The Streets of Your Town
After yesterday's posts, I thought I'd put up some of the redeeming qualities of this...place.
Here's where I drink coffee. Cabin Fever. The girls there usually know what I want. (No, I'm not being sexist. No guys work there. And the girls that do are in high school. But they're nice, nonetheless, even if their taste in music is questionable.)

Here are some of the roads I ride on. Flat is where it's at, they say in these parts. Because it's so flat the only real physical challenge is the ever-present wind. So I have an 11-23 on my race wheels. Which reminds me, I should spend more time in the big ring.


Here's the little guitar store in town. They have a few really nice ones--real Tele's and Strat's, not just the cheap knock-offs. And a nice selection of Martin and Alvarez acoustics. But one thing always makes me cringe--they put these ugly colored guitars in the window all the time.

Another Reason To Live Somewhere Else
Sometimes I hate this town.
Gabe and I were riding bikes to his school again this morning. Should have been fun. So we wait to cross the big street where the crossing guard is, and when the signal says go we start across. Some old bat in a Buick Century (seems to be a favorite car of the retirement-age-but-not-yet-senile set) drives into the intersection, slowly, to make a left turn. Now, if she was going fast and came to halt I would give her the benefit of the doubt and say she saw us and was being cautious. But no! She keeps coasting forward. This freaks Gabe out and makes me mad. I throw her my nastiest "eat shit" look and she mouths something back at me, and then as soon as she can clear us, guns it. Bitch. What, she had to get to Kmart faster?
I'm going to be very protective of my son on his bike. He's only 7! And we were in the crosswalk at the right time. Argh!
And then, when we arrive at the schoolyard a few minutes later, Hayley (the "girlfriend") yells over, "Hey, Gabe, Riley says you're stupid!" I give Riley the same look. He looks down at his shoes. Riley is one of the kids in the neighborhood who likes Gabe when they can't find anyone else to play with, and then ignores or mistreats him when they can. Riley can be sweet and polite when he's on his own, but when he has an audience he always turns on Gabe. And Gabe just seems to forgive and forget, day after day. Riley's parents are going through a bitter divorce. I guess the dad just wanted someone other than his hotty wife to warm his toes at night. Who knows? All the people in this town are related.

Am I Right?
Unless I am reading the calendar wrong, it's almost May. Yesterday at lunchtime it was all of 39 degrees here. This morning, when I set off on my morning ride to the office, it was 41. Going to Florida in January this year has made me cranky when it comes to cold. Not that I want to move down South to some trailer park, but I would like it to get warm and stay that way for a while.

Strange Days Indeed
Never having been a parent before, I'm not sure if I should be disturbed that Gabe asked me to scan a picture of a girl from his yearbook, then print it "real big." I did it, wondering if it was for a class project or something, and as soon as I gave it to him he scrawled "girlfriend" on the bottom of the page. I asked if she knew she was his girlfriend. He replied that no, she didn't, he had just decided.

Then, I had to pick up some junk at the store and as I was waiting to pay I noticed some of the cheapo videos at the checkout. Most of them are really poorly done animated thingies, or TV movies. I noticed the title of one, "Small Change." I thought to myself, "That's a classic." Then I had to take some candy away from Sam before he ate it. I looked again at the video. "Wait! That's Francois Truffaut! I love that film! I have to get it!" What are the chances that I would find that right here in Defiance, Ohio? If my dad doesn't already have it I'll save it for his birthday. If he does, I have a copy. Everybody wins.

Accept No Substitutes
Just because I live in the land of ignorance and mullets (and pick up trucks and Budweiser), I shouldn't have to put up with such blatant -isms! Case in point: in today's paper a local restaurant is advertising its specials this week.

First they offend all women by offering some dish named "Cheese Knocker"? Pretty sexist, huh?
Then, they want to entice me by offering a pork dinner with a German? If I go there and order that will they subtract part of the price since I already am one and don't need to pay for one at my table? Racist? or is it Ethnicist? Germans aren't really a race, they're just the uptight northern cousins of the cool Mediterraneans.
I haven't been to this establishment yet after a year and half here, and I'm in no rush. You see, on our local cable-access channel there's a group of obese men with shaved heads who do a "show" from there, while they eat and joke around with each other. **Shudder!**

I'm Celebrating My Love for You with a Pint of Beer and a New Tattoo
Nah, not really.
But I did find out last summer that my sister has a big old tattoo on her lower back! No one in the family bothered to tell me. But she was a bit of a wild child before she got this Mommy gig. My drunken idiot brother in law has all kinds of things on his appendages, including the ubiquitous celtic scrollwork and the not so typical avenging angel.

I often wonder what I would get if I were to get scribbled on PERMANENTLY by a long-goateed, leather-clad, pierced weirdo. I'm just not ready to make that kind of commitment with my one and only suit of skin. Heck, I gave up on pierced ears pretty quick after getting them done (by a drunken art school roommate armed with a needle and a potato).

Rudely Abused on Some Hesher's Joyride
While it now seems certain that poor Madeline will spend the rest of her metallurgical days at the bottom of the Frenchtown Pond, my bike was free as a...no, not a bird, some other animal, with 2 wheels...um, nevermind... It took me on my first half-century of the year (50 miles). It was willing, my legs were OK with it, but my lower back, neck, and nether regions all disagreed. Not that they had any choice, since they go where the legs say to. It grew windier as the day progressed, while I grew wearier. I didn't set any speed records and I really did have that song in my head the whole time.

Live and in Color!
Yesterday the DVD from SoniqueBoom Gerry, over at the Youth and Beauty Brigade yahoo list, arrived in my soggy mailbox. I've never played a home-burned DVD before, and the player app on my iBook was quite grumpy about it. Several times I got messages that the disc was either dirty or scratched and could play no longer. After a couple delicate wipes it played just fine, except the track advance button won't go past 12, even though there are 14 chapters. They work fine if you jump to them from the menu. I checked it on the "real" DVD player, and it got confused after chapter 12 and called chapter 13 chapter 1 and so on, but it eventually played just fine there, too. So, 1 little glitch isn't going to ruin my fun! Many thanks to Gerry for making it and then sharing his video treasure. I think it's funny that the 2 requests that were yelled from the back of the house are the 2 songs that play in the menu. I wonder who asked for them, (Gerry!)? I wonder if there are any easter eggs on it? I wonder if it's in 5.1 surround sound? I wonder if I can rip the audio?
I made a cover for it, to go in the totally blank case it came in.

The audience looks small and largely disinterested, or perhaps so indie hip they can't even be bothered to nod, let alone dance. Years from now it'll be fun to hear way too many people say they were there.
Colin said, "This is our tour of cafeterias in the better higher education campuses. Kind of an interesting concept. Our booking agent said that everybody was doing it."

Suck It Down, We're All Gonna Hitch a Ride
Club races start the week after next. I'm not near ready, so I hope no one else is. But I think my experience at that race back in March showed me that all the hardcore, no-life-off-the-bike guys (and gals) are gonna make me feel like a puny, puny, little man (or, in my case, bloated and not down to race weight yet this year).
I haven't touched a guitar in days upon days.
Work duties have prevented me from fully engaging in all my other activities.
I've always heard it said that people make time for the things that are important to them. I guess so. Tell that to the boss, though.

I made these as an Easter present for someone.

Ahhh...
While waiting for Lauran to get a piece of her leg chopped out, I saw all kinds of old magazines in the waiting room. One was some fund-raising rag from a TV evangelist who shall remain nameless. One of the articles mentioned on the cover was, "The Sweet Satisfaction of Contentment," cuz that's the whole point of religion, right, to be comfortable, to have a nice, status quo, American-style life? Gag. Choke.

This Is the Story of Your Red Right Ankle
Lauran's. A couple weeks ago she was bitten by a brown recluse spider while cleaning out her mother's filthy disgusting old house. At the time we thought it was just an ordinary blister. Then when it got yucky we thought it was a rash of some sort. Then it seemed to be eating up the skin around it, making a deep pus-oozing divot. So she went to the doctor, they confirmed the spider bite theory, and gave her some antibiotics. After 4 days it wasn't gettting any better, so she went back yesterday morning. Yesterday afternoon she had outpatient surgery to remove all the poisoned skin, since it will not heal on its own. Her progress will be checked, and skin grafts may be necessary, unless she wants a hole in her leg. There will be no pictures, folks, as it is just too ugly. I've seen it, and, let's just say, if you've seen The Passion, it looks like Jesus' back.

If I Could, You Know I Would, If I Could I Would

One Hot Mama
At the coffee shop across the street I scored a free bag of chips the other day. They were OK, but not real spicy. Chips are my favorite bad-for-me snack.


We're still vacuuming up glitter from the party the other night.

Remind Me Again Why
Survived Gabe's birthday party last night. Barely. I don't like children anymore. Especially loud ones. Prozac should come in convenient "parent packs."

Pedals Turned in Pleasantness
Gabe has wanted to ride his bike to school for quite a while now. I told him it had to be 50 degrees outside, otherwise he'd be too cold. Well, this morning it was. So we packed up and went. At first Gabe wanted to be in front all the time, like he was racing me. Then he got nerved up about the cars. Then he just wanted to be done. But he did great and I'm very proud of him. It's nearly 2 miles each way. There's even a little hill that he just slipped right up. It seems that the general clumsiness of our family will rule out baseball or basketball, but perhaps I can groom him into a cycling prodigy and he can be the nex Lance Armstrong. No, wait, Lance is an asshole. How bout the next Tyler Hamilton? He's just so nice. On TV, Phil Liggett always talks about "pedals turned in anger," but we had a very pleasant time. Probably cuz we're not all drugged up on EPO, amphetamines, and "pot belge."

You are here.

I Met a Man Today, He Told Me Something Pretty Strange
While getting gas today (a necessary evil at $1.89/gal., because I can't ride a bike everywhere) and waiting to pay an old codger came up to me and said, "Did you see that big guy out there? He was so big that when he stands up on a Wednesday he can see both Sundays!" Then he exited, laughing.
OK, but it's Thursday.

But I can be odd, too. Even though I am all iCal'ed and Palm'ed and little scribbled notes'ed up, I still seem to do most of my organizing on two clipboards. One is labelled NEED, the other WANT. I think it's funny that I put my HUSH records and Apple computer stickers on the NEED one!

Slurp and Munch!
Adriana, one of my fellow Youth & Beauty Brigadeers, sent me a whole batch of homemade biscotti in these, um, interesting bags. Recycling. I sent her some old Colin Meloy Robyn Hitchcock tribute tracks as well as some other rare tunes related to our new favorite songsters. She was very kind to think of my great love for caffeine and caffeine accessories.

Tuesday, Why Do You Stay So Late? This I Can't Abide
A better day.

And the Chickens How They Rattle Chicken Chains
At work I raised a big stink because I felt I was being misused. My supervisor bent over backwards to fix it. Good. It's about time.

Happy Easter, One and All
This morning Sam (4) said, "I think God has lots of candy."
I drew flower pictures, as seems to be our family tradition. Usually my dad draws some. We already know that Matt mucks about with paints. Actually, it was a rotten day here, weatherwise. Family time and dinner invitations meant no training, but I did have a few minutes to do some little Guitar Method lessons. So let it be known that I am not in favor of either F or B chords. Not them or their families.

Tain or Toin?
Ever since The Decemberists' The Tain came out I've been trying to figure out the connections to the story. I read it like 10 years ago.
Here's my drawing of Cuchulainn and the prize bull. I annotated and illustrated the book as I went. I remember being fascinated by it, reading it in the afternoons in the park.
The Pitchfork review does try to make sense of it all.

I was glad to hear in the Toronto radio interview that Colin & Co. do indeed know how to pronounce it, but instead opted for the "more rock" Tain.

Life and Death
Gabe is 7 today. He's very excited about it, but I am feeling old.

I have decided that if I am ever diagnosed with a terminal illness I will eat lots of bacon and drink heavily.

Of course, I am looking forward to turning 40 in several years. I've decided that that is when I will buy a really nice guitar and get a full-on, high-zoot racing bike from some frou-frou European manufacturer. Like all the other old guys in my club who have $4,000 bicycles. And ride them pretty darn fast, I might add.


big ass jpeg to make Brian happy

Spinning My Wheels
This year, instead of working on century rides and endurance, I'm gonna try and improve my spin. Most people, without realizing it, pedal in "squares," that is, they tend to let the pedals pull their legs along on the upstroke and then they mash forward on the downstroke. This robs power and makes for sore thighs. Also, most people tend to push gears that are too big. So, instead of being in the almost too hard to turn gear at a real low cadence (80 rpm or less), it makes more sense to pedal at a higher cadence (100 rpm or more) in a much easier gear. It makes sense, doesn't it? This is how Lance Armstrong gets up those Alps each July. He's not a terribly gifted climber, but he realized that if you push a smaller gear more times you actually have a lot more energy available to get to the top than if you spend the whole hill at maximum effort. The thing is, when the gear is loose like that you have to really concentrate on a smooth spin, pushing forward, yes, but also deliberately pulling up. If you get a chance, watch Lance this summer and compare him to other riders who don't adopt the high-cadence, smooth spin idea. See who's on the podium in Paris. Not that I am expecting him to set a record by winning six in a row.

Enough geeky gear stuff. It probably didn't even make sense.

I got the new version 3 eMedia Guitar Method. It seems to get very good reviews. I think I need a guitar teacher, but I don't like humans because they have eyeballs--they look at you when you haven't practiced and make you feel all guilty. I took lessons for a couple months year and years ago and hated it. Now I don't have to play Frere Jacques and Twinkle Twinkle in front of a human. And that's much better.

Yeah, I'm Sure It's Been Done Before, But It's Still Cool
At the show, I noticed that Rachel's bass drum had a face painted on it. It was hard to see on that tiny stage--Colin's brown Fender amp was blocking my view. When they stopped playing I went up toward the front. I was gonna tell Colin that all the fegs are proud of him, but thought better of it--it would sound patronizing and pointless. He was reclining against the back wall sucking a cigarette, with about 18 other people inbetween. It was already like 2am EST, so I just spun around and found Matt.
I did find this last night.

There's that Epiphone. I can't remember the guy who took it or the URL, I was searching for verification that Leslie Anne Levine starts with E then Cmaj7. It sure sounds right. The tab at the old alt-country site only had C.
NB The pictures are really from here. Credit where credit is due.

Heavy Petting
This is my cat, Molasses. Moe, or Modles, for short. He thinks he's a dog. He's not very big for a tom, but he does seem to weigh a lot. Dense, I guess.
Matt took the picture. He likes cats.
We also have fish (with more always on the way--stupid horny guppies!) and a hamster, named by the boys, Hamsty. (OK, so they're not always so good with words.)

Ever So, Ever So Grey, La Dee Dum Da
My brother took this picture at the Art Institute. I was busy tying Gabe's shoes, blissfully unaware of the state of my head. I have known for quite some time that the premature greying curse of my family was working its voodoo, but I had no idea how effective it has been. That's my real head? If it was summer I'd say the sun bleached it, but at this time of year I have no such excuse. Bah!

Uh...OK
Sam asked me what my favorite power tool is.
Then he proceeded to lecture me using words that I don't think I knew when I was 4 (and I've always thought myself rather erudite).
He said things like "necessary" and "coupling rod."
Strange child.

In Fact It Was a Nappy Bluish Gray
Quick, though wishing it was more extensive, Schuba’s 4-2-04 review:

Tom Heinl was a fun, one-liner spewing self-deprecating jester. A good way to open up the evening.

Clearlake I didn’t get, neither did my brother. They sounded mostly like some band the NME likes this week. But they did, rather competently, rock.

When the Decemberists finally came on stage at about midnight…

Oh never mind, I’m too tired to write anything evocative. It’ll come out clichéd and hackneyed.

The set, as best I can recall (plus random guitar geek notes):

Leslie Anne Levine (Colin on the 12 string. I’m pretty sure, though my musical knowledge can be measured with a micrometer, that the first two chords are indeed E and Cmaj7. I think I read that in an interview somewhere)
The Bachelor and the Bride (also 12, capo 1)
Engine
Here I Dreamt I Was an Architect (on Martin[?] “folk” acoustic]
July July (with extra long intro)
Billy Liar
Odalisque (capo 4)
Los Angeles
Grace Cathedral Hill (almost all thumb strummed?)
The Tain (all kinds of instrument switching went on, including Colin gleefully banging the drums)

Red Right Ankle (Colin on 6 again, capo 5)
Legionnaire’s Lament, right into A Cautionary Song

Colin solo, Every Day is Like Sunday

Colin also played a big old Epiphone electric for some stuff. Chris Funk played the most sickeningly ugly Telecaster I’ve ever seen, sort of a Daisy Rock brand finish—lavender mist with red roses! He wore a Naked Raygun tshirt and teased Jenny about never having done whip-its. Ah, the teenage punk rock tradition of getting a buzz from whipped cream and balloons. Not that I know about things like that.

Never having actually seen them in person before, I thought they were in fine form, and seemed to be having at least as much fun as the two teenage guys in front of me who were continuously brought Leinenkugels by their friend the floor waitress; and the cute rock n roll couple with the average height of about 5’10” (he was very tall, she was very, um, short); the dancing girls up ahead who wore the blue Goonies and pink Polyphonic Spree tshirts, respectively; all of whom were in my vicinity.

Rachel sold me a tshirt and gave me a bicycle sticker. I wanted a Madeline shirt but they were all gone, so I got the map one. She approved of my Carson Ellis airplane shirt!

They're coming back to Chicago in June. My mission is to get Lauran to come. She's decided she does like Belle & Sebastian after all, so there's hope. I, however, still do not like her music and won't. I mean, come on, Mr Mister?

I'll Be There With a Very Long Nose
Tonight!

The Decemberists, live at Schuba's! In Chicago!
On a very tiny stage! In a very small room. Filled with smoke, beer and sweaty hipsters of all ages.

Details to follow.

I should've taken pictures. But I'll settle for a bootleg of the show.

Welcome to My New Life
I've decided to become a monk and live in some remote monastery, with only my Birkenstocks and guitar. (I suppose I'll wear some sort of robe-y thing, but do monks wear underwear, I wonder?) Yeah, this whole worldly existence thing was wearing a bit thin. I think I'll spend the rest of my days contemplating eternal mysteries. As for the wife and kids...well, I'm sure they'll support my decision, when I tell them. Wish me luck! Oops! I mean, say a prayer!

"Blessed art thou, my son, for you shall see the vanquishment of the Wal-Marts and the RIAA, and all other evildoers of this world. Hold fast to your beliefs and us good guys will win in the end."