Enjoy Your Thursday

Tomorrow is the final day of classes and I'm sure there are plenty of people already celebrating. Maybe even me... As I browsed through one of my favorite websites Do512, something caught my attention. Everyone knows that Thursday nights on Sixth Street are college nights which means one thing: amazing drink specials. Barcelona, a favorite club of mine, partakes in this thirst quenching phenomenon. The first time you go to Barcelona, you realize it is an oasis among the clutter of bars, many of which are seemingly identical (to a seasoned Sixth St. go-er, this is probably debatable). Tiny but unmistakable, the entrance to the club leads down a flight of stars into a well dressed bunker. The first thing you see is the DJ, the person responsible for the beats reverberating through the concrete walls and pouring into your ears. Further into the club are gauzy sheets hiding seating areas and on either side of the small club are plush booths, where I've seen groups enjoying a hookah. To your left, there is bar and this is the place to be because there are $2 wells and $3 Jaeger on Thursday nights. That's a price that you have to be careful of. The decor is very urban, with artwork on the brick walls but overall, the club is hip in an unpretentious way. I've seen young professionals dancing to dub reggae in their white collars, girls dressed to the nines in spike heels, and dreadlocked hippie types among others. Tonight is dance and hip-hop night, and promises a good time.

Daniel Radcliffe on Nudity

Everyone who said Daniel Radcliffe would be typecast after Harry Potter didn't know that he had other plans. The 19 year old English actor stayed busy in the acting world, making it a point to have an identity outside of Hogwarts. In February of 2007, Radcliffe fulfilled every creepy Potter fanatic's fantasy when he dared to bare all in Thea Sharrock's production of "Equus." His performance was well-received and impressed critics. But I have to admit, there's something slightly unsettling about imagining the tiny bespectacled vulnerable Potter as a man, a nude one at that. I did a double take after catching a piece of a commercial for A&E's Inside the Actor's Studio with Radcliffe, where he admitted fearing that he might get an erection on stage. It was, of course, the perfect soundbyte to get anyone's attention. In reality, after checking out the interview in full, I found out that Radcliffe was making a hilarious observation about the disappointing appearance of certain parts of his, and that it may work to his benefit to have such an embarrassing thing to happen. Currently, Radcliffe is working on the next Potter movie, Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince which should be released in the summer of next year. It is rumored he will be doing the naked thing again for a scene in this chapter.

Here's a clip of the interview with Radcliffe that aired on A&E on November 25th:

Tina Fey named one of the Top Entertainers of 2008

Entertainment Weekly has counted the votes and the result is unanimous. Tina Fey, with her slanted smile and comedic smarts, is at the top of the list of awesome entertainers for 2008. Fey is infallible. Her work on 30 Rock, a critically acclaimed sitcom, received three Emmy awards this year. The show alone, a situational comedy with wacky digressions and colorful, characters proves that her talent tops the league of TV writers. I mean, c'mon, this woman endeared Sarah Palin to America, with her spot on impersonation of the clueless politician--the tight smile and nasally midwestern accent. That didn't help Palin's chances at all, but Fey managed to impersonate the former-beauty-queen-turned-governor with a lot of class. She also signed a book deal with Little, Brown Book Group this past October said to be worth 5 million dollars. Obviously, Fey had this one in the bag. To be named one of EW's top entertainers is the least of her accomplishments.

Kim of the Real Housewives of Atlanta is Destroyed on the Reunion Show

The BravoTV machine has been cranking out money-made celebrities with their drama-filled, addictive series "The Real Housewives." Kim Zolciak, the Barbie blonde, chain-smoking star of the Atlanta version provided the flaw addled keystone on which the entertaining, trash-talking reunion showed relied on. It was no surprise. Zolciak is an easy target with her larger than life plasticized shiny weave, her aspirations of becoming a country music star with vocal chords that burn from twenty cigarettes a day, and the mystery behind her benefactor, a supposedly married man.
In response to the attacks made on her hair, she pointed to a past illness she linked with cancer, but later admitted that it was not actually cancer. She did not, however, explain why a hair piece that screams fake would be a attractive alternative to a more modest hairpiece. Viewers reveled in the embarrassing scenes where Kim in the studio with producer Dallas Austin heard her husky cigarette cracked voice in her ear clear as a bell. And she was stunned that she could not carry a tune. Stunned but not completely discouraged. Her relationship with "Big Papa," the enigmatic man-friend who sponsors Kim's Dior and diamond addictions doesn't do much to improve her reputation. When Nene Leakes, the most unashamedly outspoken housewife, spat that Zolciak was a hooker, it rang out all too true. By the end of the show, although fully amused, I wondered how someone like Zolciak will manage to recover from a nation-wide verbal throttling as many viewers comments/insults were included.

But Season Two is in the works and Zociak made it a point to mention that her single is due out January 2009 and her album shortly after. Anyone who heard Kim in the studio knows that she must have endured thirty hours of voice coaching a week to make it work. What's more probable is that her producer did some million dollar magic to turn the pitch-less sliver of a voice into a full-fledged instrument to be showcased in an album. Assuredly more embarrassments, disappointments, and ugly scenes are on the way. I, for one, will be there enjoy it.

Five Entertainment Trends

1. Adding another sparkling new reality series "First Class All the Way" to the bunch of shows about rich people spending boatloads of money, BravoTV has yet again tapped into the worst of their viewers' sensibilities: a desperate, drooling envy.
2. Thanks to the vigor of their promotional team, Scion has become popular among young people for more than just their design-it-yourself, slick-looking cars. They have joined up with the hip, still undergroundish magazine, Vice, to throw free shows and film showings in major cities around the US, including Austin.
3. In the ashes of the X'ed out raver scene, techno was born again wearing American Apparel and quirky, neon green sunglasses. A flood of DJs from Los Angeles and Europe are resurrecting electronic dance music and drowning the well-dressed masses in it its addictive and glamorous sheen.
4.It's going to be hilarious. Vince Vaughn plays a cynical, foul-mouthed still adorable kinda guy and his love interest is (insert name of lovable actress here). But something comes between them. Their families are absolutely nuts and Vince gets sprayed with vomit, or gets kicked in the groin or... wait, haven't I seen this movie before? The formulaic romantic comedy is going strong and here to stay. (And so are Mr. Vaughn's fat paychecks.)
5. Part of "being green" is not just about fuel efficiency but knowing what you eat. New restaurants proclaim organic, all natural meals and ingredients. But do they actually qualify?

St. Ed's Homepage All Sorts of Messed Up

I noticed a couple of weeks ago that St. Edward's had changed the picture on their homepage. I realize it's important that they update consistently, to show students, parents, and alumni what's new and what's happening on campus. Usually the pictures are of smiling students, some of them recognizable (which never surprises me--it is a tiny campus), sitting on a grassy patch, you know, just learning to think, mouths open in broad smiles.

So why does the new picture on their homepage look like a scene from a Lifetime movie?? A naive students falls into a dangerous relationship with her Chemistry teacher. Is it just lust or can their love survive against all odds?


Thanks to the myriad of courses I've taken that have forced me to wear an analytical lens, I can say that this picture is rhetorically wrong in so so many ways.
Who is the young woman and what exactly is she saying with her eyes to her professor? Look closely. Her dark eyes are half lidded, thickly lined and she could be listening attentively, sure, but I think her face says other things. And that's not just me being perverse! The point is, we're left to figure it out for ourselves because there's nothing, not even a caption to put this scene into context. Are these two learning to think or learning to do something else?

And, what does the Homecoming, which I would suppose may be the context of this picture (??) have to do with the scene. Wouldn't it be more effective to emphasize the fact that Homecoming is approaching with a picture of the past Homecoming?

Seeing a group of toothy students enjoying the lawn never gave me problems. I suggest the next time St. Ed's updates their page, the person in charge gets a second opinion before putting up a picture that has people wondering...

Leftover Crack @ Fun Fun Fun Fest

I had been jonesing to see a good hair-thrashing, fist-raising punk rock show for a while. So when I joined the large crowd that gathered before Leftover Crack at FunFunFun Fest, my eyes watered with joy as I watched Stza Crack, the archetypal punk, swig from a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red Label in between songs, as he spewed anarchist principles (F**K the government, F**K the police, F**K Texas!) Half-full beer cans flew in sporadic arches as Stza and his band mates sang, their shrieks tearing into the souls of pious punk fans as their ska-punk tunes made the entire crowd bounce. Brief interludes gave the skinny, tattooed Stza time to reminisce on the past, his former drug habit and of his recent clash with the cops. (Earlier this year, Stza was arrested during one of their shows in their stomping grounds of New York for throwing an entire box of donuts at the police.) Although Leftover Crack’s profound animosity toward the police may be their least articulate point with catchy anthems like "One Dead Cop," Leftover Crack has been a radical voice for nearly two decades with its message of utter anarchy meshed with commentary of social injustice. Stza gabbed candidly with the crowd, making it no secret that he was planning on getting sloshed during the show and also that he had some beef with the apparently homophobic HR of the much-revered Bad Brains. How characteristic of Mr. Crack to undermine one of the punk rock gods, when other bands that appeared on stage that day sang praises. Despite the raucous punks and the hard aerial objects overhead, the energy Leftover Crack invested into each of their songs made this one of the most personable, intimate shows I have seen yet. It was, without a doubt, the perfect punk rock fix.

Fun Fun Fun Fest Vignettes

Four o' clock on a sunny Saturday, I was standing smack dab in the middle of Austin at Waterloo Park watching Octopus Project plug in guitars and Korg keyboards, arranging the tall, sheet covered ghosts that hovered behind them. As my sister and I speculated whether or not the cartoonish, happy boxes were robots, the drummer kicked off the first song and an intricate melody sprang to life. Having never seen the Octopus Project live, I was immediately impressed by the way the group intertwined all sounds-- the brash guitar, the dreamlike chime of the keyboard, the pleasurably incessant drum machine and the unfiltered energy of the drummer. When Yvonne brought out the theremin, an instrument you can play without touching, I was sold. The players embodied a constant, cheerful energy, constantly switching instruments, showing the extent of their musicianship . At the climax of the show, when the ghosts suddenly jumped to life, swaying and bouncing their little boxy heads to the beats, I was sure that for the Octopus Project, I would hide under a sheet for twenty minutes just to be on stage with them. The thoughts one has while drunk on an aurally stimulating experience.

A tiny segment I videotaped of Yvonne playing the theremin:

Barack Obama Elected President

A collective sigh of relief ensues.

Anxiety ate at me all day, and unlike many people who were able to sit in front of the TV and track the votes, I couldn't be too concerned what with a paper to work on, readings to do, and work.

A half-hour after I got home, my sister yelled to me as I was in my bedroom changing that Obama had won. His face was on television, underneath a caption that read "Obama Elected President." It was all over, simple as that. In some ways it was anti-climatic, but in an entirely, worry-free perfect kind of way. Strange how historic moments can slide right by if you don't stop to actually think about it.

Now he can sleep for ten days straight. Imagine the toll a campaign takes on the human body, the mind, the nerves. He'll need lots of rest for the ugly mess that awaits him.

In Anticipation of Election Day

My professor mentioned this morning that approximately 30% of registered voters in Travis County have already voted, a statistic that gave me pleasurable glimmer of hope. According to the Austin American Statesmen, 440,000 voters were expected to vote early. This estimate takes into account the growing number of early voters seen in the past two elections. In 2000, 47 % of registered votes cast their ballots early. Four years later, the number rose almost 20%. It's no surprise that they've reasoned that at least 50% of Travis County voters will have already voted by election day, if not more.

So I think Brother Perron got it wrong. That number just has to be bigger.

What's better is that already 20 million people have voted nationwide and most of these votes are cast for Democratic candidate, Barack Obama. Austin, a city known as the oasis of blue in a desert of red, must reflect that trend. In other words, the majority of ballots that have already been cast in Travis County were no doubt for Obama, a result of his imploring voters to vote early during his campaign.

Obama played his cards right. I only hope that hiccups in the voting process won't lead to a deeply disappointing surprise when all is counted, said and done.

I decided to vote on Halloween, down the street from St. Edward's at the Texas Juvenile Probation Commission off of S. Congress. Even though I had to wait in line to change my address and left without even being offered one of those sweet "I voted" stickers, I was still glowing.

Owen Egerton's Annual Halloween Bash

Opting out of observing downtown debauchery and drunkenness, I decided to hit up the S. Lamar Alamo Drafthouse for "Owen Egerton's 4th Annual Halloween 4 Bash." I figured
1)If Egerton has anything to do with this showing, it will be hilarious. (As an improvisational comedian, writer, and fixture at the Alamo Drafthouse, Egerton makes his living making people laugh.)
2) The costume contest and free candy promised to provide my Halloween fix. 
3) There's nothing better than watching a laughably bad movie and being able to make fun of it while you watch it---hopefully while you are half-drunk.

I was delighted to see a line of people waiting outside the theater dressed to the nines in store bought and homemade designs. It made me feel less weird for looking like Stevie Nicks in a black wispy number I scored from the clearance rack at the Megaplexxx. It was supposed to be a sexy witch costume, but in reality was the only halfway modest costume I could find in the store.

Standing in front of us were a well-dressed matador and his bull, a girl with two grand papier mache horns arched around her face, draped with ivory beads and small flowers. Behind us I spied an alien with plastic toxic green hair and huge, shiny gold sunglasses and down the line I saw spitting images of the Republican presidential candidates. I evaluated my crew: a panda, a leather daddy, and a cowboy. We weren't winning any contests that night.

We filed into the theater and took our seats. As the Alamo Drafthouse website had mentioned, there was indeed a "live stalker" in our midst. A putty-faced Michael Myers meandered around, glinting the light of a huge silver kitchen knife on the faces of innocent onlookers. Egerton, dressed in a little kid's polka-dotted clown costume (probably creepier than the movie itself) pelted the audience with Tootsie rolls before running to the front to introduce the movie. Egerton likes the movie. He revealed the strange, illogical timeline that has Michael Myers returning from the dead, time and time again persevering through full-body explosions and barrages of bullets. Halloween 4 was different though, he claimed. It was better than you expected.

This statement proved to false. And it was a tragedy that Egerton didn't indulge us with much more than his own perspective of the movie remarking that it was a social commentary while still being completely ridiculous. My attention wandered thanks to the predictable screenwriting and I still only have a shady understanding of the movie. We walked out of the film feeling unfulfilled except for the buttery popcorn that lined our bellies.

Things could have turned around. Live Oak Brewery was sponsoring the event, and so there was a free keg of cold, tasty beer awaiting the Halloween 4 Bashers at Sinsations, an adult boutique off of S. 1st Street. Apparently, the plan was to drink free beer while surrounded by rubber sex toys and swings. Besides what I could see on the movie covers, not much action was going on and the place emptied quickly. Perhaps if Egerton had led us in a game of Dildo Ring Toss (which was set up on a table in a enticing multi-colored spectacle), or offered another source of diversion, the party could have carried on. Instead, after enjoying a free beer, we left with the disconcerting familiarity of every single rubber whatsit that was hanging on the bare walls.

Prickly Pears vs. Pele's Envy Saturday Oct. 25th

I am such a wuss. Always have been. Probably always will be.
My fear of competitive sports resulted in my quitting swimteam when I was twelve. My abandonment of my favorite sport, soccer, came later. The anxiety would transform my stomach in a tumultuous sickness during the ride to the games. I'd sit in my seat praying that the clear sunny day would take a miraculous turn for the worse, that the sky would cloud up and rain the fields muddy and useless. I was a complete and utter wimp.

Only recently have I found enjoyment from competitive sports. For two seasons, I've been playing on a Division V co-ed soccer team for a league in Austin. It's the lowest division. There's no real pressure, no practice even (although we could definitely use it). This is the kind of atmosphere I like to play in. The game last Saturday gave me a much different feeling.

Perhaps it was because we were playing our rivals, Pele's Envy. This team brings a very egotistical attitude onto the field with them. Go figure. Normally, our games carry on with a few falls, maybe a yellow card from a loudmouth who can't shut up. But what transpired on that sunny Saturday were animosity injected tackles and a desperate effort to annihilate the pride of the opposing team. It began when they argued every call, or lack of call. It was either "Offsides!?" or "Offsides!!" At a certain point, the referee had to remind a player or two that he was the one making the calls.
With each jumble of legs and locked knees, there was a growing sense of purpose. Grudges formed. That girl is not getting past me again, I vowed. I'll have her on the ground before that happens. As one of our half-backs, George, and one of their fullbacks raced towards the corner of the field fighting to gain possession of the ball, tensions rose. The fullback forced George to stumble. What could have been a common, accidental consequence of two people sprinting for the ball, had George screaming a profanity that rang out across six fields (it's a good thing children weren't playing next to us, as usual). In a moment of unfounded male aggression, he threatened to beat the crap out of the other player after the game.
Even though all of this pointless behavior-- the grudges, the snide back and forths, the complete dissolution of 'it's only a game' state of mind-- the sense of urgeny to ruin the other team had an exciting effect that everyone felt.
Suddenly, I was running faster, meeting the balls with better, more decisive kicks, trying to throw elbows in subtle, disabling jabs. One of our occasional players, an optimisitic, smiley guy named Ollie was ruthless, and rude on the field. After each flourished fall (to which one of the opposing team members commented on his Academy award winning performance), he'd get back up and demand that the person who kicked him in the shin man up. "That's dirty," he'd say loud enough for everyone to hear, shaking his head. "Dirrrty... dirrrrty..."

The anti-climatic and sad truth is that...well, we lost. The first half was our Achilles heel, our defense was lacking and two shots flew past the goal. While our offensive managed to muster up one goal in the second half, the game was done before we could achieve the victory we knew we deserved. I have to say though that for all of the dumb, meanspritied shenanigans that occured onfield, I was enlightened that day. For once, my wimpy, "everyone should win" sports mentality changed. For once, damnit, I felt that competitive, ruinous rage, and I relished it.

French Kicks--"Swimming"

The Brooklyn-bred French Kicks hit sweet waves with their fourth full-length album “Swimming,” a collection of fourteen tracks that ring in your head long after they are over. Diverging from their garage rock roots and giving their mod-pop a more effervescent flavor, “Swimming” is what lead singer and drummer Nick Stumpf believes to be “by far the closest we’ve come to getting the sound we wanted." It's easy to tell.

The opening track "Abandon" proves the band can still strike up intriguing momentum with simple percussion. Stumpf's voice resonates, his smooth, delightful whine melting into a soaring harmony with band mates Lawrence Stumpf, Josh Wise, and Aaron Thurston. Songs like "Sex Tourists and "Said So What," are evocative of more innocent times. The quality of the tracks, a conscious or unconscious production choice, creates the impression that the songs are encased within gym walls, invoking chaste prom nights and naive lovers. The tune of "Said So What" dances to a gentle swinging chorus complemented by airy percussion. Wise's bell-like vocals endears this ballad to romantics with its hook "Why tell me why/I don't know." With relaxed lyrics and a flowing arrangement, "Love in the Ruins" embodies the band's desire for a more plush pop sound. The plucking of a ukulele accompanied by a bass line that undulates in rare bounces begins the tune. As Stumpf's lyrics dissolve into the background, the lackadaisical chorus returns like waves on a beach, the repetition reaching a level of indulgence not often shown by mature bands.

Produced and mixed entirely on their own, French Kicks achieve with Swimming a subtly upbeat sound that begs to be listened to with eyes closed. Their lush melodies and joyful harmonies leave me anticipating the next evolvement in their almost decade-old music-making career.

the Haunted House of Torment (Part II)

I found myself standing in front of the Haunted House of Torment, a gray faced killer at my heels, wielding a chainsaw, realizing just how serious the actors inside would be. I could smell the gasoline of the motor, for heaven's sakes.
I had never ventured inside of a place designed to scare people and like most people, don't prefer to be scared/uncomfortable/surprised.

My brain reasoned with me like one would with small child:
'It will only be actors in masks and makeup. They will jump and scream and try to scare you but they aren't real.'
My neurosis/tendency towards irrational emotions knew better.
'This is going to be horrible. One scare and your heart will jump out of your chest and beat in circles until it dies at your feet!"

It didn't matter. I had to go in. Honestly, those fifteen minutes were absolutely terrible. But in hindsight, I wondered: When is it ever okay to scream yourself hoarse for fifteen minutes straight without people running to your aid or asking you to shut up?

Once outside, exhilarated and a bit raspy, I had to admit that screaming the whole time had to be the most amazingly fun thing ever.

I must say my performance in the haunted house probably made me into a loathsome character.One step into the dark foyer and I was already crying out, seeing shadows jumping from the corners. As the line wound into each room, my mouth was open, a half laugh half cry pouring out. I was louder than everyone, even the actors and I started to sense their annoyance. With each "There! Something's going to pop out from there!", I went about completely ruining each ugly surprise, rendering every guttural moan anti-climatic, a waste of breath.

Huh. All in a day's work.

XL about The Haunted House of Torment, Published in the Austin-American Statesman

The clunk of the heavy exit door as it closed behind me was heaven sent. After being mentally pummeled and provoked for 30 minutes, the Haunted House of Torment finally vomited me back into the real world. We quickly rejoined the rest of the group, checking to see if everyone made it out alive and with dry pants intact. At the suggestion of a group photo, we arranged ourselves dazedly before the gargoyle statue at the front. I didn’t even have time to flash my cheesy smile before the picture had been taken. As we stood awkwardly waiting for the next flash, a high pitched screeching noise exploded from behind us. Everyone turned to see the gigantic gargoyle lurch to life above our heads, flapping its long, ripped wings in all of its animatronic glory, threatening to clobber the taller people in the group. I stumbled back, losing my balance and stepped on someone’s toe in the process. Fed up and a little more than disoriented, I speed-walked to the car.

Obama and McCain Presidential Debate October 15th, 2008

Obama and McCain went head to head Wednesday night answering question regarding the horrible economic catastrophe and finally making statements about their specific plans.

I haven't yet subscribed to the Obama email letter, slapped his face on my bumper, yelled it out loud and proud but this debate set it in stone for me. He has my vote.
He won. And here's why:
+ Whereas McCain responded to every issue by pointing a finger at Obama (how he voted, how he's going to increase taxes, what he did wrong), Obama responded to the question by giving the viewers background. For example, in regards to the question about how the bailout was going to affect everyone, the senator gave a very careful, precise explanation of what exactly was going on. What were the mechanics of this billion dollar bailout and why was it proposed. He explained how it had happened, how these Wallstreet companies were handing out loans right and left and there was no regulations in place (as a result of a steady de-regulation process, as advocated by McCain) to stop them from doing this.

I think the most important fundamental difference about these two, though this may be seen as superficial rhetorical devices, are the fact that they made their points clear about the roles of government.

How are we going to fix the American economy?
McCain's answer (more or less): "We're Americans. We can solve these problems together."
Obama's answer: "This problem requires leadership from Washington."

We are the public. Yes, this is a democracy but the President is the person whom we should be able to trust to prevent and solve our problems before they become national catastrophes.
We trust that the leadership of this enlightened person, this member of society who feels strongly that our national policies should change and be reformed will make wise, ethically astute decisions on behalf of all of us.

Austin American Statesman Adventure

Around 2:30pm on Tuesday afternoon I entered the doors of the Austin American Stateman and sat down to wait for my professor and well-known social columnist, Michael Barnes. The design of the building is a bit trippy. Angular, askew. It always seemed like I was walking into a corner.

Once Barnes arrived, we took the elevator up and entered the newsroom, an open area full of desks, Macs, and newswriters. Everyone was busy. I rubbernecked past every desk, wanting to catch a glimpse of what these people were working on whether it was designing, chunking and organizing information, talking to important contacts ("...turkey on wheat, no mayo and lots of mustard), and revising the good old fashioned way--with a pen, paper, scratchouts, and arrows. The vibe wasn't as frenetic as I expected. I had imagined people running between desks hurriedly, talking seriously, writing a mile a minute, maybe even yelling at each other. Who knows why my imagined model of a newsroom mirrored the Washington Post during Watergate, but it did.

Needless to say, I felt perfectly comfortable in the lax environment and Barnes made me feel at home and less like a pimpled teenager seeing people do what I want to do when I grow up. So he sat at his computer and I sat on a desk and we got down to business.

He replied to emails and I opened this guy's mail. As a former entertainment editor, Michael recieves tons of free music from random record companies. So here I am, this person who only ever recieves bills and paychecks in the mail, tearing open package after package, each one containing a new, shiny album, DVD, VIP invitation, or doodads for your wine glass, or whatever---point is: FREE STUFF. It was the best christmas ever. I even got Billy Bob Thorton's Christmas album! Well, I received it. Michael is the lucky one who gets to keep this stuff.

But I digress. After he checked a week's worth of emails, we walked to the printing room. He pointed out the new vertical printing presses that are worth some millions of dollars and are specialty equipment exclusively made in places like Germany and Switzerland. These machines were massive, stretching the length of ... I don't know, a football field. I don't remember too clearly. Frankly, these monster machines freak me out. I wash my hands of it.

The experience was refreshing. Finally, I could concretize the idea of a career in journalism. And it didn't seem impossible. These people in the newsroom--they looked like you and me. I looked around and thought, "This would be a great place to work."

Plus, there are candy bowls everywhere.

The Woes of Fruitless Talent

I don't see why artists can't make a living doing what they are good at.

I have two friends, young artists, who are the parents of a beautiful, fat baby named Teddy.

Last night we talked about a watercolor Troy was in the process of making, a swirl composed of tiny penciled circles. There must have been at least 1,000 on that piece of paper. He was just beginning the task of coloring each dot, designing the scheme of the piece. Troy has great artwork. It's modern with an appreciation for automatic decoration, spontaneous ink lines that look like foreign languages and calligraphy.

To be honest, I'm surprised that these two young people can provide for themselves and their babe with the money gained from their creations.

I reminded Troy that writers and artists share the same struggle. There's just not enough money, or guaranteed income at that, for one's talent/love to become one's livelihood. Too many people with creative endeavors work day jobs, their talents only complementing their lifestyles. And this isn't a terribly bad thing; people can be happy either way. My point is artists should be able to create art, and there should exist a big enough market for that art so that people can  support their families.

Troy's getting into the t-shirt business. He said he can put an original design on a t-shirt and sell it in a boutique for forty dollars a piece. Wearable art. Way cool. Yet I can't help but lament the fact that there are bare walls in the bedrooms and living rooms of so many and unsold pictures, painting and drawings sitting stale, collecting dust in dark closets.

It's time to tear down your posters. Support your local art scene and put up your friends' drawings.

Season Finale Project Runway

Now that I've decided to own my Project Runway obsession, I think this is an opportune time to discuss the season finale, during which the final three contestants will be giving all they've got in Bryant Park for Fasion Week.

Part I of the Season Finale had viewers a bit perplexed over the judges' decision to pull the plug on Jerell's designing dreams. It seemed that Kenley's defensive schoolyard attitude and backtalk wasn't enough to deter the judges from praising her wedding dress, a fantastical feathery McQueen knockoff. It is a nice look...for the prima ballerina in Swan Lake maybe. Perhaps even more confusing was Korto's out of character misjudgement with her "overworked" and "overlabored" papery wedding gown. Her simple bride's maid dress, a halter top with a pleated skirt, did not impress the judges or her fellow designers. It was LeAnne's wedding dress that shined among the rest for its originality and flawlessness. Her architectural take on waves produced a "modern" garment that looked like two chefs hats stacked on top of each other. Really though, it was an impressive garment although I can't see any woman wanting to walk down the aisle looking like a person sized wedding cake.

A series is never interesting unless there is a twist. Jerell's elimination showed that Kenley's abrasive, tough girl attitude not only was overlooked by the judges, but managed to intrigue them. But as long Korto keeps her collection simple and definitive, and LeAnne continues to contruct wearable sculpture, I don't think Kenley's peppy fifties style will be able to hold its own.

Don't leave alcohol near your pumpkins...

Ah ha ha.... Just for a laugh. Halloween is a tricky time of year. It's a sad time for kids too grown to trick or treat, for teenagers too mature to wreak havoc, and for parents too tired to keep glueing sequins to garbage bags, throwing together a last minute costume for one night of the year.

I think that we are starting to resemble the parents more than the others. Putting together costumes is all about using what you already got.
"I guess I'll just wear my hair down and carry around a bottle of Jack Daniels. I'll be Janis Joplin."(appear to be drunk too, it's more convincing)
"I guess I'll strap down my chest and wear a sock. I'll be a dude." (stuff a bra, wear some read lipstick, and you're a chick)
"I picked up some face paint. I'll just paint myself silver and be an alien."

You know, this is why I'm appreciative of costume ideas that have you standing in the corner of the party, silver paint sweat stinging your eyeballs, going "Why didn't I think of that?"

Project Runway Season Finale is going to blow other seasons out of the water

Ok, so I can't hold out any longer. I'm just as addicted as the rest of them and I love Project Runway. Whew. Now that that's over with...

The season finale of the fifth season has viewers anticipating collections from four outstanding designers Kenley Collins, Jerrell Scott, Korto Momolu, and Leanne Marshall. These designers, having survived twelve grueling challenges, are obviously cream of the crop, considering that the judges have changed the rules in order to allow all four to move on to the final round.

The last challenge, a project which required each designer to search the New York Botanical Gardens to find inspiration for an evening gown, had judges boggled. Collins' defensive attitude only worsened the judge's reception to her tasteless, pink skin tight queen of the lizard's gown. Even though Jerell's low cut, bejeweled design was intriguing, his less than perfect execution made judge Michael Kors' nervous about a final runway show. Leanne's creative ruffled accents made distinct her periwinkle dress, but the judges were hard to impress. And for once, Korto's creation dissapointed judges with what appeared to be a cliched chest-bearing pageant gown. Her bold orange fabric was laid to waste by an overall negative reception. So it was an interesting twist when viewers found out that despite Kenley's brashness to the judges, she would be allowed to advance and that there would be four finalists in the final competition. The next episode is a bit of a mystery but the judges will be narrowing down the group and deciding who will be the final three to show collections for Bryant Park Fashion Week.

Based on what I've seen of these designers' work, this will be the most visually stimulating and genuinely creative collections in this history of Project Runway. And thanks to a class cancellation (woo-hoo!!), I will be able to catch the first part of the Season Finale on Wednesday night October 8th with the rest of the addicts. Can't wait.

Choke--A Review

Victor Mancini has had sex with every nurse in his mother's nursing home. He is desperate and traumatized, an unshaved man-child, trying to sift out the truth in his mother's demented meanderings--a paradigm of author Chuck Palahniuk's personas.

Adapted to the screen by newbie director, Clark Gregg (The Usual Suspects),  Choke stays true to the dirty fingernails style of Palahniuk's prose. Gregg is not afraid to explore protagonist Victor Mancini's (Sam Rockwell) past, a childhood peppered with appearances of a wayward, beautiful mother Ida (Anjelica Huston) who coerces him to abandon every loving foster family Victor ever knew. Now, as an adult, he visits the aging Ida under different guises, faithfully nourishing her with chicken parmigiana when, in a moment of lucidity, she reveals information that sends Victors on a mission to find out the truth of his origins.

Rockwell as Victor is cast well enough. He is sleazy and wears unclean like a smart looking tux. His crooked face coveys genuine confusion by what happens to him as the truth becomes more mental than he is. Gregg makes good directorial choices, always maintaining the audience's attention by eliminating dead air, though this may have been detrimental to the development of the self-hating Victor, a character that isn't easily swallowed by the audience. This appeal to our superficial fascination with sex acts, the gross, mysterious, and crazy, may have been too much for Victor's heart to survive in the minds of viewers. In truth, we feel the same for him at the end of the movie as at the beginning: lukewarm.

But take all of the sick curiosities out of a Palahniuk screenplay and you haven't got much to work with. A consistently entertaining film that doesn't require emotional investment. Just like Victor's sex addiction: it's all action with no strings attached.

Religulous

Political commentator Bill Mahrer ruffles some feathers in Larry Charles' new documentary, Religulous, a film dedicated to questioning blind faith and poking God-sized holes in the hearts of Americans.

Bill Maher interviews Jesus at the Holy Land in Orlando, Florida.

It was hard to find someone to see this movie with me. My sister, a person with an open aversion to religion, rejected my invitation, saying that she was not willing to watch Bill Maher be a complete asshole for an hour and a half.

But I must say, before the asshole, Maher's a comedian. And he did wonders with the topic at hand.

Take Mahrer, used to sitting behind a desk yelling at other loudmouthed pundits on his HBO program, and put him at the front of a single-wide trailer in Raleigh, North Carolina. He is inside a roadside chapel, standing before six or seven rustic looking truckers in collapsible chairs. Suspicion is written across their tired faces.

His strategy is simple. Maher asks only for explanations of their belief. The what's, the how's, and the why's. His straightforward, go for the jugular approach could be mistaken for arrogance and condescension. But Maher's reaction to their responses is often times met only with a reiteration, allowing the interviewees to hear the holes in their own reasoning.

Perhaps the most fascinating part of the documentary are the reactions caused by questions that merely scratch the surface of the religion debate. Early on Maher asks "And why is faith so good?" to which a trucker rises from his seat in a huff. "Look, I don't know what your movie is about but I don't like it and I'm leaving," he says, a commonly held reaction to Maher's questions.

Interviews are conducted all over the world, from the desk of one brainless, square jawed Republican senator, to a babbling orthodox Jewish rabbi who denied the Holocaust--the only interview Mahrer walked out on shaking his head in defeat and disbelief. He interviews clergy, doctors, and unforunately, and maybe to his discredit, the kind of faceless Americans that populate places like The Holy Land, a biblical amusement park in Orlando, Florida. These scenes seem too easy, and Maher self-serving.

I wouldn't reccomend this film for people that aren't already engaged in the debate on religion. But for those who can stomach Maher's opinion, there are many belly laughs to be had in the absence of reverence.

Vice Presidential Election Tonite

...someone is going to get schooled and I think we all know who that is going to be.



Should this make me any less excited to see the debate?
I don't think so.
What's going on right now is just tickling me. Tonight a certain female vice-presidential candidate who has demonstrated all the political savvyness of your average American high school student will be up against a certain former senator known for unfiltered, long winded responses that have led to some major slip ups--for one, a recent mistake he made when recalling President Franklin Roosevelt's address to the nation made on TV during the 1929 stock market crash...ouch.

Time magazine captures what kind of verbal calamity and mishaps might ensue tonight in "Biden's Debate Challenge: Keeping His Mouth Shut"

The combination of Palin's desperate attempt to appear informed and Biden's effort to shut up when he can, this debate will make for a good laugh at the least.

"Dancing Choose" by TV on the Radio

First version: TV on the Radio's latest video "Dancing Choose" engages the viewer with an artistic vision of man trying to find his way through a cosmopolitan comic book landscape of disorienting angles that leader singer Tunde Adebimpe tries to sort out with an emphatic wave of his hands to a beat that is as rapid fire as the lyrics he spits of urban American confusion.

Second version: TV on the Radio's latest video "Dancing Choose" continues their trend of artsy music videos with the vision of a man stumbling through a cosmopolitan comic book landscape of disorienting angles and textures. Leader singer Tunde Adebimpe tries to make sense of the urban chaos with an emphatic wave and clap of his hands as he spits the tale of American angst to a beat that will have you tapping your dancing shoe.

One sentence excercise= very hard and surprisingly verbose.
Two sentences=seemingly better?

The Great Outdoors coffeehouse

Besides a backyard of gigantic peat-moss elephants and a thriving community of potted plants for sale, The Great Outdoors coffeehouse offers Austinites a colorful array of hot and iced caffeinated beverages, vegetarian/vegan conscious snacks and sandwiches, and the kindness of the counter girl who will give you a bag of ice for your twisted ankle.

Anti-ACL--an explanation

If ACL's in town and you were either too cheap to buy a ticket or there's nothing you dislike more being one with a sweaty mass of people, standing on your tippy toes the whole day to steal a glance of your favorite band then you might fit in with the anti-ACL-ers because let's face it: there's them and then there's us.

And what did we do this weekend?
+Got the hell out of town!
+Slept in, and watched YouTube videos of our favorite acts' live performances in bed.
+Pretended we went, happened to miss all the text messages to meet up, but the Octopus Project put on an awesome show, didn't they?
+In protest, listened to Mozart the whole weekend claiming rather fastidiously that the brilliance and angst-ridden intricacies of Wolfgang's symphonies are unmatchable--period.

Either way, the one belief we anti-ACL'ers operate under is that we didn't miss anything... (though I know some of us secretly have our doubts) and at least we still have those $200 still in our pockets (or elsewhere anyway), and we have standards for our live shows (for whatever good that will do). Personally, I'm holding out for funfunfun fest which hopefully will give us music lovers the a chance to see good bands sans heat stroke and exhaustion.

Burn After Reading

The Coen brothers have won four Academy awards with their ability to concoct plots that blur genres while captivating movie goers with twists and a knack for suspense and drama. The fact that they cast Oscar caliber actors doesn't hurt either.

Their new film Burn After reading follows the desires of a middle aged woman, Linda Litske (Frances McDormand), who believes that plastic surgery will save her from a solitary life of working full time at a gym. After finding a an abandoned CD in the locker room, she and her airhead co-worker Chad interpret the memoirs of a recently fired and embittered CIA analyst Osbourne Cox, as super confidential intelligence that leads them to embark on a scheme to blackmail the money out of the unsuspecting Cox with the end goal of getting enough money to pay for Linda's cosmetic operations. What starts out as the simple hope of receiving a reward for the information turns into an all out war between the wonderfully explosive alcoholic John Malkovich, as Osbourne Cox and a fearless Frances McDormand as the no longer pathtic, self-important Linda Litske. The plan runs amuck as it ropes in the people around them, including Osbourne's unfaithful wife and her lover (as well as Linda's lover) , the lady hungry chain wearing Harry Pfarrer, played uncannily well by George Clooney. The characters' wants and actions clash to weave a web so complex even the CIA can't seem to untangle exactly what is going on.

This ninety-six minute comedy had me laughing from the very beginning and left me wide-eyed in disbelief at the absurdity of the end. A fun, bumpy ride and another win for the Coen brothers.

When there is nothing good on the tube... there's ME TV Channel 15

It's crazy. There are some weeks where I'm begging to be bored. All I need is just an hour to myself, oh and to veg out in front of the television. Ah the TV. A luxury (a vacuum of potential, of productivity) when you've been going one hundred miles an hour with just enough time to get seven hours of sleep the TV offers an outlet to just zone out. But I'm picky to what I like to veg to.

I tell you, I don't watch TV that often but when I do, there are a couple of channels that I rely on to make me feel good about my boobtube experience. Besides Maury on KXAN Channel 12 (I just love the drama even though I know it turns my brain into garbage), one of those channels is ME TV, Music and Entertainment Television, a local channel whose station is located on South Congress in what I heard was once a studio for porno films. I smile every time I see the message in the marquee "ME TV TURN ME ON."

I like this channel for several reasons.

1) Music videos! Woohoo! With the true spirit of MTV long forgotten, ME TV brings back an authentic interest into what musicians are doing--making albums, playing shows, and making music videos.

2)The variety of videos is impressive too. I find myself always tuning in to the popular rap/hip-hop which, depending on my mood, I get or don't get. ME TV has a bunch of programs such as Airwaves which plays the more popular videos along with new indie videos and Tex-Mix which exclusively features Texan artists. Lately, what I've been catching are in-studio/live performances from bands I've never heard of or seen. There's nothing more stimulating than seeing new music and the musicians who craft it. And finally

3)When they say Music and Entertainment, they actually mean what they say. During SXSW and other Austin music festivals, their VJ's work around the clock catching interviews with any artist/filmmaker that has something to say. More importantly, if you like going to shows, ME has something as indispensable as the Austin Chronicle and that is its show ticker which scrolls across the bottom of the screen listing the day's shows at each venue. Yup, it's pretty freaking sweet.

Although I know fashion addictions have people watching reruns of Project Runway, jonesing for more, I write to offer another option. ME TV. If you're going to be watching something just for the sake of watching something, watch this. And check out the website too-- points of interest: interviews with Sharon Jones, Erykah Badu, and Will Ferrell ME Television

Local Businesses--the Flavor of Austin

So what is it about Austin that gives this place more character than, say, a suburb around Dallas? Many people fail to realize that at the heart Austin's culture, the source of Austin's eclectic appearance, the places that color the popular arteries of this city such as South Congress and Guadalupe St. are the local, independently owned businesses.

I've always had an aversion to chain restaurants but never thought about it critically. An ad on 91.7FM, probably KOOP Radio, got me thinking about it. They had me curious. So I checked out the website for the Austin Independent Business Alliance, www.ibuyaustin.com, and here's what I found out. According to the AIBA, shopping locally is outstanding for Austin's economy. When you make a purchase from a locally owned business, the amount of money that makes a local economic impact is three times more than if you were to do your shopping at a national chain. Even though I understand the importance of all this, the main thing to me is the diversity of places, services, and goods Austin has to offer its residents. There is nothing uglier to me than the face of development. When access roads become pimpled with Targets, Office Depot's, Chili's, and other chains, all within the span of a month or so (ever had one of those moments driving down the highway and thinking to yourself 'Where in the hell did that come from!?'), there is really nothing going on other than a perfect picture of America's consumerism.

No, I like to support places that have real faces, real people, real owners taking risks. It's these places that give Austin its character and charm.

Mr. Natural--A Review

I am not a stranger nor a hater to vegetarian cooking. As an ecstatic lover of vegetables I was enthused about trying Mr. Natural, a restaurant/bakery located on S. Lamar that I had heard good things about. I had envisioned an array of steaming hot, colorful vegetarian dishes, each one looking better than the last. What I failed to realize was that the cafeteria set up of the restaurant put a huge damper on my fantasy of this vegetarian cookery.

The cold, fluorescent interior is a bit deterring. In the left corner sits the food line and the menu. It was Mexican food day and the main course was a choice between  cheese enchiladas or picking from a tray of burrito halves, with the option of two sides. The laidback appearance afforded by a cafeteria environment is understandable, but the appearance of the food was not enticing. It seemed everything had been hurriedly prepared and chunked into a plastic tray to be put in a cooler, where countering my fantasy, nothing was steaming. The pintos looked like a brown, dour tasteless soup at the end of the line, the enchiladas sat squished together in a pale sauce without garnish. I supposed that to Mr. Natural, vegetarian cooking can not be decorated or pleasing to the eye. It says something that I opted to try one of the less expensive menu items--the veggie burger made with soy protein. My friend chose the BBQ burger.

It took a little too long to get our burgers to us, considering the place was more than half empty. They were finally brought out to us with a small side of tortilla chips and tiny cup of watery salsa. The burgers were sandwiched between toasted crusty pieces of wheat bread rather than the traditional buns and they seemed to be overflowing with sprouts, a favorite veggie of mine. The soy patty itself was seasoned well but it had been cooked too long; the edges were too crunchy and the patty seemed shrunken. Surprisingly, my friend's BBQ sandwich looked tasty, the big pieces of gloppy barbecued fake meat pouring out the sides. I liked the chewiness of the filling and its nondescript, sweet barbecue-y taste.

Maybe we went on an off day. Maybe I should have filled my plate with something off of the lunch line. Maybe I should give this place another shot because I know people who swear by Mr. Natural. Although, without a doubt, I'm sure I can make prettier and better tasting veggie dishes/salads/sandwiches sans the $7 price tag. Mr. Natural is probably a reliable place to go to for fast, healthy food on a lunch break. But if you are looking to be impressed by vegetarian cooking, it may be a better idea to find a vegetarian recipe and do it yourself.

Pastoralia by George Sanders--a review

So I'm a little behind on the George Saunders bandwagon. This acclaimed writer has been concocting essays, short stories and novellas for a decade or so. His writing leans toward the absurd aspects of human life as he explores the themes of consumerism and morality. I did not know anything about Saunders until my Humor in Writing course. Professor Egerton (an improvisational comedian and published writer himself) read for us from one of Saunders' books, a piece called "Ask the Optimist" in which a super happy advice columnist ends up getting into nearly physical straits with one of those in need, a pathetic sort of character desperately needing advice on how to get his girlfriend back. The piece had the entire class laughing. When Professor Owen Egerton generously decided to lend out some of his books, I greedily picked out Pastoralia, a selection of short stories by Saunders.

From the first page of the first story, you immediately realize that Saunders is not a typical writer of fiction. The scene he describes in his first story, "Pastoralia," is one of disorienting incongruity as the reader enters the life of man paid to act as a neanderthal in a lifelike diorama, a spectacle for modern day tourists. The settings of each of his stories cannot easily be compared with a reality we are familiar with. What individualizes each story are the little details Saunders includes which give his environments a bizarro, alien sort of feeling such as with the caveman setting of the title story "Pastoralia", or that in "Sea Oak", an apartment complex rife with trigger happy child gangs. Saunders manages to successfully bring together these odd contexts with characters whose depth and voice cannot be mistaken for anything but flesh and blood human beings.

The stories are written in Saunders' dialect--idiosyncratic, quick, masculine, and matter of fact. Saunders as a narrator is a voice that melds with the protagonist. The perspective is amazingly flexible and omniscient, capable of cruelty and compassion. While he describes the grave misfortunes of his characters, underachievers who try to make sense of the scraps God has given them, he gives them a light at the end of the tunnel, ways to redeem themselves. It's funny how Saunders' characters share the same underlying sense of failure, either knowingly or unknowingly, and the reader is able to connect with a helpless hopelessness. But all of this may be terribly misleading. What is important to know is that Pastoralia is above all else is a collection of stories that are inventive, hilarious, and written with insight and compassion. Saunders is close to his characters in a way that most authors cannot accomplish.

My own opinion of this book matches the rave reviews plastered all across the jacket of this book. Saunders' voice cannot be mistaken for anything but extraordinary. Very excited to learn from and read more of this author.

Ratatat @ Stubb's September 15th

As I entered Stubb’s Bar-B-Q, the dream outdoor venue for acts with lights and visual spectaculars, I spotted the person responsible for the intoxicating pulse of electronic music that could be heard all the way from 9th St. and Red River where I had parked my car.
The nameless, masked opener spent an hour weaving a complicated tapestry of beats and beeps to a backdrop of projection of a man in a freefall, spinning in no certain direction into what looked like an extreme acid trip. The best thing about the faceless DJ was the energy he imparted to the growing crowd, convincing people to pick up their feet and dance. The reverberations of the bass alone moved bodies involuntarily, echoing in the chest like a shout in a cavern. Not a bad opening for Ratatat.The next band left more to be desired. Panther, a drummer & singer duo, seemed to hop on to the keep-indie-weird-but-danceable bandwagon. Their only problem was that both players lacked stage presence. The average Joe singer shrieked awkwardly as the drummer kept time with fast, interesting enough beats.

Afterwards, the crowd was rattling around in excitement, the cloud of marijuana smoke overhead growing wider with anticipation. Finally, Ratatat appeared in a bright haze as their name rose behind them on a projector in big block letters. The sound of the first few Zelda-esque notes rang out, hints of epic solos to be heard. Their opening tune was new, forgettable. But not ones to disappoint, the band chose wisely to intersperse their setlist with songs from “Classics” (a fitting name, considering the songs on this album are the ones that everyone knows) with their new songs--experimental, at times a bit slower and thoughtful. My own favorite, “Lex,” started with a triumphant guitar and as the keyboardist slowed the banging of his head, the song fell into one of Ratatat's idiosyncratic complex and velvety lulls. These brief musical interludes make the instrumentals of Ratatat more profound than other acts that try to give electronic music depth with little luck. The entire show was characterized by anticipation for the next favorite, especially the final song, "Seventeen." Unfortunately, this song fell flat in comparison to the others. It sounded unrehearsed, a bit craggy, and energy deficient (on the band's part) concluding an all- around decent show. 

The band did win points, however, for their visual accompaniment, one of the best I’ve seen. Each song was tied to a new palette, theme, and set of images ranging from hypercolor primitive yarn drawings to feathered haired babes from the 70s with eyes and mouths a-twirl. If Ratatat didn’t have the audience transfixed, the projections certainly did. The band members appeared to be Technicolor dream gods amidst a sea of fans.

Heartsrevolution @ Beauty Bar September 11th

Scion, the super-hip customize your own car company, has a brilliant way of getting young people to hop on their bandwagon, literally. Not only to they do they manufacture sleek looking sedans, but they host free shows, parties and film screenings in major cities around the United States. With acts like Redman, Simian Mobile Disco, and Talib Kweli, you can bet that Scion has received its share of attention. And by partnering up with Vice Records, they've managed to gain a fair amount of influence on what's hip in the music scene.

I know that when I saw that email in my inbox about a party at the beauty bar with headliners Midnight Juggernauts and Heartsrevolution, I knew it would be a good time. These things could only be better if they weren't so packed and the drinks were free. Arriving there late, as usual, I could see that the place was obviously packed with people bottlenecked at the entrance into the bar, which unfortunately was right in front of one of the speakers next to the stage at the front. Once I squeezed past gaggles of tight panted, black haired hipsters, I finally got to view Heartsrevolution, well, from behind a bunch of bobbing heads. On the microphone, a petite Asian looking girl dressed simply in shorts and a t-shirt sang, her voice anything but pretty. Her voice was loud and raw but when synchronized to the noveau 80-esque beat, made for quality club dance music that had a reliable beat and rhythm. Fans in the front were jumping up and down and I did what I could from the pack to move to the music, though it was pretty crowded and I had my elbows make me some room. Honestly, I hadn't known much of Heartsrevolution other than their catchy hit "C.Y.O.A (Choose Your Own Adventure)" which has been used in many a dance mix.
So an aesthetically pleasing Bust magazine article I found on their myspace page, I was able to read up on these guys--- a link: Heartsrevolution article

Overall, a rowdy show but not too crowded to enjoy the loud dance music and have a good time.

Why? @ Mohawk September 8th

Why?, the “folk-pop, indie-hop, sometimes-mustachioed, psych-rock quartet that operates out of the Oakland Bay Area" as described by the Anticon website, includes lead man and former solo project Yoni Wolf on vocals and drums, Josiah Wolf on percussion, drums and xylophone, Doug McDiarmid on keyboard, and Matt Meldon on guitar. On the night Why? visited Austin, the Mohawk was utterly packed. Both balconies were crammed with people, and bouncers were shooing stragglers from gathering on the stairs. The group set up on the outside stage surrounded on nearly all sides by admirers. As a part of the infamous Anticon, a label that hosts an array of eclectic musicans/rap artists/poets, the group’s fan base are of a certain die-hard, latest-EP-collecting caliber. Having only heard their latest album Alopecia, released March of this year,  I felt a little out of place. I stood at the right side of the stage, at drummer Josiah Wolf's back, watching his arms slam on his drums in time as his brother, Yoni, tapped sprinkling simple, pretty background melodies on the xylophone. Yoni sang musical poetry wrought with irony, suicide-notes, and sweet/sour themes, staying true to the tunes of the album tracks so that the fans in the front row could sing along. Their show was a true collaboration of all musicians. The songs are layered with instruments and voices. The band has a penchant for ooh's and ah's and for the perfect mesh of synchronicity and complementary sounds that invented the rhythms prevalent on their latest album. Their performance of "The Sad Song of the Assassin" began slowly, punctuated by pounding drum breaks and sing-song choruses led by keyboard and guitar. It closed with a round of chanting and simultaneous sounds from all band members. In between songs, Yoni would charm the audience effortlessly while taking shots of Jaeger, living up to the oddly humble rockstar vision fans have come to expect from Why? Just four shaggy haired, unassuming guys making music people love with fervor.

For a glimpse into their live show, check out Anticon's live performance of “Song of Sad Assassin,” at the Dublab.

WHY? - "Song of the Sad Assassin" live at Dublab

I must be hungry...

...but speaking of restaurants I wanted to bring up another place that changed my mind. Once deemed to be the home of yuppie priced tacos, I think it's safe to say that I have seen the light and the verdict is in: I love Torchy's Tacos.

Located on S. 1st street, this new non-trailer location (I think it opened less than 6 months ago) is never empty. There are always Austinites coming in, jonesing for their favorite taco. The menu includes an assortment of interesting combinations including Bre's fave, the Trailer trash taco which has fried chicken, poblano ranch, and lettuce on a flour tortilla. Haven't tried that one, though it looks creamy and delicious and obviously unhealthly but I did expand my horizons on my last visit there and decided to diverge from my breakfast taco routine. I tried the Brushfire taco with jerk chicken, cold pieces of mango on top of grilled marinated jalepenos. For a final firey punch, the whole thing was covered with Torchy's own diablo sauce, a thick orange sauce that has scorched my tastebuds on every visit (I must admit, I'm a bit of a masochist when it comes to spicy foods). Even though the tacos are considerably pricier than your average taqueria, its worth it. The fresh ingredients and portion size alone are enough to keep me waiting in line in the morning. And I'll tell you, the Brushfire filled me up, the sweet golden chunks of mango added to the savoriness of the chicken, and my mouth stung for at least half an hour afterwards. Ahhh, that's what I call a good taco.

But I'll tell you (Warning: TMI moment), the Brushfire, while a tasty experience doesn't leave you the next day quite so enjoyably. Oh, the woe of hot salsa addicts....


It was totally worth it.

Freddie's on a Sunday afternoon

I know it must be because I think like a kid and enjoy the simple pleasures of dogs performing like circus elephants, colorful talking birds, and hearing live renditions of the National Anthem on the accordion that I want to share this.

I was invited out to spend to enjoy a playdate with babes and grownups at the Zilker park playground. I could not turn down an opportunity to see my nephews, Frank, Tom, and Dan, and swim in an oasis of family quality time amidst the hectic tangle of work and school that is life these days. So there we are, grazing in the shade, watching the boys hop and climb and I'm holding baby Frank, who is drooling long yo-yos of spit down my arm when some friends of my sister suggested Freddie's for lunch.


I was hungry so I seemed pretty pleased with the idea even though I had already visited this south Austin restaurant once and hadn't been too impressed. It had been for Freddie's Happy Hour, which happens Tues-Thurs. It's infamy has to be due to the fact that not only do they serve cheap drinks (which, as a scrappy college student used to $2 pints/$2 you call its, didn't seem too cheap to me) but they also set up a station where friendly Freddie's employees hand out free brisket and flour tortillas at 6. You can go there and make a light dinner out of happy hour. While I can't deny the goodness of free meat and tortillas, and cheap beer, I must have been anxious about money, or maybe I didn't eat last time I went because Freddie's didn't stick out in my mind as a place I'd return to.

I'm glad to say that what I saw today helped me figure out the whole idea of Freddie's. This restaurant encapsulates the originality and lightheartedness of the south Austin lifestyle. In case there were any doubts, I'd just like to remind you that there's something to be said for the 78704 zip code. South Austinites are so proud I've seen some cars sport bumper stickers with these digits. I think 78704 when I see that there is a separate entrance for people who have decided to bring their dogs to lunch. Dogs are expected to be on leashes, but that doesn't stop them from poking around, licking baby faces, and having a good time. Always looking for a laugh, I found the servers shirts pretty amusing: on the back of a plain black tee, "F.U. Fred University, "Ice Cold Waitresses, Good-Looking Beers." I also noticed that nearly all of the seating is located outside on a wooden deck. At one end lies the playground and a couple of big picnic tables where our group ate today. In the back left corner next to the playground is a small covered stage, where singers and performers play, according to the Freddie's website, at least 3 if not 4 nights a week.

Today we were witness to a one man circus. We had watched this guy, an average looking character wearing a casual button down and khakis, unload his car while we were waiting for our burgers. In one hand he clutched the leashes of his posse, his lead performers, three good looking mutts with big smiles. These animals were the stars of the show. He started off his show with a song or two on the accordion, which he ended up telling the three toddlers in front of him (and me too, when I couldn't help but get a closer look, if not to stop a tiny blonde girl from robbing the tip bucket), the reasons for his playing accordion. It had started with a joke he thought was hilarious: what Darth Vader would sound like on the accordion. I didn't get it. But from this guy's nonchalant manner, I could tell he wasn't telling these toddlers jokes for laughs. He could have been telling these jokes to people waiting at the bus stop for all he cared, it seemed. For what he lacked in his stand up, he definitely made up for in the show put on by his trained assistants. He had these dogs stand up on their hind quarters, and with a loud BANG with his finger pointed like a gun, they'd fall on the ground and roll over dead. The tricks, especially while Circus accordion playing man* jumped rope with his dog, appropriately named Jumping Jacks, had the attention of children and parents alike. We marveled, we cheered, we put more ketchup on our french fries. It was just plain fun. Afterwards, when the little ones found the slide more interesting than the accordion man's jokes, he closed up the show and made balloon animals for anyone who asked. Even though I really wanted a pink balloon sword, I couldn't get up the nerve to go up... plus, I didn't even have two bucks for a tip.

There are few places that I can vouch for here, a handful of eateries that have impressed me with a friendly, laidback environment that I enjoy. I mean, food, kiddos and dogs. Does life get any better than that that? Freddie's is definitely one of those places I'd like to visit again probably for another Sunday, just to see what other tricks those precocious canines have learned.

*Despite some online research, I could not for the life of me track down the name of this guy. He sang a song that was basically just the name of his circus (to help us remember) and the url to his website but I swear, the url was so long it was laughable.

omgomgomgomgomgomgomg

As homegirl was flipping through the Austin Chronicle this morning and talking about all the good music coming to town (besides ACL), suddenly her jaw dropped.
"MSTRKRFT is coming to Austin," she said, stabbing her finger into the ad in the paper.
WTF. OMG. LOLZ. There are not enough acronyms to contain my excitement. It's just too much.



I CAN NOT BELIEVE THAT THEY ARE FINALLY COMING.
Tickets go on sale tomorrow at 10am. This show WILL sell out. Guaranteed. That's why you can bet your pretty ass I'll be there, hung over and half retarded, and twitching with glee.

Please check out the most rocking Canadians to have ever stepped their Puma clad feet in the states: www.myspace.com/mstrkrft/

These assholes have me green with envy, because you know what their lives consist of... doing the music, making the party, and being worshipped for it. Ah, doesn't that sound nice?

I may just be a kiss ass...

...because this guy is my advisor. But it's not just that. Doug Dorst, California native, creative writing professor at St. Edward's University and three time Jeopardy champion (I hope if I ever get this title, people will always mention it in their descriptions of me), has published a book called Alive in Necropolis that has recently been reviewed in the New York Times as well as in the Austin Chronicle.

The story is about a cop, Michael Mercer, who found his way into law enforcement after "years removed from college, sick of bartending and office temp work. ... Spooked by a creeping sense of his own irrelevance, he was drinking too much, sleeping too much and getting dark-minded and hopeless in a way he feared might be permanent."

From the reviews I've read, and the fact that the story is set in a suburb of San Francisco called Colma, a graveyard to millions and home to twelve hundred living residents, I get the impression that the story is dark,a bit gritty, and superbly written. I can't wait til I have time to pick up a copy. I was lucky enough to take Creative Writing with Dorst in the Spring and was relieved to have a professor who was so open and experienced. He liked to ramble (he would OD on coffee daily) ha, and from what I remember he could go on about something, anything really, and make it seem like it was worth saying--that in itself is a real talent. But he did imbue us with everything he knows about writing short stories and really encouraged us to go there, to be confident in our ideas. Real genuine kinda guy.

So yeah, I'm a kiss ass but it's sincere because he has been one of those few professors that I have enjoyed listening to. Annnnnd, you'll never believe it, but he is actually scheduled to read from his new book next Tuesday September 9th in the Maloney Room.

The poster said there will be a light reception to follow and you know what that means... cheese cubes, biscuits and strawberries! Yeah!

I'll be there. You should be there. It'll be great.

Creepy? Funny?

I am, of course, referring to two men, Tim Heidecker (top photo as Jan Skylar) and Eric Wareheim (bottom, as Wayne Skylar), who appeared into my life approximately two summers ago. It was, as I remember, pretty late, and I was sitting on the couch probably still in my bathing suit eating hot cheetos. It was nearly midnite and suddenly a program came on, a clusterfuck of swirling animations and live action characters whose awkwardness made me squirm in my seat, that made me feel like I had popped a handful of pills or smoked the fattest blunt of my life---in other words, the program left me feeling disoriented, confused but entirely and completely amused. When it was over my boyfriend at the time and I looked at each other when one question on our minds "What the fuck was that?" and "What did that do to our brains?"

The answer was revealed to me when Bre, a lover of the weird and hilarious (think It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Curb Your Enthusiasm, etc) told me I had to watch something that had really tickled, well, not so much tickled her as had her COMPLETELY OBSESSED. When she asked if I had ever seen Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job! I didn't know what to say. At the time, I felt like what I had witnessed in the ADHD cuts to new skits/scenes, the uncomfortable repetition on some of the animations which played out like a scratched CD, and the feeling that something subliminal and subversive underlined the whole operation, I had been mentally violated.


BUT my feelings quickly changed after being introduced to the series through the Season 1 DVD Bre found at Best Buy. I couldn't help but the shamelessness that Time and Eric displayed as they carried out their jokes. Their ideas are a twisted but that just makes them fascinating. Off the top of my head: Casey and his brother and "Uncle Muscles Hour" --Tim plays Casey, a man-child with a blotchy face and snot that pours out of his nose while he squeaks out songs with titles like "A Song for Mommy" and twitches while his unnamed brother, played by Eric, dances stiffly around a CG background in black sunglasses. There is nothing obviously funny about this whole bit but its utter uncomfortable weirdness. That may explain why this is my least favorite creation of Tim and Eric's and Bre's absolute favorite.

What happens to be my favorite is a regular cameo made by Oscar winning actor, John C. Reilly (seriously, how did these guys get into this gig together?) as Steve Brule, with a segment called Brule's Rules on Channel Five news, wherein Steve, an owl-eyed bumbling sort of man with wild hair that gives his advice with a slight slur on what to do with your alone time, or how to defend yourself with against rapists using the "play dead" tactic.

Another person who enriches Tim and Eric Awesome Show with his own deadpan absurdity is Zack Galifianakis. A video that epitomizes the chemistry these three guys have together would have to be the Absolut vodka advertisement they filmed together. Basically, Absolut gave them a check and said make us a commercial---it can be about anything but it must involve Absolut vodka. Simple enough. What they came out with was a melodrama about three girlfriends in robes, laughing, screaming, yelling--enjoying each other over cold Absolut.


Anyway, I had the chance to see these two in the Spring when they came to the Parish off of Sixth St. That's when I knew these guys were absolutely nuts. At one interlude, Tim and Eric walked on stage decked out in Papa John's uniforms (by the way, they have this unexplainable preoccupation with this franchise) and chunked 10 pizza boxes worth cheese pizza at the audience. The man I was standing next to got smacked in the face by one of the greasy things. A random piece somehow landed in the hand of my friend Liesel and without much hesitation, she started chowing it down to all of our disgust.
Later, during Uncle Muscles hour, in a fit of anxiety Casey puked all over himself and the fifteen people closest to the stage. And this was real regurgitated bread looking shit too, all over the arm of Liesel's black T-shirt. She didn't really bat an eyelash but by that time, the big guy next to her was getting tired of being assaulted by Tim and Eric.

Who knows, it may be because I got to preview a lot of their second season during their show (which was actually in large part just clips of their new stuff), but I'm not too keen on Tim and Eric these days. Undoubtedly, their first season is classic but I have not yet decided whether or not their unadulterated spastic creative energy can produce another full season of stuff that will not cross the line that separates bizarre and amusing into the dregs of pure drivel.

Either way, I'm still psyched to see what they will come up with at FunFunFun Fest (maybe some special guest appearances...?) and certain that their show will prove to be strange if nothing else.

KVRX--The Radio Station that Just Keeps on Giving

No, KVRX isn't planting trees or donating money to indigent Cambodian children so I guess I'll be more clear. KVRX is the radio station that keeps on giving to me.

I wake up early one morning this past week with a paper on my mind. A gift card to Starbucks (a place I never patronize without freeness involved) has me staring at the brakelights in front of me as I wait behind a line of caffeine addicts, zombies without their sustenance. Finally get my doubleshot something or other and what's that on the radio---Skinny Puppy? Industrial goth music at 8:30am? Immediately I'm swept off to the middle of the dancefloor at Elysium. It's a Wednesday night and I'm shoegazing, moving to the beat, and more than likely I'm half drunk.

More to the point, the variety of music on this station is AMAZING! If you don't believe me, check out the playlists posted on www.kvrx.org. I can't count how many times I've heard a tune that made me blast the shitty sound system in my Toyota Camry. The best thing about it is that you can actually find out what that catchy tune was that had you singing along or bobbing your head. It's strange how one perfectly timed song on the radio can change your whole mood---make your day just a tiny bit better.

And for all indie lovers, KVRX keeps it real. Along with the obscure, the DJ's still mix it up with new hot singles from Saul Williams, Ratatat (new LP ubiquitous in a good way), and Minus the Bear among others.

And because they give me love and other accompanying and not weird at all warm fuzzy feelings, I'll reciprocate (because I'm a fair lover) and promote their fundraiser tonight at Emo's. It's the KVRX Back to School Blow Out, a show that will help keep the radio station afloat and sailing. An all ages show, costs $7, and it appears as if a good number of bands, including headliners Ringo Deathstate, Sunset, and T-Bird and the Breaks are going to be playing. Another cool piece of information---go to kvrx.org, go to Events, click on the Back to School Show and it will take you to another cool site, www. do512.com, which will actually have links to these bands myspace pages. Best way to preview a show and get the most out of your monies!!

All right, well I'm out of love and that doubleshot something or other I just drank (still got some money left on the damned giftcard) has my brain spinning in circles. Until next time---