THANK YOU 2008 (I HAVE QUESTIONS)

The obligatory year-end blogpost wherein I summarize the year that came before and my feelings about it commences now:

It was pretty god damn great.

As the year draws to a rapid close, I have just one question that I'd like my reading audience to ponder. At the arena show I mentioned some entries back, I saw a girl walking around with a shirt that had the following sentence printed on its front:

"Your scent is like a drug to me."

The back of the shirt indicated that it was some sort of Twilight reference. Okay. I understand that people like Twilight and that's fine. But what combination of stimuli over what period of time could possibly lead to someone thinking that shirt was a good idea to buy and put on your body, regardless of whether or not you enjoy vampire-based romance? "Your scent is like a drug to me." Just reading those words in that order should lead to an immediate decision: No.

The world is a vast and terrifying place.

By the way, if you're looking for something to do this Sunday evening, you could do worse than to hit up Cafe du Nord at 8pm. The Definite Articles will be playing with Foxtails Brigade, Uni & The Ding String Trio, and New Pantheon (though not all at once). We're on first.

JUST SAY NO TO THIOLS

I went back to the home territories over the Xmastime weekend, which is why I wasn't around. When I got back last night, I discovered that while I'd been away, my housemates had apparently started a website called skunkparty.com and thrown a theme-appropriate soiree for their IPO about five minutes before I walked in the door.

OK, that last part's not even remotely true, but what is true is that it reeked in there,* and I had to open the windows and spray some of my apple-cinnamon odorizer around. I'm getting paranoid now, because just a second ago I thought I still smelled it on me. If I start taking obsessively long showers and muttering about how it's "still on me, still on me," I authorize you to begin worrying.

* This was real-deal skunk stink, too, and not just, like, weed, maaaaan. The Presidio's skunk population exists, and I guess sometimes they encounter wildlife around my house that they'd rather not fall prey to.

NEW CONCEPTS IN WEAPONRY

Okay, so there's the agonizer, and that's cool if it works right. But I think we need some other ray guns.

- Can I have a gun that simulates very specific sensations, for very specific timeframes? For instance, how about a gun that replicates the sensation of having your left arm blown off for forty seconds? Or getting kicked in the junk for twenty? Imagine what the interface on that thing would look like, though.

- How about a gun that creates feelings? Imagine what could be accomplished with a gun that would produce feelings like this for a set length of time:
-- Just lost your job
-- Really, really bored (14 hours in an airport/DMV)
-- Trapped in a tight space with some large spiders
-- Shit yourself in front of the girl/guy you like

I think I just created a new comic book villain. All that remains is a name.

THE SUDDEN DESCENT OF WINTER

It happened really quickly, apparently, and all across the country: winter slamming down onto the continental surface like a steel and ice curtain cut loose from its rod. One thing it's motivated me to do is buy a new electric blanket and stick it under my mattress pad. I don't think it's a coincidence that I've been trying to get to bed earlier, because it is so god damn awesome to do that. I recommend this to anyone who likes getting into a pre-warmed bed.

Oh, and I updated the Dogblog, too. Merry Xmas.

CONCERT-RELATED THOUGHT

The farther away this event gets from me in time, the less likely I am to blog about it, so here goes: I was in the crowd at Not So Silent Night, a big show a local radio station put on at the Oracle Arena in Oakland, watching ... Bloc Party? Maybe Death Cab?* when the traditional event occurred somewhere to my left: a drunk girl passed out and fell down, making a crater in the crowd that expanded and contracted as her people tried to pick her up before the concert staff took care of her. It happened again with someone else a little later.

I'm pretty sure something like this has happened at every large-scale show I've ever been to. Where the fuck do these people come from? Have they never (a) had a drink, or (b) been to a concert before in their lives? This seems highly unlikely. What, then, is the explanation? I personally was once both a rock show n00b and a drinking n00b, but even then, I never did that. Who are these people and what do they think they're doing.

* Dizzy Balloon, a band I play violin for occasionally onstage, won the contest to open the show up, which is why I was there.

OH THE POSSIBILITIES

A few days ago I encountered an item on the sidewalk that had clearly been left there in such a way as to say "Here, take this. I couldn't sell it on craigslist and so I'm hoping someone will just remove it from my sight, and the sight of the world." This item was a wooden audiocassette display case nearly full of Phish concert bootlegs. Oh, sure, there were a couple of other items,* but this case is easily 90% Phish shows. It lives in my trunk now, waiting for inspiration to strike. I have to do something hilarious with it. But what?

An early suggestion -- still a contender -- is to pick one or two houses completely at random and just leave Phish tapes on their doorstep, or in their mailbox, just frequently enough to raise uncomfortable questions.

An alternate suggestion my own brain came up with would just be to crack each tape open, unspool the reels within, gather them into a pile, set them ablaze in a vast and incredibly unhealthy pyre, and listen to the distant Lovecraftian howl of some shambling antediluvian god-horror from beyond space wearing a hemp necklace and patched-up corduroy overalls as its sacraments are irrevocably desecrated.

I'm taking other suggestions, though, so let me know if you have any.

* A Ziggy Marley album, a U2 best-of, and a couple of yogic somethings-or-other that serve only to cement my impression that this case belonged to a very stoned male who is either in college or dropped out long ago.

HERE'S WHAT I WANT FOR XMAS

I've got this buddy who's literally working to make the world a better place. He and his excellent wife are in Africa right now, as you read this, getting things done.

Here's where you come in, and this is going to be so trivially easy it's almost shameful.

They have a project they've been working on, and all it needs is some funding. Toss a little something their way, for me. Even if it's just five or ten bucks. What is that, a coffee and a croissant? Lunch? You can use that to actually improve the lives of others. Make yourself a sandwich at home instead that day. Just once. You'll survive. Unless you're terrible at sandwiches.

GOOD MORNING, SINNERS

My solo acoustic show at the Bazaar Cafe last night was excellent, and I want to thank everyone who could come. To those who couldn't, you should come see me and the rest of The Definite Articles on Saturday (MillionFishes, 2501 Bryant & 23rd, 8pm).

I must make some sort of impact when I'm playing a song on my guitar; a txt I received from a female friend after the show reads: "If any woman is just pals with you without some underlying lust, then she is foolish indeed." So to all of the women who were there last night: you are all GUILTY of having LUST in your HEARTS in the EYES OF GOD, and you are going to HELL.

Call me.

I STAND BY THIS

Pugs still aren't cute.

But they are hilarious.

I have spoken.

ONE MORE TIME

This post's title hopefully started the Daft Punk song up in your head, and for this I do not apologize; it's my birthday, after all. As you may already be aware, though, the party's not happening until next week. Yes, it was easier to drop a link in than to retype the information. This is the world we live in now.