April 29, 2006

IT'S HARD OUT HERE FOR A PIMP

Update to my post about Stephin Merritt's keynote panel from two days back: Mr. Merritt has offered to provide a complete transcript of the keynote panel for my review, as he feels my impression is not accurate, and as he said this morning "I dont like being called racist on the internet"-- I agreed to consider the transcript and will post about it after I get a chance to read the whole thing.

The panel I moderated this morning was such a joy. It really was. The first time I came to EMP four years ago I really felt peerless and less than, because I was having to turn to my friends with the Semitotics degrees from Brown and ask what words meant, I walked out of multiple panels because I was so flustered I did not understand. I was complained about it and another writer/EMP-r accused me of being anti-intellectual; I cried about it because I wanted to understand and I thought I was peer, but ultimately felt isolated and dumb. I don't know if the conference has changed or if I have, but I feel like someone tossed a long lock of rapunzel hair down I scaled the ivory tower that way, but, on the panel today, with four women telling stories--of how music and DIY and feminism changed their lives, or the lives of other girls--to an audience of Greil Marcus and bloggeristas alike--it really meant something to me, deeply, to be part of that dialogue. That determined dialogue and others about race and class and sexuality and music we love and hate and why--my heart as much as my mind are in a total froth over it all. Posi-froth.

Posted by Jessica at 06:56 PM | TrackBack

April 28, 2006

SINCE U BEEN GONE

My boyfriend, Matt, his band, Ambulette, is on tour and got all their gear stolen this week. All Matt's guitars, zillion pedals and amps. Sad times. It got stolen in Philly--so if yr in the surrounding area and perusing places where equipment is sold, or see something along these lines on craigslist--holler at them or if yr positive it's the same-same as listed below, call the cops.

guitars:
-1959 Fender Jazzmaster - white w/ white headstock, tortoise shell pick guard
-1974 (?) Gibson SG - brown/natural finish
-2003 Fender "deluxe american" Telecaster - sunburst w/ white binding, pick guard
-1977 Fender Precision Bass - black w/ black pickguard, maple neck

keyboard:
-new Clavia Nord Electro - 72 keys, in SKB hard case

amplifiers:
-1969 (?) Matamp ("Orange") OR100 Head - in flight case, with modified power jack
-newer Dr. Z "Presciption" (***not "Prescription - note the misspelling; the amp was made that way) white, in flight case
-newer Dr. Z 2x12" speaker cabinet - red
-1960's Fender Champ - Tweed
-Traynor YBA1 Bassmaster Head

drums:
-16" Ludwig Vista Lite - Clear, in SKB case

effects/pedals:
-Fulltone Tube Tape Echo (in Pelican case w/ Champ Amp)
effects together in a pedal board/flight case:
-Demeter Compulator
-Chicago Iron works Parachute wah wah
-Fulltone Fulldrive
-Electro Harmonix Big Muff
-Demeter Tremolo
-Z Vex Lo Fi Loop Junky
-Ernie Ball Volume Pedal
-Keeley Katana
-Peterson Strobe Tuner

Posted by Jessica at 03:56 PM | TrackBack

April 27, 2006

"PRIME RIB DIP" (addenduh)

Click here for my 1300 words on Mecca Normal and the plight of independent womens like Jean Smith from this weeks' Chicago Reader; I could write another 13,000 words about it, about romance & feminism, how it took me almost a month to listen through the whole album exactly once, because it grieved me so. In the press material for the record, Jean mentions about whether she was unsure if it was the right thing, as a feminist, to make this record, was it an appropriate example to share with young women, and I really think it is because it is brutal, it does not spare us, it pokes at our fear and shame and longing. It is good to tell; yr only as sick as yr secret history.

I meant to share a link, not horde it like a selfish prig: Greatest Band of All Time--a group blog out of Portland that does histories of almost-rans and bands time forgot that at one time were yr fave. Granted right now they are doing a 4 parter on the Smiths, which I feel like have been on eternal furnacestial blast into our culture-zones since, roughly, the moment of my parent's conception of me (xmas 1975, Bloomington, IN). but they have also done re-rewinds on early nineties hardcore that were documentary over nostalgic. It's about love and it's free of Pitchforky fetishizing and of any beat sense of "it was better back when..."--they great it all with a wow. Like fanzine meat. It kind of reminds me of #2 Fanzine. (Five Top Newsprint Zines of the Late 90s in order, not counting my own: 1.Commodity, 2. Change Zine 3.Error 4. #2 5. Torpedo Dialogues (Chris Richards from Q and Not U's zine that last 2 or 3 issues--he was a high schooler!))

I also have this gossip to tell you: I went to visit Joan at work, and the Sub Pop mail room is run by Mark Arm of Mudhoney, who is ageless. A real grunge perennial, that man.

Posted by Jessica at 05:36 PM | TrackBack

THE FINE POINTS OF DISGUST

Britt makes a heretofore unmade argument against American Apparel.

I am in Seattle, the ghosted city. I just read advance chapters from Everett True's soon-book about the N-Band (no, not The Necros!), which takes place in the Seattle of yore, during a time when I only knew one other person, (Jim Tilman!), who was not on drugs. My memory now, of the town is EMP-events (chainsmoking and watching PBS in a shared hotel room with Julianne, SFJ's Jamiroquai impression, Xgau's paper that ended with the phrase "first glance of labia") and the other half with gauzey memories of 1993-5: watching friends shoot up, vomit and puff from cotton fever and bomb hills on their skateboards.

But now, I am in one of my top-five places ever, the Rem Koolhaus-designed downtown library. I got here too early, it was me, some sunburned tourist boys and a woman who had shit her pants, eagerly waiting to get in at 9:22 am.

Posted by Jessica at 12:38 PM | TrackBack

April 26, 2006

PETER RESURRECTED A SMOKED TUNA ONCE

I wrote another peice on Pink, this time the video and the album.

Tonight, I voyage to my one-time living place of Seattle for a couple few days for the EMP conference. I am presiding over an amazing panel with papers by young feminist 'llectuals Sara Marcus, Sara Jaffe and Melissa Meltzer at 9 am on Saturday. Come on by! I am awful bummed that our panel is up against Jody Rosen and Elijah Wald, who are always some of my favorites. Robert Christgau's paper on Young Jeezy, I am really anticipating being some hot shit. Drew Daniels interrogates Stephen Merritt on the opening night. Maybe he will ask him about whether he is as racist as people seem to think he is. EMP=Brain fites!

Bart Ehrman, who wrote the book on non-canonical biblical texts is on NPR right now. TOTALLY fascinating. He just recounted a passage in Mary M's gospel, where it says Jesus kissed Mary on her (page missing). "He could have kissed her anywhere, " Terri Gross adds with a giggle. Imagine how different a world we might live in if the missing 4 pages of Mary M.'s gospel was some Penthouse Forum style "I never beleived it would happen to me" recount of a freaky night in a cave with Jesus.

Posted by Jessica at 11:45 AM | TrackBack

April 25, 2006

"I JUST NEEDED TO GET SOME OF THESE FILES"

Is it madddd winebar of me to like this Cibelle record so much? Despite those Midi strings and the sound of the ocean sampled/Sade on a budget bits, it's like the Kid A of lonely-samba albums for baddish girls.

Secondly, I went to interview Flosstradamus kids today for a mini-story and I got there and J2K was mopping the floor in anticipation of my arrival. Moptradamus. They even lit a candle. It reminded me of when yr 21 or 22 and you go over to some guy's house for what turns into a date--votive candles are the sort of things dudes do to try and present themselves as civilized.

Question, why has no one made a remix of The Federation's "In Love With A Hoodrat" and Hold Steady's "Little Hoodrat Friend"? Hyphy would do Craig Finn well.

Lastly, did you get the Best of Men's Recovery Project yet? "Get The Fuck Out Of My Office" is only 40 seconds long and undoubtably, those might be the most wild 40 seconds of your day.

Posted by Jessica at 05:36 PM | TrackBack

"I JUST NEEDED TO GET SOME OF THESE FILES"

Is it madddd winebar of me to like this Cibelle record so much? Despite those Midi strings and the sound of the ocean sampled/Sade on a budget bits, it's like the Kid A of lonely-samba albums for baddish girls.

Secondly, I went to interview Flosstradamus kids today for a mini-story and I got there and J2K was mopping the floor in anticipation of my arrival. Moptradamus. They even lit a candle. It reminded me of when yr 21 or 22 and you go over to some guy's house for what turns into a date--votive candles are the sort of things dudes do to try and present themselves as civilized.

Question, why has no one made a remix of The Federation's "In Love With A Hoodrat" and Hold Steady's "Little Hoodrat Friend"? Hyphy would do Craig Finn well.

Lastly, did you get the Best of Men's Recovery Project yet? "Get The Fuck Out Of My Office" is only 40 seconds long and undoubtably, those might be the most wild 40 seconds of your day.

Posted by Jessica at 05:35 PM | TrackBack

April 24, 2006

LATE BLOOMER

pic5.jpg
Carol Tyler (above), America's first lady* of what in the olden days, were called "wimmins commix", is having a small, affordable art auction on ebay of inspirational cupcakes drawings.

I interviewed Ms. Tyler recently, which will appear in this month's issue of the arts quarterly, ANP, which is my most favorite magazine aside from the New Yorker, and is put together by Brendan Fowler aka BARR, Ed Templeton and Aaron Rose and is FREE all over the place and should be to you soon; I am loonily excited to be writing for them. Loonily: when was the last time you blv'd in a magazine?

Here is a special excerpt from the interview, for all the mamas that read the blog. Carol Tyler's new collection of her work is called Late Bloomer, and it is dedicated to anyone who ever had to put their art or dreams on hold to deal with real, messy life. Here is a quote from the interview where she talks about her own life and art goals in relations to being a mom:


The art career goals pre-baby were defined by the template given to me in art school: that the artist’s path was logical and linear, and that anything short of success in New York meant complete and utter failure.

And of course, at first, because I went out west and had a baby, that’s what I felt like. People would lay poisonous comments like, “Once you have a kid, that’s it for your career!”

I think what disturbed me so much when I first became a mother was, that linear progression thinking didn’t work anymore and, because linear progression was what being an artist WAS (as they taught me to believe in school), I felt completely devastated. I had to shift into a new paradigm. For example, Boohoo, another day that was not about me or my creative juices, although . . . maybe it still could be, but not in the form I was taught was the “right” form. I had to invent a “new” form, a new way of maintaining my creative innards and thriving despite all.

This meant drawing when I could for Weirdo magazine, edited by the Crumbs and training myself to see every activity in life, regardless of the category, as holding creative potential. Whether it was cooking or laundering or helping with 3rd grade homework. It all became this bright and lively subject matter! So I wrote it all down, in journals and on scraps of paper that I could draw upon later, whenever I was ready. It became a gigantic creative savings account, still there, on shelves, in the studio.

(* Julie Doucet is Canadian)

Posted by Jessica at 06:50 PM | TrackBack

April 23, 2006

HI, HOW ARE YOU?

If it is viewable in your area, gentle reader, you must go see The Devil and Daniel Johnston. I was moved in most glacial parts of my heart. I cried whenever his dad cried, and when Daniel is on MTV for the first time, and also when Daniel starts crying, at an in-store in NY, at Pier Platters, in 1986, while singing about how he is going to god--and the hipster-fans are singing along, perhaps thinking he is just like a big, loopy, genius baby and then they realize that his is singing about his own death, the coffin so real, as he won't stop the song and the tears are just streaming down his pink, pained face. Really, you must see it. It is a movie about so many things, about depression and greatness, what happens when the art never stops coming out of you, the kind souls of Sonic Youth, about best intentions, about what happens when you think you are Casper the Friendly Ghost. It also may remind you that "I did acid with Caroline" is one of the best pop songs ever put to cassette.

Also, post-note, I gotta rescind or renege on last weeks touch dismissive bit about the wild Serato styles of Flosstradomus. They brought the juke beats a top the chopped and screwed and "perculator" to various anthems du chirpback and made a lot of people at the Bottle bounce-bounce and lean with it, and roll with it as well. They were flosstraflawless until they gave everyone a reprieve with the baffling typical/pandering set that started with "Rock The Casbah" and then went into "Humpty Dance" and by the 2nd chorus of "Jump Around" me and my dirty flip flop were out on the curb--it was like a bad dream--I looked at Miles and was like "Hey, what just happened? Weren't we just dancing to T.I.?" --not to diss those girls with the tans on the bottom of their feets frottaging a thongshow amidst the flat brims--but peace to the fratmosh in '06.

Posted by Jessica at 01:53 PM | TrackBack

April 21, 2006

THE ONLY MIXTAPES YOU HEAR IN CHICAGO ARE INSIDE THE INTERNET

Courtesy Faderblog Purple Reign, The Dipset/Prince mixtape. Dece.

Posted by Jessica at 12:27 PM | TrackBack

April 20, 2006

I MADE IT

I made it to Cobrasnake. Unflattering pictures of me Djing along with Chris Holmes' new moustache that doubles for a shoebrush. I am playing real records, Chris is jocking my personal space, waiting to plug in his Serato equipment. I love it when The Cobrasnake comes to Chicago--you know when he is here because it's chubby people, bad tats and pale skin in every shot.

Posted by Jessica at 09:23 PM | TrackBack

ASKHEYCHRIS

Also, forgot also: My story about Chris Gutierrez, (aka the former best pal of Pete from Fall Out Boy who was implicated in emo's first sex scandal) and his spoken word album that is a "best of" of his blog is out in the Chi-Boogie Reader today, suburban edition it's the cover. I was not around when they took that picture of him in his manties that runs w/ the article. I am really impressed that anyone would willingly pose, while still wet from the shower, in their underwear, for a picture to run with an article about their blog. That really going for it, you know?

Posted by Jessica at 08:05 PM | TrackBack

I'M NOT WEARING SOCKS RIGHT NOW.

PST 12  I COVER MY COUGHS.jpg

Forgot to mention: Tonight at Betty's Blue Star lounge (not just for choochy coke dudes anymore!) a "Pot/Fuck Hitler" party c/o BIRD NAMES for the stoner holiday 4/20. It's an anti-Nazi pro-weed no wavey fardled kind of thing. Tomorrow night is Flosstradomus dance party at the Bottle, free if you RSVP, a ludicrious $10 if you don't. I like J2k and his flossy pal, but those dudes use that fake DJing thing, with the pretend records and the Mp3s. If yr looking for an adventure and a fuck of your mind, Neptune and Coughs are playing a party at 1108 California I think. I am not sure, I just saw PAINTED SIGNS THE SIZE OF MY BODY IN THE SHAPE OF A BEAR AND A MERMAID that were tacked up acorss from the Brown Elephant on Milwaukee. Also, also, it's the gallery show kick of thing thing for Version fest. I have no information, it's probably in Pilsen, check the paper. Thats my info stream for you, stranger. In the wordsa Kim Gordon: Party with me punker! I have to go write about mecca normal now, but alls I want to do is skateboard on all the newly paved streets in our home-zone and eat gelato from a trough and listen to Ice Cube.

Posted by Jessica at 06:57 PM | TrackBack

April 19, 2006

ROLL DEEP CREW

What totally fascinates me: people who hitch a ride on someone's electric wheel chair. Like on the person's lap. Adults. It audaciously asks "Why walk?"-- Tonight, I saw a big dude in a chair with a woman riding on the arm, cruisin avec, in silence. She was wearing purple sweat pants. Riding next to them was another woman, also in an electric wheelchair. She was eating a pudding pop real voraciously, and suddenly she said peace out to them, stopped, backed up and peeled the fuck out hightailing across the street and down the alley, g-nawing on her pop.

I'd say it felt Lynchian, but if it was Lynchian one of those women would of been getting slapped and be loving it.

Posted by Jessica at 07:41 PM | TrackBack

April 18, 2006

NOT TIL I EAT / ALL MY FRUIT LOOPS

You Tube is a treasure trove that does not stop troving. Stop us if you have seen this one before, but Average Homeboy, Ultimate 80's edition. Aside from those intense cable knit sweaters, the part where he raps qua yells the line "As you can see / I'm white" while high-fiving a brother in an equally as ridonk sweater has a hallucinatory quality. It is too real to be real. Also, he looks like he could be Catchdubs cousin, no? Thanks to Miles for the link.

Posted by Jessica at 03:33 PM | TrackBack

IT COULDN'T WAIT TIL MORNING

I was browsing the CPL site and discovered something THAT MIGHT BREAK YR COTTDAMN MIND, CHICAGO-BASED NERD: If you have a library card, you can download audiobooks off the libraries website for free! They only have 1304 titles right now, but still, that is total mania, for your roadtrips, commutes and times spent in the tour van! THE UNABRIDGED 9/11 Commision report! Language immersion "tapes"! Trashy biographies! Science books! UGH.Plus, if that was not enough--because they are downloads, they never become overdue. I am so overwhelmed and excited by this prospect I have to fall asleep right now.

Posted by Jessica at 12:51 AM | TrackBack

April 17, 2006

TIRED OF BEING SEXY

CSS, whose name translates to "Tired of Being Sexy" is a band you should care about. Try out their myspace page . ESL elastic funk, 5 ladies and one dude. It's not dance punk one bit. Full length on Sub Pop in July.

I know yr likely as burnt, if not burnter-plus than I, of/off all this honkey skronk ad naus. It's marginally comical, to remember, in my brain to remember the pure fuck of "House of Jealous Lovers" and how it felt like a super power to lay it on the tables at a party. Never quite there with !!!, or Radio 4, or those also rans who played all Emma Goldman dance dance revolution, like shaking ass was a noble mission, and we played along. NOW, How do we reverse from where that has gotten us? I see dance punk was the reaction to codified emo, white belted and in love with it's pain, and now somehow the two have merged into dixx in guyliner, ties being the new belts and goth and emo fucking each others faces all over the pages of AP-- so what is the reaction, the core that will be the post of this preening-pouty and whatever you wanna call the genre that is meta-textually represented in Pete Wentz rubbing one out on his camera phone? What is that things opposite? Slow meditations of plain-ness rife with clear sexuality--like Lungfish meets R Kelly (= Wilderness)? Simple assertiveness with a touch of clever (clever is never out of style as long as someone somewhere is still isolizing Steve Malkamus)? Will Shipping News suddenly become popular again? Will Brazilian drunk humpty baile make Brazil the new Sweden? WHO IS WATCHING THE TRENDS?! WHERE WILL OUR FETISHISTIC DRIVE AND SLUTTERING BOREDOM TAKE US NEXT?!

!

Posted by Jessica at 10:47 PM | TrackBack

THE BRIDGE OF THE SECRET / THE SCYTHE OF ANKOU

Tommorow, if you want to "party" for free, I am djing this party for a Honda car (not my own), at the Landmark Art Gallery Loft, 841 Randolph, 8pm-1 am.
I DJ from 8-10. Then The Assassins, The Red Walls both play and then Chris Holmes, known toucher of much local booty, DJs into the night. If you want to go, RSVPCHICAGO@FILTERMMM.com. It is a 21+ deal. (Sors!) I have no idea what sort of musics I will spin--it's 6 corpo sponsors, a car on the club floor, a booty-toucher, a major label teenager band and a band that, according to their bio, "take 80's Manchester as the start point of their sound" --what does one play in those situations--I am thinking perhaps Judy Collins/Dipset/Discharge mega-set would really come correct. Anyhow, free party with vodka drinks and snacks and me. You could swing by after work, get half way to trashed, eat some mini quiches as I play all of side 1 of Unwound's Fake Train --it could be the best night of your life for all you know.

Posted by Jessica at 05:33 PM | TrackBack

FIRE ESCAPE

I woke up and listened to the news half asleep for about two hours before I made an effort to be awake. Terrorism in a mall in Tel Aviv top of the news. In 28 days I will be in Tel Aviv myself. The exact shape of the prospects of Israel shifts in my mind every few days. The other night, I caught a few seconds of 10 Commandments on TV, and I realized, that my imagining of Israel is informed exclusively by bible epics and what Rome is like. Errr.

Meanwhile, ppl of the PacNW: Jane Dark/Joshua Clover is reading in yr towns!
4/20 @ 7:30, Open Books, Seattle
4/23 @ 7:30, Spare Room, Portland

You should really go. You will have a great time.

Posted by Jessica at 11:22 AM | TrackBack

April 16, 2006

HALLELUJAH CHORUS

I was riding around the other day with a newly pregnant friend, my second newly pregnant dear friend of the week, actually, and we were talking about it, it's outfuts and potential names, or why pregnant ladies should stay off bikes, not sure, and my friend says, "I just want to see it's face."

With really earnest, eager insistence--"I just want to see it's face."
I keep thinking about that. And about the three babies of friends I will meet this year.

Today in church, a girl, about 4 yrs old, turned to a newborn baby she had been flirting with, who was in the pew behind her, and whispered, holding up a ziplock bag of Chee*tos, and said with earnest, eager insistence amid crunchy bites "These are really good."

On Good Friday, I saw inside the Russian Orthodox church next door, the latin was booming, everything 'cept the parishoners, the priest and the pews were gilded. Catholic opulence, when it's old, it's majestic and a little distracting--if it's too new, I think "steakhouse".

In the last thrift store we went to yesterday, there is an organ by the door ("$50, no haggling"). Mid-way through the back of the store browse, I asked my friend "Is that the radio, or is someone playing the organ?"-- we checked. A man was playing a gospely version "Jesus is my rock" on the organ at the front, and testifying in the breaks between chorus and verse. A little white lady, about 70, stood behind him. He asked her to clap and help him keep time. He did not have full use of his hands, and he used the chord pedals with his feet a lot. Everytime he sang "Jesus" or "saved" she said "Amen."-- I asked at the counter--the guy comes in every other week or so, and plays in exchange for outfits. It was the best thing I've ever seen in a thrift store.

Posted by Jessica at 01:54 PM | TrackBack

April 13, 2006

PATRIARCHAL DIXX R EVERYWHERE!

DID YOU FORGET ABOUT THE RACIST SEXIST PATRIARCHY THAT WE LIVE IN?:
Joan Morgan, Mark Anthony Neale and scores more commenting on violence and perceptions of race and sexuality in regards to the Duke rape scandal in the NY Times.

FILE UNDER ALSO SUPER SCARY 3000: Also, in case you missed this on Feministing.com-- South Dakota sen-dog Bill Napoli talking about the exceptions that he'd be willing to allow abortions for -- "for religious virgins who were planning on saving themselves for marriage who'd been raped, sodomized, brutally raped, assaulted, as bad as you can make it--who'd be so messed up..." -- HE IS #1 IN FRIGHTENING! Then, here is the funny little comic about Mr. Napoli which includes his phone number--the suggested use: since he thinks he make descisions about womens lives for them, call him with any pending descisions you may have. Napoli's hot patriarchal tipz hotline: 605-348-7373! Use and abuse! get drunk and prank him as a religious virgin that is hot for him!--Whatever yr steez make it "as bad as you can make it"!

Posted by Jessica at 08:46 PM | TrackBack

MNPLS

A plea, fair Minneapolis reader that I know or half know: Are you going on tour/vacation/away sometime between now and June 15th? Need some one to watch yr place and feed yr animals and plants for you -- for free? How about my sister? If you are game, let me know.

Posted by Jessica at 08:06 PM | TrackBack

SHINE ON ME WHEREVER YOU ARE

Today is a fantastic day, fortuitous--good news from so many friends--the seasonal change is a harbinger of big events for everyone it seems--Miles even got a haircut. Good news, exciting news beyond that: I am going to Israel for 8 days next month to write about the Israeli music and art scenes. I am hoping this helps; I feel stumped by my own tropes and analysis: punk is still sexist, and so is emo, the feminist bands are still confused and most everyone is racist, music qua music, as J-Shepdilla sez, is enjoyable... Al Burian, my dear dear friend, and i have spoken recently about the humbling awfulness of putting together yr work for anthology and realizing that you wrote the same thing over and over for years, trying to romance out some truth from it, finding truth that you thought you knew to be relative at best and cycnicism creeping up by the year. Al and I discussed: what is the new topic? He's got new works already--he made an existential comic in German last year, that even though I know only maybe 100 word of, was quite funny. Where do we go? Speculative fiction? German comix? Poetry? Bodice-ripping romance novellas? Israel? Answers TBA 2006.

Meanwhile, there is an interview with me about writing in the local student paper this week . It is pretty funny for accidental reasons.

Posted by Jessica at 11:41 AM | TrackBack

April 12, 2006

PLAYERS OF OHIO

Did you make the mistake I did and buy that The Roots out takes CD (green one) because you just kind of missed them? Sucks to be us, eh? I like how the front sticker notes, as if it's bonus, as if it would make it different from anything else they've ever issued (including their website) "FEATURES EXTENSIVE LINER NOTES FROM ?UESTLOVE" (do you want more? is really a rhetorical question, because with ?uest, you get fifth helpings, Old Country Kitchen Buffet style whether you want them or not.) Main thought: Dice Raw cameos are the sort of thing best kept to ones self.

If you live in Chicago and are a freak (not the R Kelly kind): U of C Doc Films, where the movies are $4 and have no previews or commercials before them, just some nerdy girl with a pony tail reading whats playin for the next few days: They are 2-3 weeks into "Werner Herzog Weds." Check the Reader for whats up when .Celebrate hump night with my favorite German weirdo (other than Al Burian)! Click here to watch the trailer for a film as beguiling as it is yikesifying: 75 Years of Klaus Kinski! Ieee! He's too tan! TOO TAN!

And get hip to this:This Saturday April 15th, 2 pm at the Downtown Chicago branch, a lecture about the life and times and political climate in Chicago that lead to the election of Chicago's greatest mayor, a man who did a lot for the people of this city, in honor of his birthday: Harold Washington. (!)

Posted by Jessica at 08:22 PM | TrackBack

April 11, 2006

ANIMAL CHIN HAS HIS OWN MILK CARTON?!

Today I am on a field trip to Matt's parents house. The warshing-machine of our basement a-partment stole 22 bucks wortha my hard-earned qrtrs in the last 4 weeks, and so Matt brought me to his parents to do laundry here after I raised my fists about my un-did laundry enough. The field trip is good so far: It's like being in a Steely Dan song, except I'm not hoovering lines off a glass table while Donald Fagen laser-eye's down the front of my leotard; more just being a low brow kid freeloading in someones parent's regal place, "borrowing" their dryer sheets. I'm in a teak-wood paneled den, lined with shelves mystery books on an old red leather couch that smells like leather. I got my bare feet up on the table; don't tell. It's the movie adulesence (sp?) I never had. I am expecting a too-young bitchy step mom with a fluffy blond perm to come down the spiral staircase and condescend to me any second, or that after this, me and my best friend, played by Andrew Mc Carthy, will go smoke a bowl on a nearby golf course. I will be played by Chris Makepeace in classic riot girl drag .

Oh, and last thing, speaking of rg's: Sadie Benning is my almost-neighboor! I ran into her at the dinner spot. I interviewed her in Hit it or Quit it #3 and we walked all over Minneapolis one night when I was 15 and she was like, 19 or 20--neither of us could drive. She said she has been working on a new show of video and paintings for seven years that will tour museums in 2007--I AM ALL THE WAY PSYCHED A FULL YEAR IN ADVANCE. When I was a pre-woman, Sadie Benning and Godard were the only reasons I ever made little films in the first place. I am really interested to see what she has crafted from her fine mind.

Posted by Jessica at 12:16 PM | TrackBack

ANIMAL CHIN HAS HIS OWN MILK CARTON?!

Today I am on a field trip to Matt's parents house. The warshing-machine of our basement a-partment stole 22 bucks wortha my hard-earned qrtrs in the last 4 weeks, and so Matt brought me to his parents to do laundry here after I raised my fists about my un-did laundry enough. The field trip is good so far: It's like being in a Steely Dan song, except I'm not hoovering lines off a glass table while Donald Fagen laser-eye's down the front of my leotard; more just being a low brow kid freeloading in someones parent's regal place, "borrowing" their dryer sheets. I'm in a teak-wood paneled den, lined with shelves mystery books on an old red leather couch that smells like leather. I got my bare feet up on the table; don't tell. It's the movie adulesence (sp?) I never had. I am expecting a too-young bitchy step mom with a fluffy blond perm to come down the spiral staircase and condescend to me any second, or that after this, me and my best friend, played by Andrew Mc Carthy, will go smoke a bowl on a nearby golf course. I will be played by Chris Makepeace in classic riot girl drag .

Oh, and last thing, speaking of rg's: Sadie Benning is my almost-neighboor! I ran into her at the dinner spot. I interviewed her in Hit it or Quit it #3 and we walked all over Minneapolis one night when I was 15 and she was like, 19 or 20--neither of us could drive. She said she has been working on a new show of video and paintings for seven years that will tour museums in 2007--I AM ALL THE WAY PSYCHED A FULL YEAR IN ADVANCE. When I was a pre-woman, Sadie Benning and Godard were the only reasons I ever made little films in the first place. I am really interested to see what she has crafted from her fine mind.

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April 10, 2006

GET THE MESSAGE THROUGH / ANY WAY YOU CAN!

I am giving myself an 11 minute time limit to blog today, so lets be to the marrow about it.

Tomorrow, 4/11, Sasha Frere Jones, our friend from Funkytown, is faux-hosting Charlie Rose. Check yr local listings.

In June, the new Sonic Youth album will come out and you will be pumped. I am pumped now and will tell you all about it "soon". It's called Rather Ripped and it's pop-secret.

Cave Deaths, a band from Minneapolis, have a newish album, from the turn of the year, on Modern Radio. Boy singer sounds like Lee Renaldo by way of Mark E Smith, Girl sounds like a girl you would know. There is a saxophone or two. Like Sweep the leg Johnny if they weren't such a ball slappin' midwestern operation, if they were about mood and nuance and not Sweep The Leg Johnnying. I listened to the record five times in a row, and I don;t remember the last time I did that with anything other than Sufjan.

I went outside with a sweater on, it was too hot for that. I am putting on a t shirt and trying again, in mere minutes. Now that the weather is nice, I do not have to worry about my elderly Ukrainian neighboors freezing to death on their way to the corner store. I fantasize about having a golf cart and spending my days taking old people to and from the store. I see them paused for long times, rest against fences and walls, walkers in hand every day, all day and they can only carry like one jar of pickled mushrooms, a can of Polish Sprite and one Stauffers dinner home at a time, so they have to go every day. It's unbearably sad.

Nick Sylvester has a new RIFFSBLOG, and it's only a week new, but he's in pro-form as ever.

April 09, 2006

UNERSHIP

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The process, the getting rid of , started in 2001. Born out of guilt and pragmatism--I read some Gandhi and it fucked me up--why can't I live with next to nothing--why do I have all these decorations and broken things I cannot part with and hardcore singles?

Since then: Cycles of aquiring and questioning of the aquiring, questioning the desire and meaning of "more", manners of getting rid of -- they are all weird tests and experiments I give myself. Lots of war: Donation versus selling, gifting versus what I could get for it. Greed versus emotion. Importance of profit on sentiment: does market price reflect what a record, a sweater, a book meant to me back when it meant much more to me-and why? After 5 years, I don't think there is anything I own I couldn't part with aside from practical items: bed, computer, dishes, coat, photos. Having everything else used to feel like safety, but now it feels like burden. I have to keep thinking about it, and the more I think, the more I get rid of.

Last week, I sold more than half of my record collection because I have no reason to keep it; the rest will go save for ones I need for DJing and The copy of Rumours I have had since 9th grade. There were records that when I purchased them, four or six or nine years ago, I thought meant something about me, meant something to me, that there was cultural weight in purchaser/listener/fan status; Capitalism's hard whispering myths hit post-teen collectors just the same. As ever: what would someone think of me if I put a song from that album on a tape* for them. What would some visitor think if they saw it on my shelf, what what that speak to, as far as what shape I held in their mind. When I was a certain age of young, firming self identity in how many Roberta Flack LPs I owned seems way less bullshit than it does now.

I feel embarrassed by it now, and getting rid of them helps. Most of them went unplayed, the crap ones and the 29$ soul records that never came out of their sleeves, not once--they are gone to the bins of Reckless and Hi-Fi, the unsellables are about to be placed on the curb next to the trash. After all the hemming and hawing, after the eight times I moved that first Pavement/Huggybear/God is My Co-Pilot single, I am free of it, and I do not feel any different. I do not miss them. I can hear the songs in my head. Someone else will be psyched on them. I practiced, tested myself it felt like, and accepted $1 on them from the people at the store and tried to purge the E-Bay research I did from my mind; I don't want to have that relationship with stuff, and I don't want that relationship between my feelings and money. I am tired of owning. I wanna disengage and untangle from "worth"--it's not very easy, but it is happening.


(* A CD-R, of course, but in my mind, it's all tapes still, and "mix" sounds like "vibe" ---like a world I do not want to be part of, and "CD" just sounds cheap.)

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April 08, 2006

TRANSDUCTION

I hoped high and hoped wrong. Today was part one of what is looking like it might stretch into a three day a'venture to Wisconsin. Perhaps, if you are someone who has ever driven through Appleton or Wausau of Salted Weiner Shores or wherefucking ever, you are asking, what is a girl like me doing going to a place like that on purpose? For thrifting. For a story. About thrifting in S. Wisc. I was thinking, ok, worse case scenario it's all Packers sweat shirts and baby overalls and tearaway track pants for 5th grader boys--it was worse case scenario's trashy cousin, Nothing But Sweatpants and Dirty Nightgowns, every which way. We drove hours, all over and over. We hoped Lake Geneva would be some hot fancy old people furniture since Lake G is just fancy old people central, but it was dinette sets and handcarved wooden goose doorhangings that say "welcome" in rustic, greyed down pastels. Modern Rustic home furnishings really bring out my desire to expatriate. Made it through 7 stores in as many hours, 181 miles. One store, in Janesville, was killer (rusted wagon wheels galore), the rest were a waste of diesel and there is no effing way I can write about them. Details TK. One of the garage sales we went to had a gun rack with locks and 5 breadmakers. The guy said that after his dad died, his mom went on a spree, she bought 11 of them and made one loaf of bread total in one of them. Breadmachines are one of those fantasy-use only items, I can't blame anyone for purchasing them over and over again as a result of their mourning; something about it makes easy sense.

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April 06, 2006

TRANSFORMED BEFORE GOD

While we are on the topic--an essay from the new Tikkun about transgender and Judiasm here.

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JESUS LOVED JUDAS BECAUSE HE KNEW HOW TO FUCK HIM

Judas, vindicated. Imagine the whole world thinking yr Christ's betrayor for thousands of years, but it was really just Jesus' little trick you went along with? Also, what is it about the languishing of bibilcal manuscripts; You'd think all of Eygpt had been dug up enough by now that there'd be no codexes languishing in the sand anymore, or in safes or pig yards. The guy that found the Mary Magdelene gospel in the pot in the desert threw it in his pig pen in the backyard, let it sit outside for years, his mother in law used the pages to light the stove with and finally when he brought it to the flea market someone with some Coptic knowledge was like "Oh shit, dude." and recognized the missing gospels, where we learn that MM was Jesus' ride or die bitch, pardon my parlance. Jesus loved her more than all the disciples combined, and wanted her to lead. Of course, not even the most liberal gnostics were cool with it: "Did He really speak privately with a woman and not openly to us? Are we to turn about and all listen to her? Did He prefer her to us?" says Peter the MM gospels, after Mary lays out the heavy idea that THERE IS NO SIN JESUS TOLD ME SO. Fucking patriarchy, always on our asses.

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April 05, 2006

LOVE WILL TERRACE APARTMENT

I heard and saw Franklin and Joshua read their different styles of poems, all good, some great. Joshua were fun. Fun as in funny. I am not sure what makes poetry good (still) but laughing at stuff that somehow is not a joke but just silly-interesting to your mind, like the lace around a joke, nerdy inside brain things and also use of language things =still not quite a joke, but rollicking laughs just the same. Timing and delivery maybe. Joshua's poems were about things I knew, Franklin's poems were about things I could understand the references of: Carol Lombard, cream-foods, California towns that are nothing but industrial warehouse centers for impossible small things that are shipped everywhere that no one should care about.

I feel really out of touch with language. Like I cannot service language or my ideas well. I have not been talking with my idea people lately. I have not been reading enough. I am too mucky in love, so glad to have Matt home after weeks of us away, I just want to eat dinner and hold hands and ask about his day; Lungfish is right--love will ruin your mind. I don't believe it for real, I just want to burrow into the love like a stake-out. I'm just not waking up with the words in my head like usual. I feel like I am reorienting, like a space woman come back down from my capsule and my powdered packets of food.

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April 04, 2006

TOMORROW, DARK, TONIGHT STILL LIGHT

God bless an America with a Daylight Savings System in place! Enjoyment level of extra hour of day til night at Orange Alert-wayup-status! LIGHT AS HECK, here in the Chi-boogie and it is currently all the way 6:46 pm.

I bought a car yesterday and I drove it all around today. The car is insulating, and I still like driving my bike better, because I can see up and be around the people. The bike is as scary as the car though. I have PTSD from my accident, and feel like everyone is going to plow into me just like last time, and flinch and gasp and break/brake excessively, where once I drove swiftly and with asshole-ish confidence. Towards the end of my errands, I saw a woman run over and down and motorcycle and the man riding it. He was ok, but it anchored my fright and my desire to move on to a ranch in the country, and drive horses through the woods, away from loud noises and stop signs and Mayor Daley.

Last on today's agenda: Tomorrow, Weds Night, 7 pm at Danny's (Dickens & Damen, it's near Armitage) ye Jane Dark/Joshua Clover and Franklin Bruno, our man of the older school, they are reading poems. They are two writers and thinkers whose works and thinks I enjoy deeply. Come on out and hear them read. Both of them are funny. I think the shiz iz free. Free funny and poems aloud, from great men of the age.

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April 03, 2006

YOU ARE INVITED / BY EVERYONE TO DO EVERYTHING

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I'm djing this. You should come to it and keep me company while I play SONGS FOR DANCING TO. I am bummed it's not all ages; but it's a party for a small car, thrown by a magazine along with six corporate sponsors, not a Los Crudos matinee show at the Elk Ridge VFW.

Posted by Jessica at 10:04 PM | TrackBack

PORKESTRA OF RUBBLES

You know, I keep forgetting to mention to you, casual like, in the by and bye, or the buy n' buy (whtevz) a few things, that you may or may find interesting, like, for example: MUSIC IS REALLY GOOD. Great in the springtime, like, kittens and asses and sunshine.

About music:

TODAY, Ellen Allien and her boyfriend, Apparat, are putting out this album called Orchestra of Bubbles. The Steiglitz/O'Keefe couple of hot, dancing late night sweat it up parties of neu Berlin. As with all things Mz. Ellen does, it is both flawless and deeply inspiring. I too want to make a collabo-album with my dude. Maybe one day, when we move to the desert and we can have drone jams on sandstone plateaus and we'll put contact mics on our farm dog that wears a little kercheif on it's neck. The dog will be named Bingo and the rustling of his fur will be the "sing" of the band. No doubt.

STRANGELY, I like Anti-Flag now. 84-style album art that features, graves, bombers, a blood red sky and GWB's WHITE CASA and songs about depleted uranium. Our old-old friend from the bridge, Charles Aaron at ye olde SPIN magazine tore the Pittsburg boys a tiny new surgically clean butthole in the recent issue about sloganeering and everyone hating Bush. To paraphrase Chuck D, Anti-Flag is the CNN of teenage bedrooms in ranch homes on lilywhite suburban cul de sacs. SURE, "everyone" is making records about what a subhuman shit fleck Bush is, but those records and those songs are clever, obtuse, or Vedderish at best, self congratulatory apathy anthems "only for the grown and un-sexy"... and kids, THE KIDS, in fact, they need and like political punk bands that are didactic and thats why songs like "Depleted Uranium Is A War Crime" are not only good, but nessecary. You and me, maybe we like our shit fancy, Guy Piccotto lathering his tongue about favorite Supreme Court Justices -- but there is a tangible social function to "poltical band" that we miss entirely once we stop teasing out and gluing up our mohawks. Plus, their songs are about spirited hope, are UK snot and Gilman spit, and I feel that. PS>Pick slides and sloganeering still have a place in my heart in 2006.

GERMANS: I like their disco musicks but not their rock usually, but special exception to The Robocop Kraus, who are on tour and play tonight at The Empty Bottle for free. Tonight meaning Monday. They are kind of like the Les Savy Fav of Germany, meaning, they remind you of your five bands you love, all at once. But unlike Les Savy Fav, they do not make you wish they'd choke on their own legwarmers.

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April 02, 2006

M-I-C--SEE YA REAL SOON

Orlando International, of all the airports I have been through, is perhaps the most effective as birth control. It is so serious, and potent, that not only did it make me want to never have a kid, but it made me not want to be related to anyone, ever, at all. Save for the nice toddler who chatted me up on the car rental shuttle about her stuffed Shamu, her babbley words doughy and clicky and spun together, the rest of the kids I encountered, the little ones sunburnt, spoiled, mickey-ear hatted, all strung out on Epcot concessions and crying as well as the grown-uppish ones spring breaking ones who's insides were like a well stoked mini bar and their outsides were puffing and pink, save for the skunky-white ring around their necks where their hemp-n-rope necklace was during the 194 hours they just spent oggling Mudslide'd soph-jiggle on the sand.

I am small-sized , you know, hence the "tiny"--and so I think those boys with the white hats, they thought I was not an adult and fucked with me thusly. Three sep. times. I was not my best self after Spring Break Week 06: Nana's Nursing Home , and I brustled a bit. Did I mouth "fuck you" to boy of oh, 15? Yes, yes I did. That's about all I will admit to. I acted like the child they thought I was. Whatever, fuck them, my shirt with the squirrels on it is awesome, and unlike their woven Senor Frogs hoodie or their PSU jersey, has not been vomitted on this week.

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