Well, it's the first week of school for mo' peeps out there so you're all no doubt stressin. Here's a little recipe to take the edge off.....
Ingredients:
- music player
- headphones or badass soundsystem
- a Hot Chip album or mix
1. Connect system
2. start playing music
3. chill.
04 September 2007
27 July 2007
Show me my home, so I can find my heart there.
I have friends visiting from all over, as I feel like every mid-twenty-some-year-old does at any given day of the week. The best part about people visiting is: they usually show you some awesome part of your town that you had never heard about. Thus, last weekend, I perused the Albany Bulb.
The week prior, I'd been working on an image for Deb's writings. The drawing depicts a sullen transvestite and a solider in cameo on a teeter toter, obviously defining a broad spectrum of mid-twenty-some-year-old identities that of course, at one point in time, lived under the same roof of a run down historic Southern home. As men we find solace in our ability to fight, the positions that allow us to choose, and the challenge of construction: we create with a stick. As women we find faith in ourselves, the ability to contain, and the challenge of perseverance: we create from within. As persons, we consume with perception, expunge with communication, and falter between creating and destroying within the same breathe.
Upon arriving at the Albany Bulb, we found an enormous make shift teeter toter grandly stretching across 20 feet of beach. Far across the bay, the San Francisco skyline jutted into the air, the Transamerica building marked the highest point. The cargo cranes that inspired George Lucas' star wars characters curved along the Oakland border to the south. The day was brilliant and the teeter toter waited patiently to be scaled. I hadn't seen one of these in years- since playground equipment became a liability and risk took on the meaning of not wearing a seat belt. I jumped on one side, a lesbian on the other. The long beam that constituted a seat for each, balanced underneath us as we struggled to avoid shifting our weight around, struggled to confine our movements to up and down. I knew I was supposed to be here. Even if it was a silly teeter toter that reminded me I'd visited in the dreams persuading to be drawn.
Albany bulb is refuse. A landfill, a trash dump that grew into the SF Bay, extended Albany's city limits until the land extensions ceased and lay dormant waiting for the next freeze followed by the Spring. But, there are no freezes in CA. That's why all the homeless adopted their homes here. Tons of concrete, rebarb, iron, clothes, shoes, bottles, dirt, berry bushes and seven methane gas vents blanket the surface of this surrealist fairyland.
The week prior, I'd been working on an image for Deb's writings. The drawing depicts a sullen transvestite and a solider in cameo on a teeter toter, obviously defining a broad spectrum of mid-twenty-some-year-old identities that of course, at one point in time, lived under the same roof of a run down historic Southern home. As men we find solace in our ability to fight, the positions that allow us to choose, and the challenge of construction: we create with a stick. As women we find faith in ourselves, the ability to contain, and the challenge of perseverance: we create from within. As persons, we consume with perception, expunge with communication, and falter between creating and destroying within the same breathe.
Upon arriving at the Albany Bulb, we found an enormous make shift teeter toter grandly stretching across 20 feet of beach. Far across the bay, the San Francisco skyline jutted into the air, the Transamerica building marked the highest point. The cargo cranes that inspired George Lucas' star wars characters curved along the Oakland border to the south. The day was brilliant and the teeter toter waited patiently to be scaled. I hadn't seen one of these in years- since playground equipment became a liability and risk took on the meaning of not wearing a seat belt. I jumped on one side, a lesbian on the other. The long beam that constituted a seat for each, balanced underneath us as we struggled to avoid shifting our weight around, struggled to confine our movements to up and down. I knew I was supposed to be here. Even if it was a silly teeter toter that reminded me I'd visited in the dreams persuading to be drawn.
Albany bulb is refuse. A landfill, a trash dump that grew into the SF Bay, extended Albany's city limits until the land extensions ceased and lay dormant waiting for the next freeze followed by the Spring. But, there are no freezes in CA. That's why all the homeless adopted their homes here. Tons of concrete, rebarb, iron, clothes, shoes, bottles, dirt, berry bushes and seven methane gas vents blanket the surface of this surrealist fairyland.
In the late nighties, the Bulb acted as a home to some and an outdoor studio for others- a bramble of reusable materials and a dust filled, trail tangled gallery space open 24/7, posed as an artist's dream scape. As a result of endless days of creation out on the Bulb, sculptures, billboard style paintings, a skate park, hot tub, and small living structures remain to be explored by leash-less dogs and observers like myself. My favorite of the driftwood sculptures is "Man Sitting" assembled by Osha Neumann.
Presently, the Bulb has been a bright spot in public debate. Designated at a recreational park, this chunk of land has been thrown into the sea of grappling developers. Some groups would like to "restore" the land by leveling it out, removing non- native plants (and people), installing boardwalks and a polished "Dogs on Leash" sign. Hmmm...."restoring" a waste heap back to its "natural" state. "NICE."
I must say, the human feces, syringes, the homeless man screaming, "Get the FUCK outta here, what the FUCK you are?!" like he's been repeating those phrases to the bay waters since 4am that day, were disarming. Intimidating. The air of revolt, survival, and abandonment threaded sharply through a salty silk of carefully hung wind chimes, strategically places wheel spokes- spinning with the ocean breeze. What do we do with this space? Compostable toilets and a small 20' x 20' reservation for those already living there? Go ahead and renovate so the suburbanites can ride their weekend Marin hybrid bikes along the whole bay? Of course this puts me in a strange position- teetering a top of the point: not what is art, but what does art do? I would like to come back and make art here. Am I beautifying? With this intention, am I creating, respecting, or destroying? How we claim what is ours without scoffing at history or denouncing the future? Do I need another tetanus shot?
An informative culture blog at SFgate: http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/blogs/sfgate/detail?blogid=3&entry_id=298
24 July 2007
Cocktail of the Week: Royal Tea
Oh man, sometimes I am really stupid. If you know me-- and chances are you do, since you're reading this blog-- I do some dumb fucking things.
Today's cocktail comes from my new favorite slightly upscale new Italian-American drinking restaurant, Spill the Wine. I figured it was about time to review the cocktail while under its influence, and so here I am, a little buzzed on a Royal Tea.
I'm pretty stupid because I thought they just had the original thought of putting all this top shelf liquor in a glass-- crown, plymouth, belvedere, some fancy rum, chambord, and a lemon-- and calling it "tea." I mean, who would ever do that? Granted, I've probably had about 3 long islands in my entire life, which is good for me, considering my propensity for being a general lush. Still. It took me halfway through the drink to realize what "Royal Tea" actually referred to.
After the drink was over, the bartender asked me if I had an opinion, as if he knew I was going to write about it in my blog. I said that it tasted like a glass full of liquor, albeit very good liquor. There was no use putting much else but rum and vodka in the drink-- maybe the whiskey was pretty okay-- but the gin and chambord, especially the chambord, were useless in this particular concoction. Still, it was a drink with the taste distinction of being high-class and badass. Yes, a good drink it was.
Anyway, I'm also dumb for ordering that drink at 5 when I can't just pass out and now have to spend the rest of my evening deciding whether I like Robert DeNiro in 1900.
Today's cocktail comes from my new favorite slightly upscale new Italian-American drinking restaurant, Spill the Wine. I figured it was about time to review the cocktail while under its influence, and so here I am, a little buzzed on a Royal Tea.
I'm pretty stupid because I thought they just had the original thought of putting all this top shelf liquor in a glass-- crown, plymouth, belvedere, some fancy rum, chambord, and a lemon-- and calling it "tea." I mean, who would ever do that? Granted, I've probably had about 3 long islands in my entire life, which is good for me, considering my propensity for being a general lush. Still. It took me halfway through the drink to realize what "Royal Tea" actually referred to.
After the drink was over, the bartender asked me if I had an opinion, as if he knew I was going to write about it in my blog. I said that it tasted like a glass full of liquor, albeit very good liquor. There was no use putting much else but rum and vodka in the drink-- maybe the whiskey was pretty okay-- but the gin and chambord, especially the chambord, were useless in this particular concoction. Still, it was a drink with the taste distinction of being high-class and badass. Yes, a good drink it was.
Anyway, I'm also dumb for ordering that drink at 5 when I can't just pass out and now have to spend the rest of my evening deciding whether I like Robert DeNiro in 1900.
23 July 2007
Weekend of the Lumberjacks Review
1. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
Oh man! and it's over, and I'll never feel that way again. Props to J.K. Rowling, who is a very good writer.
Rating: Chipotle, after I was really really hungry. Just waiting for the end part where it's just cheese and guac wrapped in a tortilla was pretty much worth it. You know the feeling.
2. Boat
The Turf Club
July 21, 2007
Boat released my favorite album of July, and (comparing them to another band that produces stereotypical indietype sounds) I really prefer them to Spoon (a band I've admittedly never really liked much). Boat plays music for kids like me, singing semi-silly songs
with a great deal of truth buried into simplistic lyrics about subjects that strike my fancy, like punctuation and history and cooking. I enjoy watching musicians who clearly love playing, despite the fact that it's 1AM and there are maybe 100 people left in the club. It was like watching my friends Kevin from Pittsburgh, Tom from New York, and Mike from Charleston having a really great time onstage, with Craig beating the assholishness out of them with a nightstick of fun. Or, as only one other person might fully get that reference, Boat was the best parts of Pavement and Art Brut and something of how I used to feel about Mates of State and maybe even some Ted Leo all rolled into one. Boat reminds me of walruses, but in a friendly way. Also, they had one of the better band t-shirts I've ever bought, pictured here.
Of note, I caught the last bit of the first opening band's set. Daredevil Christopher Wright impressed me with the minute I saw of their Queenish harmonies and magnificent guitars, although according to the sound samples on their website, they're quite a bit more than that. I'd like to see them again, for more than one minute. As for the other opening bands, the Owls sounded like kindergarten teachers, and Walker Kong resembled the Replacements, except that the lead singer talked way too much between songs and bored me. Other opening bands, I guess keep trying?
Rating: A nice, friendly oatmeal stout.
3. Lumberjack Days
Stillwater, MN
July 22, 2007
Oh man, if you've ever talked to me about wood, you know I harbor lumberjack fantasies. I was only at Lumberjack Days for 30 minutes or so, but watching burly men swing at logs with axes was better than tennis pros. The only disappointment was that there were no lumberjacks actually walking around at Lumberjack Days, only small children and parents. Thus, I did not meet my husband. I did see some wood cookies, though.
Rating: Wheaties. I would say pancakes, but I didn't eat any flapjacks this weekend.
Oh man! and it's over, and I'll never feel that way again. Props to J.K. Rowling, who is a very good writer.
Rating: Chipotle, after I was really really hungry. Just waiting for the end part where it's just cheese and guac wrapped in a tortilla was pretty much worth it. You know the feeling.
2. Boat
The Turf Club
July 21, 2007
Boat released my favorite album of July, and (comparing them to another band that produces stereotypical indietype sounds) I really prefer them to Spoon (a band I've admittedly never really liked much). Boat plays music for kids like me, singing semi-silly songs
with a great deal of truth buried into simplistic lyrics about subjects that strike my fancy, like punctuation and history and cooking. I enjoy watching musicians who clearly love playing, despite the fact that it's 1AM and there are maybe 100 people left in the club. It was like watching my friends Kevin from Pittsburgh, Tom from New York, and Mike from Charleston having a really great time onstage, with Craig beating the assholishness out of them with a nightstick of fun. Or, as only one other person might fully get that reference, Boat was the best parts of Pavement and Art Brut and something of how I used to feel about Mates of State and maybe even some Ted Leo all rolled into one. Boat reminds me of walruses, but in a friendly way. Also, they had one of the better band t-shirts I've ever bought, pictured here.Of note, I caught the last bit of the first opening band's set. Daredevil Christopher Wright impressed me with the minute I saw of their Queenish harmonies and magnificent guitars, although according to the sound samples on their website, they're quite a bit more than that. I'd like to see them again, for more than one minute. As for the other opening bands, the Owls sounded like kindergarten teachers, and Walker Kong resembled the Replacements, except that the lead singer talked way too much between songs and bored me. Other opening bands, I guess keep trying?
Rating: A nice, friendly oatmeal stout.
3. Lumberjack Days
Stillwater, MN
July 22, 2007
Oh man, if you've ever talked to me about wood, you know I harbor lumberjack fantasies. I was only at Lumberjack Days for 30 minutes or so, but watching burly men swing at logs with axes was better than tennis pros. The only disappointment was that there were no lumberjacks actually walking around at Lumberjack Days, only small children and parents. Thus, I did not meet my husband. I did see some wood cookies, though.
Rating: Wheaties. I would say pancakes, but I didn't eat any flapjacks this weekend.
21 July 2007
Cocktail of the Week: Raspberry Dream, or Flavored Vodka and Some Other Shit
Oh man, so on Sunday I wanted to try a new cocktail so I could write for this blog, so I asked my waitress at the mediocre pizza restaurant for her favorite cocktail. She didn't drink cocktails, so she handed me the drink menu, which consisted entirely of Flavored Vodkas and Some Other Shit. Maybe there was a mojito on it. Mostly it was the ubiquitous vodka cocktail in an up glass that women my age hold like a trophy, like they know from drinking, and tell me it's a special martini. I don't correct people to their faces because I'm not that much of an asshole, but we all know it's not actually a martini. I'd be willing to accept the name if it were a vodka martini with three olives and an onion, but really it's just a fruity cocktail that belongs on Lake Havasu, being sipped with straws shaped like penises.
Nevertheless, I got a raspberry one because raspberry is one of my favorite flavors and I really like Chambord. My Raspberry Dream, or whatever the fuck it was called, consisted of Raspberry Stoli, Chambord, Cointreau, and Sprite. It was quite pretty, with the Chambord at the bottom and the clear vodka at the top, recalling the appearance of a magic mirror in an 80s fantasy movie. As I pretended I had an angelically whiny voice and ringlets, I sipped my pretty little cocktail, which tasted like some raspberry water in a glass.
Anyway, I guess it's good that I got Flavored Vodka and Some Other Shit out of the way for Cocktail of the Week because I'm never going to review a cocktail like this again. Espresso Martini? I'll take an Irish Coffee, thanks. Next time I want flavored vodka, I'll save the extra $3 and get a raspberry vodka tonic. Unless I'm trying to look really really pretty while with a date when I'm not paying. Then I'll get the aesthetically pleasing cocktail. For the record: I'm all about better aesthetics in all things...unless they involve flavored vodka.
Ladies, I assure you that a whiskey sour will keep you warmer, although maybe it won't look as pretty next to your friend who is wearing a hat made out of condoms.
A classier, prettier, better raspberry alternative: champers with raspberries in the bottom of the glass, a la Marie Antoinette. Seriously.
Nevertheless, I got a raspberry one because raspberry is one of my favorite flavors and I really like Chambord. My Raspberry Dream, or whatever the fuck it was called, consisted of Raspberry Stoli, Chambord, Cointreau, and Sprite. It was quite pretty, with the Chambord at the bottom and the clear vodka at the top, recalling the appearance of a magic mirror in an 80s fantasy movie. As I pretended I had an angelically whiny voice and ringlets, I sipped my pretty little cocktail, which tasted like some raspberry water in a glass.
Anyway, I guess it's good that I got Flavored Vodka and Some Other Shit out of the way for Cocktail of the Week because I'm never going to review a cocktail like this again. Espresso Martini? I'll take an Irish Coffee, thanks. Next time I want flavored vodka, I'll save the extra $3 and get a raspberry vodka tonic. Unless I'm trying to look really really pretty while with a date when I'm not paying. Then I'll get the aesthetically pleasing cocktail. For the record: I'm all about better aesthetics in all things...unless they involve flavored vodka.
Ladies, I assure you that a whiskey sour will keep you warmer, although maybe it won't look as pretty next to your friend who is wearing a hat made out of condoms.
A classier, prettier, better raspberry alternative: champers with raspberries in the bottom of the glass, a la Marie Antoinette. Seriously.
15 July 2007
Weekend Review for Bastille Day Weekend
Inspired by a conversation with Craig wherein he rated music based on cuts of steak, I’m going to recap my cultural experiences each weekend by comparing them to a food I ate during the course of said weekend.
1. The Avett Brothers
Fine Line Music Café
I was going to write an extended piece on this, but there’s really not that much to say. The Avett Brothers are probably the most universally likeable band making music right now (although no one's really heard of them), singing powerfully about happy things with which everyone identifies, and their voices hold up live, while adding the energy and rapport with an audience that a charismatic band gathers, all seemingly without effort. They are damn listenable and they make me think that men are good and faithful. Unfortunately, the drunkass dudes in the audience who talked during the pretty songs and then tried to pee on the floor counteract the goodness of the Avett Brothers, leaving the Overall Gains in Opinion of Men in General at 0 at the end of the night.
Rating: That organic local corn salsa I had—MN corn, tomatoes, onions, cilantro—only on a slightly stale chip
2. Director David Yates
Just realizing that I watched two movies by this director this weekend and thoroughly enjoyed them both, I’ll lump them together into one blurb. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix was spot on—fast paced and well acted—as they finally seem to have realize that we just like looking at the pretty, cool wizard things and already know the plot because we’ve read the books. The teenagers are sexy now, adding to the movie’s glory, and Helena Bonham Carter pretty much makes any movie better. The Girl in the Café was a decidedly different but very good movie about politics, and there are very few of those. I wanted to change the world when I was done watching it. Of course, I’m in a transitional phase, so anything remotely inspiring makes me cry and type a lot.
Anyway, David Yates, you make pretty movies, which are the best kind. It seems you know when to be splashy and when to be resigned, and I admire your ability to make an impact.
Rating: Blueberry banana pie with that lemony crust, which was my attempt at making an impact. On my stomach.
Rating: Enchiladas verdes stuffed with veggies and beef!
13 July 2007
Alcatraz and Paul Simon.
Alcatraz has been a reoccurring mirage in my life. A bi-annual trip to SF throughout my childhood repeatedly brought me to the docks of Fishermans' Wharf- where people, including myself liked to point out recognizable disturbances along the horizon line. The most popular of course: "Alcatraz!," "Shark fin!," and "The other side of the Bay!" Also, as a young teenager my favorite action flick shifted from Blown Away to The Rock. Too bad Alcatraz isn't shaped more like the Washington Monument because then my whole transition into adolescence would be defined by profound cultural markers.
So, semi recently, I moved to San Francisco. Having never visited The Rock, I felt pretty content looking at it from afar. There are other islands and adventures that I have been drawn to...Angel Island in particular, taking a ferry to Tiburon to drink champagne on a Sunday, biking across the Golden Gate Bridge, exploring the ruins of the Sutro Baths, titillating yes!...but Alcatraz never really pulled at the ol' heart strings.
Which, visually first brought me to Alcatraz: Last summer I did my first chalk drawing. Botticelli's Venus emerges from the Pacific flying the Golden Gate bridge behind her as a kite. Later in the summer, accompanied by my first live-in boyfriend, I got hooked on the x- Men series. Within a week I watched the first two films, had roughly thirty nine conversations about genetic engineering, evolution, special effects in film and the hot factor of the Wolverine beard. And then I watched the third one...when the GGB is ripped from the North bay and strategically placed onto Alcatraz. Woman emerges from the sea,
struts down Ty baud's SF streets, dragging the bridge from the past whereas the next generation strategically places it at the epicenter of the Bay in the future- only to battle out the future of the world. There, right there.It is Alcatraz, the 1 1/2 square mile of hardened earth that has witnessed a display of human struggle, on the offensive and the defensive. Used as a fort in the Civil War, a prison for the Hopi Indians in the late 1800's, a community and school, a prison for those who escaped prison, an occupation ground in '69 casting a spotlight on the Native American plight over land ownership, and now a tourist ground like Disneyland's Pirates of the Caribbean, but without the cool costumes and squirt guns....just National Park Service threads and audio phones. Here the things that cannot be contained, were contained. And those things that escaped this fog entrapped rock mound, are rumored to have ended, drown, eaten or disappeared to South America.
So. All and all I am going. With a free ticket in hand from the currently undefined male figure in my intimate life, and in the midst of my planning a trip to S. America, I embark. Hopefully, hopefully I will stumble across one endangered slender California salamander. Alcatraz, you are not a mirage. You're a rock; you're an island.
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