//oakland, calif.
//age 33
//permanent mp3s

//tour photos
//the daily photos

(!)ad sandwich chronicles
(!)road noms
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:: 4.21.2001 ::

(listening to: Smog: Dongs of Sevotion)

It's that familiar feeling, Saturday Night, nothing to do. Blah. I went to the baseball game this afternoon, drank a bunch of beer in the hot sun (really), then came home and took a wonderful nap. Hopped in the car and got some coffee and cruised around Oakland with Miss Rodeo America and felt my headache slip away. Caffeine and cold air. Sunsets over the city and fancy houses in the hills with manicured lawns. That's my cure for sunstroke.

The only movie I want to see is Amores Perros, but sometimes it's hard to get motivated to see a 2.5 hour movie that starts at 9:45. That's alot of patience that I seldom have.

(9:04 PM) :: (link)

:: 4.19.2001 ::

(listening to: David Gray: A Century Ends)

I have some sort of food allergy to chicken caesar salads. I was all into them for awhile, but realized that they were making me sick. Today at lunch down at the diner I got brave, gobbled a pretty good one down, and now I feel like my body is slowly going numb. This is not a good feeling.

Been taking it easy lately, and it's actually been nice. I spent last night looking for new weblogs to read and general net browsing, listening to Papa M, and drinking Boont Amber slowly. Tonight I get to hurry home from work and watch game 5 of the Sharks v. Blues playoff hockey series.

I don't think my stomach likes me right about now.

(2:18 PM) :: (link)

:: 4.18.2001 ::

Today was one of those days. Yes, *those* days. I woke up late on my "I can't be late to work" day, it started raining all over, and I got stuck behind a semi going 10 mph on a two-lane highway 'cause it was a training vehicle. My knee is all messed up (doctors are clueless), and my head feels like it's floating somewhere over the Golden Gate looking down at my body that is falling apart.

Grumbles aside, I picked up an Elvis Costello album on vinyl today as well as the new Red House Painters, since that was the CD that was in my portable when I lost it. Nothing, making, much, sense, now.

(9:18 PM) :: (link)

:: 4.16.2001 ::

When Jimmy Stewart died, I cut out this little picture of him that was in the paper and coated it in Scotch tape and pinned it on my jacket. I wore it to all my pizza deliveries for a couple days so that, when prompted, I could tell people how cool I thought he was.

When Kurt Cobain was found dead, I did the same thing. I wore it into a record store in Berkeley and the guy behind the counter had the same picture taped on a button. We smiled at each other, we both understood.

Today, when I found out Joey Ramone had died, I did the same thing. I couldn't find a picture of Joey alone clear enough to warrant posting on my bag, so I opted for a group shot of the band taken in 1977 a set of steps, looking more like a family than the pictures that come with the frames at the store.

When I was 14 I rang the doorbell of my best friend's house, there was music blasting from his brother's room so I didn't think he heard the bell, so I walked around the back. All I could think about was the music coming from inside his brother's room, fast and dangerous sounding. The only words I could make out was the phrase "Let's Get Fucked" which repeated every so often. It sounded so rebellious, not in the "get some chicks" way, but in the drink yourself silly, smoke a bunch of pot, and hang out like a slacker way. I loved it. I finally asked what it was, and his brother laughed at me and said "Duh, it's the Ramones." Apparently I mistook the words "Blitzkrieg Bop" for "Let's Get Fucked," but I never told anyone about my silly mistake.

That same year my parents weren't getting along very well, and my mom would often bribe my brother and I to accompany her on shopping trips so that we could keep her company. One time I went to the mall with her and she promised to buy me a tape at the Sam Goody store, so I picked up some Smithereens tape that I never listened to, and I picked up Ramones Mania. When we got back in the car I popped it in, and when "Beat On the Brat" came on my mom asked me if the band advocated violence. I just shrugged and decided to listen to it on my own time.

Anybody who likes rock music, especially indie and punk music, has Joey and the rest of the Ramone's to thank for knocking music off its extended guitar solo anthemic wanking path it had taken ever since the Beatles parted ways in 1970. It didn't do away with that strain (hence the hair-metal bands of the 80s), but it gave everyone a choice. The Ramones found a new door to open, and thousands of bands followed them through. I was lucky enough to see them play live once, they were all old but they looked the same, and the show was the loudest I have ever witnessed. I pumped my hand in the air with the rest of the crowd and watched Joey rock slowly back and forth gripping the microphone and felt like I belonged musically for the first time. Thanks, Joey.

(6:35 PM) :: (link)

:: 4.15.2001 ::

(listening to: Arab Strap: Philophobia)

Nothing is open on Easter. If I remember correctly, last year Miss Rodeo America and I went down to Ikea to purchase Swedish goods, but they were closed. Then we tried to go to Target to get this Eiffel Tower lamp, and they were closed, so we tried to go to Thrift Town and *they* were closed, so I think we ended up getting some beer and talking shit about Easter. Today is much the same, however I don't have the will to leave the house to see what there is to do. I wanted to go get food, but figured everything was closed, so I called the pizza places and finally found one that was open and made them bring me food. Absolutely nothing outside of the house to do, I'm contemplating going to the baseball game in a few hours, but that's a far off thought.

I bought this Arab Strap record when it came out 3 years ago on a recommendation from a friend, and never really got into it. Now, a bit older and more refined (uh-hum), I'm really liking it. Good beats and use of piano, I almost like the instrumental stuff better than the songs with vocals.

(2:13 PM) :: (link)

(listening to: Pulp: This Is Hardcore)

MP3 of the week: There was a guy named George Chen who used to live around here who was, as I like to say, big man on the indie campus. During college, he seemed to know all the bands and all the record labels. He threw the best parties, and had all the coolest friends. The best part about this arrangement was that although he was the coolest of the cool, he was still a great guy. George also did a magazine with his sister, Yvonne, called Zum. Their topics varied wildly, and it was through their pages that I first heard about Modest Mouse. In 1998, for Zum's 10th issue anniversary, they put out what just might be the best compilation of songs I've ever heard. Twenty-One songs spanning genres, all supremely indie, all either unreleased or very rare, and (almost) all very good.

Track 16, Aerial M's Lay grabbed my attention and has never let it go. Variations on the letter M, the constant moniker of Lousville enthusiast David Pajo (slint, tortoise, all things will oldham) became my personal favorite slow core music. Yes this is the second time M has appeared as MP3 of the week, but that's how good he is. He does everything himself, lives on the road, and collects his royalty checks happily.

(12:00 AM) :: (link)