Wednesday, January 26, 2011

A (marginally complete) list of indie bands I will never start

Following is an approximately-complete list of every #indiebandiwillneverstart that I have come up with. Other people's suggestions not included - there were too many for me to keep track of!


enimy mine [[woo palindromes!]]
Roommates & Co.
Tribble Clef
Points to Anyone
Adaptive Reuse Design Collaborative
Predicate Text
Doss Pies
Great Fun Running
Come With Me To The Mountains
Cadent Rhythms
Shark Week Blues
Two Lonely Taskets
Armistice Picnic
Dawnward Spiral
Headless Dandy
Crude Madrigal
Clockworker's Comp
Standing Pants
Sleep Insomnia
Nylon Wafers
Posthumous Interment
Outspoken Tea Party
Seaside Nomads
Stitch to the Heart
Children of Warsaw
Pewter Eyes
masterworkswords
Papa Legba's Cajun Pizza
Zenith Fall
The Dank Lord
Bass Chapel Road
Liverpudlian Mooks
Dreidel Shakers
Yard-Cat Statue
Great Lyricists
Wren Fair
Bandito Smile
Videosynchracy
Romantic For Hire
Go Not Alone
Cameo Foreground
Coriander Transfer
10 Types of People
Obey My Dog
Bella Anthropologist
Down For Dollars
Java Pitches
Seasonal Wit
Espresso Guardian
Silver Seas of Gold
The Good Morning Connection
Seven League Hi-Tops
Soul Arrow
Pirate House Party
Puzzles
World is Bond
Handful of Magic Fire
Public Librarians
Ordinal Growth
Ellis Run
Andromeda Shine
Sound of Orange
Bismarck 2
One A Day
Baroque Effect
Apollo's Tears
Boston's Midnight Sun
And Found Wanting
Blind Doggerel
Toes Definite
Ten Cent Delta
We Are Now Friends
Earthtown
Cast In Darkness
A Home Video of Dorian Gray
Bastille d'Amérique
Good Morning Dave
Coriander Love
Tulsa Fashion Runway Machine
Coptics and Robbers
Lief Ericsson and the Marco Polos

Monday, January 10, 2011

Meditations on the cause

Earlier today, a friend posted on Facebook a personal response to news stories suggesting that Loughner—who is being held responsible for the murder of 9 people and attempted assassination of Arizona Representative Giffords—had been motivated by Tea Party ideology and rhetoric. My response was never made on that particular comment thread, but I decided I wanted to post it here (largely unedited, except for the removal of the first paragraph which on second glance wasn't as relevant as I'd initially thought) instead.

"Regardless of the gunman's condition, or his past affiliations, or what rhetoric may have informed his actions, one thing is absolutely true: ANY time is an appropriate time to critique the culture of violence in this country. Violent crime—while on a downward trend (http://bit.ly/7C4qtu courtesy of Bureau of Justice Statistics under the Department of Justice)—is distressingly normative. According to the DOJ, approximately 2 million instances of violent crime occurred in 2005, of which a bit over half were recorded by police, and only half of THAT number resulted in arrests. According to the same source, "In 2009 the NCVS (National Crime Victimization Survey) measured about 4.3 million nonfatal violent victimizations of persons age 12 or older. Violent crime victimizations were experienced by 17.1 per 1,000 persons age 12 or older." (http://bit.ly/hpXLZx)

Let's discuss media industries that, through television, film, and music, profit off the sensationalism of violent behavior, and perpetuate the myth of redemptive violence. Any sort of killing catches the public interest. The Tea Party also catches the public interest. Put the two together? Instant buzz that people will tune into, boosting ratings, boosting earnings. News media is biased toward profit, not toward politics.

Let's discuss how this country's legislature feeds off divisiveness and ill will to fuel both extreme rightist and leftist stances, intentionally leading people away from center ground where compromise and discourse are viable options.

Let's discuss how one of this country's most popular sports, football, being a simulation of violent encounter (Although for what it's worth, for the purposes of teaching football is an excellent analogy for warfare).

How about the Department of Defense being one of the largest indirect employers in the United States, providing contracts to companies that accounted for an estimated $26 billion in Massachusetts last year(http://bit.ly/fT6Z1j), approximately 10% of Florida's economy (http://bit.ly/fbUked), and likely comparable values in most other states. (There's an anecdote I heard a few years back that I can't confirm about a vote to reduce military spending by canceling a contract for a specific line of aircraft that had been replaced with a better model, but when it came to a vote the nearly-unanimous decision was to maintain the contract, because the contractor (I think it was Boeing) had spread their facilities so that widgets, parts, and sub-systems were manufactured in over 35 different states, and no senator was willing to risk being accused of voting to take away jobs from his or her constituents). So long as weapons are manufactured, reasons to USE those weapons will also be manufactured.

It might do well to bring up that, with Eisenhower, Johnson, and Carter as exceptions, every President of the United States since 1933 has been the target of at least one assassination attempt.

I PASSIONATELY maintain that there is never an appropriate time to engage in violence against another...although it is with great disappointment I acknowledge that until this belief is universal, the cycle of violence is unlikely to be escaped."

Saturday, January 8, 2011

The Hunt and the Prince of Falcons

((This started out as a short rhyme that came to mind shortly after waking up a few days ago, partly stirred by the recent news stories of mysterious en masse deaths of birds and sealife that have occurred. I posted the rhyme on Facebook and went about my day, only to discover later that my dad had responded to it with a rhyme of his own. From there, it evolved into an accidental collab piece, which, if it hasn't yet settled on a final form, is pretty darn close. Text is reprinted here in it's original form; the only changes are to formatting, and correcting one stupid typo I should have caught earlier))

Five hundred birds fall from the sky
And dead fish in the sea
The Prince of Falcons traveled west
To seek a reckoning
Fly Falcon! Spread your doom.
The reckoning is coming soon.

Across the dying wind and streams
The voice did keen, the voice did keen
And drew the Prince of Falcons on
To seek counsel from the Faerie Queen
Stoop now Falcon. Spread your wings!
Alight. Seek solace in your dreams.

Marble tapestries were hung
'Pon walls of silk and gossamer
Ensconced in silver glamered throne
He found the Queen and bowed to her
"Arise, Falcon!" Lift your eyes.
Alone you reign. Your throne the skies!"

The daughter of the Faerie Queen
Saw the Prince return to air
And tracked him with a weather eye
Intent to bring him back ensnared
Die Falcon. Like your kin.
In sacrifice we live again.

Cunning traps the daughter lay
To catch the Prince out of the skies
Never once this huntress wild
Had ever failed to fell her prize

Hundreds from the sky and sea
All gave their strength to empower me.
The Princess, she must not prevail
I cannot fall. I cannot fail!
Strive Falcon, against your fear
The reckoning is drawing near.

For an age the Prince has flown
And slipped between the daughter's hands
And still must fly, for her fey nets
Are cast about upon the land

Thursday, January 6, 2011

Excerpt: Reading at Night

I flipped through the folded pages slowly. I was trying as hard as I could to stay focused on the words in front of me, but I always had trouble reading for someone when they were with me. It was easily three times more difficult tonight because I was reading it for her, and double that because she was sitting right next to me. Maybe I was imagining it, but every word on those pages was contending for my attention against the warmth coming off her skin, every soft whisper of her breath. It was short—only three pages—but it might as well have been in Latin, as long as it was taking me to read it.

"Well, what do you think?"

I responded slowly, trying desperately to remember what I'd just read. "It's good. I, I definitely liked it."

Her lips smiled, her eyes gleamed with a knowing smirk that would cause me to stammer like an idiot and blush if I looked into them any longer.

If anyone else had given me that kind of I-told-you-so stare, I would have just gotten up and walked away. "Well, okay. I guess I have some questions..."

"Sure! what's up?"

"Well, you've asked me to read a couple other things and I don't think they're related, but some of the same names come up over and over again. Is it the same characters in all the stories?"

Angel played with her collar thoughtfully. "You know, I'd never really thought about it before. I guess they sort of are, except...not really? Like, the names represent a specific archetype or something in my head, so if there's a story with James in it, for example, he'll be similar to any other James, but not necessarily the same one? So, like, Lord James will be similar to James Jameson, P.I., but it won't be the same guy who's like 600 years old now. Even though I haven't ever actually written anything Medieval or a detective story..."

"That makes sense, I think. I guess the other thing I wondered about it why it's always raining. Isn't that a sign that something bad is happening when it rains? None of your stuff I've read is particularly sad."

I was staring at the empty space somewhere between the pages in my hand and her jean-clad knee when she stretched out, leaning back on her elbows, but I didn't have to see her face to imagine the smirk she was wearing. "They say you're supposed to write what you know. And it rains here. All. The. Time."

And like a switch had been turned on I started to notice the thickness in the air and the touch of chill, the dull hiss of rain against pavement seeping in through one of the cracked windows, the slowly fading dampness of my own jeans that made them cling to my knees uncomfortably. Damn, she was right. It had started raining this afternoon. It had rained two days ago. It had probably rained here every few days for as far back as I could remember, if I tried to remember.

"Anything else?"

"Huh? Oh, no. I think that's it. I'm sorry. I got distracted listening to the rain outside."

"It's alright. Just don't get too distracted. Rain makes people sleepy, and you're a lot more fun to talk to when you're awake." She leaned over take the folded pages from my hand, rested her head on my shoulder for a moment before she stood up and stretched her arms toward the ceiling. "I really do like it here, but it's always so dark when it rains. I mean, it's dark at night anyway, but with all the clouds there's no moon or anything. If it wasn't for us bringing it with us, there might not be any light at all. If this place could talk, I bet it would thank us."

I nodded dumbly, as though struck by the most profound thought that had ever come to mind.