Update to the Last Post

Yeah, I guess the first one is free. I now own the other two Grace Potter & the Nocturnal albums and I also bought the live set. Musical obsessions are so easy for me.

I really recommend heading over to the GPN website and picking up the live site. It's only five bucks and you get an instant download. Very worth it and a good intro to their music. The other two albums available are also highly recommended. Three great discs for under $30. Can you beat that?

This One's For the Boys

Just got Grace Potter's This is Somewhere. (Thanks John!) I have to say it's one hell of a band. Potter is quite a versatile songwriter and, considering her age, she seems to be in touch with something deep in the roots of American rock (including blues, jazz and gospel). While this album doesn't pack the raw power of the other album I've been able to hear (Nothing But the Water, on Yahoo music and which I plan on picking up), it certainly seeps in and moves you. There are two main contributors to that seepage: Grace's amazing voice and Scott Tournet's guitar. There's a sophistication here that the earlier work I've heard lacks. It showcases Potter's songwriting as opposed to just her voice; it shows her as a whole artist rather than the sum of her parts.

While the album is quite good, with an excellent pop sensibility (no, "pop" is not a bad word if you filter it through your Brian Wilson/Phil Spector glasses), what it lacks is that raw, emotional, impromptu energy that the band seems to draw from their audience at live shows. How can you capture that in the studio? It seems as though the studio provides a blueprint and the songs evolve over time. The way good songs do.

However, from what I understand, the albums are merely meant to lull you into simple enjoyment and entice you to their live shows. Once you arrive, it appears as though you enter a rock and roll tent revival where you are filled with the spirits of the blues and soul musicians that lead to Grace Potter & the Nocturnals. John tells me they play 150 - 200 shows a year, so I hope none of us miss that opportunity.

Ah, I promised something for the boys. Check out this video of Grace Potter & the Nocturnals performing "Nothing But the Water" from the album of the same name. I defy you to not find yourself mesmerized by this performance. There isn't a superlative to remotely describe what they do here. Total mass destruction. I just hope they closed this show, because anyone who had to follow them on stage might have given up music in shame. This one performance shows the depth of their influences. It's like Crazy Horse, Janis Joplin and The Allman Brothers decided to discuss Muddy Waters in a gospel church.

How is it for the boys? Well, at about 3 minutes in Grace Potter shows how a woman with a soulful, powerful voice can take a simple movement and make you putty in her hands. The best response I've gotten to this video thus far is, "Is it wrong that I wish I were a Hammond B3 organ?"

Muxing it Up

I will do two 52 things this week. Not that anyone else cares, but I'll do them.

Didn't have time last week, because I have deadlines out the wazoo and my buddy got married on Saturday (yay Mike & Erika!). It was a great wedding and, perhaps, one of the happiest I have ever attended. It's rare to see so many people so happy for a couple. When they were presented to those who gathered they were met with thunderous applause. Pretty cool

And whoever helped them choose some of the music was a fricking genius. He should be inducted into the hall of fame. Never have a bride and groom danced to a more perfect song.

Anyway, I'm playing with a new website that is sure to be taken down soon. So, I made you a muxtape. Listen to it. Just click on the first song and let it play. Enjoy.

Festival of Strings

Last night Madilda performed at the district’s annual Festival of Strings. It’s a concert where all the schools' orchestras perform for a bunch of smiling parents.

Just as seventh grade was getting ready to perform a polite, well-behaved young man, looking to be high-school-aged, tapped my wife on the shoulder and inquired as to where Matilda was seated. Chris kindly pointed out her daughter and the young man politely thanked her.

Because it was hot in the gymnasium I removed my jacket so that I could feel much cooler in just a t-shirt. I then promptly beat the living hell out of the kid.

All the other dads of pre-teen girls stood up and cheered.

A precedent had to be set and I believe the message was firmly communicated.

The World According to Gert: Special Intentional Humor Edition

At dinner last night I was paging through a cycling magazine and came across a photo of a crash in process. Cyclists were suspended in the air, moments from “tasting early season pavement” as the caption read. It was a bizarre, caught in amber moment.

Here’s a similar shot, though not quite as pristine.

“Hey Gert,” I said, pointing to Alberto Loddo in the photo (the airborne guy in yellow and white), “what do you think is going through this guy’s head right now?”

She looked at it critically for a moment.

“Bike wheels,” she replied.

The World According to Gert, Pt. 4

Last night we were putting together a sectional for the room in our house in which no furniture can enter due to poor floor planning Gert came into the house inconsolably sobbing.

“She’s gone,” she cried. “I can’t find her anywhere! Where could she be?”

“Who’s gone?”

“Clarabelle,” she wailed.

“Who is Clarabelle?”

“My favorite stick!”

Clarabelle was a bleached white stick that she found at Creve Coeur Lake last year. She’s carried it around and played with it since then. I had no idea it was named Clarabelle.

“Well,” I asked, “where did you see her last?”

“Out front. Yesterday, when I was doing karate.” Of course, that all seemed logical. When your best friend is a stick, that’s what you’d play.

So we did a full on stick hunt. To no avail. Clarabelle is gone. We’re going to look around the neighborhood after school today, worried that she may have been sticknapped by some neighborhood miscreant. If we don’t find her, we’ve decided to go back to the lake and see if we can find Clarabell’s family and bring one home.

“Okay,” Gert said. “But it has to be a girl and she has to be just a little bit taller than me.”

Of course. It all seems logical.

Meet The New Bike

CR1: The Ca(o)rbon(m)ite Maneuver
Originally uploaded by scifitwin

I picked up the new bike today and rode it for a bit. It was sweet. Light, extremely responsive and agile in a sprint. Looking forward to logging a ton of miles on it. Expect to hear me talk about it. A lot. Maybe too much. Excessively even.

I think I'm going to really love this one. I'm even actually thinking of doing some group rides.

I know! That's almost social. Very strange.

The old bike is staying. Putting cyclocross tires on it again and will be using it for bad weather, winter, trainer rides, riding with the kids and am planning on doing at least one leisurely KATY trail ride during the week instead of the usual, boring recovery ride.

As long as you're at Flickr, hit my photostream and check out some great new pics of the girls too.

I Hope My Wife Will Understand

I don't know if I've been living under a rock or what, but--no offense honey--I'm in love. You know I'm a sucker for a girl with a sultry, soulful voice. And this one plays the Hammond B3 and covers Otis Redding...



..shows Steve Miller what Paul Pena was really trying to do...


..and tears up a Gibson while sounding like she and her band could take the place of Crazy Horse behind Neil Young on "Cowgirl in the Sand"...


I'm not sure if their albums sound this way, but damn. I'm hot for Grace Potter's voice. It's true. She's been added to a long list of women whose voices make me melt.

The World According to Gert, Pt. 3

Earlier this week we had an amazing amount of rain. It rained from Sunday until Tuesday. And not just sprinkles, but hard, angry rain.

Yesterday, after everything calmed down the girls and I decided to go drive and check out the damage in the area roads (to be read: where I ride my bike). To my surprise, all of those little roads in the bottoms were clear. Didn't know about St. Chuckles across the river, but at least I could ride near home, I thought.

"Yay," I said. "I think I can definitely ride tomorrow."

"Well," Gert said, "Don't get your hopes up."

We rounded a corner and started driving by the lake where I park. Lo and behold the lake was coming up to the edge of the trail there. Uh oh. And as we turned the corner it was actually covering the trail all through the rear of the park.

Now, no big deal because I don't have to start there. But it was pretty discouraging because if the lake was that swollen, then some of the other roads that I didn't check might be under water too.

"Told you not to get your hopes up," Gert said.

Well, I got my ride in today, though it was messy out there. Lots of debris. I felt guilty riding my bike while people were cleaning up.

Oh and the new ride? It's built. Just waiting for my no shoes to come in so I can go in and get my fitting done. Then? It'll be raining and cold for three weeks. Mark my words.

See? I'm not getting my hopes up.

We Live in a Beautiful World

It's an amazing world when you can watch...

Lone Wolf McQuaid


The Three Amigos


A freaking David Lynch movie (Mulholland Drive . . . don't watch this at work. Or if you're drunk. Or on psychotropic drugs. Or, in anyway, normal.)


And Firefly. Firefly!


Sure, there are some commercials, but it's free. On your damn computer.

Now you NEVER have to work again!

There are full screen options on their website. So you don't have to watch in that tiny window. Unless you want to.

52 Things: Favorite Breakfast Item

The girls are on Spring Break and we’re planning a home version of IHOP for lunch. We’re going to head up to the store and pick up things like chocolate chips, bananas, strawberries, blueberries, whipped cream and a variety of tasty syrups (hopefully small) and we’re going to have a carb-fest for lunch by creating whatever Frankenstein pancake we can think of.

And why not? Breakfast is clearly the very best meal of the day. Did you just ask why? Surely you cannot doubt this. Sigh. I’ll explain.

Breakfast is the only meal in which dessert is the main dish. Pancakes? Covered in syrup, sugary fruits, jellies and butter, depending on your personal flapjack fetish. Waffles? Can be made into a cone and filled with ice cream. Yogurt parfait? Nothing more than a fruity, nutty sundae with active cultures. Smoothies? A classed up milkshake.

So, seriously. Let’s not lie about it.

Secondly? Sausage. Bacon. Canadian bacon. Ham. The pig is resplendent at breakfast. It is the centerpiece, the animal of choice. Gut busting porkstraganza. I don’t think we can argue this point. Artery slamming pork fat makes any day brighter.

Plus, the main drink that goes with breakfast isn’t some hoity toity wine. It’s coffee. And usually more coffee than you can physically fit into your body. Tasty, tasty caffeine.

So, what’s my favorite breakfast item? The breakfast buffet.

Breakfast buffets are much better than any other meal’s buffet. They are dripping with cholesterol. Resplendent with crispiness, fluffiness and cheesiness. Most of it is fried and what’s not fried you either drown in butter and syrup or you douse with some sort of cheese or cheese sauce. Vegetables? Put inside eggs, covered with cheese and called an omelet. Usually also filled with ample pork products. And don’t get me started on country gravy.

Cop out? Perhaps. But it’s also the best answer.

I need some sausage.

Pure Bug Beauty

Pure Bug Beauty
Originally uploaded by scifitwin

Analyze My Dream

So, last night I dreamt it was INTERCOT’s birthday and we were having a huge party. We were in an auditorium somewhere in Disney and there were hundreds of people there. It was a packed house.

Here’s where it gets weird. On stage, amid a bunch of kids and moms dressed up as cowboys was our emcee, Woody Harrelson. He walked across the stage to a trunk. He opened the trunk, pulled out and put on an HR Pufnstuf costume, and then started dancing around.

52 Things #1: The Truth About My Wife’s Yarn Habit

I felt that since my wife is the one who decided on these topics that she deserves the honor of being the subject of the first one I complete. She chose that I talk about her yarn habit and, therefore, I must.

Is this a slippery slope? To discuss my feelings about my wife’s hobby? That which occupies at least 98% of her time? The one activity she does while doing everything else? She purls while sautéing onions and manages an intarsia while shaving her legs. It’s disturbing.

I certainly understand obsession. I’ve had two hour conversations about the use of a triangle in “God Only Knows.” A note that 90% of people never even notice. On a daily basis I leave my house dressed in less than 1/8 inch of body hugging lycra so that I can spend a few hours on a bike saddle so small that most people would view it as a torture device.

Yes, I’d like to have eye contact when we talk and it would be nice to sit next to someone who isn’t holding something that could be used to kill me at any moment, but I can deal with that.

In the past few years I’ve fed that habit. Just this past Christmas I spent an obscene amount of money on hand dyed yarn that comes from the fleece of virgin llamas raised on a Buddhist farm, that only ate organic food and were kissed on the cheeks by cherubs on a daily basis. I fully support her habit.

It’s the websites that freak me out.

After watching her in her active communities I can’t help but think that knitting is what shy people do if they want to be exhibitionists but don’t like nudity. It’s fiber porn.

It’s all about the boobs.

All of these women are fantastic knitters. They truly create wonderful pieces. And they photograph their chests to share with everyone. They post the photos for other women to admire with titles like, “Double Twisted Cable” or “Cashmere Cardigan”. They are proud of their work and they are willing to share their secrets with one another. They claim they are showing of the fruits of their labor not the fruits that men savor.

But if that’s the case, what’s the deal with thrusting out one hip and striking a seductive, sexy stance? What’s with the come hither body language?

My wife swears that it’s all about the sweater, not the meat. But when she’s in the kitchen scrolling through pages of women’s chests I can only see boobs.

Oh, and she posts these photos too. And they are awesome. I love it when she takes those photos. And I’m always thankful when, after staring at it for ten minutes, wondering how I can print it out and carry it in my wallet, she points out the amazing sweater that I’m supposed to be looking at.

I’m married to a hottie knitter. I think I’m okay with that.

So what do I think of her habit? I love it. I support it. But I never realized it would lead to Purls Gone Wild.

The World According to Gert, Pt. 2

I mean beside the fact that this morning she told me to make sure her Build-a-Bear doesn't get in to mischief today and then informed me, when I asked what she and mom were talking about that I should just "go about my business."

Saturday we were playing animal surgeon, thanks to some awesome set up by Grampy. She had a poor little dog on the operating table and was trying to save him. I was holding the anesthesia hose and monitoring his blood pressure.

"How much am I getting paid for this," I ask.

"One cent."

"What? What are you making?"

"$1000."

"I'm only making 1/10000th of what you're making?"

"I'm the doctor," she says, dripping with superiority.

"Yeah," I say, "but that doesn't seem fair."

"Let's plat Deal or No Deal," she says, leveling a frighteningly serious adult look at me. "One penny or zero. Which do you choose?"

Pray you never work for her when she grows up.

Soon

Oh yes, you will be mine. Oh yes.

I'm entering the carbon phase. Just in time for developers to destroy my favorite road and put in an office park.

Friday looks like it will probably be purchase day. Any suggestions on shoes and pedals, please feel free to pass along. I don't want to spend too much money on them. Enough to get a good set of each, but not so much that it's going to make me cry every time I click in.

Announcements

I have officially hit Inbox zero. I've deleted a disgusting amount of email that I had been holding on to and processed the rest and will archive folders that I need for business backups next week.

I run two inboxes: personal and business. Both are at zero. When I have one of my pre-determined Outlook open periods I read the email and either immediately respond, move it to a To Do folder or delete it. I do a lot of deleting. Once it is done in To Do I assess if I should keep it, if so it goes into the corresponding folder. If not, I fry it.

You have no idea how much time this has saved me. These past two weeks have been some of the most productive I've had in four years. So productive, in fact, I recieved the full manuscript for a Fitness book last week and I finished my work on it today, including permissions, credits and all other annyoing little things. That's amazing. I've never turned a project around that quickly. Of course, I guess I lost money on it... Hmm.

Now, I only have pages for one book and three books to turnover by sometime in April. That should be interesting, especially considering the amount of photo work that needs to go into one and the fact that the other is a contributed first edition. An yet I'm not worried. Could be that, for once in my life, I'm being properly treated for my anxiety issues (God, if I only knew what to do when I was 10 the last few decades would have been so much easier). Still.

Anyway, my announcement: Starting next week I will be tackling a project I call "52 Things." I have tasked my wife to create a list of 52 topics and questions that she would like me to weigh in on. Some are quite weighty and others are quite weird. She did a fantastic job and has pushed my weird idea into exactly the direction I wanted it to go.

The rules are simple. Starting March 10th I have to post a written response or essay on one of the 52 topics. I do not need to go in order and I can make minor (MINOR) adjustments to the topic. I must post this response between Monday and Friday. No excuses. For the week I am on vacation I can chose to publish two the week before or two the week after because I will be on top of a mountain in will not have Internet access unless I go to McDonalds and, well, that won't happen.

Some of the topics?

Which song best sums up your current state of affairs?
How long can you hold your breath, and why do you know this?
Something you skated through that you wish you'd paid more attention to
Why are you reluctant to join groups?
Prehensile tail or third arm? Defend your choice.
One thing you wish your dad had been around to see
Our neighbors' nicknames

Some will require research. But you get the point. If you have a better title, please let me know. Otherwise "52 Things" it is.

Now I have to go think about my favorite breakfast food (sausage). It's going to be difficult to choose (sausage). I mean, there's bacon (the chocolate of meat) but it's so one dimensional. Pacakes? Hmmm. (Sausage).

A Few Notes

Starting late this week/early next week I will be starting a new project here on the blog that will entail a weekly post (minimum) in essay form. Once I figure it out, I will explain it to you. What does this mean? That if you visit this barren wasteland of crap I'll actually be providing you something to read.

Point is, I forgot how to write because of the amount of time I've been working. So I'm forcing myself to write with this new project. More to come.

Secondly, I have to explain to you why I like Stephen Malkmus. It's simple, really. While it's true that his solo music doesn't rise to the heights of what he produced with Pavement, Malkmus' solo music has something that Pavement never had:

Unabashed, gleeful, masturbatory guitar.

Each album is dripping with guitar. It's everywhere. So much so that each album contains one 10 minute opus that is 90% guitar noodling. "No More Shoes", "1% of One", "Real Emotional Trash". It's fantastic. But it's never self-indulgent, Eddie Van Halen bullshit. It's fun, humorous, melodic and brash.

Ground breaking art? Maybe not. But damn if it's not fun to roll down the windows and turn it up and listen to him wail on the guitar.

What the world needs now is another feedback-filled guitar solo.

Do not feed the oyster, Elmo Delmo.