| 01-07-08 |
[Jan. 7th, 2008|12:04 am] |
| [ | music |
| | Deer Tick-These Shoes | ] |
I wonder if, as we watch Britney Spear's mental state fall apart and Hillary Clinton's campaign do likewise, we haven't all come to enjoy a tragic downfall too much. It's a bit Greco-Roman for my tastes. |
|
|
| Gaddis |
[Jan. 5th, 2008|12:36 am] |
As if the Recognitions was not colossal enough...Gaddis writes JR. Once again stealing my words, so I'll use his. This is the title character, JR speaking. He is 12. His summation of his thoughts is corporate greed encapsulated:
"I mean that's what I'm telling you! I mean why should somebody go steal and break the law to get all they can when there's always some law where you can be legal and get it all anyway! So I mean I do what you're suppose to and everybody gets..."
Wow. There are several points in this book where I've just had to stop reading for a second and think how stunned I am that Gaddis isn't known as the greatest writer of the past 100 years. |
|
|
| hey life |
[Oct. 6th, 2007|12:20 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | Four Tet-Twenty Three | ] |
THANKS FOR ALL THE CURVEBALLS. |
|
|
| testing |
[Apr. 8th, 2007|06:33 pm] |
testing testing. 1 2. |
|
|
| IMPORTANT |
[Sep. 22nd, 2006|08:39 am] |
| [ | music |
| | Anticipation-Blonde Redhead-Misery is a Butterfly | ] |
OK, so stuff has happened, blah blah blah. BUT:
TODAY, FRIDAY the 22nd
On BSR
7:30 PM
THE FIRST EPISODE OF RADIO HAPPENING
Executive Producer: Kathleen Ross
Producers: ME!, Shepherd Laughlin, Kiera Feldman, Kevin Sparks
It's probably going to be the craziest thing you've ever heard. Listen live on 88.1fm or on the web.
And if you miss it, it'll be archived.
<3 |
|
|
| Home, Providence |
[Aug. 30th, 2006|11:39 am] |
| [ | music |
| | Safe In Your Arms-Beth Orton-Comfort Of Strangers | ] |
I'm back in Providence. Disney World was incredible.
I turn 21 tomorrow/tonight at midnight. That's weird.
Naguib Mahfouz Is Dead, which is sad, not only because he defied the Western stereotype of contemporary Islam, but because he was a great writer as well. It makes me realize how much my time here at Brown is ending. I read his Arabian Nights and Days freshman year, and fell in love with it, and the story of the author, old and still writing after getting stabbed by a militant.
So, turning 21. I've looked forward to this day since I was 15, but now that it's about to happen it feels strange. It will be nice to not feel like a criminal when the Portuguese women down the street sell me alcohol. Nivanick will be in town for the festivities, which will be legendary. And there will be a party, I guess. It will be nice to celebrate with some of the new friends I made this summer. Sad that some bums will be out of town (I'm looking at you, Kiera!). But it's cool. After 21, there will be years and years to celebrate.
Things are gonna be alright. |
|
|
| dispatches from the dolphin |
[Aug. 26th, 2006|08:35 am] |
Last night I acquired the internet. After passively observing it in its native habitat for a period of three hours, I was able to make cooing noises that lured it into my net. I now keep it in a box hidden in the safe in my room.
At the Dolphin.
Into whose bosom I was welcomed two nights ago. Things haven't been the same since. I still believe there is a world outside of this Disney, but don't ask me to point to it on a map. There may be a place where the grass doesn't sing to you from speakers, but I'm not sure I want to see it.
Yes, things haven't been the same since I went through the Pirates of the Carribean ride (now with Captain Jack Sparrow!) and came out the other end with an opportunity to buy Pirates of the Carribean T-Shirts, keychains, guns, and swords. I now believe that every experience in my life will be followed with an opportunity to buy merchandising.
I find myself wondering...when my 21st birthday occurs in 5 days, will it be something like going to Pleasure Island?
I hear that is a land where children like Pinnochio go to experience the wonders and sins of alcohol, and I wonder...am I ready?
---
(but seriously, guys, good times...) |
|
|
| stuff gets lame |
[Aug. 20th, 2006|01:04 pm] |
This will probably get discussed all over the 'sphere, but since I was down in the dirt, kicking off 6 girls trying to pants me while a cameraman from NBC filmed, I feel it's necessary for me to discuss yesterday's kickball game here.
Yesterday we won our first kickball game, and we won 22-2 or something ludicrous like that. The team we were playing was The Stilletos, a group of girls decked out in pseudo-combat attire, military boots, and anything they could cut into proportions that made them look like a ho. Before the game they were standing around drinking beers and running off into the woods while a cameraman from NBC followed them around, taping. I was told that one of their Dads had a connection at NBC, and so this is why they were filming. No, I'm serious. It really was that lame.
The game took a little bit to start, because first they had to do jumping jacks and other stupid crap that the cameraman eagerly captured on film. But then they started off kicking, and we easily picked up three outs. Then we were up, and I was first at bat. I kicked a triple to start us off. Our second kicker brought me home. As I was passing home base, I felt a water-ballooon hit me in the chest. It didn't break, so I picked it up and lobbed it into The Stilletos dugout.
It was quickly clear that this stupid crap would continue all game. We scored 10 runs in one inning, which put into effect some weird rule where we were out in the field again (for scoring too much). During those 10 runs, we were pelted with water balloons. Oh, wait...that would have been what happened if these girls could throw. Actually, most of them burst harmlessly beside us. Or didn't burst at all, forcing us to pick them up and pelt them back.
During this, these girls are talking the most ridiculous shit possible. Things like, "You're a homo!" and, "You're just a virgin!" Yes, it is seriously was that lame.
To the point where we were in the outfield and they sent people out to the outfield to lob balloons towards us, missing completely.
Then they brought out the red paint. They positioned a mass of people by third base, so that when we ran to the base they would spray us with red paint from a squirtgun, try to drag us off the base, etc. So that by the end of the game, pretty much everyone was covered in red paint (it comes off, luckily).
Then there was the point where our pitcher rushed their kicker and kicked the crap out of her. But, I'm not sure if their rumble in the dirt was fake or not.
There was the point where they started saying things that I cannot post on this livejournal, to distract the kicker.
The point where they started pulling up their skirts and shirts to distract the kicker.
Pretty much everything stupid you can think of happened. In the least funny way possible.
Which is why I somehow knew they would try to pants me. I was wearing soccer shorts, and thinking back to 5th grade, I remembered people were into pantsing people with soccer shorts. So it seemed obvious that 30 year old hos with the sense of humor of a 5th grader would try to pants me.
And after the game, there were about 6 of them running up. I saw them coming, grabbed the top of my shorts. When they were grabbing me, I dropped to my ass in the dirt and started kicking them in the shins. Finally, when they'd gotten nothing except bruised shins, they let up and walked away.
Now, the morning after such a win, I feel sort of icky. There is no pride in this win. Just a memory of low-brained humor. |
|
|
| I'm a P-P-P-POET! |
[Aug. 11th, 2006|11:55 am] |
| [ | music |
| | Another The Letter-Wire-Chairs Missing | ] |
There are things to be written of.
But for the moment, I am preparing to go to Vermont. Meeting up with Ryan and his buddies and going camping. This will be the second time I've been to Vermont. The 1st was for the Bread Loaf Campus Young Writer's Camp. Which was freaking weird, the result of letting kids run loose thinking they're poets.
I am hoping to catch sight of some extreme towniness this weekend.
And Shepherd is coming, which is cool. Shepherd is back in Providence!
In my absence, listen to the radio show I co-hosted with Kevin last night...
Show Me Your Fjord
We spun some of my records, CDs, and a bunch of stuff found around the BSR offices. I proclaimed my love for cheese. It was a classy affair, all around. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Aug. 3rd, 2006|02:39 am] |
I am shaking from anger right now.
It just took me 4 1/2 hours to get home from Boston to Providence. Coupled with having 3 hours of sleep the night before.
I want to Zidane headbutt everyone involved in the MBTA. |
|
|
| No, CNN Really Is Terrible |
[Aug. 1st, 2006|10:50 am] |
| [ | music |
| | L.A. Blues-Stooges-Fun House | ] |
Just in case anyone thought I was lying/kidding/exagerrating about CNN and their, "Are we nearing the last days?" coverage, here is a video clip, as captured by Media Matters:
Kyra Phillips is a Journalistic Nightmare
And, in case that wasn't enough, here is a clip of CNN and Fox News interviewing a noted Middle East expert whose expertise is actually in prophecy and who makes a reference to "the pimp media":
"Sugar-Coated Sinai"
They're a bit long, but totally worth watching. In the first, you get Kyra Phillips and her idiotic Valley-Girl reporter technique, the antichrist as personified by al-Maliki, the reason why end times novels sell so well ("because my books keep coming true!") and other nuggets. In the second, you get squeaky-voiced Mike Evans insulting Chris Matthews and the rest of the "pimp media," Mike Evans saying the most incredible thing to Al Sharpton ever, and MIKE EVANS. |
|
|
| ( ) |
[Jul. 30th, 2006|12:30 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | Circles-Soul Coughing-El Oso | ] |
"The Providence Phoenix said I often get lost in the meditational soup.
I thought that was my job."
-Glenn Jones, before tearing that sh*t up
The show last night at AS220 was incredible. There were other performers on the bill, but Glenn Jones and Jack Rose acted (rightfully), like they were the only ones there. Two mindblowing finger-picked guitar performances occurred, interrupted by a set by one of the worst bands I've ever seen (Midnight 1 2 3), which in the end only served to make the guitar nerd music sound even more beautiful. I was only able to stick around two songs into Barn Burning's set, on account of severe hunger, but they apparently sound better on CD anyway.
Glenn Jones and Jack Rose, however, were well-served by the live-setting. While neither performer is nothing much to look at (Glenn Jones being a fairly-standard middle-aged white man and Jack Rose being a younger, longer-haired version), hearing them rip through notes in a concert setting is akin to a mystical experience (and yes, I dare provoke your hippie jokes). At times, Kiera had to get all crazy on those who tried to disrupt our mystical experience with talking. For the most part, though, it was possible to get lost in the meditational soup. When Jack Rose pulled out the lap guitar I knew we were in for it.
There are those who would say that acoustic guitar music is boring, that there are only so many note combinations that can be hit. What these folks fail to understand is that it's not necessarily the technical virtuousity of the performer that makes the performance, but the way they hit the notes. There are ways people hit guitar notes that make me want to cry.
And when there is not one note, but many, being hit and pulled and bent in succession, you get lost in those notes to the point where the space you're in seems to be created by those notes. And then the notes change and the space changes and your mind wanders along. And you get farther into the meditational soup...
---
Enlightenment, however, must be sought. Before AS220 was the journey to AS220. Kiera, Luke, and I biked there, which was an Olympian journey in itself. Waterfire was happening in Providence, which made downtown even worse for biking. We dodged traffic, pedestrians, and drivers hell-bent on killing us. And men in leather on motorcycles. Then, when we thought we had finally gotten free of the Waterfire traffic, the road was blocked by a fire-truck. Police were escorting a naked old man into a vehicle. There were two police-mounties and a fire-truck. For a naked man. Good job, Providence.
---
At home I cooked pasta for myself and then watched the conclusion of trick-bowling on ESPN2 with Max. It turns out people make money by doing such things as putting a bowling ball in a towel, shooting it through a chair on which a young boy sits, and getting a strike. Incredible.
I'm not sure why people watch real sports on TV (other than soccer). But fake sports? I am all over that. |
|
|
| we threaten transformation |
[Jul. 29th, 2006|06:29 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | BSRlive.com-Barn Burning (on Live Block, April 3, 2004) | ] |
August is coming, and with it I'll have to learn to live the slow life again, like last summer. Tomorrow is my last shift with dining services for the summer before I start up again in the fall. That means I will be occupied on Monday and Wednesday at WBUR, and free the rest of the week. I have been practicing for these past two days sinking back into slow-mo. I am rusty at it. There are stretches where I sit staring at my computer, wondering what I am meant to do at this moment. Followed by moments in which I feel like I've been wasting endless amounts of time and should start doing amazing things.
But, I have been sitting on the 2nd floor balcony, with my Russian book, listening to the street sounds and taking it easy. And reading my John Updike. Nights have been a parade of ethnic dinners cooked by friends. Indian one night, Bulgarian the next. Today I went to Meeting St. Cafe and Coffee Exchange, and talked with friends. Which makes me wonder what I'll be doing next year and whether I will have any friends around me.
Tonight Kiera and I are biking to AS220 to see Jack Rose and Barn Burning play. There hasn't been a concert I've been this excited about in a while. Standing into a darkened room listening to finger-picked guitar notes curling and bending and creating images in my mind is pretty much all I can ask for. John Fahey is dead, and I can't see him, but Jack Rose is alive. And Barn Burning is pretty much everything I could ask for in a vaguely countryish-band, which is a lot, because I am a big fan of the vaguely country.
I am getting really into Russian. I'm not sure why, exactly. I've mastered the alphabet, and pretty much learned how the various letters modify each other. So I know how to read. It's an incredible feeling. With Cantonese a part of me was left cold, because I can't read a damn thing. But Russian holds the promise of amazing literature at the end of the tunnel. Right now even the simple words I'm learning are beautiful to me. Everything about it has become fascinating. I feel like somehow by burrowing into this language I am learning a whole mindset and culture. Learning how to say, "Where is my pen?" makes me think of cold Siberian nights, revolution, dictatorships, serfs, and vodka. I've realized that I need something like this to really keep me going. Work will probably never be enough.
And I found out that Russian will fit into my schedule next year. So I am giddy and stupid.
And I tried Ithaca Brewing Co.'s Pale Ale, and was filled with pride for my home-region. I am, it turns out, a big fan of the hops. A big, big fan.
The rest of this summer will be a lot of second-floor-balcony-sitting, beer tasting, Russian-learning, guitar-playing, writing, Acme-movie-renting, bowling, and all the things I've meant to do all summer. |
|
|
| These Bones Go Deep, OR There Is No New Middle East |
[Jul. 27th, 2006|12:32 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | Waitress In The Sky-The Replacements-Tim | ] |
(*I swear a lot in this one)
Yesterday at work, I glanced up from my trusty computer screen. It was a slow period, and I thought I'd check out the International news. Sure, I had been monitoring the wires and finished reading both The Washington Post and The New York Times, but I thought maybe...just maybe, CNN would have something to tell me. I expected to at least see Wolf Blitzer salivating over the bombs dropping from the sky on the Lebanese civilians, or perhaps Anderson Cooper trying out some bullet-proof jacket fashion to complement the tears he would maybe choose to conjure up as a reaction to the bombs dropping (I am speaking, of course, of the bombs dropped on Israel, not on Lebanon). But neither of those was what I got.
What I got was journalism's guts being ripped out on live TV to be promptly cannabalized by network executives, corporate bosses, and fans of Jesus the Warrior King in full color, an advertisement for the End Times, the Left Behind Series, Idiocy, and Walmart, where such end time idiocy books are sold.
For a full 15 minutes, some floozy CNN host (I'm sorry, but that's all she could possibly be after doing this segment) interviewed the authors of the Left Behind (amazingly popular fictionalized rendition of the end times as foretold in the Bible) asking them to tell us whether the end times were coming. These experts helped the CNN viewing public to decipher the signs currently appearing in the Middle East that we are fast on the track toward Armageddon. During the whole thing, the most brutal questioning they got was, "What do you say to the people who say you're crazy, that the Bible is just a story?" Here are some of the things they said, meanwhile, during the interview (and my response):
"The Bible forecasts the reunification of the Iraqi state...followed by a dictator coming to power. Watching the Iraqi Prime Minister speak to Congress today, one got the impression that was happening."
(WHAT?! First of all, Iraq didn't exist before 1919 and you can not convince me the Bible mentions it. Secondly, I thought you neoconservative fuckjobs were happy to get rid of a genuine dictator...Saddam. Now al-Maliki is one? How, exactly? Because he thinks Israel should be called on their shit? You can't mean the Shiite death squads, because the US has its own damn deathsquads. But really...Iraq united? Isn't that the opposite of what's happening now?)
"The Bible forecasts a Jewish state being created in the Holy Land, which happened with Israel. It forecasts this state coming under attack from a coalition of Islamic nations, which it's pretty clear is happening right now."
(Um...I'm confused. Here I was thinking it was Israel invading other countries. My mistake)
It would be one thing if these idiots were presented as crazy religious idiots. Experts even, maybe (of the book of Revelation...well, not even that, really). But to have them offering their foreign policy views, to allow it to pass by UNCRITICALLY, is pretty much the lowest I have ever seen CNN go. And believe me, I did not come into this with a high opinion of TV journalism. Is it not enough that our government has been hijacked by fanatic-believers of Jesus The Warrior King? Must our media be as well? |
|
|
| they get you hooked young |
[Jul. 15th, 2006|12:10 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | Remember The Mountain Bed-Billy Bragg & Wilco-Mermaid Avenue Volume 2 | ] |
Seduced by the promise of a free hat and unlimited coffee, I have decided to work for BuDS (Brown Undergraduate Dining Services, for those not in the know) through next year. We will see how this works out, combined with classes, radio, the Indy, and general tomfoolery. I think my shifts are good. I think I can do it.
The Blue Room, Friday 2-6 pm
The Rock Cafe, Sunday 9:30pm-1:30am
Ya'll stop by, y'hear?
In other news, I really hope I can get out of work quickly enough tonight to still catch some of Tiny Hawks set at Foo Fest. |
|
|
| and the chatter wasn't too good |
[Jul. 14th, 2006|02:22 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | The Thousandth And Tenth Day Of The Human Totem Pole-Captain Beefheart & The Magic Band-Ice Cream For Crow | ] |
Today is my day off, a day of so far complete aimlessness. In a display of just how much my entire mind is shaped by work, I went for lunch to the Blue Room with Kevin, where I worked yesterday. I told my fellow employees I just couldn't stay away, and it was sort of true. Is this a blueprint for the rest of my life? Probably. It is made even stranger by the way in which I'm torn between the twin poles of radio and food services. I have learned the routines of both, and the secret languages they employ. My supervisor at food services, for instance, speaks in hushed, yet frantic tones, saying, "Here they come," just before an onslaught of the Brown Lacrosse Camp rushes into the VW, leaving Gatorade bottles, carbohydrates, and stereotypes lying strewn in their wake. Meanwhile in radio-land we speak of great leads and...coffee. We talk a lot about coffee, honestly.
This week was a little dissapointing for radio, to be honest. On Wednesday I went out into the field, or was thrown into the field, depending on the way you want to look at it. They shoved a Marantz Box at me and told me to go to the Israeli Consulate protest, which was going on at that moment. I had never used a Marantz, which is basically a fancy tape-recorder. Well, I rushed over there, and there were about 100 protestors, and I talked to a bunch of them. I was really excited, because out of the things I've covered, this was one of the events I cared about most. There were the Palestinian-sympathizers protesting Israel's bombing-of-Gaza, the Jewish counterprotestors, and the Jewish Palestinian-sympathizers. I talked to a number of them, had good conversations, got good tape of people chanting about ending the occupation. I talked to a Jewish counter-protestor who told me Palestinians were terrorists and Israel had no choice. She kept mentioning how that day two Israels had been kidnapped. Of course, 47 Palestinians also died that day, but then again...they're totally terrorists.
At one point a Palestinian sympathizer tried, with persistence, to find out my views. I told him I was just reporting and couldn't comment. But I will state my views here. Israel, WTF?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! Bombing civilians and wiping out infrastructure is not a fitting response to a soldier being kidnapped. A soldier. And now, they're in Lebanon, where Israel caused a hell of a lot of problems 20 years ago. The whole thing is just depressing, on every possible level.
But what made me depressed on Wednesday was that the tape got erased. Or rather, didn't exist at all. It was raining, so I closed the top of the bag to protect the box. But in doing so, I must have hit the pause button. So even though I was getting levels, and hearing recorded sound through the headphones, it wasn't recording.
Other things happened this week. I finished William Gaddis' A Frolic of His Own, which, predictably, sort of blew my mind. I'm pretty sure I'm going to write a piece for the College Hill Independent on how if we want the human race to survive we should probably make reading Gaddis mandatory.
And I started Kenzaburo Oe's The Silent Cry, which is incredible as well. I want to say more, but I can't, because the things he writes about are the sort of things not to be discussed in a journal read by relatives.
I had Dogfish-Head's 60-Minute IPA, which is an incredible beer, although not without some controversy (talk to Gill Frank for details). Hoppity-hopped to the extreme, that beer is. And yeah, Captain Seaweed's on Wednesday was quite the scene, and a good time. Although they did raise the prices and nix the Rolling Rock on tap, which I am personally pretty upset over. How are you possibly going to replace Rolling Rock with Miller High Life?
And there was Nice Slice, twice. Where Josh hooked us up with a 2 for oner.
And Syd Barrett died, which was a pretty momentous death. I remember when I first listened to Piper At The Gates of Dawn. I must have been 14 or so, and although I dug both Pink Floyd's, with and without Syd (I don't consider the David Gilmour-led Floyd to even count as an incarnation), there's always been a special place in my heart for the man who wrote a track like Astronomy Domine. Whatever you want to say about the music, Syd's Floyd was certainly the more interesting of the two. A few years ago I picked up the album Opel, which is a 1988 release of outtakes from his solo recordings. It is almost unlistenable in places, which nonetheless does not stop me from listening. While a song composed of a string of unrelated words chanted in one note, with occasional mistakes and restarts may not be fun to listen to, it is certainly interesting. At worst, Syd could be said to be nothing more than an interesting acid casualty. But if that's true, then he suffered for our sake, and pounded out some good tunes while doing so.
This has probably been boring to read. Oops. |
|
|
| syd barrett is dead |
[Jul. 12th, 2006|06:31 am] |
I know a mouse
and he doesn't have a house
I don't know why I call him Gerould |
|
|
| only a good russian |
[Jul. 6th, 2006|12:19 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | Elizabeth My Dear-Stone Roses-Stone Roses | ] |
Oh, what a strange world we live in, this space between reality and the livejournal? Where it's all chance and nothing but, in terms of what will be slung up here for the internerd world to see. Where I might have been kicking it to one CD for three weeks but because I don't write in those three weeks it doesn't get written about. Or worse, where I've been doing things with my time of semi-interest, but I'm not posting, and I come back at a time when I'm sitting in my boxers reading X-Men, drinking coffee, and listening to The Stone Roses and I decide hey, this is a good time to write and so my three readers get to hear about how Shadowcat met Lockheed on the Brood homeworld and about how Kevin recently informed me that coffee is a laxative which makes everything make more sense.
But! Don't! Worry!
Because, while I did just finish a cup of coffee and am sitting in my boxers listening to the Stone Roses, I have been lax in my X-Men reading. For all of this week I have been knee-deep in Gaddis' A Frolic of His Own which I am now almost through. And, Russian. More on that later.
---
Interlude:
The Buddha B-Sides: Homosexual Buddha.
I was planning on doing a complete Buddha B-Sides post, but it's better if I space it out. Because, the Temple of the 10,000 Buddhas had much to offer (and I have been very lax in uploading the pictures, which were a pleasant surprise the other day)
---
So, the Portuguese Sports Club. Yesterday, after writing a reader on the air quality alert in Boston (due to an overabundance of fine particles (and after talking to the most boring metereologist alive trying to get sound about it and getting nothing more than him describing the micron size of the particles)) and peeping the local news on Channel 5 to tell the WBUR producers what those cats were running, I went out into the field. Minidisc recorder in hand, I was going to Cambridge to gather sound. I had found a Portuguese Sports Club online, and called them and asked if I could go there. Welp, I took the T out there, even though the nearest stops were pretty far and I had to walk for awhile, and rolled up.
On the T there was a guy saying to a couple, "Thank you, thank you so much, I just need a little more space." Then he burrowed his face in a blanket. Then a punk kid sat down next to him. What I didn't understand was why More-Space-Guy had his arm spread out over the back of the seat. As we moved over The Charles into Cambridge the dude starts shaking, and by the end of the ride he was making small yelps. Thank you T, for what you have shown me.
OK, The Portuguese Sports Club. There was nothing on the door, no sign or anything other than "Members Only", but I had the address, so I went into the nondescript building. Which it turned out opened into a sort of dingy bar with Portuguese men sitting around drinking. I talked to the barman and he told me to go inside. Once I figured out what this meant I went into the other, somewhat hidden room which it turned out was enormous and had about 90 Portuguese people sitting around watching the game on a big-screen TV.
And then I proceeded to be dissapointed. Going out, I knew my assignment was futile. I knew the Portuguese would lose, leaving me without the cheering I needed to constitute good tape. And if they lost I could do no post-game interviews, at least not without getting beat up. But I didn't expect them to lose like they did, with France playing a better game but winning off a bullshit penalty kick.
And everyone was like, eh...Nobody seemed to know anything about soccer, barely anyone was speaking Portuguese (because the 2nd-generation immigrants were the loud ones), and the surround sound messed with my audio recording. Also, Channel 5 showed up with a videocamera, and once that happened everyone flocked to it because everyone can be famous when the stakes are low.
So, I walked home and talked to Margaret Evans (head editor, most energetic woman alive, Australian) on the phone. It was a dissapoint. But, it got me out in the field, and it let me watch the game. Both of which are good things.
---
This Monday was July the 3rd, which meant no news. So it looked like there would be nothing to do. But they had me called a Sudanese refugee due to be naturalized in a special Fourth of July ceremony. This girl was one of the Lost Children of Sudan who walked across much of Africa, finally winding up in a refugee camp in Kenya, aged 15, orphaned. Well, she came to the US speaking no English. And I talked to her, at age 23, with her now a Brandeis student.
And holy jeez. Not only was she incredibly nice, but her English was flawless and she was...just incredible. The way she spoke about becoming an American, being a refugee, was so genuine that I sat there shocked, asking stupid questions. And get this. She's going to go back to Kenya to do an oral history project on the women in the camp, for which she got funding.
I felt pretty inferior with my accomplishments after that.
Then I got let out of work and released into the Boston wilderness. I went Downtown and wandered around, stumbled into The Brattle Book Shop, which is an incredible used book store. And I picked up a Russian book. Because, why not? If I'm looking for a language with a rich literature, then Russian is it.
Then I went and got bubble tea
---
So, in the past weeks and whatnot, there has also been:
-beer. Sorry if I got a little silly and times, misters and missies.
-too much coffee. Dunkin Donuts Large coffee will kick the shit out of you, especially after you've already had coffee at home. And make you shake like the guy on the T for the rest of the day.
-soccer. SOCCCERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
-V-Dub working. Man, I love my old Portuguese woman.
-a visit to Boston to see Jen. \m/
-lots and lots of stuff that I am getting too sick of writing to post here and you are probably getting sick of reading so why don't we just call it a day enjoy your homosexual Buddha and if that's not enough how about a man hacking the crap out of a huge fish in Hong Kong? Yes? Yes? OK.
PS-Tonight I drive home to Elmira with Max and Kevin along for the ride. Nivanick will be meeting us there. Let the hilarity ensue. |
|
|
| quick, because i'm at wbur |
[Jul. 5th, 2006|01:13 pm] |
|
...but my job just got cooler. I'm going to a Portuguese Sports Bar to get sound as Portugal meets France in the World Cup semifinals. |
|
|
| Often a Delightful Silence |
[Jun. 16th, 2006|11:12 am] |
| [ | music |
| | Free Falling Divisions-Wire-A Bell Is A Cup Until It Is Struck | ] |
To recap the past week or so:
World Cup, Dave's birthday, soccer, street! soccer!, work, strange encounters on the T, World Cup, street! soccer!, poker, hanging out.
Yes, I have been watching many, many hours of the World Cup. Every day I'm not at work, pretty much. And then there was that day at work where the US and the Czech Republic played, and I had to stand in the studio with the host as she read the stories out over the air...she wanted to make sure she got the up-to-date-score of the game. 2 Seconds before she was going to read the story, Czech gets a breakaway and lets loose into the goal. So I wrote that down for her and we got the 3-0 score as it happened, going out live over the air.
Yesterday had one of the best World Cup moments yet. Sweden v. Paraguay. The game was torturous, in that no matter what they did Sweden could just not get the ball in, no matter how many shots on goal they took. Then a Swede gets a breakaway. It's him against the goalie. He flips it over the goalie, and it's on it's way to the net. OUT OF NOWHERE comes a Paraguayan defender, rushing from behind to come in at a complete angle, jumping like he's Bruce Lee to kick the ball out a second before it's going to go in. The angle at which he came in for this was absolutely incredible and I can't really get it down in words here. But it was incredible.
Then the moments when I'm not watching World Cup, me and the housemates take the ball out ourselves. We played a pick-up game on the main green, joined by a man named Abraham who was from Jordan (how perfect is the naming choice there?). Max and I played some street! soccer! on Powers St., taking care not to hit the cars and streetlamps. Then the other night the house went down to the Eastside Marketplace parking lot for a little street! soccer!
Work this week was pretty great. Well, actually Monday was maybe a little lame. There was absolutely no news at all. Nobody had anything to do, really. I got stuck writing obituaries for people who hadn't died yet. Although I did learn a hell of a lot about Massachusetts that I didn't know about. Also filled in some gaps in my sports knowledge. I now know who Red Auerbach, Bill Russell, and Johnny Pesky are. But Wednesday was sweet. I put out calls for interviews, and then conducted two phone interviews. I was hyper-caffeinated and super-nervous but they went well. Then I pulled out sound from the interviews, wrote pieces around them, put them out on the air. The first interview was with the PR person for the Massachusetts National Guard, responding to some lawmakers being worried about the war leaving Massachusetts ill-prepared to handle disasters. The second was with the CEO of a company that gave a 75,000 dollar grant to a high school on the condition they remove junk food from their after-school program (not much of news, I know, but the story was originally reported wrong on the AP wire leading us to think it was a bigger story than it was).
Then a funny thing happened. I kept getting complimented on my obituaries for the not-yet-dead. By producers, writers, senior editors. Which was nice. I really like my bosses.
On the train ride back on Monday and Wednesday, there was a point where I crashed. The caffeine wore off and I fell asleep, waking to the sound of "Attleboro next! Attleboro!" Then I come home and stay up many more hours, because I desire social interaction after a day of work.
Social interaction was had the other night for Dave's birthday, which we duly celebrated. Dave being one of my housemates. Apparently Dave is upset that he ceded the name David to me, leaving him with Dave (which some think is an immature name). But I've never been a Dave, and we need some form of differentiation. I suggested using my Chinese name, A-waih, but I'm not sure whether that'll happen.
I also finished The Shipping News, praise for which is pretty damn deserved.
Here are some stories about riding the T to close this out, which my house-mates have undoubtedly heard many times but which I think are worth sharing:
-Two Wednesdays ago, I'm riding the Green Line to Harvard, in order to record some sound of Seth MacFarlane speaking. It's pouring out, the T is as crowded as can be. In front of me sits a girl, I'm standing, to my right a girl in a wheelchair sits by the door. We go a few stops and the girl in front of me needs to get off, so I turn to accomodate her. My backpack slightly brushes the wheelchair girl. I recieve a tap on the shoulder. It's a guy my age saying, "Sir, your backpack is hurting her." I respond as politely as can be, even though I know my backpack barely brushed her, "I'm sorry, I had to turn to let her out." He responds, "Well I know, but you're hurting her." I fall silent, convinced there's nothing to be said to this. Then an older guy is like, "What's wrong honey? Is something wrong? Are you upset? I'll do anything I can to make you feel better." Wheelchair girl: "Well no, it's just that his backpack was all up on me, and someone pushed my chair..." To which he says, "Well sometimes you just have to tell people like that to take a shit in their hat! And this guy knows I'm talking about him." I remind myself there is no use arguing with idiots.
A few stops later an older man with a backpack turns. I watch as his backpack lightly grazes the girl's shoulder. Tap on the shoulder. "Excuse me sir, your backpack is hurting her."
-This past Wednesday, on the Green Line to Park St.. A bunch of scenesters get on at South Station. They talk for a while. At one point, they're talking about the movie Nacho Libre. "Yo," one of them says, "Is that by the same n*ggers who did Napolean Dynamite?" That's write, even hate-words are ironic now. I want to punch the kid.
-...at the same time, I am being stared at by a 5 foot tall Vietnamese guy about my age. He has stared at me since he got on until we both get off at Park St. At one point he smiles at me, says hi. I'm a little weirded out.
More T-adventures, to be posted, as they occur. |
|
|
| navigation |
| [ |
viewing |
| |
most recent entries |
] |
| [ |
go |
| |
earlier |
] |
| |
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
inkycolossus's journal