Cratering

A half-stack doesn't fit in the trunk.

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Cratering

a half-stack doesn't fit in the trunk
Buffalo Tom - Summer
(124 plays)

Summer // Buffalo Tom

The virtual Sunday that marks the end of summer can suck it vigorously.

Summer’s gone, a summer song
You’ve wasted every day, every day
Summer’s gone, wipe it off my hands
Write it in the sand, in the sand

Gig Recap

The lighting tech (an A/V Club dropout, resplendent in a too-small black tee that said SECURITY and a scraggly beard that reached to his nipples) for a popular Quad Cities cover band called Cheeze Pizza (most notable for their fifty-something lead singer dressing in drag) tried to upstage us, then committed a heinous etiquette breach by starting to set up his shit 10 seconds after we finished, rendering me one more shoulder bump from committing a gruesome onstage homicide-by-lighting-truss-rectal-insertion.

Big river.

Is big.

Big river.

Is big.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

prettypurplepancake:

Colin Hay…Overkill.

GPOY.

Has anything on this planet aged as well as Colin Hay’s voice?

There are the stories his voice has literally told, and this song is a shining example. But the stories that voice implies at this point say so much more to me.

5

  1. Two friends—one dear, the other more of a FOAF—who I used to think were sensitive and intelligent have lived in close company with small-minded idiots for too long, and the effects are heartbreaking to see. Choose your companions wisely.
  2. The backlash against the date-rape-drug-detecting nail polish baffles me. OF COURSE the priority is educating men and raising boys to end rape culture. Obviously. In this house we are working hard to raise our son exactly that way. HOWEVER, until the rest of the world catches up, and that may take a while, I want my daughter to have every possible tool at her disposal to protect herself. If this sort of thing saves even one woman, how is it bad? We can play offense and defense at the same time, and we should.
  3. One Direction is pläying at Soldier Field tonight and there is a 60% chance of thunderstorms. Team Cloud!
  4. I heard that the dev team at my previous employer was instructed six weeks ago to stop writing software. Due to the company being sold, TPTB didn’t want to risk any release-related production outages. So those engineers have been working short hours, surfing the web, looking for new jobs, etc. Fuck yeah, capital markets!
  5. Bad At Marketing, Part CLXXVI: I’ll be playing with The Recliners again at Poopy’s in Savanna, IL this Sunday from 1-5. It’s the last big outdoor show of the season….come on out, maybe see one of your favorite farmers from northwest Illinois.

There may be experiences more painful to a performer than sifting through 90 minutes of unflinchingly accurate video from a disastrous gig to try to find 2-3 usable minutes for a demo reel.
But damned if I can think of any right now.

There may be experiences more painful to a performer than sifting through 90 minutes of unflinchingly accurate video from a disastrous gig to try to find 2-3 usable minutes for a demo reel.

But damned if I can think of any right now.

Peter Gabriel - Here Comes The Flood
(152 plays)

Here Comes The Flood // Peter Gabriel

The season is changing, has changed. I arose and showered in the dark. It’s still dark. Gonna be dark for a while.

Don’t be afraid to cry at what you see
The actors gone, there’s only you and me
And if we break before the dawn
They’ll use up what we used to be.

(150 plays)

How the sausage gets made: working out guitar parts.

I got a big whiff of the river this morning and it smelled like the lake.

That shouldn’t be unusual. We turned that river around so the lake flows into it. The river literally is the lake. But it is unusual, at least at the Van Buren bridge, a couple of miles downriver from the mouth. It’s an unmistakeable smell, and there it was, strong and…green? Something.

My nose is easily my poorest input device, and that’s even after 35 years of constant, high wattage abuse to my ears. When people ask me, “do you smell that?” the answer is always no. Gas? Weed? Skunk? Farts? Nope. It’s a good thing we’re generally past the point where the species needs that skill to identify rotten food or predator danger in the wild. This otherwise functional and occasionally interesting line of genes would have ended long ago.

This morning, anyway, oddly, my snoot worked. I smelled that lake just as sure as I was standing in it the summer before kindergarten, trying to catch minnows with a butterfly net. It’s hard for me to distinguish the components of that smell, much as I suppose it would be hard for a deaf man to pick out the viola line at the symphony. From what I know, that signature smell is probably due to a certain set of algae or bacteria. That sounds bad, but it’s pleasant, I promise. And not just from the associated warm memories. I’ve had some rough days by that lake, too, and the smell registered just the same. It’s distinct. I don’t recall any other lake, Great or otherwise, smelling that way, either. It’s a healthy, living smell.

Like it came, so it left. Curious, at lunchtime I went back out there to see if I might find it again, but I couldn’t. Nor was it there when I crossed that bridge again on my way home. Maybe the wind shifted, or maybe it’s one of those things you can only find when you aren’t looking.

Are you guys all using Cerulean Radio?
If not, why not?
It randomly plays the music posted on your tumblr, or from someone else’s that you specify. Or it can find a cool one for you. And it was created by our own hockeytacosbeer. For free, because we live in the future.
Get on this. Support your local nerds!

Are you guys all using Cerulean Radio?

If not, why not?

It randomly plays the music posted on your tumblr, or from someone else’s that you specify. Or it can find a cool one for you. And it was created by our own hockeytacosbeer. For free, because we live in the future.

Get on this. Support your local nerds!

Muse - Explorers
(16 plays)

Explorers // Muse

I’ve been listening a lot to The 2nd Law lately (skipping past the dubstep nonsense, of course). It’s incredible, really. Like Queen on anabolic steroids. Matthew Bellamy’s voice stuns and amazes me.

And I don’t know a lot about his background as a songwriter, but listening to this, it seems pretty clear he was classically trained and is a particular fan of Romantic composers. I hear Rachmaninoff and Liszt. It’s lovely.

(The lyrics, though…dude…)

scholvin:

This is the last picture anyone will ever take of this birch tree. (It deserved a better photographer.) Before too many hours have passed, it will have been felled, cut into manageable pieces, and hauled back to their yard. I imagine the good parts, if there are any, will be split for firewood and resold, and hopefully someone will gain a final, small measure of enjoyment from it.
My heart is heavy. Frankly I’m glad I won’t be here to see it happen. They’ll come while I’m at work and do their deed, and when I return tonight there will be little more than a small mound of chips and dirt where they ground out the stump. The emptiness over the yard will be its new defining feature. See how that giant branch grew laterally to fill the space to the right, how it stretched to feel the southern sun? 
I went in a little late today so I would get an OK picture when the light got better. I also wanted to walk under it, to touch the curled, damp paper bark a final time, to see the tiny buds on the frail branchlets coming into life again this year as they have for perhaps the last fifty or so.
I’ve mentioned before that the previous owners of this house were neglectful of the treasures within it, but their carelessness when it came to the living things on the property baffles and galls. All six trees are sick. The others, with care, will heal and perhaps thrive again, but two different arborists assure me that birches, not the heartiest of species in any circumstance, don’t recover from rot this severe. I knew we might be in trouble last summer when I kept finding wrist-sized branches on the ground during what should be the season of peak growth.
Maybe it’s not their fault; maybe this tree’s time had just come and there wasn’t much they could have done. But I can’t help thinking if they would have just looked at it and cared even a little, they’d have called someone to take a look a couple of years ago. Maybe then it wouldn’t have been too late.
Regardless, it’s too late now. I can push my finger right through the bark and deep into the trunk at some points. It’s not safe to keep it—it could fall on my house or my neighbor’s at the next fair wind. A giant limb could fall on a kid or a dog without warning. 
I wish I could have gotten to know this tree a little bit better before saying goodbye today. The yard was too full of other junk to really appreciate it last summer, and we were too busy trying to get the house into living shape. Too busy just generally.
Who has time to sit and look at a suburban backyard tree? Aren’t there a billion of them?

donewithfish's sad goodbye to the giant elm tree in his neighborhood reminds me a little of something that happened in my own yard 3.5 years ago.

scholvin:

This is the last picture anyone will ever take of this birch tree. (It deserved a better photographer.) Before too many hours have passed, it will have been felled, cut into manageable pieces, and hauled back to their yard. I imagine the good parts, if there are any, will be split for firewood and resold, and hopefully someone will gain a final, small measure of enjoyment from it.

My heart is heavy. Frankly I’m glad I won’t be here to see it happen. They’ll come while I’m at work and do their deed, and when I return tonight there will be little more than a small mound of chips and dirt where they ground out the stump. The emptiness over the yard will be its new defining feature. See how that giant branch grew laterally to fill the space to the right, how it stretched to feel the southern sun? 

I went in a little late today so I would get an OK picture when the light got better. I also wanted to walk under it, to touch the curled, damp paper bark a final time, to see the tiny buds on the frail branchlets coming into life again this year as they have for perhaps the last fifty or so.

I’ve mentioned before that the previous owners of this house were neglectful of the treasures within it, but their carelessness when it came to the living things on the property baffles and galls. All six trees are sick. The others, with care, will heal and perhaps thrive again, but two different arborists assure me that birches, not the heartiest of species in any circumstance, don’t recover from rot this severe. I knew we might be in trouble last summer when I kept finding wrist-sized branches on the ground during what should be the season of peak growth.

Maybe it’s not their fault; maybe this tree’s time had just come and there wasn’t much they could have done. But I can’t help thinking if they would have just looked at it and cared even a little, they’d have called someone to take a look a couple of years ago. Maybe then it wouldn’t have been too late.

Regardless, it’s too late now. I can push my finger right through the bark and deep into the trunk at some points. It’s not safe to keep it—it could fall on my house or my neighbor’s at the next fair wind. A giant limb could fall on a kid or a dog without warning. 

I wish I could have gotten to know this tree a little bit better before saying goodbye today. The yard was too full of other junk to really appreciate it last summer, and we were too busy trying to get the house into living shape. Too busy just generally.

Who has time to sit and look at a suburban backyard tree? Aren’t there a billion of them?

donewithfish's sad goodbye to the giant elm tree in his neighborhood reminds me a little of something that happened in my own yard 3.5 years ago.

You guys know any good cucumber and habanero recipes?

It’s all I can grow. Bugs and chipmunks get all the tomatoes and strawberries and everything else I’ve ever tried.

I’m just planting flowers next year. Growing food here is pointless unless I want to soak it all in poison and get into the trapping business, too.

You guys know any good cucumber and habanero recipes?

It’s all I can grow. Bugs and chipmunks get all the tomatoes and strawberries and everything else I’ve ever tried.

I’m just planting flowers next year. Growing food here is pointless unless I want to soak it all in poison and get into the trapping business, too.