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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

"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?

soon to come; gatsby review. had it done, looked good, disappeared. how pissed am I?

the Real Santa Claus was 5'6 and Turkish. . .

There is a very cool series of brief articles in this week's NY Times magazine: The Year's Best Ideas A-Z. Stuff about the best way to skip a stone, a new take on a serious education issue, translucent concrete, some gross jewelry that we're bound to see, and a bunch of other wierd and cool stuff to check out. So do!

Ladies and Gentlemen: Whiplash the Rodeo Monkey. Click the link in the article to see the pictures...

Today we'll discuss the flying lawn mower.

Death by Flying Lawn Mower

Video of a Flying Lawn Mower

Are they good or are they bad? You decide for yourself.

Here's a cool page of MP3s, that's worth going to check out here and there. Maybe you'll find something cool like this live version of The White Stripes doing "Jolene." Just scroll down a little ways and you're sure to find it.

Here's a player for the new Wilco album, A Ghost is Born. It's pretty good stuff. I dig 'Hummingbird" a whole lot. These guys are consistently solid songwriters. They also have a new interview on KCRW . . . check the sidelines here to the right for the link. Jeff Tweedy sounds a little like the '70s John Lennon here, too. Wilco has links to a coupla other bands that are cool, like The Autumn Defense. Some good music there.

Jon Spenser's Blues Explosion. These guys are the ultimate "get-up-outta-that hole" band. They're high energy, fast, rollickin' and damn proud of their name. It appears about a dozen times on every album. I wouldn't have it any other way. These guys have a new album out, too: Damage.

Hey Mario, can you work some of your charm and magic to get our boys back out on the ice?
I think folks around these parts are starting to really miss their hockey. I know I am. I may not follow the Penguins as fervently as I do our beloved Steelers, but after a while, you notice it's gone. I've noticed lots of dedicated Pens fans though (Melczak: "GO PENS!!!"), who are still wearing their gear about town. Pride yourselves dedicated Pens fans . . . Pride yourselves.

Ok, this is pretty cool, and must've been designed with the blind in mind.

Speegle, is like Google, but it speaks the results to you. Pretty sweet, and kinda funny when you type in a search query like "pillow fights" . . . Anyways, I think this has opened up the internet for the blind. Pretty cool!

Dude, you've got to go read this article. You probably know everything in it already, but that's OK, dude... will this Unit Plan ever finish?

Oh, and here's the trailer for Life Aquatic. I want to see Wes Anderson's new movie in the worst way, but it doens' come out in these parts until Christmas Day.

Squirreled away in my attic room, I'm desperately trying to finish my Great Gatsby unit plan. It's due Tuesday. Lollygagging is not good for deadlines, but even so the lolly will be gagged... if only for just a moment. I'm enjoying a fast connection from home, and finding that if I had this a week ago even, I wouldve been much farther along with this unit plan than I am.

OK. Enough of that. On to more sober topics like this poet, from the 1920s who was rather fond of his Martinis. Apparently he and his wife sometimes took their Martinis in a cemetery, and there's a great story here about when they ran out of ice. It's somewhat reminescent of the day after Curt's bachelor party: We awoke late Sunday morning after Curt's bachelor party, and after negotiating the operational mechanics of an odd contraption called 'the Big Ragu' (formerly called 'the fishbowl' ), we headed into the outside world for some brunch at Tom's Diner. It was late July, and the noon time sun shone brilliantly. Blindingly. Dazzlingly. I squinted and my eyes still hurt. As we walked out my front door and down the sidewalk I could only look at the sidewalk, wishing that I knew where my sunglasses were. Everybody else had theirs on.
"I really wish I had a pair of sunglasses," I said aloud, when squinting at the sidewalk, was a pair of sunglasses! I blinked, and blinked again. Bent over and picked up the shades, put them on my face and turned to my firends. "Look, I found a pair of sunglasses! I was just saying, i really wish i had a pair of sunglasses, and POW! there's a pair on the sidewalk right in front of me!" what really amazed me was how UN-impressed my companions were. Sorta like I had jsut seen a cloud in the sky, found it remarkable, and said so. "yup . . . " was the only resposnes I got, but there they were. Sometimes it's just like that.

I just shared a picture you may like, some of you for your own reasons, with Mikey Mel.

I had this moment, just a moment ago, where I was wondering what today's date was, and so I looked at the date/time thing in the lower right hand corner of my screen: Thursday, November 18, 2004. 11:18 AM . . . Hoo doggies . . . gotta like when that happens right?

Enjoy the Great American Smoke Out day. It's today, 11/18. I'll be sure to share that with all the smokers I encounter today, and then we'll laugh, maybe cough a little, gasp and chuckle.

And now, a poetry for you . . . we used this in my drama class about a month ago.

The Smoking Yokadokas
by Jack Prelutsky

We’re the Smoking Yokadokas,
we sincerely need to smoke,
and we do not mind the slightest
that our smoking makes you choke,
our malodorous miasma
will assail you when we’re near,
it will irritate your nostrils
and compel your eyes to tear.

We’re the Smoking Yokadokas,
we’re not nice to have around,
you can often hear us coughing,
it’s a coarse and raucous sound,
all our teeth are brown and yellow,
and our breath is always stale,
we’re especially offensive
at the moment we exhale.

Our appearance is unsightly,
we have ashes on our clothes,
our aroma is appalling,
you may have to hold your nose,
but don’t waste your time complaining
we contaminate the air,
we’re the Smoking Yokadokas,
and we simply do not care.


Text copyright © 1990 by Jack Prelutsky. Used by permission of HarperCollins Publishers.
©2002, American Heart Association. Permission granted to reproduce for classroom use.

Cannibal Stoudt

It's not available in stores, bars or beer distributors yet, but it's out there. I was hanging out with a friend from class for her birthday, and Amanda and her boyfriend Frank enjoy ;making homebrew. THeir friend however stepped it up a notch. Cannibal Stoudt apparently is made with yeast grown in human kidneys? Something odd like that, a scientific yeast used in human studies, or something. It's not the actual human cells yer drinking, so it's safe, at least I think it is . . . anyways, I tried some of this beer, and it was actually quite palatable. The coolest thing though, was the mini-tap that fits on top of wide mouth bottles. THis way you can have a gallon sized mini keg of beer, ya know homebrews, and keep it very fresh with this tap. Nothing worse than openign a big beer and having it go flat on you befor eyou get halfway through it. I'll get back to you with more details about the human yeast kidney thing. Wierd though, eh?