The Bridge...

 

...to the Back Forty.


We had a bridge in place over this little creek before but it got washed away during a raging storm. You see, our neighbors haven't maintained their drainage ditch, er creek, probably ever as it's all overgrown and clogged up with God knows what so when the heavy rains come, it can cause minor flooding in our backyard.

Maybe this one will be able to weather the storms.

Of course, we're still in a drought and it rarely ever rains any more here.

And becausee it has only rained sparsely in the last six months the backyard has turned to dust.

Which means it turns to mud when it rains.

And we don't have a mud room.

Do the math.

The Back Forty

 
We've called the overgrown part of our backyard the Back Forty since as long as we've lived here. The plot we have is half an acre but the old lady who was the previous - and original - owner had a little dog so she fenced in half of the backyard.

Over the years, we've toyed with doing something back there like building a gazebo or something. Then we had kids and now the kids are older and I often talk about building a bmx track back there.

I wanted a track, I got a trail.

The Long Lost Art Of The Medley

Despite how one might feel about The Hives, as a musician and a music critic, this clip thoroughly blew me away during a recent late-night YouTube session.

Enjoy.

Celebreality

I was channeling surfing when I came upon the Dr. Drew-hosted trainwreck that is Celebrity Rehab and - like a car crash - I felt the need to crane my neck at take a peak.

And much to my surprise, the gaggle of washed-up stars were in group therapy moderated by Dr. Drew and...

Bob fucking Forrest!

Bob was in a seminal late-'80s LA band called Thelonious Monster. The Monster featured ex-Weirdo Dix Denney on guitar. Over the course of the band's existence, they would get by with a little help from friends like John Doe (X) and Flea and John Frusciante (Red Hot Chili Peppers). The band was once championed as possibly being the next best thing out of Los Angeles but Bob's sporadic, drug-addled behavior eventually railroaded the band.


They were an odd duck for my musical tastes at the time which consisted of a strict diet of hardcore and metal but being a avid skateboarder at the time, I was well exposed to plenty of alternative music (Chili Peppers, Jane's Addiction etc.) that I would soemtimes listen to as a break from all the bar chord noise going on in my head. Something about Thelonious Monster spoke to me whether it was Bob's lyrics or their drunk punk attitude (close cousins to the Replacements) and somehow they managed to secure a lifelong spot in my collection.

Several years ago, Bob Forrest came through Chapel Hill on some triple-bill of songwriters and played an acoustic show at the sandwhich shop/used book store called Skylight Exchange. Not having heard from him since the demise of Thelonious Monster (nobody ever informed me about the post-Monster outfit Bicycle Thief) I felt pulled to go see him.

As I browsed the books during one of the opening acts playing (that I can't remember) I bumped into Bob - dressed in customary suit and hat despite it being the middle of the summer in the southeast - and struck up a conversation with him. It was far from the fanboy type as I had learned over the course of my music journalism days that that kind of conversation gets you nowhere, and more on a level of book geekdom.


He left to buy some books and then put them in his car. As he was walking down the alley back to the club he noticed me walking out with a book in hand.

"Whaddya get?" he asked.

"Howl" I said. I was in the midst of a City Lights Pocket Poetry chapbook collecting spree and it was a pleasant surprise to stumble upon this Ginsberg classic in this ramshackled location.

"Nice!" he said.
"I was thinking to myself that if it was still there after my set I was going to buy it!"

Bob played barefoot.

It was good, not great.

He appeared sober.

And that was the last I'd heard of Bob until spotting him on the show.

So this one's for Bob Forrest...well and my sister (who's not born-again by the way).

Superstitions

I don't believe I've got many superstitions especially when it comes to sports like rally caps and such yet I've know many people who can only wear certain things when watching their favorite sports teams.

But I do think UNC basketball's All-American center Tyler Hansbrough might have a few as I've seen him several times eating breakfast at the Whole Foods near my house and he always seems to be sitting in the exact same seat.

So if you fancy yourself a Tar Heel fan, click on the headline for direct linkage to Psycho T's autograph... on a grease-stained Whole Foods napkin no less.

Why? Because tonight is the UNC vs. Duke game which is one of the biggest rivalries in all of sports. And the Heels could use some good luck.

Inside The Devil's Lair

It's been busy around these parts for the last few weeks.

I'm doing an internship at the local NPR affiliate - WUNC radio - and I started taking a class through the Center For Documentary Studies in Durham by Duke University, both as a way to add a few more feathers to my cap for when I get to job hunting when my 4-year-old goes to kindergarten.

Band practice has also resumed from the holiday break.

And now catering is starting to pick up again.

I had to work last Thursday. When I checked my schedule I saw that the party was on Duke's campus and that it was in a building by Cameron Indoor Stadium. So I checked the team's basketball schedule and - sure enough - there was a game that night which meant that most likely my party would be a pre-game thing. Pre-game shifts are always hectic because you have to scramble to set up the space before getting slammed by a rush of people eager to eat and drink before high tailing it to their seats. The upside is that these parties are usually quick and have what we like to call an end time because people have somewhere to go and therefore don't stand around shooting the shit while we caterers have to politely wait for them to leave before we can break down and clean up.

When I got to campus I found out that this particular party was going to be held on this sixth floor of a building right next to Cameron. The guy who was captain for the pary arrived with the van full of supplies and confirmed my suspicion: it indeed was a pre-game gig. But instead of the usual fare of heavy hors d'oeuvres and drinks this was to be a seated, served dinner (three course) for 14 people.

No big deal. I've done this sort of thing a thousand times.

The problem was that we needed a card to get into the building and then some sort of ID to get the elevator to work. Again, not that usuual as most campus buildings these days have pretty good security.

When we pulled the cart of food and drinks off the elevator we were greeted by a big picture of a Duke basketball player and then a whole hallway of photos and trophies.

"Oh shit," I mumbled.

As some assistant told us where our kitchen space and prep area was going to be it became plainly obvious that we were in the war room of Duke basketball.

We set up our are and then went into a conference room and turned it into fine dining. As guests arrived I was instructed to see if any of them wanted something to drink. This is called butlering - as oppose to standing at a bar - and takes a bit more dexterity to balance a dozen of so drinks in varying glassware on a small, round tray.

The door to the room was closed and the assistant pointed to another door that I could use to get into the room so I turned and entered...

And I found myself smack dab in the middle of Mike Krzyzewski's office.

Or Coach K as he is known to the rest of the world.

I had joked earlier when we were unloading the van about how I should have brought my camera because the world needs to see the silliness that is Krzyzewskiville: a tent city where students camp out for Duke basketball tickets. I would love to ask the parent of one of these students how they feel that their kid is spending an entire semester in a tent for $45,000 a year.

And now here I was in Coach K's office with signed basketballs and trophies and framed jerseys and not a damn thing to show for it.

Man I wish I had a camera phone just for times like this.

For you Heels fans, nope I didn't get a chance to pinch their playbook or spill red wine on Coach K's floor but there's always next time....

And now the menu:

Passed Hors D'oeuvres-
crab cakes topped with basil aioli
house-smoked salmon on a potato cake with creme fraiche and chives

First Course-
Arugala salad with red onion and parmigiano-reggiano

Second Course-
Cowboy-cut beef steak served over sweet potato hash, topped with chipotle-lime compound butter.

Third Course-
Creme Brulee

Everybody Knows About The Bird

A couple of days ago, shortly after his bath, my 4-year-old waltzed into the family and said, "Dad look!"

I turned to see him standing there, fingers balled into a fist with his middle finger in the air.

I said nothing.

He stood there.

"Look dad!" he said this time shaking his finger at me with an angry face.

At this point I wasn't sure what to think or say and - quite honestly - began to wonder just where in the hell he learned this gesture.

A few moments passed while I began to formulate a reply before he spoke again.

"Look! I have a CUT on my finger!" he said.

This was followed by a "sheesh" and then: "Can I have a band aid?"

Boognish Sighting

 

I saw Ween last Friday.

Click on the headline for linkage to a review I wrote for Harp.

Going International

Stefan Korn over at diyfather dot com did a podcast with me last week.

Click on the headline for direct linkage.

We talked about what it is like to be a modern father, dads as primary caregivers and the At Home Dad convention among others things.

It's weird finding myself as some sort of spokesperson for dads that are raising kids while mom is at work.

But I'm all about trying to shed some light on what it is like to be a 21st Century dad and hopefully let people know there are alternatives to "mainstream" parenting.
[yes, it's a picture of me holding a blender with my kids. don't ask]

Ghost Riding Tha Whip

The other night my wife and I were shooting the shit and somehow we dredged up an old memory.

And its one that we've brought up a few times before that needs to finally be put to paper.

Er, virtual paper.

As the story goes... it's the early '90s and we're a broke but very much in love couple living in Los Angeles with a few friends in a house nestled in a canyon in the Verdugo Hills (somewhere between Glendale and Pasadena). You could ride your bike op Glenoaks Blvd. and come up on a ridge that overlooked the Rose Bowl.

When the Bills played the Cowboys in the Super Bowl we climbed that ridge with flour and tried to write "Go Bills" but clearly our letters weren't big enough because we never saw them on television.

Being broke and young in LA at the time, we decided that we would take up camping as a way to see the world around us - we weren't budding naturalists as much as card-carrying Frugalists. So we got a two-person tent, some 20 degree sleeping bags, borrowed our roommates' camping stove and off we went to camp for the first time.

We ended up somewhere in the Angeles National Forest and names like JPL, Altadena and Wilderness Park circulate up in that windtunnel that is my head but I can't pinpoint the exact place. I know it was close (but also about 2,500 feet higher in elevation; the word topography would permenantly entire my vocabulary then) and that the road to the campsite prove to be very windy, full of curves and one that made us slightly dizzy by the end.

I remember the campground being bare,almost empty, and I remember waking up to ice on the tent and my digital watch on the fritz from the condensation. It was winter but winter in LA and my knowledge of altitudes was limited.

So our night "roughing it" basically consisted of driving to a campsite in the dead of winter, setting up our tent, getting wasted and then going to bed only to wake up at God know's what time to bitter cold.

We packed up and out and scratch our heads; it was camping L.A. style and we chuckled how quickly we succumbed to the elements.

As we left the campground parking lot, we spotted a guy on a beach cruiser just approaching the road that would lead down the "mountain" if you will and then we watched - in total amazement - the dude ride down the entire winding mountain road with no hands.

After each turn, when you'd expect him to grab the handlebars and steady the beast, he'd not do it, and then we would erupt into Dude!/Sweet! laughter. At one point I think we even hit the travel odometer to track the mileage because surely we were witnessing something of Guinness Book Of World Records proportions.

When we all arrived at the bottom of the hill (see now it's a hill!) he finally put his hands on the bars. We cruised past him as my wife leaned her head out the car window and gave her best Ozzy Osborne-like-a-dog-out-a-car-window impersanation throwing the devil horns and screamin' "Heeeellllll YYYeeeaaaaahhhhh!"

Before Having Kids

 

I had this hobby called photography.

Once a budding independent filmmaker/videographer in college (it's called getting a Mass Com degree folks!),I soon turned to photography because it seemed cheaper and less cumbersome then the latter.

I turned out to be dead wrong but I was too far gone for the cause to turn back.

Much like music, it became a necessary and accepted flaw.

Might As Well

 


I was a music editor at a local weekly and my job involved - or so I thought at least and one could call it research - going to see a lot of shows.

But unfortunately, we had a limited budget for freelancers and back then a photographer had to incur the cost of film & processing plus their time and energy for an assignment [uh, analog]. I felt bad only being able to pay them what I could pay them so I took to taking pictures myself (satisfying my latent desires under the guise of "job responsibility").

This is a picture of Mac McCaughan eating a fish taco. I believe this was part of a story I wrote about Merge Records turning ten.

Or maybe it was just for a new record they had released.

Back when they released new records and back when I had the time to write about people releasing new records.

Photo Fetish

 

I soon developed a fetish for foot shots.















[That last line is going to kill me on Google searches...]

Yer Soaking In it

 


PIPE set list.

Suffice it to say, I saw a lot of PIPE shows...

Game Grub

 

One thing that I like about watching championship football is the ability to drink and eat to my hearts desire by the warm hearth of a fire.

Nothing says football grub like pigs in a blanket so of course we had to have that on the menu. Also on tap was prosciutto-and-swiss wrapped asparagus (ever notice the the smell of your urine after consuming asparagus? It must be in the chlorophyll as a recently had white asparagus and it was quite noticeably absent) and Moroccan-spiced salmon (served on sliced baguette brushed with olive oil and crisped under the broiler) that was leftover from the shift I worked on Saturday.

The wife nixed my plan for beer cheese fondue but soldiered on to make cream cheese and crab wontons in our frydaddy, the making of which turned into a family affair.

It was a good day...

Tooth Fairies, Home Invasion, and Lying

My eldest son recently lost his third tooth.

He's seems like he's a little behind the curve as far a loosing teeth goes as far as compared to most of his classmates.

His first tooth he inadvertently swallowed (and no I didn't sift through his shit to find it).

I remember the tooth fairy giving him five dollars since it was his first tooth (and since it met such an unsavory demise).

My wife and I couldn't remember how much money the tooth fairy gave him for No. 2 so we asked him and he had this elaborate story about how the tooth fairy left him three dollars in a tiny box under his pillow.

Not knowing what the fuck he was talking about with the whole box thing my wife interjected saying that the fairy doesn't always leave money in a box thus covering our asses.

Or so she thought.

That night the kid was all high anxiety, much the same way he's been in recent years with Santa - about the prospect of some stranger entering our house and coming into his room. To him it's straight up home invasion of the sort you'd see on reality television like COPS. To relieve him of this stress, we suggested he put the tooth in a zip loc bag and leave it outside his door (which would also help us from a.) forgetting and b.) not having to possibly wake him while digging around under his pillow for a tooth).

At the eleventh hour he decided he wanted to indeed have the tooth under his pillow and not outside his door.

The next morning he awoke with a clatter and came barging into our room...

"You lied, mom!" he said.
"You lied. You are the tooth fairy!"

We both looked at each other quizzically and then he explained that he had told us three dollars as a test and that he had told us three dollars when in reality he had only gotten one dollar for the previous tooth.

Since he told my wife three dollars, deductive reasoning led him to conclude that my wife was the tooth fairy.

"My mom is the tooth fairy!" he said with a wry smile.
"I can't wait to get to school and tell my friends my mom is the tooth fairy."

"That might not be a wise idea," I said.
"Why don't you just keep that to yourself for the mean time."

Sheesh.

Man, kids are just too smart these days.

It makes keeping those parenting secrets alive harder and harder...

Three Years Ago Today

I started this blog.

Fuckin' Squirrels, Man

 

I got a new bird feeder for Christmas from the family because I really like birds.

I really do.

I've managed to make friends with the wrens from the summer and have been tossing them old bread from time to time and then I figured since winter was upon us that maybe it would be nice to put some food out there on a regular basis for them.

I hung the bird feeder up in one of the trees right off our back deck; one that had an easy vantage point from the window over the sink in the kitchen (where I spend most of my time rinsing and cleaning dishes) as well as out the back door (which I go through all the time to toss beer bottles into the recycling bins).

It seemed like the birds were ignoring it or hadn't discovered it yet because every time I looked out the window the feeder was still full. Yet my backyard is full of birds like cardinals, wrens, orioles, finches, tufted tit mice and the occasional owl, hawk or falcon.

The one day the feeder was empty.

Completely empty.

And the I noticed that the fucking squirrels had chewed their way through the little beak size holes and made them big enough to stick their heads in there.

Don't get me wrong, I like squirrels for the most part.

We almost adopted one this past summer

But goddamn if they aren't a total fucking nuisance when it comes to trying to maintain a bird feeder.

I always hear of talk of squirrel-proof feeders but then everybody I know who has purchased one said that the squirrels eventually figure out a way to get at the food.

Somebody help me... or help the birds!

Bands and Beers and Shit

 

Over the weekend I was the doorman at a local hotel and bar for an event called

Elvisfest

It was about twenty bands over two nights with the catch being that each band had to include two Elvis songs into their set.

As you can probably imagine, the place was crawling with pompadors, chain wallets, chubby Betty Page wannabes, and plenty of tattoos. There was capes, kilts and cowboy hats.

All things considered it was a fairly sedate crowd and there wasn't any problems with the general douchebaggery you get anytime you have that many bands in one place. Although I did catch shit from putting on people's wristbands too tight and marveled at how skinny some women's wrist can be.

There was a lot of people and a lot of those people got drunk.

At the end of night two some guy stumble in the door with a handful of stickers and gave me one. It pretty much summed up the general attitude of the weekend.

"C'mon Dad!"

I spent the better part of Saturday morning teaching my 7-year-old how to ollie.

An ollie is a skateboard trick that involves smacking the tail end of the board on the ground with your foot (or front end... that would be a nollie) and making it pop up into the air. It is to skateboarding what the bunny hop was to BMX.

He's got this obsessive nature and is an imprintable freak which can be both adorable and annoying at time so he was thrust into this early morning ollie session after spending a week play Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 4 on PS2.

We did a lot of this type of stuff over the summer where I would use a stick as something innocuous to jump over. So we found a stick in the yard and put it in the middle of the street.

One of the older neighborhood kids rode by on his bike and decided to watch and see my son practice his ollies. My wife came out to watch as well. At one point I was getting aggravated because he refused to listen to the instruction I was giving him when all of the sudden my wife chimed in, "Well let's see you do it!" And then my son came at me as well, "C'mon Dad!"

Game on.

I nailed it on my second attempt but my son was up the street and claimed it wasn't a "clean one." But his friend said that I made it.

So I did it again.

The neighborhood kid seemed impressed.