Rest In Peace

I still remember the first time someone close to me died. Not my taekwondo instructor, but someone I dated once in college. For a long time, I could only say that he died, not that he was dead. There was something too finite about the present tense. I'm not even sure I can say it now: Mike died.

Now, I can only say, "Michael Jackson died."

You are missed.

What Feels Like Fall

What you are witnessing is a blog trying to find itself. I thought it would be about music and politics, but the truth is, it is also about someone trying to sort through her thoughts into something that the greater world might actually be interested in.

While I don't pretend for a second that the greater world is remotely interested in what I think or do on a daily basis (reasons why I don't Tweet, etc.), I do think this is as much about me trying to find my own way. I moved to Chicago 2.5 weeks ago, though I was gone for about 5 days with my family in Indiana shortly after arrival.


It's crazy being in the Midwest again. Here, there are trees to take for granted, rain and the earthy, insistent smell of damp soil. Here in Chicago, I pee with the door open when my boyfriend isn't home, and eat thick, green-skinned bananas, walking barefoot past laundry detergent, random boxes stamped with Sun Pacific Oranges-- heavy instead, with books, files, novels, and paperbacks that contain at least three year's worth of Best American Short Stories. I try not to fret about the VCR in a Trader Joe's bag, the stacks of Tupperware in the kitchen, the fact that it is 55 degrees outside which messes with my new exercise regiman.

I try not to remember that my teaching mentor might never get back to me about a letter of reommendation and that could mess with my chances of getting a job, or that I haven't worked on my novel in upwards of two months.

Why I Love Punk Rock

Listening to LATTERMAN!, a band very much in the vein of The Lawrence Arms*. These guys are from Huntington Station, NY, and not Chicago...but this sparkly, shouty punk rock reminds me of the Midwestern sound I love.

They broke up back in 2007...around the same time as Hot Water Music*. I discovered both bands about a year or two ago...and am now listening to them seriously, streaming every song I can find. To the point where I would buy their music well after the fact. SOOOO fucking good. Their MySpace page is filled with dedications from February and back, fans telling them what an inspiration they still are, how much they would give for them to reunite. It worked with Hot Water Music...we'll see if it happens for these guys. Getting back together seems to be the trend right now: Our Lady Peace, Rage Against the Machine...most recently, blink-182 .

LATTERMAN! split for seemingly silly reasons (their music was routinely misunderstood...too many disagreements with their record label)....but the music is so full of heart, you just wanna say, "C'mon, guys!" Still: I can understand getting tired. You pour yourself into something and you play a million shows and it's everything you love...but there's all this fucking bullshit just trying to get your music out. You're making no money after crisscrossing the country, and for every two people who love you, there's a thousand who tell you how much you suck. And after a while, it's like: What's the fucking point?

I just know that anyone who has a song titled, "Video Games and Fantasy Novels are Fucking Awesome!" is worth every lonely moment. With lyrics like: "When I grow up/I want to be like me/And when you grow up/I hope that you're still like you [...] And we'd like to think that we've changed/But I keep telling the same ten stories/in and out of this place/With the same embellished lies/about the best times of our lives/And these stories they go on and on."

Amen, brother.

Amen.

*Listen to their music, natch!

"And I've grown up 'round here..."

Been listening to Iglu & Hartly, this band from Echo Park, CA.

Been trying to find out who is responsible for this new single,"In This City," and it turns out it's them: a quintet of white Cali boys, two of whom rap over keyboards, drums, guitars and bass~ the weakest version possible of The Beastie Boys. The single was like this happy explosion on my radio one Saturday afternoon, waiting at a stoplight in traffic on my way to Trader Joe's...it left me breathless. The DJ never did announce the artist. So today, I finally did a Google search, and the minute I got to their MySpace page and saw where they were from, it was like: Oh. Of course. They would be a SoCal band. After streaming 5 tracks, (of which "In This City" is the best one), I imagine their sound in the form of miniature people at a beach, jumping up and down inside some old-school ataris.

I watched their music video for "In This City" along with some concert footage, and it just embarasses me. I mean this sincerely: props to white boys with long surfer-dude hair and a six-pack who can jolt their torsos and arm (the one not holding the mic) to the same beat and not feel stupid, but I could never do it. And as a concertgoer, that's not enough for me. But they are pretty fun to listen to. Very pop-rock-white-boy-Cali-techno-lite. I just feel like there's too much laid-back testosterone there. Two bohemian chicks who play the violin and washboard would be good for them. Though honestly, they could be really sweet guys.

So here's what I say:

Listen to them while you dance naked in your kitchen, waving a spatula over your bubbling spaghetti bolognese. Listen to them with your head bopping ridiculously on McClintock. Listen to them on a road trip, singing with your friends at the top of your lungs with the moon-top down.

But don't pay to see them live.

"It's all happening."

HOLY SHIT.

Just met Stephen Chbosky, author of The Perks of Being A Wallflower. My boyfriend has his cell phone number. He is a beautiful man. Will write more tomorrow. Go buy the book NOW.

Shinny Happy People

I did something this morning I don't know that I should have done. I texted my friend Hari after hearing on NPR that Obama visits Dobson High School in Mesa today at 10:15 a.m. Only three other states exceed the number of foreclosures in Arizona; hence the president's visit.

Hari is not in real estate. He is not in danger of losing his apartment on Rural. I have been to this place; the living room is a jungle of bike and bike parts. He has a garlic hill in the back. He likes to invite people over for tea and to meet his compost. When I first met him at an art & activism panel a year ago, he had just cut up his army uniform and pulped it into paper for an art peace (spelling intended) on campus. Back then, he looked like Brett Scallions, the original frontman for Fuel, with tawny hair down to his shoulders. (Does anybody still remember "Hemorrage (In My Hands)" and the even better "Shimmer"? We're talkin' the turn of the millenium, people). Now, that same hair he chopped off at an anti-war protest in Denver has since grown back into a carpet of brown, and he now resembles a friendly, lanky, cartoon moose.

I texted Hari about Obama's visit because Hari has fought in Iraq. He is a member of Iraq Veterans Against the War (IVAW), and stays awake at night because of the things he's done to people he never wanted to hurt. I will never know what that is like. Anything related to the war~ protests, lectures, you name it~ he's there. The last time I hung out with him, he opened the door to Devotchka's tour bus to convince the band to give him 30 seconds on stage to ask the audience to please help his friend Matthis in his refusal to return to active duty abroad. He faces charges from the army~ under the overarching command of President Barack Obama~ on March 12. After being turned down and reamed out by various people at the venue (The Clubhouse's promoter, a friend of the band's, the band's [tour?] manager), he berated himself for not bringing IVAW information and for not being "more prepared." Unable to enjoy a band whose music he continues to support, he went home. This is a man who will not rest until the troops come home.

I am inspired by his relentlessness, his dedication, his sense of justice. But I have a habit of signing up for fights that are not mine, and without knowing all the information. This is not the story of Hari, sadly, but the story of me.

Obama plans to double the number of combat brigades in Afghanistan, having deployed his first troops (17,000 new soldiers and Marines) yesterday. I am more fearful than ever about what this means for all of the men and women in ROTC, for all those who have been deployed...for all those who, like Hari's friend, are given orders to reactivate their duty when they have killed and don't believe in killing. I fear for all those who return even more damaged than Hari.

My own ignorance continues to ambush me. I don't believe in "just peace." But let's face it: this war against terrorism seems dubious, and I am terrified for the fervor and the money and the enticement and the fear that the military brings. My friend Venita's 17-year-old nephew just joined.

Yet, we need soliders. A nonexistent American army does not mean a nonexistent Korean one, or nonexistent Afghani one. Although I believe Hari should have had his 30 seconds, I can see why the band and the venue were all hesitant. There's a lot riding on any kind of political statement or action, and there's something to be said about inserting yourself in the right place and at the right moment. Obama is in Arizona today to talk about the housing crisis. He just signed into law a new economic stimulus. My moral quandry is in that I don't know that I should have nudged Hari in the direction of a possible anti-war statement when the president is here for different reasons.

As someone with a history of wobbly participation in "leftist" causes (Purdue Organization for Labor Equality, for which I was treasurer, but deemed myself too busy to research our campaigns and was decidedly dubious about the effectiveness of rallies and the phsyical implication of hunger strikes in the name of solidarity)...for someone who used to teach rhetoric, I think something (much) about me needs to change. When will I stop fearing my own inadequacy?

Anybody else ever overwhelmed by how much there is to know, about just one thing? Where can I go to understand if we need this war?