Boom Averted/Bangs Achieved

At least I got the text message. Say the nearby pilot light had found some natural gas, I probably wouldn't have.

But our old electric dryer died, and Craigslist found us a gas dryer. Sara set it up while I went to a show (that's right), but something was amiss.

Sara called Adam, who rolled over and found the leak in the hose. Now we have a bitchin' used gas dryer that is supposedly more efficient. And Sara and Sasha didn't blow up. Bonus! Thanks, Adam!

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Speaking of Sasha, I felt that her vision might be compromised by having hair in her face.

After much deliberation and consensus gathering, we finally decided "Hey, let's give her those bangs. If they look stupid, they'll grow out."

But those polled were right: it's fine, and now her hair isn't in her eyes. I want to take it to the next phase: Mullet. Come ON. She won't care.

Naptunes

I've been trying to record/mix/master stuff during Sasha's naps. The goal: finish a sketch before she wakes up.

Before her nap today:
Me: "I have this idea. Take the heaviness of Portishead and roll up some of the sadness of Old Time."
Sara:" Mhmm."

Since I am an incompetent banjo player, "Naptime 3" contains a sad sample from Adam Hurt's version of "Fall of Richmond."

"Naptime 2" is the result of too much Joe Strummer and Dr. Dre.

Outside Lands Fest, SF

Pictured, in whatever non-order Blogger arranges them: Mother Hips, Devendra Banhart, Lupe Fiasco, Nellie McKay, Natalie Portman, Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings. More at the Flickr site.

This Is What It Will Be Like All The Time

We need a sitter for a just-scheduled, can't-miss show in Arcata.

Should you say yes, you will read Voltaire and US Weekly to this little angel on the couch. Then, she will fashion you an origami bouquet.

Under no circumstances will she cry, need food, or relieve herself. Not without your express permission, that is.

Everything Must Go

The coalition rounded up at $500 overall. A good time was had: zingers were flung, pizza destroyed, items given new life, and landfill spared. At least two-thirds of the stuff sold.

The good: Mr. T lunchtray, mini-foosball table

The bad: S'mores Presentation set (for use "indoors AND outdoors"), Dianetics

The ugly: that one dude who kept telling me how hot Sara was, plus ironic gradient-fill on one of our signs

The surprise: 10:45 AM is not too early for Gin and/or Tonic.

Semi-Backpacking

Last weekend, the call was made to change backpacking routes from the smokey, fire-encircled Trinities to the clear-ish coastal Redwood National Park.

I took the opportunity of a short, close-to-home hike to try my hand at ultralight packing. No tent, only the tarp/fly. No toiletry bag, just exactly the few items I'd need. No nothin' other than survival gear (except for the camera, it's case, and a therma-rest sling.) 24 lbs. is the lightest I've ever gone (I'm big, shut up), so that is getting filed under "success." It felt like cheating.

S, K, and N went in early, and I hiked in Saturday morn. I brought a surfboard up and checked the usual spots on the way up to the trailhead. No luck.

Getting my permit at the ranger station, the woman said "You're hiking in from where? You leaving your car there overnight? Bad idea, buddy. It's close to town, and break-ins are pretty common."
"How common?"
"Common. We tell everyone not to park there."

Well, that sucks to hear if you have an impossible-to-conceal surfboard in your car. So it goes. Hike in. Beautiful. Townes Van Zandt sings sad songs until the posted warnings tell me to stay alert because of that one cougar. Silent hiking is also great.

When I found the riverbar campsite, K said that Ian once had his truck robbed at that same parking lot. That sucks to hear, as well. Hmmm. Setting up my ultralight-mode tent proved challenging, in that riverbed rocks don't take tent stakes well. Success attained.

We hone our leisure skills. Swim in the creek, sit in the sun, throw rocks at various targets until our arms are weak. Jokes, laughter, lunch, chill, jokes. Evening approaches. Cook dinner on my bitchin' new ultralight stove (love it!).

After dinner, the love of my carbound surfboard surges forth. I tell S, K, and N. "This sounds crazy, but I think I'm going to hike out. "
S says, "Yes, that is pretty crazy."
"Yeah, but if anyone cruises that lot, my board is the first thing they'll see. And my insurance, well, who knows."

Satisfied with the day, I pack up and hike out. Next time, leave the board home.

High Sierra Recap

So, now that the bags are unpacked and the wristbands cut off, we're dead. So tired. So. Tired.

This year's High Sierra Music Festival was awesome. Not unlike Michael Franti & Spearhead, it's never a question of if the show's going to be good. It's just a matter of how good. Every year the campsite ("pleasure dome") gets a little cooler, and this year we had extra everything.

Our crew, in order of distance traveled:

April and Larry in from Oakdale via Montana or something
Julie and Brian in from AZ
Jen and Box/Westside Eka
Sara, Sasha, and Mike/Northside Eka
Dawn, Larry, and Jack/ Ferndale
Kim and Chris from Yuba City

This year was smoky. There were wildfires all over NorCal, and we drove through tons of of smoke (and an active fire zone!). The wind pushed it up toward the festival three out of the four days.

It was really great to see old faces, especially when those old faces were either dirt-encrusted or adorned with glowsticks. Or both. Whatever.

The headliners, we didn't seem to care for (excepting Spearhead, duh). But the smaller, newer bands generally ranged from surprisingly good to literally stunning. Sara's favorite band was the gently beautiful EverybodyFields. James Hunter was unreal, as was Abigail Washburn's Sparrow Quartet. Spearhead blew it up, as did NoLa's Trombone Shorty. More props: Langhorne Slim, Ryan Montbleau, Mother Hips, March Fourth Marching Band.

Sasha did great. She's such a trooper. People loved her headphones, which allowed us to get much closer to the speakers than last year.

You know when you're a kid and you go to camp? That what this is. It's Fun Camp. It's where everybody who's randomly friendly to strangers gets together. Good music, freaky people, and total release. Photos here.



HSMF Field Notes and Quotes:

There was a small wedding on the Yoga Thursday night: officiant, wedding party, and all. Instant honeymoon!

This other couple in front of me had semi-discreet sex in the middle of the mainstage's music bowl during Built To Spill's set. (I found this noteworthy, but the campsite crew yawned it off. )

"Nice shirt!" - more than a few people, appreciating the Big Lebowski shirt Zeke gave me.

"Not on the rug, man." - Bumper sticker at Nathan Moore's campsite

"Don't break the seal, dude." - A guy sharing a theory of festival hygiene that relied on not showering or using the bathroom until Monday.

"Chicks dig the funk." -Same guy, bragging about going to Reggae on the River in a moldy tent with sweatlodge blankets. Ironically, he was volunteering for HSMF's shower crew.

"Is that Kashmir?....Alright." - Chris, finally being convinced to go see Bustle In Your Hedgerow

"There was a typewriter solo. It was good." - Julie, when asked about the band Sneakin' Out

"Can I play with your hair?" - Some chick who was really, really into Kim's locks

"OhMyGodOhMyGod!" - Jen, after getting kissed by Michael Franti, who is like totally her boyfriend now

"...and he was all, like, fuckin,' meeeeoooooaaaw!" - Box, admiring Buckethead's guitar prowess

"Preferably with someone who's not tripping out on anything. Or, I can drive your car." - Jill Andrews from The Everybodyfields, asking the audience for a ride to SF

"You missed out, but you'll get your chance to see it." - Joey, bragging about his Jaminator

"We're camping with the Republicans." - April, reveling in the opulence of HSMF's RV section.

"You mean the Shastafarians?" - Little kid at the pool, describing the people from his hometown of Mt. Shasta.

"So do I!" - Topless lady with a "Free Hugs" sign around her neck, after Jen said she wanted a free hug.

"That was smooshy." - Jen, ten seconds later.

Boxing Day

My (Mike's) mom is in town, which is great. She lets me drive her Prius. In exchange, I showed her the wonders of the Nintendo Wii.

Caption Needed

This photo was taken by Wilco's lead guitarist, who emailed it to a guy I know, who sent it to another person I know, who bounced it over. In other words, the smile isn't for PR. It's for music.

24% More Coordinated

Admit it: it's not as funny if she's not pratfalling all over the place.

18% More Balance

AnOde to Some Code

Today I engaged in a friendly IM battle with someone doubting the power of Google Reader, so let me just take a sec to espouse it's virtues. Other people like Pipes or iGoogle homepages. Not me. I freaking love Reader, and it works for me perfectly. No, I don't have a deal with Google. It's that awesome.

(Don't understand RSS feeds? You look at lots of blogs, so you need some sort of RSS reader that piles them all up, looks at them for you, and shows you only the new stuff. Then click on one page every day instead of 70 or whatever.)

Recently, it looks like more people are "sharing" items in their Reader, and I can't even say how awesome that is. Y'all who are sharing stuff: thank you. The most interesting stuff comes my way because you're clicking on the little "share" thing. You know who you are.

Yes, oversharing happens with some folks. And yes, I've seen some aggression in the "share with note" feature. I so don't care.

Here's my point. If a piece of code is going to save me hours a week or more, watch my news, keep me updated on my peeps, read what they're sharing, and keep my inbox clear of update-notifications, color me grateful. That means more time doing real life. Best o' both.

In fact, I have that same enthusiasm that hit me when I got my first email account in the 90's. I doubt there's a better way to do what Reader does, but if you know a way, I'll listen. Technology rules.

Free Drum Project

Maybe a year ago, I started begging publicly for spare drum parts. I used to play in middle school, and it was fun. Why not relive the dream, right?

So, one guy last year had a snare he didn't need anymore. Then, last weekend, I secured a kick drum (rusty), two cymbals, and some sticks. Then, by chance, a rummage sale in Bayside had a kick pedal and cymbal stand. I'm in business, baby!

Workarounds: cat litter box is the snare stand, excercise ball is the stool.

Drums are fun. They really are. The problem is that I suck at them. I've recorded them, and they sound good enough. They sound a lot better coming of of my Reason sampler, due to my near total lack of skill.

You know who really loves my new drums? Sara. I'm. Not. Being. Sarcastic. At. All.

So it goes. I'm on the prowl for more parts. Know anyone?

Still looking for: floor tom, rack toms, hi-hat, hi-hat stand, cymbal stand, and a stool. You know how to find me.

Look out, Jens Henneman.