75% less wise

2008 comes to skirb with the celebratory yanking of the last three of my remaining wisdom teeth (the first having been yanked about 20 years earlier by the sweet old, Dr. Beers, ancient dentist on Market St, SF, who pulled my tooth using an old-school method he called "the cigarette method," no, not where I got to smoke a cigarette or anything, but where he wiggled my tooth, then took a break, during which time he said they used to go smoke, but now, heh, heh, we just wait, then come back and wiggle it some more.  It worked. He yanked it cleanly with little more than some novacaine.) This time skirb would need to be sedated, (cue Ramones) and preparations would need to be made.

First, the vice skirblog would need to be prepped to assume all blog powers during the time of incapacitation, second, I would need to come to terms with my first time being put under by a general anesthetic. In the past the thought of this terrified me, and has prevented me
from having this exact procedure done over the years when it first became necessary. But, thanks to the magic of Lexapro, which has made many formerly fearsome thoughts manageable and doable to me, I found that the prospect of being knocked out more curious and interesting than scary. Drugs, loss of control, etc. were big ticket anxieties for me. Before the procedure I was to take a Valium and another pill to combat nausea, and down the hatch they went.  30 min. later I felt no more altered than after maybe one and half beers. Then an IV went in and I babbled for about 10 seconds about the holidays and the next thing I knew I was sitting upright in a different room, 75% less wise. Only after-effects were me sleeping the rest of the day and night, then being groggy until about 6pm the day after,  and having three new holes in me fool gulliver.

So yeah, happy new year. I always hope for you and me that the next will be an improvement.

A Zed and Two Naughts

The end of '07 saw a big story right out of the skirb's own notebook: zoo tiger attack/death.  At our own SF Zoo of all places. You of course know my thoughts
about zoos, having heard and enjoyed my podcast, "zoo material" based on my
own misadventures at the SF Zoo. You may also know that as a tot, I was bitten by a baby tiger at the Pittsburgh Zoo. I hate to keep beating the same drum but there are three points I feel need to be re-made about all this:

1). As the chaos theorist in the book, Jurassic Park pointed out: "nature will find a way." While many things about the natural world are known, the immense power of nature isn't understood. It is unknown and strong enough to surmount all of the so called "obstacles" humans think will hold it in sway.

2). There is an equally powerful force called Human Stupidity, which also cannot be dismissed nor surmounted.

the two of these natural forces working in tandem will more than likely lead to disaster, as they did, and are still doing in this case.

And for number 3), why is this such a big story? Because we all know in our hearts that zoos are wrong, and when this is proven true, we pore over the details looking for a way we are right and nature was wrong. But there will not be any. So there you go. The rest of it: taunting or no, lawyers, wall heights, blood trails,  shoe stains, and everything else, will all prove the three rules above to be true.

Other entertaining things at the end of '07 for the skirb?

Movies? Still don't see too many. Did happen upon The Golden Compass and enjoyed the hell out of it. Of course it was panned and disparaged by the critics, but I loved the steampunk production design, and its decision to be subtle, a decision that will always kill you at the box office. (By subtle I don't mean that it isn't overblown and gross in parts, but some of its central ideas are put on the screen and not overly explained to death...). It was hands down better and more entertaining than the Narnia film I can tell you that .

Also caught the Pursuit of Happyness on cable and it was as wrenching and involving as I thought it would be, which is why I didn't nec. rush to see it.  But it was excellent, and happens all in SF, much of it on Bart of all places. I may seek out the book, its such a great story of a man who never gave up, even though every sort of mundane, crappy, stupid luck thing seemed to happen to him. Not the spectacular movie-type of luck, but stuff we all deal with: parking tickets, missed busses, insane rules and paperwork, shoes coming off... But compounded to where Chris existed in a true alternate universe from the San Francisco Financial District world he was working in. A state of homelessness and fear, of living on the brink but outright refusing to let that stop him. It would be interesting to know what the dudes at the investment firm thought upon learning of Chris' "other" life. Amazing.

We lost Kurt Vonnegut in '07 and he was a major influence on my young life. My folks had many of his most well known books lying around house (including the bathroom!) and I read them all at probably much too early of an age. Cat's Cradle, Monkey House, Sirens of Titan, Slaughterhouse Five, Rosewater, Breakfast of Champions, and on. I still consult Welcome to the Monkey House from time to time as should you, esp. for the great "Harrison Bergeron."  I got the urge, learning of his death, to go back to two of his more sci-fi-ish books, Sirens of Titan and Player Piano, and read them again. Piano was a bit too dated in style for me, but does have the great concept of everybody being called a "doctor" of whatever job they did, be it selling real estate or collecting garbage. But Sirens was just great again, lots of fun, acidly satiric,  and really, really anti-religion. There's also its prescient turn having the president of the US as an English-mangling, buffoonish good ol' boy. Eerily Nostradamus-like prediction from Mr. V.

Last year also saw the sad passing of the writer Mark Harris, who's work you are probably familiar with, esp. the great, Bang the Drum Slowly. Mark is my good friend, Henry's father,  and I was fortunate enough to have had many, many occasions to benefit from Harris household's vibe of intellect, art and personality. Harris Sr. was director of the Pitt writing program when I was in high school, and also wrote often for the local papers and magazines. He even mentioned me once in an article, an honor for sure. Seeing both sides of him, the writer and the father, was a major inspiration in my own decision to pursue writing.

At year's ends and beginnings people love making lists. I've had two lists knocking around my laptop for a while now that have nothing to do with the old or new year, but are lists none the less, so that criteria being met I thought I'd share them with you:

Bands that I still listen to as if they're still out there making music, even though they tragically broke up:

Screaming Trees - They rock, they groove, they crush, they shudda been a contender. Still.

Naked Raygun - Relentlessly precise power pop/punk. Probably the closest thing to the Buzzcocks, including the re-formed Buzzcocks to ever come around. Although they chose to self-identify more with Stiff Little Fingers. Both are accurate. Why weren't they the biggest thing ever?

Bis - A trio of very crafty youngsters (at the time) with XTC, hip hop and electronica running through their veins. They shed catchy tunes like dandruff.

Portishead - They keep threatening a new release, but their past, scant, long lamented output still hits a nerve. Or a ball-string as we used to say.

Halo of Flies - Almost did in one release what Naked Raygun did in five.

Honorable Mentions:

Didjits!
Government Issue
Flesheaters

Shoulda left well enough alone, cause well enough was seriously well enough:

Wedding Present
Television
Gang of Four

Never went away:

The Fall
Mission of Burma
Frank Black

Here's another odd and somewhat pathetic list I've had:

Skir's brushes with famous or semi-famous rock and underground rock personalities:

Alice Cooper: When I was around 12, my parents took my sister and me on a trip to NYC, including two Broadway shows: Cats and Dracula, both fantastic spectacles. Dracula starred Frank Langella! and sitting in the audience, it became known, was Alice Cooper. My sister and I were encouraged to approach him to sign our Playbills, an artifact I still possess.

Bought Urge Overkill a drink. In Pgh, they were playing at some place in the Strip Dist. I was having a drink nearby at a horrible place where they served shots in plastic Dixie cups, and The Urge Overkill were also there having a pre-show drink. I went over and professed my undying love and bought them all a Jack Daniels in those Dixie Cups, and we toasted the plastic ness of it all.

Bought Mike Watt a beer at the Electric Banana. I was, I think, babbling to Watt like a blithering idiot. We sat at the bar (something rarely done at the Banana, most drinking down while standing around, or sitting on the wall outside). But the gracious Watt and I had a "bass player only" beer together.

Woke up one morning and Eerie Von from Samhain was sleeping on my couch, his impossibly long legs hanging over the couch end. This was due to being roommates with Mike LaVella.

Answered the phone one day and it was Glen Danzig calling for M. LaVella. See above.

Husker Du slept in my living room (see above) and autographed my copy of Metal Circus." At one point Bob Mould and I banged our big stomachs together. Bob has, of course, lost a ton of weight since then, but I could still bang stomachs with another chubby rocker if I wanted.

Harassed Flipper from my City van. Flipper had just played the night before at the E.Banana and had effectively destroyed most of the atmosphere existing within a 25 mi. radius. The next day I was at work, driving the City Sound Crew Van down the Blvd of the Allies in Pgh, and there was Flipper walking out of the old Howard Johnson's down the street. I veered over and screamed, "FLIPPER!" from the window. They took one look at the city van and went running for their lives down an alley.

Was denied a bass string by Dinosaur Jr.'s Lou Barlow. Those of you who know me have heard this a million times. I played in an SF band called Swollen Boss Toad. We got the gig opening for Dinosaur Jr. at the Kennel Club in SF. I broke an E string on the very first song and didn't have a replacement, and believe me, took a ton of shit for it. Went backstage and Lou was sitting there strumming an acoustic guitar. I asked if he could spot me an E string for my bass and he surprisingly declined, saying I should have had my own replacements. I went back on stage with an A string tuned down and that broke the second I touched it. (I had a pretty heavy hand in the day.) I went backstage again and asked Lou for a string and he said he rather be at home watching TV. This time I got a D string and put it on and it held! Then our guitarist's amp blew up. Like literally blew up, billowing smoke from the speaker and all.

Before a Deerhoof show I spotted Satomi Matsuzaki in the audience. I approached her, shook her hand and gushed my admiration and undying love. She was clearly scared out of her wits.

Shook hands with Lee Renaldo, who had been a member of Rhys Chatham's guitar army during a performance of his at the summer arts festival in Pgh. (Glen Branca was supposed to play. I guess they were interchangeable at the time.) But Renaldo was not the only namesake I met that day, for the formidable Lee Connelly was also in attendance. Lee was also a bass player on the Pgh music scene, and over the years, due to my also being a Lee and a bass player, became known as "Big Lee," which often wasn't specific enough because I was also large, or as a default, "Black Lee" which of course is racist, and un-PC, but wasn't used in that way. Was I known as "White Lee?" or "Jewish Lee?" I doubt it. That was also the day I met Sam Matthews, one of Pittsburgh most famous son's, and many excellent wheels were set in motion for years to come.

not rock and roll, but famous or semi-famous none the less:

Saw Ray Carver read the at-the-time unpublished story, "Feathers" in a tiny conference room at the U of Pgh with probably no more than 30 people crammed into the room. Thanks for this and many other treasured moments to the man, Chuck Kinder. Of course my friend Mike Chabon was also there, and I normally refrain from mentioning him here, cause I don't want to embarrass him. But of course he's famous so gets a big skirblog shout out now. (The dude is scary: pick up Gentlemen of the Road, a classic yarn told using an unfathomable vocabulary. You've not read anything like it before I can guarantee.)

On that note, received an "F" grade in college from famous poet Galway Kinnell in his master poetry class, for handing in a poem called "Sucking up to Galway." I had to do it, believe me. Galway had me in for a little chat, his famous lock of hair refusing to stay out of his face, he was quite unamused. An "F" is hard to get in college. Most of the time you'll get an "incomplete" or something like that. But he made sure the "F" stuck. Later, when I was trying to get into grad school at Pitt, the "F" was like a badge of honor, and so impressed the admissions committee they had to choice but to grant me a full fellowship. So there's some kind of warped lesson there. By the way, even though he was a thoroughly suck (and mostly lit) teacher, Mr. Kinnell ruled as a poet and could destroy an audience when reading his work. I was fortunate enough to be in such an audience, in awe, when Mr. Kinnell's bear mauled us all into bloody stumps.

I think that's about it. If you are a famous and/or semi famous person and have met me and I have failed to include you, please send me a note ASAP and I will correct this. (The famous sci fi author, Jon Armstrong has been mentioned often here, so no need to have your lawyers contact me... again.)

______

To end, again thinking of Mr. Vonnegut (who dropped the "Jr." when his father died):
According to Wikipee, the last lines Vonnegut wrote, in his last book, were:

When the last living thing
Has died on account of us,
How poetical it would be
If Earth could say,
In a voice floating up
Perhaps
From the floor
Of the Grand Canyon,
"It is done."
People did not like it here."

I prefer though to remember the last words of Vonnegut's space and time
traveler, Stony Stevenson:

"Everything was beautiful,
nothing hurt."

Something to aspire to in '08.

Comments

[Geener]

I think the reason the SF tiger mauling story is such a big deal is because they killed the beautiful animal.

My childhood dentist used to inject my mouth with novocaine, then sit next to me smoking a cigarette in a windowless office with the door closed. Mouth numb when cigarette done.