Poptarticus

Yeah. You might be wondering what this is all about, what with the physics and everything, something that, I would add and you would agree with, I have no idea about and also, would never talk about. So what gives?

What gives is, this was part of a ONE HOUR documentary played before the Eels show in Santa Ana I went to last night. ONE HOUR. One fucking hour. I thought I would die for a minute (actually about 30 minutes) there.

Don’t get me wrong - had I been prepared for it, I would have handled it with all the grace and aplomb that goes with being a real and true fan. But I wasn’t, and I had my head craned at an unnatural angle looking up at a scrim 5 inches in front of me for way too long. Everyone else in the pit suffered the same fate. It went on forever and it sucked royally. Why didn’t you move? You ask… well, who knew it would go on so long? I did not want to give up my spot on the rail (but I did, because I needed another vodka after about 45 minutes.)

So when E finally went on, I was a bit pissy and also in that semi-drunk state where I wondered how he could do this to me, to us? Mostly I was drunk because that movie was so long I drank way too fast. Fucking E.

But then, of course, he was on stage playing and I loved him. I LOVE him. It is hard not to, even though he had his cohort Chet read spoken word vignettes about his life onstage, which from any other person/band would seem so, I dunno, trite and lame, unless maybe it was Yo La Tengo or something.

In my advancing years, I’ve become a bit jaded, and when a musician in the course of three hours makes me want to cry, hurl something at his head, get drunk, stay sober, and then want more, I know I have seen and heard something great. And Mark “E” Everett does this to me. I love him, but I hate him; I never, ever want to have a day when I can’t hear him.

So last night? After the movie and about eighteen vodkas, E went on and started out slow and beautiful, but eventually “The Chet” joined him and it became awfully jammin’ just with the two guys. E went on drums for a while and acted like he didn’t know what he was doing but then busted out some kickass drumming. Manipulator! I hate you! I love you!

Mostly, though, I love Mark “E” Everett. And I would never miss an opportunity to see him - though now, I will know about the documentary, and will prepare accordingly. Because it is a pretty cool and interesting hour, one that I’d like to see from a proper distance sometime.

I kind of love this Mark Ronson cover of Radiohead’s “Just.”

Thanks to Sue for pointing this out for me - and this looks to be sort of an insane week, Radiohead wise. So stay tuned.

It’s a cold and foggy New Year’s morning here at the beach, and I am up fairly early because I have a party to throw. Last night? Went to The Vine at about 4:30 and drank some great wine, then rushed home at the early hour of nine o’clock to catch Radiohead’s “Scotch_Mist” on Current TV.

I have to say… or confess, whatever… that I cried through most of the first showing. Whatever stuff I’ve been holding in since March 27 came out last night between about 9:15 and 9:45. I love this band so much that I couldn’t even control myself. Thank all the gods here and in the universe for Radiohead.

There was another showing at 10:00 and I made it through that one OK, and I am listening to it right now, because it’s on current.com. Don’t know for how long, but I’d advise everyone who reads this to try to check it out. I was, am, totally blown away by it. This pretty much says it all:

As for my party? Got lots of food, lots of wine, and lots of good friends coming. Should be a good day, one with no tears.

Last night I went to see the Walkmen at the Casbah. It’s been almost a year and a half since the last time I saw them, and in that year and a half they have gone from a band I really like, to a band that I LOVE. Their three cds are always on top of the pile at this house.

I wrote about the last show, and I am wondering, what the hell happened since then? Why don’t I write like this anymore? Why don’t I hear weird conversations on the bus? Has my world become smaller, or do I just notice less? Anyway.

Last night I took the bus and there were no weirdos on it, and met Mark at the Waterfront bar and there were no weirdos there, either, though there were mass quantities of uber-normal people. Eventually we got to the Casbah where I secured my spot right next to the stage, and finally there were some weirdos - a super drunk and possibly on something else couple who cleared the entire floor with their random acts of dancing and flailing cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon. This couple, thankfully, only made it through the opening act. There was a Walkmen uber-fan standing next to us (Amber? Heather?) who had come from someplace far away to go to the California shows, but heck if I remember where from.

I wish I was going to all the California shows, because the Walkmen came on at 11:30 and proceeded to totally blow me away. They were SO GOOD. I remember the last show, and how I thought it was good but not great, but since then I have thought many times about that show, and about all five of the guys and how they played because each of them is very good and also, interesting to watch. I love Spoon the band, but it’s not like I ever take my eyes off Britt Daniel too much. With the Walkmen, I want to watch all of them, all the time.

It is a bit difficult to take ones eyes off singer Hamilton Leithauser though. Somewhere along the way, this guy acquired a healthy dose of star power or charisma or whatever you want to call it. Either that or he had it all along and I just didn’t notice before. Or maybe, I was so wrapped up in my obsession with Britt Daniel that I couldn’t see anything else. Anyway. He is intense, he snarls and screams, he tears the place up. During the song “No Christmas While I’m Talking” he blew the first half of the song apart, then left the stage, and came back and blew it apart again without missing a beat. Amber/Heather and I looked at each other, stunned. It was an incredible moment.

They played a lot of new songs and now I can’t wait for their new record to come out.

On the way home I tried to hail a cab but it was taken, but the dude in the back said get in, he can drop me then you. He was a doctor and he was wearing a turban. I wonder if you took his turban off, would his hair all fall down his back like that dude in the English Patient?

This video is a fine example of Hamilton Leithauser’s intense stage persona. Awesome.

And the photo I fell in love with when I wrote about the Walkmen before.

I will never miss a Walkmen show after that. Never, never, never. My ears are ringing and my thighs are sore from pressing them into the amp, and I have a hangover and a memory. Good times.

A few years ago, I visited Amsterdam with a really good friend of mine for a few days of sightseeing and other stuff. He really wanted to go to the red light district, and have a taste of that, so I went off to some food market or museum and he went there and had a taste.

His first visit was fantastic. Without getting into too much detail, I’ll just say he had a great time, a good girl, who was nice to him and made his world turn and was worth the price it cost him.

He was impressed enough with this first encounter that he wanted to go back the next day. I tried to talk him out of it, because if the first time is so fantastic, why not let that be the memory? What are the chances of it getting Even Better? We are talking about a visit to a hooker here.

But of course he went back and the second time was not quite the same. The euphoria, the bliss, gone; in it’s place a vacuum. A sadness. Only made worse because just the day before, it was so great.

I didn’t really mean, in the beginning, to equate Arcade Fire with Amsterdam hookers when I started writing this, but it just sort of happened that way. Last night I saw Arcade Fire at the Hollywood Bowl and it was, well, horrible in the way it would be if I was a guy and one night I paid for a really good blow job and the next day, paid for one but it sucked.

That is crude, I know. And in the end this wasn’t really the fault of the band.

I guess I had a bit too high of an expectation, because I had such a stellar experience at the Greek Theatre show, and also because I love the Hollywood Bowl. They let you bring your own alcohol in! For the most part this is a truly civilized and fantastic policy, but last night I witnessed how this sort of thing can be abused and pretty much fuck everything up.

I guess when I say “fuck everything up” I mean, there were many thousands of people there who were pretty fucked up, which would have been cool except most of them were absolutely not into the band. Which meant they stood around, drinking and talking. It was so distressing and sad. When the band got louder, the talking got louder. It was like being at a party where they were playing Arcade Fire records. I ran up and down the stairs by my seat trying to find a place to listen to the band; it was impossible. EVERYONE was talking. At one point this guy in front of me, possibly feeling the darts I was mentally throwing at the back of his neck, looks back and screams, IT’S MIDNIGHT ON THE EAST COAST, DUDES! So. Fucking. What. You ran out of things to say, so you had to scream that? If you want to be an asshole, at least be creative about it.

To make matters a bit worse, Arcade Fire sounded awful in the Hollywood Bowl. Murky, dirty; I couldn’t hear the vocals a lot of the time. But that is not surprising when 12,000 of L.A.’s finest assholes were surrounding me (the other 2000 people there, I am positive, were totally cool. Let’s give that one back to mankind, at least.)

One cool tidbit of the evening was the opener LCD Soundsystem, who absolutely blew me away; killer, LOUD dance music, flawlessly performed. This was earlier in the evening before Clueless Plus Three Times Three Thousand all tried to find their seats in the dark.

I guess I made the mistake, last night, of thinking one experience could be repeated. It can’t, and it won’t - I don’t care what deadheads or fans of Dave Matthews say. Magic happens infrequently and is usually due to help from those around you. All the people around me last night, were not contributing and furthermore, will never possess the kind of magic that will lift them off the ground.

Too bad, because it could have been the Most Incredible Night Ever.

I’m gonna be quick because a taxi is picking me up at 4:30 AM and I’m going to try my best to sleep by nine. The good thing is, I am fairly exhausted. Exhausted and hot and still thinking about last night’s Wilco show.

This is the problem with Wilco - they are so good that they can’t totally blow my mind anymore. They’ve spoiled us rotten already. Don’t get me wrong, this was an awesome concert. I guess it is kind of like your wine palate. If you keep drinking better and better wines, your palate is going to get more picky, and there is nothing you can do about it. Same with Wilco. It’s always so good that your palate gets a little dull after a while. I loved the show but I wasn’t buried in the sound, and I wasn’t levitating. I did, however, have an excellent time. Better for my back and my ears in the long run. But I kind of wish I was still a virgin sometimes.

We were extremely close to the stage, and the band, as always, put on an amazing show. There was a full moon and the air was sort of sultry. I drank a beer. Crazy, I know, but Bob handed it to me, so I drank it. Before the show we drank wine and ate cheese in a nice, leafy patio on the San Diego State campus, two seconds away from the venue, and Danny Miller came by, which was awesome. I’m such a goober that I gave him a Poptarticus Tshirt and some colored Sharpies in hopes he could procure some autographs on it and send it on later. Would be cool, but the band probably thinks I am a total freak.

Cool things about the show (besides it being, well, awesome): Nels Cline’s unbelievable guitar playing and his cool black and white striped socks. Glenn Kotche getting up from his kit with both drumsticks in the air in the beginning of “I’m the Man Who Loves You.” Glenn Kotche’s crazy drum freakings on “Misunderstood.” Glenn Kotche’s sweaty hair. And then, Jeff Tweedy’s rant on a guy eating nachos. The guy came in on song five and proceeded to eat some nachos. Bad move, dude. I totally agree with Jeff on this one, but on the way home, I was the only one who thought this was bad form.

Please, people. Don’t eat when genius is happening in front of you. It is just Not Cool. Ever. Do people eat at the symphony? At church? If rock ‘n’ roll is church, then a Wilco show is High Mass. Skeptical? Check this out:

So I have to try to sleep now. And when I next write, I will be in Paris. Thank you Wilco for getting here before I left!

I am all a-tingle.

This is going to sound crazy to some people but I started to cry when I watched this. Because, TONIGHT IS THE WILCO SHOW.

I love, love, love, love this band. Wait, let me say that again. I love, love, love, love this band, times infinity.

We have the best seats in the house. I will try really hard to stay grounded. Forget that - it is impossible. I will be practically levitating.

It was a total party weekend, and I am recovering. Saturday we had a slowtrav party, first at the Del Mar racetrack and then at the OB Vine. Palma baked this pizza rustica because I asked her to, and added a special touch on top. She’s awesome.

We had a very fun day and a great night.

Last night, there was a party two doors down at the home of Wes, one of the Vine cooks. It was a great party with live music and I stayed way too long. They didn’t have enough wine so I kept running home for more. I met some cool people, including the neighbor right over the fence from me, who has lived here for two years and I have never talked to her before! She’s from Brazil. I am glad that after all this time, I’ve got to know her a little.

So, a bit tired and hungover today, but I am oh so excited for tonight and I hope I can make it through the rest of the day without crying from happiness. And tomorrow would really suck, except that Wednesday I am FLYING TO FRANCE. Whoo hoo! The good times are killing me.

Life is weird. One day, you are bored and nothing is happening and you feel totally removed from everything, and then one day everything happens at once and angst spews, and then, one day, you have so much fun that it makes up for the boring or uncomfortable days, and then that day stretches into several days. It’s at these times that life is really and truly a fantastic experience.

Over the weekend, my friends Sue and David came to visit from San Jose. For just over twenty-four hours we did the tourist thing in Ocean Beach. It’s a wonderful thing, to show friends around a place that you love, especially when they seem to take to it right away. We ate and drank and walked all over this fabulous little town, taking in the sunset, and the Sea World fireworks; walking along the longest pier on the West Coast, and eating a fine spread of sandwiches, fried foods, fish tacos, and pizza. Not to mention the libations.

Ocean Beach - food and drink wise - is pretty awesome considering it’s small size. Sunday, as we ate a sumptuous meal of fried shellfish chased with white wine, bloody marys and “Arnold Palmers” at the South Beach Bar & Grill. I ran into one of the local bar managers here. I was like, what up? And she said, well, I’m hungover. And I said, there is no place better to fix that than South Beach. Good Fried Food, she said. Alcohol, I said. And that pretty much sums it up. That and the blue skies and Harley exhaust. We live in a beautiful world.

Last night I went to see Rush at Coors Ampitheatre with Brian and his friends Joe and Michael. There is something really special about an arena show and somehow, Coors is the one of the best places to see one. All the diehard fans seem to come out, and the dusty parking lot is filled with vehicles from all over Southern Cali and also, Mexico. People tailgate and throw frisbees in what only can be described as perfect summer light. Once again, a beautiful world.

Once in, I ran back and forth between my own seat with Brian and Joe and Michael to box seats held by Mark, Andy, and a bunch of other dudes. When I first got there one of them asked me if I was going to blog about the show! Well, I must say, I feel very badly for neglecting the blog when out of nowhere here comes a reader. Oh well.

Then Rush comes on and what can I say? It was an incredible show, effortlessly performed. Those dudes play for three hours and they don’t appear to ever break a sweat! And they don’t overcharge for tickets, yet put on this stellar, long, show with the audience in mind. I can’t think of any other band that does it quite like that.

Geddy Lee sings “One likes to believe in the freedom of music” and I do. I believe not only in the freedom, but also in the way music makes me feel. Music makes me feel like I am in love every single day. Music slays me, uplifts me, and sometimes rapes me. Last night, with several thousand other people, music - Rush’s music - made me happy, beyond young, in awe. We live in a beautiful world.

On the way home, we stopped at a 24 hour taco shop on Midway called Santana’s. I have passed by a million times but have never been there. It was a Monday at midnight and I was eating a chicken achiote taco, totally in love with life. Now it is Tuesday and I am still in love. Sometimes, life slaps you to remind you what it is you have been missing, or taking for granted.

I’m a masochist I guess. Bring it on.

I woke up today to blue skies. It’s been a foggy summer, so far, but after last summer, where we were all standing in front of fans just trying to cope, I have been enjoying this years mild temperatures and bleak skies. In fact, I love them.

This, coming from someone who grew up in fog, and hated fog, for most of her life. Now I love the fog! Love it!

It hasn’t been the easiest month, and for some reason, July is never that easy for me. It’s like my Full Moon Month. No way to really figure this stuff out, so instead, I immerse myself in music.

I can’t stop listening to these guys. Norfolk and Western. The sick thing is, I might have seen these guys open up for Sparklehorse a few months ago, but I didn’t show up in time. Now, I am truly bummed.

Not bummed about this though: this weekend my friends Sue and David are coming to San Diego. I met Sue because she bought my book, then read this blog, then wrote to me. And since then, we have become good friends, and I adore them. So if there is one truly great thing that happened because I wrote a food guidebook, that thing would be my friendship with Sue and David.

And since I was discussing Sparklehorse, at least in passing, these are the lyrics that have been slaying me these days:

and i did swallow stained glass tears
absorbed by the sun for many light years
and the fire flies in her hair
my red concertinas coming down the stairs
and the hurricane of her eyes
wailed away the knives
the knives of summertime, summertime
the knives of summertime, summertime
the knives of summertime

I don’t know what it means, but I love it.

Wilco promised, tonight, a live stream of their show in Indianapolis, but it didn’t happen. Technical difficulties. (And it wasn’t just me.) Whateves, instead I listed to the archive of a show in London in May. My god! Who needs tonight when you’ve got May 21 - it is truly an awesome show. You can even scroll ahead (IF YOU MUST,) to when they play Spiders… well… well… well, that is pretty much musical orgasm right there.

I am sure the Indy show will be up soon too, and Wilco is coming to San Diego on August 27. I am grateful as I thought, due to technical difficulties, I might miss seeing them live on this tour.

As for Top Chef, everything I would like to say, has been said. And I have some big personal news, but I will wait until tomorrow until I tell you that, because Wilco is interferring.