signal to noise

We're In Business!

2010-12-08T13:28:00.000-08:00

Yippy! I here by declare my new business, Ace Holiday Gift Wrapping Service, officially open! Although I did the soft launch on Friday, yesterday was the roll-out-the-carpet day, in which I blasted email, tweets & facebook posts all over the internets. And frankly, today I'm tired, but no rest for this elf! There are gifts that need wrapping! If that includes yours, give me a buzz or email - 510.408.7441 or ace@acegiftwrap.com

And here's the lovely, fancy, magnificent website!

If I Was On Top Of Things, I'd Have Posted This For Valentine's Day

2010-02-28T19:15:00.001-08:00

My love for you
is like a zombie.

Deep in its grave-dirt it lies
animated but unalive.
It twists, squirms, digs, climbs

until a fingernail pokes up through the daisies,
and then fingers (not quite ten),
and then the hands, wrists, arms, elbows,
and the horrible head.
And then it pulls itself out, like coming up out of a swimming pool,
lifts itself out of the dirt,
crookedly stands.
Corroded, worm-gnawed, full of holes,
the brain basin mucked with mildew,
its skin more a paste, and its eyes puddings.
Arms outstretch, and off it stumbles.

Meanwhile, back at my house,
dark, quiet, not a creature stirring, etc.
I’m asleep in my bed, covers up to my chin
AND THEN I AWAKE TO THE CRASH!
Stiff zombie arms wrecking through the window,
through the blinds bending and tearing from the sill.
They clatter with the glass shatter,
the zombie crashing in.

I try the praying, the incantations, the charms.
The zombie is unimpressed, and hungry.
It comes at me with great zeal, its teeth clack, its filthy fingernails rasp,
and the smell – have I mentioned the smell?

The smell is sweet like strange fruit,
like an mango, but sweeter, so sweet its sour,
like a thousand mangoes smashed in a sour brown mash simmering in the sun,
smells like bruised cherries, chewed pits, banana peels,
like a softly rotting cantaloupe.
The zombie smell is putrid, and pervasive,
and in no time I have this wet rotting sweetness in my pores, at the roots of my hair,
under my pajamas, inside me. The smell.

Meanwhile, the zombie
bites my face,
like seriously it bites so hard it breaks the skin. I grunt and push away, push hard into the flimsy flesh hanging loose from zombie ribs. My cheek burns, spit-streaked. The zombie's sallow teeth are exposed, my blood vivid against its lipless maw. The zombie rushes at me, and I punch, I kick, I thrash, but still it rushes. I punch the bony face and an eyeball slops out. I kick it in the bony thigh, old bone splinters, but the zombie is undeterred. It has a supernatural strength borne of a singular ambition, a focused, singular intention
To eat my brain. To consume my flesh. To have all of me.

Luckily, it is then I notice my trusty chainsaw in the corner!,
and my machete!
I angle our brawl, steer it just so -
and then I have my weapons!
The chainsaw chokes to life,
the machete gleams.
I swing my arms.
The machete catches under the chin, pops off the jaw.
And the chainsaw gets an arm, right above the elbow -
off. Onto the floor.
I swing and swing and swing
and the parts fall freely.
Of course I nick myself here and there
a cut, a gash
but a gash is a scratch when faced with the fate of being eaten by a zombie.

The awful zombie is in pieces on the floor.
This is of great relief,
but now, what, a pile of zombie parts in my house?
I put it in a garbage bag, a hand, a foot, a chunk (neck maybe?).
The pieces ooze,
the cuts have opened bad pockets of puss, maggots, curdled gore, runny marrow.
And the bag is heavy. Mostly bones, some mold, some meat, but still
it weighs a ton.
I drag the bag bumping down the stairs,
across the street, through the field by the gully,
into the woods, into darkness, into dew.
With shovel, pick ax, bare hands
I dig. The ground is damp, old, cold, but the musty dirt smell soothing. I dig

dig and dig and dig, deep as I can,
deeper, there is no purpose in putting any kind of zombie in a shallow grave.
I must ignore the shuddering sack, the black plastic bag spasms,
kick the twitching bag down the hole
and cover it, reverse it, put the cold clay back,
a low, smooth mound compact as asphalt. I jump a jig up and down
for satiety, to ensure it is tamped.
No problem.
Done.

Back at home, board up the broken window,
sweep the glass away. I'll get curtains;
I never liked blinds anyway.
And anyway, the place needed a good wash, a scrub,
the smell of bleach astringent in the sweet rot.
I wash off the gore and muck,
blood, mud and moisture.
I wash off the smell, the sweet sour brown syrup.
The house is restored.
All is warm, clean, replaced, at peace.
I go back to bed, covers up to my chin.

Meanwhile,
deep in its grave-dirt the zombie lies
animated but unalive.
It twists, squirms, digs, climbs -
rezombifies.

Repeat.

Repeat repeat repeat
because
my love for you
is like a zombie.

Please be so kind as to take my amazing survey. Thank you.

2010-02-26T11:37:00.000-08:00

P-A-R-T-A-Y-!

2010-02-12T02:10:00.000-08:00

Leaving New York

2010-01-05T00:02:00.000-08:00

Good morning, New Jersey! The sky is just getting light as I ride the train to the airport. I turn and look out the window, back behind us, and see the top of the mighty Empire State Building pointing like a stinger into the clouds.

It rained last night, a lot. The sound of it kept me awake. I kept listening to that rain and imagining myself out in it in my sandaled feet, schlepping my soggy bags and trying to hail a cab. Fortunately, the real walk was dry, and the cabs were plentiful.

The Empire State Building’s stinger recedes from view. Here’s a sports stadium, and a lot of old train tracks, ship yards, and machinery. This, I suppose, is the town of Newark. The sky is still quite dim and gray. The clouds are breaking a little to the east and almost turning pink. They say it’s going to be hot in the city later today. My stop is next.

In the last few minutes, I stopped writing, departed the train, made my way across the station to the little airport train, and got aboard. In that time, the clouds opened all across the sky and now day lights through. The sun hasn’t crossed the horizon yet, but it’s close.

The little airport train crosses over brown, motionless canals. The trees grow right up to the banks, and huge pink flowers on tall stalks stand in the edge’s muck. The trees and canals give way to the sprawling tarmac, and the airplanes huddle around the terminals getting full and empty of people, soon to include me.

My experience of being in New York City is like a metaphor for the whole of my experience of life. I never quite get to do everything I wanted to do, or see everything I wanted to see, or be with all the people I wanted to be with. My best scheduled plans never quite turn out because they are interrupted by the unexpected, the wild, the impossible. And at the end I’m glad to go home, because it’s home, but feel like I need just a little more time, if I just had a little more time, I could have made it all work.

The other people on my flight - my fellow travelers, my aerial companions - queue up to board the plane. They look disaffected, some of them even appear miserable. But companions, we’re going to fly! In the sky! In a few hours, we’ll be on the other side of the continent.

If I can’t stay here, I might as well be willing to go. I pack up my phone and my water bottle and, in a moment, my notebook and pen, and take my place in the line to board the plane.

Super-spectacular Eggplant Casino night at Madrone Lounge in San Francisco!

2009-09-28T18:43:00.000-07:00

Photo by JasonUnbound

I know, I really should use this opportunity for something other than promoting my band, but what can you do? File this under noise if you'd like -

Wednesday Wednesday Wednesday!

Eggplant Casino is taking over the Madrone Lounge for an epic evening of Hardcore Caribbean Rope Burn Music. We're playing two or three sets (depending on how the spirit moves us) to include all your favorite Afro-Latin-Calypso-Gypsy-Cabaret tunes as well as some hypnotic instrumentals, unexpected covers, brand-new compositions and even a few works-in-progress. Normally a full night of music, mischief and traditional Yetchnian folk dancing like this would cost you hundreds if not thousands of dollars, but for you, our most esteemed friends, we're offering the whole show for the low, low cost of $7. Please join us.

Wednesday, September 30
500 Divisadero Street at the corner of Fell, San Franicsco
9pm, 21+

www.eggplantcasino.com
www.madronelounge.com

Wednesday

2009-09-17T00:46:00.000-07:00

You know it's a Wednesday night in San Francisco when you're sitting cross-legged in a late-Edwardian-style sporting costume on the driveway of the parking lot where the French animated film the Triplets of Bellville was just shown to an audience of hundreds of bicyclist enthusiasts, projected on the blank space between windows on a white apartment building wall, and you're eating piping hot, locally grown organic zucchini, poblano pepper and cilantro vegan soup out of a compostable bowl with a compostable spoon while David Bowie's Heroes is playing loud through the speakers mounted on a bike ridden by a man wearing a metallic turquoise raver shirt who happens to be one of the West-Coasts preeminent Flash Mob organizers, and the air is sweet with clove smoke and chai and whatever that smell is coming from the reappropriated taco truck that now serves "French take-away", including frogs and snails, and as you watch your fellow bicycle enthusiasts collect their bikes from the bike parking attendants, you wonder who else is there in a costume and who just dresses like that.

Yep, Wednesday night.

I Play The Viola

2009-08-27T14:24:00.000-07:00

It's an undeniable fact at this point that I play the viola. Seriously, I can't put that thing down. For example:

1. Killing My Lobster Patronizes the Arts
The new sketch show from San Francisco's finest opens tonight. No joke, this is some serious comedy. Last night's performance was one of tightest and funniest I've seen in a long while, and it was just the dress rehearsal. And to keep things extremely interesting, there's a different guest artist featured every show, from poet Jamie DeWolf to painter Debra Walker. There are 15 shows and I'll be on stage with the band for all of them. I don't care how much packing you still have to do for Burning Man, do yourself a favor and come check it out.

KML Patronizes the Arts
at the Traveling Jewish Theater
470 Florida near Mariposa, San Franicsco
Five shows each week August 27 through September 13
Thursdays & Fridays 8pm
Saturdays 7 & 10pm
Sundays 7pm
http://killingmylobster.com/

2. Jacopo CD release party with the Eggplant Casino and Micropixie
We're back at Cafe du Nord for a real cute sandwich of a show. Jacopo headlines with their Italian-flavored, kazoo-driven "alternative transcendental folk", Micropixie opens with sparkly, glitchy electronic lounge-pop, and the Eggplant Casino is right in the middle with our famous Afro-Latin-Klezmer-Gypsy-Cabaret style. This show is going to be so amazingly adorable, and its only ten bucks! Believe it.

Jacopo, the Eggplant Casino and Micropixie
at the Cafe du Nord
2170 Market St near Sanchez, San Francisco
Wednesday, September 9
doors 8:30, show's at 9:30
21+, $10
http://www.cafedunord.com/
http://www.eggplantcasino.com/
http://www.myspace.com/jacopodenicola
http://www.myspace.com/micropixie

3. The Eggplant Casino at Madrone Lounge
Madrone is awesome. It gets crowded and obnoxious on the weekends, but they always have interesting art, creative programming, tasty cocktails, and a mish-mash of funky, comfy chairs. I wish this place was closer to my house (like in the same town maybe?). Anyway, the Eggplant Casino takes over for an evening - mercifully a Wednesday - and as always, we guarantee a good time, great music, and snappy outfits. I have no idea about the cover, but it'll probably be in the $5 - 10 range. Cheap is in, friends.

Yee olde Eggplant Casino
at Madrone Lounge
500 Divisadero at Fell St, San Francisco
Wednesday, September 30
Uh, I'll get back to you on time and price, but I can tell you, it's 21+
http://www.madronelounge.com/
and of course
http://www.eggplantcasino.com/

Unfinished But Finished

2009-04-13T18:00:00.000-07:00

Note: Coming across this was a bit of a surprise–I don't remember writing it. I assume I meant to write more, but am glad I didn't; I like it just like this.

I am thinking about those late, drunken nights when you'd worked all the angles and talked all the talk, but still every pair of legs has walked out of your reach, except mine. Then we'd catch a cab, and fumble with wallets and 20s, and then through the gate and the door and two flights of harshly-lit stairs to your apartment.

The Dolphin

2009-03-10T20:42:00.001-07:00

I’m lying on Fort Myers beach, making deals with the sea and sky. When the clouds part some, and the sun shines on the beach, I will go for a swim. I look up. Even though the air is perfectly warm and comfortable, I won’t put a toe in the water until I have heat on me, like a coating. The clouds have thickened and I can’t estimate when the next break will come. Maybe if the bit above me cracks, I’ll have several good minutes of hot sunshine. I lay back down with my book and try not to think about it. When I look up again, the clouds have loosened, the light is stronger. I’m tired of waiting, and who knows, maybe this will be as good as it gets.

I get up and walk into the sea. It’s shockingly colder than I expect. I didn’t think it’d be warm, but expected the kind of cool I could warm up to. No, this is cold. I compare it to other cold waters: not as cold as the frigid Pacific I grew up with, or as cold as the rivers of fresh-melted snow I dip in all summer. All right, I can deal with it. Just a quick swim, then back to the beach mat and sun.

The sea is relaxed as a lake, and quite shallow. I’ll have to wade out a good distance before I reach swimming depth. Some hundred feet in, where the lapping water reaches my knees, I notice, out past two young boys with boogie boards, a dark, curving fin poke out of the water. Dolphin!, I think, and then, shark!

I know it isn’t a shark – wrong fin shape, plus sharks don’t come up for air – but can’t help thrilling at the idea of being nipped by a shark, right here in the cold, knee-deep waters of the Gulf of Mexico. I’m imagining the pain and blood when I realize I better pay attention to the water if I want to see the dolphin again.

And here it is: beak, head, back, fin, and then gone again without a splash. Effortless.

Maybe you’ve ever started to feel like you’re not such a bad swimmer, like you have some moves in the water, and then a dolphin flicks past you with all it’s powerful ease and grace, and you have to console yourself with the thought that at least the dolphin would be a putz on land. Of course, then you see a pelican glide smooth and quick a few inches above the water’s surface, then beat its wings and climb up, and then fold its wings and drop like a missile into the sea, and you have to console yourself with “well, at least I don’t have that ludicrous beak.”

The dolphin curves up out of the water again, not far from me, and I realize its big, and it seems to be alone. Maybe it will swim up to me. Maybe it wants to swim with me.

It breaks the water again, casually, just a few yards past the waders. We all watch it, our eyes locked on its path.

The dolphin has an odd skeletons for a legless sea creature. Down its spine about two thirds the way to the tail, each dolphin has residual hip and leg bones, souvenirs from the age when it’s forbearers were four-legged land critters. Same with the whale. Life was born in the sea, and then some creatures beached themselves on the shore, and learned to thrive there as well. At one point, dolphins and whales were tree shrews. This was many millions of years ago.

Back in the age when dolphins lived in tress, the Gulf of Mexico was dry land, vast and expansive. Then a meteor came crashing though the sky and smashed into the land. Dirt, rock and dust exploded into the air, and water torrented into the tremendous crater. The sky blackened, the sun grayed out, and life both in the sea and on the land suffered and straggled and died. Without sunlight, plants died; and without plants, herbivores died; and so on, up the food chain. So passed the dinosaurs.

But the meteor also brought life. Other kingdoms, like the furry one, were out from the reign of the reptile kings. They climbed down from their tree nests and walked the lands. The dolphins walked into the sea and didn’t look back. Their forbearers walked out, and they walked in. They walked into the crater left by the meteor that killed the dinosaurs, the very same crater I stand in now.

Please don’t quote me on this, of course. That’s mostly how it happened, but not exactly. It’s somewhat third hand at this point, like a game of telephone. And I changed a few of the details intentionally. Taking license. Like that whales were already giant sea monsters before the meteor hit, giants among giants, but that’s beside the point.

The point is: the dolphin and I are here together now because of this great crater in which the dolphin lives and I vacation. We would not be here were it not here; if it wasn’t here, we wouldn’t be here. Maybe we would be monkeys and tree shrews still, or squawking birds, or lazy alligators, or bacteria.

Soon enough I see the dolphin for the last time. My eyes keep straining past the spot, trying to get one more, but that’s it. I give up the watch and dive shallow across the bright surface. My scalp tightens reflexively when it hits the water. I paddle around a bit, flip, float on my back and look up into the sky with my eyes closed. I could stay like this forever, except the water’s cold and the sun is finally full and hot, so I wade back to the beach to lie on my mat in the heat.

I've Always Wanted to Call Something Signal to Noise

2009-02-03T17:39:00.000-08:00

BECAUSE IT'S A PUN! GET IT? Sig, signal. Ha!

Oof, well, anyway, for the past six months since I last posted anything, I've wanted to revamp the blog. It just had no direction, it ambled too much, which says a lot when you consider I have an extremely high threshold for ambling (just ask my parents - hi, mom and dad!).

Somewhere during all those months, it struck me: what if I post my actual writing, you know, writing-writing, I mean the stuff I write in those notebooks I carry everywhere and write in whenever the inspiration strikes (and sometimes when it doesn't)? The subject matter ranges from unnervingly earnest and hastily jotted true tales, to first drafts of screenplays, to lists, to epic poems, etc., etc. How about I post that?

Naturally, at this point you ask "and how is that not ambling?" But really, it isn't. No, seriously.

So far, whenever I have posted, liked, for example, a "we all went camping last weekend" kind of post, you could be sure that was generally factual, that indeed I had been camping. Hence forth, said account may in fact be fictional, and will usually be more descriptive, as I either wrote it to stylishly describe an actual event, or am describing it as realistically as I can to make it believable fiction. Also, everything I've blogged so far is original to this medium, where as going forward, I'll post writing from throughout the years, from before blogs were invented, even (gasp.).

And, furthermore, I will not tell you what is what. You may recognize something as having happened because you were there, but that's all you get. And don't expect me to stick to the facts, because I won't. Or maybe I will. I'm not telling. You can figure it out.

See, signal to noise. Its not only a pun, its also the intention. Ha!

the Cabaret Aubergine

2008-07-02T16:07:00.001-07:00

Olive, originally uploaded by TobiasS.

Hi, everyone. If you're around this weekend, please come out on Sunday to hear my band, the Eggplant Casino, play at the first ever Cabaret Aubergine at Amnesia!

Incredibly wonderful performances by -

• Shain Corosco on the cello with members of Classical Revolution
• Chris Libby doling out the comedy
• jazz loveliness by Brian Rodvian & Friends
• other miscellany including dancing & singing
• and let's not forget the soothing sounds of the Eggplant Casino, who will play a full and complete set for your enjoyment.

The good times start at 8pm, with a nominal charge of $7.
Amnesia is at 853 Valencia Street between 19th and 20th (right close to 16th and 24th Street Bart Stations)

Hope to see you there!

Pip the Bunny

2008-06-28T01:32:00.000-07:00

People, this drops my jaw. A very bad dog ironically named Lassie killed all but one of a family of bunnies. So what did Lassie's people do? Adopt the baby that lived, naming her Pip, bottle feeding her and loving her like their own. It warms my little heart, I tells ya. Follow Pip's progress here.

the In-Control Girls

2008-05-28T16:48:00.000-07:00

Thanks to Emilia for pointing the way to this little gem:

Just for the record, these people are like family to me. Srsly.

Homage to Star Wars: But Basketball's a Peaceful Planet!

2008-05-20T21:33:00.000-07:00

What makes teh internets great? This, made by someone who really understands timing and editing.

I got this from Timmmii, who got it from BoingBoing, which means yes, you've already seen it. I don't care. Watch it again. Its good for you.

Cheap and awesome, just like I like it.

Drunk Jedi Trailer Trash - Watch more free videos

And lastly, one of the few yet significant reasons why YouTube isn't totally useless, it contains bona fide classics from back in the day like this.

&

This is the Greatest Photo Ever

2008-05-20T19:06:00.001-07:00

The awesomeness is overwhelming. I highly recommend the Muppet Wiki.

My Birthday Wish List

2008-05-06T13:35:00.000-07:00

Preamble: It was actually my birthday a few days ago, but my schedule's completely full for the next few weeks, so I'm postponing it indefinitely. This means I'm also still 32 until further notice.

1. A new bicycle!
I'm 5'6" and have a rather long torso and little legs. I ride on streets, and I like breaks and gears, and by that I mean breaks on both wheels and at least three gears. Furthermore, I think riding without breaks and just one gear is dumb, just like wearing painfully high heels is dumb. So says I.

Anyway, the point is, I have a 3-speed, gear-hubbed, vintage cruiser that I utterly adore, but its too heavy to lift and carry, plus its so sexy that I get nervous leaving it locked up anywhere for fear it will be nabbed. So, I'd love something similar but lighter and scrappier. I already have a Caddy, now I need a Honda, you know. Like this. A 5-speed would do nicely.

2. A Love Sack or similar beany bagish piece of furniture.
I'm so not into the swirly-fuzzy-psychedelic-raver-burner fabrics that cover many Love Sacks. There, I said it. I mean, its not like it doesn't work for some people, but its just not what I want in my house. Get yourself a swirly-fuzzy-psychedelic-raver-burner Love Sack and I'll come over and fall asleep in it any day. But for my birthday, I'd like one that's a solid color - red, orange, mossy green, gray; you know, the good colors - or a tasteful stripe in bright colors, or even a very graphic floral. Which is to say, not this.

3. A back pack for camping.
I'm very slightly built up top, so small or extra small is the size range. I'm going to say 3-day size would do nicely. Oh, and a pump-style water filter, too.

4. A really tiny baby bunny.
This is the same as me asking for a pony. Probably a bad idea to actually get me a live animal, but it would be so cute.

5. A Pip and Leaf shirt.
I'm doing this, like, project this year: I'm only buying used clothing, nothing new ('cept socks and undies). But, of course, if someone was to get me a new Pip shirt as a present, I'd accept.

6. All black with non-pastel stripes Adidas Superstar
If I wanted pink, I'd be in business, but for the love of everything holy, why oh why can't I find a Superstar (or shell-toed knock-off) in my dainty size? Size 5.5 - 6.5, or guy's 2.5 - 3.5. Do all small-footed women want to look like they stepped in sherbet?

About the above photo: it has nothing to do with my wants, but its so awesome, and came from here.

My Calendar is Full.

2008-05-01T12:58:00.000-07:00

May is a busy month! Check this out:

Next week, on Tuesday, May 6, my band, the Eggplant Casino, is playing as part of the SF International Film Festival. There's going to be several short films, some live performances from Eggplant and others, and the piece de resistance, the public premier of Evolution: the Musical, which is a short film I helped produce, and make a very brief appearance in. I'm super excited about this show, and would love to see you all there.

Tickets are available here (through a somewhat confusing process).

More information about the screening here.

And of course this.

The following week, Beowulf: a Thousand Years of Baggage opens at the Ashby Stage in Berkeley. I'm not in the show, but I did design the props, including Grendels hideous arm, which some of you have seen, and also I gave one of the actors a mullet haircut, so come out to see that at least. Its an amazing and haunting show which I highly recommend. Previews are on Wednesday and Thursday May 14 and 15, opening night is Friday, May 16, and the show runs Thursday through Sunday through June 15. Tickets, show times and the like are here.

Also on Friday, May 16, the Eggplant Casino will be playing at another film event, KML Gets Reel. Its an evening of short comedy films (including Evolution) from the venerable and uproarious sketch comedy group Killing My Lobster. We'll be playing interstitial music, as well as a short-ish set before the films. And, as a testament to the closed-loop that is the theater world, you will see a lot of the same folks in and at all three of these events. Ah, theater.

Lastly, the Eggplant Casino will be playing at yet another film event, but this one has nothing to do with those other two. We're scoring an evening of silent films in Mendocino! F-U-N. I don't have much info about this event yet, other than, like, where the band is sleeping and what time we're setting up and that kind of thing. If you're interested, though, let me know, and I'll keep you posted.

Isn't there an episode of the Simpsons...

2008-04-30T15:14:00.001-07:00

IMG_3855.JPG, originally uploaded by waltzesandmarzipan.

... in which Bart and Lisa discover the mafia is selling rat milk to the school, and Principal Skinner says "You promised me cat or better!"

Thank you, Karen (who is in England) for introducing us to this wrong substance.

An Awesome Weekend Gone Too Soon

2008-04-14T20:36:00.001-07:00

The bridge as seen from Kirby Cove, originally uploaded by gregveen.

Damn fine weekend it was. Why does there have to be a Monday? I don't mind working, but maybe we could skip directly back to Friday again?

1. Friday Night: Kirby Cove
Ha! Amazing. Just west of the Golden Gate Bridge on the Marin side is Kirby Cove. For those of you busily doing east/west calculations, that means past the bridge toward the Pacific Ocean. Kirby Cove has a little beach with a sloping wood behind it. Some jerks during WW2 build bunkers there, but now they're ruined and mysterious but fun, half horror movie and half playground.

The view is epic - a little bit of the sea, a little bit of the bay, a long stretch of San Francisco, the swift and narrow Golden Gate Channel, and the huge bridge. Best of all, the night was perfectly warm and clear, so we sat on the beach or by the fire until we just couldn't stay awake any more, then slept out under the stars on the edge of a cliff and woke to the view. And mimosas! We had to leave at noon on Saturday, but I could have stayed for days and days.

2. Saturday Afternoon: Naps
As soon as the sky got light on Saturday morning, I awoke and couldn't fully get back to sleep. I didn't want to miss anything. I kept opening one eye and looking out at the view. Meanwhile, Greg's allergies came on like a flash flood. He hadn't slept a whole lot either, and between the sleeplessness, tenacious allergy symptoms, and the narcotic effects of antihistamines, he was out like a light as soon as we got back to my house. It looked too good to pass up, so I laid down on my bed and fell asleep, too.

3. Saturday Night: Stayed Home and Cleaned My Room
Sometimes, you just have to stay the fuck home. Enough said.

4. Sunday Afternoon: Epic Bike Ride from the Mission to Ocean Beach and Back Again
It wasn't until after the ride that I realized some days I ride 10 miles to and from work, which is pretty much the same distance we rode on Sunday. No wonder I was able to keep up on this ride - I had practice!

First I went to church, which was awesome as always, then headed over to Mission Control for brunch. Since I was on the way-late side, I brought my bike with me on bart, so I wouldn't have to walk. When I got to brunch, a few folks were leaving for a bike ride. Fifteen minutes later, another few people left for a ride, and then another crew ten minutes later. The last crew managed to talk me into it - I mean, I had my bike with me, I might as well, right? - and it was then I discovered everyone was actually going on the same ride. Eventually, after much rendezvous-ing, there were I think nine of us on the ride. We were a bike gang! Unfortunately, as I didn't plan ahead for said ride, I was the one in the mini-skirt and sandals. Because, people, it was hot on Sunday. Hot, I say. But, had I known I'd be peddling all over town and back again, I'd have worn pants or shorts and shoes. At least I was wearing exceptionally modest undies (as always).

Greg, meanwhile, was at home doing his taxes and sniffling. I really wanted to make him join us, but I knew he'd be miserable riding through the pollen cloud that was Golden Gate Park. Sorry, Greg.

5. Unrelated: Brick!
The weekend before, Greg, K-dub and I watched my new favorite movie, Brick. People, for real, such a great film. I'd heard a ton about it on NPR when it first debuted at Sundance a few years back, and Tim and Tina both really liked it and suggested I see it, but then it sort of fell off my radar. Fortunately it got back on my radar. Hooray radar!

Anyway, that's neither here nor there. The point is, this film! The script, the acting, the costumes, the editing! Its a film noir set in and around a high school, and almost every character is a teen age kid. Its contrived, but executed flawlessly; one of the most important pieces of knowledge I learned in art school was this: in art, its okay for us to make our own universe, but we have to be consistent within our universe. So goes the universe of Brick.

And why not a high school noir? The archetypes fit perfectly - the moody loaner hero, the fallen, tainted ingenue, the dangerous femme fatal, the slimy cad, the sinister master-mind, the ham-handed thug, and the gritty, ruthless cop - in this case, the vice principal. It fits together so snuggly, one wonders why no one every did it before. The film plays the gender roles like a violin, too, comments on traditional film gender roles without ever having to even say anything.

I'm not going to tell you a damn thing about the story, though. I don't want to give anything away. Every detail counts in a good noir, and nothing extra is included, so to tell you anything is to tell you too much. That said, when listening to all those gushing NPR reviews, they couldn't help but give away the four clues, which are four words, and I'm going to give them to you, too: Brick, Tug, Frisco and Pin. Go watch it and see what it all means. Yay!

Addendum: WTF?

2008-04-03T13:05:00.000-07:00

Just for a little light post-blogging, pre-bed time viewing I did a search for pandas, because who doesn't want to go into a Nyquil fueled coma with visions of pandas dancing in her head, but why oh why did this appear?

Sick in Greg's Bed

2008-04-03T12:26:00.000-07:00

For anyone following me on Twitter, you most like already know the short version: I have a cold, and am resting it off in Greg's bed. The long version is, its my own damn fault. Like, really. I burned it at both ends this weekend, as in the Saturday end and the Sunday end, and clearly staying up all night and all day was the final blow to my immune system.

So. So now I feel like ass. I had a rehearsal for Eggplant Casino last night, which mostly went well, but its hard to say because I'm pretty sure I was running a fever. We have a show on Sunday night at the House of Love Cabaret (corner of Fulton and Lyon in San Francisco, its going to be packed, packed I say, well past capacity) and I didn't want to miss the last rehearsal before the show, so with hot toddy by my side I hacked my way through. No, it was good, it was. I tried not to talk or sing, but I did tap dance like a maniac, which maybe wasn't so good. I dunno...

The Nyquil is starting to kick back in, so forgive me if I ramble.

Anyway, the point is, I went to rehearsal instead of sleeping, and though I tried to take it easy, there's only so easy you can take it from the Eggplant Casino. I got to Greg's house and wasn't much good company, I can tell you that. I guzzled Nyquil and showered and passed out. No, stop, back track: when I first got here, I sent out some emails to work-folks - I guess those would be PROFESSIONAL EMAILS - saying I wouldn't be in today. No matter how bad I feel calling in sick still feels like getting away with something.

ANYWAY, THE POINT IS THIS: Knowing full well there was no way I'd be getting far from a bed today, I still had this thought, in the back of my mind, at least while I'm sick in bed I'll have time to get some writing done. Never mind that my attempt at writing is turning out LIKE THIS! If you're still reading, I commend you. But I've been doing a lot of writing and most of it is good. Not here and now, obviously, but in my notebook, like actual writing, with a pen, and I've been doing it in whatever spare minutes I can patch together. So, a lot of it is done right before bed and while riding on public transpoo. That's a new word.

Okay, the Nyquil has won. I give up. The end.

ps. I did an image search for Nyquil and that's what I found. Eek.

Notes

2008-03-21T09:34:00.001-07:00

1. Dad's making more kimchi, so help is on its way. I finished off the jar last week, after some rationing. The last inch or so was especially spicy, as it was soaking in all the juice that had dripped down from the top. The last half inch was a regular Spice Challenge, very difficult to eat because of the heat, but I was successful, as always.

2. I've had my time, energy and mind way too into work lately, and I've had enough of it. I made a pact with myself only to stay there 9 hours a day. I was there 9-and-a-half, 8-and-a-half, 10, and 9-and-a-half so far this week. Yeah, room for improvement. But, I am supposed to be at work right now but am still at my house, so there you go.

3. As of last night, I'm obsessed with the song So Real by Jeff Buckley. I started singing it spontaneously on my bike ride home last night, got it playing on the itunes when I got in, and am listening to it for the, eh, 10th time right now? Its the perfect song; how did I never become obsessed with it before? I've noted before that I need to spend more time with Jeff Buckley, so maybe now its happening. His supernatural wails alone are worth the price of admission. I have a bootleg of him covering the Smith's The Boy with the Thorn in his Side that puts a tear in my eye. And another tear because we only got two records from him before he died.

A Public Plea

2008-02-28T22:46:00.000-08:00

Dear Dad,
I'm running out of kimchi. Please help.
Thanks,
Sig

(So, like, my dad makes this awesome kimchi. He brought me a jar when he came up for the Chinese New Years Parade last weekend, and I've eaten roughly half already. 500 milliliters I've eaten.

Whoa, that just turned all Yoda for a second. Half a liter of kimchi I've eaten, and more I will soon need. I get big eating food of this kind.

You knew there had to be something about a movie in here somewhere: last night, Greg and I watched Revenge of the Sith. I'm slowly watching all six Star Wars, even the bad ones, in story order. Its going to be a great relief watching A New Hope, but then a little bit of a let down again watching Jedi after Empire. Maybe I should be watching them in order from worst to best: Attack of the Clones, Phantom Menace, Revenge of the Sith, Return of the Jedi, A New Hope, Empire Strikes Back. Do you feel me? Dare to battle me if you disagree.

But anyway, I digress. This is about daddy-o's kimchi. Pretty fly for a white guy, I must say. My nose is running because it's spicy, and yeah, I'm eating while I type. When I got home tonight I just, like, got inspired: I busted out the kimchi, then turned on the KCSM and put the computer on the bed, all while holding the jar, and now I'm sitting cross legged on my bed eating and typing. The jar is right here next to me. If it tips over and spills, I will be so fucked. There's no way I'll get the juice out of my matress. I'll have to get a new bed, and a new jar of kimchi.)

Chapter 2 Addendum

2008-02-25T11:42:00.000-08:00

A photo from Caterina.

Thanks, c!

It's Like Proust In One Volume

2008-02-19T22:06:00.000-08:00

Preface/Confession
The only thing I really know about Proust is he wrote a really, really, really long book.

Introduction
I have so much I want to write, but will try to be sparing. I'm sure Proust, at times, felt the same way.

Tonight I attended Practical Mysticism class at church, then came home, put some laundry in the dryer, made myself a rootbeer float, turned on the Jose Gonzalez, put on my new (to me) pink velour track suit, and am now indulging my urge to do this bloggy thing. What is this weird urge? Its like a cross between the urge to gossip and the urge to write. Regardless, here it is.

Speaking of "cross between", I've decided Jose Gonzales is a cross between Cat Stevens and Nick Drake. Feel it.

Chapter 1: Switzerland
I went there. Did you know this? Its true! Greg was going for work and I got jealous, so I went, too.

So, how was Switzerland? Well, the short answer is, Switzerland is so consistently clean and nice it makes the rest of the world look totally trashy. I spent an afternoon in Franfurt, Germany on my way back home, and after Switzerland it felt like a third-world country. But, the Germans make the Swiss look like assholes. It was nice to see people smile again. So there you go.

Here is a picture of Switzerland:

Yes, that's the Matterhorn, and excuse my French, but we snow-shoed the fuck out of that mountain. All mountains are beautiful, but I gotta say, the Matterhorn has some crazy enchantment thing going on - not like pixies and unicorns, but like it was hard for me to take my eyes off of it. You can't tell much from the photo, but its big, too, over 14,000 feet.

Chapter 2: Dots vs. Stripes vs. Spandex
About five minutes after I got home from Europe, we had a party at my house. It was a big party and everyone had fun. The next day, the house smelled like a bar - stale and close and vaguely pukey. Did someone puke? No? Then why the smell?

Chapter 3: Tahoe
More snow! But this time, on cross country skis, and in California, and on notably shorter mountains. The highlight was not the skiing, but the butt sledding. Just imagine sledding, but then take away the sled. Yep, that was us, sliding down a hill on our asses. Thank god for snow pants.

Chapter 4: Pinback
I can't believe I've been keeping this blog for over three months and this is the first time I've mentioned Pinback. Yee olde blog was rife with Pinback gushing.

Greg and I saw them a few months ago at Bimbos. It was my first time - eek! They were playing two nights there, and we went to the first. The show started off a bit slow, low energy, not terribly engaging - you know, indie rock. But then, I don't know, its like something just happened, some kind of mope-to-awesomeness transmogrification that left me feeling buzzed the whole next day, so much so that I was ready to go back to Bimbos and stand around outside the sold-out show trying to score another ticket.

So, then just over a week ago they were playing a show at the Fillmore, so of course, OF COURSE we had to go (well, I did, anyway, and Greg came too because he's cool like that). mc chris warmed up the crowd like something fierce. He is perfectly constructed out parts stupid, charming, funny, magical, and repugnant.

Then Pinback comes on, but their sound was so bad, so horribly bad. What the fuck, brodogs, why? Why the sound like the bass and drums were being bumped way too loud out of some hoopty in front of the building? The over-driven, swampy, deafening low-end covered the band, so much so that a few times I knew Rob Crow was singing but couldn't actually hear his voice. We moved all over the room trying to find a sweet spot, but only found a sort of mildly salty spot, way back by the sound guy. Whom I wanted to smack.

Chapter 5: Traffic
Why do people love drug war movies? Its not like people don't love drugs. Marijuana is one of the United States a-number-one cash crops, and yet, people love the fuck out of drug war movies.

Traffic? No exception, plus its got this inexcusably racist, "lock up your white daughters" thing going near the end. Deplorable. But, Traffic does have a few things other bad drug war movies don't have. Namely, Benicio Del Toro and Don Cheadle. Plus Traffic has some slick editing and neat filmy tricks. It would be great if the damn script wasn't so hideously cliche.

Chapter 6: Dead Man
On the other hand, there's Dead Man, the film writer/director Jim Jarmusch called a psychedelic western. SO GOOD! I've read that a lot of critics didn't like this film, but clearly they were the same chumps who thought Traffic was brilliant. Sometimes Johnny Depp's acting feels like he's just sort of screwing around, but not so in Dead Man. He's looooovely in this, as is Gary Farmer.

And now you're asking yourself, who's Gary Farmer? I kept watching and asking myself the same thing, so I looked on IMDB and realized, "oh, him, he's been in everything." But in Dead Man he is fully immersed in his character Nobody, so it doesn't matter what he's been in before, because he's in Dead Man to win. Neil Young's sparse, psychedelic soundtrack is the trippy cherry on top. And also, Iggy Pop in a dress and bonnet.

Chapter 7: Pinback Gets Another Chance
Despite the bad sound at the Fillmore, I decided to give Pinback another go when they came around again a week later. Why a band would flagellate itself with a tour schedule like that I don't know, but hey, if that's what they're into its fine with me. The show was at the Bear's Lair, a bar on the Cal campus serving beer by the yard. This is a tremendously off-putting fact, and I was worried the audience would consist of frat boys drunk on miles of beer, but, well, I won tickets. So, with Greg by my side, we went.

The venue was like a grade school cafeteria. Technically, it was a university cafeteria, but it felt far more quaint. Mr. Crow remarked on this upon taking the stage: "Hi, welcome to lunch period. Its Friday. We're the Purple Squirrels and we'll be playing some songs while you eat your lunch." Poor Mr. Armistead Burwell Smith IV looked all pale and weak, and Mr. Crow mentioned he was sick and would be going to the nurses office after lunch so his mom could pick him up.

Despite the unfortunate circumstances, Pinback rocked the house. Or the cafeteria, whatever. Anyway, shitty venue, but way better show than the Fillmore. Go figure.

well, I'll be a monkey's uncle

2008-02-06T11:13:00.000-08:00

Looks like Clinton took California after all. I thought Obama was going to sweep it, too. Of course, I was surprised when we ended up with Schwarzenegger as our governor. Shows what I know.

Super Fat Tuesday

2008-02-05T08:22:00.001-08:00

Mardi Gras!, originally uploaded by bcostin.

Today is Fat Tuesday; Alisa Clancy is playing nothing but New Orleans-flavor jazz on KCSM. Here's a song called "Stoned, Drunk and Naked", with a lyric "I know she ain't no hooker, but I know she ain't cheap". Ahem.

But more importantly, its also Super Tuesday. As soon as I get my clothes on, I'm out the door to my polling place to cast my ballot for our next president, who will, at long last, be a Democrat.

Obama fever has hit all my friends. He is the next great thing, the new hope, the contender, almost messiah-like. Deep in my heart, though, I have to admit, I got a torch for Hillary. I kept trying to rationalize it: she has more experience, she's tough, she's already been through tons of controversy and is not only still standing but coming back for more. She's smart and respectable and knows how to play hard. Blah blah blah, you know what, I'm willing to admit, finally, on the deciding day, that the real reason I have an unshakable Hillary love is because she's a lady, and he's a dude, and I'm so fucking sick of dudes in the White House. I don't care of he's black, he's still A MAN. Can we get a woman in there, please? We've done the guy thing, our whole fucking history as a country we've done the guy thing. I want a woman in the White House. Being born in the '70's - raised on Sesame Street and Wonder Woman and Free To Be You and Me - I was told I could be the first woman president, but even then I really expected we would have had a woman president by now. WTF? Fucking Pakistan has had a female leader, and yeah, I was enormously upset when she was assassinated.

I admit, our man Barak might just be the better choice. I mean, really, either would make a stunning president, but after all the Bushing we could really use a president who can speak without sounding like he's addressing a Dungeons and Dragons convention, and my god, Obama is a true orator in the classical sense. I might just vote for him today, its possible. But my heart belongs to Hillary.

(No, seriously, that Dungeons and Dragons link, you really should click, because its really, really good)

long gone!

2008-01-31T22:36:00.001-08:00

short hair in the front, originally uploaded by sighafstrom.

I'm sorry, Lon, but it was time! Cut it myself, about three weeks ago. Yep. It was time.

but then!...

2008-01-31T22:35:00.003-08:00

short hair in the back, originally uploaded by sighafstrom.

long

2008-01-31T22:35:00.001-08:00

long long hair in the back, originally uploaded by sighafstrom.

but now its gone!

yep, there it is.

2008-01-31T22:29:00.001-08:00

long hair in the front, originally uploaded by sighafstrom.

I Remember It Now

2008-01-07T23:29:00.001-08:00

Lifeboat, that was the other movie I rented. It was Hitchcock's Lifeboat.

I've seen a bad Hitchcock movie; this is not it. This one is good. Its one of those movies only Hitchcock would dare make, in which all the action takes place in one confined location - in this case, in a small lifeboat in the middle of the endless Atlantic. It doesn't have much in the way of bells and whistles - no particularly nail-bitey scenes or wild, impossible camera tricks - but it doesn't need them. The action moves along quickly and you're never quite sure where the little boat will end up, or who will still be aboard. A trim, neat suspense classic from the master.

The Libertine was a fun little watch, nothing terribly moving, even with Johnny Depp as the lead. He sort of just Depps his way through the deplorable character John Wilmot, the 2nd Earl of Rochester. But, you know, deplorable characters are fun, and Johnny Depp is hot, and there are costumes a plenty. Its one of those filthy period pieces, where everyone has a disease and no one bathes and you can almost smell the piss oozing out of the mud. Worth seeing for the wigs.

Hot on the heals of the Libertine was Sweeney Todd, Demon Barber of Fleet Street. What a bleak story, and talk about deplorable. Here is a man who's so lost faith in humanity, he slits strangers' throats and then eats them (cooked into pies first, naturally). Delightful! But ugh, what a bloodbath! I watched half the film through my fingers. I actually kinda like the non-singer singing, though once the actual musical theater folks start laying it down, its pretty obvious Depp and Helen Bohnam Carter are vocally out of their league. I don't know the musical so well, but was glad the glorious Sondheim soundtrack stays - as far as I could tell - intact. Regardless, the costumes and pissy mud make the movie, so there you go.

Last Saturday, I took in three movies in one day. Let me tell you all about it (I know, I'm breaking the brevity rule... indulge me!) -

No Country For Old Men: Almost as bloody as Sweeney Todd, certainly as bleak, but not tempered by beautiful music and stunning gothery, so I left the theater feeling shocked and amazed. Tommy Lee Jones is absolutely impeccable; in fact, there's not a lick of bad acting in the whole picture, everyone really nails each moving character spot on. An enigmatic, brutal, atmospheric gem. As my friend Tim said, do not hesitate to see this film. Cohen Brothers, FTW.

Labyrinth!: Jesus, what a stupid movie. I love David Bowie, and I love Muppets, so why do I find this movie grating? Even when I was a kid, I found it trite. Its too sentimental, that's what it is. How about a genuine scare next time, Jim Henson? Oh, right, Dark Crystal. Okay, you're excused. (And we miss you!)

Y Tu Mama Tambien: Gael Garcia Bernal is the loveliest human being alive. God damn. Its not natural. And then put him in this smoking hot film about doing it, and forget about it. Okay, considering Greg's the only person who reads this, maybe I shouldn't be so gushy. But really, the guy's wonderful, the film's wonderful, everything and everyone in it is wonderful - which is exactly why, when you get to the end and realized the whole story's about loss, its such a punch in the gut: you can't have a true sense of loss unless you fully realize that everything lost is beautiful. In life, discovering this vicious fact is routine; in film, it takes a bit more effort. This film puts out the effort and the rewards are sorrowfully successful. There's a reason everyone goes on about how good it is.

Rain!

2008-01-04T10:42:00.001-08:00

And wind! The sky is so dark. I just went outside for a moment to check on my plants, and by gum, I got drenched.

The only thing to do, other than go to the office (heh) is to watch movies. Hooray!

I watched the Phantom Menace and Contempt, and they were both terrible. Phantom Menace is bad for so many reasons, I won't even bother to go into it. That crazy lightsaber battle at the end, with Darth Maul (or is it Darth Mall) and the Jedis, that's good stuff. I could watch that all day. There's only one space battle, though, and its weak. Anyway, I won't go into it.

Contempt is bad because its stupid. I mean, its about this couple, and the guy's a jerk, and the wife gets angry at him because of his jerkiness, which is all good an well, but then she mopes around and won't defend herself or explain herself and just acts like a total weirdo. It seems likes Godard, the filmmaker, he just didn't understand women, but believed its because women are totally un-understandable. Its not that he's confused, its that women are confusing.

So then, there was the Libertine and... oh crap, what else did I get? Uh. If you can remember the other DVD I watched this week, remind me, and you'll win a prize.

I Protest

2007-12-26T13:51:00.000-08:00

Me no feel good.

For the past few weeks, I've felt cold symptoms for a few days, and then felt fine for a few days, in a repeating cycle. I've been very diligent about keeping my thoughts on health, on not succumbing to illness; on Christmas Eve morning, I woke up feeling absolutely awful, but refused to be sick. I said to myself, out loud, "Perfect health is my truth, no matter how I feel. I am a divine expression of the One Life, and that Life knows no illness, therefore I know no illness", etc. Within an hour, I felt fine.

Its now two days later, and I'm back in bed, feeling sick. I want to refuse this condition, but I feel like I just don't have the energy. My fuel has run dry.

Some people discredit the New Thought Movement for being a touchy-feely, spineless, non-philosophical philosophy, but I disagree entirely. To know that my thoughts create my reality, my life and all the conditions that come with it - this is a very tall order! When I'm sick, I can't make bargains or barter with any God, except for the One that is Me. I have to own up to my own experience, and know that I can be miserable or I can be joyous, I can be healthy - even if my condition appears otherwise - or I can be sick - again, even if contrary to appearances.

I have a friend who, by appearances, may seem to have had cancer, but everyday she has lived and continues to live in the consciousness of perfect health. The outward condition has no power over her joy. I have many other friends who are perfectly healthy by any medical diagnosis, but who's stresses keep them in a constant state of fatigue and discomfort. They are more sick than she is, because she has a ceaseless commitment to consciousness. She decides.

Not a small decision. I'm not having the energy today to decided to feel healthy in the midst of this cold. I want to go to the video store and get more cinematic crack, but the walk feels so far, and I feel so weak. (I just finished the Phantom Menace and Contempt - maybe that's why I feel bad. But that's another topic all together.)

So, what do I decide? There is not the option of not deciding. I have the cold, or I have the health. It seems, at this point, either decision is going to take it all out of me. Sick, or well? No bargaining, I decide.

Popcorn

2007-12-21T19:25:00.000-08:00

This is the stuff right here. I’m sitting on my bed with a bowl of popcorn, doing some writing and listening to the best ever radio station, KCSM. I put it on expecting jazz but instead am being treated to a show about Hanukkah-related klezmer music written by Woody Gruthrie. Random, but fun.

Kevin’s in the kitchen making more popcorn, and I can hear the lid lifting off the pot as the popcorn overflows. He just stated watching 16 Candles. Damn, I might have to ditch the awesome scene here in my room, with the klezmer and the popcorn, and join him on the couch; 16 Candles is truly one of the finest pieces of cinema in the history of film. Do no challenge me on this – I know what I’m talking about.

“You need four inches of bod and great birthday.”

Christmas Time is Here

2007-12-17T14:31:00.000-08:00

Hip-hip-hooray for a neat and tidy, laid-back piano trio! That there is some of the most intimate, personal music around. I'm talking about piano, bass, drums. Its like getting my hand held for the first time by a cute boy - nothing heavy, just sweet. Piano trios get into me right at the deep, soft spot I have for chamber music. I like music one has to be quiet to hear.

As its the Christmas time, I'm listening to a favorite Christmas album and favorite piano trio, the Vince Guaraldi Trio's A Charlie Brown Christmas. There is a psalm about dwelling in the secret places of God, and a Charlie Brown Christmas is on the soundtrack to these secret places. It perfectly captures a few distinct sounds: being warm and safe indoors on a quiet, dark gray day; romping in the bright snow, safe and warm and bundled against the cold; and of course, there's the exuberance of the Peanuts theme song, Linus and Lucy, which sounds like a childhood of freedom and simplicity the wise-beyond-their-years Peanut gang never actually seemed to live.

(I guess should mention I think Peanuts is a work of genius, but that's a whole other topic entirely.)

everyone's a winner at the Eggplant Casino

2007-12-12T21:25:00.001-08:00

Dancing, originally uploaded by minimilkus.

Did I tell you? Last week, a week ago tonight, the Eggplant Casino had a show at the Hemlock Tavern. Shoot howdy was it a good time! Can you not tell by the photo; I mean, whatever! Look at those guys - Todd Grady, trumpet-player extraordinaire on the left, and the multi-talented Dave Malloy on the right - having the time of their lives. And those guys have thrilling lives, too, let me tell you. I played viola (a little) and sang (a lot), and danced around and gestured at the audience and that kind of thing. You know.

This would be the part where I post a link to our music, but that doesn't exist yet. Your best alternative is just to come see us at our next show. Which also doesn't exist yet, but I'll let you know when it does. Yay, us!

ps. on Dave's site, you can hear the tunes from Clown Bible, a musical which he wrote and we both were in. Goooood times.

Okay, one more photo (from before the show - Thanks for the great shots, Toby!) -

Hi-ee-ee!

2007-12-10T19:53:00.001-08:00

Hi-ee-ee!, originally uploaded by gregveen.

This guy, Mr. Face, was one hell of a hamster. He wasn't friendly, in fact, he was rather hostile, but he sure was cute. And fit, too; he ran in the wheel eight to ten hours every night (not an exaggeration). He was a movie star of sorts, back when he was still called Billy, featured for a few crucial moments in Evolution: the Musical. That's how he came to live with me, in fact. Someone needed to adopt him after the shoot, and although he wouldn't stop biting me, I just couldn't resist. His favorite foods were dried soba noodles, pop corn, mac and cheese, and seaweed. He liked blueberries and necterines, too, but hated anything green and leafy (except the seaweed).

Mr. Face died tonight, suddenly and mysteriously, after an illness that couldn't have lasted more than seven hours - when I left the house this morning, he was running in the wheel, which actually, is kind of odd because he was nocturnal. Regardless, I'm raising a sad glass to the memory of Mr. Face tonight, trusting that he's running endless rotations in the big hamster wheel in the sky. I love you, Mr. Face.

my new addiction

2007-12-05T10:43:00.000-08:00

Pianist Brad Mehldau. What a cat! At first his songs seem like nice, smooth piano jazz, but then they start to turn wild and go free, and then come back together neatly and finish like nothing ever happened. I'd heard him a few times on the only radio station I can even tolerate, KCSM. Then Sanjay, percussionist for the Eggplant Casino, played one of Mehldau's Radiohead covers - Everything In It's Right Place - for us in the car after rehearsal, and I've been pretty much hooked ever since.

Here are three songs for you to hear, including another Radiohead re-do.

The Recently Watched Films

2007-12-03T08:59:00.000-08:00

Its winter, its dark, its cold, and my natural instinct to watch movies is on. Forgive me for breaking the brevity rule, but I love talking about this stuff!

Several weeks ago, I saw the Darjeeling Limited. It has everything one expects from a Wes Anderson film - an absurdly dysfunctional family, absurdity and silliness in general, an unconventional and forbidden romance, death and loss, sloooow motion, a crazy-good soundtrack full of 60's psych-pop, the usual cast of actors, and that wonderful, obsessive visual lushness that boldly humps the line between sublimity and madness. And as with Anderson's other films, I'm sure it'll take repeated viewings to really understand. I'm still trying to get my head around Angelica Houston's scenes, for example. All the same, an excellent flick from one of my favorite film makers.

After a few unsuccessful attempts to rent the Prestige, it finally happened. I've been psyched for this one for a while, and why not: you got Christopher Nolan directing Christian Bale and Hugh Jackman, plus David Bowie as Nicola Tesla. Yes! Christopher Nolan is indeed the master of the non-linear narrative. The story follows no straight time line what so ever, and yet holds together without a hitch. I love how he does that stuff. All the same, one of the two big twists at the end felt forced, absurd, and rather ruined my suspension of disbelief. So, not the utter stroke of brilliance I was hoping for, but still completely enjoyable, and worth it for the Bowie. Oh, and Andy Serkus is in it, too, as Tesla's sidekick - gotta love that guy.

Beowulf! 3-D! Imax! It was like being in a ginormous video game. I've never read the classic epic, but know the basic chain of events. The film actually tells an almost feminist revision of the story, and that I find satisfying. This, though, is not a reason to see it. Go see it for the crazy visual effects, the 3-D glasses, the monsters, the swords, the viking dudes in helmets, the gore, the violence, the strategically placed candlesticks hiding Beowulf's full-frontal animated penis, and a floating, naked Angelina Jolie coated in gold. What they can't do with computers these days. Not deep, but very fun.

Tonight I watched another film I'd been wanting to see for a while, the Talented Mr. Ripley. The cast of this film is totally golden, a dream team of actors. Matt Damon is wonderfully subtle and complex, and always a winner, heart throb Jude Law actually pulls off an American accent in this one (ever seen I Heart Huckabees? My god, he can't keep the same accent for more than a sentence!), Gwyneth Paltrow is perfectly Grace Kelly-like - bold, strong and feminine, Cate Blanchett is irresistibly charming as always, and Philip Seymour Hoffman is delightfully slimy and unlikable. This film is not for the faint of heart, a psychological thriller on par with Frenzy or the brilliant the Machinist - painful to watch because its so damn good. The story is fucked up and suspenseful, the violence is brief and nasty, and the ending is horrific. I squirmed a lot and loved it.

and a Happy Caturday to you, too.

2007-11-10T12:46:00.000-08:00

Its Saturday. I'm at Greg's house, sitting up in his bed while he takes a shower. Although its the middle of the day, he just got up. He's been awake for a while, both of us sitting on his bed looking at the internets, but I'd already gotten up, did some reading, showered, and fetched coffee, tea and bagles.

We were out not-too-late last night for Toby's birthday. His party was at Denise's house ostensibly, but really, it was all about the back "yard". The "yard" is actually a large-scale architectural sculpture thingy. I don't know how to describe it exactly, its like the Watt's Towers or any other sculptural space, a life time work pieced together by a driven eccentric.

But that's not even the point. We'll discuss this "yard" later. For now, I just want to say its gray and drizzly outside. We're going to Kelley's, then to the optometrist, then I'm getting my legs waxed, and then we have a date. We = Greg and I. It is Saturday.

Fuck, I can't get the spell checker to work, and I know there must be spelling errors here. Sorry.

eh, stop it.

2007-11-06T12:13:00.000-08:00

I have PMS. I start my period tomorrow. The sooner the better. I'm slightly crampy, slightly headachey, and would so rather be at home on the couch in my new footie pajamas, eating potatoes and watching Lord of the Rings. Can you feel me?

Well, here we are again.

2007-11-04T20:15:00.000-08:00

Yeah, so, it was time. This is my new blog, and there are two rules: 1. must be simple, writing and photos only, and not a side note in a grander social network (ie Tribe, Friendster, MySpace, etc.); 2. said writing will be short. No novels. The second rule will be a chore. Ignoring my "profiles", on the other hand, comes quite naturally.

Its Sunday night, prematurely dark as far as my body's concerned, because daylight savings is over. Folks disparage daylight savings, say its materialistic and unnatural, but I like it. Try as I might to train myself otherwise, I'm just not a morning person, I don't wake up well and I don't go to bed early. But I like the day light, I prefer to be awake during the day, and I prefer the hours of the day to be adjusted to my schedule. What could possibly be more indulgent?

Tonight, since my inner clock is off, I will go to bed early.

Also, and unrelated, I just bought a vacuum. The MPAA rates films R when they depict "adult activities". Buying a vacuum is an adult activity, strictly R-rated.