But Do I Really Want It To Go Away?
"Issue" #1: My obsessive stencilling of anything that won't move. Storage bins in the garage. Tools. Furniture. Guitars. Even my iBook.
#2: My obsessive Decemberists fandom. Seems to have eclipsed my longtime Robyn Hitchcock fandom. Especially since he blew me off last month.
#3: Guitar-mania. It started so simply, so long ago. It was one acoustic guitar, then a case for it. Now it's guitars, at home, in the livingroom, in my office. One is never enough it seems.
#4: (This isn't really my issue, but about other people with problems, specifically Anton Newcombe. I'd heard a little of his weirdy 60s revival stuff here and there--I was intrigued by the band's clever name, like everyone else--and when I was in Portland last month Mark and I walked down to Dante's, where they were going to play later. When we walked in no one was there, just club workers, it seemed, though there was some gear set up onstage. It looked like a cool little club to see a show in. Now that I've obsessively watched DIG for the past few days I am SO GLAD that Anton wasn't there. All it would have taken was one wrong glance in his direction and he'd personally have beaten us both senseless. Unless he's a frail junkie. Then we out-of-shape old guys would've kicked his crazy ass.
#5: Feeling guilty about not putting in any real miles this year. I haven't even broken 2000 yet. It's been crazy. Well, I haven't, but it has been.

Fun With GarageBand, Part 6

For Lauran's birthday last week I made her a song. Well, it's Robyn Hitchcock's song, Love, from his first solo album. If you dare, you can download an mp3 of it here. I sat on the livingroom floor and tracked it right in front of her. With my M-Audio FastTrack, miles of cables and adapters, and my real Telecaster*, which was my secret big summer purchase, as well as my Saga kit bass and a little egg shaker dealie.
It's not illegal to cover other people's songs and put them on your blog, is it?

*2004 MIM, as the geargeeks say.

Breaking News
Since my last e-pistle, these things have happened:
1. Gabe broke his other wrist, in three places. On the same monkey bars as last year. Also on a Tuesday when I was in staff meeting. So I got out of it.
2. Hamsty's grave has been desecrated by a nasty animal of some sort. Gabe's lower lip quivered when he told me about what he found.
3. I have been immortalized as a cartoon in my friend Jamie's strip.
4. I couldn't go to Brian N's gig and forgot to tell him I couldn't in a timely manner, so I looked like an ungrateful heel after his gracious invitation.
Guess which one is the good news?


I'm kinda cute as a cartoon.

Plug Plug Plug
The article does, in fact, exist. The magazine sent me two copies--Royal Mail!--and they arrived yesterday.
Scans are here.

The Depths of Grief

Hamsty died. Sometime between Friday night and Saturday morning. Gabe presided over a very moving funeral in the backyard. He seemed to take it the worst. Sam was rather disinterested. Lauran felt guilty, like we hadn't given him the right kind of attention or something. (He was a HAMSTER. They don't live long. No one cries when our momma guppies eat most of their offspring as soon as they are born. Call of the Wild, Survival of the Fittest and all that.)

In This Place Called Heavenly
Columbus, Ohio, baby!

On my Birthday Eve, yesterday, I went to see The Decemberists (again).
I think it may be the last time for a while, from what I hear about their 2006 schedule.

They opened with The Tain. They closed with I Was Meant For The Stage, which included wholesale destruction of instruments, or at least their gentle abuse. Both were probably the best live versions I've seen yet. (I almost said "heard" but "seen" is the right word, I think.) The Newport is a great venue for them. The old opera house feel of it was the perfect backdrop for their unique brand of musical theatre. I'm also remembering a very energetic version of The Sporting Life, complete with French count-in, but it's not on the setlist. Also, a full-band arrangement of Angels and Angles. Just lucious!

As always, they were exceedingly kind and generous to me, and, somehow knew it was about to be my birthday. All in all, they made me feel special. The GOOD kind of special.
How can you NOT just love them?

All The Fishes Come Home To Roost
OK, I'll be nice now.

On the way home yesterday I saw two obese teenagers, in full Burger King regalia, making out by the garbage bins. I was so horrified I almost couldn't eat my Whopper.

I've just finished reading Rachel Manija Brown's book. I loved it! It's like Anne Lamott meets Eastern Mysticism! It's interesting on a personal note cuz I have an uncle who thinks the world of Meher Baba. Which guru is he, you ask? Well, "Don't worry, be happy" is his contribution to popular culture. I won't be rude and call him a deluded whackjob.

C'mon, Ugly Nora
Hideous Nora! I wanna see your jellies roll!
When will this absurd low-rise pants thing end? I'm all for exposed midriffs, but someone needs to tell certain girls that regular old fit jeans are the way to go for them. I'm sorry to have to bring this up, but I've seen too many overflown waistbands already.
Flame away! Call me sexist, if you want. But first put on some pants that fit.

This is a picture of the hair that collects around the drain in the shower. Enjoy. I have plenty more if you need some.


(This delightful post is for all the people that think I'm nice. In reality, I am mean and nasty.

And gross, obvs.)

You Talk About Them Like They’re Squirrels Or Something
That’s a direct quote from Lauran.
I was accusing the boys of taking my stuff. The thing is, they do! They see something they like, they take it to one of their little treasurey hiding places and I only find it later by accident. They especially like to steal the headbands I wear when I spin. They also take little plugs and adaptor cords and such. The thing I was looking for was the little Velcro legband thingy that I use to keep the chainring from eating or soiling my pants when I ride in to work. They’ve taken it before. I suppose it appeals to them because it’s reflective.
Now I am not an especially materialistic person. In our house we have some mixed hand-me-down furniture (and no desire to buy anything like a bedroom suite—pronounced “suit” by the locals), a few computers, televisions, and all the toys anyone would ever need for a lifetime. We have all the normal stuff families need, including two very serviceable automobiles, and even some frills like an old walnut piano I refinished a few years ago. Personally, I have a couple of iPods, the iBook that is my life, a mountain bike, my old road bike, my new road bike, two acoustic guitars, two electric guitars (three if you count the one that my brother has on permanent extended loan-gift), a mandolin, and a bass. So I figure I’ve got it good. (I once heard it said that if you can choose what you’d like to eat for a meal you are among the world’s wealthiest people.)
For a while I’ve said that when I’m 40 in a few years, and begin the long slow decline of life, I would like some nice material goods to enjoy in my remaining days: a really nice bike (but the one I got earlier this year is just awesome—Ultegra 10, carbon, aluminum, 17 pounds!, so maybe this one is already covered?) and a really nice guitar. On this front, I have yet to complete my master materialistic plan. I still want 1 more—a Burns Steer.

This is what Billy Bragg used to play before he moved in to his country estate by the sea. Well, I guess I want 2 more guitars, cuz I also want a really top quality acoustic, with electronics. That’s all, though. Well, except for the inevitable new computers every so often. And cars, the evil necessity. I really don’t like cars except as a way to carry more than I can carry on my bike.

Groovy Decay
I must admit I’m fascinated with wear and tear. There must be some disorder in the DSM called “cognitive-empirical degradation syndrome” or something. Scratches, dents, blemishes, they all interest me terribly. I am enjoying watching the old Neon rust. I make paintings on wood and then sand them down. (I’ve been doing that for years, though.) I think that the tiny pick scratches on my guitars make beautiful, sweeping arcs. In fact, the reason I painted the guitar and bass last year was that I wanted to see the finish get all scuffed and scarred from use.
This painting is on the back of my clipboard, which I use constantly for any kind of writing that doesn’t happen on the computer. I think my co-workers think I’m strange.

They're Selling Postcards of the Hanging
No, I haven't been struck senseless by a random falling object, I've just been crazy busy, dear readers, with all the things that I do do, and have to do.
And I've been immersed in the Dylan-mania that is gripping the public airwaves this past week. I was transfixed by the Scorcese documentary (even if it was carefully stage-managed by the Dylan camp). I've never been a huge Dylan fan, but I've never hated him either. I think the pendulum has swung to an extreme now, though. I've relistened to the Robyn Sings CDs, where Robyn Hitchcock covers the mis-named Royal Albert Hall gig (No. 4 in the Official Dylan bootleg series). I've read Chronicles. I'm hooked.

One really fun part of everything related to what I do is the new band. Playing with them is a ton of fun. Yes, I suck, but that's why there's other members. This has taken a lot of time.

I've also done a bunch of art that didn't seem to fit in here, so I haven't put it up.