skirblog

civil war-era skirb

Thanks to GM for the title! Goblets Rule!

This from the latest tech wires: Unilever, maker of Skippy Peanut Butter has announced rollout of their new product, "Skippy Select" which according to the company is fresher, tastier and more peanut-ier than their "classic" Skippy.  It also boasts the unusual characterstic of only being  spreadable on Unilever's new sandwich bread product, "Attraction" and "Attraction Wheat."  A proprietary enzyme in the peanut butter prevents it from being used with any other non-Unilever product. If you try to spread it on ordinary bread, the enyme reacts with the bread and causes it to liquify, ruining both the bread and the peanut butter.  Skippy plans a slow roll out, eventually replacing all "classic" versions of their popular peanut butter by Q3 2009. Initially, the company says, each consumer will receive a free loaf of "Attraction" bread with each purchase of the peanut butter and coupons for two more loaves.

A spokesperson for the JM Smucker's Co, maker of fruit spreads and notably, Jif brand peanut butter has countered by launching development of an enzyme in Smucker's jams and jellies that will only be spreadable combined with Jif peanut butter.

Unilever is now in talks with other manufacturers of jams and jellies to work out licensing agreements for Skippy and Attraction Bread. Unilver says the enzyme can easily be programmed to react against a certain product, ie: only working with approved breads and spreads, and placing rival spreads like Smuckers on the "liquify list."

As an interesting side note, Unilever acquired the Skippy brand from the Rosefield Packing Co. of Alameda, CA! Skirblog's homebase for a number of years!  The name was in litigation for many years as the creator of the "Skippy" comic book, Percy Crosby tried to have the trademark invalidated. Rosefield persisted when Mr. Crosby was "committed to an insane asylum" according to wikipedia, and the name was passed to Unilever, which is still in litigation with the heirs of the Crosby family.

I'm only making part of this up. Also, fuck you both Apple and Microsoft.

In other skir-related news: I often see this sign: "hair cuts" and it always seems wrong to me. Esp. since its supposed to be one word, "haircuts." When its two it takes on other meanings. Also think its interesting when people say "eyeglasses" and "inkpen." Glasses don't usually need modified further, as we generally know that a person is referring to eye glasses as opposed to tequila shot glasses; and the same for ink pen. While there are undoubedly those out there using "blood pens," and the like, I think "pen" is usually okay. Not that these longer phrases are incorrect, just odd.

Speaking of "not incorrect" (as opposed to correct. A different thing entirely) and odd, saw the film, "Cloverfield," last week. Note to parents: don't take under-13's to this film. While there is very little graphic gore or violence, the psychological fright was too much for my near-11 year old. He, who can blast Halo aliens into disgusting splatters of gore without batting an eyelash, was shaken to his core for days over the  realism and unseen scares of Cloverfield. My take was very different if I separate it from the scare my poor son was experiencing. Since I don't like horror films or murder/slasher/death/gore/evil films, Cloverfield, like Blair Witch, is a great opportunity for me to go the movies and get a good, old fashioned scare. I appreaciated this aspect, like a good coaster, very short term, non lingering and fun. But heed the PG-13.

Back in the archives I mentioned that I was recorded one sunny afternoon talking about my dumb job. Now that recording,  plus a bonus interview with the skirb entitled "Death and Typos" is available on my friend Jon Armstrong's excellent podcast, "If You're Just Joining Us." Jon has interviewed a bunch of interesting people already and those interviews are worth listening to. Since he quickly ran out of ideas, in desperation he turned to me and you can hear the results here.

A lot of music is flowing in and out of the skir-mansion of late through the lala system. I rec'd so many Breeders/Amps/Throwing Music CDs, and so many Ween CDs that I can't tell any of them apart. One CD that stood out immed. and is worth noting however was "No Wow" by the Kills. Very unusual and compelling music. Kind of counter-intuitive in a lot of ways: two people: female vocalist "VV" and one noisy guitar (sometimes) maybe a drum machine sometimes, homemade sounding sometimes,  but works because.... because... its just fukkin' good. For instance the song, "ticket man" is VV, who sounds like an evil hybid of Sleater Kinney and Cowboy Junkies, backed by like one note on a piano, and somebody tapping on what sounds like an empty Quaker Oatmeal box in the distance. But shit man, it rules. Reminds me in a lot of ways of Suicide, but without inducing that feeling in the listener as Suicide often did. A definite check out.

Civil War Era Skirb

Wha? But yes, we took another of our epic field trips, the youngling and I. You remember our Balcutha adventure last year right? This year the masterminds at the Alameda Unified School Dist had other plans for us.

We were to sail over to Angel Island, sitting as it does smack dab in the middle of the SF Bay, and while  there, immerse ourselves at Fort McDowell, a partially restored Civil War era facility that guarded our precious Golden Gate. The Park Svc runs an immersion program where the kids are newly recruited soldiers, in ranks with one of them a corporal, and they will live two days like they did when it was a working fort. There was a "Major" who came with the program, and the parents (skirb) would assume the "seargant" roles, learning and running the kids through various learning stations, like militia drill instruction, flag signalling, bread baking (a loaf of bread was promised to each soldier in the day, and a special "bake house" was included at the fort. On Angel Island the bakehouse if beautifully restored and working. Worth seeing if you're ever there.

Seargant skirblog was assigned to KP, and I had no idea that I would be not only tending to the giant, iron wood-fired stove, but cooking two meals for the 50 of us. The kid was off being a corporal, and distancing himself from his weird dad, but I had the time of my life. The day was spent prepping the stove, which was also our only source of heat in the building, and assemble and cook a gigantic beef stew. During the day, squads of kids came through and helped peel potatoes, chop carrots, gather firewood, and was dishes. Any hot water had to be heated on my stove taking hours.  I had two massive iron skillets to cook with, each so heavy it nearly took two people to handle. You'd have to put them on the stove  like an hour before using them, so they'd be hot enough.

I surprised myself (and those hungry troops) with a very passable beef stew, plus fresh bread made by the troops in  the bakehouse. I was pretty danged proud of getting that all to happen and it was a decent meal. I mean, I've had worse. The next morning I awoke at 5:30 to cook bacon and eggs for the lot.  Word from the troops was I burned both the bacon and the eggs. How do you burn eggs? One magical moment for me was my decision to sleep outside next to the shore, as opposed to sleeping crammed together with 40 kids on wooden platforms in the barracks. Yes, it was freeeekin' cold that night, but thanks to GM's lovely, high end sleeping bag she graciously lent me, I was extremely comfortable.  When was the last time I slept  outside? I can't recall. It felt safe and brisk and lovely. I heard owls and various scurrying, and the waves lapping all night. I'd look out of my cocoon and see the stars, the lights of Tiburon, San Francisco, Sausalito all around me, and slow, silent ships gliding through the night. Lovely.

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.