oh my

A man died on Christmas day at the San Francisco Zoo after being attacked by a Siberian tiger that escaped from its enclosure. Two other men were mauled before police officers shot and killed the endangered animal. They are listed in critical but stable condition. There were no signs of the tiger getting out through a door, leading investigators to believe that it either climbed or leapt out of its enclosure, which is surrounded by a 15-foot-wide-moat and 20-foot-high walls. This particular animal had a history of violence toward humans. Last year, it attacked and badly injured a zookeeper during a regular feeding. This incidenct prompted extra safety measures to be taken while feeding the big cats. The zoo, normally open 365 days of the year, is closed today.

This story brings up my love-hate relationship with zoos. On the one hand, I recognize that some endangered animals have a better chance of survival in captivity where they are protected from poachers, loss of habitat and the encroachment of humankind. But on the other hand, it's sad for me to see the king of the jungle behind bars. No man hears what the caged bird sings when he's under the impression that humanity is king. These are wild animals and though I sympathize with the victims, I'm not at all surprised when incidents like this happen.

Compared to a 6-foot-tall man, the Siberian tiger is one of nature's largest predators.

kenneth

"Cheese and crackers--that smarts."

silent but deadly

One of my favorite artists, Michael Sieben, collaborated with another artist, Jeremy Fish, on a skateboard graphic. Both dudes have been making their mark in the skateboarding world for a few years now. Sieben's work can be seen on pieces by Volcom clothing and in the pages of Thrasher, where he pens a column accompanied by illustrations every month. Within the last year or so, he's also been the sole graphic designer and art director over at Bueno skateboards which, due to a pretty unmarketable pro squad, will likely get its plug pulled. Jeremy Fish has been a fixture in the [for lack of a better term] skate-art world for a couple years now and has been lumped in with the likes of Todd Bratrud, Travis Millard and Ed Templeton. Both of these guys have unique styles that draw heavily on comic art with their thickly inked lines and outlandish depictions. I dig their stuff and I also think this board is a good representation of their respective talents. It's cool that they came together to collaborate on a piece too. The skateboard is something like $80 I think, so DON"T SKATE IT if you end up buying it.

LISTEN TO HANK WILLIAMS' song KAW-LIGA. it's really cool............

street musicians

Have you ever seen something so visually and aesthetically pleasing that you want to preserve it as it is, forever? I have. That's why I like to keep a camera handy. Lately however, I haven't kept a camera in reach and my photo productivity has declined. Sometimes I attribute this to the fact that the random happenings in my life are presenting themselves less often as things become more ordered and systematic. Other times I think that the memorable moments are becoming fewer and further between as I near the doldrums of middle age. One thing is for sure: I don't do as many different, exciting or memorable things as I used to and I'm certainly not exposed to as many things worthy of photographic documentation as I used to be. I think I'm okay with all of this though. Just about everybody goes to school, gets a job, works for awhile, retires and then cools out before dying. Maybe if I make a heap of loot soon, I can break the cycle and still do fun things while I'm young enough to enjoy them. That's the ticket! Who knows? Maybe retirement will be the best years of my life!

You'll notice the title of this entry is "street musicians." That's what I initially intended to write about before my mind took a little walkabout back there. So--back to the original topic. I've been meaning to take photos of a few street musicians that I see on a fairly regular basis. There are three in particular that always stand out to me. But alas, no pictures will accompany their descriptions.

The first one is a slight Latino man who plays the trumpet. He's often posted up on the corner of Fourth and Main. Sometimes you can be lucky enough to catch him at Third and Yamhill even though that's another guy's territory (more on him later). I once saw him all the way up on NW 23rd near Music Millenium. He plays the trumpet with one hand and waves to people with the other. Taking care not to blast a note into anybody's ear and quieting down when need be, he's pretty unobtrusive. In between rousing renditions of 'take me out to the ballgame' and 'la cucaracha,' he smiles wide and beams as he shouts "happy today!" to passing, um...passersby. I spotted him the other day in a pint-sized Santa suit and, to coincide with the change in season, he switched up his catalog and played 'jingle bells' and 'we wish you a merry Christmas.' I like this guy because he's polite and gracious. Plus, he's always smiling and waving; he's just a happy lil guy with a trumpet.

Another guy I see every now and then usually hangs out around the MAX lines on Yamhill and Morrison between Fourth and Fifth. He's a very thin, old black man with a pointy beard. He sits on a parked motorized scooter and plays either a small keyboard or this crazy little medieval stringed instrument. Maybe it's a lute? Anyway, he plugs into an amplifier and plays pretty loudly. This might be considered a nuisance if it weren't right next to the MAX, which is fairly noisy in its own right. He plays a few different songs but the one I hear the most is the theme from The Godfather. This guy doesn't engage anybody walking past or even look up from his instrument. He just sits there and plays. I saw him playing on Monday wearing an elf hat. He had a microphone this time and, with a bowed head, he held it to his mouth while playing the keyboard. Singing traditional Christmas classics, his voice was as I had expected it to be. It was soft and quiet and lacked any real sense of pitch. I like to think that he's just a bored old guy who likes to play music and earn a little scratch. I really hope he's not ill in some way or down on his luck like the next guy I'm gonna describe.

Okay, this guy creeps me out. It's highly likely that he creeps lots of other people out too. He is a meth-fried zombie-looking dude in a soiled hoodie and sandals who makes horrible noises on a neon toy guitar with a built-in speaker. The thing probably runs on two D batteries but he rocks it like there's no tomorrow, cranked to the max. The tiny tinny speaker doesn't make much noise to speak of, but the sounds that come out of it are probably only discernible as music to his ears. I've only seen him in one place: outside the Nordstrom on Sixth and Morrison. This guy is alone in his own weird world. He doesn't even attempt chords, he just solos like a cracked-out Jimmy Page, staring into another dimension. He's got it bad, and that ain't good.

weak sauce!

I just realized how cheap the cafeteria is in my building. They don't spring for real silverware and the plastic shit they do provide is so crappy and flimsy that it won't even pick up a reasonably sized bite of linguini and alfredo without snapping in two. It's bad enough they make everything so disposable and harsh on the environment, but now I'm forced to improvise or eat with my hands. I'm eating at my desk and it seems I'd be better off feeding myself with a ruler or a pen or something. And there's no recycling in the cafeteria! Looks like I need to go to talk to some people and affect some positive changes. Take it to the streets!

LISTEN TO LOU REED

shoooos

I dig shoes. I always have. Even as a kid, I think I was pretty picky when it came to shoes, which probably caused my thrifty parents some considerable grief. Cool shoes complete my appearance and their coolness is absolutely necessary to me. I've even gone so far as to throw shoe function out the window in favor of fashion, which I'll be the first to admit is very foolish. A good-looking shoe to me is usually pretty simply constructed; clean lines, basic colors, not too flashy. Lately however, I'm starting to deviate from those qualities and lean toward a brighter, flashier look. Though when it comes to sneakers, the outsole CAN'T be darker than the upper--that's a must. So I guess I just like what I like for whatever reason. These are some shoes I have or have had over the years.This is a limited edition Vans TNT 2. Tony Trujillo's second (or third) pro model, it's a collaboration between Vans and Tony's board sponsor Anti Hero. I'm really liking the low profile look of the vulcanized sole and even though yellow is super bright and eye-catching, I still think it's cool. They made this shoe in a mid-top too that was rad.
Vans Era. I think this was the first shoe that Vans put out in the mid 1960s. It's a classic that's currently enjoying a resurgence in popularity. Mine are made from leather instead of the traditional canvas. This shoe comes in a thousand different colors and combos.

I bought these shoes a few years ago in a lighter brown. They were suede. The company that made them, Savier, was an offshoot of Nike that didn't really take off. I seriously bought them only because Stefan Janoski wore them for awhile. I got a lot of use out of them though; skated in them until there were holes in the toe.

I bought these Socas by Lakai from a local shop in Eugene with money from my tax return. They were really stiff and took a long time to break in. I eventually sharpied some dark parts on the front and back of the outsole. I thought it looked cooler and had to redraw them every few weeks because they'd wear off.

Same shoe as above, different color. I still have these and I still like them. I switched out the laces and put whites in instead of reds. I've never even done an ollie in these.

The Vans Half Cab is timeless. It's been around since the 1980s and was introduced both as Steve Caballero's pro model and a response to skaters' demands. They had been cutting the Vans SK8-Hi (a hi-top) down to a mid for years so Vans decided to give the people what they wanted. This shoe has stood the test of time and been copied by every other skate shoe manufacturer. They're usually made of suede so they break in really quick and get super floppy.

I've had a few pairs of this shoe in different colors. The es Accel was my favorite shoe to skate in for a long time. It felt good on your foot and was thick enough to withstand the harsh reality of skateboarding and griptape, but thin enough to still feel your board. I wore through a grey and navy pair and a brown and tan pair. Maybe more...

This is Dustin Dollin's pro model by Vans. It's got a beefed up cupsole that looks vulcanized. They've put this sole under a few other shoes and it always works. It's even still got the famous Vans waffle grip. As an all-around shoe, this can't be beat. My first pair is on it's last legs but I like the shoe enough to buy a replacement pair.

I remember my friend John used to wear these Lakais. I liked them too so I copied him and got a pair for myself. A pretty plain shoe but I've had some good times in it. I filmed a line that I was really proud of in these shoes.

Nike SB team edition. I wore these shoes a lot but I was never really impressed with them. The tongue is huge and really puffy. The shoes wouldn't stay on my feet unless they were laced up tight as footballs so I could never skate in them. The insole got compacted very quickly and lost its cushioning. Plus they kinda pinched the sides of my feet up by my toes. Damn. These shoes really sucked. Funny though, none of that ever stopped me from wearing them.

This is the Emerica KSL Dos shoe. I had to order this shoe from a shop because I couldn't find it anywhere. I accidentally ordered it a half size too big so I don't wear it as often as I'd like. Like the Vans Dollin, it has a cupsole cleverly disguised as a vulcanized sole. See, people like the look of the vulcanized sole but it offers little to no protection from big impacts like the cupsole does. That's why I'm always impressed when I see some dude in the magazine jumping down a big gap or rail with thin little vulcanized soled shoes--it means he's either a dummy who doesn't give a shit about session-ending heel bruises, or it means he's a very good and confident skateboarder who lands his tricks in just a couple tries.

I liked this shoe when I bought it and I'd buy it again if they still made it in cool colors. I wore the hell out of these shoes and skated them until they were tattered. It's the Emerica Reynolds 2 and it's way cool.

The Nike SB Dunk Low. A basketball staple throughout the 1980s, the Dunk has since been adopted by the hip streetwear scene. When Nike tried again to get into the skateboard market (after Savier's failure), they came correct by bringing the dunk. Nike upped the cool factor by producing shoes in limited quantities thereby making each pair somewhat exclusive. I'd had my eyes on dunks for a long time but could never get my hands on a pair I liked before they sold out or ended up on ebay for triple the original sale price. I lucked out with these.

Adidas Rod Laver. These tennis shoes have been around for awhile now. I wanted a pair when I saw Max Fisher wearing them with red laces in Rushmore. I wore one pair out, got another pair and stopped wearing them.

Another accel. I couldn't find photos of my colorways on the internet. They've been making this shoe for a long time and they switch up the colors every season.

These are the first Geoff Rowley pro models from Vans. I bought these and didn't wear them for a year. I always liked the shoe but it took a year for it to look cool on my foot. It's really awesome to skate in and it doesn't use any materials from animals--totally synthetic leathers.

I bought these shoes in grey after winning half off a pair of Reeboks on a sratch it coupon.

These are my other dunks except mine are royal blue instead of navy. They're really tall.

A classis adidas shoe, the gazelle has been a favorite of mine since middle school. I wore adidas all through my younger years, I always liked the plain black with three white stripes. When I saw a pair with green soles, I couldn't resist. A few weeks later, I was playing soccer in them and jammed my toes pretty bad. The nail on each big toe eventually turned black and fell off.

I won a DVS Shoes contest and got all this stuff associated with Keith Hufnagel, one of their riders. I got two pairs of his pro shoe, the one above and another that I gave to a friend, some skateboards, trucks, wheels and shirts. Free stuff is awesome. I wore these shoes for a long time, I loved them. But now I think they're really puffy and make my feet like spaceman feet or something.

Styles change and colors fade but I will always like shoes.

nature's fury

The state of Oregon is making national headlines for braving the gnarliest storm the west coast has seen since the infamous Columbus Day Storm of 1962. Rivaling that storm’s strength, this one is being called a mid-latitude cyclone. Meteorologists say it began as a series of converging typhoons before mixing with hurricane-force winds over the Pacific Ocean. Energized with cold air from Alaska, the storm brewed into a force to be reckoned with by the time it reached shore last weekend. It ended up leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. Rivers and streams swelled with heavy rains before jumping their banks and flooding towns. Homes were devastated by winds, erosion and falling trees. The storm also isolated small coastal communities; fallen trees and flooded roads made escape nearly impossible as power outages hindered communication and rescue efforts. Even though the gusts reached speeds upwards of 120 mph, the sustained winds of 60-75 mph were particularly damaging. Such force wreaked havoc on trees, their grip on the earth weakened as a result of being rooted in soil that had been softened by more than 10 inches of rain. To be sure, the effect on the people affected is not to be overlooked. Five have died as a result of the storm thus far and many more have been rendered homeless. Perhaps most notable among the casualties was Oregon’s largest living thing: the sitka spruce tree in southern Clatsop County. Estimated to be about 700 years old, the tree’s top half was snapped off after being pummeled by the relentless winds. At seventeen feet in diameter and 206 feet tall, the tree was the largest of its kind and a draw for tourists. Now that the worst of the storm has passed, I’m reminded of Neil Young. He sang: “you are like a hurricane, there’s calm in your eye.”

Stormy weather was always cool to me. We had a forested backyard growing up and I remember looking out the window at the gently swaying tree trunks as rain beat against the glass. I remember the groaning sound the trees made as they struggled against the wind. I remember the limbs and debris that littered our deck and yard after a big storm. It was awe-inspiring to see the raw power of nature at work. I took a trip to the beach one spring break during my college years and experienced a serious storm. My friends and I were drinking beer in the house as the storm grew in intensity. Eventually, we elected to put on slickers and struck out for the water line, fighting the swirling wind every step of the way. The waves were breaking higher than I'd ever seen and the rain was falling horizontally. We were forced to shout to be heard above nature at full volume. I just laughed. When we returned to the house, exhilirated from our foray into the belly of the beast, the power went out. We lit candles, played charades all night and had a great time.

Pure Country Gold

I saw a two man band play last night at Dante's. Pure Country Gold bashed out some fast and fuzzy swamp rock with both aplomb and unrestrained vigor. The Tuesday night rock and roll kids were digging it, showing their appreciation by shaking it all about and turning themselves around; that's what it's all about. PCG's brand of blooze was some strong, heavy shit--intoxicating, to say the least. The guitarist/singer, a balding stocky guy (Don Rickles with a Les Paul), played precisely through the thick distortion with some adept pluck and strum while the drummer, a hulking bearded man who looked to be fresh off the farm with the tractor still running, flogged his pristine vintage Pearl kit with no remorse. The two had palpable chemistry and never once made eye contact with each other, so intent were they on playing their respective roles and fueling the din. I was impressed by the sheer power they exuded. The drummer flailed and kept his kit shaking for the duration of the set, filling the hole left by the lack of a bass, as the guitarist/singer riffed and shouted through each song, practically ignoring the audience between numbers. And then, before I knew it, they were done. All that remained was the ringing of a cymbal, the lingering hum of the guitar and the shuffling masses clamoring for more.

miracle of modern medicine

I just copied this. The human body is such a fascinating organism. Intelligent design? I think not.BANGALORE, India - Doctors in southern India completed a grueling 24-hour operation Wednesday on a girl born with four arms and four legs that surgeons said will give the 2-year-old a chance at a normal life.
The surgery went "wonderfully well," said Dr. Sharan Patil, who led a team of more than 30 surgeons in the marathon procedure to remove Lakshmi's extra limbs, salvage her organs and rebuild her pelvis area.
"This girl can now lead as good a life as anyone else," Patil said from a hospital in the southern Indian city of Bangalore.
But he cautioned that Lakshmi was still not out of danger.
"We are still not ready to celebrate as she will be in the critical zone for the next 48 to 72 hours," the doctor said.
Lakshmi, who has been revered by some in her village as the reincarnation of a Hindu goddess she was named for, was born joined at the pelvis to a "parasitic twin" that stopped developing in her mother's womb. The surviving fetus absorbed the limbs, kidneys and other body parts of the undeveloped fetus.
"This is a very rare occurrence," said Dr. Doug Miniati a pediatric surgeon at the University of California, San Francisco, who was not involved in the surgery. Miniati said the surgery was extremely complicated but her chances of survival were greater because she was not joined at the heart or brain.
The doctors worked through the night to remove the extra limbs and organs. By midnight, a team of neurologists had separated the fused spines while orthopedic surgeons removed most of the "parasite," carefully identifying which organs and internal structures belonged to the girl, said Patil.
Then began the difficult job of reconstructing Lakshmi's lower body.
The operation included transplanting a good kidney into Lakshmi from the twin. The team also used tissue from the twin to help rebuild the pelvic area, one of the most complicated parts of the surgery, Patil said.
"Beyond our expectations, the reconstruction worked wonderfully well," Patil said. "We were able to bring the pelvic bones together successfully, which takes away the need for another procedure," he said.
However, she will have to have further treatments and possible surgery for clubbed feet before she would be able to walk, he said.
Lakshmi's parents, who were expected to see their daughter later Wednesday, said they were very relieved.
"It will be great to see our daughter have a normal body," her father Shambhu, who only goes by one name, told reporters. "We were worried for her future."
Children born with deformities in deeply traditional rural parts of India such as the remote village in the northern state of Bihar that Lakshmi hails from are often viewed as reincarnated gods. The young girl is no different — she is named after the four-armed Hindu goddess of wealth.
Others sought to make money from Lakshmi. Her parents kept her in hiding after a circus apparently tried to buy the girl, they said.
Her mother, who is currently pregnant with a healthy fetus, was "overwhelmed," Patil said.
Doctors at Sparsh Hospital in Bangalore said they were performing the surgery, which they estimated cost $625,000, for free because the girl's family could not afford the medical bills.
"We are very grateful to all the doctors for seeing our plight and deciding to help us," Shambhu said.

the Hives are back!

So I went and saw the Hives play last night. The set contained select hits from their previous three albums as well as some unfamiliar songs from the new album, out in a week. The new material went over well with you dress up for armageddon and you got it all...wrong highlighting the show. Wrong, in particular, had the most danceable melody I've ever heard from the Swedish five-piece. It was a hook-filled raveup recalling classic sixties girl group pop on amphetamines that had me shaking. The New York Dolls stuck to a similar formula before self-destructing. But unlike the Dolls, who told tall tales of low life and didn't give a shit better than anyone, the Hives involve the crowd and revel in their own pomp and circumstance. While the whole thing is very tongue-in-cheek, they're still convincingly incredulous when the crowd doesn't dance and scream to their undeniably catchy garage punk. Last night though, the boys worked the all-ages audience into a frenzy. The band was as tight as ever, a well-rehearsed and well-oiled touring machine that only missed a beat once, when Nicholas Arson broke a guitar string at the beginning of no pun intended.

Howlin' Pelle has perfected his persona and worked the stage like a traveling preacher, converting the unsure and winning new fans town by town (although he had Portland wrapped around his finger the second he strutted onstage). Tugging at his lapel for added emphasis between verses and inciting pandemonium with every wide-eyed stare into the crowd, Pelle prowled the stage like Mick Jagger, dropped to his knees like James Brown, and whipped the microphone around like Roger Daltrey. Arson spit in the air and punished his telecaster, making it squeal intermittently to punctuate supply and demand and main offender. Dr. Matt Destruction, on the bass, held down the low end and had his moment in the sun during the break in hate to say I told you so when he stepped to the front and grimaced in rock and roll agony. The sweat poured off his shiny bald pate before Pelle let out a primal scream and the band came back, crashing down around him. Drummer Chris Dangerous was flawless as usual and guitarist Vigilante Carlstroem, sporting a mustache, provided some much-needed background shouting. Taking cues from the polished acts of 1960s American soul revues, the Hives are indeed showmen of the highest caliber. And they put on one hell of a show. So after a three year break, it can now be proclaimed: "the Hives are back!"

citizens of tomorrow, be forewarned

I just watched Al Gore's "An Inconvenient Truth." I found it startling, appalling and entirely relevant. The subject matter, global warming, is fast becoming a less divisive issue as the evidence becomes harder to ignore and the scientific community arrives at an irrefutable consensus. But even though our planet is warming at an alarming rate, with devastating consequences, and action must be taken, I have little hope. Call me a defeatist but I think people are too slow to change, too reluctant to adapt in the face of danger unless the situation is unavoidably imminent. That's not to say change isn't impossible or out of reach. After all, the future of humanity is in our hands and once we all accept that, we will begin to make the necessary sacrifices.

Gore put it bluntly when he said that America has to take the lead. As the top contributor to carbon dioxide emissions, America has an obligation to step up to the plate. But we're set in our ways. I admire Gore for providing the spark that ignites this movement but Americans are fat. We're fat on power and wealth, materialism and the ease of consumption, as well as fast food. As we get more comfortable and set in these ways, we have trouble losing the weight, both literally and figuratively. We're too lazy to change our habits and we don't want to be inconvenienced, even when our livelihoods are on the line. Clearly, this problem is deeply rooted and involves broad issues like sociology, economics and, as Gore notes, ethics. Time will tell but until then, I will continue to do what I can by recycling aggressively, conserving energy and resources, and urging others to do the same. Citizens of tomorrow, be forewarned.

ReELECT GORE

sasquatch

Some guy set up a motion-triggered camera deep in the woods of Ridgway, Pennsylvania which is about 115 miles northeast of Pittsburgh. He was trying to get photos of deer but instead captured the following:

Is it a sasquatch? Some say yes, others say no. The Pennsylvania Game Commission claims that the photo shows "a bear with a severe case of mange." But those back legs look far too long to belong to a bear. Moreover, they bend slightly at the knee. I see a bipedal creature stooped over in a foraging position. Personally, I don't really believe in bigfoot. But I don't rule out the possibility that it does in fact exist. Perhaps it's a very thin or underweight bear. The front left leg, or arm, looks to be about the same length as its back one. Hmmm... Until I see definitive evidence, not just photographic evidence (which is open to interpretation), I'm siding with the skeptics. But it really does look like a humanoid.

that's just grate

nobody but me

When I started this here blog, I was hoping I could create some kind of cultural phenomenon. I wanted my words to be read, to be interpreted and to be talked about. I soon discovered that nobody wants to read subjective stream of conscious ramblings about this and that. I don't pretend to have my ear to the street or my finger on the pulse of whatever is new and hip--I'm too unfocused for that. Writing is cathartic for me, it's an outlet. And while it'd be cool if other people did get something out of it, I'm not heartbroken that nobody reads the transcribed gas of all my brain farts. So why do I even put it out there in interweb-land if nobody's gonna see it? I don't know. I guess I'm just clinging to the hope. Because really, nobody can do the shing-a-ling like I do. Nobody can do the skate like I do. Nobody can do the boogaloo like I do. Nobody can do the philly like I do.

one man's trash

is another man's treasure. I mined all these pictures from the refuse bin on my computer. They've been piling up in there for awhile now. Contained within said bin were a bunch of photos that I've taken over the past few months. Maybe I'll post those soon. Until then...

PERFIDIA

The last couple weeks have been pretty eventful. The Dregs have been seriously rocking, playing shows across the city and having lots of fun. We've been working on some new material that's sounding super rad too. The ping pong table in my garage is in full effect and dudes are stopping by to get a good rally going. Projects at the house are occupying my time as well. Lots of fun stuff going on!

Nike SB just finished a video featuring all of their riders. They held a premiere and after party in Portland to which Beth and I went. We ran into a bunch of other friends too. The video was cool, Nike's team is a real diverse mix of dudes who all ride different stuff and have different styles. It was fun to watch, this dude Omar Salazar kills it; he's in a league of his own. The party after the premiere was kinda exclusive but our friends had some other friends and were able to get us in. OPEN BAR! FREE PIZZA! Plus I got to meet some of my favorite pro skaters and dudes who I see in the mags every month. Beth was trying to strike up conversations with all these pros, just talking to them about skating and stuff, it was cool. The whole thing was rad, I was really fanning out on some dudes. At one point the dancefloor cleared out and fools were taking turns messing around on a skateboard. A crowd gathered around and cheered on those ballsy enough to brave an alcohol-slicked wood floor. The above photo was snapped right before this guy slipped out and planted his face into the floorboards. You can totally see his drink vacating its glass.Another night, I went downtown to see a band called the Black Lips play. I'd seen them before and it was pretty crazy. People were throwing empty cans and spraying beer everywhere. The same thing happened this time around but the bass player was less enthused. I remember this wasted dude got up on stage and bumped into him and messed up the instrument and kicked over his mic stand before jumping back into the crowd. A bunch of other dudes started doing the stage dive thing too but the bass player was just staring at somebody in the crowd for the rest of the show. When it was over, he dropped the bass and jumped in swinging. A small melee ensued, one of the other guitarists briefly joined the fray. Security pulled the band back onstage and took them away and then held court onstage checking out the scene. I saw a couple bottles fly and decided that I oughta to get out of there. It was crazy, I don't even know how or what or why. I think fighting is pretty dopey though.

memories...

...like the corners of my mind...meow...
So thinking about memories made we want to get some down before I forget them for good. I often forget these stories until someone reminds me. Then it all comes flooding back like a spring gully-washer.

Ok, so I was a young fella, maybe twelve. I was messing about in the forest with some pals. We were doing whatever it is that young dudes do; chopping at ferns with sticks, catching tree frogs, spotting birds. We ended up deciding to throw rocks at a nest of yellowjackets. After a few direct hits, the troops were deployed and they came surging out of the nest ready to attack their marauders. Me and the gang proceeded to hop and swat in our avoidance of the angrily buzzing horde, eager to escape the eye of the swarm. When the assault subsided, we checked to see who had felt the wrath. Astonishingly, none of us had been stung. It was at this point, after all the laughs and high-fives, that I detected a buzzing sensation near my face. Upon closer inspection it was determined that a yellowjacket had gotten tangled up in my hair during the melee. As I tried to extradite it from the ratty mess that was my coiffure, it stung the shit out of me. My face soon swelled up and I spent the next couple days enduring taunts usually reserved for children of the Corky persuasion. That is to say, I appeared to have down's syndrome (which is no laughing matter). Actually, nobody made fun of those kids. My friends were just giving me a hard time, something only friends can do--and in jest at that.

Ok, next story finds me in the seventh grade where my peers are beginning to exhibit signs of maturity and I am not. Our school, bursting at the seams with students, got these portable classrooms set up near the tennis courts and the track. These portables came complete with their own heating and cooling systems which were housed in big units on the side of the buildings. On our way to class one day, it was a hot day, a friend and I were milling about outside before the bell rang. The fan that brought in air for the A/C was seriously humming and we were just wasting time, waiting on the bell.  But the hypnotic whirring was beckoning, calling to us. In the uncut grass that abutted the back of the portables is where all the dogs used to shit while their owners walked or jogged on the track after school was out. So one thing or another led us to start throwing turds into the fan. Like enterprising apes, we used rudimentary tools like sticks and scrap paper to fling more and more shit into the spinning blades. Shit literally hit the fan. To this day, I have no idea what possessed us to do it. Was it angst? Was it the ennui of a youth gone mild? Or was it just two kids siezing an opportunity to shake things up a bit? Either way, once the bell rang and we all took our seats, shit figuratively hit the fan. The room was stinky and kids started looking around at each other with those squished-up disgusted faces that say 'who farted?' Fingers were pointed at likely culprits and innocence was proclaimed. The whole thing turned into your classic 'whoever smealt it dealt it' blame game in which haphazard accusations fly back and forth, none sticking long enough before being deflected. It seemed that the more conviction the accuser displayed in his allegations, the more he absolved himself. Eventually, someone was heaped with the blame and branded a stinky-butted farter. The teacher opened the doors and windows and soon enough, everything aired out.

It's odd that a story like this next one would so often slip my mind (if only for the fact that it involves boobs) but I always forget it until my friend Amy reminds me when she says "ollie up these!" When I was going to college in Eugene, I lived down the street from my friend Beej, who lived with Amy and Emily. I was skating to their house, cruising fast and hopping and bopping down the street. As I was riding, some girls yelled at me. I thought they must be friends of mine since they were yelling so I stopped and picked up my board. I turned to face them and one of them lifted up her shirt, shook her boobs and shouted "ollie up these!" I was awestruck, this was rockstar shit. I just laughed and said something like "ok, cool." When I got to my friends' house, I recounted the events in detail much to their, and my, amusement.

This other time when I was skating in the exact same spot where the girl flashed me, I cut off this dude who was passing me on his bicycle. I couldn't hear him riding because bikes are quiet and skateboards are loud. We collided, he crashed hard and bled and I was totally okay. I felt kinda bad but he seemed cool with it. Oh well.

kooky

This lady in Brazil just gave birth to her own grandchildren. How, you ask? Turns out that the lady's daughter was barren, her insides were a rocky place where a seed could find no purchase. So her mother, the lady, played the role of surrogate mother and bore twins for her daughter. Kooky eh? I hope everything turns out alright with their genes and stuff.

The band played last night. I had an awesome time. The venue was charging five bucks. That seems so dumb. Who's gonna pay to see some no-name band on a sunday night? I wouldn't. But we're gonna be busy in the next couple months, lots of shows.

japanese cigarette case...

...bring the mirror to my face. So I love music. I think I love and understand music more than most. However, I remain frustrated that I can't express this love in words. It's just an unexplainable feeling that I can't describe. Some people can express, explain and describe this feeling. Perhaps they love music more than me.

let all my memories be born

What do we hold sacred? Material possessions? Meaningful gifts? Old issues of Thrasher magazine? Fine Irish china? I guess the answers vary from person to person, none more right than the other. I hold memories sacred--I don't ever want to forget anything. And though it seems that the things we don't want to remember are the things we can't forget, I'm content. The older I get, the more memories I make. I fear, however, that with every memory I gain, I forget another. To help me remember, I save photos, writings and other reminders of the past. Someday I'll be hella old and while I may pine for the 'good old days of yore' like any old-timer, I can still revel in my glory days and have a good laugh or share the stories.

I could have told you Vincent...

I like cover tunes. If I'm flipping through the crates or digging through some archives, I always get stoked to recognize a song title whether I know the musician or not. I'm instantly attracted to the recording if only for the fact that I'll get to hear someone else's take on someone else's song. Seriously, jazz up a pop tune, speed up a slow song or tone down a rocker. Even if the cover doesn't sound better than the original, it's still cool to hear a fresh perspective on an old tune.

Cowboys are cool. Look how hard these dudes look. Maybe they're bad guys, maybe they're good.

thar she blows

Members of the Makah tribe are to be prosecuted in tribal court for their roles in an illegal whale-hunting expedition. The Native American group, based in Northwest Washington, grew tired of waiting for federal approval to carry out the hunt under the Marine Mammal Protection Act. So they just went ahead and did it. What's worse, the hunters didn't even bring home the bacon, er...blubber. They stuck the great beast with a few harpoons, shot it up with a high-powered rifle, cut the buoy lines keeping it at the surface and watched it sink. Aren't they suppposed to take it home and eat it or use it? I understand that whale-hunting is a proud and time-honored tradition for their people, but what gets me is the fact that they just killed the poor creature. The hunters, who live on a reservation and are likely poor, are each facing $25,000 fines. Maybe I'm missing something, but it just seems like a total waste and a foolish thing to do.

In other news, a McDonald's employee was arrested for making a burger too salty for a police officer's taste. From the Associated Press:

UNION CITY, Ga. - A McDonald's employee spent a night in jail and is facing criminal charges because a police officer's burger was too salty, so salty that he says it made him sick. Kendra Bull was arrested Friday, charged with misdemeanor reckless conduct and freed on $1,000 bail. Bull, 20, said she accidentally spilled salt on hamburger meat and told her supervisor and a co-worker, who "tried to thump the salt off." On her break, she ate a burger made with the salty meat. "It didn't make me sick," Bull told the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. But then Police Officer Wendell Adams got a burger made with the oversalted meat, and he returned later and told the manager it made him sick. Bull admitted spilling salt on the meat, and Adams took her outside and questioned her, she said. "If it was too salty, why did (Adams) not take one bite and throw it away?" said Bull, who has worked at the restaurant for five months. She said she didn't know a police officer got one of the salty burgers because she couldn't see the drive-through window from her work area. Police said samples of the burger were sent to the state crime lab for tests. City public information officer George Louth said Bull was charged because she served the burger "without regards to the well-being of anyone who might consume it."

They sent it to the crime lab! Tax dollars at work!

never been to spain...

...but I kinda like the music

The Whistler Tree in Portugal is the most productive cork oak on record. It is nearly 220 years old, is 45 feet tall, has a 15-foot trunk diameter, and yields more than a ton of raw cork per harvest—enough to make 100,000 wine bottle stoppers.

aah, nature's bounty knows no bounds. It's self-sustaining, it replenishes itself. It's ours for the taking! Timber, oil, coal, fauna, gems, ore; it's all ours!!

no pickles no mayo

you're too old to run away

I just read something about the Shaolin monks, the real dudes in Shaolandia or China or whatever, and they're demanding an apology from some random guy on the internet who claimed that a ninja could beat a Shaolin monk in a fight. So ninjas, I gather, are Japanese assassins and not too noble. The Shaolin monks, on the other hand, are committed to peace and nobility; they only resort to violence in defense of the weak. My suggestion? Settle it once and for all. Fight! Actually, violence is uncool. Maybe they oughta sit at a table with some hot soup and talk it out. Miso or eggflower. Either way, I bet the guy who originally made the claim was just some turd in a basement with orange cheeto residue on his fingers and cold, half-eaten hot pockets within reach. It all seems petty.

KEEP LISTENING TO THE BLACK LIPS

$2 off

Check this out. I got this pack of gum at the Korean corner store by my house. It shocks you if you try to pull out the stick. It seriously packs a big jolt; it's so cool. I've had it for two days now and it has proven to be an endless source of amusement.

But seriously, what's with bum kids? Sometimes they seem so dedicated to being bums. I wonder if they decide one day to move out of mom's house, cram a bunch of junk in a backpack, throw out the deoderant and get a dog on a rope. It might be a seasonal thing. Once it gets too cold out, they all move back home and resume normal life. Or when they go back to college in the fall, they say they spent their summer living like a hobo. I saw one panhandler, dog in tow, holding his cardboard sign in one hand and talking on a cell phone with the other. "No mom," he said. "I don't want salmon tonight."

There's lots of hipsters in Portland too. It's a hip place man. Go to New Seasons or almost any bar in NE or SE and you'll see what I'm talking about. But I'm probably a hipster sometimes too. It's a pretty subjective call. Biased too. I think it's a term of condemnation but it seems to get thrown around a lot by hipsters as much as squares. The Libertines sang about it: "Did you see the stylish kids in the riot..."

LISTEN TO THE BLACK LIPS.

hail to the beef

It's a strange feeling I get. I'm stoked that I got to bear witness to GW Bush's time in office. As his empire crumbles around him and his appointees and allies resign amid turmoil and controversy, I feel somewhat privileged to watch it happen. After these eight years of utter ineptitude, incompetence and ultimate failure, I will be able to say that I lived through two terms of what will go down as the worst presidency in history.

Do cows have boogers?

big brother

Cold hearted orb that rules the night,
Removes the colors from our sight.
Red is grey and yellow white,
But we decide which is right.
And which is an illusion...

sit on it

I went camping over the weekend with some folks. It was kool and the gang man, hella Fonzie. Nothing gives me a better sense of nature and the outdoors than stinking cess pit toilets, screaming children on bicycles, and loose dogs on the prowl. But seriously, it's always nice to get away from the normal day-to-day. One day I was rowing m'lady in a boat, singing sweet songs of lily and lace, when a screaming harpy plucked a soon-to-be devoured meal from the water. It was actually an osprey retrieving a trout--a trout on a fisherman's hook and line. As the bird flew away with its catch in its clutches, the line kept spooling out from the fisherman's reel. At one point, the great raptor appeared to be held back by the fisherman as both wrestled for what they thought was rightfully theirs. The line was cut soon after and the osprey took its prize to a treetop, with the trailing fishing line gleaming in the sun.

tinkle tinkle

Skateboarding. Though the Xgames and the Mountain Dew Huck Jam bring it to a wider audience, skating is still multi-faceted, _____ing with its __________. What you won't see on any televised extreme 'sporting' event is the true essence of skateboarding. Some dudes don't do it for the money or fame. Check out Jeremy Reeves on Youtube. he's not alone

pulling the rug

This lady just won a hefty sum in the lottery. Something like a million bucks! Hella dolemite! So she goes to claim her winnings and they check her ID. Turns out she bought the winning ticket with a stolen credit card. So no dough for you, lady! What a chump.

Cheaters never prosper. Crime doesn't pay--at least not all the time.

you heard it here

barry bonds is on drugs man. that fool is uncool. throw the ball back, i say.

i cut my tongue to change my new year

For real! It's official! I thought this was cool. I didn't make it. I don't even know who the hell did, but there it is. Our name in lights!

BOO HOO

Nobody reads my blog, nobody comments, nobody thinks I have anything cool to say...blah blah go to hell....

Check this out though, it's a pillow for lonely ladies!Now they can sleep soundly in the comfort of a man's armpit. Sure, the pillow man doesn't smell like Old Spice and it doesn't grope you while you try to rest, but it's always there and it never talks back or has bad breath. What the picture doesn't show is the pillow's head. When you purchase it, you can choose between Ryan Seacrest, Charles Barkley or the Bounty Paper Towel guy. The latter comes complete with lifelike facial hair.

Do you think women will actually buy this thing? Maybe gay guys who long for the touch of a strong man might be a better target market. Some dudes might want to get one for their clingy gal even though I think jealousy might end up getting the best of them, "DAMN YOU, PILLOW MAN!"

a breath of fresh hair

The Hives are the shit. I just mined the depths of youtube hoping for a taste of their new album. My appetite was further whetted with newer footage of some unknown songs they've been playing in Europe lately. Needless to say, i was as stoked as a hormone-dripping teenybopper catching the eye of Donnie Wahlberg at a late 1980s NKOTB concert extravaganza. The first clip I found was a sublime seven-song medley covering the likes of the Hellacopters, Saul Williams, Outkast, Three 6 Mafia and the White Stripes that culminated with the band's impassioned version of their own 'hate to say I told you so.' It was super cool. The next clip I found was a song I hadn't heard before and, judging by the band's outfits, it was indeed a newer composition. The song was in the vein of some others off their last album--influenced by 1960s pop and punctuated with drum breaks and happy, danceable choruses. If this is any indication of the new album, it is a likely possibility that I will be the happiest of campers. Also, I found an older clip of the band playing a festival in Germany in 2003. The song could've been an old girl-group or doo-wop cover but, upon further investigation, it's a newer song by a band called the Compulsive Gamblers. They're a group from Memphis who clearly owe something to the super-fun-jubilant-melancholy bands of the past. I don't want to get my hopes up, because they've been dashed before on occasions like this, but HOLY SHIT i can't wait for the Hives' new album.

shut up

Oh man, I'm listening to my office's version of Dwight Shrute solve the world's problems. He's getting sweaty and dropping verbal turds from his fat stupid face right now. Seriously, he's talking about nothing and nobody's listening. But I should just transcribe this shit, it's too good. Did you know his father was in the air force? And that he was born in the same town as John Denver and Demi Moore? I do now. Do you know how to fix the public school system? He does. "The most recent level 5 tornado was in 2003, which was the year Lebron was drafted." Fascinating. Wouldn't you think that if nobody's listening, making eye contact, or even giving you the vaguest hint of acknowledgment, you'd realize that nobody gives a shit? It's unbelievable. There's three people down here who are now subject to whatever bullshit this tripe-spewing volcano spouts. I'm sure he has more pressing, work-related matters. Yet here I am blogging at work.

vanity

up to me, down to you

I saw a pregnant lady, ripe with life and, from the look of her distended belly, about 6 or 7 months in, smoking a cigarette. To make matters worse, she was blowing her secondhand right into the stroller of another toddler and contaminating his virgin lungs. I thought about saying something to her, but I didn't. This was downtown, in plain view of many other people too. She was hella rugged and fully hood but someone (like me) probably still should've said something. I'm sure she knows that what she was doing was stupid, selfish, and totally unhealthy for her, her unborn child, and the other baby in the stroller. Is it the obligation of society to step up and tell this fool how to conduct her life and raise her children?

bury me

Oh man. The band is now called the Dregs and we played a show downtown last night at a bar with a stage. It was a trainwreck. A total disaster. Nobody was focused, people were super tired and not feeling well, and the plane crashed into the mountain. It was embarassing. I got pissed off at my cymbal. People were stepping on cables and pulling out cords. I was excited just to be playing a real show. And some friends that hadn't seen or heard us before were going to be in attendance. I just wanted us to play well and impress them. Nuts to that. They'll tell everybody they know how shitty it was and that Bryan's band is a total waste of time. Oh well.

Dawn of Man

Holding back is unhealthy sometimes. Better out than in, I say. Of course, that's not true for everyone, or every situation for that matter.

Thinking about evolution... It's interesting to think about the circumstances that shaped the rise of humanity. I can't even begin to fathom how many generations it took for us to progress from lil ape-dudes to people, simian to sapien; or how fish grew legs and walked out of the sea to strike forth on land. What fascinates me even more is that some creatures are still virtually unchanged and have yet to undergo drastic evolutions. Crocodiles, for instance, are so well-suited to their environments that they haven't had the need to evolve. Though crocodiles aren't alone in this distinction, that doesn't mean they're immune to evolution. Nature and other outside forces dictate their ability to adapt. But what will people look like in 1,000 years or more? Will there even be any people left on this planet? TURTLEDOVES! SHIT! I should just read a book. We should all read a book. Any jerk who refutes evolution is a jackass in my book.

I have questions, I want answers.

Oh yeah, I saw a naked bike ride/parade a week or so ago. A shitload of naked people riding bikes, hootin' and hollerin,' shakin' and a-bouncin,' and letting their freak flags fly. It was definitely a sight to behold. Being naked is exhilarating. I once did the drunkman streak. It was on the way home from a particularly boisterous night at the Horsehead, a watering hole in Eugene known to serve 'em stiff. Me and some friends decided to take the long way home for whatever reason and with some [gentle] coaxing from the girls, the decision was made to disrobe. All I remember is that it was time to go native and that once that cool fresh air hit my pale naked body, I was off. I gave in to the exhilaration and just started running and laughing so hard that I couldn't breathe. We were all laughing; hootin' and hollerin,' shakin' and a-bouncin.' It was a good night. The next morning we were all cut up. The soles of our feet were scuffed up; our knees, elbows and palms were scraped. Someone lost a shoe probably. But our pride, however damaged, remained intact.

URINATE OFTEN

for real

My cousin Connie rescued this kitty from a shelter. She named it Harriet. Raised on a steady diet of cat food and cold cuts, Harriet grew to epic proportions. Once, I agreed to get Connie's mail and feed the cat while she was on vacation. Litter box duty was also part of the job description. No joke: Harriet's turds rivaled mine in size. For reals.

the swill of it all

sure do love to sip. mild summer evenings, cold bottles. ever thus the deadbeats.

running up that hill

EAT ICE CREAM