I mentioned during the show review earlier this week that I had stumbled upon a record store while exploring the neighborhood around Black Cat. I thought I’d take an opportunity to talk about Hooked, a cool little store in downtown Fredericksburg, across from Hyperion.
Every time I go into Hooked, which used to be Horseshoes and Hand Grenades, I marvel at the selection and end up buying nothing. That says more about me and my choices than about the store itself. There are some interesting contradictions at work here.
I think I like where the store is positioning itself culturally. Some things you can buy at the store include records (vinyl of course), including the latest Pere Ubu album; Crosley Cruiser briefcase-style portable turntables (they will even play 78 rpm records!), vintage clothing, and sunglasses. They have a whole section of Impossible Project instant cameras and film, and another whole section of vintage video game cartridges and systems (mainly NES and SNES, it looked like).
I love the idea of a store that plants itself in firm rejection of technological futurism, and basically stops the clock 20+ years in the past. It’s kind of reminiscent of the Steampunk movement, but less artsy and more hands-on practical.
Practical for their demographic, I should say. I can’t currently justify buying anything in the store, but golly, it’s fun to shop there.
I hate that this device exists, and that a company can use such intrusive measures to gauge your worthiness as a driver, and charge you based on arbitrary criteria such as whether you brake too fast. Numbers and data from a monitoring device do not tell the whole story. Maybe your fast braking saved a child, or a kitten.
Plus they have access to other information – basically anything your OBD port can tell them. GPS data is an obvious target. With modern vehicles becoming more and more integrated, what else?
Anyhow, I love that people have already figured out how to work around it and limit the amount of information provided to Progressive.
I don’t use Progressive, but if I did, and they asked me to use this device, I would certainly consider this hack. Thanks to the person in my feed who mentioned this and brought it to my attention.
I like to support my friends in the arts when I can. I believe it’s a person’s duty to leave something in this world that is an artifact of you, that will live on long after you are gone. Something someone can hold in their hand and say “I knew this person.”
I have a surprising amount of paintings, books, CDs, etc. from friend that I have collected over the years. Some of it marks moments in time, and some of it is burned into my soul.
I didn’t know Sean. I mean, I went to school with him, so I knew him, but I never “knew” him. And that was a long time ago. In school, I was in my head. All the time. Very bad at being social. Even now, I know him about as well as I know Thomas Pynchon. And like Pynchon, I can maybe get to know Sean a little bit better through the words he committed to paper (and Kindle).
Reading this book was startling to me. The first time I started, life got in the way, and this book was put aside in a stack of books, along with another Brijbasi title, while I dealt with those other things, and then of course life just kept on moving along and the stack lay undisturbed. Also in the stack were three Lawrence Wright titles. When you have the exuberant and sometimes haphazard passion for life that I do, combined with a busy work life and social schedule, it can be difficult to find time to just sit and read.
Recently, I finally made the time to attack these books again, and was startled all over again. Reading this book was like exploring dreams I had a long time ago. It was as if these other people in other cities were having some of the same tiny little moments, or tiny variations of them, that I’ve known in my own life. His observational skills are excellent, and he describes events in better detail than I would have remembered them. The nuance is impeccable. Emotions are transmitted. Most importantly, he enables you to share the mysteries, because at its core, it’s all a mystery. A mystery of coincidences and near misses.
I just ordered his more recent title, and I’m looking forward to making time for its consumption very soon.
I didn’t NEED one. I probably shouldn’t have ordered it. But it was there. And they hooked me. I mean, it does address some of the “shortcomings” of my previous phone. Although, to be honest, my “phone” had no shortcomings. It was the all-powerful computer, audio-video and communications subsystem that came included with my phone that has gradually begun to disappoint, at the same rate as the growth of my expectations.
I ordered my last phone, the RAZR MAXX HD, to address a shortcoming — battery life — it was requiring to be tethered to the power grid with increasing frequency, as if it had become addicted to electricity. Ironic, since the phone was billed at the time of its introduction as the best battery life on the market. But batteries, like humans, grow old and weary, and need to recharge more frequently.
The old phone also suffered from the ailment that all smartphones (at least those owned by power users) tend to suffer at some point or another — it began to lag. Even bringing up the applications menu might take thirty seconds to load. I know that I could probably speed that up by doing a factory reset, releasing software hooks, storage and detritus caused by badly programmed applications and whatnot, but I felt, as a man, that I had to draw the line somewhere. I mean, who’s the tool and who’s the owner? I’m not going to let some damned overpriced subsidized phone tell me what to do! Fuck that. This relationship is over.
Turbo got a big ole butt
I know I told you I’d be true
But Turbo got a big ole butt
So I’m leaving you.
I ordered the Droid Turbo. Geek specs: Qualcomm Snapdragon 805, Quad-core 2.7 GHz Krait 450, Adreno 420 GPU. Super AMOLED capacitive touchscreen, splash resistant, Corning Gorilla Glass 3, 1440×2560 pixels. 3GB RAM, 64GB Storage. 21MP (5248×3936) camera. 2160p video @24fps, 1080p@30fps. Fast charging (60% in 30min), wireless charging (Qi-enabled). Oh, and I ordered it in ballistic nylon.
A 21MP phone camera?!?!?!? What’s the fucking point of that? There’s no possible way that the tiny little phone camera lens can take full advantage of a sensor that dense. Just no way. But we’ll see. We’ll see.
This is a perfect example of two people, who happen to be related, with boundary issues. Now I understand boundary issues, believe me I do. But there are boundaries and there are Boundaries with a capital B.
This gentleman, who had not seen his daughter since she was five, reconnected with her at 17, and within several days, managed to take her virginity.
And now they plan to “move to New Jersey, where adult incest is legal.”
So on the way home from the show last night, I had three car problems all at once. 1) oil pressure light, 2) code for engine cooland temperature problem, and 3) no heat. Coincidence? Or payback for speaking up about SLI? You be the judge. There were no problems when I parked. The car did not appear to have been tampered with while I was in the show.
I’ve added oil and coolant, tried to bleed the air out of the cooling system, but it now looks like I’m going to need at least a thermostat or possibly a new ECT sensor. Which means I’ll have to spend a bunch of time emptying out the car again so that it can be dropped off at the repair facility.
Warning – long post. Forgive me, for I have friends who may be interested in a detail level here. Also, please forgive the mixed use of past and present tense. I just don’t care enough to force my thoughts to conform.
I arrived early due to the timing of my day. Parked very close, less than half a block from the door to the club.
The first thing I noticed, after I parked and shut down the vehicle, was a street light going out, about half a block down from where I sat. Amused, I waited. And waited. It came back on, in that way those big streetlights (sodium?) tend to do — starting out white, then yellowing as it slowly grows to full brightness. After a while, it went out again. Then came back on again. Overheating? Delayed solar activation/deactivation due to ambient light? or was it SLI? How should I know, I’m not a scientist OR a paranormal investigator. I’ve got more important things to do than double-blind studies. You decide.
Doors were scheduled to open at 8pm, I had a bit of time to kill. Wandered around the neighborhood looking for suitable attractions. Whoa. A real live RECORD STORE (Som Records). With VINYL. Nope, not gonna do it. But it’s OPEN! Nope. Passing it by. [Hindsight: should have gone in, the way the Universe has been working with me lately, they probably have a mint copy of the Layla Cries album.]
Walked around the corner, and what do I see but a bar called Compass Rose. Is Poseidon himself calling me for pre-event drinks? Nope. Very careful about that. Because of that Los Angeles trip. And because I’m driving.
Okay, now the doors of the club are open. Maker’s on the rocks, quite a generous pour, almost feels like a double, $8. Stabb is down the bar picking up something. Then I’m sitting next to one of the Plurals at the bar, she’s ordering a pitcher of house lager for the band. Another Plural is standing nearby. I can tell by the not-quite-matching blue hair, and the fact that they are communicating with one another.
The evening has turned very tactile. First the sting of my earlobes, as well as the runny nose, because it was so damned cold outside. Then my lips are numb from the bourbon. A lovely kind of medical numbness.
The Plurals go onstage. The taller of the blue-hairs announces that she has forgotten her power cord for her Alesis , and will be simulating her keyboard using her voice. Much laughter is had, but she has the last laugh later, as she does things with her voice that keyboards only wish they could do, in their heart of hearts, in places they don’t talk about at parties.
I enjoyed their set a lot. Especially Look at the Nerds, and Rose Garden. They had some really fun B-52s kind of campy surf-like grooves (but somehow cooler), and “fake keyboard playing girl” had this adorable way of creating modesty with her hand as she bent her knees to retrieve her beer from the stage floor. (Her skirt was quite short). In another song (Rose Garden) she made a really unique “Whoop” sound. At the time I thought it sounded almost electronic, but looking back, you heard it here first, I BET THEY ARE CLOSET JUGGALOS. WHOOP WHOOP! Anyhow, they’re really fun, go see them if you can, you’ll enjoy them.
I spoke with Whoop fake keyboard girl after their set, I think she said she used to do opera.
Next up was the Delarcos, who I saw recently at Iota. Great set by them, I could hear them a little better this time, especially the lead guitar. I’m still trying to search my musical memory banks for things it sounds like. I’m not finding a lot, except the obvious vocal timbre and delivery similarities to Pere Ubu and maybe the Tritonian Nash-Vegas Polyester Complex -era No Trend (Copperhead, for example). They’re unique. I like their sound, their energy, and their understated humor. It’s difficult to hear in a barroom, so the Delarcos have been kind enough to put their lyrics (and chords!) online so that we can all sing (and play!) along. After listening to last night’s show again, I’m starting to feel like Delarcos might be the closest to the ROOTS of “this thing of ours.” I’m digging it. Musically, lyrically, and maybe more. Stabb pointed out during the gig, I think, that Ian Mackaye likened them to the Chumps, and that’s going way back into the DC punk vault:
For more on the Chumps, check out http://ducksbattlesatan.com/category/the-chumps/
Then came History Repeated, the headliner. This is what I came for, for personal reasons. See, History Repeated is fronted byJohn Stabb of Government Issue, who I saw over 31 years ago at my very first concert (bootleg available HERE) — I was just sixteen years old.
I was ecstatic to see that 31 years later, Stabb still has all the energy of a young punk rocker, and still brings it! In fact, he brings it by the case, and gives it all. Still theatrical after all these years, still willing to take injuries in the process. He’s very physical, as if putting everything he has into merely singing the song is not quite enough – as if he’s ADHD, and singing the song just doesn’t engage him enough, so while he’s putting in 100% at the mic, he’s putting in a whole bunch more to keep him occupied – wrapping cords around him, punching himself, falling over, gesturing wildly…
A couple of jump-down-into-the-crowd call and response moments. I missed the first one because I couldn’t hear the words that well. The second one was easy. When it was my turn, Stabb was in my face, with his hand on my shoulder and a mic between us, shouting “PUNK ROCK SONGS” — I replied enthusiastically, “DID NOT CHANGE THE WORLD!” At least I hope that’s what I was supposed to say. They sure changed MY world.
For the last song, Stabb invited Mike (from the Delarcos) on stage to improv some sax. In the middle of the song, Stabb fell onto the dance floor and someone put a chair on top of him.
Ian Mackaye (Teen Idles, Minor Threat, Embrace, Fugazi, The Evens) was spectating sidestage for most of the show. He looked like he was enjoying it. I don’t know if anyone else was hoping for a reason for him to be brought on stage for something, but I kinda was. I never got around to seeing him during the DC heyday, but I was fortunate that The Evens came to Fredericksburg in late 2012 to play a bookstore. Had a really enjoyable time there too.
I got the feeling the light crowd was largely friends of the bands (like me) and veterans of the early DC HC scene, either players or just folks that showed up (back then), also like me.
I’m having a wonderful time absorbing (via audiobook) Neil Gaiman’s short story collection, Fragile Thing: Short Stories and Wonders. I’ve come to it awkwardly — I am ashamed to admit that it is my first exposure to Gaiman, despite his being on my to-do list for a number of years now — and I suspect it’s not the path most people take. But it was convenient, and here I am.
He has clearly mastered the clever, the horror, the inventive plot twist, and the devil in the details, but he also has the skill of embedding realities between the lines that may be unprintable, unspeakable, even undefinable, in such a way that the reader will receive the transmitted message just the same. I have other Gaiman works on deck. If you have a favorite you’d like to recommend, or one that you know would particularly appeal to me, for whatever reason, please feel free to share.
