what I did for love

My lovely wife, J, went with our friends, Kirsten and Jules, to see a folk singer some months back. I had to work, so I sat that one out. No worries - I think the folk music is sometimes enjoyable, but I'm not about to take the most lucrative night off from work to indulge in such a thing.

J returned home from that concert all swoony and fangirly proclaiming "a little crush" on E*l*l*i*s (***why you do t*h*a*t, Bad Kitty?) and kindly requesting that she put E*l*l*i*s on her freebie list.

"Sure," I responded, "why the hell not? But you gotta take someone else off if you want to add her."

She never told me who she removed, but I trust that she took care of this.

So when J called me a week or so ago from her morning commute at 7am (I am so NOT a morning person) to ask me if E*l*l*i*s could play a house concert in our living room, I sleepily sorta somewhat agreed to this. Later when I woke up, I was pretty sure that I hadn't dreamt the exchange.

Here's what J said:

"Hi honey! Would it be okay for E*l*l*i*s to play a concert in our living room?"

Here's what I heard:

"Hi. Would it be okay if someone I have a huge crush on, in addition to a lot of strangers, fill up our house and spill stuff on our floor?"

I somehow agreed to this.

But now I have no regrets and think that our home should serve as an acoustic concert venue on a regular basis (Yo! David Bowie! This means you.). Truly.

Of course, the night before the concert, J calls me at work (at a time that ended up being the worst possible time she could have called) and says, "Will you cook dinner for E*l*l*i*s before the show?"

"What????" What next? Can she stay in our guest room? Will I cook her breakfast as well? Can I lend her some money?

"I don't know. And actually, this is a really bad time. Can I call you back later when I'm less pissed off?"

"Okay, but Jules already said that we'd make her dinner. Call me when you're on your way home from work."

By the time I found myself driving home from work, I'd had a chance to think about this. I figured I needed to look like a rock star in order to compete with the folk star - I wanted J to remember how fabulous I am, even with E*l*l*i*s in the house. I called her up.

"Alright, I'll do it. What am I making?" Fortunately I really do enjoy cooking, so I wasn't pissed off at Jules for volunteering me for the job. Hee hee, now she owes me! Now, if David Bowie comes to my house to play a show, I'm so making Jules cook for him.

"Mushroom risotto," J tells me. Phew. That's something I could make with my hands tied behind my back and drunk to boot.

E*l*l*i*s ended up enjoying my risotto and ventured to try a fig for the first time. (I'm a huge fan of figs and, in fact, have a tattoo of a much-larger-than-actual-size cut-open fig in between my shoulder blades.) We enjoyed her company while we enjoyed small talk on our patio. She turned out to be very genuine and kind and rather charming - very easy to be around and not even a hint of diva at all.

Then the onslaught of strangers began to fill my home. They turned out to not be so bad, either. In fact, several of them were quite appreciative of our hosting of this event and of the snacks and complementary cheap wine that was provided. Nobody threw stuff on the floor (and, if they did, someone was smart enough to pick it up before I spied it). And several folks offered to help clean up. Now, don't get me wrong - I'm not neurotic. Okay, well just a little. I just value my space and am something of a private person. I also have trust issues and I know that there are unsavory folks out there (especially rabid fans) and you can't tell by looking at them who is batshit crazy and who isn't.

The entire space was lit only with candles - eleventy zillion of them. It looked pretty great, actually. And peeps were very respectful of the space and of the music being provided. E*l*l*i*s sounded awesome (studio quality even! I have no idea how she pulled that off) and the entire evening was a magical success. I told E*l*l*i*s that she is welcome in our home any time and I meant it.

My lovely wife was only a little bit fangirly and goofy and did not end up hooking up with E*l*l*i*s.

I think I like folk music a little more now.



***Re: above (On account of my attempts to be picking and choosing what the Googlers might be Googling and which Googles land on my blog and which ones don't. And on account of my attempts to be remaining somewhat anonymous-ish).

rock & roll twilight zone: the time traveler's wife and her wife

Last night, my lovely wife, J, and I attended yet another concert that was less expensive than the totally-not-worth-forty-dollars-EACH Taylor Hicks show. Irish angst a la Damien Rice was on the bill for the evening and we were both looking forward to it.

After asking me eleventy gazillion times if I have the tickets, J asked me who was opening the show. "Dunno," I told her, "hopefully someone good."

Now, yesterday was something of an action-packed day for us as we were meeting the man who is now our financial advisor for, well, some financial advice on all of the money we don't have. Poor guy - I hope he makes some $ off of us someday, as it seems like we got way more out of the two-hour meeting we had yesterday than he did. After all, not only did we put some money that we didn't even know we had out into investment oblivion and hired him to babysit it, we learned a whole new language! Now I can tell peeps I'm 80% aggressive and really mean it!

Well, anyway, that meeting ran a little later than we'd anticipated and we were both starving. Concert was to start at 8pm and we were convinced that, due to a last minute venue change, they'd start it late. After getting downtown a little after 8, we drove around in circles hoping for the elusive complimentary parking spot. Didn't happen. We finally ponied up $3 for a lot close to the Roseland. I know. Makes us look like cheapskates. But $3 almost buys a beer! And after spending two hours learning that we need to spend wisely so that we'll have a cozy retirement, every little bit counts - I'm sure our financial advisor would agree.

While we half expected to walk up the stairs to encounter the opening act in mid-set, I thought to myself, "damn, that sounds an awful lot like Damien Rice."

Turns out it was. We walked in at 8:25 and he'd already started, so no opening act. Who has a show with no opening act?????? I racked my brain trying to name one other show I'd been to in which that was the case.

WTF???

What gives, Damien Rice? Why no opening act?

What's even more strange is that it seems as though everyone else attending the show was in on this bit of info (that the show would start on time and that there would be no opening act, so you need to really truly get there early). How can this be?, I thought. I hate being uninformed. To add to the peculiarity of the headlining act already underway, he was performing a particularly discordant tune from his newest release, 9. In addition to that, the sound system at the Roseland didn't seem to support this aural-assaultfest, as it didn't sound so great. J, thinking that the entire show would resemble this, dubbed the venture a waste of my money. We proceeded to the beer-drinking part of the Roseland to get our drink on and watch the show from the balcony. Once we realized that the beer acquision line was snaking down the steps and the capacity of the balcony would have made the Fire Marshall shit his pants, we headed back down to the main floor.

Fortunately, the sound issue never again reared its ugly head - the rest of the show sounded lovely. I adore his beautiful yearning ballads and appreciate that he also rocks it a lil, showing an almost punk rock side - loud, angry, and unapologetic . The accompanying strings were fantastic, really adding depth to the performance.

J and I couldn't help but notice an elderly lesbian couple about three feet away. One was dancing up a storm, really getting into the groove; the other maintained a more quiet stance, but still rapt. We kept looking over at them, amused and charmed by their presence. I looked over at J and said, "Check it out - that's us in twenty-five/thirty years."

She chuckled, and then added, "Well, it's good to see that your hips still move," referring to the more lively of the couple. I looked over at her and her calculated movements. She was wearing a black tank top...I was wearing a black tank top. She was sporting a couple of tattoos...a couple of my tattoos were visible. She was wearing a black punk rock belt, studded and ringed...I own a belt that appears to be a first cousin of her belt. She had short, messy hair and glasses...I have short, messy hair and glasses. Then it hit me. I turned to J and said,

"And clearly I go off of my medication at some point."

J, in hysterics at the overenergized, dancing granny with stamina to spare, then looks at granny's partner, staid and somber, and added,

"And, apparently, so do I."

I flashed back to the scene in The Time Traveler's Wife, in which Henry observes a younger version of himself at a Violent Femmes show in a Chicago nightclub.

The night was riddled with other oddities, as well. At one point, a duo of 70s throwback, Harley-riders walked past us, one in a Danzig T-shirt and wearing a backwards trucker hat with the bill upturned and the word 'Wasted' across the inside brim. His pal was wearing a faded denim jacket with the sleeves crudely cut off that was adorned with about three million metal studs and a bandanna holding his lengthy locks in place. Shortly after they strolled past us, toward the stage, they made a return trip past us, toward the exit this time.

"Wrong show," J concluded.

In addition to several other bizarre little moments, the show followed suit. Was there a full moon last night?

Damien Rice (it somehow doesn't feel right to refer to him as either Damien or Mr. Rice) engaged in an interesting soliloquy. He inquired as to whether any of the members of the audience had ever looked in the mirror, really looked in the mirror, gazing into your own eyes and realizing "you know me!" "you know me better than anyone else in the world!" "you're my best friend!" "I do everything with you!" "I masturbate with you!" "We're going to die together!" (he claims to verbalize these statements aloud). I have no doubt that he actually does this and appreciate his candor and vulnerability in revealing this very personal moment he shares with himself. I wondered how many folks were going to go home and attempt to replicate this moment, making it all their own.

To close the show, Damien Rice did something I've never seen done on stage before, or at least not so covertly. He starts in on a story, which involves a man and a woman and takes place late at night, in a bar. A member of the band then leaves the stage and returns with a bottle of wine and a glass. He hands Damien Rice the glass and fills it up. In one, huge gulp the vino is gone and the story continues. Story becomes a little more heart-wrenching and the glass is refilled. At an appropriate moment in the story, a mere two minutes later, the second glass is also consumed in a single bound. The story is filled with even more angst, as the woman must leave to meet up with her boyfriend, despite the hinted-at connection. Boy (yes, this man has - with an intoxicating aid - become a boy) is depressed and the glass is refilled. The would-be lovers part (perhaps forever) and the third glass is downed. At the point, our story teller is a little bit wobbly and full of what, if I recall correctly, is an incurable drunken sadness. The story continues, the boy now alone and spiralling into a deep and emo-filled despair. A band member brings him a lit cigarette and the stumbley story is slurringly rambling on, an empty glass held out for a refill. This one, too, disappears instantaneously and the maybe-maybe-not drunken Damien Rice concludes his story from a reposed position on the floor. The bottle is empty.

The show ends with the final encore, Cheers Darlin', complete with the clinking of an empty glass as a percussion instrument, concluding the show.

Bravo!

Something visible but without substance

So, it's no secret that one of my guilty pleasures (along with In and Out Burger and lots of music from the 80s) is American Idol.

Anyway, I'll cut to the chase here.

Last season's winner, Taylor Hicks, is slated to come to Portland soon to play a show at the Crystal Ballroom. And do you know what they are charging for tickets?????

Forty (40) fucking dollars!!!!! Each!!!!

Now, I'm neither here nor there about Taylor - he wasn't my fave of last season, but I don't think he sucks either. Just not my style is all. Still, FORTY DOLLARS??

Here is a list of people/events I have seen (mostly at the Crystal Ballroom) in which tickets have been less than $40 (most of which have been less than $30):

• Sleater-Kinney (with Eddie freakin Vedder doing an opening set) $13
  
• The Shins $20
  
• PJ Harvey $25
  
• Liz Phair $17
  
• Belle and Sebastian $30
  
• The Indigo Girls (don't tease me, I did that for my woman) - I have no idea what we paid for those, probably $25 - $30
  
• Patti Smith - yes, THAT Patti Smith - $30-ish
• We've even seen Death Cab for Cutie (after everyone knew about them) for less than $30
  
• I think both Dido and Ani diFranco were both right at $40 - at the Schnitzer, though
• I've paid less than $40 for orchestra-level seats at the opera!
• Alvin Ailey, less than $40
• Upcoming Decemberists show $31 (for some reason, they cost more to see in Portland than almost anywhere else)
  

So tell me how this makes sense??? In fact, it's quite likely that the only person I've paid much over $40 to see is David Bowie. And anyone who knows me knows that there is no ceiling on what I will pay to see David Bowie in concert. But that's David fucking Bowie!!!

Seeing as how Taylor's CD is not selling all that well, I can't imagine that folks are going to be banging down the door to pay forty clams to see him sing bluesy songs and whip his upper body into a seizured frenzy. Seriously, am I completely delusional in thinking that $40 is a hella chunka change for Taylor Hicks tickets?

Perhaps Ruben Studdard is opening for him.

Sleater-Kinney...it's not just a freeway exit in Olympia, Washington - it's a phenomena

A week or two ago, I got word that Sleater-Kinney, my fave girl punk rock band and one that has been my solace during a hardship or two, is breaking up and that their present tour would be their last. This saddened me enormously, but I totally get that these things happen. At the time that their breakup was announced, there were no plans for a farewell show in Portland, but we all knew that they would have to schedule one.

And they did.

But tickets sold out in less than ten minutes and many local fans, myself included, were left high and dry. And ticketless. I couldn't believe it. For all of their previous shows, I'd been able to get tickets the day they went on sale and never had any trouble whatsoever. Their shows would typically sell out, but not usually right away.

In no time flat, tickets were available on eBay for upwards of $300. Scalper websites had them available for between $90 and $135 per ticket. These are tickets that originally sold for $12, plus a $1 service charge. In the past, we'd paid around $20 or so for their shows, but clearly they weren't looking to make any money on this show, they just wanted to give back to their very loyal fanbase.

A friend of mine boasted that he'd scored tickets and I have to admit that I was a little jealous. They just had to add another show. They just had to.

Then a couple of weeks ago, my daughter (K) came home from hanging out downtown with her pals and reported that her friend, Hannah, had claimed that a second show was already on the books with tickets to go on sale the following Saturday at noon. Tickets would be available at the venue box office for one hour before they would be released for online and telephone sales. J and K and I all looked at one another.

We all had the same thought.

We would go downtown very early Saturday morning and queue up at the Crystal Ballroom. This time we would not miss out on obtaining tickets to the last Sleater-Kinney show ever. We confirmed on the Crystal Ballroom website that our information was, indeed, correct and then set our alarms for 5am Saturday.

By 5:45am, we claimed our spaces as 10th, 11th, and 12th in line, joining the other bleary-eyed fans who'd come before us. I ran down to VooDoo Doughnuts and bought a dozen, which we shared with the other fans in line near us. We brought blankets, a newspaper, snacks and our senses of humor as we did our best to get comfortable on the urban sidewalk. It got colder before it got warmer and we spent a fair amount of time shooting the shit with Amy, who was just in front of us in line.

When fatigue (and sugar crash) set in, we tried laying down and sleeping on the sidewalk - I'll just say that the residentially challenged folks make it look easy and comfortable sometimes, but trust me, it's so not. Other folks were spending the next several hours until the box office opened reading (I saw two copies of The Devil Wears Prada), knitting, playing cards, etc.

About an hour before the box office opened, we noticed a fellow with a large and very official-looking video cam scanning the crowded line and we, at first, thought that perhaps we'd be on the evening news. 'Twas not the case. Turns out he was making a documentary for the band! We gave K our money and let her buy our tickets so that she could be filmed for the documentary.

I'm really sad about Sleater-Kinney breaking up. Their music means a lot to me and the women in the band are smart and very articulate. I hope they continue making music separately and I'm sure I'll get used to the idea eventually.

I don't do so well with change.

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to...

So I'm almost officially 40 (5/9/06 at 1:14pm) and, so far, it doesn't hurt a bit. I thought 30 would hurt and it didn't, but 30's not old and, well, 40's kinda old. Oh well, I don't feel old yet and that's what really matters, right?

Anyway, I had a lovely party over the weekend for all of my friends to celebrate my aging fabulousness and, since some of my friends were unable to make it due to distance and illness and blasted homework, I thought I'd recreate some of the festivities here so they can attend vicariously. And, I suppose, those of you who did attend and wish to relive it, can do so as well! And those of you who don't know me and read my blog because, well, I don't know why you do, but I welcome you regardless, you can attend my virtual party as well.

The theme of the party was: come as what you wanted to be when you grew up (when you were little). I was a movie star attending the Academy Awards, J was a gas station attendant, Kira was a writer, Anthony was a magician, Galen was a pilot and so was Patrick, Karen was I Dream of Jeannie, Dennis was a philosopher, Dad and Jan were a cowboy and cowgirl respectively, Max was Wonder Woman, Jen was Strawberry Shortcake, Kristen was a construction worker, Julie was a punk rocker, Michael was a professor, Pat was a nuclear physicist, Damion was Daisy Duke, Diana was Madonna, the other Damien was a chef, Heather was supposed to be a gypsy but then showed up as a librarian, Sarah was perfect, Gregory couldn't come but dressed up as a Solid Gold Dancer at home, Whitney said she was coming as a tree and then didn't dress up, and several others didn't dress up 'cause they were shy or party poopers or whatever. Well, I'll give Laurie and Erique a break since they came directly from the airport and had been travelling all week - I'm just glad they came!

The party was held in a wonderful party room in a local Portland restaurant that had a fireplace, leather couches, comfy chairs adjacent to a bar, several cocktail tables for your dining pleasure (table tops were sprinkled with a variety of Hershey's kisses - including the yummy carmel ones!), and a big plasma screen tv on which we showed David Bowie videos and Brady Bunch reruns. We brought our own cds to play for the party and here is some of what we played:

• The Smiths
• The Postal Service
• Pink Martini
• The Garden State Soundtrack
• David Bowie
• Carla Bruni

Speaking of cds, we gave out a party favor to each and every guest (and some of the restaurant employees, too!) that was a compilation cd with one song from every year I've been alive. We named it "DJ Bad Kitty's Picks of a Lifetime" and here's what is on it:

1966: I Want You by Bob Dylan

1967: Happy Together by The Turtles

1968: Dear Prudence by The Beatles

1969: The Boxer by Simon & Garfunkel

1970: Cracklin' Rosie by Neil Diamond

1971: Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves by Cher

1972: Walk on the Wild Side by Lou Reed

1973: Daniel by Elton John

1974: Band on the Run by Paul McCartney and Wings

1975: Fame by David Bowie

1976: Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen

1977: Strawberry Letter 23 by The Brothes Johnson

1978: Take a Chance on Me by Abba

1979: A Message to You, Rudy by The Specials

1980: Love Will Tear Us Apart by The Joy Division

1981: Radio Free Europe by REM

1982: More Than This by Roxy Music

1983: Smalltown Boy by Bronski Beat

1984: Song to the Siren by This Mortal Coil

1985: Kiss Me on the Bus by The Replacements

1986: Real Wild Child by Iggy Pop

1987: Ahead by Wire

1988: Birthday by The Sugarcubes

1989: Here Comes Your Man by The Pixies

1990:Cuts You Up by Peter Murphy

1991: Until the End of the World by U2

1992: The Drowners by Suede

1993: Noel, Jonah and Me by The Spinanes

1994: Sour Times by Portishead

1995: Thirty Three by Smashing Pumpkins

1996: Is That All There Is? by John Parish and PJ Harvey

1997: Sleep on the Left Side by Cornershop

1998: Waltz #2 by Elliott Smith

1999: Babylon by David Gray

2000: Good Fortune by PJ Harvey

2001: Mad World by Gary Jules

2002: Slow Burn by David Bowie

2003: The District Sleeps Alone Tonight by The Postal Service

2004: Run by Snow Patrol

2005: We Both Go Down Together by The Decemberists

2006: Twin Cinema by The New Pornographers

and the following Bonus Tracks (cause there was extra room that I didn't want to go to waste):

Soul Meets Body by Death Cab for Cutie

Thursday by Morphine

New Career in a New Town by David Bowie

Supernova by Liz Phair

Cannonball by Damien Rice

If She Wants Me by Belle & Sebastian

The Killing Jar by Siouxsie & the Banshees

Ball of Confusion by Love & Rockets

Crimson and Clover by Joan Jett

Tears Run Rings by Marc Almond

The food was awesome and looked beautiful! We had: cold tarragon poached salmon with an aioli dipping sauce, eggplant stuffed with goat cheese, an Isreali cous cous salad with kalamatas and roasted red bell peppers, a caprese salad, hot curried oysters, a gorgeous fresh fruit platter with tons of BERRIES, miniature spanakopita triangles, and an assortment of six or seven fabulous cheeses that included a Stilton with mango that was so delicious. And the cake, which we got from Polly's Cakes was to die for!!! It was the coolest looking cake ever...essentially if Dr. Seuss and the Mad Hatter got together and had a baby and it was a cake, it would be my birthday cake! Polly's Cakes have been featured on The Food Network and in several food magazines of note. Polly was very kind and down to earth and very easy to work with. Most importantly, the cake was delicious! One layer was chocolate cake with chocolate mousse filling and the other was a passionfruit-coconut cake with a coconut cream filling.

There were two games that we had going and people seemed to enjoy them both, even though some dubbed one of the games as "too hard." One was a photo board that J put together of a bunch of pictures of me over the years and ten of the pics had a post-it with a letter on it and folks were asked to put those ten in chronological order. And, nope, my dad didn't win this one (maybe it was too hard after all) - my friend, Heather, did! Her winning strategy was to gauge by the fashions above all else.

The other game was a quiz about me. It had 20 questions and the winner got 11 right! Here's the quiz:

If Bad Kitty were to go through the McDonald’s drive-thru, what sort of condiment would she want for her fries?
a) Ranch dressing
b) ketchup
c) mayonnaise
d) are you nuts? Bad Kitty wouldn’t be caught dead at the McDonald’s drive-thru!

How many tattoos does Bad Kitty have?_______ Tiebreaker: What are they and where are they located?

Bad Kitty drinks:
a) scotch
b) bourbon
c) gin
d) beer
e) yes

Where, other than Portland, has Bad Kitty lived?
a) Seattle
b) Eugene
c) San Francisco
d) Los Angeles

Name one of Bad Kitty’s favorite flavors of ice cream (include brand):

What cheesy pop-culture tv show does Bad Kitty actually enjoy watching?
a) The OC
b) Family Guy
c) American Idol
d) That 70s Show

What get-rich-quick scheme did Bad Kitty consider when she was an undergrad?
a) selling her eggs
b) robbing a bank
c) Amway
d) Taking all of her books to Powell’s and selling them

Bad Kitty has met all but one of the following famous people. Which one has she never met?
a) Luke Perry
b) Courtney Love
c) Tom Selleck
d) Joaquin Phoenix
e) Ellen DeGeneres

What is Bad Kitty’s favorite color?
a) Royal blue
b) orange
c) green
d) magenta

Bad Kitty’s favorite strip-club in Portland is:
a) The Acropolis
b) The Dolphin
c) Sassy’s
d) Magic Garden

When in Vegas, Bad Kitty’s favorite table game is:
a) blackjack
b) roulette
c) craps
d) poker

Bad Kitty’s favorite “guilty pleasure” singer from her childhood is:
a) David Cassidy
b) Jim Croce
c) Don McLean
d) John Denver

One of Bad Kitty’s favorite writers is:
a) Iris Murdoch
b) John Steinbeck
c) Virginia Woolf
d) Anton Chekov

Bad Kitty’s favorite Broadway show is:
a) Oklahoma
b) A Chorus Line
c) 42nd Street
d) The Producers

Bad Kitty’s daughter was conceived via what combination:
a) Fellini films and a fine chianti
b) Andy Warhol films and tequila
c) Peter Greenaway films and gin martinis
d) David Lynch films and microbeer

Bad Kitty met her partner:
a) at a bowling alley
b) through a personals ad
c) at work
d) at a lesbian bar

Bad Kitty has worked at all but one of the following Portland restaurants:
a) The Heathman Hotel
b) Pazzo
c) Paparazzi
d) The airport Sheraton
e) The Chart House
f) Saucebox
g) Wild Abandon

Which of the following is Bad Kitty’s favorite Grateful Dead song?
a) Sugar Magnolia
b) Casey Jones
c) Truckin’
d) None of the above. There is only one Garcia she loves to hear sing and it's not Jerry!

Bad Kitty has fallen prey to all of the following fashion fads except:
a) leg warmers
b) 80s “sun” lightened big permed hair
c) Acid washed jeans
d) Robert Palmer’s “Addicted to Love” girl look
e) Ray Ban sunglasses

Bad Kitty loves all of the following kitties except:
a) Hello
b) Patience Phillips (Catwoman)
c) Mortimer
d) Josie

So thanks for coming to my party! Happy Birthday to Me!

AI

As some people know, and others who don't know would never guess, I'm something of an American Idol junkie. I'm not a superdiehard fan who has watched every season, but close enough to be made fun of.

In fact, I am quite guilty of making fun of J when she and Kira were watching early on in Season 2. But one day that all changed and then I had to make up excuses to be in the room while AI was on so that I could watch and hear Clay Aiken. (And it's ok if you are now thinking what a big 'ole dork I must be - I'll accept that). Finally, I just came out and admitted that I loved the guy and that I'm a sucker for certain "Adult Contemporary" music (i.e. Harry Connick, Jr., etc.).

But, still, I tried to downplay my love for all things Clay and would act mortified if anyone referred to me as a Claymate. But it was all totally fake. I must say, though, that I wish that Clay would just come on out and admit to being a big homo - he would be most welcome into our big 'ole rainbow-flag-wavin' family.

Just for the record, I have a major thing for Constantine Maroulis as well. Although it's very different than the major thing I had/have for Clay. Clay, I just love his singing and there are certain songs that he sings that just give me chills (Solitaire, This is the Night, Bridge Over Troubled Water, Unchained Melody...actually, his Mack the Knife was good, too). The guy has pipes, ya know? But Constantine is a different experience altogether - completely visceral...all over. His AI rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody was genius and unstoppable and his retro Partridge Family homage of I Think I Love You was completely meltworthy. This guy is completely sexy AND he can sing. I am eagerly awaiting his solo works.

This season, though, it's all about Elliott Yamin. And, just for the record here, my fascination with him is more akin to my Clay-adoration -- strictly musical. Although, in addition to having a lovely voice, there is something else about Elliott that I just love. He just comes across as this down-to-earth, very humble and likeable guy. He seems honest and sincere, without being sappy. He's the AI5 contestant I'd most like to sit down and have a beer with (especially in a karaoke bar so he can sing!). Paris Bennett was my early-on fave, when she was singing Billie Holliday tunes during her audition. But she doesn't really wow me unless she's doing the sort of older jazz classics, such as "These Foolish Things" last week.

And the contestant I most love to hate? Well that'd be mink-in-residence Kellie Pickler. Can this girl get any dumber? No? I didn't think so.

The Arab Boy With the Strap-On

I have only one question to pose of the super tall couple who pushed their way past me at the Belle & Sebastian concert last night. They know who they are...the man looked more like a fellow you'd see at a Hootie and the Blowfish show: a veritable frat brother with a neck as wide as his head and the woman had one of those very protruding chins and a nose that looks like the tip piece was added on hastily as an afterthought. I felt a little bit sorry for her because her boyfriend smelled like sour milk. But what I want to know from them is this:

When you arrive at the concert later and feel entitled to shove your way past other people in order to stand in front of them, do you do so because:
a) you paid more for your ticket than they did
b) you're better than they are
c) you're completely oblivious to the fact that this is rude

I'm just wondering because you folks were very tall and arrived after The New Pornographers had concluded their set. I, on the other hand, am not tall and my girlfriend is even less so. We arrived very early (30-45 minutes before the show started) so that we could stand close to the stage and see well. We intentionally surveyed the crowd upon our arrival and stood behind the other not-so-tall people already there. We planned ahead - way ahead - to ensure that we'd be able to see the show. And then you shove past us an hour and a half later and plunk your tall selves right in front of the short folk. Why?

Fortunately, however, having my view of the stage partially obscured by a foul-smelling frat brother was only a minor dent in what was otherwise a very good time. I was very impressed with Belle & Sebastian's live show and thoroughly enjoyed the ongoing banter between Stuart Murdoch and Stevie Jackson. The large ensemble made beautiful music and Stuart's fluid dancing was fun to watch as well. My only complaint is that I wish they would have done more from Fold Your Hands Child, You Walk Like a Peasant, which is actually my favorite opus of theirs (I know, I know) - although their latest release The Life Pursuit is quite excellent and may get to become my favorite after I listen to it about ten more times. Still, one of my favorite live shows ever. Thanks to David and Dave for taking us!!!

David and Dave were here on a propaganda tour to persuade Dave to someday maybe hopefully wish to move to Portland and I'm pleased to report that it worked! I was happy to have finally met Dave and especially liked him because, like me, he pretends to be Canadian.

Once in Awhile I Take a Shortcut...

Describe yourself using one band and song titles from that band
Created by naw5689 and taken 22159 times on bzoink!
Choose a band/artist and answer only in song TITLES by that band:	David Bowie
Are you male or female:	Lady Stardust
Describe yourself:	Under Pressure
How do some people feel about you:	Rebel Rebel
How do you feel about yourself:	Never Let Me Down
Describe your ex girlfriend/boyfriend:	Queen Bitch
Describe your current girlfriend/boyfriend:	Loving the Alien
Describe where you want to be:	A New Career in a New Town
Describe what you want to be:	Future Legend
Describe how you live:	Reality
Describe how you love:	Modern Love
Share a few words of wisdom	I'm Afraid of Americans
Create a Survey Search Surveys Go to bzoink!

No zzzzzzzz and Sleater-Kinney sushi

I love insomnia. Actually, I don't love it, per se, but I do suspect that it is something akin to Linus and that damn blanket for me. Sometimes I just can not, for the life of me, make sleep happen. It just simply won't. Now is one of those times. Oddly, I think that the wandery, racing thoughts have something to do with it. Last night, for example, I was laying there thinking, amongst other things, "damn it, what the hell is Jerud's middle name?" And it was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't quite access it. Then it came to me. Burton. His middle name is Burton. And it's not that I really needed to know that, nor was I planning on using that information for anything, I just couldn't shut my mind down because I didn't know the answer to the question. I know what you're thinking. . . it's no wonder I can't sleep since there are so many questions that I don't know the answer to. Yeah, I know.

The other night, Kira and I got to go out for sushi. Not that that is so unusual, really, but this time we had actual reasons. I was feeling under the weather -ok, like total crap- and, despite my very good intentions of making the really yummy mac and cheese from Noble Rot, I just couldn't do it. Plus I was craving miso - or a good chicken matzoh ball soup, but that is a whole other rant. The other reason was to honor Kira's kick assedness on her project for her language arts class in which, on four separate categories with a possible five points each, she received six points for three of the categories and five on the other. Kira's awesome. So we're sitting there in Mio Sushi on Hawthorne (yes, we drove...I'm sick, remember?) drowning my pending ailment in soy bean curd broth and celebrating Kira's awesomeness and in walks Carrie Brownstein, guitarist for Sleater-Kinney. She's there to pick up some take out and, while looking quite adorable in her loose jeans and down puffy jacket, she pretty much blends in with all of the other Portlanders. Thing is, the only other time I've seen a member of Sleater-Kinney about town and not on stage was in Mio Sushi on Hawthorne about a year ago when we saw Janet Weiss, the drummer, dining there with some friends.

My newest issue of Vanity Fair arrived in yesterday's mail. The cover is their pre-Oscar pull-out showcasing ten Hollywood starlets. And with the exception of the three (3!) ethnic chicks, they are ALL BLONDS! wtf? Since I have not yet had a chance to read the accompanying article, the exact criteria for coverdom inclusion remains a mystery. Some of the celeblets are established household names (Uma Thurman and Claire Danes), whereas others are more up-and-coming (Ziyi Zhang and Sienna Miller). But why not a better balance with a brunette or two? How about Natalie Portman and Fairuza Balk? They wouldn't even have to throw out two blonds in order to squeeze the other two in - I mean, it's a pull-out cover, there's plenty-o-room! Perhaps I shall write them and address this oversight. OK, I know I never will, but I like to think that I might, that I'm inclined to.

J is making me watch The Bachelorette. Alright, so she's not making me, but if it weren't for her, I'd probably have never known that the show existed at all. Well, except when Meredith was on, but that's 'cause she's from Portland and I like knowing about things from Portland. So I'm on the couch studying and Jillynn informs me that this season's bachelorette is Jen, who was slated to marry Andrew Firestone and who has been on the cover of People magazine almost as many times in the past year as Johnny Depp has. "That's nice, honey," I tell J, as if I really don't give a shit. But this thing is a trainwreck and I can't sit in the same room and not watch it. As an added bonus, I invented a drinking game to accompany said program:

-take one drink every time someone speaks of "taking things to the next/another level"
-take two drinks every time the word "connection" is uttered
-take three drinks every time the phrase "the most ________rose ceremony EVER" is announced

I should turn all tv shows into drinking games!