butte county

roundaboutly found thru Zunta/Pop Candy/GLP:

KISU! In House Radio!!!

Man, maybe if I had ever really stayed for very long around ISU, maybe I would have developed a radio hobby. Instead of a hanging-out-at-Perkins/the-on-campus-bowling-alley-trying -to-explain-DC-politics-to-uninterested-19-year-olds hobby. Anyhoos, blogrolled with an exclamation point. Who doesn't want to read about Kim Gordon in Missoula/Pocatello kids discovering Morcheeba beats-n-B-sides? Freals.

A Richard Grieco swipe was too easy

Two things...

We’re going for the trifecta…

Broken down, washed up, wrinkly, and aged old fossils being stalked. We had one yesterday.* We have one today.** Who's next?***
________________

The Sunday Source is all about labels and pigeon-holing people. And this week it was calling the band The Shondes a “transsexual-feminist-Jewish rock quartet from New York mixes a political-punk message with music grounded in classical techniques of composition.” Gawd, Source, get in the 23rd century already.

As far as I can tell, I’m not anything that the Shondes are. But we here at the Pyggy can not stand such a classification with out seeing it for ourselves. I have resisted the temptation to listen to the MP3s on their site so we’re going to the show tonight with our ears free of musical prejudice. Are you brave enough to join us?

10ish – Velvet Lounge


*seriously, the guy just turned, like, 40 or something. And he wears eye shadow all the time even though his face is really puffy.
** That lady has the same haircut I had in college!
***Wait. What? The Asian cop from 21 Jump Street has his own fan fiction site? Peter DeLuise, what happened? And am I being crazy to think that Peter was on a show after Jump Street where he played some sort of Frankenstein monster? I think, maybe, he was camouflage colored. There are little bits of a memory floating around here somewhere.

"I see these vampires sucking my blood. I ain't wit it."

if you don't have chi-town's critical, dahling on yr bloglines or whatever, then you are wrong about things.

The new rule is that you are not allowed to compare any record or band to another record or band "on [some drug]" unless you have done the drug you are referencing. The other day I saw a quote on some singer-songwriter's one-sheet that said he sounded "like Elvis Costello on angel dust." Which is wrong. Elvis Costello on angel dust would sound like Elvis Costello yelling at a wall. Needless to say, this dude in particular did not sound like Elvis Costello yelling at a wall.*
It really is true that you don't have to do drugs to be cool. I know a lot of good people who have only ever like tried weed a couple of times and decided they didn't like being on drugs, and getting busted on drug-frontin is way worse than saying, "Sorry, I was totally straight-edge until I turned 26 and decided to start drinking martinis because they looked fun," or whatever your experience was. People dropping references to someone "tripping on heroin" give me extreme "bags of sand"-style douche chills.

*Another thing: ODB, Sly Stone, and Shaun Ryder are the only people to have ever made a decent recording while smoking cocaine, so unless you're trying to compare an artist to one of these three musicians, do not say they sound like "[somebody] on crack." Crack doesn't make you automatically start rocking out spazzy, artsy music; it just makes you want to smoke more crack.

escaping mass

Odd, but prob not noteworthy: I stumbled upon sum local-rock-related summer wedding photos on Flickr. Tiniest LB looks particularly lovely. Weird only because dude, I so know that tent! I so recognize that gazebo! We had our rehearsal dinner at this particular old house so many moons ago. The location is exceptionally adorable, even in the downpour- it appears that J and LB made out with much better weather then we did. So, if yr ever hankering to get married round these parts, give me a ring- I have a place to highly recommend.

It also appears the scenesters wedding reception was SIGNIFICANTLY more funky than ours. I do not think there was a single pair of aviator glasses at our nuptials. Eh, I'm okay with it, I think. Most of our attendees were from Iowa.

Anyways, I'm not linking, see if you can flush them out yrsef, DC superfans.

* * *

I've been keeping the DC Roller Girls info the D. emailed me kind of tight to my chest, because I was planning on going to practices soon to take a sneak peek, and maybe even attending the open adult skate in Manassas. My v-ball team disbanded for the summer; all internet no play make the G. something something, and listen- I was shoot-the-duck champion in 4th grade, all right? When I brought this up to the N, he merely raised his eyebrows and made some comment about how I bruise easily.

Meh.

Anyways, sometimes adults have to make choices, see - the calendar can be a bitter foe. So instead I've registered for a drawing class at the Art League school; stretching the mental legs a bit and such.

I know, I know. Line to call me a total pansy forms to the left. In any rate, check them out. They're recruiting.

* * *

Other things: Last night I ate my weight's worth in fried pork chops at Simply Home, and drank a martini, so probs the world is going to end soonish. Duffy's has dropped-tile ceilings, wtf? Last minute beach trip planned for this weekend. Next week, the N. and I get to tackle kitchen soffit removal.

seriously, i just wanted to talk about "The Grifters"

oh. um.

Listen, I have something to admit. The phone calls to New Crime around '98? Yeah. That was me. I was going to ask about internships, but I got choked up and hung up. It only happened once.

I probably should have just faxed a resume.

That probably would have been better than, oh, say, going to Venice Beach 2 summers later to hang out at the bball courts, all White Girl Can't Jump, crossing my fingers that you'd leave yr office to go buy a smoothie at the pre-BritSpearFed "JJ Chill" shop.

At least I didn't throw bags of screwdrivers into your yard.

Excuse me, sir, this part of the sidewalk is closed.

From a 1998 issue of the Post…

Japanese Defense Minister Fukushiro Nukuga and five others were slightly injured Sept. 21 when a four-foot high, foot-thick steel wall rose out of the ground and crashed into the limo's underside, lifting it off the ground. It was the first such accident involving the anti-terrorist barricades on the perimeter of the Pentagon.

With Prime Minister Koizumi arriving at the end of the week for his trip to Graceland, it looks like the USSS is practicing the new traditional greeting for Japanese dignitaries visiting the States.



Happenstance found me hoofing it by the closed portion of Pennsylvania Avenue after going a single block in a rainy, 20 minute Tuesday evening cab ride. The uniformed boys were less than pleased that I happened to have my camera with me. But the picture seemed worth the 100 meter, $7.50 Zone 1 trip.

cat, mon dieu.

1. I am so stuck at work. I am not leaving this building. It is like that terrible Christian Slater movie out there. Rainnegeddon or Trafficgeddon or whatever. Blargh.

2. Every time I try to explain to people why I don't like cats, it gets a little more difficult. So I've decided for now to stop trying. This post, my friends will be happy to know, will be the last time I speak of this. At least for a while. Or until tomorrow night. Whatever.

Do you know how some people are fearful of/anxiety-ridden around infants, because they might not know their own strength? Like, what if you are such a large fumbling baboon that you are too strong with the baby? Or throw the baby around? Or drop the baby? Or squeeze the baby too tight? Look at the rabbits, George? Etc?

Okay, so I am distrustful of cats because they are... too delicate. Petting them? Especially their little heads? Ig. Their bones feel hollow. And so when I was 10 or so I decided that I could probably crush a cat skull with one fisty crunch, and I'd feel terrible about it. Cats are for delicate girls with long hair who read books and drink hot cocoa. Cats are not for tall easily sunburnt girls with hearty Midwestern bone structure. They just aren't.

Also I once ran over a cat in high school and then sobbed about it not only because I had killed something, but because I had convinced myself that the cat was the cat of a blind girl who wouldn't know her cat was missing. Because, apparently, my hometown was just like Dumb & Dumber. Anywys, after I hit it, I turned around to look for it and it was gone. Which means I just severely injured it, and it had crawled off somewhere to die, and that made me feel EVEN WORSE.

Fucking cats.

Anyways-n-therefore, I don't really like to be around cats that much. ESPECIALLY Siamese cats, or kittens. Fat cats with thick heads are better, and fat cats with thick heads are usually more doglike anyways. And I like pictures of cats. And websites about cats. In sinks. And with things on them. And in costume. And starring in shows such as "Cat Town."

This is kind of going somewhere, I promise.

Anyways, my sophomore year of college I also kind of got a tweensy obsessed with phrenology, for about a week.

GUESS WHAT I JUST FOUND?!?!????!?!??! omg cat phrenology.

.

.

.

I totally think I just came off waaaaay creepier then I ever thought possible.

3. In other news, the N. is bidding on Ebay for the winter issue of Cap File, to complete my unholy collection. Keep your fingers crossed for me!!!!!!!!

4. Emails from MJ, stuck in San Francisco (short story): PS: I thought of a good indie rock band name: Wait Twenty Years. Their CD would be called "Everything You Like Now, I Liked Five Years Ago."

Emails from my friend Tina, stuck in Amsterdam (long story): Seriously, How much do I love Amsterdam? Lots.


okay, that's it.


5. No, wait, a few more:

- Interpol Burger.

- Don't not think for a second I wouldn't be all over a Fall Out Boy version. Because I would.

we’re going to take you downtown/we're gonna show you how to get things claren-done.

PIAB: The Blog About Arlington Building Demolition. The Blog About Faking as a Total Scenester Snob Who Could Use A Swift Kick in the Teeth Already! The Blog by People Who Sometimes Forget they Have A Blog! (Sorry. Work's been kind of... eh.)

Anthropomorphism: If the Clarendon Metro Stop could turn it's pink collar up at the outside world while downing an Amstel n munching on some tapas after buying a sweet new sectional for their living room, it would.

Clarendon: It's been real.

* * *

Did I ever think the day would come when yrs truly would pre-emptively mourn the Clarendon Ballroom? A hearty no, but at this very moment in time? I kind of do. It' s on it's way out, you'ns, which brings back a most appropriate quote: Where does one stand when they announce that one thing you are mildly dissatisfied with is set to be replaced with something you are wildly discontented with? Fuck it, let's get superwacky and tear the entire neighborhood down, from ye olde Common Grounds, or whatever it's called these days, all the way to the bridges. If we work together, we can get this done by the first wintry mix. Who's in?

The Clarendon Center has already been mentioned round the internets, so although I previously thought I had some sort of secret extra-special-important inside scoop on this, I know realize I have no superpowers and am a normal schlub just like you. A normal schlub who's morning commute was two hours long yesterday. Thanks, Mother Nature, you scheming whore.

I do, however, get an inside glimpse to teh grumpiness of Underwood building-housed employees, already bitter because the Hard Times (aka "The Chili Hut") offers up their wi-fi for free. Okay, that's unconfirmed, and by "unconfirmed" I mean the N. might have made that up. But these folks are Small Business Employees, and in my experience, SBE are usually in the not-so-small business of getting screwed up the fanny. So, looks like these particular SBE's get the awesomest prize of working through construction noise. Again. And this time not just through the uprising of an kind evil/glamorpussish glass building across the street. This newest project involves tearing down a building attached to the back of their offices, and then building some sort of new "urban living" monstrosity on the site. The plan looks/sounds/thinks/feels a lot something like Gotham City. (Sweet Lighted Bat Turrets!) This is a problem for me on more that one level - more than the simple "urban village hatred" I seethe with. Yes, urgently, kittens, the question is posed: what do I now call Ballston? I've been calling Ballston "Gotham" since at least early Ought-one, now I'm left with no nickname because, sweet hell. Lighted. Turrets. That. look like. the. Bat mask. That's so totally Gotham. Way moreso than the rainbow pedestrian bridge of Ballston, which I always thought would make a pretty sweet place for the Bman to float down from in all his winged/caped glory. Clarendon wins.

Anyhoos. Say a tut-tut cheerio adios chào ông etc. to everything from the British Store back: Hot Shotz, Clare-n-Dons, Little Viet Garden with it's Christmas-n-July outdoor asthetic, the cleaners, the pilates place, blah etc etc. At least the the Chili Hut sticks around. I can't decide if this is good or bad. I hate Chili Hut food, and yet I'm secretly pleased, in a mopey kind of way, when establishments stick around more than 3 years before being deemed "not Maggie Moos enough."

The Clarendon Center is the first project to comply with the newly adopted Part I of the Clarendon Sector Plan and associated policies. It is the first Clarendon project to use the new preservation incentives, applying them to keep intact both the Underwood Building, built in 1939, and Old Dominion Building, built in Art Deco style in 1941.

SAUL "Historical Preservationists At heart" CENTERS INC. TOTALLY WANTS A COOKIE.

As far as our Secret PIAB SBE on the Street knows, here's how this will all go down: first, the construction crews will come in and (sans-pile drivers, since they are on top of a metro tunnel) dismantle the buildings that currently house the retailers mentioned above. Big, burly construction workers with metal lunchboxes diligently packed by their wives will handle all this without TOUCHING the Underwood building. As mentioned, the Uwood is a designated historical building, so pissed as Saul must be that they can't raise that, too, for another Chipotle - the county sez it must stay. But sucking away it's charm is easy. Once this Clarendon Center is completed, the Uwood will be surrounded on three sides by behemoth towers- they're planning on dismantling buildings across the way on Highland as well (although the Old Dominion, in the same sitch as the Uwood, gets to stay.) The only space left is the mini-park right above he metro station, and I'm sure you can't erect condos there. My guess is also that they tried for a permit, though. "Spacious arched basement/public transpo right under yr feet!"

The site plan includes preservation of the Underwood Building on the North block, with the addition of a 97,860 square-foot, six story office building and 15,725 square feet of new ground floor retail space. On the South block, the Old Dominion Building will be preserved, and two towers – one a 244-unit, twelve-story residential tower and the other a nine-story, 84,395 square-foot office tower – will be added. BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH They will be separated by a landscaped second-level courtyard. Some 38,333 square-feet of ground floor retail will be added.

Chant it with me now, once more w. feeling: STAR-BUCKS. STAR-BUCKS. STAR-BUCKS! TANN. ING. BED. TANN. ING. BED!

I once had hope, but my hope is waning. Think of the children. Someday in the v. near future, 17 year olds in ball-pointed Converse will stop smoking in front of the CD cellar and peering into the GHut as they stroll down the street, shoving each other into parking meters. McKaye n his gang don't hang their hats at Pottery Barn, methinks. Atown kids will look for new personalities to grow into - older, but not wiser. They'll start frequenting the WoW lines, listening to local jam bands. They'll hit on fresh college grad consultants in minis over $45 worth of Smithwicke's at Puffy O'Madmartigans. I'm pretty sure it will all end with a whimper, instead of that bang I'd so been looking forward to.

Unless there's some kind of construction accident.

I can out run/hold my breath for only one, not both

An open letter to those wishing ill-will* on our city:

Most folks are resigned to the idea that there will be a day when your malignancy is unleashed on this Capital City. We would like to submit a formal request asking that you have the decency to do so on a day forecasted with less than .5 an inch of rain. Any more precipitation is clearly unfair.

Kind regards,

The Commuting Public

*foreign/home-grown/Dwight Watson driving his tractor into the shallow pool at Constitution Gardens

go, blog about it.

LJG: okay
this is AWEEESOME
http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/eticket/story?page=chessboxing
watch the video
they punch the shit out of each other
then play chess
repeat

The G: I KNOW
I LOVE CHESSBOXING
i blogged about it a long time ago and no one said anything about it and i was like HELLO ITS FUCKING CHESS BOXING???????

LJG: it was something i saw and was like
you needs to blog this

The G: "The G would love that shit"
exactly
how can people get 256 comments on their blind dates and I get zilch for chessboxing?
that's it, i officially hate blogs.
again.
but i hate myself more for just typing "i blogged about it."


* * *

Other things: TM & the Hellfighters Sat night at Black Cat. M. Bragg/French Toast at Fort Reno in July, Eyeball Skeleton July 24 at FR as well. Yay!

i'm asking nicely.

go away, james blunt. please just go away.

* * *

PS via lindsayism: CINEMA GENIUS.

pipe dreams

Interested in agricultural irrigation? Of course you are!

I googled "moving pipe" and expected to have my poor Mac innundated with thousands upon thousands of porn pop-ups, but nothing of the sort happened. Apparently, people don't really move pipe anymore. The robots have come in, or wheeled-pipe has been replaced by solid-set systems. Or just blow jobs. Bah dum dum.

I once made the mistake of trying to tell someone I was hired to move pipe for $5 an hour in a potato field somewhere in rural Idaho when I was 22, but it took a lot more explaining than I really had the patience for.

Don't worry, the N. comes back soon. Although, judging from recent blogging by yrs truly, not soon enough.




PS, I raided my mother-in-laws Netflix cache last night. Note to self: "Rumor Has It" was so funded by the devil. GEORGE CLOONEY AND SODERBURGH PRODUCED THAT PILE OF STEAMING FORGETTABLENESS? ? ? ?

wheel in the sky

Is it possible to catch a case of reverse-career-goals? I've been fantasizing recently about quitting my job in favor of manual labor, and I seriously just gave the office mover company guys the eyes in the elevator this morning.

In other news, Cat Town.*


* THIS REMINDED ME: on the Early Show they were talking about The Wonder Pets for some reason, and not having children, I had no idea what the fuck was going on. But let me tell you something, I sat transfixed for a good 10 minutes as they talked about The Wonder Pets, and now I am wondering why I can't find much information on the Interwebs about them. A duckling in a WWII flight bonnet, people. That is eleventy mil X better than a purple dinosaur, or a little Latina chick, or aliens, or whatever it is the toddler set is hyping these days. Although I have to say that in the real world, teamwork does not always work. Like, say you have an IT guy who is a total asshat and wears County Seat polos and braided belts and for some reason refuses to get off his keister to fix your DSL line, even though you asked politely and pay him to do so. Just hypothetical. WHAT YOU GONNA DO ABOUT THAT, DUCKLING PILOT.

zelda ii and the adventure of... wait for it... link.

Hi Internets.

- Reports from the N: all the dudes here have that ugly haircut *

- FIRST and most important link via the all-new and improved Gp: AlligatorOnMySpace.

- En vs. Em

- P-shop Portraits

- How to out-rap someone whose song you are guest appearing on:
Use more syllables per line - Attack the song in the same way as your mark, but with more intensity - Rhyme more words, and rhyme multisyllabically.

- No shit. Anyways. Remind me to tell you about my polygraph experiences. The reason I had to start mine over twice had nothing to do with an ellicit past, and EVERYTHING to do with the fact that I was strapped to a chair in a windowless room, in a numberless building, being videotaped, and asked pointed questions by a strange man. I seriously don't comprehend how anyone, self included, ever passes a polygraph without wetting themselves. In between questions on drug use and financial history, you started to wonder if maybe this building didn't exist and I am strapped into a robot chair in an alternate universe or something. My heartbeat was off th echarts, I think.

Hi. Where was I.

- The transformation of B'ville Several of my cousins work in Bentonville for Company Which Shall Go Unnamed (think yellow cartoon smiley face). The fact that a Jewish community is springing up in town hasn't probably even registered in Ry's head. As long as the Duke athletic program is still riding strong, the Big Man is happy to see His many children, whatever their faith settle down anywhere they so desire. Even Arkansas. The Word of the Lord, according to my family.

- I've been thinking about something. Remember in high school and college when everyone had those giant Case Logic cases? Okay, people so don't use those anymore (they don't), which means there has to be THOUSANDS OF UNUSED/UNLOVED Case Logics lying around. Challenge: do you think one could, say, build a couch out of Case Logics? Or something else useful? I only say "couch" because I once had roommates who tried to build a couch out of pizza boxes, and my dad built a couch out of newspapers in brown paper grocery bags back in 1969. Truth.

- The World According to Pretty Toney

- Man Man media from Chicago & Toronto up at Pfork. Um, when did Pitchfork decide to start posting photos and videos and stuff???????????




* german emo??????????

BD doesn't want me for a sunbeam

Of note:

Every single member of my family is off on some exotic global romp, leaving me and two exceptionally difficult dogs behind to weather the storm (literally.) My in-laws basement started to flood last night, I couldn't find my glasses, and the one other person left in town that could have been of some help? Yeah, our dog wants to kill her. Sorry, cous. I'm picking up the D. from BWI at like, 3 am tonight, and planning on ditching both dogs with her for the reminder of my life the week. The world owes me something, something large and expensive. I'm just not sure what yet.

Additionally, someone just contacted me through Flickr, requesting to use photos of my sweet canine mauler in some sort of online dog-sim game. If someone could please explain to me WHAT THE FRESH HELL AN ONLINE DOG-SIM COMMUNITY IS ALL ABOUT, eternal gratefulness, etc. I don't want to accidentally committ my puppy into a lifetime of seedy underworld online dog fetishizers, if avoidable.

Other good/bad:

The scar on my forehead is shaping up quite unexceptionally. Sigh.

Kracked

Shortly after graduating college I played in 2 flag football teams. The first was a coed and it was terrible. Our team wasn’t bad but the league was populated with school yard jocks and football hangers-on who were constantly trying to recreate some Hook and Ladder play that they once pulled off in elementary school. The garbage talk was obnoxious and unoriginal. On several occasions I was horrified to see a male player taunting a female player after a good play. I was an unpleasant experience.

The other men-only league, in which I still play, is composed mostly of former high school and college players. A good play is respected and congratulated on both sides. If trash is talked, it is warranted and creative. The games are full contact but the knocked down is always helped back up by the knocker down. Even when our team loses it’s still a joy to play each week.

It is with a similar attitude that I acknowledge my defeat at the hands of another website. I have the greatest respect for the lengths to which CS went to prove me incorrect in my Krackel claims, mostly because they are exactly what I have done. On one side, a lesser blogger would accuse their competition of using fake rulers and somehow obtaining a miniature copy of the Washington Post. And on the other, S resisted the temptation of buying enough bars to spell out “IN YOUR FACE YOU FATHEADED INTERNET BLOWHARD!!!” It was clean play and while she gets the winners trophy she also gets the sportsman award.

Fortunately for me there was no actual wager placed on this. S, feel free to come back at me with a challenge of your own. Hopefully one where I can buy 36 bars of stale chocolate and force my roommate to eat them.

assistance requested

I NEED CORROBORATION:

So, I'm still working on my now 740 page manifesto: "Niche Media: The Destruction of Print," but it's nowhere near coherent and unlike some folks, I like to have my ducks in a row before hitting "publish." And shit, and I'm just a blog! It's not like I put out a MAGAZINE or anything.

Anyhoos. The N. reports listening to some sort of NPR-ish radio program with the editor of Capitol File? Or maybe a bigwig (LIKE HI MR. BINN*) at NM? I don't really know who it was. And there was a quote that went something like this?

"Well, we think Capital File really does a great service to this city. You know, people can read our magaine, and see what important events other people are attending, and then CUT OUT THE PICTURES AND TAPE THEM ON THEIR FRIDGES TO REMIND THEM OF IMPORTANT CHARITY EVENTS THEY SHOULD ATTEND."

Like I said, I didn't hear this first-hand, and the N. is unsure of the exact comment. Please send email if you heard this exchange on air. It would make my entire week.






* (I tried to find a photo that didn't have him star-whoring with Shannen Doherty or Jamie Foxx or a group of unidentified rich ladies with skin of leather and hair of yellow, but. Alas. Unpossible.)

#1 nation's choice

The good thing about spending 12+ hours in a car when you are me is finding out which friends keep their Civics well-stocked with music; probably in case of such a carmergency.

I have more to tell, but what happens out of town stays out of town. Unless you are an off-duty state cop who gets off by peeing on people. Then I talk about it on my blog.

If anyone needs me, I'll be rubbing a mixture of Purel and aloe all over my body, and not in the sexy way you'd so imagine.

GUess who will have driven to Delaware and back 4 times in 2 days?

A. BITCHING BITCH ASS BITCH BITCH EFF COCK. I am the worldest biggest moron.

B. MEET ME HALFWAY? Did no such thing.

C. refer to A.

One last one

Can anyone guess how many pennies I’ve stashed in this apple cider jug since college? (As opposed to just throwing them away like someone I know.) I’ll give you a hint: it’s about 600 more than the free Change Express counter at our local Chevy Chase bank can handle before it breaks. The machine locked up and started shooting copper out like the loosest slot machine in all of NOVA. Nonplussed, we trekked to another Chevy Chase with our remaining $6 in pennies and steins of silver.

And we broke that one too.

But not before the G got hit on by a bank manager who should have been paying attention to me, the non-account holding lowlife who was busting his machine. On the plus side, though, when he did waddle over and unclear the jam I got to see the innards of the device. And while it has a coin return for the uncountable foreign currency and wooden nickels in the front, it also has a secret compartment for the truly undesirable jetsam. Things the Coin Exchange can’t handle:

• Paper clips
• Toothpicks
• Lint
• Watch batteries
• American flag lapel pins
• Pennies flattened on a return trip to DC from the Jersey Shore at the Maryland House
• What appeared to be a piece of coral

Oh, and there were 4004 pennies in the jug.

-----------------------------

Speaking of the shore…

The G drove all the way to Skanksville Beach today before she realized she didn’t have her ID or credit cards. She’s on her way back now and she’s pissed. If you see her car, I’d advise not looking directly at it or you may catch on fire from all the cartoon anger lines coming off her head. I’m on my way to meet her halfway and will probably miss M. Doughty. Alas.

----------------------------

And finally CS. You have until midnight tomorrow to produce a certain confection.

it's summer, it's weekend, it's summer weekend

(Hi. so i have this new thing/hobby: attempting to die. "Summer 06: Try N Kill Yrself With Alcohol." So I will be off in Skanksville USA for some summer fun with my roving gang of insane minions, all with death wishes. It will be awesome, in a way that glitter and Arbor Mist can only be. For some reason, persons involved don't believe my sincerity on this: IT. WILL . BE. AWESOME.

I hope to see you all on Monday, alive, and maybe with even more headwound stories. If you have a rosary tucked away somewhere - well, dig it out from under the couch cushions.

Oh, and have fun at Doughty, bastards.

Oh and oh: read the post below, it is magnificent.)

Forced Air

The various vampires, headless horsemen and entrenched DC bloggers afraid to cross the running water of the Potomac are most likely unaware of three giant pillars slowly being erected on a hill above the Pentagon. I hadn’t noticed them until a few months ago when the first stacks started peaking up over the highway and I drive by the site off 395 everyday. I was more impressed they had torn down one of the ugly dorm-like Navy Annex buildings that sit between the highway and Arlington Cemetery.

But as these odd, blue sheathed pillars grew taller I puzzled at their purpose. The best we could speculate was perhaps they were the legs for a new Pentagon water tower, even though it seemed unlikely. So I dispatched PIAB intern K to find an answer, as she formally resided nearby. And though she had at least 2 weeks to make her inquiries, she failed miserably at even starting an investigation.

So risking arrest, detainment and the general MP harassment that one would expect a shady character like me would naturally receive after getting pulled over for being too near the Pentagon, I went to correct K’s nonperformance. This is what it looks like up close…



Consider, please, what will soon be the National Air Force Memorial.

Back in 2001 the House passed a little thing called HR 2586 ($317.2 billion Defense Spending bill for 2002 and the first year of the War on Terror.) and nestled inside was a provision calling for “the Secretary to offer to the Air Force Memorial Foundation an option to use up to three acres of the Arlington Naval Annex for construction of the Air Force Memorial.” Though the memorial had been in the works for several years (including getting booted from the grounds of the nearby Iwo Jima statue for drawing too much attention away from the Marines) it wasn’t until early this year that the results have become apparent. It’s scheduled for completion this fall.

Designed by James Freed (who passed away recently but whose work at the drafting table also produced the Ronald Reagan building and Holocaust Memorial among other DC landmarks) the imagery of the three pillars is meant to represent the “upward bomb burst” maneuver ofter performed by the Thunderbirds of the Air Demonstration Squadron. But allusions to the Air Force’s “missing man formation” also seems pretty evident to me. Reagan’s funeral was the last example of one of those I can think of around here.



The memorial site itself sits on the front end of the Navy Annex and some of the planning pictures seem to indicate that the rest of the buildings up there will be demolished to make way for an accompanying 3 acre park. But the best vantage point to get a sense of the spires assumed towering majesty may be the Citgo situated down the hill. But I pity the average tourist who tries to buy gas because they require a military ID before you can get the sweet Army discount. (You also need an ID to buy anything from the attached store. For example, let’ say radiator coolant. And you especially need one if the coolant only costs $2 and your car is smoking in the parking lot and you just need enough to keep it from locking up and make it to a garage. But they will allow you to use the soda machine outside so you can buy 16 ounces of Dasani that the attendant suggests may work. But doesn’t.)

So why should suburb hating DC blogging community care about some far off goings on in Arlington? Because this sucker is giant. 271 feet of DC skyline altering huge. And when friends ‘n’ family visit to see the cherry blossoms they’re going to want to know what the hell that thing is over there. Look at the speculative picture.



Two more from other airborne angles ici et ici.

Now, if I’m putting this on a “web log”, I must have an opinion about it, right? Of course I do, but it may not be what you think. I like the idea of an Air Force Memorial. I like idea that they are tearing down the ugly Navy Annex buildings. I even like the design and that it’s distinct and that Arlington is still the most venerable place in the country to honor our military’s fallen. But while I like all these things as individual parts of an entire memorial, as a whole, the project bothers me.

The exact flight path of Flight 77 on September 11th will probably never be mapped, based on the plane’s angle at impact there is a good chance that it flew either directly over or very close to where this monument is being built. In fact, that same hill between the Navy Annex and Citgo is where the media and curious onlookers gathered for the best vantage of the fire and destruction. On the heavy traffic mornings when we creep along Route 27, the highway between the Memorial and the Pentagon, I can’t help but to consider the people who were in a similar situation when 77 thundered by at over 500 mph 30 feet above their cars.

The groundbreaking for the memorial of the 184 people that died on 9-11 at the Pentagon happens today. It’ll sit a few dozen yards from the Pentagon’s rebuilt outer ring and will no doubt be a very reverent domain. But whenever I’ve been in that area I’ve often felt that this reverence exists not merely from the side of building but extended back skywards through the path of the plane. And without dwelling too long on theories of space-time and dimensional continuity, I feel that having a large, essentially claw-like structure flaring 270 from the ground disrupts this venerated airspace.

Of course, the specifics surrounding this project were in motion long before September 2001. And to be honest these reservations of mine seem rather odd and difficult to describe. I’m sure that when the blue protective sheathing is removed and the metallic spires reflect the spectrum of the setting sun, all of these complaints will be forgotten.

Update: Radio Interference.

punk's making great strides, starting physical therapy in the fall

Punk's Not Dead at Silverdocs isn't finished, director Susan Dynner made perfectly clear before the film. The sound wasn't mixed, and there's clearly editing and cleaning up still to be done.

Thoughts and incoherent rambles n such (mostly constructive* criticism because I am grumpy:)

1.

a. If you decide to make a film on how "main" punk (discluding any hardcore underground basement scene/15-year old GG Allin disciples that are consistently kicking around and might continue to do so until the end of time) has changed/morphed since it's inception, I really feel for you- it seems like an impossibly wide swath to cover. Make two films, but to bounce from 1979 to Rancid and then to The Voids seems - I dunno, off. There are large time holes in strange places. A more balanced movie would cut some of the old crusty folks off (sorry; although they are more interesting and have great stories, I don't think Dyner was looking to make a documentary on the history of punk music) and really search out some punk bands who were around but floundering in 1986. They're out there.

b. The film seems disorganized (I know! That's so punk!) It would have been nice to have it more clearly segmented (a section on corporate sponsorships/Vans Warped tour/etc. is interesting and handled pretty even-handedly, but kind of gets lost and muddled in the middle of the film, with no real start or finish.)

That being said: 600 hours of footage! They have SIX HUNDRED HOURS OF FOOTAGE. I cannot even begin to comprehend how you start editing that down into a reasonable film.

2.

Did Hot Topic founder need to be interviewed at two or three different places through out the movie? One inclusion of her in the "corporations are evil and you are all sell outs" chapter should have been plenty.

3.

Speaking of interviews. The creator's interview philosophy seemed v. foggy- More pointed questions probably would have been helpful in taking care of #1b above. Although Dynner and team are never shown on film asking anything, I assume they had specific questions to ask. At points, however, it appears they just gave free reign to their closest friends to talk about whatever they so desired. (Charlie Harper (UK Subs), Dick Lucas (Subhumans).)

4.

SIGH. Totally content related and nothing to do with movie production: You can fight forever over what is "punk" and what is "pop-punk" and whether kids these days are really punk if their lyrics involve their girlfriends and schoolwork and unicorn poop instead of British politics and govt corruption, but "punk?" It's just a word. And we all know (I hope) that words only carry meaning when you assign meaning to them- I think punk's already ben assigned. I also tend to think of words as personal things- everyone's thoughts on what a particular word means are a little different. For myself, personally, the word "punk" incorporates some sort of DIY aesthetic. When that DIY business model disappears, then the word "punk" really isn't applicable anymore. Then, the music becomes something else. Lots of genres have roots in older music genres - punk-influenced, pop-punk, etc. When did being labeled "pop-punk" become a bad thing?

Some of the most coherent thoughts on this came from Chris Morris (HR), who talked about music writers absolute need to a. assign a genre and b. compare sounds to previous sounds.

I know I'm not making a lot of sense, but in a nutshell: you can label music whatever you want. Doesn't change the sound that comes out of the instruments. So why get worked up when someone tells you you aren't "punk?" Well, you aren't "punk." You have a tour bus and millions of dollars, and THAT IS OKAY. The world is actually quite happy for you. But don't get upset then when yr musical hero says you aren't what you set out to be. Take your pop label willingly. Embrace it! Love it! Roll in the money! Buy big houses and yr girlfriend new boobs! OWN THE SHIT OUT OF IT, My Chemical Romance!**

5.

Funniest scene: Brian and Allen of the U.K. Subs attempting to list every member of the band since 1976. I stopped counting after 15 or so, and apparently so did they.

6.

Oh, man. Props for the old "Donahue" footage on punks and cured "ex-punks" that Dynner used. Hilarious. The fact that rill life actual WOMEN were occasionally featured: (Voids, Texas Terri, Stormy Whats-her-name: tour manager who has aged into like, the sweetest looking woman you've ever seen) - so best. Also great was the video that Dynner accepted from "punks heard 'round the world": apparently she asked for anyone/everyone to send in video of their bands harrd at work - they received tape from Indonesida, Russia, Croatia, Japan, Italy (!?!), Australia, etc. etc. etc.

The best was a punk group from Iceland, who I love. If anyone remembers the name of this group (It was something like Mornijardiin or something) please let me know. Viking punk! I am so into that!

7.

Others: A kind of fun little sequence on the Adicts, Fat Mike (in person at AFI Silver Spring! And probably went to the afterparty ftring the Goons! Which we were so punk we SKIPPED, that's how punk we are), lots of Sum 41, some Green Day here and there, and a 3-second blink-n-you'll-miss-it Billy Idol appearance. ALSO. Shane West is in the credits, as is Juliette Lewis, but it seems that they both belong to the 598 hours worth of cutting room floor.

8.

Guacamole with the press! The ever-charming CS made an appearance, I consumed two Blue Moons and 13 baskets of chips in what is now being called "Disneyland." Seriously, have you been to Silver Spring lately? It's the weirdest place. There's a EGG-BASED CHAIN RESTAURANT in between the Ann Taylor and Barnes N Noble or whatever that I'm kind of fascinated with.










* Okay, maybe not all that constructive. But they're still editing. It has potential, believe me.

** My Chemical Romance - unintentionally the funniest and saddest part of the entire film, like crying clowns.

personal to nerds

(Advice time: what's the deal with 6apart's Vox? Is it going to be any better than Blogger? Is it worth it to consider switching?)

carry on.

i mean it

if the dynamnic duo doesn't make this into a teeshirt soon, then I don't even KNOW WHAT KINDS OF CRAZY SHIT I'LL DO.



crazy, that's all I'm saying.

power point solutions

With a bullet:

- OH THE HUMANITY. Mopey music snobs around the globe reconsider Ian's choice to end it all. Maybe that wasn't such a bad idea.*

- I don't know what happened to that post on the crazy dog-whistle cell phone sound that was up here. I think I accidentally deleted it, I have ten thumbs when typing into the powerful life-changing software that is Blogger. Google the NYT, I'm sure they still have it up for you to listen (or not listen) to. Oops.

- File under the gargantuan, ever-growing list "Things I Did Not Know": Steve Keene is selling paintings on his website for 8-12 dollars?

- Lesson? NEVER EAT BURGER KING IN SAN ANTONIO.

- Again, Silver Docs tonight. I'll be taking notes so I can blog about how I disagree that Blink-182 is saving punk culture. PS. I miss Visions.

- A haiku from MJ re: life in North Carolina:

Clean, simple car logos!
You're in danger of extinction!
Calvin keeps pissing on you.

- Is there anything more thrilling then finding a dude you went to college with on the World Wide Web who has: 1. changed his name, 2. begun sporting a backwards baseball cap, and 3. powerful proclamations about "feeling his music" and links to original compositions like his song "Slow Grind?" I submit no.

- I also submit I make really good guacamole.


* (That is some SHAKY vocals, homes. He starts off okay! And he actually doesn't do that bad of a teen-cover on the chorus, given, it's kind of hard to fuck up. But holy Mariah, the rest of it makes me sad. And not sad in the good way that this song usually makes me. I just read somewhere that Stephen Hawking was predicting the end of the world soon anyways. Maybe FOB is just speeding things up a day or two. PS. Get your hair out of your eyes. You're wearing a HAT for chrissakes. It can't be that hard to tuck some of those artfully arranged strands up. **)

** (Can pretentious music snobbery ever really be cured? I'm trying, but so far it's not working. I think I'm making it an '07 resolution. I know I'll be okay when I don't roll my eyes and make fake stabby-stab motions every time I see a photo of Chris Martin.***)

*** (I need therapy.)

Ask a simple question...

hey. remember this morning when I said I was all ears w/r/t horror-rockabilly band names?

MJ, as always, delivers:

Licensed Chainsaw Operators
The Shit Clickers
Bucket O'Slop
Take it Outside and Shoot it
Not Enough Gs (or, conversely, Too Many Apostrophes)
These Books Were Made for Stackin'
Pit Stops 'n' Pit Stains
Burnt (elegant in its simplicity, no?)
I Bled On Yr Honey

These are no Hillbilly Werewolf, to be sure - but not bad, son. Not bad at all.

Headline: Concrete remains undeafted against idiot athletes

C’mon Ben! I already have the worst fantasy football team ever and you were only one of two players I was even remotely considering keeping for next season. Motorcycle accident? Without wearing a helmet? Whatsamtta with you?

But at least you didn’t go over the handle bars like Kellen Winslow Jr, popping wheelies in a community college parking lot after only playing two games in your rookie season. It’s cool though, cuz playing against the Vols is a war and Winslow’s a fucking soldier.

I’m sure 980 will be all a-flutter today with discussions about rich athletes risking their careers to pursue dangerous off-field/court activity. Let the record show that in the months preceding my nuptials it was mandated that I was forbidden to participate in any activities that may, even slightly, result in a pair of crutches or a cast appearing in out wedding photos. I lived up to my end of that “arrangement” and I didn’t have a $10 million contract on the line, only the $1000 photographer shooting in a photojournalist style.

Here in town we faced a similar situation to Pittsburgh’s only on a smaller, crappier punting level. In 1999, the Redskin’s punter/place kick holder Matt Turk complained of a sprained/jammed finer that he claimed was injured in a game against the Cardinals. But something was amiss. From the November 24 Post…

Some club officials suspected that Turk suffered or worsened his finger injury playing pickup basketball the day after the Redskins' victory at Arizona on Oct. 17. The team investigated the matter, and on several occasions Redskins officials discussed the possibility of releasing Turk but decided against it.

I can tell you that the investigation wasn’t terribly thorough because if they had asked me I could have told you the name of the guy who blocked the shot that injured the finger. The Pyggies actually had their first date at his house. Right after a delicious dinner at Ruby Tuesdays.

I know. Ruby Tuesday’s for a first date. So lame.

HP & the Sorcerer's Groan

The G: i am a moron

S: me too! I thought I left my phone at the beach but it turns out I didn't even bring my phone to the beach and it was quietly sitting on the charger waiting for me to stop being a dillhole and acknowledge its existence

The G: oh, well. that's nice. i walk into walls. I need a helmet.

* * *

Dear People in the Machine:

So the night started off fine. The N is away for work, I decide to take a drive downtown and crash my sister-in-law's date, eat their expensive appetizers, drink their High Life, talk about how my personality is becoming more like Andy Rooney with each passing hour, etc. It was a pleasant time. We discussed bands names (J's idea for a ska band: "Ska Na Na". S's idea for a death metal group: "Sidecar Full of Sighs". If you have any ideas for good horror rockabilly names, we're all ears.)

I get home, check email, climb into bed. BD, distraught over the fact that his master (and LOVER) has disappeared for the night (BD bears a striking resemblance in personality to Smithers, what with his intense devotion and dedication to the N.) decides that tonight, oh tonight is his chance to blossom into the asshole he was always meant to be. By the 5th or 6th time I get out of bed to kick his ass because he is barking and howlng at the shadows on the wall (ooooh...... spooooooky!) I am seriously pissed. It is almost 1 am. I pull him upstairs by his collar. Mind you, I am doing all of this with no glasses on or contacts in, which means I am blind, but it is my own house, so I feel like even with this staggering vision disability I know where things like furniture and walls are placed, because it's my OWN. HOUSE. This is where I miscalculated, because I am a total moron, and in reality, I have no earthly idea where the walls in MY OWN HOUSE are located.

So I decide to walk into a doorframe. At 1 AM.

Cue blood streaming down my face.

And, since I don't have my glasses on, when I get to the mirror, I have to practically stick my entire face to it's surface to see what is going on, and therefore that skews my perspective of how large the gash on my forehead really is. In actuality, it is maybe an inch. Not even. It is tiny, and will not earn me ANY cred on the streets. Deep, but not particularly wide. But with my "objects are closer than they appear, only reversed" eyesight, I seriously think I have a gaping head wound and once flesh-eating infection sets in, I probably only have a few minutes to call my loved ones and tell them who can have my CDs and who gets the good furniture (1 chair) before croaking.

I am a drama queen.

ANYWAYS, long story short: my forehead is cheerily festooned with a butterfly bandage-thing that is totally overkill, and I'm counting on all of my buddies to back me up when I make up insane stories at beach bars this weekend. So far, I'm just thinking of sticking with a simple "you should see the other slut," and then pounding my fist into the palm of my other hand menacingly. That makes me look tough, like I am constantly fighting people, and then maybe that will scare underage boys in hemp necklaces into buying me drinks with umbrellas in them. Because it certainly won't be my looks*, no matter how many backless glitter one shoulder** crop tops I squeeze myself into. Nast.

It's almost unfortunate that in the light of day, I'm disapppointed. It's not much of an injury. Do you think I should doctor it up with some purple eyeshadow? oooh. I totally am going to do that.

What with my glasses and little boy hands and new lightening bolt scar, I am considering challenging Voldemort to meet me by the flag pole after study hall. FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT!

Love,

The G.

* "sexy harry potter"

** no one looks good in one shoulder shirts. NO. ONE.

Czeched out

America soccer fans, are we going to let this nonsense to continue? I don’t mean the abysmal play by the defenders, the lazy passing from the midfielders or the uninspired attacks by the forwards. In addition to the superior play demonstrated by the Czechs, Jan Polak unleashed this unpleasantness on the US…



America, we stood by while Becks and Posh inflicted the fauxhawk on us in 2002. Whatever it is that Jan Polak and his European ilk are trying to sell us, tell ‘em we ain’t buying. Two examples of this thing in one World Cup is getting too close to a trend.

DO THE HORN!!!!!

Our weekend houseguest was describing her mother's Chicago accent, apparently considered amongst her friends to be the strongest Chicago accent they have ever encountered. We also talked a little about the Speech Accent Archive, and how much fun it is to spend significant chunks of time listening to Afrikaans and Mongolian accents reading an assigned paragraph about Stella, blue cheese, and going to the store for Brother Bob.

Speaking of this - we have in our posession a video of our friend T, being hounded by a group of us to please sing "Ring of Fire." I'm interested in posting said video to see if the Internet can figure out what his accent is* just from his slobbery interpretation of the horn section.





(* drunk Pennsylvanian)

old dominion blues/summer camp alternatives

Uncle E.

If you know me, then you are expecting certain things re: my thoughts on the Eels last night. But I am going to surprise you, internet. Yes, when considering my next personal style revolution, WWII aviator goggles and Union soldier uniforms are tempting. Giant man-beast in tight black "security" teeshirt and biker sunglasses, making performance art pronouncements before every tune, and then lifting weights and/or ninja-style kickboxing and/or ska? Also a potential fashion muse. But here is the key to all of this:

wind machine.

People, I need a wind machine. I need one to follow me around everywhere I go, sexily blowing my hair hither and yon.

More About That

- Lots of rock, less quiet tunes. Yes to all three popular Eels songs, inlcuidng "Dogface Boy." And finishing up with the opening act pogoing around the stage to "Goddamn Right Beautiful Day." Best What I Did On My Summer Vacation Essay ever. We actually missed Smoosh open. The most I could gather about the wee little ladies is that the audience was mesmerized, although they yelled in helium voices. I would like to think it's the hair. Friday paycheck says they don't pay for those highlights.

Oh! And my bro was correct- the Eels came back out after two encores? Or maybe just one, I can't remember. Anyways, lights came on, people left, and then- I have never in my 87 years of 930 concert going stuck around after the lights came on. But we did, and the gentlemen came back out. It is a rare occasion indeed when I begrudgingly admit that an encore was worth it (Things About Me: I hate the concept of encores). Way to reward true fans, E. My one problem is that Civil War Drummer disrobed. The mystery was gone, as was my love.

- Dear Corpse-Eating Guy in Hat: You seriously need to invest in an entire wholesale case of Ass-Don't-Smell. Dear sweet something something, I never never experienced a more heinous smell in my life. Congratulations on being able to clear an entire front quarter of the 930 club floor. Well played. I am okay with a lot of bad smells. Patchouli? Fine. Whatever. I can deal. An occasional fart? Understood. ALMOST KILLING THE FUTURE OF ROCK AND ROLL? Your ass has been stamped "unacceptable." Smelliest concert ever.

Other Things

- I'll bring the lemonade, you bring the baked goods.

- I'm driving an enormous rental Impala as my poor little car is hammered back into shape. It is a monster.

- The D and I are going to see this Wednesday night, if you are interested in such things.

sun comes up it's sunday morning

Things I'd like to accomplish on an average weekend:

- Buy cabinets so the process of remodeling the kitchen, which would take the average responsible young couple maybe a few weeks, but takes us 1 year and counting, can continue.
- Water plants. Maybe weed them too.
- Shower.
- Change oil in car
- Fix garbage disposal, which currently has half a lemon and some rotting starwberries stuck in it, although I do not remember eating anything involving lemons or strawberries?
- Consider financial future, maybe make some intelligent investments

Things I actually accomplish on an average weekend:

- Make half-hearted mix CD for my father, in an attempt to make him talk more about BRMC and less about that time he went to see the Wallflowers at 930 (?)
- Sleep
- Not kick dog off bed
- Eat breakfast popsicle
- Listen to "Soul Flower" on repeat in order to memorize lyrics so that I will be that kind of average white girl at a party, pretty boring but then surprise! has a very cool trick: can bust out every lyric to "Soul Flower" on demand after only a beer or 2. (Project Soul Flower not going well so far.)
- Begin to drive to Target and before even getting halfway there, decide it's too far away and pull into the parking lot of a Wendy's, turn off car, throw seat back, and take a brief rest. Call friends on cell phone, even though I don't have much to say.
- "Love Connection" reruns

* * *

SURVEY: Ed Kowalczyk's lyrics are the worst in the world? (T/F) Last night included a Dceiver/PIAB discourse on this line in particular: "Our love is like water/Beaten down and abused for being strange."

I'm taking comments on this before organizing my thoughts. Discuss.

Business in front...

2 down, 61 matches to go.

While Philipp Lahm juke and goal in the first five minutes of the Germany-Costa Rico game was a beautiful play, the only really memorable thing from the first afternoon of World Cup play was Polish defender Marcin Baszczynski’s bizarre haircut.


These pics don't come anywhere close to capturing its full glory of motion. I blame the haircut for his poor defense against Carlos Tenorio.



It’s as mullet-y as a Saturday afternoon O’s game in the back but still sexy up front like Chris Kaman’s. How do you say “the party’s in back” in Polish?

Ah yes.

Przyjecie jest z tylu!

my new show is gonna be called "last call with brian seaquest"

Sunday brings this, thanks to the constant pressure of my little brother in the form of 1000 emails. Which kind of brings me to another question: Carson Daly still has a TV show/exists?

To Kill a ... eh, nevermind

In this solemn hour it is a consolation to recall and to dwell upon our repeated efforts for peace. All have been ill-starred, but all have been faithful and sincere. This is of the highest moral value--and not only moral value, but practical value--at the present time, because the wholehearted concurrence of scores of millions at least 3 or 4 men and women, whose co-operation is indispensable and whose comradeship and brotherhood are indispensable, is the only foundation upon which the trial and tribulation of modern war can be endured and surmounted. This moral conviction alone affords that ever-fresh resilience which renews the strength and energy of people in long, doubtful and dark days. Outside, the storms of war may blow and the lands may be lashed with the fury of its gales, but in our own hearts this Sunday morning Thursday afternoon, there is peace.

Our hands may be active, but our consciences are at rest.

- - -

Imagine if you will, a more peaceful time. A time when bird and man lived, if not in perfect harmony, then at least with begrudging respect for one another.

That era has ended, my friends. We are at war. We are under siege.

It's a new time, a time where most importantly, we keep our wits about us. We must focus on the task at hand: defending our households from Mimidae.

* * *

Along with the sweet onset of spring/summer out here in the Novalands, popsicles and crocuses in bloom and toddlers in shift dresses and shit, here also looms the mockingbirds. OH THE MOCKINGBIRDS. THE BIRDMANITY.* The little effers are ruining my pathetic existence, an existence concerned mostly with oversleeping every morning.

The trouble with mockingbirds:

1. These flying monsters are pure evil, constructed from the loins of Satan himself, red flaming eyes and larynxes to match. So, problem #1: Satan.

2. They taunt, they tease, they swoop, they TALK. Oh sweet Janice Dickinson, do they ever talk. This particular bird, across the street, talks all night long. Usually he’ll shut up right around 2:00 AM, but just to catch his breath so he can start scream-singing again by 2:20. The N. did go outside once around 3 in the morning, clad only in gym shorts, to shake the trunk of the tree where Satan has set up residence. Unfortunately, that didn't seem to result in any friendships – certainly not from the squawking bird, and probably not from our very confused neighbor who may or may not have called the cops. Anyways, the bird is throwing all-niters: loud, loud all-niters, in the creepy, many-faceted scream they are known for. At first we thought it was some sort of sick prank – maybe a neighbor was playing a tape recorder of a screaming incoherent asshole, just for kicks. Turns out, the bird has simply learned how to speak “Nearby Elementary School Air Conditioner” and “Whining Poodle.”

3. There has to be a mole. A spy has learned of our bird torture-followed-by-slow-death schemes. THE MBs HAVE BEGUN PREEMPTIVE STIRKES. If you saw me a few days ago screaming “RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!” in the church parking lot next door, it’s because BD and I were under full-fledge aerial attack.



So, birders out there: help. How best to off a mockingbird? Tiny, tiny cement blocks around their ankles, and then a visit to the river? Bird flu? Or at least make it fly off to harass someone else’s neighborhood? I hear Atlanta is quite lovely this time of year, and since NUN won’t be around, maybe a certain someone will be in need of nocturnal company.


Other things I like:

- Clearview

- Oxford Project

- Danny Gregory’s new book: I have to fess up- I hate the title. But I like his work at TMN, so onto my wishlist it goes.

- My IPod just reminded me how good the Kinks are.





* This would be the appropriate time to tell all three PIAB readers that birds and my family clan do not have the best of history. My father once cut down a 60 year old pin oak in order to “keep those little bastards from taking anymore dumps on my car.” Also, he used to throw rocks at them. Also, he tied teeshirts to the rear-view mirrors. Also, he bought a STUFFED & MOUNTED EAGLE (“Eddie”) AND SET IT ON HE ROOF OF MY MOTHERS CAR IN ORDER TO SCARE THE SMALLER, SHITTING BIRDS. AND INSTEAD MY MOM FORGOT IT WAS THERE AND DROVE OFF. * * There is more to this story, but I’m spent.

** rednecks, the whole lot of them.

Hi. My cousin thinks you're hot

You know what the Orange Line Corridor in Arlington needs? Besides another Irish themed bar called Puffy O’Tooles. It needs more non-descript, overpriced condos. Big ones too, made of pale yellow bricks and green glass windows. And it would be perfect if the insides had generic wafer-thin white walls, oversized glass front doors, black n white photos of flower arrangements and 4 foot plaster roman pillars. And make sure they build a guard desk but they don’t need anyone to work it as long as they stack it with all the Pier 1 accents you can handle, bro. Especially those things that looks like upside-down pineapple/pinecones on a pedestal or a bowl filled with twig balls.

Ballston and Clarendon need those things.

And it looks like I’ll get my wish. So long, Carpool.



Where does one stand when they announce that one thing you are mildly dissatisfied with is set to be replaced with something you are wildly discontented with? The Carpool is/was a mostly harmless bar, one that you would take an out of town cousin to when you needed to bridge the gap between his local Iowa drinkery and a fake-hip joint like Chi-Cha’s.

But it was also the place that grad school friends back from fall break wanted to hit because they heard it was a great place for singles. So you let out a big sigh and agree because he’s only in town for one night and he’s staying at his parents and he doesn’t want to drive into the city and Mount Pleasant is where again? Isn’t that where those MS 13 guys are?

Fine, dude. We’ll go to Carpool.

It got its name frpm the old Desoto dealership that used to sit at Fairfax Drive and Quincy. You can still see the garage doors and showroom set-up in the architecture. According to the article, the bar will be replaced with condos and “6,341 square feet of ground-floor retail” which means a Starbucks, a Subway, a GNC and a Maggie Moo’s.

The Carpool added a little flavor to an ever-growing brutally generic area. It may have tasted like chalk dust and BBQ sauce served in an ashtray, but it was still flavor.

biology 101/music 103/conversing with JS 410-Honors

mudhole

mostly minor things requiring discussion/comment:

1. The hells. I think there is some sort of tracking device/camera (????) in the womens bathroom. I have never noticed it before, but I was kind of hanging out preening (see: #4), and I heard a weird clicking noise, and I looked up to the far corner?????? Already, the bathroom requires a v. special passcode & an iris scan, I assume so construction workers or the guy who resembles Pat Morita who hangs out on the corner talking to his hand won’t come in and set up camp, and us VIPs can whizz in peace, but I am curious: now, who is watching me? Is it just some sort of fancy air freshener, and I am two skips from Conspiracy Newsletter Blvd?

2. Out of the 3 days so far this week I have decided to come to work, I have been late: oh, 3 mornings. I am amazed at how people such as myself remain employed. I mean, it’s not like I’m getting drunk at work and then falling asleep at my desk and peeing my ergo chair and then getting fired* (hi, Jen!), but still.

3. The absolute, hands-down, funnies thing to watch, ever, is a dog jumping on my mom because she flips out. Not in a I’m-scared-of-dogs-way, but just in a way that she knows the little filthy bastard just got paw prints on her jacquard blazer and HELL NO. Etc.

4. My hair is ridiculous. I’ve been feeling really, really mean about it lately, too. The whole hair situation is a leading cause of my most recent project, a scathing expose temporarily titled "DC: How One City Can Produce Both Dag Nasty and Capitol File Magazine. Also, Some Rantings About Feminism and Capitalism, Thrown In There Somewhere."

Just you wait. Seriously, I've been scanning shit.

5. My brother’s girlfriend, who is pretty and exceptionally smart and stylish and can cure leprosy is coming to stay the night at our house while she attends a Mensa convention or something. Considering we have recently taken to constructing dolls out of doghair and conducting puppet shows on our basement altar of cruelty, I’m a little tense. Seriously. We own two vacuum cleaners, and I couldn’t tell you where either of them are right now. Unless they are being used to hold up bookshelves or something. I think I ate dinner** last night on the ironing board. She deserves so much better.

6. What not to suggest for a bachelorette party if you ever want to be taken seriously again: putt-putt.





* Yet.

** OH! And completely off topic, which, let’s level: is always- we bought the best salad dressing ever recently. I’ve been putting it on everything. Maybe even a sugar free grape popsicle, or what we refer to as “dinner” in our house.

raise yr pencil skirt like a veil 'fore my eyes

today i decided instead of blogging anything, i'd throw pencils at the acoustic tiles in my office ceiling.


right now both are equally awesome. sorry internet, today: you lose.

The Sledge of 14th Street

Time for another history lesson...

General George Henry Thomas was born early in the 19th century near sleepy Newsom’s Depot in Virginia’s tidewater region. A proud West Point graduate, he began his successful and distinguished lifelong Army career in 1840. He served with marks in two of our nation’s Western wars before briefly returning to his alma mater as an instructor. Divided by his allegiance between his native Virginia and the nation that provided him his career, Thomas disregarded the example of his superior Robert E. Lee and eventually pledged allegiance to the Union in months leading to the Civil War. This decision cost him dearly as his Southern family permanently severed all contact, even going so far as to remove his picture from their homes or flipping his portrait so they faced the walls.

Thomas served under U.S. Grant during the war (although the two had a cool personal relationship that continued into the Reconstruction) where he achieved some national recognition resulting from his bravery in the face of blistering Southern advances. Drawing on his experience prior to the war he spent most of his command in the Western Theatre, concentrating his forces in Ohio and Kentucky. Eventually he was elevated to the rank of Major General and like many officers of the era he collected several nicknames. (Most famously the Rock of Chickamauga, although I prefer the Sledge of Nashville).

Following the sacking of Atlanta, he was ordered to defend the communication and supply lines trailing Sherman’s march to the Atlantic which were under pestering attacks by the Confederate General John Hood. While he was eventually successful, Thomas infuriated his superiors, including Lincoln himself, by waiting weeks before attacking Hood. Grant went so far as to send a replacement general to relieve Thomas of his command but the substitute arrived after the battle started. Despite the hesitation, Thomas’s army outmaneuvered Hood’s and the Southern forces were forced to retreat. The battle essentially crippled the Confederates’ efforts on the Western front and war ended a few months later. All of Thomas’s dithering was quickly forgotten and he was soon promoted. He remained in the Army until his death in 1870.

Although I was a history minor in college, I have to admit I didn’t know a thing about General George Henry Thomas until last week. But in every biography I found it directly mentions that he almost lost his job because he was forever taking his time. Similarly, every time I pass through the Circle that bears his name, I curse the construction that like the General himself, is forever taking its time.

Starting in January last year, whenever we’d pass through the construction I’d complain about how dangerous it was or how the traffic patterns made no sense or how there seemed to be very little progress. Then I’d curse under my breath and take note of the sign that said “For information about the Thomas Circle construction project visit: http://ddot.dc.gov” I’ll visit that first thing tomorrow, I’d say to myself, but then I’d never do anything except complain the next time we drove to the Black Cat.

But last week after another bumpy, dangerous and irritating ride I noted that the sign directing residents to information had been removed. What gives? So I finally visited the site and came across this. It’s a press release-type release detailing all the greatness that the new Circle will provide. According to the future, when Thomas Circle is done there’ll be puffy Altocumulus clouds, actual living trees and some sort of plague that will empty the streets to all but Eloi traffic. Why would the city remove a sign directing us to such a paradise?



Maybe perhaps possibly because it also draws attention to the fact that the Thomas Circle construction was scheduled for completion on January 2nd. Of 2006.

So I raised my arms and stomped around in outrage and disgust at cost and time delays associated with this project. And then I remembered that I don’t live in the District or pay a commuter tax or take the snow chains of my tires when I drive through the City or that there is ample parking in front of every church in my neighborhood. So I got no real beef. But these people do. And they want to know why it’s taken so damn long to fix the Circle. And blaming the weather is nonsense.

PS. According to several websites I clicked on the find research about General Thomas the area around DC’s traffic circles are either haunted or drawn by the devil L’Enfant hisself to curse the tourists and John Jay with their convenience and simplicity. And according to Google Earth this pentagram route would travel exactly 9km.



And according to me, I say next year we run the Devil May Care DC 9K and you have to be dressed as a zombie or you won’t get your commemorative bloody t-shirt.

nanowires are so not real. please.

1. What i'm currently really nerding out about. The NPR broadcast used the term "nanowires."

2. Is anyone going to Olssons after work to see Evany Thomas? Or to the DC Bee finals??

a girl like you

PS:

News you already know if you are someone's daughter.* Or Edwyn Collins. Seriously, THIS is what happened to Edwyn Collins, in case you've been wondering.




* i hate the term "punk-rock royalty."

and then on monday morning, i'll post it on my blog.

Friday night, we took my parents out to dinner. The conversation smoothly evolved from making fun of my father for ordering pork belly as an appetizer, to making fun of him for considering ordering a Malibu and Coke, because apparently he's a 21 year old finishing up his nursing degree at American or something. Also, the Nabob brought a print-out of the history of construction at Thomas Circle, something we're both nerdily kind of obsessed with. My parents yawned a lot. More on this later.

Saturday, we went to CD Cellar, where for the first time in a while we shrugged and left empty-handed. Then drove up to Baltimore. Besides copious amounts of strange red brew dubbed "Flirt N' Go," and a bevy of striped polo shirts, there was nametags, which gave idle hands a drunken project.


Eclair-ious


Well, not this year.

Apparently, they've found most everything in the house labeled. Um, sorry about that.

The night ended with someone stealing the owners back step. Not kidding. Good times.

Sunday, we attended another barbeque. There were horses there, they ate apples out of yr hand and were wearing SHOES OVER THEIR HOOVES. The best part of the afternoon was listening to Libertarians talk about what Guam should be used for, and then start fights over who the best person on Supergroup is. Also, the whole world has a blog, really.

On big coffee later, and I'm still sleepy.

I gotta list of demands/written on the palm of my hands

PIAB is headed to a BBQ/drinkathon in Charm City tomorrow. We missed last year’s version of this same shindig for a variety of reasons, one being that it happened to fall on the same date as party we threw. (Two being: I can’t remember if we were actually invited.) Anyways, we’ve stopped being so foolish as to throw parties, because we simply can’t compete. Also because doing so involves cleaning our house, which hasn’t seen a vacuum since February. I know, we’re disgusting.

More on this party: It was by all accounts a simultaneously beautiful and terrifying event in ’05, involving:

1. The hostess being locked in her own bedroom by 8 PM (and by “locked” I mean other drunk people tied a barrier constructed of Nintendo controllers across the stairway bannister so she “wouldn’t fall down the stairs and hurt herself”)

2. Attendees waking up the following morning under the coffee table, surrounded by empty bottles of vodka and the lyrics to Peter Cetera’s “Karate Kid” theme song (incorrectly) scribbled on a cocktail napkin

3. Obscene baked goods (maybe?? someone back me up on this??)

4. The mysterious squatter. Wait for it.....wait for it......... that’s right. Someone pooped in a potted plant.

.

.

.

If I got any of these details wrong, please feel free to correct me. Anyways, if it’s as half as hilariously obnoxious as the tales from last year tend to skew, I am psyched. Also, people from Chicago will be there, and it’s already been determined, even this early into the summer season, that Chicago people, while the best people, aren't usually good for anything but trying to kill me. So, if I 'm not around come Monday, it’s been real, Internets.

The G: I need to think of something fun to bring to the festivities.
TR: I dunno, a 5-gallon tub of mayo? Guns?

While you were sleeping

Back on the water after 2 years of knee injuries. Couldn't have picked a better morning.

happy birthday, mom

MORE FRIDAY DISCOVERIES:

ITEM! I am not the only person who knew someone in college who made a bong out of a Resuscitation Annie! Apparently this is a relatively common practice? I'm kind of disappointed?

* * *

PS. OpenTable is being a total dick today, for all you people trying to make day-late dinner reservations for your mom's birthday.

Gob's not on board.

I left the house this morning, got in my car, looked in the rearview mirror, and then had to go back inside and change. Somehow I had left the house in a white polo shirt and khaki pants. Which, as adorable as those ladies were last night*, is a bit too close to weird-old-cat-n-jeopardy-lovin'-fandlady for my taste. Oh man, Kerry Close though. Kept her hands in her pockets and everything, so cool. I love these kids. I also love the fact that I OWNED "kundalini." So owned it.**

In other news about young people, S. reports her interns were born in 1987. I suggested she start a conversation about Mondale in this morning's staff meeting, and judge reactions from there.





* (PS, if you are a fourteen year old boy, here IS YR LADIES TO SWEAT. They are beautiful, smart natch, and have the glossiest hair I've ever seen. Ask them to the 8th grade dance posthaste. I'm hiring Finola to come give me skincare tips, freals.)

** (I don't care if it's not that hard. Sidenote: did not own "weltenschmerz," but was close. Very, very close.)

seriously, in 10 years, i have yet to hear an explanation that makes an iota of sense

will someone please explain burning man to me again?


thanks.

summer/city

hola again.

In fest news, from (who else) JH:

Today's proof that it's almost statistically impossible (12%) to be a band and not be playing a festival in Chicago in the next three months:
World Party reunites and plays their first American date in 7 years at Taste of Chicago on July 8th

All the fun is in Chicago. Who wants to drive? Seriously: summer road trip, flannel shirts with the arms cut off, shirts so thin you can see through them. Wifebeaters. Vodka in Gatorade bottles. Faux-construction boots. Hippie beads. Janine Garafalo's haircut in "Reality Bites." Shit, people. We can listen to "When You Come Back to Me" on repeat, I can pretend like I'm 16 again. We can dress like extras from "Airheads." I'll look up the Sox schedule. My bro's girlfriend can come along, she's taken to introing herself as Mrs. Buehrle. We can visit TR. We can visit my friend Eric, see which of his friends has gotten a facial boot-stomping lately (apparently, that kind of thing happens.)

CHI TOWN CHI TOWN CHI TOWN.

MonoNerd Corsiva Blah

There will be approximately one of you, maybe, who finds this interesting- from the latest in Kottke postings:

The Type Museum is potentially going the way of so many other great organizations, to the big Museum Resting Place in the Sky. ( lack of funding.) Concerning because I really would have liked to visit, should plans gel for a potential London revisit next summer. Dammit! If you like type and aren't going to be in London anytime soon, you can download a reading list from their site. Also, there's a google group setup dedicated to finding a way to save the place.

I've passed along this same info to my cousin, a former agricultural journalism major (not kidding) turned design professor. Needless to say, she's beside herself. On second thought, don't lose too much sleep re: the fate of this museum. My cousin is ON it. This is a woman who single-handedly turned her one-story Muncie farmhouse into a two-story dwelling. The Amish use a LARGE GROUP for such an activity, because they are pussies. Museum fundraising is probs for amateurs in her mind. So, nevermind. Do not sweat the type.

* * *

In other news, I just got back from the robot dentist. (seriously, he's a robot. I'm sure of it.) He proclaimed me cavity-free, domo arigato, & he'll see me next year. Yay.