It has to be covered

I am in New York.

Why I am in New York is because my two great aunts (on my Mother's side) just passed away within two weeks of each other. My Mom asked me if I would go with her, and in return for a flight and my attendance at the burial, I am given two days to frolic with my many New York friends. Fair trade.

We took the red-eye last night. I shared half a Lunesta with Mom. Apparently it worked, as we arrived in Newark both saying: "Well... we must have slept, but I don't remember doing it."

Straight to the funeral home where, to my surprise, there was an open casket with a dead body in it. This is not a Jewish way of doing things and I was caught off guard. I've never seen a dead body before. Strange and surreal. Even unsettling. Not something that needs to be done, in my opinion.

Then following the Hearse to the cemetery. Old Jewish cemetery in Staten Island. Lots of tall stones. There, I witnessed my first burial – another first. The casket was there surrounded by fresh dirt. The rabbi spoke with a thick Brooklyn accent.

After the casket was lowered, we were invited to each shovel some dirt in the grave. This is a tradition, though I didn't know it when I had already felt an odd impulse to do so. As people took turns grabbing shovels, one older man who had walked to the site with a cane continued to shovel. "You're supposed to cover it up" he said to the assembly. There was an awkward moment where nobody else took up the task. It was a rather large hole. We wouldn't have to fill it completely, but at least render the casket invisible under the earth.

I grabbed an extra shovel and put my back into it. Odd work but satisfying. Seemed the right thing to do. I don't plan on leaving earthly remains, unless they're allowed to be buried naked in the ground to decompose - in which case, I'd like everyone to lend a hand in burying me. An excellent act of closure.

But now all that business is done and I'm off to conquer New York City. For your records: MOMA closes at 5:30 pm.

-Thank you for reading.

"I am the best dancer ever"

One of my favorite friends, Angel, has started a web-comic that she updates most weekdays. You should check it out. This one is my favorite. www.brokenspectacles.com





-Thank you for reading

I'm Lost.

So, I'm trying to make sense of last night's LOST. Feel free and weigh in. Obviously, don't read this if you don't watch the show or haven't seen the finale.

THE OTHERS:
Michael - harpooned, grenaded
Looking Glass Lesbians - shot
Tom - shot in cold blood by Sawyer
Beach raiding party - Dynamited, Volkswagoned
Dude who doesn't age - Still not old. Bound to play a role next season.
Ben - beat up, crazy, but maybe not completely so?

THE SURVIVORS:
Charlie - drowned, rather unjustly. Must have a better project going on or wanted to go out with dignity.
Kate - Probably pregnant. Wears too much makeup in the future.
Hurley - Convicted of vehicular homicide, dude
Sayid - Badass. Did you see him snap that guys neck with his feet? Yeah.
Desmond - Not dead. In love with Penny. (Remember WAY back at the end of Season 2 when they brought her whole search thing into the story? Funny how it took a WHOLE SEASON to get back to that)
Claire - Still adorable.
Bernard - Not dead. Just means we'll forget about him for another 10 episodes and bring him back to do something stupid.
Sun - Pregnant. Waiting for her baby to kill her.
Jin - Can't hit stable dynamite but has no problem shooting people with guns.
Jack - Losing it. Terrible future beard.


THE OUTSIDE PLAYERS:
Locke - Back on the Zealous track. Apparently invincible.
Juliet - Hot.
Russo - Looks like ET.
Penny - Desmond could have done better.
Jacob - Still invisible. Possibly manifesting as Walt?


QUESTIONS:
What does "Walt's" return mean for Michael?
Who the fuck is Jacob?
How is the shit going to go down between Locke and Ben?
Will the Others and The Survivors unite against a common threat?
How did Russo not die when she had her baby?
Didn't Penny get a location on the island back when the hatch exploded?
What the fuck purpose did the hatch serve to keep the island from exploding if it doesn't exist anymore and things are fine?
Remember those weird numbers? Yeah... why were they important?
Polar Bear?
Why can Desmond see the future? It was set up like he had lived through everything already, but that was up to the point where the hatch exploded... time travel?
Why did they waste an entire episode burying that stupid couple they introduced at the beginning of the season alive?
Who died in the future? Does it even matter?

I have a Daemon, but is it the right one for me?

If you don't know about the Golden Compass, get with it. If you do, rate my daemon, Artemis.



-Thank you for reading.

The lesser whole

Kurt Vonnegut just died this week, and the world is less for it. However, there was recently another, more subtle death that affected me. A man my age, whom I went to school with since the 5th grade, died two weeks ago, a year after being diagnosed with colon cancer. I would call it tragic, but I don't really believe in tragedy because it implies an intent. I don't know what to call it. It happened. I wish it hadn't.

Today I attended his memorial service, both at church and at a gathering for family and friends. Truth be told, I was never close to Aaron Schulte. The first I remember of him is from 5th grade when he moved to Lake Oswego. At the time, anybody who was anybody played wall ball during recess. We had a newly constructed elementary school with an excellent corridor for many varied wall ball courts. And here comes this kid from Washington to establish himself as the dominant King of Wall Ball. I'm talking skipsies, cuts, hopsies and whatever other silly rules and strategies we were inventing at the time, he could do them all. Naturally, I resented him for his talent. But I never remember him being boastful or unkind about his status and abilities. Those of you that have ever been in 5th grade know what a rarity that kind of character is. But as became all to clear today, it was par for the course for this one man.

Fast forward to junior high. I don't remember if it was my 12th or 13th birthday, but my best friend at the time, Aaron White, had moved to Indonesia with his family and I had no good friends to spend my birthday with. Almost on a whim, I invited two people to come out with me: The new kid, Scott Thompson, who I thought was super cool, and Aaron Shulte, who had maybe played roller hockey with me a few times. My Dad took all of us out to Escape from New York Pizza and then to a Winterhawks game. Though I don't remember any real details about the evening, it was a fun time with new friends when I really needed them. Schulte (he was always the kind of guy who was called by his last name, despite his having two younger brothers who were at school with us) he always acted as a friend toward everybody. That night, he was one of mine.

In high school, we had a tradition called May Fete. Once a year, all four classes would rally and put on a skit in front of the student body. Aaron, who was involved in class politics every year, loved to take part in these. Being a theater geek, my friends and I often had a hand in writing and performing in these skits. Sophomore year, the theme was something to do with "on the back lot"... I think. Well, Aaron stole the show in our climatic fight scene (there were always fight scenes. It was high school.) as Rocky – who as I learned today, was one of his heroes.

I lost track of him after high school. He returned to Washington to go to school, join a fraternity, etc. A year ago, he popped back on the radar when I heard through channels that he had cancer. It's the kind of thing that doesn't make sense: 25-year-olds don't get cancer. And I let it slide. I made no effort. I'm not regretful about that, but I could have behaved differently. It feels important to me that I acknowledge my choice in the matter. In any case, that brings us to today: his funeral.

I don't believe in God. I believe in People. Today was a day that validated that belief. Most people of faith will tell you that people will let you down sooner or later, where God is steadfast. That is true, if you believe it. But I don't believe that people's ability, even tendency, to falter is a justification for not putting your faith with them. People can embody every virtue. That potential is not something to be treated like a lucky streak we're all waiting to run out. It should be encouraged and celebrated. That is what I saw today. Aaron was, with no exaggeration, the last person anything like this should happen to. His disease came out of nowhere, attacked him relentlessly and took him "too soon," for as much as that means. It's such an unjust death, it seems scripted. What makes his story even more surreal, though, is the strength I now know he possessed through his illness and the strength that gave to those around him. By all accounts, his family should be grieved beyond consolation. But I saw them today smiling, greeting friends and speaking of Aaron's life without the faintest hint of resentment about his fate. They mourn the loss, but they do it with such grace and love for life... I don't really know how to put it. Aaron's father made a touching video to show in remembrance. Not only did they show him during the good times, they unflinchingly - even proudly, showed him emaciated by his cancer, a shadow of his healthy self. I watched all this, listened to the stories people told and thought "this is how these things should be, but nobody ever expects people to have the strength to do it." Today I saw that strength and I am touched by it.

There were at least 400 people at the service today. I saw people from high school that flew from the opposite end of the country to be there. I saw teachers and community members I haven't seen in 8 years. All these people brought together by loss. I had the image during the Catholic Mass of Aaron as a weight attached by strings to many smaller weights all suspended somehow. And as Aaron's weight is dropped, all these sorted loads are drawn together for a brief moment of solidarity before the strings attaching them to the large weight are finally snapped by the pull of gravity. But for the brief moment that we are all brought together, it is as if the smaller weights are trying to support the large one from being pulled away.

I'm not a quoter of literature, but the first book that made me love Hemingway is For Whom The Bell Tolls. Most people probably know this, but the title is taken from a passage with a much more famous phrase by John Donne, and it is fitting for the moment. It goes:

"No man is an Iland, intire of its selfe; every man is a peece of the Continent, a part of the maine; if a Clod bee washed away by the Sea, Europe is the lesse, as well as if a Promontorie were, as well as if a Mannor of thy friends or of thine owne were; any mans death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankinde; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee."

Bigger is better

This weekend was The Tri-Move and it was pretty hectic. Katie, my roommate since... what, 2004? Yeah. Late '04. Anyway, she has finally left me for the other man in her life, her boyfriend of 2+ years. Let the record show I had her first! Not in that way, of course.

As I reflect on our time together, I think both she and I will realize that we still know very little about the other person. It wasn't all that long ago that I learned she was obsessed with French Noir films during high school. Ours was not a relationship of minute details. On some trivial game show where we would be partnered and asked to recount facts for one anothers' pasts, we would fail. But were that game show to enquire what we would do in certain situations, we would be aces. I feel I know Katie's character. The essence. And I feel she understands me likewise. It's people who get that sort of thing that have the lasting friendships, because the wind may blow the sail this and that way, but the mast stays put.

The best thing that has come of Katie's departure is that I have claimed my rightful place in the big room. I'd have never admited it to her while she was here, but I deserved the big room - especially once I started working from home. Katie may have paid rent, but she barely lived here. One of her most awe-inspiring traits is her ability to be constantly doing shit. And so, her room here was little more than a place to keep her bed for when she actually chose to use it. I, on the other hand, am a homebody and could have used a more spacious command center.

Now that I have The Big Room, I am surprised by how much better it actually is. I thought I'd built up its importance in my mind, but no. It's really that good. I have my bed at at an angle. An angle! It's so luxurious. Though I need something to keep my pillows from falling behind the bed...

My new roommate, Nick, seems a fine sort. This morning, we woke up at roughly the same time and had coffee together. This is one of the small roommate pleasures I was denied by Katie, her demanding schedule requiring every minute of her time be streaminled for maximum life-living and minimum coffee drinking. It goes without saying that Nick and I will have to work out some unforseen bumps, but I've just got a good feeling about it. The man likes Deadwood, for God's sake, so at least he's got his head on straight. And he says things like "Yeah, that movie didn't blow wind up my skirt..." So when I start throwing that gem out in conversation, you'll know why.

-Thank you for reading.

Even cute has limits

Turns out that line gets crossed right around the time your bed gets peed on.

-Thank you for reading

Poop.

There was a lot of poop around NW today. Not sure if it was all dog poop, either. And it was right in the middle of the sidewalk. Is this the price we pay for living in civilization? Because poop in the middle of the woods, that's one thing. Urban poop is a completely different matter.

- Thank you for reading.

Brand Me

I've been playing around with new designs for my business card for waaaay too long now and I need to man up and just print something. Here are a bunch of designs I've been playing with. Let me know which ones you like.











Of course, you may not like any of them. Or perhaps you like parts of many. These are also things I would like to hear.

-Thank you for reading.

The gems of the weekend

Don't know what the hell I've been doing lately. Just sent off my first round of bills to clients. Getting paid will be nice. Not nearly enough, but nice.

I've had the chance to go through some of the stuff I picked up at Stumptown Comics Fest. The latest Brown Paper Bag was good stuff. I'm a big fan of Johnathan Hill's stuff. He's been posting pages from the graphic novel he's working on and I got a chance to see some of the actual art at the show. The man's working in a huge format. Like practically posterboard sized. I told him that when the book is published, he should be able to make an awesome gallery show of the originals.

Which reminds me AGAIN to plug this:



Another gem I found at the show was The Middle Man. It's illustrated by Les McClaine, whom I believe lives in Portland. I met him a month ago at a Gallery Show for his comic Jonny Crossbones. He's a retardedly talented artist. Dark Horse is actually going to publish Jonny Crossbones when he finishes it, but for now you can read a good deal online.

Halloweekend was so-so. My panda costume was a hit. I even ran into a few other (inferior) pandi at a huge party on Saturday night. All I have to say is that partying is hungry work.



Catherine and Dave also had excellent costumes. It was great because when I lost them, I could just go around asking if anybody had seen two crayons walk by.



Consider this a throw down for next Halloween. If you don't dress up, you get beat down. I'm already set on being another hoodie animal. Maybe a frog, because Dave though I looked like Mario in his Tanooki suit, and that would be the next logical progression.

-Thank you for reading.

Entirely too much to say.

First, there are introductions to be made.



This is Nudge. I inherited her from my sister. The timing was excellent because I was starting to haunt the Humane Society Web site looking at puppies I can't have and getting ready to settle on a rodent. Nudge has taken residence in the mud room, which still requires some re-arranging to prevent her from endulging her climbing tendencies. Seriously, I don't know how she's getting up on these stacks I made. I considered them quite insurmountable obelisks. But then I hear a rustling and come to find her atop Mt. Suitcase. The problem with rabbits is, while they can get up, the getting down doesn't factor into the ascent.

I've found she responds really well to me when I lie on the ground and just let her take her time to check me out. Somehow, it doesn't matter that she did the same thing yesterday. There isn't that much memory or trust yet. But slowly, she'll push my feet with her nose (which I how I named her) and then hop up on my chest. Yesterday, she actually came and licked my nose. If I wasn't in love already, I am now. Girls, take note: All it takes is a little nose-licking.

Another thing I've been remiss in mentioning is this:



I've been waiting for this for a year. It is wonderful. It makes me want to fall in love. It reads like memories. AND you have two incredible opportunities to meet the creators THIS WEEK! The Stumptown Comics Festival this Friday and Saturday and Floating World Comic's grand re-opening in Old Town for First Thursday. They'll actually be displaying some of the art from the book, which is beautiful x10. The first time I actually saw Joelle's work, I think I gasped a little bit. In my most critical moments, I'd say that I wish the book all looked like her best work. Her best stuff is in there, but not on every one of the 140+ pages. For her second printed work ever, her first being a short story in Dark Horse's Sexy Chix anthology, I'd imagine she was holding back a little in lieu of making sure deadlines were met. The book doesn't suffer for it at all. I guess, what I'm saying is, I think she's still going to keep wowing us with her subsequent works for a while.



Lastly, what the fuck is going on for Halloween?

-Thank you for reading.

A very strange few days

It seems important to get this down so I can make sense of it.

Thursday was First Thursday. There are two non-chronological differences between First Thursday and Last Thursday: First Thursday has more free booze and Last Thursday has more real people. I started the evening at Stumptown where my coffeeshop crush has art hanging this month. I really like her stuff. Great colors. It has a European feel to it. Most of the pieces were sold by the time I got there, which is great for her. If only the band wasn't so insanely loud. Seriously, that place is a concrete echo box.

I hit the usual galleries and didn't see anything else that impressed me as much. Well, not art anyway. There are more hot bikes to be seen on First Thursday than I can shake a stick at. I was particularly drooling over a Raleigh with bronze colored rims & hubs. At one point, I had that idea for Cub Scout, but ultimately it wasn't so practical.

My friends, whom I'd lost while roaming, gave me a call and I went to Tube - a place I generally don't like so much. However, the DJ was spinning the best soul and funk music I've heard since Sweet Jimmy T played my birthday and the place was a hopping dance bubble. Tube, for those of you who haven't been, is indeed very tube-like and cramped. So dancing there is an excellent way to meet drunk hipsters. Adopt one today!

Friday was the pub ride and I was really looking forward to it. The gloomy afternoon made me expect a small turnout, but as it happened the ride was crystal clear, just friggin' freezing. Bobby and his boyfriend Aaron were the only riders, but my friend Austin and some folks of his met us for a kick-off beer at Tugboat. At our next stop, ClarkLewis, I SWEAR TO GOD we were sitting behind Anne Hathaway. I haven't been able to prove it yet, but Aaron converted to my way of thinking after a good glance. While it would have been the smart thing to just ask, I am not that guy and Aaron, who is that guy, didn't man up in time.

I really like both Bobby and Aaron as individuals, but they make a great couple. I enjoy seeing Bobby happy and with someone who challenges and excites him. Now if only I could find one of those in girl-form for myself...

Friday ended at this tiny bar, Solo, which is underneath the Pearl Office Max. Weird, right? I ride past it all the time and have always been curious. It's a really neat spot and the cocktail waitress and I went to high school together. Always a nice surprise to bump into old acquaintances. I had a crush on her for a minute back in the day, so it was nice that she remembered me. You should check the bar out sometime, though I'd recommend an off-night so as to avoid what I assume is a crowd I wouldn't endorse.

Which leads me to Saturday.

Saturday Catherine had wrangled two simultaneous theme parties. Pac-Man Party and LEGO Party. What are the odds? LEGO Party was surprisingly enough, really about dorking out with LEGO. This guy Jay loves himself some toys. His walls are decorated with fancy action figures, still unopened, pinned to the walls. He'd made his own LEGO chess set, which was awesome. I tried to make a dragon, but ran out of time and blue pieces. It was a blue dragon. My friend Claire, who came out with us, put my dragon to shame with her Stegosaurus-ish monster.

Pac-Man party was mellow but in the basement of the house they had an honest-to-god Ms. Pac-Man machine and are in the process of building a projection theater. They've already got three tiers of actual theater seats and a purple curtain up on the walls yet no projector. Most people would go the other way around. But who am I to judge.

Oh yeah, Claire and I made a pit stop at Echo on MLK between the parties where I had the best dirty martini I've ever had. YAY!

To sum up, it's been a very long, tiring and fun three days. Huzzah for the weekend. If you like doing fun things like this, you should come to Lompoc Trivia Tuesday night at 7:30. It's triv-tastic.

-Thank you for reading.

'Tis the season to be drinking!

ALL you suckers in the Portland area who did not join me for LOMPOC TRIVIA TUESDAY are fat losers. Thanks to the scotch-fueled brainpower of Jamie S. Rich and the ability of my former co-worker Katie to be deployed as a hormone bomb on other teams we left for the evening one free pitcher of beer richer!

The evening got hairy for a moment when we artfully tried to discern what two liquid ingredients made up a "cement mixer" by ordering one from the bartender. When the opposing teams caught wise, they didn't take it too well. Ever the placator, I shared the information we gleaned (the server returned to tell us they were out of Bailey's) but we still couldn't figure out the missing second ingredient. Lime, as it turns out. Lemon was also acceptable, although no less gross.

What I'm trying to say is that GOOD TIMES WERE HAD. And you could be a part of them. The season is fresh and we've nowhere to go but down. I see T-shirts people. Or at least pins. Come next week at 7:30 and share your mind. I won't share the beer, though, until you've helped us win a pitcher.

In other booze news, you can also join Catherine and my Pub Ride on Friday. We're still open for suggestions as to where exactly we're going. We like to try and hit a bar in each of the four corners, but as you might expect from an evening with beer and bicycles, it can end up going most anywhere.

Lastly, and somewhat inter-related, I found this site the other day. It's an online directory of happy hours! I need this soooooo badly. We all need it. But first it needs our help. If you know of any cool happy hours, add them to the directory.

-Thank you for reading.

Name my contest, get $100

Well, it's not MY contest, per say. But I'm helping to promote it. Read the copy below. Spread the word. Get the word back to mason@notsaid.com

---------------------

We’re organizing a contest for writers and photographers to celebrate the spirit of Alberta St. with their art. We want to preserve and present the edgy counter-culture that’s being threatened by an influx of yuppies. It’s time for the weird and wonderful citizens of Alberta to show the world how they want to be seen.

In that spirit, we’re asking you to name our contest. Here are the questions we’re asking ourselves: What is it about Alberta St. that makes it special? What is it that needs to be preserved as Portland continues to grow?

If that helps, great. If not, scrap it. We’re looking for stuff that’s short, sharp and slightly dangerous. But mostly, we’re looking for real emotion and attachment to the neighborhood.

Submissions must be in by 6 p.m. Sept. 25 (a.k.a. Monday). Reply to the e-mail above.
The winner gets 100 bucks.

And, whatever it ends up being called, be on the lookout for the contest. First prize for photography and writing will be $500 each!

What does it mean?

I'm working on a project and need some feedback as to how this concept comes across:

PREVENTRIFICATION

What does that mean to you? Let me know.

-Thanks for reading.

Reading is for suckers. Listening is for lovers.

!!!ATTENTION PORTLAND LITERATI!!!



Join me Thursday evening at 7pm to hear Jamie S. Rich read at 23rd Ave. Books. That's him in the pretty picture with our mutual friend Catherine (or Katie, as she is known in certain circles) and some neat light tracers that I don't know how I captured.

I will tell you that it is free and that it will be awesome. The rest of the details, and other Rich-related news, you can find on his blog: Confessions of a Pop Fan. If you do not come, we are no longer friends.

-Thank you for reading.

Getting on my Soapbox

It's not a good thing when you've already been drunk and are progressing toward hung-over by 8pm, but then, that's what Soapbox is about.

This was my third year in attendance at the derby, and probably my least favorite. Not that it wasn't fun, but as many reported The Man was cracking down this year. The sorest casualty was The Gauntlet, where after the winners have been decided, all remaining cars go down the hill at once. With competitive races limited to three cars suddenly bloating to 40+, it was the surefire way to see someone eat pavement. But some whinny bastard spectator decided to file a lawsuit last year when they were injured. BOO HOO! Let's run this down: People who enjoy hurdling themselves, brakeless, down hills in heavy vehicles, while DRUNK - and there's 40 of them... you think this is a SAFE environment?!? HELL NO! Just being a spectator at soapbox is to put your ass on the line. Take that lawyer money and invest it in a membership at Bally's so next time you can jump the fuck out of the way.

ANYway.

I found this pic of one of the fan favorites. I'm stealing it because the photographer is much better than me.



I also found a decent video of the day's events. These people have such fast turn around.

-Thank you for reading.

p.s. So, today is 9/11. It doesn't seem like a big deal to me, but I suppose it should be. I wouldn't feel so bad having a day of remembrance from it if the event wasn't so symbolic of a painful downturn in our society.

You wanna be starting something

I got a package yesterday - which I was instantly excited about, because it's always my roommate that gets all the good mail. But it turned out to just be copies of the Oregon City News and the Clackamas Review in which the story I wrote was published, on the bottom fold of the front page, no less.

A few weeks back, I mentioned meeting my high school journalism instructor. This story was the first fruit of that meeting. It was a relatively short profile on Reggie Houston, a local jazz vocalist and saxophonist. Really interesting fellow, actually. It was hard to pick a coherent line through the material I gathered in our three hour interview. I felt pretty rusty when I actually sat down to write it and wasn't sure how pleased I was with the result. But the editor and my ex-prof were happy. I just re-read it today and, you know what? I am too.

I had another ancient acquaintance meeting this week... with a childhood babysitter. He, now grown and married, works at nonbox advertising, a name strikingly similar to my own notsaid. He gave me some really good pointers on ways to approach this job search of mine and market myself. Apparently, in the ad world, you can just make stuff up and show it to people. It's just the creativity that really counts. Who'da thunk?

So, if you have any need for some creative marketing ideas and materials, now is the time to ask me. I've got the juices flowing. I've already set my mind to helping my friend Angel with her new Local Music Night at The Sapphire Hotel. I have a couple good ideas for that. And I'm working on a pitch for this physical therapy clinic which my Belize clients recommended me to.

Things = looking up, but ever so slightly.

I could still use that one chance to break through. Seriously, guys. What's the hold up? (smiles)

-Thank you for reading.

All I wanna do is...

BICYCLE!!!

The dam of my resolve broke this weekend and I went out and dropped some serious cash on components to build up the bicycle frame I've been sitting on since April. I wish I had a before picture, but trust me, it looked nothing like this:







I call her Cub Scout, or "Scout" for short. She's not perfect just yet. I need to find a yellow saddle. And I'm going to dig up my old scout uniform and maybe find a way to put some patches on her.

But even so, I am sooooo happy with her! She's half the weight of Sludge (my Raleigh bike), taller, more comfortable, more aggressively geared (that's a good thing)... She's pretty much everything I wanted, which is good because I made her.

I didn't have to do any of the hardest things regarding building a bike: Taking apart wheel hubs, building wheels, messing with out of date bottom brackets... But even so, I installed all the pieces, cut the cables and housings and fine tuned everything. I feel so accomplished. There were plenty of complications and fudges, I have the cuts all over my hands to prove it, but it's done and I'm riding it all over the place. Come ride with me!

-Thank you for reading.

Do dooo dododo

Went to see the much anticipated Menomena show last night at Doug Fir and I'm not ready to give it a glowing review. They played a good mix of new tunes and old favorites - including the fastest version of "Cough Coughing" I've ever heard. I'm listening to a couple of the tracks you can download on their MySpace, which I'm not sure if they will be on the album or if they're just throw aways. As reported in WW the band is pushing back the release a few months to perfect and fine tune the recordings.

I found similar elements in the new songs as in some of my favorite oldies. Similar chord progressions and riffs. But that's not bad. And I'm not in a position to judge them yet. But what got to me was the feeling of unease I was getting from the stage. They didn't feel unified. Justin (bass/sax) admitted at the get go that the band was nervous, but why? Portland hearts Menomena. We missed them. They should be comforted here. They should feel the freedom to go try new things and experiment without judgement. I know I have reserved mine.

The pleasant surprise of the evening was Nice Nice. Where Menomena felt a little disjointed, this duo was completely in sync. And that's what it takes to craft the rich, swelling loops that filled the room to the ceiling. I was honestly more impressed with the drummer, even though the guitarist/everythingelseist had to switch more instruments and fine tune his loops. The drummer had such a mastery of his instrument as well as incorporating an electronic sample pad with a variety of other sounds/tones. I want one.

-Thank you for reading.