Tuesday, February 28, 2006

L.A. Is My Woman

In honor of my writer's block and my move from Santa Monica to Los Angeles (15 miles but several worlds away), here's a poem from the recent past (i.e., 2003):

L.A. Is My Woman*
L.A. is my woman
Minneapolis is my girl
Virtue is my sturm und drang
Patience is my protest song

Sweden is my epilepsy
Egypt is my gout
Babylon is my sister
That's "Doctor" to you, Mister

One is so pretty
The other so witty
How can I choose?
I've got the blueprint blues

L.A. is my woman
Minneapolis is my girl
I love the smell of boogie nights
As I ascend Andromeda Heights

Dr. Germ is my nemesis
Chemical Ali is my evil twin
Satan is my neighbor
God my toothless sabre

One is so dirty
The other so flirty
How does one choose?
Oh I've got the blueprint blues

But then... architects have arguments
This is known to be true
Drafting boards are stained with the lack of consensus
Frank Lloyd Wright and I.M Pei have had their diff-er-ences
Have arguments

L.A. is my woman
Minneapolis is my girl
One loves the truth in beauty
The other the beauty in truth
To quote a certain song
They're both wrong

*thanks to Mark Eitzel (not Jim Morrison or Frank Sinatra) for the title

Thursday, February 23, 2006

Wayward Carrying

What's this world coming to?

I agree with George Bush! He's right about the Dubai port controversy. George is right. H. Clinton and the rest of them are wrong. It's only the second time ever that he made the right decision, the first being the promotion of Condi to Secretary of State.

I'm moving to the east side.

I've given up on the Timberwolves. For the season. Go Suns.

I like the treadmill as a vehicle for exercise.

I like Carry On Home Wayward Son.

What is this world coming to?

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

A Certain Song

Sorry for the sporadic posts. It's been a busy week - life changes and all. So, today, in honor of their concert tonight, I leave you with the lyrics to my favorite Hold Steady song:


guess you're old enough to know.
kids out on the east coast. roughly twenty years old.
got coaxed out by a certain perfect ratio.
of warm beer to the summer smoke.
and the meat loaf to the billy joel.
certain songs they get so scratched into our souls.

she goes low on the seats when she gets high in her car.
she looks shallow but shes neck deep in the steamy dreams of the guys along the harbor bars.
she's pulling out her shirttails and jacking up her socks.
stern and stoned and confident, coming up towards the jukebox.
born into the only songs that everybody finally sings along.
b-1 is for the good girls. it's only the good die young.
c-9 is for the making eyes. it's paradise by the dashboard light.
d4 is for the lovers.
b12 is for the speeders.
and the hard drugs are for the bartenders and the kitchen workers and the bartender's friends.
and they're playing it again.
ellen foley gives us hope.
certain songs they get scratched into our souls.

i guess you're old enough to know.
kids out on the west coast are taking off their clothes.
screwing in the surf and going out to shows.
they get high and ride around in GTOs.

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Everybody Wants To Find Graffiti Bridge

I will miss you. What we had was special. The connection was undeniable. After all these years you still bring a smile to my face when I think of you. I know you tried your best, tried to mix things up, stir the pot. Alas, it didn't take. Still, I will miss you so. You're the best, Arrested Development!

Losing to the Toronto Raptors at home? Now the Timberwolves are in serious trouble. Perhaps this guy has the answer.

Only seven days until the Hold Steady concert! It may be my last rock concert (age, cynicism, etc.) ever but I have a feeling it'll be my best.

(Aside to the dude in the parking structure this morning. Your soliloquy on why the big white painted arrows "didn't matter" is duly noted. Still, mere physics - as opposed to logic or perceived fairness - explains why you're wrong. )

Friday, February 10, 2006


Sorry. My earlier post was of the vein of my spring '05 posts - work-related complaints, allusions to the weather. I thought I'd evolved beyond that, what with my overrated classics, my stories of the harvest years, and my obsession with overly positive Mormon power forwards. I know you expect more from me. You expect illuminating text and links accompanied by no visuals whatsoever. I promise to shape up by next week.


If there were any doubts as to whether the air conditioning works in my new office , they have been put to rest quicker than an anesthetized narcoleptic. It's colder than Minneapolis on that night before the Super Bowl in '85 (you know - the night King's English was playing at First Ave. but) when you could see your breath freeze. At least I can open the windows and let the impossibly warm sunshine in.

The new Belle & Sebastian CD The Life Pursuit is a winner. They're the Kevin Garnett of music - around since '95 or so, consistently putting out a good product, wholly original, and loveable as anything. Tremendous upside too.

I'm tired. Who invented the 5-day work week? 4 is enough.

Thursday, February 09, 2006

No Complaints

What do I have to complain about? I have:
  • Indirect sunshine and a nice breeze through my office window
  • A Lifter Puller song in my head
  • The ocean a short drive away
  • The Winter Olympics, the NBA, and some Tivo-ed reality and comedy shows in my near future
  • And of course - the beavertails at Joshua Tree National Park are flowering

Wednesday, February 08, 2006

Lord I Was Born A Circuitously Rambling Man

They're playing Husker Du on BBC Radio 4. There's a "free speech zone" outside my office window. The pasta sauce of the day today is puttanesca. They're calling for the president to come out of his office and respond to the Coca Cola boycott threat. It's the first song from Warehouse: Songs and Stories. I can't figure out HTML code for umlauts. Puttanesca is good in theory but not in practice, especially in the basement of a student union. I wonder how many people notice my hair today. Why do my computer speakers crackle when my cell phone rings? Will I get cancer from my phone? What's up with the bird flu? That's something to be scared of. A few weeks ago the "free speech zone" wasn't free. But now it is. Someone said a bad word. Alumni complained. The best puttanesca sauce I ever had was in Glendale during the Clinton administration. But someone in power intervened, pointing out the meaning of "free." Speaking of free, dudes it's just a cartoon! And Europe, hey it's just a protest! Well, until the embassies are set ablaze and then it's more. I just want it to end. I'm just trying to make a living, doing the best I can.

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

Jump Hooking

I just wrote a very controversial paragraph detailing an illogical political view that I hold. Realizing it would offend most people and confuse the rest and that I, in my iconoclastic way, will be the only one to truly appreciate the subtleties and genius of the political opinion, I censored myself. Feel free to ask me in person what the hell I'm talking about. It's not what you think. Unless it is what you think.

I cleaned my work desk and office today. It feels good. I feel clean.

I'm proud to say that if the officiating in the Super Bowl had been fair and just, my prediction of a Seahawks 24-17 would have been spot-on. Dig: the first quarter fake pass-interference call cost Seattle 4 points (they settled for a field goal); the second quarter fake holding call cost them 3 points (took them out of reachable field goal range; and the fourth quarter fake holding call cost them 7 points. Meanwhile, the Steelers got 4 free points on Ben's second quarter fake touchdown (Cowher would've gone for the field goal on 4th down). Add all these "what-if points" and the Steelers 21-10 win becomes a 24-17 loss. God, I'm good.

Sorry for all the sports talk Laurel. But check this out: Mad Dog's blog keeps getting better. And nowhere is it as good as when Mad Dog details his text message exchanges with his fellow pros. In his January 27 entry, he offers a wholly gratuitous translation of some Kandi Man text:

At the end of his text he said, something along the lines of "I'll jump hook you when I see you next," meaning, he was going to shoot his jump hook over me. Well if you look at the schedule, I'll be seeing him really soon!

Thanks Mark. Now I'm trying to figure out other possible meanings for "I'll jump hook you."

And how about the Wolves beating the Suns in Phoenix! Can we just start Marcus Banks and send Marko Jaric to some other team with an unreasonably high opinion of him? No need for an Anthony Carter transition period, Dwayne.

Okay. No more sports talk until at least Thursday.

Sunday, February 05, 2006

The Greatest

A quick Super Bowl prediction: Seahawks 24 Steelers 17.

I know the AFC is far better than the NFC this year. I know the Steelers played a more difficult schedule and that their players and coaches have more big game experience. But remember the year the Pistons beat the Lakers in the NBA Finals despite the Lakers' superior talent and the Western Conference's domination that year? Remember how it was Ringo Starr and not Lennon or McCartney that put out the best post-Beatles solo songs? The Seattle Seahawks are football's Detroit Pistons. Shaun Alexander is Chauncey Billups. Lofa Tatupu (USC Class of '05) is Ben Wallace. Mike Holmgren is Ringo Starr. Bill Cowher is Paul McCartney. Jerome Bettis is Yoko Ono.

The new Cat Power album, The Greatest, is a stunner. It's rare that an artist can make music that's sad and desolate but still full of sugary sweetness and knowing hope, with a killer band and prescient lyrics. Plus, Chan Marshall is hot and cares about animals so there's that too.

Friday, February 03, 2006

Cookie Gods (a poem)

Otis Spunkmeyer came to the stage
Raggedy, weathered, bespectacled
He declared “we are super and pure”
He dropped dead, from the weight of his words

Mrs. Fields was the next to rise
From her seat - a folding chair with ottoman
She raged her mall skin on the crowd
She dropped dead, from the cure for her pain

Famous Amos held down the fort
He said “I’m real, I’m 3-D, I’m the man”
But his book only had one chapter, eleven
He dropped dead, from the gut of his wretch

Grandma Gebhard, she was the last to go
Her eyes were beady, her manner shaky
She was a claustrophobe from day one
She died natural, like the spit of an elf

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

random thoughts concerning stuff I'm not really thinking about

I'm glad to see that Crash got so many Oscar nominations. Comedies usually don't get this much respect from the Academy.

Early mornings are both beautiful and creepy, much like the music of 1980s Australian band the Triffids (especially their masterpiece Calenture)

Don't get too close to the microphone.

Why did it take me 10 vieiwings to realize Fargo was a tragedy?

Could John Oates come after me? He is from the mean streets of Philadelphia, you know.

I appreciated John Stewart's wonderful juxtaposition on the Daily Show recently showing how Oprah Winfrey (interviewing poor James Frey) has much higher standards of ethics and honesty than much of the Washington press (interviewing Bush, Cheney, Rumsfeld, etc.). Could Oprah be president? Sure, I'll take her. And I'd take James Frey over what we've got.

Did I just get political?

And please God get that song I praised two days ago out of my head!!!