It's All Over Now, Baby Blue


Just added: details

Wretched, Retching on All Fours
Not anymore, actually, thank you.

As of late last night:

I've decided not to get too too geeked on all the mechanical parts. But, even so, it's almost rideable.

In case any or all 12 of you are wondering: yes, I do do other things in life, but are they really as important? Well, plotting my next (2) Decemberists excursions is important. And trying to play their songs is, too. And sending messages to the yahoo list about them. And trading live recordings and DVDs of them...

Yes, I do other other things, too.

When Rednecks Attack! When Rednecks Attack!
I shouldn't be enjoying this, I know, but good old Schadenfreude just can't be beat sometimes.
OK, so I was in the local supergiganticeverythingstore to get some medicine for my, how shall we say it?, "twitchy" stomach of the last few days, when, as I strolled to the U-Scans, I noticed a loud commotion. People were either walking away very quickly or frozen in their tracks. You see, the porky redneck mother was screaming at the bad dye job cheap makeup redneck in charge of the 4 U-Scans. I have no idea what it was actually about, all I could hear was their full-volume name-calling. I have never seen that busy store ever slow down except for then. Were people expecting blows? Some girl-on-girl wrestling? Who knows? "Shut up, you bitch!" "What did you call me? You're supposed to be nice to the customers!" "Not if you're nasty first!" And those are the repeatable parts. As things settled down everyone in the store--clerks and customers alike--tried to be super-courteous to each other. We were either modeling good behavior or feeling guilty for enjoying someone else's altercation.

The Gigantic Painted Mess!

The life-size portrait of my bicycle is coming along nicely. Maybe.

Obsessive AND Compulsive
Hey, at least I don't wash my hands 30 times a day or count telephone poles.
I do, however, get a little carried away. Late last night I was still trying to track down the mystery chord that someone gave me for Colin Meloy's cover of Joanna Newsom's Bridges and Balloons. Between me and this other guy, and the video of the June show in Austin, we were convinced it was G and a variation of G. He said G6. I said G/B. After even more obsessive study we concluded it was, in fact, G6, played 302003. (Each verse of the song is either G--320003--or G6, which involves moving the index finger from the A to the D string at the second fret, a pretty simple trick that marvelously varies and fleshes out the otherwise repetitive sound.) The crazy thing was that I couldn't find any version of G6 that was played that way in any of my chord dictionaries. So I decided it must be a different chord. I went to a chord-finding site and it said that those notes make a chord called A7sus4 or G6add9. Maybe. But then I checked up on those chords and no variations had those notes at those places. Finally I found a site that listed all kinds of variations for chords, not just a couple for each. And there it was! I could have spent the last 2 weeks not worrying about this and simply played it the way he said (and believed what he said), but I had to KNOW. These things keep me up at night.

notverycreative.com
I've noticed that the new public speaking cliche is offering secondhand internet information. It used to be the old saw of starting a talk with "Webster says..." Now, my first clue to instantaneous, deep boredom is when someone says, "Did you know there's a website for ____________ ?" Yes, we did. There's a website for everything, from filthy disgusting fetishes to delicious recipes (and some crossover, I'm sure). Also, we don't need to know how many search results you got for a particular word or phrase. It really doesn't matter, and it really doesn't make me want to hear the rest of what you have to say. And yet, for 20 more minutes you talk. Will you please shut up? It's not like the rest of what you have to say is all that great, either. OK, I've had more than enough. I'm gonna start doodling or playing with my Palm. Alright, you've been warned. I'm tuning out...now.

And Then There Are Days Like Today

The More Things Change, the More They Stay the Same
Brian still hasn't updated his blog. And I live for his acerbic wit, pared out so sparingly.

Thousands upon Thousands of Words
OK, I didn't see any bears.
But I did see what people do with their garbage up in the hollows (pron. "hollers") of Kentucky--they throw it over the side of a mountain, and call it a "Tennesee Wal-Mart." No kidding. And they don't say "y'all" or even "all y'all" (the plural), they say "you'uns." No kidding.

And Tomorrow He'll See Bear Tracks, Seven Inches Wide, And by Sundown He'll Be Bringin' in the Hide
A work-related trip to Tennesee, starting tomorrow. With an old Johnny Cash song in my head.
And lots more on the old iPod!

Dilemma resolved peacefully--it has been found!

Of Lairs and Liars
This is the sketch:

This is what I've done so far:

It will undoubtedly end up looking like something else. Every time I start to do one thing I end up with a different painting. I would not have made a good Old Master.

This is my geek lair. The one in the house, that is.

A Kiefer-esque Vision of Apocalyptic Horror
It's turned into an art vacation. No, not seeing art, as in museums--I could care less about looking at anyone else's much anymore--making it. It didn't turn out to be a cycling vacation--the weather was bad, and I just couldn't be arsed. It didn't turn out to be a Canadian vacation, as that would have cost money I needed to spend on supplies and unhealthy food. So, we stayed home and watched me watch paint dry. Well, we did go to the zoo, the science museum, that horrible anime thing, and almost never cook at home. Plus, I still did about 100 miles.

Don't worry, they all look like this at the beginning. Soon it'll be a characteristically cheery postmodern romp through my subconscious.


It was a bit of a guitar-ing vacation, though. I got a new one. Now, before you find yourself asking, “Why? The boy can barely play!” keep in mind that it’s a Rogue. As in the Musician’s Friend house brand. As in super duper el cheapo, and yet, I hear, made in the Samick factory in China right next to the Fenders. It sounds a bit brassier than my mellow old Washburn, but that may be due to the heavier gauge strings on the thing (a tattered little tag claimed they’re Martin strings). I have to say they sure can build a decent guitar with slave labor. It’ll be fine to carry around, play hard, knock around and not lose any sleep over cuz it’s too precious until I can actually play (more than just to amuse myself) and get that custom Breedlove or maybe a mahogany Martin D15S 12 fret model like Colin plays. It has a Fishman preamp and sounds real nice in my amp. When you come over you might hear me strumming something—haltingly—late into the end of summer night.

I of course stenciled something on the back, as it is my belief that everything in life should be covered in military/industrial stencils (see also my artwork, tools, guitars, etc.). It’s an inside joke with me (is that good mental health? to have inside jokes with yourself?). I also voided any hopes of a warranty by adding a strap pin on the heel, as guitars in this day and age STILL don't come with them standard. What do I look like, some hopeless folkie with a black shoestring around the neck of my guitar? I can't imagine I have pursued a rash and foolish action with these modifications--it came with no paperwork or instructions!
Not guilty: 1. of being a rogue; 2. of being an el cheapo, it’s really quite nice; 3. for what comes out of it—that’s not it’s fault, only mine; 4. of costing too much—if Lauran can run up an $18K hospital bill in 5 days (last month; about 10% of that is our responsibility, do the math) then I can certainly get myself a $129 acoustic-electric guitar.

It’s a tradition. Woody Guthrie had, “This machine kills fascists” on the front of his. Pete Seeger’s eternally happy banjo said, “This machine surrounds hate and forces it to surrender.” Joe Strummer’s black Tele said, “Noise” and “Ignore alien orders.” Billy Bragg’s apologized, “This guitar says sorry.” That’s also the title of the song he opened with when I saw him in 1989 at the Agora in Cleveland. He had his friends from the Democratic Socialists there. They had scraggly beards and badly-xeroxed brochures, like Jews For Jesus, only different.
The way I figure it, I’d never be in this mess if my parents hadn’t provided such subversive fare as the Pete Seeger & Brother Kirk Visit Sesame Street album and the Johnny Cash children’s album. Me and my sister listened to them endlessly. Both are long out of print, though I’ve seen the Sesame Street one go for more than $40. All I have left are my memories and an old cassette copy of both of them that I had the foresight to make some years ago on a visit home. I could digitize them and send a copy to Sarah, I suppose. Compete with snap, crackle, and, of course, pop. Yes, I think I will. So it'll be a geek vacation, after all.

Details, Details
No, not the homoerotic "fashion" magazine.

Here, everyone, a detail.

Progress Report
While Matt is off learning the legal trade, I am busying myself with a lot of nothing.

Days Off To Do List:
1. Sleep--done, could do more
2. Eat smart food--define "smart"?
3. Ride 2 hours every day--um, no, but I have hit the saddle a few times
4. Paint--yes and yes
5. Play guitar--oh yes
6. See Yu-Gi-Oh movie with boys--unfortunately, yes
7. Various chores my fidgety self will want to do, eg, wash the cars, clean the house, etc--I put a few dishes in that machine thingy
8. Finish reading the Woody Guthrie book--what a fascinating selfish yet wonderful little man!--yup! tragic (in the Greek sense)
9. [classified, by gov't censors]
10. Go to Toronto for a couple days, as it is my little family's favorite non-American city (and not too far away)--nope, that costs money

Barely Legal
(Googlers, this is not what you want.)

It's this:

I'm not sure how it's legal and safe, but it seems to be. In town you can't have a firepit or burn barrel--which is fine, as all the yahoos in the country burn their garbage and I've inhaled more than enough petrochemicals for a lifetime--but it's OK to have one these portable firepit dealies. We just got the little one, several neighbors have the big ones with wheels. It's fun to light a little fire in the backyard, roast marshmallows, etc. I think we'll do some practic camping in the yard this week.

Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain
Do not try this at home. I can only balance on the tiny top of this tall stool because I ride my bike so much and am quite comfortable with a high center of gravity (I must be top heavy, despite the fact that my grandfather once said, and I quote, "You're the kind of man who puts on weight in his ass"). And I'm too cheap to buy a stepladder.

Art report: Painting is going well.

It's a nice companion piece to my big head painting from a couple years ago. Should be done soon. You'll see.

Things To Do with a Week Off
1. Sleep
2. Eat smart food
3. Ride 2 hours every day
4. Paint
5. Play guitar
6. See Yu-Gi-Oh movie with boys
7. Various chores my fidgety self will want to do, eg, wash the cars, clean the house, etc
8. Finish reading the Woody Guthrie book--what a fascinating selfish yet wonderful little man!
9. [classified, by gov't censors]
10. Go to Toronto for a couple days, as it is my little family's favorite non-American city (and not too far away)

Let's Review
This is a blog. It's not a spiffy GUI of my soul.

This is a work in progress.

How They Love The Sporting Life
The Olympics start tonight. I've been following them fairly avidly since 1980 when I stayed up late to watch the Lake Placid games while my father was sick in bed with the flu and my mom was...I don't remember where. And then there was LA, 1984, when it was all about Nelson Vails, Rebecca Twigg, Davis Phinney, Connie Carpenter, Steve Hegg, and all others I can't quite remember. I learned all about steroids, blood doping and all kinds of other ways to cheat. The propaganda at the time had something to do with the Eastern Bloc countries refusing to come cuz they'd fail the drug tests. Now, we know all about BALCO and Festina and EPO and HGH, even equine growth hormone! Maybe Jan or Tyler will do something great in Athens tomorrow, though pro cycling never much cares about who wins the Olympics.

To Wild Homes We Go
Another funeral today. People often say they come in threes, but not only is that morbid, it's stupid. By the end of the day, though, I was wiped out. So, even though it was only in the 60s and a totally lovely night for a race, I opted out. Instead, I sat by our little portable firepit dealie, drank Rolling Rock Green Lights, and strummed my guitar well into the night. Well, until about 9.



PS I once drank three beers in a night and worried my mother. I believe they were Sam Adams.

A Loom of Metal--Warp, Woof, Wimble
What a great line. Even if the chick (Joanna Newsom) sounds a bit bonkers, though her interview in The Believer made her seem no worse off than any other musician, sanity-wise. I'm not sure I'm ready to get her album, but I like the poetry.

My Slow Descent
Now reading: Woody Guthrie: A Life.
I always knew he was a radical of sorts, that he wrote "This Land Is Your Land", that he was in trouble during the McCarthy evilness, but that was about it. Wow!
My question, though: why wasn't Arlo handed the old manuscripts instead of Billy Bragg and Wilco? I will have to go back to those barely-lasered Mermaid Avenue CDs and see what I like. I remember at the time skipping all the Jeff Tweedy tracks. I still don't really get Wilco, though what I've heard of Uncle Tupelo is interesting.

Unless It's Monday
Back to Chicago for Lauran to see the migraine guys again. A checkup. Another one in a month. We took the boys. While she was with the quacks I took the boys around the North Clark neighborhood. We went to Borders, bought stuff; we went to Panera, bought stuff; we went to Best Buy, looked at stuff. All stuff we could have bought/looked at almost anywhere. Traffic was bad going in. It was worse going out. It took us an hour and forty-five minutes to go from Fullerton and Lake Shore to Gary! Bumper to bumper all through the city, on the Skyway, even the toll road! We could have driven to New Jersey in the amount of time we spent in the van yesterday.
Lauran is still dizzy (as in vertigo--she's a brunette) and at least half-stoned all the time from the meds, so I don't know why we all bother. I think next month I'll send her on a plane from Toledo. That would be a lot less driving--45 mins there, 45 back home, then pick her up at the end of the day. Of course, she won't fly. But she IS on a lot of drugs, so maybe I can talk her into it...

Every Day Is Like Sunday
I wish.
Today my leisurely existence consists of a long, slow recovery ride; guitar; beer; maybe a nap. Then, tomorrow, I get to ride with John Lieswyn, as his extended family lives here. How cool is that? Of course, an hour with him will feel like... ...I dunno what. Unless he's in a slow mood he'll crush me like a worm that's been left on the street too long after a rainstorm.


Camp out in this feeling, I say.

Late News John is not available, as he will still be traveling when we were planning on riding. Oh well. He's still the coolest diarist over at cyclingnews.com, after Podium Girl Gone Bad, of course. He'll be back. And I'll be ready.

Meanwhile I realized my collection of Decemberist-related ephemera was woefully lacking one of the hand-pulled limited edition posters from this Spring, so I enquired as to their current availability. I was told there were a couple left and "they" would set one aside for me. It arrived yesterday, and, I must say, I was shocked. 1/200! As in #1. It seems the sweet sweet Corrina Repp (aka Order Girl at the HUSH/Decemberists shop) gave me hers! How cool is that?

Ambling Madly, All Over the Town
The deed is done. I rode the century. 5:51:05. And that was my goal, anything under 6 hours. It was just me, though, as Lauran's cousin bailed, and Lauran herself was not feeling at all well due to her usual complications.

Watching the Watchers (Again)
OK, maybe I'm being paranoid, but I keep getting visits from .mil domains. Am I in some kind of trouble or this just normal Patriot Act homeland skullduggery? I tried to click back on some of the addresses but got nothing. Usually an ISP will show up with some sort of home page or ad. All the .edu's do. I can't imagine that one of the 12 visitors a day (minus me) is a lonely soldier googling Tarkio lyrics.

What you're looking for is camoflagued here.

The Passing of Time and All of Its Crimes Is Making Me Sad Again
New passport photos. Free with AAA membership! Three sets a year! But why?

Oh, It Was a Funny, Funny, Little Thing

Every day (as often as it's allowed) I enter the giveaways at guitarplayer.com. I don't understand how they can offer such massive freebies, but they do. I never hear anything back. I'd probably sell most of what I won, if I ever did, if I can without getting in trouble. Certainly you're allowed to liquidate your winnings?

Makes Calm Canaries Irritable
I think blogs are for complaining in public, albeit in the whisper-quiet of the internet, right?
So, here goes:
1. I do not appreciate all the foul smells of this town and its environs.
2. I love the song Bridges & Balloons by Joanna Newsom, but THAT VOICE! I can't do it. It's like she's... ...I don't know what! I can't do it. Fortunately, Colin Meloy and Co. have rescued the song.
3. Stupid drivers. Bikes are supposed to ride WITH traffic, no matter what ignorant advice you pass on to your obese children.

Aw, That's Cute!
Lauran's new little road bike. While I'm riding the whole hundred, she'll be doing the 30 mile ride with her cousin. Her new bike is the smallest production model I could find--43cm (would be 47 without the slope). Since she is short, with stubby legs, this seems to fit her to a T. It has some nice features, for being a (relatively) cheap bike: integrated headset, carbon fork, replaceable derailleur hanger, etc. I'd lust after it myself except it weighs 23 lbs, 4 lbs more than my 56cm bike. And since I have a hard enough time losing that much I'd rather not add it back on. But it is nice, isn't it?

Please notice only the new bike--excuse the flotsam and jetsam of the garage.

Sacre Merde!
Excuse my French. Someone visited here and when I backtracked the links I ended up on a French blog that looks very much like mine! Do I have some sort of francophone doppelganger?

POD
Not that passing fancy shock-rap group, our Project Of the Day. We got one of those closet organizer thingies, the one with all the little cubicles, then put little curtains on the front of them, so the boys can have secret places to hold all their treasures. Now maybe they'll stop stuffing them in our shoes, behind cushions, in my dresser drawers, etc. But the truth is they'll probably just end up with more stuff and it'll still be all over. I like the little guys, I really do, but it's their stuff that drives me crazy. It's everywhere. And, yes, we are teaching them to clean up after themselves, but that is an acquired taste, it seems, and they haven't quite acquired it yet. Oh well.


Oh, don't even ask how the cycling's going. Or the guitar-ing.