January 17, 2011

WAZE AND MEANS COMMITTEE

I wrote about the psychedelic festival last week for this weekend's paper--dunno if you are a Tribune reader, but if you are, you will see it soon--but I listened to all the bands, and was reminded 1. How much I like Verma. Kinda Hawkwind, kinda Can/motorik beat, woman singer. Here is their recent cassette for download. 2. SERIOUS psychedelic bands have the best bios. None of the trad barf of so and so met this person and then this ex-member channeled heartbreak into a unique combo of the Beatles later pop thrust with early-Pink Floyd meets Econochrist... all the stuff that is supposed to make your band sound interesting but presents it as even worse than their Pavement meets Pavement rip likely is--ANYHOW. Psyche bands--their bios are all about "confronting a dynamic new plane of conciousness" or the band itself being like a body that in turn represents the cosmos. Now THAT'S a plan for a band, thats a good fucking reason or concept to start a band with. Aim impossibly high, have an immeasurable goal--like creating vibrational harmony in all that hear your music.

Do you imagine that's why Michael Cera is in a band? Universal vibes? The actor Michael Cera? I feel bad for him. Actually, just almost. Verging on almost. Everyone wants to punch him in his guileless doughface. I bet he knows, but what if he doesn't? He showed up at the Bottle this week and there was cash lain on the bar and dares made from drunkard to drunkard. Who would be the one to put a fist to his million dollar face? The Empty Bottle would have gotten on TMZ!

OMG WHY ARE THE NEIGHBOR GIRLS HAMMERING NAILS AT 11:22 PM ON A SUNDAY NIGHT. IF THIS ASSEMBLING IS GOING ON IN TWO MINUTES I SWEAR TO FUCK I AM GOING TO GO DOWN THERE AND THROW BOTH OF OUR CATS INTO THEIR FACES. PLURAL CATS, ALL THREE FACES, WITH PURPOSE AND TOTAL COMMITMENT TO THE TASK.

And then their punishment will to be to come up here and put our baby back to bed, meaning set into his crib, without waking him, as many times as it takes until he stays down. Which is like the parenting version of the bucket game on The Bozo Show, but you get infinity tries.

That's right, I just compared my own son to a ping pong ball. That's what he is, in my oafish little hands, proverbially. I am too short for his crib and so in order to move him in to there, where he now sleeps, he kept rolling--and waking--just as I got to the end of my reach, like a warm and squishy log, out of my arms. My solution: I ordered the sturdiest looking step stool I could find on Amazon. Upon it's arrival I realized it's very likely a medical aid stool. Like for the elderly to rest their feet on while pooping? Or for someone to sit on in the shower while they help an old person on a taller stool? It's a medical stool of unknown purpose, which I stand on nightly to tower over the crib and deposit my log/son.

Also, also, I finished a book. It's not one in rhyme about getting your jammies on (Though Sandra Boynton's Pajama Time is a great read at 10 pages), even! It is the book of my reappearing celebrity dream-wraith, Anthony Bourdain, the book which I told him I was given for Christmas, by my mother, in my last dream. Next time he shows up I can tell him I liked it. As an essayist, he's conversational and enjoyable. It was a breeze and also filled my noggin with food fantasy and new knowledge. The most unexpected things: the essay about being a dad, his humility and also THAT HE IS BEST FRIENDS WITH ERIC RIPERT. That shocked me a little. Eric Ripert, the frenchiest french chef to ever appear on TV, perhaps more gentle, more effusively Fronch-y than even Jacques Pepin! Total odd couple celebrity chef BFFs. I thought the only thing Eric Ripert can say in English is "I fund zee feeshe, too, eez uuh, deelijeszh"--so what do they talk about? Mind=boggled. I WILL ASK THEM WHEN THEY SHOW UP IN MY DREAMS!

CAPS LOCK! and goodnight!

Posted by jessica hopper at January 17, 2011 12:01 AM | TrackBack