How Green Can You Be?

Thinking globally, buying produce locally
Originally uploaded by alpharat

It all depends on how far you want to go.

I eat healthy. I try to go to the Eastern Market for my produce as often as possible. Most of it’s locally grown by small farmers. Much of it’s organic. I’ve tried to grow my own produce, but I don’t have the skills to do it with any efficiency.

I couldn’t do the 100-mile diet (for those of you too new to remember Z writing about it, it simply means not eating anything produced more than 100 miles away - more info is here). I mean I could - I just don’t want to. I don’t want to give up coffee. Or oysters. Or olives. Or French or Italian wines, or California wines for that matter. There are too many things that I’m simply not willing to give up.

I’m not a vegetarian. I probably could be a vegetarian, I eat vegetarian quite often, and I can cook vegetarian food, I just don’t want to be a vegetarian. I like the occasional bloody rare steak. I like pulled pork, sausage and bacon. I like to occasionally splurge on duck. It wouldn’t take much to become a vegetarian; I just don’t really want to do it.

Also, being strict about being vegetarian would be a royal PITA. Vegetarians have to worry about stuff like, “Is there fish oil in this salad dressing? Is there lard in these beans? Is there beef gelatin in this glass of wine?” (Yep, even that last one is true.) Look, unless it’s going to kill me immediately, I don’t want to have to stress about what I’m eating. And I don’t want to face a day where the fact that beer and wine are made with animal products will force me to give them up.

Sorry, If I’ve opened up a horrible revelation to any vegetarians reading this, but yes, many beers and wines are made with various animal products in them.

Local Produce, Imported Cheese
Originally uploaded by alpharat

On this token, I could also really never become vegan. Even if most vegetarians are not overly concerned with minute traces of animal byproducts in their beer, vegans are. Vegans also don’t eat cheese, which I think is against the Bible. I know there was a thou shalt or something about how fresh mozzarella is really good and how Jesus wanted us to have it with tomatoes, basil and balsamic.

So, when it comes to eating, I guess I’m a moderate. I like to eat healthy. I go out of my way to get local produce and to eat organically. I eat more fish than I do red meat, and have no problem going a few days without any meat. I’m OK with this. I could probably leave a smaller footprint on the Earth, and while I do think of that occasionally, right now I’m comfortable with myself.

And I think that’s the important part. But, I will probably frown at everyone who is less committed to healthy and environmentally sound eating habits than I, and pity those who are stricter. It’s the old “anyone driving slower than me is an idiot – and everyone driving faster is a maniac” phenomena. Something in our psychological being forces us to look at everything relative to ourselves. Einstein said something about relativity, but it was only kind of the same thing.

Now that we’ve set the stage, I would like to introduce you to another dietary/lifestyle group – the freegans. In their own words, ”Freegans are people who employ alternative strategies for living based on limited participation in the conventional economy and minimal consumption of resources.”

What does that mean? Freegans adopt a vegan lifestyle, but only eat things they don’t have to pay for. I’m not talking about homegrown self-sufficiency either. They dumpster dive for food.

These are the same people who are ”are outraged that people literally freeze to death on the streets while landlords and cities keep buildings boarded up and vacant because they can’t turn a profit on making them available as housing.” OK, we all may be outraged at this, but they take a logic leap and decide that this belief means that they should be squatting rent free in these abandoned buildings.

Am I wrong in thinking that this is simply a way to adopt a political lifestyle to cover up the fact that they’re gross and just a bit underemployed?

I guess I never realized what a capitalist pig I was until now. I like owning property that won’t be taken away (as long as I’m working and paying bills anyway). In fact, I don’t mind working when it allows me to splurge on things like a decent bottle of wine or a plate of raw oysters now and then. And while I guess that may be selfish, I’m not ready to start eating garbage in order to feel better about my impact on the world.

If you want to learn more about Freeganism and becoming a gross person Freegan, they have a Web site. They must use the computer at the library, because, last I checked, most vacant buildings don’t have access to the Interwebs.

Drying Out

Despite tornadoes and high winds in the area, we got through the storm pretty well. Better than others, anyway. A few blocks away, trees were ripped out of the ground, and not much further, people lost power for three days. TFN's sister ended up with four feet of water in her basement, as well as a host of fish and frogs who traveled with it.

Apparently, due to the storm coverage, they also bumped the broadcast of the Miss Teen USA pageant. That's a shame, because around here everyone missed seeing this firsthand:



I neither know nor care who won the pageant, but I am extremely grateful that Miss Teen South Carolina was able to confirm my suspicions about beauty queens.

Weathering the storm

As I'm writing this, I have taken refuge. There is a wicked thunderstorm going overhead right now, and tornadoes have been sighted in the area. I'm hiding out in the basement with a cat and a very nervous dog glued to my hip.

Storms don't bother him, but he's used to lying in the dog bed while they pass. Picking him up and carrying him down the stairs (he didn't want to go) has him feeling like things aren't right.

It's amazing that, in this day and age, we can still be humbled by something like the weather. I'm hiding out in my basement while thunder crackles outside, and TFN's sister, who lives on a river bank, has water inches from her back door and they're waiting to see if the water will still rise.

Now the nervous dog has just thrown up on the tile. Nice. I think it's partly out of nervousness, and partly that he's not used to being carried, especially right after he's eaten. Ah well, off to get some paper towel, hope the house doesn't collapse while I'm upstairs...

Ok, we're back safe and sound and the tile is clean again. Where was I?

Ah yes, we get so cocky about our mastery of the world, it just takes something like the psychotic weather of the past week to humble us up a bit.

If the power goes out, A. I won't be able to access the Interwebs, and therfore this post goes bu-bye, but B. the big thing is that we'll lose the sump pump. Withouht the sump pump, the basement will take on water, especially with all of the rain we've had. Sister in law who lives on the river has FIVE! sump pumps, all laboring to keep the house safe. Power goes out, they're fucked.

It's 2007, we have electricity and the Interwebs and cable TV and Fruit Rollups, yet when a tornado is sighted, I may as well be a Neanderthal hiding in a cave, waiting out the rain. Then again, Neanderthals didn't have Youtube, and they couldn't watch things like this to weather out the storm...



What'd I tell ya? Cat-blogging! All cats all the time!

See you when the storm blows over.

It's my party and I'll blog if I want to.

I just realized that a few days ago signaled another year of this little site. Actually, it was Saturday which signaled the day that I inauspiciously started one of the blog things on the internets two years ago with this little blurb. At that moment, Kit Burns was framed! was born. In just two years, it has become a multi-million dollar juggernaut of the the literary world, and there's nowhere to go from here but up!

Blogging has been a lot of fun. I've met some great peeps on the internets, and read some great writing. While my interest has ebbed and flowed in doing it, it has never gone away completely, and it probably won't do so anytime soon.

I do want to thank the investors who've made this possible, those who took the risk of laying out the venture capital in the early days, and I am happy to know that I've made you more money with this project than you could have possibly imagined. Between merchandising, action figures and the film rights to Kit Burns was framed! The Movie, we could all retire tomorrow. But then, the boredom would kill us, wouldn't it? So lets just get back on the bus and take this one as far as it will go.

There are also a few others who've I relied upon for influence and connections, without which we never would have been able to manage the information acquisition we had, or the legal wrangling that has at various times kept most of the staff here at Kit Burns was framed! out of prison (and to Jordan, who took one for the team, we're still appealing!). You all know who you are, and while I respect your desire to remain nameless, I did want to thank you.

And, since I don't know what else to say, let me just share a few photos that I took Saturday, the second anniversary of our inception.

This is how we do fountains in Detroit.



Cats and a giraffe.



Ciao! Thank you, and don't forget to tip your waitress.

The newest addition to our family

Nicole's new baby
Originally uploaded by alpharat

I'd like to welcome this lovely young lady to our family. She's TFN's new ride, and don't let her good looks fool you - she's tough.

You'll notice she looks a little uncomfortable in the photo. That's because she's sitting in the living room. She's claustrophobic and hyperactive. She hates sitting still and really hates being inside. Unfortunately, the weather has been less than cooperative.

Rather than criticize her claustrophobia or hyperactivity as flaws though, we choose to celebrate them. As soon as the weather breaks, we'll take her to environs more comfortable for her. I'll be sure to get a photo of her in a more natural state then.

For Jamie

While I put a lot of stuff on my blog, I also am pretty secretive. I talk about a lot of fun stuff, but really, I keep my personal details to a minimum.

Sometimes, though, it feels good to write something down, even if I don't feel like sharing it with the world.

So I've decided to write about Jamie. Jamie was a rockstar of the highest order. Jamie could drink you under the table without a second thought, but he would never hold it against you.

I first met Jamie when he played keyboards in the Lust. They stayed with us the weekend that they came into town. I was blown away by his charisma, his friendliness, his lack of attitude and his infectious smile.

During the weekend they stayed with us, we talked about a ton of stuff. Jamie was eloquent and intelligent, and not at all wrapped up in being a rock star. On the first night he stayed with us, we walked through my yard in the dark, drinking beer and talking about everything from religion, to history, to food and the state of my struggling (now failed) attempts at a vegetable and herb garden.

We pulled out a whiskey bottle and passed it back and forth, drinking and laughing.

I slept on the lawn that night.

Jamie didn't get riled up about anything. When The Lust played at the Old Miami that weekend, the soundman at the bar was abysmal, yet he was unphased no matter how angry his bandmates were. And when his bandmates stood on the curb, heatedly arguing about how to load their gear, he stood off to the side with Nicole and I, smirking with that twinkle in his eye.

For as enamored as I sound of Jamie, it doesn't touch the connection that he and Nicole made. That weekend in our little house, the two of them sat at the kitchen table for hours, well past the time the sun came up that morning, talking about a wider and deeper range of topics than you could imagine. They forged a friendship that night.

When the Lust left, Jamie told us to come visit him at the Double Door whenever we were in Chicago and we would never pay for drinks. He was right, and it was detrimental to me on more than one occasion, but as always, he and Nicole would sit and chat well past close. She loved that kid.

Friday night, Jamie took his own life. We found out Saturday afternoon on our way to a party. Nicole broke down in tears on the street. She didn't want to go to the party crying, but I dragged her in, feeling it was better that we were among friends at the moment than in the alley behind the house. We tucked away for a bit, and then proceeded to try and enjoy the night.

It wasn't until we got home that night that I really broke down, full of sadness, frustration and anger about it all. For a few minutes, I think I grieved deeper than I ever have, until I went to bed out of exhaustion more than anything else.

It's strangely appropriate that it started raining here on Saturday, and hasn't stopped yet.

The hardest thing to deal with is the anger. When Maria passed away earlier this year, I was able to be angry at the cancer that took her away from us, her husband and her daughter. With this, I can only be angry with Jamie. I miss him so much, but I'm angry with him, too.

He was an amazingly special person, one that I feel fortunate to have considered a friend despite the fact that we only spent a limited amount of times together. I'm sure we're not alone in this regard; I'm sure he touched a lot of people that way.

I can only hope that he's found peace, and escaped what he was running from. He will always be missed, and fondly remembered.

(Edit - I removed Jamie's last name as this post was generating a lot of traffic, and I don't want to cause pain to anyone; if you know me and you know Jamie, you know where to find it, but I know Jamie had eight bazillion friends I didn't know, and the rambling of someone they don't know probably may not be the most cathartic for them.)

Cat-blogging! All cats, all the time!

Cat on a hot red couch
Originally uploaded by alpharat

So, I was at the site for Mental Floss magazine, today (it’s one of those sites that’s part of my daily rotation), and I stumbled on a post about bloggers, and this thing they do called blogging.

Paraphrasing a bit, they searched around the Interwebs to find what various authorities and sources were saying about “the average blogger.”

They turned up some quotes, and I was looking at them, as well as at the stories, to try and figure out how “average” I am.

"The average blogger is a 14-year-old girl writing about her cat." - Alexander Halavais, assistant professor of interactive communications at Quinnipiac University in Connecticut

Ok, while I beat that age demographic, I have blogged about Miss Mina on more than one occasion. What’s wrong with that? Anyway, cat blogs are very popular with some folks, especially crazy cat ladies.

Another study they pointed out said that “most blogs are abandoned soon after creation (with 60% to 80% abandoned within one month, depending on whose figures you choose to believe) and that few are regularly updated. The 'average blog' thus has the lifespan of a fruitfly”

OK, while I haven’t been ultraregular on my updates, and while I blame it on my “job blog”, I do try to update at least once a week. Granted, there were times, in my bloggish youth, where I could update three times a day, every day. But age catches up with us. Occasionally I’ll get those bouts of energy, but right now, it’s not so often.

The biggest one that makes me wonder was a statement by the CEO of Google, who said that the “average blog” is read by one person. That makes me wonder how average I am. I think I get two or three readers, but I’m not exactly sure.

What if no readers came to this site, would it change anything?
Sadly, I think it would. Part of this whole blog thing, for me at least, involves the exchange of ideas, thoughts, revelations and inspirations. If nobody visits a blog, does it make a sound?

Anyway, for better or for worse, the post is here. Do me a favor though. Before you go, drop a short roll call comment at the bottom of the post, to alleviate the idea that I may simply be average.

Hi, my name is Ryan and I’m esoteric…

Il calore e insopportabile.
The heat is unbearable.

That seems to be the trend as of late. The heat has been stifling lately, creating the type of temperatures that force one inside to hide in the dark, next to the window air conditioner (or in my white trash neighbor’s case, has them sitting in lawn chairs shaded from the sun – by their van).

I read a news article that said we can plan on the next 10 years or so being cyclically warmer, too. That is, whether or not you believe is global warming, the next 10 summers are going to be hot simply because they will be. If that’s true, I’m heading up to Alaska for a few, because I like to breathe air, not wade through it.

Now, then, global warming - is it real? Apparently that depends on who you ask. There are people who say it’s coming, and we’re accelerating it – unfortunately, I am told that those people are being paranoid and melodramatic, simply because they love grant money and hate America. Those that say that global warming isn’t happening are, I am told, simply government shills on the take from big businesses with bigger check books (but at least they don’t hate America).

I guess it’s up to you where you want to side, but there are some indisputable facts. One, it’s damn hot. Two, polar bears are drowning. The fact that polar bears are drowning probably should be telling us we need to fix something. But it won’t. Not until there are people in the right places who are more concerned about sound environmental policy than about pushing some caribou out of the way so they can drill for oil.

My biggest/best global warming argument is this: whether or not you believe global warming is happening, or if it’s cyclical or man-enhanced, what’s wrong with being green? I like mountain biking. I like getting out in the woods. I like nature. Don’t most of us like nature? Then why not simply agree we all need to be nicer to the outside simply because it’s the right thing to do?

Believe it or not, I didn’t intend this post to be about this. My Italian phrase a day calendar just set me off.

What did I want to talk about? Well, I think it’s going to be a long and winding road getting there, so I hope you packed a lunch, because I’ll be taking the scenic route.

Will Smith don’t gotta cuss in his raps to sell records.
Well I do. So fuck him and fuck you, too. –Eminem

I don’t bring it up often, but Eminem is incredibly talented. His rhymes are tight, and his lyrics are great. It’s not something that gets mentioned often though, because allying one with Marshall aligns you with his fans, and… well I told you about my neighbors sitting in the shade of their van.

Plus, he doesn’t dis Detroit, like a certain punkass who’ll remain nameless in this context.



For those of you who think I may be slipping a bit, this is Barb Object (the band is I Object!). She’s very punk rock.



And for those of you who may think I went way to far and too easy with that one. This is Towers Of London. They’re pretty punk rock, too.



And, just for one more, we’ll let the Towers slow it down with an acoustic number. Also pretty punk rock.



So what is punk rock? Somebody has the answer…

I just got a screener copy of a new film, called Punk’s Not Dead. It was really great, and if/when you get the chance, see it. It’s a documentary, but not a solid historical documentary. Basically, the filmmaker interviewed punk musicians, both old school and new school, and talked to them about what punk means. The ideal. It’s pretty entertaining, and pretty eye opening, as the basic message is that about the only thing you have no right to do is to tell someone else that their idea of punk rock isn’t.

To sum up, Eminem is pretty punk rock. And he’s from Detroit. And another guy is also from Detroit and is not as punk rock as Eminem. I Object! Is punk rock, and so are the Towers Of London, and so is everyone who wants to be punk rock (except the aforementioned unnamed guy from Detroit). And Punk’s Not Dead is a good movie, and if you want to read my full review (blatant self-promotion), you can read it here.

Oh, speaking of blatant self-promotion, the film also talked about the classic “punk episode” of Quincy M.E., and I wrote a post about it here, with links to clippy goodness.

Getting back on the road that has nothing to do with Eminem or global warming, it’s been a great biking season, if a little accident prone. Case in point: due to unrelated spills, TFN and I ran in the Tree Farm Relay a few weeks ago sporting a matching pair of broken ribs. Broken ribs hurt. The only known treatment for a broken rib is beer. That’s a little known fact, but try it if you’re ever in the situation.

Another thing I wanted to point out the importance of the brain bucket. Long story short, TFN took a huge drop in the bottom of a pit, hitting the ground at about 15-20 MPH. She hit the ground hard and slid a few feet. She walked away with the aforementioned broken rib and a bit lighter after leaving the proverbial pound of flesh peeled away on the ground. Oh, and she had a cracked helmet.

It’s not the first time I’ve watched people (including the best rider I know, my personal bike guru) take some sick spills with little or no consequence that would have been much worse had their brain not been in a bucket. I will never ride a trail without a helmet, I will not ride with anyone who isn’t wearing a helmet and although we never did when we were kids, I wear a helmet on the road, and my kids will bike in helmets too. Man, it only takes one small lapse of judgment, one second where you’re not paying attention, to launch you over the handlebars. If you’ve got a brain bucket on, it’ll probably be more painful, because your friends will never let you live it down but it’s rude to make fun of people in a persistive vegetative state from a head injury.

As it was, we both ended up banged up but still able to race. So, to reiterate, put your brain in a bucket, OK?



Oh, and for those of you who’ve been keeping track at home, Team Angry Monkey gained a few new members, but I really wanted to introduce this one . We’ll be starting her training very soon. It’s how Yoda recommends these things be done.

Taking the scenic route once more, we got hooked up with a group called Beat The Train. Beat The Train meets at 6:30 in the AM on Saturday at Historic Fort Wayne in an area of Detroit that one doesn’t usually even drive in. From there, we ride out bikes across the city, through Mexican Village, Wayne State, Greektown, Mt. Elliot cemetery, the Heidelberg Project, Bell Isle, Downtown, The River Walk… 33 miles later, we’re back in Mexicantown for breakfast.

It’s an amazing way to see the city; first of all, we rode through neighborhoods I don’t even like to drive through, but there is the whole safety in numbers thing, and 20 cyclists had no problem.

Also, as we went through downtown, there were a ton of business owners, opening up shops and restaurants for the day, who said hello and actually thanked us for coming into the city. It’s the kind of thing that continues to make me want to have faith in Detroit.

Ok… I think I’ve run out of thoughts for the moment… if anyone can tell me what this post is about, you know where the comment area is. There may even be a secret message in here, but if so, I didn’t put it there…

Wild in The Streets of Windsor

TFN went to Toronto on business this week, and I took her to the train station in Windsor. First we went to a great little Irish pub for some fish and chips and steak and Guinness pie.

As we sat in the front of the bar, things started to get a little crazy in the street out front, as people streamed by in cars and vans, yelling, cheering… and waving the Iraqi flag.

Unfortunately, due to current circumstances, I got very worried that this may have something to do with events in Iraq or in the U.S. We are, I don’t need to tell any of you, at war with Iraq. Whether or not you agree with it (I don’t, but that’s not the point of this), I was faced with the image of Iraqis celebrating in the street while I was in another country. The implications are thus: if this street celebration were due to war-related events, there was a good chance that the border, located about a mile away from where we were at, would close. I would end up stranded in another country for a bit (a big bit, depending on the nature of the event). I like international travel, but I wasn’t in the mood for that.

In the end, the celebrations had nothing to do with the war. The Iraqis celebrating in the street were celebrating a victory, but one from the soccer field. Iraq beat the Saudis in their first ever Asia Cup.

It’s nice to see this kind of celebration and nationalism related to events that happen on the football field. It’s sad that circumstances forced me to think the worst at first.

Why can't we fight wars on the soccer field instead of on the battlefield? Perhaps we're heading that way. Did it ever occur to you that there may be an ulterior motive for our buying Beckham into the U.S.? Other than that he comes with a Spice Girl I mean? Maybe we're working toward building a soccer team to end war with.

I doubt it though. Even if that were the plan, with Iraq's victory, we're a long ways out from having a team to send out to win. Years probably. (Hmmm... then again, that sounds like the way things are anyway.)

That's a dilemma. Ask yourself this: if we could send a soccer team to Iraq tomorrow, to play and loe to Iraq, with the end result being everyone shaking hands and saying amicably, "You win, Iraq. You're clearly the better in this competition. We're going to pack up and head home." Wouldn't that be preferable than the loss of many more lives, both American and Iraqi, as this war trudges on. What if we could end the war that way, sans soccer team? Simply say, "you win," and go home.

Of course that won't work, though. Even if we could walk away now, we're obligated to help clean up the mess we made. When you were a kid, if you went over to someone's house to play, made a mess, and left without helping to clean up, you didn't get invited back. America doesn't want to be that kid. We're already the bully, among a bunch of other things.

Sorry, I didn't mean to get so political, so I'm going to end the post and regroup before I start talking about one of my favorite things - bikes and bike-related things.

Also, unrelated to this event, it took five minutes to get across the border into Canada, and close to an hour to get back in the U.S. That’s just the state of things right now.

Khan was a good dog

Khan
Originally uploaded by alpharat

Z just blogged that she no longer calls pit bulls by that name due to negative connotations (she calls them brindle bull terriers). It got me thinking about Khan, and how I wanted to mention him here briefly.

Khan was a friend's dog. He was a pit, or a brindle, or whichever you'd like to call him. Regardless of the name of his breed he was a big sweetheart.

He had some weird personality quirks. For example, in this photo, he was sitting in his owner's truck in the driveway during a barbecue. Why? He liked it. He loved to sit in the car. He sat there for an hour or so, watching the festivities go by, occasionally honking the horn and getting everbody's attention.

He was also the strongest dog I've ever known. He would routinely "play" with dumbbells that were so heavy that, as he ran around with them in his mouth he would be tilted forward, running only on his front legs, his back legs off the ground.

He also would let you pick him up like this:


So, yeah, this dog was all muscle, and intimidating because of it. He was also well-trained and very gentle with people and children. I could shove him out of the way on the couch, and know the only retaliation I'd get was him planting his butt down and going dead weight so I couldn't move him.

Khan was a good dog.

He passed away quietly in his sleep a few weeks ago. He was old; it was just time.

I'll miss him at the Dream Cruise Barbecue this year.

Breast Fest Goes Good!

60 Second Crush
Originally uploaded by alpharat

I know it's weeks after the fact, but Breast Fest made over $2,000. Dana from 60 Second Crush even played without her shirt in honor of the event (although as shown, electrical tape kept everything nice and legal...).


If you want to hear the way these guys tear it open, check out their Myspace page. I highly recommend the song "Murder In Ohio".

Edit: If you want to see video of them, here's their Electronic Press Kit video. It's not "Murder in Ohio", but it still rocks.

To serve and protect... those who can afford it.

There was a story in the newspaper yesterday that seems a little bit disturbing to me.

Essentially, the story is this: The City of Detroit wants to make its police officers available for rental. If you are a bar or club owner, or are promoting an event, you can hire police officers to come provide security.

What does this imply? If you own a club or bar, you are currently not offered police protection should you need it? Sure, your tax money pays for the police, but unless you actually hire them (which would mean that you’re now paying twice for police services), they don’t need to come if you call?

And here’s a scenario: What if you have an emergency and you call 911, and the nearest police officer is three doors down from your emergency, but can’t provide aid because he has been hired by a strip club for the evening, and is essentially owned by them? I would imagine you could always offer to pay him more than the bar is, but the negotiations might take even longer than the time it takes to find an officer who hasn’t been rented for the evening.

In certain areas of the world, places are run by people known as warlords. Many of these warlords are able to do so because of their wealth, which allows them to hire personal armies and police forces to maintain order in the way that best interests the warlord. How is this different? Isn’t the city offering its officers out as mercenaries?

By hiring a police officer, wouldn’t your business be protected in a way that meets its interest best? Wouldn’t an officer be more likely to accept your side of the story? Say, for example, one of your employees gets in a fight with one of your patrons. Sometimes (albeit rarely) the patron is not at fault in this situation. Perhaps the employee had taken a liking to the patron’s date, and decided that creating an altercation to get the patron removed would allow him to approach her. Perhaps the employee is simply a psychopath who wants to assault the patron.

If you’re a police officer called to the scene, it’s your responsibility to get both sides of the story and make a decision.

If you’re a police officer hired by the club, why wouldn’t it be in your best interest to simply side with the business? Especially if they’re paying well?

And what about wealthy private citizens? Are they going to be allowed to hire personal police escorts? That seems like it would definitely work to their favor in any situation.

To me, it’s one more facet of the crooked nature and financial desperation of the City of Detroit. If you don’t agree, you can get your own personal police mercenaries for $24-$34 an hour, depending on their rank. It’s an additional $50 hour if you want to police car, too. Hell, I bet if it’s your dime, they’ll even run the siren for you.

Two great features of Detroit

There have been tons of good times as of late. Not just the events of birthday week, which I will getting around to posting pictures of some day, there have been other random fun things.

Last night we went down to the Belmont to pick up some art pieces left over from the benefit. Ultimately, the pieces ended up being locked up somewhere, so we didn't get them, but we did drink a few (dozen) $.75 PBR drafts, and we got to eat dinner at Polish Village.

Polish Village is a very old-school type of place. It's a tiny little basement restaurant in Hamtramck and it's very cheap.

We got in there, and waited a few minutes for a table. The place is so tiny, that if the bar is full and you need to wait for a table, your only option is to mill about in the center of the dining room. Stuff like this just adds to the charm.

That, and the fact that they don't take debit cards. We had this exchange with the waitress:

Me: Do you take cards?
Waitress: No, cash only.
Me (toward TFN): Do you have any cash? I only have $20.
Waitress: That's probably enough. It's cheap here.
Me: Yes, but I want to have drinks, and I want to be able to tip you.
Waitress: We also take checks.

Who still takes checks? It just so happened that we had our checkbook, and were thus able to order whatever we wanted without looking at prices. We drank giant mugs of beer, and ate massive amounts of Polish home cooking, including cucumber salad, sausage, pierogi, saurkraut, mashed potatoes, stuffed cabbage and potato pancakes. The bill, before tip, was $20.72.

That's why I love the place.

Today at lunch, I wandered over to John K. King Books. That's another amazing place, and it's just a block from my office. The largest used bookstore in Michigan, the building is four stories, piled floor to ceiling with used books. One could spend many lunch hours there and not see it all. And that's just the stuff they have on the floor. Rumors of what's contained in their off-limits areas are also amazing, as this list indicates.

The store's occult books section conjurs up images of the library at Hogwart's, too.

Two little blurbs about two places that deserve much more notice, but that's all I'm feeling right now.

You're all kitten haters...

I know that I am a bit outdoorsy. I like to get out, ride in the woods, have bonfires, etc., and I do worry about the environment. I watched "An Inconvenient Truth" and did find it disturbing, but recent facts have come to light that have forced me to question that global warming could be good... or at least cute.

You see, Global Warming = Kittens. And we all like kittens.

Apparently, according to this story, the rise in temperatures equals longer breeding seasons for cats, which equals more kittens. So, if we were to fight global warming, it would equal less kittens, and that's bad by basic logic.

I mean, any little girl could figure it out. Just ask her (Let's use Pickles for example), "Pickles, what's better? More kittens or less kittens?" She's definitely going to answer "more kittens, please." (She's so polite!)

And she'd be right.

I can see the anti-environmental folks using this as an argument: "What, you're against global warming? What's the matter with you? Do you hate kittens? If you hate kittens, you must also love terrorists and hate America, too!"

Who can argue with that?

So, as a result of all this, I can only urge everyone to use their A/C and their heat at the same time, wage war between your humidifiers and your dehumidifiers, and drive bigger cars. I thank you, and the kittens thank you.

Then again, global warming could lead to our eventual demise, as we're smothered by a giant mass of kittens. What the hell, at least it would be a cute way to go.

The Apocalypse is coming... and it's fuzzy.

Give this guy an Oscar!

This is, without a doubt, the best five seconds of dramatic footage available anywhere on the Interwebs. This guy will be snubbed if he's not nominated for an Oscar. Or at least named Oscar. Oscar is a good name.

Click on it to watch. It's only 5 seconds long (but you'll be watching it repeatedly...)



For those of you who've asked, the benefit went very well, as did my birthday week. (Yes, it turned into a week-long celebration!) I do have photos from the benefit, as well as some birthday week photos, that I will post as soon as I can.

But tonight is the summer solstice, so that means loading the car up, heading north, letting the dog run on the beach, and celebrating the shortest night of the year by a fire. That's how we do it in these parts.

Limited Seating Available

Because you asked...



Red Corduroy with yellow walls doesn't look that bad.

Tired... AKA Rachael Ray is The Bomb

There has been considerable hemorrhaging of money out of our bank accounts as of late; in addition to all of the recent expenses, like the new furniture (which is arguably not a necessity, but you should see the state of the old furniture), we have purchased 12 tires in the past month.

Each of the cars needed a full new set, as did both of our mountain bikes. Again the bikes may not seem like a necessity, but we put so many miles on them on such adverse terrain and they were wearing smooth and slipping and were no longer safe. Besides, four mountain bike tires at the deal I got do not add up to the price of one automotive tire, so even as a luxury, it was minor one.

You expect so much more out of a big purchase than you get with a new set of tires on your vehicle. It seems anticlimactic. Granted, the cars are no longer hydroplaning on the flooded sections of road that are all too common right now due to excessive rain and sub par road construction, but it just feels like they should be doing something… more.

Additionally, the television died this morning. There is sound but no picture. It’s a 10-year-old set, and is due for replacement, as were the tires. But combine that with the fact that my car started making funny noises, we need a new roof this year, and also really need new siding and windows, and it looks like the flood of money outward won’t be ceasing in the immediate future.

Where am I going with this? I don’t know. Partly it’s a rant about the fact that everything seems to go at once. Partly it’s an observation that there is good reason that we’ll be staying in a lot in the foreseeable future (both to curtail spending and to enjoy recent home improvements). And partly it’s an opportunity to express my love of Rachel Ray.

(Bear with me, this goes somewhere)

I love Rachael Ray. I love her shows and her personality. She seems like the type of person that would be really fun to hang out with, and even more fun to cook with. It’s not a simple crush, mind you (which is why I avoided using one of her pinup shots from FHM with this, but they are readily available on the Interwebs if you are so inclined to find them), so much as a feeling that I think she’s incredibly awesome. Over the past few years, she has turned us onto such great dishes as her 30-minute Salisbury steak, herJambasta and just the other night, her Root Beer Bomb.

The Root Beer Bomb is essentially a root beer float with the addition of spiced rum. She calls for butter pecan ice cream, but we’ve been doing it with vanilla. I had never before considered the addition of rum to a root beer float, but it adds a little special something that makes staying at home on a hot summer night just a bit more bearable; it’s a decadent treat that is perfectly suited for sitting at home, watching TV (which I need to replace).

Drained

I was just reading a news story from Wisconsin that skeeved me out. Apparently a guy dropped his cell phone down the grate of a storm drain. He then lifted off the grate, and reached in to retrieve it. He pitched face first into the drain, where he became stuck, with his head and shoulders underwater, and drowned.

That's it in a nutshell (but you can read the story here, if you're so inclined), but you may not realize yet the part of the story that I found so disturbing. Sure, this was just a guy that I'll never know who did something stupid. These things happen, but if you do anything more than muster up a simple "Awwww..." everytime you read about the untimely demise of someone you don't know, you will be debilitatingly depressed all of the time. But in this case, the story had an element that I am upset by.

The storm drain.

I have this fear, well it's not so much a full-blown fear as it is a phobia, that I will accidentally drop my keys down a storm grate. When I am walking somewhere, and I have to step over a storm grate, my hand is in my pocket, maintaining a death grip on my keys. This way the keys are protected by both my grip and the pocket, and there is no way that storm drain will get the keys.

And it's that bad too, where I envision that not only is there a remote possibility that my keys could drop into the drain, but that the grate has somehow latched onto some basic primal sentience, that knows not good nor evil, but simply exists to hunger for my keys, and that it will do whatever it can to sway the fates in such a way as to get them, just as I take extra precaution to prevent it.

I don't know where I developed this fear. I don't know anyone who has ever dropped their keys in the drain. It just appeared one day. But, in the scheme of things, although it's odd, it's rather minor and doesn't maintain my focus for longer than the instant that I am stepping over the grate (or in this case, when I read about a guy who fell prey to the bloodlust of a storm drain), and I think I can deal with it sans therapy.

I Can See A Little Light

Life has been running rampant again, but at least it seems like it’s going somewhere for a while.

The benefit is this Saturday, and I am stoked about the quality of bands that are going to be playing. It’s going to be mad fun. The guys from Piel Plastica will be coming in from Chicago, and we’re putting them up. In honor of that event, we got new furniture.

OK, it wasn’t exactly in honor of that; our couch and loveseat have gotten a lot of mileage over the past ten years. The cushions had been flipped to hide threadbare spots long ago, and they were nearing the flipping point on the top layer as well. Countless people have surfed those couches, and the summer that TFN had a broken ankle we lived on them – her on the couch, me on the loveseat, feet draped over the arm. It was time to bring in furniture reinforcements.

We went to Ikea for the new pieces, and ended up with a red corduroy couch and loveseat. We were a little nervous that, when placed on our yellow walls, our living room would look even more like Romper Room, but the effect is actually very soothing and warm. After making two trips home from Ikea – they wanted $100 for delivery – with furniture hanging out the back of the wagon in a torrential downpour (they were wrapped in plastic and weathered the trip well), they have taken up residence. They have made it through the first night of vegging in front of the television – for the season premiere of Hell’s Kitchen, no less.

I am soooo glad that show is back on the air, even if it looks like this season’s cast is all really young. They don’t play well together, but it’s nice to see Chef Ramsay busting their heads. He made some people cry, which led me to use a literal “If you can’t take the heat” reference, but actually had Chef Ramsay tell the guy (who, at 48, is actually the veteran in the cast of kitchen folks who are mostly in their 20’s) to “Stop fucking crying!” Late he told the same guy, "Sir, do you mind just wiping the snot off your fucking face before we serve chicken and snot?" He’s eloquent. And a ball breaker. He rules.

I don’t like much Reality TV (although I am an enabler, having been an avid fan of the first two seasons of Survivor), but I am a sucker for the cooking ones.

But that’s enough about reality TV - back to reality.

Some other home improvements have been happening. The bathroom floor is tiled and the basement is tiled (moving me toward that ultimate dream of the basement bar), and furnished in perfect basement style with the beat up couch and loveseat that once populated our living room.

We’ve also been to a lot of shows as of late. Some have been awesome, some have been not so much. Some of the standouts that I have seen and you should check out, though, are Aqueduct, The Nekromantix, The Heart Attacks and Black Rebel Motorcycle Club.

That’s a fun part of working on my other site, but it can also be a pain. I know I’ve got no right to complain about all the shows I see for free, but I do like to have some evenings free, and when I go to these shows, I have a notebook in hand, where I frantically scribble notes, set lists, impressions and quotes. Sometimes I leave feeling like I missed some of the show.

TFN has it even worse, shooting some of the shows, wading into the crowds at the front of the stage, elbowing drunk punks out of the way to get shots, getting shoved around because she’s affording more protection to her camera than her physical self. It can be rough, but she’s damn good at it.

Sometimes, though, it’s nice to go to a show to see it, and not to cover it. Which is the case with Bob Mould.



Bob Mould is legendary. At one time he was the frontman for the West Coast hardcore band Husker Du (who are incidentally booming through my earbuds right now) and then he went solo. His songs are sweet and heartfelt. When we saw him at SXSW, which is where TFN’s photo is from, she actually had tears in her eyes. He’s an amazing performer.

When we found out he’s putting in an appearance at The Henry Ford, we made a decision. Rather than going to cover and shoot the show, we bought tickets and are going as fans. We’re going on a date, and we’re going to watch and stomp and cheer and sing along.

He’s amazing, check out this song:

Even with the physical rigors of shooting a show, it’s a tough decision for TFN to make. Some bands we choose to cover because she likes the opportunity and challenge of shooting them. Some bands, like one of my current favorites Valient Thorr are so energetic on stage that they afford an amazing opportunity for photos every time, like at SXSW when Wayne Kramer of the MC5 got on stage with them (that’s also a show that TFN hadn’t planned on shooting, but had her camera just in case). We ended up being the only publication with photos of the event, and the band has a video of it, which actually has TFN in the front, hoisting her camera.

Video evidence (That's her, front and center, camera in the air, 1:56 into the video, or at 1:02 on the countdown, depending on how it displays):


And here's one of the resulting photos:



Ciao!

The Breast Fest Is Back!

As per usual, I've been lax on posting here. It's not for lack of love, I've just been very busy. I have found myself in a multitude of projects and diversions, that range from getting out on my bike to tiling my basement, and include finding the best bar patio in Detroit, where one can sit in barbwire-enclosed safety, drinking High-Lifes and watching the world, such as it may be in that neighborhood, wander by. It's kind of like a post-apocalyptic zombie film sometimes.

And I've been working on the benefit again.

This year's benefit will be bigger and better than ever. It's all starting on May 30 with an art exhibition. A ton of Detroit artists and musicians have donated pieces for the gallery show, and all of the proceeds are going straight to the charity.

Then, on June 9, there will be the show. I am seriously excited about this year's lineup, and we've put together a great bunch of bands.

Check them out:

The Displays

Piel Plastica

Dutch Pink

60 Second Crush

As always, I am amazed when we put something like this together. Despite all of the work that goes into it, the 10 million emails, the plotting etc., there are so many people willing and wanting to help. I know a big part of it has to do with how many people's lives have been touched by breast cancer, but it's still really nice that people want to get involved.

And as an additional as always, I am still very indebted to D at The Belmont, for letting us take over his bar for the evening.

And that's the state of things right now. I wish I could promise to get better about posting more often in the forseeable future, but I know that basement ain't gonna tile itself (although I do promise some "after" pictures, even though I was too embarrassed for "befores"), nor is the High-Life going to drink itself.

Bananas

For what it's worth, Billie won. I had picked her before the race had even started, so I wasn't just going with the favorite. I just thought she was the cute one.

It's like when I picked Colleen Haskell to win the first season of Survivor. Colleen didn't win, but she did stick it out until close to the end.

I have a bit more to relate later, stuff that has nothing to do with turtles or cuteness, but for now I wanted to share what is possibly the best music video created EVER!

Turtles and Stuff

I like turtles. Just a few weeks ago, I told The Fabulous Nicole that we needed a turtle. She said no. Then I suggested we get two turtles, so that they could keep each other company and be even less work, but she also said no to this. I am still coming to terms with this (then again, this comes after a conversation a few years ago where she told me I could have Sea Monkeys once I proved that I could be responsible enough to care for them. A few years later, I still don't have Sea Monkeys, and don't even let's get started about the Ant Farm conversation...), but I think reality is setting in that I will never have my little turtles, obviously and unoriginally named Cowboy Pete and Linda "The Ragin' Cajun" Beauvier.

I even picked them out, too. These are my two turtles. I think they would make a very cute couple (Linda's the one with the pretty eyes):


Now, on the topic of turtles, I am currently watching a turtle race very closely. Unlike t your average run-of-the-mill turtle races that they show on ESPN 4 on Saturday afternoons, this is the big one. It's the Great Turtle Race.

Every year, the Leatherback Turtles (well, the girl ones anyway) go to Costa Rica and lay eggs. Then, when they're done, they head back to the Galapagos. The first one backs gets a wide selction of valuable cash and prizes. The grand prize last year was a Ford Escort, this year it's an upright washer and dryer and a billiards table. But as in all events in this circuit, the real prize is bragging rights. And lucrative sponsorship deals. And a cut in some certain illicit businesses.

At any rate, this year the turtles allowed themselves to be tagged in order to expose the seedy underbelly of this event, which apparently has so many side bets going on that a lot of underhanded stuff goes on. Apparently, someone in previous years had even paid to have a shark hit put on one of the favored contenders prior to its start. Nobody was pinned with it, but not many people will forget watching the starting ceremonies last year when the camera caught the surprised look on one of the racer's faces when the racer who had avoided the hit in question showed up defiantly at the starting line, security entourage in tow.

That's just how serious they are.

The Great Turtle Race kicked off two days ago, and my pick Billie is currently in 3rd, but she's not that far back and it's a long race; a lot can happen over the next few weeks.

Dreaming Of Venice

Venice
Originally uploaded by alpharat.

It's been several months since our Italy trip, bit I still dream of Venice almost every night. When I'm asleep, I'm wandering the tiny streets, walking over canals, sitting outside wine bars and findig restaurants in dark alleys. I'm running breathlessly over bridges with my friends, all of us drunk on wine and wearing elaborate masquerade masks, and there is this wonderful pervading feeling of restless exhaustion, moving for the simple sake of the joy of movement, no matter how long previously I've been moving, no matter how tired I am, just because moving feels too good to stop.

I smiled to myself when I was at Trader Joe's last. They sell a frozen torte dessert called "Dreaming of Venice". I didn't pick it up; we don't do sweets at our house, but I hope the concoctor (Is that a word? You know, meaning "one who concocts"?) behind this treat took a similar trip to mine and suffers the same affliction, where they wake up each morning and can't get that city out of their head.

Snappy Copy Gets You Everywhere... Even Into Heaven

church sign
Originally uploaded by alpharat.

Church signs interest me, simply because I've often wondered where they get the ideas for their signs. Some of them are quite thought-provoking, and some are just plain punny.

I'd wondered if there was a newsletter or organization that supplied churches with their marquee ideas. I didn't think that each church had its own copywriter that supplied them with their signs, simply because churches probably couldn't afford a freelancer week after week, and volunteers wouldn't be so consistent either. Plus, if you live in an area with multiple churches, you'll see them start to repeat, and one would hope the churches weren't stealing them from one another, because of that whole commandment thing.

Well, now I know the truth. Apparently there are books on this sort of thing. Here's one. You should pick it up if you own a church. If you don't own a church, there's probably not much use in it, though.

Stabbing the Cat

Cat in a bowl
Originally uploaded by alpharat.

Just after Zilla did this post about getting cats in to the vet, we took the Bean in for a doctor's appointment. She had been drinking large amounts of water and we thought it may be her kidneys or diabetes.

A trip to the vet is no small production when it comes to the Bean. If you don't know Miss Mina, you don't know what a handful she can be, and that's putting it lightly. Several years ago, one vet sedated her just to give her an exam. This was after she lunged at him when he came into the room. She was still swiping at him while she was under sedation. She was swiping veeeeery slowly, but she was technically unconscious at the time. After her recovery, I had to go to the back room to retrieve her after she cornered a nurse.

We have since found a vet that can handle her, but even at this vet, when she went in for bloodwork this time, had her squealing and kicking and spitting. He told us that she was "a strong little girl". Of course, once she was returned to my arms, she calmed down but continued to shoot the death glare at the doctors and nurses, just daring them to try that move again.

The Bean's test came back showing that she is diabetic (which surprised the doctor, who thought she had too much energy to be diabetic, but he didn't understand her capacity for evil), and requires twice daily insulin injections. Normally, the vet would keep her there, to monitor her blood sugar until they got it exact, but her vet confessed that they can't handle that, so they've released her to our care, with weekly visits until she's evened out. It's cheaper this way to be sure, and while I don't relish loading her up to go to the vet once a week, my little princess is going to have an easier time of it, and is less likely to kill a vet while in my presence.

To add further insult, she got so worked up that she peed in the crate on the way home from the vet, subjecting herself to a bath when we got home, and to me calling her "Pee Cat" for the rest of the evening, which only served to further sour her mood. Additionally, as she is wont to do, after her three recent visits to the vet, her first course of action upon arrival back at home is to seek out the dog and punch him in the mouth. I don't know if she is taking out her aggression or simply ensuring that the natural order of things has remained in effect during her brief absence, but it's what she does.

I never wanted a cat, and we didn't seek out Miss Mina. She walked into a party at Nicole's apartment when we were in college and has been a part of our home for the past 13 years. She sleeps in a giant purple bowl in the middle of the living room floor, and is a little ray of sunshine for Nicole and I, even though she would like to destroy much of the rest of the Western World. I don't know what things would be like without her, and I am very attached to her, so you do what needs to be done. The shots aren't bad; she doesn't even flinch. It will put a damper on travelling for the foreseeable future, but this is the responsibility you take on as a pet owner.

So that's where we are with our little "pee cat". Things will return to normal and, like Wilford Brimley, she'll deal with her sugar diabetes and be a part of our life for quite a few more years.

Are you experienced? And if so, is it good? (AKA - the connection between produce stands and Web design explained)

Sunday morning, Westborn Market, Royal Oak:

Have you ever had one of those great grocery shopping days? This was one. After a visit to Trader Joe’s - a must for a wide variety of inexpensive organic foods (Zilla, I even picked up a boxed spelt dish, just out of tribute to you!), high-quality reasonably priced fish and a large selection of very good table wines for under $10 and often under $5 - we had made our way to Westborn Market for produce.

Given the choice, I prefer to go to Detroit's Eastern Market for produce. Everything is fresher, mostly organic, and cheaper. Plus it's just more fun to wander an open-air market, buying your produce from stalls, than it is going to a store. But we didn't have the time to go to the market this day.

It was one of those perfect shopping experiences. There was great music, with Lily Allen and The Decemberists playing on the in-store P.A. There were awesome samples of gourmet cheese throughout the store, enough that we pretty much had lunch there, and the place is just laid out beautifully, with heaps of great-looking produce, and a gourmet deli where we snagged a couple of pre-made chef salads to carry for lunch today.

As I was standing next to the coffee area, smelling the wonderful way the fresh bourbon pecan roast smelled, I remarked to Nicole that this store offered up a fantastic user experience. Her reply, after she laughed at my comment, was, "why don't you improve your user experience by going over there and getting some green onions?"

That's an inside joke that maybe only those in the ad/design industries will appreciate, but "user experience" really is a big deal to everyone, even if they don't realize what it is. Specifically, it's often used to relate to Web sites, but it essentially relates the idea that it doesn't matter how great something is if the people who use it don't enjoy using it, or can't use it easily.

Ergonomics is a similar idea, but less of an abstract ideal than user experience. Think about how user experience works for you. Think about those stores that have great products or great prices, but you hate visiting because you can't find anything or because the salespeople aren't helpful. Or those restaurants with great food but lousy service (or vice versa). The Secretary of State's Office with its long lines and indifferent employees, and even that road that gets you to work or school each day but is always under construction or crippled to a snail's pace by traffic. All of these are things that offer bad user experiences.

I really think that anyone who's in a field that doesn't deal daily with the concept of user experience could really benefit by taking a seminar on the idea (But not a boring seminar. Boring seminars offer a... that's right... a bad user experience). Imagine if more places realized that not only should they offer a service, but they should offer that service in a simple and pleasant fashion? Do you realize how less stressful things would be if that was the focus?

When in Rome...

When in Rome...
Originally uploaded by alpharat.

Do as the... ummm Texans do. In this case, it involves drinking Lone Star ("The National Beer of Texas") and singing along to Gary Glitter on the jukebox.

I'm a stickler.

Apparently I stickle.

That's what I was informed of by the Eats, Shoots & Leaves quiz.

I am OK with this. It's not bad to be a stickler when it comes to punctuation, grammar and spelling, and I got 100% on the quiz.

It's not totally inherent, to be sure. When I am working quickly, hammering out a post in a few free moments, a "to" instead of a "too" will slip by, or a "your" instead of a "you're". That's out of working quickly, rather than not knowing any better.

Which is probably worse when you think about it - committing an error I know better than to do. For example, you'd never ever EVER catch me saying that I "should of" done something. I hate that one over all. So why is it OK for me to make the random mistake?

Because I'm human I guess, and I know that with some extra time and care, it could be perfect. It's something to strive for, and an easy one, too. I'll save that goal for when I'm really down on myself. For now, I've got other stuff to strive for, so I'm not "to" worried about the grammar and punctuation in this blog.

At any rate, you can take Truss' test here. And if you haven't read Eats, Shoots & Leaves, you should.

And yes, we're back from Austin and SXSW. I have some photos and stuff to share for sure, but I've got to work on this site first.

St. Patrick Comes Early To Motown

In a few hours, I'll be on my way to Austin and SXSW, but before I go, I wanted to share a few photos of Detroit's St. Patrick's Day parade (AKA the day they suspend the open intox laws).



Just remember, no matter what planet you're from, you're Irish on St. Patty's Day!



And even the Buddhists turn out to pay respect to the Saint.





All our friends turned up, including the Millionaire.



And this guy was representing my Alma Mater. It made me proud. Go Broncos!



Have a great holiday everyone. I'll update from Texas if I get a chance!

The traveller stops... for a second anyway.

I guess it's time for what has turned into the weekly (or less so) update. Life is just managing to bowl me over with everything that need to get done.

As if there's not enough already going on, we've opened up our home and welcomed a new addition to the family. Isn't she pretty? I think she's pretty awesome. She doesn't have a name yet, but we're open to suggestions.



A Tale of Two Shanes

As many of you know, this is Shane.


What some of you don't know is that he's named after this Shane.


This is Shane McGowen, the original lead singer of the Pogues, one of my all-time favorite bands.

He's also a notorious drunk. He was thrown out of the Pogues in the 90s for it. He then started his own band, Shane McGowen and the Popes. I had tickets to see them on my birthday several years ago. The Popes showed up. Shane didn't. He'd gone facedown on the bar next door.

Eventually the Pogues coaxed him back for reunion tours. But they only play short tours, consisting of multi-night engagements in the same cities. I strongly suspect this has to do with it making it easier to keep track of Shane, but this hasn't been confirmed.

I don't know how much time Shane McGowen has left, although he is the man who said, "The British press have been giving me six months to live for the past twenty years - they must be getting pissed off interviewing me by now." So who knows? I just know that I consider myself fortunate to have had tickets to see him last Monday in Chicago.

They played for two and a half hours, and played most of my favorites. Shane, as always, looked really rough, but actually not as rough as he has looked. He would sing two or three songs, though, and then go sit down, and he passed the singing duties of some of his longer songs off. He doesn't have the staying power anymore.


Here's some Pogues goodness if you have a moment...

Also on that trip to Chicago, we paid a visit to the aquarium... gift shop. We didn't actually make it into the aquarium, because well...

The day started with some killer margaritas for lunch.



Then we got to the aquarium, and as we waited in line for the aquarium, we saw that it was $30 to get in. $30 buys many beers (and it did). So we decided to just visit the gift shop instead.

While we were in the gift shop, I got an idea that, if we were to dress like we worked there, maybe we could sneak in. And who works at the aquarium? Fish and dolphins!



It didn't work though, so we moved on.

But greetings from the aquarium, anyway!


After we got back, it was time to do the Punk Fitness demo for The Hamtramck Blowout. It's funny, it's reaching the point where the annual events are repeatedly... ummm repeating themselves around here.

This year's blowout opened with a performance by Adult. Adult. is an amazing band, who doesn't perform a lot. When they do perform, they bring in MZZO, the world's greatest sound guy from Chicago. He tours with them (as well as with a ton of other bands). He's a good friend of ours; he went to school with The Fabulous Nicole.

So, we got the added bonus of seeing him in Chicago, and then again in Detroit in just a few days.

Rather than take a picture of Adult. on stage, here's MZZO at work. It's where the magic really happens...


Now, once again I am digging in. SXSW beckons, and I've started making arrangements for our second annual breast cancer benefit.

I thought about slowing down once, but I have some stuff to get done first.

It's all about meat today...

I don't know if it's the dreariness as winter drags on or what, but it seems like nobody is really updating right now, myself included. I've been going on with business as usual lately, but I haven't felt like saying too much about it lately. But it looks like nobody has.

For example, last time I posted I mentioned my new wet/dry vac, and plans for renovating my basement. The Blogger Me of just a few months ago could have rattled on ad nauseum about it, but instead I simply threw it out there and let it go.

I tried to write a longer post about the county treaurer from Alcona County who spent all of the county's money on a Nigerian email scam (link), but it fizzled out before it went anywhere.

It has to be the weather, but nothing has really made me feel like posting all that much. It's like it's gonna take another giant squid story to knock me out of this rut.

Fortunately, there was one today. In New Zealand, they caught a 33-footer, the first intact adult colossal squid (which is like the giant squid, but fatter) ever hauled in. As is the case with all giant (or colossal) squid stories, I was able to find the one important detail in the story for you: what it would be like to eat him.

Here's the "meat" of the story:

One expert said calamari rings made from it would be like tractor tyres.

Can you imagine a platter of calamari rings the size of tractor "tyres"? That would be awesome! That's British spelling, by the way. It's a BBC story (link).

When I was a kid, I read books about Bigfoot, Nessie and giant squid, hoping that we'd have serious proof of all of them. It still interests me. My mom still cuts out newspaper articles and mails them to me.

Over the years, the squid has become verifiable, though. So have I lost my sense of wonder? Has the squid lost some of its mystique?

Nope. I'll never lose my childlike sense of wonder for these guys.

Not until I get to eat one, anyway.

That goes for you too, Bigfoot.

So I hear things are big in Texas... even the music festivals

Dirty is done, and it was a definitely raunchy good time. We had a lot of fun, but I actually only took one photo (bad blogger! ).

It's a good one, though.

It's the fabulous Nicole, with Queen Bee (a good friend and one of Detroit's resident rockstars) and Julie (the isntructor/originator of Punk Fitness Detroit).

My big news now is that, next month, I'll be heading out to Austin for SXSW. SXSW music is five days, and literally hundreds of bands. Literally. Check out this list if you don't believe me.

I'm really excited about this, so much so that I turned down an invitation to a party at the British Embassy in New York. (No, that's not a lie. I have an invitation from the consulate and everything!)

Plus, I bought my very first wet/dry vacuum yesterday. That's some exciting grown up stuff, no? Look for some photos of my refinished basement, hopefully soon, but I have to refinish it first.

Living the Dirty Life

Once again, lax at posting. I don't really feel apologetic this time, though, and I'm not 100% sure why.

I've been living life a lot lately. This is surprising, due to the fact that we're also in the grips of an arctic blast right now that makes me not want to do much more than hibernate.

Somehow, as of late, I have managed to combine hibernation with some other stuff. There were some monster trucks.

And there was a "dinner" at Luna's house. I use dinner loosely, because while there was food (her husband, who I don't have a cutesy nickname for right now, is an excellent chef who had a spread of Spanish Tapas out for us), the festivities lasted until 8:30 the next morning.

Luna is a good friend that we lost touch with for a few years due to us all being young and dumb. I am really glad we're all friends again. She and Nicole are fabulaous together.

My one disappointment is that there were six of us, yet only 10 bottles of wine were consumed. We chould have done 12 easily, so some people weren't pulling their weight. I can honestly say it wasn't me, because I felt like a train had hit me the next day.

Speaking of The Fabulous Nicole , she is in the Dirty Show again this year (that link is NSFW). It opens again tonight, and is always a wicked raunchy good time. Pictures from last year (also somewhat NSFW) can be found here.

So we'll be spending much of the weekend getting dirty. Wish me luck.