afrojet

It’s All About How You Get There

Heading out to the Sleater Kinney show last night I travelled first by bicycle over to Jodi and Heather’s house. To get there one takes the Minnehaha Creek bike trails which lately I’ve been loath to ride. I’m convinced that other people on bikes pose more of a danger than the cars in the street. The path is split down the middle with a thick blue line, two lanes you see, I travel on the right and if you are heading my way you stick to your right. If we all follow this simple rule than I won’t be forced to grab my flare gun and fire one across your bow. The most common problem seems to be lackadaisical bikers whose thoughts are a million miles away from the asphalt passing beneath their tires. Their heads swing lazily back and forth as they approach me from the opposite direction. They pay no mind as they begin to creep into my own lane. I’ve learned in my biking days that you really have to watch people’s eyes. You have to make sure that people see you! This goes for people in cars too. Many an accident has been avoided when I realized that although a drivers head is turned my way they still haven’t seen me. So to deal with these inattentive bikers I usually end up making a lot of noise. There’s much yelling and the waving of the arms. Then, slack biker’s head comes out of clouds, they realize they have wandered off, they over-correct much too fast and wobble uncontrollably for a rotation or two. It’s pretty funny and sometimes I do chuckle a bit but I would rather avoid these mishaps altogether. Let’s be careful out there.

Safely through the Minnehaha Gauntlet, I arrived at the house, met Dusty the cat for the first time and then we all took the train down to First Avenue (Dusty didn’t go, just the humans). S.K. rocked very well. The cover of Danzig‘s ‘Mother’ was unexpected but very appreciated. It’s funny, but now that First Avenue has removed most of the glass barriers from the second floor, I got to ask, why didn’t they do that like 15 years ago?

All that rocking left everyone with an insatiable hunger so we went over to the 112 Eatery. This was a great choice as they have incredible food and they serve it until one in the morning. Everyone proceeded to get carried away with the sparkling wine. Spirits were high.

Also, a great collection of Minneapolis and Saint Paul graffiti from the late 1990’s.

37 Cent Masterworks
Just got back from the post office where ten little kids danced in glee as they received their “I visited the post office today” stickers. I kinda wanted to ask for one too but chickened out. Instead I bought a cool new stamp set, the Masterworks of Modern American Architecture. The post office is ona roll these days.

Also, Pitchfork is reporting that Bob Mould has teamed up with master drummer Brendan Canty (fugazi) for upcoming tour dates. And Sleater Kinney tomorrow night with Dead Meadow!

Cool Sushi cozy from morning craft. They also offer a Hello card which sports a more whimsical afrojet like plane and trail.

Crash | Walker | Maple Seed | Malkmus

The embroidered rock pants were pulled from the closet last night in preparation for Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks freeform jazz odyssey that rocked First Avenue. Sunday night’s always a tuff night to rally for a show, especially when the show doesn’t even start till 11:45pm. You basically have to write off a large portion of your Monday morning. But I feel good this morning, here, back at the controls. Thus is the power of the Rock; it re-energizes while keeping you up way past your bed time on a school night. Sonic Gatorade.

Reflecting on the show, I had the feeling that Malkmus was holding back a bit. I felt that he really wanted to bust forth with a blazing metal-tinged 20-minute rock jam opus but something was keeping him from this destiny.

About a month ago, the giant maple tree that takes up room in the back yard bombed the neighborhood with it’s whirlybird helicopter seeds. ‘Operation Seed Drop’ was impressive enough to make Donald Rumsfeld blush. Now, after heavy rains those seeds have begun to germinate at unprecedented numbers. This weekend I was an ecological destroyer as I deforested my entire yard of hundreds of new Maple Trees. They are resilient little guys. They even took up residence in the rain gutters. In fact the gutters didn’t look so much like gutters as they did planters boxes. If I didn’t have to worry about rain not draining off the roof properly it would have been cool to just let them grow.

Saturday, the misses and I finally got over to the re-vamped Walker Art Center. I wish I could say that I was blown away but I wasn’t. I wish I could pin-point exactly what I was expecting and didn’t find in the new Walker but I can’t. It just kind of left me with an ‘ehn’ feeling. Personally, I feel the whole idea of a physical museum is almost antiquated. Even if it’s got bleeding edge architecture and ‘mutli-media’ displays it just seems old. The best part of the Walker will continue to be the performances, music, and lecture series, but the museum part of it seems like an after thought. Part of my problem is tactile. I want to touch everything! I’m like a five year old. You hang a heavy oil painting with thick globs in relief, and dammit, I don’t just want to look at it – I want to touch it. That metallic statue over there? I want to run my hands all over it! How can anyone have an opinion about a piece of art until they’ve been intimate with it? This is probably why, if given the option of going to a museum or an antique shop, I’ll choose the antique shop every time. At least at the antique shops when I pick something up alarms don’t go off and security doesn’t tackle me to the ground.

Also, I saw the movie Crash this weekend. Paul Haggis is 2-0. Great film. Don Cheadle was brilliant as always, Ludacris was hilarious. Amazing narrative. More movies like this please.

Blaavanshuk, Jylland

Strange happiness found in these delightful Scandinavian postcards that I’ve been picking up at random antique shops. I like how, in the first image, the little boy gets to wear those sharp stylish shorts on what looks to be a beautiful warm day up in the alps, and the little girl looks like she’s in a mountain of pain; no doubt due to the oppressive ensemble she’s rocking. And, ah, like what’s up with the giant green oil funnel that kids sucking on?

If somebody pressed me to develop a men’s clothing line quickly for winter ’05, I would base the entire thing on what the fellows are wearing in the bottom triptych. The rubber waiters, the wool sweaters, the ever-present smoking pipe, pure style.

Also, nice stationary being put out by Pantone.

We Came To Party
A whirlwind weekend! Team Skelton would like to extend a big thank you to everyone who came out to the big party this last Friday at Solera. We had a great time and we hope you did too. The whole evening is almost one insane blur of activity. I remember some family showing up early for some photographs and then *bang* just like that it was three in the morning. Somewhere in between, lots of people showed up and there was much fun. I know I didn’t get to eat anything the whole night except for one bit of cake that the wife ceremoniously fed to me. Luckily, kind people made sure I was always with beverage. Unfortunately, I remembered to take only a handful of pictures (see above). Team Skelton became separated early in the evening and were not able to come together again until much, much, later in the evening. Special thanks goes out to the University of Minnesota for honoring J.W. with “Dissertation of the Year”, and for flying him up from Chiapas Mexico on the date of our party.

Saturday morning, downtown, at the Marriott. I woke up surprisingly early with an insatiable hunger. Slightly dented from Friday evenings activities, I arose and went to the bathroom to fetch some water. I reached for a glass and filled it. Drained it. Then realized in horror that I had just drank my wife’s contact lenses. Gulp! I clearly forgot the late night exchange where she mentioned something about how she hadn’t brought her lens case and was placing them in a glass instead. Damn.

After only a few hours sleep I was out the hotel door and on my way back home to fetch some new lenses. But first things first. I was starving. I pulled into the wonderful mexican restaurant just near our house and ordered two orders of huevos rancheros. It began to rain hard outside. I was the only one in the restaurant. I sat there for over an hour shoveling eggs and tortillas and beans and coffee into my system.

Refueled and with fresh new contacts, we made our way over to my mother’s house for a very nice post party with all our families in attendance. Huge thanks again to everyone who helped make the Saturday affair a very memorable one. Team Skelton feels very loved. Thanks to all!!

More photos were taken by people who know what they’re doing with a camera and when I get those I’ll share them.

What A Difference A Day Makes
Oh man! How excited was I, when, sitting out on the back porch drinking my morning coffee, I look out over the yard and discover that overnight the Irises have all come to bloom. Just like that. Could there be a better way to start the day? Was it that last round of late night watering (like they need any more), or yesterday’s mid-day weeding that did it? I don’t know, but I appreciate the early morning ‘thank you’ all the same. Jesus, I think I’m getting old.

Elsewhere, Star Tribune web designer, Jaime Chismar, has started her own blog on being a novice gardener. Check out her progress at GreenGirl.

Also from the Star Tribune, Minnesota Governor hates poetry (thanks mom).

All Your Weeds Are Belong To Us,
Well wicked weekend. My ass is kicked from so much good outdoor activity. My hamstrings burn and when I close my eyes all I see is a fast, movie like montage, of the hundreds of fallen weeds that were systematically rooted out and destroyed by my novice green thumbs. Creeping Charlie: you will be my nemesis to the grave.

We got plenty ambitious this year with the garden edibles. We planted baby lettuce this year which has piqued the interest of the legions of neighborhood rabbits that frolic merrily through our fields. That beautiful, brilliant green shade that the lettuce leaves take against that chocolate brown dirt are tractor beams for the bunnies. I’ve erected small wire fences to keep our bouncing bunnies at bay but the look in their eyes lets me know that it’s going to be a long season (a turf battle), for they are a determined sort with little to distract them throughout the day from getting at our goodies.

All flowers are ready to pop and by this weekend we should be drowning in color and sent. Bring it.

Also, I’m a little unclear of the events that took place after two in the morning Sunday, but if anyone knows how a giant stuffed fish ended up in the back seat of my car, or if you are the proper owner of said fish, please let me know…

Drizzled to Death
Another impossibly dreary day in the land of 10,000 lakes. Something like 25 of the last 27 days of May have been overcast with heavy periods of rain. On the rare occasion when the sun does finally push through the clouds, it’s only long enough to mow the grass that now grows at an unprecedented rate of four inches a day. It’s an unbearable, unvarying weather pattern. Lileks puts it best today: “The jet stream, it seems, is like a big dog that circles our block in an endless loop, with Minneapolis as its favorite fire hydrant.”

It’s worse than winter in that during the month of January I expect things to be insanely cold with ample amounts of snow. My mind accepts that and I dress and prepare accordingly. But I expect more from the month of May. I expect to be able to wear shorts (a clothing item I haven’t even bothered to unpack from my summer clothes chest). I expect to be outside, to ride my bike, to do more in the garden then just weeding large beanstalks of overgrowth.

I remember a time when I used to live in Portland Oregon. There was this really long spell of overcast days. People were going a bit nutty. Private airlines began booking flights, for folks who could afford it, to take them up above the cloud line for an hour or two just so they could remember what the sun looked like. I’m desperate enough at this point that I would sign up for something like right now.

Last night while watching the Twins umpteenth extra-innings game I got suckered into watching the Minnesota boy win the National Geographic Bee. What drama! Although I was rooting for Minnesota all the way, I was bummed when that cute 11 year-old kid was knocked out. Then they mentioned that the 11 year-old kid had already taken his SAT’s and had scored a combined 1570. Then I didn’t feel so bad for him. The misses went online to see what school the Minnesota boy went to. Of course, it turns out the kid was home schooled. No surprise there. I kept thinking they were going to ask a question like: “name the US state that suffers from the absolute worse year-round weather EVUH?”. The Minnesota boy would have corner pocketed that answer easy.

Also, famed pirate, Blackbeards ship may have been found, and Vicelands Best Thrash Mascot (D.R.I. all the way baby!).

The Smell of Rock
Great. Just as I begin to write this post my nose begins to bleed. What timing! Some folks have spring allergies, I get spring bloody noses. I guess it could be worse, I could be in a meeting or something bleeding all over my notes and presentations.

Went and checked out the prowess of Discords latest rock offering – the Medications last night at The Entry. They were angular, melodic and thundering. A fine way to get over hump day. Back in olden times when smoking used to be legal in bars, every bar smelt pretty much the same, like a dirty ashtray. Now, with the old nicotine and tar smell absent from bars and clubs, you really get the full individual aroma of a place. At the 7th Street Entry your olfactory system gets hit hard with a wonderful bouquet of scented spices that is 100% dirty-socks-inside-your-gym locker circa junior high. Which on the face of it doesn’t really strike me as an improvement. But I read somewhere that our sense of smell is the number one trigger of nostalgia, so if all bars and clubs now cultivate their own special balmy incense, the public will be better for it in that they will have different scents associated to individual places, something that just wasn’t possible when every place smelt like a pack of Camel Lights. Not that the smells will be all that different mind you, human sweat and beer usually combine to give similar effects, but there will surely be some nuance, like being able to tell the difference between a Sonoma Red and a Willamette Valley Pinot. Discerning noses will have the advantage.

Is it obvious that my bloody nose has inadvertently focused the content of this post towards one particular body part?

Yes. Well I don’t want to spend this whole post writing about noses in general or my nose in particular, fascinating as they both may be. So let’s travel just a little bit up the face and branch out now in both directions and land squarely on those two little things we use for seeing. Welcome to your eyes, folks.

Still at the rock show. Set break. Relegated to the sidewalk to smoke your cigarette in the rain. Outside you really get the opportunity to see just how abominable and repellent Block E has become. It’s by far the most hideously looking building in the history of urban architecture. And yet there it sits in the middle of our great metropolis? How on earth did we let this happen?

You should take a short walk while you smoke that cigarette. Walking around the square block of Block E at night on a Wednesday could be an interesting adventure. You begin by walking North along First Avenue. First you pass the nearly empty Hard Rock Cafe and all your thoughts are drowned out by the outside PA system blaring an 80’s Aerosmith tune. You can still hear the sickie treble from Steven Tyler’s voice as you walk past the nouveau rich sliding out of their Hummers and and snaking their way up to the Le Meridian Hotel (you’ve never seen that red colored one before). A man from a low slung silver Mercedes calls you over to his car, you think ‘better not’ but you do anyway. He asks you for directions to ‘The Meridian Hotel’. You point to the big ‘Le Meridian’ sign, “you’re there buddy.”
Keep walking. Turn the corner and go East on 6th Street. Three large gentleman in expensive suits are standing outside the Fine Italian Restaurant smoking cigars. They talk basketball and pay you no attention. Now here is where it gets interesting friends. A true riches to rags story in 17 paces. About halfway down 6th Street, still within shouting distance of the three fat cats, you now come upon a wheel chair convention of three. You are flummoxed for a moment by this triad yin-yang parallelism but are taken back out of your head when one of the wheelchairs asks for a cigarette. You comply. Another asks for change. You fumble for some change as you note how poorly lit this side of Block E is. After a awhile you break from the wheelchairs and turn the corner now going South on Hennepin. Immediately, someone steps from the shadows and asks for a cigarette. You should have put yours out while you were still on 6th Street. As you gaze at the volume of people hanging out, milling about, and otherwise just waiting for a sucker like you, you contemplate what will surely be an empty box of cigarettes before you finish walking this block. The lie begins and repeats, “sorry last one”, “I’m all out of change”, “just gave away my last one”, “last one”, “I’m out”. You’ve just finished walking the ‘hand out gauntlet’ and are walking past the smoking pen (complete with bars!) outside of Gameworks when two cop cars going the wrong way up 7th Street roll up on yet another posse of three, this one of the 7XL football jersey variety. The cops move fast out of their cars and run down the three. Two more cop cars appear from out of nowhere. And that ends it. You cross 7th Street, toss your cigarette butt into a puddle and duck back inside the venue, hoping that the Rock will somehow help make sense of your brief walking tour.

Also, in other music related stuff, most of the Dischord catalog is now available through iTunes. Ian MacKaye’s latest band, The Evens are profiled on NPR. A great Flickr set of NoMeansNo from their recent Minneapolis show.

And some really kick-ass photos of menacing clouds.

Why Dex Has Me Kicking and Screaming

I’m very happily aware and fully engaged with the national do not call list but the list I’m really pining to get on is the ‘national please don’t send me any more freaking analog yellow/white pages list’. In the short time that the misses and I have lived at our present abode we have received no less than four shipments totaling at least a dozen volumes of these old model information dinosaurs. I can’t even remember the last time I had or wanted to use the Yellow Pages. Actually, come to think of it I had trouble finding a door prop for my back door Sunday, the wind kept slamming it shut. A heavy stack of Yellow Pages would have worked nicely for that. But for quick and easy access to information? Not a chance. This weekends delivery was a four volumes set. It included a Minneapolis White Pages, A Minneapolis Yellow Pages, a Twin Cities wide directory, and a local Edina compendium. Various large refrigerator magnets adorn each cover for products I would never ever want to buy; does the world really need more refrigerator magnet spam? Oh, and just for the record, we do not live in Edina! Luckily the volumes are bundled together in a sturdy plastic bag with a handle, making it easy for me to carry them from my door stoop out to the back alley for recycling. What a waste.

This weekend was busy with large life events. Saturday there was the possibility and potential for the big trifecta: a funeral, a baby shower, and a wedding – like watching a whole life time in a a brief 24 hour period. Driving up to the wedding reception, which was being held at some swank private golf club, my left front tire blew out. It didn’t go flat, it literally disintegrated and flew apart like something you’d see coming off an 18 wheeler cruising down the Interstate. Now I’m no stranger to changing a tire, but there was the added challenge of swapping tires while keeping my silk tie, shirt and suit from being sullied by dirt, oil and axle grease. I was hoping that if I pulled the change off without getting so much as a spot of dirt on me that I might catch the eye of someone high up in the ranks of the golf club and that maybe I might earn a free year membership for my display of utilitarian classiness (see: MacGyver meets James Bond).

Sunday, I had to go get two new front tires for the car. The service guy said it would take two hours. Hmmm…how can a guy kill two hours easily? Ah ha! How about that movie theater over there? I need something that starts right now and isn’t too long. Let’s see here…Star Wars? Nope, doesn’t start for half hour. Hitchhikers Guide to The Galaxy? Nope started 40 minutes ago. How about Kicking and Screaming? What, it started ten minutes ago and the previews are just ending? Sold! One please.

Movies are a funny thing. Had I actually ventured out on a Friday or Saturday night and made a date of seeing Kicking and Screaming, well then I would have been woefully disappointed. But when the price is matinee and all you ask of a movie is that it kills almost two hours before you have to go pick up your car, then Kicking and Screaming becomes quite pleasant and enjoyable. Funny even. I think I was the only one in the theater who was not a parent or a ten year old kid wearing a soccer jersey.

Also, a sweet stunt commercial, an Illustrated history of anti-tobacco campaigns, a video of John Deere Ballet and on a sad note, the voice of Tony the Tiger passes away.