Denelian

forwarding address

2007-07-17T23:45:00.001-04:00

i moved to portland, oregon
nearly one year ago.

interested parties may point their conestogas towards:
http://rubberandroses.blogspot.com

cheers,
l m s

That ribbon of highway

2006-10-25T00:01:00.000-04:00

I’m gonna hit that western road,
I’m gonna hit that Oregon trail this coming fall.
Where the good rain falls a-plenty
Where the crops and orchards grow
I’m gonna hit that Oregon trail this coming fall.

-Woody Guthrie

2006-04-12T22:36:00.000-04:00

bird.

belt.

building.

Currently spinning:
José González - Veneer
(A most suitable soundtrack for late-night driving, empty city streets)

shoegazer

2006-03-24T21:59:00.000-05:00

Several days per week I pull something of a Lois Lane/Clark Kent transformation, making a mad dash home from work, navigating the obstacle course of furry animals, and shucking my adorable-yet-sky-high heels in favor of a sensible pair of running shoes. Then I dash back out.

A while ago I realized my sweatshop-sewn swooshes were no longer in acceptable form, so I sought out a new pair of running shoes.

I made my purchase from a shop near one of the MetroParks trails I frequent. I admit I was a bit wary at first--the last time I tried to support local commerce via the local cobble shop, I walked away with something more than new leather.

In a nutshell, the fellow who was helping me select footwear got way up in my personal space, invited me to partake in some celebratory Y2K-woo-hoo gunfire, and about a month later showed up in the police blotter of the local paper.

His crime? Being caught in the act of pilfering skivvies from the apartment of a college co-ed.
Apparently he felt something was missing from the collection of thousands stashed in his trunk.
But nay, he was not a selfish man. He wanted to share the joy of his stolen panties.
Accordingly, he hung out his virtual shingle in the form of a Web site.
This Web site featured pictures of himself. Dressed as a woman.
He was passing off the worn undergarments as his own.
And they were for sale.
Hooray for American enterprise!

For the most part, this shoe-shopping experience was much less eventful. The only trauma I experienced was the shame of having to purchase shoes one size larger than the normal size I wear, in order to accomodate my extra-long toes.

I've had the shoes for a little over a month now and they're great, save the one thing that has always irked me about women's athletic shoes...
They're white.
I mean, really white.
Like the blinding white of someone who needs to be placed on teeth bleaching probation.

Apparently I am not the only one who has been, ahem, blinded by the white.

Today I passed a fellow, who, after saying hello, looked away with a bit of a secretly amused grin.

I immediately became self-conscious.

Was it the shoes? Were they too white?

About a quarter of a mile later I passed a woman in a pink flowered track suit. I attempted to gauge her reaction. The first thing her eyes fell upon before flicking upward? My feet.

Ugh.

I've had the shoes for over a month now, have worn them in the rain, snow and mud. I figured they would have mellowed to at least a dingy cream by now.

Nope.

It's really not that big of a deal - they're comfortable and supportive and don't hurt. In this case, fashion is somewhat secondary to podiatric surgery.

But every time I pass a horde of cross-country members from the local high school, I half expect them to accost me and give my shoes a proper grade school-style stomping before continuing on their merry, sweaty way.

Rimshot

2006-03-20T21:13:00.000-05:00

ten

2006-03-17T20:48:00.000-05:00

ten great things:

+ the ghosts of chippewa lake

+ gordon parks

+ parking lot sunsets

+ flickr pro accounts

+ colorful buildings

+ the undeniable decadence of two percent

+ mini chaps

+ the palace theatre

+ waldorf bread (aka fungus chemistry)

+ paperwhites (and grape hyacinth!)

Quotes of Note

2006-03-14T22:48:00.000-05:00

Hey, you look like this girl named Leslie that I used to know, but if she, like, sold out to The Man.
- The local man enigmatically dubbed "NeighborBob", despite the fact that he lives nowhere near me. (Perhaps this moniker is to distinguish him from "ShoeBob", the cobbler with the penchant for Ghoulardi and cross-dressing mannequins.)

Sorry to get all Patrick Swayze on ya there...
-A.L.

I thought you would be shorter. And have shorter hair. And be really, really loud.
- Robbie's girlfriend, upon the occasion of meeting me for the first time.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Currently spinning:
Low ~ Things We Lost in the Fire

i've got my boots...dusty

2006-03-12T19:40:00.000-05:00

currently spinning:
sebadoh ~ harmacy

lions vs. lambs

2006-03-01T22:16:00.000-05:00

there is nothing like a discussion about dead (or dying) white guys

and affirming the goodness of winter light

to make one feel really enthusiastic about the tasks at hand.

(whispering trucks!)

currently spinning:
yo la tengo ~ summer sun

2006-02-23T19:12:00.000-05:00

currently spinning:
slint ~ spiderland

oui, virginie...

2006-02-17T23:12:00.000-05:00

currently spinning:
the books ~ the lemon of pink

trees and threes

2006-02-15T22:42:00.000-05:00

Currently spinning:
Elliott Smith ~ Elliott Smith

snowhio

2006-02-10T17:50:00.000-05:00

I had a rather lengthy commute the other day thanks to heaps and heaps of snow falling on under-salted cobblestones. Thankfully my fellow travelers were all cautious and responsible. We crept along, offering me ample opportunity to ruminate on two things I adore:

1. Watching other drivers drive. This American Life once devoted an entire episode to the concept of a million people in their insulated "million bubbles". Voyeuristic, yes, but it's rather awesome to be able to peek behind the public/private curtain when it's made only of transparent safety glass. Suddenly you are privy to a snapshot of the intricacies of the lives of others - a world rife with joys and complexities you'll never know about (but probably share at some basic level).

Over the miles I've seen people laughing, crying, screaming, fighting, rocking the air drums. Sometimes I wonder what provoked the reactions. Maybe they just received word of something really terrible or really wonderful. Or maybe they're just listening to a really good song by Yo la Tengo.

2. I love it when we get a proper snow and it's faster to walk than drive. It forces observance of things normally missed when whizzing by in one's vehicle. It never fails; I always go into tiny ecstacies over the stark contrast of white snow on black branches.

...with a banjo on my knee

2006-02-06T20:45:00.000-05:00

Currently spinning:
Arab Strap ~ Philophobia

j a n u a r y

2006-02-03T22:52:00.000-05:00

(come see me when Low plays...)

(cerulean)

(elvis...lives. elvis...lives)

(first meeting of the mid-century modern thievery corp./le corbusier gang: dedicated to the liberation of period furnishings from corporate venues and relocation to a more appreciative setting (read: members' abodes)

Currently spinning:
Sufjan Stevens ~ Seven Swans

Apple Juice Activism

2006-02-01T08:44:00.000-05:00

The other day I was reading an article about the 20th anniversary of the Challenger space shuttle disaster when I saw another headline that Alaska had resumed aerial wolf hunts.

The last time I recall both items being in the news, I was in third grade. My teacher, Mr. Boone, was the sort of fellow who gave John Denver a run for his hayseed money, but he was kind and dreamy and kept all sorts of animals in the classroom. He also offered us the option of skipping the social hell of lunchtime in favor of allowing us to eat our pbj's (or pbp's in my case) in the classroom while he strummed ‘70s singer-songwriter standards by JD, Cat Stevens and…um, Shel Silverstein.

As an adult, I question the prestige of playing guitar to a captive audience of budding primary school misfits/misanthropes, but hey, we dug it.

So, word got around that Alaska was killing wolves by air and being that our roll call roster included crunchy granola-munchers christened Trinity (3), Chastity (2), Smiley, Breezy, Karma and Abba, we circulated a petition and wrote letters to the governor of Alaska.

In my letter I invoked a mockery of the dewy-eyed tourist ditty at the time. Sadly, like so much chalk dust, time has erased the lyrics illustrating my scathingly brilliant young wit. However, I do still remember the words to the original:

Ahem.

Alaska is the story/That my father told/Of swift rivers running/With salmon and gold/Alaska is so many things/I have never known/Alaska is the warming sun/Calling me home/Alaaaaaskaaaaaaa

We felt like our efforts made some difference when the state bowed to public pressure and ceased shooting wolves from airplanes.

Three years later I would rail against injustice of another sort: Fashion blunders.

This Moment of Activism™ occurred in a different city, but the glow of victory against the mean ol' puppykillers lingered on.

My school’s dress code required that students wear socks with their Flojos (sort of like a rubbery Jesus sandal.) Oddly enough, thongs were kosher without socks but not Flojos.

Back then I wasn't exactly a bastion of fashion, (though I did have something of a juvenile New Wave thing going with lots of black and white and painstakingly checkered fingernails) but the combination of sock-and-sandal was enough to offend the sensibilities of even the most tender fashionista. Besides, it was California. It was hot. Sandals were supposed to keep you cool. The socks looked bad and completely thwarted any notion of podiatric ventilation.

Steeled by a round of dinner table encouragement from the family, I circulated a petition through all six grades and presented it to the principal while he was eating lunch in the teacher’s lounge. My friends and I then retreated outside to await the decision.

Word came in the form of the bewildered principal’s secretary exiting the lounge and seeing the hushed, assembled throng.

She informed us that our princi-pal took one look at our efforts and tossed it in the trash.

“It’s policy” she shrugged and said, averting her eyes from our dejected, cherubic faces.

Several months later we exacted our revenge by sabotaging the school's talent show through the cunning use of Def Leppard's Pour Some Sugar on Me.

The first boyfriend of my sixth grade year was the one-armed drummer. I was the keyboardist. (The second boyfriend of my sixth grade year was so wowed by my performance that he promptly began wooing me later that day. Ah, cover band groupies...)

I know there wasn't a keyboardist, silly.
There also weren't back-up dancers--But there should have been.

Def Leppard coulda been stars, if only they’d had back-up dancers.

Currently spinning:
The Pipettes ~ Dirty Mind

spring nearing

2006-01-30T00:19:00.000-05:00

the current forecast:
rampant skipping and gleeful vaults from front porch steps
leading to unabashed running along damp sidewalk squares.

anon, the mincing gait of slip-sobered winter is being shuttled;
we make eyes at each other and kick like frisking colts.

currently spinning:
built to spill ~ keep it like a secret

observation

2006-01-29T17:18:00.000-05:00

they may be velour
but honey,
they're still sweat pants.

currently spinning:
the mountain goats ~ nothing for juice

alphabetarian

2006-01-27T10:55:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I miss the cadence of academia
(the seasons neatly severed into quarters, semesters, breaks)
But then my student loan payment comes due.

Currently spinning:
Camera Obscura ~ Underachievers, Please Try Harder

cherubic

2006-01-25T18:55:00.000-05:00

call / response

2006-01-23T19:31:00.000-05:00

and some nights there was nothing so lovely
as hearing you softly call,
come, let's to bed

introductions prompting endless amusement
at all the meaning
captured in the measure
of a breath

and the stories
and the adventures
(oh, the adventures.)

as autumn fell to taciturn winter
we found it preferable to gaze upon nailbed, palm and shoelace
to avoid entering into that dialogue
thick with definitions, semantics
(and clarity)

until the silence
became an answer
in itself.

Currently spinning:
Broken Social Scene ~ You Forgot it in People

ephemera

2006-01-22T20:19:00.000-05:00

Currently spinning:
Boards of Canada ~ The Campfire Headphase

thoughts on a thursday morning jaunt to the coffee shop

2006-01-19T11:10:00.000-05:00

dear birds,
it is entirely too early for you to be chirping so.
you are bound to end up cold, disappointed.

Currently spinning:
r a n d o m r u l e s :
harvey danger / the softies / the decemberists

passing afternoon

2006-01-17T16:24:00.000-05:00

Currently spinning:
Iron + Wine ~ Our Endless Numbered Days

supper or dinner?

2006-01-15T20:12:00.000-05:00

i dreamed i was a food critic
seated at some northwestern lodge
and the proprietor was telling me about all the fabulous ways
they prepare fresh-caught wild salmon
and the fire was crackling
and my head was spinning with the choices
and i woke with the fear
that i just might be turning into a foodie.

Currently spinning
hem ~ rabbit songs

Jollification and Ticker Tape

2005-12-31T16:44:00.000-05:00

(I'm not one for resolutions and the Jewish New Year feels more like beginnings than mid-winter, but I can't help but be thrilled...)

I've got a new camera, a fresh Nikki McClure calendar, sturdy shoes on my feet.
Can this new year be anything less than wonderful?

2005 brought some solidly good times, good people and all sorts of new knowledge!

I'm positively giddy with the prospects for 2006 - all the dirt from places I've yet to go collected in the treads of my shoes and tires.

I am so glad that this world is wide open and we are wonderful and in it.

It's getting lighter by two minutes each and every day!

Let's straddle state lines and wade deep in the water until our ankles are soaked (but we won't mind) because tomorrow morning we can sleep in late and rub our grumbly tummies and proclaim, "O, I have not eaten anything at all this year!"

goody
goody
goody

success

2005-12-29T11:11:00.000-05:00

sometimes i think success is all a matter of
punctuality,
enthusiasm
and hard work.

other times i think it's just
who you know.

either way,
right about now,
things are not looking too good
on paper.

Currently spinning:
Sleater-Kinney ~ The Hot Rock

build

2005-12-28T19:19:00.000-05:00

Currently spinning:
MIA ~ Arular

a (late) christmas story

2005-12-26T20:16:00.000-05:00

I have a habit of referring to animals as being “heathens” and I realized this most likely stems from an incident that occurred several years ago: The Great Holiday Massacre of Nineteen-Nineteysomethingruther.

One of our family pets was a mutant Welsh Corgi/yellow Labrador amalgam named Corky. Poor Cork had issues, to put it lightly, but most days he was a fine dog.

My family has never been particularly religious, but we did have a Nativity scene handed down from my paternal grandmother. It wasn’t a priceless antique, but it was a nice little German papier mâchè crèche. Each year we dutifully set it up beneath the sheltering limbs of the Christmas tree, and each year it remained unmolested by man or beast (save the rare overzealous gift-grabber).

Coincidentally, the same year Corky came into our lives, members of the Nativity began disappearing.
First it was one of the Three Wise Men.
Then one of the manger animals wandered astray.
By the time we found the partially-digested remains in the backyard, poor Joseph had already gone AWOL.

We found a more suitable home for the manger on the fireplace mantel and ended up purchasing a second Nativity set. In subsequent years we had a rotating cast of crèche understudies including two baby Jesuses, which we swapped depending on how the spirit moved us.

The Massacre occurred around the time that Newt Gingrich was banging his drum and squawking about the whole family values/unwed welfare mothers thing. Given we were living in suburban D.C., I’ll honor Corky’s furry, floppy-eared memory by assuming the random disappearances were merely his frustrated commentary on the political climate at that time.

Currently spinning:
Modest Mouse mix

signs of the season

2005-12-24T16:28:00.000-05:00

+ snowglobe rings
+ marzipan animals
+ human zambonis
+ wind-cherried cheeks
+ heavenly evergreen
+ dancing to the vince guaraldi trio
+ Hartzler's eggnog
+ the sound of snow falling in the still, dark morning
+ even john waters has a christmas album!
+ andre was a young black santa claus
+ wasabi snowmen
+ Christmas missives filled with hijinks and, um, highlights...

+ speaking of christmas cards, Lisa was writing hers when she turned, pen aloft, and asked, "How do you spell hepatitis?" Then again, I oughtn't be surprised: She's the gal who trimmed her tree with a vice charm garland (guns! girls! gin!) and Anaïs Nin and phrenology ornaments.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Happy Christmas (Hanukkah/Solstice/Eid) and gladdest tidings to all!

Please, please, please hold your dear ones close.

shrugging against the cold

2005-12-22T18:27:00.000-05:00

nota bene:
the key to wintering
(the heart of it all) -
remember to look up.

currently spinning:
electrelane ~ the power out

holly days

2005-12-15T22:01:00.000-05:00

I spent some time over the past two days trying to track down specific stamps to use on this year's batch of Christmas cards.

I didn't want a reverent madonna and child. I didn't want portly santas or Christmas cookies.

I narrowed my options for holiday postage down to two choices; either R. Buckminster Fuller or that other bastion of Christmas cheer: Ronnie Reagan.

(here r.r. leads the press corps in a rousing rendition of "rudolph the red-nosed reindeer")

Alas, with the impending postage increase (despite the USPS having something like a billion-plus dollar surplus thanks to Operation Iraqi Oil) the shelves had not been re-stocked and pickings were slim. I ended up using a hodgepodge of flowers, vintage automobiles and masterworks of modern American architecture to pay the way of my missives. Ho ho ho, indeed.

Sending out Christmas cards is one of those things that makes me feel über adult, like having several insurance policies or remembering to take the trash out to the curb on certain nights.

I'll admit that the content of the cards doesn't go much beyond a scribbled note on the facing page - no lengthy letter detailing how much good fortune has fallen upon my fair family this year. No pictures of the kids.

My parents still include a family update letter with their holiday cards. And each year I wheedle and plead, hoping they'll toss in some salacious tidbit to offset the quantity of sunshine and glory that the Good Lord has blown directly up the collective backsides of The Smith/Brown/Jones clan this season.

Something like, "Leslie is still living in sin with her Internet boyfriend in his mother's basement in Ohio; luckily it looks like she'll make head cashier here real soon at her job at the Super Wal-Mart. And dontcha know we sure are pleased as Punch about all that."

Sucks to you and your summa cum laude-grubbing offspring, anyway!

I am sad to report that, so far, all attempts to persuade my sweet, respectable family that, this, indeed, is a brilliant idea, have failed.

My mother (bless her) seems to be the only one who finds me as equally--if not more--humorous as I find myself. And this is probably as it should be.

For now I will continue to have a big ol' smirk and chuckle party all by my lonesome as I address cards to families with lengthy titles such as The Secret Society of Jane and Joe Sixpack or The Eminently Effervescent Cam Jansen.

Oh, and in the interactive portion of my blogthering, I'm taking votes for my Christmas Day movie viewing choices. I can finally relent and embrace my American citizenship and watch either It's a Wonderful Life or Miracle on 34th Street, as I've seen neither.

Yup, that sound you hear is the commie alarm going off.

Just between you and me, I'm leaning towards something more Lynchian--perhaps a delightful Twin Peaks marathon or Strange Brew. And I did just pick up season two of The Adventures of Pete & Pete... but I'm open to suggestions.

Currently spinning:
The Fall ~ 50,000 Fall Fans Can't Be Wrong

welcome to

2005-12-14T00:08:00.000-05:00

dutch treats

2005-12-13T20:00:00.000-05:00

this might be the most coolestest site -- e v e r.

(sweet wesley anderson, is that futura?!?!)

currently spinning:
jeremy enigk ~ return of the frog queen

wings, wheels or wit:

2005-12-10T22:43:00.000-05:00

for those who only kind of like birds

Currently spinning:
Jo(h)anna Newsom ~ The Milk-Eyed Mender

cla(s)p your hands, oyez

2005-12-07T19:09:00.000-05:00

(frozen feet)

(modest feet)

.
.
.

(no more feet)

Currently spinning:
Pinback ~ Blue Screen Life

coming to america

2005-12-06T20:15:00.000-05:00

last night i dreamed of neil diamond.
he was narrating a television biopic (about himself) in a mirror.
he lit a match, blew it out, and used the ashes as blush.
i have to say, it looked pretty good on him.

Currently spinning:
Pavement ~ Brighten the Corners

(lips like) sugar

2005-12-03T01:04:00.000-05:00

Z e i t g e i s t

2005-11-30T08:11:00.000-05:00

A friend of mine recently showed me this clever item.

It was the winner of a competition in which people re-edited movie trailers to make them seem like completely different movies.

It has brought me much joy.

(It's Quicktime)

Shining

depreciation / circulation

2005-11-29T20:00:00.000-05:00

made a shopping list today.
realized it consisted entirely of things that will keep me warm
inside and out.
makes me feel like a proper ohioan
(for better or for worse)

Currently spinning:
refrigerator - how you continue dreaming

hands and feet

2005-11-28T19:08:00.000-05:00

Currently spinning:
Pavement ~ Slanted and Enchanted (Luxe & Reduxe) disc 2

revisionist histories

2005-11-27T22:55:00.000-05:00

Currently spinning:
Sweetheart ~ Art is Dead is Dead

kill yr idols

2005-11-23T22:54:00.000-05:00

A few days ago I saw Calvin Johnson play at the Lime Spider.
It cost five dollars and I thought to myself, “Wow, I think the last time I saw Calvin Johnson it was five dollars, too, and it was back when I lived in Olympia.”
So I went.
I was not terribly impressed with Mr. Johnson's insipid, uninspired performance. What could have been a really cool thing smacked of bored pretension. Calvin tried to do his best Johnny Cash Tennessee Flattop Box impression, but what translated as stoicism with The Man in Black came across as smug self-aggrandizement with CJ.

A few songs and several smartass comments in, King K Records decided to up his performance a notch by kicking it VH-1 Storytellers style and inviting the audience to sit onstage.

Now before I get too far in this rant, let me offer a couple of disclaimers:

1. Perhaps I am overly protective of dear Akron, my chosen home. I think we've got a lot of cool things going on here, and a lot of potential on par with any number of indie meccas, including D.C. and Olympia, Washington.

2. Perhaps I've heard the sentence "some kid from Ohio" uttered one too many times as shorthand for "some poor schmoe who can't possibly get it" from rockstar-of-the-moment on MTV.

However, I've seen Calvin Johnson perform several times and he did not act as he acted that night. He told pointless stories using extra-big, wide-eyed motions more befitting a kindergarten teacher than anyone who had any sort of respect for the intelligence and appreciation of those assembled before him. And frankly, this pissed me off.

He seemed to be pandering to the crowd, a King presiding over his milk-and-cookies court. He was up there, drolly intoning lyrics about the curl of some girl’s hair and gee whiz and all things twee and looked completely not convinced and totally bored as he sang.

I like my music with a smidgen of danger and a lot of honesty. And I realize that after playing the same damn song a thousand times, the performance runs the risk of becoming rote. But it seemed like he never believed the words in the first place.

The smugness, the calculated schtick (down to fuzzy crewneck sweater)...all of it just reminded me of the worst of the Olympia scene - when whatever originality that made the scene innovative and cool was lost and it becomes nothing more than a lot of posturing hiding behind a brand name and a heaping helping of hype.

Conversely, the act before him, Tender Forever, was a reminder of the best of what Olympia once offered. It was all about being totally spastic, doin’ your thang and not caring what anyone thinks. Sure, there are eight million eloquent ways to say I miss you, yeah, but there are also those three words. Her lyrics were simple and direct and honest, but you can tell she believed in what she was saying. That grain of true emotion was still intact.

Perhaps she gets away with it because she is so tiny and cute and so not a native English speaker. But then again I’ve known the climax of "No Culture Icons" by Portland's The Thermals to be a completely veracious rallying cry for many, as well.

So in true 'merican-and-proud-of-it fashion, I voted with my dollars and bought the new Tender Forever disc over the new Calvin Johnson album. I suppose he gets a kickback either way, given that TF is on K. Oh well.

And as I was putting on my gloves to leave, my finger popped through the fabric of one of the digits. This was the pair of gloves I bought during that crazy ice storm that hit the Pacific Northwest back in 1996. Seemed fitting that it should happen that night. Meh.

Currently spinning:
The Mountain Goats ~ Nine Black Poppies

mavens & monsters

2005-11-22T01:43:00.000-05:00

Currently spinning:
Jeff Mangum ~ Live at Jittery Joe's

housekeeping

2005-11-19T23:22:00.000-05:00

mani e piedi, vol. uno

2005-11-19T22:28:00.000-05:00

(a segue to something more ambitious, perhaps)

weekdays

wedding days

rainy days

and some nights...

Currently spinning:
Stars ~ Set Yourself on Fire

to market, to market

2005-11-17T20:23:00.000-05:00

Currently spinning:
Pavement ~ Westing (by Musket and Sextant)

andlefene

2005-11-15T18:18:00.000-05:00

We’re both really into clocks, she tells me
He buys her one every anniversary.
They share a mutual fondness for loud things like
domesticated fowl and Harley-Davidson motorcycles.
And with each sweep of the second hand
The chimes roundly remind everyone within earshot
of his affection for her.
But all I keep thinking is this:
Dude, in a couple more years it's going to be deafening.

assuage

2005-11-14T16:36:00.000-05:00

i call this piece "foosball or football?"*
*pretentious art-eest inflection optional

and some old ones, just because:

Currently spinning:
Low ~ Things We Lost in the Fire

static, achromatic

2005-11-11T20:30:00.000-05:00

Happy Armistice Day, all

Currently spinning:
Archers of Loaf ~ Vee Vee

Beginnings, Endings

2005-11-09T00:56:00.000-05:00

narcissism: breakfast of champions

Currently spinning:
Working Holiday (Simple Machines comp)

god bless america

2005-11-07T20:45:00.000-05:00

they caught the man
who was clever enough to sneak off death row
outside of a liquor store
drunk, on a payphone
wobbling next to a bicycle.

and i have heard tales
of lawyers who dabble in roller derby burlesque
and new year's celebrations
where drag queens riding inside giant stilettos
are dropped from the sky.

Currently spinning:
the quails ~ the song is love

temp(t)ing

2005-11-05T17:13:00.000-05:00

Sometimes

are ephemeral like

or

or youth.

the poetic architecture of nature

2005-11-02T19:42:00.000-05:00

Currently spinning:
Scrawl ~ Nature Film

November in October

2005-10-26T13:07:00.000-04:00

(NAL by twilight)

(I have the biggest, most wonderfulest crush on West Hill Hardware. They sell fruitcake and railroad spikes and household inventions by local inventors and have checkerboard floors and even have an old piano in the store. Cue dreamy sigh.)

Currently spinning:
Helium ~ The Dirt of Luck

Weapon of Choice

2005-10-23T21:38:00.000-04:00

In the wee hours of Saturday I was roused by the unmistakable sound of breaking glass.

I spent about 15 minutes slowly coming to and pondering what could have caused the noise. It sounded as though it was coming from the back of our abode. Then I remembered that earlier in the month my neighbor had some items unceremoniously removed from his house (during the bold, broad daylight, no less!)

I live in a relatively safe neighborhood. Most days I err on the side of easygoing pacifism, but still..

I peeked out the window and noticed that the porch light was on, meaning the housemateys were still out gallivanting and I was home seulement.

I strained my ears, heard some odd little noises and spent another, oh, 10 minutes or so wringing my hands and trying to decide the best course of action.

We actually have a firearm in the house, but I knew neither where it was nor how to use it. Frankly, I’ve never been able to stomach even holding a gun.

I weighed my options (Hide for several hours? Call the cops? Call my neighbors?) Eventually fear gave way to annoyance and with a heaping helping of wonky 2:30 am judgment, I decided that I really wanted to go back to sleep, even if that meant confronting the potential intruder. I grabbed my cell phone and reached for the only weapon available: My axe.

No, not the forged steel, brawny Paul Bunyan-fellin'-some-douglas-fir kind.

The kind of axe made solely for rockin’.

I am sad to tell you, dear reader, that I went through a longer deliberation process deciding which guitar I was going to render aforementioned intruder unconscious with than if I was going to be brave enough to see who was breaking into my house in the first place.

Unfortunately the obvious choices – an old Kay and the cruddy Squier Strat I bought when I was 16 – were upstairs in the attic.

I glanced at my 1952 Silvertone but immediately ruled it out because it feels like it’s made from balsa wood. Not too effective as a Louisville Slugger stand-in. Same with the old Yamaha classical guitar handed down to me from my mom.

I thought about my Danelectro DC bass, which immediately made me curse selling my old solid ash plank-'o-death Peavey. Solid = amazing sustain. They’d be hearing the sweet sound of me defending my turf for days.

I decided the DC would be too unwieldly. Which left me with just one option at my immediate disposal:
An Epiphone SG.*

(* In the interest of full disclosure, I have to admit that the aforementioned “axe” isn't exactly mine.
It’s kinda sorta on extended loan.
From an ex-boyfriend.
So, like, totally fair game, right?)

I put on my shoes, grabbed the guitar and cell phone, dialed 9-1-1 and, with a modicum of trepidation, peeked outside my bedroom door.
I paused in the hallway. Not a sound.
I inverted the guitar into batting position, placed one finger on the phone's “send” button and made my way down the stairs.

The evil cats were stretched across the stairs, looking rather unruffled.
I couldn’t feel a draft coming from anywhere. I checked the doors and windows and felt secure in calling the all clear. No broken glass that I could see. The source of the crash remained a mystery.

Upon further reflection, had the guitar been a true Gibson SG I might have decided to just barricade myself in my room instead.

Postscript– the next morning I was relating the night’s adventures to Miss Lisa and she said the crash came from her room. A bamboo plant had been knocked over and the vase had shattered.*

(*And yeah, also in the interest of full disclosure – there is a good chance that the culprit was probably my heathen feline. )

Currently spinning:
Built to Spill ~ There's Nothing Wrong With Love

my kind's your kind

2005-10-22T14:34:00.000-04:00

Currently spinning:
Broken Social Scene ~ You Forgot it in People

haystack charm

2005-10-18T21:25:00.000-04:00

dear friends:

now is the time

for warm cider on chilled lips

reveling in the hush and sway of brittle stalks
as we shuffle through labyrinths of dry corn

shrouded in a cocoon of scarves
and mittens
and hats that bring out the color of our eyes

and wandering for hours beneath the moon
(hanging lustrous like a pearl on the throat of the inky, black night)

come, let's partake of all these autumnal joys

and get in a proper game of scrabble, while we're at it.

Currently spinning:
Elliott Smith ~ Elliott Smith

laminate

2005-10-14T21:34:00.000-04:00

fake wood paneling = -10,000 points
contact paper that looks like fake wood paneling = +10,000 points

nordouest

2005-10-12T09:24:00.000-04:00

tallest spruce, oregon

olywa

pdx

ecola state park, oregon

gasworks park, seattle

view from powell's, portland

portland

cannon beach, oregon

cross the river to the eastside, portland

seattle

thurston county, washington

doug fir, portland

pizza and skulls, portland

Currently spinning:
The Afghan Whigs ~ Gentleman

no tan lines tonight

2005-10-11T15:34:00.000-04:00

northwest portland

stumptown coffee, portland

archie mcphee, seattle

on the way to the oregon coast

off highway 101 (had to be quick - there was a couple making out in front)

self-portrait, portland streetcar

tremont

lobby of just be, portland

portland

portland

Currently spinning:
Jawbox ~ Jawbox

obligatory vacation images

2005-10-10T22:11:00.000-04:00

Currently spinning:
Wipers ~ Is This Real?

the strong black calvary

2005-10-07T00:43:00.000-04:00

a.k.a. "what fueled mes vacances"

alphabet city and points north

2005-09-29T17:06:00.000-04:00

hi kids,

off to pdx and the rest of the northwest.
will return with many harrowing tales and too many pictures, to be sure.

play nicely while i'm gone and don't forget to turn the lights out. i'll have my cell if you need anything.

love,
leslie

hodgepodge

2005-09-27T23:09:00.000-04:00

Currently spinning:
Death Cab for Cutie ~ Plans

Secret Knowledge of Backroads

2005-09-26T00:05:00.000-04:00

This weekend I went up to the Annunciation Orthodox Greek festival in my epic quest to try Greek coffee.

Yes, they were selling it.

No, they didn’t have anyone there to make it.

ματαιωμένος πάλι !!

Dejected, I trudged to the basement rummage sale, looked at old clock radios and cameras and bought a 70 year-old book and a 50-year-old record.

The merchants (aka volunteer parishioners) were very friendly and a wee bit inquisitive, forcing me to justify my purchases with a series of babbling non sequitirs before I forked over my dollar-fifty.

Here was the exchange:

(of the book)
“Do you speak Greek?"

“No, no...it’s for my parents”

“Oh, do they speak Greek?”

“No, they live in Texas”

(of the record)
“Oh, this is interesting - ‘Music For Expectant Fathers’. Do you know any expectant fathers?”

“Um, oh, gosh, no…I just thought it was kind of cool and kitschy…”

(at which point the her well-groomed twenty-something sidekick lisps)
“Well, that would certainly be a way to tell a guy, hm? Here ya go!”

I giggled, waved my hands to ward off any such notions and quickly backed away with my purchases.

There are hills of green in Ohio. I have seen them.

The weekend also found me making a journey to the Killbuck Sweet Shoppe in scenic Killbuck, Ohio with the eminently affable NMS. He played chauffer and tour guide as we made our indie rock pilgrimage to the place Mr. David Berman name-checked in his most excellent book “Actual Air.”

Not only that, but I had the pleasure of embarking on a driving tour of Amish country – including both the potbellied tourist traps and the beautiful farms tucked away on back roads. NMS even let me in on the super-secret townie hand signal.

Of course, I can't tell you what it is.

So here, console yourself with some pictures.

Currently spinning:
Earlimart ~ Everyone Down Here

Dali's Eggplant

2005-09-23T12:10:00.000-04:00

sometimes
nature
is
amazing.

Currently spinnning:
Elliott Smith ~ Either/Or

neon nightlife, vol. one

2005-09-22T20:34:00.000-04:00

not quite all neon. not quite all signs. but more to come, promise.

Currently spinning:
Breather Resist ~ Charmer

the end of summer

2005-09-21T23:57:00.000-04:00

On the last day of summer I woke from dreams of sledding. My bedroom window was open, the air was crisp, but I was warm beneath blankets. I watched the sun rise through trees and made coffee and took pictures.

Later that afternoon I was leisurely examining pumpkins when I was informed that I had less than an hour left of summer.

"But I thought fall officially started tomorrow!" I wailed.

Nope.

I made my purchase, jumped in my car, rolled down the windows and cranked up my stereo.
Pavement. For various reasons including nostalgia and the sunny sounds of certain songs, I consider Pavement requisite summer music, and have for the past 10 years or so. Gold Soundz, in all its shimmery greatness, is quite possibly my most favorite summer song ever.

I drove by Angel Falls and noticed a boy and a girl engrossed in deep conversation. The boy was wearing a heavy jacket and a red scarf wrapped about his neck. It was 83 degrees.

Fall officially began at 6:32 pm and my housemate, Lisa and I stood out on our balcony porch, toasted summer and welcomed fall. It was oddly, unexpectedly bittersweet. We took pictures with the heirloom pumpkin - Cinderella varietal because I think it's supposed to resemble the pumpkin that turned into a carriage.

Later in the evening we went for a drive. Lisa brought a frozen fruit bar, whether out of defiance for fall or a deep-seated desire for strawberries, I'm really not sure.

We lowered the windows, though the wind was already doing the October shiver through the trees. Dampness in the air.

We listened to Louis Jordan yelp "Caledonia! Caledonia! What makes your big head so hard?" and took pictures of neon signs and reflections and light in the darkness.

Then we came home and laughed at the fact that our dining room was glowing orange from the 70s lamp that sits beneath the oil painting my grandmother made - the only mountains I see these days.

Goodbye summer - cicadas, humidity, ice cream, bicycling out late.
Hello fall - cardigans, cider, crisp air, beautiful colors everywhere.

Currently spinning:
The Mountain Goats mix-o-rama

what informs your life

2005-09-20T15:02:00.000-04:00

sometimes i think of something i once read in an album's liner notes:
"all the love in my heart to my friends and family who make my life possible"

i adore rita. she brings me coffee and sushi and tells me beautiful stories of chinese celebrations of the full moon.
(shameless plug: if you're in wadsworth, ohio, please check out her and her husband leon's excellent restaurant, kasai)

Currently spinning:
Velocity Girl ~ Copacetic

On the Nose

2005-09-18T23:23:00.000-04:00

adventures in modern cake decorating:

the orange and brown one went, but probably as tailgate party fodder (congrats browns)

In other weekend news, VRT came to town for a wedding. Faced with the prospect of no ride, I offered shuttle service and he raised me breakfast. Over the meal and the miles he entertained me with pep talks and tales of Hell-A (not that I would expect any less from a fellow who is so firmly entrenched in Hollywood that he has an IMDB listing.)

Our brief visit made me wonder if I’ve grown taller since I moved to Akron. Either that or all my friends here are shorter. Which is awesome.

Oh - I’m also happy to announce that it’s bedtime for Mr. Ben Gibbard. I’ve been trying for a while, but he kept getting up, all tousle-haired and sheepish grin, wanting a drink of water or to check under his bed for monsters.

Every time I thought the coast was clear and I could focus on other music, sure enough I would hear him padding down the stairs and it would start all over again.

But all has been quiet for a while, so I think he’s finally down for the duration.

Shhh.

Currently spinning:
Palace ~ Viva Last Blues

(Like my pilot friend Lynn says, a "landing" is really just a controlled crash.)

Token Music Snob Post

2005-09-16T13:52:00.000-04:00

There is something
really fucking wrong
about the idea of
Rebel Girl by Bikini Kill
roundly announcing
that someone is trying to get ahold of my ass.

(death to innocence)

Currently spinning:
The sound of me - cough- my slitting my wrists/the universe imploding (take yer pick)

Vitamin Forty-Five'd

2005-09-14T19:53:00.000-04:00

the happy list (circa nine-fourteen-oh-five):

+ wet wood and fallen leaves

+ fuzzy caterpillars

+ realizing "oohs" and "aahs" are scathingly brilliant when in a lyrical bind

+ shuffling through brilliantly colored leaves (which means soon i will be blissing out on silhouettes again!)

+ my cat's curly belly fur (yes, it is growing back from the terrible haircut)

+ dreams about finding the perfect amp (geekalicious!)

+ old voicemails from various friends

+ sufjan stevens at the beachland ballroom

+ spelling bee at the lime spider (i am terribly grieved by the fact that i'll be out of town then, otherwise i'd totally be up there defending my third grade poway unified school district champion title)

+ circa 1970s schwinn collegiate bicycles

+ the new shower curtain (see below)

here are some more things to look at:

*(gratitude to LMH for the kitty call)

Currently spinning:
Lungfish ~ Necrophones

variegated

2005-09-07T08:34:00.000-04:00

Currently spinning:
Tara Jane ONeil ~ You Sound, Reflect

Haiku

2005-09-05T00:47:00.000-04:00

Peppermint recently mentioned my new and exciting way of frittering away money: the Dead Pool.

Well, I won.

Here's a haiku I wrote in honor of the (dubious) victory:

William H. Rehnquist
Your death brings me cold hard cash
So long, Roe v. Wade.

Currently spinning:
The Spinanes ~ Arches and Aisles

Thoughts on September Costs of Living

2005-09-02T14:16:00.000-04:00

Suffering and the price of oil inflate together
And I wake to the cerulean skies that signify September is here
Bright blue days that beg to be filled

With visions of four dollar gallons of gasoline dancing in my head, I oil the chain on my bicycle, and gather:
my emo notepad (the “m” being blacked out)
a pen,
and camera.

Before I leave the house I change the Jewish calendar hanging in the kitchen to September – Teshuvah – the time when people ask for forgiveness.

I push off, reveling in the syncopated stretch of lungs and legs, oh glory.

September, from Middle English, for 7th month, though in the switch from Julian calendar to Gregorian calendar, the seven became a nine.

Last year was the first year in a long time that I didn’t associate this month with disaster.
But this year, the media once again broadcasts cries for help.

The only thing that made me smile during the ninth month of 2001 was watching the gourmet chefs of NYC prepare meals for rescue and recovery workers.

Their golden hands lay idle, food growing rancid in silent, streamlined kitchens.
They made meatloaf from filet mignon and the joy on their faces as they did so was palpabale, transcendental.
Food and nourishment being the work of the living.

In the hours following the attacks I, too, retreated to the kitchen and, with less refined hands, prepared soup and toasted cheese sandwiches for the cable-less masses assembled in my living room.

Pedaling on, I make a circuit of the Square, coasting down Palisades and then à droite on Royal Ave. Sunshine dappling the red cobblestone beneath my tires, passing small European automobiles tucked in quiet alcoves. Past minivans with stickers proclaiming “Go Vegan!”, past Le Chateau du Jolie Laide and on down into the valley of (Mt.) Peace.

The cemetery is divided by ancient ethnicities, from far-flung lands but with all souls arriving at the same destination.

I pronounce their names, the words migrating over different parts of my tongue. I pay my respects to the familiar markers and wonder if I'm a more frequent visitor than kith and kin.

Graveyard real estate:
The Garden of Prayer
The Garden of Angels
Babyland

And which is more desirable?

I catch myself thinking particular gravestone scripts would make handsome fonts, then do a quick mental calculation to see how many Hell Points I’ve tallied.

Assembled in Babyland I see:
A child’s sandpail
A stuffed elephant
An empty urn

But really, who am I to judge the fetishes of grief?

Optimism, Idiosyncrasy, Courage

2005-08-30T18:46:00.000-04:00

It's been one of those dreary, drizzly days I absolutely adore. I've been catching everyone around me staring off into the distance with the glazed look of the pensive, the catatonic, or someone desparately in need of a caffeine fix.

In other words, it was a perfect day to go visit the library.

When I first moved to Akron, the Main Library was undergoing a multi-million dollar transformation and the interim holding facility for all the tomes was a vacated DIY Home Warehouse over on Tallmadge Avenue.

The new facility is simply stunning, with a sleek retro vibe that lends a certain polished, timeless air.

Libraries and record stores hold the same mystique for me. I go in, get overwhelmed, and walk out forgetting half the things I meant to get. To combat this, I've learned to arm myself with a list before I leave the house.

One would think I'd be used to it now, but I'm still astounded at the excellent selection available through the Akron-Summit County Public Library System

Today's scores included:

A book on the works of Joseph Maria Olbrich

Unbuilt America: Forgotten Architecture in the United States from Thomas Jefferson to the Space Age
(billed as recording over 200 years of audacious, curious, revolutionary, utopian, radical, and visionary ideas in the combined fields of architecture and the environmental arts. It is a book about ideas. A book about optimism, idiosyncrasy and courage.)

The Encyclopedia of Arts and Crafts
(Arts and Crafts being the international arts movement, not popsicle sticks and pipe cleaners, natch.)

Atlas of the Human Heart

Paste Magazine featuring Wes Anderson (with the cover completely illustrated by his brother, Eric Chase Anderson. On a side note, I think it would be the utmost in cool to commission some work from him. I always love his illustrations for the Criterion booklets of his brother's movies.)
I'd love to see him do something along the lines of what Ellen Forney has got going on.

I also borrowed Mental Floss, a magazine I'd seen, but which never really appealed to me. However, this edition had lists of ten, whose cover lines tantalized me with articles such as:

"The Ten Most Forgettable Presidents”
“Ten Underrated Spectator Sports”
“Ten Famous Monkeys in Science”

and

“Ten Countries You Can’t Find on a Map”

Considering I'm the gal who once begged a police officer to let me into the medical library of the hospital I worked at at like, two a.m. because I realized I had no clue where Denmark was in relation to other countries and this really, really bothered me and I needed to copy a map and rectify the situation immediately, the last cover line totally sold me.

But by far my most thrilling score of the afternoon was A Pattern Language. I’ve been trying to find this book for the past six or seven years to no avail. It was always hopelessly out of print or when I could track it down, astronomically out of my punk rock budget.

But now I finally have the tome in my hot little hands and am terribly excited to dive right in.

Movie-wise I picked up A Generation and the first two volumes of The Films of Charles and Ray Eames

I also picked up Corporate Ghost, a collection of Sonic Youth videos.

My raddest movie find was none other than Westworld. Even Miss Peppermint fancied the idea of viewing some hot Yul Brynner psycho robot action.

As I lugged my bounty to the car, the thought occurred to me that I might have been a wee bit overambitious with my selections. Thank goodness for online renewals.

Currently spinning:

Elliott Smith ~ Elliott Smith

Chick Tracts and Unsociable Holiday Icons

2005-08-26T09:29:00.000-04:00

W123, How I Love Thee...

2005-08-25T20:29:00.000-04:00

I've never been one for rampant autophilia.
For me, cars have always been a way to get from Point A to Point B, and I've been fortunate/spoiled enough to have been the owner of three pretty darn reliable foreign-made models.

The closest I ever got to having a crush on a car was an old boxy 70s Volvo, angular and ugly. Oh, and that one time where I made eyes at a Dart...but I was just flirting and it didn't really mean anything...

But the first time I saw the movie Rushmore, and spied the leggy blonde Miss Cross drove, well...let's just say my curiosity was piqued.

I paid extra close attention in subsequent viewings over the years, but never did much to pursue, seeing as I was already in a committed relationship with my Toyota and possessed neither the financial means nor the gumption necessary to leave the relationship.

Recently a Highland Square aquaintance trotted out her new/old sedan version of what I had affectionately dubbed the "Miss Crossmobile." I started asking about it, and thus emboldened, did that slightly endearing, slightly stalkerish act that the Internet facilitates so well: I Googled it.

I found out the vehicle that had been haunting my dreams is a Mercedes W123 turbo diesel, manufactured from 1975 to 1985. They are crazy reliable (popularly used as taxi cabs in several post-communist countries), crazy servicable, crazy cheap and crazy gorgeous. And they come in dark brown and dark red (which means it fits right in with my dippy color scheme, joy of joys!)

One user's review referred to the cars as possessing sleeper cool and embassy chic.

(C'mon...I so obviously fit right in with such outstanding examples of white male corporate Ameri--erm--Deutschland!)

All I know is I'm saving my allowance and picking up pennies, regardless of whether heads or tails is sunny side up.

Currently spinning:
The Postal Service ~ Give Up

122 North Portage Path

2005-08-22T20:51:00.000-04:00

For one year I lived at 122 N. Portage Path, apartment 6.
It was a small, one bedroom in a big rambling brownstone.

It was my first place alone ever.

It was a magical and wonderful time and place, and not just because of the radiators and checkerboard floors and bleach spot on my kitchen floor that I forced visitors to scrutinize a la a Rorschach inkblot.

For 12 consecutive months, from July 2004 to June 2005, I documented the exterior.

Here are the pictures.

Secret Confessions

2005-08-22T20:20:00.000-04:00

It would have been criminal to stay indoors on a day like this. The jogging trail called and I heeded its siren’s song. The sun was setting earlier than I expected and the fading light filtered through the trees, dappling the sandy path.

At any given time I pass lots of people on the trail. I normally have my headphones on, thoughts about a million miles away, but I have to admit that I take a secret joy in catching the scent of passers-by.

No, I don't have some odd sweat fetish or anything like that. Eau de gym sock never did much for me either. Allow me to explain:

Here we are, two people going opposite directions in the middle of a forest. I'm in my world, they're in theirs, we've got sunglasses and headphones and other things to insulate ourselves and distance ourselves from one another, but in their exertion I'll catch the faintest scent of their shampoo or soap and it's this completely disconcerting, intimate moment.

Despite the pains we take to distance ourselves from each other and be left alone, I am left feeling like I know a secret about them. It's completely revealing and I go into little internal fits of joyousness because of it.

So what impression do passers-by have of me? I'd imagine Dr. Bronner's peppermint, baby. At least I hope so. Liberal amounts of liquid DBP + scrubby gloves = nirvana

Currently spinning:
Liz Phair ~ Girlysounds demos

Woodsman

2005-08-19T09:30:00.000-04:00

Currently spinning:
Smog ~ A River Ain't Too Much to Love

Architecture Students are Like Virgins...

2005-08-18T20:24:00.000-04:00

Currently spinning:
Annie ~ Anniemal

Who Moved My Weave?

2005-08-15T22:42:00.000-04:00

Spotted tumbling down West Market street...

Currently spinning:
Hall & Oates ~ Greatest Hits
(Much gratitude to RS)

Maneater

2005-08-12T21:50:00.000-04:00

Currently spinning:
The Six Parts Seven ~ Things Shaped in Passing
(I never thought I'd say this, but right now I'm cursing the lack of Hall & Oates in my music collection...)

Drone

2005-08-12T14:19:00.000-04:00

It has been a rather hot Summer o' 2005 here in lovely Akron, Ohio. I leave the house early in the morning, when the day is still deceptively cool and I begin to harbor hopes for zephyrs and temperatures hovering in the mid-70s. But then I hear the unmistakable drone of cicadas and know we're in for another muggy day (makes for great tomatoes though, right?)

Last year I was fortunate enough to experience the emergence of the 17-year cicadas smack dab in the middle of cicada central--Northern Virginia. I was living on 26 wooded acres, spending my days wandering the clay roads, listening to lots of Iron + Wine and getting caught in the occasional summer thunderstorm. This may sound familiar to some of you.

One day my father was out mowing the septic field when he came across a cicada egg sac dangling from a tall blade of grass. Within a week, the roar of cicadas was deafening. There were several times where I was inside the house (with the hum of the air conditioner) listening to music on headphones and I could still hear the cicadas.

At several points I set up a microphone on the porch and recorded the sound, with the hope to use it in some sort of "organic rock" experiment, perhaps (hey, if yo la tengo can use crickets, I can use cicadas, darn it!)

In celebration of the cicadas, Web sites started featuring recipes (kind of like those Cricket Lick-It lollipops they sell at the Canton McKinley Museum or the Smithsonian gift shop). I have to admit that I was never struck by the desire to fricassee, barbeque or bread a cicada, but that may have been because I often found my parents' dogs rooting about in the yard and gobbling cicada larvae. These are the same animals who, during winter, were caught chowing down on what my mother delicately referred to as "poopsicles". Heathen animals...

One of my friends missed the cicadas and so I gathered up four buzzing "gifts", plopped them in a shoebox with some water and organic detritus and took them on a six hour road trip with me to Ohio.

Here's the evidence:

Currently spinning:
Billie Holiday ~ Billie Holiday Sings Standards

"Science!"

2005-08-11T00:15:00.000-04:00

Currently spinning:
Bjork ~ Vespertine

Ephemera

2005-08-09T18:10:00.000-04:00

Currently spinning:
Pavement ~ Slanted and Enchanted (nicht luxe, nicht reduxe)

Dinosaurs and Ghosts

2005-08-05T22:03:00.000-04:00

Last weekend P.N. and J.J.P. and I drove out to Portage County to try and find an old amusement park that I could photograph while J.J.P. sketched.

The last time I saw the place was during the winter of 2002. Flanking the entrance were two large purple and yellow plaster dinosaurs partially hidden by weeds and snow. The park appeared to have been abandoned years ago and even after I moved away I still wondered about the place. I stumbled upon it while driving out to do interviews with a gravedigger acquaintance of mine.

It was at one of these cemetaries that I found a shivering, half-starved but sprightly cat. It followed the photographer and I around the graveyard, sticking its paws down rodent holes and trotting at our heels.

I hemmed. I hawed.

If it follows us back to the car, we'll take it with us, I told the photographer.

We tried to pretend our leisurely gait and pausing to look behind us wouldn't constitute out-and-out coaxing.

Once the car heater kicked into gear, the kitten curled up on my passenger's lap and promptly fell asleep.

Three years and many vet bills later, my cat is one of the only things I still have from those days. Despite living one county over, my time in Kent feels like a strange dream, a place too far away to go back to. But when I do cross the Portage County line, I get a mild case of the heebie-jeebies.

Last Sunday, as the three of us drove further and further into the countryside, with no dinosaurs in sight (save the rotting hulks of American-made autos), the feeling was pandemic.

Currently spinning:
Sleater-Kinney ~ Call the Doctor

We Need a Repetition

2005-08-05T00:14:00.000-04:00

View from the parking deck, Akron City

Currently spinning:
Nick Drake ~ Pink Moon

Snappy Comeback

2005-08-01T19:53:00.000-04:00

A couple of years ago I swapped all of my good DVDs for a just-about-new Canon PowerShot SD100 digital camera. I had been wanting one and initially I thought the dollar-per-DVD amount would still leave me with a handful of decent titles to my name.

However, once the final amounts had been tallied, my respectable collection had been pared to the handful of titles too artistic or bad to suit my swap partner’s taste (The Pillow Book did not make the cut, and to this day I’m not sure if it was just too pretentious or featured too many scenes of what lies beneath Ewan MacGregor’s kilt.)

But I digress.

Anyone who spends a day around me comes to the quick realization that I take a lot of photos. In addition to the airy notion of image-as-proof-of-existence (which I wholeheartedly embrace), digital cameras are just nifty as all get-out. They combine the instant gratification of a Polaroid, with the ability to make unlimited copies and only pay to print out the good pictures.

Don’t get me wrong – I still love the aesthetics of my 70s SLR. The digital cameras with built-in shutter sounds don't hold a candle to the aesthetics of the soft clicking of the film being manually forwarded or the ticking of the aperture as I adjust the lens. But there’s something infinitely satisfying about being able to slip this tiny camera into my pocket and being able to document anything from unintentionally hillarious signs to my friend ranting about monster trucks, world peace and ice-cold lemonade enjoyed 'neath a sheltering porch.

When I moved to Akron I found I was taking enough photos to easily fill a 700 MB CD-R with images each month. Over this past year I've accumulated numerous discs filled with everything from giant rosemary bushes in Austin, Texas to videos of me playing guitar in my pajamas at 3 am.

Since today is August 1, that means I had to burn my archive of July photos. It's been a busy few months, but looking back I realized this was a month with lots of adventures, including a picnic complete with close friends, portable phonographs and outdoor Shakespeare, a rowdy night of live Misfits covers, driving around the rural countryside in a 60 year old pickup truck, videogame bowling, voodoo figures made from deli sample spoons (including a messenger bag o' angst!), picking home-grown basil in the rain and being made aware of the existence (much less the...erm... stud on the cover) of Chess Life magazine.

I feel so fortunate for this silly life.

Currently spinning:
Slint ~ Spiderland

Heirloom

2005-07-30T22:50:00.000-04:00

I'm working on a proper photolog, promise.
Blame stubborn pride (teaching myself how to code) and an astonishingly full dance card.

In the interim, here's a tomato.

Currently spinning:
Death Cab for Cutie ~ Transatlanticism
("We Looked Like Giants" is all good and well, but I believe that Jeff Mangum from Neutral Milk Hotel put the whole youthful nekkidity thing much more eloquently. Ahem.)

Words Relating to the Sentient and Moral Powers

2005-07-25T19:50:00.000-04:00

"Oh, let’s be kings in a humble way." —Gilbert