Blue Moon

Please ignore the awful animations in this video, 'twas the only one I could find of this beautiful and fitting song.

Some folktales say that when there is a full blue moon, the moon had a face and talked to those in it's light. I'm convinced that in instances such as these the moon would sound a lot like Alex Chilton.

I wish all of you a wonderful New Year's and much health and happiness in the year of Tiger! It's gonna be a good one, I can feel it. . .

Merry Christmas!

So. . .

I'm in a cast for the next two months.

Rather than wallow in the Doldrums of Self Pity I plan on looking at this as a vacation of sorts, a chance for me to actually do many of the things I keep "meaning" to do. Sure, I can't play drums or ride a bike (two of my very favorite things to do) but I can, and will:

1. Finish Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, a 845 page historical fantasy novel.

2. Organize my iTunes.

3. Make a golden age hip-hop mix cd for my friend Sarah and an Arthur Russell mix cd for my friend Pete.

4. Attend as many events as possible at the San Francisco Zen Center.

5. Read Crooked Cucumber: The Life and Teachings of Shunryu Suzuki.

6. Start a regular daily meditation practice.

7. Listen to the last 12 podcasts of This American Life.

8. Take pictures of the day to day happenings in and around my neighborhood.

9. Become a tea aficionado.

10. Listen to all the crazy japanese psych I've been voraciously downloading these past few months.

11. Watch the first two seasons of True Blood.

12. Visit the Alemany Flea Market.

13. Visit the Palace of the Legion of Honor.

14. Visit the Exploratorium.

15. Visit Alcatraz.

16. Take a boat under the Golden Gate Bridge.

17. Take the train to Los Angeles and spend a week visiting with my friend Kevin.

18. Have lunch and/or dinner with many of the people I have not seen for many moons, including (but not limited to): Rusty, Arvel, Brett, Jem, Andrew, Devin, Drew, and Cody.

19. Go to Glide Church to hear the choir on a bright Sunday morning.

20. Go on a walking ghost tour of Chinatown.

21. Become a regular at the cafe down the street.

22. Write a letter to Grandma Beegee.

23. Bake a pumpkin pie.

24. Purchase a pet fish.

25. Write a play.

26. Stroll the headlands.

27. Look at the sky.

28. Take my time.

Consider this a promise both to myself and to you, my two faithful Nackebuhs followers:

I will not be bored. I will not be sad.

I will not be bored. I will not be sad.

Christmas With Chris G.

Saw my buddies Chris and Kevin tear through some 'ol holiday standards at the Hemlock last night. I don't know which was better, when "Jingle Bells" morphed into a Slayer song or when Chris put on an apron during "Winter Wonderland" and handed out a buncha "fresh baked" Newman O's. Whichever the case I'm in the holiday spirit now, dammit.

This is a picture of Chris in front of the fireplace he constructed for the show. Note the Kwanzaa sweater and the stockings on the mantel, one for every member of N.W.A.

The Greatest Soul Album Ever Recorded?

Consider James Carr.

The son of a preacher from Mississippi, he cut his teeth singing in various gospel groups throughout his teens hoping for a secular breakthrough. In 1963 he was turned down by the mighty Stax records. In late 1964, however, he was picked up by the small Memphis imprint Goldwax. He spent the next few years attempting to find the stylistic match to his richly expressive baritone, trying on everything from Motown-ish pop to soul-blues.

In 1966 he found his voice with the exquisite single You Got My Mind Messed Up. This single and the album (of the same name) that followed is, to my ears, the purest distillation of raw southern soul that has ever been recorded. James Carr might not be a household name like Otis Redding and Aretha Franklin but on terms of pure emotion I believe he outranks them both.

Just listen to The Dark End of the Street:

Later covered by everyone from Clarence Carter to Linda Ronstadt to the Flying Burrito Brothers to Ms. Franklin herself, Carr's original still stands as the definitive version. It is a song of utter darkness and despair, and he sings as a man possessed, as though his very life depended on it. And, in a way, it did.

For James Carr's demons were very real. After recording You Got My Mind Messed Up he fell into heavy drug and alcohol abuse. A subsequent tour was derailed due to James frequently wandering offstage and getting lost. Upon returning to Memphis he was diagnosed with manic depression. Sessions for his second album, A Man Needs a Woman, were disastrous at best. During his last recording session for Goldwax James sat at the microphone staring off into space and singing only the refrain from the Bee Gee's To Love Somebody. Goldwax went bankrupt in 1969, and James quietly drifted into obscurity. He spent time in various mental institutions for much of the 70's and 80's, barely conscious of the world around him.

So why spend so much time (as I have) with an album that came from a place this dark, this desolate? For me it is simply a matter of solidarity. As the long nights drag on during this time of the year and much of my world is lived in darknesses both real and imaginary I am comforted by the fact that these streets have been walked on before, by shoes much more troubled than mine. And perhaps this was James' ultimate purpose, his gift to the world: To be so in touch with his own emotions as to offer up a crystallized distillation of melancholy to help others navigate their own dark journeys by. For this reason I do not consider this sad music, to me it is triumphant.

Oh, and by the way, this story does have a silver lining. With medication, James' condition steadily improved to the point where in 1991 he cut an album for a revived Goldwax. The record, Take Me to the Limit, received mixed reviews, although its very existence was an achievement in and of itself. A tour followed:

In 1994 he released another album entitled Soul Survivor. Unfortunately, Carr was soon diagnosed with lung cancer, and spent several years battling the disease before finally succumbing on January 7th, 2001.

For those of you wanting a soundtrack to these short days and long, long nights of the soul I humbly offer you James Carr's unqualified masterpiece. I'll see you on the other side of the solstice.

Download You Got My Mind Messed Up

I don't buy it.

Alright, you tell me what you think this picture looks like:

And no, this isn't a still from the latest Steven Spielberg movie.

This light display actually appeared in the sky over Norway a few days ago.

The latest news is that it was the result of some failed Russian missile test but. . . I don't buy it.

Why does modern science have to explain away all the magic and wonder in this world?

Grindcore Baby.

"Cute might be thought of as a watered-down version of pretty; which is a watered down version of beautiful; which is a watered-down version of sublime; which is a watered-down version of terrifying."

-Frances Richard

Saint Nicholas Day Eve.

In which, as children back in Wisconsin, my brother and I would set out our winter boots in the hallway outside our bedrooms. The next morning we were delighted to find that Saint Nicholas had filled our boots with candies, fruit, evergreen sprigs, and calenders for the next year (Football themed for my brother, Dungeons and Dragons themed for yours truly.)

It was also the day in which my mother would incessently torment me by playing Schumann's "Knecht Ruprecht Theme" on her upright piano.

Knecht Ruprecht was the mean, sooty, hunchbacked servant of Saint Nicholas and was rumored to beat children for being naughty. He was a permanent fixture in my nightmares circa 1984.

Happy Thanksgiving!

NEW ROOOOOOOOM!!!

From the North:

the West:

the South:

and the East:

I moved in really quick.

My Man. . .

November Upheaval.

In just two short days I will be putting all my possessions in a 10' truck and driving (for the first time in 3 years!) exactly 27 1/2 blocks to my new abode in the Lower Haight. The room is painted ("Pernod"), the help aquired ("Fat" Dave and his truck), the workday covered (Thanks Kirsten!), the boxes packed (sans drums, clothing and toiletries) and not one bank, credit card company, cell phone provider, or online retailer notified of my new address (I have a long night at the 'puter in front of me). I can, however, notify my two faithful Nackebuhs subscribers!

Please direct all mail bombs, love letters, outstanding collections, care packages and recovered dominos (as of November 14th) to:

849 Haight Street

San Francisco, CA

94117

I'm so very excited/exhausted/excited again!

Expect an update (and perhaps a picture of my new room!) after the weekend.

In the meantime, check out this amazing t-shirt design Mike's friend up in the Great White North fashioned for Larry and the Angriest Generation!

Here's a close up of the band. She really nailed it. Dave's likeness (as "Larry") is especially uncanny.

Postscript

Best album to listen to while you stroll around/say goodbye to your old neighborhood: "Makoto Kawabata/Richard Youngs" by Makoto Kawabata and Richard Youngs.

Best album to listen to whilst you pack up your belongings: anything by The Clean.

Best album to listen to whilst you paint your new room: "Dream Island Laughing Language" by Lucky Dragons.

Best album to listen to whilst supping with your new roomies: "Thelonious Alone in San Francisco" by Thelonious Monk.

Best album for a (nearly) empty (old) room: "The Ragged School" by the Jacobites.

Best album for an empty (new) room: "The Cloud of Unknowing" by James Blackshaw.

This Song. . .

is especially fitting with all the Jacek Yerka imagery.

Makes me wish I had a computer screen the size of a wall, with speakers to boot.

Goodbye, October.

My New Favorite Blog. . .

WEIRD DUDE ENERGY

The Day I Almost Saw Obama.

Started off like any other day. And by "any other" I mean I spent the morning cutting hundreds of pounds of cheese into tiny pieces and I spent the afternoon getting my cranial sacral fluids manipulated by a nice German lady.

As I was leaving Bettina's office in Union Square last Thursday I noticed hundreds (perhaps thousands, I have no idea on how to gauge crowds) of people holding signs and waiting politely outside the Weston St. Francis. I asked a bystander what all the hubbub was about and he said (incredulously) "The President's gonna be here tonight!"

Well, I didn't really have a lot to say to Obama (but get back to me in a few months if he hasn't gotten around to ending those two wars and working on LGBT rights) but I would love a chance to see the guy in person so I set up shop behind a bank of television reporters and their respective cameramen.

This turned out to be the most fascinating part of the entire evening. The police eventually shooed me to the curb and put up a barrier but not before I overheard the gossip straight from the reporters mouths. Some fragments: ". . . giving a fundraiser this evening. . . $30,000 a head. . . don't know the exact location of the President at this moment but he is schedualed to speak at 7. . . probably will not be arriving at the front door of the hotel, but in a side alley. . . get me a sammie, will 'ya?"

I called my brother to pass the time and told him I had a "clear shot" of the entrance to the hotel. I was referencing my camera phone but immediatly realized this was a poor choice of words, and abruptly ended the conversation.

Helicopters were circling overhead and various sirens were heard, all titillating the crowd into thinking the arrival was immanent. This reached a fever pitch when the police (who all looked as confused as the crowd) blocked off Powell Street. This was the moment! The motorcade was about to arrive!!! But. . . nothing happened. I continued to wait. It wasn't until a tranny in oversized sunglasses and sauntering up Post declared to the world "He already in tha building, y'all!" that I gave up hope, hopped on my bike, and sped off into the gathering twilight. I knew this would be the closest I would ever come to seeing Obama.

Holy Shit! Children's Game Shows of the late 80's.

But if you were a cool kid, you watched MTV, not Nickelodeon. . .

And speaking of Glenn Beck. . .

This is kinda amazing/terrifying.



And I just noticed the Gillette ad at the bottom of the screen! WTholymotherofF?!?

The Kindness of Strangers.

It has been too long since I have written you, my two faithful Nackebuhs readers. But an amazing thing happened to me this evening, so amazing that I had to break my month and 1/2 of silence and alert the both of you to it.

I had stopped into my local Walgreens because I needed a new Gillette (1) Sensor razor handle. I was fed up with my Rainbow bought razor (2) and had recently discovered a dusty old container of Gillette Sensor cartrages (3) left over from my college days in the bottom of my beauty chest (4). So, I was in the shaving aisle of the Walgreens and saw that the only Gillette razors for sale were the Sensor Excel Mach 3 Fusions. Where the hell had all of these adjectives come from?!? All I wanted was a simple Sensor handle and I could be on my merry way (5).

I was grumbling to myself about the state of the modern day razor market when a lady with no front teeth and clutching a small white dog approahed me. "Couldn't help but notice your dismay at the razors, honey," she said.

"Yeah," I sighed, glad to have been noticed by somebody. "All I want was a Gillette Sensor but all they have here are these Excel Mach 3 Fusions. Things have changed. . . " I actually trailed off.

The lady studied the display for a moment and said "I live right down the street, and think I might have exactly what you need. (6) I'll be right back." She hustled to the exit. I stood there dumbfounded. "You know that lady?" a nearby worker asked me. "No, do you?" I asked the worker. He shook his head side to side. Slowly.

While I waited for her to return I thumbed through the greeting cards (7). Would she find an old Sensor handle, and if she did was I in her debt? What would she expect in return? I almost bolted for the door but something stronger then fear kept me there. Something called curiosity or despiration, I couldn't tell which.

As I was opening and closing an interactive card with a pop-up graveyard on the inside I heard a commotion at the front of the store. "Hey fella! Fella? Where is that fella?" I walked towards the source of the shouts and there she was, no teeth and white dog and all. In her free hand she held five razor handles. "Now these two I still use," she said, motioning towards some pink Schick handles (8), but these other three are just takin up space."

And there it was. A vintage Gillette Sensor razor handle! My heart skipped a beat.

"Can I have this one?" I asked her. "Sure, sure!" she answered.

I gingerly took the razor handle from her hand, expecting her to demand something of me. But she simply nodded and walked away. She didn't even give me time to thank her.

Well, if you are out there tonight somehow reading this; "Thank you lady with the Gillette Sensor handle. You've reaffirmed my faith in all that is right and good about this world. But I am still bleaching the hell out of that dusty old handle before it gets anywhere near my face."

The End

Footnotes:

(1) The spellcheck on my computer didn't recognize "Walgreens" but it did recognize "Gillette." Some lobbiests have been busy somewhere!

(2) There are some things that should always be bought at health food stores (bulk grains, organic produce, tofu, ect.) but there are some things that should always, ALWAYS be avoided (toilet paper, condoms, and razors).

(3)

(4) This is an old case of Miller High Life (also left over from my college days) where I keep all my toiletries. In true bohemian fashion it also functions as a mini coffee table for my bedroom.

(5) The Sensor Excel Mach 3 Fusion handles are not compatable with my ancient stash of Sensor cartrigdes.

(6) For half a millisecond, before she told me to wait in the Walgreens, I thought she was hitting on me.

(7) There were so many Halloween greeting cards. I never knew.

(8) I shuddered.

Addendum: Do really need a new razor design? Shown below for your consideration is the complete evolution of the Gillette Sensor line. At the far left is the simple, humble, and effective Gillette Sensor. This is the Holy Grail of razors. Never before and never again. Next in line is the Gillette Sensor Excel. A B- in my opinion, prone to sudden breakage. Then on to the various Machs and Fusions until we arrive at the Gillette Sensor Excel Mach 3 Fusion at the far right (along with Glenn Beck), a perversion in chrome and orange of all that is right and good about this world.

Farty Pants.

What a funny morning.

This morning I woke up to the smell of pulled pork sandwiches and corn on the cob. I opened my venetian blinds to be greeted by this sight:



The 1st Annual San Francisco Street Food Festival was literally happening right outside my front door! Suffice to say I was pretty stoked to eat some pulled pork and corn on the cob. So stoked in fact that I lounged around in my pjs reading comic books for a full 2 hours. I exited my front door a mere half hour before I had to be at work thinking that I would catch a quick bite before heading to the cheeseshop. I had never been more wrong in my life.

Not only were the lines 20 people deep for the individual vendors, but there was a META line stretching all the way around the block. One had to stand in the meta line for upwards of an hour before one could even choose a vendor line to stand in. Madness.

So, suffice to say I hoofed it away from that crazy scene as quick as I could. It took me 10 minutes just to get to the end of my block. I thought I would catch a quick chicken milanese at the corner taqueria, but that was overflowing with stragglers such as myself. Even good 'ol trusty El Metate had a line out the door. In my blind hunger and dwindling time frame I attempted to find the little walk-up window that serves eyeball tacos, but to no avail. Turning back on to Folsom Street I came within inches of ending a pigeon's life.

It was 3PM. I was scheduled to cut cheese at 3PM. So, tail between my legs, I stopped by El Faro (one letter away from Farto) for a shitty overpriced torta and that was that. I was later, fuller, and wiser then I had been at the start of the day.

The entire episode reminded me of the beginning of Buffalo 66 but with lunch in the stead of wizzing.

What We Know.

We know the Earth is round, and that the Sun rises in the morning.
We know that strawberries taste good, that blueberries taste good, that all sorts of berries taste good.
We know that where we are is exactly where we should be, even though we fight it sometimes with all of our might.
We know Germany lost.
We know what happens when we add 2 to 4, 6 to 8, and divide 12 by it's square root.
We know (secretly) that there is one thing about us that is more beautiful then anything else in this world, even though we hide it most (all) of the time.
We know there is a giant island of trash in the middle of the Pacific Ocean that is twice the size of Texas, but no one seems to be doing anything about it.
We know what our home looks like from outer space.
We know cigarettes are bad for our health.
We know things will get worse before they get better.
We know our favorite color, our favorite item of clothing, and our favorite food (but we are still uncertain about our favorite song).
We know that love is real, and that it is fleeting, and that the only way it will ever really exist for most of us is in the hallways of memory, where things never turned out the way we expected, and which will always, always be better then the present moment.
We know that all of this is a lie.

What we don't know is this:
What to say.
What to do.
What happens next.

We know the Earth is round,

and that the Sun rises in the morning.

Crying Competition.

First tear to hit the table wins.

"I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now. . ."

The Last Homely House.

Leaving my mom's tomorrow morning for points west. Three days on a train will put me in Portland, OR, and two days after that will put me at a wedding and one more day after that will put me on the rim of the Pacific Ocean, the shelf of North America. I've missed the ocean terribly since I have been out here on the plains, but have been consoled by various lakes and rivers along the way, some of which I have even had the pleasure of immersing myself in.

Have had a little frog in my throat since this morning and I am worried I will be running a fever by the time I hit Grand Forks.

Said goodbye to my father this afternoon and my brother this evening. So tired of seeing people walking or driving away.

Wondering what is really awaiting me back in San Francisco. Looking forward to discovering what I have missed.

Found this great poem by Kenneth Koch that I would like to share with you:

Pranks!

V A C A Y !

Greetings both my dear, faithful Nackebuhs followers. It's been quite some time since I rapped at you, but I've had my reasons, large and small. Mostly I've been daydreaming about / gearing up for / in the midst of my three week summer vacation!

It's the longest I've been away from cutting cheese since I began cutting cheese almost 8 years ago. Loaves of cheddar and wedges of parmesan have been replaced by the hands and cheeks of friends and family and the green green grass of home. This post finds me squarely in the middle of my vacation at my mom's place in Oconomowoc, Wisconsin. There will be a thunderstorm tonight and I plan on sleeping out on the back porch to capitalize on it. Some highlights of my trip thus far include: 

Kayaking, leap-frogging, and zip-lining with my brother in the South Bend Urban Adventure Race 2009. We came in 10th! Out of 175!! WTF!!!

Discovering the Red Panda. Also called the Wah (because of it's distinct cry),  the Cat Bear (because it was thought to be related to a small bear and washes itself like a cat by licking its entire body), the Fire Fox, the Himalyan Raccoon, the Gambawarella, the Petit Panda, the Poonya, the Crimson Ngo, and the Ailurus Fulgens ("Shining Cat") in Latin.

Hearing my grandmother talk about the time she shook JFK's hand. This is a story that never grows old, even though she unfortunately is.

The grand and stately culemonimubus clouds of the midwest skies.

Humidity.

Laurie's Planet of Sound, which is me if I were a Chicago record store.

Alligator Dogs topped with St. Pete's at Hot Dougs.

Point Special on draft.

Witnessing an entire drum set be simultaneously played and carried off stage only to be put down in the center of the audience for exactly one more song.

Squeeze kisses at various bus stops around the windy city.

Pirouetting at Millennium Park.

Much laughter and lightness and other wonderful things.

Listening to the entirety of  Townes Van Zandt's "Live at the Old Quarter" at the Lincoln Park Zoo.

Deep dish and Oz Park.

Vegetarian "pulled-pork" sandwich with my brother at the Chicago Diner followed by 4 sliders at a White Castle on our way out of town.

Standing in my mother's garden this morning and witnessing two hummingbirds alight on a fence directly in front of us for a full 30 seconds. That's almost 2 years hummingbird time.

I am looking forward to thunderstorms, fish frys, summer sun, train rides, friend marriages, beach houses, and everything else good that follows. . . 

Quiet, lackadaisical, and somewhat frivolous late night web surfing at your mother's house in rural Wisconsin can sometimes totally be worth it.

"It gets kooky in there. . . It gets a little nutty."

Why my Wednesdays and Thursdays have been especially insane this year.

PS If you pause it at 1:51 you can see me wrapping up some Brillat Savarin!

Dancing Lessons With Mr. James Brown.

Some funny things I have heard over the intercom at work. . .

1. "Reefer to register seven. Reefer to register seven please."

A SIMPLE EXPLANATION: "Reefer" is short for "Refrigerated Department," so this seemingly subversive page is simply a call for assistance for an expert in all things tofu, dairy, and kombucha.

2. "Could someone on CRAC please call extension 351?"

A SIMPLE EXPLANATION: CRAC is an acronym for the Civil Rights Advocacy Committee, one of several democratically elected committees at Rainbow Grocery. This makes a misunderstanding of this page all the more disconcerting.

3. "Has anybody seen my brown stool? I left it in the bakery back stock. Please call extension 620 if anybody's seen my little brown stool."

A NOT SO SIMPLE EXPLANATION: A classic from Tom Healy, may he rest in peace. There will never be another pager like him.

Recently been discovering the joys of listening to my Ipod whilst bicycling.

Some great genres for this include krautrock, old school hip-hop (and when I say old school I mean old school, ie. anything before Run-DMC), and afro-beat. Of particular note is Tony Allen's monster slice of Lagos funk Road Safety, where he proclaims:

Today were hear. . . accidents, they happen. Tomorrow, accidents, they happen. But road safety, which you and me. . . must keep. This is a law, because. . . let's die a good die. Good death is very good, not dying on the road. So. . . brothers and sisters. . . and you children, take care on the road. Listen. You got to look to the l-e-e-e-eft. You got to look to the r-i-i-i-i-ght. Ah! You got to look to your fr-o-o-o-ont. Oh yeah! You got to look to the b-a-a-a-ack. Take it easy! Take it easy on the road!

Another great listen is Bruce Springsteen's album Darkness on the Edge of Town, as long as you replace all of the car references with bicycles.

Tonight, tonight the strip's just right

Out of our way mister you best keep

'Cause summer's here and the time is right

For racin' in the street

Crank this.

DJ Premier Michael Jackson Tribute Mix!!!
Originally broadcast last Friday on Premo's "Live From HeadQCourterz" show on Hip-Hop Nation Radio.

I said it once, and I'll say it again. . .

I LOVE MY JOB!!!

So. . .

my dear, faithful, negligible Nackebuhs readers (all two of you) "besides Michael Jackson's recent passing what else has been going on in Andy's life these past four weeks?" you may be asking yourselves.

Well, for one I am now in a band. We are called Larry and the Angriest Generation and our first show is a Fourth of July BBQ Blowout here in SF! Stoked for sure.

Other then that I have been working f a r t o o m u c h (6 daze a week) but anticipating a three (!) week holiday in three (!) weeks! I'll be visiting Chicago, South Bend (IN), Oconomowoc (WI), Portland (OR), and spending 6 days in a Manzanitan beach house with some old friends!!! Also stoked.

I've also been discovering a ton of new music (mostly in the past, unfortunately). One of my most treasured new discoveries is Robert Wyatt. After playing drums (and sometimes singing) in both Soft Machine and Matching Mole he drunkenly fell from a third story window on June 1st, 1973. This paralysed him from the waist down and subsequently confined him to a wheelchair. Not to be the one to mope, he immediately dove into a solo career and released the brilliant Rock Bottom in 1974. Robert Wyatt has remained at the forefront of British Avent/Progressive Rock for almost 40 years, being one of the few sexagenarians (along with Bob Dylan and Tom Waits) still making relevant music. Along with Rock Bottom (which, by the way, is the sound of a man at anything but) I highly recommend his new album, Comicopera. His voice is possessed of almost too much joy, too much sorrow. I want to drink a cup of tea with him.

RIP M.J.

Performing my favorite song off the Free to Be You and Me album with Roberta Flack (whom I missed at last Sunday's Stern Grove Festival) circa 1974.

Carnival!

It always seems to be overcast and chilly at the San Francisco Carnival. This year was no exception.



Cute kids abound. These dancers are from a group called "Sistas With Flava."



This little prince accidently wacked someone in the crowd with a bag of red licorice. People chuck all sorts of things. It's hilarious.



These drummers were amazing.



The King and Queen came over to say hi!



And here's another peek at that amazing m.f. car. The guy driving it looked just like a member of the S1W.

I love my job.

Had a great day at Rainbow today. Started a new cheese sample (Beemster Classic, an 18 month aged gouda) and spent the morning cutting up hundreds of tiny cheese cubes. In addition, Beemster had sent us a promotional crate of 75 inflatable cows. So I also spent the morning blowing up little dutch cows.  For the kids!



Also spent the morning playing a game of "tether-cow" with my co-worker Kate.



The finished Beemster display:
(Note my co-worker Mariah in the background. She is gathering cheese for a polenta she is cooking us all for lunch.)



Finished out the day by packing up some Scamorza, an Italian smoked cheese very similar to Mozzarella, except that it is shaped like a little piggie. No one knows why.

"Sharpshooter."

This is a picture of a picture of me from the front page of the July 26th, 1986 issue of the Watertown Daily Times. I am 10 years old. It was taken at Nashotah Park during Cub Scout Day Camp. I am learning archery.

Sometimes I still make that face.

An Amazing Story My Meditation Teacher Told Us About Apollo 11 On the Very Last Day of Class.

During the first manned mission to the surface of the moon nothing came as a surprise. From gathering and testing soil samples to experimenting with moving around in lunar gravity everything confirmed what was already posited in labs back on Earth. Sure Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin gathered moon rocks and snapped pictures and called Richard Nixon and bounded around like antelopes but everything they did only confirmed what they already knew. 

Except one thing.

The only surprise to come out of Apollo 11 happened when the two astronauts returned to the command module. They had rejoined Michael Collins in orbit around the moon and had just taken off their space suits when they noticed a strange smell in the compartment. One of the astronauts said it smelled like a musty basement. The other said it smelled like a creek bed. Michael Collins thought it smelled like mothballs.

They eventually realized that what they were smelling was the dirt on the bottom of their boots, the dirt from the surface of the moon. Obviously the moon does not have an atmosphere, so nothing on it's surface gives off any kind of odor. It was only by unknowingly tracking the dirt into the command module and repressurizing (effectively crating a faux atmosphere) that they were able to smell it. It was the only genuine discovery of Apollo 11.

My meditation teacher brought this story up because he found it interesting that the sense of smell, the most subjective of all the senses (really, think of the last time something was objectively proven using one's sense of smell), granted the only real surprise of the entirety of the Apollo 11 mission. He related it to the practice of meditation by saying that it means nothing if all one does is meditate for a short while and then leave it behind on the cushion to go on with one's day or one's life. "You must bring the practice with you, into your everyday world, into every part of your life," he said. "Meditate while standing in line, while fixing a flat tire, while making love. Only then will it surprise you, will you discover something, will it matter. Only then will you smell the dust of the moon."

Zubbles.

The world's first colored bubble that doesn't stain.



It took Tim Kehoe 14 years to develop Zubbles. Along the way he has had many failed experiments involving Jell-o and ink and has spent many thousands of dollars in chemistry and dye research.

They have yet to hit the market.

The following is an excerpt from an interview conduced by The Believer in the fall of 2006.

"Ten years into it, we came up with a washable bubble formula.  We thought, This is it.  We decided to run a focus group test, so we brought out twenty-four of my nieces and nephews and my kids.  I went down to the local magic shop and rented one of these huge theatre quality bubble machines.  They're great big bubble machines that are controlled by computers.

I remember that morning I was mixing them - I was mixing them in my garage, all this stuff had always been done in my kitchen, and now we were trying to make big batches of it - so I'm out in my garage and a whole bunch of chemicals splash up in my face and I end up throwing up and I stain my eyes blue and my skin was all blue.  I wish I had taken a picture.

So we dumped this stuff into these bubble machines and we fired it up and one of the mothers starts crying.  She says it's the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen;  all these bubbles are filling the air like little balloons going up into the sky.  The kids are standing in front of the bubble machine, and even though it's washable - it'd wash off your skin - there was a bunch of stuff it wouldn't wash off of.  It wouldn't wash off concrete;  it wasn't coming off of leather shoes.  The mothers were just horrified so we realized we couldn't go to market with the product. . .

Along the way I invented all kinds of bubbles and lost a lot of them because I didn't know what I did.  I blew ten thousand bubbles over the years;  I'd blow them in the bathtub to see if they were colored.  One day I blew these bubbles and they bounced, like super-balls, in the bathtub.  I could never re-create them.  I never took notes.  I'm really bad at that.  I was just, a little more of this, a little more of that.  They were bouncing, but I couldn't repeat it."

Other inventions Tim has invented include the Flatball, which is basically a frisbee that pops into a ball, and the Aquaradio, a device that allows children to talk underwater. He has also invented sand that when heated would harden (so kids could make sand sculptures) and footballs that instead of being caught would bite onto you (called "Bitin' Balls").  He has also developed a glow-in-the-dark bubble that he is planning on releasing in a few years, after an interfering patent expires. 

Ever since I read about Tim and his many marvelous inventions I've been wanting to write a play about him. . . 

Happy Mother's Day!

The Tenderloin National Forest.

Went to this great event today:

Unveiling of the Tenderloin National Forest

The only people I talked to were crazy. One guy kept shouting "USA! USA! USA" and told me I was an optical illusion and the other was a lady who said a bunch of unrepeatable things and then told me that she can't be around little kids because she feels compelled to hit them. I guess when you're strolling around a magical forest in an alley in the tenderloin you are still strolling around a magical forest in an alley in the tenderloin. Reminded me of a modern Grimm fairy tale, though I have no idea what the moral of the story is. I did, however, find my way home.

Goodnight, Captain Chaos.

Some things I saw on tv as a kid that scared the bejesus out of me.

Happy May Day/International Workers' Day/Beltane/Walpurgis Nacht!

One of my very favorite days of the year. Reminded me how much I miss the annual In the Heart of the Beast celebration at Powderhorn Park in Minneapolis.

Had the day off. Didn't do much, as I was hampered by a slight cold contracted from kissing a microphone last night at Jack's singing "Glory Days" at the DJ Purple Karaoke Experience and following that up with a boiled chicken torta and a half hour infomercial on the Topsy Turvy Upside Down Tomato Planter. Here's what I did:

Stepped outside and immediately witnessed a lady across the street from me smashing out the windows of a Cadillac with a hammer.

Met my old friend Katharine for a smoked salmon sandwich at the Atlas Cafe.

Enjoyed the balmy rain.

Read the first 85 pages of The Left Hand of Darkness. Best 85 pages I've read in years. Seriously. Why did it take me so long to discover Ursula K. Le Guin?

Watched Something Wild and fell in love with Melanie Griffith 23 years ago.