I'm Lookin' Californ. . . er, actually, I'm Pretty Much Looking Minnesota Too

When I was driving out to Willmar yesterday, I was listening to NPR, and there was a lot of coverage from Minnesota Public Radio about all the goings-on in Fargo/Moorhead and the impending doom threatened by the Red River. The crest, the retreat, the impending storm, another crest when all the snow piling up melts, etc. What struck me is the people they interviewed. Now I know a lot of folks in this neck of the woods got all up in arms about the way people were portrayed in the classic Coen brothers flick, Fargo, but damn if every single person on the radio didn't sound like they stepped right out of that piece of cinematic genius. So either the NPR folks were taking the piss and only played recordings of people with that particular speaking inflection, or the Coens pretty much nailed it. I can't say I noticed the accent so much when LAZERWOLFS played Fargo last summer, but my experiences with folks today in Willmar would support the truth of what the movie showed us. Anyway, here's Sid charming the ladies at the bar we played in Fargo, the Nestor Tavern:

Spring in Minnesota apparently means blizzards and ice storms. There was some question as to whether or not this week's big snowstorm would hit us here in Willmar last night; it did, but not until this morning. I looked out my window around 5 AM and it looked like it was just starting. By 8 it was coming down horizontally because the wind was blowing so damn hard, and everything was icing up nicely.

At some point during the day though it stopped and warmed up a little. By the time I left work, the roads were either wet or clear, and the snow was mostly slush. That bodes well for the drive back to Minneapolis tomorrow; I wasn't looking forward to two hours being transformed to 4 or 5.

Here is a shot of the place I am working. Apparently they make equipment for the food and dairy business. Whatever. All I know is the IT guy kind of scares me; either that or his mind is so warped by a World of Warcraft addiction that he has no remaining person-to-person social skills. He doesn't make eye contact and every now and then he has this evil little knowing grin, as if he just cast a spell whose effects aren't yet manifest. I'm pretty sure if shit goes down though that I can take him. I've shrugged off a dweomer or two in my day and lived to tell the tale, believe me.

Here are a few shots of some scenes around town. First up is a gun shop with arguably the greatest name ever.

Next is the requisite small town Masonic Temple.

Speaking of old boy, patriarchal and misogynistic organizations, every small town also needs a big imposing church (to balance all the little weird ones and the bars and the pawn shops and the liquor stores), don't they?

Last up is the old looking Dairy Queen I thought was cool. And now I'm really craving a peanut buster parfait . . . but luckily I'm already stripped down to my chonies and I don't feel like putting my pants back on.

Oh, you know where, now I can't see, I just stare. . . .

Posting from: Willmar, MN
Listening to: Pearl Jam -- Ten Redux Re-mix

Today was one of those travel days that don't make any sense to me. It seemed like a slam dunk when the trip first came up; I simply needed to fly to Minneapolis, get a rental car, then drive a couple hours to a little town slightly north and west. There is a direct flight on Northwest from Missoula to Minneapolis a couple times a day, I take it all the time en route to destinations yonder; easy, right?

No, wrong!

That flight was nearly double what the cost was for me to get on a Horizon/Alaska flight in Missoula, fly to Seattle, and then get on a Northwest flight to fly back across the friggin' country to Minneapolis. How can that possibly be cheaper or easier for anyone concerned? I understand that Northwest is now Delta and they are partnered with Continental and Alaska and blah blah blah, but still. There was a sign up at the Horizon counter when I arrived (at 5:30 A-freakin'-M) already announcing the flight was overbooked and they would offer vouchers for free future travel to any volunteers who would be willing to take a later flight. Same thing when I got to Seattle -- the NW flight to Minneapolis was also overbooked. What sucks is I have so many miles on NW that I typically fly first class, but not this time. When I got to Seattle I tried to flex a little elite muscle but first class was already checked in full; I did get moved out of the middle seat I was supposed to be in for one on the aisle. That was good. So instead of being squeezed between the only two people on the plane bigger than me I got to get clobbered by every person making their way up the aisle to the lavatories, and also had the pleasure of having multiple immense, polyester, squishy, unknown asses shoved in my face. Ah, the glamour of frequent travel.

I got to Minneapolis early enough that I had time to check out a couple bookstores I've known about for a while but never had opportunity to visit.

Arise! Bookstore is this awesome little ultra-left shop in a part of Minneapolis I'd never been through before. Lots of health food stores, record shops, thrift stores, etc. I hope I have time to visit again when I head back to Minneapolis on Wednesday before flying out Thursday morning. I felt a little old, though, as the place is definitely aimed at your young, punk rock anarcho/marxist/activist. Here they are in their own words:

Known as an activist information hub for the Twin Cities for over ten years, the Arise! Collective provides works of resistance by Marx and Engels to Audre Lorde, John Zerzan to bell hooks, Annie Sprinkle to Noam Chomsky.

I enjoyed the place, even though the young guy sporting the impressive mohawk sitting behind the counter seemed more interested in surfing the web than talking Resistance with what probably seemed to him to be a burned out old hippie. Oh well, at least he didn't hassle me about taking pictures.

I picked up one of their Arise! Atlas guides. It's pretty cool; it's a little pocket-sized guidebook consisting of "200 pages of street maps, bicycle routes, day trips and radical local history." I love stuff like this. I also picked up a couple free newspaper things and the latest issue of Socialist Appeal. Put that in your loofah and scrub with it, Bill-O!

It wasn't much of a drive from there to DreamHaven Books, a store which "specializes in new and used science fiction, fantasy, horror, film and media books, comics, and graphic novels." If that doesn't have my name written all over it, I don't know what does. I found it easily enough, looked in the windows, and snapped a couple pictures.

Hands shaking, wallet trembling in anticipation, I walked around to the front door . . . and learned the sons-a-bitches are closed on Sundays and Mondays! Jesus! That's less Capitalist than the damn Marxist joint was! Don't they realize this is America and we have an economy to resurrect?!

So yeah, I better get back to Minneapolis in time Wednesday to revisit this joint or this trip will be one for the flusher, I can tell already.

As for the drive to this wonderful oasis that is Willmar, MN, I wish it was more spring and everything was green. I know this area can be beautiful in the right weather, but this wasn't it. Gray, and growing cold, with 12-18 inches of snow supposed to swoop in overnight. It makes the cold I've been battling feel that much more welcome. I tried to snap some gray photos of the dead-looking scenery and frozen lakes and rivers, but my photography-while-driving efforts were poor. Nonetheless, here you go.

The Singer of Owls

"The Singer of Owls" by Margaret Atwood, from The Door

The singer of owls wandered off into the darkness.
Once more he had not won a prize.
It was like that at school.
He preferred dim corners, camouflaged himself
with the hair and ears of the others,
and thought about long vowels, and hunger,
and the bitterness of deep snow.
Such moods do not attract glitter.

What is it about me? he asked the shadows.
By this time they were shadows of trees.
Why have I wasted my lifeline?
I opened myself to your silences.
I allowed ruthlessness
and feathers to possess me.
I swallowed mice.
Now, when I'm at the end, and emptied
of words, and breathless,
you didn't help me.

Wait, said the owl soundlessly.
Among us there are no prices.
You sang out of necessity,
as I do. You sang for me,
and my thicket, my moon, my lake.
Our song is a night song.
Few are awake.

Rumpus, Rumpus, Rumpus

This will be bittersweet. One of my favorite books, and one of Sid's too when he was a little 'un. There was a day he would have been so excited to see this. Now I can't even get him to see a movie like Watchmen with me. This movie is probably going to send me into a tailspin of despair and depression, and I don't even care.

If I Lived in Hesston, I'd Be Home Now . . . But I Still Wouldn't Be No Mennonite

Posting from: Hesston, KS
Listening to: Brant Bjork - Punk Rock Guilt

(okay, I totally stole the posting from/listening to thing from Kirsten in Montana, but she said it was okay; and you should totally check out that Brant Bjork record)

Sunny and windy as hell in Kansas. Landing in Wichita yesterday was about the bumpiest approach I've ever encountered. I wasn't fearing for death or anything (even though the day before I left there were two fatal plane crashes; that always leads to a nice pleasant mood when I set foot on the jetway for a trip). I didn't even get nauseous . . . until I got off and started walking across the tarmac, then all of a sudden I thought I was going to hurl. But I didn't.

Welcome to Swather Country!

Hesston is a little farming town about 45 minutes NW of Wichita. This place is so farm that the high school calls themselves the Hesston High School Swathers! I think they should call themselves the Fighting Swathers!, personally. You can never go wrong adding the word "fighting" as an adjective to any school mascot. Unless your school is Notre Dame. Then you could be the Notre Dame Fighting Conan the Barbarians and you would still suck, as far as I'm concerned.

What I love about towns like this are the enormous water towers emblazoned with the city's name. Hesston has an awesome one, and it is huge.

There are a couple of main streets through town, plus the highway. A few awful 70s-style strip malls and some other ramshackle businesses with hand-painted signs comprise the "downtown." It doesn't seem to be dying though, and driving around the community it seems tidy enough; I suspect in the spring and summer, when all the trees bloom, it is quite pretty.

The place I'm working is a far cry from the fancy Hollywood lighting manufacturer in sunny SoCal I last visited, though. This is a dusty, dirty, blue collar place. A small business supplying a big farm implement manufacturer that is also here in town. I'd say about half the time these are the kinds of places I venture into; you get a big dog in town and a lot of other smaller shops spring up around it in support. I'm just glad it isn't high summer when the humidity is about 5000%, because I'd be sweating like a hedgehog at a Jack Russell rodeo.

The place is crawling with Mennonites. There's a big church just down the street from my swank accomodations, and when I was gym hunting I drove by Hesston College - The two-year college of Mennonite Church USA. The few students I saw out and about were nice and wholesome looking too, totally different from saggypanted-ass college boys and North Face Lolitas that infest Missoula. When I went out to dinner tonight, while I was waiting to be seated I was feeling the grim stares of about 20 stoic faces, probably wondering who I was and why I was there. And wondering when I was going to leave.

Then again, considering the restaurant -- a Mexican joint, no less -- is connected to my fancy hotel, it's a wonder I don't have a line of lusty ladies in bad dresses and worse headgear thronging the door to my room like teenagers hard after those Jonas Brothers kids. If they knew just how dropdead awesome this room is, I know they wouldn't be able to stay away.

This room is so glitzy I have to drag the desk halfway across the room just so I can get it close enough to a working outlet that I can plug my laptop into. It hardly seems fair I have to check out in the morning so I can relocate to Wichita tomorrow night! Oh well. I like to think there will be a minor Mennonite baby boom about 9 months or so from the passions my otherworldly, and sudden, appearance in town stirred in the hearts of all these suppressed women. Rise up, oh ye Goddesses, rise!

Spring Has Sprung

Finally, after a number of false starts, Spring is officially here. At least as far as the calendar is concerned, anyway. The Spring Equinox (or, if you prefer, Ostara) has come and gone, and while we had a gorgeous day on Friday, and a decently warm and (at times) sunny day on Saturday, it still doesn't feel quite here. In other words, I'm not convinced we have seen the last of the snow down in the valley. Still, it's good to know that if winter does battle back, it will be a last gasp.

For our celebration, we hoofed it up the "M" for the first time in '09 on Saturday afternoon. It was nice enough out -- not perfect, but warm -- and it felt good to get out. We like to get up this thing 2 - 3 times/week in good weather, and there have been stretches when I've tackled it almost every day. It doesn't seem or look like much, but it's quite a climb to get up it, especially when one is a little unconditioned for that kind of thing.

Missoula doesn't look like much just yet, but in a few weeks when the trees suddenly explode with leaves and pollen, it will be gorgeous. I'll post more pictures then. As for this last picture, I wonder what the hell they are doing to screw up the oval. The U of M seems to be in a constant state of construction over the last few years.

I think we are anticipating spring even more than usual this time around, on account of our big plans for planting this year. In addition to the raised beds at our house, we are going to team up with my folks to do a lot of work out on their property. We even have a tipi on order for putting up for the nights we spend out there. Today Julia, my mom and me went to a talk/seminar in Missoula with a Master Gardener (I have his name in my notes, but I don't have my notes with me). It was awesome. There is just so much information that my head started spinning. I can't wait for the day when I can spout off even a fraction of that knowledge from firsthand experience! Suffice to say, the urge to get to work is pretty strong. Most of the seeds we ordered have arrived; I can't wait. If 10% of what we have planned actually works out, it should be a great year! I expect that this will be an ongoing subject for this blog over the next few months.

Tomorrow I get up early to go catch a flight back to Kansas; flying in and out of Wichita. I've been there several times, but not motorcycles, serial killers, nor even MISL teams will ever supplant the White Stripes' "Seven Nation Army" as the first thing I think of when I hear the word "Wichita." That also happens to be the first song Sid ever learned to play on the drums, though he'd never admit it now.

You Can Keep Your Damn Bananas

World's deadliest spider found in Tulsa store

TULSA, Okla. – One of the most deadly spiders in the world has been found in the produce section of a Tulsa grocery store. An employee of Whole Foods Market found the Brazilian Wandering Spider Sunday in bananas from Honduras and managed to catch it in a container.

The spider was given to University of Tulsa Animal Facilities director Terry Childs who said this type of spider kills more people than any other.

Childs said a bite will kill a person in about 25 minutes and while there is an antidote he doesn't know of any in the Tulsa area.

Spiders often are found in imported produce, and a manager at Whole Foods says the store regularly checks its goods and that's how the spider was found.

Here are some fun facts from the wiki article about these goddamn arachnids:

• is known to hide in dark and moist places in or near human dwellings
• These spiders are notorious both because of their toxic venom, and because they are not reluctant to attack people who appear threatening
• P. nigriventer venom contains a potent neurotoxin . . . this neurotoxin causes loss of muscle control, and breathing problems, resulting in paralysis and eventual asphyxiation. In addition, the venom causes intense pain and inflammation following an attack
• Aside from causing intense pain, the venom of the spider can also cause priapism - uncomfortable erections that can last for many hours and lead to impotence
• usually search for cover and dark places to hide during daytime, leading it to hide within houses, clothes, cars, boots, boxes and log piles, thus generating accidents when people disturb it
  

Isn't that nice? I'm all about nature and wilderness, but why does something like this really even need to exist, eh? I'm going to have the heebie jeebies all night now. These things can be as big as 5 inches. I would probably die just looking at it. Death by heart attack after squealing like a pig would be preferable to excruciating demise via raging boner.

UPDATE

Sounds like maybe the Tulsa critter wasn't one of these uglies after all. Maybe, maybe not. Since the beast was destroyed -- and rightfully so -- we'll never know.

What Does Satan Think?

GORGOROTH TRADEMARK VERDICT REACHED

Oslo (Norway) City District Court has delivered a verdict on the main question in the GORGOROTH trademark case, which took place at the end of January 2009. The court has decided that King Ov Hell's trademark registration #243365 of the band name GORGOROTH is NOT valid and shall therefore be deleted. The court states that King ov Hell and Gaahl excluded themselves from the band GORGOROTH when they tried to fire Infernus in October 2007. The court further states that Infernus cannot be excluded from GORGOROTH, unless he himself decides to quit. Infernus is very pleased, but not surprised, by this verdict. The remaining issues concerning financial matters and such are yet to be decided upon.

I'm telling you, it's a sad day when even the Norwegian Black Metal bands fight it out in court rather than on the blood-soaked tundra of the frozen north.

Really, though, "Metal" as I may seem, I don't give a rat's ass about these kinds of bands. I just thought the press release I received -- and I get some doozies -- was hilarious. This band Gorgoroth in particular cracks me up. This is my favorite scene -- at least for comic relief -- from the documentary, Metal -- A Headbanger's Journey (which is actually freakin' awesome).



Here's to you, Champ!

169.254.x.x Nearly Ruined My Week!

Most work trips go smooth. This one . . . didn't. Suffice to say, I was happier than usual to roll out of there Friday afternoon, about 48 hours later than I expected to. Speaking of "there", this is where I was:

These guys build lighting systems that are used in movies. There were framed posters all over the building, all of movies that have bought their stuff. We are talking all the heavy hitters -- the Lord of the Rings trilogy, Matrix, the list goes on and on . . . they ship to locations worldwide too. I would have liked to talk to them a bit more about what they do, but I was too busy trying to keep the bulk of the shit out of the fan. In the end I prevailed, but it wasn't too fun.

Right next door to their facility was a big building, Soundstage One or something like that. As I rolled out of the place I was working at the end of the day, I could hear through the open dock door a band commencing to rock. I wandered over; it was a kind of awful pop punk/alt rock thing, with the whiny, meandering vocals that I loathe. This hipster dude in black came strolling outside past the stacks of roadcases. I asked him, "Who is that playing." "The White Tie Affair," he said. Then smirked, "How could you not know?" and laughed. I thought it was funny too. I asked if they were rehearsing for tour, and he said yeah. Judging from their MySpace page, they were kicking off their tour about the time I was headed out of town.

That evening, as I was trying to decide what to do, my phone rang. It was Lenny, guitarist from the mighty English band ASOMVEL. I had given him my number, as he and his family were on vacation in LA, and he and I had become friends via messages back and forth online. Over the phone he gushed over how he and his wife and son had run into Phil "Philthy Animal" Taylor, previously of MOTORHEAD, earlier that day while shopping for cowboy boots, and had gotten their picture taken. We agreed to meet up later at the infamous Rainbow Bar and Grill in West Hollywood, on the Sunset Strip, where Lemmy himself hangs out regularly. Here is a picture of Lenny in action:

I hit the strip early, and did some wandering. As offensive as all the commercial BS is in Hollywood, it is still less loathesome to me than Vegas (that turd-looking movie "Race to Witch Mountain" was being pimped everywhere; I can't imagine that is marketing money particularly well spent). At least some decent art and music has flourished here, which really can't be said about Vegas. It doesn't feel particularly rock and roll anymore; hell, the black-clad-in-tight-pants crowd smoking out in front of The Viper Room would not have looked out of place at the Badlander in Missoula, for crissakes.

I browsed through The Hustler Store, of course. It was pretty lame, like a Spencer's with a big porn section. I had a copy of "Who's Nailin' Paylin?" in my hand, but didn't buy it -- it was something like $40! The blockbuster, 4-disc edition of the big budget pirate porn movie was like $70! Who can afford these prices?!


I found the entire experience rather deflating, so I ventured into a realm more to my sensibilities -- Book Soup bookstore! This was one of those old, crammed-to-the-rafters stores that I love. I spent 45 minutes in there, easily, and could have lasted longer if I hadn't had plans to go meet up with Lenny and his family. Amazingly, I didn't buy anything . . . mainly because I didn't want to have to lug it around. But there were some great offerings; I particularly enjoyed the coffee table books about the various music scenes that have sprung up out of Laurel Canyon and the Strip, as well as just some photo essays and things on the Strip itself. Maybe next time!

I took a couple other shots of a couple Sunset Strip landmarks; growing up in the 80s, these places were the clubs that so many of the bands I listened to staggered out of. The first time I drove through here, which has been several years ago now, it was pretty mindblowing. I still like passing through, even if it is just a shadow of what it used to be.

I hit The Rainbow and had a couple Sierra Nevadas. Lemmy Kilmister never showed, but Lenny and his family did. What a great evening, talking music, life in the US vs. England, more music, and just other stuff. I don't often get to socialize when I travel, and this was a wonderful change. What was great about Lenny and his 21yo son is they both looked like they stepped right out of the cover of Ace of Spades. I loved it! And I also loved hearing his wife (I feel like a wanker for not remembering her name now) gush over the awesomeness of the mighty Dee Snider and Twisted Sister. I don't get to engage in a conversation like that every day!

These are guys that wear their metal allegiance on their sleeves, and it made me feel like a betrayor of the faith in my rumpled shorts and worn-out t-shirt. What a shlump I've been lately -- I didn't really realize it until I saw this awful, clothes-worn-too-many-days-in-a-row, beard-long-untrimmed photo after our three hours of bullshitting. Lenny looks positively mad, and he is, but he's a hell of a guy (and his family were wonderful too!).

I like how Mr. Kilmister himself is looking over us in the background. That's awesome. Lenny offered their flat as a crashpad and his band's gear for a backline for a future UK tour, and I am going to do my best to make that happen in 2010!

Who Goes to California and Doesn't Visit the Ocean?

Not me, that's for sure. My last night there I drove out to Malibu. I love the ocean. I never get sick of visiting it. I can't wait to make it back.