Engineer's Daughter

rhubarb

Schoolbook used by Truman Capote to list possible guests for the legendary Black and White Ball at the Plaza Hotel, New York, in 1966 (USA).  I'm planning a party right now too, for when I turn 33 1/3.  No dress code for mine, however.

magnificent fiend

My adventures continued well after dark on Saturday night when I made my way to the Uptown to see Oakland's own Howlin Rain.  The crowd was an odd mix of Ed-Hardy-clad downtown frat boys there to scam on girls (no really I actually enjoy being by myself now please fuck off) right alongside the local freak folk beardos there to hear the music.  And oh what music.  The last time I saw Howlin Rain was several years ago at the 12 Galaxies gig where the above video was filmed, and they have since reinvented themselves as a four-piece and were actually debuting their new line-up stateside at this particular show after having not even played in the Bay Area for almost a year.  Ear plugs were an absolute necessity as frontman Ethan Miller and company ripped through their songs, including a bunch of new material right in line with the neo-psychedelia that was on last year's Magnificent Fiend, one of my albums of the year.  I was tingly all the way down to the soles of my feet.

sound cave

Last night I went traipsing through the Mission in the still-warm twilight down to Million Fishes for the opening of Tyson Ayers's wonderful Sound Cave installation.  Ayers has constructed a small room out of piano parts so that all four walls and ceiling, inside and out, have exposed piano wires that visitors are encouraged to pluck with their fingers or strike with loose piano keys.  One young boy was having a lot of fun swinging a mallet at one of the outside walls, though he was reluctant to crawl inside the cave proper.  I had no such qualms myself and spent some quality time cocooned inside, just listening.  The near-dark interior space is equipped with microphones and a speaker, but it was unclear to me if the tones I was hearing were pre-recorded or some real-time remix of everyone's interactions with the piece.  Though not always harmonious the music did seem to adhere to some rhyme and reason; I am fully willing to accept, however, that I might have been projecting structure where there was none.  In any case, it was beautiful in there and a fine place to spend a few moments of introspection.  And then I stopped at Humphry Slocombe on the way back to BART for a cone of Secret Breakfast ice cream, which I ate on the curb while watching the light slowly leave the sky above me.  I adore summer nights, as few and far between as they are around these here parts.

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to form a more perfect union

I'm DJing tomorrow:
9am - noon PST, Sunday, June 28
KALX Berkeley 90.7fm

And since that means I'll be missing the parade tomorrow I headed out to the Civic Center earlier this afternoon to get a little bit of Pride on.  For me SF street festivals are really just an excuse to eat, so I grabbed some delicious corn cakes topped with plantains, black beans, and cheese from Pica Pica and wandered around taking in the politicized vibe this year.  Anti-8 clipboarders were literally everywhere, as well as those unfortunate American Apparel "Legalize Gay" t-shirts.  There were plenty of smiles and good cheer as well, however, no doubt in large part because of the glorious sunshine, and I collapsed on the grass in it myself for a while equipped with a frozen strawberry margarita.  As more states across the country move to grant same-sex couples marriage rights, I have to have faith that by this time next year we'll be able to call ourselves "Equalifornia" once again, and for good.

creme

As soon as I got to the Rickshaw Stop tonight I knocked back one of their drink specials (a Disco For Animals named for fabulous opener Music For Animals, bien sur) which was basically vodka with the barest hint of lime and grenadine, and I then proceeded to dance my ass off for the next three hours.  The evening culminated with a fantastic set by San Francisco's own super-sexy Sugar & Gold, whose backup dancers were wearing a Kermit head and a balaclava respectively.  It was just that kind of night.  The last time I saw S&G it was many months back at their free Noise Pop show at Bender's where there was literally no room to move, so it was very nice to have more space to shake it this go-round.

and he told us to turn to the sun

Totally rockin' Tuesday night show at 21 Grand tonight, featuring KIT, Baaddd, Father Murphy, and Strip Mall Seizures.  It was quite the international showcase as well, with Baaddd hailing from Australia and Father Murphy from Italy alongside the other two local bands.  Everyone was great but Father Murphy in particular completely had me hypnotized, and because I often have trouble describing music I'm just going to let Aquarius do the dirty work for me this time:

It's a bit like folk, a little bit like post punk math rock, a little avant noise, but stripped way down into something skeletal, they definitely sound a little bit like one of the new breed of freak folk psych folk cd-r outfits, but at the same time, they sound like NOTHING you've ever heard. Detuned guitar plod, spaced out rhythmic thump, lots of deep shimmery ambience and FX drenched drifts, wavery falsetto crooning, warbly organs, and the occasional bursts of feral yowling, wow. Unhinged, fractured, freaky, passionate, super intense and awesome.

Exactly.  And they're playing again tomorrow night at Artists' Television Access, so I think your directive is clear.

obloquy

Derek Boshier: Reggae Dancer in the Snow, 1987 (UK).  What a wonderfully incongruous image.  And I love the pools of color at his feet, as if he's dancing to bring spring to the forest.

orson 1995-2009

heidi meets orson at the animal shelter
Originally uploaded by stutefish

The day after Cardiff died in January I knew I wanted another cat, so I headed off to the Berkeley shelter with Lori. "Max" had already caught my eye on the Virtual Pet Adoptions Web site, and once I saw his sad face peering out at me from his cage with one of his ears all tattered my heart was similarly caught. I changed his name to Orson, and as soon as I brought him home he was already showing signs of perking up by exploring his new environs with abandon, purring deeply at the slightest provocation, and pushing Richter away with a disaffected paw when the other cat tried to make friends. Orson was very sure of himself right up until the very end. He was going to be the one to decide when he wanted to be on your lap, what he wanted to eat. But he was also there to greet me at the door every day when I came home from work, meowing his chirpy meow, until he was too weak from cancer to stand anymore. I'm so grateful I had the last six short months with him, and that I could give him sunbeams to sleep in and windows to look out of as happier alternatives to that cold shelter cage. You can see a small photoset of the sweet kitty right here.

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