who replied had listed their first concert experience. I added Lollapalooza 92 as my entry. I had just turned 14 and went with my buddy Andrew and his brother Clinton, who years later actually became my brother as well... in-law, that is.

But then I started thinking about it. I was completely skipping over two of the defining moments of my young life. At age 3-6, not sure which one, but sometime around there because I remember I had one of those big UVa bandages on my head, one of my "Egyptian turbans" as my Mom called them (I was big into Egypt, ninjas and dinosaurs as a kid), I saw the man himself, Ray Charles at Danville's Harvest Jubilee. I remember 2 songs in particular, "Georgia on my Mind" and "Baby, What I'd Say" and he wore a white tuxedo while the Rayetts wore their trademark slinky black dresses. I think this was right before the infamous Diet Pepsi commercials. Anyways, I left the concert that night and immediately envied the piano lessons that my sister received. I still sat at the piano picking out little tunes, etc., and when I was old enough, age 7, I joined Ray and my namesake muppet as a pianist and never once looked back. When I was 17, I bought my first vinyl record, a 45 single of "Baby, What I'd Say" with "I Got a Woman" on the B side from Sammy, the Downtown Record Man. I almost wore out the grooves with my dad's old 45 portable player, which was the classic 1970's brown-on-beige. I owe a lot to Ray. He taught me that handicaps ain't shit and for a kid like me, that was a big lesson to learn. I even liked the movie, although I think it glossed over some of my favorite Ray stories, like when his mistress scratched scars into his legs with her fingernails while he recorded "Georgia" because he was numbed up on heroin and needed to feel something in order to play, even if it was intense pain, or another about how the pilots used to let him fly the tour planes, basing his steering on the difference in sound pitch between the wings.

However, there's another first concert, about six months before Lollapalooza '92. C.O.D. at Playground Pizza, Danville, Virginny. I was a 13 year-old burgeoning skate punk who'd just discovered Mad Dog 20/20 (on a Boy Scout camping trip, no less) and Newports. It was New Year's Eve. My mom dropped T, Jay and I off at 8PM and one unlucky parent was going to pick us up on their way home from the grown-ups' party at 12:30AM. Where does one begin to describe Playground Pizza?

Do you remember the scene in "Dazed and Confused" when Mitch first goes to the Emporium? That's about as close a comparison as I can make, but in 1992 instead of 1976. Restaurant booths and pool tables full of hustlers in the back with the all important cigarette vending machine, arcade machines off to the left and a small but serviceable stage in the middle, back-dropped by a huge ball pit, in which several kids I now know were probably conceived. The entire place was painted yellow and red, like some kind of Chuck E. Cheese/Mickey D's nightmare. I forget which bands played but the headliner was C.O.D., fronted by the aptly named Sparky. He used to babysit me when I was a kid and no one else was available. Seth, the neighborhood cool kid/dealer, who we called "Dragon Man" due to his gnarly leg tattoo, was on drums.

Now, imagine me, the little brother of the high school's captain of the cheerleading team/soon-to-be salutatorian/goody two-shoes, hanging out with neighborhood's bad kid royalty and others I didn't know from across the River. To me, these guys had their own mythology growing around them. I was in all ways seen as the "good" kid, no more than a wee pup, but now I was smoking cigarettes, wearing my best flannel shirt (1992, people), talking ollies and kickflips while taking little baby hits off of Fast Johnny's stolen bottle of Wild Irish Rose. I'd been listening to grunge and was really into Nirvana and what not, but I'd never experienced it first hand. That night, I moshed for the first time, letting the primal angst of the 3 chord punk wash my sins away (I know, corny, but I was 13, people.) I was introduced to some of the bands that later became my best friends, Afghan Whigs, Mudhoney, Motorhead, L7, Picasso fuckin' Trigger, Pavement, The Ramones, it was an eclectic mix. Some rednecks tried to squash me like a bug in the pit and I later found out that Sparky and his little brother Matt had chased them off in the parking lot after Spark pulled his boot knife out for show and tell. I'd never felt so honored in my entire life. The older kids really took care of us pups, looked after us, hazed us when we got out of line, taught us how to wash our hands with really hot water so the smoke smell would come off and how to jig our wallet chain so it wouldn't snag on chairs. But the music just went straight to my head; it was almost what I imagine heroin to be like. "Oh shit, this is IT!" I don't think I ever experienced it in that pure form again but I've been in love with rock and, er, roll ever since. I consider that night to be something of a birthday in a different sense. My life as an underground punk kid became almost a second persona in the years to come.

Last time I was in Danville, I saw a flier advertising a C.O.D. reunion show on a Sunday. I talked to Spark, now a bluesman extraordinaire, and he said that yeah, it was happening, but unfortunately, I was unable to stick around long enough to see them play. I can't say I'm always the brightest boy...

Funny quote

2005-06-20T11:04:00.000-05:00

"I do perform cunnilingus... but it does not define me."
-Craigslist post

Who knew?

2005-06-17T23:55:00.000-05:00

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~jimknapp/goats.html

(Just so you know, that goat ain't dead.)

Blogging Rights

2005-06-16T13:04:00.000-05:00

I've decided I need to give the blog a little bit of focus. Not really that it matters since I'm pretty sure nobody reads this thing anyways but it's good practice. (It's kinda disturbing that my grammar has gotten so bad. sorry.) So, I'm going to start posting reviews of the shows I see, whether as part of the official entourage, guest listed, or as standard concert-goer. (I will, however, cop to any impartiality.) So far this week, I've seen two shows, The Pixies at Merriweather Post and Telograph (formerly known as Walken) w/ Lucia Lie and Transoceanic. I'm going to write separate reviews per show and post them soon. The Pixies show review will also include my internal debate over whether married people should still be allowed to sit in the lawn section.

Ron Howard and Cinderella Man

2005-06-15T09:32:00.000-05:00

I don't like Ron Howard, the movie director. I've never really liked anything he's ever done, including "Happy Days." His movies are always devoid of anything interesting, dumbed down to the lowest common denominator, mostly by painting all characters and conflicts into archetypical roles of good guys vs bad guys. There's never any shades of gray, and that is where humanity resides.

His latest movie, "Cinderella Man," is the Ron Howard movie that bothers me the most. In the movie, heavyweight champion Max Baer is portrayed as a pompous bastard, who claimed he was going to kill Braddock, the titular character played by Russell Crowe, with a single blow to the head and committed several other taunting, "dastardly" maneuvers to psych out Braddock during the run up to their heavyweight championship fight in 1934/cinematic climax.

However, while true that Max Baer once killed a man in the ring, the movie did not do Baer justice. For instance, the movie didn't show that in real life Baer lived with so much constant guilt over the 1929 death of boxer Frankie Campbell that he paid for Campbell's children's college educations. According to Wikipedia, the real Max Baer once said, "I never had a fight out of the ring. I never harmed anyone outside the ring. I loved people."

In Baer's defense, many people, including Baer's own son, Max Baer, Jr. (better known as Jethro from "The Beverly Hillbillies"), have come out against Ron Howard's portrayal of Baer as the bad guy/monster. Max Baer deserves to be respected and revered as one of the few World Heavyweight Champions who won more than 50 fights by knockout. In 1933, Baer defeated German boxer Max Schmeling, who was sponsored and favored by one Adolf Hitler, in the 10th round when the referee stopped the fight. Baer became an instant hero in the Jewish community and a champion of his heritage. (*note the Star of David in the top left corner of his commemorative stamp in the above picture, issued by the United States Postal Service.)

Finally, there is a more personal reason for my acrimony towards this Ron Howard movie in particular. Max Baer is my father and I's namesake. When Max Baer fought Lou Nova in the first televised prize fight in 1939, my father was still in the womb. Since my grandmother had pretty much run out of names after giving birth to 8 children before him, including 5 boys, she decided that she would name him after the winner. Even though Lou Nova won that fight, my grandfather pleaded with her to go with Max instead. Thank god for grandfathers, I say. I mean, Lou?

This is one of my favorite stories to tell, mainly because I love thinking about my grandmother, a tough broad in her own right, hanging the name of her 9th child on a heavyweight prize fight. That sounds like something I'd do. It also gave my dad a great childhood nickname, "Little Lou," making me "Lil'er Lou" when I was growing up, and fostered his love for the sport that he eventually passed on to me, father-son bonding at its best, over a bell and 2 pairs of glove (the family dog referreed the "fights.")

Even so, after this terrible attempt at a boxing flick from Ron Howard, people who've already seen "Cinderella Man" look at me sideways when I tell my favorite story. "Wasn't he a pompous bastard who bragged about manslaughter?" It kills the narrative and makes a mockery of someone who I feel proud to call my namesake. The story feels almost ruined at the hands of someone who writes worse dialog than George Lucas. Nooooooooo!!!

Benefit Message from John G.

2005-06-10T19:28:00.000-05:00

This just came in from my friend and former guitarist John G. in LA. I'm definitely going to be there:

if any of you don't have special plans this saturday, i highly encourage you to check out this event below. marlee is the young daughter of my friend steve. she has a brain tumor and will be enduring chemo for a while. the roadside grill is just up the street from case asia in rosslyn.
the traegers are good peoples..
-john

Marlee, the Traeger's tough little girl, starts aggressive chemo on Monday.

Benefit Concert for Marlee Traeger
featuring 2 Barefeet
Saturday, June 11th @ The Rhodeside Grill, 9PM.

Me and the girls will be there. Hope everybody can come out!

For now, I'm off to drink too much with French people and laugh too loud at jokes in an accent I'll never understand but will unexplainably start speaking in by the time I go to bed.

Unbuckled via DCist.com

2005-06-10T14:31:00.000-05:00

This is my pick for local show of the month. It's going be a good one, brought to you by the veteran bloggers at http://www.dcist.com.

Unsettling image of the day

2005-06-10T10:27:00.000-05:00

What's a little pirate talk among roommates?

2005-06-10T08:57:00.000-05:00

11:32PM: Today was pretty rotten.
11:33PM: Yeah, it'll be nice when it's over.
11:38PM: Aye, on that note, I be taking to me berth, ye scurvy dog.
11:39PM: Ha-ur nuts.
11:46PM: Har, just a bit o' the bore spots me liver.
11:48PM: HBO cancelled Carnivale.
11:50PM: Yar, I knew that 2 moons ago, matey.
11:53PM: Ye'll get no more talk from this old cap'n this night, ye motherless mongrel.
11:51PM: Do u have a steering wheel on ur shorts?
11:55PM: Aye, and a pocketful of swag to steer her by.
11:56PM: Go to sleep you old salty dog.

Mt. Rushmore National Memorial

2005-06-10T08:56:00.000-05:00

Mt. Rushmore National Memorial

I was doing some research this morning, cleaning up a certain state left by a certain someone, and came across this article on the construction of Mt. Rushmore. 90% of the mountain was carved with dynamite! I remember being 8 years-old, driving through the mountains and finally realizing that all of those diagonal drill marks in the rock were blast holes. I thought that was impressive. We blew up part of the mountain and now my parents could drive through it. But to actually carve a face with dynamite?

Final thought of the day...

2005-06-09T21:00:00.000-05:00

When did I get so wordy? I used to be concise. I used to have style. I need practice. Jessie, hope you enjoy all of the reading material! Good night.

Thursday night boredom

2005-06-09T20:45:00.000-05:00

I know I'm writing a lot tonight. I don't get paid until midnight so I'm stuck inside until at least then. I've only got $27 left without dipping into the "Max goes on a real vacation" fund, which I've already plundered twice since its birth last month. I would go get a beer with Old Man John at the Grog & Tankard but I'm not sure they'll let me in after last month's debacle. It's all Colin's fault anyways; he never should've let me in the sound booth. Herb has probably forgotten it by now, but what could worse than being turned away from the Grog? (For visiting Danvillians, it's the DC equivalent of a Clucks + The Temple combo.) I'm also reading "Straight Man" by Richard Russo, which, while only on page 140, has already made it onto my list of top 5 books I've ever read. Reading something I enjoy always makes me want to write.

I figured tonight I'd write about something that has been bothering me for a while about my hometown. There's a lot of reasons why I would never move home. For instance, here I can walk down the street with my wild, red mane and not have to constantly deal with people looking at me like I'm crazy. Here in DC, I've always got something to do. This can cause a bit of an overload from time to time, but it passes. I love my neighborhood, with its odd cast of characters, namely Homeless James and Yellowbelly, the cat who thinks he's a dog and inhabits a block of sidewalk outside my window. But, to face the truth, my job is really boring, rent is sky high and always climbing, the traffic can drive a man either to insanity or Buddhism, and it's a big pond. Hard to shine in a bid pond all the time.

However, life in Danville can be so effortless and friendly most of the time. It's cheap to rent, even easier to buy, my Dad and I could fish every weekend, I could help my bear my mom's heavy load, and there's little to no traffic. Then other days, I just say, "Fuck it. Why I don't just move to LA or Sydney like I've been asked and be done with it?"

Nevertheless, there are so many things that really bother me about the town. Like any small Southern city, it has its secrets, some more plainly in view to be solved than others. For instance, the rich in Danville tend to go out of their way to create extravagant, albeit racist, places for them to socialize. After the Great Grove Park Firing of 1998, I worked for a few summers during college as the head lifeguard at the Danville Golf Club. I know I'm a lefty bleeding heart, whatever you want to call it, but it seems to me like the Danville rich have set up almost a Southern plantation society on West Main Street. Racial restrictions are quietly enforced. The workforce is mostly comprised of minorities, I'd estimate about 80% of the staff. Many employees complained to me about outright racist remarks and prejudice. I've never felt like such a hypocrit working anywhere else in my life, even Vocus, whose largest client is the NRA. There are many good members of the club, people I know and respect, and I think that more than anything makes me angry that they allow this continue.

Another instance of this behavior is the new North Main Theater. I wonder if this is the lead wave in an era of gentrification along North Main Street. It just seemed to me at the opening that the rich had finally built a place for them to hang out other than the Golf Club and the Danville Art Museum/Last Capitol of the Confederacy. The sponsors could have a chair named for them for $1000, or a closet for $5000. During this part of the opening speech, I imagined a whole cast of characters lining up for a "Mr. So and So Memorial Men's Lavatory." Nevermind that the joint used to be a porn theater in the 1970s. All of these rich old men strutting around, bragging, "I was here the day they finally shut down" or "I used to come here back when I was 18! It hasn't changed a bit!" High comedy. But I'm a musician and performer. I appreciate that a high caliber performance space now exists and the opportunity for culture in a mill town has never been better. The jazz I saw that night took me to a place full of caravans and ribboned tambourines. My friend is opening a restaurant in the same building and there's an art space on the second floor. I know the people involved. They are, for the most part, wonderful. I guess I just think about these things too much. But the underbelly always bothers me. Let's see what happens, I guess. There's more to the story of that place being built than is immediately apparent. See what I mean? This town is full of secrets. But, honestly, I'm always an optimist. Please, I hope something good comes from it.

Anyways, that's off my chest. (I might add some more to this post later, but for now, something shiny has caught my eye and it demands my attention.)

gas station love

2005-06-09T18:38:00.000-05:00

My friend is on the road. She's been there for a while but I'm pretty sure she still checks in to read whatever BS I've written. Here's her blog: http://www.theroadrevisited.blogspot.com

Anyways, she really likes this story so I thought I'd post it here. (Hopefully, my mom doesn't read this either; she might take it personally. Just in case, Mom, this story is fiction. It is not true.) If I can write a few more of these, I'm going to publish them all in a collection called "My Journeys with Women Behind Counters" or at least that's how the joke goes. I think I wrote this about 3 years ago and it shows. Oh, to be 24 and in love. Ridiculous. Also, I know almost all of the sentences have only 1 space after the commas. Cut and Paste failed me there but if I get some time, I'll fix it.

Gas Station Love
by
M. Rolfe G. (*aside* That's my real middle name. For those who never knew, that's the big secret.)

I worked up the street at Locus, Inc., a researcher and all around wage slave, when I first met Claudia. I stopped by the station for the usual $10 in gas and a pack of Marlboro Lights, "in a box please." Claudia stood behind the counter with its bulletproof plastic divider, playing the part of petroleum temptress, replete with long dyed blonde hair with a hint of black roots, a lightly dusted but freckled face and eyes that twinkled when caught in the fluorescent light overhead. We had one of those great conversations that’s all winks and eyebrows. Exactly what we talked about doesn’t matter, but it was something about me looking too young to smoke and then her surprise at my advanced age after thoroughly inspecting my I.D. I think I might even have snuck in the usual "I’m in a band, we had a gig" routine but I don’t think she understood. She spoke in a very thick accent, which I originally thought to be Eastern European. I soon found myself imitating her. "No, no, no, I not too young," I said, sounding something like Ivan Drago’s wife from Rocky IV. She gave me a weird look and a smirk as I hastily made for the door to get back to work before I was missed.

The life of a Government Relations researcher for a medium-sized dot.com company is not the easy street my waiter friends think it to be. I constantly felt bound to the desk and the lack of necessary creative thought led to the constant reorganization of desk tops, files and even paperclips. For example, I kept a library of print resources in a box under my desk. Once, while in the ninth circle of boredom, I devised a Dewey Decibel-esque system for the ten books contained within. The only reason I continued to smoke was just so I could leave my desk every hour or so. The high point of my day came strictly at 4PM, when my naive employee, Kauser, would challenge me to a game of ping pong, at which I beat him mercilessly. Sometimes, just for fun, I would tease him a little by giving him enough points to hope for victory, followed by a string of 10 points that would end the game. That kid hated me.

However, when not practicing the art of loafing or napping, I sat in my cubicle, occasionally getting to some work in between naps, reading radical left-wing weblogs and checking out prospective draftees for my Fantasy Football league. I know it doesn’t sound so bad, but believe me, at times my brain started to revolt. To make matters worse, in this era of global warming, one of the mildest and most beautiful summers ever had peaked and was strolling towards its end right outside my window, wasted.

My mother, being one of those delightful people who believes in self help books, constantly sent me these "tests" that were designed to tell you your "mood color" or other such nonsense that can determine your path in life. I was always blue or green, which is, oddly enough, the color of my eyes and car, respectively. Around this time she even bought me a GRE 2 month class which conflicted with band practices, smoking, drinking, cussing and generally everything I enjoyed at the time. She loved me and I knew she meant the best for me, she always has. Even still, she often tag teamed with my sister and successfully body slammed me repeatedly, telling me that I was making all the wrong decisions but shouldn’t quit my job because, "Then we’d worry so much about you, it just wouldn’t be safe to leave such a well-paying job that makes you miserable." My sister, 5 years older and finally engaged, started to show the early symptoms of "Newlywed Syndrome," that ailment that strikes so many newlyweds, causing them to feel sorry for those still single, the desire to match/force them into a couple with their friends, and giving advice on how life should be (i.e. like theirs, "perfect") to any single who doesn’t ask. Another symptom of the NWS is that it causes single friends, and little brothers, to hate them.

I usually saw Claudia about once a week or so. I’d stop by for gas and smokes, she’d berate me for smoking too much, give me winks and bent brows and then I’d pay and bail out. We never even exchanged names. One day, I drew the long straw and made the Vocus Development Team Smoke Run, resulting in the following bit of dialogue:
"Oh hey, how are you?"
"Doin’ good, what about you?" *smile*
"I fine." *smirk*
"Well, cool... Hey, I need to get 5 packs of Marlboro’s, in boxes please."
"Oh my goodness, five packs? You smoke too much. Look much too young to smoke so much." *brow arch*
"Hey wait, they’re not all for me. I lost the smoke run straw poll at the office." *grin*
"Ok, ok, sure, sure. I let you off this time." *wink*
Somebody then asked her something in Spanish and she replied "Muey Bueno" in the absolute sexiest voice I’ve ever heard, kind of rolling it together in her mouth and then flicking it off her tongue like a spent cherry seed. At that moment I realized I could love this girl.

Things continued in this manner for the next couple of weeks.

* * * * * * * * *

Towards the tail end of summer, I tried working out everyday, running and lifting weights with the Employee, trying to get in shape and maybe even raise my energy level so as not to fall asleep everyday at 1:30PM. I still saw Claudia occasionally, but always in a mercantile fashion. I left work after one of said workouts and decided that Taco Bell would satisfy my muscles’ needs for protein. On the way, I passed by the gas station and there was Claudia beginning what looked like a walk home from work. I pulled up next to her and said, "Hey Claudia. You need a ride home?"

She glanced over, kind of looked over my Cherokee, purse her lips and said, "Well, I do not know." "Oh come on, I’m no wierdo." I said. Then I gave her the sidelong glance and grin that I’ve been told makes me look about 14 years-old and completely trustworthy. She sighed and said, "Mister, a ride home would be good. What’s your name?" ""I’m Max with an X." "That a nice name, Max with a X. How you know my name?" "I saw your name tag a few weeks ago and remembered." "Oh.. ok."

She only lived a few blocks away by the Seacrest train station in a one story, pea soup green ranch home that she shared with her parents and six brothers and sisters. I dropped her off, noticed her mother working the yard for weeds, still dressed in her maid’s outfit, said something ridiculous and unfunny like, "Hey, you both work at places that end with an ‘-o’." She went to get out then turned and asked what I was listening to. "The Replacements," I said, "You like?" "Yeah, they ok. I like the guitars," she replied.

I was nervous, couldn’t think of how to phrase my next question. Why does it always feel like this? The steel brace for rejection built up around my heart but I knew I had to try. "So, you want to hang out some time?" The question kind of hung there in the air for a few seconds and finally after 2 or 10 century-long heartbeats I saw a flash of fire across her brown eyes. "Sure," she said. "How about you give me number and I call you next week?"

I knew what that meant. I know what that always means. You give her the number, she never calls. I put on my best fake smile, tried to look excited and gave her my cell phone number. "202-558-9483. Call anytime." A week went by with no word from Claudia. I stayed away from the gas station for appearances sake. Then, the next Friday, she called. "Hey, Max with a X, sorry I haven’t called. It’s my brother’s birthday. Want to come over for dinner?"

So I went. We had fun for the most part. Her brothers and sisters were very nice and they spoke English very well but her parents knew very little English and Claudia had to act as an interpreter between me and them but mostly I stayed silent. Playing the part of the well-meaning Southern gentleman, I even managed to keep my elbows off the table. I knew very little about their culture, with all I could think being that Columbians probably salsa danced a lot, grew coffee with the help of donkeys, and manufactured over half the world’s supply of cocaine. They stuffed me full of refried beans, rice and tacos, complaining that Mexican food was nothing compared to Columbian dishes. They complained about work and got drunk on some sort of wine punch. We listened to salsa and when Claudia tried to teach me how to dance, I surprised her with my knowledge of a few salsa turns. She shook her hips and showed me how they really went, but I think she appreciated my stubborn white boy efforts. At the end of the night, she walked me to my car, looked up at me, and gave the smallest of kisses. A quick brush of the softest lips I’ve ever touched before across mine, in the kind of kiss that marks you as hers for however long she wants you, the kind of kiss that lets you know you can wake up happy in the morning.

Most often I would pick her up after work, we’d either go play around in the city, usually Havana Gardens, or we’d come back to my place and listen to music, she’d watch the band practice or we’d just lounge about the house. I quit smoking after work, keeping the habit solely for the desk absence it afforded but throwing them out once she arrived. I tried to explain politics to her a few times but she never cared for it. Mostly, she would listen to Miles Davis or Howlin’ Wolf, slowly rolling her hips to the gruff beat of Wolf’s dirty blues. I even started making her mixed tapes, agonizing over my selections and sometimes leaving them with her coworker Donovan, who would hide them behind Cokes in the refrigerator, waiting for her to find them as she helped customers. Every now and again, I’d take her to Old Navy or some such place to get some new clothes, tight little tshirts, skirts and jeans that she loved. Being the type of girl she was, she’d always have to somehow repay me. This usually involved her buying me all sorts of food, spending a few days with me when she had time off, and cooking me all sorts of chicken and shrimp with rice and exotic sauces, real Columbian cuisine.
But what I loved most of all was waking up next to her in the morning. The sway of the mattress as she rolled her hips on top of me, gently tickling the fuzzy tip of my nose until I woke up, ready to drown in the deep brown pools of her eyes. Those eyes gave me so much energy that another day of work burnout and familial oppression was no big deal at all. Those eyes were my Columbian cocaine. (*author's note: GEEZ*) "Wake up, my Max with a X. Wake up, my love..."

* * * * * * * * *

"Mister, your change. Mister, hey-lo? Here’s your change, $5.12."

Suddenly, my eyes jerked away from a spot in space somewhere above the candy bar rack. "Oh sorry, Claudia," I stammered with a slight smile. "Thanks. Have a, have a good one. Seeya around."

She had a slightly bemused smirk on her face and an arch to her brow. "You do too."

Backing away, I excused my way through the crowded line and out the door. I quickly climbed back into the Jeep and made it back to work before my boss even knew I was gone, the Return of the Cigarette Hero, delivering his goods to the needy.

Danville Register Bee | SATS technology ... makes Danville look to the skies

2005-06-07T10:50:00.000-05:00

Danville Register Bee | SATS technology ... makes Danville look to the skies

The funny part about this article, other than the fact that a woman from NASA uses the term "rock star" to describe chartered private jets, is that I wrote this very same article about the SATS program for the South Boston Gazette-Virginian almost five years ago. Then, I was a brash young UVa graduate, recently returned from a summer in Australia, with absolutely no plans for the future. My friend and mentor, Linwood, got me the tryout that led to said article but my dismissal was a foregone conclusion due to me being 5 minutes late and the fact that the publisher was not a fan of my hair style, which I called the "I haven't gotten a hair cut in 5 months" look. However, that did eventually lead to another tryout with a paper in Clarksville, but as usual, I acted like an arrogant bastard b/c I'd just been offered a job making "good money" with a tech company in Washington, DC. The job I still work today. The job that bores me to no end while I'd rather be out in the morning sunshine hunting down stories on Main Street. Fuck.