A New Year's Gift To Me...

I just bought a new (to me) bike... I pick it up Sunday. Photos to come...

Goodnight...

Can it be? Are we actually looking at the end of another year? Wow…

For what it’s worth, it was a good one. For me anyway. I traveled, put a story in another book, wrote a lot, rode my bike, grew tomatoes and lived.

For a lot of people, it wasn’t as great. A lot of my friends lost their jobs, and Detroit continues to scrabble for economic survival. We’d all move away, but our houses aren’t exactly sellable right now, you know?

CNN posted a story that advocates an idea I’ve talked about for a while. If the city is becoming a wasteland, why not level it all and send it back to the wilderness? OK, maybe not that far, but why not large-scale urban farming? I think it’s a radical, innovative idea that could help Detroit reach a level of self-sufficiency and profitability again, as well as eliminating some serious blight.

I didn’t come here to get political, though. I came here to wish you all a Happy New Year, and to tell you to remember to put a penny on the windowsill tonight.

Cheers!

Sell Out

Reel Big Fish ©Nicole Lucas
Originally uploaded by alpharat

This is for TFN. She knows why.

WAR IS OVER!

if you want it.

Ain't goin' nowhere...

Just to prove I'm still around... here's a kitten.

Just got back from Italy. There are some good pics coming...

Hey Marine!

Just for the record, this is TFN's absolutely favorite video clip right now. Go ahead and and watch it, it's only six seconds long.



Z is in town tonight; we're going to eat crawfish.

The new baby

This is the new baby. She's a 1968 Schwinn Breeze, and after we spend the winter working on restoring her, she's going to be TFN's neighborhood cruiser.

All my best friends are metalheads...

Lucero was awesome. I made my way into a pit for the first time since Flatfoot 56. I’m getting too old for pits, especially the full-blown hardcore bust-over-the-head type pits. In order for me to make my way into pits anymore, the vibe has to be perfect – the crowd has to have a positive buzz, a bunch of folks there to have a good time, and I also have to be feeling the music, too.

This one was perfect, a crowd that pleasantly drunk, just out for fun, not out for blood, just there to reel with the music, to make enjoying Lucero a common experience. And reel we did… it was perfect. At one point, during “Nights Like These,” the whole pit stopped, and shouted

“The beer tastes like blood, my mouth is numb.
I can't make the words I need to say
She had a weakness for writers, and I was never that good with words anyway.”

Then we all high-fived one another, and the music ctarted rolling again, and so did we.

I’ve said it before, but Ben Nichols is a poet, and I like to meet him, and I’d like to meet his muse.

Man, what is a muse?

In Greek mythology, there were nine of them, and they were goddesses who presided over the arts, and inspired the artists. But that was a long time ago, when Greek art, music, poetry, etc. was all pretty structured. Back then, as one who aspires to be a writer, I would have answered to Calliope perhaps, who was a pretty little thing who inspired epic poems. Oddly enough, her lover was Ares, the god of war, and they had kids together.

It just goes to show that opposites attract, I guess, for those of us who subscribe to that particular lyric “The opposite of war isn’t peace – it’s creation” - which as a musical lyric may have been inspired by the Muse Erato, who inspired lyric poetry. She was well-known for inspiring love and erotic poems, but was never really hooked up with any gods. She was then either getting it on with everyone, or a tragic figure that inspired what she wasn’t having.

In any case, nine Muses were fine when the world was smaller and the art more rigid. But they don’t really cut it now. I think that as the world got bigger, and the poets, artists, lovers and dreamers spread around the world, the Muses found they couldn’t handle the increased workload, so they allowed the creation of more muses (not the change to the lowercase).

Somehow, for better or for worse, everyone who aspires to create now finds their own muse, one who’s always there to inspire the artists to make their own particular brand of art. Except of course when the muse is not there, which is frustrating, sometimes, but sometimes it’s also even more frustrating when they are around.

I think, as the lineage of the muses got watered down, and they got scattered throughout the world, they changed. They’re not related to one another, at least not in appearance, and they very rarely have anything in common with one another. When a muse goes away for a while, it’s a safe bet he/she’s not hanging out with other muses. Except when he/she comes back looking like he/she’s been in a bar fight. Then he/she was around other muses. Or he/she was just in a bar fight.

But where do our muses come from? Do we create them, or do we find them? Or do they find us? If we don’t create them, where are they before and after us? Do they travel from artist to artist? Or are they born with us, and will die with us. If they will die with us, what inspires muses to inspire suicidal, tragic poets to die young, unless they themselves are suicidal tragic figures who want to die young?

And if my muse is older than I am, who did he help before? I mean honestly, who would want this muse other than me? Who would really be inspired by a barefoot, dirty, towheaded, socially awkward, mildly manic, slightly offensive, pleasantly drunk muse other than me?

What’s your muse look like?

It's Nights Like These

"She had a weakness for writers, and I was never that good with words anyway."



Lucero.

I love this band. I have always wanted to see this band. Frontman Ben Nichols is a poet that sounds like a country-fried Kurt Cobain, and I worship every release they've done.

Did I mention I like them?

Well, here's the deal. They're playing tonight, and I'm going. But it gets better. They're playing the Ferndale Drunkfest DIY Fest! Which means, I will ride my bike to watch them play outside, while I sit in the grass and drink beer and talk to my friends.

Which is the best way to see a band like this.

I'm looking forward to seeing all my friends tonight, to raise a beer and say goodbye to the summer.

Thank you, Mr. President!

I love this, because I agree with him. Kanye West IS a jackass.



"I know we're all sad about Patrick Swayze, but Micheal Jackson did the best celebrity death of the year!" - Kanye West

Eight Years Ago...

I won't say much about it, except to point out this poster that came out seven years ago.



It's a poster that I and another artist created at the ad agency I worked for at the time. It remains some of my best work, I think. I hadn't really thought about it in a while, until an old coworker posted it on FaceBook today.

Beatles Rock Band has made it to our house... so yeah, not much is getting done round there. The only way that things are even getting tidied up is that folks are coming over tonight... you know, to play Beatles Rock Band.

Labor Day came and went in a road trip to Chicago. It was a good time, as all Labor Days should be, a day off and saying goodbye to the summer. I do, however, try to take a moment to think about what that day is about. My dad was a union man, and at one time, I've was part of the UAW as well.




I know the unions have done a lot for my family, for a few generations now; I come from a few generations of factory and auto workers. There will always be a blue collar wrapped around my heart.

Have you ever wished you had gophers?

With this, you will!

I know I just did.

Poor, poor Paprika...

paprika
Originally uploaded by alpharat

So this morning, Paprika reached out to all of her friends as well as some casual acquaintances, via Facebook.

It seems that she was robbed at gunpoint in London last night. The crooks took all of her money and her plane ticket, but fortunately not her passport, but she was stranded. She just needed a loan to pay for her hotel, get a cab to the airport and a plane ticket.

Personally, I don't know why she wouldn't have paid for her hotel with a credit card, and I would think the airport would be able to take care of her as long as she had her passport, but what do I know? I wasn't there.

Fortunately, I told her that I knew some guys in London who owed me cash and a favor. If she would just tell me where to meet her, I would send some guys over with 1,200 pounds for her. There was no need to worry about the safety of the transaction I told her, because I trusted these guys, and they were also very big. A bunch of hooligans I told her, but nice guys.

Anyway, if she would just give me a location, the six of them would bring her an envelope full of cash, and take her to the airport.

I'm not sure why, but she never responded after that. Then she even unfriended me.

Maybe it's because the real Paprika was sleeping soundly in Texas at the time.

Then again, what do I know.

So I'm happy she made it back to Texas safely without ever realizing the trauma she had been through in London, and here's hoping that Facebook fixes this ASAP.

Seriously.

It's a bad day for the True Believers...

I can't help but think the Disneyfication of all I hold true is upon us. Get ready for a softer, cuddlier, more friendly version of Wolverine, kids. Maybe with lollipops for claws and some trademark mouse ears.

Disney to Acquire Marvel Entertainment

Is it my birthday?

If recent events are any indication, it just may be. Emagine entertainment has announced plans to open a cinema/bowling complex in Royal Oak.

What does this mean?

A. A major cinema within biking distance from my house.
B. A major cinema that serves beer... within biking distance from my house.

I heart this news.

Not-so-glorious Basterds

We saw "Inglourious Basterds" this weekend, and if I had to sum up the film in a sentence it would be this: Quentin Tarantino needs to get the fuck over himself.

Don't get me wrong, it's a good movie. The story is good, the acting amazing.

It's just that the movie is almost three hours long, and that's about 45 minutes too long.

I imagine Tarantino has this stable of kissups and toadies who have him convinced that he is so amazing that he can do no wrong, that every shot he takes and every bit of dialogue is so amazing that he must use it ALL. I don't think he knows how to edit anymore, or believes that anything he does ever needs to be edited. Ever.

Mr. Tarantino, building suspense and boring the viewer are two different things. Your scenes and movies are too long, and use too much unneccesary C-R-A-P.

Incidentally, even though the movie was way too long, it was done so at the expense of the Basterds, who themselves were ignored in their early days in lieu of spending too much time developing a story that could have been developed in half the time.

Hopefully, they'll rerelease the movie on DVD as a... what's the opposite of a director's cut?

Brain buckets save lives...

I have a confession to make.

When we bought our new bikes, we didn't always wear helmets when we were just running over to our friends' houses. Or to grab food. Sure, when we're riding to Royal Oak, or to Birmingham, no question, but just to go a block? What's the point?

Keep in mind that, on the bike trail, I won't even ride with anyone who doesn't wear a helmet. I am adamant and militant that, if you're going to ride with me on a trail, you will wear a helmet. I will help you get out of the woods should you hurt yourself, but I don't want to ride with someone who's risking a serious closed head injury; I know people who've gotten serious concussions on the trail when the helmet did its job. Sans helmet, they would have been looking at skull fractures.

So where did I get this double standard? Who knows. But no more.

A friend of ours was riding his bike. Same scenario, just running to a friends house, so no helmet. He was hit by a car. He got a serious concussion and seven staples in his head. Serious shit. He was still recovering when we saw him last week.

I now wear my helmet every time I get on my bike.

The other night, we rode our bikes to the Borders in Birmingham (12 or so miles round trip), got some books and rode back to F-town. We stopped in for cocktails with friends, then headed home.

As we made ready to head out, unlocking bikes and putting on the buckets, some douchey hipster walked by with two ladies. He said, "seriously, helmets? Is that necessary?"

A. WTF? Why say anything if you disapprove, other than you want to impress your hipster lady friends?
B. Seriously, WTF? What did I do to you.
C. I mean seriously. W. T. F. you ass?

I started to look daggers at him, then decided it wasn't worth it. Instead, I said flatly, "my friend just got hit by a car."

No response from him, and the girls stopped to turn and glare at him, as if they just realized the dick move he's just made.

I hope he went home alone.

Anyway, helmets save lives, kids. It's sad when you need to be reminded this way.

In Asheville, a bike helmet even stopped a bullet.

Apparently, a guy, who happened to be a firefighter, saw another guy and his son riding their bikes on a busy road (which is legal). The firefighter got upset because the guy wasn't being safe, so he shot him.

The helmet stopped the bullet.

I know a lot of people are wrapped up in how psycho the shooter was (and the fact that the shooter, Charles Alexander Direz, is on paid leave right now!), but I really want to know - where can I get a bulletproof helmet? It could come in handy in Detroit.

Speaking of Detroit, Anthony Bourdain devoted part of an episode to our lovely town last night. I liked what he said, and he hit some great places, but we're worth more than part of an episode. I mean, he didn't even get coneys!

After the Race

muddy feet
Originally uploaded by alpharat

Team Angry Monkey had a great time at this year's Team Tree Farm rally.

It was rainy, and the trail was SLIPPERY, slow and just a little bit muddy.

Just a little, though.

For $200, you too can blow up a bridge...

The guy who smashed into the tanker, caused the overpass to collapse and left the city with $2 million in damage? He got a speeding ticket. That's it.

He didn't even get a reckless driving charge or anything like that. Nope, his only penalty will $200 fine and two points on his driving record.

The messed up thing is that he can probably get out of this, too. Seriously, once the police announced that he'll only get charged for speeding, that's it. Now he can take that charge to court and say, "prove it."

And nobody can.

Meanwhile, businesses, commuters and our cash-strapped state is going to suffer even further.

That's all I have to say. Now I'm going to go ride my bike - just not to the Kroger that's closest to my house. Not for quite some time.

It was 40 years ago today...

On this date, in 1969, the U.S. government faked the moon landing.

In honor of this auspicious occasion, retired newsman Walter Cronkite was planning on revealing the coverup to the world.

Certain forces felt this should not be the case.

RIP Mr. Cronkite.