Bad wood underneath the veneer

Moving

2006-10-12T21:37:00.000-04:00

I guess people are getting offended at me because of my blog. I think I might try wordpress. I'll try to remain more anonymous there.

Dangle

2006-10-11T11:36:00.000-04:00

There is a certain kind of person here. I don't want to think that there are people like this everywhere. I want a "firm rampart" between this place and the real world (or my perception of it). But there is a certain kind of person who corrects my English grammar while I'm speaking (and making, what I hope to be, a fascinating and detailed point of fact) and you know, when I'm saying "And so the clientela system is where the modern patron-client relationship comes from." and he or she says, "Oh don't you mean, 'is from where the modern patron-client relationship comes'?" (Because, obviously, what you said is totally unintelligble.) Nevermind that the only reason we don't allow dangling prepositions is because, fuck you, it comes from Latin which never had punctuation to clarify them.

You know, I actually got into an argument with somebody yesterday that "intra" and "inter" mean about the same thing, to which he responded that, no, language has subtlety to it that a mah-toor individual could discern if he'd only respect the language. I suppose those distinctions should be left for the linguistic grundle-spelunkers of the world, but let's get down to brass tacks...

Why do we try to sound smart? Usually, I just sound retarded when I try to be smart. "I guess we really cannibalized that chair, eh man?" "No actually, we'd only be cannibalizing that chair if we were chairs ourselves and eating those chairs..." fuck! Fine. I get it. I'm not that smart. It's not even things like that that bother me. It's getting interupted not in mid-sentence, but more like, mid-word, "Well, he's the guy I've been referenc..." "don't you mean, referring? There's no such word as referencing. I don't even know what that means." (Which, by the way, I just looked it up and "referencing" is a transitive verb.) The point is, if the fucking toolshed president of the united states can say nuclearizing (And let's be clear here: Nuclear is hard to say, so people often say Nucular. It's okay. We know what they mean. Just like when people say "Super-fullous." It's actually easier than saying "super-fluous."), then I ought to be able to say referencing.

Beat Cuisine, Installment 1

2006-10-10T01:04:00.000-04:00

Ryan's Late-Nite Steak and Eggs:
(aka, "all caught up in the sticky juices of amore")

You will need:

one GFS pre-made frozen hamburger patty
eggs, 2
A-1, 1 tbsp of
Lawry's seasoning salt
water, 1 tbsp of
vegatable oil, 1 tbsp of
skillet with lid
any other ludicrous shit you normally like on your eggs/burgers

Steps to perfection:

Thaw frozen patty
Season it and add oil and A-1
Crack open the eggs
Cook till the meat is rare and the egg whites have started to solidify
Add water and cover for a minute or so
Serves ONE hungry dude

mmmm...that's G-E-W-D, gewd! note: I reccommend a good bowl of super-sweet oatmeal to ensure safe passage of this dish.

New Band

2006-10-05T16:43:00.000-04:00

I am starting a new band.

If it were up to me, and I'm sure it's not, I'd call us "Beat Eclectic."

Line up:

Jed Becker: Keyboards, programming

Tory Moul: Vocals, keyboards

(tenatively) Evan Moran: Lead Guitar

Me: Guitars, vocals, banjo, lap-steel, harmonica, programming

I'm in the process of writing more stuff. Mainly just progressions, riffs, and lyrical snippets.

The project looks like it's going to move into a Broken Social Scene + Flaming Lips thing...but I dunno...maybe mellower. Of course, Tory's jazz experience will weigh upon the sound. My folk and country sensibilities will invariable pop up. Jed has programmed a lot of stuff before and I'm going to learn the process soon. But all drums and bass and suchlike will be programmed.

First show will be the Battle of the Bands. Then I think we'll play the next Black Sheep Show at Savarinos. From there, who knows. We'll see how it goes.

Solidarity and the New Order of Things

2006-09-24T01:23:00.000-04:00

When my senior friends graduated last May, I thought, gee, I wonder who I'm going to hang out with. So I planned. I planned to hobknob with the Phi Mu Alpha guys and "run with their crew" some. I thought it would be nice to have their support, chill with like-minded dudes and maybe even hang out with some ladies.

For various reasons, that whole scheme fell through. Or I lost interest in it. That is to say, when I saw most of them file into IV one Thursday night, I lost interest. There are some good guys there, but shit, what was I thinking trying to pine for their interest?

But no worries. Guess what happened? The Beat crowd has mixed with the Bench crowd. And they're generally fun people. Emrys Van Maren (or as I've dubbed, the MPU [Mobile Party Unit]), Patrick Whalen, Greg Moore, Kristi Nickles, Naomi's housemates, et al. are all pretty sweet. They have modest-sized parties and sit around campfires and listen to me play guitar! The void has been filled.

A new snackbar solidarity has emerged as well. Everybody seems to know everybody. (I would add further comment, but the only adjective I can think of is "cool.")

More items, cool and uncool:

The kilt-guy keeps asking to rub my head. I turn him down repeatedly.
I've been enjoying drinking on the porch carbuncle-free. Not that I ever had carbuncles...er...you know who I'm talking about.
Dr. Tsao takes us (Econ, Tony, Vanyle, Jack, Oatess and me) out to the Hunt Club after film class on Wednesday nights. And pays.
Chase's friends, Erin and Laurel, come over and bake us cookies on Tuesday nights.
Karen Miller and Kate Cook clean our kitchen. Often.
Stacy Edwards is back, for better or for worse.
Econ told me how to freebase DXM, for better or for worse.
Dylan buys tons of shit.
(italics indicates what Dylan has purchased on Ebay) We have two kittens named Rook and Claire (or Gary and Len...I raise these cats all summer and Luke has the gall to rename them the day I get here), as well as a couple outdoor cats named Mr. Fluffins and Smokey Balls; we also have an organ, a drumset, a sundry of stringed instruments, a trombone, a waterbed, a nordic track, a shit-kicking sound system, a couple bats, a host of uninvited rodents, a bug-zapper, two hookahs, and a shit-ton of burritos in our freezer. We still have a lot of room.
Chase, in a whirlwind of disgust and perturbation, rearranged the living room. It looks great, and it's more comfortable and roomy now.
Vanessa and Kyle, in case you didn't know, are no longer "in vanyle." They made it official a little while ago.
The dishwasher works. Sort of. Luke fixed it.
Here's the link to Nick's story on me. It's pretty good.

At any rate, things have changed a lot. I look forward to seeing Lee, Silliman, Hugger, Alexis and company next weekend.

Assessment

2006-09-20T00:14:00.000-04:00

There will be an article on my album in the forthcoming Collegian. The story is about 250 words, but I realize I haven't really given a synopsis of it myself, and, though I respect and thank Nick for his unsolicited interest, I think it's a good idea I talk about it.

My mother told me that she was allocating some of her inheritance for me to record a cd of my songs. From the start, I realized that, though I didn't have to, it would be nice for the record to serve the interests of more than just myself. Therefore, the songs that ended up on it were significant to other people.

For instance, "To Fall" is a song that I probably wouldn't have recorded if my mother hadn't encouraged me. I also would have ended up in a different studio if my father hadn't vouched for Guitar Sound in Coleman. Both recomendations were good decisions in the end.

The album was recorded, produced, mixed, and mastered and the album art was layed out in a grand total of 55 hours. Not unthinkable. Bad Company recorded Bad Company in six hours. But seriously, 55 was only really a start and I would have taken 250 if I had the money and time.

I believe the effort is the best I could do in 55 hours. If I had more money, more time, wasn't a smoker, read more and knew more about music, I think it would have been better.

Hillsdale is a rotten place to play music in. But then again, so is New York. The project isn't and really can't be about making money or becoming popular. I had to tell some stories. Those stories may at times come across as heavy-handed, maybe a little critical, and perhaps they weren't fascinating stories to begin with.

With exception to a couple tracks, all the songs were rewritten at least a couple times, if not three or four. It's a habit. I write, rewrite, then abandon them after a time. I rewrote several songs that aren't on the album, so I hope you'll get to hear them at some point. They either didn't cut it at the time, were not developed enough yet, or both.

All the songs without exception are personal.

Lyrically, I would say I'm equally derivative of two musicians: Ryan Adams and Sufjan Stevens. Both are brilliant writers and they both taught me how to write stories that aren't necessarily about you, but certainly affect you in some way. On the other hand, I sound nothing like Sufjan and only somewhat like Ryan Adams.

My musical influences include but aren't limited to the following (in no particular order): Lyle Lovett, Devendra Banhart, David Bowie, Bob Dylan, Daniel Johnston, Neil Young, Bruce Cockburn, Gordon Lightfoot, Wilco, Uncle Tupelo, Whiskeytown, Joanna Newsom, Jens Lekman, Destroyer, Rich Mullins, Modern Praise and Worship (unfortunate and unavoidable), Dougie MacLean, Matt McConnell, Russell McConnell, Don West, Tim West, Mark Wampfler, Marion Keith Byrd, Lamar Felter, Dave Malinich, Sandra Beyers, George Widiger, Larry Williams, Dan Miloch, MxPx, Craig's Brother, Stavesacre, and my mother.

I would like other people to say I sound like the Rolling Stones or maybe Jackie Wilson. But that'll never happen.

No pitch adjustment (auto-tune) was used in the making of this album. No modulation at all was used on any instrument. In other words, there are bad notes here and there.

Word of honor: I stole nothing but the following items in the making of this album...

...the verse chords of Bruce Cockburn's "Look How Far (the light came)," and that was only at first. The chords on there are somewhat different now, though the principal is still the same. The melody is much different as Cockburn simply speaks during those chords.

...the line "till a sweet apple grows from a sour apple tree" from "Lunita" is lifted directly out of "I Wish My Baby Was Born" the author of which is unknown. Uncle Tupelo does a nice rendition of it, and that's where I heard it.

...the main hook from "Lunita" is from the wordless meanderings of the background singers on Bob Dylan's "Brownsville Girl." I haven't actually listened to the song since I wrote it, so I don't know if it's actually the same anymore.

...the simile in the first song, "Sunlight Dialogues," is from my friend Jonathan Ault. It went like this: "Listening to her talk about her problems was like being full grown and trying to swim in a kiddie pool; you don't want to be there doing it, you are getting absolutely nowhere, and it is incredibly shallow."

...the title "Sunlight Dialogues" is also the title of a book by John Gardner. It's a decent read, but I recommend Grendel and Dan Silliman would probably recommend Freddie's Book as well.

Any other similarities are probably coincidental.

Jonathan Ault wrote the liner notes. They were pretty good considering he wrote them in half an hour or so. I edited them for content.

I find there are only a handful of people whose opinions I consistently take seriously. For one, I listened to Jonathan Ault and Matt McConnell. Jonathan particularly helped me in the rewriting process and his literary thoughts show throughout.

I rarely listen to a lot of people, including my closest friends and family. It's a bad habit. Sorry.

I certainly never listen to most people, because their opinions on my music are always so strange. Not that I get a lot of bad comments necessarily. They are just always bizarre things I never notice. For instance, if you think I take too long between songs during my set, that isn't something I really care about. If you really like the shirt I wore at such and such show, however, I will take your opinion quite seriously and probably wear that shirt for at least three or four more shows in the future.

If you think such and such song should have been on the album, that's okay. I probably will agree with you. But you know that part in Mulholland Drive when the director wants to use this one actress for the part, but the mafioso guys make sure he chooses someone else? Well, that's what choosing songs for this album was like. It wasn't completely up to me.

My top five favorite songs from the sixties are as follows:

1. "Your Love Is Lifting Me (higher and higher)" by Jackie Wilson
2. "One of Us Must Know (sooner or later)" by Bob Dylan
3. "A Day in The Life" by the Beatles
4. "Helter Skelter" by the Beatles
5. "Good Times, Bad Times" by Led Zeppelin

from the seventies:

1. "So Far Away" by Carole King
2. "Worth Believin'" by Gordon Lightfoot
3. "Life on Mars" by David Bowie
4. "Simple Kind of Man" by Lynyrd Skynyrd
5. "I Got a Name" by Jim Croce

from the eighties:

1. "With or Without You" by U2
2. "Sunday Bloody Sunday" by U2
3. "Video Killed the Radio Star" by the Buggles
4. "Most of the Time" by Bob Dylan
5. "This Charming Man" by The Smiths

from the nineties:

1. "Revenge" by Whiskeytown
2. "Hard to Get" by Rich Mullins
3. "Old Friend" by Rancid
4. "Fifteen Keys" by Uncle Tupelo
5. "We Will Not Be Lovers" by the Waterboys

I am all that is man

2006-08-22T22:15:00.000-04:00

It was an epic struggle. Ryan's incompetence vs. Ryan's balls. Final: Balls 3 - Incompetence - 2.

I needed a guitar - Matt gave me this shitty, Allen Korean strat knockoff, and I went to work. I replaced the tuning pegs (put some Grovers on) and pickguard (switched white to black). I ripped out the bridge singlecoil pickup and soldered in a Seymour Duncan Hotrails (allegedly the highest output pickup on the market) in its stead. I tightened the bridge coils in the back, and put a sweet owl sticker on the back plate. Furthermore, I retained Matt's transcription of the Battle of Maldon in Old English on the back plate, a picture of Matt and his cousin James on the heel and two dice knob controllers. I set the action as low as it'll go without buzzing too much, I got the intonation pretty close to right on, and I strung her up.

Now I give unto the world my first custom guitar:

ASMODEUS THE AXCALIBUR

Let's see that again...

I think the "A" on the headstock will work well when I paint on Asmodeus the Axcalibur.

Notice the two prepubescent faces of Matt McConnell and his cousin James.
The Old English scrawled on the back plate reads as follows:

heorte be cenre be ure moegen lytlað
-The Battle of Maldon

(Resolution must be the tougher, hearts the keener... [courage must be more as our strength gives out])

Byrhtnoth (pronounced "Brickth-noth") defends his city against the overpowering Danes, who come offering peace for gold. Byrhtnoth offers them cold steel instead. By and by, he dies in the battle. After his death, his thane and companion Byrhtwold speaks the above exhortation to the remaining men, who all die valiantly.

Asmodeus

Asmodeus is a rather large, sinister adder from Brian Jacques' first Redwall book. Matthias beheads him, I think. Anyway, I found out that Asmodeus is a demon, also known as Ashmadia, according to Deliriums Realm.

Apparently, this demon originates with the Persian Aeshma-deva (Demon of Wrath). Milton writes in Paradise Lost:

Better pleased
Than Asmodeus with the fishy fume
That drove him, though enamored, from the spouse
Of Tobit's son, and with a vengeance sent
From Media post to Egypt, there fast bound.
- Paradise Lost , iv. 167--71.

Anyway, John Dunn and I are thinking of starting a soul, motown and rhythm and blues band--NOT a medieval knights norwegian black metal band, because I KNOW that was what you were thinking.

Signing off...

It is finished...

2006-08-17T17:12:00.000-04:00

Glad that's over.

"Back To From Where You Came" will be available for purchase next month. I don't know when exactly, but everything is done. I'm listening to the master tracks currently at my home.

If you want to buy this sprawling opus, you'll have many, many options.

For one, you will be able buy it directly from me for $10.

Second, you will be able to buy it at CD baby for $12.

Third, you will be able to buy it off I-tunes and other assorted download sites for $8.99. Main difference is you don't get the album art, actual cd and case.

Fourth, you will be able to buy it off distributors such as Amazon.com for $12.

So whatever fleets your switch.

www.purevolume.com/ryanleng for a teaser...within the next week.

London Bridge

2006-08-12T23:44:00.000-04:00

I was listening to Fergie's song "London Bridge," and I'm beyond derelicts at this point. But I have to ask, what is London Bridge a metaphor for? Let me put it in context:

I'm such a lady but I'm dancing like a ho
Because you know what, I don't give a fuck, so here we go!
How come every time you come around
My London London Bridge want to go down?

So what is it? Her mood? Or is it some euphemism I'm not aware of? Maybe I'm just not being postmodern enough. I was thinking maybe she arches her back a lot. Which is sexy, but not nearly as sexy as what she did a year ago. But goddammit! what was the original "London Bridge" really about? Of course, I was constantly reminded by some smug asshat in highschool that (ooooh! pertinent fact!) "Ring Around the Rosie" is code for the black plague. Therefore, is it that strange to assume that "London Bridge" means something else?

Okay. I lied. I wasn't beyond derelicts after all. Maybe...maybe I'm out of step on this one, but maybe this isn't a good career move. Tribute to an age-old English transportation stucture, sold to the US, and reproduced in some arcane location in Arizona or (OR!), jingles for Depends?

But then again, I do have stretch marks on my arms (why?), and I can't explain all the metaphors in my music either.

Wind Moth

2006-08-09T08:20:00.000-04:00

Charlie, who is nine and autistic...

Ryan: Charlie, how's it going?

Charlie: ...

Ryan: ...

Charlie: I was just thinking about wind moths.

Ryan: What?

Charlie: A wind moth.

Ryan: What's a wind moth?

Charlie: They don't fly and they're about this high (holds his hand at his neck).

Ryan: Yeah, why do they call them wind moths?

Charlie: They make the wind.

Ryan: Oh.

Charlie: And...and they only live in very hot or very cold places. They live in the hot places during the summer, and in the cold places during the winter. And they make the wind.

Ryan: Have you ever seen one?

Charlie: Yes.

Ryan: You live in Michigan. When did you see it?

Charlie: In the fall.

Ryan: You don't miss a beat, do you?

Charlie: Do you believe me?

Ryan: No.

Charlie: (indignant) Why not!

Cut

2006-07-23T13:35:00.000-04:00

At work, Jaden, who is five, talks to his para.

Para: Jaden, how 'bout you eat your sandwich.

Jaden: How 'bout I cut you.

later...

Para: You need to do your numbers.

Jaden: walking over to the only male in the classroom. You need to beat her.

pfffttt!

Holiday Inn

2006-07-19T10:11:00.000-04:00

Vonnegut!

Yes, living in Midland, I know what you wrote was true. For instance, take your character Dwayne Hoover (from Breakfast of Champions and Deadeye Dick) and his gay son. Hoover disowns his son, and his son plays piano at the Holiday Inn. Anyway, I was talking to my old guitar/piano teacher about Midland being a dragging scene and so forth. Then I mentioned you, Kurt Vonnegut, in passing and how you stayed at the Holiday Inn in Midland and wrote all these stories about how horrible it is here and how you were and are right and blah, blah, blah. Apparently, my old teacher used to play piano at this Holiday Inn (this! Holiday Inn, which is less than a mile from my house) presumably around the same or a little after the time when you visited Midland. And apparently, the owner of the Holiday Inn's real name was Whittaker, and his son, who had a pronounced lisp, was a piano player too. My teacher's last name is Widiger. Well, if you can imagine, he was hit on a great deal by the passing gay men. They used to always buy him drinks, and, while he didn't appreciate the male attention, he did appreciate free drinks. But he never knew why all this happened until I mentioned this character from your novels.

Weird? Yes. Should my old guitar teacher read more? Probably.

Hoist That Rag

2006-07-17T16:55:00.000-04:00

I recorded a little demo of the Tom Waits song "Hoist That Rag" today. Out of respect for Waits (and the law), I'm not posting it anywhere. But if anyone wants it, let me know and I'll email it to you. It's a sort of folky, dirgey version w/ banjo. Hardly does it justice, but who could ever?

Update

2006-07-08T19:05:00.000-04:00

Wait for it. My album is underway and I'm real excited about it. I should make you all suspense-full and not tell you anything about this album, but I don't think anybody comes here. So if nobody comes here, Ryan, you're just processing this information - this trite and meaningless information - for yourself. Right. Whatever. I will break this down into about 2-9 exciting facts:

1. I have assembled a very professional crew to fill out my sound! They are as follows:

Drums: Ryan O. (An intense, heavy metal drummer. Wow!)
Bass: Bax (Andrew Bakke in my last band.)
Piano: George Widiger (Man, he's good.)
Sax(es?): John Anderson (Managed to fit me into his superbusy schedule.)
Pedal Steel: Rodney Colmus (What a break! Glad I got him.)
Hard guitar parts and some keyboards: Dave Malinich! (also at the controls)
BGVs: Daniel Miloch (a brilliant cat with creativity out the butt crick!)
Chorus: (various) Chuck Powell, Matt McConnell, Jess and Katherine Leng, Jonathan Ault, Joanna Lodico, Dan Miloch, Tory Spence.
Guitars, Vocalz, Banjo, Harmonica, Whistling, Easy Percussion, Mandolin: Me

2. Dave Malinich is a great engineer/producer and is real good to work with. About me, Dave sez:

"He has nice chord changes."

Gibbs says in my ear:

"pleaseletmeshowyoumypenis"

That crazy guy!

3. I have overhauled most of my songs. Which is probably a good idea, considering the wide subject matter and the two years over which these were written. Most of them have been fingerdicked so much in the last month or two that it'll show just where I am musically these days.

4. Tracklist:

1. Sunlight Dialogues
2. I Got Memories
3. Just Give Me a Minute!
4. Heaven-ward for Rabbit Byrd
5. The Fall
6. Can You Not Stop?
7. Lucero
8. The Lambs
9. Only October
10. Lunita

5. Title: Back To From Where You Came, which is from two things: "Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues" by Bob Dylan and something out of the Bible which is about the east wend blowing back to from where it came. I think it's in Ecclesiastes.

I am about 35-40% through. Friday, we're recording the pedal steel and piano parts. Saturday, the drums, which leaves bgvs, bass, sax, mixing, mastering and other odds and ends along the way.

Safety tip for the studio. Keep pop away from electronic stuff. It's a bad idea. Unless you need it. And YOU need it. Bad.

Donation Education

2006-06-25T20:48:00.000-04:00

In this fast-paced, nuclear era, I find myself broke. Croe (also broke) and I decided, based on watertight financial advice from the movie, The Way of The Gun, that we needed money. Ryan Philippe's character says, "In this day of age, a quart of blood can fetch you $50. A shot of cum: $3000." Naturally, we looked into it. Apparently, such an unholy high number of altruistic souls exists here that they have no need to actually pay people for plasma. No, there are no such programs. There is one in Flint, I think, and it doesn't pay fifty dollars. More like twenty, which is barely enough to cover the gas. Onwards and upwards, we Googled the following:

sperm+donation (I didn't like the word "donation." Sounds like we're giving it up for free.)
sperm+bank (Most geared towards donor recipients, not the potential donors themselves.)
sperm+bank+cash (mostly turned up shadey pseudo-porn sites)

The closest bank is in Birmingham, MI (near Detroit), and most of Michigan's pro-athletes and Tim Allen live there. I'm sure those rich people didn't invite the bank into town. Sounds like the bank is mining for wealthy professional athlete DNA. One bank listed its donors online. No names of course, but everything else pertinent: Race, blood type, height, weight, etc. They said that a college degree wasn't necessary but preferred. Fair enough. Out of 75 or so donors, only one was 5'8" and two were 5'9" and the rest were taller. Most were in the 6' - 6'2" range. Furthermore, most were white (There were a couple token Asian and African Americans) and the average white, American male is 5'9"-5'10" range...well, I hate being short.

A solicited shot of my boys does not, in fact, happen so seamlessly and rewardingly like in The Way of The Gun. Benicio Del Toro and Ryan Philippe's characters evidently scored three grand a piece and were in and out of the bank in a few hours. (They even gave the interviewer a shitton of trouble, asking "How come if a man comes on to a woman and she slaps him, people say she's standing up for her rights; but if a homosexual man comes on to a straight man, and gets his lights punched out, people say it's a hate crime?") You must see the inherent beauty in this scheme.

Here's how it really works, fyi. You have to spend a 6-8 week rigamarole of interviews, tests, samples of your jam, and so forth before you are accepted. If you pass muster, you're in "the program." Payment: $100. Once in "the program" you can do it up to 65 times a year (Arbitrarily. I have more than 65/year in me.), which amounts to $6,500 total. Once again, we were deceived by film.

Needless to say, we stopped jerking off.

Architecture in Mid-sinki

2006-06-23T15:01:00.001-04:00

I called this kid something bad the other day. I said, "You are defective. You are the sort of person who would shoot a Springfield thirty-aught-six across the rooftops of our fair city and nail a pregnant woman between the eyes." Of course, I said it just to hear what it sounded like. He was a bit taken aback..."j/k" I said. Deadeye Dick's father, from Kurt Vonnegut's novel of same title, seems to be patterned after Alden B. Dow. Alden B. Dow's house looked like THIS. Now, when I read the story of the character's (Otto Waltz) house in the story, the description was uncannily similar to this asinine structure in my own town.

A. B. Dow's father, H. H. Dow, who was founder of Dow Chemical, which employs my dad, which outsources to China, which spews only 90 parts per trillion carcinogenic toxins into our air, which toxins are likely the cause of this town's neck and neck race with Hillsdale for most boring city in Michigan, which puts it in the running for most boring city outside of anywhere in Nebraska.

Well, H. H. Dow was a good businessman...sort of...perhaps he was simply unorthodox. I found this excerpt about Dow's repackaging scheme from this page:

About 30 German firms had combined to form a cartel, Die Deutsche Bromkonvention, which fixed the world price for bromine at a lucrative 49 cents a pound. Customers either paid the 49 cents or they went without. Dow and other American companies sold bromine in the United States for 36 cents. The Bromkonvention made it clear that if the Americans tried to sell elsewhere, the Germans would flood the American market with cheap bromine and drive them all out of business. The Bromkonvention law was, “The U.S. for the U.S. and Germany for the world.”

Dow entered bromine production with these unwritten rules in effect, but he refused to follow them. Instead, he easily beat the cartel’s 49-cent price and courageously sold America’s first bromine in England. He hoped that the Germans, if they found out what he was doing, would ignore it. Throughout 1904 he merrily bid on bromine contracts throughout the world. After a few months of this, Dow encountered in his office an angry visitor from Germany - Hermann Jacobsohn of the Bromkonvention. Jacobsohn announced he had “positive evidence that [Dow] had exported bromides.” “What of it?” Dow replied. “Don’t you know that you can’t sell bromides abroad?” Jacobsohn asked. “I know nothing of the kind,” Dow retorted. Jacobsohn was indignant. He said that if Dow persisted, the Bromkonvention members would run him out of business whatever the cost. Then Jacobsohn left in a huff.

Those like Dow who tried to compete with the cartel learned quickly what “predatory price-cutting” meant. The Bromkonvention, like other German cartels, had a “yellow-dog fund,” which was money set aside to use to flood other countries with cheap chemicals to drive out competitors. Dow, however, was determined to compete with the Bromkonvention. He needed the sales, and he believed his electrolysis produced bromine cheaper than the Germans could. Also, Dow was stubborn and hated being bluffed by a bully. When Jacobsohn stormed out of his office, Dow continued to sell bromine, from England to Japan.

Before long, in early 1905, the Bromkonvention went on a rampage: it poured bromides into America at 15 cents a pound, well below its fixed price of 49 cents and also below Dow’s 36 cents. Jacobsohn arranged a special meeting with Dow in St. Louis and demanded that he quit exporting bromides or else the Germans would flood the American market indefinitely. The Bromkonvention had the money and the backing of its government, Jacobsohn reminded Dow, and could long continue to sell in the United States below the cost of production. Dow was not intimidated; he was angry and told Jacobsohn he would sell to whomever would buy from him. Dow left the meeting with Jacobsohn screaming threats behind him. As Dow boarded the train from St. Louis, he knew the future of his company - if it had a future - depended on how he handled the Germans.

On that train, Dow worked out a daring strategy. He had his agent in New York discreetly buy hundreds of thousands of pounds of German bromine at the 15-cent price. Then he repackaged and sold it in Europe - including Germany! - at 27 cents a pound. “When this 15-cent price was made over here,” Dow said, “instead of meeting it, we pulled out of the American market altogether and used all our production to supply the foreign demand. This, as we afterward learned, was not what they anticipated we would do.”

Dow secretly hired British and German agents to market his repackaged bromine in their countries. They had no trouble doing so because the Bromkonvention had left the world price above 30 cents a pound. The Germans were selling in the United States far below cost of production, and they hoped to offset their U.S. losses with a high world price.

Instead, the Germans were befuddled. They expected to run Dow out of business; and this they thought they were doing. But why was U.S. demand for bromine so high? And where was this flow of cheap bromine into Europe coming from? Was one of the Bromkonvention members cheating and selling bromine in Europe below the fixed price? The tension in the Bromkonvention was dramatic. According to Dow, “The German producers got into trouble among themselves as to who was to supply the goods for the American market, and the American agent [for the Germans] became embarrassed by reason of his inability to get goods that he had contracted to supply and asked us if we would take his [15-cent] contracts. This, of course, we refused to do.”

The confused Germans kept cutting U.S. prices-first to 12 cents and then to 10.5 cents a pound. Meanwhile, Dow kept buying cheap bromine and reselling it in Europe for 27 cents. These sales forced the Bromkonvention to drop its high world price to match Dow and that further depleted the Bromkonvention’s resources. Dow, by contrast, improved his foreign sales force, often ran his bromine plants at top capacity, and gained business at the expense of the Bromkonvention and all other American producers, most of whom had shut down after the price-cutting. Even when the Bromkonvention finally caught on to what Dow was doing, it wasn’t sure how to respond. As Dow said, “We are absolute dictators of the situation.” He also wrote, “One result of this fight has been to give us a standing all over the world. . . . We are . . . in a much stronger position than we ever were.” He added that “the profits are not so great” because his plants had trouble matching the new 27-cent world price. He needed to buy the cheap German bromides to stay ahead, and this was harder to do once the Germans discovered and exposed his repackaging scheme.

The bromine war lasted four years (1904–08), when finally the Bromkonvention invited Dow to come to Germany and work out an agreement. Since they couldn’t crush Dow, they decided to at least work out some deal so they could make money again. The terms were as follows: the Germans agreed to quit selling bromine in the United States; Dow agreed to quit selling in Germany; and the rest of the world was open to free competition. The bromine war was over, but low-priced bromine was now a fact of life.

And that's the most interesting story about Midland (only true one, that is).

fingerdicking

2006-06-20T20:03:00.000-04:00

I am a doting man up to a certain point concerning modern slang. That certain point hopefully (unlikely) lies just short of smug as fuck. For instance, I know and use the word fingerdicking (no hits on google image search. sorry), which, is hard to define in a sentence or two, but is done aptly here. Say I rolled over my phone charger with my chair. This particular phone charger has a typical pin insertion thingy which probably has a propername but I'm too lazy to figure it out. Here's a picture so you can get the idea. Anyway, I bent the little insertion thingy. The charger still kind of worked, but no, I don't know the meaning of "kind of." It's either working or not working. Brilliantly, I stuck a needle into the insertion thingy to try to straighten it out. It didn't make much of a difference, but I had a better idea. Heat it up with your bic, then bend it with the needle! Surely it would work, so I heated it up. Unforseen, the tiny plastic tip on the insertion thingy melted completely over the tip and hardened before I could stick the needle back in. Slightly flustered, I panicked momentarily, then composed myself with more flame from my bic. Once again, the plastic melted, then hardened before I could puncture it with my needle I repeated these steps a few more times until I finally punched through it with the needle. Unfortunately, the new hole was too small for my cell phone, so I had to heat it up again (wisely with the pin still in it, mind you). As I was working the needle back and forth surgically, the heat had made the needle malleable enough to break off whilst still inside the little insertion thingy. Realizing defeat, I decided to melt the plastic tip over top the insertion thing once again, just so my fingerdicking episode would not seem halfassed.

Then there is the proverbial chotch. The word was introduced into my vocabulary long after I had met all the chotches I currently know. I think urban dictionary also provides the most detailed and accurate description of a chotch. Here it is. Chotch = Generic, well-dressed, slightly meathead-ish dude who only cares or knows about bars, chicks, and looking good. Gel, vertical striped shirts, designer jeans, and sleek black shoes are a must. In middle school, chotches wore "No Fear" and "Coed Naked" T-shirts; in high school, white baseball caps and all Abercrombie; in college, visors, wife beaters, and cargo shorts. Chotches are 'huge' football fans, but end up checking their cell phones more than paying attention to games on TV. And a true chotch almost certainly received Scarface on DVD this last Christmas. I saw at least seventeen chotches last night at Lucky Bar or Drop the vertical striped shirt right now, dude, or I'm going to start mistaking you for that chotch on the Real World. I mean, at least the emo and goth kids get by most of my scorn just by virtue of bewildering me. The chotch has no warm place in my heart. They made me feel bad growing up for having a large Adam's Apple
and bacne. The problem with chotches is that they are on the good side of the social scale (assholes, douchebags, etc. are not on the good side.) So it's very trying to make a solid case against a chotch, because they come off as nice as a George W. Bush or a Cuba Gooding Jr. But you really only remember them as the ones whipping you with a wet towel after gym class.

I would also like to commemorate yesterday's two very chotch-like sports moments. Yesterday was the Carolina Hurricanes' day to win the cup and they did it handily. Congrats to Brindamour and Wesley for finally getting to hoist the cup. Moving on, yesterday also was the sad 20th anniversary of Len Bias' overdose on cocaine. Bias was the 1986 first draft pick of the Boston Celtics, who was touted as the next Michael Jordan. He O.D.ed before he even suited up for a game. Him + Larry Bird + the rest of the Celtics and you might have had a very different NBA. A much forgotten case in basketball, but one of those defining moments. Just think. If Len Bias had taken away some of that spotlight from Michael Jordan, we'd have never gotten Space Jam.

Studio session three. Tomorrow. 10-4

Progeny

2006-06-07T12:10:00.000-04:00

Sooner or later, it was bound to happen. Mell is pregnant. We should see her the offspring by mid-July. Anybody want a kitten? I suspect the father is a Hillsdale cat, being as she hasn't been out of our house since her arrival.

Other than that, she also has worms. So she's got some medicine to take care of that. Other than that, she's a healthy cat. We might keep one of the kittens...I dunno...I'll probably bring Mell back to Hillsdale in the fall, and leave one of the kittens for my sister to look after.

Epiphany

2006-06-02T01:47:00.000-04:00

Okay, I know this word makes it on the top ten "most-overly used" word list, but I had a few regarding my album.

1. Voice. I paid a visit to my demos and found that my voice was most pitch-perfect and full when I was singing in a more "let-it-all-hang-out" tone of voice (See "Rabbit Byrd"). I was so sure I had done the best ever on "Lunita," but my voice sounds almost whiney and is certainly not as on-pitch as it should be, due to the fact that I'm trying to smooth out my tone into this Sam Beam meets Sufjan Stevens tone. Those guys manage it fine, but my voice tends to be somewhere between Neil Young and Joanna Newsom on the tone scale. So that's what I'm going with.

2. I finally kind of figured out the studio. Guitar Sound in Coleman seems to be the right place. They don't have Pro-Tools (although, contrary to popular opinion, there was music recording before Pro-Tools) and they don't have a close-mic drum set-up (there was drum recording before there was close-mic drum recording as well.) Despite these "flaws," the engineer/producer seemed genuinely interested in my music. He's a songwriter himself and has 150 tunes to his name. Price: $35/hour vs. $55/hour at Big Bear.

3. I bought an I-pod, because music is about the only thing I'm interested in and it's worth it to me. Should be getting it tomorrow. It was $150.

Why I don't have a band

2006-05-29T14:57:00.000-04:00

Drummer: Look at him. There he goes again, five minute, Emerson Lake and Palmer, guitar-neck masturbation bullshit solo.

Bassist: I hate it when he does this.

D: He's turning around to face me. Shut up and keep playing.

B: Ugh, fucking ridiculous. Okay, yes, turn back around. Back stage Betty fourth row.

D: Oh nice.

B: Good to go.

D: Do you have a solo on this song?

B: Nope. You?

D: Nope.

B: You know, I don't care about us so much. It's just the...

D: It's just ...God!...fuck!

B: You know who I feel sorry for?

D: Who?

B: The audience...

D: Yeah...

B: ...you know, the audience sees the product, but the product just isn't there.

D: Shit, he's turning around again.

B: Again? so predictable.

D: God. That's so arrogant. Face the audience, asshole! Get off my Kick. It can't support you, fatass.

B: Okay, here comes the chorus:

SLOW RI -I-IDE!!!

Top Five from Mexico

2006-05-29T00:04:00.000-04:00

Guacamole. I thought it was a delicacy (you always have to request it here, so that's a delicacy, right?), but no, they eat this ludicrous shit on everything. And it's spicy.
I felt tall. Seriously.
Seedless watermelons with lime juice on them (Jesus God, that is good.)
On the plane ride down, I noticed an American Airlines magazine article entitled "When Bad Bosses Happen to Good People: Innocent Sufferers of Micromanagement." It didn't look interesting to read, so I didn't, but I felt severely micromanaged during the whole project. There's nothing like an 18 year old homeschool girl who thinks she has to assert that she does indeed know how to apply caulk into cracks better than you do.
An 18-year-old Mexican Beauty played with my heart...and played my guitar too. I showed her how to play "Stairway to Heaven"(kinda) and was worried that, well, does this have to do with illicit drugs? No, it's just poetic, right? Ehn...duh, dum, dumdu d..."there's a lady...if there's a bustle 'long your hedgerow its just a sprinkling for the vain queen," fuck. I dunno. She liked it.

An ambitious man up to a point

2006-05-28T00:51:00.000-04:00

I spent a great deal of time in Mexico doing the following:

Labor (w/ music on constantly to block out annoying fellow workers, which helped me hold my tongue and peace)

Reading

Recording five new demos to round out my album

Look, you're just going to have to wait til the end of the summer...not that you're all dying out there waiting to hear this. But I'm still very excited about this project and creatively I feel very good right now. I've had a lot of hang-ups (stylistic, thematic, etc.) in the past, but I'm gradually breaking free musically.

Lyrics are the weak point thus far: 1 part failed-romance confessional + 1 part sentimentality about childhood innocence seems too...immature at this point. So what I'm looking to do is to abstract some of my story telling a little more, maybe touch on some more religious things...which is always a task because I tend to be a heavy-handed person on some of those topics (see last post). But we'll see. I really don't know what I'm going to mess with yet...or if I really have it in me to write a whole lot more.

I go into the studio for my first meeting with the engineer/producer on Tuesday.

Danielson Ships

Gripes 3.0 - The Evangelical Factor

2006-05-26T10:33:00.000-04:00

New look, new gripes...this one is themed.

Top ten gripes with Evangelicals...these should pretty much explain themselves. Just keep in mind that this was how I was raised. Fresh in my mind, back from a trip into Mexico with a bunch of them. These are from a serious Christian...not intended to be deep. Just some thoughts.

1. "Popcorn Prayer." Have you heard of this? Have you done it? I have...or tried. It's where everybody in the group prays in no specific order with no limits to how many times they say something or how long they say it. There is this tendency to get interrupted...

Me: "I uh...
Ev: "IjustthankyouGodsomuchforallowingustobeheretoday..."
Me: *fuck*

2. "I may miss the mark, but..." This is what happens when a good Christian (not living in sin) "sins" at a frequency of two, maybe three, but no more than four times a month.

3. "Strongholds." no explanation needed.

4. "How's your walk?" Dave covered this, but it bothers me too.

5. "Living in sin." Some people aren't sinning/don't sin, apparently...the straight people, that is.

6. "Relying on God/Turing it over to God." Too vague, too obtuse...how do I "turn something over to God" or "rely on him"? No one has really been able to answer these questions, so why do people even talk about such asinine notions?

7. Youth group. Christian dating service.

8. "It's all about God." Fine, except when followed by statements such as "The worship didn't do anything for me today," or "the sermon really refreshed me this morning." Can't have it both ways.

9. Bibles. This is a three-parter. Get ready for it:

There is a certain kind of Bible in possession of a certain soon-to-be youth pastor. It is smaller, in horrible condition, old-school looking, tons of underlined text. He found it under a seat cushion while making out with his girlfriend after youthgroup.
Another kind, is the huge, stern, Amish black, genuine imitation cowhide bound Bibles...matches Cadillac Jesus bought him.
Greek/Hebrew study bibles in the possession of people who don't know or intend on learning either language. Strange, but these people are out there.

10. "Meeting people where they are." Not a bad thing necessarily (I did put it at ten didn't I?), but seems to be overused already and the meaning, like with all cliches, has been rent from the the phrase.

Gripes 1, Gripes 2

Currently listening to:

Want Ad

2006-05-08T21:50:00.000-04:00

Through a camera lense...faux velour backdrop...male, moderately overweight, 40-something appears in front of the camera with significant balding apparent:

Ahem *cough, cough*...this better be on...

*jiggles the camera - turns it off, then back on*

Okay, my names Ryan Leng...I'm uh...36 years old. I'm five-foot siii-nine. As you can tell, I used to be in really good shape. I like kids...well, I guess I don't like like kids. More of uh, you know, rot-their-teeth-out-with-candy irresponsible uncle type...you know, I'm fun...um...I think its important to be fun at this age. I mean, sure a lot of dads are responsible, but come on! that's been done before...I'm fun...did I say that? ...um, I was in a band...back in highschool...we uh, came in second at the Battle of the Bands...which was pretty good, considering the band that won was Nirvana. Nobigdeal or nothing. You'll be happy to know that I've completed 4 of 5 rehab programs...I am a professional soccer coach at the elementary school level. I pretty much like girls who pay attention to me when they're sober...that's a bonus...you know, scratch that...pretty much if you're still watching this tape, call me.

Sound board

2006-03-29T02:58:00.000-05:00

The guy who came up with this is truly brilliant.

Shake soundboard

Carl soundboard

And then Adult Swim had a very Dave Frank-esque set of bumps the other day. These aren't verbatim, but you'll get the idea.

We salute you, American Cowboy, and your violent nature

...of course, your ethos has a venerable past in American culture.

Take 17th century Puritan New England

If you showed your elbows, you were burned at the stake as a witch. On the other hand, if you wanted to club a native, no problem.

Fast forward to today.

Janet Jackson Superbowl nipple slip.

OUTRAGEOUS!

As for the 22 men on the field all trying to kill each other...

Approved.

That 70's Dad

2006-03-23T20:51:00.000-05:00

Wow. I'm off at college "finding myself," and, lo and behold, I have become my father. And look! PBR! I should have seen that coming.

Latest installment of the Beatnik Sessions

2006-03-11T01:32:00.000-05:00

"Just Give Me A Minute" UP NOW at my music site.

Gripes, Vol. 2

2006-03-07T23:42:00.000-05:00

So much anger, so little time. These have accrued since my last gripes post, and have become much angrier and serious.

1. When talking on the phone, she feels compelled to consistently tune out of the conversation to talk to her roommates, friends, etc. Please. Don't take advantage of me.

2. People who brag about how much they drink, how little they sleep, or how much time they spend working out and/or getting ready in the morning. They always sound all too pleased with themselves.

3. Busy-bodies. They usually run themselves ragged for purposes that seem all too trite to me (Which are all purposes, frankly. There is no lack of void. Everything is meaningless.)

4. Any person who frequently begins their blog post (often over a month old), "Well, I guess I should post on this thing. I'm so busy these days..." Also, anyone who blogs daily events almost exclusively. "I did well on my *insert esoteric math class here* test. Yay!"

5. Talking on the phone with someone while they are talking online with me. Related to Gripe 1. Not as flagrant, but still. Please. Give me a break.

6. Party-smokers. Beer and cigarettes are frankly uncomplimentary. And you suck! Don't half-ass a habit.

7. Wearers of pointy-toed stilettos, Ugg boots, flip-flops and shorts in the winter can all go to hell.

8. People who are in bands that "rock." Specifically, any band that relies on jumping around, making a lot of noise, and/or any other gimmick to mask the fact that their music is completely boring when stripped down and devoid of any character. Seriously. Emo, Screamo, et. al. are big problems. So you can spin your guitar and do stage dives? Sweet. Write some good lyrics for a change. Fuck, if I wanted to see athletics, I'd go to my sister's gymnastics meet.

9. Girls who say they can cut hair. Please. Stop. You suck.

10. People who wear NSYNC, Brittney Spears, and Backstreet Boys shirts. Just because you're twenty and you finally learned the definition of "irony" doesn't mean you can get away with that. Jackasses.

Currently listening to:

Myspace

2006-03-06T13:57:00.000-05:00

Read today's Boondocks first, then read.

So apparently, Myspace is being investigated by America's Most Wanted for facilitating the following:

- In February, a 14-year-old New Jersey girl was found dead in a dumpster after arranging a meeting with a stranger on MySpace.

- A 15-year-old California girl was abducted in December and found murdered in January. Her MySpace page included personal contact information and lots of activity.

- Hartford, Connecticut officials are investigating eight sexual assault cases after teenage girls met men on MySpace.

- In Lafayette, Louisiana four teen girls were sexually assaulted by a local pervert who found them on MySpace.

- In another Louisiana case a predator lay in wait for a teen girl in the parking lot of her place of employment, which he had found on her profile page.

Now, for the record, Myspace is pretty trashy. Lots of sex ads - whatever. And sure, sexual predators could possibly find a girl to prey upon in that system. But come on! Educate your children about these people. Parents are so skittish when it comes to talking frankly about sexual predators. They do horrible things to people, and I think too many kids are naive of these things. Educate your kids not to release their name and home address on the internet. In place of a name, how about a pseudonym - a handle, if you will. There is never a need to give out your full name and address and common sense makes that clear. Some people do want to be found. Myspace offers that feature for people who really aren't in danger of sexual predators (such as myself). Don't scapegoat Myspace for offering a way to distribute information. Sure, they're a bit trashy (Check out the rest of the internet and tell me it's any different.), but that does not imply causality in any of these tragedies. The problem seems to lie within parents and kids, and, frankly, a failure to understand the internet (which, isn't that hard, mind you) and to be aware of what their kids are doing. I'm not saying that it's easy being a parent, but it seems to be worth it to keep up with technology.

Listen, Bob. A gun is just a tool. No better and no worse than any other tool, a shovel – or an axe or a saddle or a stove or anything…a gun is as good – or as bad – as the man who carries it.

- from Jack Schaefer's Shane

Parents Weekend

2006-03-05T03:37:00.000-05:00

Do you ever go into a bathroom and see that someone was a retard and threw up and completely missed the toilet and when you got in there the next day, there was a ton of ants all around where the person threw up? That's what parents weekend is like here. They are like ants and you're thinking, where the hell did they all come from?

- Jonathan Dunn

Currently listening to:

I was a...

2006-02-21T23:27:00.000-05:00

Well, here's the latest creation upon first draft. I would like to add another verse, naturally, but I know you're interested in this Dan M:

I was a deep sigh
After a harvest
You were sarcastic
I took it the hardest

(musical interlude)

I was a fast ball
Brought to a standstill
You were a big deal
Down at the highschool

Just give me a minute
I'll come down to see you go
Man, don't look like that
I'll come down to see you go

(musical interlude)

I was the lead ball
Dragged in your chain gang
You were custodian
While I still got the hang...

(musical interlude)

I was a street curb
Watching a car crash
You were a thumbed nose
Not batting an eyelash

I'll save you a minute
I'll stay up here to see you go
Man, don't look like that
I'm watching from my window

Sponge

2006-02-16T03:31:00.000-05:00

Today I had a nervous breakdown. I thought it might be cathartic to record. So I re-tooled a song I wrote after A. dumped me. It occurred to me today that as bad as I felt today, I felt like that a lot last semester. So I guess I can appreciate what I wrote then a lot more in light of some stability in between panic attacks and depression. This song is the most emo thing I've done, so shove off if it bothers you so much. Here's the link. The Sponge

Also, if you're missing some of my other stuff, go here.

Chairman Ralph

2006-02-12T20:26:00.000-05:00

If he sang one of his songs, he sang them all. Each contained and was quite limited to the theme of Apathy. His songs had a smooth monotony to them. He accompanied himself in an utilitarian manner. Singing through a cheap mic. Dead chords on a cheap Yamaha guitar.

HAHAHA

His songs possessed a rhythmic consistency. "Lilting" sounds too delicate. It was bouncy, but bludgeoning at the same time. Melodically, there was....well...I'm not going to flatter the man...there was no melody; there was only spoken word, emphasizing where he stressed things guitar-wise.

As a casualty of the corporate world (particularly the advertising business), his lyrics dealt directly with the economy of a disenfranchised, over weight, middle-aged white man's mind, as was his luck to still be on the bottom of the proverbial totem pole. He maintained that the world (corporate shams and otherwise) didn't give a shit. Not that it owed it to him. No, he was way beyond that stage in the mosaic construction of his neuroses. (Yes, no enthusiastic shouts "Fuck The Man!" spat forth mid-song.)

He wasn't melodramatic. Don't get me wrong; he wasn't that funny either. His song, "Mission Statement," captured the absurdity of the corporate world best, tossing in "Natural male enhancements for Bob!" His wife...dear God...I could never forget how truly large this woman was. I suspect she weighed in excess of four hundred pounds (maybe five). He affectionately referred to her as the "Budgey Manager," and talked to her in the audience between most of his songs. He seemed to really love her. She seemed to be his reason, if you will.

Can I say that Chairman Ralph was a good musician? Was he somebody I wanted to be listening to, bored out of my mind, on a Saturday night? Was he changing the world? No, no, and no. But I think his music performed (inadvertently, I suspect) an uncanny act of mimesis on the subjects he dealt with. That is, if the world didn't give a shit, then he displayed the same sentiment in return. If the daily monotonous grind was all the world had to offer him, he was only going to offer the same doldrums musically. It wasn't good. But I had to ask myself, "If this was pretty sounding, would it really fit? If Jerry Bruckheimer shot a film in Hillsdale, would it really fit?"

So that was Chairman Ralph.

Imaginary convo:

Riley: So here's my song (presents lyrics).

Steve: Do you really feel like 'your heart will never love again'? It seems kind of maudlin.

Riley: I guess I don't really feel that way. I don't know why I wrote it like that.

Steve: Well, I mean, Johnny Cash never shot a man in Reno either.

Riley: He didn't?!

Steve: ....

Next Show

2006-02-10T02:34:00.000-05:00

Tonight. ~ 9 pm, snack bar, coffee and root beer floats (free, I think), and I'll be playing a little set. You'll find me teetering on the fence between New Weird America and my folk/country songs of previous fancies.

Could ya not stop?

2006-02-09T19:34:00.000-05:00

And hey there, little sexy pig, you made it with a man
And now you've got a little kid with hooves instead of hands
- Devendra

I wrote a little song for my 11-year-old sister yesterday. It came to me when I saw little Sophia Jackson darting around the church basement last Sunday, and I remembered watching my sister when she was that age. Now she's a burgeoning teenager with problems and it's really sad (although, it comes with other, different joys). She still has this innocence about her that I really hope she keeps forever.

"Can You Not Stop?"

Your eyes pierced through the afternoon
Searching reflections in balloons
And climbing steeples, burning buildings
Could you not stop?
Oh please don't stop.

I saw you shifting in your seat
Asking why the lambs do bleat
And seatbelt smiles halting bitter words
Could you not stop?
Oh please don't stop
Being young
Being young

Little you sleeping on my chest
With candies stuck to your Sunday best
Innocent trembles and sighs that kindle
Could you not stop?
Oh please don't stop
Being young
Being young

Currently listening to: Danielson Famile (and a rare castrato)

My future

2006-02-08T18:07:00.000-05:00

I'm getting a trim tomorrow. I was afraid the current stasis of my mane has become far too mullet-like. For now, I'm going to get a trim in the back and leave the rest for growing. So I will let out a last hooray for the surfer/beach bum, pizza-delivery boy look, before I surrender to my fate of receding hairlines and artful professor looks. (Noooo, I'm just a really young, hip professor!)

Danger Kart!

2006-02-06T20:25:00.000-05:00

Click pic for bigger and more accurate represntation.

Bringing Danger to a theater near you, this winter -- only this time, it's two men enter, no man go out, Rated R, starring Mel Gibson.

(The mouse mask/masthead is mine)

Okay, now I'm not even trying

2006-02-05T00:18:00.001-05:00

I made a fledgling attempt to sound like Jeff Tweedy, as I recorded Wilco's "Ashes of American Flags." If anyone is interested, I could send it to you. Email me. It's not going up anywhere.

People don't use the word "quixotic" enough. I know so many English majors who claim they've read Don Quixote, but no one seems to use that word. In Scrabble terms, that word could be collossal.

(and our non sequitor for this evening)

Bugles: other snacks are pointless!

Currently listening to:

Currently eating:

Salt, corn, lard...mmmm...corporate genius.

45 years ago

2006-02-03T11:03:00.000-05:00

On this day, forty-five years ago, Bob Dylan cut his first record, San Francisco Bay Blues. That was a good day.

Jacob and Joseph: Enacting Desire

2006-02-02T23:39:00.000-05:00

I was relating to Silliman a bit ago my recent interest in - wait for it - mimetic theory and the writings of René Girard. Basically, I'm tired of this Mickey Mouse approach I've taken to learning. Anyway, I'm beginning to grasp it on a conceptual level. This is the manifest destiny I've come to; namely, being interested in all this shit you guys (Sill., Luke, etc.) talk about, and not remaining blissfully ignorant all the time. So yes, bandwagon - or call it copy-cat if it suits you. Regardless, this is good stuff.

So I've undertaken Sacrificing Commentary, by Sandor (Sandy) Goodhart. The first chapter dealing in the Bible is his treatment of Joseph, Jacob and his brothers. In the interest of not paining myself with the task of putting this in my own words, here are some exerpts:

"Joseph recognizes, in short, that his father sees him as aristocratic, as special. Wanting to please his father (he is, we recall, seventeen years old), he begins acting the way his father thinks of him. He puts on his father's 'coat of many colors' as it were, he thinks of himself as special just as his father thinks of him, he mimes or imitates his father's view of him.

Thus we come to understand his giving 'evil report' to Jacob about his brothers. It is less important that we determine precisely what the brothers may or may not have done to deserve such report than that we recognize that the action of giving it is a mimetic appropriation on Joseph's part of his father's view of the situation. For his father indirectly has already given evil report of the brothers by favoring Joseph to begin with, and Joseph is simply enacting Jacob's desire in return. (emphasis mine)"

More on this pending better understanding.

So I'm beginning to understand this stuff. Anyway, on a broader scale, my reading and treatment of literature, etc. has losened, changed, whathaveyou. The movie, Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels revealed to me something interesting, for instance. You can look at that movie, and go "Gee, those guys are sweet. They got away with this in dumb luck." But consider that a comedy is only an inverted tragedy. Consider the real lesson in the movie: Don't screw around with high-stakes card-playing and crime lords with a penchant for terrible things, because you'll never get lucky enough in the end to survive it. The movie isn't (maybe isn't is too strong; how about, shouldn't be) a prescription for getting involved in the crime world. It's a prescription for staying out, because you'll likely wind up dead. And we aren't that cool.

From the desk of the arbiter of all things kickass

2006-01-31T23:47:00.000-05:00

MF DOOM!!!

Start Wearing Purple (the hell?!)

Just thought I'd let you know that Google video is sweet and I will no longer have a school and/or social life as I rehash 1996 with Bone Thugs N Harmony and Tupac videos.

And MF Doom is the greatest American poet since T. S. Elliot. There. I said it.

Smoothing out the wrinkles of our brains

2006-01-31T15:59:00.000-05:00

A little teaser for my essay on 4th purpose schooling. I have a painting that portrays this more accurately.

Yesterday's Boondocks was good. So is today's.

Dumbustachery, my weekend, and Nina Simone

2006-01-30T20:01:00.000-05:00

Nina Simone
Originally uploaded by hazmatrodriguez.

I shaved my beard off last night but in my laziness failed to shave my mustache. So I look sort of like my dad now, only with a shadow of my former beard. When people ask you if there is anything different about you, you ought to always respond by saying, "well, I finally talked to my doctor about Viagra."

In other news, Melanie was an excellent host, and I tried to keep up with her as much as possible. She's also the best waitress I have ever had and more strong and fearless than I ever imagined.

Gatto was brilliant and it was a great experience on the whole.

Currently listening to Nina Simone (or should I say, Dr. Nina Simone). Does anybody have any of her stuff? because I can't find that much on soulseek.

Preposterous? Probably

2006-01-26T11:26:00.000-05:00

To express my joy at having a working car, I present to you...videos!!!

Lightsabers vs. Blasters? I think we all know who's boss. But what's with the kid draggin the saber at the end? He set the lawn on fire.

French indie-rock. Everything looks cooler when you speed it up.

Subterranean Homesick Blues. Finally found it. One of my favorite songs. Note the break where old Dylan pontificates on words. Ooooh, aaaahhh.

Robot Soccer nuff said.

come back to me

2006-01-20T16:19:00.000-05:00

come back to me
Originally uploaded by hazmatrodriguez.

Matt on the vox, me on the banjo.

So I went out of my mind...and...?

2006-01-20T00:44:00.000-05:00

"Feed My Lambs" is up. I went pretty crazy with the vocals. Had a little fun anyway. Took me five hours or so, when I probably should have been scanning some dactylic hexameter.

The song is about my grandmother's experience growing up near Edmonton, Alberta. She grew up on an Indian reservation there, and she went to this Catholic school at a mission or something on the reservation. Anyway, the story is there in the song, but I guess I'll explain it clearly. It takes place during the great depression. They got this much-needed shipment of meat in on a Thursday night which was for the poor on the reservation (which was everybody, really). But it was Lent, and they couldn't eat it the next day. Since they didn't, it went bad by Saturday. The between-the-lines part is that was a major turning point for my grandmother, and she fell away from the faith.

To avoid confusion, I guess I'd like to point out that I believe Lent is a very important practice in the church. I support it wholeheartedly, and I don't want the high-church folk who read this to think otherwise. The song seems a bit scathing, so that's why I'm sort of fleshing this out a bit. My song sort of deals with the same issue as Matthew 12:1-8.

In other news, my car is getting repaired starting tomorrow. Damage costs: $1600

Damage report

2006-01-16T12:26:00.000-05:00

The house looms over us all. I came home and the piles of shit everywhere are insurmountable. The house is a wreck, and Silliman had it clean before winter gathering. Anyway, I moved into Lee's old room, cleaned it, and put my stuff away. I stole the loveseat from the living room and made it my own. There is a cable hookup in the room. Bonus. There is a funk in the room. Not a bonus. There is tons of room in the room. Bonus.

New broom (whoever broke it, this is your conscience speaking: Pay the goddamn money!): $6.12
Light bulbs, 32 of: $6.92
Toilet bowl brushes, 2 of: $4.56
Assorted cleaners: $5.78

The kitchen is clean...now...except for the floor, which is horrible. And somebody peed on the barroom floor (and by somebody, I mean Will).

Registration completed. Books bought ($290? w. t. fuck?). Jobs sought (might get the mailroom).

Books I'll be reading for Lit. of the American West (I know some were speculating about this one...um...no Steinbeck?):

Shane by Jack Schaefer
A River Runs Through It (and other stories) by Norman MacLean
Desert Solitaire by Edward Abbey
Tracks by Louise Erdrich
Angel of Repose by Wallace Stegner
The Professor's House by Willa Cather
The Land of Little Rain by Mary Austin
Riprap and Cold Mountain Poems by Gary Snyder
and The Literary West anthology

My other lit class is pretty standard fare. There's the update.

Currently listening to:

Kid Rock scores big with the 'rents

2006-01-13T17:00:00.000-05:00

So I was watching this hockey game the other day - Red Wings vs. Nashville - and during the intermission, Kid Rock shows up. Of all people. And my parents are in there watching, and I guess I thought maybe it'd be a little awkward. True to form, Kid Rock is wasted when they interview him. He was pretty hilarious though...

"Did you ever play hockey when you were a kid? I mean, you're from Detroit."

"Yeah man, we kids would get together and put on our hats and mitts and figure skates and shoot pucks at each other. It was lots of fun."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah man, we were poor, though. We couldn't afford haaawwkeee skates."

"So are you enjoying the game, Mr. Rock?"

"Oh yeah, definitely, man! But you know what? They need to bring Stroh's back! Remember Stroh's?" (Gulps the rest of what was a giant glass of beer).

...my parents couldn't stop laughing. And I kept wondering, didn't he grab his crotch at the Superbowl when...you know, Janet Jackson did her thing? Or am I thinking about Michael Jackson grabbing his crotch several superbowls ago when he was slightly less weird?

Anyway, speaking of dirty old men, I was thinking of covering that Kennedy song...you know, nobody loves you, like your momma loves you, but who's lovin your momma? I am, I am! Maybe at parties...I don't want to wreck my bleary-eyed, downer, take-yourself-too-seriously stage persona that has done so well for me.

Currently listening to:

so....

2006-01-11T23:24:00.000-05:00

Lunita is done.

Poll:

Album titles. Tell me what you think.

The Stories Mustn't Be Told (pathetic attempt at irony)
Did You See The Light Through The Smoke? (ehn...)
Songs from the Beat, or, Songs to Smoke to

Other ideas are more than welcome...I'm at a loss really.

Wild Hoses

2006-01-11T16:41:00.000-05:00

Currently listening to:

Band of Horses
Everything All The Time

This album is unreleased (I guess it comes out in March), but if any of you want to listen to it, I have it. It's sort of a mix of My Morning Jacket ... and...I don't know what else. They have a unique style.

In other events, I updated "Life After..." with some compression and a new vocal track. Not sure about the vocals, but see what you think...

phase out

2006-01-10T12:22:00.000-05:00

I'm gradually fading out the name Grey Byrd and replacing it with my own name. I found a nice site to host my songs. Go here.

Currently listening to

Ryan 2 - Tech 1

2006-01-09T23:03:00.000-05:00

Recorded "Rabbit Byrd" today. It was a fight. Tried a new vocal style, which I am somewhat pleased with. Sort of nasally, Devendra-ish. Furthermore, I dealt blow after blow to the dumbassery that is my computer recording program. I chastised it by deleting its built-in compressor, and installed a newer, better, easier-to-use compression plug-in. The outcome was much more satisfying. In the end, the track sounds a little quiet still, but getting better. Also, I'm not sure if myspace is going to get off its ass and accept the upload. I tried it twice. Anyway, check frequently for it shall be up any moment if it isn't already: Ryan's Songs

"When your arms learn to breathe, they stick to your sleeve
When your sleeves learn to walk, your legs learn to leave
When your leaves learn to stay, your legs run away"

- Devendra Banhart "Onward The Indian"

The sweetness factor

2006-01-09T15:26:00.000-05:00

It was good to hear that Silliman has both found a job and gotten a loan from his grandmother. Maybe he's found his drivers license too. Just wanted to announce that sweet things do happen in this world. Sometimes. But mostly things are just meaningless and absurd...in case you forgot.

Ambitions

2006-01-07T01:38:00.000-05:00

For the remainder of the break:

1. Wake up before 2 pm.
2. Finish two songs
3. Record them
4. Record everything else that cuts the mustard
5. Eat less salt

For the remainder of the year:

1. Not suck in school
2. Make $
3. Save $
4. Write more songs
5. Record more songs

For the remainder of my life:

1. Make an album with my lover (whomever that may be) of songs that are little love letters to each other. They'll all be short and gooey and would fit on a post-it note even with moderately-sized hand-writing. Doesn't that sound nice?

2. Learn to play piano

3. Learn to write well

4. Go on tour across the US to support an album. Perhaps while being a truck driver, I could arrange and stop and play shows here and there. I'd have to tear ass all over to get my shipments on time, but it could work. Or I could RV it up with future lover and a couple close friends, and do the tour that way. Either way, I want to do it. I hope I can do it. I want to see all those towns - Tupelo, Boise, Butte, Cheyenne - and see all the country in between them.

5. I suppose ambitions 1 and 4 here require a record deal...so I'll put that at five. Five is a good place. Shows that I'm not too urgent to sell out to The Man, but that I consider it necessary to feed my family.

Currently listening to:

Caught up in the sticky juices of amore

2006-01-06T02:12:00.000-05:00

Jerry: So I dunno, she's like, "Move your skulls to the basement 'cause I got these drapes." I don't even get that. I'm like "Honey, this is work." I can't...

Mr. Sticks: Are you serious?

Jerry: Yeah, I can't put 'em in the f"%*ing basement. I mean...

Mr. Sticks: No... No...

Jerry: And she's like, "Y'know, could you put a tarp over 'em also?"

Mr. Sticks: Oh, no way...

Jerry: And I just felt like, "No... I'm not... shit, damn it!"

Mr. Sticks: I got one at home just like it, man. Yeah, and I got a kid now and so...

Jerry: Oh, that's a whole other set of bullshit, I'm sure.

Mr. Sticks: Right, so Cathy puts the coats up right next to my preserved brain collection, and she wants me to move 'em because she thinks it's not hygenic.

Jerry: I don't understand how there's such a lack of appreciation for that backlight coming through the glass of the jars that the brains are in, and...it just looks cool.

Mr. Sticks: You've seen that?

Jerry: Why move it? That's the point of putting it next to the window! I'm sure you've explained that to Cathy, but she honestly doesn't get it.

Mr. Sticks: Right, because it's... Yeah... But there's no, y'know... I can't even argue with it.

Jerry: Ugh, f$%*ing ridiculous.

Mr. Sticks: So that's why I move to it...

(sees Shake)

Mr. Sticks: Hey isn't that that guy?

Shake: So what's with the toilet seat, right?

Jerry: OHH WHAT THE F@&%!!!

(picks up his axe)

Shake: JERRY, NO WE'RE COOL!!!

So...yeah, in other news...

new pictures up here.

Currently listening to:

Day to day songwriting vomit

2006-01-03T15:45:00.000-05:00

You know that song Amanda wrote the lyrics to, and I arranged into some music? Well, she asked me to not record it a couple months ago. But I think I'm going to use some of the tune for whatever this turns out to be. Lord, give me a chorus for these verses, which are nearing rigamarole status.

George spent his life like
he was being chased by a bull
They say the Lord saw to it
his mistakes were paid in full

He kept his hand on a bottle
His shotgun on the shelf
Half of what a man should be
And always faithful to himself

In a bar outside of town
On a rainy April night
He beat up another man
Within an inch of his life

And he fell into the custody
Of ol’ deputy McClain
And he fell to chippin’ rocks
For the county's chain gang

After three years or so
They had to cut him loose
He left with his things
on his back like a papoose

By and by the next day
He wandered into town
Saw a few people he knew
But they all seemed to frown

A man called him over
Asked to shine his shoes
“You gotta polish the backs of em
‘less you wanna look uncouth.”

...

New Years Show

2006-01-01T18:29:00.000-05:00

I played a show last night. It went pretty well, and I felt pretty good about it for the most part. It was at our church coffee house. That was fine by me, except there were some pretty different expectations. I guess the organizer of the event thought that I was "background music." Well, you know me...

Anyway, a bunch of people were there at first. But they scheduled a dance-dance revolution tournament during my show in the other room. Half the people left, but that still left a good audience of 35 or so. I was continually asked to keep turning the volume down. So that messed up the good sound levels we had going on. Ultimately, the show went fine. Definitely felt like one of our best shows.

1. Reconcilliation (maiden voyage)
2. Falling (after face-lift from hell)
3. Rabbit Byrd (maiden voyage)
4. Dear Sister
5. Moon River (took a cue from Dan Miloch on this one)
6. Life After...

Matt's set

7. Come Back To Me (Me on banjo)
8. Burn These Hills
9. Bleeding Red, White and Blue

10. Lunita (me on banjo/voice, Matt on guitar/bgvs)

That's one song in the bank. Next song!

2005-12-27T16:03:00.000-05:00

The struggle against recording technology resumed today.

"Life After..." is up at my music site complete with banjo and finger snaps.

Hope you like it. I really need a recording engineer, because everything sounds like a mess. So I'm constantly putting the enclitic, paranthetical "demo" in every song title. "I know it's rough...I mean...I just threw it together really." Pft...I worked my ass off to get it to sound like that.

Top 10 records I listened to this year

2005-12-25T21:28:00.000-05:00

In chronological order.

1. Car Wheels On A Gravel Road - Lucinda Williams
2. Cold Roses - Ryan Adams and The Cardinals
3. Time (The Revelator) - Gillian Welch
4. The Woman King - Iron & Wine
5. Happenstance - Rachael Yamagata
6. You Forgot It In People - Broken Social Scene
7. Jacksonville City Nights - Ryan Adams and The Cardinals
8. Come On, Feel The Illinoise! - Sufjan Stevens
9. In Case We Die - Architecture In Helsinki
10. Speak For Yourself - Imogen Heap

Hockey, etc.

2005-12-24T15:51:00.000-05:00

Christmas Eve. 6:31 pm. A few degrees colder and it'd be snowing. Instead, a steady drizzle is coming down and is patiently melting the snow into slush, slush into puddles.

If it were colder, I'd probably be out playing pond hockey with my father. Pond hockey was and is the only form of hockey I can bear really. So it works out well when it's about 22 degrees out and no recent snowfall. Maybe some sunlight to warm you, but mostly just grey usually. Hockey was really a touchy subject with me and my parents. I love the game, but hate mostly what I remember of playing it. At least on the pond I don't have any expectations really. Except to trudge out into snow drifts looking for stray pucks (a difficult task, but rewarding with practice).

I don't know why I became distasteful of the sport. My father finds his solace from the everyday in it. Not that his life is particularly bad. Not that he truly needs it in any definition of needs. He thinks he needs it, and that goes a long way to elevating a passtime into something as elemental as breathing. He told me one day that if, hypothetically, he were to lose the mobility of his legs, he'd likely want to kill himself. That's understandable, I guess, though a bit dramatic for even my sensibilities. I don't think I'll ever understand the sport the way he does, though.

When I was twelve or thirteen, I was a great player, comparatively speaking. I had hit puberty a couple years sooner than most of my peers. So I had no trouble dominating for a while. It was probably the most gratifying time in my hockey career.

I was a smart player. I knew how to dominate players I had no business dominating. The execution of artistic passing, stick-handling, etc. - these were the mediums in which I worked and enjoyed. I could think ahead - know what the other player would do. I probably never realized my full potential in that time, however. I thrived on the communal aspect of the game. I always wanted other players to succeed as well. I would skate circles around each of the five opponents, up and down the ice, maybe twice, then dish the puck off to the weakest player on my team (largely to no avail). I'm sure my father looked on incredulously at the sheer talent and ingenuity that I possessed to beat every player on the opposing team, and my subsequent idiocy of giving the puck to an asthmatic, four-eyed chunk of baby fat, sure to be overcome in 2 seconds, tops. Who knows why I did things like that. It drove people crazy.

Sooner or later, I found I was no longer bigger than the other players. In fact, I was significantly smaller. I was 5'6" at 11, and I'm still 5'6" at 20. I tried to adapt to a more physical, less inventive, and less romantic game. I spent most shifts on my ass after being run over by 6'1" trucks. I would have feared those types more if they lacked braces and tubes of Oxy-10 in their back pockets. I gradually became less successful on the ice, and ultimately ended up a third line right-winger (with a left hand shot, no less). My job changed from scoring and being impressive, to chipping, hacking, grinding, bludgeoning and generally keeping the other team from scoring too much.

By this point, I lost most of my love of hockey. It was a different game entirely. Instead of relying on brains (or whatever you call what we thought we had), we relied on brute force and intimidation. As you can imagine, I wasn't very intimidating. So it went. I began loathing the game. Loathing it because of imminent injury. Loathing it because of parents and friends who remembered my glory days of artistic and cerebral domination, and who thought I was now a hack. I justified. At least I was getting exercise.

Practices were like bootcamp after awhile. We had all kinds of names for the drills. Suicides. Meat Grinders. Tunnel of Love. (That was a big fucking misnomer.) Yes. The Tunnel of Love I remember well. In practice, every player would line up single file along the boards, standing about six feet away. And you'd skate through the little corridor they'd created, getting blasted with body-checks by each player. Of course, this was a fun drill. Seriously. It was. You only had to go through once. And afterwards, you got to take a crack at every guy who hit you. It wasn't that bad really. It hurt. But not that much.

What I really couldn't take was the seriousness of the whole thing. We lost to our cross-town rivals one day. I dunno. I think it was 4-2. We were admittedly flat that game, I guess. We were a better team, but only a little better. So the rivalry was quite alive. Nevertheless, our coach was furious. The next day at practice, he came in, stony-eye'd and calmly ferocious. At first he didn't say anything. He dragged the bucket of pucks into the center of the locker room and dumped them out onto the floor. "If you need to puke, bucket's gonna be at center ice." Players groaned, spit, cussed. They took off superflous pads. They knew they wouldn't be needing them. This was a skating practice. Skating laps as fast as you could for an hour and fifteen minutes without breaks or water. Whatever you didn't sweat out, you puked out. Again! Again! Again! Just like Herb Brooks in Miracle. I remember some player collapsed from exaustion in the corner. Coach skated over, and - I swear I'm not kidding - he kicked him right in the stomach with his skate like, three times. "Get up, lardass!" He turned to the rest of us, mouths agape. "You guys are all heartless! Gutless!" Blah, blah, blah. All the same sports clichés. Pft. He even told us once, "If you lose this game, you're going to take it to your fucking grave." Another Herb Brooks line, no doubt.

I think we beat that same team the next time we played them. It was a blowout. 8-2. I dunno. Fights broke out towards the end. Players trying to keep what little dignity they had left by trying to kick your ass in fisticuffs. Whatever.

I miss the game. Of course I do. I miss when it was fun and I was good at it. I miss being in shape. I miss scoring and winning. What happened? I'm a musician most of the time now. A student otherwise. I keep playing my guitar. My dad keeps playing hockey. Both escapes, I guess. Probably keep doing both until we die.

Thought this was cool looking, though not germane at all. It's on my door.

Vic Chesnutt

Progress so far

2005-12-22T16:42:00.000-05:00

"Rabbit Byrd"

Magnolia trees
Swaying in the Magnolia breeze
Blowing underneath your door
Grasping your chest
Grasping for breath
When the dirty rice hit the floor

Traffic lights hang
Swaying in the Magnolia breeze
Taking their time to turn green
Standing by your casket
You still looked alive
With your collar starched and clean

You never said harsh words
to anyone or anything
And you'd hear out every last complaint
And your wife you know
you didn't treat her like a lady
You know you treated her just like a saint

Quickly and quietly you left us alone
with a longing that only always grows
And if I could learn to love half as you did
I'd do the world good enough, I suppose

Currently listening to:

Recording, Day 1

2005-12-16T11:50:00.000-05:00

I fixed my guitar up some, put some new strings on it. Felt pretty good. Then broke the little bit of fingernail I'd built up. Started recording "Life After..." and it sounded nice. Three tracks: guitar, voice, and finger-snaps. It all worked so brilliantly...until, surprise cockfag! it won't mix down for you and you are left with each track individually exported, not mixed together like it's supposed to be. This program is not very user-friendly. Recording temporarily suspended until I can find something that doesn't suck in a big way.

Edit:

Mark came over and made my program work within 30 seconds. I feel like such a retard.

In other news, I think I'm getting a banjo for Christmas:

Currently listening to:

What Ever Happened to TFNM?

2005-12-06T21:48:00.000-05:00

I've always wanted to do this. It's like I'm answering fanmail.

Is TFNM still playing? jw...

- Big Mike, The Cartunes

No. Bax and Lackey are off at Michigan Tech, ten hours away from anywhere. Last I heard, they were making noises about a ska band. Lackey's family moved to Chi-town last year, but he still bums around Midland quite a bit. Mark has a woman and three jobs. He is also working here and there on his own solo project, "Z3R0." He's a great sampler and a burgeoning guitarist. Bax and Mark will probably play on my solo album, being as they are the best rhythm section I know. Matt's at CMU, planning his own solo project "Miles From Nazareth." We still get together and collaborate sometimes. All of us still keep in touch and are good friends. Bax and Lackey are committed to putting together the collective recordings of TFNM. I'm not aware of their progress, but I'm sure they'll do a good job with what they have.

Currently listening to:

This week in absurdities

2005-12-06T09:59:00.001-05:00

I think I have bronchitis. My coughs are becoming increasingly catastrophic. Furthermore, I just now realized that Silliman and I have been using the same toothbrush for quite some time now. Full tracklist for recording is more or less decided on. I'm taking a nap.

1. The Last (song about Amanda...but not really)
2. Lunita (song for the kitten the Ault's have)
3. Now And Then (for Matt and Jonathan and the little time we have together)
4. Dear Sister (for Kate and an apology for being a bad older brother)
5. Only October (song about leaving the ones you love. Past: Grandfather died Present: Away from my immediate family; Future: missing wife and kids)
6. Life After...(song about being a ghost and looking on your lover moving on)
7. Michael's Song (Boy I knew in elementary school who died of a brain tumor. Pain, redemption, etc.)
8. (untitled song about my grandmother losing her faith. She grew up on an indian reservation. There was a convent there and she went to school at that convent. Late one Thursday night, a shipment of meat came in. If they didn't eat it on Friday, the meat would go bad. But it was lent. But it was also the great depression. She couldn't understand why a religion would put that before physical needs.)
9. (untitled song for my 2nd cousin Sherman, who just went through a divorce)
10. (untitled for Grandfather, who never said a bad word about anyone or anything)
11. VanCroft Steel (Story of how this VanCroft guy paid off other businesses to go somewhere else besides McComb where my mother grew up. the city is dead now.)
12. Poor Bastards I Never Knew (Song about how the best of times have past, but have they really?)

Currently listening to:

Pukesgiving

2005-11-24T16:36:00.000-05:00

Between battling a nic fit and eating Thanksgiving at the country club, I was in a comparably sour mood today. I tried to hide my knee-jerk reactions to these morally depraved events as best as I could, but I undoubtedly came off as an ass.

What do I have to be thankful for? The fact that tomorrow we're having our own home-cooked Thanksgiving apart from that bourgeoise six figure club. God, that was uncomfortable.

Album update, installment 2

2005-11-24T01:45:00.000-05:00

I wrote this today and I think I have some music. It's all part of my concerted effort to leave behind vague, teen angst masquerading as important issues. Melody is still in the works. Lyrically, this is set as a theme, but lines and words are elastic at this point. Please! comment and make suggestions. Those of you whom I respect (you know who you are). This was written for the sake of a theme. No chorus, 'cept the sha la la la's. And honestly, that is a lazy thing for me to do. But it is kind of haunting. I dunno. I tried to get inside of someone else's head.

(untitled)

I only always ever had slush in my shoes
Waiting at the altar for her to arrive
Hesitating to be so committed to you
I know your father did with you at his side

sha la la la

I remember I held his tiny head and hands
At night as he fell asleep on my chest
Raisins and candies tucked in his pants
did I know how much I was blest?

sha la la la

She and I used to love eachother once
I used to miss work just to feel her touch
Now I only see you every other month
The judge, she says I drink too much

Anyway, if this song comes out well, I'll put it on the new album.

So far, the songs I want to record are as follows.

1. The Last (incomplete)
2. Michael
3. Lunita (not sure)
4. Dear Sister
5. (Song about my grandfather's death)
6. (This new one)
7. Only October
8. Now and Then (Friends)
9. (Ghost Song, fka "Samuel")

The thing I might do is sort of chronicle my life and then my potential life.
Currently listening to:

Apophatic Theology Cradled in an Airsoft-Psycho Nightmare

2005-11-22T23:11:00.000-05:00

After being raised essentially a pacifist (my mother not allowing even so much as a squirt gun in the house), I inevitably will find myself in a rain of airsoft pellets at least twice a week for the rest of the semester.

I'm back home, and curiously enough there is a squirt gun on our deck. Meaningless and absurd.

Waiting for me on my desk at home is a flip book of 36 little cheques labled "Great Lakes Educational Loan Service." Oh yeah. I owe someone $1500 from two years ago. Meaningless! and absurd.

Jackson's class was interesting today. We're reading The Cloud of Unknowing. Looks boring at first, but some of it actually describes (more articulately) what I've felt all along, when people tell me that I need to "know God." Here are some of my notes (the discussion was far more dense and I don't know if these few little things will spark any interest on here.):

God is all-consuming, yet inexaustible. Burning bush. Dark cloud.

God is generally equated to light, clarity. In Exodus, Moses sees two things:
1. Burning bush, which is a pre-figuration of God and
2. eventually only sees God's back, walking away and God as a dark cloud (God as the unknowable).

True humility involves the act of being humiliated as Christ was.

St. Denis said, "The godliest knowledge of God is that which is known through ignorance."

Friends/Enemies are not categorical questions. You have neither. There is one kind, namely, the human race.

To correct someone, that is to say, to try to rid someone else of sin and replace it with good character, is the work of the devil. Those who try to do this in someone else are assuming a role only God himself can fulfill. Thus, someone who seeks to do this does not spew forth good, but rather evil. It is prideful, and in a sense, idolatry in that those who seek to correct someone make it their sole purpose in life. (Though this is a good point, this is hard for me to reconcile completely with some scripture.)

Somehow, this makes me think of that Dylan song. You know, where the father let's him (dylan, I assume) stay the night if he stays away from his daughter and milks the cows. But he doesn't want to do any of that (Not even sleep with Rita, who looked like she stepped out of La Dolce Vita? WTF!), so he shouts out to the farmer that he likes Fidel Castro and his beard. So the farmer chases him out with his shotgun...shouting that he's an un-American bastard...threatening to go to the FBI, etc.

...No, wait, that's me daydreaming of how I'd get away from Lee and his airsoft arsenal (sonovabitch!) Meaningless...and absurd.

Currently listening to:
In Case We Die
by Architecture in Helsinki

Coffins dropping in the street like balloons made out of lead

2005-11-19T21:26:00.000-05:00

Picking at my finger nails, shuffling around
and wondering why wisdom is always so simple
and why we're all cast down to the ground
Like the money Jesus cleared from the temple

And all the gals I used to know are so wary
To them, secret admirers have all turned to stalking
Look somebody in the eye, and man, you're scary
Ain't seen ya before, so no, I'll keep walking

So I stand over the graves
of poor bastards I never knew
Think of all those older, simpler times...

When you could make a fire in the rain
When you could smoke inside a bar
When your picture stayed in her frame
When you went far away to war...

...(rest of song pending a good direction) Maybe I'll talk about history and how it never gets better or worse really. How yesterday is just as messed up as today. I dunno. If you don't like the pimple, well, why don't you shove off if it bothers you so much.

Currently listening to:

Downsizing

2005-11-18T09:20:00.001-05:00

I think I'll be downsizing my collection of musical appurtenances this winter.

Fender tube amp - gone
Epiphone electric guitar - gone
Taylor big baby acoustic - gone
Digital delay - gone
Cheap epiphone student practice guitar - gone

I might even sell my Taylor 314ce. I'm not completely dissatisfied with it. But if I can sell all the crap listed above and sell my good Taylor, then I'll have enough money to buy a newer Taylor that is set up better, hasn't been smashed and re-polished on the butt, and has a good working pickup.

Anyway, considering this:

Or maybe this

Sessions! This is an outrage!

2005-11-17T21:40:00.000-05:00

Apparently, MTV is coming to the Annex tomorrow to interview the new mayor of Hillsdale, Michael Sessions. I dunno what time, but I'm going to be there. Probably practicing for my set. MTV is lame. But, well, I admit that I can get caught up in all that shit.

Currently listening to:

The Sweetness Factor

2005-11-16T15:34:00.000-05:00

I thought it wise to make a no-nonsense policy about what I put in posts. But this was too good.

Tom Waits... charismatic story-teller with a
penchant for freaky people and unusual
settings. You thrive on the concept of the
underdog coming out on top.

Which fucked-up genius composer are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

"Call no man happy til he dies. There's no milk at the bottom of the pail."

I left all my dreams and hopes buried under tobacco leaves

2005-11-14T23:04:00.000-05:00

Consider which would be better:

1. Tooth Fairy Racketeering

Put a tooth underneath a kid's pillow at night. Leave note on the door to his room, informing his parents that he has a missing tooth. They see the note and put money under the pillow. Then you sneak back into the room and steal the money, and the kid is none the wiser. (Southpark)

2. Scrabble Hustling

Pretty self explanatory. Bet a dollar for each point the winner scores over the loser.

In other news, I think I'm going to take advantage of Christmas break to record a whole album. Probably not going to do much more than guitar and voice. Maybe invite a violinist I know to play on a few tracks. Maybe do some piano and harmonica. If any of you have any opinions regarding the songs you think I should put on it, let me know. I might listen to your opinions. I'm not sure how much I believe in some of them. I have about sixteen songs. I'm going to try to cut half of them out. I'm not going to worry about a theme at this point. The songs I've written are as follows. Many will be left and forgotten.

(the ones toward the top are the ones I think are okay, the others are not so cool.)

The Last
Only October
Dear Sister
No Good Excuse
Ghost Song
Lunita
Bad Idea
Now And Then
Michael’s Song
Make It Through

Across The Border
Falling/Ascending
Blocked on AOL
Far Too Much
Break Even
Like a Brother

Currently listening to:
"Floater (Too Much To Ask)"

Words from the Yellow Brick Roaders

2005-11-13T01:42:00.000-05:00

And now, words of comfort from the best power pop band in the world:

"You've gotta be laid back, rock to obscurity/
Then you will surely see there's nothing wrong with me."

- Ozma, "Flight of The Bootymaster"

Currently listening to:

Post-Battle Pity Party

2005-11-12T10:50:00.000-05:00

Comments I received about last night:

Producer: "Maybe make songs more upbeat"

Music Teacher: "Nice jazz solo at the end, but not appropriate for a rock show."

Pop Expert (aka "dumb" Kappa): "Are songs original?! AWESOME!!!"

P: "Seems very in touch with contemporary folk. I kind of hear some Modest Mouse in there."

MT: "Tempo lagged in first song."

P.E: "2nd song captured the romantic in me. Definitely play it for the girls!"

P: "Strong voice, but band lacked cohesiveness"

MT: "Seemed to lose the crowd a bit"

P.E: "Are these your own lyrics? These are great! Wow!"

Well, so it goes. At one point, I knew something that I forgot. Band cohesiveness is the most sought after thing when it comes to producers and teachers. It displays a certain professional attitude to them. Not having a rhythmically solid band at a battle of the bands is kind of like rolling through a stop sign on your driving test. Your score plummets in light of other potentially redeeming qualities. And my scores certainly did that. It's frustrating. The drummer from the 1st place band said he wanted to lock John (my drummer) in a closet with drums and a metronome for two months. But I'm not going to scapegoat. Yes. John and I were off from each other. Either A. I was getting off, or B. He was getting off. Either way, I as the band leader should have been more serious coming in to this battle. I'm lazy when it comes to focusing on my own rhythm, let alone someone else's. I should have remembered that judges care far more about tightness than they do originality. They also came into the show distinctly feeling the show was ordained by God for a rock show. But the band that won was a Dave Matthews cover band (who were very tight). Juny, who came in second place, was even more mellow than I was. (But let's face it, Juny deserved a good nod. Dan is great.) Anyway, the set looked like this if you want to reference the comments:

1. Far Too Much (the last time I will play that...after singing it hundreds of times, it is rote and without feeling, vague, blah.)
2. Samuel
3. Lunita

But I'm through fellas. It's so frustrating playing these kinds of shows. As Silliman said, "People want to rage at these concerts. Your music calms them." I might try to play a show at the Annex coming up. So I'll let you know if I get something lined up.

Currently listening to:

New song

2005-11-10T18:04:00.000-05:00

New song. Matt got the ball rolling on this one and is responsible for about half the lyrics. I pretty much took it from there. It's kinda about being dead and gone and watching someone you loved. Like a ghost or something. The music is sort of old-timey. That's the best way I have to describe it. A little like "Po' Boy" by Bob Dylan.

"Samuel"

Skinny li'l gal
You're bundled up against the cold
And your lover draws near
For to rescue you and to hold

You wore your wedding dress
And you wore your ring at my funeral

Goddamn I feel like
dancing in the wind like a kite
But I also feel like laying
on the floor with you tonight

I keep planting all my roses in gravel
And naming all the books I'll never write
About you

I died on a Sunday afternoon
But I shoulda asked for your hand long ago
What was I thinking?

But you look so happy
hangin on his arm at his side
It's better this way
that our paths never did collide

So I'll float across empty lots
Keeping all of you that I caught
to myself

I gotta get back to the stage

2005-11-10T16:28:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow night, 9:07, I'll be playing at the Phi Mu Alpha/Pi Beta Phi Battle of the Bands. McNamara hall in Howard Music Building.

Midnight Special is my backing band. I'll be playing three songs.

Midnight Special will go on at 9:22 pm with their own set.

Hope to see you all there.

Currently listening to:

Candidate for the Beat?

2005-11-09T22:27:00.000-05:00

Hillsdale has a new mayor. He's 18 years old. Prospect for the Beat? Definitely.

Catharsis

2005-11-06T17:58:00.000-05:00

Deleted my xanga and several people from my buddy list yesterday in a Red Dog/pain-killer/cheese whiz accident. Felt kind of good.

Will Farnum has a music project in Japan.

Currently reading:
The Pearl

Tonight at the Annex

2005-11-04T02:04:00.000-05:00

I had been dieting for a week or so. But today couldn't be helped. I had to eat something bad. Starch. Grease. My spirit was no longer willing to deprive my body of these things. But there's a price. I was paying it on a Hillsdale Annex toilet bowl.

clump, clump, clump

Through the door I could hear that somebody had come in - probably Silliman.

clump, clump, creeeeak

There he stood, door gaping, looking in at me.

"Heyeea..." I greeted the intruder. He shut the door quickly.

"Why the hell didn't you lock the door?" S. shouted from behind the bathroom door.

"You live with me. You know this. You're lucky if I even shut the door." I wondered if the half-dozen people sitting around had seen me. They were sitting around a table just outside the door, playing dungeons and dragons or something. I calculated the space of door's opening, the time it was open, and visual trajectory like a scientist. A hunched over, groaning, scientist moving this massive deuce. I knew this is how people get hernias. Like 30 of Pharaoh's slaves pushing a massive cube of sandstone up a pyramid. Thousands of pounds - stone on stone, grinding - up hill. What colossal force! Absurd.

I emerged from the stall. S. seemed embarrassed. I never stop to think of other people's shame. I always assume that I'm the one who must justify my human-ness, and that other people were robots and basically programmed without feeling. But that's part of my submissive nature. The reality is, it's pretty embarrassing to walk in on a guy taking a dump. I probably only have to explain that to myself, not you. But S. would let it roll off his shoulder with a good, healthy shrug.

The Annex was modestly active tonight. I read some. I translated a few lines of Cicero (all I could stomach). I read more. Listened to music. Luke, Hugger, and S. proposed that we should call the Annex, the "Xanax." It was that kind of place. Every time I went there it was a retreat. It also seemed like a good idea to them to actually take some Xanax and go there one day. Get jacked up on coffee and play scrabble for twelve hours straight. I think I would just lay on the floor, turn the lights out and listen to lush, strange, earnest music, and imagine I-tunes visualizers on the ceilings. Blissful and awkward, like your first kiss in junior high, when your sense of the opposite sex is untainted. These are the times, I thought, that were at the pinnacles of our 20 odd years thus far. Simple. Archaic even. A rebellion against all the stiff, bloodthirsty days that lead up to it and follow after it.

An overly optimistic singer-songwriter (Jessie was his name) got up on stage and began playing. I had heard him before. Nothing special to speak of, other than he did write some songs (I think). His influences seemed a bit rote and typical to me. His voice, however, had a Joe Strummer meets Patterson Hood feel to it. He missed the pitch often, but his voice retained a sense of humility. That's a nuance that most people don't reach. That's why Cash was good. He gets way off during "A Boy Named Sue" at San Quentin. I think I'm one of a few who really noticed it. But who cares? I think my point's been made.

Jessie's wife was pregnant. She was sitting and walking intermittently. She walked like most pregnant women do. Back arched slightly. Feet spread a bit, waddling side-to-side as much as she moved forward. They were going to name the newborn Athena.

Jessie finished his set. Instead of getting off the stage, he proceeded to talk into the microphone. Talk to his wife. Talk to Annex Dan. Talk to whoever will listen. Man. There was only eight or nine, maybe ten of us in the whole place. You didn't need a microphone to be heard. And what is it about singer-songwriters who feel the need to talk in excess through a microphone. Obviously, the successful ones are paid to do this. Maybe this is a phenomenon I see in myself at band practice. I always talk into the mic. Probably because all my bandmates couldn't stop playing for a mere five seconds to listen to what I wanted them to do. So I just talked into the mic. But there was this other element. It was a way to be heard by more than just your bandmates. It was a way to be heard by everyone. Man, that is egotistical. But man, that feels good. So I had affection for Jessie. We share this.

A day above ground is a good day

2005-11-01T19:03:00.000-05:00

For Jen

We stood in front of your brother's grave
after a long day of intermittent rain
steeped to our ankles in mud and pale grass.
Probably stayed there for no more than five minutes
Time didn't suspend itself
Maybe it did for you when you heard about his accident

He'd been hit by a car - not killed
limbo for a time, hoping for recovery
Apparently that was not the Plan.

So it went. He was only a vegetable.
So they p u l l e d him a p a r t
from the tiny plastic hands
that were resuscitating him every second
while your family waited with salty eyes and rusted jaws

And I can't speak about what might have happened after that
It would be so fake
Fake like the flowers that still looked new
That were sitting by our partially submerged feet

So I offered a tear and a good thought
Tried to imagine death and afterlife,
but really only knowing life
Wondering what my death would one day
bring to my sisters - maybe nothing
Perhaps that was what broke me a little
And so I cried.

You loved your brother when you spoke of him
You went through those steps - denial, grief, eventual recovery
That damned process, which is undoubtedly just
a kludge to categorize our struggle with mortality and eternity
Apparently, it's true (contrived as it seems) -
Anodyne effects of time and events
multiplied by more time and events in two years since.

So you stood by me relaxed and comforting (a source for me)
maybe chilled, but only from the cold
wind of November

And when we left, you grabbed me suddenly
Pressed me close and
Kissed me hard, like it was the last one
you ever gave him.

Currently listening to:
Nothing But A Burning Light
by Bruce Cockburn

Tory Quotes, etc.

2005-10-30T21:47:00.000-05:00

I was quoted on Tory's blog. I feel so loved. And my internet is working.

I have a couple new tunes up. One has been up for awhile, but I haven't plugged it yet. The first one is "Dear Sister." The second is an alternate version of "Lunita" with Matt (of Miles from Nazareth) on BGV and lead guitar. It's a better version of that song. Here's the link.

These lists go to eleven...

2005-10-27T22:56:00.000-04:00

Dave had a good idea.

Favorite Records (meaning, albums that either A. changed how I thought about music in general, or B. have strong childhood memories/autobiographical significance, which namely are the Whiskeytown, Young, Cockburn, Mullins and the Lovett albums.) :

1. Heartbreaker - Ryan Adams
2. After The Goldrush - Neil Young
3. Bringing It All Back Home - Bob Dylan
4. Summerteeth - Wilco
5. Highway 61 Revisited - Bob Dylan
6. You Forgot It In People - Broken Social Scene
7. The Jesus Demos - Rich Mullins
8. I Love Everybody - Lyle Lovett
9. Faithless Street - Whiskeytown
10. Good News For People Who Love Bad News - Modest Mouse
11. Dancing in The Dragon's Jaws - Bruce Cockburn

Currently listening to:

Trees in Tanzania

2005-10-25T19:53:00.000-04:00

I have opinions. Not a lot, but I do have a few. However, I'm not particularly expressive of them (for a variety of reasons, not least of which is simply because I don't want to look stupid). Furthermore, I don't get excited about them that often. One thing that I'm particularly excited about, however, is a group called TIST. TIST stands for The International Small Group Tree Planting Program (I guess TISGTPP is cumbersome).

I found out about it a while ago, but didn't investigate it that much. Small groups of farmers in Tanzania (now spread to India, Uganda and Kenya) have begun planting trees in their native lands. Basically, they do this in answer to problem that over two thirds of the world is facing right now: Sustainable development.

These countries' landscapes are dry, hot and desolate. Moreover, the land has been abused. Trees have been cleared away and the soil has become infertile. The trees they plant provide them with shade and protection against wind. They help prevent erosion, which washes away fertile topsoil. Some types of trees even enrich the soil quality directly, while others provide fruits, nuts, animal food, timber, medicines, bee habitats, and even insecticides. In an economy based heavily upon agriculture, the benefits of these trees are enormous.

On top of all that, the farmers are able to cash in on CO2 credits, or GhG credits (Greenhouse Gas), to the UN and to private investors such as yourself. If you don't know how that works, that's okay. I'll explain it (but you probably should read more). CO2 gas exists naturally in our atmosphere. We emit it. Cars emit it, etc. This gas helps the earth retain its heat. The problem of global warming of course comes in here. There's too much of this gas in the atmosphere and we're heating up. The trees absorb this gas, and help restore a natural balance to the atmosphere.

So it's a pretty good deal for everyone involved. The farmers benefit on a multitude of levels. Not only are they able to make some money on the GhG credits, but they are already benefiting from a more productive land. I don't think I have to flesh out for you how this helps their many problems, but basically, this gets to the core of all of them. Hunger, economic development, AIDS - these problems are all helped. Plus, you get some shade and scenery that you didn't used to have.

I became acquainted with this movement via Jerry Martin, who was instrumental in helping it get off the ground a few years ago. This is one of the most positive things I've heard going on in Africa. I have high hopes for them.

Currently listening to:

Vultures

2005-10-25T01:51:00.000-04:00

So the current ritual at the Beat here is...well...it's not so much a ritual as it is the norm. Law & Order is on for like, three or four hours on Monday. Excessive? Surely you jest. Anyway, so this one case went down like this: Some dude steals some AIDS infected monkeys from an experiment lab. The monkeys get inoculated by this potential vaccine and then get infected with AIDS. Some die, some live. During the burglary one gets loose and bites one of the lab dudes. He dies. So the case turns into this big animal rights issue. The defense lawyer tries to convince the people that a monkey is entitled to the same rights as a human. And mind you! 150 years ago, African Americans weren't considered human beings before the law, so we must continue this progress of spreading around rights (uh...so Afro Americans are like...monkeys?) At any rate, the defense fails and the guy goes down for Man 2.

Okay. Cool. I love animals. I even dabbled in vegetarianism. Not at home of course (mmm, pot roast). But according to Silliman, even vegetables feel some semblance of pain. So we've got to either A. concede to causing pain to others to keep ourselves alive or B. only eat things that have died from natural causes (as in, "be a vulture," as he put it).

Cool words: (Be sure to check out the beatblog for the list of desciptives about the Beat.)

Skigility= skills + agility
Scrumdiddlyumptious = adj. meaning tasty or n. meaning one's nether regions
Trogdor!!! The Burninator
Pukesgiving = I haven't experienced this thankfully. Probably because I'm not vegan.
Boner = Middle English for "compassionate."
Horrorclaus = Santa after being burned by a giant egg monster.
El Soccerclaus = Santa after the elves graft soccer ball material in place of his previously charred skin.

Aqua Teen in T minus 69 minutes

Currently listening to:

Lovely People

2005-10-18T20:08:00.000-04:00

I have a new facebook friend named Ryan Leng. At first, I thought some mischievous youths were playing a trick on me. But he's a real dude. He's almost nineteen years old, in attendance at Arizona State University, and is from somewhere in Illinois. Who'd a-thought? He is (was) a hockey player too...I think.

So then I started investigating (via the Google search) all these people who are related to me. Some interesting findings ensued.

1. Jennifer Leng from Manchester, England (native to Lancashire). Age 21. Dancer, actress, producer. She likes Hockey.

2. Ron Leng is a retired professor of Nutritional Biochemistry at the University of New England. He was born in England. As near as I can tell, he's involved with the UN and such, developing research in the nutritional biochemistry of ruminants (whatever that is). He seems to share the same interests (Chemistry, Agriculture) as my own father, who also possesses the name, Ron Leng, who is caught up at Dow making herbicides and pesticides for a living.

3. Kathryn Leng is a smashing cricket player in England. I think it's all she does for a living! She's like, a fricking pro! Shares a name with my sister.

4. Kristina Leng plays hockey at Wayne State. I think she might be the sister of this other Ryan Leng out there. Note well: This is the third hockey interest. I don't even know these people. They don't know me. But they like hockey. Even one from England! They don't have hockey there!

5. Joanna Leng is involved in research and software development of visualization for UK academics. Not sure what that is. Also resides in Manchester.

6. Mary Leng is a research fellow in philosophy at Cambridge.

Well...those are the interesting ones. There are a lot of Sik Fu Lengs and Chen Wei Lengs. But sweet props for the Manchester folk, man! Joy Division/New Order, The Happy Mondays, Oasis, Badly Drawn Boy...represent! Anyway, I thought there were some interesting people I should mention. The only question remains is how closely related are they to me. I guess the Lengs all pretty much go back to Yorkshire and Durham ancestry. I do remember meeting some of my dad's cousins from England. That was fun. They were great people, not like those churlish sobs from Guy Ritchie's films. Also, Leng is derived from Lange, which in OE and ME means "long." I should know. I'm taking that class and just got out of it a little over an hour ago.

This would be a good place to insert the Leng Crest. But alas! I can't find one.

Currently listening to:

Things come alive or they fall flat

2005-10-12T23:07:00.000-04:00

This isn't by any means complete. I'm really unsure about the fourth verse. I'm really just spinning my wheels with it, and I don't know if it all fits together as a unit. If you're going to complain about the "my wife and kids" part, forget it. I won't listen to you, because songwriting doesn't have to be purely personal, and a lot of times, it's better if it isn't.

"Only October"

My mother used to come and watch me sing
About meadows, sparrows and greener things
I'd hit a bad note and I'd cuss
She'd fold her arms and her cheeks would blush
Blush the color of the roses that grew on her wedding day

She said I don't help progress this family
I asked "progress where?" She said "the next day."
I couldn't believe it. What do you say to that?
This is your portion and so you better not turn back
On the ones who kept you since the day you were born

And it's been too long
Just sitting on this sofa without you
And it's been so long
Flicking cards at a hat in my room
Too long
Too long
And it's only October

And my grandfather never said a harsh word
His voice was the calmest thing I ever heard
But most of time he never said that much
And he'd cup his hands like he was carrying a thrush
lighting his smokes while the Mississippi storms
rattled his patio

And I miss my wife and I miss my kids
Like quiting cold turkey when you still need your cigs
When I left my kin, I thought I could survive
Now the only comfort I can even find
Is in the humming of the wheels
that will bear me home again

Cause it's been too long
Just sitting on this sofa without you
And it's been so long
Flicking cards at a hat in my room
Too long
Too long
And it's only October

This next one is about a boy I knew in elementary school who died of a brain tumor. I visited him a couple weeks before died, and he was blind. He was also very happy, and I took great comfort in it. There's a garden planted in the front yard of his house in memorial to him. This song is very basic and I didn't want to get caught up in the process too much. I played it Saturday night, and it's only about a minute long.

"Michael's Song"

Enter in
Put your ear to my chest
Grace begins
for to put your fears to rest

And child you will be
next to me on this day
The pain you've been feeling
will never cross into eternity

Broken eyes
Blinding all of your steps
But d'you realize
That all creation wept

When the sky spit open
On a hill far away
The pain that I suffered
was good enough for eternity

We'll all fall into the ground
We'll all fall into the ground

I wish I wrote this:

"All I know is that I'm thrilled by your kiss,
I don't know any more than this.
Po' boy, pickin' up sticks,
Build you a house out of mortar and bricks."

-Bob Dylan

Currently listening to:

Gripes

2005-10-10T05:01:00.000-04:00

These have been accruing over the past couple of weeks.

1. Dry, comfortable, innocent and un-expecting socks stepping on wet floors.

2. The un-swallow-ability of herbal medication and vitamins and how they become lodged in your esophagus forcing you to dissolve their outer shell in another place besides your stomach, which is comfortably and naturally located far away from your tongue.

3. Cheese whiz = 10% cheese, 90% whiz

4. When the water running out of your faucet looks like you have a leak in your septic tank, which you fear may lie irrationally close to your water pipes

5. When faced with an undesirable task, some self-ordained leader in your group says "we have to do this..." when they really mean "you have to do this..."

6. Getting dumped for Jesus

7. The indeterminable spawning of grime and stink on even my most expensive sandals

8. My obsessive-compulsive attention to previous gripe

9. When my rolling papers don't stick and I have to start over

10. People who comment on blogs and the first thing they ask you is 'asl?'. It's like they are serial dating and can't take the time to write out 'age,' 'sex,' and 'location.' If they don't abbreviate it, they'll not meet as many potential cyber lovers.

Currently listening to:
Pneumonia
by Whiskeytown

Groupie

2005-10-09T19:04:00.000-04:00

After my show last night, I was greeted by an older, one-legged woman. She was sitting in a wheelchair towards the front. She snagged me and asked to give me a hug. "I just needed that hug today, dear."

We went outside, lit up a smoke, and she asked me how old I was.

"Twenty."
"And how old do you think I am?" she asked.
"Forty-six," (oh Ryan, you seducer among boys!)
"Ha! I wish I was that young," she replied, humoring my feeble yet polite, pseudo-flirtation.
"Well, how old are you?"
"I turned fifty-nine last month. But it's been a hard time lately. My boyfriend left me..."

She mumbled this part...not sure what she said.

"...and I told him to get the f*** out of my house. But now I really miss him. If you know anybody age 55-60, let me know!" (I got this part.)
"Well, forget it. Water under the bridge," I offered.
"You wanna come over and have some coffee?" (God Almighty)
"Nah, I gotta study tonight...and I've been sick, so I'm uh...only drinking tea."
"Yeah, I was sick. I had pneumonia three weeks ago. I wouldn't eat, drink - they had to take me to the hospital. I was such a crab you know." She continued in this manner for a few minutes.
"Well, I gotta go. You take care. And eat something. If I hear you don't, I'm coming over."
"Okay, hun. You too."

That was interesting, and a high point of an otherwise mediocre show.

Denim Dan

2005-10-07T20:18:00.000-04:00

Apparently, today is national "wear denim for breast cancer" day. They didn't get the memo that every Friday is "Mexican Tuxedo Friday." But it's cool. It works on both levels.

Ryan and The Sweet Hearts

2005-10-04T21:56:00.000-04:00

Ryan and The Sweet Hearts

Live and in Person

Hillsdale Annex
9 pm, Saturday, Oct. 8th

Bob Dylan, Ryan Adams, Wilco, Bright Eyes, Iron & Wine...all that hip shit.

New backing band for this show + me = Ryan and The Sweet Hearts.

The Sweet Hearts are:

Evan Moran - lead guitar noodler
Kyle Janke - bassmonster rex
John Dunn - the punisher

Hope to see y'all there.

Legal Highs and Epic Battles with Techonolgy

2005-10-02T16:32:00.000-04:00

Robitussin DXM, 1.5 bottles of
Salvia, three bowls of

Robitussin, despite its juvenile and pubescent nature, proved to be the more effective legal high for the normally subdued Edmund. I would say he reached the second plateau, but possibly ventured into the third plateau. He experienced a pleasant array of questions posed by certain tripsitters. He spent a great deal of time looking for his "passion of the christ" hat. I don't think he ever found it, despite making the adventuresome trek back to his dorm.

Huggs was dressed in a black ski mask, parading as a ninja. In a rage after a particularly lengthy keg-stand, he ninja-kicked a light fixture into obliteration. He picked up a replacement today, proving one can be responsible in his irresponsibility. Hugger = 1, Technology = 0

A new facebook profile is up for me. Me = 1, Technology = 0

I can't find the remote. I think I'm watching the anime S*cry*ed and it's aggravating me. But it's been on for a long time, but I still have not been able to lift myself to find the remote to change it. Me = 0, Technology = 1.

The fate of Ryan vs. the alarm clock will be decided tomorrow morning.

...signing off,

the 7th beatnik

Hackensack Dan

2005-09-30T20:50:00.000-04:00

Met a guy named Dan about a week or so ago. The braces on his teeth are the most conpicuous feature. But he dresses alright - you know, just off-centered a bit from normal that makes him decent, yet hard to peg. He's a freshman from New Jersey, and also singer/songwriter. When I heard him play, I was very impressed. He's not flashy or anything, but he is very smart and effective stylistically. His voice is sort of a bizarre, two-headed offspring of Jeff Tweedy (of Wilco, the Tupes) and David Gray. I didn't catch any of his lyrics, but if he pays attention to them as much as he does his melodies and jazz harmony (He claims to know nothing about such things. I remain dubious. He was pulling out 6ths, 7ths, 13ths, half-diminisheds, augmented chords I never would have thought to use, etc.), he's probably a pretty good lyricist too. He's a fan of Wilco, Dylan, Iron & Wine...those are the artists I know he knows. The search for a collaborative musician could be coming to a halt here. At least for now, he might back be up and vice versa.

In other related news, I think I'm going to play the Annex next weekend, either on Friday or Saturday. I'll put up signs.

Currently listening to
Iron & Wine and Calexico
In The Reins EP

As I walked out last evening...

2005-09-27T20:20:00.000-04:00

Last week, I bought some Teva sandals, which have been dubbed "neo-hippie environmentalist" sandals.

Last night I took a walk down to the gas station to pick up something caffeinated. I was just strolling along the side of the road, and these deer started to walk across down by the railroad tracks. I enjoyed the moment. A pickup turned from M-99 onto Fayette driving towards the deer. There wasn't much of anything I could do, so I paused and watched as the driver slammed on his brakes and skidded to a halt. The deer turned around and hopped off the road. The truck started to move, and through the roar of the engine and bar-throb bass, I heard "get outta the road, asshole!" At first, I thought he was talking to me. I hoped he was. I could handle this.

- Cool. I'll rise above that.
- The world owes me everything!
- You just need to relax, man.
- You should use the sidewalk, ASSHOLE!
- Fine, you win.

But then it occurred to me that the driver was actually yelling at the deer. The ridiculousness of it was staggering, but at the same time, I wasn't in his way. The deer was. I was shocked first, then angry. Why was he yelling at a deer? I wanted to catch the guy stopped at a traffic light. (I had it all planned out.) Open his door, yank him out a bit, slam the door on his soon-to-be-unconscious body dangling out of the seat, then throw his keys in the gutter. Maybe rip off his NRA sticker...I dunno. Probably wouldn't make a lot of difference. I should relax.

But how retarded! Do we really think a deer knows any better? It's almost like, I assume you can understand me - understand that my reprimand will affect a change in your moral fiber. Maybe I'm looking into this too much, in light of my discussion with Silliman about total-Creation redemption (or whatever it's called). But I think of all creation - deer, in this instance - in those terms. Not that a deer can morally aright himself, but that deer will be redeemed along with mankind at the end of it all. The consequence of such a believe leads to a form of Christian environmentalism I'm starting to adopt. More on this later.

Currently listening to:
Ryan Adams & The Cardinals
Jacksonville City Nights

Back to Blogger with a Vengeance

2005-09-26T01:50:00.000-04:00

On this day, I swore a RUMBLING OATH to never again post on xanga.

What to expect:

Any new lyrics I deem worthy of e-print
Show updates
Bad opinions
Worse commentaries
The interesting, serious, funny and questionable activities in my life

Don't count on:

Current playlists
Surveys
The "which *insert film character* are you"'s
Logs of daily events