Scary post

Usually I use this blog as a means to talk about nothing. It is an object of whimsy. An avenue for nonsense. Today I am going to make a marked change speak to you about something deeply personal and deadly serious:

There may be such a thing as land-capable sharks.



This was first brought to my attention a few weeks ago through the writings of one Allie Brosh of Hyperbole and a Half. Her blog is well worth a read if you routinely find yourself wanting after you finish three-quarters of a hyperbole, or even a full one; she'll give you 50% more for the same great price. At the very least, you should go here and here and see what she has to say on this particularly subject. My own post will be merely for the purpose of elaboration on her good work, with my personal touch.

I'm not a big advocate of the punch line-type joke, but there's one in particular by a guy named Demetri Martin that I like enough to keep in my figurative pocket. It goes a little something like, "I'm afraid of sharks, but only in a water situation. If I saw a shark on the street, I'd be like 'What. F*ck you!' It's like the opposite of how I am with lions." I found it appeals to my desire for power over nature, which is not so much because I want to subject everything to human control, but rather because at some point in my life I have watched Deep Blue Sea and at least one Jaws. Sharks are f*cking scary. In the water we are utterly powerless against them. But ho! look how the tables turn once we're on land! I can call you dirty names and tell you off. Hilarious.

But now that some foolish scientists have decided to play God with nature's perfect killing machine they have brought doom upon us all. Where shark attacks were previously limited to those people silly enough to venture off splashing happily into the oceans, now they can strike anytime, anywhere. There'll be shark attacks in, like, Ohio. People'll be all, "What happened here? Was this a shark attack? But... this is Ohio. Aren't we supposed to be safe? It was probably just a wayward bear." We are never safe.

Unfortunately for us, it's not as simple as mere death incarnate in the oceans and now on land. Land-sharks are smart. Land-sharks are subversive. (Shark fact: the brain- to body-mass ratios of sharks are similar to mammals and birds; recent studies have indicated that many species possess powerful problem-solving skills, social skills and curiosity) For years, land-sharks have been working their propaganda into our popular culture in an effort to lower awareness to the threat they represent. I submit to you exhibit A: Street Sharks. Masquerading as an innocent children's cartoon, these sharks misrepresented themselves as heroes to a generation of impressionable youth. Grown to adulthood, these impressions will serve to blunt the edge of any anti-land-shark legislation and preparedness efforts, thus paving the way for an easy take over by our new shark overlords. Our prospects for survival look grim.

So by now you may be wondering "Is there any hope?" The answer is no, not really. The reason for that is in terms of apocalyptic scenarios, the Land-Capable Sharkpocalypse is by far the worst. Likely to be easiest of all to deal with would be a Zombiepocalypse, that being dependent of course on the speed and intelligence of the zeds. If television and movies have taught us anything it is that any reasonably well-stocked and well-armed individual could expect to survive and possibly even carry on a meaningful existence in the face of hordes of reanimated corpses. A Raptorpocalypse would admittedly be more frightening due to the higher level of ferociousness of dinosaurs, but I for one am fairly confident that on a good day I could out-fight and/or out-think a velociraptor. It certainly worked in Jurassic Park, and despite the inaccurate failings of the author it contained some potentially workable strategies. But when we come to sharks, we're dealing with apex predators. They are stronger, faster and smarter than us. Our best bet, and these are merely defensive measures to slow them down, are to widely disperse a large number of fishing nets, shark cages, and deep sea diving suits. That just might buy us enough time to implement our only real chance of a plan: we have to go into space.

God, I hope there aren't such things as space-capable sharks.



...Remember when I was all "this is is something deeply personal and deadly serious"? Yeah, that was a total lie. I would like to apologize to all the gullible skunks who may have fallen for such a dirty trick. I also apologize to myself for the destruction of my own credibility. What happens if I DO ever need to talk about something deeply personal and deadly serious? I've kind of dug myself into a hole here, now, haven't I?

New Music Monday: It's the real hip-hop

I've been drifting away from hip-hop of late as I've been exploring the many derivatives of rock for the last few months. There's a lot out there in the world of classic, indie and funk rock that I've yet to experience (which, honestly, is more than enough to rate a new music post in their own right, and in all fairness I should be writing first instead of posting this, and I feel bad for neglecting it now that something new and shiny's come along... I promise I'll give you some love and attention soon, rock... please don't be mad).

First up is the little track that sparked this whole thing, and fits true to life. It was as I walked through and caught the sound of this song on KDHX that made me think I ought to have a listen to what's being broadcast over the airwaves.
1982 - The Radio

Next is something you may have heard, or maybe not. Anyone with any exposure to hip-hop knows what Nas sounds like, and anyone with any exposure to anything knows who the Marleys are. But did you know Nas and Damian put out an album together? I was unaware. Hate me if you want.
Nas & Damian Marley - As We Enter

Hip-hop for Beatles fans, what what! Eleanor Rigby is my jam, lovin' that they sampled it, and the use of strings on urban songs? Fugedaboutit.
Evidence - Let the Beat Flip.

And now because we've established that dancing is awesome, a little something to get the blood flowing. B-boys and b-girls, stand up. Diggin' the strings on this as well, and the oldie soul sample is just killer.
JR & PH7 - Freedom [feat. Bambu, Rasco & Trek Life]

The subtitle of today's entry is, as many of them are, a quote from a song. This particular one is by Mobb Deep, only I didn't know that when I wrote it down cause I don't didn't listen to him. Nearly had an aneurysm trying to sort out where it came from. You guys, BLOGGING IS DANGEROUS, holy geez. Having obsessions is hard.



Dedicated with love to my B*tch of All Trades. And on our next episode: the most frightening post of all time.

One of four (thank you)

You know how when you're in a new car, and it's got that wonderful new car smell and feel? I have that feeling right now, only it's about a band. I love new band smell.

Canasta. Oh, Canasta. There was a lot to like about this show, and it all starts here. I first noticed them before the show started and before I knew who they were. There they were, sitting off to the side of the room, quietly, as if nothing at all was about to burst forth. "Hmm. Christmas sweater." is what I thought to myself. Then, slowly, there were more. "Apparently there's a theme on. I wonder why no one told me?" Not that I am particularly fond of Christmas sweaters, or even happen to own any. Heck, it's not even like I'm all that big on Christmas celebrations on the whole. But still, maybe it would have been nice to know ahead of time, Canasta. Maybe there could have been a memo. Anyway. I'll certainly give them that they had their own thing going on, and that's what being an indie band is all about: doing your own thing, independently. No matter if what you look or sound isn't mainstream. In this case, the look was ridiculous (hey Canasta, the Griswolds called, and they said quit pinching stuff from their closets) to the point that at times I was overcome. Couldn't even look at them. Just had to turn away and laugh. The sound, however, was superb. And infectious. From the start of the first song, they made the crowd come alive. And when I say "crowd" I really mean just one guy, but he danced so intensely that he made up for everyone else. I went up and danced along, couldn't leave him up there alone and unchallenged, but you knew that already. Canasta totally owns doing their own thing, with the musical prowess and the vocal chops to do whatever they want, and do it well. This included a completely rearranged rendition of a Christmas song that was so infused with their style of awesomeness that I couldn't even tell you what it was, and a wonderful cover of Elton's "Bennie and the Jets" that makes me wish I could take them home with me, or at least borrow the lead singer's voice to bring out to karaoke sometimes.

Canasta - Mexico City

Jon Hardy and the Public is everything a typical indie band is not. If The Man had a band, this is what I would imagine they'd look and sound like. Guys in ties and suit jackets + a girl in a dress. Competent guitarists + keyboardist + horn section, but lacking a vibrancy, or urgency, or energy, or soul. I mean, don't pull out a baritone sax if you don't know how to use it, kay? Go home and listen to some Tower of Power, then come back and we'll talk. The shame of it is had I not known what was to come from the next two acts and been unexpectedly blown away by Canasta, I probably would have liked them just fine. Some of their songs were in fact perfectly danceable, but if I stopped to wander away from the stage and talk to someone I didn't feel like I was missing much. I suppose I can give them one more chance to prove to me that they can rock, but they better bring it.

Elsinore was originally scheduled to be the headliner; due to an unfortunate incident involving a drunk driver after a show in Columbia that put the drummer out of commission the band had to drop out, but lead singer Ryan Groff stepped up to go solo for the remaining dates on the tour. Having seen Ryan perform with Elsinore countless times I felt I knew exactly what to expect, and it turned out I was pretty much dead on: soft spoken guitar, beautiful singing and masterful whistling. Ryan's got a pretty little voice, easily one of the best I've ever seen live, and he knows how to hypnotize a room. Without the band behind him it makes for a much mellower sound, which made quite the juxtaposition next to the other acts in the lineup. Such a change in the energy flow between bands is potentially a huge buzzkill and the kind of thing I'm rather particular about, luckily Ryan is supremely awesome. It's quite possible he's a minor deity, or more likely some sort of wizard. Despite the absence of the band, at times I could almost feel their presence and danced along to the energetic parts of songs just as if they were there. About the only thing that was surprising was his magical looping pedals, which I'm pretty sure he used to layer his whistling over itself. Magical Masterful Looping Whistling sure is a mouthful, and it's quite an earful as well.

With four bands on the bill I was quite afraid that the sets would be frustratingly short, and most importantly that I wouldn't be able to dance properly to Jumbling Towers (it's nice to jam along with songs you know). It's even fun to jam along with songs you don't know (they put out a new EP that I don't have yet), especially when the new man in the band is dancing up on stage. Now that's what I call exciting.

Bonus: After JT finished the sound guy turned on some music while the crowd made its way out and the band packed up. I thought it was likely some old classic rock band I'd not yet heard of because they started fifteen years before I was born, but it turns out they'd come through St. Louis just last week. Mental note: Mount Carmel might the best thing since Grand Funk Railroad. Further investigation required.

Try to freeze time, try to freeze time for your mind

I used to think that "time machine" was the answer to everything. Well, everything involving the question of time, at least. Things involving the question of space were another issue, for which I had another answer at the ready: "instantaneous teleportation device". As soon I managed to get those two babies up and running, whew boy, I'd be unstoppable. I would only use this technology for the purpose of good... er... good for me. But then, one simply drawn yet confusing web comic later, my world came crashing down.



That's the bad news. The good news is, a webcomic for cynics! I am in heaven.



Update: The morning after I wrote this, I walked into work to find someone's new book for a little light reading was The Time Machine by H. G. Wells. I nearly flipped my grits when I saw it, innocuously sitting on the desk like it wasn't up to something, when I know darn well the universe is having fun with me.

Also, after further reflection on this comic, I realized that not only has the character killed himself, he's done so without causing the usual paradox because he has killed his future self. That is just messed up (yet also genius!) in a way I don't want to wrap my brain around.

Get up and dance to the music

You should all be aware of the fact that I like dancing. Seriously, you should. If this is a surprise to you, there is a distinct possibility that you may be dead. You'll probably want to check with someone to make sure. Here, I've compiled a few simple questions to help get you started:



Alright, now that we've got the issue of being dead / alive settled it's back to the topic at hand. Throughout my life I have had a few formative experiences that have shaped my views on the subject of dance, whether that be as a participant or a spectator. These experiences have all been in the area of music, or in many cases specifically music videos.

Late 80's, artist and song unknown - I have vividly vague memories from when I was maybe four years old of watching a concert performance of some kind on television. Vivid, because I clearly recall the astounding effect that was imparted upon me. I danced along like a wild child with that man who was onstage, and I knew I was good. Nothing could stop me in my uninhibited youth. Sadly, this time was all too short as I would soon enter the Period of the Great Shyness and wouldn't dance freely for another ten plus years.

Circa 1998, Michael Jackson's Dangerous album - Growing up as a boy I didn't exactly have a lot of choice in my musical leanings. In the house or the car I simply listened to whatever was on, and that's all there was to it. In my own room I had a little more freedom, though there were still many things which were off limits. One album I did acquire that did seem to be acceptable was Dangerous, on cassette. I wasn't moved to the point of doing any actual dancing, cause gosh was I shy. But somewhere, deep down, the seed had been planted...

October 29, 2003, Core Project - Some life events leading up to this date resulted in the decline of the Period of the Great Shyness. Though it was to be followed with the Period of the Lesser Shyness, nonetheless this was an important change as I was no longer deathly terrified of all strangers. Now my fear can be managed to a reasonable level and is no longer life-threatening. Coupled with this in that same preceding time frame was an equally important Magical Musical Awakening. For the first time in my life I began to make my own, good choices about what things I would listen to. Some of my notable discovers that still have ramifications to this day were jazz, rock and hip-hop. The days of angst-fueled listening to rap and nu-metal would draw to a close, to be replaced with the smooth sounds of Tribe, the Roots and RHCP. Together, these two things created a perfect storm, and the time was ripe for something new. When I happened across the jazz/hip-hop fusion of Core Project, it was on. I can't say with certainty that this was my first concert, but it was the first time in I began to frequent shows, explore the live music scene, and borrow and incorporate the dance moves I saw. Something beautiful began to grow...

Feelin' nostalgic... Core Project - The Verbal Assault

June 3, 2007, Berlin Whale, The Bureau, So Many Dynamos, Jumbling Towers, and Say Panther - It's one thing to dance like no one is watching. It's something I've taken to heart and made my own, with great success. The thing that I find equally amusing and hard to understand is that people seem to think I look good while doing it, cause I have no clue what I'm doing. When I say "like no one is watching" I include myself in that as well. The simple trick is to flail around in a dance-related fashion, in time with the music. But, that's not what this day wass about. One this day (and it was a glorious day) I first began to grasp the the wondrous concept of dancing badly, in public, on purpose. Now you can't do this to just anything, mind you. It works best when listening to highly infectious and energetic indie rock dance party songs. All the better if you are surrounded by a crowd of excited indie rock fans who like to have fun with themselves. Even more so if it's a song with lots of weird time changes.

Berlin Whale - Igloos

2009, The Marx Brothers - After a couple friends turned me onto the old timey humor of the Marx Brothers, life became much, much funnier. Little did I know that the boys knew about more than just the standard vaudeville shenaningans. Watching A Day at the Races changed the name of the game. Vivien Fay kills it. It's the spinning she does that sets it off. Unfortunately there's almost no info out there about her, but the point has been made: ballet rocks.



2009 - I don't know for a fact that it was this video that inspired me to get off my duff and have a go at swing dancing, but let's just go ahead and say that it was. I want those moves! And I want that outfit. Maybe after I go study for ten years I'll have the skills to pull it off and challenge the master.



And I think that pretty well takes us up to today. Well, other than the latest thing which is to go to the club and start dance fights, but that's a story for another day.

Everything's comin' up Cooley

Once upon a time I was spoiled in having a guaranteed good show every week. Mondays were for Madahoochi. Times were good, and music was plentiful. But then, tragedy strikes! Two members of the band packed up and moved to Florida, and life became cold and dark. Where ever would I go to get my jam on? There was no one able to fill the void that Madahoochi has left in my soul. Luckily it turned out all was not lost, as the band still gets back together to rock the house every few months. It's not quite the same as those good ol' days at what became my regular bar among the regular fans, but it is enough to get me by while I search for a replacement scene. Last night it was time for Cooley & Company at the Bottleworks. I have to admit that I went in with low expectations; not because of any failings of the band, but rather the limitations of the space. I feel that it is really not well set up in a way that is conducive to large crowds of frenzied dancers as the stage / floor area is fairly small. I planned to go anyway, of course, as I have to take my Madahoochi where I can get it. I only invited a few people, as I was feeling lazy and discouraged, but somehow it turns out that things then started going my way. First nearly everyone I invited then invited people of their own in turn, and some of those people invited people, until there was a great big degrees of separation mish-mash of friends. It enabled me to be quite more of a social butterfly than I was anticipating. I also bumped into a few guys I know from other shows, so I ended up feeling pretty darn popular. Then in the midst of my fluttering about I somehow found myself with some prime dancing real estate when the Taco Guy moved out of the way to deliberately open a space for me to dance directly in front of the stage. I couldn't let the opportunity pass me by. I proceeded to do my thing, which is to dance like no one is watching, only apparently people were watching cause girls started commenting on my moves*. It didn't register until the next morning that these comments were also a type of opportunity and that maybe I could have talked to them. That would have required a situational awareness that I simply do not have. I continued on, oblivious, dancing and fluttering the night away, deftly moving along to the music and dodging the girl who little by little dropped her drink. Extra dancing on the encore song, when they killed the place with a James Brown cover. Nothing like a funky jam ftw.

*Also, I had a lady comment on my shirt. I couldn't come up with anything cool to wear, so I thought I'd just throw on a t-shirt from this band Public Property that played with Hoochi one time. Usually I am against wearing band shirts to shows, but I decided this time I didn't care, plus they're kind of related. Two or three guys there noticed and commented or nodded as well, in the realm of "hey, I know that band." And you know, talkin' about bands? That's something I can deal with. But ladies askin' me if I really am public property? Um... don't exactly know what to say to that. Gotta be careful going out wearing anything the least bit risque. Mental note: only bring out the Cuddle Slut shirt when I'm feeling extra thick-skinned and sassy.

"Cookin' with 'lectric" just doesn't have the same ring to it

I sure do miss having my good ol' gas stove sometimes - cooking on an electric burner just makes me feel silly - but that doesn't mean the end of adventures in cooking. Tonight I made up a pot of something sorta tasty and possibly worth writing down, if for no other reason then at least for posterity's sake so I can make it again in the future. Considering how little I looked at the recipe* that was my original inspiration and the almost complete lack of measuring done throughout the process, I figure it's smart to make a reference. I'm sure it could use some tweaking, but that'd be easier if I know what I'm tweaking it from. This evening's adventure is dedicated to P Smoth.

Ingredients:
~oil
~one onion, chopped
~garlic powder
~thyme
~cumin
~cajun seasoning
~cayenne pepper
~salt
~water
~one cup each of black beans & great northern beans**
~a whole bunch of red potatos, peeled and diced***
~stew-friendly vegetables, which in this case was a bag of french cut green beans discovered in the freezer
~sausage, sliced
~around a cup brown rice

Directions:
In a large pot, heat oil over medium heat. Add onion and cook until translucent (about two minutes). Add vegetables, garlic powder, thyme and cumin; cook they start to get tender (today, that meant two to three minutes after they'd thawed). Add the beans, cajun seasoning and cayenne pepper, along with enough water to cover everything; bring to a boil, then lower heat to simmer for forty minutes. (Note that if you started cooking only when you felt the pangs of hunger, you effed up.) Check back occasionally to make sure the beans are still covered. (Or forget about this entirely because you wandered off to do other things while you try to forget about the fact that you're hungry now and you don't feel like waiting for forty freakin' minutes; hope for the best upon your return to the kitchen.) Add potatoes, rice and sausage, and more water if necessary; continue to simmer for a while longer until the rice is done, at least twenty to thirty minutes. (If need be, curse your own name at the foolishness of how you failed to plan the amount of time this would take; hope that you won't wither away to nothing before your meal is done.)

*The webternets lives in my room. The cooking obviously must be done in the kitchen. For some reason picking up my laptop and carrying it into another room so I could see what I should be doing just seemed like more than I could be bothered with, as was the idea of scribbling down the recipe on a piece of paper. After walking back and forth a few times I quickly grew bored with my cross-apartment commute. I had the important details in my head by that point (that mostly being how long the beans needed to cook), but beyond that I didn't put in much effort. This would be the main reason why I didn't measure any of the seasonings I was putting in. I like to call this "cooking by the seat of my pants".

**One cup each seemed like a good idea at the time. I remember thinking "what a nice, round number!" It didn't seem like all that much when I started them soaking. Dried beans are very small and light, you see. After I drained them, though... whew, that's a lotta beans. Felt like I'd used a whole sack of 'em. I began to wonder if I'd gotten myself in over my head... I also got a song stuck in my head, thinking about sacks of beans.

***On a recent grocery trip I bought ten pounds of potatoes. Ten pounds is kind of a lot for one person to go through, but my thought was maybe I'd finally be able to cook a large enough batch of something that I'd have some leftovers after I finish dinner. For ages I'll try out some new thing, and it'll be super tasty. I'll be all, "Woah! This is good! And I made so much that I'll have some to eat tomorrow!" Then I'll proceed to demolish the entire thing. It's so good that I can't stop myself eating until it's gone. I gradually started increasing the amount of what I made. I could take a large plate and fill it to overflowing, and still I'd only taken half of it. "Surely this will be enough now!" I thought to myself. By the time I finished that plate I'd be stuffed... and yet somehow I would go back for the rest and finish it again. It was ridiculous. Buying ten pounds of potatoes is my attempt to cook such huge amounts that eating it all in one night is thoroughly impossible. I have to use a lot of them at once, otherwise they'll go bad, you dig? I think it's finally working. Anyway, that's not at all what this note was meant to be about. Because I had so many beans I felt like I had to add a lot of something else. Totally lost count of how many potatoes I put in there trying to balance things out. I'm guessing about two cups worth.

Red Hot Chili Peppers - Apache Rose Peacock