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Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
(04.28.08) Recommends:
Ending The Democratic Nominating Process.
Seriously, is there anybody out there who isn't completely fed up with this thing at this point? Look, we're all for having robust debate, and allowing the candidates to duke it out so the strongest survives. Etc, etc. But we haven't learned anything new about either candidate in months. There is this constant back-and-forth about...what? We don't know. It's ridiculous. We're starting to lose interest in both candidates and it's not even May. Having robust debate is one thing, but starting the "process" as early as it was started this season ends up giving people an entire year to forget why they wanted a Democrat in the White House in the first place. At the end of the day, it's not about Hillary Clinton or Barack Obama, as inspiring as they both can be. The Democrats are going to win because the country wants Regime Change. It wants Something Different. But my god -- Clinton and Obama and trying their best to give this thing away.
Somewhere in the Bush, a Gore-ian tale lurks. We hope Clinton and Obama are paying attention.
Sunset Rubdown -- They Took A Vote And Said No -- streaming audio.
Seriously, is there anybody out there who isn't completely fed up with this thing at this point? Look, we're all for having robust debate, and allowing the candidates to duke it out so the strongest survives. Etc, etc. But we haven't learned anything new about either candidate in months. There is this constant back-and-forth about...what? We don't know. It's ridiculous. We're starting to lose interest in both candidates and it's not even May. Having robust debate is one thing, but starting the "process" as early as it was started this season ends up giving people an entire year to forget why they wanted a Democrat in the White House in the first place. At the end of the day, it's not about Hillary Clinton or Barack Obama, as inspiring as they both can be. The Democrats are going to win because the country wants Regime Change. It wants Something Different. But my god -- Clinton and Obama and trying their best to give this thing away.
Somewhere in the Bush, a Gore-ian tale lurks. We hope Clinton and Obama are paying attention.
Sunset Rubdown -- They Took A Vote And Said No -- streaming audio.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
(04.27.08) Recommends:
Karaoke.
This has been a month that's tested our mettle -- both professionally and personally. So when our Law School Friend (hereinafter referred to as "LSF") asked if we wanted to partake in a night of K-Town revelry, we knew the perfect antidote to mettle-testing was at our fingertips. That's right: a night of mutha-effing karaoke!
After chowing down on some Korean BBQ, it was off to find, in the parlance of K-Town, a Noraebang.
First up was Bliss.
This place immediately caught our attention because it was a cafe, bar, and music studio. We appreciate that K-Town refers to its karaoke joints as "music studios" because it does lend the whole affair with some much needed legitimacy. No, no, we're not going to imbibe enough liquid courage such that we get up and butcher some classic Billy Joel tunes. Of course not, silly. We're going into a music studio. To record some hit songs. It'll be much like USA For Africa. We're doing it for the kids, natch.
It turns out that Bliss was desperately trying to be fancy pants.
It had all sorts of glamorous signs.
And required patrons to walk above a Japanese restaurant.
And it wasn't just any stairway above a Japanese restaurant. It was a blue-lit tunnel which, there's no other explanation really, must have been inspired by the entrance to Space Mountain.
While we put our name into the karaoke room waiting list, LSF tried to get all serious by pumping herself up by flexing some Karaoke Face.
LSF couldn't hold such a serious pose for very long, unfortunately. Do we have a Karaoke Novice on our hands?
We quickly grew disillusioned by the monstrous karaoke line at Bliss, so we decided to hit the streets and see what else we could find.
We were hopeful that Ob's Cabin could dish out some karaoke (or perhaps some other kind of) delight, but nobody else in the group was willing to stop in.
After some more wandering, we came across Key Center and we figured, with ten store fronts, our odds were pretty good and that one of them would have to offer karaoke.
First up was Gaam.
What do you get when you take a Friday, then add some Upscale Asian Cuisine, and throw in Yakidori (whatever that is) and Sake and then subtract from the equation any presence of karaoke? You get this.
A restaurant with a lone white person taking a picture from the outside looking in. A very strange inversion of the usual Asian Tourists Taking Pictures scenario to be sure, and a bitter lesson to all places in K-Town that don't have karaoke (this part of the blog entry was a joke, for the culturally sophisticated/sensitive among you).
After all this hoofing around looking for some karaoke, we made the group take a breather and grab...
Some donuts. Eat 'em if you got 'em boys.
After the much needed D Break, we stumbled into our second karaoke attempt, a little jam called Young Dong Music Studio.
Unfortunately, like Bliss, Young Dong was just not meant to be. Not sure if it was because the place didn't serve alcohol (of course we do karaoke because we're inspired by the spirit of the music, but come on, we're only human here; we need like one or two other spirits before we're completely convinced we can do this. And anyway, it's a music studio so you have to be completely convinced that you can do it, because there are thousands of other people out there who would literally kill for your spot in the music studio in hopes of becoming America's next singing idol.)
Not sure if it was because 3605 1/2 would not serve us the alcohol that Long Young Dong wouldn't let us sneak in.
Not sure if it was because these two gentlemen -- yes, the two in the background with the Thinly Trimmed Mustaches -- were not having whatever joke we were serving (it should be noted that LSF, too, appears to want nothing to do with the joke).
Not sure if it was because when we asked this girl if we could take her picture she promptly turned around and said something that sounded like "GoawayI'mcallingthecopsnow!"
Whatever it was, our time at Young Dong Music Studio did not last long.
But just when we thought everything was lost, boo-effing-ya: Chapman Karaoke.
Errr, Chapman Karaoke with Accompanying Sundry Store to the Left.
We walked right in, got our own room, made sure we were properly hydrated, and got our karaoke on.
The group wasted no time getting into the karaoke rhythm, displaying the somewhat hard-to-pull-off Standing Karaoke Stance merely one song in.
Can I get a witness...
...there's your witness
It's real. Your faith.
Then it was the ladies' turn.
Can you take it a little higher for us?
A little more?
Final high note leads to The Karaoke Crash.
Duet time.
They're either defending the honor of their families. Or belting out some Jon Bon Jovi. We're guessing a little JBJ.
Peas in a karaoke pod.
This has been a month that's tested our mettle -- both professionally and personally. So when our Law School Friend (hereinafter referred to as "LSF") asked if we wanted to partake in a night of K-Town revelry, we knew the perfect antidote to mettle-testing was at our fingertips. That's right: a night of mutha-effing karaoke!
After chowing down on some Korean BBQ, it was off to find, in the parlance of K-Town, a Noraebang.
First up was Bliss.
This place immediately caught our attention because it was a cafe, bar, and music studio. We appreciate that K-Town refers to its karaoke joints as "music studios" because it does lend the whole affair with some much needed legitimacy. No, no, we're not going to imbibe enough liquid courage such that we get up and butcher some classic Billy Joel tunes. Of course not, silly. We're going into a music studio. To record some hit songs. It'll be much like USA For Africa. We're doing it for the kids, natch.
It turns out that Bliss was desperately trying to be fancy pants.
It had all sorts of glamorous signs.
And required patrons to walk above a Japanese restaurant.
And it wasn't just any stairway above a Japanese restaurant. It was a blue-lit tunnel which, there's no other explanation really, must have been inspired by the entrance to Space Mountain.
While we put our name into the karaoke room waiting list, LSF tried to get all serious by pumping herself up by flexing some Karaoke Face.
LSF couldn't hold such a serious pose for very long, unfortunately. Do we have a Karaoke Novice on our hands?
We quickly grew disillusioned by the monstrous karaoke line at Bliss, so we decided to hit the streets and see what else we could find.
We were hopeful that Ob's Cabin could dish out some karaoke (or perhaps some other kind of) delight, but nobody else in the group was willing to stop in.
After some more wandering, we came across Key Center and we figured, with ten store fronts, our odds were pretty good and that one of them would have to offer karaoke.
First up was Gaam.
What do you get when you take a Friday, then add some Upscale Asian Cuisine, and throw in Yakidori (whatever that is) and Sake and then subtract from the equation any presence of karaoke? You get this.
A restaurant with a lone white person taking a picture from the outside looking in. A very strange inversion of the usual Asian Tourists Taking Pictures scenario to be sure, and a bitter lesson to all places in K-Town that don't have karaoke (this part of the blog entry was a joke, for the culturally sophisticated/sensitive among you).
After all this hoofing around looking for some karaoke, we made the group take a breather and grab...
Some donuts. Eat 'em if you got 'em boys.
After the much needed D Break, we stumbled into our second karaoke attempt, a little jam called Young Dong Music Studio.
Unfortunately, like Bliss, Young Dong was just not meant to be. Not sure if it was because the place didn't serve alcohol (of course we do karaoke because we're inspired by the spirit of the music, but come on, we're only human here; we need like one or two other spirits before we're completely convinced we can do this. And anyway, it's a music studio so you have to be completely convinced that you can do it, because there are thousands of other people out there who would literally kill for your spot in the music studio in hopes of becoming America's next singing idol.)
Not sure if it was because 3605 1/2 would not serve us the alcohol that Long Young Dong wouldn't let us sneak in.
Not sure if it was because these two gentlemen -- yes, the two in the background with the Thinly Trimmed Mustaches -- were not having whatever joke we were serving (it should be noted that LSF, too, appears to want nothing to do with the joke).
Not sure if it was because when we asked this girl if we could take her picture she promptly turned around and said something that sounded like "GoawayI'mcallingthecopsnow!"
Whatever it was, our time at Young Dong Music Studio did not last long.
But just when we thought everything was lost, boo-effing-ya: Chapman Karaoke.
Errr, Chapman Karaoke with Accompanying Sundry Store to the Left.
We walked right in, got our own room, made sure we were properly hydrated, and got our karaoke on.
The group wasted no time getting into the karaoke rhythm, displaying the somewhat hard-to-pull-off Standing Karaoke Stance merely one song in.
Can I get a witness...
...there's your witness
It's real. Your faith.
Then it was the ladies' turn.
Can you take it a little higher for us?
A little more?
Final high note leads to The Karaoke Crash.
Duet time.
They're either defending the honor of their families. Or belting out some Jon Bon Jovi. We're guessing a little JBJ.
Peas in a karaoke pod.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
April 26, 2008 - Comfort and Strength
I’ve subscribed, this month, to a short-term “e-course” on Spirituality and Illness, through the website, SpiritualityAndPractice.com. There are brief, daily readings that arrive by e-mail, and an online message board participants can use to communicate with one another. Yesterday’s topic was “Find a Source of Comfort.” I was struck by the following excerpt from a book, No Enemies Within: A Creative Process for Discovering What’s Right About What’s Wrong, by Dawna Markova (Conari Press, 1994):“When I was in the hospital, the one person whose presence I welcomed was a woman who came to sweep the floors with a large push broom. She was the only one who didn't stick things in, take things out, or ask stupid questions. For a few minutes each night, this immense Jamaican woman rested her broom against the wall and sank her body into the turquoise plastic chair in my room. All I heard was the sound of her breath in and out, in and out. It was comforting in a strange and simple way. My own breathing calmed. Of the fifty or so people that made contact with me in any given day, she was the only one who wasn't trying to change me.
One night she reached out and put her hand on the top of my shoulder. I'm not usually comfortable with casual touch, but her hand felt so natural being there. It happened to be one of the few places in my body that didn't hurt. I could have sworn she was saying two words with each breath, one on the inhale, one on the exhale: ‘As... Is... As... Is...’On her next visit, she looked at me. No evaluation, no trying to figure me out. She just looked and saw me. Then she said simply, ‘You're more than the sickness in that body.’ I was pretty doped up, so I wasn't sure I understood her; but my mind was just too thick to ask questions.
I kept mumbling those words to myself throughout the following day, "I'm more than the sickness in this body. I'm more than the suffering in this body." I remember her voice clearly. It was rich, deep, full, like maple syrup in the spring...”
I’ve been thinking about that word, “comfort,” ever since. It’s built from the Latin word fortis, which means “strong.” To comfort others is, literally, to make them strong. It is to build a fort around them, so they may withstand whatever threat may come.
It’s what that nameless Jamaican cleaner did for the woman telling the story. It’s significant to me that she was the only one who came into that hospital room without a specific, healing task to perform (at least, as “healing” is typically defined by the medical professions). Yet, this woman - an angel, really - had a way of healing by her very presence.
We’ve pretty much lost that sense of the word, in our culture. “Comfortable” has degenerated into “comfy” – as in a comfy chair. When we speak of “creature comforts,” we usually mean something that makes us softer, rather than stronger.It calls to mind these famous words of the prophet Isaiah. They mark a continental divide in that biblical book, as the prophet changes from confronting a sinful people to comforting an exiled people:
“Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God.
Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her
that she has served her term, that her penalty is paid,
that she has received from the Lord’s hand double for all her sins.” (Isaiah 40:1)
“Comfort” calls to mind, also, an old Fanny Crosby gospel hymn – one I haven’t thought of for a very long time – “All the Way My Savior Leads Me”:
“All the way my Savior leads me –
What Have I to ask beside?
Can I doubt His tender mercy,
Who through life has been my guide?
Heavenly peace, divinest comfort,
Here by faith in Him to dwell!
For I know whate’er befall me,
Jesus doeth all things well.”
This is the sort of comfort that goes far beyond simply saying “There, there” to a crying child. “Heavenly peace, divinest comfort” gives people of faith the strength to go on.
Friday, April 25, 2008
(04.25.08) Recommneds:
A Survey!
This is the third installment of the series.
This installment:
Dawn Landes vs. Colin Meloy.
Dawn Landes is playing a show at Spaceland on Monday evening.
Colin Meloy is playing a show at the Henry Fonda on Monday evening.
Who wins out?
Dawn Landes' pros:
Dawn Landes' cons:
None that come to mind.
Colin Meloy's pros:
This is the third installment of the series.
This installment:
Dawn Landes vs. Colin Meloy.
Dawn Landes is playing a show at Spaceland on Monday evening.
Colin Meloy is playing a show at the Henry Fonda on Monday evening.
Who wins out?
Dawn Landes' pros:
- The show is free.
- Her new album is one of our favorite of the year.
- We love blogging about her.
Dawn Landes' cons:
None that come to mind.
Colin Meloy's pros:
- We've been on this huge Colin Meloy solo kick lately, listening to Colin Meloy Sings Live! pretty much non-stop for a week now. Then, the other night, while out walking, we noticed his name of the Fonda marquee, so it seemed pretty fitting to go.
- We've had this Decemberists-California connection for a while now. Nearly five years ago, when we first visited the Bay Area as part of the due diligence period that led to use moving there, we came with only a week's worth of clothes and a single CD: Her Majesty The Decemberists. We drove around the City, listening only to this CD, and falling in love with both. We're thinking this show would be a good close to an otherwise crappy month.
- The show is twenty five dollars more than free.
- Most events that we see advertised at the Henry Fonda seem way sketch, so we're curious why he choose that venue.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
(04.24.08) Recommends:
The Dodos at Amoeba.
Yes, so we're talking about the Dodos again today. We'll have more of a re-cap this evening, but we wanted to get video from last night's free Amoeba in-store up while it's still available.
(if the video starts from the beginning, scroll forward to about the 32:45 mark)
Yes, so we're talking about the Dodos again today. We'll have more of a re-cap this evening, but we wanted to get video from last night's free Amoeba in-store up while it's still available.
(if the video starts from the beginning, scroll forward to about the 32:45 mark)
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
On Rising Food Prices
Kissinger made a chilling 1970 comment that explains a lot about what's happening now - "Control oil and you control nations; control food and you control the people." Combine it with unchallengeable military power and you control everything, and Kissinger likely said that, too.<Global Food Crisis: Hunger Plagues Haiti and the World by Stephen Lendman>
Hugo Chavez is calling the food crisis a "Massacre of the Poor". As Raj Patel puts it: "What gets to me is that even in a good year, 850 million people were going hungry, thousands of whom died. Was that not a massacre too?"
George Monbiot reminds us that despite the problem is not about production, but distribution: "There is plenty of food. It is just not reaching human stomachs. Of the 2.13bn tonnes likely to be consumed this year, only 1.01bn, according to the UN’s Food and Agriculture Organisation (FAO), will feed people." The rest mainly feeds animals and cars (and landfills).
Go, read those articles.
I know I have been remiss in my blogging, but my real life duties have had to take priority. Yes, I know, you all miss me so much. ;) By early May I should be able to blog again.
(04.23.08) Recommends:
Having Friends and People To Look Up To.
So, from Thursday evening to roughly the time we got into our office on Tuesday, we felt certain that we were on the verge of a nervous breakdown. We like to exaggerate our frailties on this blog, mostly because self-depreciation is hard-wired into the DNA of everyone born in the Midwest.
But this was something different. This was the capital r real capital d deal. Periods of hot fever immediately giving way to the cold shakes. Periods of our body literally, uncontrollably, shaking. Periods of walking around with our eyes inexplicably welling up in tears. And our head having that fuzzy feeling that signifies it is soon to pass out. And this would just be while we were, like, walking down the aisle at the market. We had been through an intense few weeks at work and had other outside stressors (all of, and under which, culminated in us perhaps ruining one of the dearest friendships we'd developed in our time in Los Angeles) so we objectively realized that we were just a little stressed out and depressed about things, but still, the way we felt scared the holy hell out of us. And, honest to Christ, it was the closest we've ever come to worrying whether we were actually dying (though, truth be told, it wasn't the first time since we've been in LA that we've been concerned that we might be dying).
We say all of this crazy stuff happened from late Thursday 'till the time we got into the office on Tuesday. What happened to bring about the change you wonder? There were three steps.
The first step. Like most days, we got into the office and went to Fred Wilson's blog. We're not sure when we first started reading his blog, but here's the first time we blogged about it. We've never met Fred Wilson, and even though we live in Hollywood we don't have an ounce of star-fuckery in us, but we're pretty sure it would be a blast grabbing a beer with him. Homeboy is brilliant (and has good taste in music). And not brilliant in some sort of theoretical way, like many brilliant people we hear about, or professors we know. Brilliant in a way where we'll read a completely innocuous sounding post of his, then we'll find ourselves, nine weeks later, out at a restaurant with someone, talking about the internet (note: we, like all bloggers, are totally nerds who actually do sit around restaurants, even in places like Hollywood, talking about the internet, and how it's totally gonna change everything, man.) and we'll find ourselves repeating his at-the-time-innocuous-seeming-but-nine-weeks-on-completely-brilliant thesis. Or we'll find ourselves at the same dinner making some point, and then internally congratulating oursevles on making such a good point and then we'll start wondering how we actually came up with the idea. Oh wait, we'll next think, we didn't -- it was from Fred Wilson's blog.
The point of the background is that we got into the office and he had this post titled Hitting the Reset Button, in which he talks about going through mental health issues of his own over the last several days, and pining for a reset button to hit to get him going again. So we figured, if a Blogging Hero, and All Around Brilliant Dude, and a Guy Who Clearly Has His Shit Together, was feeling a little down and out, we felt permission to have our own recent struggles.
The second step. He also asked his readers to contribute some of their own remedies for the blahs and the blues. And some of the comments killed us including, but not limited to, the following suggestions:
***find a cute little kid with big cheeks and tug on them (we literally LOL'd at this one)
***I play Queens "Bohemian Rhapsody" really loud, just once (we actually tried this one and holy moly, we had a hard time stopping at just once)
***The only prescription is more cowbell (true, dat)
***i usually just do a boatload of cocaine (we, like you, were surprised to learn that George W. Bush reads blogs. Whaaaaat? You're surprised he knows how to read at all? Or is it Jenna with the powdered nose problem? Whatever it is, quit your hissing back there, yo)
The third step. Under the guise of Earth Day (and there was no actual connection with Earth Day, so don't go trying to draw connections, John Forbes Nash style), we started sending our old College Roommate emails recounting some of the crazy characters and encounters therewith from the Old College Days. This turned into a half-day, Battle Royale-style challenge of who could top whom with either the most obscure, over-the-top, or absurd, person, place, or thing from the Old College Days. And while we think we ended every email we sent yesterday with the same closing line, i.e., jesus! we wish we had started a blog back then! -- there is probably only one story we feel comfortable recounting here. It is also a story about which we had completely forgotten until yesterday. That: the power of the internet. The story: as follows.
One night, as is the tradition of wayward College Students, we went with friends to an Apartment Party. And as the night went on, the original group of friends started separating, and, um, certain new friendships were struck. And so, we ended up crashing at the site of Apartment Party. Which meant, the next morning, we had to find a Ride Home. So we wake up, and, err, survey the damage, and find somebody first willing/able to drive, and second who also happens to be driving in the same general direction as our apartment. We finally found that person. She will be called Hamster Girl. An important note so as not to besmirch her name anymore than this story already might: she was neither a reason we went to the party nor why we crashed there. She was just a person driving home in our general vicinity (it actually turned out she lived in our apartment complex; more on that later) and willing to let us tag along; all in all, we should have been very grateful. However.
However.
However.
How.
Effing.
Ever.
We opened her car door and got inside and thought we smelled something a little funky. As we strapped ourselves in, almost immediately our stomach began turning on itself. We instantly went into gag reflex mood. Seeing us nearly on the verge of vomiting, she nonchalantly started driving while turning to inform us that -- and we swear on all that is holy that the following is verbatim -- "I should have warned you about the smell, but there's a dead hamster somewhere in my car but I can't figure out where it's at so I've just left it."
At this point in our young lives we had only known "Where It's At" to be a Beck song, and not the Jeopardy!-style answer-in-the-form-of-a-question to: "Things I Don't Know About The Dead Hamster In My Car." From that day forward, we knew, at the least, to ask a few basic questions before entering into a stranger's car. As a side-note, the country's of the world send their best and brightest to American Universities. We hope they, too, become aware of these basic questions to ask.
We, while normally reserved and polite, demanded! to be taken to the nearest Burger King, and ordered this raging sociopath to buy us a Sprite to quiet our stomachs. It was probably no longer than a quarter mile [1] from Apartment Party apartment to our apartment, but we were certain there was no question we would have vomited without the Sprite.
Once we finally get back to our apartment -- the whole ride home with us pinching our nose with two fingers while leaving the remaining three fingers flailing, elbow arched beyond it's normal extension in a dramatic attempt to make Hamster Girl feel horrible, while deep down hoping for real for real that we didn't upchuck -- it turned out the Hamster Girl lived the building across from us. And she told us we "seemed cool" and that we "should all hang out and stuff." And stuff? We had no idea what other kind of dead, but location unknown, rodent chicanery could possibly be hidden in that and stuff but being so stunned at what had just transpired, and desperately seeking a warm shower and/or a Hazmat suit, we forked over our number and got the hell out of that car.
These were the days before Caller ID. Now that we think about it, Caller ID probably existed, but we were poor college saps, so any extra scratch lying around the apartment was inevitably invested in pizza and 32 oz. bottles of the Champagne of Beer (i.e., text books and stuff). So, after regaling our roommate with this tale, we proceeded with an abundance of caution anytime the phone rang for the next two months.
---
As you can see, after those three steps, it was pretty inevitable that we had no choice but to be over the 72+ hour Depression Bug.
--
[1] If it was merely a quarter-mile, you're surely asking, why did you stay in the car? A) It was cold out and the sidewalks of the city were filled with snow and ice; B) It was early and we were, how does one say, pretty spent from the previous evening; and C) We were still in such shock that there was an undiscovered hampster corpse somewhere in the car that our neural transmitters were probably going a little haywire.
So, from Thursday evening to roughly the time we got into our office on Tuesday, we felt certain that we were on the verge of a nervous breakdown. We like to exaggerate our frailties on this blog, mostly because self-depreciation is hard-wired into the DNA of everyone born in the Midwest.
But this was something different. This was the capital r real capital d deal. Periods of hot fever immediately giving way to the cold shakes. Periods of our body literally, uncontrollably, shaking. Periods of walking around with our eyes inexplicably welling up in tears. And our head having that fuzzy feeling that signifies it is soon to pass out. And this would just be while we were, like, walking down the aisle at the market. We had been through an intense few weeks at work and had other outside stressors (all of, and under which, culminated in us perhaps ruining one of the dearest friendships we'd developed in our time in Los Angeles) so we objectively realized that we were just a little stressed out and depressed about things, but still, the way we felt scared the holy hell out of us. And, honest to Christ, it was the closest we've ever come to worrying whether we were actually dying (though, truth be told, it wasn't the first time since we've been in LA that we've been concerned that we might be dying).
We say all of this crazy stuff happened from late Thursday 'till the time we got into the office on Tuesday. What happened to bring about the change you wonder? There were three steps.
The first step. Like most days, we got into the office and went to Fred Wilson's blog. We're not sure when we first started reading his blog, but here's the first time we blogged about it. We've never met Fred Wilson, and even though we live in Hollywood we don't have an ounce of star-fuckery in us, but we're pretty sure it would be a blast grabbing a beer with him. Homeboy is brilliant (and has good taste in music). And not brilliant in some sort of theoretical way, like many brilliant people we hear about, or professors we know. Brilliant in a way where we'll read a completely innocuous sounding post of his, then we'll find ourselves, nine weeks later, out at a restaurant with someone, talking about the internet (note: we, like all bloggers, are totally nerds who actually do sit around restaurants, even in places like Hollywood, talking about the internet, and how it's totally gonna change everything, man.) and we'll find ourselves repeating his at-the-time-innocuous-seeming-but-nine-weeks-on-completely-brilliant thesis. Or we'll find ourselves at the same dinner making some point, and then internally congratulating oursevles on making such a good point and then we'll start wondering how we actually came up with the idea. Oh wait, we'll next think, we didn't -- it was from Fred Wilson's blog.
The point of the background is that we got into the office and he had this post titled Hitting the Reset Button, in which he talks about going through mental health issues of his own over the last several days, and pining for a reset button to hit to get him going again. So we figured, if a Blogging Hero, and All Around Brilliant Dude, and a Guy Who Clearly Has His Shit Together, was feeling a little down and out, we felt permission to have our own recent struggles.
The second step. He also asked his readers to contribute some of their own remedies for the blahs and the blues. And some of the comments killed us including, but not limited to, the following suggestions:
***find a cute little kid with big cheeks and tug on them (we literally LOL'd at this one)
***I play Queens "Bohemian Rhapsody" really loud, just once (we actually tried this one and holy moly, we had a hard time stopping at just once)
***The only prescription is more cowbell (true, dat)
***i usually just do a boatload of cocaine (we, like you, were surprised to learn that George W. Bush reads blogs. Whaaaaat? You're surprised he knows how to read at all? Or is it Jenna with the powdered nose problem? Whatever it is, quit your hissing back there, yo)
The third step. Under the guise of Earth Day (and there was no actual connection with Earth Day, so don't go trying to draw connections, John Forbes Nash style), we started sending our old College Roommate emails recounting some of the crazy characters and encounters therewith from the Old College Days. This turned into a half-day, Battle Royale-style challenge of who could top whom with either the most obscure, over-the-top, or absurd, person, place, or thing from the Old College Days. And while we think we ended every email we sent yesterday with the same closing line, i.e., jesus! we wish we had started a blog back then! -- there is probably only one story we feel comfortable recounting here. It is also a story about which we had completely forgotten until yesterday. That: the power of the internet. The story: as follows.
One night, as is the tradition of wayward College Students, we went with friends to an Apartment Party. And as the night went on, the original group of friends started separating, and, um, certain new friendships were struck. And so, we ended up crashing at the site of Apartment Party. Which meant, the next morning, we had to find a Ride Home. So we wake up, and, err, survey the damage, and find somebody first willing/able to drive, and second who also happens to be driving in the same general direction as our apartment. We finally found that person. She will be called Hamster Girl. An important note so as not to besmirch her name anymore than this story already might: she was neither a reason we went to the party nor why we crashed there. She was just a person driving home in our general vicinity (it actually turned out she lived in our apartment complex; more on that later) and willing to let us tag along; all in all, we should have been very grateful. However.
However.
However.
How.
Effing.
Ever.
We opened her car door and got inside and thought we smelled something a little funky. As we strapped ourselves in, almost immediately our stomach began turning on itself. We instantly went into gag reflex mood. Seeing us nearly on the verge of vomiting, she nonchalantly started driving while turning to inform us that -- and we swear on all that is holy that the following is verbatim -- "I should have warned you about the smell, but there's a dead hamster somewhere in my car but I can't figure out where it's at so I've just left it."
At this point in our young lives we had only known "Where It's At" to be a Beck song, and not the Jeopardy!-style answer-in-the-form-of-a-question to: "Things I Don't Know About The Dead Hamster In My Car." From that day forward, we knew, at the least, to ask a few basic questions before entering into a stranger's car. As a side-note, the country's of the world send their best and brightest to American Universities. We hope they, too, become aware of these basic questions to ask.
We, while normally reserved and polite, demanded! to be taken to the nearest Burger King, and ordered this raging sociopath to buy us a Sprite to quiet our stomachs. It was probably no longer than a quarter mile [1] from Apartment Party apartment to our apartment, but we were certain there was no question we would have vomited without the Sprite.
Once we finally get back to our apartment -- the whole ride home with us pinching our nose with two fingers while leaving the remaining three fingers flailing, elbow arched beyond it's normal extension in a dramatic attempt to make Hamster Girl feel horrible, while deep down hoping for real for real that we didn't upchuck -- it turned out the Hamster Girl lived the building across from us. And she told us we "seemed cool" and that we "should all hang out and stuff." And stuff? We had no idea what other kind of dead, but location unknown, rodent chicanery could possibly be hidden in that and stuff but being so stunned at what had just transpired, and desperately seeking a warm shower and/or a Hazmat suit, we forked over our number and got the hell out of that car.
These were the days before Caller ID. Now that we think about it, Caller ID probably existed, but we were poor college saps, so any extra scratch lying around the apartment was inevitably invested in pizza and 32 oz. bottles of the Champagne of Beer (i.e., text books and stuff). So, after regaling our roommate with this tale, we proceeded with an abundance of caution anytime the phone rang for the next two months.
---
As you can see, after those three steps, it was pretty inevitable that we had no choice but to be over the 72+ hour Depression Bug.
--
[1] If it was merely a quarter-mile, you're surely asking, why did you stay in the car? A) It was cold out and the sidewalks of the city were filled with snow and ice; B) It was early and we were, how does one say, pretty spent from the previous evening; and C) We were still in such shock that there was an undiscovered hampster corpse somewhere in the car that our neural transmitters were probably going a little haywire.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
(04.22.08) Recommends:
Why Bother?
In honor of Earth Day, here's a New York Times Magazine piece by Michael Pollan (author of, among others, The Omnivore's Dilemma) exploring environmentally conscience ways of thinking. No pun intended, but we really enjoyed this article's energy -- we found it to be an inspiring morning read.
In honor of Earth Day, here's a New York Times Magazine piece by Michael Pollan (author of, among others, The Omnivore's Dilemma) exploring environmentally conscience ways of thinking. No pun intended, but we really enjoyed this article's energy -- we found it to be an inspiring morning read.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
(04.20.08) Recommends:
The LA64.
(explanation of series here.)
This entry is going to be an LA64 Blast! as we go through a bunch of our favorite things super-quick style (because it will take us a hundred years to get through 64 things if we continue writing such long blog posts about each topic).
#50: Intelligentsia Coffee.
3920 W. Sunset Blvd.
This is probably our favorite picture we've taken since we've been here. There's the awesome medieval style Cheese Store of Silverlake sign in the foreground. There's the awesome Sunset Junction sign in the midground. In the far right background you can see the Griffith Park Observatory. And a little further to the left you can see the Hollywood sign, framed by palm trees. And there is nothing but crystal clear blue skies all around. Coffee at Intelligentsia on a morning like this is why people will always desire to move to Los Angeles.
#49: The Hotel Cafe.
1623 1/2 N. Cahuenga Blvd.
This is one of the more intimate music venues -- but neither a hotel nor a cafe -- we've been to in LA. We've blogged about it previously. We've seen Meiko perform here probably a half dozen times. We've seen Ben Lee perform here -- he only played about three songs, including the finale which he labeled "a march against apathy" and during which he completely lost his shit, playing into the crowd and on top of tables. That single song was one of the most amazing live performances we've ever witnessed. And we've also seen Mandy Moore -- whowhatwhenwherewhy? -- perform here. We don't know if the mix of those acts reveals something secret about us, but we'll continue coming back.
#48: The Franklin Strip.
Franklin Ave. between Tamarind Ave. and N. Bronson Ave.
The Franklin Strip is a one block section of Franklin Village. For only one block it has an impressive array of shops, bars, restaurants, bookstore/record shop/art space, coffee shops, and comedy clubs.
#47: Prizzi's Piazza.
5923 Franklin Ave.
Prizzi's is located on the Franklin Strip and is far and away the tastiest pizza we've had in Los Angeles, and rivals any pizza we've had anywhere. We were a bit skeptical when we first entered because all of the best pizzeria's to which we've previously been are low key, unpretentious, hole in the way, neighborhood dives. And this place has really arty decor and comes off as a touch fancy. But if we can all agree that the mark of worthy pizza is if it tastes equally as good when you have it as leftovers as when you have it at the restaurant, than there's not much better than Prizzi's. Luckily for us, it's within walking distance. If you live reasonably near by this is a must must must try.
(explanation of series here.)
This entry is going to be an LA64 Blast! as we go through a bunch of our favorite things super-quick style (because it will take us a hundred years to get through 64 things if we continue writing such long blog posts about each topic).
#50: Intelligentsia Coffee.
3920 W. Sunset Blvd.
This is probably our favorite picture we've taken since we've been here. There's the awesome medieval style Cheese Store of Silverlake sign in the foreground. There's the awesome Sunset Junction sign in the midground. In the far right background you can see the Griffith Park Observatory. And a little further to the left you can see the Hollywood sign, framed by palm trees. And there is nothing but crystal clear blue skies all around. Coffee at Intelligentsia on a morning like this is why people will always desire to move to Los Angeles.
#49: The Hotel Cafe.
1623 1/2 N. Cahuenga Blvd.
This is one of the more intimate music venues -- but neither a hotel nor a cafe -- we've been to in LA. We've blogged about it previously. We've seen Meiko perform here probably a half dozen times. We've seen Ben Lee perform here -- he only played about three songs, including the finale which he labeled "a march against apathy" and during which he completely lost his shit, playing into the crowd and on top of tables. That single song was one of the most amazing live performances we've ever witnessed. And we've also seen Mandy Moore -- whowhatwhenwherewhy? -- perform here. We don't know if the mix of those acts reveals something secret about us, but we'll continue coming back.
#48: The Franklin Strip.
Franklin Ave. between Tamarind Ave. and N. Bronson Ave.
The Franklin Strip is a one block section of Franklin Village. For only one block it has an impressive array of shops, bars, restaurants, bookstore/record shop/art space, coffee shops, and comedy clubs.
#47: Prizzi's Piazza.
5923 Franklin Ave.
Prizzi's is located on the Franklin Strip and is far and away the tastiest pizza we've had in Los Angeles, and rivals any pizza we've had anywhere. We were a bit skeptical when we first entered because all of the best pizzeria's to which we've previously been are low key, unpretentious, hole in the way, neighborhood dives. And this place has really arty decor and comes off as a touch fancy. But if we can all agree that the mark of worthy pizza is if it tastes equally as good when you have it as leftovers as when you have it at the restaurant, than there's not much better than Prizzi's. Luckily for us, it's within walking distance. If you live reasonably near by this is a must must must try.
(04.20.08) Recommends:
Concert Photography, Vol. 14
Wild Sweet Orange,
Spaceland,
Los Angeles (Silverlake), Ca.
03.18.08.
So, a little over a month ago, the cool folks over at Sneak Attack Media invited us out to see Wild Sweet Orange perform in Silverlake. The band is from Alabama, currently has released one EP. We agreed to go because it seems like bad form to turn down a free show at Spaceland, but our expectations for the show were not terribly high as we really enjoy two of the songs on the EP, but the others never struck us as particularly memorable.
However, WSO put on a very memorable performance. The band, frankly, comes off as a bit sterile on the EP, but they really come alive on stage. They're twangy enough to justify all the alt.country illusions made in their promotional material (and twangy enough to justify the use of cowboy shirts).
Note that the lead singer, on several occasions, busted out a pretty dead on Jeff Tweedy Face. Compare the real Jeff Tweedy Face, with the WSO Jeff Tweedy Face:
But they rock hard enough for those in the crowd who are never comfortable with alt.country because it's too, um, country.
They were twangy. They rocked. They were, in a word, fierce. And don't think we are going to use one of the hottest new entries in the pop cultural lexicon without proper attribution. As the Fellow Blogger with whom we went to the show pointed out, the drummer bared a striking resemblance to Christian Siriano.
All in all, another fun night of live music in one of our favorite venues in Los Angeles.
Wild Sweet Orange,
Spaceland,
Los Angeles (Silverlake), Ca.
03.18.08.
So, a little over a month ago, the cool folks over at Sneak Attack Media invited us out to see Wild Sweet Orange perform in Silverlake. The band is from Alabama, currently has released one EP. We agreed to go because it seems like bad form to turn down a free show at Spaceland, but our expectations for the show were not terribly high as we really enjoy two of the songs on the EP, but the others never struck us as particularly memorable.
However, WSO put on a very memorable performance. The band, frankly, comes off as a bit sterile on the EP, but they really come alive on stage. They're twangy enough to justify all the alt.country illusions made in their promotional material (and twangy enough to justify the use of cowboy shirts).
Note that the lead singer, on several occasions, busted out a pretty dead on Jeff Tweedy Face. Compare the real Jeff Tweedy Face, with the WSO Jeff Tweedy Face:
But they rock hard enough for those in the crowd who are never comfortable with alt.country because it's too, um, country.
They were twangy. They rocked. They were, in a word, fierce. And don't think we are going to use one of the hottest new entries in the pop cultural lexicon without proper attribution. As the Fellow Blogger with whom we went to the show pointed out, the drummer bared a striking resemblance to Christian Siriano.
All in all, another fun night of live music in one of our favorite venues in Los Angeles.
Friday, April 18, 2008
April 18, 2008 - Cancer and Sin
“Cancer” and “sin” are two words that truly don’t belong together – yet, how easy it is to pair them up anyway!There’s a part of us that wants to assign blame for cancer. What’s the first question many of us ask, when we hear of someone diagnosed with lung cancer? “Did she smoke?” As if that makes a difference. Somehow, a non-smoker with lung cancer belongs to a different order, in our minds, than a smoker struggling with the same disease. Aren’t both worthy of our compassionate concern, as they sit side by side in the oncologist’s waiting room?
It’s more comforting, somehow, to hear of a smoker who gets lung cancer, than a non-smoker who does. It feeds our craving to see the universe as a fundamentally fair place.
Relatively few cancers have a clear lifestyle- or behavior-related cause. Sure, there are all sorts of theories out there about environmental causes of various cancers, but only a few (smoking for lung cancer, asbestos exposure for mesothelioma, sun exposure for melanoma, sexual promiscuity for some cervical cancers) are established beyond doubt. To say “So-and-so got cancer because _____” is appealing, for it allows us to scratch another cancer off the lengthy list of those that simply are – scourges that descend upon a human life without warning and without apparent cause.
Those cancers – like the non-Hodgkin lymphoma I have – are truly scary. They seem so random.
Some people, having exhausted the possible environmental or lifestyle causes, move on to theology. They want to view cancer as God’s punishment for sin.
I’ve been reading Dancing in Limbo: Making Sense of Life After Cancer, by Glenna Halvorson-Boyd and Lisa K. Hunter (Jossey-Bass, 1995). I’m not exactly living a life after cancer, myself, but there are some aspects of my extended, asymptomatic watch-and-wait existence that are similar to life after cancer. I’m struggling, these days, with survivorship issues, which is why I picked up this book. Anyway, here’s a perceptive passage from it, about how common it is to view cancer as God’s punishment:“Although the notion that cancer is a punishment for our sins may remain unconscious or unspoken, it appears to be present in a surprising number of cancer patients and their family members. A recent study of Canadian children with cancer and their parents by David Bearison and his colleagues revealed that half of the adults blamed themselves for their child's cancer. (Only 20 percent of the children practiced self-blame.) What the parents blamed themselves for directly was a sin. They actually believed that their use of illicit drugs or their adultery had caused the child's cancer. The parents' reasoning defied medical science but reflected their belief that sin will be punished.
For many of us, the idea of cancer as a direct punishment for our sins is too antiscientific to believe. However, if we examine the causal theories we create, we may find sin lurking just below the surface of our reasoning. For example, women who are sexually active at an early age and have many sexual partners are, in fact, at higher risk for cervical cancer. Disentangling the “sin” (of “promiscuity”) from the science (of statistical risk) in cervical cancer is difficult at best. Even if the form of cancer that we have does not appear directly linked to behavior that we feel guilty or ashamed about, we may, like the Canadian parents, nevertheless imagine it to be a retribution for our sins.” (Dancing in Limbo, p. 43.)Why do so many of us practice such faulty logic, wanting to assign blame where none is deserved? It’s because there’s something that scares us even more than sin and retribution: the thought that, as Jesus teaches, God “sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous” (Matthew 5:45). Which is a scarier universe to live in: one ruled by a petty, vindictive God who’s quick to smite sinners for their transgressions, or one in which God allows two-year-olds to die of brain tumors for no apparent reason?
Halvorson-Boyd and Hunter boil it down to a twisted little syllogism: “Our primitive sense of justice is ruled by a cruel logic: if we want to believe that we will get what we deserve, then we must deserve what we get” (p. 44).
And so, many of us cancer survivors wallow in self-blame. I’ve had a few moments in the past few years when I’ve wondered what I might have done to so anger God, but – I’m happy to say – that hasn’t been a major theme for me. After nearly 25 years in ministry, I’ve heard the “Why me?” question so often, from saints and sinners alike, that I really don’t believe illness is God’s punishment. In those awful months just before and after my diagnosis, I did feel considerable anger over my plight, but I wasn’t much inclined to direct my anger at God. I was more inclined to say, “Life is unfair” than “God is unfair.”
Bottom line? None of us deserves to have cancer.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
(04.17.08) Recommends:
The LA64.
#51: The Echo.
1822 Sunset Blvd.
(explanation of series here.)
The Echo is another in the Pantheon of LA indie rock venues. We would start this entry off with an exterior shot of it but frankly, despite driving by the joint several times a week, we still cannot actually find it unless there's a show going on inside -- and hence a doorman standing outside. But rock shows are much more fun when you're on the inside anyway. One great thing about the venue is that it's, as the name suggests, located in Echo Park. So before even stepping in, it gives us a perfectly legitimate reason to stop in to the Short Stop, a dive that demonstrates that Neighborhood Locals, Hipsters, and Dodgers Fans are not necessarily mutually exclusive groups. The power of PBR knows few bounds.
We stopped by for a recent Afternoons show. Afternoons is an offshoot of Irving, a band that we really love. Below are some pics.
We really love the following pic because we are always very reluctant using a flash at shows. And luckily for us, this one didn't require the use of a flash because the sheen from the jacket worn by the gentleman in front of us let off sufficient light. We kiiiid, we kiiiid!
Okay, so here's the thing. If you think we're talkative on the blog, just imagine what we're like in Real Life. At one point in the night we took a breather from the joyous music. We started chatting up a friendly-looking female. Then, like 45 seconds into the conversation, we were left with this:
Figuring that we had literally charmed this poor girl to death, we took her pulse. Satisfied that her heart was making its normal tick-tock sound, we put our heads down and slyly bolted the hell out of the venue.
But not before grabbing one more pic of the band of the night.
#51: The Echo.
1822 Sunset Blvd.
(explanation of series here.)
The Echo is another in the Pantheon of LA indie rock venues. We would start this entry off with an exterior shot of it but frankly, despite driving by the joint several times a week, we still cannot actually find it unless there's a show going on inside -- and hence a doorman standing outside. But rock shows are much more fun when you're on the inside anyway. One great thing about the venue is that it's, as the name suggests, located in Echo Park. So before even stepping in, it gives us a perfectly legitimate reason to stop in to the Short Stop, a dive that demonstrates that Neighborhood Locals, Hipsters, and Dodgers Fans are not necessarily mutually exclusive groups. The power of PBR knows few bounds.
We stopped by for a recent Afternoons show. Afternoons is an offshoot of Irving, a band that we really love. Below are some pics.
We really love the following pic because we are always very reluctant using a flash at shows. And luckily for us, this one didn't require the use of a flash because the sheen from the jacket worn by the gentleman in front of us let off sufficient light. We kiiiid, we kiiiid!
Okay, so here's the thing. If you think we're talkative on the blog, just imagine what we're like in Real Life. At one point in the night we took a breather from the joyous music. We started chatting up a friendly-looking female. Then, like 45 seconds into the conversation, we were left with this:
Figuring that we had literally charmed this poor girl to death, we took her pulse. Satisfied that her heart was making its normal tick-tock sound, we put our heads down and slyly bolted the hell out of the venue.
But not before grabbing one more pic of the band of the night.
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