We have to talk about rape.

I am angry. A dear friend who I've loved for a long time recently came out as a rape survivor. I wish I could say I was shocked. I'm not. Rape is commonplace, and therefore I am angry. Disagree with my premise if you will, but I urge you to look it up. I've been shocked by the numbers, the chronic underreporting, the codes of silence and the constant belittlement of the survivors, so I am not shocked by one more sad story. I am angry, and my voice is my weapon.

All I can do is speak out. I will not fight anyone; I will not do violence to even the basest of my fellow humans. I WILL shed verbal light on rape culture, and I WILL work openly and constructively to manifest a world free of the oppression of patriarchy. I will tell the men in my circle that their joke is not funny:  it's all I can do. It's enough, though. Though I hope I never have to again, I will listen to the women who come out to me. I will BELIEVE THEM, and be angry on their behalf. It's all I can do, but it makes a difference.

One night when I was angry about rape, I went into a large field with a heavy bag - the kind one uses for boxing practice - and an aluminum baseball bat. I stood in that field and screamed till I was hoarse and beat that heavy bag like it was everything I had ever hated in the world. This was a beautiful night in my life because I learned that my anger was very real and very healthy. Some things are worth being angry about. I also learned that I can use that anger to fuel change. I am a different person because I met my anger that night. I urge all of you who are angry with me to beat the crap out of a heavy bag.

When you're done, come back and join the conversation. Let's talk about a future without patriarchy. Let's talk about a future where everyone gets to express strength and gentleness without being held to arbitrary gender-based standards. We're still a few generations away, but we're on our way. We still seem stuck on some dangerous old ideas about what it means to be men and women.

Rape is, at its core, an expression of patriarchal power. This is bad news because globally speaking, patriarchy is everywhere. However, this is good news because it means we can grow past it as a species. That growth starts with me and my anger.

PJ Harvey - "Rid Of Me" Commentary

A note on nomenclature: I remember reading in Spin magazine that "PJ Harvey" refers to the band of which Polly Jean Harvey is the lead vocalist. Contemporarily, I hear and see the two names used interchangeably, but I think it's artistically very incorrect to dismiss the artists with whom Polly Jean surrounds herself as a songwriter. That is to say: "Rid Of Me" does not sound like a singer-songwriter album. It sounds like a rock band album. So I will continue to differentiate: when I say "PJ Harvey" I mean the band. Otherwise, I mean the woman herself.

With my musical heart left well behind in the mid 90s, "Rid Of Me" looms larger than life. This has always been an intimidating record to me. Today, listening to it reminded me of the paradox of healing: we must face that which hurts us if we are ever to heal from it. To be fair, there are parts of this album that are seriously not comfortable to listen to. It's very dynamic: the loud parts are loud, and the quiet parts are very quiet. It's as if the band means to draw our ears close to the speaker just to blow our eardrums out. That's what happened to me the very first time I listened to this album: I put the cassette in, but I could hardly hear the first song, so I turned it up. Next thing I know, some woman is screaming, "Don't you wish you never met her?!" and my parents are yelling at me to turn down the racket. Ever since then I've struggled to come to terms with the fierce emotion the band glorifies in this music.

The reason "Rid Of Me" is so challenging is that it yields deep rewards. Much as healing often leaves us scarred but wiser, this album leaves me feeling grounded, sane and refreshed. I am much better for having faced the stranger, darker parts of myself that this record brings up. "Rub Till It Bleeds" is a perfect example. Noticeably the longest song on the album, it starts off sounding JUST like something Liz Phair could also have released in 1993. When the bass kicks in, though, we know we're in for a little something extra here. Polly Harvey has fucking SOUL, and she's punctuated by a drum performance so full of brass it could be a whole marching band. This song features that brass just as strongly as it features Harvey's unstoppable voice. If "Dry" (the album) was Harvey's invocation of ancient female energy, "Rid Of Me" (the album) is her demonstration that she has her finger on the source of that energy - these songs are a bold redefinition of femininity very true to the heart of third-wave feminism.

A very interesting feature of "Rid Of Me" is its construction as an album. In the fashion of many great pieces of music designed to be played on vinyl, "Rid of Me" has two distinct sides. From the title track opener to a nearly-unrecognizable"Highway '61 Revisited", the band plays thoughtful, midtempo rock built on alternating clean and pleasantly distorted guitars. The second side, from "50 Ft Queenie" to "Ecstasy" shows off a faster, more punk-influenced side of the band. Polly sounds somewhat more desperate and less sure of herself than on the first side, which lends to the seriously underground sound of the second half of this album. It's apt to note the similarity to the 2nd half of Nirvana's masterpiece, "In Utero", which was the next album Steve Albini produced after "Rid Of Me". Also similarly to "In Utero", the second half of "Rid Of Me" is a proper goldmine for repeated listening. Albini's raw, minimalist production really lets the songs speak for themselves here, and that gives this album a timeless quality.

The 2nd half of "Rid Of Me" has 2 songs that shine as amazing deep cuts. "Yuri-G" is a full-on imaginative romp. The bass is almost too low in pitch for me to hear, but I can certainly FEEL it. At the same time, Harvey's voice is tripled, maybe quadrupled over itself, showcasing a lot of her vocal prowess at once, which is a real treat. "Dry" may be the best song on the whole album, but it also may be one of the most bitter songs I've ever heard. Its chorus stretched out agonizingly slow, "Dry" is almost a parody of pop music, but it harbors a hauntingly memorable melody, and makes very clear the vulnerability and sincerity of Polly Harvey's songwriting. The album ends with an extended slide guitar solo, which is about as blues-influenced as one can get, and this solo is one of the big payoffs of this album. It's honest, refreshing and makes any preceding discomfort quite worthwhile.

"Rid Of Me" deserves every accolade its every gotten, and probably every criticism. It's fearless, it's engaging and it's interesting. It's worth revisiting over time as we expose ourselves to new music. It's very possible that "Rid Of Me" is an acquired taste, but it's well worth it.

PJ Harvey - "Dry" Commentary

I started my PJ Harvey retrospective today by listening to "Dry," which I'd not heard straight through in a long time. I only mildly appreciated this record when it first came out, but today I HEARD it like it was the first time. This album is like my shower loofah: a little abrasive & a little grimy, but it feels really good & leaves me shinier.

For a 1992 independent release, this record is paradoxically both kind of dated and ahead of its time. There were a lot of women rock artists experimenting with vocal styles in 1992, but (with the notable exception of Bjork) none of them showed the stylistic range of a hungry, blues-soaked Polly Harvey. The band evokes the Pixies with some loud-quiet-loud dynamic, and with the drums sounding raw and big, that dynamic may be the most uncomfortable part of the album - Harvey's voice pretty much demands we listen. The guitars often sound like they're barely in tune, but as much as that is a feature of the height of the Nirvana era, Harvey's voice always balances any atonality. Pretty powerful weapon, that voice.

"Sheela-Na-Gig" is the centerpiece of the album. This song would fit comfortably into the catalog of either the Pixies or Nirvana, but that is not to say it's derivative - that's to put PJ Harvey in the same company with those two bands. What sets this band apart from those two worthy contemporaries, though, is a seriously women-centric point of view.  "Sheela-Na-Gig" scared me a lot as a man when I first heard it. Now I hear it much more as an invocation of timeless feminine energy, and appreciate Harvey's use of such ancient images in such powerful rock music.

This album is almost 20 years old, but I think its energy, bluesy power and dynamic vocal performance all help it to escape the early 90s to live on as a classic independent rock album. Especially as a debut, this record showcases a songwriter and a band poised on the brink of a really wide-ranging musical journey, and is a great listen.

Top Ten Albums of 2010

I again had a great time listening to music this past year. It helped me to survive tough times and celebrate good ones. I myself am pretty tired of everyone's 2010 Top Ten, so I'm going to be very brief here:

10. Kaskade - Dynasty

Easily my favorite contemporary house producer, this record holds true to form and offers up some proper gems.

 9. Reflection Eternal - RPMs

The reunion of Reflection Eternal is a really nice moment in hip-hop. This album, like most of Kweli's work, reveals new complexity upon repeated listening, making this an easy one to have in heavy rotation. 

8 MC Frontalot - Zero Day

A masterpiece in the subgenre, "Zero Day" is funny, smart and very inviting. Front is a serious, hardworking artist, and it really shows on this album. Don't miss the live show if you get the chance.

7. Die Antwoord - EP

The LP that Die Antwoord put out on interscope in 2010 was a watered-down version of what they had streaming on their website through most of 2009, and I found it disappointing in that form. The EP, however, is tight, energetic, and very professional. It's actually really easy to overplay. (I never thought I'd say this, but I'm honestly pretty tired of "Enter the Ninja..."). 

6. Bonobo - Black Sands

THE standout downtempo album of the year. This album makes me think of pleasant outdoor adventures, and was the only album on this list I could play for my in-laws.
  
5.David Byrne & Fatboy Slim - Here Lies Love
Smart, pleasant and poppy, this concept album about the life of Imelda Marcos is really beautiful. It honestly wasn't what I expected from either of the two artists involved here, so I found this album to be quite refreshing.

4. Vampire Weekend - Contra
Probably my most-listened album on this list, this album is a songwriting tour de force. It's full of catchy hooks and evocative imagery, and is abstract enough to appeal to hipsters and pop-listeners alike. 

3. Mark Ronson - Record Collection
Mark Ronson's got his pulse on pop music in a big way. As far as I'm concerned, he can do no wrong lately. This album is upbeat and well-visited by guest stars. It's an excellent nod to Ronson's new wave influences and also to the hip-hop artists who are still clearly inspiring him. 

2. Robyn - The Body Talk Project
If this trio of releases turns out to be Robyn's maserpiece, we can consider hers a successful career. The 2 LPs and 1 EP she released this year are dance-pop for grownups. They recognize heartache and wisdom, but they also celebrate honesty and the healing power of music. Robyn is clearly at a creative high point, and these albums impressed me with their depth and elegance. 

1. Sleigh Bells - Treats
There was a bunch of music I enjoyed in 2010, but it was easy to pick my favorite. I've never heard an album like "Treats" before, and I've never seen my friends react so positively to something so loud and messy. What we have here is serious dance music made by rock minimalists, and it's awesome. This is well constructed album with no filler and consistently high-energy rhythms.

Diggin Deep

When I throw parties, I love to pre-mix the music so that it's thoughtful, well-timed and autonomous. It's not as good as having a proper live DJ in the house, but it's cheaper, takes less space and has a ton less attitude. I really enjoy the process of envisioning the atmosphere of the gathering, and choosing the music to create that atmosphere. Currently I'm working on some music for our upcoming housewarming party featuring a 1990s theme. Starting with wikipedia's list of albums released each year, I'm going through and picking out the most fun music of each year. Focusing on just one year at a time is bringing back a lot of fun memories. I just started checking out 1992, and I stumbled across this little nugget. We all remember Right Said Fred's big hit. There's no need to say it out loud. What I hadn't remembered until today was that there was a 2nd single from that album that I liked a lot more than the first one...

I've never been ashamed to enjoy pop music, and to listen to this music brings back the powerful awkwardness of my early adolescence. I was newly 15 when the song came out and had like one proper kiss in my whole life. I thought this was the hottest song I'd ever heard. That's not to say I was a musical fool in 92. I was down with Nirvana and Tribe Called Quest. However, if I was trying to play spin the bottle at your party (and I most certainly WAS trying), THIS was the music I was going to put on.

Commentary on the Frontman

Tonight I watched Cocksucker Blues, the mythological film about the Rolling Stones 1972 US tour in support of Exile On Main Street. Though I had no trouble finding a copy through above-ground means, I understand it's technically illegal to watch this film. Though this film is witness to all the usual indulgences of rock stars, it's really not all that exciting. Naked women on private planes and everybody doing cocaine on film seem like normal daily activities for these folks. So as far as rock films go, I say, "meh." However, there are two aspects of this film that stand out: the performance footage (especially Mick Jagger), and the use of light to set tone.

Mick Jagger looks really, really good in this film. Silm, aloof and sporting perfectly tousled hair, he saves all his charisma for the stage. During the live performances, Jagger is at his finest: bodily expressive - often so hyper as to be almost jerky - and clearly in his element, he is the consummate frontman: a conduit for the energy of both the band and the audience. I think of great vocalists I've seen perform: Marilyn Manson, Wayne Coyne, Gwen Stefani. These people have a different talent from being a "great musician". GG Allin was not a great musician, but he was a spectacular performer, and I can think of artists like Liz Phair or Bob Mould who are both well talented, but do not have the same caliber of stage presence as those I previously mentioned.

My favorite part of this movie is the way it uses light. Some scenes are almost completely washed out in white, making the characters stand out as dreamy silhouettes, while others use a wide spectrum of bright colors to convey the intense spectacle of a Rolling Stones performance. At the high point of the film, the Rolling Stones are on stage with Stevie Wonder and a full band. We see the audience only as a blur at the edges of the screen, but the stage is full of musicians in Technicolor costume as a spotlight shines down on Mick and Stevie as ringmasters of the rock circus. The two ooze with the raw love that sets great rock apart from good and the moment, as always, is way too short.

While I'll probably watch Green Day's Bullet In A Bible or Nine Inch Nails' Closure a second time before I watch Cocksucker Blues again, I'm glad I watched it. This IS really interesting rock music. These guys clearly love destroying the blues the same way Jimi and Zeppelin do, and I love them for that, even if I prefer my rock music with a little more laugh and a little less sneer.

Die Antwoord commentary

Some musical acts leave a rich first impression. I remember seeing the video for "Sweet Child O' Mine" and staring with my mouth agape. The first time I heard "Praise You," I wanted it to never end. In the same vein, the first time I watched Die Antwoord's promo video "Zef Side" I froze in my tracks and watched it a second time for clues as to whether these people were serious or joking. I felt confused, intrigued and mildly dirty, like the first time that I ate one of those sandwiches that has french fries and cole slaw on it.

Needless to say, like many of my fellow avid listeners, I had to know more. I watched the video for "Enter The Ninja" and still couldn't figure out if they were serious. I went to the eponymous website, listened to the album, and talked about it with a fellow new fan. This band came out of nowhere, and spread news of their existence one url at a time. No radio. No mainstream video (wait, is youtube mainstream?). Just a handful of highly stylized videos and a provocative, addictive website. That's the brilliance here. Die Antwoord's web presence is more than enough to set this band up for worldwide fame, but that's not my favorite part of the story. Here's where it becomes the model for the rock band of the future: In my head, I've already purchased the CD, the concert ticket and the t-shirt, and these items aren't even yet available for purchase. If they get their timing right with those things, they'll be rock tycoons: leaders of a new generation of hybridized, stylized multimedia acts manifesting pre-distributed without "major" labels.

To a certain extent the medium is the message, and how and why I came to experience Die Antwoord matters as much as what I hear and see here. That being said, this music is fantastic. Shot through with the influence of nearly every contemporary music form, "$O$" is energetic and surprising. Vocalists Ninja and Yo-Landi give us attitude the entire time, and they do it with such color and humor that I can't help but feel enchanted. Lines like, "You should've known better than to fuck with a ninja with an attitude" tell me that this group knows exactly what it's doing in constructing this musical experience, and is having a great time in the process.

Steve's Three Rules of Art

"Art is why I get up in the morning. My definition ends there." - Ani Difranco

1. Art is where I find it.



The experience of art is inherently subjective and reflects the great variety of bio-cultural influences from which we create our personalities. Art is self-identifying like subcultural affiliation. At the very least, Marcel Duchamp showed us that the artistic experience is a relationship between the artist, the piece and the audience. This relationship can be subtle and deeply personal, so no one of us can predict the quality of that relationship in another person. Therefore, art is not where *you* find it, but where *I* find it.




2. Good art moves me.



We consider the tragic film as worthy as the comedy. I love the songs that make me cry as much as I love the songs that make me dance. Art pieces which celebrate the dark and seedy are as powerful as cathedrals built as monuments to human perfectibility. I consider a work of art "good" if it provokes emotion in me, and I make no judgement as to the quality of that emotion. I generally prefer to be happy, so I prefer to expose myself to art that tends to make me feel that way. However, this rule gives me a measuring stick by which I can compare art in various media and from various backgrounds, based on my relative emotional experience.




3. Great art moves me in new ways upon repeated consideration.



Some of my favorite albums completely baffled me upon early listening. I didn't laugh at "Pootie Tang" the first time I watched it. Aimee Mann's mid-90s hit, "That's Just What You Are" sounds fresh and different to me from time to time as my marriage becomes ever better seasoned. I do not "interpret" great art: great art reflects me. This is the reason great art lingers through time and becomes classical. We see new subtleties in the Mona Lisa, and we keep discovering Romeo and Juliet in our hearts, a few hundred years later. I believe art, at its core, is an instinctual activity. Artists simply can't help themselves. "To create and express" is as good an answer as any to the question of "why are we here?" So the greatest of art reveals its true depth slowly, and only with time and space.

Top 10 Songs of 2009

2009 was a great year in music. Check out these collaborations, hybridizations and commentaries. If you've partied with me at all this year, you've heard them.

10. N.A.S.A. - The People Tree (f David Byrne, Chali 2na, Gift of Gab and Z-Trip)
    

    I think the guest artist list here really says it all.

    
    
    
    
9. The Very Best - Warm Heart of Africa (f Ezra Koenig)
   

   Sleeper jam of the year. I don't think a lot of Americans heard this song, but I really love it.

   
   
   
   
8. Big Business - The Drift
   

   This band shows off their form with a heavy, minimal and melodic sing-along. Sample lyric: "Cant' draw a map with honey: not a lesson, that's just good advice."

   
   
   
   
7. Basement Jaxx - Raindrops
   

   This song brought tears of joy multiple times this year. Hands up!

   
   
   
   
6. Das Racist - Combination Pizza Hut and Taco Bell (Wallpaper remix)
   

   Love it or hate it, this postmodern take on urban culture is undeniably catchy and funny.

   
   
   
   
5. Julian Casablancas - Out Of The Blue
   

   Here we see Casablancas flexing his lyricist muscles. This song is beautifully constructed and poignant in its simplicity. BONUS: Plethora of sing-along harmonizing opportunities.

   
   
   
   
4. The Lonely Island - I'm On A Boat (f T-Pain)
   

   This is the song that made me love T-Pain, since he's clearly having a great time making fun of himself. This song will freak out a party, and leave people trying to pretend they don't know the words. Hit the deck, but stay on your toes.

   
   
   
   
3. Jay-Z and Alicia Keys - Empire State Of Mind
   

   I don't want to be down. I'm totally West Coast. I can't front on this song, though: it's a fantastic performance, full of soul and passion from both Jay and Alicia. Long live the Roc.

   
   
   
   
2. Mos Def - Twilite Speedball
   

   "Having a good time... every day." This is a video of a performance I got to see this year thanks to my superfriend Leslie. Mos never stops. He makes it look easy. I'm honored to be alive while he's making such fresh grooves.

   
   
   
   
1. USS - Laces Out
   

   Here's what I hear here: Ska, Big Beat, Hip-hop, Motown, New Wave, Beatles, Springsteen. That's the way to my heart.

   
   
   

Top 10 Albums of 2009

10. Silversun Pickups - Swoon

This is a record I intend to return to in the summertime. It's refreshing and rockin, both serious and light at the same time. I'm happy this band picked up where Smashing Pumpkins left off.

9. Pyramids With Nadja - Pyramids With Nadja

The lone Hydra Head release on this year's top 10, this record shows the real beauty available in the ambient metal form. Most folks I've played this for have said, "this is metal?"

8. Mastodon - Crack The Skye

Nobody wonders whether this album is metal. My favorite metal album of the year, "Crack The Skye" is smart and fearless. It's also my choice for saddest album of the year, and I'm amazed this band lived through the process of writing this music.

7. Julian Casablancas - Phrazes For The Young

While seeing 80s-style clothing around town still freaks me out, I'm very happy about the way artists are revisiting the late 80s alternative and new wave scenes. This album is poppy, accessible and witty. It's quite a good step forward for Casablancas.

6. The Difference Engine - Breadmaker

While they call themselves a "steampunk" band, this album is pure power pop. There's really pretty guitar sounds here - kind of dreamy and airy. My intuition says this record will yield some more gems upon continued listening.

5. BK-One - Radio Do Canibal

BK-One has been Brother Ali's touring DJ for a while, and he carries on the hip-hop tradition in a very inclusive and positive manner. This album focuses on Brazilian influences, but is so full of guest verses and familiar beats

4. Basement Jaxx - Scars

I don't think these guys care what anyone thinks. This album is all over the place, and continues to surprise me. Jaxx are strong as ever, and "Scars" is as proper a party album as they come. There's guest artists on almost every song, and the global scope of their samples tells me these guys have been having a lot of fun digging deep in the bins.

3. Brother Ali - Us

This is overall a slower, more pensive album than Ali's previous full-length, "The Undisputed Truth," but is a clear example of an amazing artist still improving, still focusing his power on really changing the world. Brother Ali and Rhymesayers absolutely represent the hopeful future of underground hip-hop.

2. USS (Ubiquitous Synergy Seeker) - Questamation

Here is my confession: this is the band I've been hoping to hear for a long time. I believe the future of rock music is all about hybridization, and USS embraces this idea wholeheartedly. Equal parts fresh-faced rock and knob-twiddler-party, this album defies categorization and keeps me guessing.

1. Mos Def - The Ecstatic

Without a doubt, "The Ecstatic" is a masterpiece. 16 songs in 45 minutes and consistently fascinating from beginning to end, this album stands out as a rebuttal to anyone who said rap music was a fad, or that MCs don't have real musical talent. Mos has perfect delivery: it's expressive, powerful and subtle. His rhymes are playful, abstract and evocative, and he sounds like he's having a fantastic time. In contrast to some other great albums this year, Mos barely shares the stage here. Talib Kweli stops by near the end of the album, and "Auditorium" features Slick Rick dropping an amazing verse from the point of view of an American soldier in Iraq. 2009 was a great year for underground music, so turn your radio off and fall in love with an independent label or two!

On Friendship in the New Year

I'm celebrating New Years this year with some old friends, and amazed at the beauty our aging is bringing us. I now have friendships I can trace back to the 5th grade, well over 20 years. Some of those folks I see on facebook all the time!
Every year we note the passing of time, the ticking of the big-ass clock. Every year it's hyped up and well planned. Yet rarely are these the best parties of the year. Often, they're bittersweet or anticlimactic. It's hard to forget ourselves in the miasma of equal parts hope and fear that surrounds the changing of the year.
This year, I say fuck that. Let us gather in families, posses, scenes and cities. Let us look at the sky and wonder what it means to be alive. Let us laugh and cry and dance about it all. Let us remember the many forms friendship takes: from the single-serving moment of shared humanity to the Krameresque neighbor we are both happy and surprised to see every day. Let us simply be together.
09 was the year of facebook, the year of underground hip-hop and metal. It was the year of progressive reality-checks and conservative schism. These factors influenced my friendships; because of them, I both made and lost friends (a net gain, I believe).
This year I saw the scariest movie I've ever seen: Paranormal Activity. (Everybody in the theater screamed at once - it was awesome.) I sent probably 10,000 text messages and received as many. I made friends with a spider.
Next year let's dance more, hug more and eat better food. Let's go to bigger parties and smaller shows. Let's discover a favorite new band and a favorite old band. Let's learn something new about someone we've known forever, and maybe even something new about ourselves. Next year when we end a conversation with, "Peace," let's mean it a little more.
Peace!

I Am An American Man

Note: This is a repost from my private blog, 2006.

I drank 2 20 oz Dr. Peppers, and 1 cup of coffee.
I ate 1 microwave pasta dish, one frozen toaster oven entree, and a double fried lunch of chicken and potatoes.

I watched South Park and a rerun of Saturday Night Live.
I turned off SNL before the news because I have no love for Norm MacDonald.

I burned about 1/10 of a gallon of gas...
...and farted enough to fill up the gallon.

I have a beer belly decorated with tattoos.
I live with a white girl so healthy and pretty that her type doesn't exist in 90% of the world.

I watched lonelygirl15, the most popular girl on youtube.

I have no love for war, but I'm confused as to which ways I support it, which ways I can help stop it, and how to make that decision.

I bought name brand products.
I complained about corporations.

I did something illegal, but not immoral.
Most of what I did today was "immoral" by the "standards" of popular "religion."
I profess to be religious, but not "one of those."

I am a child of advertising.
Although I sincerely believe in and practice equality, I receive the benefits of gender privilege, class privilege, race privilege, and citizenship privilege, none of which I have earned.

I believe in something better, and believe I have the means to achieve it.
I worry that my belief in something better has already been commodified and branded, and that I won't be able to afford it.

I am a revolutionary and a peaceful citizen.
I participate and subvert.
I am publicly generous and privately greedy.
I am very friendly and very obnoxious.

I am an American Man.

Some things I love about America

I'm really American. Mixed-blood, Army family, Eagle Scout. One of the First World gifts my parents gave me is a world-class education. A powerful effect of this education is that I have a sense of the influence my country has had on the world in the past 233 years, and especially in the last 60. All politics aside, some of this influence has been life-affirming and some of it has been destructive. This entry is not about that, because the things I really love about America have about zero to do with politics or global influence.

First, I love the multiculturalism. Even as a middle class white boy I grew up with access to all of the world's music at my fingertips, and a bundle of friends and family in many colors, creeds and styles. My parents and teachers made it very clear from early on that to be American was to treat everybody equally, and respect everybody's freedom. My 8th grade teacher and the current principal of St. Vincent de Paul school in San Francisco, Mrs. Harvey, spent a few weeks teaching us comparative religion. She taught us about Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism, Shinto, Taoism and Confucianism. We learned about the basic tenets and practices of each tradition, and where around the world people practice them. Though this was a Catholic school (and quite actively so), there was no judgement in this lesson. I guess one of the perils of teaching our children to think critically is taking the risk that they will question and reject the tradition which taught them how to do so. I rejected the classical tradition in which I was raised for a worldview that is both more inclusive and more individualized than that of my childhood. This is about the most American thing I've ever done, and I am happy to live among millions of people who have done the same thing to varying degrees. I believe our intellectual and spiritual diversity is a great strength, and I celebrate that.

Second, I love the people. I love our culture of loud exuberance, of living our lives with gusto. I love that we root for the underdog and embrace the ugly duckling. I love that we produced Tina Fey, Kurt Vonnegut and Oprah Winfrey. Constant, peaceful changes in power are normal for us, from our local hobby group to our national elections. If there is a barbecue, a rock show or a competition of pretty much any sort going on, we'll be there, screaming "YOU SUCK!" at an arbitrarily-chosen opponent. I love that.

Really, though, it's the land. This place - sea to shining sea and all that - never ceases to amaze me with it's natural wonders. We all have parts of this country that we love, pieces of land and natural formations that remind us of the richness of our lives here. We've settled in some of the lushest parts of the world (hello Pacific Northwest) and some of the most inhospitable (hello Great Salt Lake). I've been lucky enough to see some of the more desolate spots in this country, and my best memories are inexorably tied to the land. My personal mental refuge (my "happy place" if you will) is in the American desert, around a campfire with a friend, which is how I know this place must be in my blood.

No matter how well or poorly our government represents me personally, growing up in a democracy means that I know, in the end, that societal and cultural power comes from the people. We're imperfect, we're fickle, we're impressionable. We work hard, play hard and argue about all of it. My one hope is that we continue to embrace multiculturalism and diversity in an active way, and that we begin to really celebrate our role as citizens of the world. In celebration of how far we've already come along that road, I intend to laugh heartily, sing loudly and get sweaty. I'm really American, and I'm pretty cool with that.

What Is Rock? (Part 1)

This post is the first in an ongoing series in which I will explore rock music and it's related culture. I've asked some blogging friends to write a piece on the topic, "What is Rock?" and will post their pieces here. Our first guest is Laura Bee, a tattoo artist in Northern California.

This was not my parents' music.

I believe it was 1975, the year before everything was issued in red, white and blue that I got my first "stereo" for christmas. Until that time, what we all had were "record players" which were turntables with speakers built right into a suitcase-like box with latches to hold the lid on and a handle for carrying. A record player had three speeds, 33, 45 and 78. 78 was real slow and amusing to play songs on for a while, but I've never seen a disk that was intended to play at that speed. 45s are small records with one song on each side, and a much larger hole than the silver nipple that fits perfectly into an album, and requires a plastic disk or careful placement to center perfectly to play. You have to listen to a couple of seconds of scratch silence at the beginning before you get your music, and when you're a kid you're less and less careful with the records, stacking them without their sleeves until the scratches run through the whole tune. As a kid you listened to what your parents bought, and the sound of "California Dreamin'" or "Monday Monday" will still bring back the smell of cooking Creepy Crawlers, a childrens' toy that was used to make rubber bugs. You poured "Goop" into a metal mold and put it into a really hot tray to cook them. That toy would in no way be considered safe or acceptable for kids to play with these days, but the smell was divine and is forever attached to the sound of the Mamas and the Papas weaving harmonies for me.

When Dottie got a modern piece of furniture that was a cross between a dresser and a record player I inherited hers from when she was in high school, two toned blue and smelling like the back seat of my grandmother's red Mercury. I was pretty young then, and would listen to whatever disk was available. Occasionally I would get to choose a new 45 at the store, I remember Michael Jackson's ABC, with some other song on the B side. The B side was never as good on a 45, maybe you played it, maybe you didn't. Little girls had a choice between Donny Osmond and Michael Jackson back then, and I always preferred Michael Jackson, even though he was black and "black music" wasn't supposed to be for us. I liked him when he was black, but don't mourn him today.

My new and modern stereo was molded from white plastic, with cylindrical slotted speakers that were separated from the turn table by wires, and you were supposed to set them as far apart as possible. You pushed a button and it would move the arm automatically to the beginning of the record, instead of having to do it yourself. I also received an album they chose for me. "Deep Purple, Machine Head" because "Laura, we know how much you love purple. This was not my parents music. They had no idea what it wold sound like, they picked it for it's name. Smoke on the Water was the song the radio chose as the big tune from that album, but Lazy, and Highway Star were the two tracks that would transport me, take me to some other place. After smoking some good brown 70s pot I could lay on my back and let the majesty of Lazy roll over me, and I swear I could see the music. Those big dramatic opening notes on the organ, that sound so different when the speakers are as far apart as the cords will allow for, the slow build, the big-rock-finish. Who had ever heard of a song that went for 7 minutes and 19 seconds before? All songs were two minutes and change for me, before that time. I had that one album for the longest time and would listen to it over and over.

The first album I purchased for myself was Smokin', by Humble Pie. I can still remember how the song 30 days in the Hole moved me in a way that music never really had. I was an avid yet indiscriminate audiophile from that minute forward. I'm not even sure music was divided into genre at that point, it was just music you liked and your parents hated. "Turn that down!" became the anthem of all parents everywhere. Kids would all converge on one house with their best albums and playing music WAS what we were doing, not something you did in the background of other activities.

My dad worked at Angel Stadium in Anaheim, and I wasn't allowed to go to concerts for a while, he saw first hand the kinds of things that went on there and there was no way they were letting me anywhere near that. I remember my ninth grade summer when the big concert everyone was going to was Peter Frampton, and I wanted to go so bad... Dottie was leaving another crazy husband and we were stuck in traffic right by the stadium long enough to hear a few songs, and I knew all my friends were in there. How I hated her for her crazy life, how bad I wanted to be in there feeling like Peter felt. I looked at her and declared that next time I was going.

"Next time" was KISS, and I went alright. I went to every other concert that summer, and it's all lumped into one long show. Ted Nugent, Bob Seger, Aerosmith, The Beach Boys and the band that would become my own personal band forever more: Pink Floyd. It was the Animals tour, but they played the whole Dark Side of the Moon album as their second set. I've seen them do Animals, Momentary Lapse of Reason, Division Bell, and the greatest concert of all time The Wall (there were only 17 US tour dates, one of which was in LA on my 18th birthday) I still have the T shirt from that concert, and Molly wants it, and won't get it until I die.

I saw the Rolling Stones "Some Girls" tour in 1978, with Prince, but I took too much acid and was just slightly embarrassed for everyone and thought the whole stadium was looking at me.

This was music your parents hated, music to get high to, music that always needed to be turned up as loud as possible, but was always met with demands to "turn it down, for God's sake that's not even music!" It was perfect. Joy Power was the Led Zeplin expert at my school, and one christmas I asked my dad for every 8 track they had ever put out. 8 track was cool and portable, if a little less accurate for finding exact songs, like four parallel universes and you had to learn that if this song was playing on track two the one you wanted would be starting on track 4. Or you could put one on, and it would play for as many days as you let it until you changed it to something else. He also bought me a battery operated portable player called a DynoMITE! which looked like the thing you would use to set off an explosion with, plunger to change tracks. I carried all those 8 tracks and that big bulky player in a backpack with me every where I went, and it was the summer of LSD and Led Zeplin for me. Molly laughs so hard when I tell her that story, she with her 32G iPod that holds more songs than we ever knew existed.

It seems to me now that the method for playing music would expand how much different music was in my life with each jump in technology. Cassette tapes were even smaller than 8 tracks, and then Molly's dad played me my first music on CD, which sounded clearer and more immediate than any other delivery system. I skipped the entire 80s in music, I was wearing denim and Birkenstocks, and having babies at home; breast-feeding and eating vegetarian. There was no Duran Duran for me, or Depeche Mode, and I thought everything on MTV was stupid.

I remember one day working as a bar-tender on the afternoon shift when the busboy Philip brought in this cassette, already cued up to a song, and said "There's no one but you and me here, put this on and turn it up, WAY up." The first soaring notes of Guns and Roses "Sweet Child of Mine" rolled out of the bar speakers and time stopped. I had a definite GnR period of my life, and Molly was conceived to one of their songs, although I couldn't tell you exactly which one.

I also remember the first listen of Nirvana "Smells like Teen Spirit" affecting me the same way. Molly had the poster from that, the naked baby in the pool over her bed when she was really little, she loved that picture, she could see his pee pee. I remember one day my friend Jaima's daughter Ryanda looked under her bed and asked "Mom, what are all those big black CDs under your bed for?"

When I was serving my tattoo apprenticeship almost 20 years ago this girl I worked with named Deana had a cassette of this guy talking. I thought he was so funny and intelligent and I would listen to it over and over. His name was Henry Rollins* and it wasn't till years later I found out he had been in a band called Black Flag and then moved on to his own Rollins Band. I was angry and hating my marriage to a die-hard James Taylor/John denver/Dan Foglegerg musician, and Rollins Band was the perfect sound track for my discontent.

I am no music historian, you know, one of those people who knows every musician and every album, and what year this guitar player joined the band and the year that drummer died. For me Rock is a way to remember where I was in my life, and is somehow also connected to the way we listened to it. The album, 8 track, cassette, CD and digital periods of my life.

I haven't been in a music store for years now, I go to iTunes and download the tracks I want, or sometimes whole albums, which are still called albums even if they no longer appear on vinyl. It also marks my own aging, because it has moved beyond me in a way. My son Paul loves Swedish Black Death Metal, and the stuff he writes and plays on his guitar, while amazing is just hardly music and more of a display of skill to me. I often wish he'd turn it down.

Music is the sound track and a timeline for my life, and often a certain song reminds me of exactly where I was when I heard it for the first time, or listened to it regularly, or what was my favorite drug right then. Andrew swears you can tell the values and desires of any culture or sub-culture by listening to the lyrics of it's music. I think for the majority of my era of learning to love music the message was "I reject your values, I am rebellion personnified , I want to rock and roll all night, and party every day."

Now that I'm old, you'll find me at an Indigo Girls concert (I AM the third Indigo Girl, by the way) or playing the shit out of Lilith Fair 98, or I did until it was taken away from me for over-play. Rock has moved beyond me and I like pretty things. It's a natural progression I suppose, but I'm not so sure how much I like the idea. I hate hearing my mother's words come out of my mouth:

"Could you turn that down?"

*Henry was born in the same week of the same year as me, and for a long time I was sure we were soul mates, destined to be together forever. When I finally met him, he not only didn't love me, he didn't even like me. I'm still getting over it to this day. I took Michael to see him do spoken word, but had already explained our relationship to him, so he wasn't jealous.

Mall Baldwin

Fuck the mall. Like, really, that joint makes me feel so uncomfortable. I admit: it's cool in the summertime, and ours actually has an ice skating rink, but in general, fuck the mall. When it's hot, though, all I want to eat are sandwiches, sushi and smoothies. The closest place to us to get smoothies is, needless to say, the mall. So we go sometimes in the summer. I am often cavalier when we consider the trip, thinking it won't be so bad this time, and the reward (Jamba!) is totally worth it. Each time I underestimate the sheer retail greasiness of the mall, and actually walking into the place usually makes Dana and I gasp and hold onto each other.

One day we were on our way to get smoothies, and a guy stepped to us from near the bike rack. We were both mildly taken aback, as this guy was quite forward, and looked like a Baldwin brother. Making friends is my superpower, and it's not really something I can turn off, so strangers stepping to me on the street and beginning conversations is actually quite a regular occurrence. I engaged this guy, Dana next to me, and listened to what he had to say. At first he was like, "hey, how are you, nice day, huh?" but within a minute he had moved onto, "I'm looking for a place to stay." I feel Dana's spidey sense go off by my side, and I know to trust that signal, so I start verbally disengaging while we turned to walk away. I point him to the local Y, and he asks for our home address so he can come talk to us more about it later. The mall quickly becomes our refuge as we walk inside, never to see Mall Baldwin again (we hope).

Dana, a fearless and confident navigator, makes a beeline for the smoothie place. We watch the people go about their mall business as we wait for our drinks and feel happy that we have somewhere else to go. I loved the mall when I was 16 (sup, South Hills Village?) , but that's what was going on in the suburbs at the time. Here in the city we're lucky to have local businesses to serve most of our needs, so the mall seems excessive and impersonal to me (even if I can get samples of 3 different versions of "orange chicken" for free within 100 feet). When our smoothies were ready we retraced our path back to the entrance. Wouldn't you know it? There's Mall Baldwin in about the same spot we left him, only this time surrounded by cops, and about to be led off.

I've seen Mall Baldwin around town a few times, once weaving the wrong way down the street on a bicycle, but thankfully I've not had another conversation with him. We've got some colorful characters in this town, and I'm sure he's a nice enough person all in all. Nevertheless, I think I might work extra hard to avoid the mall this summer. If you see Mall Baldwin, (can't miss him: piercing eyes, strong jaw, goofy grin) tell him I said hi, but please don't tell him where I live.

Michael Jackson

The bassline of "Bad" comes on, and the first thing I think of is Weird Al. To me, this says that he is as deeply ingrained into American culture as the Beatles. As strongly as I associate him with the 80s, I always thought we'd watch him grow into a quirky old man. His life story reminds me that despite monotheistic traditions dominating the plant, all of us are still happy to sacrifice live humans to the gods of art.

And Ah! The Art! The Music! The Dance! He is the fulfillment of the promise of soul, the destroyer of rock's unshakable cool. Who among us has not seen (or been) a denim-and-mullet-wearing, cheap-beer-sipping, white-as-mayonnaise rocker grabbing his crotch, pointing and screaming, "Yee-hee?" I love him in spite of myself. He makes me dance every time, and I can't help it.

When I play a Fatboy Slim song at a party, my wife comes to dance with me. When I play one of his songs at a party, all the women come to dance with me. Then the hetero men follow, striking a pose and proclaiming to anyone who will listen, "I'm not gay!" (I know you're thinking, "Where are all the actual gay men, then?" They, of course, had been dancing with me ever since I played "Grace Kelly.")

When he dances, though, I can't watch anything else. Nobody dances like he does: even imitators look like imitators. He looks like he had moves in utero. His body manifests music like tornadoes manifest wind. He baffled me to watch: angular but loose, often too fast for me to count the spins. In non-posed photos he always looked so shy, hidden behind hair and glasses and masks, but on stage he opened, expressed, connected. I never saw him live, but on video he seems to enlighten the crowd: not just capturing the attention but radiating the love of his fans in the way that only a masterful live performer can.

Like a lot of us, I am revisiting his music tonight. He sounds insecure, flawed and embarrassingly hopeful to me. I confess I am not that sad right now. I think he was quite an unhappy man, and probably quite a lonely one. I also think he'd made the art he was supposed to make. The music alone is a lifetime's worth of art. Really, though, I'm not that sad, because he lives on: we dance, and we will keep dancing. Therefore, in the end, I say what I say whenever I get the chance to meet a musician whose music has touched me: Thank you. That was an awesome performance.

On Marriage and Partnership

This solstice, Dana and I celebrated our 6th wedding anniversary. In my heart I've been married to Dana since February of 2001, but the party we threw on June 21, 2003 was powerful event, and worthy of commemorating. I can honestly still feel the energy of those three days echoing in our daily lives.

Marriage is hard. I think a lot of other folks who are or have been married would agree. It takes daily service, sacrifice and compromise. There are countless benefits to marriage, and I've read some science that says marrying the right person can be a giant factor in lifelong happiness. I'm no expert, but I do take my marriage seriously, and I've learned a lot of good lessons from other non-expert friends.

The legal marriage in which I currently participate is an unjust and discriminatory institution. It is absolutely immoral and a violation of basic human rights that American laws deny legal marriage to same-sex couples. Therefore, for the sake of this discussion and in honor of all same-sex couples, I reject the American legal definition of marriage, and I substitute this one: Marriage is the ongoing act of staying in love. This is hard work, and is very, very different from falling in love. Falling in love is mostly chemical, instinctual and situational, while staying in love is practical, challenging and dynamic. For Dana and I, staying in love takes an artistic balance between independence and communication. It takes independence for us to each be out in our communities, serving and being served, and thereby growing as individuals. It takes communication for us to be able to come back together to share what we've learned. This is where intimacy and trust come in, because they allow us to process our days (yes, communication is a daily practice) sincerely. When done well, this gives both Dana and I a stereoscopic view of our lives, and validates our individual growth. This part's hard: intimacy and trust take courage, and the willingness to try again when we mess up (and messing up with my wife HURTS).

Partnership, though. That part's easy, and for this I count Dana and I very, very lucky. We like the same kind of movies and the same kind of vacations (psychological horror and outdoor adventures). We both believe in leftist politics and are very religiously tolerant. All that's just icing on the cake, though. Partnership is easy because Dana and I can stand to be around each other for a very long time. That's the magic, and it's the part I completely can't explain. I like her more today than I did the day I met her, and I find her more and more interesting every day. Although she and I both have alone time built into our schedules, we still haven't found a limit for how long we want to hang out. This magic is worth the world to me, and around it we build a very happy marriage. The marriage itself is far from perfect (we fight about money and sex, just like all of you), but the love at the center of it all IS perfect, and that is more than enough for me.

We went this weekend and backpacked into southern Washington, near the Cowlitz river. It was muddy and about 20 degrees cooler than expected; there were mosquitoes and teenagers (seriously, like 30 of them on the trail). We loved every minute of it. Why? The forest was virgin, and had trees in every state from sprouting to great and tall to rotting piles indistinguishable from the dirt. This is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. The air is rich and fragrant, and the mushrooms and witches' butter are bright oranges and yellows against the million shades of green and brown. And Dana and I were together, with everything we needed on our backs.

This is, of course, how we met: backpacking the summer I was 15, she 14. On that trip, I fell in love with her strength and sense of adventure, her self-reliance and obvious love for her friends. We ate a fish we caught ourselves for dinner (the rest of our crew was pretty squeamish about this), and we walked and talked a lot, never getting sick of one another. Our best days are still like that: adventure, play, companionship.

So marriage is hard, but partnership is easy. I stay in a constant state of gratitude for this. With just partnership, and never the challenge of marriage, we might never be inspired to grow personally. Without partnership, the sacrifices of marriage might not worth it. As a very rich man, I serve and am served by both marriage and partnership daily. I intend to die peacefully in my sleep, old and in bed with my wife, and that is the strongest, most sincere way I know to say, "I Love You!"

Isis and Helms Alee show commentary

I've been looking forward to this show for a while. Isis is a really mighty band, very smart and consciously expressive. I've always loved that they're heavy and intense without ever sounding aggressive or hateful. To me, this really puts them at the forefront of non-mainstream metal.

The Hawthorne Theater here in Portland has a lot of cool metal shows, a great staff, and pretty good sound. What they don't have is any sensibility about lighting. Legend has it that Sunn O))) played there last year, and the venue left the house lights on the entire time, pretty much destroying the whole vibe of the show. I feel like last night's performance suffered in the same way: the house lights were too bright, which took away from my ability to trance out to this music.

Regardless, the music was fantastic. I missed the first band, Mammifer, and I'm sorry for that. The second band, Helms Alee, is a personal favorite of mine. Helms Alee is signed to Hydra Head, and has one full-length out. I was lucky enough to see them a few weeks ago, headlining a tiny show at the East End. That night they were properly magical, and their really powerful and melodic sound was in full effect. Last night, in a much larger but less densely packed environment, the band seemed to have to work for it for the first few songs. However, after an opening salvo of songs from their album, "Night Terrors," the band played some material with which I was not familiar. I honestly hope this is new stuff that they're working on, because the songs I hadn't heard before were my favorites of the whole performance.

A quick note about this band. They are BEAUTIFUL, which makes them a joy to watch. Ben the guitarist is a classic northwest post-punk rocker with a face-hiding head of hair and a sing/scream dichotomy that would make Cobain proud. Dana the bassist is an exotic beauty with deep-set eyes and long black curls. Hoz the drummer is an all american woman with all the blissful facial expressions that make live rock drumming such a great spectator sport. The best part is: they all sing. They each sing parts, and then they trade two-part harmonies. The male-female dynamic in the vocals is probably my favorite feature of this band, and I really look forward to hearing where they take it in the future.

Isis came on stage like ten minutes early. Isis fans know that's really only like one extra song, but it's a nice gift from the band, I think. They played for a full hour and a half, including one encore, and focused heavily on songs from the new album, "Wavering Radiant". It was clear that the crowd was unfamiliar with most of this most recent stuff, but it was definitely in the style we've come to expect from this band, and it sounded great. They played a bunch of songs from "In the Absence of Truth" as well, and the audience loved these jams. The oldest song they played was fan favorite "The Beginning and the End," which was properly anthemic. What I really loved about this performance was the way the way the band really took their time to let the music build. I mean, clearly the music is written to be slow, ambient, and colorfully punctuated, but when performed live the effect is very meditative.

Which reminds me, I definitely love metal crowds. I generally wear the uniform to these shows: jeans and a t-shirt of a band that is not playing that evening. I'm not going to front: it makes me feel cool to be down with these relatively underground bands, and the t-shirts are how we let others know we're down. Most other folks there were in some variation of the uniform. I saw people aged 15 or so to at least 50, including one middle aged couple sporting Tool and Layne Staley Tribute t-shirts. The show was also full of many couples engaged in enough PDA to make the senior class of 2009 blush. I guess Isis is one of those metal bands that attracts relatively more women, which I think is pretty cool. It was great to see both head-banging and slow-dancing (seriously, like prom style with both people facing the band) going on simultaneously.

The diversity of the crowd is a testament to the Isis's well-deserved elder statesmen status. Truth be told, I could have watched them play for more like three hours. They're a really fantastic band, and I'm glad I got to see them last night.

Big Business show commentary

Note: I apologize for the delay between writing this and posting it. I wrote it late Saturday night after the show, and am posting this Monday evening. Enjoy the present... tense.

Regardless of the fact that I'm half-drunk and half-stoned, tonight's Big Business show was awesome. I've never been to Dante's, the very Portland venue before, but I've been a fan of Big Business for a while. Despite my fandom, I didn't have very high hopes for the show tonight. Their low-end attack is so strong that I wasn't sure it would hold up in a small venue, but the sound folks at Dante's did us well tonight. I thought the vocals were lost in the mix a bit, but I didn't come for the vocals. I came for the drums, and drums I got. Tonight's show was all about drum performances; the strings and vocals were the accompaniment.

Tweak Bird is a 2-piece in the tradition of the Spinanes and Big Business themselves. They grinned, rocked, sang falsetto, and obviously had a great time tonight. They had the crowd hooked from the minute they walked onstage and teased us with the opening kickdrum. Though most of the crowd was not familiar with the band, we quickly warmed to them. They're totally my new favorite band. As a bonus, Toshi from Big Business joined the band onstage for one song, and took a blistering solo. It was kind of amazing to see him kind of wander onstage and stretch his fingers all over the fretboard. Really, this band was fantastic. They clearly practice together all the time, and their communication onstage was clear and quite entertaining!

Big Business really should be playing giant venues, so I'm really happy I got to see them in such an intimate setting. Coady ruled the drums, and brought a fantastic, energetic, heavy performance tonight. After opening with the brilliant "Just as the Day was Dawning," the band rocked through songs from all three of their albums, including my two favorites from the new release, "Gold and Final" and "The Drift." These guys affectionately referred to the crowd as "babies," and took a break in the middle of one song to have the guys from Tweak Bird come on stage and start a sing-along. Jared was pure charisma this evening, playing his heart out and trying to get the crowd to buy him a drink. I'm honestly not sure if anyone ever did. Having fallen in love with Big Business as a bass and drums combo, I was wary of Toshi's performance on guitar tonight. However, he won me over with his appearance with Tweak Bird. Most of the night he reminded me of Larry LaLonde at a Primus performance - he was happy to be supporting Coady and Jared, and seemed to be as lost in the music as we the listeners were.

Local favorites Black Elk started the show tonight, which may point to why tonight was such a great time. Portland rock crowds are really cool, and everyone there was clearly into enjoying the music. Security was super chill and friendly until some tools started taking the mosh pit to the next level, at which point they took care of business efficiently, letting the rest of us enjoy our evening. Much love to the staff of Dante's, who were on time, friendly, and bobbing their heads to the rock tonight. I walked away with 2 t-shirts and a CD tonight. and I couldn't be happier.

Peanut Butter Dreams

The last time I went out socially with my high school sweetheart was a strange occasion. We went to HORDE Festival, an all day show with bands like Blues Traveler and Black Crowes. The show was fun: God Street Wine, G. Love and Special Sauce, and Joan Osborne stood out as excellent performers that day, and we both enjoyed watching everyone dance in a lovely mudpit.

Jennifer had already met the man who was to become her husband, and she was clearly emotionally well beyond the story of me and her. This is quite appropriate in hindsight, but was quite painful that night, leaving me more lonely than I really should have been on a lovely summer's night the year I was 18. After a mildly awkward good-bye, Jennifer dropped me off at my friend Megan's house where I was to spend the night before returning to camp the next day. I walked inside ready to be done with the day, and headed right to bed.

Megan is now a professor at MIT, but that summer she was one of the few women who didn't find me dangerous. She also had a giant bed, big enough for her, me, and another friend to sleep in. This bed, in addition to being quite long and wide, was piled high with enough soft blankets and comforters to warm human extremities on even the coldest of nights. Being summer, this was not a cold night, but Megan kept the air conditioning in her room on the highest setting, so as to enjoy the sense of being swaddled in bedclothes in all seasons.

I laid there, physically very comfortable in the magical bed, but emotionally quite lost in the cool, quiet dark. Suddenly the door opened and Megan lept into bed, a spoon in her hand.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Peanut butter. It'll make you have weird dreams," she replied.

Being an adventurous young man, and not one to ever turn down a spoonful offered by a lady, I ate the peanut butter, settled into the bed-nest, and drifted into sleep.

As a child, I'd had a recurring nightmare. In this nightmare I am chased down an alley lined with tall brick buildings. In the dream I'm running as fast as I can, but moving as if I was stuck in syrup. Usually I was chased by a giant cockroach, and once by the Count from Sesame Street. Luckily, the Count is the only one who ever caught me, and all he did when he caught me was sit on my chest and tell me, "ONE, ONE Han Solo in Star Wars. Ha! Ha! Ha!" This dream was totally a childhood thing, and I'd not had that dream for many years.

The night I had the peanut butter I had almost that exact same dream. There was me trying to run away, but being unable. There was the endless alleyway with no exits. There was someone chasing me. However, this time instead of being a cockroach or the Count, the pursuer was my mother. My mother dressed as a nun, running after me with a ruler.

I'm since never doubted the power or mystery of peanut butter.