A Bard's Tale

A year in books

2011-11-09T22:24:00.000-08:00

I've been getting some good reading done on the bus this year. Among the books I've read and enjoyed:

Mason & Dixon, by Thomas Pynchon

This was my first literary undertaking of the year, and took me a couple months to finish. It's a tome. It's also classic Pynchon. And yes, it is a historical novel about the less than celebrated astronomers and surveyors, who trekked across the continent of North America for no better reason than that's what they were getting paid to do. This book stands out from other Pynchon novels because it's the most fun. They sled through the mountains, they marvel at the wizardry of Benjamin Franklin, they smoke pot with George Washington. They seriously funk with the feng shui of our developing nation. Good times. This is a book for people who want to spend a lot of time on a book and be rewarded their efforts. Fair warning, it's also about as crazy as guano.

Fresh off this high, I immediately headed right back to the Pynchon shelf at the library and snagged

Gravity's Rainbow, also by Thomas Pynchon
Everybody talks about how great this book is. I don't know. I couldn't finish it. Baffling is the only word I can think of to describe it, but it's Pynchon, so duh. I got bored with it and then distracted by

Christmas at the Orphanage by Bill Knott
Bill Knott is a great poet, and as rumor has it, a huge prick. I read this book just about every day, and it continues to be great. If you ever see anything by him in a bookstore, it will probably be used, cheap, and the best thing you ever bought. I can't believe I got this collection of sonnets for free.

Edit: Bill Knott is not a prick! See comments for a link to his poems. Dedicated poets should commit some of these to memory.

Atomic Robo and the Deadly Art of Science, by Brian Clevinger and Scott Wegener
Deserves a mention, because I bought it, read it, loved it. Yes, it is a comic book. Yes, I own the previous four volumes in the series, which have such illustrious guest stars as Carl Sagan, Nikolai Tesla, and the ghost of Rasputin. These books are hilarious, elegant, and are a joy to read again and again. Atomic Robo might be the reason comics were invented. If you've ever thrown your fist in the air to declare the awesomeness that is science, then you best peep this series immediately.

A Dance with Dragons by George R.R. Martin
Either you know about this already or you don't care. This one also took a while to complete. It kinda dragged for the first half, by holy cow do things get cracking by the end. Leaves you wanting more.

Thus Spake Zarathustra
Still working on this one. Best taken in small doses, but there's a surprising amount of poetry in between pontification, and thats what keeps me coming back.

Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy
Satanic little book. Stream of consciousness writing. Lots of scene setting in the old west and Mexico, punctuated by short thematic dialogues and bursts of intense violence. Bloody, disgusting, and bloody disgusting. There were parts of it I loved, and parts I reread five times before giving up and turning the page.

Picture This by Joseph Heller
I read a poem by Kurt Vonnegut once that was about running into Joseph Heller at a party and asking him if it bothered him that people only talk about his first book. I will not talk about that book here, because Picture This is the one I just finished reading and prompted this Year Review in Book Reviews in the first place.

I picked up this book for $3, used, because it intrigued me. Now that I have finished it, it still intrigues me. It is labeled as fiction right there on the spine, probably for lack of a better word. It is a book about ancient Athens. It is about the Dutch Republic during the time of Rembrandt. It is about Rembrandt painting a picture of Aristotle Contemplating a Bust of Homer. There are other things the book is about too, since it is essentially a book length essay that manages to connect themes of economics, politics, art, and philosophy from the time of Socrates, through history, and up to the very minute the book was published in 1988. Straight up fascinating. But don't take my word for it!

Ba dum bum!

That's my year in books so far. I still have time for one or two more! Any suggestions?

Submission

2011-09-30T14:29:00.000-07:00

I've starting at the end of march this year, I've been submitting poems and stories to various print and online journals*. So far, I have received nothing but rejection letters. Yesterday, however, I received the most motivational rejection letter yet:

"Greetings. Thanks for submitting, as well as for your patience in awaiting our reply. We, as a staff, spent time reading and discussing your submission, which delayed our response somewhat, but also allowed us to give it the attention it deserves.

I'm sorry to say that after our discussion, we have decided not to accept your work for publication. However, there were quite a few favorable comments made, supporters of your work speaking up on its finer points.

We do wish you the best of luck placing this elsewhere and hope you do try us again when you have something."

I hope that's not a form letter. Its not so bad even if it is a form letter. While my work is not yet being published, at least someone it reading it. According to this letter it had to be discussed! Awesome!

I am happy to get these kind of rejections. Of course it would be better to get some contracts for publication instead, so I guess I've accumulated enough rejections at this point to do some heavy revision and make sure my product is quality.

*Most publishers will only accept previously unpublished work, which accounts for the lack of posts of new work on this blog, and has absolutely no connection to laziness or neglect.

Barding through Pamphlets

2011-05-10T14:10:00.000-07:00

As my summer job was winding down last year I thought to myself "I need to create additional sources of income for myself. I sure would like to be able to make money off my writing somehow..."

That is how I became a pamphleteer. It's actually really fun to create your own series of chapbooks. I had enough material to produce five different chapbooks, three short stories and two poetry collections. After finding the cheapest printing available in my area I printed out about twenty copies of each, all told. Possibly more, though it's difficult to remember now. The cost of doing this was low. The plan was to sell the stories and the large poetry collection for five dollars each and the small poetry pamphlet for a dollar.

Plans change. I found quite early on in this endeavor that selling my work was much harder than giving it away. To most people on the street, the idea of paying to read something is offensive or stupid, or stupidly offensive. I'd ask people if they like like to read, and many of them simply replied "No, I'm illiterate." I think most of the strangers that paid for my pamphlets assumed I was homeless. In the end I was satisfied if I was able to cover the cost of printing the pamphlets.

You might think that this turned out to be a profitless exercise. You might be right. I certainly took my time coming to this conclusion, but I have also noticed some unexpected benefits of carrying around a stack of strange stories.

For example, you may have heard of the Seattle Freeze. In theory, this is a physical principal that prevents native Seattleites from being friendly or rude towards one another. Many out of towners complain that any "howdy" or smile, or even rude gesture proffered to a stranger on the street is invariably met with an indifferent gazing in the opposite direction. This is mostly true, except on the bus. You always thank the bus driver for the ride or you are an asshole.

So having a stack of things you want to share is a good way to introduce yourself to strangers around town, as long as you don't lead with your stream of consciousness poetry pamphlet. Strangely enough, it turns out that almost everybody is from out of town. I wonder what that says about the Seattle Freeze? That it's an import? I don't know.

If you don't charge, you will find that there are enough people interested in reading something new around town to make the whole thing worthwhile. Other unexpected plums manifested in the form of four edited manuscripts ready to submit for publication by reputable presses and not RAMS copy center. Even the scorned stream of consciousness collection found a surprising niche: Bums love it.

No kidding. I will sometimes give a bum a cigarette, or a quarter, and I am well aware of how little giving a bum anything is going to help their situation. Something I also became aware of is that transient life is boring and repetitive. All day long you make faces at strangers who mostly seem disgusted by you, and you guilt or charm them into giving you money, which you might spend to quell the gurgling in your gut or the pounding in your temples, and then an hour later the gurgling, the pounding returns. At night, the same pine cone jabs you in the back every time you move, and the most exciting part of your day is if you get robbed or arrested.

Enter "Sunday, Seattle" a small unassuming pamphlet that fits nicely in my front pocket. When asked for change, I'd give the asker a copy of the pamphlet, and warn them that the whole thing is for entertainment purposes only. As I've said, I've given out change and cigarettes before, but the gratitude in return for these acts is always minimal and then you will be asked for something else, something larger. These pamphlets brought genuine smiles to the lips of those homeless folks who read them, and genuine gratitude as well. I was not expecting that, but it's a good deal for everyone concerned I think. I should print up more.

As a side note, I should mention that Pamphleteering WILL NOT get you chicks. Fair warning.

More mash ups

2010-03-21T20:06:00.000-07:00

Mashing up someone else's words is similar to the editing process you might go through on a piece of writing of your own. You take the parts you like, and you experiment with moving them around in different places. In my case, this fact was made all the more clear when I heard a mash-up my friend Jay did of three of my poems. I thought the result was much closer to the mark in terms of my own poem, and gave me some ideas of revisions I could do. You can see the mash-up Jay made here. I'm going to post the revision I made later, but first I'd like to point out that it is this type of shared creative process that I thrive on, and I think having other people around to help and inspire you is about as good as it gets. Anyhow, here's the draft that Jay used for his mash-up. It's a riddle, and I'm pretty sure I did a lousy job, because in this draft I don't really think there are enough clues to guess what I'm getting at. Can you guess? Here it is:

I am the worm.
My life occurs in cycles, from birth
as egg to blind hermaphrodite to death,
I'd eat my own tail if knew which end
of me was my head.

I am the star of a recent
film, Discover Earth, in which
I am shown chewing through
an apple. A worm
shaped halo of rot
trails after me, a seam, a worm
shaped tracer of a worm
reveals where I've been.

If you want to know
where I am going, it's easy.
Cut the film, place the frames back
to back, a stack laid on
its side, a tube, a worm shaped apple
I'm crawling through.

The film becomes the apple,
the apple becomes the worm.
Dissect it, within one cut
you can see what my annelid eyes cannot,
the fixed picture, stuck in a slice of film,
the poor solitary segment thinks he's me.

Which is almost true. I feel what he feels,
but I'm all allegory and he is almost real.

Mash up

2010-03-16T19:52:00.000-07:00

I will preface this by saying that the choice to use these words was not entirely mine. Every word in the following poem is taken from one of three poems by a friend of mine. I didn't use every word from her three poems, but I did pick ones I like and organize them in my own way. This raises some interesting questions about originality, although none of these questions is new. How original do the following words sound to you?

Photo Factory: Mules Wanted

This friday, everyone you know
will feel comfortable. Worst part:
They almost believe it's possible.

The mime has an imaginary life,
robs airports at night. His heart holds
winter one month, another one moon,
he still hasn't kept his saddles smooth.

Lizard skin begins to steam.

A terrible black creature trumpets
bible seeds all over your bearskin,
lights a cigarette. Protect your headdress
please. Death comes to a rabbit.

Slipping in underground scorpion pools
kills the most baby. Break down your
molecules to a great big silken loose
lazy firetruck, or everything is darkness,
maybe.

I'm feeling butter this afternoon, mamma bear.

The voice of the Sea wounds you
because prowling dreams come with it.
Nervous laughter at the bedside, like
breath stolen from a wood spirit.

Oh supernatural snake eater, serve me.

Part of the mind is faithful,
but the blood keeps lingering ghosts.
All's up with that, sure,
I'm down if not for don't.

A double brain, descended from seeds
can learn Iriqoui and Cantonese,
remind you to gut the whalemeat.

This is the most confusing scene in the act:
Two brothers disrobe.
We find out that one of them
is in fact Robert de Niro.

Turnip, turnip, turnip, turnip,
turnip, turnip, turnip.

Screen your pie before going to Brazil.
Daughter knows teepee life is difficult,
but it's harder in the garden, like
a hummingbird in heat.
Turkish souls don't sleep.

The Curse of Duncan Carbunkle Production Stills

2010-02-13T17:40:00.000-08:00

Always wear a mask for safety

Don't get sloppy, Alan

Director Seth Wessel-Estes lays down some science

An awesome crew

Act one of the movie has essentially been shot. Here's a photo of me on set. As an AC/PA it is my duty to cater to the demands of our DP's, which sometimes involves getting dirt out of their carpet.

A review of "Reality Hunger" by David Shields

2010-01-12T19:06:00.000-08:00

“Reality Hunger: A Manifesto” comes out next month.

In telling the origin story of this book, David Shields begins by describing the household of his childhood, where journalism is the ruling religion.

David Shields began his career in writing with three works of fiction. Reality Hunger is anything but. Is it essay? Is it prose poetry? Is it a collage or confession?

Yes.

Is there a narrative?

Yes. The narrative in Reality Hunger is the story of literature through the ages and up to the modern day, with it's modern dilemmas. It is also the story of the author's own struggle with writing and language throughout his life.

Some quotations from the book and David Shields himself:
“All art is theft.”, “Art is not truth. It is a lie that enables us to recognize the truth.”, “There is no way that a non-fiction work is 'true'.”

Reality Hunger is constructed from a series of numbered paragraphs organized according to theme and random flashes of inspiration. Shields did not write many, if not most of these paragraphs. As the scissors and paste man, however, he can take credit for the subtext inserted between each passage.

In Reality Hunger, you will find citations for all quoted passages in very tiny type. This is in the interest of legality, and against the author's will.

More quotes from the author: “I want the reader to experience that uncertainty.”, “The reader not being able to tell who is saying what.”, “Don't read the footnotes or I'll come after you.”

If Reality Hunger can be said to come from anywhere, it would not be from a desire to lay the facts out flat. The facts presented in this book may conflict with one another or magnify each other until a rich texture of thought pushes out and away from anything you've read before.

There is an urgency to Reality Hunger that can't be ignored. If you can imagine reading “Les Miserables” or “Moby Dick” with all the plot cut out and cast aside, perhaps you can imagine reading this book.

“Fiction is meaningless.”, “Novels are often so languorious as to be catatonic.”, “You're wasting my time.”

What do you get when you cut plot from a novel? You get a series of ideas, and a ton of questions. In the case of Reality Hunger, these questions come with high stakes. What is reality? Why do artists try so hard to preserve reality or truth in their works? How can they even begin without knowing what truth is?

Reality Hunger is the screen. David Shields is the magic lantern. In this theater, are you the rapt audience member in the front row, or the old man asleep in the back? Or somewhere in between?

Legend has it that Werner Heisenberg was once pulled over by a cop. “Do you know how fast you were going?” asked the cop. “No,” said Heisenberg, “but I know where I was.”

One interpretation of the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle is that by his very presence, the observer alters what is observed. This interpretation has little to do with quantum physics, but it's an interesting idea.

I can't tell you what you will experience when reading Reality Hunger. I am trying to tell you what I experienced.

“I was bored to death writing fiction.”, “I found my life raft.”, “If you want to get on my bus, here we go.”

"Each Eternal I Turned In" a response to Robert

2010-01-10T19:41:00.000-08:00

Here's the piece I'm responding to.

Here's my response.

Each Eternal I Turned In

Overheard on the bus:
"The complex structure of life
does not exist to override entropy."
I'm not sure what that meant, although
I asked the person sitting next to me
who shrugged, saying: "I'm a smart
architect. I know it's not this
simple, and yet I see my lust
for structure echoed everywhere.
What does that suggest?"

Effortless, we fall from text
to subtext, flaking away layer
by layer, a stack
of printed papers, a plate
of frosted glass, shattered.
Even as the axe severs synapse
from synapse, a phantom hand
rests behind the neck.

Doctor Who is Santa Clause

2009-12-19T21:54:00.000-08:00

More Dreams!

2009-11-19T14:36:00.000-08:00

Part II of demonstrating that miraculous gift, that of dream interpretation! I know you're all excited, and proud of me for starting a thread and actually following up on it later, so here goes:

Faceless Entities

Oftentimes, the Dreamer will experience a situation in which many of the people they are interacting with do not have any details on their faces. Reports of this occurrence range from faces with indistinct or metamorphic features to instances where the face is entirely featureless. One hypothesis is that if one such faceless entity plays a large role in a dream, you are actually interacting with your guardian angel. Another hypothesis postulates a dreamer may simply not be able to remember the faces of the dream, as with many of the details which are forgotten upon waking. A recent study has shown the frequency of this type of dream may be increased if the test subject has been exposed, directly prior to sleep, to a dozen or so episodes of COPS.

The key thing to remember is that anybody without a face should not be trusted. For whatever reason they are attempting to conceal their identity, the probability of their good nature is outweighed by the possibility of malicious intent. Even if one such character approaches you claiming to be a representative of a research team in charge of finding out how many people are willing to trust someone without a face and they are offering you money to participate in the study, be on your guard. This person is a stranger to you, and as such should not be allowed any access to your personal information until you get to know them better i.e. until they show you their face. If, however, they are smokin’ hot, all bets are off.

Grand Canyon

These are not good dreams. I don’t care if you had a blast dreaming of whitewater rafting or of an illicit rendezvous with John Denver, if the Grand Canyon appears to you in a dream it can only mean that you are about to lose a loved one. My advice: If you don’t know what the Grand Canyon looks like, that’s going to make it harder to dream about. It is speculated that through the power of hypnotic suggestion one might be able to avoid the subject of the Grand Canyon altogether by forgetting that there even is such a thing. Studies, however, have been inconclusive on account of the test subjects all being called away at the crucial time to deal with the death of a friend, or a pet if they don’t have any friends. Studies were halted after just ten of these occurrences, the lab ultimately issuing a two sentence report: Do not fool with the Grand Canyon. The Grand Canyon does not like to fool around.

See? Interpreting dreams is easy! You just pick an image, experience, or metaphor, and then make stuff up about it! It's exactly like writing a research paper!

Books Books Books

2009-11-15T19:51:00.000-08:00

Now that my work load has subsided somewhat, I thought I'd share with you what I have been doing down there at Ride the Ducks. Because the tourist season is severely over these days, I've mostly been reading. Here's my recent reading list:

White Teeth, by Zadie Smith

White Teeth is a story spanning generations of turmoil for two families. The families in question are those of Archie Jones and Samad Iqbal, two former soldiers, living out their twilight years in London from the seventies to the turn of the century. The stories in this book seem rambling, but if the tightness of Zadie's prose is any indication, there is a deeper subtext to the events depicted that suggests... What? I don't know. You'll have to read it find out I suppose. This is a novel about characters, and at the end of the book the greatest disappointment is only that you have can no longer live with these characters, the book is due back and you must hand them back over to the library. Not that I'm clamoring for a sequel, I only wish I could live my own life with the same delight in the strange world unfolding around me that this book inspires.

Inherent Vice, by Thomas Pynchon

Here's the premise: Doc is a private detective. He is also a reefer-loving hippie. Between his constant smoking of the herb and other reality altering substances he comes in contact with, it is very difficult to discern between evil plots and dope inspired paranoia. Other characters, from bikers to cops to undercover tenor sax players recovering from heroin addiction, are similarly unreliable, leading to a real mess of reality and super-reality that both enthralls and disorients the reader. It is hard to believe that this book, set in the late sixties, was published only months ago, but there are always little reminders, like characters predicting the future with alarming accuracy. Is Pynchon stuck in time, or unstuck? I don't know. Once again, read it if you want to find out.

Rant, by Chuck Palahniuk

This book is CRAZY. I guess you could call it science fiction, since it involves ports in the back of your neck and time travel, but these are all secondary details in a story that doesn't even try to make sense. The reality presented in this book is not fixed, but in flux, as the Doctor would say. Events are subject to change. Repeatedly. Am I giving up too much of the plot? Hell no. There's just to much going on to give away. Rather than discuss the plot, I guess I should just mention the brilliant style this book presents, that of an oral history. Every chapter is organized according to general subject, and anecdotes plus commentary are provided by a huge cast of characters who are each privy to a small portion of the bigger picture. Is there any better way to implement the old "unreliable narrator" device than by involving dozens of narrators, all presenting a different aspect of one story? I don't know. You know what you have to do to find out, though.

That's enough for now. I am currently halfway through "Everything is Illuminated", another fantastic, chimerical, and extremely funny/emotionally fraught tale. I am loving it. Fans of butchered English and characters that express truth through lies should check it out. Especially people who are familiar with, and interested in, the Ukraine. Ahem.

Website

2009-10-23T16:22:00.001-07:00

Bagheera has a website now! Much toil went in to making this. I even learned a little bit about HTML. Here's the link.

What do you think?

How Shows Go

2009-10-01T13:00:00.000-07:00

Sometimes shows go well

Sometimes shows don't.

Where's the line? I don't know, but as the band gets tighter and tighter I expect to find out more on the subject.

Busy Busy Busy

2009-09-22T13:37:00.000-07:00

Wow. The thing about working full time is that you can't get anything done. You work. You come home, try to relax, sleep, wake up and work again. Laundry piles up. Dishes pile up. My recycling bin has become a recycling pile. So when you get a day off, it becomes a day on. For the last four days I did nothing but work, punctuated by a show of brutal logistical proportions. Now I have two days to myself, to fill with all the stuff I used to do daily when I was unemployed. I emptied my recycling. I laid down vocal tracks for three songs and a bass track for one. I have four minutes to finish this blog post before my laundry is done and then it's off to work on my screenplay, which is shaping up beautifully, thank you for asking. Once I finish that, it's off to federal way to pick up all the equipment I left with Robert after the show, and record some more tracks, and hopefully rehearse for our next show.

Is this how real people live? I'm developing a tolerance to caffeine. And here I thought being a bard would be a relaxing lifestyle.

It might not be easy, but damned if it's not wildly exciting. I'll look forward to relaxing at work.

Hack Work

2009-09-01T18:05:00.000-07:00

So maybe I'm not really a professional photographer after all.

If I was a professional photographer, I'd know my camera inside out. I'd have my own printers. I probably wouldn't be able to sell my photos at the prices I do, but I'd know what it meant to be a professional photographer. As it stands, I am more of a hack.

But maybe I am a professional musician. Having been paid a cool five bucks by the Sunset Tavern, and with a check from the Cherry Street Coffee House coming down the pipes, it appears I have finally realized my dream of getting paid to make music. It's not much, obviously, but it boils down to less hack work than my real job. I think. Whatever. Still a long way to go.

Music Video!

2009-08-19T11:40:00.000-07:00

Bagheera - "Snow" Music Video from Seth Wessel-Estes on Vimeo.

Another day Another dollar

2009-08-18T22:56:00.000-07:00

Well, after a month and a half of writing and jamming, I can add another pastime to my list: Photography. Not that I can post any of the pictures I take here on the Internet. They are not mine to post. They belong to my employers, which is fair, since they provide me with the film and the camera.

What is this secretive, enigmatic employment I speak of? Is it some kind of spy work? FBI? Bird watching? Good guess, and kind of. While I haven't seen hide nor hair of Xena the Hawk for a while, I have been seeing a lot of ducks...

That's right. I take pictures of ducks. Professionally.

I get the feeling that I'll get tired of hearing the chorus of "YMCA" play as the tours roll in, but not yet.

In the meantime, I get to stand around trying not to get sunburned and meet small waves of tourist/passengers and take their picture and guide them towards their boat/bus contraption. After an hour and a half, when the passengers return, I sell the picture to them. Enough boats come in and go out every half-hour that you keep yourself pretty busy. It's pretty fun.

At about 4:00, the shadow of the space needle falls over our tiny parking lot. It's pretty cool. A short eclipse.

Anyhow, now I can add Photography to the list of professional (however loosely defined) trades I have held, joining Technical Support, Driving, Machining, and Hospitality. Whereas when it comes to the trade of Writing, probably my strongest skill, I am still an amateur.

Weird.

Dream Journals, the importance of

2009-08-16T19:41:00.000-07:00

Few people know this, but I am psychically gifted with the ability to interpret dreams. I call it a gift because dreams are a potent storehouse of subliminal content, and it can be hard enough to remember them upon waking up to reality, let alone know what they mean. Nevertheless, dream interpretation comes down to sound logic in the end. Let me give you an example:

If you dream about Michael Caine, this means you have impeccable taste.

Easy, right? I know it is difficult to predict what dreams you might be having, but in future posts I intend to use my own dreams as fodder for casting a wide net over the dream-realm, and the inhabitants thereof. Let's not get confused here, though, this gift of interpretation is the opposite of divine influence. Do not take my advice as good advice. Dream interpretation is meant for entertainment purposes only.

So lets get right in to the good stuff. I know I'm not the only one who has had a full blown nude dream. Experts will tell you that this sort of dream represents insecurity about something in your life. I beg to differ.

In my dream, I was running through the African savanna, naked as a jay-bird. Some other stuff happened. I can't really remember. It is important to note, however, that I have never been to Africa, and only know what the savanna looks like from nature specials. In those specials, everything is naked, the lions, the elephants, the crocodiles.

Depending on the circumstances, nude dreams can mean you need to lay off the Planet Earth reruns for a while.

Additionally, is there anything more free than being completely naked? Even zoning out and listening to the soothing narration of David Attenborough (who'd have the Sigourney Weaver version?), can't compare to the breathless joy that comes from letting your stuff flap in the breeze. Insecurity? I think not. There's more to every dream than meets the inner eye.

Funny People, Transformers 2, Terminator 4, Harry Potter 6, The Hangover, Public Enemies, The Ugly Truth,

2009-08-10T17:16:00.000-07:00

etc...

Used to like movies.
Put my hand to screenwriting.
Should have expected

scripts to be so long.
So long the tendons crackle,
stretched to fit the form.

Saw [Insert Film Here].
Didn't know what to expect.
Should have.

Geology

2009-08-03T11:42:00.000-07:00

How to Rock:

1. Get a band. (Bagheera)
2. Practice the hell out of your songs. (16 hrs.)
3. No, seriously, practice until you bleed. (16+ hrs.)
4. Specifically, practice until your brain bleeds out through your ears. (24+)
5. Once you have mopped your brain up, find a venue. (Sunset Tavern is awesome!)
6. Practice some more. (Who's counting any more?)
7. Take a short break from practicing. (Good time to invite people to the show.)
8. Practice a lot more.
9. On the day of, get rid of the pre-show butterflies by practicing.
10. Get to the venue, set up early.
11. When it's time to rock, close your eyes. Imagine that you are rocking. When you open them, you probably already will be.

There you have it, Eleven Steps to nirvana like bliss. It's easier than it sounds.

Oh, and after the show, link people to your myspace.

Inappropriately Named Rivers

2009-07-28T14:37:00.000-07:00

You've probably all heard me complain about how the name "Washington" is ill suited for our awesome state. Too many people who have lived here since the dawn of time regard Washington (George) as the land stealer, the the land killer, and of course, the man with a big sword.

However, that is beside the point. Also on my list of things that have no business, no business at all being named after some white dude that has no ties to this region, falls the Columbia River.

To quote from my moleskine, "Oh, Columbia, Yo, Columbia. That's not your real name."

Last weekend, I spent a night next to the Columbia. Frankly, that is one hell of a river. I took the opportunity to walk along side it for a mile or so and try to learn what the river had to teach me. I wish I could show you a picture, seeing as how those things are worth a thousand words, but I can't. I took none. Instead, I took a break every quarter-mile or so to scribble my thoughts into the afore mentioned moleskine.

Such as:

Along the sagebrush covered bank,
a line of trees, thirsty for a drink.
The river bank bleeds life
in a spiral. Cradle of
Flies, an ancient race,
I'm an admirer,
but I still can't figure the river.
-
And so it goes. I followed the river, and I got almost nowhere.
What is the river's true name? Does it matter?

3 reasons you should watch Doctor Who

2009-07-18T19:57:00.000-07:00

Not many people around here appreciate the glorious camp that is BBC's, and indeed the world's, longest running Science-Fiction show. When it was first conceived back in the sixties, Doctor Who was a psuedo-educational show, taking advantage of time travel to discuss in alternating episodes new science(cyber-men!) and the lessons of history(cavemen!). With the retirement of William Hartnell, the first Doctor, a clever plot device allowed them to continue the series with a new actor in the lead role. This brings me to my first argument:

1. Replay Value

Every now and then the Doctor regenerates. When he does, he takes on a new face, and a new personality. Each incarnation of the Doctor has been a refresh of the series, sometimes for good, sometimes for ill. The excitement of making a list of your favorite Doctors is equalled only by the excitement of wondering what the next Doctor will be like. With a fifty year history, and at least 11 different actors, there's a lot of variety in the show to explore. The latest Doctor, David Tennant, is seriously one of the best, but did he top the mad cap antics of Patrick Troughton, or the melancholic dispatcher of Daleks, Tom Baker? That is for you to decide.

2. Stephen Moffat

Believe it or not, I am not the last of the time-lord fans out there. Some people, some pretty old people, have been watching the show since they were a child. Stephen Moffat, who will be the head-writer for the show come 2010, is one such person. If you have doubts about his ability, look forward to his Spielberg produced script of Rin-Tin-Tin, coming soon to theaters. Having seen every episode for Doctor Who that he has penned, I can tell you he was born to write this series, kind of like a certain Doctor Who obsessed blogger you might have heard of. His previous episodes have won oodles of awards, so I'm not alone in this sentiment. Once this man gets the reins, it's going to be a whole new Who, and a damn fine one at that.

3. Being cool

Okay, last reason. I have plenty more, but I'll restrain myself for now. You know how kids from So-Cal are always complaining that their bands were cooler before they were popular? Well, Doctor Who can never be popular. No matter how many people love the show, and trust me there are a lot of us, none of them will ever take the show seriously. It's just not that kind of show. So you can be safe in the knowledge that even Doctor Who fans feel slightly uncomfortable talking about it.
(Present company excepted)

25 Random Things About Me

2009-07-18T12:36:00.000-07:00

Lately, everybody is doing it. How are they doing it?

(Actually, nobody does any more. Too busy, I guess.)

Mostly, they post 25 random things about themselves and the rest is up to the incessant voyeurism Facebook breeds. Some people have hijacked this phenomenon and turned it into a "valid" literary form. Example: My brother's Facebook, where he parodies an SNL sketch and gives us as much if not more information about about himself as any of the rest of these things. Example: Eric McHenry, a fantastic Seattle based poet, created a cento of 25 random lines, rhymed and metered, that were drifting around in his head. The result was once again, just about as informative as a real 25 things post would be. I wish I could show you either of these examples, but when it comes to intellectual property, I guess possession is a little more than nine/tenths of the law.
So rather than show you theirs, I will shamelessly subject myself to the same experiment.

25 Random Things About Me:

1. An old school bus converted into a traveling home.
2. The cascade mountains, distant, huge and blue.
3. A girl walking down the street tugging anxiously on the arm thrown around her shoulder.
4. A pair of eyelash curlers left on a wall overnight, encrusted with dew-diamonds.
5. There is also a a single pink petal.
6. A rented Cello. I hear one of the strings is about to break.
7. A cannibalized soldering iron.
8. An old slice of cheese.
9. My Friend, on a couch.
10. Because a fire was in my head.
11. The hand that whirls the water in the pool, that stirs the quicksand,
12. That ropes the blowing wind.
13. My amusingly noisy neighbors.
14. Two crows, one sleek and black, the other a little the worse for wear.
15. The piece of sandwich they are fighting over.
16. A whole stack of old editions of The Stranger. Some of them are damp.
17. A girl walks out the door. "Oh it's cold!" she says, and goes back inside, locking the door behind her.
18. A crow, diving a couple feet before flapping up to altitude again
19. Barefoot vs. Bear foot. No contest.
20. I am the doubter and the doubt.
21. Electronic mail. Music. A resume.
22. The callouses on my feet migrate seasonally.
23. The consistent buzz of technology. Radiation.
24. A piano, acoustic guitar and bass guitar, electric guitar and bass guitar, ukulele, two saxophones, a banjo, a harmonica necklace, two harmonicas, a flute, a clarinet, a guiro, a conga drum, an afuche, an udu, wine bottles tuned to different notes, shaker, triangle, tambourine. Some other things I left out.
25. The most important thing about me is my skin. People have told me I have nice skin, and that's nice, but the most important thing is that it keeps my organs from spilling all over the place. If it weren't for my skin, I' d be a mess.

SRJO

2009-07-08T16:42:00.000-07:00

A word about the Seattle Repertory Jazz Orchestra. They are pros. No doubt about that. Know how I know? I'll tell you.

Every song has different sections. In Jazz, there's also a tendency to allow players to take solos over a certain part of the form. How long will a solo last? When do you move to the next part of the song? This could all be written down, but the important thing is communication. The band leader of the drummer can easily signal for a change at any time if everyone is paying attention. This is a mark of the pros: they are ready for anything.

For example:

On the evening I attended, their last song began with an elaborate and improvised piano solo. He began gracefully and beautifully, but as he played, one of his sheets of music started to fall from the stand. He caught it with scarcely a musical blip and was back to business. The sheet leaned forward again, and again he caught it. As his solo became more and more intense, however, the sheet finally fell fully off of the stand and drifted gracefully into the audience. Soon another sheet followed. Sheet after sheet of music peeled off of the stand until soon all of his music was scattered around and off the stage. The intrepid pianist played through to the end of his solo, and the rest of the band came in on cue. Calmly, the pianist left the stage, collected his music, and rejoined the band unobtrusively.

It was cooler to see than read about, let me assure you. You see the things you can miss out on if you don't scrounge around for free tickets once in a while?

On a side note, stuff like that always happens. Always. You want to see something cool happen? Play some music.

Cross town tour

2009-07-03T11:54:00.000-07:00

Everybody knows that the best thing about Seattle is riding the bus, right? As the most economical form of cross town travel, some efficiency is sacrificed. Also, you never know who you'll end up sitting next to. That hot girl? That old lady? The dude who is off in his own world and then pukes in his lap? Buses kick ass, but sometimes they feel a little dangerous. Everybody who is on the bus is there because they must ride the bus. In a city this large, some distances can't be practically traveled by foot. The bad hip, the blind eye, the empty pocket, these are things the average bus riders might have in common.
Enter Billy. His full/real name is unknown, but probably something patriarchal, like William James III. This guy has been places. He's seen some things. If you ask him, robbing a bank is a perfectly reasonable way to overcome financial troubles. If you want his opinions on automatic weapons you don't even need to ask. He feels as though he rides the bus by choice, even though the reason he's not on his bike is because of the DUI. If you ask Billy, though, there are very practical ways of reversing that situation that involve little more than some strategic application of the right to bear arms. Billy has been selling his time and labor for an ungrateful wage for twenty years now, and he's getting tired of it. I did not have the balls to ask Billy what he would do if he got fully tired of it. I hope Billy remembers that everyone on the bus is there for the same reasons he is.
For who do we throw our lives and wages away? Where should Billy direct his inevitable anger? Can the United States government possibly represent this poor asshole? To me, Billy is represented by his choice to get off the bus, taking his backpack with him, and go have a beer. What was his other option? It was a good choice. For all of us still on the bus, what choices do we have?
I for one enjoy catching a free concert at Benaroya Hall, gratis a The Seattle Repertory Jazz Orchestra. It was spectacular. Just watch out for weirdos on the way there!

Goodbye Xena

2009-07-03T11:52:00.000-07:00

I think Xena, the hawk, has peaced. There was a family of starlings in a ventilation duct I can see from my apartment. There is a long streak of bird shit under it. I think these starlings have also peaced. Where do birds go in the summer? Canada? The worst part is that now I have no signal, no grasp of what's to come. Birds make good omens, but they are staggeringly fickle in the end.

When you wish upon a star

2009-06-02T16:18:00.000-07:00

Dreams really do come true!

About a month ago, I had this dream where I found a tie die tee-shirt that said "Wham Bam Thank You Ma'am". I spent the rest of the dream walking around in it and showing it off to everybody. Dream everybody thought it was pretty cool and so did I. Then, last week, I received a cryptic text message about a secret batique session and where it was to go down. What is batique? It is the process by which shirts are painted with dye and prepared for tie-dying in such a way as to prevent the tie-dye from interfereing with the painted design. Score! Now I've got this tie-dyed shirt that says "Wham Bam" and I need someone to help me paint on the words "thanks you ma'am".

I'm halfway there!

Galaxy Bird

2009-05-26T14:48:00.000-07:00

'Sbeen a long time since my last post, thanks to low internet access. For those of you who do have internet access, I encourage you to visit galaxybird.com and enjoy the fruits of my friend Robbie's labors.

More like 22 Hours

2009-05-03T19:42:00.000-07:00

24 Hour Film Competitions are fun.
This is the lesson I learned from yesterday's 24 hour film competition.

Other things I learned: Getting up early is not as hard when you care about what you're getting up for. Snakes are deadly. I am not a makeup artist. Larry David is a lazy genius.

For me, I suppose the last lesson there is a pretty important one. Here's the reason:

When you write a book, story, or even a poem or song lyrics, the characters may only exhibit traits that you as the writer have noticed in yourself or other people. Early on, we decided to do our movie in an improvised style, similar to an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm or The Office. This really freed up the constraints on characters, because the actors know what they are doing and what they need to do, but who they are is pretty much up to them. How they react, how they think, how they decide to act, it is all a little more surprising than anything I could write.

Oh! Here's one more lesson to throw in the pile:
All art is editing.

Deep, right?

Finance

2009-04-27T13:31:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I traveled downtown on a bus. The bus ride was free with my U-Pass. Next I went to Westlake center and bought a Mango Lassie, $2.00 even. Outside Westlake, there were several street musicians, some of whom I recognized from the U-District. A friend of mine claims to have made $80 playing music in exactly that spot.

Next to the fitting room in Macy's, there is a small TV. It was playing CNN. According to some dude on CNN, the big govt. democrats are going to turn the federal government into a hulking behemoth that will devour all prosperity in it's path.

Obama, you are welcome to it! I doubt I'll ever know the difference.

Inside Nordstrom, I was already appalled, and so were they. I was wearing my cargo shorts and wool shirt(my clubbing gear, natch), they were all wearing suits and expensive cologne. How expensive? Too expensive. The man who was helping my roommate, Kevin, pick out a sportsjacket was quite helpful, though, and didn't discriminate against us just because we were poor white boys and he was a black man in a suit. He was pretty chatty:
"Here try this on.", "What do you need the jacket for?" "So you're musicians then?" "What's a bard?" "I dreamed I was a saxophone player once, in Jazz Alley, filled with smoke, I was just up on stage blowin"
Kevin picked a jacket he liked. 51% cotton and 49% linen. It looked good, and it was the right size. I noticed that while he held it up to the light I could see through it. We asked him what the price was.
You ever hear the phrase "If you have to ask, you can't afford it?" It turns out nobody actually uses that phrase, they can say it all with a look.
"I'm sorry" Said Kevin, "I can't buy a jacket that costs more than my rent."
Random stranger interjects here: "A suit should always cost more than your rent."
Kevin: "But how will I keep it clean when I'm sleeping on the street?"

Thank you, helpful suit man. Thanks to you I now know what size I should look for when I hit up the thrift stores on The Ave. And thank you for being willing to assume that either one of us could actually afford that jacket.
Or...
This is what happened next:
"Well sir, if you don't have the money now, would you like to open up an account with the store?"
No, no, no, get me out of here!
"If you open up an account..."
We (Nordstrom) will own you. And your suit.

No thanks. I want to look nice for my job interviews, not desperate.

Blast from the Past

2009-04-18T23:12:00.000-07:00

Uh Oh! Nerd quotient approaching maximum levels!
Maybe this will reverse the polarity.

Oh dear, now I'm stuck in a time loop.

Planet of the Dead

2009-04-17T15:33:00.000-07:00

Really, for a Doctor Who special with a name like "Planet of the Dead" I was expecting something a little more creepy. Instead, what I got was an hour long eight by eleven glossy of David Tennant. Not really a bad thing by itself, but here's a few things I've come to expect from Doctor Who that did not happen in the latest episode:

Cliffhanger- When removed from a serial format, I suppose it isn't really fair to the audience to put The Doctor or anyone else in mortal danger for a whole three months. Nevertheless, since we know that within the first ten seconds of the next episode all forms of peril will be temporarily obliterated, why not? It sure beats sending his companion off in a flying- oop! Almost gave away the end there, didn't I?

Scary line repeated until it is no longer scary, and continuing until it is scary again- This obviously goes hand in hand with the aforementioned cliffhanger, but can stand on it's own as well. The only requirement is that the line is never interrupted until the trademark howl of the opening or closing credits. Here are some examples:
"Hey, who turned out the lights?"
"Are you my mummy?"
"This is your final destination"
and of course "Exterminate!"
Let it be known that in "Planet of the Dead", the most repeated line is "I love you".

The freakin' TARDIS- well, duh. Once again, a flying ******* is no replacement for anything. Certainly not a time traveling police box.

Don't get me wrong, I love The Doctor just as much as that crazy scientist guy , but there is something wrong when The Doctor starts acting like a pop star. Maybe when Stephen Moffat takes over as head writer we'll lose a little bit of the soapy atmosphere that has been haunting the set. In the meantime, here is a list of what they did right this time around:
Aliens that are obviously dudes in jumpsuits with rubber claws and bug masks.
Sonic screwdriver antics.
British through and through.
Smooches for The Doctor, wait no, no! He's 900 years old, ladies! Would you kiss Yoda? Seriously, the cradle robbing has got to stop.

Well, if you've made it this far in the post, I salute you. You must truly have great sympathy for the nuances of mantaining a glorious tradition in modern times. That's probably why you aren't asking this question right now: "Who cares?"

But if you are asking that question, then I'll tell you: Nobody. Nobody but me. That is why it is my goal, my burning passion, to write episodes of Doctor Who, episodes that make you care. So far I'm off to a rocky start, but as I come up with ideas I will post them here for the enjoyment of all. Thanks for tuning in.

-Seth Rasmussen

Get busy

2009-04-08T16:53:00.000-07:00

What is the difference between song lyrics and poems?

Let me tell you what I know:

In poetry, the idea of love must be treated carefully, so as not to overwork the concept or state the obvious. Generally, love poems are laughable. No, not generally, personally.

In song, love must be grasped by the neck and thrown around a little. No, not a little, it must be thoroughly thrashed. Successful love lyrics should result in a visit to the doctor to get a neck brace for love, which will be complaining of whiplash for weeks afterward.

And there you have it. Also, nobody will ever think that the word "aint" is inappropriate for song.

P.S. The distinction made above is also applicable to the cross media genres of "booty songs" and "booty poems" with the addendum that rather than thrashing, shaking is by far the more appropriate verb.

The Plums Aren't There

2009-04-01T13:28:00.000-07:00

It's National Poetry Month! Not only that, it's National Poetry Writing Month(NaPo WriMo!)! Not only that, it's April!

I've heard tell that April is the cruelest month. This I believe. What could be crueler than being subjected to the massive output of poetry that occurs when poets nationwide decide they are going to write one poem every day?

Don't worry. I have no desire to write a poem every single day. Likewise, I have no desire to post here every single day. Y'all are safe. On the other hand, I'd be remiss if I didn't kick off NaPo WriMo right.

So without further ado...

Here
I
Thought I
Had been the
Perfect gentleman,
Until I talked to all your friends.
They told me you got caught, saying "Oh no, not again."

so

I
Tried
Not to
Have regrets,
Smoke less cigarettes,
Place past personal griefs aside,
Except tonight. I'm sorry, but I don't feel the vibe.

so

I
Broke
Into
Your closet,
Ate hot dog, slopped it,
I stole your skirt and yellow scarf
So you couldn't see all the mustard I got on it.

The Tortoise and The Hare

2009-03-13T19:00:00.000-07:00

Hare's funeral was held on March 13th. Tortoise was glad that he got the invitation three weeks early. At the funeral there was a great hullabaloo going up from all the gathered members of the forest community. Tortoise felt slightly out of place, but he had once been great friends with Hare, so he tucked his legs up into his shell and took a seat towards the front. He had a great view of the casket.

Animals took turns going up to the front and howling their condolences into the microphone. Bear told a story about when Hare tricked him into getting stuck in a tree. Raccoon told a story about how he and Hare used to go fishing, and Mouse recounted the hilarious episode in which he hoodwinked missus Hare into believing he was one of her young. Hare had plenty of young. They stretched out from the funeral in all directions, sniffing vaguely in the direction of Hare's lifeless body. When it was Tortoise's turn to speak he stood up and dragged his shelly ass up to the platform. His hard torso knocked against the wood of the podium. He cleared his throat.

“Many of you” Tortoise began, “have heard tell of the story in which Hare and I had a little dispute, decided to settle it with a race.”

“What was that dispute about?” Called Possum, who was known for his lapses of memory.

“Doesn't matter. Race was a bad idea.” said Tortoise. “Hare was at the finish line before my tail even left the block. I thought that would be the end of that, but Hare was a good sport and offered me another shot. I refused it, because I had realized that Hare's life would be short and there are better things to do with your time than race.” Tortoise glared at the other animals. “So you can all thank me.” He turned to the casket. “As for you, Hare, I now whole heartedly accept your offer for a rematch. Ready? Go.” And Tortoise hopped on his bicycle and rode away.

-Seth Rasmussen

Xena returns

2009-03-08T17:23:00.000-07:00

You are not going to believe this:

Yesterday I was sitting on my balcony pondering upon myself when a strange thought struck me. "How," I say to myself sezi, "am I going to survive graduating?" Maybe you do not consider this to be a strange thought. Maybe, under similar circumstances, you yourself experienced similar ponderances. Me, I don't think about things like the future that often. What is going to happen, as they(the fates) say, will happen. The fates have decreed that I will earn a diploma from the UW. I scarcely have a choice at this point. So why do I worry about what the fates have decreed?

Because every beginning implies an end?

Because every end implies a beginning?

Because a diploma implies I have developed my craft and skill to a professional level?

Because I don't know how to do anything except learn?

Because the fates have been shown, historically, to be unsentimental?

As I sat in what Lewis Carrol might describe as "uffish thought", suddenly a huge wingspan cast a shadow across my face. It was Xena, warrior hawk princess! She landed on the branch closest to me and stared straight at me. That basically freaked the hell out of me, but I wasn't about to run inside. I sat there and stared back at Xena for a long time.

Idea: I can talk to birds.
Test: "Hey, Xena! Tell me the meaning of life!"
Result: False

Idea: Though they can't reply, birds can understand what I'm saying.
Test: "Hey, Xena! You should catch me a mouse!"
Result: False

Idea: Don't worry, just be prepared.
Test: http://seattle.craigslist.org/wri/
Results: Pending

The moment passed. I went back inside. This morning there was a dead mouse next to my balcony door.

Ada's Larvarium

2009-03-01T21:49:00.000-08:00

*

"Je raffoule de tout ce qui rampe"
she said, as she led me into the swamp
to show me mud flies with too many legs,
certified colors, but darkly flossed.

"Qu'est-ce que vous avez, mon petit renard?"
she asked, while I protested with broken words,
"Do not compare me to the red fox," I said,
"Writers are magpies, filthy birds."

"Scusez-moi," she replied, her spine in an arch,
"mais je comprend pas de tout." Her eyes were dark.
Let me explain, the people of my trade
sift through rubbish and steal the shiny parts.

Saying "Regardez cet scarabee." she placed
an exotic beetle on my face,
stifling my breath, while she traced
her finger down its golden carapace.

"J'ai desolee. Tu n'es pas comme le renard,
et pas la pie. What is the word?
Tu es comme cet scarabee, et moi,
I'm just crazy about everything that crawls."

*I wasn't planning on putting any poetry up on here. This blog was meant to be a more prosey practicing place, but you know what? This poem is unpublishable because it is rife with blatant plagiarism. Should I give you a clue?

**There's that, and I'm not even sure is the parts in french make sense.

New-Ku

2009-02-25T21:34:00.000-08:00

You've all heard about
haikus, the multi-purpose
casual poem.

Did you ever think
"There must be a better way
to count syllables"?

Well.
Have
I got
a new form
for you! Everyone
knows how it's done. It's natural
and fun. Let's all say "Thanks Fibonacci!" You're welcome.

The Apple Capital

2009-02-23T12:40:00.000-08:00

As I sit here eating my apple, I am pleased to note that this delicious fruit was grown from the soil of my home state. There's a lot to love about this place, this little region of the world. But you probably know that. For example, you probably know that we are the leading producers of asparagus for the entire nation. You probably know that we can grow wine grapes and hops so delicious that even German brewers are buying them up after a bad hops year across the pond. Agriculture aside, you probably also know that giant corporations like Boeing, Amazon, Microsoft, and Starbucks are here, granting our state a tasty bonus of several ridiculously wealthy people. Additionally, a large percent of trade with Asian nations comes right through our own Puget Sound.

So here's the deal. It has been quite a long time since we heard Abraham Lincoln quip "A house divided shall fall, a house united shall stand" or what ever it was he actually said. I'm not suggesting that this is no longer true, I'm not suggesting that we should secede from the union or anything, only that we could.

Why would I bring up such a ridiculous idea? Why do you think it's ridiculous? A while back Thomas Jefferson himself reminded me that peaceful revolution is always an option. Why should we need any such thing, though? Things are just peachy as they are, right?

Truthiness

2009-02-17T20:32:00.000-08:00

Just as a side note, I myself feel under no constraints to limit my Blog posts to the category of "Things That Actually Happened". In other words, I am going to be taking as many creative liberties I please. Just thought you ought to be aware.

Xena

2009-02-17T20:28:00.000-08:00

There is a hawk living outside my apartment. Something about this fact is thrilling to me. What is it?

I choose to think of the hawk as a girl-hawk. I have no way of knowing for sure, I am not an ornithologist, but I have decided that Xena, for that is the name I have given her, is a mother of at least two snarling hawklings. Is it the right time of year for that thing? Do I even care? In my mind, I see her scouring the skies for fresh prey, which she locates and hunts. Having brought her prey then to a fuller understanding of mortality she tears it up by the ligaments and tucks the choices morsels away in her gullet, to be later regurgitated into the enthusiastic mouths of her young.

But, no, I do not think it is the spectacle of motherhood that draws me to hawk as a moth is drawn to, oh I don't even want to finish that cliché. Every morning I leap out onto my balcony and wait to see Xena making her morning rounds. When I do see her, not every morning, but when I do see her, I am usually only allowed a few quick glances before she spreads her broad shoulders and takes wing. These short moments are not just the coy exchanges between distant lovers, although there is a hint of that in the curve she cuts through the air as she dives. Instead, these moments are omens. If she appears from the south, with her beak open, there is a good chance of success, but it will be cut short. If she comes in from the east, with the sun, the long frame of her wingspan casts a shadow on the cars in the parking lot below. Depending on where the shadow falls, depending on which branch she chooses as her perch, the omen can change unexpectedly from good chance of love to the death of a loved one.

There are so many songs about birds.
Blackbird, Bluebird, Aluette, Birdland,
Is there no song for, Xena, Warrior Hark Princess?

Really, I think I just want to see her catch something. I know she is a bird of prey. I know she must eat. She will fly in front of me, she will poop in front of me, she will flap her wings in a most indiscreet way in front of me and she will preen in front of me, but I have yet to see her dine. I want to see her one morning, fresh carrion dripping from her talons, ripping through the red meat with her beak, which I understand is razor-sharp. Beyond that, I want to see her make the kill, diving out of sight for a moment, but returning in a moment with a still squirming rodent, who she twists into lifelessness with an efficient bite from her beak.

This is the thrill that keeps me coming back again and again. What keeps bringing her back?

Liam Neeson as an Action Star

2009-02-13T17:44:00.000-08:00

You saw him in Star Wars, you saw him in Batman Begins, you saw him in, er, The Chronic(what?)les of Narnia, and you probably heard his voice in a nature documentary or two, but y'aint never seen Liam like this. By "this" I mean pissed off, lethal, and also "in the movie, Taken", which is actually the subject of this post. If you've already seen it, then you can skip ahead to the part where I talk about Doctor Who, which you haven't seen. If not, let me tell you a little bit about the movie. I'll keep spoilers to a minimum.

Taken is a movie made by Europeans about Americans in Europe. This is to me a very important fact. It is an opportunity to see how the rest of the world, and by that I mean the rest of the rich world, thinks of us on this side of the pond. Just how do we measure up?

As a father, good 'ol Liam is on the angsty side. He doesn't get to see his daughter that much. But when she goes to Europe unescorted and is kidnapped right off the plane he goes, and I'm pretty sure I'm using the medical term here, bananas.

As far as killers go, Liam Neeson is nothing but efficient. Completely unarmed, Liam is able to dispatch an entire cadre of banditos and them some, but this is not the over the top ingenuity of Jason Bourne. Liam's moves are simple, even repetitive, and alarmingly effective.

Really, I find it hard to be insulted by this portrayal of an American by a European. That's usually how I feel, even if maybe I should be insulted.

In the season finale of Doctor Who series 3, we get another taste of the European vibe for Americans. The "president" of the U.S. is a complete blowhard who gets assassinated by aliens. When the Doctor finally fixes things (Spoiler Alert!) by reversing time for a whole year, everything is back to normal. Oh, wait no, the president is still lying on the floor, dead.

The Doctor will save the entire planet, but not even a characature of George W. Bush? Frankly, I don't blame him, but does Europe even realize what they have to thank this man for? The weak dollar has turned to east coast into an ideal vacation spot for anyone with a Euro in their wallet, and at least we here in America won't steal their daughters.

Will Europeans ever give us the respect we deserve? With this movie, it appears that maybe we will. This movie presents an alternative to the current paradigm, which is, if Doctor Who is any indication, something along the lines of "Americans are disposable." With Taken, the paradigm seems to have shifted to something with a little more street cred: Americans don't know who you are, but they will find you and kill you. Americans won't stop there. We'll kill your crime lords, your police, we'll shoot your wife in the arm, we'll kick you in the balls and break your neck. And we have a black president.
Europe is sending a message to America too, namely "Stay the hell out". In Europe, they take your spoiled stupid daughter and get her high and slap her and do lewd things. That's about as dark as they can get with a PG-13 rating, but rest assured you do not want to send your daughter unless you have got yourself some ball kickin' skills.

Thank you Liam Neeson, for negotiating a new relationship between my people and yours. I will certainly remember this movie next time a friendly Francais offers to share a cab with me. I will definitely kick him right in the nuts if he tries anything funny.

Man vs. Lion

2009-02-11T22:00:00.000-08:00

I have always had a difficult time with language. For some people, apparently, words contain specific meanings that can be easily shared and correctly interpreted. For me, it's all metaphor. You say "Castle", I think, "Castle-like". You see? No? It's really very simple: what you are saying to me, what I am saying to you, I have no idea what any of it means.

Language and linguistic articulation is controlled by the cerebral cortex. A useful little lump of brain matter, but only a certain portion of our experiences take place inside it. Involuntary actions, like the shiver that runs through my body when my ear gets cold, and emotions, like love (sweet love), come from other regions.

A colleague of mine suggested to me last week that in the near future, mankind will have the ability to live forever through the transcription of consciousness into computers. I like the idea. I love the idea. It's too horrible to imagine. But what is the big hullaballoo about consciousness anyways? Is it the capacity for reason that makes us alive? Take a look at this article about the Limbic System, and tell me if you think a copy of your consciousness inside of a computer could do what this thing does.

All I'm saying is, I've never seen a computer smoking a cigarette.

No, that's not what I'm saying at all. I don't know what I'm saying, but I am asking something:
If much of the information, the learning we do, takes the form of chemical processes that are interpreted as sensations, by which I mean real physical manifestations of our state of being, how is a writer supposed to emulate those process with words?

It's like touching a hot stove and pulling your hand away before you even register the feeling of heat. In order to experience this sensation, this reflex, first you need a hot stove.

Break Down

2009-02-11T21:44:00.000-08:00

Let's break this down.
This is a weblog, or blog.
My name is Seth

That's about all the essential information. With this blog I intend to create a workspace for my brain, a writing playground through which I may indulge and explore my various interests. To explain myself further, here are a few of my interests:

Doctor Who. I'm a big fan.
Music. I write songs. Sometimes, if they are good enough, my friend Kevin and I record them.
Fiction and Literary Non-Fiction. I'll leave it up to you to figure out the difference. For me the borders are pretty murky.
Poetry.
Movies.
Seattle.

The list could go on, but I'd rather save some surprises for later. If it's a form of creative writing, odds are I'll get around to it. In the meantime, I hope you will enjoy what you read here and leave me with your comments.