Friday, September 30
Thursday, September 29
Mia
Back in the early 90s I lived with four other young men in what was known as Plantworld, or Teenage Graceland. We were fortunate enough to have different bands occasionally sleep on our floor while they were on tour. The two that stand out are Heatmiser (Elliot Smith) and The Gits (Mia Zapata)
Sadly I only have a vague memory of meeting the Gits, and honestly I only remember meeting Mia. I was probably underage and couldn't attend the show, and I'd never listened to them at the time, so I didn't HiLite the meeting in my memory.
When Mia Zapata was murdered it came up that she had stayed with us. I'd listened to them by this time and her death hit me pretty hard. To this day every time it comes to mind or I come across something that reminds me of it I feel that sense of tragic loss. I can't imagine how people that knew her must have felt, when I, who had only a faint, indefinite memory and a connection by music was floored.
Sadly I only have a vague memory of meeting the Gits, and honestly I only remember meeting Mia. I was probably underage and couldn't attend the show, and I'd never listened to them at the time, so I didn't HiLite the meeting in my memory.
When Mia Zapata was murdered it came up that she had stayed with us. I'd listened to them by this time and her death hit me pretty hard. To this day every time it comes to mind or I come across something that reminds me of it I feel that sense of tragic loss. I can't imagine how people that knew her must have felt, when I, who had only a faint, indefinite memory and a connection by music was floored.
A.Ho
Shows
A few days ago, last Friday to be exact, I bought my ticket for The Decemberists. They are playing at The Big Easy in about three weeks, with Cass McCombs. Rebecca Gates, of The Spinanes, has opened for them a few times and I wish that were the case this time, but as long as I see The Decemberists all shall be ok.
I did not feel like repeating my Sufjan embarassment.
Now I have to decide how much I'd like to see Built To Spill. Last time they played here, the only time, they were very underwhelming, not bad, just not fabulous. Anyone ever seen a righteous show by them? Should I go?
I saw The Treepeople play 13 years ago at Mother's Pub (now the B-Side) and that still stands out as one of the best shows I've ever seen. Mr. Martsch is certainly capable of supplying The Rock.
UPDATE:
Ok. Too funny. I was looking over the C/Z Records website, which has some good history, and came across this bit about Hammerbox. They were a great live band and their self-titled album rocks. Here ya go:
I did not feel like repeating my Sufjan embarassment.
Now I have to decide how much I'd like to see Built To Spill. Last time they played here, the only time, they were very underwhelming, not bad, just not fabulous. Anyone ever seen a righteous show by them? Should I go?
I saw The Treepeople play 13 years ago at Mother's Pub (now the B-Side) and that still stands out as one of the best shows I've ever seen. Mr. Martsch is certainly capable of supplying The Rock.
UPDATE:
Ok. Too funny. I was looking over the C/Z Records website, which has some good history, and came across this bit about Hammerbox. They were a great live band and their self-titled album rocks. Here ya go:
1992 - MC Hammer threatens C/Z artist, Hammerbox with a lawsuit over their name. Eventually the suit is dropped. Hammerbox signs with A&M, tours extensively, and finally breaks up. Carrie goes on to start Goodness.A.Ho
Everyone's A Comedian (but not me)
I got the pic to the left in an html mail from a club in Houston that I somehow managed to get on their VIP list. Normally, I think, "Oh, good. Glad to see Opus is still keeping the Beautiful People scene alive." But today, they offered me something totally different. I had my fucking mind blown by today's email. They introduced me to a band called The Reds. Embiggen the picture to chickety chickety check it out.
About goddamned time. Finally. Finally! An alternative band that plays hip-hop. I never thought I'd see the day.
Next thing you know, we'll be having hip-hop bands playing alternative music! Will my mind ever cease to being blown?
Wednesday, September 28
oversight
Bloggin My Noggin (which started as Mental Illin), established in August of 2003, was denied a timely observation of said establishment.
It's been two years going now. I need to thank Dan for keeping it going when I was unable to and I need to thank Messy Texan for her presence. And to the people who actually read this, we're glad to have you. To my knowledge that amounts to Kris and Fuz. Nato is probably poking his head in here every now and again as well.
A.Ho
p.s. I think Liz hangs around a bit too. High-five, keep the spirit alive.
Tuesday, September 27
I feel ya.
I've been playing online poker for pennies and can say that I have felt similarly. I've read that it's harder to beat a novice than an intermediate player because they just don't know better. I would consider myself a novice in terms of experience with intermediate knowledge of the workings, so I guess I'd be in the middle somewhere. As far as actual skill goes, I've no real idea.
A.Ho
A.Ho
Around the World in approximately 1,095 - 1,460 Days
A couple of days ago I ran into a guy I know named Eli. He told me of his plans to travel around the world and that he was leaving in a couple of days, an epic adventure in the works. I don't know Eli that well, we're friendly acquaintances, and I didn't spend much time talking to him about it, I only found out that he planned to be gone 3 or 4 years and that he would work his way around doing odd jobs and such, he also hopes to write a lot and maybe get a book out of it. I wished him well and figured I'd run into him again someday on the streets of Spokane.
Walking home from work today I was fortunate enough to run into him again, at the freeway on-ramp near my apartment, backpack in tow, nicely dressed and shaven, thumbing for a ride and waving and smiling as cars passed him by.
This got me to thinking as I walked the rest of the way home about two things that I've never done ,and will probably never do, as my Mom put the fear into me about them when I was a kid. Number one is hitchiking and number two is ski-jogging.
So, a shout out to Eli, a brave and kind soul, I wish you well and look forward to hearing about your travels. Godspeed.
A.Ho
Walking home from work today I was fortunate enough to run into him again, at the freeway on-ramp near my apartment, backpack in tow, nicely dressed and shaven, thumbing for a ride and waving and smiling as cars passed him by.
This got me to thinking as I walked the rest of the way home about two things that I've never done ,and will probably never do, as my Mom put the fear into me about them when I was a kid. Number one is hitchiking and number two is ski-jogging.
So, a shout out to Eli, a brave and kind soul, I wish you well and look forward to hearing about your travels. Godspeed.
A.Ho
Monday, September 26
Friday, September 23
He/She will be riding six white horses.
One day, before I die, a genius of a man or woman will prove to all the world that Coca~Cola is quite good for you. On that day I will rejoice that I drank as much of it as I did.
-A.Ho-
-A.Ho-
Thursday, September 22
Wednesday, September 21
Evacuating the Evacuees
That's really gotta suck, you know?
But you know what sucks more? Galveston Island happens to be probably my favorite place in the whole universe. And, if it takes a direct hit, it'll be underwater. To me, personally, that will be either a total disaster or very nearly a total disaster.
Galveson's beaches are crummy. Most of the population is hovering just above the poverty line, teetering on it, or has fallen below it. Crime's pretty high for such a small population . Mostly its hot as hell and humid. Every direction you look are reminders of the faded glitterati from its days as a booming port-of-call in the late 1800's, like the curled edges of a yellowed photograph. It's prosperity was cut short and its human arrogance humbled by Isaac's Storm. Most people hate Galveston. But this place is a special place to me.
A long time ago, I lived in Houston. I didn't like Houston. In fact, when I lived there, it would be fair to say that I hated Houston. Objectively, its pretty gross. But I harbored resentment towards Clutch City.
See, believe it or not, at one point in my life, the potential energy inside me was palpable. I was a very lucky girl in high school. I was smart, but not too smart. I was pretty but not intimidatingly so. I came from a family with money and I lived in the old money part of town but I was as suspicious of money then as I am now. I sailed through high school. Glided like an ice skater. I was a star. And then the mascara tears came. I fell in love with a boy who would quietly root for my failure for many years. I wanted this boy to really know that he was loved because I had a nagging suspicion that it would be his first time to have been loved. I wanted him to see the things in me that I love about myself and love them, too. And, if we were to shrink me a bit more, I believe that we would undoubtedly find that these urges result from a basically abortive and absent workaholic neurologist for a dad. So, when I was accepted to Vanderbilt, Pepperdine, and Mount Holyoke, I smiled weakly, put the acceptance letters in a box inside a box inside an old piece of luggage in my closet and I never told anyone until a year ago. Because he was going to Houston, and so was I. I suppose this sounds too very 'poor little rich girl'. I suppose I am leaving out important parts to the story. Oh, well.
So, we went to Houston. I lost interest in my long time dream of becoming a physician within a few months. I remembered that I don't like touching sick people. How ironic.
My second semester, I moved out of the dorm and I got my own apartment. I felt like a new woman. I decided to become an archeologist. And within two weeks, he moved himself in. Within a two more weeks he had started calling me names pretty regularly. Within two more weeks he had started throwing things when he was angry. It escalated at this rate until the end of my summer semester, when I went numb. I had so much love, you know? So so much love to give. And he didn't want it. In fact, when I gave it, he would punish me in one way or another for it. I didn't understand that and it seemed I would never find anyone who wanted it.
I developed an untestable hypothesis: The quickest way to get someone to develop an unmitigated hatred towards you would be to offer them the potential of limitless undying love.
I would drive to Galveston every night, about half an hour before he would be home from school/work, and go to this one spot on the west side, near San Luis Pass and LaFitte's Cove. I had to get away from him, I had to get away from my apartment that smacked of him and I had to get away from the city that had lured me away from my dreams with promises of love.
You had to take a crookedy side road to get to my spot but it was mostly desolate most of the time. There was no beach. Just the elevated seawall and sea. And I would sit in my shiny new Mustang convertible and cry and cry and cry and smoke and smoke and smoke. I would look out to the ocean and let the feeling of inconsequence that it evoked carry me through those sleepless hours. I felt mostly dead but I kept hoping.
But I didn't want to believe my own hypothesis because I'm a guilt-harboring romantic idealist. I kept hoping, you know? And then, one day, I just stopped feeling. Sort of. The groaning from some unspecified place in my gut was loud. And one day it deafened me. I decided that I might prefer to die. So, I drove to my spot to think it over. I cringe that because I am here writing this you will be able to write off the absolute seriousness with which I considered suicide. I offer you my most resolute assurances that having love pent up inside, to the point of suffocation, because unleashing the love was like unleashing annihilation, made me wish for death.
So, I got out of my car and I looked out over the ocean. I smoked my Marlboro but I didn't cry. Then the wind whipped my hair around my neck. You know that feeling? That shivery, goosebumpy feeling that happens when the wind whips you hair on your unsuspecting skin? That feeling can't last longer than two seconds. But its a good feeling. Its a feeling of aliveness. Its a stimulus and response.
And I decided then that I had to be brave for love. For loves unknown and loves undiscovered and loves unrequited and maybe even loves that would always be unrealized. And being brave for them meant not dying. And I decided that, in the meantime, I would rely on those sporadic moments of visceral experience - of wind whipping your hair and rain making your skin wet in that way that only rain can - that I would rely on those things to remind me that I was still a human. I decided that, maybe, that's what being human was all about. Deciding to live when dying was much easier.
And I decided to live on that typically mild, but windy, night sometime in December 1999 in Galveston, Texas. And I had wanted to take my current boyfriend there. We had almost gone over Labor Day. I wanted to take him to my spot. Wish I had. Hope its still there when I can go next.
But you know what sucks more? Galveston Island happens to be probably my favorite place in the whole universe. And, if it takes a direct hit, it'll be underwater. To me, personally, that will be either a total disaster or very nearly a total disaster.
Galveson's beaches are crummy. Most of the population is hovering just above the poverty line, teetering on it, or has fallen below it. Crime's pretty high for such a small population . Mostly its hot as hell and humid. Every direction you look are reminders of the faded glitterati from its days as a booming port-of-call in the late 1800's, like the curled edges of a yellowed photograph. It's prosperity was cut short and its human arrogance humbled by Isaac's Storm. Most people hate Galveston. But this place is a special place to me.
A long time ago, I lived in Houston. I didn't like Houston. In fact, when I lived there, it would be fair to say that I hated Houston. Objectively, its pretty gross. But I harbored resentment towards Clutch City.
See, believe it or not, at one point in my life, the potential energy inside me was palpable. I was a very lucky girl in high school. I was smart, but not too smart. I was pretty but not intimidatingly so. I came from a family with money and I lived in the old money part of town but I was as suspicious of money then as I am now. I sailed through high school. Glided like an ice skater. I was a star. And then the mascara tears came. I fell in love with a boy who would quietly root for my failure for many years. I wanted this boy to really know that he was loved because I had a nagging suspicion that it would be his first time to have been loved. I wanted him to see the things in me that I love about myself and love them, too. And, if we were to shrink me a bit more, I believe that we would undoubtedly find that these urges result from a basically abortive and absent workaholic neurologist for a dad. So, when I was accepted to Vanderbilt, Pepperdine, and Mount Holyoke, I smiled weakly, put the acceptance letters in a box inside a box inside an old piece of luggage in my closet and I never told anyone until a year ago. Because he was going to Houston, and so was I. I suppose this sounds too very 'poor little rich girl'. I suppose I am leaving out important parts to the story. Oh, well.
So, we went to Houston. I lost interest in my long time dream of becoming a physician within a few months. I remembered that I don't like touching sick people. How ironic.
My second semester, I moved out of the dorm and I got my own apartment. I felt like a new woman. I decided to become an archeologist. And within two weeks, he moved himself in. Within a two more weeks he had started calling me names pretty regularly. Within two more weeks he had started throwing things when he was angry. It escalated at this rate until the end of my summer semester, when I went numb. I had so much love, you know? So so much love to give. And he didn't want it. In fact, when I gave it, he would punish me in one way or another for it. I didn't understand that and it seemed I would never find anyone who wanted it.
I developed an untestable hypothesis: The quickest way to get someone to develop an unmitigated hatred towards you would be to offer them the potential of limitless undying love.
I would drive to Galveston every night, about half an hour before he would be home from school/work, and go to this one spot on the west side, near San Luis Pass and LaFitte's Cove. I had to get away from him, I had to get away from my apartment that smacked of him and I had to get away from the city that had lured me away from my dreams with promises of love.
You had to take a crookedy side road to get to my spot but it was mostly desolate most of the time. There was no beach. Just the elevated seawall and sea. And I would sit in my shiny new Mustang convertible and cry and cry and cry and smoke and smoke and smoke. I would look out to the ocean and let the feeling of inconsequence that it evoked carry me through those sleepless hours. I felt mostly dead but I kept hoping.
But I didn't want to believe my own hypothesis because I'm a guilt-harboring romantic idealist. I kept hoping, you know? And then, one day, I just stopped feeling. Sort of. The groaning from some unspecified place in my gut was loud. And one day it deafened me. I decided that I might prefer to die. So, I drove to my spot to think it over. I cringe that because I am here writing this you will be able to write off the absolute seriousness with which I considered suicide. I offer you my most resolute assurances that having love pent up inside, to the point of suffocation, because unleashing the love was like unleashing annihilation, made me wish for death.
So, I got out of my car and I looked out over the ocean. I smoked my Marlboro but I didn't cry. Then the wind whipped my hair around my neck. You know that feeling? That shivery, goosebumpy feeling that happens when the wind whips you hair on your unsuspecting skin? That feeling can't last longer than two seconds. But its a good feeling. Its a feeling of aliveness. Its a stimulus and response.
And I decided then that I had to be brave for love. For loves unknown and loves undiscovered and loves unrequited and maybe even loves that would always be unrealized. And being brave for them meant not dying. And I decided that, in the meantime, I would rely on those sporadic moments of visceral experience - of wind whipping your hair and rain making your skin wet in that way that only rain can - that I would rely on those things to remind me that I was still a human. I decided that, maybe, that's what being human was all about. Deciding to live when dying was much easier.
And I decided to live on that typically mild, but windy, night sometime in December 1999 in Galveston, Texas. And I had wanted to take my current boyfriend there. We had almost gone over Labor Day. I wanted to take him to my spot. Wish I had. Hope its still there when I can go next.
Monday, September 19
J.C. and Me
I agree with Fuz, I don't exactly look like John Cusack, but I'm not sure that's really necessary. I think it's more of a height, weight, shape thing for lighting and what not. I really don't know much about it, someone asked me and I said 'You bet.' So maybe I'm their man, or maybe not.
Found out today that filming is supposed to start near the end of September, maybe early October. And I also found out that one Salma Hayek may also be showing her hot self around town.
-A.Ho-
Found out today that filming is supposed to start near the end of September, maybe early October. And I also found out that one Salma Hayek may also be showing her hot self around town.
-A.Ho-
Friday, September 16
15 minutes of non-fame?
Wow. They say it's who you know.
I may be cast as a photo-double for a movie to be filmed here in the near future, though I may not be tall enough (bummer). It would make sense that this could also include stand-in work. Anybody want to venture a guess as to who the actor is?
Think 80s teen-flicks.
I may be cast as a photo-double for a movie to be filmed here in the near future, though I may not be tall enough (bummer). It would make sense that this could also include stand-in work. Anybody want to venture a guess as to who the actor is?
Think 80s teen-flicks.
Best part of my day
May've come from the "Can we do this sometime" thread comments.
PS I was drunk when I made the 2nd comment. Red wine. One bottle. Me. Who will conquer!?
It's times like that, though, that make me wish I didn't live far away from you people.
I need a nap, maybe even now.
/will trade oral for nap
PS I was drunk when I made the 2nd comment. Red wine. One bottle. Me. Who will conquer!?
It's times like that, though, that make me wish I didn't live far away from you people.
I need a nap, maybe even now.
/will trade oral for nap
Thursday, September 15
My Blogging style cannot be defeated!
My beers of choice lately: a combination of Mirror Pond, Bachelor Bitter (mmm...), and Moose Drool (mmm, and mmm...thank you Big Sky Brewery).
Thought you should know.
...oh, and by combination I mean one or another, not blended. Scared you huh?
...oh, again, I watched the third episode of Oz yesterday. I'm still not sure what to make of this show. Meanwhile The Wire continues to be satisfactory, and oddly elegant.
-A.Ho-
Thought you should know.
...oh, and by combination I mean one or another, not blended. Scared you huh?
...oh, again, I watched the third episode of Oz yesterday. I'm still not sure what to make of this show. Meanwhile The Wire continues to be satisfactory, and oddly elegant.
-A.Ho-
Wednesday, September 14
Heh!
It seems everyone on the blog has been having a long few days.
So click the linky. I think it's amusing.
We don't cry. We laugh until they go away, shamed in defeat at our joy.
So click the linky. I think it's amusing.
We don't cry. We laugh until they go away, shamed in defeat at our joy.
Tuesday, September 13
Hold it.
Cards. Specifically Texas Hold'em poker. A game that I am novice at that requires strategy and skill mixed with chance and some gut instinct.
Instinct, that sometimes miniscule voice I fail to listen to. Such was the case when I folded my hand before the flop and then flopped what would've been a Full House. Ugh.
-A.Ho-
Instinct, that sometimes miniscule voice I fail to listen to. Such was the case when I folded my hand before the flop and then flopped what would've been a Full House. Ugh.
-A.Ho-
Sunday, September 11
a theory of mine. apply at will.
One third of "something" (something being Music, movies, people you know, etc.) will be great, one third will be mediocre, and one third will blow. These thirds can be broken down in the same manner. For instance:
I would consider most of the music I own and listen to to be in the top third of all music ever. Not everyone will think so but I don't care. Within that tiny collection one-third will be superior, and probably more listened to, than the other two-thirds, and so forth.
This post made me think about that.
I would consider most of the music I own and listen to to be in the top third of all music ever. Not everyone will think so but I don't care. Within that tiny collection one-third will be superior, and probably more listened to, than the other two-thirds, and so forth.
This post made me think about that.
Thursday, September 8
Miller Time
There should be a charity to which I can donate money that will go towards beer. The entire population of the Gulf Coast needs a drink.
-A.Ho-
-A.Ho-
Wednesday, September 7
A little over $600
This is how much the month of August will cost me in medical bills. Note, this is after insurance.
I can afford to pay it.
And I am very, very grateful for this.
I can afford to pay it.
And I am very, very grateful for this.
Monday, September 5
Sunday, September 4
Recommended Reading
Grabbed this from Kris' del.icio.us feed. I remember seeing it when I was opening tabs for Scalzi's blog yesterday, I must have inadvertently closed it.
Being Poor
-A.Ho-
Being Poor
-A.Ho-
Saturday, September 3
You can read. If you want to.
Scalzi
•New Orleans
•Stupid, Stupid Poor
& The Houston Chronicle 12/01/01
•New Orleans faces doomsday scenario
-A.Ho-
•New Orleans
•Stupid, Stupid Poor
& The Houston Chronicle 12/01/01
•New Orleans faces doomsday scenario
-A.Ho-
Friday, September 2
Q: Son Volt or TV? A: TV
I finished up the 1st season of 24 a couple weeks ago and think I'm going to settle on The Wire as the next series of DVDs I'll be qeuing up at NETFLIX. I snagged the first disc of Oz last week and have watched two episodes of that. I like it ok but it's not as immediately compelling, I'll finish up the first disc and grab the second down the road a bit and see if it grabs me some more.
I've my own personal volume of the first season of the new Battlestar Galactica now as well. I have three more episodes of that to watch. Love it.
Son Volt is playing at Riverfront Park tonight as part of the glorious Pig Out In The Park. It's the first time they've ever had a band I wanted to see. I'm not going. I was going to go but I drank a bit much last night and I'm staying home. And it's not really a good venue anyway, at least to me. I'd have to go down early and stake out a place on the hill amongst all the porked out masses, and wait. No thanks.
I won't be attending the Spokane Idol semifinals either.
I guess thats all.
-A.Ho-
I've my own personal volume of the first season of the new Battlestar Galactica now as well. I have three more episodes of that to watch. Love it.
Son Volt is playing at Riverfront Park tonight as part of the glorious Pig Out In The Park. It's the first time they've ever had a band I wanted to see. I'm not going. I was going to go but I drank a bit much last night and I'm staying home. And it's not really a good venue anyway, at least to me. I'd have to go down early and stake out a place on the hill amongst all the porked out masses, and wait. No thanks.
I won't be attending the Spokane Idol semifinals either.
I guess thats all.
-A.Ho-
Thursday, September 1
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