ghettochicken

Yes, the main article at The Stranger this week brings back so many memories of my own. And this is Charles' finest piece (according to my shaky memory; I do remember a kick ass 'Solaris' review once too, and more). Around the time he was doing that, I was living in a Belltown very few of my current friends could even imagine, filled with howling junkies and outlaw businessmen and crazed art makers and dealers and despairing sailors and sensitive dominatrixes and some of the best writers who ever lived and created in the midst of what seemed like unstoppable, never ending chaos. Some of them were pals, and some were deeper enemies for no other reason than to be one.

The thing I thought most about, beyond all the communal living situations I myself used to have -- and I was Kali in my group house god incarnation, capable of doing all the dishes and tearing homes to bits in the same POV of previous housemates -- was how we live lives in the city in layers and layers, our experiences toppling on each other over again.

One day in 1990 and I've snuck into the Frye Apartments with a trouble-magnet redheaded doper I had a crush on and bought a black leather jacket for out of my first SSI check, to visit her weightlifting sponsor who made us instant coffee and played Neil Young on a stereo amp with a swastika on the side. She took me through the creepily dark lobby across the alley into the mutant-stuffed DESC where I watched two drag queens fist fight and have to be sent to opposite corners whilst we waited for a medical coupon. The day was so grey Seattle sad, but I was so happy not to be drinking and having my own SRO apartment with my own leather jacket hanging on the door, my two pairs of combat boots, my Kierkegaard and Bonhoffer and Catholic Study Bible, getting a hard on when she showed up to watch me lector at Mass the next Sunday morning in St. James Chapel.

Anyways, that Frye lobby, so dark in the daytime, was the creepiest place I'd ever been where people actually lived till then -- much worse than the DESC. Bodies were being taken out of there all the time. I was surprised Dawn's friend could stay sober in a place that depressing. Piles of keys dangling off the wall like scalps for the zombie tenants to reclaim. Drunken angry men waiting to work at the docks again but the economy, as Charles noted, was so shitty. Shit-birds of all type, like the guy I saw smoking crack as he squirted colorless feces near the dumpster outside the lop-sided, mountainous, utterly haunted looking tenement. The front desk man, getting through a double as he was the night shift guy but still working past noon, his skin dry but grey as the Seattle sky, looking like the toughest guy I'd ever seen -- the sin-eater at the center of the world, checking out keys and checking in keys from the dying and undead and all of us in-between.

Thirteen years to that day and I'm back there, the lobby is well lit now, but still dreadful, as it is 2 AM instead and I'm alone with 333 tenants and many guests upstairs, holding each other in dirty sheets, hurting each other in roach-filled kitchens, stealing each others' meds, holding bedrolls for their homeless pals who have earned their way out of the system, writing "Psychic Vampires" at the Frye Apartments front desk, transcribing interviews with Stephen Merritt and Tim Kasher talking about The Cure, waiting for Jason to bring down fresh printer's-gift copies of Bandoppler number three. Jim the graveyard guy died sometime in the 90s, at the front desk, and the office chair was filled by the other men working double shifts till I settled in to it around the turn of the century.

My grumpiness and almost agoraphobic behavior of late has finally been at least somewhat explained: The back pain is probably a hernia. Ouch! No wonder I've been such a bitch. Well, more-so, I suppose.

In the meantime, things that have been keeping my mind off the stabbing feeling in the guts:

1.) Damn, "Watchmen" (a friend let us in for free, woot) really captured the essence of the comic. Sure, I missed the subplots and more Hooded Justice and the 40s lesbian Goth chick and especially the pirate Droste effect; but it seemed like the director was probably missed about them not being in there, too. Yes, it should have been a 12 part HBO mini-series, but if it had to be a movie, it turned out to be a very sweet homage. What I love is that most of the people who aren't fans of the comic seem to not be into it at all (proof it is probably truly a comic movie for the comic geek, and not a mainstream-targeted act of four color evangelism), and that people seem really creeped out by the parts that should creep them out, the way Moore intended.

2.) This American Life, Season Two DVD, on sale $17.95 at Border's. The "Making History" episode especially, which too seems like great comics.

3.) "And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Our Vinyl" book, about Jews and LPs. Insanely wonderful religion-culture-fetish object culture study, just out, $24.95. The writing is superb, the cover album reproductions perfect, and you would never know this was a "website based" spin-off book by its quality and substance.

4.) Drinking whiskey (Pies n Pints), talking about the fabulousness of the German language and bebop jazz with Vegan warrior Andy Werth as we worked on bio materials for his new album. Maybe the smartest guy I've met in the music scene, and is unafraid to play pure pop for any people.

5.) Dengue Fever DVD sent to me for review ... which I need to.

Back to the hernia, I have another ultrasound today (the first one they did was for kidney stones, which it didn't show), which as a guy feels very Parenthetical Girls or David Cronenberg (young women shoving a dildo-like device into my bloat). They make the ooze stuff warm now. Maybe that's just for guys.

Harvesting the orgiastic energy of the fan who geek-gushes is a full time occupation. Perhaps an Albert Brooks fan club founding would make things more clear, but the world must recurrently catch up with Andy Kaufman (hey, Mr. Phoenix.) I achingly appreciate, I roil with enjoyment at what you create, and you tend to either pleasure me in return with understanding-laced pity, or somewhat openly despise me. Think hard and I might remind you of a character in a Morrissey song or something. However, I can probably beat you up. That's kind of twisted, isn't it? I think this persona is sort of an anti-Sociopath -- a Sociopath who uses his need to manipulate forces into appreciation as opposed to derision or attention-seeking conflict. But I guess that's still a Sociopath, right? A good song to listen to would be "Dagenham Dave" by The Stranglers (funny how Morrissey wrote a song with that same title, but it wasn't the same song about a Number One fan who physically assaulted people for his position before leaping off a bridge -- "I'm not going to cry / I bet he hit that water high"). Dame Darcy is in town. I can't read a fucking thing she writes but love her Otto-described "overflow of meaning." She is everything she loves. Therapy is trying to become less gasoline to the match of the world. Art is often an attempt to douse the match itself and hoping it still catches flame.

Proof that "Waking Life" was completely a death hallucination is confirmed by the end of "Waltz With Bashir" -- "Waking Life" remains animated throughout (we never see the numbers on the clock in focus).

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Yes, I went on a two week absinthe trip -- to celebrate its recent legalization -- that put my next zine "Get Well" off due to a strange new pain in my guts. There is a now a licorice scratch and sniff patch on my cortex too.

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Anyone have bootleg tickets to L. Cohen they can sell me?

Check this out:

http://www.slate.com/id/2211068/

I was tagged in the period that it really crystallized as 25. As the author of the article states, this may have been the perfect number to inspire responses and subsequent tagging ("a perfect square"). I chose not to participate on Facebook for the simple reason that it would take too long to come up with 25 interesting responses. I probably would have done it if it had been 16 (another good figure for getting people involved), or, even more so, eight. Although that might have taken too much thought too, since I would be narrowing "random things" down a little too much.

I have often wanted to reconsider my position and participate, but the truth about this "selfish meme" is that no one probably wants to read these things now (well, maybe a couple of my friends would care). That is significant to note as a publicist for obvious reasons.

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I have just worked an album with a lot of passionate emotions involved with its creation over a wide stream of people who push things along. The fact that it was the right cause is awesome. It succeeded in many ways and continues to do so, which is wonderful, considering the triumph and tragedy behind it.

I worked another album I think could have been huge in another era, when people were still interested in dark, mournful music -- and the story behind that record, its "noteworthy" veteran co-producer, is exactly the formula an editor of a magazine picked on as being the worst pitch in album PR. Of course, these factors were confirmed as much as the CD above.

One of the best things I've read all year:

http://idolator.com/5152159/shhhh+it-idolators-super+secret-music-interview-talks-shop

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I was listening to "Daysleeper" yesterday on the bus before meeting H. to go through the International District, causing gastric mayhem and giggling at fun toys. I was remembering my old night shift job, which was just nearby in Pioneer Square, and how deeply this REM (!) song I now had on my iPod pleasured me by being ABOUT me in that horrible, magical period. I probably listened to the song for a half hour, over and over again, on my way downtown yesterday.

H. and I had sublime anniversary fun, then went to Elliot Bay Bookstore, where I picked up a signed, second edition of Henry Rollins' terrific "Fanatic" book (his DJ list notes) and Steve Waksman's just-published University book on the clash between heavy metal and punk. (Highly recommended, though I haven't read it yet -- his "riff" on BOC's "Summer Of Love" last year at the Pop Con was a huge highlight.)

As I was taking the books to the counter, Peter Buck walked by with an armload of books as well.

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As H. and I walked through the International District, a Real Change seller looked at me and went, "Ian Anderson! I'm Jethro Tull!" And we realized he must have been referring to my "Aqualung" looks. I told H. I needed to hook up with Bob from The Blakes, and find out where to get some get old Tull on vinyl for cheap. (I bet it sounds great.) I could just see scoring that anti-mysticism rant for a buck someplace nearby in my head. Bob is superb at finding great records for almost nothing at stores around town.

On our way out of downtown, Bob got on the bus, and I told him the story. He said, "Jive Time. Someone just unloaded a huge amount of classic rock like Tull and Pink Floyd there on Cap Hill, and I got 'Aqualung' yesterday for 99 cents."

I will dare anyone to go to a funeral for a loved one on a grey, overcast day, even if it's just barely raining, and not think of what seems like a hundred Tom Waits songs (maybe even all playing at once).

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Suddenly the poor and the rich all think, somewhat alike, "We have to DO something, we can't /just/ buy stuff."

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I would be an anarchist, but that's far too much thinking about civics.

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There exists a Tom Disch rap song somewhere, according to Jake from Bloodhag. He did some ambient noise behind it. (My mind reels.)

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There is rap music for Dialectical Behavioral Therapy, to remember mnemonics like "WISE MIND" and "SUDS" and other Borderline Personality Disorder-helping treatments. (The least covered sub-genre of "psyche-rock"?)

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Soft rock -- I am negotiating to work a big, bold soft rock album. It is adorable. I have become pre-punk completely. I can start again. Stay tuned.

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Valentines for your friends: I like how girls remember to do that.

http://slog.thestranger.com/slog/archives/2009/02/05/_when_you_re_a_working_class

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"Get Well" is ready to print. Oh fuck I forgot how to make a zine. Help? Anybody want to cut and paste it with me and take it to Kinko's at 3 AM on absinthe from Gainsbourg's and then go eat sprinkled Top Pots and drink Jager as a licorice trajectory as the winter sun rises sitting fat and happy on our stacks of smelly new zine goodness?

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I am working with so many great new bands right now I'm tingling with excitement. As that commences, come party with me at my favorite hot spot (and try the whipped oysters) to celebrate the release of John Spalding's one and only solo album, Love Land, "The Beautiful Truth."

Love Land CD listening party - with copies for sale
February 16, 2009
Gainsbourg, 8550 Greenwood Avenue North
8 PM
Free, 10% of proceeds of drinks and food to the Memorial Fund
DJ sets by Erin of Minus The Bear and others

Rumor has it there are some posters left.

Why do MSN news stories always have titles that make me want to write screenplays?

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"The Itching Stick"

I have been informed by my spouse that this is what the TV remote is NOT.

1.) Drink and graffiti.

2.) Say leeringly to pals, "Well, I'm not a voter, but if I WAS one he'd be the guy I would have voted for ..."

3.) Violently plot to overthrow the State just a little bit less joyfully.

???

It's so strange that since John passed away so many new friendships have started, in the light of his joy and the meaning of his life. We are preparing for some wonderful shows in the new year in his honor and to help out his widow Jody. Here's what we have so far:

Friday January 9th, The Showbox at the Market presents the John Spalding memorial concert featuring Minus The Bear, Rocky Votolato, Past Lives. and other artists TBA. (Got a big local one for you if you pay attention.)

All Ages. 7pm doors. $20 advance tickets available at all Ticketmaster outlets and at The Showbox box office.

All proceeds and donations will go to the "John D. Spalding Medical Fund," to which deposits can be made at any Bank of America nationwide.

Details so far on the other benefits:

The Comet on January 3rd
Slender Means
Jeff Suffering

January 8th at The Sunset
Headliner TBA
Helms Alee
Born Anchors
Patrol

January 9 at Showbox at the Market
Minus The Bear
The Cave Singers
Rocky Votolato
Past Lives
More TBA
All Ages. 7pm doors. $20 advance tickets available at all Ticketmaster outlets and at The Showbox box office.

January 21st at Chop Suey
Damien Jurado
David Bazan
See Me River

January Date TBD at El Corazon
MXPX
Amber Pacific
TBD
Nazca Lines

January 25 at the Cha Cha Lounge
These Arms Are Snakes
Elephant Rider
$5 suggested donation and a percentage of the proceeds from the bar go to door.