Donor Card

I donated some blood the other day. 

Not a lot. Just a pint. 

I know there's a certain squick factor here, but I rather enjoy the whole bizarre process. Being fortunate enough not to have a fear of needles, that's reason enough. I also happen to be the picture of health - no diseases, allergies, pre-existing conditions of any sort. I've never even broken a bone. So the least I can do is make good use of a healthy specimen and donate some blood to someone who might need it. Does it alleviate the guilt of having all the advantages I do and not doing much to make the world a better place? No. But, it does a small bit of good. Someone needs it. I guess it goes bad after a while, so fresh, healthy stock is needed. So why not?

It's a weird process. The more you think about it, the more unusual it becomes. There's this viscous goo inside us that we donate, and you feel really dopey and light headed afterword. Any other time you lose blood like that, you're probably terribly injured and at least a little traumatized. This time, you're okay, just have a cookie and relax for a minute. People can joke about oil and being a pint low and all that, but really - that there's this operating substance in us that can be siphoned out is so bizarre. It makes you reexamine your sense of self - there you are, draining out of your arm into a bag. It is both marvelous and humbling. We are a sum of parts, yet so much more.

Additionally, there are health benefits to donating as well. Apparently most Americans (possibly others, but I can only speak for my country of carnivores) have diets that are much too high in iron. These iron particulates, when unabsorbed in the bloodstream, behave as free-radicals, which are rarely a good thing. There is a saturation point at which our bodies fail to process all of the excess iron and it can build up to a detrimental level. Donating blood both removes some of this excess as well as allows the body to freely generate and replace the missing pint with its own fresh supply, thus redistributing the remaining amounts. 

So I probably sound like as ghoul, dissecting all this. Eh. It's a fascinating thing, one that more people should do if they're up for it. Gives me a break in the day and makes me appreciate the wonder of a functioning, healthy body. Good gravy, how's that for a glimpse under the hood, eh? #NoVamps #Twitterjoke 

Baby Sat

So I watched the Jonah Hill comedy The Babysitter recently.

It wasn't very good.

It was, however, a memory jogger for me. I had pretty much forgotten about the fact that I used to do a fair bit of baby-sitting in my pre-driving teenage days.

I don't really know why it strikes me as so odd to have spent as much time as I did taking care of other people's kids. I guess it strikes me as weird, and it must have struck others as weird too, just from the context. Some kids at school raised an eyebrow. A boy baby-sitting! Defying gender stereotypes! Imagine what the papers would say! It didn't even register for me at the time. Now I think back and laugh at the odd choice for me. I mean, yeah, I got paid for it...but I was never that big on kids.

You know how some people do really well with kids and can play with them and entertain them and be patient? Parents and kindergarten teachers, i think they're called. Not really my deal. I didn't dislike kids and I still don't, it's just as a 14/15 year old, they were mostly just noisy and distracting. Their parents always told me I was a good sitter and that their kids liked me, but I just kind of shrugged and thought "Okay, so I hang out at your house, make sure your kids are fine and you give me money to watch TV once they go to bed? Deal."

One time the parents said their kids liked me because I treated the kids like they were peers instead of kids, but really they weren't that much younger than me. I guess I was 15 and they were like...10ish? I don't recall, exactly. I remember thinking that it seemed like the right thing to do. Why talk down to them? Maybe that was it - I didn't really patronize them. Maybe not the best tactic as a babysitter, but then I don't recall any difficulties either. Kids listened when I asked them to go to bed after a night of goofing off. It's not like I fed them junk food and let them run wild, but in hindsight, what was I doing, anyway?

I think I started down that path because some family friends were in a bind and I was socially (and generally) awkward, which meant my weekends were open. Once I equated the money with the loafing around, I was down. Basically it was watching kids for a bit, then I could simply sit and watch TV or read a book I was way into while getting paid for it. On top of it (and I suspect this was the crux of it) I was in a new school and feeling super anxious about anything social. It was an easy out for a Friday/Saturday night - sorry, busy making money, can't hang out! I didn't feel like as big of a loser as if I was sitting at home doing nothing. I was making money!

My secret favorite part of it, though, was the walk home after the parents returned. It was always people in my neighborhood, so I could walk. In the winter, it would be super late (in my teenage mind 11:00pm was late to be wandering around the West Hill) and cold and dark, but the moon and streetlights would reflect off the snow, giving the quiet nights this strangely serene, isolating quality. I would walk home in the cold, money in my pocket, the whole town asleep. It was this secret little adventure I would go on by myself. That's what I thought of when I saw that mediocre movie.

Winter is never far off in Minnesota. When it comes, I think I'll have to have a redux on these weird walks, only now I have the benefit of a better half and a glass of wine. It's only August and I'm thinking of winter all because of a bad comedy. See what we put up with here?

Mass Affect

Here we go again.

The last time I wrote about this band, they had a different name and only a single EP to show the world. I finished my last write up of them saying that I couldn't wait for them to put out a full album and wondered what strange new sounds they'd make. That full album by the rechristened Rags & Ribbons has been out for a bit now, and rather than keep it as personal treasure, I can't contain it any longer. 

You need to hear The Glass Masses. 

There's that sweet spot where a fresh band has clearly found their voice. I could name countless examples of bands that release some things, find their voice or niche and release a single iconic piece, thereby cementing their new-found identity. They hit the next level in their evolution, maintaining a core of self or DNA but growing and changing into a stronger, more fully formed iteration of themselves. That is exactly what happened with Rags & Ribbons on this heavy hitting album. All the same voices and styles are still present, but having taken another step in development. It's more nuanced, yet more sweeping. Heavier and more intense, but also showing lighter bits of delicacy that hadn't revealed themselves in prior songs. 

This evolution of ideas is present immediately in the first track, 'Even Matter'. In the first ethereal strum of guitar, the band shows they're playing with more dexterity and subtlety. It's an amazingly expressive track for how little sound they actually are producing. The quiet notes all add together into a dense, layered mesh of sound. To boot, there's a fantastic video for the track shot by Lucy Martin. The group has clearly been having fun with harmonies as well, as evidenced in the serene acapella breakdown of 'Marks You Make'. 

There is one particular section of a certain song, however, that I feel sums up not only the album but the entire ethos of the band. In the build up to the chorus in 'The Minds' all of the instruments drop out, except Neff pounding away a solitary, syncopated pulse. When everyone crashes back in to the proper refrain, it's everything turned up to eleven. Ben's guitar is low and crunching out thudding riffs. The drums are percussive blasts. Jon's cacophonous piano bangs away. It could be unrestrained madness but they deftly, elegantly tie it all together in a neat package, overlaid with wailing vocals. When Jon and Ben sing the line "You and me...", Jon's voice dove tails from this high point that illuminates how close they veer towards madness, only to drop right back into the pocket. It's all coordinated, detailed chaos. It sounds unbelievably good. 

As I hinted at in the beginning of this piece, I'm conflicted by the desire to keep these guys as my amazing secret while wanting to show them to the whole world. They've forced my hand though - they've been too relentless in their touring and too successful for me to try to shelter them at all. Rags & Ribbons are on an exhilarating ascent. In addition to this write up, check back tomorrow for a full interview I did earlier this summer. I've said before that I can't wait to see what they'll do, but if this is any indication, big things are already under way. Get on board while you can. 

Drop In

This past weekend I attended my 10 year high school reunion. 

It was...enlightening. 

I had no idea what to expect, beyond the venue. It was at a place I had waited tables during my junior and senior years, working with a bunch of friends who all happened to be girls. All that afforded me, beyond the expectation of mediocre pizza and where exactly the restrooms were located, was the reminder that I was an odd duck. From what I gathered there, I think that same nature persists. At one point during the alcohol fueled festivities I looked around the room at how people had congregated and remarked to my better half "...nothing changes - dudes over there talking shop, girls over there kind of dancing, me watching and waiting for an appropriate time to leave." While that statement may have been more than a tad reductive and overly simplifying, I stand by it. 

This isn't some self-pity party, I should clarify. 

I wasn't the ostracized, beat-down outcast you see portrayed in the media, like a taped-horn-rim-glasses dweeb or some trench coat wearing demon. No, it was much more innocuous than that. My graduating class was under 70 people in a rather isolated area, socially and physically. It was a small town before the internet really grew roots. It's only natural that you pick a group of 60 to 70 strangers, lump 'em in together and subsequently fail to really connect with more than a few. I am not disparaging anyone for the fate of being born and raised in a scenic place like ours. Rather, I'm just expounding on the realization that I'm okay with understanding I really only connected with a handful of kids in high school. It's no fault of mine or anyone else's - do I take umbrage as an adult that not every single person in my office wants to go to a happy hour? Of course not. Nor should I have any long-since irrelevant feelings of rejection over not being one of the guys back then. I just wasn't my scene. We had nothing in common, and introducing a fair number of people to the love of my life I became more aware of this - I thought she was the bee's knees, where as most of these people would have no common ground over which to converse. Different circles, different lives. Had any of my close friends from this epoch of my life accompanied me, they most likely would have had a similar experience. 

To be fair, I also made little effort to be more like the typical dude. 

There were more than a handful of times it was apparent to me in high school (and earlier) that I didn't fit in, in that town. I was teased for being verbose, for dressing differently, for liking weird music, for playing the wrong music in my band, for not excelling at any sport besides (gasphorror) soccer. You name it. Did it stop me? Did it make me try to change myself to fit in? Nope, not a bit. I was stubborn. I also felt terrible about myself, but I didn't acquiesce - I just developed a healthy, mid-west WASPy sense of guilt about enjoying life and being happy. In their defense, though - I couldn't name a single other person I knew who liked Bjork or had seen Reservoir Dogs or loathed Bon Jovi. I was the statistical outlier, in this case, and I didn't make concerted efforts to find people around me who shared my tastes, although I did share some cultural overlap. There are still a number of albums that bring back memories of summertime road trips to cabins, a bunch of teenagers driving with the windows down, trying not to get ash on the car seats. These were the exception rather than the rule, though. I often questioned (and as a result, still do) my own taste. If I like something, does that mean it's terrible? 

Eh. Shrug. 

More than a handful of cats simply avoided the whole shebang. Even people who lived in town, less than a mile away, didn't attend the reunion. Some from spite, some from convenience. I don't know. I just know that any juvenile feelings of not belonging or being an outsider have long since dissolved. Not that they didn't influence me in a significant way, more so that they are vestigial, no longer needed in my life. High school was forever ago. I don't really care. There are people I stay in touch with and people I try to stay in touch with. It's on them just as much as on me to keep the connection. Similarly, when I walked in to the room I had a sense of heaviness. Not from dredged emotion or unresolved feelings, but from the realization I'd have to give the same story to about 40 people - I like who I am, I just get tired of the small talk. 

Maybe that's all it is, now. Realizing that even if you like yourself and are proud of who you are, you still have to grin and bear it. As I drove back to my real life, hours away and that whole part of my life in the rearview, I was surprisingly pleased with how I felt about the whole thing. It wasn't necessarily pleasant, but it wasn't torture. Getting older isn't always fun, but there are moments when you understand it's all for the best. Just play the hand you're dealt and try to smile as you do it. 

During, Go

Summer Vacation.

July's been nuts. I cannot be the only one to think so. The heat wave that's been oozing over the nation made a lovely, long stop here in the Middle West. It's had a diminishing effect on my ability to think. Not all hope is lost, though. To escape from the muggy misery of a 115 heat index, I accompanied my better half to Durango, CO for a wedding. It was, in a word, breathtaking. Durango, for those unfamiliar, is up in the mountains, far from...anything. It is wonderfully isolated, a serene place where the silence was broken only by the occasional train departing the station. While the wedding itself was in town, the reception was even higher up, roughly 7,000 feet above sea-level, at Blue Lake Lodge. It was even more isolated and astounding than Durango. Food, atmosphere and fellow guests were all fantastic, but like any trip I've come away with a short list of observations and lessons learned. Since this is my only trip this summer (due to the recent home-acquisition) let's jump in and break it down. Without further ado, here's what I learned on my Summer Vacation:

- The older I get, the more anxious I become while flying. I know the stats and how unsafe car travel is. I don't care. Rocketing through the sky in a a metal tube strikes me as defying man's place in the world, even if physics wants us to stay aloft.

- I abhor hotels. They are, in my neurotic mind, filthy places full of invisible evils that threaten to hitchhike home in my suitcase. I can't tell you the white knuckle neurosis I struggle with while checking in to a room.

- At some point since the development of the above-mentioned neurosis, I've also adopted the mind set that if I'm going to be miserable in a hotel, I'm going to console myself with indulgent food. This usually involves me sitting in bed, anxiously eating chocolate while poking my iPad like a lab rat.

- Weddings are immensely more enjoyable to attend once yours is out of the way. Being at a wedding and thinking about planning your own (or talking your better half off a ledge from planning it) is an exercise in long-form torture. Now that the pressure is off, the really are a celebration of love.

- No amount of corniness can conceal it. I love seeing two people in love get married. I don't care about your politics. Gay or straight, if they're in love, let's all celebrate the fact that two optimistic, idealistic people found each other in this cold universe. How can someone not marvel at that?

- Hipsters are apparently omnipresent and of a universal quality, not unlike hippies. There's always at least two at every wedding and the are as reliable in their expected behavior as I am in mine. Nice to see how I could be dressing or living, but usually it's an affirmation I'm happy with who I am. That being said, they are very nice if you know how to handle them.

- Durango, especially higher up the mountain, is serenely beautiful. Long stretches of unbroken quiet. Views like you wouldn't believe. Landscapes that seem impossible constructed. No mosquitoes! A very relaxed pace at which the citizens live, a with a bit of cowboy/granola ethos. Hard not to drink the Kool Aid in such a place.

- High altitudes are much easier to handle when you've quit smoking and gotten back down to an appropriate shape. Had I not kicked the habit and been running, it would have been a miserable weekend. I remember being exhausted and winded when I would visit Boulder as a smoldering tub. This way, I could actually see the sights.

- That being said, at 7,000 feet, I'm a cheap date. No amount of starches and water can alleviate that bloated, red in the face feeling of a couple high altitude drinks crawling right on top of you. Considering how wonky one feels in a plane (cabin pressure is roughly equivalent to 8,000 feet) it's no wonder I had to take it easy when imbibing.

- Why did no one tell me about putting hot sauce in beer? Are we that repressed in the Middle West? How has such a basic concept never made its way here? I am disappointed at how much I missed out on. Tabasco, here I come.

- Connecting flights are the worst. It's stressful enough to have to deal with security and the airlines, but giving them twice the opportunity to wreck your travel arrangements? I've learned to just avoid these situations altogether.

A fantastic trip to a breathtaking place. Good friends getting hitched. Good food, altitude hijinx and airline dramatics. I learned a lot, and had an amazing time. Here's to enjoying the rest of the summer.

Rags On Paper

Welcome back! 


As promised, here's the interview I conducted with the band via email. For more info, check out their Facebook page here and follow them on Twitter for tour dates and dispatches from the road and studio.


So how'd the tour go?


Tour was amazing.  It was our first time traveling across the United States as a band and getting a chance to play a ton of concerts outside of the northwest.  Getting the opportunity to play shows every night for a month straight is perhaps the greatest thing an aspiring band like us can ask for.  



I know no band or artist likes to change moniker mid-career, but you guys seemed to make a natural move. Any particular signifigance to the new name, or do you simply like alliteration?


Ha!  A very well thought out question JT.  We got a little bit of frustration from some of our fan base who had been with us for awhile but after the first several weeks, everybody has seemed to survive.  When we first chose our original name, Galaxy Farm, we were starting to play shows in Portland and just needed a title to be known by.  We kind of settled on Galaxy Farm.  Then two years later, we started getting a lot of feedback that we needed to change our name and we kind of felt the same way.  We chose Rags & Ribbons because of the imagery it conveys and indeed, the alliteration is nice.  Plus every other name we thought of was taken.

How do the songwriting duties break down - is it collaborative or does someone show up with strongly developed concepts?


Each song is a little different but overall our music compositions are very collaborative.  There is no question that Jon has a big hand in the composition process because of his music composition background but often times any one of the three of us will come in with a rough idea and then between the rest of the group, a lot of the final pieces get smoothed out together.  We would say, Chris is definitely the rhythm master, Jon is the harmony master, and Ben just tries to screw everything up just enough to make it work.

What do you consider influences, musically? From your youth to today, what acts shaped your development?


All of our influences vary a lot and we think that is what gives us such a unique combination of musicianship.  Chris grew up with a lot of interest in progressive rock and will site bands like the Deftones and Dredge.  Jon has always been a huge fan of well crafted indie music like Sufjan Stevens, Keane, Rufus Wainwright, and a lot of classical music.  Ben has been a fan of big pop and alt rock bands from the Killers and Muse to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.  Overall, none of us really identify with a particular scene.  If the music is good, we can be influenced by any genre or band.  For example, Jon and I have been listening to a lot of Frank Ocean and the Weekend lately.  Totally out of our genre but super smooth and cool music.


Do you have a unified theme or vision for your sound, or do you follow an instinct to create 'whatever works'?


Initially, no.  It took us about 2-3 years to figure out a unified sound that we were going for.  Additionally, we are just now starting to figure out how to craft songs that share a unified vision.  After writing our first record, seeing how people responded to the new material, and seeing how people responded to our live show, we are now really starting to define our vision and sound.  Everything is very intentional and thought out.  We spend a lot of hours analyzing and critiquing ourselves.

What are your earliest musical memories?


We all started playing the piano when we were young.  Jon started when he was around 2 or 3 and he was the only one that ended up sticking with it.  Chris picked up the drums when he was 12.  Ben remembers being forced to take piano lessons by his mom.


What was the first piece of music you bought?


Jon- Boyz II Men
Ben-  Michael Jackson-Dangerous (on cassette, Oh Yeah!)
Chris- YES


Name some (musical) guilty pleasures. 
Ben: Last summer, I got free tickets to Kesha, Britney Spears, LMFAO, and Usher.  I definitely went to all of them, and I definitely loved them all.
Jon: Is it too soon to like Chris Brown?
Chris: Djent-weird nerdy drum stuff.


You seem to be a pretty sincere, earnest group. Does that set you apart from some jaded, world weary scenesters? 


We're just really excited about what we do.  We're aware that not everyone gets this kind of opportunity where you can share your music with people.  That experience keeps us far away from ever feeling jaded.  We hope our optimism translates to our audience, and helps them connect with us.

Do you try to recreate the sounds of the album live, or did you try to capture the live sound for the album?


We really think of the studio and the stage as two different worlds and we try to make the best of both environments. The studio exists to create the best sonic record of our music in a controlled environment.  The stage exists for a raw, human presentation of the music through performance. 


Name a modern sound/group you adore. Name a modern or recent sound/artist/movement you wish would go away.  


Jon: I adore Sigur Ros and Sufjan Stevens. There's a little bit of music that I love, and the rest of it doesn't have to go away, I just won't listen to it. 


Ben: There's some top 40 that I love and some top 40 that I hate.  If it's done well, I can get down with any genre; if it's done poorly, I'll tell you that I don't like it.


Chris: I love anything techy.  With that kind of stuff comes amazing musicians, and most often GREAT drumming.  The band has really been loving poly-rhythms at the moment, and we're working on a song in 7/8 that really grooves.  I dislike a lot of music.  I love some lo fi indie stuff, but being a musician, there's some new thing going on where it seems like people like singers that sound terrible and sing out of tune, believing that they are so original.  Country lyrics often make me laugh.  


A couple songs from the EP reappeared on the album. Why those tracks and not others? 


Prelude and Lady In The Midnight Sun were songs that we felt combined well with our new material and could continue to have significant value to our audience.


Who do you consider your contemporaries/compatriots? Any acts you wish would get a wider audience?  


No Kind of Rider and Tango Alpha Tango are other local Portland bands that we are very close with and have had the privilege of going on tour with.  Their music is fantastic.  


There's a real sense of light and heavy alternating and coexisting/competing in your work - is that intentional or a manifestation of different influences/voices? 


It is intentional.  We like contrast and the musical roller coaster ride that sometimes comes with it. 

Talk a bit about the excellent video for 'Even Matter'.  


We had some concepts slightly fleshed out, one weekend with the lovely Lucy Martin, and we went and filmed one of the ideas on some family property.  We had new ideas while filming, and got a lot of content and left the final product up to Lucy, her vision, and her editing.  We lucked out with Jasper, the boy in the video.  He looked great in the film, and his acting was so genuine.  The weather even turned out in our favor.  It had snowed the night we came up, and the snow and ice in some of the scenes really gives it an excellent look and feel.  Much of what that video is came down to luck and good fortune!


Who decides who sings what part? 


Chris does.  :)   We don't have a specific method on choosing who sings what, but we do try to have our songs alternate nicely from "Jon" songs, to "Ben" songs, and dual vocal songs.  

Do you practice on your own time, or do you try to only work as a group?  


We all practice on our own time, and I think that's integral to the sound we have as a band.  Each member practices different techniques and songs they love from genres all over the spectrum, and those different influences come together in the practice room to make something special.  


Name some non-musical influence.  


We all owe so much to our families for support and influence.  Friends, coworkers, relationships, work, play, nature, tour.  There is so much that influences us, it's hard to even think about cataloging it all. 

Cadaver Caper

I really should be saving this for next Halloween.

You know what? I can't - this story is too good to share and I don't ever want to forget it.

My better half had a coworker who, contrary to her bright, life-affirming disposition, had a previous career as a mortician's assistant. While this, in and of itself, is worthy of ample amounts of dissection (dear goodness, no pun intended) over a happy hour, the seeming disparity between her persona and the occupation are not the heart of the matter. No, an event on the job, a particular incident, is what prompted me to jump to the keyboard. This was simply too amazing and horrifying to let slip into the ether. I feel compelled to share it with the world.

So.

A brief word on the nature of our inevitable end. 

We're all doomed. Death is one of the few things in the world we will all experience. There is both a universality and taboo surrounding it. We are fascinated by it, yet speak of it in hushed tones. Our lives are seemingly spent in denial of it, yet only when we embrace it do we live to the fullest extent. We are meat containing something special. When that light behind the eyes goes out, all that remains is a vessel, a shell. What we leave behind is not us, but a reminder that we are something more than bags of mostly water. There is, to say the absolute minimum, a mental phenomenon unlike anything else we've seen in the universe. It is to be treasured and valued. Having been present at the moment a loved one has passed, there is certainly clear distinction between "they are with us" and "they are gone". It is simple, yet wholly distinct. 

Now.

What I am about to impart is meant in no way to desecrate that remarkable, ephemeral essence. Instead, it elucidates the mechanical nature of our existence that we mistakenly assume to be the beginning and end of who and what we are. But enough preamble. On to it.

This happy little pixie of a woman was a mortician's assistant. She assisted, among other duties, in the preparation for burial through the embalming process. This process involves draining the body of fluids and replacing them with substances that preserve our remains. At some point in the process a high powered suction device is used to drain the body cavity. It would seem that one must always be mindful of where you place such an item when taking a break, because this happy-go-lucky woman made the unfortunate mistake of dropping the suction device on the open throat of a deceased person. The suction and force of the device dropping onto soft tissue allowed it to break through the wind pipe, and begin drawing air (backwards) through the throat and over the vocal cords. The uncanny scream that erupted from the deceased's throat was enough to send the woman sprinting from the room, too terrified to return until the physical reaction was properly explained. All the while, due to the mechanism of the vacuum, the impossible screaming continued.

Gnarly.

A horrifying little tale, no doubt. However, it reaffirms the absurdity of our mortal confines and allows me to thoroughly creep out friends around Halloween. I just wanted to make sure I could share it with everyone before the memory escaped me. So have fun with that, and feel free to share!

Enlarged Heart

Hi hi hi.


I've been watching footage of my wedding. It was exactly one year ago today that I married my best friend and the love of my life. Having celebrated this past weekend and watching the footage a year later, tonight, it all seems so ethereal now. It's this amazing bundle of footage of all of my family and best friends in one room, laughing and eating and hugging and drinking. Watching it gives me that same, heart-full feeling I had that night, where you can't believe there's so much love in one place and everyone is so happy to be together.


It is super cornball, but you're super corn dog for calling me on it.


At some point, my snarktastic brothers pinned me with the labels of wistfully reminiscing and idealizing, especially when I have a couple drinks. Yeah, I'll cop to it. So long as I'm looking at my past with rose colored lenses, I'll take that charge for my wedding. It really and truly was a joyous day filled with everyone our hearts could fit and good lord this does sound corn ball doesn't it?


Right.


The point is, sometimes it really is as sincere and sappy as it sounds. I love my better half with all my heart, and all of our families and our friends. I am fully aware of the sickly, self indulgent vanity of it all, but the world can be a cruel, uncaring place sometimes and you need to take pleasure when it comes along. If I want to embrace a very focused day of self importance, I'm going to. My better half was and continues to be the most beautiful woman I've ever known. Sometimes I worry that my family and friends don't know how much I appreciate them. Seeing the footage of one massive, amazing party helps to reaffirm the notion that these people care and care very much.


If you've been in my life and shared something special like this with me - thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Please know if you're my friend or family, I don't say the L word that much (beyond the context of media consumption, admittedly) but I feel it in my heart. Like all Americans, I'm vain. But I'm also full of gratitude and love.


Thank you.


Thank you for reading this. Thank you for celebrating with me. Thanking you for supporting me when I'm down. Thank you for being as awesome as you are and putting on a good face even when it feels like the whole world is against you, because when YOU make believe like life is easy, I believe you. No joke, all love.


My heart is still full.

Nightwing

This is the only post my parents asked me not to write.


They relented, though, after determining the statute of limitations had probably put them in the clear by now. I doubt Los Federales will come knocking but I can understand their trepidation, I suppose. You see...we had bats. Lots of them.


As I explained last time, our house was very, very old. Such old houses have a way of becoming host to uninvited guests. I never saw a mouse or a bug (that started when we moved to the country - HUGE spiders) but damn did we have some flutter-mice. The attic, technically the third floor of the house, was host to who knows how many bats, sleeping and pooping during the day and leaving and swooping at night.


It wasn't a constant, swirling maelstrom of nocturnal nuisances, but it was definitely a problem. You would be sitting and watching a movie with the lights off, not even considering the risk of rabies, when a dark shape would flit across your field of vision. Instinctively we would all duck and cower and make a bee-line for our parents room, which contained our only method of pest control.


A tennis racket.


Wii remotes have nothing on the feeling of swinging a tennis racket as hard as you could, connecting with a terror-inducing bat (Bruce Wayne was a dick, it seems) and sending that little airborne menace flying across the room. Seeing them thwack against the wall and drop to the carpet, lifeless, we would then grab a folded newspaper and sweep them onto it, to be deposited in to the trash barrels outside. So it would go, for the foreseeable time - them, occasionally finding their way into our living space instead of the night sky, us killing a protected species in a shameful act of self-defense/cowardice.


The dynamic shifted one day when my father said he'd had enough. Enough shrieking children. Enough cats doing nothing while a free meal circled overhead. Enough siting up in bed, grabbing a racket that was sitting next to the damn night stand and killing them without even getting up. He had hit his limit. He created something that astounded and horrified us all.


The Bat Trap.

You see, bats can't take off like a bird. The have to drop from a perch and swoop up to take flight. My dad figured out which eave of the house they were mostly flying out of at night and set about devising a solution. A containment system. Risking a broken neck, he climbed up to the top of the house (an impressive height, especially without scaffolding or any safety gear whatsoever) and affixed a bucket and pulley mechanism. At dusk he would raise the bucket. Bats would drop in by the dozen, unable to alter course in time. In the morning, he would lower the bucket full of bats and do something horrible - kill them all. I won't divulge the method he initially attempted, but I'm still impressed and horrified he was able to do it and then put on a clean shirt and have a cup of coffee. After this disastrous first attempt he realized he needed to simplify and streamline his approach. The solution: put water in the bucket. Bats drop in, bats splash around, bats sink. Voila.


Secret best part to the story - he found out he had to kill them because he tried simply burying them alive one morning, only to have a league of furious bats claw their way up from the earth, obviously in search of vengeance. So my dad decided "I'll have to kill them before they can rise from their grave."

Being a fresh homeowner now, I can sort of see how he arrived at his course of action. I just hope I'm not driven mad in a conquest against a similar vermin like some villain from Batman.

Kitsch/in

Hi kids, ya miss me?


It's been an interesting couple of weeks, getting settled in our new house. There's no finish line anymore, essentially. It's the kind of thing where you just keep improving and fine tuning. All of our furniture is in, a strong majority of the boxes are unpacked and it feels like a home. Not necessarily OUR home yet, but at least A home instead of an empty building where we've been crashing. We just need to give it time while we make it ours. Wallpaper needs to come down, things need to be rearranged, designations need to be assigned. We need to get our scent in there, you know?


In the meantime we're trying to resume life as we knew it. We've slowly been regaining the ability to prepare a decent meal instead of just sandwiches and salads. Cooking is what makes it feel like home, it would seem. Also, we still have no Internet. That makes getting posts done a lot harder. As a mea culpa, I thought I'd share a few anecdotes I recall about the house in which I grew up.


The Big Butt Alarm.


You see, our house was already over 100 years old when I was a kid (for vanity's sake say mid 80's to mid 90's). While it was a great old house with loads of...character...it had definite flaws, one of which was a stove/oven deal from the 70's that had a broken face plate on it. It still worked just fine, but the knobs and dials on the front for setting the oven required a bit of familiarity/intuition. Not really a guessing game, but you would be much better off leaving the cooking to someone well versed in its idiosyncrasies.


As a result of the broken plastic on the front, a timer would occasionally go off when jostled. It sounded like an incorrect answer tone from The Family Feud. Lean a little too close to the stove and touch this innocuous little knob and "BZZZZZT!" you get the sound of angry bees. Having a family of five in a small, outdated kitchen, our table barely fit in the space we used. Anyone who tried to sit on the stove side of the table ran a significant risk of knocking their butt against the knob as they sidled into their chair and setting off what we all began to refer to as the Big Butt Alarm in that short-hand way all families make jokes. Being a bunch of miscreants, we would all announce it when it went off.


My mom also tended to sit opposite of stove side when she would have coffee with her friends, most of whom were not aware of our dumb jokes. So when a friend of hers slid into place one morning with a cup of coffee and brushed against the faulty knob too hard, my mom gave the Pavlovian response when it buzzed and called out "Big Butt Alarm!" to her own dismay.


She told me her friend looked mortified and cocked her head askew, asking just what she was talking about. Cue my mom's profuse apologies and her swearing up and down that it was something the family joked about, and not a personal dig.


We don't have a Big Butt Alarm at our new house, but I'm sure we'll find something.