While speaking to a disorderly student, I took a severely serious tone--mockingly authoritative. A sweet student turned to me and said, "You could have been an actor."
Thank you life for reminding me of not letting my talents become a past tense song and dance.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Snail Trails of Rain Drops and Time
So it has been awhile...ahoy. It is raining like a small child's midnight tantrum. Personally, I like it. While the sun sank and my livingroom filled with various shades of blue, I played guitar with the lights off. Two dogs, who I think shall travel many places with me, are lying in a festive slumber--they played for hours, and their only answer is to deep breathe and stretch. I am not saying the world is perfect, but it sure ain't bad. At 10 am I played 3 hours of ultimate frisbee--my body wants to join my dogs on the floor. It is raining right now. I am going to resist slumber and trudge into the wet darkness--there I shall find a cab and head to Condesa. Pablo's parents arrived two weeks ago. They were here on business. Today they left. Some teachers are getting together at 10pm for drinks and music. At 9pm I will meet Ana and Pablo to celebrate his parents departure. Julia will be there. Julia owns Lucio. Julia got back from Barcelona last week. Lucio is with her now. Tonight Lucio will be at her house. Tomorrow I will post a picture of their reunion. Tonight I will not read Slaughterhouse-Five. Tomorrow I will grade ten papers. Sometime next week I am going to paint a picture. Next Saturday I will display all of my paintings at an art show. Yesterday I played the snare drum and I made rhythms with other people. Last night was the Girl's soccer game. The girl's soccer game, was also the homecoming game. I am currently writing an article on the homecoming event. The article is due Nov. 2. I will send a draft to someone sometime this week. The article will appear in the school magazine entitled, Focus. Right now it is 8:30pm, and I need to get going. It started raining during the Nike Human Race, which started an hour ago. I would think it would not be ideal for a race of humanity to happen in the rain--perhaps it is perfect. Perhaps you are perfect. Perfection.
Tomorrow--pictures. Tonight--life.
Tomorrow--pictures. Tonight--life.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Fly the Week Like a Flag
Another Friday has saddled up to my half hung eyelids. Actually, last night I curled up around 9:30pm; I was awoken by a taunting text message at 11:30pm, initially thinking it was my 6am alarm, I smiled at the text attack on my weekday warrior status, and I turned a cheek, adjusted Lucio (positioned between my feet), and went back to slumbering the night awa
y.
The weeks seem to be flying, and I am alright with that. I am okay with the workday disappearing like a fart in the w
ind--its when it lingers that it begins to stink. This week was filled with essay grading (halfway done), new book introductions, good journals and discussions, and a healthy dose of Elliott and Dog time. I also attended Spanish class twice this week, living up to my two day a week goal. Hector and I meet at a little cafe 4 blocks from our house. The cafe is set in the front of a house, and it is run by a pair o
f pint sized Mexicana twins--I don't know their names, but they are super kind and have a quirky sense of humor--the way most short, slightly round, munchkin-esque women do. I bring my dogs with me, because they are solid warriors of the cafe scene. The two cherub ladies love them. They walk them down the bloc
k, bring them water, make itty bitty cute noises in their face, and in general, grovel over them. Aside from the coffee and good vibes, the Spanish lessons are awesome. Hector is a great teacher. I need to apply what I am learning more regularly, but I am definitely acquiring the solid 
fundamentals.
So politically speaking, this country is in turmoil. On Sunday I accompanied my buddy Mauricio to a used car lot in a far off area of the city. As
we walked through the Centro, I noticed that all the newspapers displayed at the newsstands are adorned with graphic front page images of dead bodies, blood, and assault rifles. N
ow one could say it is just for publicity, and this is definitely true. However, somewhere this shit is real; this is definitely real in the state of Sinaloa, the current epicenter of the drug war (Note: I will not be driving the coast line this summer as I iintended, for this goes through the heart of the Sinaloa State. Perhaps the gulf shall be my route.) In any event, aside from the bloody pics on the newspapers, I have come to learn that the current president, Felipe Calderon, was elected under much scandal, and in many people's eyes, unfairly so. The opposition candidate, and the one who was popularly elected, was far more radical and in tune with the masses of folks living below the poverty line. In any eevnt, last week Presidente Calderon, during Mexico's World Cup qualifier game, sent armed police into Luz y Fuerza, the main provider of electricity in central Mexico. According to Calderon, the company, which is federally owned, was mismanaging and stealing money. So Calderon and his minions, guns en tow, stormed the building, and it was announced that all employees have been fired. I do not know if this sort of news makes it to the States, but it is a big deal down here. Luz y Fuerza is a huge employeer and this action has put many people out of work.
Over the next few days several picket lines and demonstrations have littered the streets of Mexico City. Last Friday there was a march from La Angel (the Angel statue that stands as a beacon for all social gatherings in DF), to Los Pinos, the President's Palace. However, yesterday was the real deal. Sarah and I took the subway home, because the streets were packed with cars. Fired employees and sympathizers from all over Central Mexico, converged on DF to demonstrate their anger, frustration, and collective action. As we walked home from the subway, La Reforma, the main street holding the iconic La Angel, was a see of red claden Mexicans. Hombres with wide brimmed cowboy hats, were obviously workers from outside the city. Bannars, drums, whistles, and battle cries, all saturated the senses. I know there are a lot of people in this city, but to witness this convergence was absolutely insane. I was blown away by their ability to organize so quickly. Groups from all over the country made their present felt.
Sarah and I dipped out of the fray, and we made our way down San Cosme, via bike. We arrived in the Zocalo, and it was already bubbling over with people. In front of the President's palace a huge stage had been erected. Vendors pedaled their goods amongst the protestors and hanger-ons. The vibe was spirited, but not tense or viloent--the people were peacifully demonstrating. One of the largest flags I have seen waved brilliantly in the late afternoon son. Gold trickled over the tops of the colonial montors that flank the four corners of the Zocalo.
After a half hour of observing we skedaddled home. I stopped a street side burger joint--where for two dollars, I had a Hawaiian style burger. I make this promise: if you come to visit, I will treat you to a burger at this 24 hour streetside haven.
After that, I went home, loaded up illegal episodes of The Office--consequently "The Injury" season 2, as recommended by Gloria, is probably the best episode ever--followed by episode 17, of the same season, entitled "Dwight's Speech".
I closed my eyes at 9:30pm, and it felt marvelous.
y.The weeks seem to be flying, and I am alright with that. I am okay with the workday disappearing like a fart in the w
ind--its when it lingers that it begins to stink. This week was filled with essay grading (halfway done), new book introductions, good journals and discussions, and a healthy dose of Elliott and Dog time. I also attended Spanish class twice this week, living up to my two day a week goal. Hector and I meet at a little cafe 4 blocks from our house. The cafe is set in the front of a house, and it is run by a pair o
f pint sized Mexicana twins--I don't know their names, but they are super kind and have a quirky sense of humor--the way most short, slightly round, munchkin-esque women do. I bring my dogs with me, because they are solid warriors of the cafe scene. The two cherub ladies love them. They walk them down the bloc
k, bring them water, make itty bitty cute noises in their face, and in general, grovel over them. Aside from the coffee and good vibes, the Spanish lessons are awesome. Hector is a great teacher. I need to apply what I am learning more regularly, but I am definitely acquiring the solid 
fundamentals.
So politically speaking, this country is in turmoil. On Sunday I accompanied my buddy Mauricio to a used car lot in a far off area of the city. As
we walked through the Centro, I noticed that all the newspapers displayed at the newsstands are adorned with graphic front page images of dead bodies, blood, and assault rifles. N
ow one could say it is just for publicity, and this is definitely true. However, somewhere this shit is real; this is definitely real in the state of Sinaloa, the current epicenter of the drug war (Note: I will not be driving the coast line this summer as I iintended, for this goes through the heart of the Sinaloa State. Perhaps the gulf shall be my route.) In any event, aside from the bloody pics on the newspapers, I have come to learn that the current president, Felipe Calderon, was elected under much scandal, and in many people's eyes, unfairly so. The opposition candidate, and the one who was popularly elected, was far more radical and in tune with the masses of folks living below the poverty line. In any eevnt, last week Presidente Calderon, during Mexico's World Cup qualifier game, sent armed police into Luz y Fuerza, the main provider of electricity in central Mexico. According to Calderon, the company, which is federally owned, was mismanaging and stealing money. So Calderon and his minions, guns en tow, stormed the building, and it was announced that all employees have been fired. I do not know if this sort of news makes it to the States, but it is a big deal down here. Luz y Fuerza is a huge employeer and this action has put many people out of work.Over the next few days several picket lines and demonstrations have littered the streets of Mexico City. Last Friday there was a march from La Angel (the Angel statue that stands as a beacon for all social gatherings in DF), to Los Pinos, the President's Palace. However, yesterday was the real deal. Sarah and I took the subway home, because the streets were packed with cars. Fired employees and sympathizers from all over Central Mexico, converged on DF to demonstrate their anger, frustration, and collective action. As we walked home from the subway, La Reforma, the main street holding the iconic La Angel, was a see of red claden Mexicans. Hombres with wide brimmed cowboy hats, were obviously workers from outside the city. Bannars, drums, whistles, and battle cries, all saturated the senses. I know there are a lot of people in this city, but to witness this convergence was absolutely insane. I was blown away by their ability to organize so quickly. Groups from all over the country made their present felt.
Sarah and I dipped out of the fray, and we made our way down San Cosme, via bike. We arrived in the Zocalo, and it was already bubbling over with people. In front of the President's palace a huge stage had been erected. Vendors pedaled their goods amongst the protestors and hanger-ons. The vibe was spirited, but not tense or viloent--the people were peacifully demonstrating. One of the largest flags I have seen waved brilliantly in the late afternoon son. Gold trickled over the tops of the colonial montors that flank the four corners of the Zocalo.
After a half hour of observing we skedaddled home. I stopped a street side burger joint--where for two dollars, I had a Hawaiian style burger. I make this promise: if you come to visit, I will treat you to a burger at this 24 hour streetside haven.
After that, I went home, loaded up illegal episodes of The Office--consequently "The Injury" season 2, as recommended by Gloria, is probably the best episode ever--followed by episode 17, of the same season, entitled "Dwight's Speech".
I closed my eyes at 9:30pm, and it felt marvelous.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Austin Remembered and The Future
Long ago, I posted a little ditty about some good times spent in Austin, TX. This good time was a two day affair, but I only posted a one day synopsis. At this point, I shall give you the belated "quick and dirty":
We arose fairly early in a dank and swampy room; two dogs and three humans, all mouth breathers, in small square footage, makes for a steamy wake up. We arose, aired out, and hit the breakfast scene. Over some waffles and salmon eggs benedict, we decided to scrap a long distance hike in favor of an in town delight--disc golf. It just so hap
pens that Austin has 5 courses within its city limits. So we strapped up the dogs, grabbed a few discs, and we made our way west, I believe.
The sky was a damp gray, but absolutely perfect. The course was necked up against a flowing stream, and hole three gave us the opportunity to play right across it. Marissa made it over, I made it over, and Danny went straight in the drink.
Note: As I right this, the Jack Russell I am dog sitting, Lucio, who is curled up by my feet, is ripping the most teriffic farts; it literally smells as if someone is depositing small particles of sulfur into my nostrils.
But I digress. Marissa, who was wearing her amphibious hiking shoes, hopped in the stream and snagged the disc. We played on, and as we played the rain's presence continued to grow. As we came up to the wide prairie of hole 9, we decided to pack it in--nine holes was enough for today, and we were all feeling a nap brewing-- so we skedaddled back to the car, and made haste for Gorlick's house. No wait, we did not head home, how could I forget...No, we headed to Mam's BBQ and then to some pawn shops. This will serve as a perfect segue to my curren
t news.
OK, so we headed to Mam's, a rustic little dive situated next to a enormous freeway overpass. Mam's had beautiful vintage 70's yellow and red diner booths, and various hot sauces littered the table tops. The walls held everything from wagon wheels to lanterns, and the fake wood paneling almost looked real--it was perfect. We ducked in to find not a soul was in attendance. Initial concerns about this fact, were quickly erased when we saw the spread. I ordered the customary, Three Meat & Two sides combo: Jalpeno and Cheese sausage, brisket, and pork ribs, with a side of green beans and macaroni and cheese. Over the top, the attendant ladled their house sauce. Needless to say we crammed it down and slapped it around.
After the grub down, we headed to some pawn shops to look for some guitars. I was in the market for an electric. We went to a few shops. I found a few American Made Fenders (strats and teles), but they were in the neighborhood of 6 to 700 dollars...it was a little too rich for my blood, and I am not enough of a guitar expert to tell if what I was buying was quality or abused. Everything down from there, was crap. I was hopping to find a nice 300 dollar buy, but it did not present itself. In retrospect, I believe I would have bought the American Made Telecaster with tweed case for $600 or so bucks--but that was then and this is now.
Yesterday, I headed to the Centro with my buddy Mauricio, the gregarious Chilean. We hit the "Music" neighborhood. It was impossible to find used guitars. Everything was new,
a lot of it was no name crap, and a lot of it was wicked expensive. I was looking for a Mexican Made Fender. I finally found a few, but the prices were steep. We happened upon a guitar center equivelant, and I found a wall of fenders. Their American made guitars were all well over 1000 dollars. Then I saw it, a 2008 Sunburst Mexican Made Fender Strat Standard. I plugged it in, and gave it a test run--the sound was warm and sweet, the action low, and it seemed to make my fingers move quicker than they ever had before. In haste, I bought it. In retrospect I paid about 100 dollars too much ($500 with a gig bag...should been about $400), but in the long run I think it shall be fine--it is a memory and a token of my time here, and a symbolic commitment to the dream at hand. I had a little bit of buyer's remorse upon returning home, so I began furiously googling info about the guitar--something I should have done prior. It turns out that since 2006 the Mexican Made Fenders are the closest you can get to an American Made Fender. The body and the neck are all machined and manufactured in the U.S.A., utilizing the same wood and materials used in the more expensive American models. They are then shipped to Mexico for finishing. According to a few blogs, the MIM (Made in Mexico) Strat gets an A+, with regards to the bang for your buck--this made me feel a little better about the purchase.
I am treating this purchase as a commitment to getting better at guitar. I refuse to let the excuse, "Oh I am not good enough", stop me from doing what I want to do. My personal mission is to start jamming in a band within the next year. So practice, practice, practice, here I come.
I finished yesterday in the dog park, and spent my evening getting to know my new guitar. Today, I am going to get on some grading and head out to Bosque Chapultepec to sit, read, and grade. I much rather be outside than in my house.
To the good times.
We arose fairly early in a dank and swampy room; two dogs and three humans, all mouth breathers, in small square footage, makes for a steamy wake up. We arose, aired out, and hit the breakfast scene. Over some waffles and salmon eggs benedict, we decided to scrap a long distance hike in favor of an in town delight--disc golf. It just so hap
pens that Austin has 5 courses within its city limits. So we strapped up the dogs, grabbed a few discs, and we made our way west, I believe.The sky was a damp gray, but absolutely perfect. The course was necked up against a flowing stream, and hole three gave us the opportunity to play right across it. Marissa made it over, I made it over, and Danny went straight in the drink.
Note: As I right this, the Jack Russell I am dog sitting, Lucio, who is curled up by my feet, is ripping the most teriffic farts; it literally smells as if someone is depositing small particles of sulfur into my nostrils.
But I digress. Marissa, who was wearing her amphibious hiking shoes, hopped in the stream and snagged the disc. We played on, and as we played the rain's presence continued to grow. As we came up to the wide prairie of hole 9, we decided to pack it in--nine holes was enough for today, and we were all feeling a nap brewing-- so we skedaddled back to the car, and made haste for Gorlick's house. No wait, we did not head home, how could I forget...No, we headed to Mam's BBQ and then to some pawn shops. This will serve as a perfect segue to my curren
t news.OK, so we headed to Mam's, a rustic little dive situated next to a enormous freeway overpass. Mam's had beautiful vintage 70's yellow and red diner booths, and various hot sauces littered the table tops. The walls held everything from wagon wheels to lanterns, and the fake wood paneling almost looked real--it was perfect. We ducked in to find not a soul was in attendance. Initial concerns about this fact, were quickly erased when we saw the spread. I ordered the customary, Three Meat & Two sides combo: Jalpeno and Cheese sausage, brisket, and pork ribs, with a side of green beans and macaroni and cheese. Over the top, the attendant ladled their house sauce. Needless to say we crammed it down and slapped it around.
After the grub down, we headed to some pawn shops to look for some guitars. I was in the market for an electric. We went to a few shops. I found a few American Made Fenders (strats and teles), but they were in the neighborhood of 6 to 700 dollars...it was a little too rich for my blood, and I am not enough of a guitar expert to tell if what I was buying was quality or abused. Everything down from there, was crap. I was hopping to find a nice 300 dollar buy, but it did not present itself. In retrospect, I believe I would have bought the American Made Telecaster with tweed case for $600 or so bucks--but that was then and this is now.
Yesterday, I headed to the Centro with my buddy Mauricio, the gregarious Chilean. We hit the "Music" neighborhood. It was impossible to find used guitars. Everything was new,
a lot of it was no name crap, and a lot of it was wicked expensive. I was looking for a Mexican Made Fender. I finally found a few, but the prices were steep. We happened upon a guitar center equivelant, and I found a wall of fenders. Their American made guitars were all well over 1000 dollars. Then I saw it, a 2008 Sunburst Mexican Made Fender Strat Standard. I plugged it in, and gave it a test run--the sound was warm and sweet, the action low, and it seemed to make my fingers move quicker than they ever had before. In haste, I bought it. In retrospect I paid about 100 dollars too much ($500 with a gig bag...should been about $400), but in the long run I think it shall be fine--it is a memory and a token of my time here, and a symbolic commitment to the dream at hand. I had a little bit of buyer's remorse upon returning home, so I began furiously googling info about the guitar--something I should have done prior. It turns out that since 2006 the Mexican Made Fenders are the closest you can get to an American Made Fender. The body and the neck are all machined and manufactured in the U.S.A., utilizing the same wood and materials used in the more expensive American models. They are then shipped to Mexico for finishing. According to a few blogs, the MIM (Made in Mexico) Strat gets an A+, with regards to the bang for your buck--this made me feel a little better about the purchase.I am treating this purchase as a commitment to getting better at guitar. I refuse to let the excuse, "Oh I am not good enough", stop me from doing what I want to do. My personal mission is to start jamming in a band within the next year. So practice, practice, practice, here I come.
I finished yesterday in the dog park, and spent my evening getting to know my new guitar. Today, I am going to get on some grading and head out to Bosque Chapultepec to sit, read, and grade. I much rather be outside than in my house.
To the good times.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Austin City Dig It: Day One
I slipped back into my country, and re-birthed myself onto a Texas prairie. I ate, drank, and wandered across the motto, "Everything is Bigger in Texas." I have resurfaced as a foreigner, quieted my slang, and smooched my dogs.
Thursday of last week started rather well: I woke up early; I realized my flight left later than I thought; and I realized something else, which was fortuitous, but at this point, it escapes me. All I know is, Thursday started well, and the whole weekend followed suite. I got the papers I needed, I taught that class that I had to, and I skedaddled home right when I should have.
I hailed a cab, and we hit the Circuito Interior for the Aeropuerto. In the cab, I was struggling to identify a nervous feeling in my stomach. Initially I confused my excitement for that dreaded suspense of forgetting something. I checked my papers twice and I settled in for the ride.
Terminal 2 greeted me with open arms. My entrance, in all honesty, went as easy as this: ticket, metal detector, immigration, stamp, smile, candy and gum, sit, smile, board, seat, sleep, chicken sandwich, ginger ale, TV, land, customs, coffee, American Slang, and Danny (with dogs). It was around 8 pm or so, and we had a three hour drive in front of us. I bought Danny and myself a mocha. It was a great idea, until I stepped outside into the 80 degree humidity. I slammed my beverage, and sweated it up. Danny arrived and the journey began.
Some friends never get old, or awkward, or misaligned with the person you have become; some friends strike a chord, to a rhythm, to a song you will always sing, and you can't help but to harmonize. We settled into the car, I greeted his dogs, and we hit the road. Houston is about 2-3 hours from Austin, and we were on a mission. As the Texas landscape slipped into darkness, we caught up on each others lives--two months ago I had stopped in Bryan and seen a bit of the life Shaggy was leading there. Currently his fiance, Thanksgiving Tina, is in New York, working on an externship, while finishing her DVM. Danny is bleeding pigs 4-5 days a week for Texas A&M. We chatted, made jokes, shared music, and hurled through space.
The south holds many fastfood chains, the pinacle being Whataburger--essentially, a down and dirty In-N-Out. It is heads and tails above all other burger joints around, and especially over the prolific poop pedaling franchise known as Sonic--crap! We passed two Whataburgers, and decided Jack in the Box would have to do. We both endulged in the mini-sirloin burgers--yippie kai-yay! As we stood in the middle of a nowhere Texas heat, Danny enjoyed the stinging bite of a passing beetle. Shags lets out a trademark gravely squeal, accompanied by a series expletives. As we got back in the car he announced, "Oh fuck man! That thing is really lightin' me up. It's throbbing!" At this point I enjoyed my first bit of hysterical laughter--this would be the tone for the weekend--gut busting hilarity. We pressed on into the night.
We arrived in Austin somewhere around 10 or 11. Marissa greeted us, and we unloaded the wagon of love. The dogs found their new home in Marissa's room, we met Jess her roomie, and we settled into a night at home. Two things: One, Texans like a beer called Lone Star. Two, every beer must be put in a koozy or cozy--one of those foam things that keeps your beer cold. We played Dominoes, drank beer, and I realized that being mildly mentally impaired, negates my ability to learn something new, like a game, and to utilize mathematics effectively. Apparently, the same is true for Danny, because we were slaughtered by the ladies. So it went and we trickled on to 4 in the morning. I had no idea we were up that late. I made my home on the couch, Danny took a futon, and we crashed.
At some point in the night, Cheryl, came trapsing back home with a few male suiters. Danny is a light sleeper. I am not a light sleeper. Danny was awake for all the conversations that came with the mystery people's late night enterence. They were drunk and horny, and negotiating what action to take--according to Danny, they took a long time to discuss this. Somewhere in their conversations, they made this comment about me: "Man that guy snores really fucking loud." I did not wake up to respond. In fact, the following morning, I was completely unaware of their late night return. In any event, we arose at 8 am, because Danny's dogs needed to pee. I reluctantly joined Marissa and Danny on their early morning awakening. We stumbled down the street to Mi Madre's, and hunkered down for a little coffee and breakfast. The coffee flowed rich and dark, and the breakfast tacos were thick and juicy (that's what she said). We ate, talked, and mapped out our day. Our waitress had just bought a scalped ticket, and would be high tailing it to the concert after her shift. We settled up on the check, and we took a stroll back home.
After some short mid morning lounging, we geared up for a long day in the son. I brought along my Maggie Kline designer jean shorts, which feature a plush green khaki patch and several journey worn rips, heart shaped sunglasses donated by Gloria's forgetfulness, a Teotihuacan wide-brimmed bucket hat, Sean Rudolph designer New Balances, and a shirt from an organization named Los Ninos. We layered on the SPF, packed up the essentials, and went outside to prepare our steeds: borrowed weather beaten bikes. Both bikes needed some tire love, and we collectively made quick work of the dilapidated machines. Within the hour of 12, we hopped on bikes and headed to the fair grounds.
Our ride through downtown Austin was beautiful. UT (University of Texas) is brilliantly woven into the architectual and social fabric of downtown. We stopped at Marissa's lab and printed our tickets for the show. We then made another pit stop and bought some water and gum. Although hilly at points, the ride was absolutely beautiful--we were sun soaked music warriors, drifting into the beauty of melodic battle.
We passed the sea of black folks buying and selling tickets. We passed the sea of burnt out hippies, hocking jewelry, pipes, and substances. We passed the cops, and those walking. We also passed pedi-cabs---nostalgia for Marissa and I ran deep (perhaps a future in part-time pedi, exists for us both). We locked our bikes up on racks that held well over several hundred other bikes---most likely a thousand or so. We entered, we smiled, we arrived.
Zilker park, is insanely huge. It sits on the water front, and as far as you can see, there are rolling hills of Zilker grass--a beautiful genetically resiliant strain of grass, that is both spongey and hardy. It was beautiful to look at the long fairways leading concert goers like meandering buffalo on the prairies of the past. Sonrisas, sonrisas, sonrisas.
Danny and I will be beautiful pervy old men. When we are around one another, the male sport of oogling, day dreaming, whistling, skeeming, and generally just degenerating into cavemen, occurs. We had a blast, and Marissa tolerated us pleasantly.
Show One: Blitzen Trapper. I would describe them as an atmospheric folk group. They jammed with a lot of distortion and layered effects. The lead singer looked like a short Jewish boy, but he had practiced his Rock N'Roll panther growl, and he made the crowd come along with him. The drummer had a beard to match the gurth of his gut, and the rest of the members were forgettable--but, the music was good. We swayed and jibbed out. It was a nice beginning.
Show Two: We skiddadled from Blitzen Trapper, over to The Avett Brothers. On the way we snagged a Lone Star, and stopped for a picture. Side note: The prices at this event were respectful to the captive audience. A 24oz of beer was $8. All food was locally provided, and reasonable: fried pickles $4, bratwurst with the works, $5...it put a good taste in your mouth, to not be screwed while eating (that's what she said). The Avetts are real brothers. Their band was simple down home rock it out folk. The gyrated and animated their songs, and their old stuff rocked. Their new album, was as Marissa and Danny put it, "Too Campy!". Rick Rubin produced their last album, and I think he is tainting them with a caricature of who they are. In any event, they were damn good.
Break: Food. As mentioned Bratwurst, fried dills, and beverages were consumed. We took a break, and then went to the bathrooms. We found a secret stash of potties, and made quick relief.
Show Three: Daniel Johnston is a small town legend, who lives it in a big way. He splashed onto the scene in the 80's with a quirky tape entitled, "Hi, How Are You?". He land
ed on MTV's spring break coverage of Austin, TX back in the early 90's, and he sort of road the wave. Bands like Nirvana and Wilco have all covered his songs. His work is this genuinely honest and hopelessly tragic menagerie of squealing vocals and rough guitar licks. Daniel Johnston has struggled with mental illness for years. Once a scrawny curley haird crooner, he now stands as a portly middle aged grey haired man, who trembles from the meds they pump through him. The crowd was huge, and he proclaimed it, "There sure are a lot people out there," Daniel stammered into the microphone. The crowd cheered in support. He launched into his set, and began rifling through tragic lyrics of never ending sadness, and constant loneliness--his truth superceded his musical shortcomings. We stayed, wtinessed, and moved on after a few songs.
Show Four: Phoenix is fronted by a dweeby looking fruit tart with a campy voice---but I like them. Phoneix is one of Gorlick's favorite bands, but as we struggled to move up, Danny and I began to fade. After a few yards of fighting the crowd, we told Gors that we were heading for shade. Danny and I found a large tented sandbox, affectionately known as, Austin Kiddie Limits. Moms and babies plundered the sand behind a fenced off region. Danny and I leaned up against the fence and sighed in relief. As we do, we talked about the passing beauties, the debauchery of yester year, and highlighted enthusiasm for this and that, with ruthless and vulgar vocabulary. I then slightly shifted and noticed the three year old who was sitting not 12 inches from us, on the otherside of the fence. As she happily dug a new world into the sand with each joyous shovel scoop, I reflected on the fact, that indeed this small gate was keeping these kids safe...if for nothing else, it was keeping foul mouthed bastards such as ourself, away from that little girl. I smiled at the effectiveness of a seemingly useless fence.
Show Five: It took Marissa a while to find us; her iphone was failing to do what it should. Eventually we met up and watched a little bit of Raphael Sadiq, former front man for Tony Toni Tone. He had a very stylized show, with all members dressed in matching black and white suits. He busted oldies, covered the Stooges, and brought the afternoon funk. We was damn good.
Show Six: Thievery Corporation is not just two DJ's. Thievery Corporation is a live band with a host of lead singers--it was mind blowing. Ambient insturmental came to life with soaring female melodies, ripping drones from the sitar, and rumbling waves from the bass and drums. Magical. Marissa, Danny, and I sat and enjoyed the scene--small clouds fell from the sky.
Show Seven: Lucky number seven. We meandered towards the XBOX 360 stage, and snuck up to the amassing hordes. People were buzzing, and we all opted to hold our pee in favor of pushing to the front. We got there a half hour early and we waited with spasmodic glee. A super group has been formed and they go by the name of Them Crooked Vultures (or as we like call them, Dem Dirty Vultures or simply Dem Dirty). The Vultures are: Josh Homme on lead vocals/guitar (formerly of Queens of the Stone Age); John Paul Jones on bass (formerly of Led Zepplin), and Dave Grohl on Drums (formerly of Nirvana and Foo Fighters). Homme's accompanying guitar player from Queens of the Stone Age, Alain Johannes, who mirrors Homme's guitar sound, and offers a nice depth to the group, plays with the band for live shows. This band was 100% rock n' roll, and they came out swinging. Homme's first words were, "I feel tipsy", and then they launched into a fucking flury of hard riffs and ripping solos. They pounded and masses gyrated, and it was a ball of energy. I was inspired by not just the musicianship, but the moment they embraced and created. With live music of that caliber and ferocity, the artist themselves truly commit to tapping into the universe and giving it a taste of their perspective. It was dark, ha
unting, bluesy, and rough. It was an amalgamation of Zepplin, Queens, and Nirvana. Individual sounds and ideas came to the top, like the frothy overflow of a shaken microbrew. The three of us were soldiers in the fight, and we pushed our way to nearly 10 rows back. In a see of several thousands (possibly tens of) we were in the front. I am changed by that moment. I am going to buy an electric guitar. I am going to play and sing at the same time. I am going to practice. I am going to study. I am going to taste what it is to be on the other side of the stage.
We exited that show drained and overjoyed; ears ringing and hearts poundi
ng; spirits lifeted and souls ignited. On our way out we caught the Yeah Yeah Yeahs' Karen O, creating a spectacle in a larger than life costume and a beautiful mix of theater and music. It was so good that from a couple of 100 yards off, we decided to stop and watch. She is quite the showman (woman?). We stopped for a moment and then pressed on.
Snagged the bikes and hit the road for a dark night ride. The ride back was hilly and we had to stop for Danny to pee. He peed under a bat filled bridge. Marissa did a phenomenal job of taking us around. She really lead a great tour.
When we made it home, we realized the state of our exhaustion. We grabbed the dogs, stumbled to an amazing pizza place, and stumbled home. We rapidly knixed our plans to go out to the various after parties in town. Instead, the five of us (Marissa, Danny, Myself, and the two dogs), bunked up in Gors' room and passed out promptly--it was a beautiful thing.
This is Day One of Two...I will get there soon.
Thursday of last week started rather well: I woke up early; I realized my flight left later than I thought; and I realized something else, which was fortuitous, but at this point, it escapes me. All I know is, Thursday started well, and the whole weekend followed suite. I got the papers I needed, I taught that class that I had to, and I skedaddled home right when I should have.
I hailed a cab, and we hit the Circuito Interior for the Aeropuerto. In the cab, I was struggling to identify a nervous feeling in my stomach. Initially I confused my excitement for that dreaded suspense of forgetting something. I checked my papers twice and I settled in for the ride.
Terminal 2 greeted me with open arms. My entrance, in all honesty, went as easy as this: ticket, metal detector, immigration, stamp, smile, candy and gum, sit, smile, board, seat, sleep, chicken sandwich, ginger ale, TV, land, customs, coffee, American Slang, and Danny (with dogs). It was around 8 pm or so, and we had a three hour drive in front of us. I bought Danny and myself a mocha. It was a great idea, until I stepped outside into the 80 degree humidity. I slammed my beverage, and sweated it up. Danny arrived and the journey began.
Some friends never get old, or awkward, or misaligned with the person you have become; some friends strike a chord, to a rhythm, to a song you will always sing, and you can't help but to harmonize. We settled into the car, I greeted his dogs, and we hit the road. Houston is about 2-3 hours from Austin, and we were on a mission. As the Texas landscape slipped into darkness, we caught up on each others lives--two months ago I had stopped in Bryan and seen a bit of the life Shaggy was leading there. Currently his fiance, Thanksgiving Tina, is in New York, working on an externship, while finishing her DVM. Danny is bleeding pigs 4-5 days a week for Texas A&M. We chatted, made jokes, shared music, and hurled through space.
The south holds many fastfood chains, the pinacle being Whataburger--essentially, a down and dirty In-N-Out. It is heads and tails above all other burger joints around, and especially over the prolific poop pedaling franchise known as Sonic--crap! We passed two Whataburgers, and decided Jack in the Box would have to do. We both endulged in the mini-sirloin burgers--yippie kai-yay! As we stood in the middle of a nowhere Texas heat, Danny enjoyed the stinging bite of a passing beetle. Shags lets out a trademark gravely squeal, accompanied by a series expletives. As we got back in the car he announced, "Oh fuck man! That thing is really lightin' me up. It's throbbing!" At this point I enjoyed my first bit of hysterical laughter--this would be the tone for the weekend--gut busting hilarity. We pressed on into the night.
We arrived in Austin somewhere around 10 or 11. Marissa greeted us, and we unloaded the wagon of love. The dogs found their new home in Marissa's room, we met Jess her roomie, and we settled into a night at home. Two things: One, Texans like a beer called Lone Star. Two, every beer must be put in a koozy or cozy--one of those foam things that keeps your beer cold. We played Dominoes, drank beer, and I realized that being mildly mentally impaired, negates my ability to learn something new, like a game, and to utilize mathematics effectively. Apparently, the same is true for Danny, because we were slaughtered by the ladies. So it went and we trickled on to 4 in the morning. I had no idea we were up that late. I made my home on the couch, Danny took a futon, and we crashed.
At some point in the night, Cheryl, came trapsing back home with a few male suiters. Danny is a light sleeper. I am not a light sleeper. Danny was awake for all the conversations that came with the mystery people's late night enterence. They were drunk and horny, and negotiating what action to take--according to Danny, they took a long time to discuss this. Somewhere in their conversations, they made this comment about me: "Man that guy snores really fucking loud." I did not wake up to respond. In fact, the following morning, I was completely unaware of their late night return. In any event, we arose at 8 am, because Danny's dogs needed to pee. I reluctantly joined Marissa and Danny on their early morning awakening. We stumbled down the street to Mi Madre's, and hunkered down for a little coffee and breakfast. The coffee flowed rich and dark, and the breakfast tacos were thick and juicy (that's what she said). We ate, talked, and mapped out our day. Our waitress had just bought a scalped ticket, and would be high tailing it to the concert after her shift. We settled up on the check, and we took a stroll back home.
After some short mid morning lounging, we geared up for a long day in the son. I brought along my Maggie Kline designer jean shorts, which feature a plush green khaki patch and several journey worn rips, heart shaped sunglasses donated by Gloria's forgetfulness, a Teotihuacan wide-brimmed bucket hat, Sean Rudolph designer New Balances, and a shirt from an organization named Los Ninos. We layered on the SPF, packed up the essentials, and went outside to prepare our steeds: borrowed weather beaten bikes. Both bikes needed some tire love, and we collectively made quick work of the dilapidated machines. Within the hour of 12, we hopped on bikes and headed to the fair grounds.
Our ride through downtown Austin was beautiful. UT (University of Texas) is brilliantly woven into the architectual and social fabric of downtown. We stopped at Marissa's lab and printed our tickets for the show. We then made another pit stop and bought some water and gum. Although hilly at points, the ride was absolutely beautiful--we were sun soaked music warriors, drifting into the beauty of melodic battle.
We passed the sea of black folks buying and selling tickets. We passed the sea of burnt out hippies, hocking jewelry, pipes, and substances. We passed the cops, and those walking. We also passed pedi-cabs---nostalgia for Marissa and I ran deep (perhaps a future in part-time pedi, exists for us both). We locked our bikes up on racks that held well over several hundred other bikes---most likely a thousand or so. We entered, we smiled, we arrived.
Zilker park, is insanely huge. It sits on the water front, and as far as you can see, there are rolling hills of Zilker grass--a beautiful genetically resiliant strain of grass, that is both spongey and hardy. It was beautiful to look at the long fairways leading concert goers like meandering buffalo on the prairies of the past. Sonrisas, sonrisas, sonrisas.
Danny and I will be beautiful pervy old men. When we are around one another, the male sport of oogling, day dreaming, whistling, skeeming, and generally just degenerating into cavemen, occurs. We had a blast, and Marissa tolerated us pleasantly.
Show One: Blitzen Trapper. I would describe them as an atmospheric folk group. They jammed with a lot of distortion and layered effects. The lead singer looked like a short Jewish boy, but he had practiced his Rock N'Roll panther growl, and he made the crowd come along with him. The drummer had a beard to match the gurth of his gut, and the rest of the members were forgettable--but, the music was good. We swayed and jibbed out. It was a nice beginning.
Show Two: We skiddadled from Blitzen Trapper, over to The Avett Brothers. On the way we snagged a Lone Star, and stopped for a picture. Side note: The prices at this event were respectful to the captive audience. A 24oz of beer was $8. All food was locally provided, and reasonable: fried pickles $4, bratwurst with the works, $5...it put a good taste in your mouth, to not be screwed while eating (that's what she said). The Avetts are real brothers. Their band was simple down home rock it out folk. The gyrated and animated their songs, and their old stuff rocked. Their new album, was as Marissa and Danny put it, "Too Campy!". Rick Rubin produced their last album, and I think he is tainting them with a caricature of who they are. In any event, they were damn good.
Break: Food. As mentioned Bratwurst, fried dills, and beverages were consumed. We took a break, and then went to the bathrooms. We found a secret stash of potties, and made quick relief.
Show Three: Daniel Johnston is a small town legend, who lives it in a big way. He splashed onto the scene in the 80's with a quirky tape entitled, "Hi, How Are You?". He land
ed on MTV's spring break coverage of Austin, TX back in the early 90's, and he sort of road the wave. Bands like Nirvana and Wilco have all covered his songs. His work is this genuinely honest and hopelessly tragic menagerie of squealing vocals and rough guitar licks. Daniel Johnston has struggled with mental illness for years. Once a scrawny curley haird crooner, he now stands as a portly middle aged grey haired man, who trembles from the meds they pump through him. The crowd was huge, and he proclaimed it, "There sure are a lot people out there," Daniel stammered into the microphone. The crowd cheered in support. He launched into his set, and began rifling through tragic lyrics of never ending sadness, and constant loneliness--his truth superceded his musical shortcomings. We stayed, wtinessed, and moved on after a few songs.Show Four: Phoenix is fronted by a dweeby looking fruit tart with a campy voice---but I like them. Phoneix is one of Gorlick's favorite bands, but as we struggled to move up, Danny and I began to fade. After a few yards of fighting the crowd, we told Gors that we were heading for shade. Danny and I found a large tented sandbox, affectionately known as, Austin Kiddie Limits. Moms and babies plundered the sand behind a fenced off region. Danny and I leaned up against the fence and sighed in relief. As we do, we talked about the passing beauties, the debauchery of yester year, and highlighted enthusiasm for this and that, with ruthless and vulgar vocabulary. I then slightly shifted and noticed the three year old who was sitting not 12 inches from us, on the otherside of the fence. As she happily dug a new world into the sand with each joyous shovel scoop, I reflected on the fact, that indeed this small gate was keeping these kids safe...if for nothing else, it was keeping foul mouthed bastards such as ourself, away from that little girl. I smiled at the effectiveness of a seemingly useless fence.
Show Five: It took Marissa a while to find us; her iphone was failing to do what it should. Eventually we met up and watched a little bit of Raphael Sadiq, former front man for Tony Toni Tone. He had a very stylized show, with all members dressed in matching black and white suits. He busted oldies, covered the Stooges, and brought the afternoon funk. We was damn good.
Show Six: Thievery Corporation is not just two DJ's. Thievery Corporation is a live band with a host of lead singers--it was mind blowing. Ambient insturmental came to life with soaring female melodies, ripping drones from the sitar, and rumbling waves from the bass and drums. Magical. Marissa, Danny, and I sat and enjoyed the scene--small clouds fell from the sky.
Show Seven: Lucky number seven. We meandered towards the XBOX 360 stage, and snuck up to the amassing hordes. People were buzzing, and we all opted to hold our pee in favor of pushing to the front. We got there a half hour early and we waited with spasmodic glee. A super group has been formed and they go by the name of Them Crooked Vultures (or as we like call them, Dem Dirty Vultures or simply Dem Dirty). The Vultures are: Josh Homme on lead vocals/guitar (formerly of Queens of the Stone Age); John Paul Jones on bass (formerly of Led Zepplin), and Dave Grohl on Drums (formerly of Nirvana and Foo Fighters). Homme's accompanying guitar player from Queens of the Stone Age, Alain Johannes, who mirrors Homme's guitar sound, and offers a nice depth to the group, plays with the band for live shows. This band was 100% rock n' roll, and they came out swinging. Homme's first words were, "I feel tipsy", and then they launched into a fucking flury of hard riffs and ripping solos. They pounded and masses gyrated, and it was a ball of energy. I was inspired by not just the musicianship, but the moment they embraced and created. With live music of that caliber and ferocity, the artist themselves truly commit to tapping into the universe and giving it a taste of their perspective. It was dark, ha
unting, bluesy, and rough. It was an amalgamation of Zepplin, Queens, and Nirvana. Individual sounds and ideas came to the top, like the frothy overflow of a shaken microbrew. The three of us were soldiers in the fight, and we pushed our way to nearly 10 rows back. In a see of several thousands (possibly tens of) we were in the front. I am changed by that moment. I am going to buy an electric guitar. I am going to play and sing at the same time. I am going to practice. I am going to study. I am going to taste what it is to be on the other side of the stage.We exited that show drained and overjoyed; ears ringing and hearts poundi
ng; spirits lifeted and souls ignited. On our way out we caught the Yeah Yeah Yeahs' Karen O, creating a spectacle in a larger than life costume and a beautiful mix of theater and music. It was so good that from a couple of 100 yards off, we decided to stop and watch. She is quite the showman (woman?). We stopped for a moment and then pressed on.Snagged the bikes and hit the road for a dark night ride. The ride back was hilly and we had to stop for Danny to pee. He peed under a bat filled bridge. Marissa did a phenomenal job of taking us around. She really lead a great tour.
When we made it home, we realized the state of our exhaustion. We grabbed the dogs, stumbled to an amazing pizza place, and stumbled home. We rapidly knixed our plans to go out to the various after parties in town. Instead, the five of us (Marissa, Danny, Myself, and the two dogs), bunked up in Gors' room and passed out promptly--it was a beautiful thing.
This is Day One of Two...I will get there soon.
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