Friday, June 30, 2006
All my life I've always wondered
What it would be like to fire off a ballistic missile
Covered in sweat and grime and driving the overloaded rig home that night I felt like I was 22 again, finishing up another 15 hour day at the grain elevator. I stopped at the 7-11 for a drink. The girl in front of me on line was buying a single can of Steel Reserve. As I left the store I saw her getting into an old Buick LeSabre with two empty car seats in the back. Looks like single mama's getting a buzz on while the kids are over at their dad's house.
It's like my blue-collar roots keep calling me back. Not so much that I'm willing to give up my comfy new office chair and dependable paycheck just yet. Fuck it, enough self reflection. You probably don't care, and if you did I'd be a little creeped out.
I've been thinking more about the cult of celebrity architecture, and it's one redeeming trait: age. In most other arts, by the time the creative person hits their 30s or 40s they've pretty much run out of ideas, or at least are treated that way by the establishment.
Monday, June 26, 2006
Dad and me and Darrell out in San Pablo Bay
One of the joys of living in a resort town is that the summer weekends are full of a large variety of fun activities. However, a two and a half mile swim, followed by a 112 mile bike ride, and topped off with a full marathon does not exactly fit my personal definition of a fun activity. While I'm all for abusing my body on a regular basis, but I choose to pass on this particular method. Seeing as the streets were shut down this this weekend, and the ambulance sirens would be blaring all day, we headed up to enjoy two nights camped out at Priest Lake. As a result, I'm still overdue for my Solstice hike to watch the sunset from Chilco Mountain, so I'm rescheduling it for sometime between the 1st and the 4th of July. But that's not what this post is about.
Anyway, the important part here is that last night after unpacking the car, as the sirens blared in the direction of some middle-aged man with an underdeveloped sense of his own mortality, I sat in the rocking chair in my air-conditioned living room, and read a New York Times Magazine article, in the print edition no less, about Stephen Holl's Turbulence House in New Mexico. It touched on an offhand comment I had made a few days ago on David Rothman's blog about Frank Gehry. I'm not talking about personal attributes, although as I noted in my post about the movie My Architect about Louis Kahn, being an asshole often seems to go with the territory of architectural fame. The same could be said for Wright, Corbusier, Gaudi, and any number of other famous designers. However, I really don't know anything about the personal lives of Holl, Gehry or any other current celebrity architects (although one of my colleagues studied under Bart Prince and noted that he is a very shy but likable person), besides, who am I to judge others personal faults as I'm hanging out in the Flying J parking lot in a purple wig and torn stockings? What does bother me is that their work invariably is an incredible waste of resources and often results in poorly functioning spaces. Ask any Seattleite who has tried to navigate Rem Koolhass's new library there if they are getting their $273/sf worth, and that's relatively cheap in celebrity architecture terms. I admit, conceptually it is cool, but once that wears off what's left? Does this glorious ediface bear any relation to its surroundings or its function? Same goes for Gehry only doubly so. True, his buildings have pushed the frontiers of digital building technology, integrating design and fabrication. But the problem with cutting edge ideas is that they dull very quickly with repeated use. Look, more curved metalic forms, woo fucking hoo. What I don't see is an attempt to take those technological advances into the realm of creating buildings that actually function beyond being a showpeice for the architect's ego and prehaps more importantly, the client's willingness to blow money.
At least Koolhass, Holl and Gehry are better than Michael Graves, whose portfolio I could compare with sado-masochism, necrophilia and beastiality, but that would be beating a dead horse.
Anyway, the important part here is that last night after unpacking the car, as the sirens blared in the direction of some middle-aged man with an underdeveloped sense of his own mortality, I sat in the rocking chair in my air-conditioned living room, and read a New York Times Magazine article, in the print edition no less, about Stephen Holl's Turbulence House in New Mexico. It touched on an offhand comment I had made a few days ago on David Rothman's blog about Frank Gehry. I'm not talking about personal attributes, although as I noted in my post about the movie My Architect about Louis Kahn, being an asshole often seems to go with the territory of architectural fame. The same could be said for Wright, Corbusier, Gaudi, and any number of other famous designers. However, I really don't know anything about the personal lives of Holl, Gehry or any other current celebrity architects (although one of my colleagues studied under Bart Prince and noted that he is a very shy but likable person), besides, who am I to judge others personal faults as I'm hanging out in the Flying J parking lot in a purple wig and torn stockings? What does bother me is that their work invariably is an incredible waste of resources and often results in poorly functioning spaces. Ask any Seattleite who has tried to navigate Rem Koolhass's new library there if they are getting their $273/sf worth, and that's relatively cheap in celebrity architecture terms. I admit, conceptually it is cool, but once that wears off what's left? Does this glorious ediface bear any relation to its surroundings or its function? Same goes for Gehry only doubly so. True, his buildings have pushed the frontiers of digital building technology, integrating design and fabrication. But the problem with cutting edge ideas is that they dull very quickly with repeated use. Look, more curved metalic forms, woo fucking hoo. What I don't see is an attempt to take those technological advances into the realm of creating buildings that actually function beyond being a showpeice for the architect's ego and prehaps more importantly, the client's willingness to blow money.
At least Koolhass, Holl and Gehry are better than Michael Graves, whose portfolio I could compare with sado-masochism, necrophilia and beastiality, but that would be beating a dead horse.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Skies are blue and the bees are buzzin'
He must be the product of two first cousins
There's not a cloud in the sky today and there's just enough breeze to keep things comfortable. Something about the freakish perfection of the weather has infected everyone on the streets today. The dorky guys look handsome, the frumpy women look pretty, the pretty women look dropdead gorgeous, and when I saw that dufus electrical engineer we fired standing on the corner of Second Avenue waiting for the light, well... he still looks like a collosal fucktard.
Still, it's a beautiful day, and even Texas has a chance to redeem itself from terminal ass-cancer status now that Kinky Friedman is on the ballot. So if you live there and you vote (which would normally give you bonus stupid points in my book) here's your chance to elect a governor who would still amuse me but not at your expense.
Still, it's a beautiful day, and even Texas has a chance to redeem itself from terminal ass-cancer status now that Kinky Friedman is on the ballot. So if you live there and you vote (which would normally give you bonus stupid points in my book) here's your chance to elect a governor who would still amuse me but not at your expense.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Don't give me that do goody good bullshit
I keep catching myself thinking that I'm poor. I grew up poor, scrounged for every nickel and busted ass for peanuts for most of my life. But the fact is, thanks to talent, plus years of study and hard work, I'm not poor. Yeah, I have a student loan and a 15-year-fixed-rate mortgage, but other than that I'm not doing to bad. No car payment. No credit cards. I've got enough savings that I don't lay awake at night worrying about my next paycheck, and enough equity in the house to ride out a sizable downturn in the housing market. I'm not rich by any means, but destitution is not on my radar these days.
So now what? Am I petty Bourgeoisie? Destined to a life of consumption and mediocrity? Or do I chuck it all and retire on pennies a day to a forgotten beach in Latin America, waiting for the rest of the world pass me by?
Fuck it, I don't know. Pass me another Negra Modelo.
So now what? Am I petty Bourgeoisie? Destined to a life of consumption and mediocrity? Or do I chuck it all and retire on pennies a day to a forgotten beach in Latin America, waiting for the rest of the world pass me by?
Fuck it, I don't know. Pass me another Negra Modelo.
It's the knowhow that you know
Dammit! Frank's Big Stick gave The Little Man In My Head more material last night, and I can't find the damn song anywhere in order to innoculate myself. Anyway, people are starting to talk, so I figure it's just a matter of time before the Feds come down on 'em.
Anyway, Midsommersday came and went. I didn't get up to Chilco Mountain afterall, but after climbing Tubbs Hill with The Boy on my back, I realized that carrying him 3 miles up 1500' vertical at over a mile high would probably kill me. It's still the best day of the year in my opinion, even though I can't get more than 6 hours of sleep. Plus The Boy came to visit me at the office and ran amok.
At lunch, I just couldn't stay inside so I took a stroll down to River Front Park. As I passed the Rookery Block I saw a group of well-dressed protestors picketing the planned demolition of the Rookery and Mohawk buildings. Look, I'm all for preserving old buildings, but unless someone is willing to front the money to rehab them, then they're just going to continue to decay. As sad I as I will be to see another parking lot in their place, I assume the people of Spokane have more pressing problems. A little ways on, A Tango was parked motorcycle-style in the space between two normal cars. Down by the river, The pretty professional women were out in force getting a little sun and exercise, I suppose one doesn't get to be a pretty professional woman by eating nuked Lean Cuisine at the desk and surfing the 'net over lunch hour. Fortunately, this being Spokane, there were also a few circus freaks with their back folds and belly rolls hanging below their groins, wheezing and waddling about in broad daylight presumably for my amusement.
Pretty boring, huh? Yeah? Well, uh... FUCK YOU! And...and...ANARCHY! 'n' stuff...
Anyway, Midsommersday came and went. I didn't get up to Chilco Mountain afterall, but after climbing Tubbs Hill with The Boy on my back, I realized that carrying him 3 miles up 1500' vertical at over a mile high would probably kill me. It's still the best day of the year in my opinion, even though I can't get more than 6 hours of sleep. Plus The Boy came to visit me at the office and ran amok.
At lunch, I just couldn't stay inside so I took a stroll down to River Front Park. As I passed the Rookery Block I saw a group of well-dressed protestors picketing the planned demolition of the Rookery and Mohawk buildings. Look, I'm all for preserving old buildings, but unless someone is willing to front the money to rehab them, then they're just going to continue to decay. As sad I as I will be to see another parking lot in their place, I assume the people of Spokane have more pressing problems. A little ways on, A Tango was parked motorcycle-style in the space between two normal cars. Down by the river, The pretty professional women were out in force getting a little sun and exercise, I suppose one doesn't get to be a pretty professional woman by eating nuked Lean Cuisine at the desk and surfing the 'net over lunch hour. Fortunately, this being Spokane, there were also a few circus freaks with their back folds and belly rolls hanging below their groins, wheezing and waddling about in broad daylight presumably for my amusement.
Pretty boring, huh? Yeah? Well, uh... FUCK YOU! And...and...ANARCHY! 'n' stuff...
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
I used to be such a sweet sweet thing
'til they gotta hold of me
Don't ask me how, but I found Wiley Wiggins' blog. Just in case you wanted to know what the young Austin actor is up to. Just don't ask anyone to take it easy on him.Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Our Mum she's so house proud
Nothing ever slows her down, and a mess is not allowed
One of my many many vices I have cultivated is my fascination with Murray Rothbard, a student of Ludwig Von Mises, and his followers at LewRockwell.com. These guys make Ayn Rand look like Bernie Sanders. They take laissez-faire to it's logical extreme, such that they approach anarchism through a series of hard right turns. One of my current favoites has to be Bill Bonner, a jet-setting publisher and avid goldbug. His latest article is one in a long series poking fun at the housing market, the Fed and the consumer economy in general.
Willie Nelson's picking out in Austin
And Waylon's hanging out in Mexico
Today's Onion headline Sony Unveils New Model Customer. Yet again, Douglas Adams' sense of humor was two decades ahead of its time with the Electric Monk in Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency. Keep buying more crap, you can pay for it later (I say as I listen to Tom T. Hall on my iPod).
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
When we've agreed we should turn off all the machines
There'll be no more of me my slate shall be whiped clean
Leave it to Chris Knox to cut through all the spiritual crap. Fuck if I care about whether or not there is an afterlife. Fuck previous lives too. It's not that I believe they don't exist, it's just that I don't believe that they do (Follow my logic? No? Well, go fuck yourself). If so, what difference does it make. Too many people worry about those and neglect their "during" lives. How come nobody was Bodo the shit-shoveling untouchable peasant in their past life? And why live under stifling rules in order to one day be greeted by seventy-some-odd virgins? Who wants a bunch of virgins up there anyway, when down here you can find someone who actually knows what the fuck they're doing, and whose lexicon does not include the phrase "Omigod! Eeeeew!"
Alls I know is that when I kick the bucket, hopefully many decades from now in the throes of passion with the woman that I love (which may be a bit traumatic for her, but I digress), I hope I leave my little piece of the world better off than I found it. Just throw a big fucking party with a band and booze and barbeque and scatter my ashes in the river. And dammit, I want mourners, wailing and rending their clothing and falling on the ground. Anything, IF anything, that happens after that is anyone's guess so I don't worry 'bout it none.
Alls I know is that when I kick the bucket, hopefully many decades from now in the throes of passion with the woman that I love (which may be a bit traumatic for her, but I digress), I hope I leave my little piece of the world better off than I found it. Just throw a big fucking party with a band and booze and barbeque and scatter my ashes in the river. And dammit, I want mourners, wailing and rending their clothing and falling on the ground. Anything, IF anything, that happens after that is anyone's guess so I don't worry 'bout it none.
Monday, June 12, 2006
There may be many others but they haven't been discovered
It's nothing new, but The Little Man In My Head Has Been playing The Elements by Tom Lehrer for the last couple hours, so I figured I'd pass it on to The Little Man In Your Head too.
Oh why don't you work like other folks do?
How can I get a job when you're holding down two?
Body-mod artists and a neuroscientist grad student have created an implant that allows you to feel electromagnetic fields. It has a few kinks to be worked out, but that's to be expected when increasing the number of available human senses by 20%.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
21st Century Digital Boy
This is the last post from the old iBook. The screen has been going for about a year, to the point where I can only open it about 60˚ and prop it up to see it. The Airport card is now in iSirkus' machine so I'm plugged into the hub. What is this, the `90s?
Right now I'm dumping my files onto the eMac downstairs until I get my original bondi blue iMac up and running. Still has the puck mouse. Now that's some '90s retro, baby. My daddy's a lazy middleclass intellectual
My mommy's on valium, it's all ineffectual
One of the funnest parts of being an anarchist is that since there are no basic "rules" the possibilities are endless as to what kind of society would develop absent the forced conformity of the state. The first that pops into most people's minds is a sort of Hobbesian state of war, to which my response is "Which is different than what exists now, how?" But I'm not really interested in spanking that particular monkey right now.
It would take days to describe the many various flavors of anarchism, besides Wikipedia gives a good starting point.
What does fascinate me is the whole issue of economics. Some anarchist, like many over at Anti-state.com, argue that a system of unrestricted free-market capitalism would rise and transform the world into a sort of Randian utopia, with all services provided by private business. Others, like the denizens of the Red and Black, declare that without state support capitalism and private property would collapse leaving the world a workers paradise. I think both ideologies have some gaping holes. I think what would emerge is a spectrum of systems varying greatly among them, including some aforementioned Hobbesian jungles. Not unlike now. The key difference being that as individuals we should be free to choose which system we want to join without such decisions being forced upon us by accident of birth or the will of the majority.
This where the fun starts, When I discuss such things with Jake, a proud blue collar worker, he has noted that while he supports the ideal of a workers' revolution in principle, he'd make a really lousy socialist. For one thing he and iSirkus work very hard and have few material needs. Basically they get the short end of the "from each according to his ability, to each according to his need" equation. Plus, powerful old choppers don't really qualify under the "need" catagory. On the other hand, I'm very cynical about the whole socialism model even though I would do quite well under it. I'm a highly trained intellectual, so my job would be pretty cushy. We have kids so a lifetime of free healthcare and education would take a lot of stress off of us, but we don't really want any expensive toys or luxuries. Sometimes I think we should swap ideologies for a while.
It would take days to describe the many various flavors of anarchism, besides Wikipedia gives a good starting point.
What does fascinate me is the whole issue of economics. Some anarchist, like many over at Anti-state.com, argue that a system of unrestricted free-market capitalism would rise and transform the world into a sort of Randian utopia, with all services provided by private business. Others, like the denizens of the Red and Black, declare that without state support capitalism and private property would collapse leaving the world a workers paradise. I think both ideologies have some gaping holes. I think what would emerge is a spectrum of systems varying greatly among them, including some aforementioned Hobbesian jungles. Not unlike now. The key difference being that as individuals we should be free to choose which system we want to join without such decisions being forced upon us by accident of birth or the will of the majority.
This where the fun starts, When I discuss such things with Jake, a proud blue collar worker, he has noted that while he supports the ideal of a workers' revolution in principle, he'd make a really lousy socialist. For one thing he and iSirkus work very hard and have few material needs. Basically they get the short end of the "from each according to his ability, to each according to his need" equation. Plus, powerful old choppers don't really qualify under the "need" catagory. On the other hand, I'm very cynical about the whole socialism model even though I would do quite well under it. I'm a highly trained intellectual, so my job would be pretty cushy. We have kids so a lifetime of free healthcare and education would take a lot of stress off of us, but we don't really want any expensive toys or luxuries. Sometimes I think we should swap ideologies for a while.
Who needs sex? I Got me.
Who needs beer? Me!
This shit's gone on far enough. I'm giving up on giving up. If I let it go too far next thing you know I'll vow to stop masturbating on the bus. What kind of life would that be?
So anyway, I'm starting to see Falcons everywhere. This daily driver parks by me out near the old Armory, but I'm seeing more and more all the time. I wonder why that is.Happy 6/6/6.
You better get drunk
You better get high
You better get fucked
I'm telling you why
Satan Claus is coming to town
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Gonna take a trip 'round the world
Gonna kiss all the pretty girls
And do everything silver and gold
I got to hurry up before I grow to old.
Dammit, sometimes The Little Man In My Head plays Joe Strummer just to watch my eyes glaze over and be all meloncholy 'n' shit. I hate that little fucker. TLMIMH, that is, not Joe Strummer.Anyway the important part here is that, as you may or may not know (or care), I'm clearing a lot of useless (to me) shit out of my life. I gave up crack and TV. I cut back on the news. I gave away my old Can Am dirt bike to a kid who is going to fix her up. And soon Jake and iSirkus are coming to pick up Amanda, our old Super Beetle, to give her the love she deserves. So the upshot is that for this month I will not be blogging during the week. I may check in on the weekends with a rant or some photos, but I'm not making any promises.
Now I have to get to work and get a drink, not necessarily in that order. Maybe one of these days I'll quit doing that too. Working, that is, not drinking.
