What would you say if I told you the reason I haven’t updated in a month is because there’s too much going on?

Don’t believe me, do you? Well, fine. But it’s true.

First, there was the Seattle Snow Storm of Christmas 2008, capitalized like so because that’s what everyone is calling it. Amounts of snow that would have barely annoyed my parents caused the Emerald City to shut the fuck down. Schools closed. Businesses closed. Busses didn’t run by my apartment for ten days. In a not-at-all stupid movie, Mayor Nickels decided that putting plows out on the streets and salting the roads was a bad idea.

He chose poorly.

Ashley got stranded at my place for three days, even though (I think) she probably planned it that way. I don’t blame her: My place is where the fun lives.

So Christmas was white. Well, mostly grey and slippery. Also, my mother sent me a ham.

Imagine what it’s like to get a ham in the mail. I think the UPS guy wanted to shake me.

I worked from home, which worked out surprisingly well… so much so that I’m trying to get a few telecommuting days built into my schedule. When I wasn’t chained to my IM client, I was streaming Netflix content through the 360. I want to talk about this more in a separate post, but let’s just take a second to acknowledge how rad this functionality is. Netflix is gonna eat a lot of people’s lunches.

So now it’s the new year, and I’ve got plans to get everything back in working order. Ideas for pieces for GWJ and TIG, and hopefully more stuff for here. Things are happening.

Woke up this morning to an email error. Seems Mail.app can’t check any mail on the publicdisturbance.net domain. Why? Because GoDaddy can’t renew a domain properly.

Nothing like an Arizona company failing to properly take my money to inspire me to blog. I’d almost forgotten you were here. Or not here, as the case may be.

I think I gave up on blogging here shortly after the Portland trip fiasco and haven’t had a lot to share. I’d love to say things have changed drastically in my life, but nope. I’m still underpaid in the dayjob, arguing too much with the significant other, underproductive in the creation department and generally spinning my wheels. I do have a lead on a new gig but I don’t think anything is going to happen there until after the first. I’m still listening to the music – there should be a review or two to link to at TIG next week if my drafts weren’t crap. I’m still on the Twitter, but I don’t really know why. There’s been a huge population of people from GWJ that moved to Twitter but only talk about GWJ, which means they’re doing it wrong. And there’s always the chance that someone there will reply to people I don’t want to think about. I liked the Internet better when I didn’t know anyone in the really real world.

I had a three week stint on the Conference Call, but I guess I’ve been demoted to second string again. It’s not a lot of fun trying to stay popular with Shawn anyway. I joked that I was going to start my own podcast, with ponies, then dreamed up some terrible Geocities site to host this fictional podcast. Making the site sounds like more fun than making the podcast, really. Bad HTML is an art.

I have an interesting story about birthdays to tell, but wonder about prying eyes. Maybe I shouldn’t worry. 

Oh, new glasses. That’s something.

New glasses. Still googly-eyed.

But mostly I’m still looking for a direction. SuperFancyGood gets some random updates when I see a funny picture or video but don’t want to write about it, but that’s about it. It’s probably time to start really writing about songs in depth, ala TIG’s iPod Roulette feature. It’s also probably time to stop hibernating for the winter and go do stuff. There’s just a couple obstacles in the way of that, stuff I should fix soon. After Christmas.

Prying eyes again. Blogs are not for sparing people’s feelings, Cory. But I do hate the drama.

So. Here’s a checklist of things to write about without concern for others:

• The Portland fiasco – Finding out you do not belong.
• Birthday Awkwardness and Email.
• The Ashley Diaries.
• Finding the right band for your Seattle winter experience.
• New music, games, movies, books, iPhone apps, anything.

That’s a good start. Maybe I can even accomplish some of that.

Patton Oswalt gave a commencement speech at his old high school on June 18. The full speech, more or less, can be found here, and it’s a fantastic read. So read it. Here’s a taste:

Because now I understand how the miraculous, horrifying and memorable lurk everywhere. But they’re hidden to the kind of person I was when I graduated high school. And now – and it’s because of my traveling and living and some pretty profound mistakes along the way – they’re all laid open to me. They’re mine for the feasting. In the Sistine Chapel and in a Taco Bell. In Bach’s Goldberg Variations and in the half-heard brain dead chatter of a woman on her cell phone behind me on an airplane. In Baghdad, Berlin and Sterling, Virginia.

He’s performing tonight in Seattle for Sub Pop’s big birthday bash, but it’s very sold out. I’m considering breaking in.

Hat tip to Merlin Mann.

Just finished South Of The Border, West Of The Sun by Haruki Murakami. A beautifully drawn picture of regret, obsession and nostalgia that would only ring false to those with the hardest of hearts. It’s a very intimate story, with little of the fantastical or surreal elements found in other Murakami novels, but one that I found myself identifying with on multiple levels. Highly recommended.

I’ve been on a reading kick since going to Portland last weekend. Ironically, every time I’ve tried to write about the Portland trip itself, I feel empty. Even now, just mentioning it, I’ve got the urge to close the laptop lid and distract myself some other way. Not sure how I feel about that.

The books I’ve been reading have been fantastic, however. I finished A Confederacy Of Dunces while there and was stunned by how much I loved it. It’s dense — incredibly dense — but both subtly and bluntly funny. How did I ever get through a literature class and not learn about Ignatius J. Riley? The education system completely failed me if they thought this book didn’t have a viewpoint to share. My mental image of Ignatius dressed as a pirate, selling hot dogs, is one I’ll cherish for a long time. I’ve never enjoyed and hated a protagonist more.

I also tore through Cory Doctorow’s Little Brother on the train ride back to Seattle. Obviously this one was easier to read, since it’s written for young adults, but the themes are equally important for anyone who finds herself thinking about security and technology. It gets preachy, in that way only Doctorow can pull off without being a complete douche, but it still paints a fascinating picture of what today’s youth can do with tomorrow’s tech. I’ll definitely be thinking of the book when I’m walking through a metal detector for my next flight, wishing I had my tinfoil hat on.

While in Portland, I made the required trip to Powell’s and found a book I’d been seeking out for a long time: Harlan Ellison’s short story collection I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream. It’d old and worn, obviously loved, and exactly how I wanted to own the title story, a brilliant piece of cyberpunk fiction before cyberpunk was conceived. If I could have found an ancient copy of Le Guin’s The Lathe Of Heaven, I would have felt complete.

Maybe I’ll be able to write about Portland at some point. I’ve been in a funk since I got down there and haven’t figured out exactly why, though the arguments I’ve had with Ashley and the soulless work I’ve been doing during the day certainly haven’t helped. But it started when I got to Portland itself. Something shattered, and I’m not sure what it was or when it happened. And every time I try to analyze it, like now, I shut down. I’ll have to try again later.

It’s the last work day of the week for many thanks for National Blow Stuff Up day on Friday (some may call it the Fourth of July, but my title is catching on) and that means one very simple thing for my compatriots in the cubicle world: We ain’t gettin’ shit done.

While the rest of the office tries to keep up appearances, I’ve completely abandoned the notion of productivity. Instead, after writing a quick blog post for TIG about CASSETTE FROM MY EX, I’m researching activities and sites to see for tomorrow’s Portland excursion.

According to my knowledgeable friends, Voodoo Donuts puts bacon on their donuts, pictured at that link. That’s fucked up, and I have to try it. Melissa, she of the unfuck-upable hair, also recommends cruising the Hawthorne district for little shop and such, and the Farmer’s Market. I also have my eye set on Saburo’s Sushi House Restaurant, thanks to a recommendation from Lauren. And of course, I’ll be ten blocks from Powell’s.

More than anything, though, I’m excited about taking the train down. I ride on the Coast Starlight down, a long West Coast train that rolls all the way down to Los Angeles, then the Cascades line back up, which is supposed to be beautiful. I hope to get some writing done over the weekend, as well as reading A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole. And drink. And wander and get lost, as well. It’ll be nice to get away, if even briefly.

Currently listening to Podington Bear’s The Lost Album. Free download at that link. There’s this news story floating around about the guy who does Podington Bear getting outed by CDDB, but I don’t know enough about it to relate it here. The album is fascinating, though. Electronic without being electronic. Lots of playful textures. A few more listens and I might give it a proper review.

It is 85 degrees in Seattle. Specifically, in Capitol Hill, the forecast says it’s raining men.

I don’t pretend that I’m going to write a lengthy missive here. I’ve been walking in this unrelenting sun in accursed flip flops for the better part of the day, and the whole heat stroke thing isn’t as cool as I’d read. But I hadn’t said hi lately and am still working on the assumption that I should. Hello, Internet.

I did go to a party Friday night, where I only knew one person for a total span of two days. The invite came late and I didn’t think I’d go, but got a second wind. It was awkward, yet I think I did alright. Met a girl who drives a retro-looking scooter and probably has no interest in me, but I’m not even concerned. Also met a girl — I need some dudes in my life, can you tell? — who does random acts of artwork and, I think, is probably a little crazy. She gave me a slip of paper and a pen, so I wrote 60 words about the people in the room. Emily traced her left foot — I don’t know why — and asked me to write on that. So, okay. 100 words about a left foot. Was it cute? All I know is that it was a run-on sentence, and who doesn’t love those?

Saturday was spent getting the Macbook Pro repaired. Actually, that was only two hours in the early morning, which almost makes me want to call those people Geniuses. I spent the rest of the day walking in the sun, a terrible idea for a redhead. But I survive.

Ashley sent me some texts while bar crawling with a couple of lesbians. The irony doesn’t escape me. She’s in her element, surrounded by women with duct tape on their nipples, and she’s talking to me. Something is wrong with that girl.

Today was more walking and exploring, which led me to this coffee shop that rocks the AC and the wifi. I’ve been watching people walk by, trying to decide if the cool kids still wear shorts. The two stores I went to for new shorts were sold out, unless one is into those plaid golfing shorts, and I am not. I think I’m more of a pant person, but from a fashion standpoint I just do not know myself. Are flip flops douchey when worn with jeans? I don’t know, and I’m taking a big risk wearing them anyway. Because, as you know, the stakes are so high.

I think my favorite thing about this coffee joint, Kaladi Brothers, is both the stunningly beautiful barista eating a sandwich beside me and the 80’s pop radio they consistently play. I knew I was home when “The Safety Dance” was on when I walked in. Another byproduct of the radio is that 80’s pop lend themselves so nicely to ironic Twitters. “When Doves Cry?” Sure, I’ll tease that. Prince has got it coming.

Video of the moment: Jay-Z played last night at the Glastonbury Festival. If you’ve been keeping up, you know how unhappy Noel Gallagher from Oasis is about this. So when Jay-Z came on last night, he had a little fun with the faux-Beatles’ back catalog.

Dana at TIG apparently liked one of my tweets so much today that she posted it to the Imagi-Blog. I’m not sure if she knew it was me or not.

The point, however, is that the news story prompted TIG’s own ChrisB to post this brilliant video. Prepare to be disturbed. NSFW.

Also, add Three Imaginary Girls to your 140 characters of crack. And let me personality-spam you, too.

just noticed a few minutes ago that I’m in kind of a bad mood. It could be any number of things: The beers I drank while cooking my Enchilada Surprise experiment, the fact that the keyboard and trackpad in my Macbook Pro have died yet again, the aggressive electronic noise I’m listening to, or the fact that I spent a few minutes browsing GWJ after grabbing a couple of past article links there and saw my ex posting in what used to be my Drupal-powered house.

But instead I’m going to blame Lewis Black.

It started a couple nights ago, ironically when I broke up with my current girlfriend, who I guess is now an ex as well. I wanted to listen to or watch something funny, something to pull me out of my self-induced pity. I’d already watched The Daily Show and Colbert on Hulu — as everyone should — and still had an itch on my funny bone that needed a tickle. I’m not a big fan of stand-up — love the history, hate the current practitioners — but I do love Lewis Black’s smart satire on current events and politics. So I listened to Rules of Enragement, then watched a couple Youtube videos. Then got his new audiobook, Me Of LIttle Faith.

The new book is Black’s attempt to make sense of religion and faith as a non-practicing Jew. He examines topics like taking the Bible literally, Heaven’s Gate and Jim Jones, Christianity, the LDS church, the Newark Airport as Hell, George W. Bush doing God’s work, and his own experiences with faith and spirituality from Judaism, psychics, communes and more. I’m about two thirds through the book, but it’s been both poignant and funny.

Lou’s a funny guy, but he’s angry, and now I’m angry too. And I”m not sure how to calm down.

I’ve always hated playing favorites. Sometimes there’s a clear choice (Revolver is the best Beatles album, for example, or Longshot is the lamest X-Man) but most things aren’t that concrete. So when I say Time Travel Is Lonely by John Vanderslice is my favorite album ever, you need to know that I’m probably going to change my mind. Quickly.

But it’s still a brilliant album, about John’s fictional brother, Jesse, who gets stranded in the Arctic and goes mad. It’s very organic, as if each song is a moment from a person’s mind, filled with a broad range of emotions that give the songs a definite space. My favorite track on the album is called, “Emma Pearl.”

“Emma” is one of the album’s more “live” tracks, recorded with a full band to document what Vanderslice’s live band sounded like during the period after Mass Occult Suicide Figurines The track starts with the fictional brother looking out over the arctic horizon as a snowstorm rages. He’s stuck, “snowbound for another day,” and incredibly alone. Vanderslice, singing from Jesse’s POV, talks about the coastline shifting in his view, then moves to the conversation his brother has with Emma Pearl, a girl who’s been telling Jesse about what’s happening in the outside world. “Smash the satellites,” Emma tells him, effectively cutting him off from any chance of being saved. Vanderslice’s voice conveys a sadness that has me convinced that Jesse knows all hope is lost, and that he’s going completely mad.

“If she doesn’t exist,” Vanderslice sings, “why do I miss her?”

There’s something sweet about Jesse’s delusion. Earlier on the album, during “Everything Changed,” Jesse witnesses a little girl’s death in an auto accident. His visions of Emma throw back to that moment, described as seminal to Jesse’s expedition to the arctic. Now that he’s losing his sanity, the only thing he can hold on to is the image of an innocent girl.

I don’t know why I wrote all of that, honestly, except that I always hear “Emma Pearl” and get a little sad. Not the kind of sadness that makes me want to hide under my covers, but the kind that makes me want to comfort the world. Vanderslice evokes an intense emotion in me throughout this album, but especially during “Emma,” one that fills me with a loneliness that I want to share with someone, one I want to roll around in. Maybe Vanderslice is saying that we’re all Jesse, stranded in the cold, hoping to hear about the outside world.

It’s a beautiful track from a rewarding album, and I highly recommend you listen to it.

***

Couldn’t find a video for “Emma Pearl,” but here’s “My Old Flame” in a beautiful key for Vanderslice’s voice.

So let’s talk a little bit about Matt & Kim.

For the uninitiated, like I was last night, Matt & Kim is, literally, Matt and Kim. Matt plays keyboards loaded up with fat, Moogy synths, and Kim hyperactively beats on a small drum kit. Their songs are energetic ditties, light on content but heavy on excitement. The whole show, I had a vision of Brooklyn youth, carefree and frantic and happy.

Matt & Kim is the sound of Pop on a very base level.

And my God, they were happy. It was Kim’s birthday, but I got the impression that even if it wasn’t, she would have had a smile plastered on her face the entire time. I developed a pretty serious crush last night. I think everyone did, on the both of them.

Here’s a vid.