The Return of Kenya (and of Alias)

My Entire world was turned upside down last week because I'd started watching season three of the very omega-excellent Alias. If you've never watched this show, you must seek out the DVDs either from Netflix, your favorite video store, Amazon, whatever. Just go frickin' get them because they are awesome. I greedily watched several episodes while remaining invisible on AIM the first night, not wanting to be interrupted. Slowly, though, my love affair with Alias has been waning. Today I heard a song off of the Rainer Maria album A Better Version of Me and the lyrics make mention of our first esteemed national poet laureate, Walt Whitman and I was immediately reminded of a poem I once wrote in response to his own and I suddenly felt very cheap for being so in love with Alias. I mean, sure, she's flashy and fun, but how deep does she go? Does she promulgate anything beyond skin-deep beauty? I'm only through the first two discs of Season Three, but I'm seriously considering cutting it cold turkey. Perhaps the answer is moderation, but who was time these days? And what if we all die tomorrow? Will I want to be caught thinking of Alias or of Whitman? Like many relationships ending, I may take a few more episodes from her, and it will be empty and unsatisfying eventhough there will be the same sense of excitement underlying it all. I'm sure I'll even be distracted thinking of Whitman's white whiskers, of his oh-too-obvious metaphors for male genitalia while Alias 360-kicks some Covenant agent into unconsciousness. And who knows, maybe it will heighten the pleasure once I return to Whitman, as I'll be truly realizing what I've been missing, taking for granted.

Last Wednesday night, friend Dave returned to town. We went out on the town drinking and having as much fun as we did last time he was in. Actually, we went to the same exact places, not including the restaurant where we began. This time we started at the ole Pepper Lounge. Linda whipped me up a delicious Bloody-Tini, which I haven't had in quite some time. Well, after I drank that drink in a about three minutes, I knew already that I picked a hell of a time to quit sniffin' glue (10 points to anyone who can get that reference). Anyway, for those not getting the reference, I went on to get a little drunk. But we had fun.

After Pepper, we went first to Spin for $1 drinks night. Friend and bartender extraordinaire, Vasili, was there as well as a host of others. Here's a pic of me, Dave and Dave.



After Spin, we headed to Berlin (the bar, not the country). Good times. Good times. Like last time, we ran into everyone's favorite drag queen, Kenya. OK, I don't know if she's anyone's favorite, much less my own.



I did bite her butt though.



And she did let me take a picture of her urinating. So she certainly racked up some points that way.



A lot has happened since that night. I'm not quite ready to talk about it publicly, but some of you have heard bits and pieces. Soon, it will all be made public.

Update

I've been pretty busy. There's a new dream in the dreams section.

Valentine's Day

(I've manipulated my site settings - let me know if there's any immediate bad effects for all y'all - thanks.)
(Also, there are a couple new dreams.)

Monday night I went out to The Hideout to watch a couple bands and see some heart-based poetry. Well, you know, lurve poetry. The poetry was mostly good. This one guy was reciting a poem dedicated to his grandfather and it was very strange and discombobulating. The phrases were all very fragmented and his delivery really punched their fragmentation.

It was-- It was like-- It was-- It-- It was like he-- It was like-- It was like he would start a sentence-- It was-- It was like he would start a sentence and not finish it over and over again and his delivery was so good I really felt like I was hearing this weirdly skipping record or some constantly interrupted transmission.

One of the poets remarked that there was some graffiti on the men's bathroom wall that said, "Scarves are for faggots." This poet was himself a faggot. He read from a series of poems which he called the Ira poems, that depicted the last time he was in love - in 1989. His were the best of the night, and if applause was an indication, then I think the audience agreed with this.
When I looked on the wall in the bathroom, I didn't find that quote, but I found instead, SOILENT GREEN IS PEOPLE! This made me laugh.
The poets inspired me to write some poetry, though my a.d.d. kicked in and I haven't yet except for a collaborative piece I'm sharing with a friend in San Francisco.
I may still start that poem tonight.
In addition to the readings, there were two bands. The first was Charlemagne. My date, Greg, and I couldn't figure out if Charlemagne was the name of merely the lead singer (as he introduced himself as such), or if the whole band was Charlemagne. You know, kinda like Winger. Either way, I liked Charlemagne. The music was catchy and pretty and dynamic enough. Their drummer was this chick with a mullet that I rather enjoyed. Their keyboardist seemed like he didn't belong. He looked like a tax adjuster. He also looked like in conversation, anything he'd say would be grumbled.
The second band was Chicago's own L'Altra. I liked them pretty well, also. They consisted of a cellist, a guitarist, a keyboardist and a second guitarist. No drums. Obviously, this wasn't high energy music, but I found it pretty and soothing and interesting enough. We were both hungry though, so we left to get some pizza at Santullo's. Mmmm. Yummy pizza.

Unholy Union

The other day as I was walking to work, I had the impulse to just set my iPod to play The Arcade Fire's Funeral album again, because it is so goddamn good I just want to listen to it all the time, but for some reason I just let random play and I was not displeased. Pailhead came on. I can't remember exactly which song it was, but I just kept thinking, "how on earth did that ever happen? What weird set of circumstances brought Ian Mackaye, former straight-edge punk rocker and Al Jurgensen, a pretty much strung-out addict, together to make an entire 6-song album? I mean, don't get me wrong - it's a pretty exquisite album. I love nearly every moment of it. But I mean, who'd'a thunk? Surely not me. And I doubt they would have ever believed it themselves.

I don't wanna be a pailhead no more.

* * *
(I always forget the htlm for the stupid little line that I know is just two little letters, but the abbreviation always escapes me, so you'll just have to settle with little stars)
Friday night I went with my friends Frank and Rodney to the members preview of the show entitled Universal Experience at The Museum of Contemporary Art. I had to work, so I got there late in the event and basically just walked through the building at a crisp pace and don't really remember much except that I still don't really like Hirschhorn and a red balloon. I decided, though, that I'd like to take the evening off from work and go again to the next one, but ignore the art and just be social, because the crowd was pretty interesting and fun.
I only took this one picture of Frank's back in this orange-carpeted room.

Outside, a young boy walked back and forth over some flood lamps sunk into the ground. I didn't get to take his picture, but got a few with Rodney walking over them. That was my art-inspired art for the night.




You can just make Rodney out in the last one.
When I got home I watched 13 Conversations About the Same Thing, which I picked up somewhat randomly based on cast at the video store the other day. It was pretty darn good. It was kinda formatted like those non-linear sort of films where there's all these simultaneous storylines with common characters and there's this thread of luck/coincidence/choice. You know what I'm talking about, I'm sure. I'm so sleepy.

Being Sick Sucks

So, being king of not being sure, I've decided not to combine the blogs. I started to redesign last night for a couple hours and felt like I was getting nowhere, so I'm keeping it the way it is for now. If anyone out there can think of a way to streamline what I'm doing here AND can verbalize how that would be, just send me an IM or something.

There's a new dream.

A New Era

:::Attention - I interrupt your regularly scheduled blog with this urgent announcement:::

Okay, some things are about to change.

Today I installed dsl service in my home. This means I have access to my luvah, the Internet, at home. This also means that some of my long-term plans on my presence on said Internet are going to be coming to fruition.

One of the most dramatic changes will be the consolidation of some of my blogs. I think I will no longer be using different pages for FOUND, DREAMS, BOOKS, or any of the other specialty text-rich blogs. Naturally, I will maintain a seperate art page, as it is primarily image-driven and usually is static except when new work is added.

It is also my goal to start making music in my home studio. As of now, there is no home studio, but I am going to begin researching how to remedy this by using my Luvah, the Internet.

So, start expecting to see changes in due time. I believe this will also result in an overhaul of the general site design. Specifically, the nav will eventually be moved to the top so I can start using images larger than the crappy 410 pixels that I've been using for the last 3 months or so.

If anybody knows of any good shareware that acts anything like apple's garageband, please let me know.

Peace.

:::We now continue with the previously scheduled blog which is brought to you in its entirety. Thank you for your patience:::

Last monday I went to a show at the Empty Bottle with my friend Gnat. I saw a band called The Emily Shrine, whom I've liked for quite a while. I first heard them when I came upon their CD when I was writing for In The Periphery. The Audible Campaign opened.

I was really pissed at my camera for taking sucky pictures. I hope this isn't a permanent problem.

The Audible Campaign I've heard of before, and sadly, I expected more. I felt their bassist was the weakest link. I also felt like their singer was pretty weak. While I listened, I assumed that they'd never recorded before, because the vocalist tended to be flat in pitch. It seemed like he wasn't aware of how he was singing. But I later looked at the merch table and they had not one, but two CDs. One would think that after that much studio experience, a band would be more aware of what they sound like.

All that said, I think there's lots of potential. The actual songwriting was pretty good. Just seems like the delivery needs work.

Ironically, The Audible Campaign requested I be their friend after this show, and I hope they're not too hurt by this review of them, should they ever see it.

The Emily Shrine, on the other hand, sounded great.


This guitarist had the calmest stage presence I've seen. He was like watching a lava lamp or an aquarium of fish (Hi, Marco).


Some other band played, but for the life of me I can't remember who they were. Here's the guitarist/singer.

He kinda look like Brian Moss from The Ghost.
The bassist had the same bass as me. Just a different color. Probably not the same exact model. I don't think his has stereo output (or what Rickenbacher has termed "rick-o-sound").

I love Sue Fox

There's a new found object.

I have a date tonight.

There may be a new dream, so you might wanna go check over there, too.