Attacked by Cylons

Just now, three (well, four) things happened simultaneously. 1) An extremely low-level jet airplane flew by overhead, shaking the house; 2) a large garbage or dump truck drove past my house, rocking my foundation; 3) C and M switched on their high-pitched vacuum cleaner and began rolling it over the nice wood floors, which 4) made me think--for one split second--that the world had come to an end and cyclons were descending upon us all, my house being the first one to be decimated. Either these three things really were perfectly timed, or they happen all the time and I'm so paranoid I notice them.

Either way, I need a Scotch.

Arcade Fire

In search of true rocking, I may have found a little something. Last night on SNL the band Arcade Fire played two numbers and I was impressed with both. From Quebec, they mix their folksy French Canadian influences in with Bowie/Byrne attitude and truly make an homage or influence seem just that and not a rip-off. They "get" their roots. It's a big band and what I like about them is that they are down to earth without having to resort to the American version of that means, i.e. Rusted Root, some hippie jam band, etc. They are prety damn serious about their instruments. Yes, their INSTRUMENTS matter more than their image, their attitude, their brands. Band members even switch instruments from songs to song, something you see in folk/jazz but rarely in rock/pop. Plus, there's very little distorted guitar and they can still rock (see Ani, Modest Mouse, even Tenacious D). When the lead singer smashed his guitar on stage, he did it not to be like The Who, or to express teen angst (Nirvana), but for a very politically specific reason. The words, "sak vide pa kanpe" were written on the guitar, and Wiki tells us this "is a Creole proverb which means 'an empty sack cannot stand up' and refers to the injustice in the lives of the Haitian working poor and the hope that they maintain despite their struggles. At the conclusion of the song, Butler ripped the strings off his guitar and smashed it on the stage floor." Cool. And it didn't seem cheesy or gimmicky at all, which is refreshing.

Good. Finally a bunch of people that stop posturing and play their frickin' instruments as if music matters more than persona. Not that I don't have my idols that I worship--but that's more of an "I identify with you" response to music, which I don't have for Aracade Fire. I'm merely interested in the unique wall of sound all those instruments can make--instruments I can't even name, instruments that have both strings and some sort of wind-up drone thingy. I know the folks at Vice make fun of French Canadians a lot and often for good reason (juggle sticks are boring, dude), but hipsters can rarely identify an instrument outside the keys/bass/drum/guitar arena, and Arcade Fire is for nerds, not hipsters.

WHY? WHY?! WHY?!!

--must assholes who nearly let their dog bite your face off apologize that it’s a “guard dog” and expect that this statement neutralizes the ethical misstep. Hey fuckface, leave your “guard dog” at home--guarding the house. In his fence. In the yard. Where he shits in place other than where my feet might go. You have no business training a dog to bark loudly and then taking him out in shared public space where others have to tiptoe on ice or nearly die by smacking their heads on this ice because their fuckface owners can’t properly train the object of their power. If you like having power over the beasts of the earth so much, train your fucking dog.

--must moms and their two rugrats walk three abreast on the sidewalk. Listen up, Betch: I deserve EXACTLY ONE HALF of this sidewalk so walk behind each other in a cute daisy chain or something so that I don’t decide to attach razor blades to my stiffly (but briskly) swinging arms as I pass you. Slice. Ooops. There goes a snot-encrusted arm! Maybe next time you won’t expect the seas to part for your chilldwen.

--must racist homicide cops cover up a fucking MURDER in Elmwood’s Burger King. Oh, what? You didn’t hear about that? Because it wasn’t even in the fucking news. “Channel 2: On Your Side,” like hell. More like “Channel 2: On the Side That’s Winning: White People, Who Only Care When A White Person Dies.” And by the way, Burger King: you don’t belong on Elmwood either, fuckknuckles. Starbucks may be just as evil as you are, but they are clean and quiet: I can’t smell them or hear assholes yelling for drinks from inside their muffler-less cars. No one thinks: “I’ll go murder someone at Starbucks—no one will notice.” They think, “I’ll cap this fool at Burger King because it’s nice and fucking sordid. He sleeps with the fish sticks.”

--must I be expected to go to meetings to which I have no idea if I’m even invited? Oh, no one from the E Dept was there? If someone had told me to go, I’d go. I know, I know...I should do what it takes to become the new head of the dept. I should “get involved,” right? No one has said shit to me about said promotion, only smatterings of “you’ll probably be the one doing all that next year.” Oh yeah? Where’s the MONEY? Where’s the formal fucking OFFER and the power to hire and fire whom I please? I better not be asked this fucking summer just before the new year begins, after it’s too late to hire anyone. Oh, the head of school does the hiring? Yeah, that’s right, I won’t even really have that power—just all the work of interviewing people I don’t like when I already know some perfect candidates. I’ll have a title and no power. Does that mean that when I attend meetings and I can act like what I say matters when it matters as much a dirt does to an earthworm’s navel?

--must I do my taxes myself if I’m happy with whomever the U.S. Government picks? I’ve made at least one mistake every year and the error has been caught by a human who reviewed the whole thing and gave me more money. So how about I buy that human a cup of fucking coffee to do it all himself and call it a day? Or how about I pretend I’m in Idaho and never pay taxes again, but turn my house into a fortress stocked with water and canned goods, its windows meshed over with chicken-wire, and attach a bullhorn over the door so that I may rant at startled passersby? It’s much better than a blog!

Nostalgia Warning: Skating Back in Time with the Queen City Roller Girls

Last night and I went to Tonawanda with a coworker to see the Queen City Roller girls battle it out. I won't review the history of this sport, which is readily available online, but I will say that although it's been around since the 50s, it was the late 80s aeshetic of the roller rink that drew me in. The huge cement edifice was exactly like the one I went to when I first started holding hands with girls--no kissing! no sitting on laps! no ripped jeans! learn the rules!--and listening to Guns N Roses. There were neon lights in rainbow patterns, painted pastel arrows zooming across the walls, occasionally becoming "graffiti." Black lights added a "stoner bedroom/fortress of solitude" quality.

The girls divided into two teams--red and black, Sluggers and Kissers (nice parallel with Guns N Roses, I thought). The battle itself is a set up to stop and go like baseball or football, which can get frustrating, but they must play by the rules or else it devolves into mud-wrestling-style anarchy and then, whoops, we're in ancient Rome. Not that it wasn't already heavily sexualized: my favorite roller girls' names were Banana Ram-Ya, Pissy Longstocking (with Piss Off written on her ass), Rita Slayworth, La Mala Rubia, Her-Ass-Her, Lease A Hearse, Nadia DamBusiness, and Sweat Pea (watch out--she's more like Bluto). The music was lame, except at half-time, when they played...Guns N' Fucking Roses! Nothing like Axl to urge on a little gross unsportladylike conduct. Every time someone fell there was a collective "oooooohhhh!" from the Zion-like crowd. By Zion (the Matrix one), I mean that everyone was invited--old and young, trashy and classy. A veritible utopia of "family values" and gay couples holding hands--wha-what? That's right--if only queerdom had been more visible in my small town 80s world, it would have been an even better piece of nostalgia to piss Asenath off about. Rocking out on a daily basis PLUS queer rebellion=utopia.

Oh, except everyone in Tonowanda is white. That was a major drawback. But still--much better than the Matrix's Zion or Shortbus's Shortbus Club. All Utopias have at least one glaring flaw and Shortbus's was the exlcusion of non-"Sexy" people and Zion was the exclusion of non hippy people. Tonowanda is honky town indeed, but man oh man was this a much better crowd than the fuckin Old Pink, the local coffee shop, or Hallwalls, etc. etc. Not that I bonded instantly with anyone--I wasn't looking for that--but I had this feeling that trash and class could co-exist. I was IN a John Waters movie one moment and at a Unitarian Universalist Church the next. The music was period-specific--good: pick an era and stay with (you hear me, iPod?). Even little girls, like six or seven, were wearing skull and crossbones t-shirts. Little boys would now know what it feels like to be a girl and dragged to a Monster Truck Arena. Ha ha! You don't own masculinity, son! And Fuck yeah, sister--you'll be getting tattoos WAY early! And here comes grandma, barreling down the aisle alongside her granddaughter--and she's not offended by all the young people with beer sloshing around. She's happy to be there right alongside the requisite sports-venue heckler dudes who have something raunchy and witty to scream every 15 seconds. My favorite from them was when all the girls were announced--name and then number, as in Metal Mistress #96--one girl in particular had the number Square Root of Pi Minus 1. These two dudes were all "Shit. What the fuck do we scream about that?" And then one belows, "Punk n' Pi! Number Empty Set!" It was so Metallica Mathlete.

I've talked with La Mala Rubia previosuly--she's friends with Amber--and she kicked butt out there--but I don't know any of the others. I bet you guys know some but never dreamed. Some of them took more risks than others, as in rather than sticking to the phalanx method of preventing the jammer from busting through, one might stop suddenly and force a carrening-into, which is legal (but tripping isn't). Am I getting this right? I'm still sketchy on the rules, but since Jess K is a big part of it (see the second link below for her interview), she can chime in. She probably doesn't read my blog, but any of you can link back or whatever. Next show is in March, people. We're going and that's final.

http://www.myspace.com/queencityrollergirls
http://www.tonawanda-news.com/features/gnnlifestyle_story_026153815.html
http://www.queencityrollergirls.net/

Apple's Latest

Okay, first watch this:
http://www.apple.com/itunes/ads/partyanimated/

I DESPISE this form of music. It does not rock AT ALL. Why can't anyone rock out without all the spastic Beatlesesque Emo cries of "rebellion" (read: let's party). It's too slick, too sexy. Style over substance. THIS is here to counter all the MTV sludge?

Doesn't anyone care about musicality anymore? Yay, power chords. Yay, 4/4 time. Yes, Asenath, I long for pop music of the bygone era. Actually, Mastodon rocks pretty hard, but no likes ugly dudes who scream. Billy Corgan was the opposite: more whiny than screamy. Anyone left--in the middle? Fuck, I'm old. Guess I'll just put on Coltrane.

The other Apple thingy out is this:
http://www.apple.com/appletv/

Anyone interested? Or am I the only loser who wants this thing? (The fact that I'm already a loser is besides the point.)