i've dug him ever since we pulled up by the side of the road outside of Rome and picked him up to begin our first european tour. back then, he was just a cute, foreign punk rock boy who liked my band enough to book us shows. who knew within 10 days he would have proven himself such and arrogant bastard that i was deriving glee from hocking green loogies (loogies? is that a word? and if it is, did i really just use it? yikes.) at the back of his long, lanky pant leg as he strolled ahead of me down the streets of Postonja. Yeah. Although we parted not so happy that first tour, it wasn't so bad apparently - he booked us a 2nd tour 10 months later, and that's when it got worse.
Though it started off well - me making nice, being pleasant, thinking that this time, I was gonna make him realize how rad i was. Besides, I was so pissed off and tired after the month spent with the Norwegians that I was thrilled to be around someone I knew.
Wow - suddenly i remember Marc, and that first stay with him at Crazy Pierre's. Ah, crazy Pierre, who literally was "postal". Those were the days...
Anyway, I bring up the long-legged freak because his lack of email response has once again bummed me out.
I'm really, really not in a good place right now. I keep doing nice things for him, and he blows it off.
Am I that - what?
I thought we were friends, but obviously i think more of our friendship than he does....and it depresses me to no end. We built this friendship back up, and he used to confide in me and now it's totally bland, and it bums me out. The email thing always pisses me off. And i shouldn't let it, i know.

So yeah, it's friday, and i'm trying to keep in the writing habit, hoping that it will settle in again...anyway, here are five that are a little uncomfortable...
. What is one thing you don't like about your body?
Ah, see, it used to be my stomach, or even my lack of cleavage, but now, in my mid-thirties, it's my back. It bums me out in a myriad of ways...

2. What are two things you love about your body?
Right, well my big brown eyes, even with their big ol' circles under them...and my legs. Strong, and muscular, they aren't at their peak at the moment, but they're still worthy of admiration.

3. What are three things you want to change about your home?
I would like to be in our own house, bigger, with a basement to practice in.

4. What are four books you want to read this year?
Ack. I want to read Steve Martin's other book(s), I'd like to get ahold of The Making of a Chef, and finish the Cometbus Omnibus. If it wasn't so big, I'd bring it on the bus.

5. What are five promises you have kept to yourself?
Five? Crap. I haven't been very good at that lately - though one crucial promise i made involving tolerence i've been practicing pretty well. that's good.

ten years is such a long time; and yet, it's not. there are things from 15 years ago that i can remember perfectly, and then whole years seem to have vanished in the last decade. last two decades. hell, i've been back in seattle 10 years now. what the hell am i thinking? i'm way past my pull date...
now the time i spent in dc is more than ten years ago. no wonder i can't remember it. i might as well be trying to remember what happened in 7th grade. agh. it's not that i'm trying to remember, it's just that it seems like so little has happened in the last 10 years. even thought that's not really very true. it's just...not stuff i can talk about easily, because it seems like it's just been one big long 10-year slap upside the head. not that i didn't need a good solid downward spiral to get me wised-up and to figure crap out...but still.
man. 10 x 365. i should be skinnier by now. i was there for about a year. what happened to that? sad.

ok, so i haven't done this before, but this is keeps me making current entries at the very least:
(from the Friday Five)
1. Where do you currently work?
at a reprographics company.

2. How many other jobs have you had and where?
yikes. a dozen or more, probably. off the top of my head, jobs that provided paychecks started with Taco Time when i was in high school, then a photography company, the college library while i was in college, the Wiz records in dc, common concerns bookstore in dc, a buyer at Tower Records in scenic Rockville MD, uhm, shipping & reciveing at Olssons Books in dc, then the color graphic design extraveganza began on the graveyard shift at a Kinko's in Eugene. From there it was a Kinko's in Seattle, another indie repro house as a color specialist, then XBS, Microsoft, Eddie Bauer, and then bringing me current to yet another indie repro company where i make graphic designer's junk look good.

3. What do you like best about your job?
location, location, location. also the limited autonomy. and an office with a door to the outside and a door between me and the rest of the building. oh, and not wearing an apron. that rules.

4. What do you like least about your job?
Ironically, the repitition. I get tired of asking people for fonts and explaining proportion and percentages, links and cmyk.

5. What is your dream job?
ultimately, photographer for National Geographic magazine, though i'd settle for any magazine.
smaller scale: personal chef is looking really good right now.

What a weird week it's been. Infinitely tired every day. At the same time, it looks like i will be at least trying to start a band again. Or, better said, I will be part of starting a band again, as i'm really just the...what? The person who brought others together to do this. Which means I want to, right? The really, really weird thing that is keeping me a bit off balance is that literally, the day i bring people together to start a band they identify a killer in Mia's case. It's true that I'm not in the inner circle of that entire crowd - but I was sort of in the circle next to that circle (same roomates, played gigs with them, hung out and drank at all the same places, and even turned down romantic advances from a certain member (ahem), etc, etc) and it hit me harder than I ever expected it to, and I didn't partake in any of the coattail-grabbing because, well, I thought it was in poor taste. But now, after ignoring the one thing that has always brought meaning to my life (that being punk rock, and you may think that's weak and sad, but you don't know what you're talking about) largely because of all the bullshit that started happening when everyone either decided that they immediately had to own punk rock; or, more tragically, they abandoned it because suddenly our trustworthy, hardworking, insular little dreamworld ((imagine a dreamworld where you survive travelling in a van on $5 a day and loving it)) had been breached - I'm ready to go back to being in a band. It just seems so strange that the two things happen at the same time. If I believed in fate, I'd figure something is up. But I don't, really, especially in the case of a band, and this is clearly not gonna be a punk rock band, so it won't be all I want - but maybe it'll be close.

Some things you just don't expect to happen after a certain point: you don't expect the Berlin Wall to fall after 50 years, you don't expect Nelson Mandela to be released (much less become President of South Africa) after 25 years, and you (or I) don't expect Mia Zapata's murderer to be tracked down by DNA evidence 10 years after the fact.
Seriously. I can't approach the sort of emotion I'm sure some of my old housemates and *friends* in the punk rock scene are feeling at the moment, but I can tell you that it hit me like a ton of bricks, because, like most people, I had accepted that we just weren't ever going to know who did this spectacularily evil thing. Then you see the mug shot up on screen and in print and you go: holy shit, there is a guy who, yeah, could have taken one of the smartest, strongest women voices of our generation out. It's chilling. Last night I was hanging out with some women, formulating a plan for a band, and while two of us were of that generation and that era of knowing (or knowing of) the Gits, one wasn't. And it was hard...so hard to communicate the urgency that this was a big, big BIG deal. That Mia's murder was one of those things that makes me shake my head in disgust when people lament the loss of Kurt Cobain. Fuck that Cobain shit. We lost a shining, active, compassionate, powerful woman because some violent predator had an itch. Until the day I found out Mia died, I walked through my life on streets around the world without fear, confident I could take care of myself, that I was big, strong and tough. That I wasn't some cutesy little girl target. It couldn't happen to women like Mia or me. I was wrong. And seeing a picture of the guy who apparently did it...makes me realize how many guys are out there.
It's better knowing, but it doesn't change the reality of the world I live in. I don't get back that confidence I had. Neither does anyone else.
But they caught him, in what I would consider to be the only constructive use of that sort of information networking.

No good movies to speak of. We did rent the animated (as if there could be a live action version of) Plague Dogs - but it was an old tape, sound was bad, and the Yorkshire accents make you feel like you should have prepped by watching 8 hours of "All Creatures Great and Small" ), and worse, the story is severely trunecated from the book. Of course, thanks to Peter Jackson, we can all appreciate the hardship created by trying to cram a heavily detailed novel (which the Plague Dogs is - much of it consumed by descriptions of places - crags, bogs, streams, mist, all of it to enhance the leading character's perspectives: being dogs, they primarily depend on their keen sense of smell above all else, and that translates into the descriptive ambiance of the novel) into an hour and a half (or is this case, 88 minutes). My disappointment though was with the grim ending that was tacked on the end of the movie. At any rate, the book is a hard, long read, full not only of enviornmental detail, but tough dialect, but well worth the time. Easily one of the best, yet saddest books I've ever read. If you own a dog, you must read the book. Insights into animal experimentation, the role of the media in society, the mindset of "simple farm folk" and above all, the sentiment that the world is a bad place for dogs - will resonate for weeks.
Yeah. So in a complete 180 from that, I picked up and finished "Shopgirl" by Steve Matrin (yeah, the wild and crazy guy one) this weekend - what a great novella. Nicely crafted, wonderful pacing, and above all: the man knows how to write an interesting paragraph. I love that I had to pick up a dictionary no less than 5 times while reading a 180-page book: better yet I surmised the meaning of all but one of the words (and on that, I was close, just unsure of it's usage), which means Martin used them appropriately (at least in my mind). I'm such a vocab geek that I actually respect that if a writer can use a word in passing without it standing out (that is as a noun) and I don't recognize it I like it.Anyway, a fine, bittersweet read balanced by witty prose and cutting humor. Will read his other book as well.

this isn't the first time: i've had this dream before, only this time he was serious. No, really, how punk rock must I be if I've got Ian M coming to me in my dreams and discussing how I'm not being creative and wasting my talent? WTF??!!?? Holy shit. And it's bad enough that this happened, but this is the second time, and he seemed very serious. So, my subconcious apparently can only come up with a major punk rock icon who i have major historical misgivings about (not to mention limited personal interactions with) to drop the "get off yer ass" bomb? Jeez. It was like the dream I had with Brad years ago (the one that slapped me awake and made it clear that mooning over your highschool crush for 10 years is ridiculous and sad. Of course, meeting back up with him helped as well. Best Use Of A Reunion Meeting Ever). And then the one with MCWDITW, where he too laid it out (but see, we know that it's not them laying it out, it's me, laying it out for me. nice Smeagol...right) in clear terms that it just wasn't going to happen that he and i were ever going to be friends again. though admittedly i enjoyed the dream where he was giving facilities tours in a dress better, but what are ya gonna do?
meanwhile. listening to cassettes because the cd player has gone belly-up, so it's a punky-weird mix. Bob Mould, Black Sheets which is fab - and old old OLD googoodolls. which rules in a jawbreaker way. forgot about that. and soon up: black market clash. though i wish the cd did work, cause i'd rather hear the live album, but whatever. a little joe is better than no joe.

yeah, books and movies.
although, i suppose you are supposed to log things as they happen. but if i can be retro for a minute, and start at the end of the year - wait, only movies i go to, or all the movies i see? hrmmph.
must think that one through. But I can say that at 3.30 on Wednsday the 18th of december SMRGE and I attended the Two Towers, and were shoved in row 2, all the way at the edge - but still liked the movie.
except for the Farimir part.
And the Aragorn-over-the-cliff-part.
Ah well. We're going to give it another go tomorrow, hopefully with better seats (11am at the cinerama, one hopes that will lessen the push for seats) and maybe we'll exit with a better taste in our mouths.
Hopefully.
Gotta buy a bus pass. Lose 20 lbs (again) and...write more letters. And send jam.
List books I've read too? Wish I'd done that this last year, as I read more than I have in a long time - right now, reading "the plague dogs" it's good. sad, but good. i like dogs.

The sad part is, if you don't have the p-rock in yer heart, you just don't get what I'm feeling on days like this (and the day Dee Dee Ramone died, and the day I found out Tim Yo died as well). Sure, you can email me links to silly news articles written by people who barely know anything about the Clash beyond the armadillo-in-the-video stuff, but you don't know what it feels like. It's like when people (and not many do, but there are a couple of well-meaning folks who do) try and tell me that they miss their old job/boyfriend/dog the way I miss punk rock. No. No you don't. You don't frigging get it. Because I barely do. At times like this I really miss having a punk rock...place to be, I guess.
Not that it's ever helped before - and it'll never be as bad as finding out about Tim Yo, but probably that was painful mostly because I had actually interacted with the man, that time, that place was very specific.
Argh. Who knew?

And now there's no more Joe Strummer. I'm sad, and not even from a fan-based sadness, but from a general feeling of losing one of those icons from my youth - one of those people who had a hand in bringing to life the reality of the culture I consider myself a part of. Say what you will about hte Clash (and plenty of people do) they still were the Who of punk rock, and they left an indelible mark. People like this dying makes me really aware of what's ahead...all the people I know (or have known) in the scene, what happens when they eventually "leave the bar"? How sad will that be? How sad will I be?

So many new walks with Scraps - it's hard to keep up with them, and so far nothing spectacular. Yet. Oh, except for the fire truck that pulled up as I was taking her for the early morning one block circuit - a woman met the five fireguys who were striding importantly across her junk-strewn front yard ( I imagine she is the bad sheep of the block, as all the nearby homes are all tidy little brick things with happy porches and festive gardens right out of the Sunday Magazine Insert) on the porch declaring that they were called for her, but she had "only been drinking beer and had taken some Excedrine, those guys are drinking and tripping downstairs, you don't have to stay." Meanwhile, Scraps watched carefully as a cop car pulled up to the house, but the cop didn't immediately exit the vehicle as we passed (perhaps he knows to let the Cattle Dog have the right of way)...anyway, all this excitement at 5am on a Tuesday, woohoo!
Also. On the bus (my ride is almost twice as long, though I'm traveling half as far - a moment of silence for the memory of my old route (and ST bus, by the way, which are soooo very posh!) the 570. Now, I'm a victim of Metro again, held captive by the 70-something routes, none of which run an express bus before 7am. WTF? Anyway, my point was going to be to try and capture the dismal scene that played out (like they do) on the bus this morning. Literally, the classic blonde-haired white trash mom and her little boy, about 6 or so, traveling to Renton (nope, dunno why) on their way to the bus tunnel because once Mom gets in the bus tunnel she "knows exactly" where she is.
Well, one would hope so, since everything goes the same way in the tunnel, and it's just a matter of waiting for the bus with the appropriate number to pull up. No pesky streets to suss out, no confusing blocks to navigate...ack.
Sadder still was the story Mom was telling on the bus to her friend across the aisle (the one whose two kids were sitting in the rear of the bus and who claimed ownership of not 2, 3 or even 5 kids - no. This woman claimed to have 8 children. How is that even possible in this day and age in an urban setting and when you are single and unemployed? C'mon now...people, people people.
Right, so what I was saying. Blonde WT Mom was relating about how her son's (whose name was Trevor, it appeared. Ah to be saddled with that nom de jour, ick) father wasn't paying child support and was a deadbeat, and "obviously doesn't care about his child" and she just kept saying it, over and over, while the son was shifting uncomfortably around. I just was so sad for this kid - and not in a "poor guy, no dad" way. But in a "poor kid, he must be sick of listening to his mom bitch and moan". If I learned one thing when I had custody over a kid who grew up hearing nothing but her mom's problems - it's that you shouldn't unload in front of or onto your kid. You just shouldn't do it. They don't deserve that pain or that burned. They aren't your friends, they are your kids. Kids who hear that shit day after day grow up thinking the world is out to get them, and it's up to them to comfort their parents. It is not the kid's job (when they are children) to comfort the adult. Goddamn, I wanted to slap that woman just to shut her up. Her kid seemed bright (I was watching him examine the bus and watch as we passed stuff - he wasn't just staring blankly like I've seen most kids do.
Must run now.

Listening to an mp3 from the latest Jets To Brazil release, which was produced by J Robbins, and two things immediately pop into my head.
The first has to do with how much I love the way he makes the bands he works with sound - he has an ear for punk rock that speaks volumes. I find it amazing that he got drums to sound decent at Inner Ear. Hats off to Robbins, as that's no simple feat.

again, with the rerun, because i can:
(4.11.01)
This entire week (and it's only Wednsday mind you) has been less-than-stellar. Capped by Scraps' little performance last night, when she went all ferocious on a small human who came rocketing out of nowhere (who knew 4-year-olds could levitate? and had turbo-thrusters?). There I was, disembarking from the vehicle, groceries in one hand, Scraps in the other, and as I turned to open the trunk, up ran Small Child (who, mind you, was playing unsupervised with her brother and the neighborkid in THE PARKING LOT) and as she got within a foot of Scraps she chirped "What's your dog's name?" and thrust out her paw (sorry, hand) at which time I was in the midst of blurting "No, she might bite you" (I was thinking she was going to ask to pet Scraps, like they usually do), jerking Scraps towords me (the leash was laced between the fingers of my right hand - wrong hand, by the way, obedience school gets you into the groove of having the leash (and the dog) on the left which gives you more control, and...oh, never mind) as Scraps, seeing the small squirrly thing approaching, lunged to put a stop to it as cattle dogs naturally do. However, this wasn't a cow. It was a kid, with her little hand out. Luckily (for me, and for Scraps) all she did was a quick snap, and put a small gash on the girl's index finger. I yanked back hard, girl screamed. Brother screamed for Mom. Mom came out. i stood there literally frozen with anger, frustration and, to be honest, dread. This city recently passed really amazingly fucked-up laws regarding what constitutes "aggressive behavior" and Scraps has a record. She could have been (could be) toast for this. Even though it's purely natural for her to behave in the manner in which she did. The Mom was very cool about it, taking responsibility for not watching her pup, as I did for mine. I apologized and told her that I tried to warn her offspring, but the tyke was on a collision course with a painful learning experience.

Once again, I must voice my firm belief in parents teaching their kids simple rules of behavior: Don't run up to strange dogs. Ask before petting. Ask before using anything that doesn't belong to you, as a matter of fact. General rules of conduct seem to be sorely lacking in this day and age. But anyway. The mother was calm and carried child away, I was shaking from the center of my being and returned to the apartment, completely destroyed. I can't help but feel that I should have had control of my dog. Ultimately, that's the deal. I know how she is, and I need to protect her from situations where her instinct will get her into trouble. That's my job as a dog owner. Goddamnit.

Later, I made dinner and a cake. SMRGE was, as always, patient and thoughtful and being near him soothes me like nothing else does. The evening devolved quietly.

Anyway.

It's not that i don't have anything to say about the passing of Joey Ramone, especially since it came right on the heels of attendence at a DOA show (DOA circa 2001, a fascinating study in the evolution of punk rock, so to speak), nah, I just haven't had a moment to sit down and write for longer than 15 minutes in the last week or so. There's plenty to cover though with those events plus there's the arrival of the This Side Up cd (gotta get in a review of that) and of course the requesite band status update. An update, I'm happy to report that is a good one. Possibly for the first time ever I feel like I'm in a BAND and not just playing with Mike and a drummer. Which rules. Though Monday night, SMRGE and Julie got a little taste of the glory that is Cranky Boy B. But it seemed to be pretty diffuse, so that is a good sign methinks.

Four shows coming up, 2 at Zak's (this Saturday and next) then uhmm...the Central and uh, Thermo's. It's good to be playing out though - nothing really gets you as tight. Though practice sure helps. Usually.

Right. So, I'm a bit frazzled at the moment, the third week of being my own little helper monkey at work is catching up to me, I think. And the allergies still suck...but I digress.

Back to the p-rawk. So, we (me and the Single Most Rocking Guy Ever, of course) made the scene at the DOA show last Friday night. I hadn't bothered to attend a gig by Canada's Finest in a few years...but Randy Rampage, he of the original lineup (which I'd only heard rumors of, never actually seen before...by the time I met up with DOA, Rampage had left the grey skies of Van for sunny LA and a career in medicore butt-rock bands) was back on board, so that peaked my interest a bit. After seeing them more than a dozen times now, it takes some doing to get me to make the effort. On the other hand, it was SMRGE's initial exposure to the all powerful legend of DOA, which is important. Certainly, being able to see them 10 years ago would be far more impactful (whoo, stretching the grammar boundries again...) than seeing them now. But I think exposure to Joey Shithead is always a useful thing. He's such a...standard-bearer, I guess. We were sitting with Mike and Molly when Joe came to the table to say hi to Mike, he didn't recognize me at first, but after Mike refreshed him, Joe slid into the booth next to me (after asking if he could sit - there was a weird thing where I thought he was giving me a hug, but he was just trying to sit down, but since I wasn't getting that part - he asked...that's what I fucking love though, that good ol' straight-ahead Joe) and we talked a bit. it was a little awkward for me, but Joe picked up just as if I'd been working for them last weekend. Which was cool. He didn't stay long, off to do the DOA stuff that he does - he does all the manager-type stuff now as well as running his own label too, and I'm quite familiar with how close he watches stuff like the crowd and the merch, so it came as no suprise to me that he was off fairly soon.

Right...so the show. Didn't check out D.I., the other old-guy punk rock band on the bill. They're from Orange County, and I've never been a big fan. At a certain point I blamed them for a lot of the metal crap that infiltrated the scene in the '90s, but then realized that I was lumping them in with bands like DRI...actually, DI are just sorta dull. They all look really SoCAl punk, which is always nice to see amongst the Settle scenester trash. Though, this crowd was really old school, full of people who you know don't go out to many shows anymore, but were all revved up for DOA. Much excessive drinking, a small, but active circle going on, and two girls down front, which always makes me happy to see. Especially at such a burly boys-night-out as this was.

So, the DOA set was packed with classics (don't think I'd heard most of those songs in years, all the really old stuff, including dragging out the old Subhumans tune "Slave to My Dick"), so that was good. Joe was completely on his game, shaking that head, pointing that finger, and whirling that SG around like a toy. He's a big guy, and those guitars (one of which I'll have shortly!! woohoo!) are light anyway, but man, I had forgotten how he throws it around...played it behind his head, with his teeth, swung it around...he definitely is way more into it when they're just a three piece. Still broke out some props, which suprised me. I'm okay with the chainsaw for "Lumberjack City", and was happy he didn't do the whole preacher thing he was doing for a while. They sounded good, and Joe got some political stuff in - including changing the lyrics to "Fucked up Ronnie" to "fucked-up Bush". Rampage also yapped way too much, in a good ol' glam way that was just this side of emabarrassing. Really, Joe should do all the talking, especially the political stuff. Taking that on the road wouldn't be the best idea, though I think Joe mentioned maybe going to Europe. Well, I guess if it gets ya offa the continent... The set list made it clear that Rampage wasn't down with learning many new songs (new to him mind you), so many of my favorites from "Wreck the Party" and "True North" didn't get played. But they got most of them. SMRGE seemed to dig it, Molly (also her first exposure to them) seemed to be enjoying it (though she didn't like Rampage & his long metal hair at all) and Mike was...really fucking drunk. Sweet. We took off mid-way through their encore.

So, by Monday I was all set to ruminate on the old-punk-rock things...like making up names for yourself like Randy Rampage, or Joey Shithead, or Joey Ramone. Whenever I see DOA, no matter how often I've seen them, or how poor the sound or show might be, I'm always reminded of the sense of humor and actual intelligence that was often behind punk rock in it's begining. You just don't see that anymore. You can't, because it'll never be new again, it'll never be that "weird music" played by people who don't fit in. With the passing of Joey Ramone, I'm reminded of how normal punk rock is on the surface, but also, how it continues to chug along, just below the surface. Joey is, as SMRGE put it - a cool middle aged Canadian (VERY Canadian!) guy. Who happens to play in a legendary punk rock band. He obviously could have given it up long ago...but hasn't. He's tried other things (solo acoustic, even, or running for office in his home city of Burnaby) and comes back to doing what he knows best. They are (Joey and Joey, interestingly) of an era that is truly revolutionary in that they created a place within, and without the mainstream. The mainstream came to Joey Ramone, and the fact that his death is reported in all the major news reports is telling. Whatever punk rock has become, it cannot deny where it came from, and that is from people who wanted to do it differently. Who weren't willing to be like everyone else. For that I thank them, because it helps me give form to my own way of seeing.

My favorite Ramones album? Rocket To Russia. Favorite Ramones song? Why, "We're a Happy Family" of course.

I wonder what Adam's favorite Ramones song is? I got the TSU cd in the mail on Monday - just raining punk rock in my world I guess. And of course whenever I think of the Ramones I think of Adam as well - he is a huge fan, and when we first met, he was rocking the leather jacket, striped shirt, mop o' black hair look, and when I first lent him my bass, the first thing he plunked out was "Sheena is a punk rocker". Funny stuff. So anyway, the cd is very melodo-hardcore, the vocals are really rough, but overall, not a bad representation of the band. I was amused by how very Agent 86-ish some songs were. He plays bass like I do (but he also sings, so at least he's got that for an excuse, eh?), and the songs are all his, written and sung in English, and are all pretty good. Adam is probably my one remaining link to that old-school punk rock world, the one that is carried in your heart, the one that sets you apart. It's good to see TSU's cd finally become a reality.

rerun, but unplayed here: (( first in a series of migrations))
At the risk of repreating myself for the upteenth time: I fucking love punk rock in all its DIY glory. Those people with their Britpunk arrogance or mohawk stereotypes can continue to whine and moan all you want, but I know that the culture I dig is still squirming and struggling to breathe out there, no matter how hard the media culture works to quash it.

How do I know this? Because last Friday I had the great pleasure to play at a dive club called Thermo's and one of the opening bands was from mainland China. That's right kids, China. Land of the tanks, the little red books, and the weird collerless jackets. Their name was Reflector and they played some of the prettiest punk rock (ska tinged, no less) I've heard in a long time. Aside from that, I haven't seen a band jump around that much since, uh...why This Side Up, or early Green Day (no, REALLY EARLY Green Day, not Dookie-era, you silly kids) and truly they were vibing the whole happy-to-be-rocking thing, and it was a treat to witness.

You know where I'm going with this, I trust. The thing I dug most about it was seeing a band from so far away, where punk rock is still dangerous (to a certain degree). On top of that, they are doing the classic DIY tour of a foreign country, and you gotta know how much that warms my heart. Watching them play knowing how it feels to be a small band playing in a different country on that level, where all you bring is your guitars and drum bits, borrowing backlines at each show, staying with people you meet or the promoters, all of that trauma and joy - it just was a really great affirmation of why I continue to do this stuff. How great is it that kids from China are giving it a whirl too? That, and let me say again, just in the hope that it sticks with someone: that's what it's about for me, people making music that they like for themselves, and then sharing it with the rest of the world. Risking rejection, ridicule and apathy, but possibly gaining the amazing sense of accomplishment.

Recently, while doing a little surfing to see what was out on the web about the Boys from Bejiing, I ran into a completely dismissive article about a New Year's show they played. The author was the classic wanker - pretentious asshole who seems to think that American punk rock is not only inferior to British punk rock (only proving his total ignorance of the counterculture to begin with), but that it's a waste of time for the Chinese youth to emulate and make this horrific noise that he can barely even deem "music". It's that very mindset, that fucking prog-rock arrogance, that Steve Vai-monkey-on-the-back attitude that is why punk rock exists. I'm not going to entertain the whole breakdown of the scene, or the selling out that has happened, I only want to point out that the true gift of playing punk rock is the sense of empowerment it gives one. Music is something everyone should be allowed to enjoy. It shouldn't be a rarified existance. i feel even more strongly about this now than ever before, as I work to become a better musician, I am forever thankful that I was allowed to participate in the first place. It would be hard to jump in and simply start playing the blues, or jazz, or even that wacky prog-rock. I don't deny that music is an exsquisite art form, and there are definitely virtuosos. However, it's also a physical sensation, an aural pleasure that is fairly basic. And if only one person starts in a punk rock band and discovers their love for music, or any other mode of expression, then it has done its job. The legions of wankers and posers will come and go anyway. But punk rock allows for a ground level to start at that in my mind is unsurpassed. Or something like that.

Anyway. The Reflector guys were cool cats, and chatting with them after (I was thrilled that they were able to speak english so well - I remember how frustrating it was to be unable to talk to people after many european shows because in typical American fashion, we only spoke english) I just got such a sense of their commitment to what they were doing. It was, in a word: rad. I didn't talk politics with them - it didn't occur to me, weirdly enough. When they took the stage, they yelped "We're Reflector and we're from China - but we're not communist" and then proceeded to shred their set beautifully.

Mid-way through their set I was ready to put out a record for them, I thought they rocked that much. they have already accepted an offer from another band to put out their stuff, so I won't be doing that, but it's good to know there will be something available down the road.

Sometimes when the third band on a bill cancels, it turns out good.

In announcing Dr. Kissinger's appointment, President Bush said he and the new chairman "share the same commitments."

From today's NT Times. This is complete and absolutely the nail in the US coffin. The United States of America is ridiculous and obviously no longer even pretending to be a representational government.
Let me tell the future: Kissinger finds naw-theeeeng. Nothing. Nothing. Until the next administration which like the one's that brought on the re-investigation of the Warren Commission, and the Iran-Contra hearings (hello? Contragate anyone? May I take one more moment and point out that all the current monkeys from past administrations Bush and Reagan are back with us? May I also remind ((myself, as I assume no one is reading this and this is jus tmy private rant into the underworld, which will probably only get me thrown into some internment camp 5 years from now)) folk that the 80's SUCKED. Crack? Hello? homeless crisis? AIDS? Hello? Anyone? Bueller?
Agh. And now I'm not in college, I don't know what to do to register my hatred with this. Everyone seems to agree that it sucks but no one knows what to do.
We should all just stop buying stuff. That's the only thing that will make a difference.
Dag.

"Last night, something fairly big hit me like a ton of bricks. It finally dawned on me that I, Kevin Seconds, am no longer making music/art for juveniles. That's right, me, Mr. Young Til I Die, no longer relates to what is young, what is now, what is cool and what is hip. I no longer feel the need to speak to the youth from a youthful standpoint. I mean, I'm not a kid, for crying out loud. I'm a fully grown, married, business-owning middle-aged guy. How in the fuck could I possibly relate to people who have been weaned on Lollapaloooza, Warped Tour, George Bushes 1 & 2, Bill Clinton and MTV's The Real World? I can't and I don't even want to. I respect and try to support quite a few young people. When I see that glimmer of intelligence, wit, talent and a cool fucked up sense of humor in someone under the age of 25, I applaud them and feel hopeful. The sad part is, either there aren't too many fo them out there or I am no longer in a good position to see them." -kevin seconds

Hell yes Kevin. He captured in a short paragraph what's been eatin' at me for far too long...and I was never the posterboy for a brigade of youth (heee!). All hail the evolution of our punk rock souls. Whatever happened to the "fucked up sense of humor" in punk rock anyway (I think it's also called "irony")? I miss that - the intelligence and insolence and that whole feeling like it didn't really matter what you did, cause everyone was just gonna ignore you anyway, so for crying out loud HAVE FUN. People should have more fun and less "partying". Y'know?

here's how out of the loop i am - michael jackson has not one but three children? and an ex-wife who's not the daughter of Elvis? Where and when did all this happen? I think i sort of remember something about the first kid - what with the messed up name ("Prince Michael" jeezus, how much money do you have to have before you become that insane? and additionally, as i often remark on this subject WHAT IS IT with Diana Ross' influence that would drive a man to MJ's depths..??), but now he's got 2 kids with the same name? How is it that no one has pulled MIkey aside and gone, "Seriously, urhm, Jacko, you need to seek help". I mean, come on! Man is swinging his little baby rerun over a railing and his face is held on with staples and no one says anything? Who says money can't buy everything?
Meanwhile, and this is totally unrelated (and therefore, somehow, appropriate) note, as I'm walking through foggy chinatown (or the ID if yer one of those uber PC types) this morning I was suddenly thinking about Jamaica. Somehow, 7am in Seattle's ID eminded me of evening in Montego Bay, which launched a bunch of memories...sometimes i completely forget i've been to Jamaica.

rarely does a movie suck even more than the reviews say it does...but holymotherofkevinseconds does Episode 2 blow. Now, granted, i had read enough (and heard) that it wasn't all that, so we didn't even bother getting the "YoDaMan"-hawked DVD edition to watch...but i seriously doubt it would have helped to have 6 hours of explanation of all the effects that were attempted in order to compensate for a script that just flat out blew. And bring back the muppets, the cgi-actor thing (enough with the damn JarJar!! Enough I beg of you George!) is tedious. I miss Yoda looking like a throw pillow, though it was pretty fun watching him duel Sauraman (ooh, sorry). Meanwhile, I know Natalie Portman is a better actress, as is Sam Jackson, so I'm gonna assume all the other actors are good too, and they were being forced at paycheck-point to read their lines like it was a 4th grade play. Yes, yes, I realize and try to keep in mind that the whole series is based on 50's matinee movie serials, so it's all supposed to be very melodamatic, but come on. The stiffness was unbearable. Few things in this world make me wish for the return of Mark Hamill to the screen, or wax nostalgic about the witty repartee between Harrison and Carrie, but damn, no amount of clones or explosions (the best part, and unfortunately shortest and last part) can save this "saga". I mean, if Anikin (god i hope i'm spelling that wrong) is gonna be EVIL, then lets see some slaughter!! I hate to state the obvious, but I quite enjoyed all the violence in LOTR, and in the extended version, among other wonderful (WONDERFUL!) scenes was a bit more gore. There should be more blood (or at least some more severed limbs and exploding entrails) in the Star Wars thing. Though obviously that would screw up Lucas' plan to reduce his epic into a kiddie show. Finally (ahem) the ending: flat out bad. I haven't NOT wanted to see a sequel since....since episode 1 actually. I mean, we all know how it goes from here,. so what, you wanna see Natalie (if they pull it off, has it started filming yet? is it written?) pregnant? eeewwww.

aww, shay...oasis...heh. what two things could be more evocative of each other?
moving soon. a good thing, but i'll miss the view, the park and the smell of the ocean on foggy mornings.