Regardless

I picked up tickets for The Walkmen/Kaiser Chiefs show two months ago, stashed them away, and tried not to drive myself crazy with anticipation. When the week began I knew it was coming up Friday, but I've been so busy I haven't had time to think about it. Then this afternoon I finished my last poster, the third this week, and for the last hour, finally had a chance to relax. That's when it hit me.

It's tomorrow night! And it's going to rock.

Now I need to figure out a way to sneak a camera in. Then again, sometimes not having one is better, because you embrace every second of the music and the theatrics, rather than become too focused on the camera settings and getting the right shot and all the other distractions that effect taking it all in.

I also don't want to be paranoid about some bouncer getting overzealous and trying to kick me out, or worse, confiscating my camera. The last time I went to a show at The Warfield, years ago, a bartender tried to have me booted for looking like her ex-boyfriend. She literally started freaking out when I got to the front of the line, refusing to serve anybody until I was removed. A bouncer came over and grabbed my shoulder, but after a few minutes, of first saying, get your hands off me. Then, look, bro, I have no idea who this girl is. She just started tweakin' and....well, anyway, the guy finally came to his senses, admitted she was a kook, and let me stay.

We shall see. Regardless, I'm going to have fun.

I refuse for it to turn out any other way.

"The Ladder That Shrinks, Step by Step, When People Climb Up It"

Picked up the 11th issue of Dot Dot Dot, this awesome art/design magazine. Tonight I read an interview with Liad Gillick (while on the can, ironically), which, I must say, just blew my mind. I can't convey how refreshing it is to come across new ideas and new models of discourse, particularly the non-pretentious kind, especially when they're visionary and self-reflective, even if every sentence is rich with theory, which, contrary to academia, is not something we should get bogged down in. It does add depth to a work, though, and makes it more compelling, at least when it's done right, which the Dot Dot Dot interview, and these thinkers, accomplish.

Fool's Paradise

Hiked to the Mission this afternoon, the third straight Sunday I've been motivated to do it. Had wheat pancakes and bangers at this cool little Irish Pub on Valencia, along with a bloody Mary, and watched the Suns beat the Lakers. Then walked through some alleyways and took pictures of various buildings, graffiti, and hotels.

Yes

I had a little creative block the other day in the middle of a poster I was making, so I took off for a few hours and roamed the aisles of Border's, looking for inspiration. I ended up purchasing this design book (one that my boss was cool enough to reimburse me for when he saw how furious I began to work upon my return) and the whole thing is so inspiring. First and foremost, however, are the posters done by The Heads of State for a bunch of cool indie bands like Wilco, Gomez, Pretty Girls Make Graves, Dillinger Escape Plan, and Bright Eyes, among many others.

But the real reason for this entry tonight was to introduce you to Weng Weng.

Yes, I know.

Lineage

I. Children of Men: I'm a cinematography aficionado, so I came to really love this film. Everything is drenched in this blue/grey tint - similar to The Ring - and there's this raw documentary feel to each scene, where the special effects blend seemlessly with the brutal reality of the landscape. There are also shots that just rip your heart out, like when Clive Owen's character first collapses after witnessing the murder of his ex-wife. He's walking away from the dead body, and he seems fine (well at least stoic), then suddenly he leans against a tree and collapses into a fetal crouch, screaming in anquish.

Not to mention a three-and-a-half minute battle scene near a dilipidated building that puts Scorsese's Goodfellas nightclub single-take to shame.

Yes, I said that.

The story itself is interesting, too, and it gets better with subsequent viewings. The first time Brandy and I watched it I was kind of lukewarm about the whole thing (and she thought it was weird). The next three times I loved it.

As a sidenote, there's an inflatable pig in the background of one of the shots, an homage to the album cover for Pink Floyd's Animals, designed by the one and only Storm Thorgerson (who called the gallery today, and seemed completely indifferent to my greeting).

II. Streets of San Francisco: first season now on DVD!

III. Sublime: it's weird what listening to a band for the first time in probably 5 years does for the soul. It started with a documentary on the band I got on Netflix, and now for the past week I've been listening to "Robbin the Hood" and "40Ounces to Freedom" non-stop, with "Pool Shark's" final line, "One day I'm gonna lose the war" on loop in my brain, to the point where I catch myself singing it in the shower, and then spend the next five minutes wondering if it was loud enough for my housemates to hear.

A decade ago Sublime was the soundtrack to my life in Santa Barbara, an amalgamation of punk rock, ska, dub, reggae, and rap, and really the perfect sound for an interesting blend of low-rider, surf and university cultures. Not only was their music cool, but they were fun. They were everybody's bros. They woke up on random couches, they played shows for beer, they pawned their instruments for dope, and they hung out with guys like Raleigh.

And then it was over, just like that. And that tragedy is as real as ever.

IV. Wes Anderson's early commercials for Ikea, Avon, and AMEX. (Note: click on "Directors" and then his name.)

IV. Golden State Warriors: first-time in the playoffs in 13 years!

So It Goes

Sorry I've been missing-in-action lately, just been working hard and moving fast and haven't had the time nor the inclination to sit down and compose my thoughts.

I got hit with seven different print jobs in less than a week at the gallery - posters and magazine ads and a couple of different invitations - which is awesome, I mean I couldn't be more stoked on what I'm doing and how everything looks, but because I'm lost in the maze of text and image and color juxtapositions, I haven't had the desire to try and make sense of things in a literal way. In fact, I'm digging being more abstract and subtle with my visual communication, and not having to be so logical and straight-forward, which at the end of this experiment has to help me as a writer.

That's the space I've been in recently.

Tuesday night I went to CCA to see my old thesis chair, Ann Joslin Williams, do a reading in support of her new short story collection, The Woman in the Woods. (If you have a chance, please buy this book. She's an incredible writer, and this is a beautiful collection, one that you'll find powerful and haunting, and she helped me so much in grad school I'm forever indebted.)

Anyway, when I decided to go that morning, I had this nostalgic fantasy that I would arrive on the scene and all the new students would know me, perhaps a few would have even read my collection (which is part of their library) and most would have surely heard the stories about my antics back in the early days of the writing program, when our outrage with the way things were run led me to some embarrassingly funny tirades and conceptual art pieces that were a real 'Fuck Off' to the administration. Of course, it all sounds absurd and overly-pretentious, not to mention downright corny - this idea of the prodigal son returning in triumph (with a copy of XFUNS Magazine under one arm) - but we all share the same dream of revisiting our past and "showing" how far we've come, and it was hard not to let my mind wander for a moment, romanticizing how great it would all be.

Anyway, I took a $13 taxi ride over (the driver looked like Burnin' Burton from Bodega), walked into the writer's studio, recognized three people out of the sixty in attendance (who were all sipping wine and picking at the meat and cheese) and realized the reading was over.

So once again, even with the best intentions, even rushing over and trying to round up a few writing buddies to come with me - to support this amazing lady - I failed miserably at something so simple - being there for the actual reading - and worse, I felt totally out of place at the reception afterwards.

I did see two old friends, though, which was nice, and purchased a book and had Ann sign it, and she was touched when I told her I used one of her stories back when I was teaching at CRC. Other than that, I was a stranger, someone who couldn't keep up with the inside jokes and witty quips, and within a half hour, without touching the food or drinks - a sure fire sign that something was wrong - I took off, and began the cold, lonely walk home, which took about forty minutes. I stewed the whole way.

Later, met up with another writer from the program, and his new wife, for drinks, who had driven in from Tennessee for just one day - to clean up some loose ends - which rekindled my faith somewhat in that I had someone to commiserate with, but still, coming home from the Bow Bow around midnight, I was mumbling to myself in the empty streets, how I hated writers, how fucking pretentious and boring they all are, and even deeper than that, I was on this kick about going home again, how the cliche is true, you can't, and the older we get the more ridiculous it gets, the memories just hitting you with little painful truths, some things so unbearable you just try to erase it from your brain.

Even that disgust seems self-absorbed and pompous now, and it is, but this is what I do sometimes, record the highs and the lows and the weird stuff inbetween. And in tribute to the brilliant Kurt Vonnegut Jr., I'll conclude this the only way I know how: so it goes.

That's the Truth