People Get What They Deserve
Random pieces of internet fun. (Remember when the internet was fun?)

1. This popped up on my weather forecast today. Sorry, I think not. Unless we're talking about the Austin City Limits festival.


2. This popped up on my other weather forecast page. Pet forecast? Why? Isn't it the same as the human one?


3. This is from the table of contents of issue #68, What Digital Camcorder. This is why I am now a professional writer.


4. So, Magnet sent me a renewal form and I wasn't going to renew I'd already decided cuz the juicy content isn't there, except for the obligatory Decemberists mention every issue. The paper said the next issue would feature Carl Newman and I could get a free CD of my choosing. Oh, alright! So I wrote a little note on the form that I would renew for Sufjan. And instead they sent me some jam band called Jupiter Coyote. I won't even bother with a picture or link. I guess Magnet had the last laugh. (Word on the street is that in the next next issue Colin will have a tour journal.) I guess I can recycle the jewel case and use it for another Decemberists bootleg.

Time Management
Two recent time-consuming projects:
1. The fake IKEA Expedit-ish shelf. I wanted something for under the painting in the living room, so I built this in the same style (square-sized shelves, outside dimensions double the inside pieces, dark stain). Actually, the bottom shelves are big squares, the top ones are little squares and in the middle is space for CDs. We had an old little TV with a built-in VCR (that won't work--it turns the whole thing off whenever you put in a tape) and the stereo got moved from atop the piano on the other side of the room cuz nobody used it there. In the picture you can see the edge of the real IKEA.

2. The band. This is actually a project for work, something not usually mentioned in these pixels, but it's been so big it's spilled over into everything not related to what I do, too. You can see my old Washburn in the picture, with the blue Kyser capo that Chris Funk signed. And the drummer has some electronic drum things that require a PC (ew) to work. She has no actual drum kit. We've now got about 6 kids that want to play guitar, which could make a very interesting orchestra! I've rehearsed with them but don't really join them onstage. I'm more their roadie and sound engineer. I will say it's an exhilarating challenge to play with other people. The whole time I'm thinking to myself, "Damn! I've got to practice more!"

Printed With Soy Ink On Recycled Paper
Ohio Revised Code: "4511.55 Riding Bicycles - Every person operating a bicycle on a roadway shall ride as near to the right side of the roadway as practicable obeying all traffic rules applicable to vehicles, and exercising due care when passing a standing vehicle or one proceeding in the same direction."

Damn it, parents, STOP telling your children to ride against traffic. It's not right. Bikes ride with traffic, subject to the same rules, regulations and laws. Someone's gonna get killed. And while you're at it, buy your kid a helmet. Unless you think massive head trauma is cute. I'm sure your children relish the idea of eating through a straw in a nursing home for the rest of their lives.

Idiots.

Nobody Home
Attention Googlers!
Kirsten Gumm does not live here.
I mentioned her once, and it wasn't in a good light.
So, just to be clear, there are no naked pictures of Kirsten Gumm here, blonde or brunette versions.

Shame
Since I have been shamed into reading something other than rock bios, I am.
Your work was subtle, shamer, but you have triumphed over my literaturely slumming ways.

Literaturely isn't a word, is it?

So what!
I'm a professional writer now!

So I can do that if I want.

Ha!

This wasn't a very good post, was it?

My Name Is Dodge, But Then You Know That
Well, actually their names are Richard and Trish Bruxvoort Colligan. Which is kinda cool. They played here last weekend. Which was very cool. I took them out to dinner (though Pete picked up the tab).
They do a spinetinglingly great cover of James Keelaghan's Cold Missouri Waters, (which I hear is the Canadian troubadour's only good song). I think it would be cool to hear a Decemberists cover of that tune, too. Petra could do the high vocal parts. Nate could do that rumbly bouncing bassline. Funk of course would do a marvelous slide guitar on it. Jennny, maybe, oh, I dunno, accordian? John will do drums, as usual.
I love covers, especially the new Decemberists cover of ELO's Mr Blue Sky.
I love Richard and Trish, especially that song and the one about my brother eating bugs.

Good News For A Change
It seems men won't be dying out anytime soon. Whew!

My Infinitessimally Gentle Brush With Rock Stars

Proof that I am, in fact, crazy: I left the house Thursday morning at 6am and drove to Cleveland, city of my long-forgotten youth. It took not quite 3 hours. Then I was all boarding pass-ed up and went to wait at the gate. The first interminable flight took me to Phoenix. It was kinda neat to land there, as the place is a flat green oasis surrounded by jagged dusty mountains. Before too long we were off again and over the Grand Canyon (the pilot said so). Most of the landscape was pretty boring until we started following the Columbia River Gorge. There are mountains with snow visible in the distance! At the airport I found Mark with minimal wandering around and we were on our way to, let’s just say, an impromptu tour of Portland. We made it downtown eventually, then to the hip neighborhood around the Crystal Ballroom. We had beer and fries downstairs at Ringler’s and then met Uncle Paul and his lovely wife Kim for more drinks at a nice little sidewalk café.

The guy with the green shirt and silver hair is pretty good-looking, but check out that gut!

While we were sitting there we were joined by two other very nice people and all of us, after an engaging discussion of DIY water main repairs, noticed Robyn Hitchcock and another guy walk right past us. Once inside the Crystal we wound our way up to a place that was sort of green room-y, sort of public entrance. The VIPs went to dressing rooms, Mark and I went into the fray. Well, not so much fray as polite indie rock snobs. More like loiterers? We caught the tail end of the guy from Crooked Fingers' set. (I’ve been digging their Dignity and Shame album lately.) At this point it was already well past midnight Eastern time, so I was starting to feel a little weary, as I’d already been up for 18 hours. Robyn came on, and he was wonderful, though the actual musical part of the whole experience was too overwhelming to really take in. Halfway through Robyn’s set he brought out his “band”: Peter Buck (was that who was walking with him before?), Scott McCaughey, and some drummer from Ministry. He played a startlingly sparkly version of Birdshead with them, as well as the obligatory Viva Sea-Tac. Behind me I saw a guy with a forward-facing fanny pack and a ball cap—a taper!—so I let my attention relax once I knew I could relive the whole thing through digitally recorded media. By the time Colin came on I was at least half-zoned, so I moved around a lot to stay awake. While I was a-wandering I noticed Robyn saunter back into the VIP area at the side of the stage. I went up to the fence as he passed by and said, “Hi, Robyn!” hoping he’d come over and I could ask him to sign my capo. He replied, “Hi!” but walked away. Ah, just as well, since it would have been bad form to be chatting up Robyn while Colin was playing his guts out on stage. I’ll catch Robyn another time when he’s actually prepared to do the meet and greet thing. I was awake enough to realize that Colin played a new one, Valenica, and Tristan & Iseult, my favorite Tarkio tune. During this whole time a group of notorious fegs had gathered and when it was all over we attempted to take our aging bodies out for all night after-partying. The first place we went (down) to was supposedly famous for delicious $2 hamburgers, but they had just cleaned the grill so as soon as we sat we left. Then we ended up at a Cajun place, famous for its oyster shooters.

After our spicy repast, we posed for snaps and went our separate ways. Mark took off for Corvallis with some of the recent blog art (September is free art month!). I went with Jill (who flew in from Boston, who’s crazy now?!) and her dearest friend, Emperor Moo, to crash for 73 minutes before it was time to get on the little train to the airport. Jeme rode home on his bike along darkened empty streets. Gnatalie went home to get some sleep before her next midwifery gig. A groggy trip on the spiffy light rail train was next. I believe I left my tinfoil crab-shaped leftovers there by mistake. In a complete daze I somehow ended up on the right plane. After several short, bodaciously bad catnaps I was in Houston—with 20 minutes to get from one end of the sprawling airport to the other. On the last leg of the trip I started caffeine-ing up so I could make the drive home, but it ended up just making me antsy that I had to watch commercials on the stupid fold-down LCD screen. And stupid movies—Kicking & Screaming and Mr and Mrs Perfect Blow Up Lots Of Things. I didn’t plug in my headphones. The drive home from the airport was uneventful and went mercifully fast. I have no clear idea of what happened the rest of that evening and only a vague recollection of the entire next day.

Credits:
Lauran—I know you expected me to come home ranting and raving about how wonderful it all was, but I was so fried—in a good way—that I just couldn’t. Needless to say, it was overwhelmingly fantastic! What a great one of a kind opportunity! I am so full of husbandly gratitude that you didn’t just say, “Oh, fine, go,” but instead, “You should go! It’ll be great!” I did and it was.
Mark—Thanks for everything, starting with the early tip off! It was so great meeting you and hanging out. And I can’t thank you enough for all the chaufferring me around the fair and civilized city of Portland. You also made sure the lot of us were fed and watered. Mmmm! Thanks!
Paul & Kim—Thanks for being so cool with me being around. It was really neat-o to finally meet the fabled Uncle Paul of lore and legend! For you, sir, a barrel of vodka and lime! I’ll send some art for you to Mark. Sadly, I have no diagrams of urine samples.
Jill—NOW I know what your voice sounds like when I read your prolific emails and posts, I am sorry that by the time I found you I was much more tired than I wanted to admit to myself or anyone else. But, as I am a stubborn creature, I wasn’t going to let that ruin anybody's fun. Bottom line: you’re great!
Miriam—Lovely couch! Lovely van! Lovely cat! Lovely roommates! You assistance was invaluable—otherwise I’d still be wandering up and down NE Sandy.
Carson & Colin—thank you for letting me barge in on your home territory and your family! Yes, I’d love to find out more about doing some freelance editorial illustrations, and thanks for digging the little pieces I brought with me. I always try to act normal and remember that you’re normal people too, so hopefully I didn’t get too leg humpy at any point.
To the fegs (you know who you are)—v v nice to meet you. I’ve read your snarky posts on the fegmania digest for years upon years. Now I know who to blame. No, seriously, you’re lovely.
To my faithful (27) readers—Sorry this took so long to post. As soon as I got back I had to get ready for the events of the big weekend at work, when my friends Trish and Richard came to play. I’ll post about that soon, but at this rate it’ll be October.

Camel in Disrepair
Yup. So I'm flying, CLE to PDX (with a side order of PHX for about an hour). In an amazing convergence of karmic good will for me, Colin Meloy and Robyn Hitchcock will be on the same stage on the same night, back to back. I couldn't possibly miss it. (Well, I will if there are any delays or other such airline disruptions.) Then I shall fly home the next day, early.
Full report later.

You Need A Little Jump Of Electrical Shockers
Something is not right with the wiring in our house.
We seem to go through light bulbs rather quickly. And when they go, they pop rather loudly. I mean, like every few weeks all the bulbs in the basement will be replaced. And, of course, nothing in the box is labelled properly, so when I've changed fixtures and stuff I just turn off the whole house. I've been shocked a few times in my time and I don't care to repeat it. It hurts.

Favorite Almost Useless Words
Lupe!
Sriracha!
Celery salt!

Mind The Gap
We're all carefree and happy happy happy here.

A Cheap Holiday In Other People's Misery
I may have used that headline for a post once before.
Gas has gotten cheaper again. It's down to $2.99.

Hey Matt! (And everyone.) Have fun in Vermont.

Night After Day After Night I've Been Working

I have lots of projects to keep me occupied, but it doesn't stop my mind from thinking up new ones that I'll probably never get around to doing. But then again, what's the rush? I have some paintings I carted around unfinished for ten years or more. Of course, when I got around to finishing them they may not have been worth it!

I Could Hang About And Burn My Fingers
Since I am the cook here, I made garlic shrimp and rice for dinner. No one ate it but me. No, I didn't eat more then. Then I played a song (badly) in public, thankfully only a few people were there and they were a very forgiving audience. (I totally missed one chord change and just kept strumming the same one until it came back to it a few beats later, and I also botched the Bm once, otherwise it went OK.) I think I've finally got that M-Audio FastTrack figured out. It's touted as totally GarageBand-compliant, all Core Audio-y, but it's got the weakest preamp in the business. (And, no I didn't pay that much for it.) So maybe I'll get to recording some of those demented little songs I've mentioned once or twice. For me. No one needs--or wants--to hear them.

Right now I've got a stuffy nose and I've noticed that I'm about 700 miles behind in my training so far this year. I know it was the crazy summer schedule (and locations) that caused this. Oh well. There's always next year. My club is getting new jerseys. I guess I'll order one in the hope that by next summer's riding season I won't weigh 300 pounds and not fit in it.

Personally, I would have designed something different, but then who wants to ride around in a paint-splattered, viney jersey? Cycling jerseys are by nature garish and crude.