Memorial Day Tremens

Here are a few links to pass the time, if you're moving slow after the long weekend.
Magazine Cover Archive
The Internet is shit.
Kaiser Chiefs "Everyday I Love You Less and Less"
A Bad Accident

These Predicaments

Last Thursday, right after work, went to pick up tickets for Spoon. There was already a line out front, three hours before the doors opened, and it was clear that I would have to wait the entire time, rather than just get tickets, go home, grab dinner, and then come back. All of the indie kids were in full effect too, with a nice assortment of Garfunkles, 5:00 shadows, Puma sweat jackets, and extra small, faded t-shirts, not to mention the air of luxurious disillusionment as the kids took turns running to the corner market for chips and hummus and their Red Bulls.

Anyway, my friends finally showed up with a bottle of Champagne around 8:00, and that made the final hour standing in the cold tolerable. (They actually dropped off the bottle and went to the bar around the corner, which meant I sat there with a brown paper bag by myself for another half hour before I had some company.) Unfortunately, five minutes after getting in, as I was rocking out to Blonde Redhead on the sound system, I was booted for having a drag of my friend's cigarette. I mean literally this brotha came behind me, picked me up, and pulled me out. It all happened so fast, and about halfway to the door I finally said, okay, dude, I'll leave, just let go of my shoulder. The guy refused. I then spent the next twenty minutes pleading with the different security guards out front, how I don't even smoke, and that I go to concerts every couple of weeks and the venues are always filled with smoke, and generally what's being blazed is illegal, and nobody seems to mind then. This approach didn't work, and neither did John's little talk with "Deebo". Finally the guy who had removed me came outside and told me to go home, that I had no chance of getting back in. He seemed hell bent on getting this through my thick skull. Deebo reiterated this fact, and it all seemed lost, three hours of waiting, freezing my balls off, a $15 cover, dragging my friends in from the East Bay, all of it was for naught until I finally said, what if I slip you a twenty spot? And he said, well in that case, you can go back in. Then, as I walked through the door, I looked at the guard who had kicked me out and said, how do you like me now? To which he rolled his eyes and said, we'll see.

Long story short: Spoon sucked, the venue was pretentious, the security intoxicated with power, and the whole time I was trying to figure out a way to sucker punch the one guard and make it out alive, but as we were leaving at the end, thankfully they were no where to be found, because a.) I would have got my ass kicked b.) I would have spent the night at the Bryant Street jail, c.) I would have been visiting a dentist soon to get some implants, and that would have been lame.

Why do these things always happen to me? I have no idea. But I better figure it out soon.

Spoon Tonight

I'm not going to lie, I've been a grumpy motherfucker this week. The thing is, I've cranked up the writing muscles, and it's like going to the gym again after not lifting for months. The first couple of days blow, and it's always followed by incredible pain and stiffness. Then suddenly you get into a rhythm and you feel like yourself again.

That's not to say that the new piece is done. It's not. But I had a major breakthrough the other night, and I finally see what needs to be done, which is the hardest thing about short fiction: seeing it all the way through. Sure, some people are so naturally talented they can sit and genius just flows out of them. But that's not me. It takes a lot of work and planning and even then, there's always one or two little epiphanies that I have to experience during the "journey" before it's right.

I'm close, though, close enough that tonight I'm going to check out Spoon at 330 Ritch, which I swore I wouldn't do until the story was ready. Oh well. Sometimes life comes calling and you have to dive right in and deal with the consequences in the morning.

The Block

I've been working for four hours straight, literally ever since I got in from the gallery tonight, slamming three cups of coffee around 7:00 pm, listening to the Kaiser Chief's first LP Employment twice thus far, and I just realized something, amidst the noise. This story is utter shite. It was utter shite last weekend. It was utter shite when I stayed in yesterday rather than go to the Bay-to-Breakers; and I could probably write for another ten days and it'll still be utter shite.

Panic has set in. Deadlines passed. Promises broken.

Soon I tell them. It's almost there. It's the best one yet. Trust me.

But I'm beginning to wonder, what if soon never comes?

Somersault

An erotic, lyrical depiction of a young girl’s sexual awakening (and her quest for forgiveness), this film contains some of the most hauntingly beautiful cinematography I've ever seen.

Notes from Jackson Street

1. I love seeing European couples - with maps spread out and cameras dangling from their necks - argue over which direction to take, and which San Francisco landmark they need to visit next. It always amazes me how much contempt comes from simple decisions like, which way to go, or what should we do next?

I've realized that there are two types of partners: one you want to vacation with, and one you don't. For example, one of my ex-girlfriends is a pleasure to be around, a person who acknowledges when something nice is done for her, even if it's a little thing that's easy to take for granted. Everything is fun. We go weeks together and never get on each others' nerves. Another can be so miserable that she makes even a taxi ride, or a quick bite to eat, or a decision on where to sit at a concert, unbearable. At the end of the day, who would you rather spend time with?

2. Getting espresso this morning, there were two couples, probably in their late-sixties, early-seventies, clearly tourists, and the women were drinking wine and the men Heineken's, at 10:00 am, and it was, well, nice. That's how you vacation, in my opinion, taking each second to celebrate the day. Not that I advocate boozing this early (not that I oppose it, really, either), but when you're living it up, when you're on borrowed time, why the hell not?

3. The Warriors got beat by the better team (with a better coach), so I can't really be upset, but their behavior last night was lame. Stephen Jackson is a helluva player, but I wouldn't bring him back next year if I were the GM. I mean, at a certain point, it's time to just shut up and play, and that scene last night, where he got a stupid flagrant-one, for no reason other than he was frustrated at missing so many shots, then kept talking and got a technical a few seconds later, was just idiotic, even if the Jazz missed all three free throws. The Warriors made bad decisions in the open court and then whined when their passes were intercepted, whereas the Jazz just dug in and turned the other cheek when the Warriors took the inevitable cheap shots at the end. It's the mark of a good team - a disciplined team - not to lose focus, even in the midst of adversity, even when things get emotional. That's why the Jazz advanced.

4. Watched Spike Lee's When the Levee Broke last night, and all I can say is, wow. I thought it would be this stereotypical, biased attack on GW, just how incompetent his whole administration is, and there are those elements mixed in, but more than that, it really was just a collection of powerful, moving stories, and it's amazing - despite watching all the footage back when it first happened - what the people of New Orleans had to endure, and yet, their spirit is what I keep coming back to, how they suffered and then how they persevered. Sure, it's easy to arm-chair quarterback everything and say, hey look, they were warned, they were told to evacuate and didn't, but it's more complex than that - I mean some people don't have cars or the finances to just pack everything and leave, especially if they've reacted to other alarms previously, ones that turned out false.

Regardless of one's feelings, to see elderly grandmothers in wheelchairs just decaying on bridges or at the SuperDome, without water, without medical attention, without oxygen masks, just breaks your heart. One guy lost his own mother, had to leave her along the side of the road, in 100 degree heat, to rot, and when he tried to return a few days later, our own National Guard pulled their guns and ordered him to get on the bus. I couldn't even imagine what this guy had to deal with, and as he was recounting his tale, I got choked up.

Spike Lee often lets his own biases get the better of him, and what ends up happening is, he creates a really interesting premise and then turns it into a didactic, heavy-handed political exercise that dilutes the narrative (well, except for Do the Right Thing and Malcolm X). Even Clockers was a pretty solid movie, except that Spike got on his soapbox about half-way through and started preaching about the effects of rap music and video games, and it was a turn-off, to happen in the middle of a compelling drama, even if fundamentally his opinions have some merit.

And yet, this documentary was a powerful film, an authentic historical document, and I have a lot more respect for him after having seen it. (As a side note I went to Border's last week and saw Spike for a few moments signing autographs. I wanted to yell out "Mooooooookie" but didn't have the balls, especially in front of such a large crowd.)

5. Today I worked on an invitation for our Terry O'Neill show (check out that shot of Terence Stamp and Jean Shrimpton!). All I can say is, this guy took some brilliant photographs, and it was quite hard to choose which images to use, so I ended up making a mock-up with all of them assembled in this tight grid, a very precise collage, and stayed until 7:30 pm because I was so stoked on the project.

Man, how lucky am I to actually enjoy the stuff I'm doing. It's not always this cool, but still, I get paid to create, and I really have no room to complain. I know some people who have been doing the same monotonous job for decades.

Not me. Once things get stale, it's time to move on.

6. This guy was on my high-school basketball team.

Late Night

This is where my mind has been today/tonight (once I got back from Oakland, anyway), studying the beautiful work on these sites:

wash-design.co.uk
photo-genics.com
untitled2.com
The Small Stakes

Also, watched The Limey ( starring the always cool Terrance Stamp, Luis Guzman, and Peter Fonda, among others) twice this weekend, including late last night. It's an awesome film. Trust me on this.

Cheers.

Hello, Dimitri?

1. This afternoon in Walgreen's, two heavy-set women were standing in front of me looking at Mother's Day Cards, and as I tried to squeeze in to browse the selection, these two became increasingly protective of their space. Clearly they were friends, probably worked in the same office together (they had the prerequisite long skirts with the lunch-time tennies), and it was like they had dedicated a whole block of time to crack each other up with silly Hallmark's Cards, and I was the one raining on their parade. Elbows raised, territory expanded, bellies jiggling, these women were frightening. I say this because I didn't have time nor the patience to battle these behemoths, and as a consequence, the card I selected for my mom couldn't have been the best choice. It was Mother's Day themed, though. This I know.

To make the experience complete, the checker sneezed on my change as he was returning it to me. I literally felt moisture on a few of the one-dollar bills, and no matter how hard I washed, no matter how much soap I used, no matter how many Airbournes I popped in the ensuing 6 hours, I swear if this fucker gets me sick, he's in for a world of hurt.

2. The great thing about living on the border of Chinatown is all the cultural experiences at my disposal. There's a little Chinese girl who lives four houses down, and every time she sees me she sneaks behind me, taps me on the back, and runs away giggling. I'm at a point where I just pretend I don't know who did it, which really seems to amuse her, especially when she runs back over and accepts the blame, which is so cute. Sometimes when her friends see me at the bus stop, they say, "Lilly, here comes your boyfriend" and she runs away, embarrassed.

Her brother is cool too. At first he didn't like me because I ran the table at their pingpong tournament, the one at the Rec center around the corner, which pissed off the five 7th graders that challenged me. I came back a week later with pizza and a 2-liter of soda, and now we're all cool, which strategically makes a lot of sense, considering these kids will one day run the streets of Chinatown, and they probably all have older brothers or uncles connected in some way.

The problem, however, with living here is sometimes you get exposed to some nasty shit, and you can't help but groan in disgust. I'm not sure what it is, but older Chinese men feel perfectly compelled to launch a snot rocket at a second's notice, no matter how many people are in their vicinity. They do this with no shame.

I'm sorry, I'm a tolerant person, but as soon as I'm hit with one of those launches, things are going to change.

The other thing is, tonight, as I was walking down Stockton Street, the smell of fish, particularly after several hot days, was just wrong, I mean really wrong, and no matter how extensive their sidewalk washing is at the end of the day, you can't hide that smell. I guess after a while you just get used to it, but for now, it makes me sick.

3. If the Warriors end up losing to the Jazz, I'll still be ecstatic at their run, and the excitement they've brought to these parts. The daily recap with one of my bosses, as well as the chef at Sam's Pizza, and countless other sports fans throughout the Bay, has been infectious, and last night's game was the perfect example of how fun this team is. Even though they lost, even though they blew it with all their missed free throws, I wasn't disgusted. I witnessed a great game, and a touching moment with Derek Fischer - a class act if there ever was one - and we're guaranteed two more, at the very least, and for a basketball fiend like me, that's just beautiful.

4. I just bought Dr. Strangelove at Safeway for nine bucks! Tell me what other city offers Stanley Kubrick masterpieces at the supermarket, for cheaper than a used copy at Amoeba? While I've been typing this, the DVD menu has been looping the audio from the scene where the President calls a drunken Soviet Premier to warn him of the ensuing attack, and for thirty minutes all I've heard is "Uhhhhh, hello, Dimitri?" followed by Russian laughter, over and over, which, come to think of it, would make a great song by Jandek.

Project 155

One script. Five directors. Five short films. From the Buenos Aires Independent Film Festival.

New Image Galleries

Experimenting with a new look for the photography section:
San Francisco 2007
Brandy Lee

Speechless

The Warriors had it. 9-point lead, 3 minutes to go. Then they start trying to milk the clock, and stop running their offense, which meant holding the ball at the top of the key the whole possession and then going one-on-one with 6 seconds left on the shot clock. Of course with Dallas digging in and the fans going nuts, all they could muster were two fall-away, contested jumpers - both misses - and a Barnes drive that got batted against the glass. Two Nowitzki 3-pointers later doubt had crept in, and the rest was predictable, like watching the Kings a few years back, or being a Red Sox fan all those years before 2004.

Nonetheless, what a fun, neurotic game. Can't wait till Thursday night.

Heat Dies Down

A few key things from the concert the other night:

1. The Walkmen only played for thirty minutes. This was a letdown. It was a cool set - they sounded great - but they didn't play many of my favorite songs - except for "The Rat" - which wasn't their fault, obviously, but it was still kind of a bummer, especially since I saw them last year on my birthday, and they played close to two hours.

2. My editor, Michelle, asked me prior to the show whether I would be bringing copies of Things Kept Burning to the band, since I quoted a passage from one of their songs inside the book. I have to say that the idea crossed my mind for a second, weeks ago, but I'm always uncomfortable being a fan, and didn't want to be one of those guys who shows up at a concert with a special gift for the band, looking like a cunt. I also didn't think I wold ever have a chance to. (Forgetting my uncanny luck to get backstage, as evidenced by the BJM and Stones tours last fall.) The irony, of course, is, right after they finished, I stepped outside to get some air, then decided to walk around the block - debating whether I should stick around for The Kaiser Chiefs - and boom, as soon as I turned the corner, all five members of The Walkmen were sitting there, on the sidewalk, having a smoke and watching their equipment, without a fan or a manager in sight. It was if they were just some local band trying to catch a break, instead of the cool indie band that they are. Then the lead singer took off to go move their van, a blue Tommy Bradford special, and for about two minutes, I was literally walking five feet behind him, and it was just the two of us on that specific block. Of course I was too self-conscious to ever introduce myself and come across like a groupie, so I just let it be and walked silently. But it felt like one of those lost opportunities, nonetheless, one that I could have done something about, if I were so inclined.

Let me also add that 6th and Market is a shady area, and as we turned the corner, we both were bombarded by unsavory characters, a few literally reaching out to grab my arm, where everything under the sun was offered (and subsequently declined, I'm proud to say). Then Hamilton got in his van and took off, and I looped back around to the front.

3. To my surprise, the Kaiser Chiefs stole the show. They seem like a cross between The Ramones and The Smiths, with a little Bloc Party mixed in, and not only did they sound awesome, but the lead singer possessed an energy and a charisma that made them a real spectacle to behold, especially when he would stand on one of the floor speakers at the front of the stage and lean over the pit defiantly, like a martyr ready for his punishment. The audience was obviously more hip to them than I was, for they knew every word to every song, and people were dancing in the aisles and having a great time, and I can't tell you how much fun it all was, to be turned on to something new, to have my night transformed from disappointment to debauchery, and to be a part of something that felt real, if only for a few hours.

Needless to say I went out the next morning and bought their new CD, which I've been listening to non-stop since. (Well, that and Blonde Redhead's new album, which is gorgeously packaged with a red bow across an aqua blue front, with a multi-legged woman - a brunette no less - playing tennis.)