Hello, Internets!

Hai-KU! Bless you.

2009-04-16T12:21:00.000-07:00

Michio Kaku explains string theory. Sort of.

So the April 11 show was fun. Kurt Andersen dished some really fun dirt about author David Denby and Daniel Wilson revealed what appeared to be a scientist crush on Michio Kaku. All in all, a great night of revelations!

If you were there and didn't get your haiku read on the air, there may still be a chance for your 12 seconds of fame!

Here are som haiku we loved...just not enough to hand you that all-important Powell's gift card. We know. We're terrible, terrible people:

SNARKING

Jacob is snarky
But he doesn't believe it.
Please tell him he is.
- Eric B. (Jacob, you're snarky. Eric, you're welcome.)

New outfit; head high
What's that? I hear a snicker.
Where's that snarky bitch?
- Faith A.

Your snarky comments
Are not appreciated
Go get on Twitter
- Erinn

Milk in my nostrils
I snorted, snarked and sharted
Need to change my pants
- Ryan B. (Ryan, thanks for..opening up so much. It's really...great.)

They call it "snarking";
Used to be "being catty."
Damned new hipster word!
- Holly F.

FEATHERS (birds beware!)

Down on my pillow
Clouds of feathers in the hall
Who let the cat out?
- Jesse B.

Red-tipped feathers on
Kitchen floor - cat does not know
Robins are our friends
- Andy S.

The night sky
Raining bright yellow and red
Big Bird exploded.
- Dan H. (We LOVE this Dan. Don't know how we missed it on air!)

Birds do it in flight
Penguins do it, be polite
Lucky? Then you might.
- Bombadil J. (We're now sure what you're referring to, Bomb.)

Seven baby chicks
Such a wondrous adventure
Poverty bestows
- Burton F.

Tranquil and downy
But there will be hell to pay
If they are ruffled
- Vanessa T.

Feathers strewn about
Paws wearing her cheshire grin
Seeking victim two
- Anonymous

Caged bird not singing
Yellow feathers drifting down
Smile on kitty's face
- Emily L.

Click on Match.com
Wrapped in a feather boa
Tickling them with lies
- Mia N.

First time at Live Wire
I want a Powell's gift card!
Pick mine please. Feathers!
- Guybe S. (Guy...you're so transparent. Clearly not in it for artistic reasons.)

RECESSIONITIS (dogs beware!)

Endlessly falling
Deep, deep, down down forever
So long GI Joe's.
- Todd E.

One: Withdraw your funds
Two: Put cash under mattress
Three: Move in with mom.
- Jesse S.

Your striped hand warmers
Won't make your winter less cold
If you can't buy pants.
- Betsy Levine

College payment late
Rainy day fund up in smoke
Time to sell the dog.
- Mary D.

Recessionitis
Inflammatory spending
Take two years and call
- Gail J.

Two kids in college
And we put mom in the home
Where's our bailout?
- Chris H.

Hard times, the eagle
On my last dollar bill, is
Shedding his feathers
- Nick F.

Is it wrong these days
With so many friends laid off
To still hate my job?
- Casey D.

Recessionitis?
Just take a stimulagra!
Stocks will go straight up.
- Kian D.

We savor what's left
Of that expensive fromage
Think we can sell it?
- Jenny L.

If your wallet is
Inflamed or swollen might be
Recessionitis!
- Anna W.

Trouble on the farm
This ain't a nice recession
Had to eat the dog.
- Bern

Applicants desired:
Recession-proof business.
Must have pirate ship.
- Emily S.

What's a damn high cue?
Homeless, jobless, can't afford
To pay attention
- Kevin D.

Damn, I lost my job
But at least my butt doesn't
Look as big as hers.
- Seth B. (Snark and recessionitis?)

...and finally...

Need arts now! Live Wire:
Marvelous antidote to
Recessionitis.
- Emily

Thanks, Emily! And to all our audience members who take the time to be all arty whilst drinking beer. Keep the good stuff comin' in!

If you take a moment to help Live Wire, we'll dance with radio-nerd glee!

2009-03-27T13:37:00.000-07:00

Tricia Ferguson, Jonpaul Mclellan and Storm Large read haiku.

Hello, fans and friends!

Live Wire! just celebrated its fifth anniversary on air. This accomplishment occurs at a critical juncture for us: we went weekly on OPB and began airing on the East coast just as we lost a major sponsor and face more sponsors and grantors with tightened budgets (the recent ticket price increase was a direct result of these issues). We've been able to produce the show on a tiny budget-just $175K-through the energy and goodwill of our talented performers and staff, who have been willing to work for a fraction of their fee.

How you can help
We've put together a proposal for one-time funds from the City of Portland to help us grow our audience to ensure financial stability. We know our commissioners have MANY tough choices to make. We urge you to help keep the show going. Please take a minute to show your support for Live Wire! by sending an email to the city commissioners and Mayor's office. They need to hear that this show matters to you and to the city. We've included the commissioners' email addresses below.

Possible subjects for you letter: how Live Wire has impacted your life, artists you've discovered through Live Wire, and/or how attending or listening to a show makes you feel about living in Portland. (Note: if attending a show has ever made you feel crappy about living in Portland, you can probably leave that part out.)

Thank you in advance for your help. From the very beginning, we've been blessed with some of Portland's most enthusiastic and supportive audiences, and we're truly grateful for that. Thank you for your support through the years, and now as we move forward.

Please send your emails in as soon as possible, as the budget hearings are beginning to take place...and thanks again!

Kate Sokoloff, Robyn Tenenbaum, Producers
Courtenay Hameister, Associate Producer, Head Writer, Host
Jim Brunberg, Technical Producer

P.S. If you happen to get inspired, think about including an audience haiku in your appeal, i.e.:

Live Wire has taught me
The ancient art of haiku
Like school, but with beer.

.....

Mayor Sam Adams: samadams@ci.portland.or.us
Jennifer Yocom: jennifer.yocom@ci.portland

.or.us
Nick Fish: nick@ci.portland.or.us
Randy Leonard: rleonard@ci.portland.or.us
Amanda Fritz: amanda@ci.portland.or.us
Dan Saltzman: dan@ci.portland.or.us

If you have any questions about this campaign, or would like to make a suggestion, please contact us at info@livewireradio.org.

Mime haters, unite!

2009-03-23T14:33:00.000-07:00

Sean McGrath illustrates the inner workings of the mind of a mime.

So, one of the sketches on our 5th anniversary show (yay!) was "Mime Kampf," a piece written by Ralph Huntley from the twisted perspective of the inside of a mime's head. Performed with a perfectly annoying French accent by Sean McGrath, the sketch killed, if we do say so ourselves.

And since our audience haiku is often linked to sketches, one of the topics this show was "Mimes." And, holy beans, did we not know the can of hate worms we were opening in giving people THAT subject to expound upon. Here are a few choice tidbits:

Wind, stairs, shrinking cubes
This is not funny to me
Annoy someone else.
- Chris W.

You paint your face white
Racist bastard that you are
Hide behind that wall.
- Tess

White face black attire
Those mimes are kind of creepy
But fun to poke at.
- Jessica

Trapped in a glass box
Hoping that someone will care
Get a real job, dick.
- Sam B.

Make-up like toothpaste
Snug polyester pants
Interesting breed.
- anonymous

Your box, your world
Fake to me but real to you
Annoying to all.
- Courtney W.

In your silent world
Melodrama reigns supreme
Trapped? Me, I would scream.
- Crystal P.

Silent, white-faced freaks
Pulling invisible ropes
That's entertainment?
- Jen S.

Mines is it, or mimes?
Mimes in mines - that's an idea
You can't hear them scream.
- Moe

Hands whirling in the air
Inspires love, hate, wonder
Empty-headed man.
- Yasmine B.

Fifteen...me and him
He stole my first kiss
Oh god, I hate mimes!
- Rebecca S.

Never use an axe
To free a mime from a box
Use a sledgehammer.
- Eric

But there were a few people who were mime fans:

So he wears make-up
Girls - he uses his hands well
And no talk. Perfect!
- Emily S.

Black and White heaven
Get one of your own, lady
Keep your hands off MIME!
- anonymous

We also had some great submissions for our Savage Love topic:

Ah, those wonder years
Crazy how fast you grow up
I love you Fred Savage.
- Sarah

Joel Prizbilla, yeah
I'd like to climb like a tree
Savage Blazer love.
- Kellie

Liberal Cal-i
Then in November Prop 8
Savage, without love.
- Hans B.

...and a couple who went off topic to give Live Wire some lovin':

Night out, no kids, yum!
Once chance for intimacy
Hope the show puts out.
- Daniel R.

Me love you long time
Happy 5th Live Wire
You supple bitches!
- Genie E.

We're crazy in love
With Live Wire's Faces Gang
Radio's Best Bunch!
- Holly F.

..and possibly the strangest one mixes mimes with..well, you'll see:

I hate this damn box
Can you please let me go free?
Courtenay's boobs for me.
- Sam S.

We did not think that was where you were going with that, Sam. But we appreciate the sentiment. And thanks to everyone who made our 5th Anniversary show such an amazing experience. Portland is quite a town.

Hey! How's Your News?

2009-03-06T13:10:00.000-08:00

Reporter Jeremy Vest in front of the Hollywood Theater.

Mine's good. Thanks for asking.

Spent last night at the fantastic "How's Your News?" screening with director Arthur Bradford and the unbelievably charming and hilarious "How's Your News?" reporter (and drummer) Jeremy Vest.

If you're not familiar with the show, it follows five developmentally disabled reporters around the country on a tour bus as they chat with people like Arnold Schwartzenegger, Amy Sedaris and Elijah Wood. It airs on MTV, but please don't hold that against it. Before it was an MTV show, it was a great documentary by the same name.

Arthur showed us some very early clips of members of the HYN team, and he and Jeremy had a lively Q&A session with the audience. Afterwards, I got a chance to talk with Jeremy about his favorite band (Dave Matthews), whether he met girls on the road (he did) and things he doesn't like (screaming kids on planes).

Then Amber Geiger and Ted Morgan, who had organized the night's shindig, decided a trip to Voodoo Doughnuts was in order.

Jeremy takes in the sweet, sweet gloriousness
that is Voodoo Doughnuts.

Everything was going fine until Jeremy asked about the big chocolate twisty doughnut with the smaller doughnuts attached at the bottom.

"That's the cock 'n' balls doughnut," the pretty counter lady replied. "It's got creme inside."

Jeremy wasn't having any of it.

"Well, that doesn't sound good at all! I mean, who is that supposed to find that appealing? I don't know if I'm even really hungry anymore."

It would've been inappropriate to say that, actually, I found it incredibly appealing, so I kept my mouth shut and ordered a Portland Creme.

After that we went to our second stop of the night, a benefit for the great independent zine store Reading Frenzy. Arthur was reading from his book of short stories, Dogwalker while accompanying himself on the guitar. (Hello? Multi-talented!)

Arthur will be on Live Wire next Saturday night, March 14. I highly recommend you come check him out. And don't forget to check out clips of Jeremy in action at the How's Your News website.

Thanks but no thanks, Netflix!

2009-03-02T17:09:00.001-08:00

Dear Netflix,

While I think it's pretty awesome that you have this software that recommends movies to me based on movies I've enjoyed in the past, I'd like to suggest that your system might need a little tweaking.

Yes, I did, in fact, enjoy The Deer Hunter, but my Deer Hunter love in no way foretells an affinity for Richard Pryor movies. But it's not me I'm worried about - I'm more concerned about the poor sod who takes your Deer Hunter recommendation based on their love of Richard Pryor. I'm concerned for the following reasons:
1.) Richard Pryor is not in The Deer Hunter.
2.) Christopher Walken is in The Deer Hunter. And sure, he's funny on SNL with the cowbells and such, but he is not—I repeat—NOT funny in The Deer Hunter. Not once.
3.) If someone is borderline suicidal and rents The Deer Hunter thinking it will draw them out of their sadness with its bawdy humor and hilarious first-person accounts of trips to Africa, they will not just be sorely disappointed, they will be dead.

So this is just a friendly note to encourage you to do a bit more work on the movie recommender thingy. And here's hoping next time I log in, I won't see:

Because you enjoyed: Home Alone 2
We recommend: Bucket of Blood 8 - The Chopping-Off Of Everything

Love,
Courtenay

We heart Dan Savage.

2009-02-24T13:53:00.000-08:00

Dan Savage being all charming 'n' stuff on Live Wire in '05.

So, not sure if you're aware, but we've book Dan Savage for the March 14 show. We kinda heart him, because last time he was on, he did a sketch with us that involved people dressing in nutria costumes. It was good.

Dan's done a similar thing lately with "Saddlebacking" as he did with "Santorum" a few years ago. I believe the whole thing originated from Dan's post-election visit to Stephen Colbert's show, in which he said things throughout the interview that clearly gave Colbert pause:

The Colbert ReportMon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c

Proposition 8 Protests - Dan Savage

Colbert Report Full Episodes
Funny Political News

Christian Bale Parody
Joke of the Day

We're looking forward to a good, clean, public-radio friendly conversation with Dan. For air. But you'll have to come to the show to see what doesn't make it on air. Wheeee!

Dan Savage photo courtesy of Wire Moore.

Six word memoirs make us happy.

2009-02-19T18:19:00.000-08:00

Brave audience members read their six-word memoirs.

At our February 13th show, we asked our audience to write 6-word memoirs about Love and Heartbreak (affectionately titled "Hi-and-Bye!-ku" by producer Kate Sokoloff). Some are about love and heartbreak, some just about the love part. Below are some of our favorites that we didn't get to air.

Was it me or my mullet?
- Julie M.

Hold me close. Let me go.
- Will C.

WANTED! One therapist with cleared schedule.
- Stacey M.

I don't. Devastation. Wait. I do.
- Tamara

I really want you! To die.
- Bret L.

Dad hated him; I was smitten.
- Alyson L.

But I've always been this short.
- Dave M.

Left boy. Married man. Happy now.
- Heather D.

Your touch sublime, but alas, Republican.
- Brett B.

When you're young it's more intense.
- Adam L., age 12

Eyes met, lips joined, feet departed.
- Holly F.

I found love, got a dog.
- Jessica M.

Your ghost still teases my heart.
- Linda P.

Sam Adams didn't pick me, dammit!
- Valerie D.

Inhibitions be gone! Whee! Um, oops.
- Laura L.

He loves me! Killed a flower.
- Erin C.

Old us gives me eternal youth.
- Carey B.

It could be so much easier.
- James

You showed up. House burned down.
- Michael M.

Met you. World new. Sky Blue.
- Lynne

Love in junior high. It sucks.
- Justen K, age 13

Twas a dark and bumpy night.
- Linda C.

Now I can't stop eating nachos.
- Christy B.

Dirty text message equaled true love.
- Angela B.

Going for third base...strike out.
- McKenzie M.

Yeah, that's it. Right there. Ouch.
- Eric

Girl. Woman. Wife. Divorcee. Cougar. Spinster.
- Jinae

All it took was one hug.
- Lindy C.

Will you? I do. Now what??
- Craig H.

Ring lasted longer than the marriage did.
- Mariel

She braided our long hair together.
- Ed C.

Oysters. Allergy! No sex after all.
- anon

Mirror, mirror: How I love you.
- Craig M.

Found Fred. Married Fred. I'm Ethel.
- K. D.

Love is a Live Wire. Beware!
- Chris B.

Another favorite was an audience member who drew a very rough estimation of a man's member on their memoir card, followed by: Ha ha ha ha ha (ha).

Hey, we never said it had to be six DIFFERENT words.

Thanks so much to our highly creative audience. We heart you!

Happy Fourth from Live Wire!

2008-07-04T21:23:00.000-07:00

Jim Brunberg: Leaving on a Jet Plane

2008-04-17T08:23:00.000-07:00

This bit kills me.

Good stuff.

Touch me for more Live Wire! vids

Dee Settlemier and Aaron Wheeler-Kay

2008-04-16T12:23:00.001-07:00

This was a little song and dance from our birthday show on March 15.

This video makes me smile every time I watch.

Aaron is working it!

Why We Love Mame

2008-04-08T23:23:00.001-07:00

SXSW 2008 - the final chapter....

2008-04-08T22:16:00.001-07:00

Hey all - I know this is a tiny bit post-facto, but I thought you might enjoy one more installment of my SXSW diaries, before the big show this Saturday.

Let's call this : SXSW - the Visual Diaries....

Here I am leaving the hotel to go prowl the hot and rock filled streets of Austin with my good friend Mr. Mike Jones from CD Forge...even elevators can provide for a rad rock and roll moment now and again....

We were off to see what was formerly an addictively danceable solo project by Charlie Salas-Humaras, PDX's Panther. They've expanded into a 2 piece, and now they not only forced my feet into funky submission, but they also looked pretty damn good doing it. They killed it at Emos...see below...

After Panther, I trucked over to the Sub Pop showcase and saw hometown heroes and close pals The Helio Sequence, whose dreamy epic rock duets consistently blow me away. These boys are on a pretty spectacular arc these days, with a new CD on Sub Pop that's garnering rave reviews, and a live show that kicks big booty. I'm kind of in love with this shot...

In all the ridiculous chaos of Texas, it really helps to see friends, share triumphs and terrors and get some good huggin' in....Here's Brandon Summers & Benjy Weikel of Helio with yours truly - now that's cute stuff!

OK, I have to ask - but when did Blitzen Trapper start rocking so hard? Granted these boys used to rule the quirky pop roost, but they must have bought the CCR box set and smoked a whole pile of doobies, cause their sound seems to have morphed, with a dirty Americana edge mixing itself thick into their brew. I can't wait to check them out PDX-side soon...special stuff.

OK, just one more bloggy bit about Scroobius Pip and Dan LeSac. They exploded my lobes more than once, see previous blog entry and below for proof. This pic was from a show that spilled itself onto the sidewalk come Friday at SXSW, enthusiastic fans in tow....I have such a mad crush on the Pip...can you tell?

During the day on Saturday, I decided to go without a gameplan and simply roam the streets and let me eardrums do the steering. Its a relatively surreal ambient experience to walk down the block in Austin during SXSW. A million sounds coming from a zillion doorways. Plus BEER, lots of BEER. Along my walk, I heard some pretty fancy tunes streaming from the left. It turned out to be a very well dressed Canadian combo called Islands. I have a record by them that's a couple years old. It's good, but not nearly as amazing as they sounded that day. Strings, keys, killer rhythms, skewered indie-orchestral rock with a nice juanty pop edge. Yay thanks Islands for catching my ears!!

After Islands, I ambled up the way to see the inimitably awesome Black Mountain. There's something pretty special about these guys. Dark, psychedelic, dirgy rock - but with enough form and function to woo all sorts of fans. Coldplay had them open up for them a while back. I still don't understand how that happened, but do check them out. Incredible stuff.

On my walk back from seeing Black Mountain, I took a little stroll by Austin's Capitol. Check it out!

Ah, Austin, you are a pretty little city. The rest of my SXSW adventures were pretty low-key. I saw a few more bands, and really had a great time hanging out with my peeps....Here's me with my girl Laurel and old friend Chris Swanson, who runs the Secretly Canadian label group. What a dumpling. Definitely take a moment to peep their roster of artists (including Black Mountain, Jens Lekman and a host of other hotties).

After a few more drinks, I hooked up with the Black Mountain crew and watched them kick each others butts in arm wrestling while watching seriously twisted metal bands at a really skanky bar. A welcome relief from the hustle and bustle that was outside the door.

Sometimes, you gotta know when to hold 'em and know when to fold 'em...I think i bet on the wrong guy!

Anyhoo - that was my 2008 Austin SXSW-a-thon. I hope you dug my pix and commentary. I plan to bring some of the treats I discovered in Texas to Portland, via my new post as Music Curatrix for Live Wire...in fact, one of the bands that will be on Saturday's show - Grand Archives, was a direct hit from my trolling. Yay for that, and for the future! Onward and upward!

Lots of love
Alicia J. Rose
Curatrix of Radness
Live Wire

SXSW - Or how I learned to tame the Armadillo in 4 HOT days...

2008-03-25T16:36:00.000-07:00

Hello dearest Live Wirelets,

Alicia J. Rose, Live Wire's new Music Curatrix, reporting from the couch here in NE PDX. Now that i have sufficiently recovered from my bout of fun in the sun in Austin, TX I thought it high time to dig into my visual diaries and share some potentially compelling and moderately tawdry moments with you all....

Now...where to start. YES! Austin, Texas, land of delicious meats and sauces, keeper of far too many cheesy bars (on the main drag - 6th st.), and for one week in the middle of March, home to the funnest version of music business/fans summercamp EVER. I realized that this will be my (yikes!) 11th year attending....I must say it's always a treat to see old friends, and make new ones too....

Anyhoo - this is kind of a combo visual/verbal diary...so buckle up for a pictorial tour of some fun SXSW '08 adventures...enjoy!

Day 1: The Builders and the Butchers - Yard Dog Patio - NOON.

I dragged myself up at Texas' version of the crack of buns to see my PDX boyz at this Spin Magazine BBQ. Besides the gazillion official showcases held at night, there are also a bazillion non-official FREE parties happening all around town all day long for festival goers and freeloading music lovers. Basically, the fun never stops. So, noon is like 7am regular reality Portland time in Texas....so, it had to be love for me to shuck my buns outta that cozy hotel room so early. However, The Builders and the Butchers are one of my top 5 PDX combos, as they tend to rip the roof off virtually every show i've ever seen them play, so it was worth it. Their brand of broke-down punk folk reminds me of a cross between Neil Young's Crazy Horse and the Violent Femmes being gently massaged by a very dastardly early Decemberists Colin Meloy. Got that? Yeah...Of course I hadn't eaten anything when i got to the show, so I rooted around for the alleged complimentary snacks offered at this bash, eventually unearthing a choice between nasty looking sloppy joes and breakfast beer. Beer it was. I started getting a little lightheaded, then the B&B came on and rocked my pants off.
During the show the boys passed around various percussion treats, which me and my pal played, as did a suspicious looking pirate, who kept staring at us with a creepy grin on his face. Turns out he is a big Builders and Butchers fan...here he is (below) throwing the "peace" sign with the band. I don't buy it. What self-respecting pirate gives props to peace? Hmmm....

After the B&B I wandered the streets of Texas bleary and bloated on breakfast beer. I don't even like beer - so this was a unique state of mind. Somehow I made it to Gueros on S. Congress and ate some delicious breakfast tacos. Chorizo and eggs, you are my friends.

Then after a nice nap, I busted a move to see the amazing Scroobius Pip & Dan LeSac whose single "Thou Shalt Always Kill" has been breaking my brain for a few weeks now...peep it here:

Cool huh? But not as cool as this:

Who's the non-psuedo-Haside? Yeah, that's me on the right. I became a Scroobius Pip stalker. These cats rocked the scrappy 6th Street hole of a venue they were playing at with their relentless mix of hip-hop electronic ala The Streets but with just the right amount of kinetic Bob Dylan style snark. (Sidebar: During SXSW, Downtown Austin's mega-strip of 800 crappy college boobsnbeer joints turn into makeshift venues, some of which truly blow). More on the Pip 'n Sac soon....

After Pip n Sac was fabulous PDX uber-duo Yacht. Who were way more funky and awesome than i remembered. Props to them making the most of the room by getting up in it. That's Jona from Yacht in the crowd with the sexy sweat soaked tee hittin' it:

And then there was Yeasayer. Ah...Yeasayer. Perhaps my top new obsession, spawned directly from SXSW-land. A few prime insiders tipped me off to these lads, who somehow seamlessly blend bits of early Genesis, Kate Bush, TV On The Radio and early Talking Heads with their own poly-math rhythms and weird vocal genius. I was transfixed. You will be too. Check 'em out.

After getting my head blown off by the Yeay's, i headed outside with my pal Mike Jones for a Best Wurst..whose buns were about as soggy as mine. But it was the only late night snack that could quell my drunken lobe-deficient rocked-out stupor. Then it was back to the hotel for a nighttime nap sesh. Good stuff....

Stay tuned for SXSW DAY 2: How I learned to eat breakfast before beer! Also, don't miss my live report including even more sordid details at the April 12th live show at the Aladdin.

Curatrix Corner/Post # 01: Hello young blog lovers

2008-03-18T19:40:00.000-07:00

Hello blog lovers of Live Wire land!

Allow me to introduce myself....I am Alicia J. Rose, the new girl. Otherwise known as Live Wire's brand new Curatrix of things musical. I am also rumored to wield a wily accordion and a snappy camera. That, and I am responsible for the music booking at Portland's favorite cavern of all things cozy and rockin - Doug Fir Lounge.

I've bopped around the show a little over the past few months interviewing bands (Chris Walla, Stars of Track and Field, Viva Voce), wearing fancy dresses and trolling backstage for ball-shaped snacks, tasty beverages and cast and crew hugs. It's been a glamorous and shenanigan filled journey, yes - but not one without purpose....the LW lady wizards and myself have been hatching a plan to step up the music quotient of the show, and this blog is just one aspect of the magic that we have in store for you all... I hope to drop some pearls and plop some earls for your ears to sop up over the months to come...so keep me RSS'd and ready.

love
Alicia J. Rose
aka
Puffysin

COMING SOON: Ms. Puffy hits the Texas - SXSW Style!! Saucy rock pics included!!

Oregon is better than OK

2008-03-13T22:23:00.000-07:00

Here's a little video to go with the post below.

Oregon!

2008-02-28T01:49:00.000-08:00

We've had some requests from people who attended our last show to post the lyrics to our our Oregon-ized version of Oklahoma, written by Faces for Radio Theater member (and show announcer) Tyler Hughs. The airdate for this show is Saturday, March 1st. Enjoy!

OREGON!

The folks at Travel Oregon know this state inside and out, top to bottom. See for yourself at traveloregon.com. But we recently discovered a surprising bit of Oregon trivia that we bet even they didn’t know about. It seems songwriting duo Rogers and Hammerstein’s musical Oklahoma! was originally inspired by our fair state. The story goes that at the last minute Oregon withdrew financial backing in favor of building a dam or a fish ladder or something, and Oklahoma was a hasty and awkward substitute. Tonight, as proof, we present a performance of the rousing finale from the first draft of Rogers and Hammerstein’s OREGON!

They couldn’t pick a better state with no sales tax
It ain’t too sunny and it ain’t too bright
Startin as a logger with a brand new axe
Soon be campin’ in a new campsite
New campsite, gonna treat you right

Gonna give you timber, filberts and salmon,
Pasture fer the llamas,
Berries for jammin’!
Beavers in the rivers, slugs on the rocks
Plen’y of dudes in Birkenstocks
Plen’y of chicks that don’t use soap
Plen’y of beer and medical dope

Ooooo-regon where the rain comes raining when it rains, (Oreguh-un)
And the logging camp can sure smell damp,
And more rain comes right behind the rain!

Ooooo-regon , my domestic partner and I, (domestic partner)
Drink a micro-brew, a pinot or two,
To forget what it’s like to be dry. (dry)

We’re singing this song to the land
From Grande Ronde all the way to LaGrande
And when we say
Dude! It’s just our attitude!

We’re only saying
You’re number one, Oreg-uh-un!
Oreg-uh-un, not Ore-gone!

Oregon, Oregon, Oregon, Oregon,
Oregon, Oregon, Oregon, Oregon,

We’re singing this song to our state
There’s no self serve, you’ll just have to wait

And when we say
Dude! We don’t mean to be rude!

We’re only saying
You’re number one, Oreg-uh-un!
Oreg-uh-un…O-R-E-G-O-N my friend

OREG-UH-UN!

Dude!

...See, Oregon is better than OK! Tune in next time when we present “Prius With a Fringe On Top”

Lyrics (c) Live Wire Radio and Tyler Hughs. All rights reserved blah blah blah don't copy them and say you wrote them or we'll be peeved and then things might get litigious and seriously, aren't the courts too full already with girlfriends suing their ex-boyfriends for the money they lent them to pay their electricity bill because they were about to be cut off and the guy's all, "It was a GIFT," and the girl's all, "It was a LOAN. Who gives somebody electricity bill money as a GIFT?," and Judge Judy's all, "I wasn't born yesterday!" and everybody shuts up. Anyway, don't steal our lyrics, y'all.

Peter Yarrow Videos

2008-01-05T07:23:00.000-08:00

The first video is Peter Yarrow singing "Puff the Magic Dragon" with help from Storm Large, Chris Walla, Holcombe Waller and a bunch of others.

There's an uber-cute part at the end of the song, where Holcombe Waller says to Chris Walla, "Oh, give me a hug."

Listen for Chris's response.

This next video is a funny little moment with Peter Yarrow, that I don't think made it into the broadcast.

Holcombe Waller Video

2007-12-30T18:23:00.000-08:00

Here's a Holcombe Waller video. You probably heard them singing this song when you listened to our show last night.

Well, if you didn't hear the show you can always get the Live Wire podcasts on iTunes.

A Message from Peter Yarrow

2007-12-29T13:23:00.000-08:00

A message from Peter Yarrow.

This show aired Saturday, December 29th at 7 p.m. (without this little tidbit), but if you missed it, you can podcast it from our website.

Some Storm for your Stocking

2007-12-25T20:23:00.001-08:00

Merry Christmas!

Here's a few Storm videos from our last show!
Stuff that in your stocking!

Bold As Love

Here We Are

Mmm... Beer.

Enjoy!

Happy Holidays from Live Wire

2007-12-21T23:23:00.000-08:00

When Death Cab for Cutie's Chris Walla lost his voice, we got reahe-he-heally lucky and talked Storm Large into coming on the show and singing a couple songs. Here's a holiday tune we all know, sung by a master. Here's wishing you the happiest of holidays from all of us at Live Wire.

Special thanks to Taryn for shooting the video, Jim for the audio, and my new toys for helping me slap the two together.

The audio and video that is, not Taryn and Jim.

Cringe Off NOW WITH AUDIO!

2007-12-09T12:23:00.000-08:00

Now you can hear what they're saying! Enjoy!

In case you missed Bruce...

2007-12-06T23:55:00.001-08:00

Our fabulous intern, Matt Deegan shot some video of the Bruce Campbell show and here 'tis for your viewing pleasure.

And in case you were wondering, Bruce was a peach...a PEACH, I tell ya! Nicest. Guy. EVER.
Signed a million items and made time to chat with everyone after the show.

We heart him, and we're not afraid to say it.

Sean at Rehearsal

2007-11-14T10:23:00.000-08:00

This is Sean at rehearsal reading an ad from craigslist as Christopher Walken.

You can hear the whole sketch when our Wordstock Extravaganza Show airs, on Saturday, November 24 at 7pm on OPB Radio 91.5FM.

Small Glimpse of Live Wire Wordstock Extravaganza

2007-11-11T14:23:00.000-08:00

Lauren Weedman and Steve Almond.

John Wesley Harding.

Happy Halloween

2007-10-31T07:23:00.000-07:00

Happy Halloween everybody. May you get more treats than tricks.

My Shameful Mistake

2007-09-21T17:59:00.001-07:00

In a recent episode of Live Wire I made the assertion that Huckleberry Hound wore a vest. It was part of a bit in which I was promoting “The Oregon Vest Fest,” an event celebrating everybody’s favorite torso adornment. I claimed that Huckleberry Hound chose one article of clothing to wear and it was a vest, believing that celebrity endorsement really said something about vests. Gales of knee-slapping laughter followed the bit, in my memory, and subsequent jokes carried us all down a delightful comedic path and away from the whole notion of Huckleberry Hound in a vest.

That should have been the end of the story…a story I would never have even told because had it really ended there, those to whom the story would have been told might well have asked “That’s it? What the eff kind of story was that?”

Well here’s the tragic twist. A nagging sense of doubt led me to do a little research. It turns out Huckleberry Hound never wore a vest. He wore a bow tie and a straw hat.

Sure, he occasionally wore a costume. One Google image result had him posing as a sheriff, replete with a vest and tin star. But he also wore a Santa outfit, a lion tamer getup and a dress. I don’t know where I got the idea he wore a vest. I couldn’t easily find another vest-wearing cartoon character to blame for the confusion. Yogi Bear? Nope, necktie and a shabby fedora. Quick Draw McGraw? McNaw! Bandana and a 10 gallon hat. His alter ego El Kabong? El no. Zorro hat and cape. Top Cat? Well yeah, but who the hell remembers Top Cat? Nobody. The joke would have tanked.

While I feel terrible, I don’t feel 100% responsible for this situation. The audience validated the whole thing by laughing. As soon as that happened they were all accessories to the crime. None of the other writers caught the mistake in any of our meetings…and they’re usually pretty good about that kind of thing. I once wrote a sketch about a device that would convert stomach gurgles into infotainment voice overs by Pat O’Brien. Courtenay pointed out a very similar device depicted in an old SNL sketch…ouch! Since then I’ve seen similar device ideas on the Simpsons and elsewhere. I actually hope to see more, so I can point to more examples for my “collective unconscious” excus--er, argument. Speaking of Simpsons, the TV must have been on during one of my 11th hour sketch edits because a Nelson Muntz line (temporarily) found its way into the script, word for frickin word. (Hey, Nelson wears a vest! Damn!) Sean caught that one, and I think he looked at my sketches sideways for a while. I don’t blame him.

On each of these occasions I was ashamed and embarrassed. This time is no different. I want to apologize to our fans that still follow this blog…both of you…and I vow to be better in the future.
And I sincerely apologize to Huckleberry Hound’s family who may have been deeply hurt by all of this. He died in Vietnam of course but if I'm not mistaken his wife is still living and I think I heard his kids followed him into show business. H.H. Jr. played Eddie on Frasier and his daughter played the love interest in one of the Air Bud movies. I’m pretty sure.

On the Road with Oregon Bounty and Bad Drivers

2007-09-13T20:33:00.001-07:00

Back in August, Kate Sokoloff (Live Wire producer), fellow Faces For Radio Theater member Sean McGrath and I went on a big fat adventure through all seven regions of Oregon.

The trip was a collaboration between Live Wire and our totally-kickass-in-every-way sponsor, Travel Oregon. At each stop, we created a video blog (or vlog) introducing you to brewers, chefs, farmers, ranchers, and even the owner of an old-fashioned flour mill - all people who help create the amazing food, wine and beer that makes living in Oregon so damn tasty.

Greg Robeson, our experienced leader, showed us the way and Sean acted as his co-correspondent, utilizing his extensive journalism experience.* Videos will be up on the Oregon Bounty Website for a week starting September 27th- until then, check out this preview video to see the glory that is Sean McGrath. Oh, and I've posted a few photos as well.

Here are some of the lessons I learned along the way:

If someone screams in their sleep, don't go in their room and check on them. Really, what are the odds that they're being murdered? Minuscule.
The curry cheese torta from Rising Sun Farms is like crack cocaine for cheese lovers. Holy freakin' heck is that thing GOOD.
Sean drives like a person who's not afraid to die.
Kate drives like a person who's not afraid to kill everyone else in the car.
100-degree heat turns me into a giant pile of whine with a side of wussy pie.

You can read Greg's Blog here.

Sean ready for a fishing trip in Depoe Bay.

Flowers at Rising Sun Farms.

The Bend sky at dusk.

The well-worn bar at the Rainbow Cafe in Pendleton, est. 1893.

*3 months at the Columbia School of Journalism in Bogata. Unfortunately, Sean doesn't speak Spanish.

This is just...wow.

2007-06-19T00:15:00.000-07:00

Holy crap, it's the Maria Bamford Show! To watch all eight hilariously wrong episodes, go here.

The Worst Jobs Ever

2007-06-18T23:02:00.000-07:00

1. Richard Simmons' shorts seamstress. (No one sells those anymore. They have to be custom-made. By someone.)

2. Post-St. Patrick's Day Cleanup Crew: Vomit Division.

3. Whoever's in charge of telling George Lucas that his latest script is awesome.

4. President of the United States.*

5. Those guys who die for crab legs.

*This is only a bad job if you didn't pay a lot of attention in school and therefore have difficulty grasping complex ideas and sometimes can't remember the names of all the continents.

This One's For Father Rick

2007-04-10T13:39:00.000-07:00

Due to a comment from our one fan, El Padre Rico, lamenting our lack of updates to this blog, Faces for Radio Theater presents:

The Dog Ate My...Something That Would Keep Me From
Being Able to Write a Blog Entry
(a.k.a. The 1st Annual Festival of Excuses)

1.) We've been really busy. Sweeps were just last month, and the damn TV's not gonna watch itself, Rick.

2.) We've lost the capacity to experience joy.

3.) Most of us are Amish now.

4.) The way Bush and Cheney are pissing people off all willy-nilly-like, we're all gonna blow up soon anyway. So what's the point of some pithy blog?

5.) Aunt Flo came to visit.

6.) Also, we got our period.

7.) We were passed out from a tequila binge and our ferret mistook us for dead and chewed off our fingers. Again.

8.) We're out there living life, not sitting in front of a glowing computer screen! Just yesterday we all went to Costco. We got som mayonnaise. (See picture at left)

9.) Do you know there are over 50 million blogs out there? Dag. That's a lot of competition. So, we're thinking of getting into the roofing business or studying the dental arts.

10.) We got stuck on the word blog. Blog. Blog. It doesn't even sound real. Sounds like a sound a muppet might make. Blog blog blog blog blog blog! Then we started doing a muppet sketch and we got distracted. But now we're back. Sorry.

Love,
Faces For Radio Theater

A Rose City Roller by Any Other Name...

2007-02-22T22:33:00.000-08:00

In a recent episode of Live Wire we did a little game show type thingy. Our guests were Barfly, Viva Vendetta, Slaybia and several other Roller Girls from the Rose City Rollers. In our game show we asked audience members to compete by telling the real Roller Girl names from a bunch of fake ones. It was a bit of a challenge. The real names, like Intensive Scare, The Harmacist and Scratcher in the Eye, disappeared amongst the fakes like a polar bear in a snowstorm .

Here’s a big old list of our fake Roller Girl handles, for your possible enjoyment.

Rep. Karen Meanness
Gov. Barbara RobHURTS
PortlanD.O.A.
Upper Cut-prial and John
Janet Reno Means No
Ugly Betty Ford
Rachel "Death" Ray
Audrey Hipburn
Gouged Inez
Eva Battle
Junior Misdemeanor
Violent No-Regard
The Vulvarizer
Saucy Rejoinder
Ladybird Flu
Ginger Lee Hurling
Statutory Spelling
Felony Griffith
Poison Grace
Maternity Liv
Paloma Finger
Crazy Astronaut in a Diaper
Jackie the Ripper
Cruella DeWheelz
Gone-o-Rita
Princess Die
Killer Bea Arthur
Stabby Von Killingham
Knee to the Groin
My Little Dead Pony
Hello Hittie!
Mrs. Eloise P. Satan
Shmoopy
Hug It Out, Bitch
Menses Approaches
Paula Bearer
Val Catraz
Perish Hilton
Nicole Bitchie
Va Va Va Gina
EriKaboom!
Assaultin’ Pepper
Aunt Flow
Curbstomp Bettie
Slasher Spice
Holly Hunt 'N Destroy
Moo Goo Guys Suck
Thumbelina in your Eyeball
Hold Me Closer, Necromancer
G. Gordon Lydia

As you can see, there are some gems in there and the best thing to do with a gem is to give it to a special lady. There are a lot of rising stars in Roller Derby, just fixing to take off, and they’re all going to need names. So if any of those special ladies want to grab a handle off our list, that would just be our pleasure. We fear and respect the ladies of the RCR League and hope their continued happiness and future success means the asses they kick will be asses other than our own.

Coming to Gropes with the Past

2007-02-11T13:47:00.000-08:00

Live Wire is a not-too-distant descendant of vaudeville and is closely tied to several historic theaters. The beautiful old Hollywood Theater on Sandy was an early venue for the radio variety show and it’s easy to imagine the Hollywood's vaudeville days when you gaze up at that intricate old façade out front. The Aladdin Theater off Powell in SE is the current haunt of Live Wire and while its more notorious past is well known (Deep Throat is mentioned often) the Aladdin was also one of the Rose City’s vaudeville houses.

A less direct tie Live Wire has to another theater steeped in late vaudeville history is with the Rialto Theater in Deer Lodge, MT. That’s because in the early 80’s in the dark, sticky seats down front I copped my first feel. I’m sure more significant and historic events happened there since it opened in 1921, but the clumsy fumbling I achieved that night was sure a milestone for me.

My earliest movie-going experiences were at the Rialto and the same can be said for thousands of Deer Lodge natives. I remember cartoons before the movie and my folks recall the newsreels. When I was a kid you could still see live acts there too, and I remember magicians, hypnotists, concerts and the odd beauty pageant…and if you know the ladies of Deer Lodge you know what I mean by odd.

The Rialto was the cultural center of our little town and in recent years citizens rallied around it, raising money, maintaining, restoring, and improving the theater for generations to come. But tragically late last year it burned down. Compounding that tragic event was the subsequent (unrelated) death of one Jim Gilbert, this old-timer I knew in town who was instrumental in caring for the theater and bringing back a certain measure of its former glory. I can’t think of any other unfortunate event that has united the small town in shock and grief since…well…wars and such.

Maybe it’s because I make my living in theaters, but many of them, especially the old historic ones, seem like hallowed ground to me. There are in fact many churches in theaters and vice versa. I suppose there’s kind of a fine line between the two sometimes. Sure, that doesn’t stop pervy punks like I was from copping feels or sucking face down front, it just makes the worshipful element of the experience a bit more pagan. Understandably I’ve been able to appreciate these old theaters a little better lately. When we perform in the beautiful Aladdin I think of how lucky we are it still stands. Same goes for the Hollywood, Bagdad, Elsinore and other (relatively) ancient old temples of stagecraft and cinema…there’s nothing like them, and when they go, they’re gone. All we have left are memories. I was going to say history, but really, describing these places and our good old fashioned going-to-the-theater experiences is nothing compared to going to the theaters themselves. To flirt with the maudlin: now that it’s burned the people who really know the Rialto are numbered. We’re as finite as the decades of feel-copping, popcorn throwing, seat kicking, noise shushing, slack jawed wonder at the magic of movies and theater.

Now when I perform in the Aladdin or the Hollywood or attend any of the others, I look up a lot; at the chandeliers and ornate decor. I check out the dark and mysterious places backstage. I imagine all the famous and not so famous people who’ve graced the stage, had sex in the dressing rooms or shot up in the john. I try to soak it all up, to memorize it (except for those last things) because someday (maudlin again) it’ll all be gone, and memories like mine will go too, in time.

I’m thankful to be a part of Live Wire, a radio show that somehow brings people to the theater, in an age of cheesily apportioned multiplexes, cable movies on demand and Netflix.

(Incidentally, on the topic of theaters passing on, before the Rialto there was the Orpheum at 517 Main St. I don’t know how it met its demise, but the building still stands and is now the home of DL Auto Supply, my parents’ business. You can still see hints of ornate décor and even the old proscenium back by the storeroom where my dad keeps all the life-size cardboard stand-ups of chicks in bikinis wielding drills and hawking snap-on tools.)

And I’d like to thank that girl upon whom my feel was copped…a red head named Julie I think.

You can see pictures and stories about the Rialto and the fire at http://www.deerlodgerialto.com/index.htm.

True Stories II: Now with even more humiliation.

2007-01-17T14:31:00.000-08:00

It's back.

A night of almost completely true tales from five writers (Marc Acito, Chelsea Cain, Stacy Bolt, Courtenay Hameister and Scott Poole) and two musicians (Jim Brunberg and Willy Vlautin of Richmond Fontaine).

Last time these truth-tellers imparted stories of lost love, lost lives and lost lunches. I think the only way to go from there is up.

New additions to the group? Well, there's Mr. Scott Poole (author of Hiding from Salesmen), our favorite poet...pretty much ever. If you've never seen Scott before and you're not a fan of poetry, come to True Stories. See him read. You'll become a fan. He's David Sedaris meets e.e. cummings, but with proper capitalizations and punctuation. Not that you'd be able to hear those last two things.

And we're really excited about the addition this time of Willy Vlautin. Willy's always been known for great storytelling in his songs, but he's just published his first novel, The Motel Life, which will release in the U.S. in April. Just like Jim, Willy be both singing and telling stories.

Last time we played to a sold-out Mississippi Studios and it was a remarkable night, thanks largely to a highly receptive audience. But we can't have that if you don't get your tickets and go. See? It all depends on you. And I don't want to make you feel guilty, but I was hoping it would go really well, so...yeah. No pressure.

Info: True Stories II, Wednesday, January 31 at 7 p.m. at Mississippi Studios. Tickets are $8 in advance and $10 at the door. You can get them here. Hope to see you there!

Space Talk From Dimension Eugene

2007-01-17T10:07:00.000-08:00

Not much to say about this, except WOW. If you're not a Eugene Mirman fan, you'll hate this. If you are, it's a delicious nugget of Wrong.

WARNING: NSFW - LOTS 'O' F BOMBS BEING DROPPED.

The Recipe from "Regrecipes": Chocolate Peanut Butter Balls

2006-12-22T12:26:00.000-08:00

Ah, yes. The Balls.

If you attended Live Wire's December 14th taping at the Aladdin Theater, you were there to see my mother, the charming and fabulous Sally, take great joy in giving me the what-for in front of 500 people.

That's her above, laughing uproariously after zinging the crap out of me. Watch out, kids! If you don't clean your room, then when you're (ostensibly) a grown-up, your mother might show up on the radio variety show you host and, in the sweetest of ways, tear you a new one. (To mom's right is Shelley Besemann, a therapist, who offered some really helpful advice for surviving the holidays, including multi-purpose one-liners such as, "I love you too much to talk about that right now.")

Anyhoodily doodily, regardless of the destruction that happened in the making of them, these balls are the best thing you'll put in your mouth all year.

Chocolate Peanut Butter Balls (a.k.a. Buckeyes), courtesy of Sally Hameister

MIX WITH HANDS:
3 cups Rice Krispies
1 stick of butter or margerine (very soft)
1 box (2 cups) confectioner's sugar
2 cups chunky peanut butter

After mixed, chill for one hour. Take out of refrigerator and roll mixture into 1-inch balls. Chill for one more hour.

MELT IN DOUBLE BOILER:
1 large Hershey bar (the BIG one - 8 0z.)
1 6 oz. bag of bittersweet chocolate chips
1/4 to 1/2 bar household paraffin*

Take a spoon and drop balls into above mixture until fully coated and place on wax paper. Refrigerate until set, and serve. Not necessary to keep cookies refrigerated, but recommended.

*Yes, it's wax. It sounds weird, but it keeps the chocolate from melting in your hand. You've eaten wax before, really. It's fine.

Enjoy the balls. And enjoy the back of Sally's Christmas sweater. See how there's real stockings that hang off that thing? This is a woman who loves Christmas.

Thanks, Mom, for zinging me when I needed be zinged. And thanks for making every Christmas in our house the world's largest, tinsel-iest, chocolate-covered-ball of happy holiday cheer. We were the luckiest kids ever.

Musings

2006-12-06T13:39:00.000-08:00

Possible names for my first child

Zippy

Cha Cha Cha Charles

Bulgur

Mr. Greenjeans

Fugly

Ray “Boom Boom” Mancini

Tapioca Puddin’ Head

Urinary Tract Infection

Punny McKnock Knock

Drapery

Thomas

People or things I would trust to run the country at this point

My dentist

Pamela Anderson

That guy who seems to know everything about meat at New Seasons

Tommy Lee

Bacteria

Anyone from Motley Crue

Ray “Boom Boom” Mancini

My cat

Dick Cheney’s assistant’s mother

The devil

Titles for a film about my life

Yawny Yawn Yawn Yawn

What’s the Point?

Carrie

The Girl Who Never Cleaned the Catbox

That One Movie About The Woman Who Seemed Like She Would Never Amount To Anything, but Then Sort of Seemed Like She Might Amount to Something For a Minute, then Went Back to Probably Not Amounting to Anything But Now It Was Slightly More Tragic Because You Had Hope For a Minute

Ray “Boom Boom” Mancini

Who becomes a legend most?

2006-12-01T10:22:00.000-08:00

Classy dudes, that’s who.

When our Technical Producer, Jim Brunberg, suggested Dave Frishberg as a musical guest for Live Wire, it was daunting. Terrifying, even. He’s got the word “legend” attached to him. And rightly so. He’s Cole Porter-esque. He’s Woody Allen with a piano. He’s Dave Frickin’ Frishberg.

But we worked through that fear, and decided that as long as we had the man who wrote “I’m Just a Bill,” why not write some Schoolhouse Rock songs for a new millennium? And why not ask Dave to accompany us on one of them? Oh, but he’d never do that, right? He’s all important and stuff so there’s no way he’d...HOLY CRAP HE’S GONNA DO IT!!

And he did. And you should listen to the show on OPB on Saturday night to hear how it all came out. Tyler Hughs and Ralph Huntley wrote some stellar lyrics (and like the girl in the Shake ‘n’ Bake commercial, I helped). Ralph—whose skills as a sketch writer, songwriter, Faces For Radio Theater member and house band leader makes us think he might be an alien from The Planet of the Overextended Creative Types—learned a squillion Schoolhouse Rock songs in a couple minutes, and the whole thing was pretty cool. From what we understand, it may be the only time Dave Frishberg has ever played “I’m Just a Bill” in front of a live audience. We felt pretty honored to be there to see it. Not to mention his other two songs – the hilarious “Quality Time” and “I Wanna Be a Sideman.” He is one cool cat.

Oh, and if you want to see him in action again, he’ll be one of Susannah Mars’ special guests for Mars on Life: The Holiday Edition on December 16th at Artist’s Rep.

Peace on earth? Oh, screw that.

2006-12-01T09:41:00.000-08:00

On Monday afternoon, I got an email with an intriguing subject line. It asked the question, “Is Pagosa Springs anti-peace?”

Pagosa Springs is a rather conservative town of about 1700 people in the southern mountains of Colorado. I lived there nine years ago, right before moving to the lefty, pinko, neverending- carnival-of-hedonism that is Portland, Oregon. The email, sent by fellow Portland hedonist Pat Janowski, included a link to a story: a couple in Pagosa Springs had been asked by their homeowners’ association to take down their Christmas wreath. Why? Because the wreath was shaped like a peace sign.

Some residents saw the wreath as anti-war. Bob Kearns, the president of the Homeowners’ Association said, "The peace sign has a lot of negativity associated with it. It's also an anti-Christ sign. That's how it started."

The peace sign was actually created in 1958 by British designer Gerald Holtom for a nuclear disarmament protest, but that’s not really the point. The point is: divisiveness. A divisiveness now so ingrained in our culture, that a wish for “Peace on Earth” at Christmastime is a trigger for partisan bickering. A wish for peace is anti-troops, and even anti-Christ. Divisiveness has deemed a Christmas wreath…anti-Christmas.

Perhaps it’s time we looked at some other traditional holiday sentiments, like what about these “Good will toward men” people? How would supporters of this decidedly sexist sentiment feel if I walked around during the holidays greeting women with a slap on the face and a kick in the ass? I doubt it would bother them, they’re clearly women-haters.

And what of the proponents of “Happy Holidays”? What are they trying to say to the 17 million Americans who suffer from depression? Are they trying to rub it in? Because that’s just mean.

And don’t even get me started on “Joy to the World.”

I’m actually grateful to Mr. Kearns, the future former president of the Loma Linda Homeowners' Association. He’s taught me a lesson about perspective, and what the lack of it can cause a person to do. In this case, lack of perspective and blind loyalty to his side of an ongoing, underlying cultural war caused him to do something I’m sure he never dreamed he’d do: to fight against peace.

And now, after a healthy dose of perspective from CNN, The New York Times, and...well, the whole country, he came to his senses and dropped the Case of the Anti-Christmas Wreath.

Peace has returned to Pagosa Springs. And not a moment too soon, because the holidays are just around the corner, and no one wants to be at war during the holidays, right?

Photo courtesy of Randi Pierce, Durango Herald.

A Shocking Thanksgiving

2006-11-23T09:23:00.000-08:00

November 22,1979 is the Thanksgiving I'll never forget. My family was spending the week in a hotel at Willow Beach on Lake Mojave. Stupid names, because Willow Beach is a small hotel, campground, boat ramp and bait shop, there is no beach and Lake Mojave is part of the Colorado River. How the Hell can you have a lake in the middle of a river?

I was a freshman in high school and had just turned fourteen. My family at the time consisted of my Mom, my stepfather Ed and my stepbrother Bill, who was the same age as me. Ed decided we should spend the Week of Thanksgiving water-skiing, so off we went to Willow Beach.

Ed's brother Carl and his family also came along for the trip. Carl had two incredibly hot daughters around my age. Bill, and I had many a discussion about how it would be OK if I made out with one of them because we weren't really related. The Lords of teen lust blessed Bill and I even more that week, Carl's two hot daughters each brought a hot friend.

Consequently I became an extraordinary water-skier that week. The only way my hormone filled teen body could keep from getting a boner around four girls in bikinis was to get into the freezing cold river. Every time the boat stopped I was in the water ready to ski. The rest of the time I sat at the back of the boat wearing my mirrored sunglasses with a life vest on my lap.

I didn't think I had a great shot at making out with one of the hot girls, I wasn't the best looking kid around, but I was on the football team. I sat on the bench for two games then broke my finger in practice and never played a down, but they still gave me a Letter! I had a good sense of humor, I knew a lot of dirty jokes and I had great hair. My hair feathered like a Tiger Beat cover model, like Parker Stevenson, as if the Fairy Queen of the seventies had drifted down from the clouds and blew perfect hair plus twenty on my head.

Thanksgiving day arrived. I was getting ready for the big night and had just stepped out of the shower. I put on my best jeans and favorite shirt. (Property of Saugus Football, 1979.) I gazed in the mirror thinking how good I was going to look after I feathered my hair. I plugged in the blow dryer and turned it on. Unfortunately for me I was standing in a puddle of water and there was a small crack in the cord of the blow dryer. When I turned the damn thing on the electricity raced through the cord, but instead of powering the blow dryer, it shot out the cracked cord and hit me on the right side of the stomach like a bolt of lightning. A bolt of lightning that lasted for six seconds. The arc of electricity that hit me must have been a foot long. The lights flickered, the outlet blew and I was thrown to the floor. I got up shaking. There was a hole the size of a silver dollar in my shirt with black smoke rising from it and my skin was bright red.

The night got worse from there. I had ruined my favorite shirt, my hair wouldn't feather without the blow dryer. Without my favorite shirt and perfect hair I had no confidence. The tremendous shock had also upset my stomach so I couldn't eat. I was afraid to tell my mother what happened and she got mad because I wasn't eating. Then she embarrassed me in front of everyone by sending me to bed. I didn't make out with any girls on that Thanksgiving.

What's even weirder about this story is that three months later hair started to grow on the spot where I was shocked and to this very day I have a hair patch on the right side of my stomach.

(Click on the image to see more hairy detail.)

The hair patch isn’t so bad. What really sucks, is now I like getting shocked. Carpet static is like foreplay, I always test 9-volt batteries with my tongue (even when they're new), and I secretly hope that someday I'll be struck by lightning. Worst of all though, is I just can’t eat on Thanksgiving without giving myself a good jolt of electricity first.

Happy Thanksgiving everybody, and don't panic if your lights start to flicker. It's just me getting ready for the big meal.

Either way, they pee themselves.

2006-11-11T12:50:00.000-08:00

In a recent episode of Live Wire, Courtenay asked guest scaremeister Baron Von Goolo which was more satisfying: making people laugh or making them scared. For his answer you’ll have to go back in time and listen in, or go to iTunes and download the show. In the mean time I will satisfy you, readers, with my answer, though nobody asked me. I found Courtenay’s question strikingly evocative. As a performer I find both acts very satisfying and strangely similar. I’m reminded of a story…

Years ago I made a sizable portion of my impoverished thespian’s income by dressing up in animal costumes and entertaining kids and adults at various events That’s a whole other blog, which I’ll get to soon enough, and hopefully before Jonpaul thinks to do the same because I know very well that he did his plushy/furry turn as well.

One gig that stands out as pertinent was called “A Walk on the Wild Side” and was a fundraiser for the zoo or walking or the wilderness or something. I was hired (along with Jonpaul, coincidentally, and his old girlfriend who won’t be mentioned again because she was evil, stupid and boring) to dress as an animal and entertain participants as they walked along a secluded trail in Washington Park. The event organizers threw us into a van along with three furry costumes: a lovable tiger, a laughable lion and a horrible gorilla. I got the gorilla. It was as scary as the lion and tiger were not…which they were not…and that’s scary! It had red-lidded eyes and ghastly flared orifices and ragged looking fangs. It smelled pretty scary too.

They dropped me off along the trail somewhere with the instructions to hide in the bushes and pop out and ooga booga when wild-side-walkers passed by. That’s it. It was one of the greatest gigs of my life.

I remember sitting alone in the bushes on that sunny afternoon, birds singing and butterflies quietly fluttering by. I thought to myself, as I often did in that line of work, what the hell am I doing? How did I get here? What has become of my career? Then the first gaggle of walkers approached. I’m sure there was a good cross section of society involved, but all I recall are middle aged women. So, the first knot of middle aged women walked by, obliviously laughing and chatting as I suddenly leapt from hiding with a horrific human scream. This scream begat screams which begat more screams which begat my own deafening laughter inside that smelly rubber and fake fur head.

Women scattered up and down and off the trail. It was sick and cruel and beautiful. Had it been Halloween or even dark outside they might have been at least subconsciously prepared. But they had no clue. For all they knew I was a deranged hairy transient, rabid dog or Bigfoot. Regardless, I’d been given a license to terrorize and was just doing my job.

That same scene replayed itself again and again for hours as clueless victims wandered into my thicket of fear. Sometimes people would laugh or even stop to snap a photo. But mostly it was a lot of screams, fear and anger. It never got old and it was immensely satisfying. The peak of enjoyment came when by twist of fate my high school vice principal walked into my trap. She was as big a pants-wetting rube as the rest. I wanted so much to tell her it was me, and that now we were even for that whole Saturday school thing. But I didn’t. And I’m glad.

Time flew by and before I knew it the van had returned to take me away from my wooded parlour of panic.

It turned out my fellow manimals hadn’t had such a great time. Their plush and huggable outfits were more conducive to cute photo-ops with runny-nosed toddlers and some minor babysitting by the porta-potties.

Incidentally Jonpaul did get a little taste of my experience that day. A young child was inconsolably traumatized by the sight of Jonpaul’s face peeking out the lion’s mouth, as if the beast were in the act of swallowing him. That was pretty cool.

So, I’d rank them thusly: 1. Making them scream 2. Making them laugh.

Okay, I’ll tell you (but you still have to listen to the show). Baron Von Goolo said his favorite thing is to first make them laugh, then, when they are disarmed and vulnerable, make them soil themselves. That bastard is sicker than I am.

Mission Accomplished

2006-11-11T10:34:00.000-08:00

It’s confession time.

The family had gone to sleep. I was still up, alone and feeling curious. I found myself at the computer with a crazy desire to explore. My mind wandered along with my fingers, and I’m a little embarrassed to admit…I googled myself again. I guess I just can’t stop. I know it’s supposedly a natural thing to want to do, and I’m not the only one doing it, but still, it feels kind of naughty.

But you know what readers? I’m glad I did it, because I discovered something! The number one result of my googling is my first “Hello Internets!” blog entry! Mission accomplished! And when I say mission accomplished, I mean it!

I’ve come a long way in the land of the Googles and I owe it all to this blog. I want to thank everyone involved and apologize for claiming the whole enterprise was “a masturbatory waste of my time and talents.” I regret those comments, except for the masturbatory part, because it brings this humble blog entry full circle, back to its first paragraph and teasing set of images, all wrapped up tight and ready to post. Another success!

Now I’m going to look at internet porn and touch my privates.

Zing!

True Stories up on Powells.com!

2006-11-02T08:45:00.000-08:00

Want to hear all the audio from the night Jonpaul McLellan called "A triumph..."? The night my mom called, "completely humiliating"? The night some guy in audience called, "Show us your tits!"?

Well, it's all up at the Powell's bookcast!

One warning - okay, three:
1) Again - at the very beginning of the very first piece..a swear word. The big one. El Cursola Grande.
2) You will learn more about feminine hygiene than you ever, EVER wanted to know from Chelsea Cain. And yet you will be tranfixed. How will it all end? You'll just have to keep listening to find out!
3) Don't eat anything before listening to Kristin Hersh's story.

Heed those warnings, and you'll be fine.

More hot costumes filled with...the hotness.

2006-10-27T00:33:00.000-07:00

In response to my...we'll call it a rant, Live Wire's essayist extraordinaire Stacy Bolt sent me a link to this lovely piece 'o' bidness. It is very very funny to me.

Warning: not work friendly due to extensive use of El "F" word. (Which also makes it not computer-in-the-nursery friendly, Catholic seminary friendly or checking-out-the-internets-with-your-gammy friendly.)

Trick or treat, indeed.

2006-10-21T13:44:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I have a question. WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO HALLOWEEN? When, exactly, did costume shops start stocking women's outfits straight off the set of Ron Jeremy's "Night of 1,000 Skank Hos"? Not that I have anything against sexy women. Sexy women rule. Sexy women are fun. Sexy women can get almost anything they want from men. Well, straight men. Gay men just tend to want to borrow their shoes.

The thing is, I want Halloween to go back to the way it was. Back to women in hobo costumes with their teeth blacked out. Women dressed as pumpkins. Or witches. I mean, REAL witches, with long black robes and green faces and bigass, ugly warts. Not THIS kind of witch:

This kind of witch can't cast a spell on anyone. She's too busy checking the seam on her fishnets and re-applying her strawberry-scented lip gloss. And this witch won't scare me, except if she uses my toilet. In that case, I'm disinfecting. You just never know.

But it doesn't stop at witches. It seems all women's costumes have been infected with the Sex Kitten Virus. (Think bird flu, but with less coughing and more cleavage.) Walking around a Halloween party circa 2006, you'll be surrounded by women whose clothing has rendered them all but completely ineffectual in their chosen profession.

"Nurse, can you hand me the...holy shmolies!!!!"

Imagine. She's standing on a beam on the 32nd floor, drilling in rivets. But the team on the 31st floor? Completely worthless, due to two things: one, they're all totally entranced by the full-on, all-day crotch shot. (Who wouldn't be?) And two, they're all slightly disturbed by the sexual ambiguity of being attracted to a woman with a drill.

"Slide! Slide! Sl...oh crap. That's gonna leave a mark."

First real fire? Third degree burns. Pretty much everywhere.

This one's my favorite. It's a cheerleader for death! Especially popular in cancer wards.

Listen, I understand that there are few opportunities for most women to dress like strippers (unless they are strippers - then they're endless!), but can we leave Halloween alone? Do we, as woman, want to start dreading Halloween like we do swimsuit season - dieting and exercising like crazy so our "Supreme Court Justice With a Whip" costume (Now, with mini-robe and thigh-highs!), will knock 'em dead at the church Halloween Bazaar?

No. We don't. So please. Let's have one freakin' day where the pressure to be pretty is lifted. Halloween should be scary and fun and free of low-self-esteem attacks caused by size 0 women in plasticene nurses costumes that are definitely NOT sanitized for your protection.

C'mon, people! Say it with me now: Keep Halloween Ugly!

Hide Your Stash

2006-10-18T13:23:00.000-07:00

In an effort to find my perfect look, I've been experimenting, from month to month, with different facial hairstyles. I tried going clean-shaven, I tried clean-shaven with sideburns, I tried a full beard, a chin beard, the horseshoe, burnies, burnies with a doorknob, and most recently, a pencil or maybe it’s a pussy tickler, I’m not sure which.

Thankfully, I can always rely upon the honest opinions of my good friends and co-workers about which look is best for me. While attending the last Live Wire rehearsal, sporting my latest facial hair, a look I thought to be charming, amusing and sophisticated, I was greeted with these helpful comments:

"Did you lose a bet?"

"Are you trying to look like a child molester?"

And my personal favorite,

"Did you really think your face was the one to bring back the glory of the moustache for the rest of the male population?"

That afternoon I found myself in a bar nursing a beer and wondering, was there no one ready to embrace the splendor of my moustache?

Just then a woman came over and sat on the barstool next to me. "I love your cookie duster," she said.

My despair evaporated! I raised my head, smiling and turned to the angel who spoke those words! She was haggard, with bright red lipstick poorly applied and covering most of her chin. Powder blue eye shadow was smeared across her forehead and when she smiled I could see dark yellow stains covering her few remaining teeth.

"Yep," she said. "Nothing I like better than the feel of a cookie duster on my keister. If you know what I mean."

"I'm afraid I do," I replied in horror. "Thank you for the compliment madam, but I don't want to be anywhere near your cookie if it's been sitting around long enough to gather dust." Then I ran from the bar screaming.

I shaved as soon as I got home, but I kept the moustache, it's in a box at the back of my closet and someday when the world is ready, I will wear it proudly.

James Westby Saved My Life

2006-10-10T18:23:00.000-07:00

Ten years ago I was cast in my first film role. I showed up on the set not knowing what to expect. All I knew was I had two lines in two different shots and I was playing some kind of Satanist. It wasn't until I got to the set that I found out I had a death scene - a death scene where I would get to fire a gun and wear a squib (an exploding blood sack). Talk about a young actor's wet dream!

At that point I would have done anything they asked of me and I sort of did. I let them draw gigantic Satanist tattoos all over my body with a sharpie, I wore the wife beater t-shirt that was smeared with garbage and gutter slime because it looked too new, and I let them rub bananas in my hair to make it look greasy. (Apparently no one had any hair gel.)

The first scene I was in had me running into a bedroom and screaming, "Who the fuck is in my room?" Then a guy hiding behind the door hits me in the head with a gun and knocks me out. The guy behind the door is the main character in the film and was played by local actor Melik Malkasian. Melik is a great actor, super funny, really intense and crazier than a spring break frat boy on speed.

While setting up for the shot, Melik and I are talking about the scene and how we can make it look real. Melik convinces me that the only way to make the scene believable is if he really hits me in the head with the gun. He promises to pull his punch so it shouldn't hurt too much. I, being young, naive and at this point willing to do anything for the movie, of course agree. Melik thinks we better practice the hit a few times and starts to reel his arm back.

Just then, James Westby, the director, comes walking into the room and sees Melik about to hit me. "What are you doing?" He asks.

"We were going to practice me hitting him in the head with the gun," Melik answers.

"You're not actually going to hit him, you know."

"It won't look real unless I get to hit him."

"I don't mind if he hits me with the gun," I chime in.

"No, no, no. We'll use a camera angle that makes it look like you're getting hit," James says.

"Come on. I would really like to hit him. It'll look great," Melik pleads.

"I don't mind getting hit if it helps the film," I tell him.

"I will not let him hit you with the gun. He could kill you."

That was the end of the discussion. Looking back now I'm thankful James said no to Melik. He probably saved my life - or at the very least, he saved me from a severe case of brain damage.

James Westby is going to be on Live Wire this Thursday. I hope something horrible happens so I can finally pay him the life I owe him. Maybe I'll get to push him out of the path of a falling light or save him from a rabid fan with a machete. Freaky accidents happen all the time. Let's hope for the best.

Who's the baby?

2006-10-05T17:18:00.000-07:00

It started in the kitchen, as so many things do. "WELL. Are YOU the mom?" My 4-year-old daughter's voice dripped with scorn as she addressed her 9-year-old brother.

(It is amazing how scathing a 4-year-old can sound. How does such a small human learn such complex, hurtful, and, well, useful tools in such a short time on Earth? Especially presuming that early childhood should be filled with positive, life-affirming, and mind-expanding input including, but not limited to "WHO's the baby??? YOU are!!!" and "This little piggy went to market," and "No, I don't hate the president, I just think he makes bad choices." Then again, said 4-year-old's mother is me, so she may have advanced more quickly into the real world, purely out of a need to survive.)

"No, but YOU'RE not the mom either, ARE YOU?!" my son quickly retorted. Child the younger had just taken a deep breath and uttered the inflammatory phrase, "NO, but..." when I'd had enough.

"At this point, I'd be happy to give the job to either one of you, because no one wants to be the mom when you two are bickering like this." (I'm pretty sure I actually said "bickering." Who says "bickering?" Me, that's who. And I'm the mom.)

This silenced them for a bit as they considered the implications. The original argument (whatever it was) was forgotten as my son made the wise choice to quit while he was ahead. With five years more experience, he's gotten pretty good at figuring out when's a good time to just sit quietly lest he get peppered by the shrapnel. Little sis was quiet too, but for a different reason. I think we'd begun clearing the table when she dropped the bomb.

"But if you're not the mom, you're DEAD."

Huh?

"If you're not the mom," she clarified, "you're a skeleton! You're bones, in the GROUND!"

I took a moment to ponder this. I mean, I realize that a 4-year-old is developmentally programmed to figure out what everyone's purpose is in relation to HER: essentially, it's her universe and we're all just living in it. But when someone tells you that you are either a mom or bones in the ground, it can be pretty sobering.

I was never the girl who dreamed of growing up and having children. My babysitting experiences as a teenager confirmed this as I struggled through hour after monotonous hour of Candy Land, diaper changes, and preparing and cleaning up meals. I did not play on the swings and read the same picture book over and over again for my own enjoyment: I did it for the money. I did it for the things that money could get me. I used babysitting money to go on my class trip to Washington D.C.; for a week-long canoeing trip with the park service one summer; for a new bike. That paltry $1 an hour bought me my independence. (Being a mom is different than being a babysitter, of course. The rewards are far greater--but so are the challenges.)

You know what I found out? It's dang near impossible to feel independent when you're told that you're either a mom or you're dead.

I contemplated my reply. Should I tell her that, No, even if I had never had children I'd be a real alive person in the world, falling in and out of love, struggling to do work that I'm passionate about, singing songs of joy and devastation? Should I tell her that, while I realize that being a parent informs and deepens my experience when I read, write, hike in the woods, harmonize with someone, play frisbee, or work to find the whole truth of a scene I'm playing onstage, I rarely think about her while actually performing any of these acts? Should I mention how freeing it was to drink margaritas with the Pants Machine in their RV, be responsible for saving only myself when the fire broke out, and then not worry about how late I was staying up, because no one would be waking me up at some ungodly hour demanding breakfast?

No.

"I'll always be your mom, honey," I sighed. "For ever and ever."

Why I'm Better Off On Radio

2006-10-01T22:25:00.000-07:00

Provocative statement? Perhaps. The truth is, the reason I’m better off on radio has a whole lot to do with, well, my face. Now don’t get me wrong. I like my face just fine. It’s a fine face, and does all the things that a good face needs to do. It serves as a gateway to food (perhaps its most important function). It delivers an array of expressions which allow me to function more or less normally in society. It serves as a kind of vehicle for my facial hair (also an important function). In fact, you’d never know there was something dramatically wrong with my face by just looking at it. The problems arise whenever someone tries to take a picture of my face.

I can’t explain it. But anytime someone tries to take a picture of my face, I completely lose control of it. It’s like a pack of tiny demons inhabit my facial muscles, compelling me to: blink, squint, grimace, snarl, drool, leer (well, that one could just be me...). At my first wedding, there were so many pictures of a half-lidded, sleepy-looking, doltish nincompoop standing next to my wife (me...get it?) that my then-bride selected a wedding group photo for mass reproduction that featured 20 out of 21 people with glorious smiles and big bright eyes. I, of course, looked like I had briefly fallen asleep right as the flash went off, but that didn’t deter my first wife. She said it was the best picture overall, with the most amount of alert-looking people. Never mind that I was the GROOM, for Christ’s sake...
But I digress....

Recently, I had to have a photo shoot for an album that I recorded with my friend Marvella. There were three of us: Marvella, Rouke, and myself, all standing outside on a bright summer day. Rouke and Marvella remembered sunglasses. I, of course, didn’t, and came armed with only my face. We took a number of photos, but all I really remember was trying to keep my eyes open while looking into the sun. (It’s possible that some of you may see where this is leading...) Marvella called me a week later and told me that the photos really turned out well...except for me. My eyes were completely shut in most of them. This didn’t surprise me. What surprised me was what she said next. She and the photographer tried to “fix” my eyes. And this is where it gets kinda weird. Their solution was to graft (via photoshop) Marvella’s eyes onto mine. Which is what they did. Which is a great idea, except it’s crazy and makes no sense at all. Marvella’s eyes look really great on her (that’s why they're called “Marvella’s Eyes”). They made me look like a zombie. Then they went and added “light glints” to make Marvella’s eyes look more natural on me. But that just made me look like a zombie with someone else’s eyes in proper lighting. So they settled on photoshopping Rouke’s ray-ban sunglasses on me. Not a bad solution, I guess, except that now Rouke and I look like the Bobbsey Twins. Plus, when Rouke found out that I was to wear his sunglasses in the photo, he complained that at least I could ask him before I borrowed his stuff.

The clincher to this whole fiasco came later. My current wife, around whom I really try to keep my eyes open, looked at the photo on the back of the C.D. (now in print...) and declared that not only did I have Rouke’s glasses, but that I had his nose as well. Apparently, that was the only way to cleanly photoshop his glasses on to me. All that trouble, to fix my damn face for the back of the album. I suggested to Marvella that it might have been easier to just graft George Clooney’s head on my shoulders. Might even sell more albums. But she just smiled, and told me to keep my frigging eyes open next time.

And that, fair readers, is my self-effacing story of myself, my face, and my self’s FACE on my last photoshoot. Let’s hope to god it is in fact my LAST photoshoot. And now, back to the radio....

Photo courtesy of Wire Moore.

A Moment of Truth

2006-09-28T16:23:00.000-07:00

All I can say about "True Stories: A Night of Semi-Brutally Honest Non-Fiction in Spoken Word and Song," the show I just saw at Mississippi Studios, is wow.

Wow!

That's not much of a statement from a guy who aspires to be a writer, but after hearing the authors at last night's show I feel unworthy. Sure, I'm a little biased because I'm lucky enough to consider myself a friend of all of last night's authors and I hope they consider me a friend. Although, I may just be the crazy stalker guy that still geeks out around them becoming a complete tongue-tied dork that just stares and drools, that even now, is cringing so hard at the mere thought of one of them actually reading this post his butt puckers and he may have wet himself a little bit.

What was I talking about?

"True Stories: A Night of Semi-Brutally Honest Non-Fiction in Spoken Word and Song" featured Courtenay Hameister, Marc Acito, Chelsea Cain, Stacy Bolt, Jim Brunberg, and Kristin Hersh. I am in awe. They rocked the house. Can you rock a house by just reading an essay? Well, I was there last night and I say you can and they did. I laughed, but I was also moved. I was also a little jealous. Let me tell you it's tough wanting to be a writer when all your friends are great writers. I guess the important thing is; did I learn something? I did. I learned never to borrow a pen from Chelsea, not to get injured during cocktail hour and your chances of being murdered go up significantly if Marc paints your house. I also learned that truth makes the best fiction.

Sorry for that little rant before, about being jealous and all. I mean I'm thankful for the friendships, it just sometimes it feels like getting the keys to a starship and then realizing you have no idea how to fly the damn thing so you start pushing all the buttons and… well it's not really like that. It's more like you're Rocky in Rocky II except when you get your ass kicked in the seventh round you don’t come back and win the fight you start making out with Burgess Meredith. Err… wait. OK, it's not really like that either.

Umm… why am I blathering on? You can hear the great writing from Courtenay Hameister, Marc Acito, Chelsea Cain, Stacy Bolt, Jim Brunberg, and Kristin Hersh for yourself because the show is going to be podcast on Powells.com. As soon as I find the link I'll put it up here. It's worth hearing. (Maybe if someone out there knows where it is they'll let me know.)

I also took a few photos. This is the best of the bunch. From the left, Marc Acito, Courtenay Hameister, Stacy Bolt, Kristin Hersh and Chelsea Cain. I'm not sure who's dandruffy head that is.

Most of the pictures didn't turn out. It's a new digital camera and I haven't learned how to take a decent picture in a darkened room filled with people yet. I have taken some great pictures of my cats though. Like this!

And this!

What was I talking about? Oh yeah! Kitties!

So Cute!

Weeeeeeeee!!!!!!

DRINK RECIPE: Linsel's Jagged Gin and Tonic

2006-09-27T14:47:00.000-07:00

Our trip to the Cycle Oregon event in Union is the stuff of legend. Kind of. Well...I thought it would be.

Maybe it was the adrenaline or (more likely) the liquor, but after the Pants Machine RV began belching flame and toxic smoke (and after I trampled poet Scott Poole on my way to safety) my first thoughts were of the many grand tales and songs of the occasion that we’d share with friends and fans back home. As we huddled in the chilly street we began telling the stories right there and then, to people we really didn’t need to tell, as they were there, then. It was Roshomon soaked in tequila.

Our loudly exaggerated accounts were punctuated by the hearty, careless laughter of people who thought they cheated death and lived to drink again. Bedside lamps and porchlights flicked on all over the sleepy neighborhood. Nearby, tired cyclists grumbled in their tents as the RV whined its fire alarm, ever more weakly. Out of concern for the now disturbed peace of our neighbors I would approach clumps of storytellers and shush them responsibly. But a minute later I’d find myself bellowing my own hyperbolic account, making jokes about live wires and flaming pants then being shushed by someone less drunk and more responsible than I.

Perhaps it was because of our immediate and exhaustive processing of the event that the tales are few and I’ve yet to hear any songs. (I’ll be very disappointed if Alan and the Pants don’t come up with one. This could’ve been their “Smoke On The Water.”)

There are still legendary elements of that perilous night that deserve tales told and I want to share one in particular before it fades into the haze of the brain cell graveyard.

Getting to the RV-that-was-rockin’-so-please-come-a-knockin’ was a trial in itself. At the close of our show there was no clear plan or destination for our after party. The cast, crew and guests of Live Wire dispersed to find an open bar or otherwise not-friggin-freezing location at which to celebrate. For about an hour my girlfriend and I wandered the empty streets of Union on a largely fruitless search. We did find one bar still open that contained some of our friends, but when the surly barmaid was seen zealously carding the elderly we knew we’d have to hoof it back to the tent for ID. By the time we returned, our posse had left the bar so we did the same.

The partay prospects were looking more and more grim. We decided to wander past the RV on our way back to camp where we’d sadly, soberly slumber. There we found the encouraging sight and sound of way too many people crammed in a recreational vehicle parked crookedly on somebody’s front lawn. We were surprised however to find Union’s finest (and possibly only) police officer cuffing a belligerent drunk in the grass. We quickly determined it wasn’t one of our drunks and were further relieved to observe our group partying on inside, undeterred by the potential buzzkill outside. In fact, if you’re going to plan a noisy drunken party in a sloppily parked RV in a quiet neighborhood of a tiny peace-loving town, it’s a GREAT idea to have an angry drunk local stationed outside to occupy any police that might happen by.

So we partied! Finally! It was cramped and a little smelly and there was another weird towny guy inside making things interesting. But it was a party! I even went outside a few times to help the cop with his arrest by holding the flashlight, and going through the “perp’s” wallet. (I wasn’t as instrumental in this endeavor as our own Amy Stevens, who was so professional and helpful to the policeman I started to suspect she was a narc.) We discovered from his ID that the drunk guy was actually minding his own drunk-ass business in his own front yard (our unwitting host!) but made the mistake of getting physical when Johnny Law happened by. I salute you, drunken scrapper! You played your fateful, enabling role well.

It was there, next to the toilet, peering out the RV’s back window upon the scene of our host’s misdemeanor that I sampled Linsel’s Jagged Gin and Tonic.

Linsel Greene, friend of Live Wire, took pity on my sober state and fashioned me the drink that would make me merry, and later, lubricate me enough to smoothly slide through the figurative tight spot of a crowded RV fire. From then on it was either tightly gripped in my hand, held aloft in toast, happily passed amongst friends or (believe it or not) sloshing around in the pocket of my coat.

Yes, this blog entry does have a point and this is it. The recipe. I will try and present it as I observed it being created.

Ingredients:

3 inches of warm Schwepp’s Tonic Water forgotten in the bottom of the plastic bottle.

An equal portion of Tanqueray Gin containing swig backwash from friends and strangers and probably drunk belligerent dude from the lawn outside.

Something mysterious that kept bobbing against my lips but was never identified, possibly from my pocket.

Ice.

Directions:

Step one: Cut tonic bottle in half with rusty kitchen knife, leaving plenty of jagged plastic points on rim.

Step two: Pour gin/backwash mixture into tonic bottle (now the drinking glass.)

Step three: Dump in a dirty handful of melting ice from equally dirty RV sink and swirl.

Step four: Allow a moment for alcohol to kill deadly bacteria from rusty knife, soiled hands and dirty sink.

Step five: Enjoy!

Step six: Repeat.

Except...there's no repeating this one-of-a-kind concoction. You can try. That's the idea behind a recipe I suppose.

Not being a fan of tonic, especially, I found this mixture exceptional. To my understanding tonic was invented as a means of administering the medicine quinine, so gin and tonic seems a bit like scotch and Robitussin, or rum and Pepto-Bismol.

So thanks go to Linsel, and his contribution to one aspect of that legendary fiery night under the stars of Union; immortalized in blogform, and saved in the nick of time from the dim oblivion of the bygone.

And thanks to whoever picked up the drink’s empty plastic shell, which I abandoned on the street when the warm, convivial feeling it produced had cooled and gone taciturn. Give a hoot, don't pollute.

Let me stand next to your fire.

2006-09-21T00:46:00.000-07:00

Thanks Courtenay. I don’t drink tequila (it’s the devil) so I have a pretty solid memory of the wheelings and dealings that night. Whoa. I just wrote wheelings, like as in wheels, on say… an RV! I don’t know much about the RV. I know it was an atrocious recent movie with Robin Williams and that guy just ended up in rehab, so that should say it all. I also know that there were 12 to 190 people sitting in a small one along with Alan Singley and Pants Machine. We had finished our show and were trying to a) stay warm b) drink stuff c) discuss the theories of Max Plank.

Wouldn’t you know it, but just like in a slasher film, all the lights go off. Whoever’s operating the interior system of this RV restarted them up, but sho’ nuff’, they went dead again. This happened oooohhhhhhhhhhh, I dunno, about five times, before someone dashed out the door like they saw a tarantula scorpion (nearly extinct). This maneuver, as we found out ten seconds later, was to flee the fire that had begun on auxillary batteries beneath the RV sofa. I guess extra weight had pushed down on the battery coils shorting them out and every time we turned back on the RV, we were only tempting fate.

So now the fire has spread to the cushions, and we all disembark (do you “disembark” from a RV?) and either a band member, a mysterious drifter, or some phantom of the night hands me a fire extinguisher. It wasn’t one of those 50 pound proton pack behemoths that you saw in Backdraft, but rather something about the size of a RedBull. I whipped off the safety strip (‘cause who needs safety right?) and gave it a trial squirt. Pslat! We’re good to go. So I jollyjump back inside and make my way to the sofa which is gurgling smoke like every car I’ve ever driven during a first date. It takes me a good twelve seconds before all the foam or whatever is out of the extinguisher but alas, the fire is defiant. So I entrust my right leg (who I call “Lefty”) and jam it down the chargrilled holes in the sofa, attempting to stamp out the flames like a Rhinocerous (hey, who hasn’t seen “the Gods Must Be Crazy?). I think it goes out, and if on cue, my eyes and lungs throw in the towel and convince me to get the hell outta there.

So I do. And I cough like it’s my first cigarette for three minutes straight. My eyes have watered profusely and due to the smoke and good ‘ol Union, Oregon dirt, I now look like Tammy Faye Baker. I cough some more and when I see my first bit of pulpy lung come out, I decide to call it a night. That’s all I remember. At some point, I realized that watching the escapade from outside the RV was probably more entertaining than watching that Robin Williams movie. Good thing I get paid more than him. Oh wait… shit.

Ssh! Antelope!

2006-09-20T13:10:00.000-07:00

Hello fellow bloggers, readers of blogs and government computers that sift through blogs in search of keywords that might indicate terrorist activity! You’re the bomb!

It’s exciting to be a part of a blog! What a great opportunity to create more and better results when I Google myself!

So far, I’d compare my blogging style to the dialogue in the comic strip Mark Trail! In that beloved King Features syndicated series every sentence ends with an exclamation point! Even when our animal-savvy hero (coincidentally named Mark Trail) quietly sneaks up to a nest of hatching quail or a timid herd of antelope, he ends up SHOUTING something about it! The same thing happens in Apartment 3G! I’d hate to live in 2G or 3F or whatever apartment is next door as I think I’d find all the screaming very disturbing! Does anyone in that apartment have an inside voice?

Dang it. With the above rhetorical question I just shattered my dream of an exclusively exclamation-point-punctuated blog. Nothing to do now, but return to my original goal of increasing my visibility in the Googleverse.

Tyler Hughs. tylerhughs. hughs, tyler.

Please note, there is not an e in my name. Well there's the one. But it's hardly silent. I ask you: what's the point of adding a vestigial e in "Hughs," silent as a fart in an elevator, when there's already two silent letters in there anyways? What am I, French?

Now when you or I enter “Tyler Hughs, celebrity” or “charismatic, brilliant, masterful lover, hope for our future, Tyler Hughs” we can all find what we’re looking for: me! And when Google asks:

Did you mean “tyler hughes”

Did you mean “trailer hitches”

...answer NO…with an exclamation point!

And before you call my first foray into the blogosphere indulgent and self-serving, consider what I’ve done this day for Mark Trail, Apartment 3G, Tyler Hughes and trailer hitches. As my flickering spark of Google light grows brighter, so does theirs.

And I’m glad of it…except for in the case of Tyler Hughes. That guy can suck it.

Sean + smoke inhalation = brain damage?

2006-09-20T10:16:00.000-07:00

Okay, the thing that happened in Union wasn't Sean saying hello to his Gammy. Sean, you wanna finish the story?

I Blogged myself

2006-09-20T02:24:00.000-07:00

Hi Grandma, I miss you very much. I hope to see you for Thanksgiving. I will eat a lot of turkey. And then maybe watch football. Are you going to get drunk again and hit my brother behind the ear? I will see you soon. Bye, love, -Sean

Blog Day 1: The Hangover

2006-09-19T00:27:00.000-07:00

Hi. I'm Courtenay, and along with my fellow "Hello, Internets!" bloggers, we make the comedy. Most of that comedy happens on a Portland, Oregon radio variety show called "Live Wire," but some of it happens while we're just sitting around our houses enjoying some Coco Puffs. We'll put it all here. Because we care about you, the reader. And you, the grocery-store shopper. And also you, the wealthy guy who wants to give our show money. Mostly that last guy.

Last Friday we found ourselves in a 12-passenger van, returning from our first-ever road trip outside Portland. As we approached the city, we were all looking out over the stunning beauty of the Gorge thinking, "Wow. This would be so much nicer if I didn't feel like my head was in a vice and a rodent ate my tongue and replaced it with its own body." See, there was a little bit of drinking the night before.

We were in Union, Oregon, performing a show for the bikers on the 500 mile Cycle Oregon ride - which this year passed through Heppner, Sumpter, Lake Wallula and some other places that sound totally fake. We performed the show outdoors in what was...I don't know...-17 degree weather, and then moved on to more important things. Like booze.

The majority of the Live Wire staff was drinking margaritas, expertly mixed by Pat, our Siren of Sound, in the kinda-too-small-to-hold-25-people 1970's-era RV of our guest band that night, Alan Singley and Pants Machine. I had mostly stayed out of the RV, due to a combination of claustrophobia and the close quarters reminding me that I took up a smidge too much space in the world. But that's for another post. At around 11:45, I left the RV to get more tequila. And that's when the real excitement began.

I'll let Sean tell the rest, for reasons that will become obvious later.