Pleased with myself

I love how getting peckish at 8:45 for a quick late night snack means baking whole grain spelt-meal buttermilk biscuits stuffed with mozzarella from scratch and whipping up a little kale with stewed tomatoes and great northern beans. I am officially a hippie. As if there was ever any doubt.

zing!

You know how sometimes you'll just be messing around on the banjo or whatever and then all of a sudden you hear something. The thing you were trying to find only not really trying, more like wanting to chance upon. And then you chance upon it! Well, I didn't actually know this phenomenon until like seven minutes ago when I was practicing for the banjo lesson tomorrow since I've been neglecting it during my cold, which I am finally recovering from.

There was this part in Fireball Mail that I'd heard my teacher do and heard people do. A bit of fanciness. Not even that fancy. Just different in a way that I like. And I could hear it in my head, but of course I have no idea what those notes are. And I couldn't remember where it would go even if I did find the notes. And Then. I am playing around and hit the wrong string by mistake and it was like a shoot of lightening that said NOW! Play it now! So I fumbled around hitting whatever string till I found something closeish to the first note and then the other notes just came straight out my my hand. Just like that. As if I wasn't even trying.

And then I smiled so big at myself in the mirror I was practicing in front of that I noticed my teeth were tinged a shade of kale-olallieberry from dinner and skipped into the bathroom for my toothbrush, hence the delay in typing up this post!

So exciting! Just as I was sulking jealously at people who seem to have a way with stringed beasts and can coax a song out just by flittering their fingers. Where I feel like I can repeat fidelously (which, I know, isn't a word, but it's the word that my brain keeps suggesting instead of the word I'm trying to think of) but I can't or i feel much more timid before the task of musical inventing.

Maybe there is hope for me yet.

Also on the topic of exciting musical news, I am headed for Seattle soon, which means another trip to the Trading Musician! This time, I am on the hunt for a glockenspiel, a glow-in-the-dark shaker skull or two, and, if the stars align, a singing saw. Although, I keep thinking about Grizzly Bear and how they said they sing all the parts of the instruments they don't have in their band, and how I like singing the saw part. Only time will tell what the future will hold!

inventory

have been v. busy lately, and haven't updated as often as i'd've liked. apparently a couple nights of not quite enough sleep catch up with you quicker when you've been working ten and twelve hour days. and when i work now, i work. my work productivity has hit that hockey stick flash point. and i'm pleased about that.

but being sick the past week and some has been a bummer. i tried practicing banjo for the first time tonight in ages. my fingers still remember the moves, but slowly like i'm moving through molasses. and i want to be able to play fanciness. and rock and roll.

things that have been on (or passed through) the mind:
- i am tired.
- what can i do about the industrial food system and the havoc it's wreaking on our health?
- where will my new desk be post-shuffle, and will it have a window?
- oh yes, i bought this cauliflower at the farmer's market, how pleasant.
- how can i turn my icelandic-european farming adventure into a specific research project?
- will work really pay my health insurance if i say i want to learn about organic farming and how realistic it is as a sustainable alternative to industrial agriculture?
- are 2/3rds of the people i see on the street really obese or overweight and is the scale at my parents' house flattering me into thinking i'm not one of them?
- where can i buy "whole grains" and is that something you can bake bread with?
- how nice it is that the alocasia plant at work put out a big new leaf just when i thought it was unhappy.
- how the tea i made today is still sitting at my desk because i forgot to drink it.
- it is a shame that bluegrass banjos are so heavy.
- i am tired.
- i should get out those icelandic tapes that came in the mail the other day.
- when is a good time to join the peace corps?
- do i really need to have my wisdom teeth out, and if so, how will i get home and feed myself afterwards?
- do you suppose there are enough eligible men in iceland that i might get on with one of them?
- maybe a swede would do well enough?
- a scot?
- a liverpuddlian?
- maybe i should buy another bar of chocolate.
- should i buy cycling shoes?
- oh good, earl scruggs isn't playing hardly strictly on friday after all.
- need to email the seattle kids to let them know i'm coming.
- need to sleeeeeeep.

Novel Advice

I am running out of books to read, especially fiction. True, I've still got five of the six volumes of the Tale of Genji ahead of me

[which, as an aside, I am super impressed with Arthur Waley's translation. This book is purported to be the first novel ever written. It was written something like a thousand years ago, and it reads as easily as a novel - albeit a somewhat dense Dickens-y novel in its infinite description of minutae - from the 1960s, when the translation was first published. Not only that, but the man has done an amazing job at the encyclopedic work of explaining the nuances of medieval Japanese culture.]

but still. After all the news about David Foster Wallace, I suppose I'll try to attack Infinite Jest once I have my way with the Tale of Genji, but I need something more travel friendly to carry around with me.

So, I put it to you - what should I be reading?

Iceland takes the silver

**Courtesy of the September edition of Dateline Iceland

Iceland claimed its second-ever silver medal, losing to France in men’s handball in the final event of the 2008 Beijing Olympics. According to Iceland Olympic Men’s handball athlete Ingimundur Ingimundarson, "Vikings are crazy. We're crazy. We believe so much in ourselves. I think that's the secret."

Back in Iceland, streets were deserted as people watched the match in their homes or in pubs and clubs. Companies allowed employees time off, while at least two cinemas screened the match for free. Players said that during the team’s semifinal appearance the country’s stock market stopped business as traders abandoned their computers to tune in.

Aside from the 1956 silver in the triple jump, Iceland has won two other bronzes, the last in 2000, and no golds. Despite the name, our country of just 300,000 people has never excelled at winter games, either. Go figure. Perhaps we’re always too busy taking in the sights.

How awesome is it that a whole country could get so excited about a couple of their guys playing handball in the Olympics. That swimming guy broke like crazy records and we got a little bit excited about it, but have you ever heard of companies letting their employees off to go support the team? Or, shutting down the stock market??

And according to Dan Steinberg of The Washington Post - It's like what Iceland handball captain Olafur Stefansson told me when I asked whether people in his country actually believe in magic elves. ‘It's not so much a matter of believing in the regular sense of the word, it's more of enjoying the possibility of it actually existing,’ he said. ‘And it doesn't matter whether somebody judges you or not for having that possibility in your mind. Because it's a funny possibility, and it enlightens your life and makes it more colorful.’

They delight in the possibility of magical elves!

Maybe this all seems so dreamy and foreign to me because I grew up in LA, but I'm all about being there for your peeps, and I love the sense of community, confidence and pride Iceland seems to have.

Soon enough, you all will be as obsessed with Iceland as I am.

Shuffle

So, there's another lil shuffle going on at work. They make jokes about how this happens all the time at the goog, but like dude.

Now, normally I'd be four square against it at least for my own sake. Since shuffle-shuffle usually means I get yanked from all my fave projects and tossed out into the abyss to fend for myself. Only, these last couple of times, esp. this time, my job is getting infinitely more awesome.

I suppose it helped going into it not really concerned one way or the other since I think I've proved myself good enough this quarter that they'd be crazy not to promote me. I've been a total rockstar, I don't even have to say so myself. I mean, it's because I'm much better at doing like organizational big picture stuff than the painful nitty gritty of "core work."

Anyway. The trick now is not to look too happy at work, I guess. Since this is totally a tough time for most peeps regardless of what this change will mean for them. It is true though what they say that we really have all been awesome lately. I am very proud of us. I know that this is something we need to do and I know it'll make things harder for some people than others - thankfully not me this time - but it'll be all for the best.

My biggest concern now is that I may actually start to enjoy my job. Fear of all fears. Other wicked thoughts entering my mind: the default visa time period for living in Europe is only three months. This also happens to be the amount of time I'm allowed to play hooky from work without having to quit. Not worrying about those kinds of decisions yet though.

Lest you, dear reader, become too afraid for my future, you should know that listening to Black Rebel Motorcycle Club on an infinite loop also makes me want desperately to become a full time musician as of like yesterday. I have even been contemplating learning to play the *gasp* guitar. The guitar. Moi. This thought even got so far as to lining up in my head the friends of mine who already have skills in this general area as well as toeing the possibility of paying Emery at the 5th String to learn me some things. And considering whether my parents might not just have a spare guitar that could move in with me.



Rock N Roll, man!!

Black Rebel Magic

Oh my god.

I just got back from the most incredible Black Rebel Motorcycle Club acoustic show at the Great American. Effing amazing. I've been to a lot of shows and it takes something to get me really worked up, but holy shit. To think I almost didn't go.

So the show starts with Bob Dylan singing Everybody Must Get Stoned and the first guy walks out smoking a cigarette, which he tosses into the waterbottle on his little prop table. He plugs in his acoustic guitar and it begins. With just the one dude out there, they have a spotlight on him, and there's something surreal about him. Maybe his greased back hair. Maybe his wrinkled black shirt. Maybe his long sideburns contrasted with the absolute lack of chest or arm hair. All of it just works. And it doesn't look like he's trying.

As he sings and wails into the harmonica he has this way of rolling his head and shoulders like water, like waves are running through him. And he shakes his head when he plays little riffs between chords so you can tell what his hands are doing just by looking at his face. It is magic. I feel like I'm at a show. As though he's a character in a play that's performing these songs. Everything is perfect. Even when strings come undone or the amps turn off, everything is slow and easy.

He trades between the most beautiful Gibson guitars. And I've never been that excited about guitars, but the way they made love to them tonight, it just made sense. The second guy who joins in to sing harmony halfway through a song, like another character joining the play, could have been kissing his guitar at one point the way his head was resting on it. And where the first guy could have been plucked out of A Streetcar Named Desire, the second one could be your classic Brit rocker. He's got the fluffy hair and draws out his vowels like a Brit when he sings even though I know they're both American.

This was the sexiest show I've been to in a long, long time. And it wasn't just that the musicians were sexy or that there was sexual tension on stage à la Blonde Redhead - the music was sexy. They didn't say much. Just nodded here and there. Smiled occasionally. They played for over two hours. And they played every song I love. Every last one of them. Almost all of Howl. They played some realllly old stuff, one new song, a handful in between. It was perfect. Perfect.

Men singing together is one of the most beautiful things. I love the deepness of it all. Like dark on dark. I secretly love to sing. (You have no idea). And as I walked home I would have given anything to sing with a nice deep voiced man.

Seeing faces

I am very nearly finished reading The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat, and towards the end of it we're getting to the idiot savants. And there are these twins who relate to each other and the world using numbers. Not only that, but they recognize numbers and properties of numbers and can see numbers.

For example - Oliver Sacks drops a box of matches, and the twins look at the mess and shout '111!' And then one of them also says '37-37-37.' So Oliver Sacks counts the matches as he picks them back up, and sure enough there are 111 of them. Why 37? There were also three 37s on the ground (37x3=111).

Later, Oliver Sacks also finds them sitting together trading numbers, and after each number they'll pause and savour it. He writes a couple down and looks them up later, and they're all prime. These 10- 11- 12- 20-digit numbers, all prime.

So how do people who can't add or even come close to understanding math just know prime numbers? Well, they say it's something like being able to recognize faces. Being able to recognize things as individual things, rather than as a sum of their parts.

I was thinking about this at my banjo lesson the other day as I asked the banjo teacher how I was supposed to know how the chord progression goes over the melody for Salt Creek other than just knowing it by the timing. And how was I supposed to know how and when to swap in the little fancy bits I have stuck in my head? What he said was essentially that music is a language and that, being new to it, I'm looking for rules and hard patterns. This is true, I am looking for rules and patterns, but what I need to do, he says, is just soak it all in. To just listen until I can hear it.

The first time I tried to play the chords over his melody, I got all tied up. I could barely even hear the melody - and I know this song. The notes just sounded like a big mess of floating individual pieces. He could tell I was struggling, so we played chords together a couple times then he let me at it again. And I wasn't even listening, but I heard it. Especially the F's. There was something warm and dark about them - even when they're played up the neck. You could just hear when they were coming. And the song sounded like a completely different song. It sounded like a quilt, like individual characters stitched together.

I've been similarly thinking about the impossibility of fretboards. How are you ever supposed to use that whole thing? There are so many frets on a banjo. How could they possibly all mean something to you? But I can feel that they're slowly starting to take on character. And that it's easier and easier to find them.

Crazily, I don't usually have to watch my left hand to tell it what to do. I always watch my right hand. I don't always get the notes right, but I'm suprised at how close I get. And how I can sometimes play stuff with my eyes closed. It's like those Mongolian girls playing all up and down those giant lap harp things, knowing how to make them sing just so.

Folk, part 2

Decatur Island, Washington


So I was flipping through my September Sunset magazine and found this article about Decatur Island. It turns out the article is only in the print edition (hence not linking to the article on their website), but, in any case, the article is about this island where they have no tourist anything, where you build your own house, grow your own food and recycle and reuse your own refuse.

And at first I thought that would be impossible - the whole no garbage service thing - but then if you're growing your own food, there's no packaging there. And if you're canning your own jam and vegetables, no waste there either. So of course I'm horrified by the amount of frivolous waste we generate by living so far from where this stuff comes from.

Decatur Island, though, is the kind of place where you could live in a pirate ship in the trees, which is to say: ideal. Something about doing stuff from scratch, about doing real things, brings people together. People watch out for each other because you're all on some kind of common ground.

And that's what I think folk is about - on the fringes, at least. I mean, folk means people, right? but there's something folky about people getting down in the dirt and growing their own food and getting an up close look at nature. Not just because it's old, but because it's true. And I want to get back to that - to the realness of causes and effects.

I really think that it's still the natural world that gives us meaning. That tells us why we do the things we do. Why we don't build permanent settlements in flood plains or why we take a sweater when we go out. And all this new-fangled modernity frees us from nature to an extent, but I think we lose in purpose and meaning at least as much as we gain in convenience.

It's that connection. And connection is what folk is about. Connecting between people and between people and nature. Nature puts us on a common footing and makes all the rest of it possible.

Man-style

So I've heard that girls can't really pull off the collared shirt and tie thing now that Avril Lavigne or whichever of those angsty girl pop stars that I can't tell apart claimed it.

But time out, let me back up. Boys are so easy to dress. I can't understand why so many of them have trouble finding hot clothes to wear. It's not just about skinny pants (although a lot of men look better in skinny pants than girls do) - there are whole genres of looks that men can just rock so easily. Maybe it's that there are fewer options and evolution has honed man-style into a number of sexy sexy outfit genres, but needless to say, I would effing love getting dressed in the morning if I were a boy.

Now, one of those boy-looks that I'm totally into is that whole tie and collared shirt thing. Esp. when the top button(s) are open. It's like dressy and casual. It says to me: I am such a rockstar that this tie can't hold me back. So, given that the odds of me waking up as a boy one morning (without a lot of pointed deliberation and effort) are pretty slim - not to mention that I don't necessarily want to be a boy - I'll be damned if I can't wear collared shirts with tie-things and my top buttons undone. For example:



[I am totally outing myself as closet photobooth addict, but it's for a good cause.]

If this were an ideal world, I'd own (and wear constantly) and awesome v-neck argyle sweater vest, but what I've got is this scoopneck brown sweater. And I'll say that I am kind of pleased and intrigued by the curve of the neck and how it contrasts with the v of the open shirt and how the girly thin sweater works with the man-ish faux tie especially when I wear it all with my fabuleuse new skirt.

[Side note about the skirt: it has the most incredible, incredible pockets and is brilliantly comfortable. If I hadn't gotten it as a gift - thanks mom! - I should totally have bought for myself. Skirts with pockets are hands down rad.]

So, I suppose the question I've been contemplating lately is if these hot man-styles just look good, or if they look good because they're man-styles. And if they look good because they're man-styles, what does that mean for me? Or, I guess the question should be - what can it mean for me?

Are these looks that you can break down into their geometry and recreate in women's clothing? And what's the difference, really - aside from the cut, which is important obviously because I have hips and a tiny rib cage in lieu of broad shoulders and chicken legs? The shape of clothes isn't just about the shape - it's about the shape on you. In any case, it's a question I'm curious about.

Were you aware of it? vol. 9: Bigfoot, now with DNA evidence

When a coworker mentioned a couple of Georgians had caught Bigfoot, there was a long pause as we waited for the punchline. But here it is in the New York Times, just like he said:

SAN FRANCISCO — In the hairy and hoax-filled history of Bigfoot, those who believe in the mythical beast have offered up all manner of evidence, from grainy photos to hoarse recordings to tracks of those aforementioned feet.

But on Friday at a hotel in Palo Alto, Calif., a pair of Bigfoot hunters say they will present what they contend is the most definitive proof yet of an animal that science says does not exist: DNA evidence and photographs of a dead specimen they say they found in a remote swath of woods in northern Georgia.

“It was very frightening at first,” said Rick Dyer, 31, a former corrections officer who — coincidentally — runs a business that offers Bigfoot tours. “And it got even more frightening when you saw the others.”

Indeed, Mr. Dyer said he and his partner, Matthew Whitton, saw three more of the beasts nearby as they dragged the body of said creature out of the woods. Moreover, Mr. Dyer says he has video clips and photographs to prove it.

One photograph provided to the news media showed what resembled a gorilla — or maybe an old sheepskin rug — lying twisted in a freezer, with a dollop of intestines protruding from its belly.

“There’s a lot of comment being made that it looks fake, or it looks like a suit,” Mr. Dyer said. “But these people wasn’t there when I was sweating, pulling this thing through the woods.”

Tom Biscardi, a longtime Bigfoot booster from the Bay Area, who traveled to Georgia to see the animal, said he was “150 percent” sure that the carcass was a Bigfoot, an American Indian legend whose modern fame dates to an elaborate “footprint” hoax perpetrated at a Northern California logging camp in 1958.

“This is ‘Eureka!’ man,” said Mr. Biscardi, whose operations include a Bigfoot Web site, a Bigfoot merchandise line and a Bigfoot Internet radio show. “I touched it.”

Both Mr. Biscardi and Mr. Dyer said they expected skeptics to discount the find, which is being kept in a freezer in an undisclosed location outside Atlanta. But they promised even more proof, including video, a DNA test and, of course, a mission to capture one of the big guys.

“I’m not asking anyone to believe us,” Mr. Dyer said. “I’m just asking them to sit and watch, because you’re going to eat your words.”

CNN also had a few more details.

We were on the verge of planning a field trip out to the "hotel in Palo Alto," but then we realized it was just the DNA evidence and not the beast himself on parade. Too bad.