SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP

last weekend was vacation, which meant reading. here's what i read last week, in planes, trains, automobiles, and parks:

"disgrace" - j.m. coetzee. coetzee was next on my list of nobel awardees to check out. i don't know that i'll be reading anything else by him. i am thoroughly glad that i read this book, though. a naked look at the darkness of humanity. the lingering power of sexual dynamics in a world that still studies shakespeare and hold truth and reconiliation committees. the more i mediate on this sparse novel, the more i am convinced of the panel's reason for giving him an award.

"love in the time of cholera" - g.g. marquez. "one hundred years of solitude" seems to make life-long acolytes or confused headache bearers out of the people who read it. i am definitely in the former category. this is only the second marquez book i've read, though, and i'm glad i read it when i did. after the starkness of "disgrace," completely and intentionally void of beauty, this book, a meditation on love, was incredible, like an 8-course meal.

i love how marquez staggers through the worlds he creates, seeming to get drunk on the richness of people. no stone is uncovered; ten pages may be devoted solely to a character who disappears for the rest of the novel, but it hardly matters. it doesn't feel like a series of vignettes. it just feels
real. not magically real - real. the only magic is in how he makes you feel while you read his work.

"new york: the big city" - w. eisner. eisner is apparently the father of the modern graphic novel, and this book, while not a graphic novel, was a good indication of why. dozens of vignettes in a paean to city life. some typical, some not; some hopeful, some not; each given an attention to detail that made the characters jump off the frameless page. i'm excited to pick up some of his actual novels from the library, maybe check out the spirit.

"american nerd" - b. nugent. a pseudo-ethnography of the nerd. really insightful research into the implications of class, race, gender, and even policies that play into the marginalization of the "other," as personified by the "nerd," nugent makes a compelling case when he is sticking to his theses.

i particularly liked his ruminations on the conceptions of human-ness in the enlightenment vs. the gradual shift into the industrial age. during the age of reason, he argues, we embraced rationality as the signifying characteristic of humanity. it was what made us different than the animals. starting with "frankenstein" and romanticism, however, we began to see machines performing many of the tasks that were previously done by humans. we began to embrace our animal nature was what signified us as human - not separate from animals, but separate from our own creations.

i was not a particular fan of his more straight non-fiction, reporting style, or his autobiographical moments. they interrupted an otherwise thought-provoking read, and seemed inappropriate. it seemed as though nugent was trying to legitimize his qualifications for writing the book - "look, see, i was a nerd!" the peeks into his adolescence, and the guilt he felt from his own treatment of his nerd friends, might be interesting in another context, but his attempt to weave in a personal narrative just came across as awkward.

"the portable february" - d. berman. dave berman is one of my favorite songwriters of all time. the songs of the silver jews are complex - almost always absurd at first, before the words start to make a slow sense that can be touching, hilarious and life-affirming in a bizarre fashion. these drawings, which remind me of my friend stephen's wonderful "manys" zine, are kind of along the same lines. a post-modern, contemporary art far side of sorts. there were a few pages that made me giggle long after i looked at them, but there are also a lot that i haven't the slightest clue about. i'm looking forward to picking this one up from the ol' coffee table and beard-scratching.

"the toolbox for sustainable city living" - s. kellog & s. pettigrew. "green" books are a dime a dozen these days. i'm not one of those ornery lefties who gets off on calling "foul" because most of these books are either near-worthless or filled with common-sensical ideas that people will still probably ignore. but i do approach books on "sustainability" with a hefty dose of skepticism.

which is why i found myself surprised as i bought this book on my annual quimby's splurge. it's so... useful! chicken-rearing, aquaculture, constructed wetlands, humanure, vermicomposting, and more. this was basically house-porn for me as i keep my fingers crossed pre-closing.

let me know if you want to borrow this one.

right now, i'm reading "the wordy shipmates" by s. vowell, about the second group of puritans to sail across the ocean (massachussetts and "city on a hill," not plymouth rock and thanksgiving myths). so far, it's not anywhere near as good as her "assassination vacation," which was a fascinating look at the assassins (and political atmospheres) of lincoln, garfield and mckinley, filled with wit and charm. that's not saying much, though - vacation was one of the best non-fiction books i've ever read. still, i'm hoping for a rebound.

dag. some memories and whatnot.

last time i updated my livejournal (and, regularly, this blog), i was fresh out the desert and unemployed.

now, i'm engaged and looking at houses for to purchase them and make them mine own.

this month, i've been house sitting. waking up at 5 every morning to an old dog requesting access to the areas of the world in which she can lawfully poop. this has reinforced my belief in doggy doors.

a week ago we looked at houses that had comically large problems. one had a ceiling that was only six feet tall. one was obviously a pre-fab house whose doors would not shut. one was incredible but had no yard and smelled like cat pee. one was incredible, but the owners had neglected to take care of the roof, and the walls were bulging with moisture and we left with headaches from the bad things in the air.

i've been through two jobs. two and a half, if you count the one i was hired for on a wednesday and dismissed from the next afternoon - not because of anything i did, though. budgets.

i like the job i am in a great deal. i do research for a labor union. we are trying to better working conditions in the residential construction industry. we are also trying to end world hunger, destroy cancer, and solve the palestinian-israeli conflict.

when i first started working on union campaigns, my dear friend who has been working on a similar campaign said, "be sure to to take care of your mental health. this job can get really fucking depressing." i accepted her advice, but thought i had the iron will and the detachment to not be bothered. i was wrong.

i started a new band with sean and ben and randy and deacon and i really really enjoy it, but we've only practiced twice and i hope i'm not the only one who really, really enjoys it.

there have been TWO more incarnations of porches, both of which were really fun: stephen stinkbrein on bass, preston j.b. on drums. ray reeves on drums, jason p.w. on geet, ryan mcd on keys, francis on bass.

i am currently in the process of surprising my mother and father, the former of whom is my friend on facebook, but who, as of yet, does NOT read this blog (hence the dirty words).

i just finished "breakfast of champions." it was good, but too... vonnegut-y. cheeky. bluebeard will probably always be my favorite. currently almost done with "the monkey wrench gang." i hated it before i started to pick up on some of the tongue-in-cheek-ness, and i still love/hate it. not surprising, given what i have heard about his views on immigration.

sometimes doing anything good feels so sisyphean. there is such endless innocent need in this world and such great innocent destructive power in humankind. i write "human" there after catching myself writing "mankind" - but i think this is one instance in which mankind may be appropriate.

i lived at the tribe, which was surreal. i saw defiance, ohio play there six years ago. i played my first show with a 4-piece with defiance, ohio there two years ago.

i've been trying to get back into writing prose.

i went on tour with sean and ben, which was, as always, a blast and a half. monsters of snack. they bring out the best and the worst in me. somehow eating mcdonald's and more self-righteous than ever. the wonderful lazy days of driving six hours to hang out and play music for people.

10 days on the road is enough for me, though. anymore and i get all holden caulfield - phony this and phony that. i crave foundations and sacrifice and support.

there is a lot more that has happened that i do not remember that i wish i had written down. at least i've been journaling privately, though.

yeah, i stole'em. naw, i mean, i took'em. i don't give a fuck, man. it's an old candy factory. you think they really care? you think they ain't got another sixteen tons of those things, loaded in the back of a truck somewhere, sitting around, gathering dirt and rust and all crawling with spiders? so i took'em. i got my wrench out of my backpack and a hammer and a screwdriver and i went to work.

i guess i ain't surprised the cops showed up. it was loud as fuck, and it was the middle of the night. yeah, i shoulda waited til afternoon. i thought it would be better to do under the cover of dark, see, but that didn't make sense after all. middle of the day in this neighborhood, there's all kinds of noise. no one woulda noticed. middle of the night, yeah, i bet you coulda heard it six miles down the fucking road.

so the cops show up, and i didn't even hear'em til they was right behind me, shining a flashlight over my shoulder.

"whatcha doin, red? whatcha up to there?"

so i turn around, and one of'em got his hand on my shopping cart, and the other one is the one holding the flashlight. one black guy and one white guy. what did they look like? they look like cops to me, man. beyond the uniform, they all look the same. short ones, tall ones, fat ones, skinny ones, white ones, black ones, hispanic. what do you want to know?

the black one, by my cart, he has his hand on his hip, real casual-like, the way they always do when they want to you know they're packing heat and all you've got is a hammer and a screwdriver and not even a hand to pull up your goddam pants.

of course i don't say anything back. what are you going to say back in these situations? it's not like you just got caught speeding. "yes, officer, i'm sorry officer." hope for pity? unlikely. i just look'em in the eye and hopefully give'em a little scare, without putting down the hammer or screwdriver just yet.

.

MOVING BACK TO PHOENIX WAS THE BEST DECISION EVER

WAY TO GO B AND C

tonight i called a bunch of people to share the news, picked up water and a truck to take to the border, listened to abe recording in our basement, ate delicious pitacos with preston and vegged out and binged on 30 rock.

annoying.

there is a meme growing in the press, encouraged by lots of republican/conservative thinkers, pundits, writers, and speakers:

"obama did what?! what if BUSH tried to do this?"

ignoring the juvenile nature of this invitation to argument, in many cases, bush has done the same things that obama did, in many cases. with regards to questionable nominees, there were several - i wasn't politically aware during his 2000 inauguration, but i do at least remember the harriet miers fiasco, one which should've been way more avoidable, as it dealt with the level of support of one's own party, and not the relatively private issue of backtaxes or pending grand jury indictments.

memory is short, though, and obama has had a larger problem getting his cabinet in place than seems prudent. these arguments, puerile though they may be, carry a little bit of water - although i'd argue in return that the press has certainly been critical of obama's choices.

the wall street journal's attempt to cry foul at obama's method for calling on reporters is ridiculous, though. are they really going to try and compare obama's pre-list of reporters he wants to call on with bush's numerous exclusionary tactics?

he didn't call on helen thomas for three years, for starters. then, there was the infamous republican-hired, soft-ball-throwing, reporter-cum-gay-male-escort Jeff Gannon (nee James Dale Guckert). (if you haven't read up on this story, i strongly encourage you to do so - if it weren't so sad, it'd be hilarious)

i could go into extensive detail about the bush administration's gutting of foia and flagrant disrespect for public records law and honest reporting in general, but i frankly don't feel like expending the energy.

finally, the practice of picking which reporters you want to ask first is hardly pre-screening. there is a limited amount of press passes given, and there is already an arduous process to go through to get one (a process that the illustrious Bush White House circumvented to get Gannon in). all presidents "pre-screen" reporters out of necessity.

this wall street journal article is disappointing - they are usually a respectable voice for conservativism, and i hope they don't devolve into fox news lite.

back.

the overbearing gravity of the death of one who is close to us completely outweighs our ability to express anything of comparable significance, comfort, or meaning, and reminds us of the tragic shortfalls of relationships expressed in the terms of objective language.

got word on sunday that a friend of mine - and a very close friend of the no more deaths program - died this weekend. i haven't really talked to anyone about it yet, aside from corinne, laura, and steve, because i don't know what to say about it. just like when brant and jason died, talking about a death and then continuing to talk about other things leaves me numb and feeling generaly dissonant with my surroundings. i'll probably have a few drinks tonight and ramble about it in one forum of conversation or another.

on a completely different note: i want to start a band with all my friends.

also, i'm going to continue updating this, i think. not every day, though. i've started a journal for that. it makes me sad that i didn't do more to write over my year in chicago. i wrote a grand total of one-and-a-half songs in the entire year, didn't write any prose, or do any journalist-y type stuff either. yay depression! meanwhile, in the few months i've been back in phoenix, i've written eight new songs, published an article, and started three short stories. i'm starting to get an itch to take photographs again, too. yay ranch market!

august 12 2008

I AM THE BOGGLE CHAMPION

argued with the fam about whether or not people who shoot holes in the water tanks in the desert are murderers or not.  i say they are.  if you know thirsty people will be slogging through an area, and you shoot holes in containers full of water that could save their lives, how are you not a murderer?  family focused on all sorts of rationalizations for their actions, but the fact remains that they would be responsible for someone's death.