Foreign Affairs

I really want to vote for Obama. I just wish he would be a little more specific about how he's going to bring about all this change. I mean, it'd be nice to have a president who was actually inspirational (even Caroline Kennedy compared him to her dad recently), but I'd also like to think he actually had plans for the future. Maybe he's just being vague so his opponents -- now and after the primaries -- can't call him on them. And all this "reach across the aisle" crap better just be schtick to win a general election. I'm okay having a Democratic president who reaches across, as long as he does it with a steel-toed boot. Some of these right wing nutcases got to learn there's a new sheriff in town. Listen, we saw what they did to old Bill Clinton. These people will take your outreached hand and twist it up your rectum.

Over across the pond, French President Nicolas Sarkozy has started a brouhaha over … well, what exactly? Apparently, he dumped his wife for Carla Bruni, a former model and rumored "pal" of Mick Jagger, Eric Clapton, and, um, Donald Trump. Hello, she's a hot, she's Italian, she can sing the feathers off a myna bird, and she likes to read books on the floor without any underwear on -- why is this a scandal?


It seems people are shocked at how open he's been about his paramour, rather than keeping her on the, how you say, down low. Jeez, I'd much rather see her prancing around in a bathing suit than Laura Bush. (This is the same country going nuts for this nude pic of Simone Beauvoir, taken in Chicago in 1950. Note that she's wearing her high heels, even when naked in the bathroom. That's class.)

Speaking of class -- bad transition, I know -- Tracie hooked me up with some CD-swapping people. Each coupled months they pick a theme and make a disc to trade. Next month's theme is Sad Songs. Got any thoughts? I'm trying to pick 15 of the most miserable, loneliest, sad-bastardy tunes of all time.

Movie Madness

Have you been to the new Kabuki Theater yet? You know, the one that Robert Redford and Sundance bought up and made into a high-end cinema experience? I kid you not, there are now catalogs for wrought-iron windchimes on every table. And you have to pay $1-3 extra (depending on the time of your showing) per ticket for "an amenity fee." I asked the sullen ticket clerk -- thank god some things never change -- what it was for, and he said, "blatant robbery. No, ha ha, just kidding. It goes to keeping the theater green, which is really expensive." Huh.

Apparently, the carpet is made of recycled materials. The carpet that they put in, after tearing up the old one. Okay. And they use potato utensils, which is good, especially if you bring your own Bunsen burner and can melt them down (because there's no compost bins for them that I could see). Can you get $2 off if you bring your own coffee mug or fork? Um, no. Well, it says on the web site that one of the upsides of the experience is that there are no commercials, just previews. My god, do we have to actually pay more for something we don't want to have in the first place? (I guess, sadly, we do.) And also it's all reserve seating, which I'm supposed to like why? I guess it makes it easier to walk into another film and watch it, since no one is there to take your ticket at the doorway. (But doesn't that save them money on staffing?) And you can get your tickets online ahead of time and make sure all your friends get to sit near each other. Unless someone shows up that you didn't expect and doesn't have a ticket and therefore has to get one way across the theater from you. And who knows exactly where they want to sit before seeing the theater, anyway? And what if a big tall lady with a giant floppy hat sits in front of you? You're screwed.

Then there's the balcony bar. I'm all for being able to drink at the movies -- the Parkway rules! -- but the Kabuki's bar only looks out over one of its many theaters. So if you want to watch something else you're going to have to chug a $9 glass of wine at the bar beforehand or go as sober as George Bush at a prayer meeting.

All this doesn't mean I won't go there. Just that it puts more pressure on the film to be good. Sort of like when a baseball player making $10 million a year hits a bad streak -- you feel more pissed at him than usual.

I've got one suggestion, but I'm sure it'll never happen. Better previews, ie shorter previews. Like the movie I saw, The Savages. It was pretty much ruined by the preview. Almost every single surprise had been sucked out of the film, which was kind of slight to begin with (which is odd considering it's about death and family reconciliation). I think it would've been endearingly sad rather than nice but forgettable if I hadn't heard all the best lines.

For a nice rebuttal to all this carping, check out this Kabuki employee's post.


Oh yeah, and I'm really bummed I missed out on the No Pants 2k8 BART ride recently. Looks like a lot of fun.

Messing around

Random thoughts from my holiday trip back east:

My mother and her wife drink a lot of milk. For some reason, this seems odd to me. Not that my mom has a wife, but that they drink a lot of milk. No one else I know does.

I had only one bad moment with my mom. I made the mistake of telling her about my new zen approach to dealing with my parents (no, I didn't phrase it like that). It's this easy: I don't let the little things bother me. That would've been okay to say, but then I gave an example of when we were in New Haven this summer, and Denise was trying to parallel park and my mother had her redo it six times, even though three out of the first five were fine, and I just looked out the window and tried not to get angry because it didn't matter. It was their dynamic, and if Denise wanted to be bullied, that was fine. Well, my mom stormed out the room, saying we were picking on her. She sure is sensitive, that one.

You know what should be outlawed? That thing where you have to hold hands at dinner and say something you're thankful for. Especially when your step-mother's nice-if-mildly-homophobic brother is over, and you just know he's going to make bad jokes about having to hold your hand.


My 20-year-old brother Gabe was home for the holidays. He had been out in LA until his program ran out of money. Apparently, girls were flying all the way across the country to sleep with him. Which isn't much of a surprise. When he came to visit at 15, he was already 6'3" with a big white-boy afro and clothes all of orange, and he was stopping cars dead on Market Street. While we were waiting for a bus, this beautiful Brazilian woman screeched to a halt and invited Gabe to compete in a teen modeling contest with a $250,000 grand prize. "You're exactly what we're looking for," she said. He didn't go, because he's a small town boy and it seemed weird to him. Yes, a quarter of a million dollars is weird. No, hot Brazilian women aren't. (Just ask 25-year-old brother Joel, who married one last year.) Oh yeah, and Kristina and Kathleen still talk about him in a tone that is a little frightening.

Anyway, upon my return east, I discovered that Gabe had changed. For one thing, his "death stare" had blossomed.


The death stare is one of the many fine features our father passed down to us. It is an intense, unwavering, slightly unnerving eye-lock that bores down upon its recipients. It is not malicious in intent; in fact, the user is usually just paying close attention to what the speaker is saying. But something about that gaze is a bit too much for some folks. Hell, even I find my dad's stare disconcerting at times.


I used to have the stare. Back in the mid-90s I remember a few girls telling me that I made them all squirrelly with my intent gaze. (Secretly, however, they seemed to like it.) But then I must've stopped or maybe the girls got hardier, because no one mentioned for years. Only recently did a friend bring it up. Maybe the death stare has returned?

Well, I relayed this information to the whole family, and everyone got excited about trying on their death stares. This is what entertainment amounts to in snowy Western Mass. (Secretly, I like it.)


Some Strachotas haven't quite got the stare down yet.


My dad told me two stories about him and my step-mom, Ellen. At a Christmas many years ago, when they were first seeing each other, my dad opened a present he didn't like or he owned already. And he said exactly that, which led her to think, "What the hell am I doing here? Who are these horrible people who tell the truth about their Christmas presents?"

I also asked him about how exactly he'd approached Ellen. Because at the time they first started seeing each other, they were both married (him not to my mom, but to wife number two, Gabe & Joel's mother). I wanted to know how he'd taken that leap of faith, considering that she also worked with him at the same school. It could've been a real disaster. But he explained that he always liked to jump into things -- whether it be relationships or work or piles of leaves -- because even if it turned into a mess, it would be an interesting mess.

So, I decided to take that as my mantra for the new year, and maybe you should to. I here proclaim 2008 the year of the interesting mess.

A little less conversation

It's the new year, when a boy's mind turns to … top 10 lists. Well, I'll get to that, if I must, but first I'm going to give you some liner notes. Because, well, I made a year-end mix, and Karen asked what was the deal with that Elvis song, and I realized that many of them had stories behind them. These weren't necessarily the best songs of the year or the songs from my favorite albums; instead, they were just songs that meant something special. So here you go: If you've got a copy, you'll now understand them better; if you don't -- and you want one -- let me know.


A Little Less Conversation - Dan's End of 2007 Mix

1. Bob Andy - "Games People Play" - This can be found on a 3-CD box set of reggae covers of country songs by Trojan Records artists. What sounds like a horrible idea proves genius, as ska and rock steady artists make even the lamest of 70s soft-rock sound awesome.

2. Rilo Kiley - "Breakin' Up" - What could be worse than being in a band with your ex? Having her write a song in which she sings "Ooh, it feels good to be free" over and over. Chris says this album is a horrible major label sell-out, but I think it's half a genius major label sell-out (and half dullsville). This song out-discos Feist by a mile and should be required playing for anyone escaping a relationship.

3. MC Chris - "I Want Candy" - I have a large space in my heart for novelty rap, a category that houses this track from the Aqua Teen Hunger Force soundtrack. The guy played Rickshaw last year, and even though he's 5' 2" with a squeaky voice and a Boston accent, he had complete control of his rabid, stoned teenage audience.

4. The Honey Cone - "Want Ads" - At some point I downloaded the entire 10-cd Have a Nice Decade box set just so I could get this song.

5. The Mixers - "Love Hurts" - At another point I decided that I was going to quit KALX when I turned 40, so I should go thru all of my CDs and pull out the best songs to play before I left. That's how I discovered this '80s gem from the TV Personalities-sponsored UK comp, Waam Bam Thank You Dan.

6. The Morning Benders - "Damnit Anna" - Local boys, including Matt's cousin. It'd be a shame if they didn't get as big as the Kinks, or at least the Strokes.

7. MVP - "Stockholm Doesn't Belong to Me" - No story, just a great Swedish pop tune. Why do they do childlike melancholy so well? Must be all that sun.

8. Vetty - "Nicolas" - A crazy kid-pop French tune from the third Pop a Paris compilation. Someone needs to collect all these.

9. Eleni Mandell - "Make-Out King" From Miracle of Five, this Angelino's latest. Apparently she went to grammar school with Michele, and Tom Waits loves her. If she lived up here, I'd have a big honking crush on her.

10. Wire - "Mannequin" From UK punk band's first disc, Pink Flag, which I bought ages ago and didn't listen to much, until Matt's bachelor party, at which Eric -- and all of Continental -- went on and on about their greatness. Turns out they were right.

11. Ingrid Lucia & the Flying Nutrinos - "Love Is Coming Back" - This was one of the requested songs at a wedding Brent and I DJed at. I meant to play it as the bride and groom came down the stairs, but I played "Somebody's Baby" instead. Oops. Got a laugh, though.

12. Shout Out Louds - "Tonight I Have to Leave It (Russian Futurists remix)" - Remember when we didn't have the internet and we couldn't find remixes that make awesome songs more awesome? Remember when we didn't say "awesome" so much?

13. Laura Veirs - "Saltbreakers" - Waldo put this on an ipod mix at work, and I thought it sounded like a Breeders b-side. Instead, it's by a slip of a hippie girl from Seattle, who really couldn't be further from Kim Deal.

14. Flight of the Conchords - "Business Time" - Greatest musical spoof TV show starring a pair of New Zealanders ever!

15. Los Campesinos! - "C Is the Heavenly Option" - Another example that the '90s indie-rock scene is coming back into vogue, as it's a cover of Heavenly.

16. Magic Carpet - "Black Cat" - Sometimes you walk into Aquarius Music and find gold, like this '60s UK sitar-psych band's one album.

17. Elvis Presley - "A Little Less Conversation" - Okay, Alan played the remix of this at a Tease-o-Rama party, along with "Mambo No. 5," and I'd never heard either. So I went back and found the original, which has great lyrics and comes from a hilarious scene in which the King tries to put a fur coat on Ann Margaret at a pool party. Who thought this shit up?

18. Or, The Whale - "Call and Response" - The older I get, the more country I like. Especially if it comes with two cute girl singers and some serious tambourine work.

19. Emily Jane White - "Time on Your Side" - Stop asking, "Is it Cat Power?" She's local, she's a pal of Yuri's, add her to the list of artists who ended up in Rolling Stone after asking Russ to drum for them.

20. Stone - "Le Jouer La Nuit" - More French pop, here a Beatles cover.

21. Speck Mountain - "Hey Moon" People really like that Bat For Lashes woman, but I think these two girls sing better and make more arresting music. But I also thought that Low made some of the best sex music ever.


Alright, now here's my favorite albums of the year:

Peter, Bjorn, & John - Writer's Block
Jens Lekman - Night Falls on Kortedala
Vampire Weekend - Demo
The Lodger - Grown-Ups
Eleni Mandell - Miracle of Five
Parson Red Heads - King Giraffe
Eilen Jewell - Letters from Sinners & Strangers
The Black Lips - Good Bad Not Evil
Taken By Trees - Open Field
Amy Winehouse - Back to Black
Rilo Kiley - Under the Blacklight
Various Artists - CD86: 48 TRACKS FROM THE BIRTH OF INDIE POP
Various Artists - TROJAN COUNTRY REGGAE BOX
Various Artists - THE GREAT NEW YORK SINGLES
Various Artists - THE DARJEELING LIMITED Soundtrack

Deck the balls

It's over! Finally! The holiday party season is kaput. I didn't think I'd make it all the way, but I did. Last night was the last one: The Tricycle Records Holiday Bash at the Rickshaw. About 99 percent of the attendees wore all black. Plus they all had black hair and drank black beer (Guinness), and the name of one of the bands was even The Blacks! Crazy.

But not as crazy as the Odopod Holiday Party. We're talking Stallion Massage Zone crazy! Here's a pic of me (Santa) and Stallion righter after we discussed Swedish vs. Shiatsu. Can't remember which won out.


The whole idea was that Stallion's Massage Zone would be so terrifying (you had to take off ALL your clothes for him to perform his "magic") that no one would dare take part. Even with the striking leather vest and the new age background music, some people still were brave -- or drunk -- enough to give it a try. Here's Yuri, who I believe was more drunk than brave.


Go back a couple more days and you've got the Hut Holiday party, which featured a serious heavy metal cover band playing. How serious? They kept yelling, "If the management will let us play more, we will!" The management, naturally, ran and hid, so they couldn't be asked if it was okay. I tried to get into the spirit of the night, right down to the old-school Pats hat Tim gave me.


And then there was the Rickshaw's official holiday dance party w/ me and Alan DJing the French pop (well, Alan DJed a lot of things, only some of which were French pop) and the Devil-ettes dancing around. I don't have any photos because I was, um, busy. You know, working and stuff. And then at the end of the night I got that crazy propostion. Crazy! As soon as I heard it, I thought, "I love this town!"

Here's a holiday Grumpy Guy for you. See you in the new year.

Happy Hollandaise

So we had our Rickshaw Holiday party last week. It was your typical office party. We all stood around the water cooler, which had been dosed with acid, hoping that our regional manager would take a few sips, while the lousy portable CD player spat out "Do They Know It's Christmas" over and over. Eventually, Hugo threw up in the trash can, and Sally went home with the date rapist from accounting.

No, wait, that must've been a bad dream. We actually all got driven around town in Rickshaw pedi-cabs!


You can't see it, but we're tossing donuts while cruising Market Street here.


And then we went sailing under the Golden Gate Bridge. Magnolia tried to kill a seal with a whiskey bottle top, but luckily he outsmarted her.






Because no Rickshaw holiday party is complete without a few bruises, we headed off to Golden Gate Park for some archery. Now, you may be thinking, "How can you get bruises from shooting an arrow at a target?" Well, let's just say it's possible for those amongst us who are double jointed. Or something.


And then, as the sun was going down, we landed at Tommy's Mexican Joint, or whatever it's called, for more booze and vittles. Here Brett is rocking the shocker.


I'm not exactly sure how, but we all made it home alive. Cam and I sat in his living room for an hour before I could even find my way to my car. This year's party will be hard to top, for sure. Christopher may have to hire hot air balloons next year.

This nogtini's for you

The holiday party season continues! On Wednesday night I went with Paul to the Yelp bash at Yerba Buena. Since Paul's girlfriend was performing as part of a hula hoop troupe, I was able to avoid the enormously long line by grabbing their boombox and slipping in with them. Smooth, I know. I didn't even have to wear fuzzy boots or glitter (not that there's anything wrong with those).


Those ladies sure could do some amazing things with a hula hoop. That said, the other troupe of furry booted girls with raver balls looked like a Hollywood ad rep's version of Burners.

Anyhoo, inside there was top shelf booze and little nibbles of food from cool restaurants and a hip-hop dance troupe that did a lot of grinding to songs about pussy. And, um, an exhibit that had something to do with the Dalai Lama. Ah, San Francisco, city of dichotomies.

It's funny how sometimes I just can't get into the spirit of things. The DJ was playing decent Top 40 hits, the nogtinis were burning a hole in my throat, the cupcakes were meshing well with the meatballs, but I just couldn’t get THERE. Wed 2.0 is a good thing, and it was nice to catch a little taste of that over-the-top Internet energy. But something was missing.

Then he arrived.


He must've been a VP in Sales or maybe Head of Online Gaming Opportunities (is there such a job?), but he was obviously part of the company. Otherwise, why would you kill the dance floor by letting a guy play the guitar riffs to Nirvana, Black Sabbath, and Sade tunes over a DJ's beats? Or have him sing Journey choruses without even a smidge of irony? Unless it was performance art. Whatever it was, it made the night. Pushed it over into the realm of the sublimely idiotic. Genius.

Women and children first

Back in another lifetime, on another Internet site, we used to write Weekend Roundups every Monday. In honor of those more innocent times, here's my wrap up, a bit late and extended.

Friday: Had a boring date that I was 45 minutes late to. Stupid highway traffic -- can someone please explain how traffic jams work? You're on the bridge moving 5 MPH and then for no reason you're doing 40. Someone could get a Nobel Prize for figuring this out.

The bad date wasn't the woman's fault. Well, a little bit. She asked two questions in two hours, and even then she didn't seem too interested in the answers. Maybe she was hungover from the Van Halen concert the night before.

Anyway, then I went to see Continental's last show. There was free post-wedding beer and strange projections and lots of French air-conditioning. Oh yeah, and cool instrumental rock. RIP, Continental! I will still make sweet love to you.

Next, Paul, Brent, Marlo and I checked out the big disco party at Mezzanine. It was crazy packed, with maybe 72% of the people in costume -- either silly disco outfits or authentic outfits that were kind of silly. (It was a thin line, and I don't mean the kind you need a spoon for.) Escort -- an 18-person live disco band that I saw in Brooklyn this summer and is fronted by Ryan's sisters's boyfriend, a nerdy guy named Eugene -- was pretty dang awesome, even if the sound truly sucks there. But Paul and I agreed that disco doesn't really excite us, although I make an exception for Loose Joints' "Is It All Over My Face?"

Saturday! I started it off by getting a finger in the eye, which is still red and bloody looking, while playing basketball. Then I helped Cam and Kristin move into my old place, across from Karen and Thaddeus. Elka yelled at me a little, so it was just like old times. Ha ha. Oh, and it was really nice to see Ozzie again. What a great dog she is.


After dinner with Jake and Caroline at Bombay, I went to the NaNoWriMo Thank God It's Over Party. I had a way better time than Laura, who wrote about it on her blog, which you should read. Of course, it helped that I didn't get hit on by Bill, the scary septegenarian who got his head caught in a box at the party a couple years back. And I got several compliments on my two excerpts -- one about the difference between making out at 15 and 40, and the other inspired by the true story of a guy who mugged a family but only got wine and hugs.

When that shindig had cooled down, Chris and I headed off to Casa Lohnes for game night. I wish I had pics of Pants Off Guitar Hero, but you'll just have to imagine Tim and Matt rocking out with their boxers out. We also played Thumper, which I hadn't done since college. Naturally, the game devolved into crotch thrusting and boob clutching. Hilarious!

Let's see. Sunday, I saw Lust, Caution with Laura. That movie is probably 20-30 minutes too long, but it's still way better than critics have been saying. It helps to have a super hot girl trying to seduce Tony Leung, but also there's plenty of intrigue and tragic blah blah. I mean, you thought you lost your virginity under trying circumstances. Youch.

Then, last night Cam took me up to Petaluma for a brewery party (can't say which one, due to ABC nosiness). We rode a bus with 30 very excited, very poor 25-year-olds. Free booze! Free wieners! Free cheesecake! Free beer-infused chocolate mousse! Yes, add those things all together, and you get a bleery bus ride home. Half the kids were vomitatious, one girl made the kind of overture that must be super-embarrassing today, and then there was the guy from the Zeitgeist who yelled "I hate you all! Stay away from my bar!" at the end of the trip. Mmm, beer.

Whatever it is, I'm against it

Last week, I went home for Thanksgiving for the first time in nearly 20 years. It was pretty sweet: I got to rake some leaves one day and shovel snow the next. I so love that first snow. Or the second one. Or any that happen when you're driving at night. To this day, it still reminds me of the POV of the Milennium Falcon.


For the actual T-day, I was at my dad's, where my stepmom Ellen made chicken, turkey, Cornish game hens, and lamb (although, sadly, not together, as they'd never heard of neither a Turkducken or a Turhenenamb). We worked off the meat bonanza by playing a little two-on-two basketball in the driveway, where I was vanquished for the first time by my 25-year-old brother Joel. (And he took me inside over and over. How embarrassing! I am already plotting strategy -- and getting them a new ball -- for Christmas.) Here's Joel with his wonderful Brazilian wife, Raquel (which is pronounced "Hackel" with a hard, gritty H), who showed that she could give as well as take the fouls of 13-year-old Micky.


Almost 6-year-old Yi Rong continues to be the cutest kid ever. Micky has become obsessed with quoting the Marx Brothers, and she's followed suit, saying out of the blue, "You gotta da fish?" (It's from Animal Crackers, as is today's title. See it immediately, if you haven't already.) I may have to adopt me one of these suckers myself.


One thing I noticed, once again, upon coming back was that they have way better insulation on the East Coast. This morning I laid in bed, wondering which window I'd left open, only to realize that it was just the naturally porous walls letting the cold air in. I guess I wasn't the only one that forgot about the changing weather though. Check out this sweater that Ellen left outside to dry:


I went to see Dan in Real Life while I was there. I was disappointed to find out that there was nothing in the film about my real life. No lesbian moms asking me if I'd vomited because she'd heard me "hurrying to the bathroom" one night (I'd told her about discovering the wonders of Kombucha after blowing chunks in the woods a couple years back). No friends that pour salad dressing on their already greasy pepperoni-beneath-the-cheese pizza. No sheer amazement at the fact that my mother got wireless DSL in her home. And no "No Loitering" signs in graveyards.


The only bad thing about the trip was seeing my parents get that little bit older. My mom had a hip replacement this year and she had to stop three times on the walk to downtown. And my dad, for the first time ever, is showing a desire to slow down and work less, which isn't a bad thing but it is pretty bizarre. He moves more tenderly, he forgets more (the running joke is he keeps renting movies he's already seen), and he sits on the couch a lot more. It's a slippery slope from here, but at least they're both happy now. Got to enjoy them while we can.

Or maybe it's just the air is too clean there. For the life of me, I kept forgetting tons of stuff, like what other movies beside Unbearable Lightness of Being and Blue that Juliette Binoche had been in (dad didn't recognize her), or what the name of Half Nelson was (dad likes teacher movies), or what Latin genre is the next big DJ thing (electro-cumbia, according to some). Well, at least I still have my hair.

Love, Forty

Some random thoughts:

The only thing worse than a clown with a puppet is a clown using a puppet to perform magic.

Rollerderby is really fun to watch, even if there aren't enough Mexican cowboys in the audience. (They were all going next door to see the live cumbia or something.) The program for the match I went to featured an ad for a dentist with a picture of one of the girl's disgustingly mangled teeth and gums. They aren't fooling around out there. Also not fooling around: The tiki bar we went to, where they served drinks in small, medium, and larges -- and the medium was as big as my head. San Jose is a trip, man.

Also, the only thing worse than being a regular smoker? A coal miner. I saw one of their lungs, and it was the size of a grapefruit and the color of a goth girl's leather skirt. Nasty.

If you want a sweet French farce with a funny premise -- self-absorbed guy makes a bet that he can produce one single pal -- you should rent My Best Friend. Who knew Daniel Auteil would turn into such a comedian in his later years?

And, criminy, have you seen Lars and the Real Girl yet? It's so good! I really didn't expect a film about a guy who sends away for a life-like blow-up doll to be so affecting, but it was. I want Ryan Gosling to get an Oscar, just to hear him thank his co-star. Also, has Patricia Clarkson ever been in a bad movie? Or been bad in a movie?

So, my novel this year -- year 8 out of 9, save for the New Zealand year -- is about a grumpy guy who moves back to rural Vermont after his mom dies, giving up his career as a chef to sit around and mope, occasionally giving tennis lessons and digging graves. He hasn't dated anyone in three years because he's too something (see today's comic), and then he meets two women. One is a crunchy hippie lady who just started giving Eye Gazing seminars, and the other is a stuntwoman who's visiting the town with a movie crew. Will he overcome his own issues? If so, which will he pick? And will she then pick him? Did anyone see Manny Ramirez picking his nose during the World Series?

Superhalloween

I worked at the Rickshaw for Halloween. Megan had the great idea of a unified costume front with superhero capes for all the staff, with shirts that had our abbreviated names on the front (OGM, CW2, CX, etc). I was the only one that got a shirt decal-ed, which meant that people all night were asking me who I was.

If I had tried to explain that I was Ruxx pretending to be the Great American Hero, it would've been super-confusing (ha ha). So I just said Superdan, which sounded rather lame.

Here's Magnolia as the Dancefloor Avenger.

Christopher was imitating this nutty Cadillac margarita guy from Bhangra.

Bobby was sporting mesh and Corry had, well, let's just say one girl asked if she could stare at her cleavage for a while.

Christina looks adorable in any hair color.

Waldo is either a lighthouse or a disco ball.

Here's Elijah, out in Parnassus Heights, getting his inner tiger out.

And here's the return of Grumpy Guy...

Fevered pitch

Hot damn, they did it again. The Red Sox. It was actually kind of anti-climactic, just like in 2004 when they swept the Cardinals. The American League is so much better, it seems.


It also seems that I care way too much about the Red Sox. So much that it's kind of embarrassing. Just what is it about baseball that I find so fascinating? I mean, no other sport -- no other baseball team, even -- gets me this obsessed. After they beat Cleveland, I even went back and watched Fever Pitch again, just to relive 2004. It's a pretty bad movie unless you're a Sox fan and you recognize how insane the region is about the Sox.

At one point, a character says, "They'll break your heart," and everyone nods sagely, because it used to be true. So why love something that keeps kicking you in the teeth?

I started seriously following the Sox when I was eight years old. My folks had split up, I didn't have a lot of friends my own age, and my dad was living at the commune, so I wonder if I didn't get obsessed with baseball to take my mind off everything. It was something I could count on. Or rather, something I could count on failing me, but not leaving me. They were there next game, next week, next season, even if they always broke your heart. But I wonder if that construct -- the expectation of failure, no matter how hard you want something, no matter how hard you root for something -- imprinted a certain negative view of relationships upon me.

Or it could've just been the relationships around me.

Anyway, no matter. The Sox get me all teary eyed, I swear. Watching the video of the Game 4 celebration, I got choked up hearing ancient Christian dude Mike Timlin tell other ancient Christian knuckleballer dude Tim Wakefield that he loved him. How can you not love a team with an outfielder (Manny) who once slipped into the scoreboard in the Green Monster to use the bathroom -- in the middle of an inning! Or a closer who, when the team clinches the pennant, does a bizarre Riverdance while wearing a Bud Light case box on his head. Or a bullpen that startsd a bizarre ritual that looks and sounds like a water bottle drum circle. Or has two -- two! -- cancer survivors, a Navajo descendent who can beat out a grounder to second, an outfielder named Coco Crisp, the aforementioned knuckleballer, and a general manager who once snuck out of the park wearing a gorilla suit (Wendy says he was a jerk in high school, but my softball pal Gabe says his brother was very nice).

And how can you not love a team with adorably hot reporters like Amalie Benjamin? Christ, she's got her own fanclub already.


She looks a little like Joanna, I guess. I asked my hometown friends Gene and Chris if everyone there has a crush on her (Chris used to have crushes on all the Weather Channel girls), and Gene said, "Yes, but she's made cuter because of her sports knowledge." Like a guy who can appreciate Jane Austen, I suppose. Or notices when it's time to clean the bathroom.

Anyway, now I need to find something else to occupy myself. I guess it's good NaNoWriMo starts in two days.

Preposterous Tunes

In the run up to the KALX fundrazor (yes, they spell it that way on purpose) and in celebration of the station's 45th anniversary, DJs are focusing on music from a different decade each week. Last Monday, Fresh Pink asked me to sub her show so she and the Fuzzz could get out of town, and I could get my '80s jones on. It was one of the most fun shows I'd done in ages, and I didn't even get to play half the stuff I wanted to. I guess I can play some of the rest on October 29, when Fresh and I will be doing our fundrazor show together (save your money for our show, hint hint). Oh yeah, and next Monday, October 22 from 3 to 5:30 p.m., we'll be sharing the '90s, which prolly means I'll be rocking the indie and she'll be dropping mad science on ya. For reals. Um, here's what I played on Monday (you may notice a few current things, which were supposed to take care of official station business):

My Bloody Valentine, Drive It All Over Me, Thorn
Chin Chin, Stop Your Cryin', 53rd & 3rd presents AGARR Retro
The Wake, On Our Honeymoon, Harmony
Plasticines, Zazie Fait de la Bicyclette, LP1
The Raincoats, No One's Little Girl, Moving
Manatella, Brandy, Fashionable Neighborhood
Emma Pollock, Adrenaline, Watch The Fireworks,
Throwing Muses, Green, S/T,
Three O'Clock, I Go Wild, Baroque Hoedown,
Primal Scream, Gentle Tuesday, Children of Nuggets Vol. 4,
Jesus and Mary Chain, Cut Dead, Psychocandy,
Shocking Pinks, This Aching Deal, S/T,
Doublehappys, The Others Way, Nerves,
Delta 5, Mind Your Own Business, Rough Trade: Post Punk Vol. 1,
Sexual Harassment, If I Gave You a Party, Anti-NY,
Jens Lekman, Kanske Ar Jag Kar i Dig, Night Falls Over Kortedala,
Jazz Butcher, Partytime, In Bath of Bacon,
Breathe Owl Breathe, Marshland, Climb In
Pylon, Crazy, Hits,
Young Marble Giants, Final Day, Colossal Youth & Collected Works
Rosehips, Room in Your Heart, S/T,
I, Ludicrous, Prepostrous Tales, Rough Trade Shops: Indiepop 1,
Shop Assistants, All Day Long, S/T
Les Calamites, The Kids Are All Right, S/T
The Black Lips, Veni Vidi Vici, Good Bad Not Evil
Replacements, Take Me Down to the Hospital, Hootenanny
X, True Love, More Fun in the New World
Violent Femmes, Ugly, S/T
Great Plains, Letter to a Fanzine, Naked at the Buy, Sell & Trade
Young Fresh Fellows, When the Girls Get Here, The Men Who Loved Music
The Mixers, Love Hurts, Whaam! Bam! Thank You Dan,
Primitives, Really Stupid, CD86
Fire Engines, Meat Whiplash, Hungry Beat
Embarrassment, Wellsville, Heyday 1979-83
The Chesterfields, Completely & Utterly, S/T
The Speedies, You Need Pop, Speedy Delivery
Brilliant Corners, Oh, BBC Sessions
Georgie James, Need Your Needs, Places
dBs, Black and White, Stands for Decibels,
Feelies, It's Only Life, Only Life

And yeah, that is a picture of me in 1982. Wow.

Spice wreck

Saw the Darjeeling Limited with a bunch of high college kids last night. How was it, you ask? Better than The Life Aquatic, for sure. Worse than all his other films.

It certainly started out good and quirky, and it looked frigging beautiful. India tourism council should be paying him because even the squalid tenements looked gorgeous. And the actors were all great, even if they didn't have a lot to work with. (A scene with Owen Wilson revealing his brutalized face was particularly poignant, considering his recent suicide attempt.)

But there were tons of problems. While Wes Anderson had sort of gotten over his daddy issues, his characters were still running after a missing mom figure. And, as Chris pointed out, the Wilson character was pretty similar to the one in Bottle Rocket.

But the main problem was that the characters are flat and unknowable. I didn't care about them because I didn't know them. I got that they were as damaged as the kids in the Royal Tannenbaums, but I never knew why. A flashback didn't add anything, and neither did the short prequel available for free on iTunes (although it did allow you to see Nathalie Portman naked, if bruised.) And like the Life Aquatic, Darjeeling leaked energy as much as an old balloon, dragging at the end.

It almost felt like it was made to sell a 2-DVD set full of extras that will supply the answers to the blank stares and stunted monologues.

In other words, I like his earlier films better.

king dork

Last night, I was coming home from bowling with Cameron and Kristin (Presidio Bowl has those bizarre Bud Lite bottles shaped like bowling pins), and got off BART right behind Dr. Frank. And man was he speeding along.

I knew he'd just taken part in Porchlight's Litquake show at the Du Nerd, and I've had this secret fantasy that he might help me with my YA novel if I ever finish editing it. So when we got to a light, I said, "Hey, you're Dr. Frank." It seemed better than saying, "Hey, you're Frank Portman" for some reason.

And instead of running away in fear, he said, "Why yes I am." So we talked about how his agent had talked him into writing King Dork and how he was late finishing his second book, and how he thought the Litquake crowd was tough and NPR-ish, but they laughed, even though he had never had a job before and the topic was "crap jobs." I said I knew Joe Sixpack, who I know he used to know but I have no idea if he still does. And then he turned in at his house and I continued on home, dreaming of a Dr. Frank quote on the back of my novel.


Oh yeah, this song came on the Internet jukebox at Presidio Bowl and I liked it, even though I had a sneaking feeling it was a Jack Johnson song. Sure, enough it was. Jeez, what's next, Dave Matthews? Ben Harper?

No, I swear this will never happen.