On Friday, I got a call from my dad that he and his girlfriend Linda were going to take their Great Dane, Shelby, to the vet I reccomended to them a while back, and have her put to sleep. I only live a few blocks away, and I went over there a couple times that day to spent a few last hours with Shelby, and J.G. came with me and took some pictures of her. I was pretty choked up for most of the day, except for when I was actually there with Shelby, because I could never help smiling when she was around.

We all knew it had been coming for a while, since she'd been limping and not walking on her front right leg much for the last month or two. I always took care of Shelby for Dad whenever they were out of town, and did it a couple times in the last few months. And the last time I looked after her for a few days, her leg was so bad I could barely get her to walk across the street to go pee. Apparently cancer is very common in large breeds, but we weren't sure that was it until pretty recently, and the last few days the lump in her shoulder got bigger and bigger. But she was 9 years old, and 8 is the average lifespan for a Dane, so she lived a good, long life.

When Dad started dating Linda maybe 6 or 7 years ago, he hadn't a dog in about 30 years, and wasn't planning on having one. But he was just crazy about Shelby, who ended up moving into his house a few months before Linda even did. One year, for Valentine's Day, her gift was to sign ownership of Shelby over to him, so if they ever split up he'd keep the dog. Dad spoiled that dog so much, feeding her half of his dinner sometimes. And the last few years since he's retired and been spending a lot of his days at home alone, Shelby became really important to him and I think kinda kept him sane. I'd never had a dog or considered myself a dog person before, but Shelby and I got along really well. We used to say that Shelby's heirarchy of loyalty went Linda, then Dad, then me, then certain other family members, then everybody else. She'd love playing tug-of-war with me and an old shirt or towel, always jumped up on her hind legs and put her front paws on my shoulders when I came to see her.

I have a lot of great memories of Shelby, most of which are pretty basic dog things and wouldn't be particularly interesting stories to those that didn't know her. But she was a great dog with a really sweet personality. She was small for a Dane, so people always assumed she was a puppy, which she still acted like, even when her muzzle started turning gray. I used to walk her through the neighborhood and I swear every other person in Southeast Baltimore knew Shelby by name, even if they didn't know who me or my dad was. And I know I won't be the only person who'll miss her. Dad is really an emotional mess right now. The last few years, he'd talk about maybe getting another Great Dane someday, and Linda always sounded like she didn't want another dog, but the other day he said they'd already started looking on adoption sites for a Great Dane puppy, so Shelby may have a successor.

Labels: story time

On Tuesday, I opened up the Baltimore Sun to an article about Michael "Screaming Mike" Sibert, who I had no idea had passed away last month, after roughly a decade of wandering around Fells Point talking to himself and screaming nonsense and obscenities to whoever was around. Baltimore, particularly FP, is full of homeless guys, many of them crazy, but everybody knew Mike. He was kind of a neighborhood institution, and while he wasn't entirely harmless (he'd been seen stealing people's mail and, on one occasion, breaking a window), he was around for so long that people got kind of used to him, to the point that he was just this oddity that only tourists were really scared of but a local folks knew and kinda loved. A lot of residents and business owners in the neighborhood did their part to take care of Mike now and then, including my dad, who has an annual ritual of distributing Christmas care packages to the homeless. Dad hadn't even heard when I told him the news yesterday. He has a ton of Mike stories, and apparently knows more about him than some of the people quoted in the article, which doesn't even mention that Mike was a Nam vet. My current apartment is a few blocks further North than Mike ever seemed to venture, so I hadn't seen him around in a few months even before he died. But that crazy motherfucker will be missed. One love, boomer.

Labels: story time

The car that was bought by my grandmother 17 years ago, and then handed down to my father, and then handed down to me, is finally dead. Or at least, I've finally decided to stop spending money to fix it. I've been riding in or driving that thing for most of my life now, since I was 7 years old and my brother and I would go visit Grammy every few weekends. And after the past 4 years as its owner and primary driver, desperately trying to suck as much usage out of it before the inevitable, I'm ready to say goodbye.

Grammy never put many miles on it, so most of the wear and tear can be attributed to my dad and I. Dad drove it during the last few years of his daily commute to D.C. before retiring, during the period when he was badly afflicted with sleep apnea, and would frequently doze off behind the wheel. Although he amazingly never had any serious accidents, the Taurus still has several cracks and bumps in the front and back bender from those days. In the summer of 2002, when I moved off-campus and Dad gave me the car, it was already covered in rust and slowly falling apart, but I was determined to get the most out of it.

I don't know if I can even list all the functions and gauges that ceased to work during or before my ownership of the car. For one, there's a compass on the dashboard that to my recollection has never worked. The horn stopped working after a couple weeks of going off at random every time I drove over a bump, which was really embarrassing. The gas gauge kinda sorta worked, in that the needle stayed on F until the tank was almost empty, and then turned right over to E. I almost always waited until it hit E to get gas, and in retrospect it's kind of amazing that I never ran out of gas and was stranded anywhere. The power locks are a little unreliable, especially on the driver's side, and sometimes the back doors stick and have on occasion momentarily trapped friends in the backseat. The turn signals worked only intermittently for a couple years before dying completely. I always felt bad about that, because as I driver I'd always been really vigilant about using turn signals curteously, but the car forced me into becoming the asshole who always changed lanes without warning. I'd still flick the switch every time even though I knew it wouldn't work, just to feel like at least I had good intentions. The only part that really bugged me, though, was in the summer of '03 when the radio stopped working. Driving without music just wasn't an option, though, so for the last two and a half years, I drove everywhere with a Sony boombox in my passenger seat.

Once, when driving into the harbor tunnel, a big pebble bounced up and smacked into my windshield and left a circular crack a couple inches wide. The crack never really got any bigger, and it was on the passenger's side, so I never did anything about it. When Comp saw it he asked if someone had shot at me. The driver's side window is completely fucked up and off the track, and my dad and I are the only people who knew how to arrange it so that there is only a small opening at the top of the window through which a minimum of cold air blows into the car. I used to not know how to fix the window, and one time tried driving back to Delaware for my birthday, which is in January, and when I rolled down the window at the Bay Bridge to pay the toll, the window got stuck down with all the winter air blowing into the car. I was so miserable and cold I just turned around and drove back to Baltimore and felt like shit about it. It was really dramatic, my Worst Birthday Ever.

The car is full of reminders of its previous owners, especially Grammy, who passed away about 4 years ago. Her No Puffin sticker is still on the glove box door. And I still crack up every time I see it, especially when my passengers assume I put it there and don't want them to smoke in the car, which I could care less about, considering how much my dad smoked in the car. When I was cleaning it out, I found a box of little cigars or bidis or something under the seat that he must have left there years ago. And even though I've had the interior cleaned a couple times, the upholstery is still caked with the fur of Dad's dog, Shelby, who he used to let ride in the car on a daily basis, taking her along on every errand.

With the exception of a stretch from Spring '04 to Summer '05, I never went more than 6 months without needing a major repair, and it was rarely the same thing twice. The first was also the only time that was entirely my fault; I drove with the parking brake on half of the way home from school, up in Towson, down to my dad's house, in the city, before realizing it. But the damage had been done, and by the time I got to Fells Point, my brakes had gone out completely. I drove all the way down Aliceanna Street, from President to Washington, with no brakes, rolling through red lights and yelling apologies to people while also yelling for help, because my horn didn't work. The brakes went out again a few months ago, and I paid a few hundred to get them fixed again. That shit is scary.

Late one night when I was driving back from my friend Mat's home studio in D.C., after a long recording session, the engine overheated. I had to pull over on the shoulder of I-95 with smoke billowing out from under the hood, and walk a mile to a 7/11 to call my dad to come pick me up. And because my car was full of drums, keyboards, and recording gear, I had to load it all into Dad's car so that they wouldn't be in the car overnight until I could get it towed in the morning.

But the most unexpected breakdown was last August, after over a year of no significant Taurus problems at all. My brother Zac and his fiancee Brigid had flown out to visit for a few days, and they spent the day before the flight back in D.C. with me and J.G. On the drive home, maybe 10 minutes from Dad's house, my car stopped dead in the middle of the street in Washington Village in South Baltimore. No warning signs, no nothing, the alternator just died right there. We were able to roll the car off onto a side street and park it illegally, and waited in the hood for an hour for the cavalry to arrive. J.G. in particular was not happy. After we got home, she let out all her frustrations and anxieties about me having an unreliable and unsafe car, which had been bubbling under the surface for a long time. Once her ex-roommate had told me that J.G. used to talk about how she was afraid that the car was going to kill me someday, which made me feel horrible. That night, she made me promise, in writing, to try to get rid of it and find a new car within 30 days. I don't know if she forgot about it or just didn't bring it up again because she knew I couldn't afford to buy a car, but she left the paper I signed at my place, and I threw it away and kept the car.

For Easter weekend, I went to Delaware to spend a couple days with my mom and my stepfather, Joe, and the drive down there was uneventful. On Monday, as I got ready for the drive home, Joe, as usual, offered to take a look under the hood and see if I needed any fluids. I was low on oil and power steering fluid, so we went to Walmart to get some and then filled them up. And then, I started to pull out of the driveway, and heard the most godawful grinding sound. At first, I thought I'd left something behind the car and had backed over it or caught a fallen tree branch underneath the car. So I put it in park, but the thing kept rolling until I put on the emergency brake. And for some reason, all these big ball bearings were falling out of the bottom of the car like a gumball machine. Joe reckoned it was the transmission, and just made that face that I knew meant this car was a lost cause.

I've gone for the quick fix more times than I can count, sometimes hundreds of dollars at a time, just to prolong having to get a new car. And if this had happened while I was at home in Baltimore, and I had any money in my bank account, I'd probably go for the quick fix again. But this time, I decided to just let it go. Now that J.G. and I live together, and she takes a shuttle to work and barely uses her car during the day, sharing a car is actually a possibility. We'd already talked a bit about putting me on her insurance when the time comes, and now the time has come. Luckily, Mom had off work the next day, and drove me to Baltimore. The car is still in her driveway right now, and I mailed her the title and registration the other day, so that she can get it towed and junked.

I'm kind of relieved, to be honest. I'd been kind of waiting for the Taurus to finally be so fucked up it wouldn't make sense to pour more money into it, to the point that I wasn't really keeping up on it. I was supposed to take it for am emissions test last fall and never did. A check to the insurance company bounced a couple months ago, and when they cancelled my policy, I didn't bother trying to get it renewed since I was too broke to afford the payments, and these days I only have to drive to class a couple times a week anyway. And I got mail last week that if I didn't send proof of insurance in a month, they'd revoke my license. So having to ditch the car and get on J.G.'s insurance couldn't have come at a better time. Still, I have a lot of memories in that shitty old Taurus. One love, Boomer.

Labels: story time

A few years ago, my brother was working at a movie theatre, and he told me about how he kept seeing this car in the parking lot that was just COVERED in Queensryche bumper stickers, and he was constantly trying to figure out which one of his co-workers was the Queensryche superfan. The funniest part of the story was the "Got 'Ryche?" bumper sticker, which is even funnier now that I know that Queensryche's site sells official swag with that phrase on it.

Labels: comedy, story time

Last week, I went with J.G. and Mike to see The Boys Of Baraka, a documentary that follows four "at-risk" boys from Baltimore city, average age 12, who are enrolled into a boarding school in Kenya that is supposed to give them the education and discipline they can't get in Baltimore public schools, so that they might be given a better chance at going to a good high school and graduating. The City Paper's been covering the Baraka School for years, and I'd been looking forward to seeing this movie since it first screened at festivals last year, and it finally opened at the Charles a couple weeks ago.

The night we went, the movie had already been playing there for a week, but I guess since it was a Friday night, they went all out, with one of the film's 2 directors, Heidi Ewing (who, I have to say, is kind of a babe) speaking before and after the film along with the cinematographer. Two of the four boys the movie centered on, Montrey and Devon, who are now about 16, were also there, taking tickets before the movie, and after the movie answered questions from the audience along with Ewing. So it was kind of cool to see how they're doing now, and hear their own thoughts about their experiences in Africa. One of the classmates of the 4 kids featured in the film who's seen a little bit in the movie is now a local rapper named Ammo who I've met and seen perform a bunch of times, and also plays Spider on the 3rd and upcoming 4th seasons of The Wire, so it was cool to see him in the movie. And in other Wire news, we saw Detective Freamon in the lobby after the movie.

The movie itself is definitely worth seeing, although by no means perfect. At 84 minutes, it felt maybe too short, and sometimes I questioned what the filmmakers chose to focus on. It's decidedly a story about the 4 boys more than about the school, but I would've appreciated a little more background about how the school was started and how their teaching methods differ from that of U.S. public schools. Although it will definitely make more of an impact as a feature film, I almost wish they had gone the route of a mini-series or some other format that would allow them to show more footage and explore the topic at greater length. Maybe an eventual DVD release will offer more information, I hope. And sometimes the dramatic ambient music was a bit much, but for the most part, the storytelling was handled well and with a light touch, and allowed its subjects to define themselves. Although there are some incredibly sad and infuriating moments, there's also a lot of footage of kids just being kids, excited to be in Africa around lizards and hedgehogs.

Nonetheless, it's an interesting look at an experimental alternative to public schools that is unfortunately no longer available, as the Baraka School closed down a year into the shooting of the film due to political turmoil in Kenya. But the film will hopefully shed some light on what is happening in Baltimore and in cities like it all over the country, where young kids that are as full of potential as anyone are being statistically presumed to end up dead or in jail if they aren't given a fair shot at graduating high school. One of the most promising things that the director mentioned after the film is that current Baltimore mayor and possible soon-to-be Maryland governor Martin O'Malley's wife saw and loved the film and made him see it, and it's led to him discussing options for opening a boarding school like Baraka here in Maryland.

It is worth noting, though, that while the film closes with Montrey getting great test scores and getting into one of the best schools in the city and generally being the beacon of hope at the end of the movie, the truth is apparently a little different. I came across a blog post by a Baltimore city school teacher who had a little inside track on the situation, and reports that Montrey failed out of the school he got into after a year, and is now at a decidedly less prestigious public school (although he also has very positive things to say about some of the kids he's taught who went to Baraka). Of course, there's no way for the filmmakers to have really known that when they finished filming, but I noticed that noone mentioned anything about that or clarified his situation when speaking after the screening. I was tempted to stand up and ask a question about that or something else, but I do respect what the boys and the filmmakers have accomplished and didn't want to come off rudely. They said at the end of night that the movie is going to keep playing at the Charles as long as people keep coming to see it. So I hope it gets a long run and people from all over the city get a chance to see it and the movie isn't limited to the Charles' usual art house crowd and reaches the kind of people it's really about, so if you get a chance, definitely go out and see it.

Labels: Baltimore music, movies, story time

Last night, I went up to Philadelphia to hang out with Joey O, which we decided to do because he had a couple free tickets to see Henry Rollins speak at the Electric Factory. I always end up going to Philly about once a year for some reason or another, and hadn't been there since April, so I guess it was about time for my annual visit. When I was driving up there, I thought back and figured out that I'd been to the Electric Factory 3 or 4 times when I was a teenager, but the last time had been about 7 years ago, which kinda blew my mind and made me feel old.

Joey used to work at Philly's alt-rock station Y100, which abruptly flipped formats and fired its staff a year ago. But he and several other ex-employees have kind of admirably and stubbornly kept it alive as Y100Rocks.com, and internet-only station, which now operates out of a "bunker" above a record store. So on Saturday we met up at the record store, browsed the used bins for a while, and then we went upstairs and Joey DJed for a bit. It's all run off a computer with playlist formulas and stuff, it's kind of cool and complicated, and can operate unmanned, or if a DJ is on duty, they can talk between songs and pick out what to play. So Joey and I talked on the air for a bit and I got to pick out a few songs, and I got to be heard on the radio by a few dozen people that happened to be listening on a Saturday night, that was kind of cool. The new White Stripes single that sounds exactly like their last single came on, so afterwards on the air I told the story about how my friends Tom and Jim were in the video and Jack White called Tom an asshole in the NME. After messing around on the radio for about an hour, we went and got some greasy pizza slices at one of those places that seem to be on every single corner in Philadelphia that make me kind of envious of Philly, and then went to the Electric Factory to see Rollins.

I'm not a big fan of any of Hank's music, but I've always liked his weird spoken word career. I've seen a couple of his talking gigs in Baltimore before, and of the albums I've heard, Think Tank is my favorite. I just like the fact that this straight edge punk icon grew up, got a little famous and got to be in some Hollywood movies, still makes pissed off records that sound the same every couple years, and has travelled the world more times than probably you or me ever will, gets to just go tell stories about his insane life and talk about how full of shit he is. If he counts as a standup comedian, he'd probably be one of my favorites working today. Last night wasn't as good as one of the shows I saw in Baltimore, but there were definitely some good stories in there. I think the single funniest moment, though, was at the beginning, when he came out on stage, right on time, and started to talk and kind of ease into it, but there were mic problems, and he'd just kind of interrupt himself being friendly and making jokes and suddenly turn to the soundman and go THIS IS A DISASTER, and then go back to telling a story, and then suddenly THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE, until the guy fixed the sound. I don't really blame him for being pissed, since usually soundmen at those venues have to deal with a dozen different mics and amps, and all he had to do was make one guy's mic sound good, but it was still funny how Hank reacted. He told some good stories about his USO tours and riding the Trans Siberian Express, but the best stuff was the random 20 minute tangents about Ted Nugent or deer hunting that he'd suddenly steer back into the story he was telling before.

After the show ended and Joey dropped me off at my car, I drove out of Philly listening to their hip hop stations, and was pleasantly surprised to hear them bumping a lot of Baltimore music. First Young Leek's "Jiggle It," then suddenly a whole half hour set of Baltimore club music, after a set of dancehall. And then I flipped over to the other station, and they were playing club music too! I know club music is kinda blowing up in the press, but damn, Philly, I didn't know you got down like that! Showing Bmore love on the radio and everything. So that was definitely the highlight of my drive home.

Labels: Baltimore music, concerts, story time

My friend Mike sent this to me in an e-mail, which was apparently written by his friend Pittman. I wanted to link it, but since it's apparently from a bulletin on the guy's MySpace page and can't be linked, I'm just going to cut-and-paste the whole thing here:


Once there was a Bon Jovi...
And he loved a little boy.
And everyday the boy would gather his pink bandanas and his 2 octave keyboard and play rock star.
He would listen to Slippery When Wet and dance in his room and headbang.
They would play Runaway.
And when he was grounded he would listen to Dead or Alive and stare out his window.
And the boy loved the Bon Jovivery much.
And the Bon Jovi was happy.

But time went by.
And the boy grew older and the Bon Jovi was often alone.
Then one day the boy came to the Bon Jovi and the Bon Jovi said,
Come, boy, come rock out and listen to Slippery When Wet and dance in your room and headbang and be happy.
I am to big to play rock star, said the boy. I want to play sports and have fun. I want some soccer equipment. Can you give me some soccer equipment?
Im sorry, said the Bon Jovi, but I have no soccer equipment. I only have rocking merchandise. Take this screen printed sweatshirt, boy, and wear it to soccer practice. Then you will have soccer equipment and be happy.

And so the boy ordered the screen printed black sweatshirt from the debut, self-titled album and ran away to soccer practice. And the Bon Jovi was happy. But the boy stayed away for a long time and the Bon Jovi was sad.

And then one day the boy came back and the Bon Jovi rocked with joy and they said,
Come boy, come rock out and listen to Slippery When Wet and dance in your room and headbang and be happy.
I am to cool for keyboards, said the boy. I want to be punk rock, he said.
I want died hair and I want a studded belt and so I need an attitude. Can you give me a punk rock attitude?
I have no punk rock, said the Bon Jovi. Id rather smile and wear cowboy hats, but you may take my new album Keep the Faith and ridicule my power ballads and my hip new haircut. Then you will have an attitude and be happy.

And so the boy made fun of the video for Bed of Roses and became punk rock. And the Bon Jovi was happy.

But the boy died his hair red for a long time.

And when the boy came back, the Bon Jovi was so happy he could hardly wail.
Come, boy, they crooned, come and play rock star.
I am in college and too old to air guitar, said the boy. I want to meet girls. Can you get girls to talk to me?

Put in my greatest hits album and listen to it when you drive around with girls, said the Bon Jovi. Then you can be a non-threatening yet cute dork. Then girls wil talk to you and you'll be happy.

So the boy dug out Crossroad and kept it in his car in college to sing along ironically with girls. And the Bon Jovi was happybut not really.

And after a long time the boy took his girlfriend to the MCI Center to see the Bon Jovi.
I am sorry, boy, said the Bon Jovi, but I have nothing left to give you--

My vocal range is gone, I can only sing near monotone harmonies of classic vocal lines.

My merchandise is covered by this red smiley face that Sprint thought would be a great logo for telephones.

My aging back is too weak to be strapped to a harness and fly over the audience.

My ears hurt from decades of touring, so I play only acoustic versions of your favorite songs.

I wish that I could give you somethingbut I have nothing left I am just a very pretty man with blinding white teeth and a classy swagger. I am sorry

I dont need very much now, said the boy, just an event to take my girlfriend on a night on the town. She likes to go on dates.

Well, said the Bon Jovi, smiling as pretty as he could, well, a Bon Jovi concert is good to taking your lady out. She will find Bon Jovi attractive, and she will want to have sex with you after the show. Come, boy, sit down. Sit down and watch the Bon Jovi concert.

And the boy did. And the Bon Jovi was happy.

Labels: comedy, story time

For Christmas I spent 2 days at my mom's house in Delaware and played a hand held Connect Four game for roughly 80% of my waking hours. J.G. got it for me kind of on a lark after I looked at it in Target one day, and it ended up being my favorite Xmas present. That shit is even more addictive than Tetris on GameBoy, mainly because you can hold it in one hand and play with just your thumb, and no pausing is required. It turns off when you leave it alone for a minute, and when you press a button, it comes back on with the same game you were playing before. There are 3 skill level settings, and at first even level 1 was kicking my ass, but after I worked my way up, I was winning as much as I was losing on levels 1 and 2, and I won once on level 3 and tied a few times, and lost a lot. I used to play Connect Four with my brother all the time, I think next time I see him I'm gonna challenge him to a showdown. I'm totally obsessed with this shit.

Labels: story time

At some point a while back I signed some MoveOn.Org petition, and ever since them I've been getting obnoxious e-mail alerts from them on a daily basis, stuff like "Help us write a dirty limerick that expresses our opposition to the nomination of Harriet Miers." So it's kind of nice that for the past couple weeks they've been covering something that effects me and the newspaper I read every day, reporting on the staff cuts that The Baltimore Sun and several other papers under its parent company are currently undergoing. They've got a petition going to protest it, so I guess that's something. And last week the City Paper reported some more on staff buyouts at The Sun.

Labels: links, story time

I'd been hearing for a while that Nicole Kidman was in Baltimore filming a movie, and on Thursday I got to see some of The Visiting, an Invasion of the Body Snatchers remake, being shot downtown. I was down there for a quick trip to the bank, and they had set up shop on the 100 block of East Baltimore Street. It kind of held me up for a few minutes, which was a little aggravating since I was afraid of getting a parking ticket (I got back to my car just as a meter maid was walking by, so I really dodged a bullet). I didn't see Kidman anywhere, but I did see a scene get shot that involved a lot of extras walking down the street with semi-futuristic headsets, and then a small group of people running/chasing down the street. According to the IMDB page and the message board on there, the movie takes place in Washington, but half it's being shot in Baltimore, and they've already shot stuff around the Hopkins campus, so I'm wondering if they're just going to pretend those scenes are D.C.? Supposedly they'll be shooting around Baltimore until the week before Christmas. It was kinda exciting, since it's not every day that I see a shooting crew around here (Homicide: Life On The Street used to shoot in my neighborhood all the time, but The Wire all takes place on the West side, and I live on the East side).

Labels: movies, story time

Last Thursday I took J.G. to see Evita at the Hippodrome, which I gave her tickets to for her birthday. It was cool to see the inside of the Hippodrome for once , it's really nice in there. I even kinda got into the play, it was well done and there were a lot of Broadway veterans in the cast. Never saw the movie or any other production of it, but I liked it. It's such a weird fusion of history and music and gallows humor. I had no idea Che Guevera could be so funny! And such a good singer!

Labels: concerts, story time

Patterson Park is about 3 blocks from the apartment J.G. and I moved into a couple months ago, but I've been going there for years and years with my dad and to walk his dog. On top of the highest hill in the park, there's this awesome big pagoda that's about a hundred years old and was built on the site of a pivotal battle with the English that took place in Baltimore during the War of 1812, and they restored it a few years ago so that you can go up into it and from the top you can see the harbor and practically the whole East side of the city. Last time we went to the pagoda a few weeks ago, someone there told us about the Lantern Parade that apparently the Creative Alliance people have been doing there the last few years on the weekend before Halloween. So we went and checked that out on Saturday and it was pretty cool. I've almost never been in the park after sunset, so it was surreal to be there at night and see maybe a couple hundred people marching through the park with these paper lanterns and big paper mache monsters and other weird art projects, with high school marching bands playing these big loud drum cadences, while a bunch of people from the neighborhood come out with their kids and their dogs to watch. I'm definitely gonna do that again next year, and maybe I'll make a lantern and march in the parade.

Labels: links, story time

Over the weekend, my friends Mat and Emily hyphenated their last names, and J.G. and I went down to the Eastern shore of the Chesapeake Bay to witness the event. Aside from the days of constant rain (I read in the paper this morning that it set a new 2-day record for rainfall in the region), and getting a little lost on the way, it was a great weekend. They've both got extensive graphic design experience and different creative outlets, so everything from the invites to the programs looked great and original. Whenever I get married, I'm definitely going to take some cues from them.

Mat put a lot of thought into the music too, from a great reception playlist to hiring his friend Mark de Gli Antoni as musical accompaniment for the ceremony. Mark is best known as a member of Soul Coughing, a 90's alt-rock band who history will, I suspect, not treat kindly, but he did some amazing work in that band playing a keyboard sampler in a live band environment back when that was still kind of a novel idea. And his 1999 solo album Horse Tricks is a really underrated piece of work. Mat's label has been sitting on the rights to release Mark's next album, most of which features 3/4ths of Soul Coughing doing more weird Horse Tricks-type stuff, for a while now, and it too is great and I hope someday soon it sees the light of day. I also hope that when Mat gets back from his honeymoon, he'll finish rebuilding his home studio so we can finish recording my solo album that we started recording at his old house 2 years ago, and that at some point I'll have the honor of officially being labelmates with Mr. de Gli Antoni.

Labels: Soul Coughing, story time

We finally got the cable hooked up at the new place yesterday, but the internet there still isn't working, so for the past week I've only caught brief glimpses at what's going on in the outside world, and I apologize for being a little self-involved. To counteract all the depressing shit out there, I might just turn this into a kitten blog. We brought them home on Saturday, and they're tiny and hyper and if I say anything else about them I'm going to get all cuddlestein mountain on you. I decided to name the boy Harrison, which was originally suggested by J.G.'s brother, who got the idea from this. But if anyone asks, I'll probably tell them I named him after either this guy, this guy, or this guy.

Labels: announcements, story time

We're almost done moving and I can't wait for it to be over. We were planning to start on Saturday morning, but an hour before we were supposed to get the keys, we got a call from our new landlord that the previous tenants hadn't moved out yet and we'd have to wait 3 more days. So we had to hold off til Tuesday, and instead of having all weekend I had to move in the middle of the week all while trying to register for classes (oh yeah, remember a few months ago when I said I graduated? I got a letter from the university 2 weeks after I walked in the ceremony (!) saying I haven't met all the graduation requirements and need a couple more classes. Motherfuckers.) The new place is awesome, though. Once I clear the last of my shit out of the old place and get the internet/cable hooked up on Monday (I'm posting from work, btw) things should be great, but this week has been pretty hectic.

Labels: announcements, story time

J.G. and I adopted kittens! They're in a foster home with their mother right now, but they'll be old enough for us to take home right after we move into our new apartment at the end of the month. This is the girl, who J.G. has named Lucy, and this is the boy, who I haven't decided on a name for yet.

Labels: story time

Meet the new boss. Congrats to Jess Harvell, the new music editor for the Baltimore City Paper. I'd been kind of anxiously waiting to see who would get the job ever since it opened up a couple months ago. Tom Breihan was offered the job right after he decided to move to New York, so he turned it down, but put in a word for me even though I hadn't dreamed of applying for it. But they asked me to apply, so I sent in my resume and went in for an interview and all that, more as a chance to meet the people I'd only e-mailed with up until that point than with any real hope of getting the job. I just got out of college, and I've only been writing for money since April when Bret, the previous music editor, asked me to write for CP because of Gov't Names. So I'm not mad at all that I didn't get the job, I know I'm underqualified right now. Mainly I was just concerned with who did get the job, because if the music editor wasn't Bret or Tom, odds are it wouldn't be someone who knew me or my writing as well that I'd be pitching to. So I'm glad that Jess got the job. We've been bitchy to each other ILM from time to time but there's definitely mutual respect there and I wish him the best with the job. And as an out-of-towner, he'll need all the help he can get from local writers for all the Baltimore music coverage that the music section entails, so he's welcome to whatever knowledge I can share. And yeah, before you know it, the CP music section is probably going to be more full of blog/ILM people than, well, the Seattle Weekly.

Labels: City Paper, meta, story time

Two otherwise normal-seeming people I have worked with in the past year have had Shinedown's "45" (specifically the "staring down the barrel of a 45" part) as their ringtone. One of them also had the Disturbed guy going "OOOH WAH-AH-AH-AH" ringtone. What the fuck, people.

Labels: comedy, story time

J.G. and I finally found an apartment! It's right off Pratt Street, in Fells Point, Baltimore, literally 5 blocks from my dad's house, so I know the neighborhood well and I'm pretty happy with it. And the rent is less than some places we looked at that were in much sketchier parts of the city. Mostly I'm just hyped to live in the city again, the last couple years I've been up in Cockeysville in Baltimore County because that's where my roommate at the time wanted to move, and I kinda hate being up there. We can't move in until September 1st, but it's good to finally have that settled and know where we're gonna live.

Labels: story time

For the last 3 and a half years, I've worked for the events department of the college I went to. One of my co-workers has been there for 43 years, which is not just since way before I was born but since even before my dad went to school there. He's been there longer than most of the buildings on the campus. His last name is Batty and that's what everybody calls him, and pretty much everybody who works in our building knows him. The name almost sounds made up, just because he really is pretty much crazy. He talks to himself, and sometimes he's clearly doing it on purpose just to freak people out, but it's hard to tell how often he's doing it it for real. He also has a pretty thick local accent and kind of sounds like 8Ball from 8Ball & MJG and is really hard to understand sometimes. He's a pretty funny dude sometimes, though. He's really set in his ways and is kind of a pain in the ass to work with and has a pretty bad work ethic, but at his age, I don't really blame him. He had a minor heart attack a year or two ago, but came back to work less than a month later. He'd been talking about retiring for years, and everyone kinda wished he would. I mean, he's earned it by now, but every year he'd say this is his last year and then still be there the next. This summer he finally kept his promise, and a few weeks ago he went down to the HR office and put in the paperwork for his retirement. July 1st was supposed to be his last day of work, but last Thursday he had another heart attack, actually two of them, barely a week before retirement. Supposedly he's home already and doing ok, and since his paperwork was already put in his retirement's official. So I guess this isn't a sad story, and I don't really have any point for posting it other than to write about it and get it out of my system. But I am gonna miss that crazy old motherfucker.

Labels: story time