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:: 10.04.2002 ::

(listening to: Steve Earle: El Corazon)

[texas is mexico] :: There's a little controversy down in San Jose about this horribly offensive billboard. The radio is interviewing the locals, almost all of whom agree that the billboard is offensive to women. Women? Things like that are offensive to '*everyone*, and I'd argue almost *more* offensive to men. I'm embarraseed when I hear radio ads on baseball games aimed at me, like I'm a lunk who enjoys nothing more than football, beer, and looking up the skirts of cheerleaders. I'm embarrased when I see billboards that imply that I think of women not as people, but as a property I could rent, lease, or own. Sure, I dig hockey, baseball, beer, and hell, women, but I'd slap myself if I ever thought of them as something money could get me. If women's groups and the men who support them steered their efforts away from a "men vs. women" type attitude to a "this makes everybody look dumb" stance, I think we might see less offensive advertising.

I forgot to get batteries for my camera, and I didn't finish the mix CD I was going to give my brother, and I left my good headphones on the last airplane I rode. It's going to be a busy day, see you in L.A.

(9:37 AM) :: (link)

:: 10.03.2002 ::

(listening to: Badly Drawn Boy: Have You Fed The Fish?

[string sections are the new monday is the new thursday] :: Phew. I just realized about a half an hour ago that I'm going to Los Angeles tomorrow. I had almost forgotten about the trip, since I've been busier than a beaver this week. Kyle and I have spent hours working on some four-track demo stuff in the spare room in my house (which, incidentally, was my old room for three years), staying up late and fooling around with punch-ins and click tracks. I somehow feel like I've found my new calling, engineering these recordings has been the most constructive/interesting/exciting "work" I've ever done. I wonder how much sound engineering classes cost...

But yeah, I'm going to my southern neighborhood, the place I've bad-mouthed more than anywhere else to see my brother for the weekend. I'm probably going to go to The Getty Museum, cause trouble, and a spend a lot of time in a car. Jeff has kindly provided me a list of what's happening this weekend, as far as entertainment options and music goes, and the pickings are rather slim unless I want to go see Clinic and The Apples In Stereo, which I don't. Oh, and an old friend of mine is making us dinner on Saturday.

Somebody remind me that I need batteries for my camera.

(9:31 AM) :: (link)

:: 9.30.2002 ::

(listening to: Beck: Sea Change)

breakdance! :: 1985

Excerpt from the book Computers: Those Amazing Machines (1985)

Breakdance! Colorful computer images demonstrate arm positions for a dance routine. Below each image, Miles Efron, 13, of Palo Alto, California, turns the pictures into action. The computer figure's arms can be moved to different positions as programmers invent routines. The the pictures can be run together in a moving cartoon.

[sometimes I'm thinking that I love you, but i know it's only lust] :: I remember this news story when breakdancing broke out in the mid-80's about a kid who broke his neck while spinning on his head. Because of that, if I got caught doing anything *close* to breakdancing, I'd get in trouble. Although I couldn't do the dance, my friend and I still grooved to beats on his big silver boombox, and the kid around the corner had a "Breakin!" party where we watched "Breakin' 2: The Electric Boogaloo" and then danced in the living room. His parents bought him (or made, I forget) this glossy cardboard mat that was colored like a pie chart, and had slogans like "Radical!" and "Awesome!" scrawled on it in that hip, skater font. Damn, I wish I could have been the school breakdancing champion.

Wow, I love this kid's Karate Kid shirt. I want me one of those.

(6:10 PM) :: (link)

:: 9.29.2002 ::

(listening to: 764-HERO: Get Here And Stay)

[san jose is the land of bad green day cover bands] :: My mom picked me up this afternoon and we headed south to catch the first San Jose Sharks pre-season hockey game. While walking to the arena, we strayed into a barbecue and beer festival and saw way more cleavage than I could stomach. Cleavage on big girls, girls with small chests, tattoed boobs, and beefy man cleavage. There was this really horrible cover band doing Creed and Green Day tunes while some guy in a SF Giants jersey did the noodle dance alone in front of the stage. I was scared, even my my mom wanted to run away.

But really, it's not like the crowd at the hockey game were any better. The guy on row in front of me and to my left had the biggest, nastiest dice-nerd mullet I've ever seen, and I think it was required that everyone in attendance scarf down a heaping plate of spaghetti and meatballs before the game to add to their girth. Either way, my mom and I cheered and had a good time, the best part being when the goalie for San Jose skated to the other end of the ice (a big no-no in hockeylandia) to brawl with the opposing netkeeper. It was a gutsy, balls out move and he got the biggest applause of the night. The Sharks lost, but it was good times all around, until we hit the traffic on the way back up. Traffic at 11:30 at night is the worst, and is the pefect reason heli-cars should be invented.

The afternoon before the game I spent holed up in our spare room, fidgeting with the four-track I borrowed the other night. I finally figured everything out and had a blast writing little songs all by my lonesome, playing all the parts and dropping some super slowed down hott Casio beats to back them up. It was good times, and the first song I wrote I named "Squirrels," since that's what I looked out my window and saw when the song was finished. Sounds like some Native American ritual to me.

(1:03 AM) :: (link)