Ants Will Rule the World

Unless you are freaked out by ants (I'm looking at you, Julia!), you'll think this is pretty awesome. Well worth the 3+ minutes of run time on this thing.

That's the Spirit!

Even though I hope Spain wins because Portugal is so friggin' boring, I admire the enthusiasm displayed here!

Bring on the First Avenger!

A while back I was asked if I'd contribute a little essay about what I think of the upcoming Captain America movie, which comes out next year, given I've geeked out about it before in the past. So I did, and it is currently online at a guy named Steve's Captain America Movie Update blog. You can check it out HERE. This is a little excerpt:

We’ve seen the foundations for the Cap movie being hammered into place for at least three big, blockbuster movies. The moment I knew it had the potential to be awesome occurred during The Incredible Hulk (the one with Ed Norton as Bruce Banner). There is a scene where the military is trying to capture the Hulk on a college campus, and Tim Roth’s character (Emil Blonsky, aka Abomination) has already taken a dose of the “super soldier” serum in an effort to make him a match for the big green monster. Roth’s character is running circles around all the other soldiers, and then goes one-on-one with the Hulk and pretty much holds his own . . . for a while. Watching that scene, all I could think was how cool they would be able to portray Captain America in action. With The Avengers movie as the culmination of the work done on all these films – Hulk, the Iron Man movies, and the upcoming Thor movie – looming closer, I feel even more confident that the Captain America release will be among the best. Cap is too important to get wrong, and Marvel certainly understands this.

One thing I totally forgot to mention was whether or not I'd like to see the film made in 3D. If I could choose, I'd say NO. I'm not a big fan of 3D; the last couple 3D movies we've seen we've opted to go to the theater that was showing the movie in 2D. If they do make it 3D, though, hopefully they will actually film it for 3D and not just modify it after the fact. To do otherwise would be lame. Regardless, as long as options remain to see 3D movies in 2D, I'm going 2D every time.

This hasn't been a very good year for the movies I mentioned I was looking forward to this year. Let's revisit a couple, shall we?

• Iron Man 2 It was fun; most fun was that we went to a special double feature/midnight showing of the thing. I liked it, but it was more flawed than the first one and ultimately not as good. Was still worth checking out. I thought Scarlett Johansson was totally wasted in her role as Black Widow, who happens to be one of my favorite comic characters (speaking of the Widow as a comic book character, awesome writer Duane Swierczynski recently announced he will be taking over writing chores on her ongoing Marvel comics series. That's something to look forward to!
• Jonah Hex Frankly, as soon as I saw trailers for this thing I feared it would be a bomb, and it looks like that has happened. Hell, Julia wouldn't even go see it with me. I feel bad too, because writers Jimmy Palmiotti and Justin Gray have probably gotten some heat for it and they had nothing to do with it. I enjoyed this movie enough for what it was (which wasn't much) but still consider it to be quite a misfire. It's as if the writers and director never even looked at the current series of comics, which I suppose would be fine if it were not a simple fact that the stories Palmiotti and Gray have been delivering are the reason why this movie was made in the first place! I mean, I like the old comics as well, but this current run is definitely where it's at. All in all it was disappointing. Thankfully I don't think the movie will drive away any current readers, but it isn't going to do much to gain the book any new ones either, and that is unfortunate. A real waste of Josh Brolin's talent in the title role too, because he was excellent as Hex.
• Robin Hood No, this really wasn't a Robin Hood movie, it was more an action movie set in medieval times. I can deal with that. I liked it. Yeah, you can poke a thousand and one holes in it, but as I've said before: put some ruffians on horseback shooting at each other with bows and banging away on one another with swords and it doesn't take much to make me love it. I was satisfied.
  
• The Losers and Kick Ass Blah. I was really disappointed in The Losers especially. Lots of potential wasted. It was shot like a music video with way too many cliches in so many of the shots. Would have been easy to be a lot better, but it failed. It had it's moments, but ultimately fell well short. Kick Ass I was pretty uninterested in, and while it was the better of the two it still wasn't something I'd recommend to anyone. Let me put it this way: I actually bought a used copy of the DVD for last year's GI Joe -- The Rise of Cobra because I knew I'd probably enjoy watching it again once a year or so just for shits and giggles. I won't be buying either of these movies, used or otherwise.
• The Killer Inside Me Hasn't arrived in town yet, and reviews are mixed. I'll still probably see it, but I'm a little nervous.

You won't be hearing anything around here about The A Team, though. And you damn sure won't hear about Scott Pilgrim Vs. the World either. Neither of those seem even remotely watchable to me.

How Could I Have Forgotten?

The movie I did forget to mention, that hasn't yet arrived in Missoula (a state of affairs which is pissing me off to no end) yet, is Winter's Bone, from the novel by Daniel Woodrell. I picked that book up when I was in San Francisco earlier this year and started reading it over a delicious meal. I pretty much didn't stop until I was finished with it!


I'm very eager to see this film. Here's the trailer:



I actually won a contest/giveaway thing recently from Spinetingler Magazine; I have a copy of the movie poster for Winter's Bone as well as a copy of the novel headed my way. Since I already have the novel, maybe I'll do some kind of giveaway deal right here on this blog! Wouldn't that be somethin'?

Hmmmm. . . .

In closing, I really don't know what to say about this next bit. I'll leave that for you to figure out on your own. In case you wonder how I find stuff like this, I'll say it came from this twitter post:

@tonymoore this is pretty much exactly what @remender and i do in the hotel room after conventions. just 2 dudes. 2 strong dudes.

Tony Moore is an awesome artist. Rick Remender is an awesome writer. Together they have done many awesome things, including the creator-owned Fear Agent books. I think that post was maybe just a liiiiiitle bit tongue-in-cheek.

Where Were You At?

About a month ago I bit the bullet and pulled the trigger on getting cable TV reconnected just so I could watch the World Cup. I haven't regretted it one minute. I've watched every game; I haven't seen every second of every game, but I've had it on with a TV near me for every match and I'm totally addicted. I do my fair share of twitter postings related to the tournament, and I'm sure it's annoyed some of the folks who follow me, but too bad. Unfollow me if you must, but this is something I am passionate about.

I've been a soccer fan since I was in the fifth grade and first started playing in the YMCA league. My first team was called the Aztecs. I played all the way through my sophomore year (always via the YMCA, because in those days none of the local high schools had teams of their own, which is not the case now) in high school when I gave it up for rock n' roll. I played again during my ill-fated university career just in an inter-mural league, then didn't play again until I was in my 30s and started up in various parks & rec leagues. I used to be pretty damn good, actually, but age and girth have gotten the best of me the last couple years. I'm hoping to regain my form again by this time next year, because I love to play the game so much and prefer not to be a liability, you know?

Which brings me back to my love affair with the World Cup. As everyone knows, yesterday the US Men's National Team beat Algeria to advance to the knockout rounds of this year's tournament. That's a big deal, because the USA has never been particularly good in the sport, and this tournament -- the biggest sporting event in the world -- only comes around every four years. Part of the joy of being a fan, at least for me, is that it always felt kind of subversive. In high school when the football coach was trying to coax me into coming out for the team, I always got a thrill in telling him I preferred soccer. None of the friends I ever had were soccer fans either, until now. So seeing the team, our team, have some success has been the biggest sports-related thrill of my life. Especially in such dramatic fashion. I posted the video yesterday of the game winning goal, but FIFA has pulled it. This next one, though, shows many of the near misses leading up to it. Watch it, and try and imagine what it would be like to be on the edge of your seat, hoping against all hope for something to happen. It was thrilling for 90+ minutes.



Yeah, I could live without the Journey song at the end, but it's still a cool video.

This next video I discovered as a result of a twitter post by Landon Donovan himself, the guy who scored the game winning goal. The music in the background is certifiably cheesy, but I have to confess that it chokes me up a little to watch this. So many people, so excited . . . it is great to be a part of it.



As for me, I was here in my office, watching it on a lame little TV with bad color. I think I was holding my breath from the moment Tim Howard made his outlet pass to Donovan on the wing and the counterattack started. When the ball hit the back of the net, I erupted from my seat with a bellow that scared the bejeezus out of the dogs. I was jumping up and down, hooting and hollering, slapping my hands, just going nuts. No doubt anyone in the neighborhood heard me. The dogs were terrified. Even Sid, still asleep in the next room but rudely awakened, staggered out to see what the hubbub was about. Watching that video, it's awesome to know that that moment was shared by so many people, all at the same time. What a joyous event!

It could all, and at some point likely will, end in disappointment on Saturday, because now the road gets more difficult. But it really doesn't matter, because that instant, those couple hours yesterday morning, was friggin' fantastic. I hope USA wins a couple more games, and the team is certainly capable of it, but for right now it's great to revel in the glory of this dramatic victory. I'll be sad when the tournament is over.

Now That's What I'm Talking About

My celebrations drove the dogs crazy, but they'll get over it. An awesome, nail-biter of a game today, for sure.

And I Was Crazy to Think I Could Ever Leave it all Behind

I had forgotten all about the movie Pirate Radio, which is one I had some interest in seeing while it was out in theaters, until I was reminded of it via this post by editor J. Kingston Pierce over at The Rap Sheet blog. As for what the movie is about, allow me to quote Mr. Pierce:

The story, set in 1966, has to do with misfit, rebel disc jockeys, who--much to the disgruntlement of Her Majesty’s government--are broadcasting contemporary pop music from a ship anchored in the North Sea to listeners tired of hearing tamer tunes every time they switch on their radios.

Basically what these guys are doing is playing rock n' roll during hours of the day and night when the "mainstream" radio stations do not, and they have a huge fan following. This is the early days of rock, back when it was still dangerous and subversive and counterculture. If for nothing else, the soundtrack of the film is worth checking the movie out.

My initial reaction was one of sad nostalgia. I'm not old enough to remember the time period that this movie portrays, but I am old enough to have grown up with similar experiences. The scenes in the movie of young people huddled around their radios listening, or dancing, or alone in a room so in love with what they are hearing that the emotions etching their faces could not be more apparent if they were being shouted from a rooftop. I remember actual DJs who chose their own playlists, something that you don't hear much anymore unless it is college radio. Today's "popular" music stations are nothing like that; if there is a DJ at all choosing the tunes to play, those tunes are from a very controlled selection of options. Often as not one is hearing a stream of some kind from some corporate hub somewhere, with real life, interesting and compelling DJs are a thing of the past.

I have various music-related memories from my youth. My older sister would buy 45s of the popular songs on the radio, and when my parents were gone she'd throw a big stack of them on the big cabinet/console stereo thing and blast them in the living room. I'm talking shit like Neil Sedaka, Tony DeFranco and the DeFranco Family, and other acts famous or faded into obscurity. Jim Croce. Blue Swede. The Hollies. Three Dog Night. Grand Funk fucking Railroad. We'd listen to the countdown shows; I remember in 1974 when "Seasons in the Sun" by Terry Jacks was dethroned at number one by, I think, Elton John's "Bennie and the Jets." Why do I remember this stuff? Because music was a big deal to me, I guess, even then, and it is a huge part of all the odd little memories I've carried forward.

25 or 30 years ago FM radio was still on the fringe. I used to listen to the FM side of one of the local AM stations, and it featured what they referred to as "album rock." This is where I heard a lot of stuff that never came close to America's Top 40. Stuff I still enjoy to this day. Early Van Halen. Warren Zevon. Rush. Pink Floyd. Black fucking Sabbath. The list goes on and on. I listened to that station all the time, and had it playing all night so that the music became a soundtrack to my dreams (I have specific recollections of dreams that include "The Stroke" by Billy Squier and "Rock n' Roll Fantasy" by Bad Company). I remember asking my mom why I only heard KISS at night and she said it was because only night owls listened to KISS. Of course not knowing what a "night owl" even was at the time, I got pissed because I assumed she was taking a swing at my favorite band (I should say, though, that my mom has great taste in music, for the most part anyway). My little cassette recorder was always next to the radio, and when certain songs came on I'd jump up and record them. This was before the days of boom boxes with built in cassette players and radios, or at least before I ever had one. Eventually I got my first stereo -- one of those all-in-one units with cassette, tuner and tape deck from Radio Shack -- when I was finally old enough to join 4H and sell a hog at the fair. Eventually FM radio changed to what it is today. That's about the time I stopped listening to the radio as a means to experience new music.

At first, after watching Pirate Radio, I was saddened for the youth of today, that they haven't had the opportunities I did. I changed my mind, though. Just because their way of finding great songs and experiencing music for the first time is different from mine, doesn't make it less important of an experience. Just like the unlistenability of their music to my ears doesn't make it terrible to them. My kid and his friends share music all the time via burned playlists and CDs, which really isn't any different from the cassettes and records I shared with my friends. It's just easier and way faster. Sid can browse MySpace and find new bands every night, and his excitement is every bit as great as mine was when I found something new. It has cost rock n' roll some of its mystique, I think, and I'm not a fan with how what used to be subversive and anti-establishment really has become The Establishment, but that could swing the other way again. Rock n' roll may be dead, but it's still more than alive.

What to Do with the Aging Rockers, Then?

My problem is I started playing music as well; my first band cranked up in the summer of 1983 when I was 16 years old. I've been doing it pretty much ever since except for a dark stretch in the mid-90s. After I started up again, I played right up until July of last year, when our drummer -- the guy I'd been playing with since high school -- apparently fell off the wagon and missed the entire planet. We -- Jimmy, the guy who has played guitar to my bass since 2001, and I -- have not heard from him since dropping him off at his house on July 13th or so of last year. At that point I thought I was finished; I'd had my fill of trying to find gigs, dealing with promotion, all that stuff. I was burned out. Wanted to focus on other things. But there remained a hole in my life that just wasn't getting filled with other things.

Then one evening Julia and I were at a local event and a band was setting up to play. It really bothered me, because their whole thing was just . . . limp. This being a reasonably popular local band, I decided that I couldn't live in this town if this band of posers were the so-called representatives of rock in this town. I texted Jimmy at that moment that we needed to find a drummer and keep doing something, and that's what we did. Maybe no one likes us, or listens to us, but we know that there's at least one band in town that can lay it down thick and loud. And that's good enough for me.

A guy I hadn't heard from in years and years left me a message on Facebook. This was a guy who'd been part of our musical circle back in the late 80s/early 90s in the Seattle area. It was just one sentence: "You're still playing? Wow." That was it. "Why shouldn't I be?" I asked myself, kind of offended that the notion should be a shock to anyone. I get occasional messages or friend requests via Facebook from old classmates, people I really haven't thought about or heard from since I graduated in 1985. So many of them look old, and square, and have become people I hardly recognize living lives I really can't imagine. That troubles me, and I do question sometimes the road I've chosen, especially when it comes to this thing called music. But I ain't so far removed from that 8, 13, 18, 30 year-old kid/man who fell in love with, and stayed in love with, the stick-it-to-the-man notion of music in the first place! You don't see too many guys my age playing the kinds of shows we play, and I have to admit sometimes I do feel my age . . . but never when we are actually playing. Not even a little bit.

Which takes me back to the whole reason for this rambling post -- J. Kingston Pierce's original blog about Pirate Radio. This scene isn't even in the movie; it's in the special features, a scene that was edited out. Why, I can't imagine. But it's awesome, and like Pierce I've watched it over and over. It really says it all, way better than 1000+ words can. For context, the older guy is a famous DJ who left, then came back. That's all you really need to know. Watch it, and you'll either get it or you won't. If you do, here's to you.

It's Another Special Moment in Dayton, Ohio

Be warned of some colorful language here, but it's worth watching. Trust me.

Forgotten Books – The Real Cool Killers by Chester Himes

Between the years of 1957 and 1969 Chester Himes wrote a series of crime novels/mysteries featuring two New York City police detectives working the Harlem beat: Coffin Ed Johnson and Grave Digger Jones. I’ve had the pleasure of reading two of them: All Shot Up (1960) and The Real Cool Killers (1959). These books are a rousing blend of action, over the top circumstances, humor, and even some subtle social commentary.

The Real Cool Killers takes place over a single night, detailing the investigation of the murder of a white man chased out of the Dew Drop Inn by a knife-wielding assailant. Suspects include Sonny, a black man seen pursuing the victim down the street while firing a pistol at him (which turns out to be loaded with blanks), as well as a gang of teenagers disguised in fake, bushy beards, turbans and long robes who call themselves the Real Cool Moslems. They have names like Sheik, Choo-Choo, Bones and Inky. Coffin Ed actually shoots and kills one of the Moslems in the opening scene (as well as wounding an innocent bystander) and is suspended, forcing Grave Digger Jones to unravel the mystery on his own. The trail Jones follows through the cold and gritty slums takes him to informants, drug dealers and pimps, and he slowly begins to uncover details that suggest the white victim maybe wasn’t such a "victim" after all. To speak much more of the plot will reveal too many of its twists and turns, and spoil the experience for anyone reading it. Suffice to say, it is classic Himes.

Many of Himes’ characters could be considered stereotypes. The jive-talkin’ inner city black folk. The thuggish and blatantly racist white cops. The madam with a good heart just trying to make her way. Through it all wade his stalwart detectives, Jones and Johnson, almost superheroic in the fear and respect they command and their efficiency in dealing with the riff raff. They aren’t afraid to make their way with fists, or fire off a few rounds from their massive revolvers if that is what it takes to get their point across. In Himes' hands these archetypes work, and transcend the baggage that may otherwise come with them.

Much of what Himes writes would probably not fly too well in today’s arena of political correctness, and the overly sensitive may balk at some of it. Nonetheless, it is the world Himes knows, and he writes it better than most. He portrays scenes and circumstances that may seem overtly comical, until one looks just a little below the surface and realizes he is speaking of some higher truth. Chester Himes lived much of his life under circumstances not typical for most writers, particularly when one considers the racial tone of the era, lending a degree of authenticity to his work that few other writers could match. Born in 1909 in Missouri, he went to jail for armed robbery in 1928. While in prison he began writing and publishing stories, and did so until paroled in 1936. He kept writing his entire life, even while living as an expat in France and Spain. He died in 1984 from Parkinson’s Disease.

As I said, I’ve only read two of his books, but I hope to read as many more as I can find. Those I’ve already been introduced to were both fantastic, entertaining reads, with outlandish plots that tie up nicely when all is said and done. If you haven’t experienced Chester Himes, and enjoy hardboiled crime and detective fiction, then you won’t find much better than this.


Thanks to Patti Abbott once again for organizing the weekly Forgotten Books Friday madness. Make sure and check her site for a roundup of all the other books being blown free of dust and reminded to the world!

What are You Reading This Summer?

Lots of magazines and websites put out summer reading lists. For whatever reason, summer is supposed to be a time when you read more, I don't know. I'm not a seasonal reader. If anything I probably read a little more during the darker months because there is less other stuff going on. Maybe too many people making editorial decisions think that we all still take vacations in the summer and need something to read while lounging at the beach or sipping cocktails at the pool. I don't think that's the case for most of us, but we can dream, right?

Richard over at The Broken Bullhorn (and a fairly frequent commenter around these parts) put up a post detailing the list of books he expects to read over the summer. I figured I'd do the same, since just last weekend I tried to get my arms around the growing pile of books I still need to read, and organized them into a loose queue to pull from. If all goes as planned, this is what I should be able to knock out over the summer, provided a summer actually comes to Missoula this year.

• The Last Good Fight by Joe Layden (just started this, about 25% of the way through. It's a NF book about the Mike Tyson/Buster Douglas fight on February 11th, 1990, as well as behind the scenes stuff about both of their careers and the events leading up to the historic fight. Pretty great so far.)
• Blood Oath by Christopher Farnsworth (novel about a guy who is the president's vampire bodyguard or something. I don't know, not something I'd normally pick up, but it comes highly recommended by Beau Smith, whose opinion I trust, so I figured I'd give it a read)
• The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien (story collection based on nonfiction events from the author's experiences in Viet Nam, I believe. Came up in conversation w/ Patti Abbott, who suggested I give it a read for the Forgotten Book Fridays thing I occasionally participate in)
• True Grit by Charles Portis (classic Western I've never read)
• The Raven's Gift by Jon Turk (mentioned this in a post earlier this week; a nonfiction account of the author's experiences with an old shaman in Siberia)
• A Bad Day for Sorry and A Bad Day for Pretty by Sophie Littlefield (the first two novels by Sophie, who has become one of my internet pals over the last few months. Sorry was/is up for all kinds of First Novel awards, and it couldn't happen to a nicer person. Pretty just came out a week ago. Wanted to get right on these, but forced myself to put a couple in front of them)
• The Lost City of Z by David Grann (nonfiction account of an Amazonian adventure expedition gone awry. I love stuff like this!)
• The Song is You and Bury Me Deep by Megan Abbott (yes, for those who don't know, she is the aforementioned Patti's daughter. Julia loves her books, and I've loved the two I've already read. When people ask for book recommendations, I always mention Megan now!)
• Body by Harry Crews (one from my Powell's Books haul, and the one Christa Faust recommended to me as a great place to start with Harry Crews. A black comedy set in the world of female bodybuilding)
• A Fighter's Heart by Sam Sheridan (a nonfiction account from a guy who traveled the world learning different fighting techniques, as well as a look into the philosophies of why we fight. Or something like that)
• American Salvage by Bonnie Jo Campbell (collection of stories about down-and-out folks in rural Michigan. Julia read it, liked it, and said I'll probably like it too)

This list should get me through. I have a few other books (not to mention graphic novels) stacked alongside that I might add here and there as well, plus I know a new Gabriel Hunt book is coming out soon which I will definitely grab and read as soon as I'm able to, but for the most part this should be a plan I can stick to.

Or not, we'll see.

I'm curious to know what other people are reading, or will be reading!

A True Ohio Tragedy

I've mentioned this famous Ohio landmark before on this blog -- the legendary Ohio Touchdown Jesus.

Looks like the Thunder God took offense at this likeness, however, for lightning has struck the statue down.

I knew the damn thing was big, but Jesus!

The sculpture, 62 feet tall and 40 feet wide at the base, showed Jesus from the torso up and was nicknamed Touchdown Jesus because of the way the arms were raised, similar to a referee signaling a touchdown. It was made of plastic foam and fiberglass over a steel frame, which is all that remained early Tuesday.

TDJ, I'll miss you next time I'm passing through. . . .

UPDATED!

Jesus is on fire!

Random Sampling From My Brain

The Beautiful Game

Four days into the 2010 World Cup in South Africa and I've watched every match, but I'm feeling a little burned out. The problem is I've been staying up too late and then getting up too early (first game has been kicking off around 5:30 AM here). But it only comes around every four years, so I'm going to stay the course. As for my assessment thus far, I'd say Argentina looks like they will be pretty good once they get dialed in a little better, Germany already looks awesome, and Italy looks like shit. I'm curious to see how Brazil and Spain look. The USA/England game was a lot of fun. I wish the USA had won, but I'll live with a draw. They pretty much need to win the next two games, though.

These first games of the finals can be pretty boring, because many teams tend to play not to lose. Once the next round of games come around, more and more sides are forced into must-win situations, so the intensity goes up. I'm looking forward to that.

Intrepid Adventurer Rescued

I was following the story of Abby Sunderland, the 16 yo girl who was attempting to sail around the world before contact was lost with her. I was happy to see that she was found and ultimately rescued. The article I linked raises some good questions about whether she should have even been out on the ocean in the first place, never mind that she was alone. For example, this particular passage:

One commentator on the Los Angeles Times website summed up the view of many: "Abby Sunderland was on the wrong type of boat (a racing yacht) in the wrong location (the southern Indian Ocean) at the wrong time of year (winter in the southern hemisphere). Other than those minor details it was a well-planned voyage."

That comment is weighed with more than a little sarcasm, I'd say. So besides the question about whether her parents were being irresponsible in allowing her the attempt, there is also the question of the cost and risk involved in the rescue. Who picks up those charges? One would think the people responsible in the first place -- Abby's parents -- would have to foot the bill. I imagine that if they can afford a yacht like that for such an adventure, picking up the rescue tab isn't such a big deal, though in this article, which also discusses the possibility of a reality show and book, Abby's father claims to be broke.

I can see both sides of the argument. What it comes down to for me is admiration -- I admire Abby's attempt, and I admire that she wasn't cowed by the fear she no doubt faced stranded at sea. The older I get, the more I realize how much of life is wasted by doing things that really aren't adventurous at all. There's nothing exciting about doing the day in, day out of work, scrambling to make payments on this and that, and all the other trappings we get lured into that are supposedly elements of building a "successful" life. Hell, I sure can't picture my kid taking off solo around the world; I can't picture myself doing that. One thing I do know is I sure do need a little more adventure in my life, that's for goddamn sure. Taking support calls and making pathetic attempts at writing novels no one will ever read ain't going to do the job for me without it.

Conquerors of the Useless

I've been thinking about a lot of this stuff ever since this great movie that Julia and I watched when we were in Portland, called 180 Degrees South. Here's the trailer:



During the movie, Yvon Chouinard is talking about adventures. He talks about these CEO types who climb Everest; the route is pre-prepared for them, they have teams of people to haul their gear for them, etc. Yes, there is still an element of danger, but real transformative adventure? He says something to the effect that people like that "are assholes before they leave, and they're assholes when they get back." I'm not paraphrasing very well -- just watch the movie. I'm impatiently awaiting its arrival at my house on DVD. I found it very inspiring.

Jon Turk

I'm reminded of a guy I've seen speak a couple of times in Missoula named Jon Turk. He is a scientist, writer and adventurer. I've read two of his books, In the Wake of the Jomon: Stone Age Mariners and a Voyage Across the Pacific, and Cold Oceans: Adventures in Kayak, Rowboat, and Dogsled. Both involve some harrowing trips that I don't know that I'd be up for, but they are fascinating reading. His latest book, The Raven's Gift: A Scientist, a Shaman, and Their Remarkable Journey Through the Siberian Wilderness, is on my shelf and soon to surface in my TBR queue.

I could ramble on and on about what I love about Turk's writing and how he's chosen to live his life. But this little quote from his website really says it all:

I am now 64 years old, and still blessed with good health. My body and I have an agreement. I take it to places where we have fun; it takes me to places where we have fun. We're a team, my body and I.

That really sums it up, doesn't it? What's life without living a little bit? Some might call all my existential angst some kind of midlife crisis or something, and maybe they're right. I think it's bigger than that. Not living a certain kind of life is a betrayal. Even the things I like -- stories of heroes living on the edge, adventure yarns, wilderness, travel, etc. -- are like subliminal messages from my brain telling me what I should be doing. Making sure my feet find those paths is becoming more and more important to me than ever before.

More Proof the 70s Were Cooler

So they are doing a new Hawaii Five-O series. Whatever. They'll never top this:

The dude's name was Jack Lord, for crissakes. No wonder he looks so damn smug; he knows he's minutes away from the horizontal hula with both those girls, at the same time!

Love the classic show intro too. That big wave used to kinda freak me out.

Another of the Silly Things I'd Buy if I Could Spare the Money

Would do it in a heartbeat.

USA vs. England 2010 Jabulani Match Ball

$159.99

The ball England and the USA will be playing with during their World Cup match up. Printed with USA vs. England, the stadium, the date and the match number.365 Inc is the only place you'll find this ball stateside.Teams will be playing with balls with these graphics during the match.Meant to be a collectors item. Graphics are not meant to hold up under long-term play.adidas' Jabulani is the Official Match Ball for the 2010 FIFA World Cup in South Africa.Constructed with eight new thermally-bonded, spherically-shaped, 3-D EVA and TPU panels, the Japbulani is perfectly round and has been equipped with a new Grip'n'Groove technology that ensures it flies straight and true.The Japbulani is designed for never-before-seen power, swerve and control. It's a ball truly worthy of the best in the game.

Maybe I should start a porn site, then I could create a wish list, and then basement dwelling perverts would send me stuff. Bitchin' soccer balls and comic books have got to cost less than expensive lingerie and sex toys, right? Then, in return, I could post racy photos of myself hammering the ball into the back of the net, reading comics while sprawled across some sketchy motel room's king size, etc. Yeah, that's the ticket.

I definitely need to come up with some kind of plan for disposable income, especially after my friend Toni totally let me put both of my eager hands on her iPad last night, with her main man (and all around swell guy) Bruce watching the entire time. I almost needed to smoke a cigarette afterward. I still haven't washed my hands. And those things are like $600 or so, aren't they? Damn.

Woody Harrelson Continues to be Awesome

Charity soccer match, and Woody drives home the winning PK.

Bad, Worse, Worst

I imagine my kid can relate to this (substitute Facebook as needed, btw. . . . )

Would You Look at That, My Friend Has a Book Out

My friend Ednor Therriault, aka Bob Wire, has his first book out, and I think that's pretty awesome. It's called Montana Curiosities: Quirky characters, roadside oddities & other offbeat stuff. As for just who this guy is, I'm going to totally cheat and just copy, word-for-word, the About the Author page from inside the book (a page which, unsurprising to anyone who knows the man, has no author photo. Hey, presumably the publisher wants the book to sell, right?):

Ednor Therriault is a writer and musician with deep roots in Montana -- his great, great-grandparents homesteaded in the late 1800s in Douglas Creek near Philipsburg. He caught his first trout in a Montana stream at age five, and although he's lived all over the United States, he chose western Montana as the place to settle down.

His writing has appeared in the Missoulian, the Missoula Independent, and other Northwest publications, as well as numerous online humor sites. He also writes a popular column for NewWest.net under the name Bob Wire, the nom de guerre he uses for his musical endeavors. A guitar player and songwriter, Ednor and his band, the Magnificent Bastards, have released three CDs of "maximum honky tonk," and they play shows all over western Montana. Ednor lives in Missoula with his wife and two children.

Ednor also claims to be the first guy to have bought KISS ALIVE II in Twentynine Palms, CA (or some such deserty place as that). That's pretty impressive. A couple years ago he made a pilgrimage to Denver to view the original On the Road scroll that Kerouac produced; I admire that, because I'm a huge fan of the pilgrimage. He wrote about that trip for the Independent.

Photo courtesy of another friend, Charles Martin

He once had this to say about my previous band, LAZERWOLFS, in an article he wrote, also for the Indy: "If heavy metal is a six-ton bulldozer pushing a pile of greasy sludge, then Lazerwolfs are a ’68 Camaro SS with a 396 and dual carbs rumbling under the hood." That alone should prove the quality, and brilliance, of the man. Hell, he even did the graphic design on the last 'Wolfs album for us! The man is like one of those, what do you call them, idiot savants? Or something.

As for this book, I've only had a chance to thumb through it, but it looks like a lot of fun. It is essentially a travel guide to over 200 of those bizarre roadside attractions you find while roadtripping, only all of them are located within the state of Montana. You can read an excerpt of the book over at NewWest right HERE. The Missoulian also did a piece, which you can dig HERE.

The first thing that caught my eye was a section on another great local musician, a country and western guy I've seen live a few times as well (Julia and I even have a trophy proving we won a dance contest at one of his shows!). Check this out from Ednor's book:

Renaissance Man in a Cowboy Hat

Guitar, bass, drums, harmonica, and accordion. It sounds like a pretty standard lineup for a country band, but when one man plays all the instruments simultaneously, it's a special kind of crazy. In this part of the West, it can be none other than Erik "Fingers" Ray, Montana's One-Man Band.

He sits down behind a bass drum, straps on one of his vintage, hollow-body electric guitars, and adjust the harmonica in its neck holder. A squinty-eyed cowboy, he looks like he belongs in a Wild West gunfight, not onstage at some Montana roadhouse. Erik thumps the bass drum a couple times, then launches into an energetic version of Hank Williams’s “Honky Tonkin’.” People begin to tap their feet and nod along with the music. This guy sounds better on his own than a lot of full bands. Soon dancers spill onto the dance floor . . . and another crowd has landed in the palm of Erik’s hand.

Although he might be a weekend warrior, Erik is one of the best-known and most well-liked musicians in Montana. He started playing music professionally with a band in 1980, but by 1983 he’d grown tired of the politics and drama inherent in belonging to a group. “It just got too hard to hold a band together,” he says. So the self-taught multi-instrumentalist struck out on his own and has been flying solo ever since.

“I’ve been playing every weekend for twenty-five years,” he says. He still endures his share of drunks, honyockers, skinflint bar owners, and endless highway miles, “but once I get onstage, it’s heaven,” he says. After a gig, if he’s more than 100 miles from his ranch in Conrad, he’ll curl up in the back of his van under a buffalo robe to catch some Z’s before heading home. “I know where all the best highway pullouts are,” he says with a sly grin.

Once he gets back home after a weekend of entertaining crowds of barroom dancers, he hangs up his cowboy hat and grabs his textbooks. Erik has been teaching high school math in Conrad for over twenty-five years, and plans to retire soon. After school, he puts the cowboy hat back on and rides out onto his property where he runs a cattle ranch.

Some days will find him up at dawn to feed the cattle, then it’s off to school to teach for seven hours. When the final bell rings, he hops in his van to drive to some far-flung gig, where he’ll play honky-tonk music ‘til 2 a.m., then drive home, collapse into bed, and grab two hours of sleep before doing it all over again.

He wouldn’t trade his life for anything, though, and thousands of fans across the state are grateful for that.

For more information, visit www.myspace.com/erikfingersray

I've had beers with Ednor, or Bobnor as some of us refer to him, a couple times, and I owe him a celebratory beer as a result of the publication of this book. I've also had beers with Erik Ray a couple times. I've never had beers with both of them simultaneously, though. I can only imagine the trouble that would ensue.

Good people, buy the damn book, and now, as Bob Wire would say, git!

Congrats, Ednor! And thanks for signing my copy even though your damn release was scheduled during a time that proved completely inconvenient to the dictates of my schedule.

The World Through a Creative's Eyes

This time last week I was in Portland, OR, as part of an extended weekend/mini-vacation. Julia's main goal was to secure some leather as part of her design gig, but I was all about venturing into Powell's Books. Unlike previous visits, this time I was prepared with a pretty long list of books and authors I wanted to look for. That worked great, but even then it was almost overwhelming. I filled my basket, culled some, filled it again, and culled some more. When all was said and done I still had a basket all but overflowing with reading material.

I was standing in front of a shelf of books considering a few more possibilities. The line leading into the coffee shop extended out near to where I was standing, and this gentleman, probably in his 70s or so, asked me, "Are you going to be able to read all those books?" I said I hoped to, as that was the plan. He chuckled a little bit and moved on. A few minutes later he was back. He said, "How long do you think it will take you to read all of them?" I looked at what I had, shrugged, and said, "Well, if I started in and read just these, probably a couple months or so. Problem is I already have a bunch at home I haven't read yet! Seems like for every one I read I get two more to take its place!"

This started a conversation that lasted several minutes. The man -- I never did get his name -- was eager to talk. He explained that he is dyslexic, and has only read a few books in his entire life, but that he has always admired people who read. He said as he got older he felt he could tell people who are readers, or any kind of artists, just because their view of the world is always a little different -- deeper, maybe -- than people who don't. He said he had actually started writing, though it was very difficult for him, but ever since he started doing that he began to see the world in an entirely different way. I'm paraphrasing, of course, but it was an interesting little conversation, even if I didn't have an opportunity to say much.

I think there is much to what the guy was saying. I'd never thought of it so much as a reader, but over the last couple years of writing I've noticed that how I view the world has changed. We talked about this in one of the workshops I participated in last year, seeing the world with "a writer's eyes." I'm sure other artists experience the same thing within the medium they work with. Everything we see, or hear, or smell, has the potential to be part of our art. It could just be window dressing for a scene, or even the catalyst for an entire story or novel. Certainly a song. People we meet in the street become potential characters. A building admired on a city block can become the lair of either our villain or protagonist. Even simple things, like how the light strikes a certain stretch of alley at a certain time of day, can be filed away and used in the future. None of it is just data to be processed and forgotten about, at least not for me.

That is one of my favorite things about writing that it's given me, that won't go away regardless of whether or not anything I do ever gets published. I enjoy that experience, and the filing away of little details that register against my senses. I'm curious to know if other creative types recognize this happening in their own day-to-day lives as well, or if I am just being overly sentimental. I like to hear those stories of lightning bolt recognition when something happens, and just blooms with inspiration.

As for Powell's it was a glorious haul. Between this stack and what I already had in my TBR pile, I really don't need to buy another book for about a year, I think. But I'm sure that won't stop me. . . .

The Take:

• Private Wars by Greg Rucka
• A Gentleman's Game by Greg Rucka
• Got Fight? by Forrest Griffin
• GI Joe -- The Rise of Cobra by Max Allan Collins
• The Real Cool Killers by Chester Himes
• Man for Hire by Michael Harley
• Go-Go Girls of the Apocalypse by Victor Gischler
• Down by the River by Charles Bowden
• The Last Child by John Hart
• Dead Boys by Richard Lange
• This Wicked World by Richard Lange
• Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace
• Fay by Larry Brown
• Joe by Larry Brown
• Big Bad Love by Larry Brown
• Scar Lover by Harry Crews
• Classic Crews by Harry Crews
• The Knockout Artist by Harry Crews
• Body by Harry Crews

Happily, all of these books were either used, on sale, or out of print. Some of them were all three. Score!