it's been too long since I flooded the screen with detritus from youtube!
This song builds momentum and turns mesmerizing at about the two minute mark.
Can't wait for the lp to drop.
Neko!
her new one is fantastic, maybe as good as Blacklisted. Pick it up.
Holy CRAP!
That's my favorite tune off the cd but sweet mary mother of god, the studio version sounds like a lukewarm slab of American cheese compared to this sonic tidal wave.
They did not sound like a band that would kick ass live- just goes to show.
Also, I saw some really good performance art at the venue during an Eastern swing a few years back.
Nice, here's an acoustic clip of my other favorite track.
There's no harmony like twin sister harmony!
4.06.2009
fuss talk
You don't get out much when you have a baby, or at least we don't.
The logistics of taking a baby anywhere outside home base and their unpredictability effectively supresses the potential social payoff.
It's like preparing for a mountain climb, with the caveat that inconsolable shrieking may cause you to reverse course halfway up the peak.
Never having been tremendously social (to criminally understate matters), this aspect of the Fuss is something of a Get Out of Jail Free card.
"Oh, you know.....the baby," I say gravely, pulling a long face and nodding slowly.
Of course, it only works because he actually is tremendously difficult and unpredictable.
Last night we had dinner with Burl and Fiend, delicious tacos and a big vat of guacamole.
The food was lovely, but after he grew weary. As recently adopted political beliefs proclaim sleeping beyond the reach of Fussland territorial waters to be treason, he made a fierce display to drive off Morpheus.
The parenting of babies can be accurately reduced to this gritty kernel- who's turn is it to fall on the grenade?
The possession arrow was not in my favor and so I ferried him home.
But an apocalypse well begun is not easily interrupted.
He howled and writhed as if my efforts were aimed more at exorcism than comfort, until at last exhaustion trumped ideology and he slipped into the sleep of the honest revolutionary.
I staggered into the kitchen, shell shocked, and scanned the freezer for ice cream, only to find the pint container reduced to a hollowed-out 1/4" at the very bottom, by spoon or spoons unknown.
The logistics of taking a baby anywhere outside home base and their unpredictability effectively supresses the potential social payoff.
It's like preparing for a mountain climb, with the caveat that inconsolable shrieking may cause you to reverse course halfway up the peak.
Never having been tremendously social (to criminally understate matters), this aspect of the Fuss is something of a Get Out of Jail Free card.
"Oh, you know.....the baby," I say gravely, pulling a long face and nodding slowly.
Of course, it only works because he actually is tremendously difficult and unpredictable.
Last night we had dinner with Burl and Fiend, delicious tacos and a big vat of guacamole.
The food was lovely, but after he grew weary. As recently adopted political beliefs proclaim sleeping beyond the reach of Fussland territorial waters to be treason, he made a fierce display to drive off Morpheus.
The parenting of babies can be accurately reduced to this gritty kernel- who's turn is it to fall on the grenade?
The possession arrow was not in my favor and so I ferried him home.
But an apocalypse well begun is not easily interrupted.
He howled and writhed as if my efforts were aimed more at exorcism than comfort, until at last exhaustion trumped ideology and he slipped into the sleep of the honest revolutionary.
I staggered into the kitchen, shell shocked, and scanned the freezer for ice cream, only to find the pint container reduced to a hollowed-out 1/4" at the very bottom, by spoon or spoons unknown.
true customer tales
two dingy reprobates browsing the boxes of comics:
reprobate #1
Dude, you sound like you got a monster in you!
reprobate #2
Well, that's what happens when you get carsick and eat clam chowder, man!
reprobate #1
Dude, you sound like you got a monster in you!
reprobate #2
Well, that's what happens when you get carsick and eat clam chowder, man!
4.05.2009
As predicted in the dead sea scrolls
We won best local bookstore- used in the local 'alternative' fishwrap the New Times.
Being last man standing has its privileges.
The poll is a joke.
In recent years the cancerous proliferation of categories has reached notable comic heights. The original Best Cafe award has split into best local cafe, best chain cafe, best latte, best cup of coffee, best cappuccino, best cafe with a patio, best cafe to meet your blind date at, etc etc.
It makes business sense- more winners equal more people to hit up for "thank you" ads. But the money grab is so naked I'm amazed they can still get away with it.
And of course your ad budget is the biggest indicator of electoral success.
I'm tempted to cross out 'best', write in 'only' and hang the commemorative plaque behind the counter. Technically we're not the only used book store left in the county, but the others only deal in pocket books. As far as I know we're the only real used book store left between SF and Santa Barbara.
Viva internet revolution!
Being last man standing has its privileges.
The poll is a joke.
In recent years the cancerous proliferation of categories has reached notable comic heights. The original Best Cafe award has split into best local cafe, best chain cafe, best latte, best cup of coffee, best cappuccino, best cafe with a patio, best cafe to meet your blind date at, etc etc.
It makes business sense- more winners equal more people to hit up for "thank you" ads. But the money grab is so naked I'm amazed they can still get away with it.
And of course your ad budget is the biggest indicator of electoral success.
I'm tempted to cross out 'best', write in 'only' and hang the commemorative plaque behind the counter. Technically we're not the only used book store left in the county, but the others only deal in pocket books. As far as I know we're the only real used book store left between SF and Santa Barbara.
Viva internet revolution!
true customer tales
surfer dude wanders in, strolls up to the counter and shouts in my general direction:
"DUDE, IT'S SUCH A GORGEOUS DAY OUT! DUDE, YOU ARE TOTALLY MISSING OUT DUDE!"
Thanks, I hadn't noticed.
"DUDE, IT'S SUCH A GORGEOUS DAY OUT! DUDE, YOU ARE TOTALLY MISSING OUT DUDE!"
Thanks, I hadn't noticed.
4.04.2009
meanderings
Fuss was, uh, challenging last night.
I think that's the approved definition.
The gals were over for dinner (semi-successful Quiche Lorraine with problematic crusts, more successful bleu cheese dressing over co-op greens)and he refused to miss a single moment of the excitement.
He finally went down at 11. Having tried everything else, I laid him on his blankie in the bed and sat down next to him, expecting another few hours of scrambling and fussing, but he was so exhausted that he just lay on his back and stared at the ceiling.
Sensing opportunity, I petted his chest and sang to him and after ten or so minutes of frozen staring his eye finally shuttered down to half mast. He fell asleep and woke up with a start several times before he finally settled down.
Alas, for the rest of the night he woke up every few hours and started shrieking at the top of his lungs. Night terrors? Past life memories? The oatmeal he had for breakfast?
A mystery.
He woke me up at 7 as usual, seemingly unsubdued by the traumas of the night, and we had coffee in the living room.
And thanks to whoever straightened up the kitchen!
That was a pleasant surprise.
I think that's the approved definition.
The gals were over for dinner (semi-successful Quiche Lorraine with problematic crusts, more successful bleu cheese dressing over co-op greens)and he refused to miss a single moment of the excitement.
He finally went down at 11. Having tried everything else, I laid him on his blankie in the bed and sat down next to him, expecting another few hours of scrambling and fussing, but he was so exhausted that he just lay on his back and stared at the ceiling.
Sensing opportunity, I petted his chest and sang to him and after ten or so minutes of frozen staring his eye finally shuttered down to half mast. He fell asleep and woke up with a start several times before he finally settled down.
Alas, for the rest of the night he woke up every few hours and started shrieking at the top of his lungs. Night terrors? Past life memories? The oatmeal he had for breakfast?
A mystery.
He woke me up at 7 as usual, seemingly unsubdued by the traumas of the night, and we had coffee in the living room.
And thanks to whoever straightened up the kitchen!
That was a pleasant surprise.
4.01.2009
clone wars
There's been some debate regarding the Fuss's appearance.
Not whether he looks like me (he does), so much as the wife declaring him my clone and making public comments along the lines of "yes, I birthed his spawn."
I have resisted this description up to now, pointing out what I felt was his mother's ears and feet in miniature (indisputable), her nose (a point of contention) and several features relevant to neither parent, namely his bright red hair and Scarlett Johansson-esque lips.
Alas, I am giving up the battle and declaring unconditional surrender.
Indeed, she birthed my spawn.
I found a briefcase full of slides in a closet this afternoon,taken by mom's dad Walter, an avid amateur photographer who worked only in that exotic format. I'd never seen any of them- there were pictures of dad graduating from college, pictures of me hours after my birth, pictures of one of my childhood dogs, a sheaf of crazy, disorienting stuff.
The most alarming was a photo of me at a few months old with a shock of reddish hair. My brain momentarily locked up, unable to reconcile how my long deceased grandfather had taken a picture of the Fuss.
There's some way to get slides onto a computer, isn't there?
I really need to get some of these on Flickr, they're amazing.
Not whether he looks like me (he does), so much as the wife declaring him my clone and making public comments along the lines of "yes, I birthed his spawn."
I have resisted this description up to now, pointing out what I felt was his mother's ears and feet in miniature (indisputable), her nose (a point of contention) and several features relevant to neither parent, namely his bright red hair and Scarlett Johansson-esque lips.
Alas, I am giving up the battle and declaring unconditional surrender.
Indeed, she birthed my spawn.
I found a briefcase full of slides in a closet this afternoon,taken by mom's dad Walter, an avid amateur photographer who worked only in that exotic format. I'd never seen any of them- there were pictures of dad graduating from college, pictures of me hours after my birth, pictures of one of my childhood dogs, a sheaf of crazy, disorienting stuff.
The most alarming was a photo of me at a few months old with a shock of reddish hair. My brain momentarily locked up, unable to reconcile how my long deceased grandfather had taken a picture of the Fuss.
There's some way to get slides onto a computer, isn't there?
I really need to get some of these on Flickr, they're amazing.
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