Thursday, December 22, 2005

Several years ago I was visiting my friend Delia who, at the time, lived in Wisconsin. I like Mustard, so it made sense to visit the museum dedicated to my favorite condiment, the Mustard Museum in Mt Horeb... which is know as the Troll Capitol of the world. There are trolls all along the Trollway, or the main road through town. On the way back there were several odd bird- looking sculptures along the road, and I asked what they were.

"There's some guy who does industrial-sized art with scrap metal from construction stuff," said Delia. "Too bad there's not more time today, or we could go see it."

She was talking about Dr. Evermore's Sculpture Park
along US Hwy 12 in Wisconsin. Check out his site, and his documentary video at the Carnegie library, and if you're in Wisconsin, go see his place!

Sunday, December 04, 2005

Unintentionally Revealable, Prohibition, and Crisis Car:

As a phrase, a pairing of two words, what do you think of?

What is 'unintentionally revealable'? What does it mean for someone or soemthing to be 'unintentionally revealable'?

What kinds of thoughts, actions, or whatever, are revealed without intending to do so, and what then is not revealed? How does that work in contrast to that which is directly revealed and intentionally revealable? Which in either case, harkens the question of truth: that which is revealed, is it undeniably reliable?

Of course this questioning process calls to mind a variety of motivations, messages, intentions and what not... and includes written, verbal, and non-verbal (or neuro-linguistic as some like to call it) communication, but look, and see if you don't notice it... the unintentionally revealed.

Right, and on a more concrete and less abstract note, this is the anniversary of Prohibition being repealed:
December 5, 1933. Props and thanks to Cliff and Co. this past weekend, for celebrating the Volstead Act (1919) being repealed. During those 14 years, post WWI Era, the 1920s and early '30s, consider what life must've been like, if only for a moment: You can't legally obtain a case of beer or even a bottle of wine to keep in your home, even to enjoy with your dinner. After a night on the town, you can't have a social drink with your friends. Of course in time speak-easies sprang up, but what was that like for our soldiers returning from the most horrific War in Europe? What was this like for the folks who saw the stock market crash and ensuing Great Depression? Ok, ok, that's enough sobering history stuff...

And now for something completely different.

I found myself checking out an album by Crisis Car, who are apparently playing a gig at the Club Cafe at the end of this month. These cats played many gigs begininning locally about five to seven years ago. Jere Bucek, Frank Spadafora, Mike Sperenza, and Korel Tunador went on to do other things, other musical endeavors but are now playing together again. I recently listened to 'Shoes,' a song from their first album, The Justice, and found it absolutely worth mentioning these guys. I'm gonna try to make their show... if you get a chance, go check 'em out.

And one final note, to Matt Smith: keep writing ... keep writing those plays and all that good stuff ...

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Isn't it odd that this article from the Washington Post is the only thing the major newspapers have to say about today being the Anniversary of Kennedy's Assassinatio? Nothing in the Post Gazette, Tribune Review, NYTimes, or the Chicago Sun-Times even. Props to the Washington Post, if only for it's link to a blog ...
Andrew Bird I had never heard before this morning
It sounds absurd but in a word he's warming
Some place in my play list
Oh yes I can say this
With some confidence
Without diffidence
With an audience
"He sounds different."
So give the man a listen...

Do check him out Becky ... you'll dig his violin stuff. Which is prolific.

Andrew Bird has an album out on Righteous Babe Records called The Mysterious Production of Eggs. He does some cool songs, multi-layered, plays the violin perhaps like Tracy Bonham, but not. Her new album is definitely cool, too. You can stream the whole album on the website. For those of you who like Sondre Lerche and his ilk, he's a must listen... Enjoy!

Saturday, November 19, 2005

OOOooooooooo-keh . . . this is wierd, funny and scary all at the same time. As if there weren't enough drugs already, this is the leading (leading? are there others?) anti-effeminate. Yes, that does say, anti-effeminate. Folks, apparently it's all about pushing down it into pill-form. The list of questions you should ask yourself before consulting a doctor are funny and then they get scary, and get scary fast. The web page suggests psychotherapy and ECT (electro-shock therapy) as a 'cure' for the 'gayness'?

When will they have a cure for assholes? Ask your doctor if Sphinct-be-gone is right for you.

Monday, November 07, 2005

Brilliance, Brilliance, some stupidity and some more Brilliance.

This all in reference to some recent shows I've seen:

Mike Doughty (front man of the former Soul Coughing) at Mr. Smalls, and Doughty was brilliant.

G. Love and Special Sauce at Mr. Smalls, and G.Love, JimiJazz and the Houseman (yeah, Special Sauce) were brilliant.

Both were good performances, however, there was a difference in crowds. Perhaps it's the difference between a Wednesday night (Doughty) and Sunday night show (GL&SS), the difference between no Steelers games at all and Steelers victory, but Doughty's crowd was pretty chill, and G Love's crowd, initially was a bit edgy.

Edgy crowd for G.Love? Mostly because it was supercrowded. The G. Love show sold out. Steelers had won. It was Sunday. I dunno, I would think people woudl be excited and at ease. But they were edgy, or maybe dodgy is a better word. It was still the opener when some sloppy guy had yakked on himself and his buddies took him outside. Didn't see him again. About 2/3 through the G.Love show, back in the bar-area, these two idiots started swinging their fists and doing the lay-down mandance on the floor. Both idiots were tossed by security, who were pretty good at not busting up bystanders or the two idiots. One might think they were at a Dave Matthews Band concert or seeing the Tragically Hip in Buffalo. Anyways, after idiots 1 & 2 were ejected, the crowd ecame peaceful, chilled out, and just in time for Cold Beverage... they went on to play till after 12, just about two hours solid. Doughty did a long set as well.

G. Love, JimiJazzman, Houseman, great show! Mike Doughty, Rock on, love the tat.

The final bit of brilliance came from Meredith, whose play was just produced at the Future 10 space downtown. It was way cool. Max Fischer would be proud!

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

Here is a link to some wierd, funny, dumb cartoons . . . Smile, eh is freaky.

http://www.lioninzion.com/

Monday, October 31, 2005

Congratulations to Marty Connolly and Emma Keenan! They wed this past weekend in Somerset county, and it was beautiful.

And now, this busiest of wedding seasons (like the hurricane season) has drawn to a close. This has been a record for me, with four weddings this past fall, five for the whole year. All fo the weddings were special in some way for me, and one cool thing is that I had a hand in starting two of the five couples: I'm 40% responsible for this busy wedding season, sheesh. Mike and Kate (married in March) met at my NYE party three years ago, where I re-introduced them; Mike and Autumn (married in October) met becuase I thought they, as two cool friends of mine, would get along well ... Admittedly, both couples have done all the hard work on thier own; I got them started is all. Oh and for the record, I didn't deliberately try to "fix them up" ... either couple. That never has worked when I'm involved, so if you're looking, ask elsewhere.

The Metrosexuals Obituary it was only a matter of time, men. But why the "ubersexual" now? Apparently "uber", like Hansel "is so hot right now." But is any one else thinking that the word may mean something else entirely?

Did anyone see Thumbsucker? What did you think? I liked Keanu, even if he was typecast, and how Elliot Smith worked out in the soundtrack. Vincent D'Onofrio and Vince Vaughn, aside from having the same first name, kinda look alike. "Bendy" is playing Orson Welles again, did you kow?

Saturday, October 22, 2005

It's time to brush up on your Isaac Asimov, your Philip K. Dick, and your basic humanities, Ladies and Gentlemen.
You're gonna need them, although not, thankfully, for a few more years. Or so it seems. Visitors at the 2005 World Expo in Japan were dazzled by Repliee Q1, who looks and acts remarkably human. Although they do not mention if she is "fully functional," I imagine it's not long before Hiroshi Ishiguru begins collaborative work with the guys from RealDolls. How wierd is it to order a personalized, ie custom built and designed woman? Well, try it for yourself. Add in personality traits, and it may become de riguer in a short time (And ladies, don't think that robot men won't be available as well). Think about it... marriage may become a rarer and rarer phenomenon. You can have a non-aging, update-able, housecleaning, home-security, baby-sitter, super-high performing (in and out of the bedroom) mate, partner, whatever... android robot of your very own.

In the meantime, how about you programmers working with some psychologists and educational researchers to develop that Voight-Kampf test?

Thursday, October 20, 2005

A Poetry for You (and for me)

I went to see a pretty cool show last night at Mr. Smalls with Dan Brown, and at some point, our conversation turned to what we make of life. Dan is one of those good friends who turns things around for you so that they make sense, and funny how now that they make sense, you find yourself on your feet again. I'm lucky to have such friends. In light of said conversation, Dan shared this poem with me, that I now share with you:

A BAG OF TOOLS

Isn't it strange that princes and kings,
And clowns that caper in sawdust rings,
And common folks like you and me
Are builders of Eternity.

Each is given a bag of tools,
A shapeless mass and a book of rules,
And each must make, e'er life is flown,
A stumbling block or a stepping stone.

- Unknown

A few weeks ago in mid-September, the NY Times ran an article about artists who are on the edges of the art world; some of those people we may call "outsider artists." The American Folk Art Museum opened an "emerging art" exhibit, and the first artist, Eugene Andolsek, is perhaps my favorite. I quote:

"One of the five artists being introduced, Eugene Andolsek, is 83. A former railroad employee, he lives in a senior citizens' home in Crabtree, Pa., and stopped painting two years ago because of failing eyesight. He has never shown before. He doesn't even consider his sumptuously patterned, labor-intensive colored-ink drawings to be art, and seems to disapprove of anyone who does. The thing is, the work is really good, rich and solid, but also trippy and full of little elegancies, which makes it look very now."

He's a guy who did what he did and could care less what you think. Really and truly.

Then there's the artist Josh Seybert mentioned late this summer out on Ro and Jim patio: The old janitor guy who drew armies of little girls. That's a wierd story, both the text of his 18,000 page novel, the accompanying pictures he did himself, and well... his life. He may or may not have been a real spooky nut. Decide for yourself.

Thursday, October 13, 2005

Something Funny, courtesy of Longhorn blog . . .

"Dang, we're gonna be so flippin' late! Didn't you invent something faster like hover boots or something?"

Napoleon Dynamite vs. Bill Gates

In other news, still trying to figure out the work thing, but i may have some really good news in a couple weeks. Cross your fingers for me!

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

Pennsylvania Wine in the North East

I am just back from a camping trip and winery tour in Erie with my girl , and I totally recommend doing just that for a mini-get-away whether before the end of October or next September/October. I guess in theory you could do that any time, but you'll miss out on the smell of fresh grapes in the air... everywhere. Like when you walk to the grocery store, come out of the store, the grape scent is powerful and pervasive. All along the highway, you don't smell livestock, you smell grapes.

Heritage has perhaps the largest selection of wines, predominantly semi-sweet to sweet wines like their ice wine, Penn Shore has a smooth white called vignole, and Mazza wineries have a top drawer Chambourcin and Nebbiolo.

Roughly 75% of the grapes raised around the area are concord grapes, which is a sweeter grape often used in making jelly. We learned that a number of grape farmers are losing business because Welch's buys less from Erie Co. than it used to do, and thus many wineries are struggling a little, as are grape farmers. As if this isn't perhaps why there are som many vacant storefronts and what-not in the region, the Pennsylvania government is proving thier disregard for the region (and the state) by barring direct shipment of wine to customers. Show your worth, Ed Rendell, and help undo the damage.

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Bob Dylan Documentary: No Direction Home

I am a fan of the documentary, be it a Ken Burns production on Baseball, Jazz or the Civil War, an A&E Biography on just about anybody, or the presidential campaign of 1992. Martin Scorsese's documentary on Bob Dylan, No Direction Home, was good, and despite it's two dics length, anyone hoping it will encompass the grandeur and scale of the Beatle's Anthology may be disappointed. Covering Dylan's life from his early start in Minnesota to his return to live performances after an 8 year hiatus after a motorcycle accident, Dylan fans are sure to be enjoy this production.

I can't say that Dylan was iconic, despite what many fans would argue. And I like that about Dylan. he is interestiong. But he prefers to shy away from such adulation, as Eric Clapton and Eddie Vedder both pronounced themselves as performers, musicians, and nothing more, Dylan does the like. This is evident throughout the film, and makes Dylan an endearing figure.

In many instances, he reminds me of Beck, who was undoubtedly influenced by Dylan in some sense. And on occasion, I can see Bob Dinklemeyer in Dylan, although history may better remember Dinklemeyer for his paintings.

If you have a long Sunday afternoon sans Steelers footbal, I recommend checking out
Dylan's documentary.

Now . . . when does the Burt Bacharach documentary come out? And when is he doing a crossover with Snoop Dogg?

Monday, September 26, 2005

End of September Update

Looks like Softball is done for the year. This was slack year for softball to be sure. Lots of people say they 'want to play,' but few showed up. What, you have an actual life? Anyways... now that Steeler season is on again, the remaining strongholds have weakened and the game has dissolved. But next year...

I have now been in my new place for almost a month. Things are settling in, and I hope to have a house warming party/gathering soon, maybe when the wedding stuff settles down a bit. Not that I'm getting married, but it seems everyone else I know is. Ahh . . . life long commitments. Some even go longer.

Like the commitment of some former tenant's litter box. I like cats, but I do not own a cat. Somebody at some time owned a cat here, and this morning, the ghost of this litter box haunted my basement. There is no more litter box. But this morning, the distinct scent of Fresh Step that had been recently kicked around a litter box lingered in the hallway. I have no idea where it came from, so my thinking is that it's the ghost of a former tenant's litter box.

I am saving bacon grease, ostensibly for smearing on my naked torso before dancing around the bonfire at Mike and Autumn's wedding reception this Saturday. And in the process, I've found that bacon grease, in small amounts, is a suitable substitute for butter when making grilled cheese sandwiches. Add some bacon and tomato, too, and you have a tasty but not heart healthy sandwich. I have Homer Simpson to thank for turning me on to
these snack/lunches again. And no, I have not yet seen an image of the litter box ghost appear on my grilled cheese sandwiches. But I'm looking ...

Speaking of substitutes, I am now a sub at a couple different area schools.

Speaking of litter box ghosts, I want to share these images of dead bunnies, squirrels and kittens, as seen on Anne Brannen's blog

Monday, September 12, 2005
Potter's Museum of Curiosity: Hail and Farewell


One of the treats of moving house is coming across little bits of forgotten stuff. Much to my joy, one of the things that appeared recently (out of what box? from whence? don't know) is the catalog to a museum I found in Arundel, Sussex, in 1977, Potter's Museum of Curiosity.

The last time I was in Arundel, I went looking for it, but it was gone. Turns out it'd been bought up and sent to Cornwall. And I find now that it's gone entirely; it was sold in pieces at auction in 2003.

So you can't go there. And I'm sorry.

I'm sorry, cause I can't go there, either, and it was the best museum in the entire world.

It made no sense, really. It was packed from floor to ceiling with carefully labeled crap, in no relation to the carefully labeled crap around it. The entire lot had been collected, and in part created, by Walter Potter (1835-1918), an eccentric Victorian taxidermist, who amused himself, when he wasn't stuffing beloved dead pets for his neighbors, by stuffing entire litters of kittens, puppies, and bunnies, and dressing them up and arranging them in tableaux.

Little dead bunnies at school.

Little dead squirrels smoking and playing cards.

Little dead kittens getting married.

I'm glad to tell you, though, that although Potter's Museum is gone, there's a San Francisco taxidermist/artist who admires his work; click here for a page devoted to the master; scroll down for more pictures of the tableaux from hell than I've linked to.

And.

It's possible to buy things from this artist, I think, though the dead kitten with a plaster crown might not be for sale; maybe not the fortune-telling chicken, either.

But I am SO in love with this artist. I do believe I require lots of stuffed dead dressed up things for the new house. They'll look so nice in the log room, don't you think?

Oh! My! God! It's a dead cat with wings!


The king is dead; long live the queen.
I went to see the Ann Arbor Film Festival with Meredith over the weekend. Animals with Self Awareness. That was the theme of the first animated short we saw... shock value, a la The Aristocrats.

This coming weekend, I hope to see Ray LaMontagne play at the Rex Theater this Friday, Sept. 30 . If you like Crosby Stills and Young, or My Morning Jacket, you'll like him.

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

The End of An Era

The End of an Era has yawned to a close, as they will do. The last of the Masquer nation who called 2017 Jane St their home is moving out. The thrum of activity that marked this place will take on a new rhythm. A new rhythm.

As I sip my cachacha (pronounced ka-sha-sa, or ka-sha-sha) I take a pause from emptying shelves and drawers, loading totes and boxes, to refelct on seven years in this domicile. This hovel. This shack. This palace. This duplex of ... many more things than I can relate in words. Because this place has been so much more than merely a Masquer home. Historically more important than the legendary 1717 Sarah street, this house was a Masquer stronghold. Throughout this history, you'll notice what seems a repetition of names, sometimes to absurdity, though it is really a new person. This may become confusin to the casual reader, but familiar to those who know Jane St.

A Brief Chronogly of Tenants
When I moved in, I moved into the attic, replacing Dave Burke, a Masquer Affiliate. You may ask, what is a Masquer Affiliate? These are the people who are not Masquers, but who know and regularly associate with Masquers... they tend to pride themselves on their subtle or overt differences, but share a common interest and affection of things Masquer.

Dave Burke lived with Curt Connoly and Mike Melczak, but we must begin at the beginning. Mike Melczak rented the place in September of 1996 with Tanya Torres. This began the Masquer Nation (both being Masquers) stronghold. During this time, I earned the prestigious Golden Shower Masquer Award, so prestigious, that it has only been awarded once ... to me. I still hold and treasure said Award. Tanya moved out, presumably to begin her romantic interlude that led to a marriage with Joe Wilson, A-Phi-O brother and cigar afficionado. Mike offered a spot on the A-list to me, but this was fiscally impossible at the moment. Thus, Tanya was succeeded by Curt Connolly who lived before at Wharton Street (this was also an illustrious Masquer household). Living here with Melczak, and The TRM Cycles connection quickly yielded Masquer Affiliate Dave Burke, a November 1996 move-in. This was the inception and heyday of Smooth, the honey-bear bank who took on an alternate persona.

Pause for a cigarette.

Dave Burke can best be remembered by the author as being the 14 year old kid who liked turning wrenches and visiting Rogers Hardware store. To learn more about him, check his blog on the side. My first re-introduction was Dave Burke in his racing gear, pushing a bicycle through the living room, asking me politely to leave the house after finding me passed out on the couch after a Saturday of debauchery. Following a short reintroduction and several tall glasses of Pepsi to soothe my dyspeptic stomach, Dave kindly allowed me to recuperate on the couch. Several months later, Dave moved out and I assumed his appurtenancy as attic dweller of Jane St. This position I have held until now.

1998-2000 Mike, Curt and Dunegan

This was the era of the basement. True, there was a basement before, and it was duly used in the times preceding, but arguably this was the Golden Day of the Basement. This is the era when Mike asked Autumn to abdicate her couch vagrancy in favor of full-time girlfriend. This is the time when Curt and Ann became engaged. The lighting (or at least naming) of the flaming-tar-sticks-of-death. The days of a kings castle ladened with adult magazines. Notoriously ladened. this is the time when we made, made, Christmas cards. Also notoriously ladened. But we were wearing pants.

Shifting Again
Curt and Ann got married and moved to Gallup, NM. They live there still. Kathy Burke moved in, replacing Curt, reasserting a female tenant presence at Jane St. A year after, Mike moved to Boston, and Jim Hee replaced him. Me, Jim and Kathy. All tenants were masquers. Dave and Kathy share a name, but no direct familial relationship. Kathy Burke announced one evening that she was moving in with Tony, her old boyfriend. The following morning, and sober, she re-asserted this claim. Jim Hee stayed and Matt Case, Masquer affiliate, replaced Kathy. i'm getting to the bottom of my cachacha and this entry, so meaning no offense, i turn brief. Jim moved out to live with Ro, and Marty Connolly replaced him. Marty moved out to live with his fiance Emma, and Matt Case was a permanent fixture in his GFs house, so Matt Smith moved in. Too many Matts. And now, I too am moving out after seven years and seven roommates, it is time.

Sunday, August 07, 2005

Edisto Beach and The Big City

I have returned from Edisto Beach (Thank you, Jay. You are a gracious host and I thoroughly enjoyed myself in yours and everyone else's company.) The ocean is good for perspective gaining and what not. There were bright days and hazy days, sea turtle hatchlings running to the ocean (Ann got some greast footage of one little guy trooping over the sand and into the waves. Nice work, both of you!), slum gullion, steaks, french toast, salads with anchovies, guacamole, zucchinis, pasta, lime chicken, wine, beer, and celebrity. Beach reading, boogie boarding, sun blocking, sky gazing, stars shooting, cigarette smoking, horseshoe throwing and bike riding. A trip to Savannah with ghost stories and waiting and anticipation. Waiting to hear from NYC and anticpating seeing Curt and Ann. Good times and good food with good friends ... what, do I write for a touristy ad or something out of a book of sophomoric poetry?

This, right on the heels of my trip to NYC to interview for a job. The interview went well enough, the school looked well enough, and aside from some parking and traffic tickets, everything else went well. So what did I find out? That it's important to keep an open mind and a fresh page open in your book of options. If at least, so you can write a poem here and there.
The Academy of Letters Wrote Back

The Academy of Letters wrote back,
"Thank you for the interest in our school"
To me and some talented others in the pool
They didn't ask to get out and towell off.
Yes and like the rest, when I got dressed
The polite reply read, "Not impressed"
The Academy of Letters wrote back.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

Long time no post ... Now long post.

Not a lot has been going on in the forefront, or even the backfront. Or at least that's how it seems to me. In reality, there's a lot brewing under the surface that sometimes suffervesces (imaginary word like effervesce, to bubble or froth up, made by combining the prefix sub- under or below, instead of ex- from, and fervescere to begin to boil, glow, meaning coming up from below to the surface) through my pores, or takes the form of an awkward expression. There is much change going on, but for all of the bubbling and frothing, it's hard to see just yet what shape it will take.

I've been cooking some good meals, often for friends, and trying to coordinate my job hunting efforts into something profitable. Or tangible. Or . . . job-like. I made a trip to NYC a month ago to attend a teacher job fair. it was informative, but I'll have to relate that tale shortly. Right now, I'm trying to get my forms and papers and what-not squared away with the NYC Board of Education so that they will offer me a teaching job. I'm trying to do the same for local schools in case NYC doesn't work out. Some consolation comes in knowing that many of my classmates in the PY program are also still looking and waiting for jobs.

New York City? Yes . . . and there's a certain part of moving away from Pittsburgh that is appealing to me, though it isn't mandatory for my existence. In fact, the thought of moving away is kinda scary . . . I have always lived here, and I have a great social network here, so why go? Why not just find a new apartment?

yes, and why New York? Fair enough question. Some say, I can totally see you teaching in NYC, and others ask if I have fallen or been hit in the head with a blunt object. It has some mysterious draw, NYC, perhaps because it is so big, and there will always be something new to see and explore. let the record stand that I use 'NYC' because it is shorthand, and easy to type, not to pose as uber-cool. Yes, my story will clarify any discrepancies on that point.

Wednesday, May 11, 2005

School is done, but then started right back up again. I think this is what the rest of my life will be like: school starting right after ending. This is anaphoristic. It's a good thing that I kinda like school, ya know, given the profession I'm entering and all. Anyways, I'm done with my certification courses and student teaching parts, and now I'm working out the provisional bits. This comes in the form of an American Lit course.

Something cool just happened. I love it when this stuff occurs. I started searching for some items of interest as I was typing up my notes about Walt Whitman. What is this term, anaphor? My instructor said it wasn't important in terms of this courses larger aims, but of COURSE I had to look it up. After I found the definition and saw how it fits within section [15] of Walt Whitman's Song of Myself (for a shorter version of the same thing by the same poet, try I Hear America Singing) I remembered a question I had with Meredith and her friends Sam, Kate, and Demetrius. --> -->

What are the parts of an analogy? you know, there's the A : B :: 1 : 2 stuff right? So there's a colon, and the double colon, which must have names. and then the antecedent and post-cedent parts. What're these bits, colons, etc. called?

Well, I Googled, and the first thing that came up for Analogy was this bit here, which of course fits in great with the term Anaphor and what Whitman was after in the poem.

IG Readers and Survey readers, here's how it fits:
Grass and its Potential Meanings in Whitman's Song of Myself
• Rebirth / Cycle of life / Unity / Repetition
• Nature and Natural unity
• Tied by something that you may not necessarily see (networked roots)
• Metaphor for Society, and an underlying theme to the poem
• Seeing Whitman as an “I” and potentially getting lost in the crowd

The concept of homology, or morphological correspondence, was the central tenet of philosophical anatomy. It was used to define structural similarity. Homologies, which are now defined in terms of evolution, were formerly interpreted in a transcendental sense. Arguably, Whitman was Transcendental, if only from his literary influences, like Thoreau. Homology is a systematic similarity -- when two parts occupy the same positions in distinct but otherwise isomorphic systems of relations, in their relative positions and in the connection of the parts. This conceptual reduction to schematic identity enables comparisons between organisms in terms of their similarities and difference. ... In his Metamorphosis of Plants, Goethe identified serial homologies in plants. This is also known today as homotypy and serially repeated parts are called homotypes. You should see the connections...


So awesome when that happens . . . you rock, Great Unspoken. Especially when you do cool stuff as opposed to freaking me out... And i still don't kow what the parts of an analogy are called, but this is a question i can carry with me. I'm satisfied though, because, I found something else cool.

Tuesday, April 05, 2005

The world around us speaks to us in many ways.

Observe your body and you may observe your spirit.

I tremble.

Not in fear, or the fear we may know to be senseless.

But in a fear that inspires an awe in and of that which we do not understand.

I want to share something with you gentle reader.

Tonight I met with a friend to celebrate my birthday.

We patronized a local establishment and shared a few beers while smoking cigaretes and waiting for a table outdoors. We wanted to relish the new warmth of spring and extended light of our ridiculous Daylight Savings time. We talked of the simple and complex things of our mundane lives as only he and I can, the simple and complex pains and joys of our modern existence. This is something I share with no other, and it is not always easy, though it is never complicated or difficult.

He gave me simple and beautiful gifts, those gifts of thought that only a friend who knows you deeply and well may bestow upon you. New music on a burned CD, and something reminiscent of younger days:

"This is sage and sweetgrass. Burn it when you wish to clear your thoughts and ease your soul."

"I may use this sooner than later," I told him. "Thank you."

And when he left, I waited, and then stepped outside to light a smoldering fire. "Each ingredient is considered a sacred herb used for centuries by native Americans in their smudging ceremonies. Smudging is the name given to the burning of these herbs for the purposes of cleansing and sending out prayers... Use a container to waft the smoke into your face and breathe it in," read the directions on the string-bound bundle of sage and sweetgrass. And usign my hands as a container, I did.

Thinking of the things come and gone, the things past present and coming, I breathed in the smoke. It burned my nose, stirring sensations not unlike that of eating wasabi. Simple and complex joys. I thought of those here, those far away and of those who have gone. It is for you I think and write tonight.

I gathered detritus from the small patch of garden adjacent to my yard: dried lemon balm, dried sage, dried wildgrass that had knit into a mat, dried spearmint stalks, some still with leaves, and I burned this too in each of the three divisions of my garden. As the flames flew and the smoke rose, I thought of new life and old. Cleansing and growth. I thought of those here, those far away and of those who have gone.

The sounds of my neighborhood echoed through the air, but I was alone. No one would intrude upon me. And there I thought of my failed garden that still gave a humble yield last spring: Lemon balm, sage and spearmint. I've been adding coffee grinds and eggshells, in an effort to enrich the earth in this tiny space once more before moving to a new place this fall. The ashes will remain in the garden, too. I will grow simple things here and share them as I can.

As I finished, I sat and smoked a cigarette, thinking of how important tobacco is and was to the Native Americans. I thought of the Cheyenne Indian named One Stab in Jim Harrison's novella Legends of the Fall. I thought of those who are quick to judge and was sorry for them because they do not understand. I thought Emerson and those who advise us to think for ourselves and cherish our thoughts and independence. It is illegal to have lit fires in Allegheny County, and I thought of Thoreau's Civil Disobedience and how I would speak with my nieghbors and the local authorities should they become concerned about smelling smoke or seeing fire. I thought of proud New Englanders. I thought of many things.

And looking up into the darkened sky above my back yard, a star streaked faintly across the blackened oblivion. I traced its southern-bound path, in disbelief and then smiled in nodding appreciation. Standing and still smoking my cigarette, I thankfully wondered what prompted me to look up in time, only to see a pair of stars trailing east from the same spot. Was it an airplane formation? No, they too quickly flickered out in the sky. And thinking better than to ask for more, I stepped inside wanting to share this experience before it too is gone like a bright flicker in the dark night.

Were they meteorites or satellites? I will never know. But I do know they were part of the the simple and complex joys of a modern existence. And now, behind the soot inadvertently smudged on my face, I smile, happy and sad that the trembling has gone.

Saturday, March 19, 2005

Spring must be here.

I was making coffee this morning, and being Saturday, I looked out the window and actually watched the birds in my backyard instead of dashing off to the shower and getting ready to go teach.
And so I saw two little 'chippy' birds sitting on the fence. Rather typical. The one just sat there as the other flew around her, tried landing on her(?) and ... what the? ... oh right... Go for it, buddy!!! And he did. Oh you should've seen it, because that's some talent there! Entering from behind in mid-flight, while she balances on the fence. Sounds like a metaphor for something... but I don't know what just yet.

Ducks ... I am losing my respect for them, if I ever had any at all. They are apparently little sluts, ducks that is. Yeah, but it gets better, or worse that is... Check this out. And NO, I didn't do a Google search on gay necrophiliac water fowl.
EEeewww!!! It gets worse. I hate pigeons.

Monday, March 07, 2005

I had my third observation today, and of course, I forgot to do some rather significant things in my lesson plan. Like hand out previous class assignments. I never get to cover enough of the material i'd like to, but feel better when I ind out i'm not the only one who has this happen. My observation reviews have been OK, sorta what you would expect. I'm think I'm doing alright, though, overall...

This woman Annie Lopez is a local artist (or she at least lives here) who does some pretty cool work. I didn't get to see her show at the Bossa Nova, but you should check out her web page.

Sunday, March 06, 2005

This was my first week of teaching consecutive lessons, a week that blew by . . . busy, stressful, fun, etc., but exciting because I was actually teaching. i thin some kids may have learned something, too. Me included.

The Weekend short version: Friday, out with Tony, met a gaggle of lesbians at the Tiki lounge out for a birthday, and they invited us to come hang with them. These girls sure talked a LOT about breasts and how much fun they can be, and made it readily apparent that they beleived this. they weren't the lipstick variety, but weren't gross either. In fact,s ome were kida cute. they liked when the bartender danced on the bar like a stripper and shook her little dishtowell mini-skirt. i think everyone enjoyed it. no nudity, though. That was later at Bar 11, when some girl (not one of the lesbians) decided she needed to show everybody her nipples. she was not buxom, but defintiely proud of her nipples.

*******************************

A poetry for today, by Mr. Claude McKay

Heritage

Now the dead past seems vividly alive,
And in this shining moment I can trace,
Down through the vista of the vanished years,
Your faun-like form, your fond elusive face.

And suddenly some secret spring's released,
And unawares a riddle is revealed,
And I can read like large, black-lettered print,
What seemed before a thing forever sealed.

I know the magic word, the graceful thought,
The song that fills me in my lucid hours,
The spirit's wine that thrills my body through,
And makes me music-drunk, are yours, all yours.

I cannot praise, for you have passed from praise,
I have no tinted thoughts to paint you true;
But I can feel and I can write the word;
The best of me is but the least of you.

Saturday, February 05, 2005

I am the country of Cambodia.



You're Cambodia!

Life's been really rough, but it's slowly improving.  You know
way too much about the skeletal structure of humans, mostly from being forced to study
it.  This has given you a fear of many things, most especially the color red.
 The future has to be more promising though, and your greatest adversary can now
never come back to hurt you any more.

Take
the Country Quiz at the href="http://bluepyramid.org">Blue Pyramid

I'm the cover page book on the Book Quiz. http://bluepyramid.org/ia/bquiz.htm




You're Loosely Based!

by Storey Clayton

While most people haven't heard of you, you're a really good and
interesting person. Rather clever and witty, you crack a lot of jokes about the world
around you. You do have a serious side, however, where your interest covers the homeless
and the inequalities of society. You're good at bringing people together, but they keep
asking you what your name means.



Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.






Sunday, January 23, 2005

THIS IS NOT YOUR MOTHER'S ONLINE RADIO STATION

I doubt if it's yours either. Sometimes it's so refreshing to know that you've got an edge, perhaps even been on the cutting edge, ahh yes the bloody bleeding edge.

K C R W

My friend Christina Indovina turned me onto this online station a few years ago, and I've loved it ever since. You can see the link there in the margin of this webpage for their show Morning Becomes Eclectic. I dare say NOBODY who reads this has made a return visit to KCRW, if even an initial visit. That's alright though. It's your loss not mine.
You can find familiar artists, like Moby, the Flaming Lips, Beck, Coldplay ( artists you may not find in a WalMArt or maybe even Sam Goody), and other artists like Joseph Arthur, Eleni Mandell, Devotchka (artists you will never find in mega-chains, and may never ever find inyour local record store) . These are all good artists and if you don't know them, too bad for you. Your fast on your way to the WalMart to pick up yer newest mass-produced boyband album, or the retirement home. But KCRW knows them, gives these artists some well-deserved air time.

They may be appearing on your local WYEP stations soon. At least some of their shows.
This article in the N Y Times makes me wonder if this is going to still be a good thing or not. I tend to think so, though.


************************************
CONSUMED
Easy ListeningBy ROB WALKER Published: January 23, 2005

KCRW.com

As part of the CMJ Music Marathon this past October, a New York band called Brazilian Girls performed a danceable set of songs in multiple languages before a crowd at the Hiro Ballroom in Manhattan. The sponsor of this particular event was KCRW.com, which presents live music on a regular basis in New York these days, at venues like Joe's Pub and the Mercury Lounge. But residents of the tri-state area who look for the station on their FM dial will be frustrated. KCRW is based in Santa Monica, Calif.
Why is a Southern California public radio station promoting events on the other side of the country? Because while new media and old media are supposed to be enemies, KCRW.com is trying to make them allies, by building an online listener base -- and in the process trying to create what amounts to a national brand. For the past few years, KCRW.com has broadcast three ''streams,'' including a 24-hour music option.
It's hard to come up with a solid figure for the number of online listeners, since the station's Netcasts travel not just from its own site but also through AOL and Apple's iTunes software. But one gauge of popularity that seems relevant to a public radio station is the number of people well outside the traditional broadcast range who become ''members'' -- that is, who donate money. With each KCRW pledge drive in recent years come scores of comments from contributors who listen online. ''I adore your station and listen to it every day here in beautiful Brooklyn, U.S.A.!'' one donor wrote recently. More than 1,000 New Yorkers have become members since 2000; similar comments come from all over the country. KCRW has long had a certain tastemaker status, centered on the weekday show ''Morning Becomes Eclectic,'' which lives up to its name by giving time to artists across a swath of genres, from Eleni Mandell, the Los Angeles singer-songwriter, to club favorites like the Scissor Sisters and indie-rock bands like Franz Ferdinand. That has continued with that show's current D.J., Nic Harcourt, who has been the station's music director since 1998. He says KCRW was the first radio station to play Norah Jones, and the first in the U.S. to play Dido and Coldplay. (He is also host of a weekly sister program, ''Sounds Eclectic,'' now syndicated on more than 30 public radio stations in cities across the country.) Evening shows like Jason Bentley's dance-and-electronica-oriented Metropolis, and Tom Schnabel's and Chris Douridas's wide-ranging weekend programs, all combine to give the station a playlist that's full of surprises. Along the way, these D.J.'s and others at the station have become music supervisors (basically song pickers) for film and television soundtracks and commercials.
Harcourt has been a particular champion of raising KCRW's profile. The station has sponsored and held more and more music events in Los Angeles, and in the last year or so, has done the same in San Francisco and New York. The idea is that as commercial radio has become increasingly timid, canned and predictable, there is an opportunity for a station like KCRW to leverage its tastemaker status. And while satellite radio is providing one alternative, it's built on the idea of restricting your tastes one genre at a time. So stations like KCRW (along with Philadelphia's WXPN and its syndicated ''World Cafe'' show, and a few others, like WFUV in the Bronx) are now crucial to idiosyncratic bands like Brazilian Girls, the smaller record labels that promote them and the music consumers who want to be surprised.
The Brazilian Girls, a kind of house band for the East Village club Nublu, made an EP last year that found its way to Harcourt. Their music got a lot of KCRW airplay and even earned them a live set on ''Morning Becomes Eclectic.'' They have an album coming out on Verve. According to Jill Weindorf at the label, early promotional posters include a blurb from Harcourt. ''Because of the dot-com following, and some of the music supervision he's done, he's actually becoming a name that even a consumer would recognize,'' she says, noting that she has seen Harcourt quotations on CD stickers as well. ''KCRW is starting to be a brand that means cool.''

E-mail: consumed@nytimes.com.

Saturday, January 15, 2005

This was the week of weird stories.
(Disclaimer: You must be 18 or older to read beyond this point, or at least be more than a complete idiot. Do NOT try any of the following at home)

This includes the following:

Souls are now apparently on sale on E-Bay . . . for $8.67 . . . according to a recent search I just did on Yahoo! Don't believe me, check for yourself. What's that say about our economy now? or the state of our souls? Just don't ask what I was looking for. . . and don't try selling your soul on E-Bay.

My cousin went to take care of a deceased uncle's affairs this past fall and came back with an unusual photo. I saw it Sunday. It may just be sunlight on the sidewalk, or something reflected in a window. I'm not sure what it really is , but it will doubtlessly prove to be a cool classroom aid, especially in conjunction with reading this poem by T. S. Eliot. I need to call my cousin and ask him if he's willing to let me share it on my fotolog.

My friend (we'll call him Crag Bluff) told me about a game called 'phonebook.'
Don't play this game.
Apparently the object of the game 'phonebook' is to drink a shot of whiskey and then bap your pal up the backside of the head with a phonebook. Then you switch places. Crag Bluff and friend apparently made it 18 rounds last week before calling it a day. I don't think they did 18 shots of whiskey. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you hyperbole. This is kinda like the game where you put a lump of soap in a sock and then swing it at your friend's ribs... Don't play this game, either.

Meaning no disrespect to any parties involved, especially those on the highest authority, I made a slight modification to my roommate's bike. He got said bike from a guy named Mike. I preface this bit with a disclaimer for those who may become upset: The 2nd of 10 commandments says not to make graven images of gods, or God himself. So... at sometime before giving the bike to my roommate, Mike put a bunch of tattoo stickers and a figure of Jesus from a crucifix on the handlebars of his bike.
I don't know why.
What I do know, is that made the handle bars really loose. There was a big screw going into His back to hold Him on the handlebars and hold the handlebars onto the bike frame. You could tighten an eyebolt on the other side of the handlebars to keep them steady, tight, and together, but soon that failed to work, making the bike dangerous to operate. So I had to take the figure of Our Lord off the handlebars of this bike. I didn't have the heart to tighten the big screw in his back, and figuring He'd been through enough already, I just took Him down. In his place, I put a newish 1/4" bolt with washers and a nut to hold the handles together.
It's now safe to operate this vehicle.
The Figure was in my toolbox and is now in the basement on a cushion. In the right light, He looks like He's tanning on the beach. Meaning no disespect to any of the parties involved, especially those in the highest authority, I'll return said Figurine to my roommate whenever he comes home (My roommate that is).

Today, the spacecraft Huygen made a landing on Titan, Saturn's largest moon. It took some cool photos, and a guy outside of the Blue Note at 19th & Carson St with a high powered telescope set up on the sidewalk had printouts of these photos. He also was letting people check out Saturn. how cool was that? It's onlythe second time I've seen Saturn in my life. It looked like a wihite circle witha white dot inthe middle of it. The bright dot beside it was Titan. You can't see the Huygen space probe through the telescope, though. Not even after a few martinis. Speaking of which, you can have a drink called 'cosmonaut:' it's vodka mixed with Tang. i learned this ata friend of a friend's party to commemorate the Huygen landing. Folks wore tin foil hats and played DDR, the video game with dance pads imported from Singapore. The list of 'things' that came up at the end of the evening, which included a 'rusty trombone' and 'bad dog', I won't print here. I will print the new nickname i've been given: Star Crunch.

I replaced two of the handles on my car doors recently, both on the passenger side. The front one I did a few weeks ago, and then had to redo again this week. The rear door hadn't opened in close to 2 years, and I opened it succesfully yesterday, replaced the handle. It's at about 75% functionality. We'll go for a ride sometime and I'll explain what I mean. While replacing the handle, some guy walking by asked me a fir a cigarette. And then another for the road, ya know cuz he'll need one now and one later, especially after leaving Red and Irene's. Right. Silly me, I ignored the fading daylight and obliged him. Then I watched him walk away and talk with a couple gathering signatures for a petition. When they came to talk with me, I saw that he signed the wrong date. I guess I may have done the same in his situation.

The group or band called The Innocence Mission are awesome. Their lead vocalist Karen is simply as beautiful as her simply beautiful voice, sounding much like Harriet Wheeler, the woman from The Sundays. Apparently Kathy Jo thinks they rock, too, as I saw something about them on her living room wall the other day.

Sometimes a nickname appears, and disappears. Sometimes a nickname sticks.

Telephone conversations suck only slightly less than emails.






Wednesday, January 12, 2005

"What is it about the Steelers' success that makes people say, 'Where's my kazoo?' " - Gene Collier. A pretty good article in the NY Times today about us Pittsburgh folks and our belvoed Steelers. It's accurate, at least in a way that says we can take pride in the Steelers. I don't own a kazoo though, and hopefully won't get one anytime soon. Then I'd have to write the 21st bad Steelers song of the season.

In other news: Dog hit by car turns out to be man in costume. Man's life saved by costume.
Teacher news: Funny, but not funny.
Odd news: Careful what you say.

Queston of the the day: What the heck's all of Canada doing with no hockey, eh?
Question a Canadian asked me one day: What word do you Yanks have for "eh," eh?
Asshat question I have for asshat vegetarians: If God didn't want us to eat meat, why does it taste so good?