Ex-clu-clu-clu-clu-sive!

Neil Young's Canadian crazy and damn good with a guitar. Courtesy of NPR, take a listen to his soon to be released (December 2) Live at Canterbury House 1968 -- beautiful, beautiful stuff. Wow; thank you, Neil! Far out, man.

Oh, and last week 'twas The Fireman (Sir Paul McCartney and Youth) Electric Arguments exclusive, which is now out on CD store shelves! I like it, it's happy and he starts out a-rockin'!! Certain songs conjure up images of marching throu [JESUS - some people shouldn't wear heels!!! One of my neighbors just clomped down the stairs, and I coulda sworn I thought I was gonna hear a NEEEIIIIIGGHHH! before the door closed.] -through misty sunlit fields or forests, snapping too.

Do you want to make a play date?

On the way to the laundromat this morning I passed a mother pushing her child in a stroller. The two were chatting up a storm and having a grand ole time. As I came closer, the child said something the mother couldn't hear, so mother leaned in and said, "What? GRAHAM? Did you say Graham? Well, we'll have to make a play date, then. ELLA? You want to see Ella, too? We can do that." And they strolled on.

Play dates. Babies hanging out with babies. This kid has a more active social life than I do. I wish I had a secretary to make my play dates for me. Instead I gotta do the planning and scheduling, and I'd of course be hanging out with my twentysomething friends, and not babies. Nothing against babies, but I don't want any of 'em near me, unless I know it, then it may be okay. Twentysomething. So, yeah, the mom is basically a secretary, a liaison between the babies. She's completely at her baby's bidding. Ew, I don't like that. Bossy babies - no thanks. But it must be nice - I suppose the same goes for famous people, eh? They're bossy. And, you probably want to throw lawyers, doctors, principals and Santa in there, too, yeah? No. I'm only comparing babies and famous people - those people are hard workers, these people are just being bossy and lazy. Yeah, babies are lazy.

To prove my point about the laziness. On my way home from the laundromat, I passed the same baby/mommy duo; and guess what? This baby was sleeping. Talking and bossing one moment, sleeping the next. The world is unjust, little baby, just you wait.

Spiders for SALE!!!

First, let it be known that I hate spiders. No offense to them, they can't help how creepy they are, and they probably hate me, too, seeing as how I may have/definitely killed one or 70 of their relatives (of any given species). I digress (and God! I love saying that! but in a British accent so as not to seem too pretentious).

Why I write today is because in searching on GOOD's site, I stumbled upon this little gem. I laughed, but was very skeptical... until I found this. $10,000!?!?! That's insane!!! Really!?!

Granted this is no spider, but maybe it could get me out of my next round of bills, especially if I can find a way to generate enough internet buzz to lure some schmuck into paying thousands of dollars for said piece of PAINT art (click to enlarge the picture... explanation: at first it was a landscape with a field of flowers, but I thought it was missing something, so I decided a bunny, but bunnies aren't that interesting so Bunnicula, but then that wasn't enough and I thought about the tortoise and the hare, and the only kind of tortoise I can draw is a dead one... so. There you go!). I think I'll need a little more practice as "paint"ing with a mouse is not as easy as I remember, or maybe I just expect my talent to increase along with my years. This matter requires further investigation/practice, and I promise to keep you posted.

Also, completely unrelated, but what isn't on this blog. I LOVE BEEEEEEER! because it gives me the confidence I need to kill spiders/silverfish (oh, those things are even worse, because they have so many legs and they can go so fast and you don't even know they're there, like, maybe you'd be sleeping and you wake up thinking you have a feather on your face, oh this is so soft, how delightful, but then... no I can't imagine this scenario any more otherwise I might not sleep for a week, and too much caffeine wreaks havoc on my digestive system). I recently had Dogfish for the first time a week or so ago, and my! it was delicious. I will continue to drink wherever I find it, whether it be from the pub, my local grocer's, or the cold, dead grip of Bruce the Bum... it will feel so warm in my tum. Mmm! Pleasantries. It may also help with the PAINT art. We shall see. We shall see. Aren't things better when they're repeated? Aren't they?

hop on a freighter - take me home

I quite like this song, and maybe you will, too? Hmm. A little bit guitar strummin' and a little banjo pickin', definitely fits the mood I'm feelin' today. Oooh, and how 'bout these songs, too!?PS - the band looks way cool, and NO WONDER I LIKE THEM!!!, Devendra Banhart is a part of it... sometimes? I'm doing me some investigating at my local record shop, and I'd advise you to do the same, eh?

If you're interested in purchasing, Amazon always helps if you live in the boonies (would that be capitalized, like a proper place, or no...? No.).... BUMMER! I just got so excited to see that they're coming to Chicago, but nooooooooooooo they're touring with the Black Crowes and therefore are charging an OUTRAGEOUS $40, which I am still very likely to pay because I want to see them live... Vetiver, not the Black Crowes, just to clarify.

PPS- learn more about the sweet, sweet smelling vetiver grass. Bless you, Wikipedia.

Back to work so I can afford this ticket. Merh, merh, merh.

---11/24/08--- I bought the album the night I wrote the above. Beautiful stuff. Folksy covers of which I wish to hear the originals. Great songs. The CD insert begins with, "Play us an old song, one of your favorites. Currents songs are nice too, but we always seem to prefer the songs that surprise us and come out of nowhere. How did we find them? How did they find us?" Then it goes on to tell of Vetiver's musical journey in finding these songs, and their band story in general. It concludes speaking graciously of the amazing time they had discovering these songs and making this album, and urges the listener to, "...please seek out the albums these songs came from and share them, and everything you dig, with the people around you." Yeah, I dig, and I will. After all, sharing is caring. And care is love? Yes, it is.

All the songs are just so good!

Suds & Bubs

Since the apartment I now live in charges $2 to wash AND $2 to dry, I've decided to move on to a laundromat down the block. It's convenient-ish, I guess, and a lot cheaper. A LOT! At first I was doing the whole lazy laundry in my house thing, but after two weeks spending $12, and then the third week spent $14 because of a wonky washing machine that didn't spin out the water, I threw up my hands and exclaimed, ENOUGH! I'm saving loads of dollars now (no pun intended, BAH! so when you say that, it's like, "Hey I didn't start this as intentional humor, but it ended up that way, just see how clever I am naturally!" right? That's kind of silly), and it's kind of fun going to the laundromat. I don't stay there the whole time, just drop off my load(s), come back, switch it/'em, do something else for thirty minutes, collect my things, and that's that.There's a thing about this insanely affordable laundromat though. Before I even stepped foot in the establishment, my roommate warned me of a certain fecal smell in the back, by the quarter machine. He said the smell made him think that the toilet was broken, and the proprietor was perhaps pooping in a bucket, but it's cheap. So, warning: don't go farther back than you need to.

The first time I went to the laundromat, I had my quarters all ready to go, and I stayed up front as I was warned. This laundromat is run by a group of older Eastern Indian gentlemen, and they love to have loud easy jazz playing over the sound system while the news on the TV in the back is blasted at full volume. It's something else. I smile at them, they smile at me. I thank them for their machines, and bid them adieu.

The second time I went, I didn't come prepared with my quarters, but I was relieved to find out that the back did not smell like poop as it had when my roommate experienced laundry time there.

So far, so good... until I came back to get my stuff. I was in a rush, and I didn't feel like wasting all my quarters (well, money, really) on laundry, so I stuffed all my loads into two dryers. When I came to collect my things, I faced a little, angry Indian man who shook his finger in my face, scolding me that I shouldn't put that much stuff into one dryer, and going off on some tirade. Listen, mister, I said, I don't have time for this right now, I'm running late, and you can't tell me what to do - impressive, right? He continued shaking at me, telling me this was too much for one machine to dry. I needed more time or I needed to separate my clothes into more machines - latter preferred. Thanks for the advice, I grumbled, and left him in a huff. Ohhh, he put me in a bad mood, mostly because he was right, and also because my parents were coming in town and the clean sheets I wanted to change my bed with were still damp. So, I draped the damp bedding all over my apartment, in every room, and then I fixed the problem the next day, dropping off the damp laundry on the way to breakfast. Solved and solved.

Since then, I've made sure that I put everything in it's proper place, without overdoing the machines. An extra $.50 isn't going to break my bank, so I'll stay out of trouble and keep things easy. It was good. I started to gain the trust of the owners again; the smiling, the thanking, the dollar for quarter exchanging.

And then it happened. Yesterday was off to such a good start, I even shared in a little small talk with the old man - who donned his winter parka and one of these little hats with the ears, apparently it's cold in the shop - laughing about the bundling, worrying about the coming winter and all the snow. Then I came back to switch from washing to drying. As soon as we made eye contact I knew something was wrong. He made his way over to my washing machine, and spoke so fast and furiously I didn't know what was happening. You cannot do this. You cannot put this much in this machine! Cannot you see that it only takes 18 pounds!? Then he said something really fast and made me hold his cold hands, which were apparently stuck in the cold water of the machine, balancing out the load... and there was some water on the floor, too. I hit my head, and apologized profusely. I really was sorry. Sorry that I had made the old man so cold, sorry I had semi-broken his machine, and sorry that I slipped and fell back onto his bad side. For the rest of my time I moved cautiously around the laundromat and made small, sheepish smiles in his direction, only to be returned by a soulless scowl. I sighed and went about the rest of my day, thanking him again on my way out.

So, next time, I'm going to read all the signs, and bring in my own quarters if I remember when I'm at Dominick's (but those stupid bastards charge a quarter for a roll of quarters - does it really put 'em out that much to exchange money for money; especially at the money exchange counter? I don't understand!), because I have to get back in their good graces, for the sake of my socks.

He's a Motherfucking Headliner, Bitch. You don't even know it!

Yeah, that's right. Of Montreal, Kevin Barnes, live in concert. AHHHHH!mazing!!!

You can listen to the DC concert, courtesy of NPR, here. Pretty great, but hearing it in person - waaaaaaaaaay better. Can you even imagine!?

After this show I may have to make a vow never to attend an all ages show, ever again. Ever. Never ever. Oh, it was such a wonderful concert, but comprised of such a rowdy/obnoxious youth attendance up front, where all my friends and I wanted to do was dance. No, they wanted to mosh. But, I digress on that subject until later...

THE SHOW! The show! Magical, theatrical, sexual, unexplainable!! Where to begin!?! They played everything I wanted to hear. Every song had a choreographed routine of silliness that I enjoyed when I wasn't being hurled from one edge of the crowd to the other. From Gallery Piece to Plastis Wafers, Id Engager, Women's Study Victims... basically the entire new collection from Skeletal Lamping. And one thing I really liked, because Skeletal Lamping is one of those cohesive albums that flows fantastically from one song into the next, is when they stayed true to that - example Touched Something's Hollow to An Eluardian Instance. Oh, and my friends and I lamped. We lamp-lamp-lamped until we couldn't lamp anymore... because the show was over. In addition to all that, they re-vamped their old stuff, rocking out Oslo in the Summertime, She's a Rejector, and So Begins Our Alabee like nothing I've ever heard/seen before, extending riffs and awesomeness. They busted out Eros' Entropic Tundra for a mellower. Gronlandtic Edit was a part of their encore, and such a crowd pleaser, as was Disconnect the Dots. Then, they finale-finaled with Smells Like Teen Spirit, and oh-my-god. The moshing was totally okay then, I think they played it because they read the crowd as being so rowdy. I've seen them do a handful of Prince covers (and I wish I had examples but I didn't own Prince albums as a child - probably due to his sexuality and my mother attempting to prevent me from the sexual exposures of MTV, 90210, Melrose Place, and Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman - and stuck to the radio, though I do appreciate him as an artist, or a former artist, and I'd like to expand my musical collection to include him... friends, can you help?) before, and they were, Wow. When did Prince start appearing at other people's shows? That's how good it was. Of Montreal, they're perfectionists. Maybe it has something to do with Kevin Barnes creative mentality/process, and by maybe, I mean it definitely does. Wow! Writing about this makes me want to experience it again. So great, so GREAT!!! Of Montreal and Kevin Barnes can do no wrong in my eyes. He may be slightly - okay, all crazy, but he's a lyrical and musical genius, and I'm gonna say it - I love him, his work, him. Yeah. I LOVE Of Montreal!!!So, those punk moshy kids. Yeah, they were annoying, yeah they detracted from my enjoyment/experience in the concert because I was fighting to dance, but at the same time. They gave me a good story to tell. Granted, I took a lot of shit to be able to tell the story. I mean, these kids were rooooooooooowdy!! But it was so weird that when one kid lost their glasses, they stopped and helped, but when my friends and I (and other non-moshers around us) asked them to stop, they did not, and pushed instead. So, I took it, for a while, defending my space, trying to focus on the music, the man, the Legend, but then, I got a big ole shove that sent me flying and I lost it. I dove into the mosh and went crazy on kids, jumping on people, throwing elbows, feeling worked up and angry - it surprised me, then it became to much and I grappled to get out and to my friends who laughed at me and shook their heads. Then, I got pushed again, and my friend, Libby, got super serious and went in for some smack-down herself. This went on for the better latter part of the show, and by the end, when walking to the coat check line, we were all clutching our backs and walking on a slant, ooohing and aahhhhing, exclaiming that we aren't as young as we used to be all the while stretching.

**Note: I'm actually posting this 11/14/08, but the way blogspot saves drafts, it keeps the initial date, or at least the way my settings are. Annnnnnnnnnyway, last week I went to the Ghostland Observatory show (18+) with a couple friends and as we were ascending the stairs to the dance floor, I noticed one of the moshers from Of Montreal. Hey dreads! I shouted. He turned and looked at me, smiling, "Ha. Yeah?" No moshing tonight, alright!? Then he said some smart ass comment about how he and his friends always mosh at concerts and if I didn't like it then I shouldn't be that close to the stage, and then I said, Well, maybe you should go to concerts where it's appropriate to mosh, douche. I never claimed to be mature, PS.

Also, here's another OM lover's review of the show.

Piss & Vomit

Oh, what a morning! I woke up to some delicious Crosby, Stills and Nash, and thought, Yes! This is going to be a magical day! Then I decided to snooze another 20 minutes because it was way too cold to shower when I did last night, and I totally did not work up a sweat at the dance-lacking (yet super rad) Yeasayer show.

I shivered my way through the morning process. My roommate and I decided that we're not going to turn our heat on until 11/01. UGHHH! Saturday's so far away, although it is supposed to get warmer as the week progresses - YAY, HALLOWEEN!! Ew, boring how I resorted to weather topic.

I was running late, but it's okay because I'm usually - uh, sometimes, or rather, occasionally - early to work. When I got to the EL stop I had to superfast walk waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay down the platform to find a car that could accommodate me. Once inside I thought, Hmm. It smells peculiar in here, my nostrils are burning. Then I sighed at the CTA's cleanliness issues and tried to focus on my music and rest my eyes a little. The smell wasn't going away, but getting somewhat stronger. Impossible! It can't be true! I looked down to see that I was standing in a stream of some most likely dark golden (dehydrated) liquid that came from the direction of that little enclave-ish area in the back of the car. No, no, no. NO! I made sure my pant legs weren't dragging, held back my gag reflex and closed my eyes waiting for it all to end. Thankfully, it was the slowest train ride I ever experienced, and I had plenty of time to soak the urine into the soles of my shoes. I've never see Urinetown, but always wanted to.It was all I could do to keep from vomiting, and all I could imagine is what if I vomited on the person sitting next to me, then they to the person next to them, and them on the guy sitting in front, and so and so forth, until we were all vomiting on each other. It was a horribly disgusting image and I thought how uncomfortable and how smelly it would be to be in a crowded train car full of people covered in puke! You couldn't go to work, or to your interview, or shopping, or anything else you do downtown. But what an excuse!! Who could dispute that, "Uh, well, sorry bossman, I can't make it into work today, or I'll at least be late... y'see, this jackass threw up all over me on the train this morning." Also, no cab would take you home, and people would scowl at you and hold their noses on the train back west. Not a good situation to be put in. And one that could've been avoided had the assumed crackhead held their bladder until they got off at the Grand stop. Luckily my imagination was as far as I got with the scenario.

Once I got to my stop I climbed the stairs as fast as I could, only to feel that I was still surrounded by urine. At the top of the stairs I took a large breath of what I hoped would be fresh city air, but it was only the urine mixed with a strong scent of chocolate. The chocolate air is usually a delight, warming you heart and soul, but today, with the urine, I wanted to run, but there was no escaping.

It's finally gone now. So, I've either grown immune, or I wiped it all off on my walk to work. Hmm.

Lesson: Don't pee in confined spaces, MALES!!**

I also vomited at work,  I think due to the aforementioned toxic nasal inhalation that occurred over a long period of time. This is really just TMI now, but there's that for you. It happened; I trooped on. PS, sorry about the one above, I couldn't keep reviewing the google image selections!!

**I assume unless it was a woman - which I was going to say was ballsy, but then, y'know, like it's pretty disgusting no matter who did it.

And now, thinking back, everyone else was standing and sitting in it, too, and how could it be, so calm?