The first time I became aware that I was "fat" was on the playground in first grade. Some kid came up to me and said something like, "I know why you and Kenny play together all the time: 'cause you're both fat!" Kenny was a kid who lived in my neighborhood. We rode bikes together and killed snails and ate snacks at his house after school. His mother would make us cinnamon toast and Tang (the beverage of the astronauts!) The revelation that I was fat had never consciously occurred to me before, but it doesn't strike me as surprising that my fatness was first named by another person. It does seem from that moment onward, my body image was sculpted by many an "other," whether it was a kid on the playground, a TV show, a movie, various doctors, fatphobia in the cultural ether, or, not insignificantly, my mom. I'll share more about my mom and fatness in another post.
For now, let's turn our attention to my belly. The belly that, in first grade, wasn't all that big, but over the years, and particularly by my senior year of high school, began to protrude and spill over my middle section thanks to weight gain and gravity. I'd had chicken pox over the summer of 1989, and a scar remained on my stomach to the left of my belly button. Later that year, the scar began to blur and dimple: the origin point of my first stretch mark, and with it, a deeper hatred of my body(self.)
It is a curious thing, growing up fat. No one notices you and yet everyone notices you. Particularly in the heteronormative realm of the sexual or romantic: the boys I'd had crushes on in junior high and high school were nice boys; they just thought of me as "one of the guys." It may have had something to do with my gender presentation, having been a tomboy, but I think the real reason was 'cause of the belly: this large, lumbering body that seemed, for all its obviousness, to be invisible.
Hi friends. I haven't been able to blog so much since school started back up. I'd love to regale you with stories of my wacky adventures, but things have been decidedly unwacky lately. This is pretty much the routine:
Mondays - I leave at 8:45am for the clinic, where I've got a 10:00am process group (kinda like group therapy with the other interns), a clinic staff meeting at noon, and see clients in the afternoon. Then I come home and do school work.
Tuesdays - School work until I leave for class at about 2:30pm; the bike-and-BART commute to Alameda takes about 1.25 hours; then I'm in class til 10:00pm; then I arrive home at about 11:15-11:30pm.
Wednesdays - Clinic - 10:00am didactic training; 1:00pm group supervision; individual clients until 6:00pm; facilitate the grief therapy group til 8:00pm; home by about 9:30pm.
Thursdays - School work; personal therapy at noon; more school work; commute; class 4-10pm; commute; home 'round 11:30pm.
Fridays - Leave for 9:00am individual supervision by 7:45am; clients at the clinic from 11:00 to 4:00pm; do paperwork; home by about 5:30pm.
This morning when Astrid woke up for work, she kissed me and said something like, "See you in several days." The thing that's most sucky about my schedule, apart from the hella annoying commute to my new school, is that Mondays and Fridays are the only weekdays I'm actually home for dinner. Astrid and I pretty much just see each other at bedtime Tuesdays through Thursdays. Thankfully, now that we're back to class, the end is actually in sight. Come August, I might have a life again.
Jeezus. Astrid and I have to move out of our place in the next couple months. The landlords are putting in a new foundation and politely, more or less, asking us to leave. We've been looking at Craigslist for the last few days, and basically everything in our price range is either like a tenth of the size of our current apartment or in exactly not the neighborhoods we want to live. Here are the listings - all four of 'em (at time of writing) - in San Francisco that are comparable in size and rent to our current digs. Note that the location "Inner Sunset" in these listings actually means "Outer Sunset" (bastards!) So anyway, if we wanna stay in San Francisco, we've gotta go with a one-bedroom or even (gak!) a studio. There are 300 square foot studios in this town going for $1300! We are considering hopping the pond, as it were, and looking in Oakland/Berkeley. Getting a decently sized place there for as much or less than what we're paying now is at least a possibility; however, apartments in our price range are often in dodgy neighborhoods, as we found out from doing a couple reconnaissance trips to Oakland this weekend.
I was at a taqueria in the Mission the other day, and as the lady behind the counter was making my burrito, the song "I'd Really Love to See You Tonight" was floating through the sound system. The mellowly upbeat tune by '70s pop duo England Dan and John Ford Coley, unlike the very mediocre carne asada, truly hit the spot for me. I whistled the tune to myself as I walked back down 16th Street, and made a mental note to look the song up online when I got a moment. As with most of my "mental notes" this one faded into the mélange of momentary stimulations, distractions, and preoccupations, and when I tried to recall the song later (hmm...it wasn't Jackson Browne...was it Seals and Crofts?...) it had completely vanished from consciousness.
Then, by some amazing stroke of luck or fate or perhaps just the consistent marketing trends on lite rock stations throughout the Bay Area, I just heard the song again in a cafe in Berkeley! Oh happy day! I present to you "I'd Really Love to See You Tonight" by England Dan and John Ford Coley, complete with a psychedelic butterfly-chick fade-in!
We did a check-in during class tonight, in which we were supposed to share something about self-care: where it's at for us right now, what we want to be mindful of for ourselves as we engage in our clinical work and return to classes after the ordeal we've been through (see the other blog if you don't know the ordeal to which I refer.) I talked about how I'm taking multi-vitamins and fish oil supplements now, which I'm truly happy about. But it was a veneer to mask the real thing I'm not doing to care for myself: I'm nowhere near where I want to be in terms of eating healthfully. That couple-week stretch of eating well has given way to the usual pattern of eating satisfying but non-nutritive crap and eating too much of it. Sigh. Then my amazing new teacher told us she recently joined Weight Watchers. I didn't have a negative reaction to this because, A., my teacher is fierce and serene in the best combination of those qualities, and even said she could facilitate WW meetings better than their group leaders, fat and all! and B., WW is actually the one diet plan in the whole universe of the $40 billion diet industry that doesn't turn my stomach, so to speak, because it's actually a way for people to learn how to eat balanced, healthy meals and change their eating habits. So anyway, this isn't an ad for WW, but it's just to say that, damn, I didn't use that opportunity to be "out" about my contemplation of losing weight and my struggle to eat healthier.
On the flip side, I was the only one in class who commuted by bike, and that's something I can be pretty proud of, even if I ate a can of Chicken and Stars soup upon arriving home. ;)
Finishing up Shabbat with my family down in San Jose. Long into the food coma, a gorgeous meal of early-season matzo ball soup and roasted chicken with lemon and rosemary (the mouth waters again) I'm feeling very sleepy on the couch, while my sisters and Astrid play "Speed Scrabble" at a folding table. Schmend just asked for the official Scrabble Dictionary to justify her play on the word "cig" as in "cigarette," and that shit is in there! The Scrabble Dictionary is totally bogus, dude. Get the OED, I say!
I've been loopy like that all day. It's on account of having stayed up super late last night (nay, this morning) drinking beers for the birthday of the illustrious Dax. It seems that the Triple Rock Brewery in Berkeley serves up some gluten-free beers, and Dax was free to get as schnokered as she pleased. 'Twas pretty fun.
Ah, Speed Scrabble is over - back to the Big City with us.
The stress has let up somewhat, though I've got a lot of clinic work right now, and school starting up. So there's that. And the fact that I just ate a whole mini cheesecake, even though I wasn't hungry in the slightest. It looks like one serving, but it's really two, or maybe even three. Sigh. It was really fucking tasty, though. Like some of the best cheesecake ever, all velvety and lemony, with a bottom graham crust that tasted more like carmelized butter and sugar than a box of stale crackers.
I had some time to kill tonight before Dax's birthday celebration, so I ducked into a wifi café in Berkeley before heading to the pub, and there's a problem with me and cafés, see: I love 'em, but I don't drink coffee. So here I am with this gorgeous display of pastries and confections in a curved glass case in front of me, and these beautiful tiny cheesecakes staring up at me, needing a tummy to fill. Okay, you know it's bad when I start anthropomorphizing food. So, yeah, I bought it, I ate it, and now I feel really yucky. And now I'm on my way to drink beer on top of it.
Finally, I will be attending orientation at my new university today. Unfortunately this will be happening only after a half-day of mind-dulling number crunching at the bookkeeping gig. I'll be working for a few more hours over the next week or two, and then I'll be done with my commitment there. It's been a lifesaver to make a little bit of money while waiting for my student loans, but going back to bookkeeping makes me realize how desperately I do not want to go back to bookkeeping. After getting all oriented and shit, we'll be resuming classes on Tuesday. I feel a really weird mix of excitement, relief, and dread.
Some folks eat mac'n'cheese, others prefer pork chops and apple sauce, and then there's me. When I'm stressed out, I crave Chinese food. The subject deserves several entries, but suffice it for right now, I'm an American Jew, just one generation removed from the Lower East Side, where the Jewish neighborhood rubbed up against Chinatown and Jews began eating Chinese food as early as the late 1800s. It's essentially in the makeup of my cultural genetics. If you're interested in the subject, check out the article Safe Treyf by Gaye Tuchman and Harry G. Levine.
It's a fascinating account of the socio-cultural phenomenon of intergenerational Jewish appreciation of Chinese food, and it addresses the history of the phenomenon, as well as the complexities of the race/ethnicity, economic, and religious dynamics at play.
Duck sauce and gefilte fish, like ebony and ivory, they live together on the shelf at Safeway.
So Friday night, Astrid and I ate at Red Jade on Church Street, the only Chinese restaurant in the neighborhood. It's decent, inexpensive, and more "American-Chinese" fare than authentic, like many of the restaurants I've frequented in the City. It's not on my list of all-time favorites, but in a pinch, it's fine. The food is fresh, it's not too oily, and the dishes have some flavor. But the key factor this weekend was the stress and the relief of said stress through food. I've gone my two weeks of eating sensibly, and this weekend was the bounce-back binge, starting with Friday night's excursion to the Red Jade. We really enjoyed the spinach tofu soup with button mushrooms, a clear broth soup with a delicate flavor. Their prawns with Jade greens, which ended up being an uninspired glut of conventional broccoli, were just okay. I was hoping for bok choy or gai-lan (Chinese broccoli), which would have made the dish more distinctive and tasty. We also ordered their mango ostrich, which had a really nice, savory brown sauce that contrasted well with the sweet, firm mango slices. The ostrich meat itself was kind of beef-like and a little on the chewy side. Overall, I'd give the meal almost 3 stars, but despite the moderately enjoyable mediocrity, I continued to eat and eat until I was completely gorged.
The other major indulgence of the weekend was a Saturday night wee-hours trip to Mel's Diner for my ultimate indulgence: chicken strips. Many out there may know that chicken strips (embarrassingly enough, the Denny's version of the diner classic) were the first meat I ate after three years of vegetarianism in college. They have become a huge part of what Astrid lovingly calls "the lore of Bree."
So now you know that Chinese food and chicken strips are my total fat-girl kryptonite. What's nice about beginning the week after the weekend's indulgences is this: I'm not tripping out about it.
I'm not generally an insomniac, so it's kinda odd for me to be wide awake at 4:00am. It's a good kind of nervous in ways: we just got word, like yesterday, that the whole grad psych program is being transferred out to another university, and we have to fax in the registration papers by today at noon. Orientation is Thursday, and classes are supposed to start the following Tuesday. Big, big sigh of relief, yes, and at the same time, I'm so jumpy. Since starting the bookkeeping job just a couple weeks ago, my anxiety level has been through the roof.
There are a number of factors at play right now. Not only has the school situation moved abruptly from a lazy depressed stasis to a frenzy of registration deadlines, I'm also in the process of starting the grief group at the clinic, and saying good bye to my very first therapy client, whose last session is today. There are more kinds of grief than seeing someone die; there's also the kind of mourning when someone goes away.
My heightened energy also accounts for or has been stoked by a new project of mine. If you haven't stumbled upon it yet, feel free to swing over to my new blog and read all about my obsessions with food, my body, my health, and my reluctant desire to lose weight. All served up, if you will, with my own special sauce of chronic skepticism, critique, and celebration. Don't worry, though, Toothpicklabeling is still very much alive. Where else would you find all the grad school angst, popculture fetishes, and minutia of my daily life in one tidy online package?
I could count the times I've eaten just half a sandwich on one hand. As a rule, I'm not good at leaving food on the plate. If there ever were a Jack Sprat's wife, she'd be me. Except for the being someone's wife thing. And the having no name except my husband's thing. And the being in a nursery rhyme thing.
You know what I mean; I can eat no lean.
So tonight, I ate at an old favorite in Berkeley, Saul's, a Jewish-style deli on Shattuck Avenue. It's a place N. and I used to go frequently, and I don't even remember whether I've been there since we broke up over three years ago. I went there after work at the clinic with my co-worker Devra. I ordered a cup of matzo ball soup and a "6-ounce" corned beef sandwich on rye. The sandwich came with a choice of cole slaw (yuck!), potato salad (meh), french fries (danger! danger!) or salad. I went with the salad. So the soup, salad, and half a sandwich were exactly enough food for me. I knew I didn't need to eat the second half, so I didn't.
I will make a minor complaint about the corned beef at Saul's: while I love that they use Niman Ranch sustainably raised, hormone-free beef, lending a very Berkeley feel to the New York style food, the truth is, and this is the kicker, it's too lean. Even Jack Sprat knows that corned beef should be juicy and fatty and lip-smackingly rich.
(*okay, so I am someone's wife. Sheesh, don't be such a stickler!)
I've never blogged about my therapist before. I've mentioned being in therapy, but never anything specific about Mark, my dude. He is so light-hearted and takes my issues seriously but helps me create a relaxed, nonjudgmental space to contemplate them and start letting stuff go. Last week I went into therapy totally down on myself for how I've been eating lately. With everything going on with school, and the new bookkeeping job, I've been so fucking stressed out and eating everything in sight. I cried on the couch, feeling huge and awful and shitty. Mark basically told me to chill out and give myself some credit for coping with the stress. Since eating is one of my self-soothing strategies, it's not surprising that that's where I go when I'm freaked out. We talked about what I might do in the next week to stay grounded, and it totally calmed me down. I've been eating really healthfully all week, and feel bunches better. Just being reminded not to beat up on myself was really the key. Once I felt freer to cope by eating, and became more mindful of it and accepting of it, I wanted to do it less.
Just so's everyone knows: I got a bookkeeping job to tide me over until school starts back up. No, classes still fucking haven't started yet. So a big thank you goes out to my friend Mag who landed me a temporary gig at a wonderful local community arts organization in the Mission. I'm working there Tuesdays and Thursdays, and continuing with my clinical internship Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I don't know if it's gonna be enough to live on, but I'm hoping the teach-out plans move forward soon. It looks like I'll have more news about that within the month. Crossed fingers are appreciated.
By way of introduction, I am a fat dyke in my mid-30s, living a beautiful life in San Francisco. I'm shacked up with a really swell lady and I'm currently a grad student in clinical psychology. My academic and professional interests swim around such issues as death, sitting with the unknown, existential anxiety, body image issues, fatness, fat positivity, health and well-being, sexuality, queer/GLB identity, gender variance, genderqueer and transgender identity issues, spirituality, finding meaning in life, and yadda yadda. For fun, I like listening to music (mostly of the post-punk, folkie, political, artsy, nerdy-emo indie variety) riding my bike, lazing about, blogging, being social, drinking gorgeous cocktails, and more often than not, eating lots of yummy food.
I've been fat my whole life. I'm 5'4" and I currently weigh around 220 pounds. I've weighed as much as 235, but in the last few years, I've stayed pretty consistently between 210 and 220, most often lingering at exactly 215. I weighed 210 at the end of high school, so my weight's been fairly steady over the last 18 years.
My feelings about my weight yo-yo a bit more than that, to be true, thus with the "ambivalence." After growing up with a lot of anxiety and unhappiness about my weight, in an unforgiving fatphobic culture, with a mom (whom I adore, by the way) who constantly dieted and modeled body self-hatred for me, coming into my own sensibility about my weight involved everything from internalizing the self-hatred to rejecting the paradigm and refusing to get on a scale for more than ten years. Back in high school, I ate like absolute shit. Taco Bell, Denny's, everything fried, crispy and golden brown. I still love me some chicken strips. Moving my body as little as possible was a matter of true slacker pride. In college I went vegetarian for three years and lost a bit of weight that way, but I can't say I was eating much healthier, really. It wasn't until about five years ago that I started exercising, and now I totally dig getting myself around by bike. I actually enjoy working up a sweat, even. So since biking entered my life, and a new consciousness around healthy eating has crept slowly into my routine, things have shifted for me a bit. I'm still a chronic overeater, and tend to indulge my cravings too often, so despite an overall healthier lifestyle, I really haven't experienced a significant net weight loss. Sometimes I feel okay about that, and sometimes I don't.
I experience some health problems which I feel to be related to my weight and to overeating. My knees are stressed and weak, and I had a bad case of patello-femoral syndrome for a couple years, which still affects me, but has lessened some since doing physical therapy and getting more exercise. I can't squat or spend too much time kneeling, or else the knees crack and pop in a very unpleasant way. I've had a low-grade but chronic struggle with acid reflux, which I'm quite sure is caused mainly by overeating, and has diminished some since quitting coffee about four years ago or so. My overall and long-term health would be much improved if I were to dramatically cut back on saturated fats (main culprits: red meat and all things fried) and if I were to make a habit out of eating til satisfied and not until utterly stuffed. Though I'm a fan of salty snacks which carry their own kinds of risks (raising blood pressure and water retention) I will say I'm not much of a sweet tooth. A small square of chocolate is a totally doable limit for me, but get me near a bowl of briny green olives, and the lot of 'em will be gone before you can say "bowl of briny green olives."
It's also noteworthy that since getting into biking, I realize that if I weighed less, I would actually have more endurance and be able to bike faster and farther. Climbing the San Francisco hills is a painful and slow undertaking for me, and if I weighed even twenty pounds less, I think my biking efficiency would be vastly improved, not to mention my stamina and energy for lots of other fun stuff like sex and walking and um, sex.
So I'm inaugurating this here blog with an admission that I'm making quite public. I'm interested in losing some weight. Even as a fat-positive feminist anti-establishment dyke, I have come to understand that for my own body, for my own lifestyle, and for my own long-term health goals, this makes sense for me. I don't know if I'll be successful. I don't know if I'll be any "happier" if I weigh less. I don't know whether, even if I lose a significant amount of weight, I will keep it off or not. I just dunno. But I want to blog the progress, the literal ups & downs, and mostly the fleeting thoughts, feelings, fears, and myopic obsessions that run through this noggin when anything related to these topics floats on through. Welcome to the contradictory journey.
Please feel free to leave comments, but if you flame me for being a "fat hater" I will have to lash you roundly. Also, if you leave inane fatphobic comments like, "Oh my god, you'll look so much better when you're skinny!" I'll also have to lash you. My feelings about this subject are ambivalent for very complex personal, political, cultural and healh-related reasons. In this blog, I am attempting to be as honest as I can about my mixed feelings on weight loss, what is at stake for me emotionally, how I've been conditioned to hate myself and other fat people, and how wanting to lose weight is mired in all kinds of problematic socio-cultural ideologies, prejudices, and power relationships. In other words, I know. Don't judge me for being human, please.
In last week's Presidential primary election, I got to vote for one of my all-time favorite elected officials. Suffice it to say, it wasn't Barack Obama, and it wasn't Hillary Clinton. It was, in fact, Cynthia McKinney, former U.S. Representative from Atlanta, Georgia, now a candidate for the Green Party's Presidential nomination. If you've been tuned into my blog since the old days, you may remember reading my long-winded entry about Cynthia McKinney's fight to win back her seat in Congress in 2004. After serving another term, she got defeated once more, and has since defected to the Greens.
On Super Tuesday, McKinney got 26% of the Green vote in California with 7,000 votes, but was eclipsed by continual candidate Ralph Nader, who took close to 17,000 votes for 61%. And although McKinney fared better in a couple other states, she may not emerge the Green's candidate in the November election.
Not that the Greens matter at that point anyway. According to the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, Nader got 2.8 million votes in the 2000 election, and after the devastation of Bush's coup of the "hanging chads," he only brought in 500,000 votes in 2004. Needless to say, this year, with the tide turned against Bush and his War on Everything, the Greens will get even fewer votes, on account of progressives' and liberals' sheer terror of tipping the cart to the Republicans. Since I live in a state that more than likely will go to the Democrat, I can probably get away with a Green vote in November. Of course, if I lived in Florida or Ohio or somewhere, it'd be a different matter altogether.
Point being, I like being excited about someone I voted for for a change. Holding my nose and voting for Kerry in 2004 made me almost hate myself. But why blame the victims of the system (people like you and me who'd like to vote for decent candidates) for what are essentially structural problems, like the Electoral College, the two-party system, campaign finance policies, mega-corporate lobby power, etc?
Wouldn't it be nice if Winter break from school were an endless juggle of skiing, trips to the tropics, relaxing by the fire with expensive whiskey in my coffee mug, communing with friends and family in celebration of various festivals of light?
Well, I did have the celebrations of the season-appropriate holidays. But what if I were to tell you that, come Valentine's Day, I will likely still be out of classes? And as for the skiing and romps to Hawaii, it's a bit hard to vacation when you've been waiting for your financial aid check for months.
I'm sorry to be so cheeky, but that's just the mood I'm in. Truly I can't complain about the extra time off I've had, but on a budget, it's looked more like: sleeping in, playing Tetris, watching the remainder of Angel, Season Five, and cleaning the apartment. Woot, I say, woot!
Don't even ask me if I've worked on my thesis. Don't. I'll sock ya.
So, those of you who have been following the story already know that my crappy-ass college is in the midst of what one of my classmates has called a "hot mess." The latest news is that our faculty are threatening to resign as a group in order to force the administration to permit a "teach-out" to another institution, so that we can get on with our studies. The best case would be that our instructors could follow us to another school and we could continue our curriculum and finish sometime this summer. The worst case is pretty grim: the school shuts down and/or we can't secure a teach-out, and we have to drop out, get jobs, and re-apply to other programs, losing our clinical internships as well as most of the credit for classes we've already taken. And god knows what a pain in the ass it'll be to try to extract our loan money from the black hole that is our financial aid office.
So, yeah, thankful for the free time, but I can't say it's been terribly restful. I will report that my spirits are generally up. I feel really happy about my life other than the hot messiness of the school/money situation. Astrid and I celebrated our 1-year Shack-Up-iversary this weekend, by walking to the Mission to eat yummy tapas, then continuing our stroll for drinks at The Uptown, one of my fave dive bars, and then swing dancing at the Metronome in Potrero Hill. All the while, the evening was filled with oh-my-god-I'm-so-in-love-with-you-cooing and chatting and, yes, I am apeshit in love with that girl.
Today has been a truly relaxing day, even though I've been doing errands and such. It started with a much needed catch up breakfast date with my old pal Chauncy, for whom I made yummy sherry-poached eggs in a nest of wilted chard, onions and garlic, as well as fresh strong coffee and a bowl of fresh fruit - kiwis, bananas, and tangellos. Shoulda taken a photo of breakfast for you, sorry. Then I went to drop off dry cleaning (you don't wanna know how long it's been since my wool sweaters were laundered) and then I got my vote on. More on the presidential race later, perhaps. Are you curious who I voted for? Need I remind you that I'm registered Green...so I'm out of the Obama-Clinton tug o' war for the moment. Then I did a wee-bit of grocery shopping (I'm trying these high-fiber multi-grain tortillas that my mom has been raving about) and now I'm actually putting words to blog template. It's a good day, and there's so much more of it, ta boot. It really helps that it's sunny out.
* Astrid and I shacked up! This is a feat that occurred not without considerable angst on both our parts, given our respective histories of living with, and in my case, almost living with previous sweeties.
We're both pretty amazed and grateful that it's working as well as it is. We had a kick-ass housewarming party in March, and thus began our Alter to the Weird mantel installation. February '08 marks a year of living in sin!
* I started interviewing for clinical internships. I ended up applying to two really competitive places in the City that rejected me outright without a chance to interview. I also applied to work in the bereavement department at a hospice, doing short-term grief therapy with people who have recently lost loved ones. I had a killer interview (oof, no pun intended), and really hit it off with the director of the program, but they were too pokey about getting back to me, 'cause, as I was told later, they were holding out for someone a bit older if possible. Meanwhile, I interviewed at a fourth place, an LGBT mental health clinic, and ended up accepting a position there.
* Road-tripped down the coast for spring break. With our bikes tied to the back of the Astridmobile, the gf and I wound slowly 'round the coastal mountains, camped in Big Sur and biked through the wine country outside of Solvang. We bought some amazing chardonnay and pinot noir there and had a visit with some regal ostriches.
Moving further south, we did a great bike loop in Goleta through the UCSB campus, and then drove east to visit Astrid's family in the Mohave desert for Easter.
* My cousin Andrew died, tragically, horribly, wrongly. I’ve blogged about this before, so I won't belabor the point. I miss him. Everything else I will report about the year seems trifling in comparison, but it's the trifling matters that keep us sane, I guess.
* We wasted lots of time playing Dr. Mario on Astrid's old Nintendo 64 and watching back-to-back episodes of Buffy and Angel.
* I fucking finished my first year of grad school! I've immensely enjoyed being a student again, showing off my geeky chops, and using parts of my brain that had atrophied significantly over the last near-decade being a bean-counter. I've also learned a ton from my classmates and have made some really good pals. I would say, though, that I have mixed reviews on the whole about the hippy-dippy liberal arts college I chose. After two years at an institution that bounces student loan checks, hires mediocre instructors, and has been on WASC probation and on the brink of losing accreditation, I can't say I'd make the same choice again.
* Went on a camping trip at the Russian River. Highlights: swimmin' with the tadpoles, wine tasting, making killer aloo gobi over the campfire, snuggling with Ms. Astrid in the cozy tent.
*I rediscovered backgammon, a game I hadn't played in probably twenty years, and learned how to play dominoes, though I kind of suck.
* I resigned from my bookkeeping jobs!!! As of July of 2007, I turned in the ol' abacus and haven't looked back.
* I started my internship and began to work with my first psychotherapy clients. It's been an intense and humbling transition into this new work. I still have pretty much no idea what I'm doing, but the learning is really magical, and fucking hard, man.
* Astrid and I started taking ballroom dance lessons! We've learned a little rumba, swing (West Coast, East Coast, Lindy Hop, Charleston), and dabbled with some tango and foxtrot.
I hope as school mellows out, I'll be able to dance much more often with Astrid, 'cause she is, amazingly, even more radiant when spinning on a dance floor, shining that ecstatic smile at me.
* I avoided writing my thesis. Majorly. But as of this writing, the first draft (a drafty draft, indeed) has been handed in.
The Annual Pop/Culture Reviews:
Many of you know my trusty two-pronged rating system by now. If not, here's the method-in-madness:
1. The Star System - to convey my idea of the "objective merit" of a piece of work (i.e. if I were a professional critic, these are the ratings I'd give the thing). Wherein…
zero stars = abysmal * = meh ** = average *** = respectable **** = outstanding ***** = incomparable
2. Ranked-order – For each category, I will order from top to bottom, indicating the read, flick, or show I enjoyed the most to the least in that section. The way I rank shit may or may not correlate with the cultural zeitgeist (it often doesn't). This is how I can get away with ranking, say, Barbarella (**1⁄2) over the four-star Taxi Driver.
Capiche? Okay, onward!
The Books I Read in '07:
The Denial of Death by Ernest Becker **** (1973) – the book that inspired my thesis topic, Becker's influential Pulitzer winner rewrites psychoanalytic theory from an existential perspective, posing that the basic anxiety facing humanity is the terror of death. From this point of departure, Becker considers the psychological and philosophical explanations that connect basic character structure and psychopathology to the death anxiety. Highly recommended for all you cerebral types or anyone interested in death studies, existential philosophy, and critique of psychoanalysis. I mark it down from five stars because of Becker's dated take on the nature of homosexuality (this book was written before the psychiatric establishment changed its official stance on queerness as pathology) and also for Becker's insistence on a spiritual answer to the basic problem of death anxiety, lauding Christianity in particular. I think it's an annoyingly culture-bound conclusion to this otherwise extraordinary book.
- One of those street-sale scores, Astrid and I picked up this book quite randomly while on our way to eat a bowl of clam chowder, as I remember. I couldn't resist buying it when I read the ballpoint inscription in the front leaf (all in caps, mind you) "TO SOMEONE WHO WILL NEVER BE ONE…LOVE, MOM & DAD, 12/99." Ah, the blissful ignorance of well-meaning parents who don't understand that the geek identity has been firmly reclaimed. The book provides an overview of the history of the construction of the internet, from its modest bureaucratic beginnings at the Pentagon in the '60s to the era of microcomputing and commercialization of the web. Importantly, the author tells the story in a way simpletons like me can understand. Since the book and accompanying PBS documentary were produced in 1998, you can imagine how much of the story had yet to unfold. In this sense, it's as dated as Adam Sandler's hair in The Wedding Singer. But if you're a non-geek and curious about what the hell "packet switching" is and interested to hear about the launch of ALOHAnet, the first wireless computer network (all the way back in 1970!!) this is a really relaxed and educational read.
Anal Pleasure and Health by Jack Morin ****½ (1998, revised 3rd ed.) This is the ultimate Butt Bible, the most straight-forward and least embarrassing tome you can own that can help you find the way to digestive and anal-muscular health and pain-free anal exploration. Pick this book up if you want to reduce anal tension, become less freaked out about anal functions, increase your overall wellness, and get more enjoyment out of playing with your arse. The very small critique I would offer is that Morin's book gives very little attention to women who have sex with women (wsw).
His small research sample had very few lesbians/wsw, and I would love to see a book that included more discussion of anal sexuality among dykes. That said, the language in this 3rd edition is inclusive and widely applicable to people of all genders and sexualities, as well as to people who are interested in anal health more generally and not as drawn to the topic of sexual exploration.
Mortified ***1/2 (2006) edited by David Nadelberg. Mortified, the book, is an anthology of hits from the live shows of the same name, which happen regularly in New York, LA, Boston, San Francisco, and Chicago. The premise is simple: adults read their childhood and teenage diaries, letters, awful poetry, and other real-life angsty accounts, verbatim, in front of a live, frenetically laughing audience. "Mortified" has become quite a phenomenon, producing this book, and a forthcoming sequel (Mortified 2: Love is a Battlefield, due out this winter), as well as a host of merch and related video clips. To get a feel for the "Mortified" oeuvre, check out this pathetically hilarious story by Will Nolan, I Hate Drake.
Immaterial Facts: Freud's Discovery of Psychic Reality and Klein's Development of His Work **** (1988) by Robert Caper. One of the assigned readings for my Advanced Psychotherapy Techniques class, this book is a real gem, because it explains, in comprehensible prose, the context and timeline of Freud's theories and the clarification and modification of his work by Melanie Klein. This could be an enjoyable read for psych students and laypeople alike, though if you're unfamiliar with psychoanalytic theory, you might want to refer to other sources to help with the terminology. Try the allpsych dictionary as a companion reading.
Bicycling the Pacific Coast **** (2005, 4th ed.) Thorough and well organized guide to biking from Vancouver, B.C. to the California-Mexico border. We used this book extensively on our springtime car/bike trip down the coast. Full of easy-to-navigate maps, points of interest, hostel and campground info, and detailed route descriptions. Applicable for both novice and skilled cyclists.
Strangers In Paradise, Volume 3 **1/2 by Terry Moore. I enjoyed the third volume, but not nearly as much as the first two. I must trudge forward with the series once I'm done with all this thesis nonsense.
Yiddish with Dick and Jane ***, by Ellis Weiner and Barbara Davilman, with illustrations by Gabi Payn. Pretty funny parody of the old D&J primers, with a Yiddish flare and contemporary irony. Check out the abbreviated and quite clever YouTube version.
Films on the Big Screen:
No Country for Old Men ***** (2007) The Cohen Brothers' latest is certainly the best movie I've seen in some time, and the only new movie I've given five stars since Dirty Pretty Things back in 2003. No Country is the kind of movie you could put in a time capsule for people to dig up a hundred years from now so they might truly know America, in its arid beauty and its (masculine) antisocial violence. Amazing cinematography, performances, plot development, pacing, and a haunting simplicity that subtly masks the layers of meaning within. Check out Rocchi's review at Cinematical for a more thorough discussion. My only criticism is that the story, like so many other films (and the book it's based on), is concerned solely with the male experience and gives very little attention to the women whose lives are impacted by the narrative. I won't detract any stars for this, but I'm noting it because I really do want to see more films this brilliant about women's lives.
Pan's Labyrinth **** (2006) - beautiful fantasy by Mexican director Guillermo Del Toro in which a young girl splits her time between the enclave of her fascist general stepfather in Franco-era Spain and the magical, and sometimes just as dangerous, underworld of the labyrinth.
Little Darlings ***½ (1980) - revival at the Castro. Anyone who knows me is aware of my Little Darlingsfixation. Seeing it at the Castro was fucking awesome.
Pump Up The Volume ***1/2 (1990) – revival at the Castro. Also a treat to see on the big screen, the energy and spirit of this movie hold up over time, as does Christian Slater's performance. The pseudo-philosophic-politico rants are fluffy and vague, but this is as radical as Hollywood gets, I guess. And, um, the rooftop make-out scene with Samantha Mathis: hot, hot, hot!
Bleak and depressing in not nearly the clever and ultimately redemptive way that Squid was. The plot is weak relative to the rich character development that reveals the players' sympathetic sides just to the point that you can embrace them despite how self-absorbed and embarrassing they are. The performances are strong all around, and the dialogue is a solid B+, but I wish Baumbach would concern himself with a world beyond the idiosyncrasies of the East Coast intelligentsia.
"In mainstream movies the woman's role is mostly just to prove that the leading man is heterosexual. I'm not good at that, and I'm not interested in that." -Jennifer Jason Leigh
Citizen Kane ****½ (1941) - revival at the Castro. After seeing Citizen Kane again, for the first time on the big screen, I must admit that it wasn't quite as extraordinary as I'd previously felt. The visual mastery, innovative plot devices, and prescient political commentary are still truly captivating, and Orson Welles' performance is magnificent, one of the all-time best. My only critique is the other performances, which on the whole, were schmaltzy even giving allowance for the staginess so often present in films of the era.
Sicko *** (2007) - Michael Moore's latest documentary about the shitty American health care system. Depressing, as would be expected, given the subject matter. Full of fascinating international comparisons, from Paris to Cuba. Unfortunately also full of Michael Moore's usual heavy-handed narration which presumes the audience to be incapable of formulating its own opinions. Bless him for cracking open the glass ceiling on documentary, but here's hoping that someday he branches out stylistically.
Footloose **1/2 (1984) – revival at the Castro (double-feature with Pump Up The Volume). The less satisfying of the two movies, but full of fun 80s popculty nostalgia and deliciously over-the-top melodrama.
Sixteen Candles **1/2 (1984) – revival at Dolores Park. I think this teen angst flick from the John Hughes oeuvre is plainly classic, with highlights including paying a buck to see Molly Ringwald's underpants in the boy's bathroom, the jock-strap donning nerds, Jake and Caroline dancing to "True" by Spandau Ballet.
But the cheap racist/sexist humor tarnishes this movie substantially. Here's some commentary generated from the screening at Dolores Park this summer, concerning the depiction of Long Duck Dong, played by Gedde Watanabe. People don't seem to get as visibly upset about the sexism as they do about the racist caricatures, but it pisses me off every time I see the scene after the party, when Jake tells Farmer Ted "I could violate (a passed out Caroline) ten different ways if I wanted to." Overall, kind of painful to re-watch. And seeing this movie at Dolores Park, while a nice idea, was logistically awful: the park was so crowded, there was no way of getting an undisturbed view of the screen, and the sound was even worse.
For the Bible Tells Me So **1/2 (2007) – a documentary about how Christians should tolerate milquetoasty gays because we're just like everybody else. I would recommend the film to moderate/liberal Christian folks who want to ignite their own inclusive activism, but I think other documentaries that address homophobia and LGBT culture do a much better job at portraying more realistic and diverse images of queers. This one speaks to a very narrow margin of religious people who are already open-minded: in more cliché words, it's preaching to the choir.
TV shows on DVDWhich last year was dominated by a certain vampire slayer…
Buffy the Vampire Slayer – Season One ***, Season Two ****, Season Three ****, Season Four **½ , Season Five ****, Season Six *****, Season Seven ***½
Angel - Season One***, Season Two****, Season Three*****, Season Four **
What can I say about the Buffyverse and how much it's impacted my life in 2007? After watching nearly the whole of two series' worth of episodes, totaling some two hundred hours of DVD viewing, all the while in grad school getting my masters degree, you might say I've double majored in psychology and Buffyology. I seriously considered incorporating aspects from Buffy into my thesis, but it's a bit late for that. But needless to say, the themes in the series, specifically about death and destruction and love in the face of death, are some of what has gotten me so severely addicted.
Here are some good Buffyverse links, which are, naturally, full of spoilers. I've had to be vary sparing in my internet snooping about Buffy til recently, so I haven't explored these sites very thoroughly. Here are my impressions of some of 'em:
If you can suffer through the annoying pop-up ads, this site is a great all-around resource for Buffy/Angel fandom. It has summaries and intelligent reviews of the episodes by season, with ratings broken down into dramatic and comedic elements, as well as for how well the episode moved the story arc.
One of the only decently designed sites on general Buffy/Angel interest, as well as one of the only sites that has recent content (many fansites stopped growing after the shows wrapped in 2003/2004.) The cast/character page has adorable clickable avatars of all the major and recurring characters.
Ginormous amount of psycho/philosophical babble about all aspects of the 'verse, including character motivations, moral ambiguities, good vs. evil, the various theories of philosophy represented in the series, discussion boards, etc.
A message board about various themes in the 'verse. Pretty dated, but cool to see fans posting their thoughts, excitements, and gripes in real-time while the series ran.
Documentaries on DVD An Inconvenient Truth **** (2006) – the Al Gore documentary on global warming. If you haven't seen it, please do. While the narrative style (much like Al Gore himself) is a bit dry, the information presented really speaks for itself, powerfully. And please stop driving so fucking much, okay? That is all.
The right-wingers want you to believe this is a "natural" phenomenon that has nothing to do with industrialization and pollution.
The Celluloid Closet **** (1995; rerun) - Anyone who’s interested in film history, not just queer history, should see this documentary based on the book of the same title by Vito Russo. Both the book and the film detail Hollywood from the Silent era on through the first films in the '80s that presented a positive queer point of view. The film discusses how the "anti-obscenity" Motion Picture Production Code of 1930 drove queer themes underground and created a lasting legacy of cinematic invisibility at best and films filled with violent homophobia at worst. Really great interviews with Susan Sarandon in particular, as well as Tony Curtis, Arthur Laurents, Harvey Fierstein and more. Narrated by the amazing Lily Tomlin.
Word Play **** (2006) – highly enjoyable documentary on the mighty crossword puzzle: the people who create them and the people who go slightly mad solving them.
John Stewart rocks the crossweird.
Before Stonewall **** (1984) – pioneering documentary about LGBT political and cultural history for the decades preceding the Stonewall Riots, the explosive starting point of the contemporary Gay Liberation Movement. Wonderful interview footage of Harry Hay, Audre Lorde, Allen Ginsberg, and many more movers of GLBT liberation.
Jesus Camp ***1/2 (2006) – after seeing this film, discussing it with friends, and reading a decent amount of commentary about it, I'm still perplexed by it. The film's images and scenarios, played out candidly by avidly churchy children (whose beliefs seem dangerously concrete) still chill me, months after seeing it (earnest tears as they pledge allegiance to god's army, for example). What's most disturbing about it is the hands-off style of filmmaking, allowing the point of view of the filmmakers to be left ambiguous, with the exception of footage of an ex-right wing radio commentator given the floor periodically during the film's run. One of the most thoughtful reviews of the movie I've seen comes from David Byrne's blog. Have a look.
The U.S. Vs. John Lennon *** (2006) – Doc about John Lennon's anti-war and civil rights activism, primarily centered around his battle with the INS over deportation after marijuana possession charges in the early '70s. I found it enjoyable but not very enlightening, full of great personal footage and interviews but lacking in depth about much, be it his activism or his turbulent personal struggles. The editor at Ebert's page hits it on the head.
After Stonewall *** (1999) – the follow up to Before Stonewall. Worth seeing, as it documents the GLBT rights movement post Gay-Lib and focuses on the impact of AIDS/HIV on the community. Not nearly as well made or memorable as the first film.
Sigmund Freud: Analysis of a Mind ** A&E "Biography" episode about Freud's life and major works, which is overall not terribly revealing and remains theoretically very shallow. The only interesting footage comes in the two interviews with Freud's grandchildren. When dealing with one of the largest personalities of the 20th Century, and particularly with Freud, the ultimate narcissist, it is truly moving to hear a grandson's recollection of his grandfather's jaw cancer, and how Freud was in so much pain from his illness and some 30 surgeries that after a point, his lap just wasn't for sitting upon anymore.
Siggy in his 30s
Narrative Films on DVD
Punch Drunk Love **** (2002; rerun) – it took this second viewing of the movie to make me realize that it's possibly one of my all-time favorites. If you've never seen an Adam Sandler flick you've liked (and I wouldn't blame you), remember that this is not an "Adam Sandler movie" – it's a P.T. Anderson masterpiece.
The Big Lebowski **** (1998; rerun) - I’m finally beginning to understand the brilliance of this movie. It's also amazing to think about the breadth of the work of Joel and Ethan Cohen as filmmakers – that they are capable of such searing pop culture satire and also such rich dramatic tension, and that most of their movies contain strong elements of both, so that you can't put any of their films into one box or another.
A Scanner Darkly **** (2006) – I've never read Phillip K. Dick's novel, so I can't compare it here, but the animated film by Richard Linklater works beautifully. I was skeptical about Scanner at first, because I felt his earlier attempt at an animated feature, Waking Life, to be a long-winded regurgitation of the philosophical musings of the far superior Slacker.
And while I love Slacker, A Scanner Darkly accomplishes something that none of Linklater's films have before: its eerie emotional resonance lingers after viewing. It's not unlike the feeling of frantically scratching to rid oneself from the itch of the hallucinatory bugs of substance withdrawal, álà the movie's first sequence. This owes to the rich source material for the film, which expands Linklater beyond his usual micro personal milieu.
Stranger Than Fiction ***1/2 (2006) – I liked this Will Ferrell/Maggie Gyllenhaal flick a mite better than I thought I would. If you liked the thematically similar The Truman Show and the similar fiction-writing milieu of Adaptation, give this one a go. I'd say it's almost on par with the former, not as literary as the latter, and overall, a bit less challenging and neater/tidier than either.
The Princess Bride ***1/2 (1987; rerun) – I had only seen it once back in the day, and I decided to pop it in recently, since Astrid owns the disc. It holds up, for sure, especially the fantastic chemistry between Inigo Montoya (I had no idea that was Mandy Patinkin!) and Fezzik (Andre the Giant). There's a lot of snoozy parts, but certainly it's worth seeing again if it's been fifteen or twenty years since your last viewing. The one-liners alone ("…Anybody want a peanut?" "Have fun storming the castle!" et al) are quite satisfying when taken out of the popcultural ether and put back in the context of the movie.
Volver ***½ (2006) – It's wonderful to see a solid film about the emotional lives of women. But I felt similarly about The Hours: instead of "solid," or "very good," it'd be nice to see an excellent one for a change. And ah, those whimsical farting ghosts…
Conversation(s) with Other Women *** (2005) – I liked this talky film with Helena Bonham Carter and Aaron Eckhart. The performances were great, but the writing, and thus the emotion, fell flat often. The entire movie is rendered in split screen, and while distracting at times, this device was used to good effect to convey the different POVs of the two characters, as well as visually to invoke the possibilities of the past and future.
Primer *** (2004) Really fascinating and disturbing movie. I was left with two distinct feelings at the end: I was moved, and yet I didn't know what the fuck had happened. Here's some guy's understanding of the timeline of the movie, which considers both on-screen action and off-screen events that influence the plot.
The Science of Sleep *** (2006) – an imaginative romp and a pretty film to look at, with pretty leads (Gael Garcia Bernal and Charlotte Gainsbourg) to boot, but ultimately a film more memorable for its crafty visual effects than the somnambulant solipsism of its story.
Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home *** (2006) The members of the Enterprise prevent the destruction of Earth by going back in time to save the humpback whales. Campy hilarity ensues.
Quinceañera *** (2006) A 15 year old Latina and her family deal with a mysterious pregnancy and the struggle to live amid the gentrification in their LA neighborhood. Good performances and a promising story, but the narrative could have used some significant changes. Jesse Garcia and Emily Rios in Quinceañera
Shortbus **1/2 (2006) - both better than I expected it to be, and not as good as I wanted it to be. Lots of sex – woot! Pretentious people – woot! A couple of the subplots are interesting and realistically portrayed, but this is a pretty disappointing follow-up to Hedwig.
Buffy the Vampire Slayer ** (1992) - the original movie that spawned the far superior TV show. The premise, of course, is fantastic: an airhead cheerleader at a Los Angeles high school learns her destiny as the Vampire Slayer. The execution, however, save for bits of campy goodness, stinks. How in sam hell did they get Donald Sutherland to be in this piece of shit movie?
Singles **1/2 (1992) – I'd never seen it before, if you can believe it. It was not as good as I thought it would be, and I don't have an explanation as to why I thought it'd be good. Campbell Scott is always good. Matt Dillon was pretty good. I kind of wished that Bridget Fonda's character had been played by Parker Posey instead; maybe then I'da given the flick three whole stars.
Love and Death **1/2 (1975) – by far not my favorite Woody Allen movie. (Can you tell I'm kind of tired of writing reviews now?)
Dead Silence * (2007) – you can't ask for much from a possessed dummy movie, though it was great fun watching it with a group of ornery folks while DJ pointed out the holes in the plot.
"Beware the stare of Mary Shaw, she has no children, only dolls," the inane refrain refrains.
Star Trek V: The Final Frontier * The one with the super-cheesy "God"-creature floating around in the deepest reaches of space, beyond the "Great Barrier." This is where my commitment to the Star Trek movies ends.
The Playlist
In which I talk about the new (which is sometimes quite old) music in my life!
I've been totally obsessed with this album for months, with its 30 songs worth of catchy, rollicking good tunes. All four band members (Chris Murphy, Jay Ferguson, Patrick Pentland, and Andrew Scott) contributed tracks, each with his unique flavor. With this record, Sloan runs the gamut from memorable Beatlesesque ditties to moody, airy tracks álà Grandaddy, and never loses their particular combo-punch of clever indie plus good old fashioned guitar crunch rock 'n' roll. What's best about this album is that the tuneful ballads, blasts of hard core, and quirky psychedelia all flow together beautifully with seamless track mixing and careful balancing of each of the songwriter's numbers.
The Mountain Goats: Get Lonely **** (2006) – I would say of the two Mountain Goats albums I acquired in 2007, Get Lonely just slightly edges out The Sunset Tree, with its subtle, small songs about love lost and losing yourself in the face of it. Several of the songs on the album make me cry routinely, like this one:
The Mountain Goats: The Sunset Tree **** (2005) – Like all of John Darnielle's lyrics, these are utterly earnest without losing their affecting emotionality. "This Year" might be one of my top 5 favorite songs of all time.
- an album I've been meaning to get for a few years now, as it's been referred to as influential to some acts I really like (Belle and Sebastian and Elliott Smith to name a couple.) Underrated and subdued, it's not the proto- punk of "You Really Got Me" but the reflective nostalgia of the Kink's middle period, with an oft-debated reverence/ironic sarcasm toward simpler times that may or may not have ever existed.
Chumbawamba: Shhh! ***½ (1992) – For the folks out there who have never heard any Chumbawamba besides the dangerously catchy/annoying 1997 single "Tubthumping", it's worth checking out this earlier release which captures more of the spirit of the band.
Despite "Tubthumping's" massive commercial success, the band of lefty anarcho-punk d.i.y.ers, needless to say, have a range and stylings that are much broader and more interesting (i.e. punk, pop, folk, labor songs, dub, hip hop, gospel) showcased playfully on this ode against artist censorship.
- I have a passing interest in prog rock, and more than a passing interest in the sociomusical influence of prog on newer forms of music and on pop culture. I'm fascinated, for example, with the prog rock family tree that so many major bands in the '70s and '80s have been connected to. Greg Lake, for example, was one of the original members of King Crimson, and then went on to form Emerson, Lake & Palmer, and then played with the prog supergroupAsia. Anyway, yeah, I'm a rock triv dork.
So this album, the first effort from King Crimson's off and on career that spans nearly 40-years, is considered one of the first progressive albums and possibly the first symphonic rock album, and is a mélange of jazz improv, classical, and acid rock. It's really more a bridge between the Beatles' Mystery Tour era and the later music which would become the "true" prog rock, including many of their own later releases. Track four, "Moonchild Including the Dream and the Illusion," bears more resemblance to experimental jazz than the sweeping tempo changes and rhythmic juxtapositions of progressive rock. Taken out of its natural habitat, a marijuana smoke-filled basement in 1970, say, it's more novelty amusement than epiphany-inducing. Yet the subtle classically-inspired guitar string manipulations and the peaceful encroachment of the mellotron become quite captivating by this point in the album. This early record is not on the whole a good match to my personal musical tastes, but I think I'll be giving King Crimson's later work a go at some point, particularly the Adrian Belew era that has more new wave/Talking-Headsy/proto-electronic stylings.
- Billy Bragg's third album represents a shift toward more singable folk-pop, with all the lefty political spirit still intact. In fact, even as he has moved on to much more generously produced music, he's never compromised the politics, the homage to the labor movement, and the grit of his early days. Check out "Greetings to the New Brunette," the standout (and most accessible) track, for a taste of Billy's brand of spirited folksy-rocky-political-
love song. If you want to start with something a bit more contemporary than this often straight-up leftist fight song collection, check out his later release with Wilco, Mermaid Avenue, for which the songsmith was hired by the estate of Woody Guthrie to put the legendary folkie's unpublished manuscripts to music. The results are gorgeous.
Live Shows
Mountain Goats at The Independent 3/7 ***** - Darnielle conveys so much spirit and joy, even when he's singing the most heartbreaking songs. I think if I were a rock star, this is what I'd aspire to: writing songs with meaning; performing them with utmost relish; being low-key enough to publish my photos on flickr.
Sunset Rubdown at The Independent 10/21 ***** - showing up on time really improves the concert experience. One of the best live shows I've ever seen, and this with lead brainchild Spencer Krug feeling a bit under the weather.
The chaotic sound scrapes, evocative vocals, and Spencer's sweat dripping onto the keyboard: concert-going bliss.
Photo of Spencer at the show compliments of The Undertoad.
Sloan at the Independent 4/30 ***1/2 - this would've been a four-star review, 'cause Sloan is always fantastic in concert, but this time they made the audience squirm through about a half-dozen songs with Andrew on lead vocals, and while the guy is a great drummer and a competent songwriter…HE. CANNOT. SING. The songs he wrote and performed on Never Hear the End of It are catchy and short, and his voice in-studio is mixed down enough that it can actually sound decent. Live, he can't keep a tune, really. So anyway, minus Andrew's songs, Sloan rocked the fuck out at the Independent.
They Might Be Giants at The Fillmore 9/30 **** I blogged about this show here.
- Back in the day, I was the 1991 cliché of a dyke. I wore tie dyed shirts and Birkenstocks, couldn't go a day without wearing the freedom rings, and listened to the Indigo Girls obsessively. I hadn't seen them live in many years, and it took Iris visiting from Guatemala to get me to go this time around. Her sister-in-law is a complete Indigo Girls freak, and staked out her territory, stage side, starting at 6:00 am that day (loathe to be the random dreadlocked girl to step onto Shirley's tarp!) Sporting proper amounts of hipper-than-thou irony, Iris and I descended into the sage-clouded crowd and ended up pretty blown away. Emily and Amy still know how to fucking rock. Their performance of the Buffy Sainte-Marie cover, "Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee" was as moving this time around, maybe more so, than when I saw them perform it more than a decade ago.
Pinback at Bimbo's 10/27 *** - the band wasn't in top form this time 'round – Zach's voice was just off, cracking like a 13 year old boy's. His guitar playing, as usual, was sublime. Rob held his own, and the instrumentation was trance-inducing, in a really good way.
Sunset Rubdown at the Bottom of the Hill (no rating) 4/22 – this one barely counts, ‘cause Astrid, DJ, and I got there so late we only got to see three songs. They were opening for a really pretentious noise band called Xiu Xiu. Thank god we got to see 'em again later in the year.
I'll share more about my mom and fatness in another post. 
