there’s a part in “jacob two-two meets the hooded fang” where the intrepid shapiro is telling the warden of the children’s prison that jacob two two (age two plus two plus two years old) will be his undoing and the warden replies “jacob two two? he’s so small he can’t even slice a piece of bread by himself without it being two feet thick on one end and as thin as a piece of paper on the other!”. this is something i think about every night as i make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but as far as bread slicing goes lately, i’ve really been in the zone. jeremy would advise against eating so late, and i’ve heard of people who won’t even eat after dark but it’s like i’ve always said: what do these pedestrian rhythms have to do with me? it seems some people have problems making peanut butter and jelly but not me, i’ve got it all worked out. the main problem (around here anyway) is peanut butter in the jelly. using two knives is out of the question, so what can you do? why, jelly first, of course. wipe the knife on the clean piece of bread and move on, no fuss no muss. cool breeze has special license to spread peanut butter first because he only ever eats open-faced sandwiches if he can help it, and spreading penaut butter over jelly is a no-go. i think the only reason people get hung up on peanut butter first is that it’s the first part in the name of the sandwich. incidentally, “jelly peanut butter” is a name my aunt minoute calls me sometimes. other sandwich solutions solved: to avoid the jelly soaking through the bread while the sandwich is in storage, put peanut butter on both sides and jelly in the middle. this will, however, result in the jelly being more apt to slide around in the bag and even out of the sandwich (if held vertically), so watch out. some would say this leads right to the conclusion “you can’t win”. of course, i prefer the similar “it never ends”. oh man, have you seen those commercials for the prewrapped crustless pbj sealed pocket? gross. leonardr always used to talk about marionberry jam and i always thought he was putting me on but i recently desiced it’s a real thing. this has been peanut butter and jelly sandwich newswire.
ps- i also like to drink a cup of water before i go to bed, slightly higher than room temperature if the fates will allow.
tonight i went to see the evens (that’s ian mackaye’s practice amp band) and geoff farina (of karate) play at the wag. it was a dc-fiy benefit, and jason asked me if i wanted to set up a distro table so i did and made a fast $18. evens was good, geoff farina was predicably sleepy. guy who wanted a t-shirt, email me– the online catalog is at this point a frustrating mess and i’m working on it. tonight.
yesterday so nice windows open all day & some evening. this morning so nice a moth landed on my face accomplishing two (2) things:
creepy reminder of warm peaceful inner glow
compels one to action, or at least reflex
moths have been in my thoughts for some weeks now, ever since i made the moth - werewolf connection (both hairy, both in love with the moon and made famous by earthly confusions/distractions (lightbulbs, people), both dispelled by bluish-white pellets). for more on the subject of moths i recommend the mothra movies (besides having the best color scheme and the best song (a haunting, pleading vocal by 5″ twins) mothra was the most benevolent of the toho monsters, and the only mother (right, leonard?)), the bedhead leper/lepidoptera 10″ (a crab canon record in which the a side is about a man lying on the bed looking through a fan at a moth on the ceiling, the b side is a moth lying on the ceiling looking through a fan at a man on the bed, and each side is musically a retrograde inversion of the other), and that movie, what’s it called, the one with slugs having sex.
oh yeah, all this talk about moths and who but emily bloodmilk calls from out of the blue today to great effect! emily is scared of moths and this always confused me. maybe it’s because she herself is (as i always suspected) a comfy sweater disguised as a girl.
ian mackaye’s new band “evens” is playing at the wag this monday. i will be there operating a downhill battle table. will you be there? because you should (be (there)).
rode down to tatnuck square to make copies for an upcoming tape release, my first tape since “robot moped dehumidifier”, two houses ago! the covers look kind of crummy, due to a combination of werid free cardstock i found and the replacement at nearly every copy shop of old good copy machines with newer crummier fancier digital copiers. this isn’t a rehash of the traditional analog digital music debate (which i would characterize as a combination of nitpicking and romance (not to say these things are bad or to take sides)), this is a crummy screw-over with visible results. to make matters worse, the people who care the most about it (you know, people like us) are its most marginal users. to the majority of people who utilize self-service copiers the switch from digital to analog means nothing, or very little. i even feel like a whiny shit just bringing it up. hmmph. maybe the imperfections of the newer copiers will come to be appreciated by zine kids the same way the imperfections of the analog machines were, but i still don’t like it.
UPDATE: christopher forgues (”kites”, “low tide”, “wizard acorn”) does really nice stuff with digital copiers. he’ll erase stuff and you can see the ghosted image, draw on lined paper emphasizing the cut and paste nature of it all… what can i say, it’s nice.
hey dan wars, dad smith, and other thematic mixtape fans– how about a tape of songs with stuttering? my generation, ain’t seen nothin’ yet, la la love you, cherry bomb, mama’s boy, changes… when my ed ruscha cover project gets off the ground i can add “don’t want no accidental s-s-s-s-s-sideburns” and “we’re your p-p-p-p-p-p-p-polyester people”.
today i described myself as having “hilariously low blood pressure!”.
friday we trained in to boston to see yoni gordon play and it was pretty good. yoni is a great guy and really, a great showman. he told me he was nervous, having not done a solo show in a while, and consequently there wasn’t that great parlay-parlay that i like, but it was still good. on the way into boston i had to run to catch the train (where i met little andrew, number one, mel banana and raven-haired cara (or “caribou”)) and it was quite satisfying. it was one of those situations where i knew i woul dbe cutting it close but didn’t have a watch so really i had no idea. leah dropped me off a couple blocks form the station and i ran, then i came to my senses and walked, then i came to my senses and walked, then ran, then walked, and finally, when the train was in sight, determined that i was not going to be the guy that saw the train pull away from the platform so i ran and found myself stepping onto the train just as it started to move. having never run for anything (and not really being in posession of a solid run (though i have a half-decent scamper)) it took me a good twenty minutes to fully catch my breath. but was it ever satisfying.
saturday me and kelley and dan went to kelley square flea market and bought a bunch of candy, then put it all in a backpack and went to see the “dawn of the dead” remake. dan said that if he was thirteen this movie would be “the pinacle of [his] life” and i have to agree that it is really damn good. it’s both a good action flick and a good horror movie for horror movie nerds (tom savini in a really good bit part, plus many “legacy zombies” for which the makeup was copied from zombies of note from past dead movies). i don’t need to twist anyone’s arm here– if you’re going to see it, you’re going to see it.
that night all the candy (and all that not much else) caught up with me and even now, late sunday night, i must echo the words of the poet barney rubble who so famouly said “those yummies in my tummy aren’t so funny anymore”.
gotta get gotta get back on the horse back on the horse back on the horse that threw me / i threw / threw me / i threw / threw me / i threw / threw me / i threw.
today i ate mike & ikes and read judge dredd comic books- two things linked in my mind as luxuries that speak to our desires for terrible progress. but this was during my brief downtime only. i got lots of projects, lots and lots. i mean, i’m no susie gharamani, but i’m busy.
the show last night went really good. luke from sinaloa’s songs were nice and sweet, liza kate from richmond was strong and quiet (in addition to being an old florda roommate of dan l, kesey, mara g, and yvette), and morgan coe’s “bread and roses” ensemble was proud and true. i played ok and sang loud, though my manowar cover didn’t go over so well (despite getting consensus on it before attempting) and i canned it before the chorus. i stayed over in somerville but now i can’t get back until tomorrow. but that’s not so bad, is it?
people going to the show at harvard tonight- it’s at 21 south street cambridge. more than that i do not know, so mapquest it, even though my mom says that mapquest is always wrong somehow.
today i woke up in delight (or rather, woke up in the normal fashion and ambled down to the kitchen in the normal fashion then stood about in delight) at the realization that those parties who took it upon themselves to tap area sugar maples and make maple syrup had forgotten about it on the wood stove on that last crucial night. in other words: maple sugar candy for breakfast. today me and mike went down to provvy to pick up jenine, who will be around the town for three months or so goofin’, and has already made inroads to keeping her hands full by befriending the houstons. she gave them shiny glass trinkets and told them that someday they may break and hurt someone. NB: kids love shiny beauty and slim though everpresent danger.
freedom oriented haircut update:
rich (age 10) was bribed ten bucks by his uncle to cut the mullet and he did. it’s kind of funny, looking at him and just seeing simply a mischeivous kid, but we bonded over being in the same looking-ok feeling-weird boat (do i need to mention again the new glasses?). it’s good though, i think it makes him a little less suspicious and a little more aerodynamic, and it will really pay off once he gets into situations where he’s running from people.
tim (age twelve), has been counting the days until he turns 13, which is when his mom, hon, told him years ago that he could get a purple mohawk. too bad that in a heartless display of authority last week she pushed the mohawk age up to a minimum of 15 and added a classic mom stipulation that “he proves himself to be [something] enough” (responsible maybe?). concerned parties can talk to hon at the knitting circle or the artichoke co-op (i think she works sundays). these are our talking points: mohawk good summer hairstyle, opens the boy up to other hairstlyes (having only ever had a mullet his whole life), 13 year old mohawk may “get it out of the system”, will make him look cool (even years after it’s gone). also play up punk’s communitarian elements, inner strength, etc..
maybe only leonard richardson will know what i mean (and maybe cool breeze, and possibly timbro), but tonight the kids were watching pippi longstocking again and i went and got “the duchamp”.
