Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in joshzero's LiveJournal:

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Monday, November 23rd, 2009
3:00 pm	When someone dies, I fight desperately to close wounds I cannot see. I get into a mentality where I must find a way to anchor down my memories and connections to the newly dead so they can't find a way to take them away as they pass. Casual encounters and chance meetings are now catalogued and processed into immortality. I find myself trying to take the memory of a person that is no longer and transform them into something that will always be. I am thinking of firecrackers now; big explosions of color illuminating my surroundings like miniature falling suns. Some flare up quickly with a hiss, blooming into brilliant combinations of orange, purple, pink, and blue. Others pop, fizzle, and descend in a relaxing sequence of white strobes, comforting me, making me think of popcorn. Then there are those that are comprised of a single violent BOOM, the ones that make young children cry. My favorites are Roman Candles. You can hold them in your hand and fire them into the sea. I love the warmth and vibrations, watching the colors fly and finally fade beneath the waves. It is the closeness of it that gets me. It’s always over more quickly than I want. * * * August, 2006: Why won’t this thing fucking work?! I am in the desert at the Burning Man festival. Tuesday night. Wind is howling. I have been here for four days at this point. There is dirt in my eye. That is what my brain was thinking at the time. The party is in full swing and I have responsibilities to our camp. We have some computer-driven art projects that require an electronic generator running at all times. The art is visually interactive and contained in a metallic dome. Kids are tripping out. A light changes inside and everyone inside says “ohh shiiiit!” or “wooooah!” followed by laughter. It is totally blowing their minds. My responsibility is the generator. The two goals are: 1) power must be on at all times and 2) it must not disturb our neighbors. The generator itself is older, a loan from my campmate Hans’s mother, and sounds like a train of Harley-Davidson motorcycles rolling through an airplane hangar. Long ago in San Francisco, it was determined that we would dampen the sound of the machine with cinder blocks and run it some distance away from the installation. Tests were done and the solution deemed viable. It was very scientific. We’ve had a problem since Sunday night: the generator is shutting down intermittently, causing the art to disappear and the computer system to reboot. The dome suddenly goes dark and various drug-addled partiers moan their disappointment in unison. I rush over to the generator enclosure, kick over cinder blocks, yank on the motor, and it starts up again. At each interruption, the creator of the project—let’s call him Mr. Bell—appears out of the darkness to lambast me with a tantrum worthy of the rock gods. He is Axel Rose and I am the bumbling manager who forgot to take the blue M&M’s out of his dressing room. As the week progresses, Mr. Bell has clearly been partying. This amplifies the severirty of each sequential tantrum as well as my inability to take him seriously. He is in a dress and telling me I am incompetent. He is painted blue and wondering if I have an IQ above 50. Wearing mime make-up, he tells me how unacceptable the situation is. Meanwhile, a young woman clearly interested in having sex with him sits on a couch for 15 minutes, completes a crossword puzzle, and rides off on a bike painted like a cheetah. Mr. Bell is displeased and tells me about this as well. By Tuesday, I am unable to cope with the failure of the generator. I’ve figured out the problem: the high winds are running in all directions and stopping sufficient air flow from reaching the generator, causing it to overheat. I remove some cinder blocks and it runs perfectly, but is now too loud, resulting in complaints from neighbors. There seems to be no sequence of actions I can take that will keep the thing running AND prohibit noise. I am tired, bleeding from the hands, and flattened from my last session with a ballroom-gown wearing Mr. Bell telling me that I should be publicly hung in the center of the festival. Why won’t this thing fucking work? The weather and stress of the environment has me very fatigued. I stop thinking rationally, moving wood and cinder blocks around for aesthetic reasons instead of useful ones. Look, I tell myself, a cinder block castle to save the generator! Yay! Eventually I just sit next to the thing with a hammer in my hand, listening to it cough and hiccup fuel while the exhaust blows in my face. Eventually, The Viking showed up. Now, we call Hans a Viking, and with good reason. At 6’4” and broad-chested, he looked very much the part. Red-blonde hair spilled down his back with facial hair to match. Pagan trinkets hung from his hair and adorned his body. Also, his name was fucking Hans Andersen. It doesn’t get more Nordic than that. You could just imagine some ancestor of his leaping over the front of a longboat in a horned helmet, yelling a blood-curdling tribute to Thor before burning everything he saw. At that moment, he towered over me. Odin had willed him to my side. MWAH MWAH MWAH MWAH, came the noise. The Viking was talking to me. I shook the exhaust fumes from my head and looked upwards, trying to make sense of what this 700-foot tall person was trying to say. “Whatcha doin’ down there, Josh?” he said. “I am killing myself with this gas-powered generator, Hans. My time has come.” “Hmm,” he said, kneeling down and taking my hammer. “How much have you slept?” “I don’t know. It’s so hot during the day and I can’t keep this thing running at night. People keep yelling at me about it.” The Viking reached over and turned off the generator. The kids moaned and then it was dark. He grabbed my shoulder and helped me stand. “You’re useless right now, Josh. You are tired and need sleep. We can fix this tomorrow.” I didn’t like the sound of that. “No, I think I can fix it. I just have to move a few—“ It was at that moment that The Viking put me over his shoulder. Gently, like you would a child, except I was a two-hundred pound man with an attitude. Goddamn,I thought, Hans is MAN strong. He placed me on a couch next to a space heater with a father’s kindness. I did not protest. Switching on the heater, he spoke in soothing tones. “Get some sleep, Josh. Take it easy, enjoy what’s going on around you. It’s never worth it to put up with that kind of shit.” The Viking walked off into the evening. I slept, deep and restfully. * * * July, 2009: When you work for a corporation, it is an uneven road. Security and reliability walk in tandem with isolation and ingenuous behavior. The paychecks and health benefits validate the choice, but inevitably there will be times when you feel more like a resource than a person. Occasionally, someone will screw you over and lie to you using the intangible nonsense language of business in order to make it seem logical rather than fucked up. Today is one of those days. My boss lied to me, demoted me, and has not explained himself in a way that makes sense. He has had my loyalty for six years. Now I am off a project that I was chosen to spearhead because someone else thinks that we should have a different structure. Now, I have no direction, my career has been set back at least a year, and I’m just an afterthought. Corporate shit, through and through. It’s not that big a deal in the scheme of things, I know, but when you make the choice to pursue a corporate career instead of things you’d rather be doing—art, travel, music, whatever—you want to see the sacrifice as a smart choice. It’s important to me to feel like forsaking these things will eventually result in a strong and solid center for my future. Then a man in business-casual slacks and a Hawaiian print shirt tells me that he’s taking that away without real explanation. Nine years here and I have nothing to do, my life is suddenly in turmoil. So I am walking down the street. Angry. Near tears. Frustrated at everything: playing the game. Selling out. Buying into the terminology. Action Items. Proactive. Self-starter. Playing ball. Ducks in a row. Team player. Quitting poetry. Quitting art. Music. It’s cold outside and I’m in shorts and a sweater, gritting my teeth and running through scenarios that are more in line with my thoughts: knocking over desks and ergonomic chairs, telling my boss that he is a phony, setting fire to filing cabinets, and flipping everyone the bird as I walk out the door. Mostly, I feel helpless. Chained to the job, the paycheck, health care, all these mundane things that keep me alive. I am angry and resigned. “Josh!” I'm in the center of a crosswalk at 3rd & Brannan and there is Hans. He’s 3 feet behind me, gesturing at his bad knee—he’d told me recently that his ACL was torn and he’d be getting surgery soon—motioning me over to him. He’s smiling wide in his cargo pants and T-shirt. He works nearby, so I see him often, but right then his goofy grin was just what I needed. I turn around and we exchange big manly bear hugs. “How’s it going, buddy?” he says. “Just a fucked up day, I guess.” “That sucks, dude, it’s good to see you.” There is a cacophony of horns and angry, inconvenienced motorists. It dawns on me that we’ve been hugging in an intersection and the lights in our direction have just turned green. Our hug is not as important to them as it is to us. “I think they’re pissed.” Hans laughs in an amused, defiant way, and we continue to hug. “Eh, Fuck ‘em.” * * * I know that you are no longer here, but I can’t find it within myself to pretend to know where you might be now. To me, that’s religion. It’s a fiction for me to say you are in a better or worse place than you were here. It is the definition of unknowable. If this might-exist place is real, I will not claim to understand where or what it is. I just know that it is not here, it is not now, that your laughter will have to live only in my head going forward. For that, I am greatly saddened. Many will remember you for your excesses, and rightly so. You took pride in living life on your terms, as you chose. You were a being of energy and hedonism. The Viking was a force of powerful emotions. I saw you in periods of strength, desperation, ecstasy, and sorrow. I loved you for your wild will, but also for the kindness that came when others were weak. Those moments may have escaped your memory, but not mine. When I drink, your face will be in my mind. When I walk the sands again, I will hear your loud laughter. I will celebrate your strength. You will be remembered. * * * Last week: “Woah, up a hill even! You’re looking way more spry than last I saw you!” His face is red, but smiling. He moves his crutches up the hill slowly. He’s a big, tall man, and bearing that weight on one leg is not easy. “Yeah, I know. It’s great actually. I got the surgery done and, well, I was prepared for some pain, but I don’t think I was properly prepared for just HOW painful it would be. For awhile, I just couldn’t really move, and it was pissin’ me off because I couldn’t do anything. The pain meds were making me loopy and I had to get up much earlier for work because Janet had to take me. This hurts, but I feel like I’m making progress.” The rest of our friends have pulled way ahead of us, eager to begin celebrating a double-birthday party. Janet, Jessica, and I walk slowly with him up one of those San Francisco hills that define the city. He’s laboring, but happy to be moving. Just last week, he was fuming at a party because he couldn’t really move. The lack of freedom was frustrating; having to ask people to get him food, drink. Being dependent on others was not something he enjoyed. “How long you got left?” “Well, I’m about two or three months in and it’s supposed to take six. The rehab hurts, but whatever. The worst part seems to be over. I can move now, though it hurts, and that’s really what was frustrating me. All the pain and no progress.” We arrive at our destination, happy friends at a happy occasion. “Hey, man, I really appreciate you waiting for us. It’s hard to walk up the backside all the time.” “Of course, man. You’re my friend.” I closed the door. * * * Come, brother, Let us grab our spears and fight. Though we be not Noble Men when we meet our end we will be welcomed to The Hall just the same. We shall scream our battle cry from the long boats like wolves at night. When we are dead and our blood is spent, they shall celebrate us on the pyre, they will celebrate us in flame. Though we be not Noble Men, when we meet our end we will be welcomed to The Hall just the same. Goodbye, my friend. (31 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, September 11th, 2009
3:17 pm	There’s a pop outside. It could be anything: gunshot, car backfiring, a plank of wood dropping to the ground, a door slamming. Well, we think, hope everybody is OK out there. We breathe deep, bow our heads, say a prayer, watch TV, whatever it is we need to do while contemplating the quite-possibly-newly-dead. I enjoy walking around the city, but only when walking is the purpose for doing so. Usually, it isn’t. I am commuting, erranding, lifting, pulling. There are always burdens to be born and what is life meant for if not the carrying of heavy things? It is easy to dillute our environment into an organized series of checklists. That is how I have been trained to approach problems throughout my working life: take a complicated issue and break it down into little, insignificant pieces. Do it well enough and people start defining you with terms like “task-driven”. In some worlds, this is the highest of compliments. It’s possible I may be working too much. After three weeks away from the office—this is the most in 9 years time—people here seem to be speaking a foreign language. They are stressed out, communicating in empassioned tones, waving fists, gesturing furiously at a whiteboard flowcharts. There is urgency in everything. If one were to simply observe the gestures and body language, you’d think that a monstrous asteroid was hurtling towards earth and we, the mighty employees of Video Game Company X, were in charge of creating the machine that would destroy it and preserve humanity. It may be time to choose something new. (7 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, July 15th, 2009
4:43 pm	cannons point in your direction they came with the moon tides shift whitened wrists fingers locked dangling from the cliffside, we are say the words you need pray to whatever works make it a mantra that counts don’t let the phrase dangle finish with a flamethrower ignore the wounded fire because the guns are pointed at you. (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, May 8th, 2009
4:00 pm	Hello Everyone. I don’t mean to bother you, but this is some serious business: SHARK ATTACK IS TONIGHT!! In spite of the capital letters and excessive use of exclamation points, I assure you,SHARK ATTACK is a demure occasion meant for the finest people. Scoundrels and persons of low character will not be admitted. When I say “THIS PARTY IS GOING TO BE OUT OF CONTROL AND OFF THE HOOK ALL AT ONCE”, I say it respectfully to you over a mint julep. Here, have a mint. Even in the face of mad beats on the dance floor, fresh breath is a boon. Since you are a person of taste, I can tell you this: SHARK ATTACK IS BLOWING UP, WOOP WOOP, WOOP WOOP. This is not hyperbole, dear friend, but rather a statement of fact regarding the quality of the club, which in my opinion is likely to be very high. Bear in mind, I understand the endless burdens placed on individuals of such high esteem. I do not invite your company lightly. You are an important person with a demanding social calendars. Not everyone can freak-it-on-until-the-break-of-dawn-cuz-the-beats-is-on. If you need to find me this evening I will be at the location on the flyer below EXPERIENCING A MUSICAL JOURNEY UNLIKE ANY YOU HAVE IMAGINED. This is my personal guarantee. Whether we meet or not tonight, please, have a pleasant evening and wonderful weekend. Sincerely, Joshua D. Ostrander aka "j.zero" Club Shark Attack – May 2009 (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, April 10th, 2009
12:59 pm	Life has been very busy of late for me, so this month’s Shark Attack post is unfortunately brief. Do not let the brevity of the message underscore the level of my excitement, which is HIGH. We’ve got Braceface, Orko, j.zero, and the birthday girl Starr bringing another month’s worth of dance floor damage tonight. In addition, we have the inimitable DJ Solar in the guest slot this week. If you haven’t seen him drop it at the popular city Sunset parties, you haven’t lived. Seriously, it’s that fun. As always, I guarantee a good time! See you. (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, March 26th, 2009
1:19 pm	business man white button-down black tie blood-soaked shirt cuffs spattering the walls with red gesticulates during his presentation “If you’re gonna cut it,” he says “You need to get INSIDE real deep just go at it like a violent child does that’s right, fuck yourself up in there make a huge mess! This is the formula to success.” so there we are all of us driving letter openers into our abdomens presenting our entrails for executive review organs and innards conceal the spreadsheets and soak the complementary catered sandwiches. “That’s it!” he says. “Get in there, claw away at that shit.” an animated heart is the final slide pumping gouts out of its valves off the screen to the eviscerated we. “Thank you for your time. There are evaluation forms available for your use. Please take a moment to let us know what you thought of the course.” It is not yet lunchtime. (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, March 11th, 2009
11:33 am	Shark Attack this Friday! I have to admit, I wasn’t ready for the world to end yet. However, since we are almost certainly destined for oblivion—the pundits say the world will be officially designated as “totally screwed” by next Wednesday I think--I say it’s a fine time to go dancing! After a month off, Club Shark Attack is back and ready for the wickedness. The last Shark Attack was totally off the chain, and we’re ready to devastate your face once again. We’ve got all sorts of sounds to prepare you for hand-to-hand combat in a desolate neo-future; electro, house, Tibetan throat singing..perhaps not Tibetan throat singing, but I guarantee the music we do have will be enjoyable to listen to. Let it not be said that Shark Attack is insensitive during these dire times. When the doom comes, your only refuge will be our dance club. It will beTHE safe haven when flesh eating government Robocleansers are rolled out into the streets. Here are some additional things that we’re offering to help you weather the storm of annihilation this Friday: • DJ J.zero’s “How to Make a Crude Yet Defensible Shelter from Fragmented Aircraft Parts” Workshop. • $5 Cover • Zombie Conversion Tank for those who just want to get it over with • Unstoppable Dancefloor Mayhem • Debut of DJ Starr’s new book “The Barter System and You: Surviving in the Post-Apocalyptic Economy” • Booze • 401K Planning with the Annie’s Social Club bartenders. [Note: Annie’s Social Club bartenders are not professional financial planners and may hit you with a pipe if you ask them about your 401k—Shark Attack not liable] • DJ Orko’s “Pitfighting for Food 101: Holds & Hidden Weapons” dancefloor tutorial Wait, that’s not all! We’ve got a new RESIDENT DJ, Braceface, in the mix! She’s an outstanding DJ who blew the roof off the place as a guest in January and is now part of the Shark Attack crew. Yes! If you haven’t had the pleasure, she’s got an excellent new mix up that I encourage you to hear: Continuous high quality:http://soundcloud.com/braceface/mix-bitchesgetstitches Tracked mp3 version: http://soundcloud.com/braceface/sets/mix_bitchesgetstitches_tracked Listen to this thing. It’s good. Tell her what you think this weekend and I’ll buy you a drink. Serious. Details are on the flyer below. See you there! (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, January 10th, 2009
10:23 am	It is time to get down. One of the few good things about hard economic times is that people seek cheaper diversion more often AND on the cheap. It's a great opportunity for smaller events and activities with reduced costs to grab new enthusiasts. I couldn't think of a better time to revive Shark Attack. Low cost. Small venue. No unnecessary crap. Just good music and fun. We'll be rocking out at Annie's Social Club tonight. DJ Braceface is going to going to wreck the environment as guest DJ. She's got quite the presence around the minimal scene here, and I've seen her drop it at qool as well. Quality. It will be a great night of awesome dance music. I guarantee a good time. Here's the deets: (6 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, December 17th, 2008
4:20 pm	Don't call it a... (11 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, November 5th, 2008
12:06 pm	One of the great barriers of our time has been destroyed. I am invigorated and hopeful, cautiously optimistic about what could be. I am not exuberant. I did not party on a street corner or drive down avenues honking my horn. We did not cheer the conquering hero. I smiled, mainly, and cried. This is a great victory, a moment in history that will shape our culture and bridge gaps long seen as insurmountable. I don’t really know what to say about it save that I, like many, never thought I would see the day. Now, here it is. I did not celebrate extravagantly. We broke a bottle of champagne and quietly acknowledged the moment. Turned on the television. Masses cheered in Chicago. The the faces of students at black colleges around the country ran slick with tears. Oprah buried her face in the shoulder of a stranger. Jesse Jackson wept. It was beautiful. It is difficult for me to celebrate too freely. As one barrier is destroyed, another familiar obstacle is re-established. Again, gay people face the prospect of being told their partnerships are not welcome here, that they are wrong and invalid. It will be written in our constitution and is meant to be indelible. Some heads were hung low amidst the raised fists last night, and my love goes to them. I believe it will happen. Each vote, the numbers close. Each legal challenge is held longer and with greater certainty. The time will come, but it kills me that it may not be now. More patience is required. We cannot ignore that many of the new voters who appeared for Barack Obama also voted for this intolerance. Six of ten black voters. More than half of the Latin vote. Half the white vote. I am sure many of them can be convinced to feel differently. And while I am ecstatic about this victory, I really do feel that more could have been done for this cause on the national stage. Barack Obama’s support deteriorated seemingly, gradually less commited during his trek to the center. In the debates, he and his running mate were evasive, refusing to take stands and instead relying on vague non-committal terminology. One strong word and some of those voters change their minds. It is my hope that this was a tactic used to win, and not one of conviction, but it is often hard to tell. It is difficult for me to feel elation without caution kicking in. I cannot deny that yesterday left me euphoric and energized for the future. It is stunning, in truth, liberating and visceral, beyond anything I imagined would happen and that is the truth. I just can’t help thinking about those who have lost while everyone else gets to win. When it comes to the dialogue of change, everyone deserves a seat the table. Everyone. (16 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, November 4th, 2008
8:10 pm	This changes everything. It really does. I am blown away. I didn't even vote for the guy in the primaries. So why do I feel like crying? :) EDIT: Just lost it. I couldn't watch all those kids crying at Howard without bawling. (10 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, October 13th, 2008
2:06 pm	- I may have to come to terms that I have lost my ipod. Of the fancy material things I am privileged to own, this is one I love. All that music in one small place, and it was a gift from icka, which increases the special factor. Where are you, my little friend? - Given the numbers we're seeing, I don't think the Bradley Effect is going to be much of a factor this election. In fact, I hate that it's being thrown about like some kind of scientific theory that needs to be debunked. Ingenuous polling is not what is giving the Democratic ticket 11 points right now. Mr. Obama is making his case, and he's making it well. Mr. McCain is not. - As for all those desperate scary rallies making the news--Arab, terrorist, traitor, beat that boy, "take the gloves johnny!"-- that is about race. Bet that. Mr. Lewis should not have clarified because Mr. Lewis was right the first time. - Song of the Week: Geion - Reminiscing (dubplate version) - I always get nervous when a candidate tries to take credit or apply blame with respect to the economy. Market forces are just so beyond politics much of the time. What is true now could be different in a week, a day, a month. Scary. - I have renewed my love for salad and chai tea. Delicious. How are you? peace. (13 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, July 1st, 2008
2:30 pm	Saturday: lunasee and keywerk got married this weekend. It was a lovely ceremony on a boat dock in Discovery Bay, California. It was really fun to officiate in the sun and breeze above water. I also read a poem out loud to others, which I had not done in 5 years or so, so that was nice. Afterwards, at the reception, there was drinking and dancing. In a fateful decision for the entire wedding, mklmyers gave me my own gigantic bottle of Canadian Mist, which I carried around for the extent of the night, doling out swigs to any and all in my path. Here is my interpretation of the evening’s events, re-enacted by hobbits: Other highlights: - Lapdance from artisticskin - neurodancer asking me to dance, artisticskin throwing the cockblock. neurodancer will never be mine now. artisticskin is a total slut. - Violence Against Josh #1 - Determined little girl in polka dots stomping the hell out of my feet while headbanging - Violence Against Josh #2 – Very inebriated woman yanking me by my tie from behind while doing a sexy dance, causing me to choke - icka and sashasana, just in general. Sunday: After nursing my hangover away, I elected for a day of music-making and reading. While on the couch, I heard the following noise rush down the street outside my house: MMMsssMMMsssWOOooMMooooBalllMMMssssmmss..mm..ssYeahGirlssssmmSSPlayyyyy..yy..yyy It sounded like your typical tricked out car bumping some tunes on the speaker. I went back to reading. One minute later this sound occurred: YEAHHHPLAYmmmMMMssooooBALLSmMMMSssMMMSssYEAHmmmmSssss…ss.ss Intrigued, I opened my windows and blinds and prayed for a third occurrence. I was not disappointed. This time I heard it clearly and well ahead of time. “Yeah girl! Go on! Play with my balls!” A shirtless man in black ruffled hot pants stood atop a blue-sequined double-decker party bus, shouting loudly into a megaphone while exhorting pedestrians to play with his balls. He was surrounded by twenty or so other men in varying states of nakedness, all very focused on convincing passers-by that they should play with some balls. Loud house music blared out of speakers mounted on the sides and, sure enough, the song playing was a dance track with the phrase “Play with my balls” repeated ad infinitum over a groovy disco beat. Pride. It was clear that these gentlemen intended to go up and down the street doing this until their highs wore off, so I rushed into my closet, grabbed a piece of 2'x2' white artist’s paper and a sharpie, quickly scrawling “MAN, DO I LOVE BALLS” on it. I rushed outside, arriving at the base of my steps just as the Gay Naked Party Bus showed up. I waved my sign crazily and danced like Heavy D. “He ma’am, why don’t you…” PLAY WITH MY BALLS! “Excuse me, sir..” PLAY WITH MY BALLS “Hey, guy on the bike!” PLAY WITH MY BALLS! “Hey…Wait! Look at that guy's sign! Stop the bus, ladies!” So, there I am, standing in front of my apartment building holding a sign that says “MAN, DO I LOVE BALLS”, a blue-sequined bus filled with naked gay men stopping traffic across the street, shouting at me to get on the bus. “If you love balls, you better get on this fucking bus!” I was paralyzed by a sudden and severe shyness. I could not speak. Drunk Megaphone Man lost his patience with me quickly and shouted “All right, let’s go!!” to his dancing horde. The men resumed their chant of testicular frolic as the bus resumed its course down Valencia back towards the Castro. I turned around to find my landlord on the front steps holding a doorknob he’d just replaced and staring at me like I'd just lit the building on fire. I walked by and went into my apartment without saying a word. Then I went back to reading. (30 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, June 30th, 2008
1:05 pm	I question CNN's prioritization skills. My prayers go out to those affected by the national text-messaging-while-driving epidemic currently holding our country in an icy death grip. At least it was above mini-me's sex tape scandal. Shirt Opportunity: I Survived The Destruction of Earth's Electromagnetic Field and all I Got Was This Stupid T-Shirt. (14 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, June 25th, 2008
12:11 pm	- Bissap Baobab is probably my favorite restaurant in the city. I am huge on couscous dishes, and they really do well. I have not had a Senegalese dining experience outside of this--I am told that Bissap is fusion and not really as spicy, big surprise--but I really love it. Healthy and delicious. I had the chiken mafe last night. When I lived on Capp I used to wander over there and practice my french over a drink and some lamb. It is also inexpensive, which I appreciate living amongst so many overpriced places in San Francisco. - I went to yoga yesterday. The instructor was supportive, but I believe secretly disapproving of my out of shape behind. I fell down several times, but it was a spiritual flopping. - I crashed and burned on my last run of music purchases, except for Klimek's new album. Ambient, dark, and sparce. Love it. - I am officiating another wedding this weekend, and have been asked to write a piece to be read prior to the vows. Subject: "Why do we marry?" Hmmm.... - Reading "Unaccustomed Earth" by Jhumpa Lahiri. A book in 8 parts dealing with Bengali immigrants and their children making their lives in America. Well written and interesting. - I feel the overwhelming need to overhaul my personal style, but I am not sure which way to go as of yet. - I turn 32 this year. Wild. peace (12 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, June 18th, 2008
10:45 am	Today is icka's birthday. Please send her love and affection. She is definitely worth celebrating. :P Happy birthday, boo. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Wednesday, June 11th, 2008
11:53 am	I have a softness in my heart for old 80s action hero movies: Arnold, Stallone,the Lethal Weapon series, they make me nostalgic every time I happen to see them. They were packed violence, of course, but I had a hard time really thinking about it in a heady way. The characters and plots were too outrageous. It was a challenge for me to get political about immense oiled up muscle-men or Mel Gibson’s feathered mullet. Likewise, the villains were always charicutures: an evil CIA guy, a goateed European dude or some version of Gary Busey. The campy nature of the actors and heroes distanced me from the behavior in the films. Needless to say, I was hyped when the new film, “Rambo”, came out. I rarely go to see movies in theatres—the last 3-4 big theatre experience I’ve had have involved loud patrons, bad sound and have turned me off--so the true debut for movies I want to see is their DVD release. When “Rambo” came out, I bought it, purchased a six-pack of beer, and invited one of my similarly enthused male friends over. Man, John Rambo is old. And now, so am I. I haven’t really compiled my thoughts well about the movie itself; save that it was the most humorless, violent thing I’d ever seen. It was set in Burma. Within the first 5 minutes you see 20 or so people killed in ways so assaulting to your senses that you’d have to be a robot not to blanch. They're selling Rambo as this beaten down old soldier in the middle of real conflict and suffering, and boy was there suffering: people exploded, rapes, torture with canes, a villain in aviator shades that is a pedophile, just completely absurd levels of sadism. It was clear to me they were trying to reinvent the series as some rumination on conflict and war, but I mean..Stallone is still in it. God knows that there is no better person for teaching life lessons than John Fuckin' Rambo. He still has a headband and Poison hair. And now he is 65 and his ass is a plastic steroid case. There was not a single joke in the entire film. Now, I recognize a certain amount of hypocrisy in taking exception to this. I’m not entirely uneducated on social issues. I recognize how easy it is to dissect media and its effect on our community. Movies have always been violent, for sure, but in the last two decades things have gotten progressively more, I don’t know, mean-spirited I guess. There is a quest to seem dark, gritty, and real, and each film attempts to one up the last. Protagonists lack anything resembling human emotion. Every encounter, action sequence, or conflict cannot proceed without a horrific body count and some close-up of a beheading or evisceration. Passer-bys are smashed by cars, children are shot on screen, women are raped, and it’s all meant to make us hate the nameless (and usually asian or arab) enemies who are to be lined up so Rambo, Denzel, Bruce, or whomever can send them to hell. Maybe the old movies were just as bad and I am just rationalizing to justify a childhood attachment to them, who knows? Maybe I’m just Mr. Kids-These-Days swearing at the TV in my sweater. Regardless, I have a hard time watching it now. (18 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, May 16th, 2008
11:55 am	Hot Bullets - Tonight is the last Shark Attack at the Cat Club, most likely. There are a variety of reasons for this. I prefer to think that we are simply too awesome to be held in any one club for too long. I am sure that is the case here. So, come! - San Francisco is having a little heat wave. It is pretty amusing to see how unprepared the men in this city are for hot weather. Most of the women I see have cute summer dresses or otherwise flowy outfits. Conversely, I see a bunch of dudes in long-sleeve buttoned shirts and jeans looking very uncomfortable. Owning only two work appropriate short-sleeve shirts and a single pair of shorts, I can relate. It seems unjust to me that hot weather is a fashion opportunity for some, whereas for others it means "shorts". My legs look like they're coated in chalk. Screw shorts. - It has been a hard month for me in terms of shopping for DJ music. Everything seems derivative and uninspiring. Maybe I have lost my groove. - God bless Bahamadia, S.P.E.C.T.R.E., and Latryx. Really hitting the spot right now. - current new sound: "heroin jazz". Will post when I figure out what my opinions are. - Many people around me are in need of special attention and love right now. I wish them the strength to endure their hardships. - There is road construction right out front of my building; the loud kind that involves jackhammers and cement crushers. I have to leave my windows open because of the heat which lets the sounds of construction in at 6am each morning. I am sleeping poorly to the point of sadness right now. see you tonight. j0 (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, April 18th, 2008
11:46 am	Nothing, Sponsored by Club Shark Attack! I am sorry, friends, I do not have a post today. I've been very busy. So, instead, a flyer! (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, March 22nd, 2008
12:23 pm	Shark Attack seemes to get more people each month. we're nowhere near at capacity, but it is on the verge of being a reasonably well attended event. More than I expected from a shark-themed dance event, for certain. There are also regulars that are not people we know, which is a good sign. After all my talk about loving your craft, I was in pretty miserable form last night. I hadn't actually touched my decks since the last shark attack. Combine that with losing all my CDs, having to burn copies of newly purchased that i'd barely heard, and whiskey; you get a disheveled and occasionaly jarring mix. No horrible problems, but lots of jarring transitions and more mistakes than I've probably made all year. Go team! Starr, Evan, and Ryan were great though. Made up for my hi-jinx. If you came, thank you. If you did not, I hope you enjoyed your evening without me. peace.. (3 Comments |Comment on this)