Month: July 2007

Not much happened this weekend. Oh! Except! I bought a bunch of new (to me) music.

On Saturday, I bought Bad Religion’s “New Maps of Hell”. Awesome, just awesome. I’ve listened to it straight through four times already. Greg and the guys are still on top of their game. It helps that the situation hasn’t really changed since the early 80s when they first formed… There’s still a lot of single-mindedness and political hackery and corporate greed and single-mindedness* going around. There’s still so many reasons for people to be angry. And nobody expresses that anger better and more articulately than Bad Religion.

I also bought a compilation of The Band’s best. A two-disk set. I’ve long wanted to hear more than just “The Weight”, their most famous song. And now I’ll set to sample much more. I… uh… haven’t listened to this yet. Just a couple of tracks and not with my full attention. I’ll get to it, I promise.

I also downloaded Stereogum’s tribute to the greatest Radiohead album ever, “OK Computer”. Stereogum, for the unknowing, isn’t a band – it’s a blog. A blog about music. But they decided to honor the 10th anniversary of the release of the mind-blowing “OK Computer” by asking a bunch of artists to cover each song, either a simple cover or doing it as that band would have done that song. I, uh… I haven’t listened to this yet, either. Did I mention how much of a fan of Bad Religion I am?

Then, on Sunday, even though I hadn’t even listened to most of the music I bought on Saturday, I bought even more CDs. How nutso is that? I bought a two-and-a-half-disk compilation of Elton John’s greatest hits, Social Distortion’s first album, not just one but two of Northwest punk grrlz made good Sleater-Kinney albums (“All Hands On The Bad One” and “The Woods”), some local project from a group called “Auditory Sculpture” that features my future wife** Storm Large, and Sage Francis’ newest album, claimed (by those who write the cover copy) to be his most personal album yet.

So far, of those, I’ve heard the two S-K albums. I like them – normally hard-core jangly punk just makes me angry but Carrie Brownstein’s piercing vocals have an equally energizing, but not as negative, effect on me.

And then, today, at work, I found waiting for me Cake’s latest, the “B-Sides and Rarities” CD that marks their first effort after finishing their contract with Sony-BMG. Cake, as always, makes me happy, and several of these tracks are going into my “happy playlist”, particularly their cover of Barry White’s “Never, Never Gonna Give You Up.” Me likey.

* Yes, I repeated myself on purpose.
** Not actually my future wife. Only met her once.

The following is a response to the defensive post by one Mr. Aaron Weiss of KGW, itself a response to The Portland Mercury’s post about a lawsuit against Multnomah County Sheriffs Department. The lawsuit alleges that a prisoner who was not resisting received a beating by several members of the MCSO – and the lawsuit is backed up by video courtesy by the Portland Mercury of the beating.

Mr. Weiss of KGW took offense to Matt Davis’ allegation of “influencing public opinion” – if I understand it correctly, by KGW’s choice of someone to represent the side of Multnomah County. Mr. Weiss then makes the argument that KGW is just trying to show “all sides” and, since Multnomah County won’t comment on pending litigation, KGW had to find someone to speak for them.

…which got my dander up. I hate the “fake balance” that our media irresponsibly hides behind these days. I deplore what has become of the Fourth Estate. This is what I posted on KGW’s blog, on the Portland Mercury’s blog, and here, in case it doesn’t pass muster at the other sites.

[begin my comment]
What do I see on the tape? I see those with power using it against someone who doesn’t have it. I see precious few inalienable rights being upheld or protected.

The myth that “all sides must be represented” is one of the cancers eating away at our representative democracy. It’s based on a further myth that all opinions are equally valid.

Does it shock anyone that the opinions of those who have the power are going to be used to justify and validate their use and abuse of their power? It shouldn’t be “news” at all, so why waste time on it? Why give the opinion of those in power any more validity or airtime than absolutely necessary? Why seek out a spokesman for the authorities – pardon me, an ex-spokesman in this case – at all? Anyone with any adult awareness at all can predict the opinion of the people who have been given the public trust.

But the idea that our leaders get equal time with the victims of the abuse of power has been promoted by… our leaders and those who benefit from their continued authority.

“Comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable” is a better motto for the media, who likewise have been granted a public trust, but have abandoned it in favor of pleasing those in power.

Until the media puts aside the fake balance, gives short shrift to the opinions of the power brokers, fact-checks our governments actions, and begins simply reporting who has the power, for whom is the power being used, against whom is the power being abused, and what recourse is available to those who don’t have the power… our nation will continue to become a police state.

Not that I expect someone who has the power, like Mr. Aaron Weiss, to willingly and honestly report these things. Picking and choosing whose opinion gets validity by using up the precious minutes allocated by their corporate masters, while hiding their own opinions in an attempt to foil any accountability by the public, on whose behalf that trust was granted, tells me all I need to know about how KGW values that public trust.

Lately, I hate my job. I would much rather be writing.

But I often wonder if it would be worth it, financially, to be a freelance journalist? How many dead presidents could I collect just by writing?

Here’s a little shirt-sleeve math-&-Google to find out.

From last Thursday to today I’ve posted 8 times (not counting this post). Yes, I’m including “Sellwood #4” even though it was 8 days ago. If you think that’s fudging the numbers, so be it.

Those 8 posts are fairly short for me (except for “Sellwood #4”); their word count comes to 1439 (or so – word counts may seem straight-forward but there’s some wiggle room).

I found a page published by the Columbia University of Journalism, presumably for its students, that lists many local New York City area papers and what they pay for articles. It looks as though a “standard” per-word pay rate is 10-20¢ per word.

That would give me (assuming every word I wrote got published) between $143.90 to $287.80 for one week’s work.

If I assume that editors slash my brilliant writing in half, that would still leave me with 719.5 words published, for a week’s pay of $71.95 to $143.90.

If I just wrote as much as I did last week every week, and it all got published, and I got the most generous pay rate, I would have an annual salary of… $14965.60, or $1247.13 per month.

Hmmm. I’d have to have a day job. Or write more.

I can write more… For instance, if you take my Vegas week posts (Day 0.5, Day 1.5, Day 2.5, Day 3.5, Home – updates later, and Day 4.5), those add up to 4828 words. At 10¢ per word that comes to $482.80 for one week’s work, not including the freakin’ driving and eating and sight-seeing and Vegas-wandering and brothel-touring I also got to do that week. That wouldn’t be bad… But even if I did that every week, that would give me an annual gross of let’s see… carry the one… $25105.60.

I’d still need a day job. Damn.

Remember the girl on the bus who did not want to be told it was OK? I told her it was OK, anyway. Remember?

Well, I’m currently sitting in a coffee shop with another girl. The top of her laptop has a bunch of stickers on it. One of them reads:

I’m Not OK

She has bleached-blonde hair (dark roots), painted-black fingernails, blue-and-white striped t-shirt, denim mini-skirt and silver boots, and piano keys tattooed around her upper arm. Skulls everywhere: silver skull earrings, another skull on her laptop, a pink (!) handbag with a skull.

I think I’m going to pass on telling her it’s going to be OK. I think I might not be OK after telling her that.

Dear Miriam-Webster:

You may be among the leaders in dictionaries, however, I feel that you have allowed your metaphorical crown to become besmirched.

Yes, yes, you feel the hot breath of user-generated content and Web 2.0 on your editor’s collective necks, and so, out of fear, you rush to adopt words in a way that resembles the crazed actions of a parent trying to connect with their teenagers. “Hey,” you say, “look at us, adding these new words, words like RPG and smackdown and crunk to the dictionary! Aren’t we ‘fly’ for adding these words?”

Um… guys… those words are old words, words that have been around for decades. Look, don’t use words that were cool when you were kids to impress the kids, mmmKay? Doesn’t work.

But… the worst offense is when you add a word and you add it incorrectly.

It’s not ginormous. It’s gianormous.

Like giant + enormous. Gianormous. Get it?

Please feel free to correct this soon.

To be sure, there’s some dispute over my preferred spelling, but two out of three entries at Urban Dictionary (ah, there’s that user-generated content that’s got the old-school companies runnin’ scared) agree with me. I win.

Sincerely,

Brian

Earthquake? Oh, right.

I was at a coffee shop, and I think I felt the above earthquake, but here are some of the thoughts in my head at the time:

• “Holly’s not that large. In fact, she’s quite skinny. There’s no way that rumble was caused by her walking in…”
• “Hmm… my phone didn’t vibrate.”
• “Is the hard drive in my laptop dying?”
• “I didn’t notice a truck driving by…”
• “Maybe I’ve had too much coffee.”
• “No one else seems to be reacting. Must’ve imagined it.”

It’s amazing how many thoughts can go through your head in just a second.

Crowded train home tonight. I stood next to a beautiful blonde girl, in her mid-20s. An inch or two taller than me, full-figured, brown eyes, full lips, cheeks and nose dusted with faint freckles. I was facing to the left of the train’s motion, and she held onto the pole, facing toward the train’s forward motion.

I was already in place when she boarded, and as she took her place next to me, I dared not move, and so, due to random chance, we ended up in close proximity, two strangers. Just by not averting my gaze (shielded by my sunglasses and the brim of my hat though they were) I could examine her face in profile, just inches away from mine.

Her hand seemed small for a girl so tall, and it wrapped the pole just above mine. I could see her fingernails, short, unpainted, with just a hint of dirt under them, the skin a bit rough. She worked with her hands. She did not pamper them. My own hands have seen their share of dirt and cuts and scrapes but today seemed far fairer than did hers.

She was dressed in functional black. I assumed she worked in the food or service industry.

There was an intimacy, at least for me. I kept my expression neutral but I felt familiar with her, a warmth. I had not been this close to another human being for far too long.

The nearness of this beautiful girl affected me deeply.

That’s just how starved for human contact I feel.

The Ultimate Apple Weblog (TUAW) has an article about the iPhone and Twitter.

Check out who’s featured in the accompanying picture.

Yes! It’s me!

Things I’m looking forward to:

• “Spook Country”, a new novel from William Gibson, due out 7 August 2007.
• “New Maps of Hell”, a new album from Bad Religion, due out 10 July 2007.
• “The Simpsons Movie”, released 27 July 2007.

There’s probably more but that’s what’s on my mind right now.

What are you looking forward to?

I had a big stack of lottery tickets that may, or may not, be winners. I don’t check them right away after the drawing; I figure if they’re not for the big prize, it’s not urgent to find out if I won an extra few bucks. Also, I don’t always trust the cashiers when they check my tickets. What if it’s a winning ticket, they tell me “no, sorry” and then pocket the ticket?

Yeah, there’s a downside to skepticism. Trust is a rare and valuable thing in this crazy mixed-up hill of beans. Or, y’know, whatever.

Today I decided to check them myself. Some lottery retailers have self-check machines – a box with a slot and a barcode reader to scan the ticket and let you know if it’s a winner or not. One of these retailers is the Peterson’s Market on SW 4th and Washington, and since I was downtown this afternoon fondling the iPhone I can’t buy yet, as I passed the convenience store, sad and iPhone-less, I walked in, wad of lottery tickets in hand.

First ticket I scanned… didn’t. It wouldn’t scan no matter how I tried. I set it aside. Next one came up:

Congratulations! Please see retailer.

The rest of the tickets did not show up as winners.

I approached the cashier, a tall skinny guy with Buddy Holly glasses, and showed him the two tickets, one a mystery, the other a winner.

His eyebrows popped up above the black rims of his glasses when he scanned the winner.

“Was it a lot?” I asked.

“A hundred fifty-two,” he said.

“Nice! I can get that from you, right?” Officially, anything under $600 can be redeemed at a retailer, but practically speaking, I’m not sure a convenience store at 2:30 PM on a Sunday is going to have that much in cash.

“I think so…” he said. He showed me the other ticket. “This one’s four bucks.” He popped open the register and did not look happy at what he saw.

“Well, the Rialto” which was next door “would probably have it if you don’t. Unless you’ve already registered the transaction?”

There was a couple behind me, chubby guy with green hair and a slender Middle-Eastern girl in black, waiting, so the cashier helped them. They bought cigarettes. I was patient. I had money coming.

When the clerk got back to me, he started counting out bills. He held up a wad of greenbacks. “You don’t mind singles and fives, do you?”

I didn’t care. I shrugged. It was kinda taking too long already. “Nah.” I felt suddenly conspicuous as another, older couple walked in and stood behind me.

He laughed, under his breath. Upon seeing my curious look, he explained in a not-really way “that’s just my weird sense of humor.” He laid out the two tickets on the counter. “This one’s $4; this one’s $158. Total of $162.” Held up the big wad of cash. “We’ll count it out together.” He only had two twenties; then he started in on the fives.

“…one forty eight, one forty nine, one fifty, one fifty one, one fifty two.” He stopped counting, out of money.

“Uh… you still owe me ten bucks,” I said. “158 plus 4 is 162, not 152.”

“Oh! You’re right!” He looked genuinely surprised, not duplicitous. “I’m a terrible cashier.” He popped open the register again, frowning. He held up a roll of quarters. “Is change OK?”

I laughed. It really was funny to me, though the frustration and delays and scrounging I was making this guy do took some of the funny off. “That’s fine; I’ll take the quarters.”

The pile of money was too big to go in my wallet. I put it in the front pouch on my messenger back, carefully zipped it closed, and walked out, suddenly flush with cash.

Not enough for an iPhone… yet.