Wednesday, April 30, 2008
There’s too many of you crying…”
KEXP played Marvin Gaye’s “what’s going on” right at the perfect moment when an older woman was scolding an SUV for being in the crosswalk while waiting for a signal. It got me to thinking about the differences between Cali and Seattle pedestrians and my own experiences with them. I’ve seen and experienced some of the Seattle pedestrians and they can be a self righteous lot. So many residences here bus, ride bikes or walk to work; much different from the car addiction in So Cal. Since living here, I’ve almost nailed a few, which would result in jail time or me stamping the front fender of my wagon with my road kill tally much to the likes of a WII B52 bomber, or jail time.
I’ve seen pedestrians do the following:
Cuss drivers out (a few times to me)
Hit the vehicles (once to me, one week into living here-I almost beat the old fucker but resorted to just yelling back, due to the fact he was taller, out weighed me, a man, and surely would’ve pummeled me)
All of these things, by the way, don’t necessarily involve crosswalks where they surely have the way…I’m also talking about the brazen shits that will step off the curb in the middle of traffic and demand your submission like dominatrix to a fat CEO licking her patent 6” heeled boots. In short, you seriously have to be on your game here with your eyes on the road because they literally jump out at’cha.
In comparison, California pedestrians, for the most part, give vehicles the right of way; for fear of a 2 ton car breaking them into bits. The drivers there are much more demanding, in a hurry and aggressive. The only time I experienced a pedestrian hitting my car for being in a crosswalk was in Santa Monica, and that doesn’t really count cause most L.A. folks are douchey fucks anyway. The only other display of pedestrian smuggery is with teenagers; who frankly, are growing up with a generation of parents who don’t spank or discipline or teach the respect of a beat down by their peers or elders. Ugh…the only things I dislike more than children are asshole teenagers; walking around thinking their shit don’t stink.
So anyway, yeah…pedestrians in Seattle…can be a little cray cray
So yes, Marvin…what IS going on…with that?
(Marvin ponders my question)
Monday, April 28, 2008
Zach Harjo: pretty decent with a folk rock feel and xylophone player. Which is curious cause I was just saying the other day: “ya know, rock and roll is lacking in some serious xylophone man!’
Mark Mallman: holy fucking speed trip, this dude; Leopard jacket, big 80’s rock hair, playing, standing, smashing a keyboard; accompanied by a drummer and a set of prerecorded tracks. I was reminded of Tim Curry in Rocky Horror Picture Show. He sang like that, moved like that and fuck all, if we didn’t expect him to strip down into a matching leopard speedo. I suggest going to view him, if only for the sheer ‘holy crap, am I REALLY seeing this?’ factor. http://www.mallman.com/
(this=this? I'm just sayin..)
Holy Name Dropouts and The Cute Lepers=punk revival? Aside from the curly handle bar mustache worn by one of the band mates from TCL, the only thing I noticed during this two bad set was that I was sober and sobriety can be painfully boring.
The Heavy Hearts: which was the one band we were here to see thanks to a live performance on KEXP the previous day, was pretty kick ass. Lead, Denise Maupin killed it on guitar; she was seriously a treat to watch; a bundle of fucking energy and rock glory banging her head to and fro. Not trying to play favorites on her, the rest of the band was tight and sounded great as well and if my eyes didn’t deceive me, there were two basses battling for dominance.
(we totally silently bonded over tattoos, as we spied each other from accross the bar. Either that or she wanted to beat my ass-it was dark,I'm dense and she'd prolly win)
In my opinion, Punk Rock is alive and well my friends. Not that you were truly worried that it was gone, but for some of the older kids who grew up in the hey days of real punk rock- not this pussy shit they play on 40 radio with fuck tards running amok in girls pants, star tattoos, and urban outfitters bought tees…Not that I was a punker; I didn’t roll around with fucked up hair(at least not on purpose) safety pins through my nose, or home made clothing, I was of the more metal, new wave and classic rock junket(and sometimes, dare I share this horrid dirty little secret…NKOTB-GASP). I did have some that I gave liking to: Misfits, occasional Black Flag, Fugazi, NOFX, Descendants and the Vandals.
OH my and the people at this show?!!! Have mercy. Sometimes I wish I could attach my brain to a printer and download the mental pictures I take of some people…remember Rod Stewart in the late 70s early 80s? The ultra spiky mullet, tight pants, fancy jacket and pointy boots? Ok, so I spy with me little eye…a platinum rod crossed with punk; the result: Me giving the “did someone step in dogshit” face as I’m trying to hold back laughter in his presence
Sunday, April 27, 2008
my future new toy for when I do this:
200 free pull
100 breast stroke
and not go absolutely batty with the last radio played song on a constant loop on my noodle. Not my best day of swimming, but I'm sure I'll go further when I'm fulled by the sounds of vampire weekend, tapes and tapes, cold war kids and a little static x to keep me company...
Saturday, April 26, 2008
(holy fuck, sun on my head....why yes, that is a pirate ship on my mirror, the Black Pearl to be exact)
So, it is an absolutely beautiful day in ol Seattle, the kinda of day that I rub in my friends faces back home..."ha ha fuckers, enjoy your 90 degree smog filled poop brown hell!" ahem...
From my apartment is one fucking stellar view of the cascades and this morning they were calling me "Mel, you should really come ride us, cause you're not going to get to again till December" I declined. Somehow riding in sunny 50+ degree warmth and the slush with all the crowds didn't make me hop in my car in route to Alpental. Mostly it was the thought of the crowds and the possibility that I'd want to drop kick some twat for, well, being a twat.
Instead I ended up in a pub watching the Man Utd vs Chelsea game, at 8:30am, with groups of drunken futbol fans signing their taunts and limericks (really-I passed on snow?). It was a good game, Man Utd lost 2-1.
Much to my enjoyment however, was driving around with the windows down, sunglasses on and The Heavy booming from my poor stock radio. I don't yet know much about this band, other than the fact that they’re fucking fit. Good grooving and fun lyrics with an influence of 60's rock soul. You can definitely dance to them and use the blues-ier tracks 1 and 10 to do a sexy little dance for your man...or woman, whatever floats your boat
So as I'm rocking out, I notice this:
I believe it's a 60's Barracuda, yet...really? You welded up the back window? Seems highly dangerous with a hefty blind spot. However the double frenched taillights were a nice touch. The shit people do to their muscle slays me. I half expected confederate flag upholstery.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Drop into powder…
(hey…lets cross the sea, and get some culture)
(red wine with every meal, and absinthe after dinner)
Carve to the right
(we look good, side by side)
(walking back to the hotel)
Carve to the left
(we got something to eat and to drink…)
(2 star hotel…hotel)
(will fix photos later)
Let me continue by saying, my love affair was rekindled with NW snow, in 06-March, when I took a boarding trip up to Baker. Flew into typical Seattle weather-wet and cold-and woke up at the wee crack of dawn to drive our happy asses some 2.5-3 hours northeast. We were greeted with blue bird conditions and approximately 20” of fresh powder; powder of which I instantly sank and exerted most of my energy getting out of. The landscape of this mountain was awe inspiring and needless to say I was refreshed with a new love and new hope that I will be soaring down the slopes at wild banshee speeds.
Fast forward two years later…there’s freakish weather hitting Seattle in spring-APRIL to be exact- a mere 60 some days away from summer. I thought I was done with the season, until I checked out
And discovered an impending cold front. I immediately start hitting up friends for a last minute trip to the local mountains, only one comes through.
Me: Snoqualmie on Saturday?
Me: hmmmm how bout driving up to Baker Sat morning instead? 6? You can sleep, I’ll drive
Friend: how bout 7am?
Me: how bout B-Ham Friday night, wake up and go
Friend: why not a little further to Whistler?
(I consult the gods that be-my wallet)
Fuck it, lets do this shit!
Needless to say, we never make it to Whistler because they only had 2” of fresh and Baker had 10”. Baker won the match, and we arrived shortly after opening to pow turns, me making love to the snow at warp speeds, somewhat small crowds and hikers making the long trek up the ridge into the back country for the big payoff of a huge drop into heaven.
The soundtrack of my sexy Baker romp:
Minus the Bear
Built to Spill
Monday, April 14, 2008
Mozart is pouring out of my speakers: Quando Corpus Morietur & Amen. It's fucking depressing, this song. The prepubescent choir boys are chilling with their soprano voices; the organ, bringing up visions of creepy gothic cathedrals, that are there for salvation and to invoke peace, but just remind me of evil.
I think it's time for me to escape outside.