Tuesday Question

What are you listening to right now? If it's not music, what sounds do you hear?

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When my feet hurt, I think of Moses.

In 1980, I spent five weeks in the children's burn ward at St. Francis Hospital in San Francisco. During that time, there were two other kids in my room: Moses and Leif. Moses was in before I got there, and was still there when I left. He and his dad had been working on some kind of gas-powered machine (I don't remember what exactly) and it exploded, covering something like 80% of his body in burns. His dad was upstairs in the adult wing and would come down to visit sometimes. He was burned, too, but not as badly as his son.

Leif was only two. I don't remember how he was burned -- it seems like his was a hot water or coffee burn. He came and went in a week or two, staying just long enough to gnaw on my 64 pack of crayons and scatter them around the room.

Moses was eventually moved to another room, but my mom still visited him from time to time and would come back and tell me about him. When she told me that he cried every time he walked, I figured he had burns on his feet, too, but he didn't. They couldn't figure out why he cried, and the nurses and doctors kept trying to get Moses to walk.

My mom eventually promised him a poster that he really wanted if he would walk without crying. He did, he walked all the way down the hall and back. Later, they figured out that on top of everything else, poor Moses had tumors in his feet.

Anyhow, today my feet hurt and it made me think of Moses.

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More entertainment news:

Unleashed, with Jet Li, wasn't the greatest. It wasn't that it had plot holes; it had plot canyons. The viewer is expected to suspend disbelief in so many different directions that it's just... well, it's ridiculous, is what it is. But it's not ridiculous like Dude, Where's My Scroll, which was at least funny. Although I bet if there had been more of us in the audience, we would have started making jokes earlier and it would have been a lot funnier.

Peter Murphy is totally rad (the musician, not the Canadian realtor). He played at The Roseland last Sunday, and I was once again amazed at his voice (oh, that voice!) The crowd seems to dwindle at each Peter Murphy show I go to, and he's definitely slowed down a bit -- in previous shows, he put on a bit more of a performance. I was happiest when he played his older tunes, especially old favorites like Hit Song, Cuts You Up, and I'll Fall With Your Knife.

Here's a random list of thoughts I had while at the Peter Murphy show:

• Yay! I love Peter Murphy!
• I hope [girl sitting near me] doesn't talk through the whole show.
• Oh, that voice!
• Oh dear, Peter has some unfortunate facial hair.
• What is he wearing?
• Damn, he sounds good.
• I wish Yolanda could have made it.
• Is that person wearing a bridal veil? Oh, no, it's just her hair.

While I'm a fairly devoted Peter Murphy fan, I can understand that his music doesn't have universal appeal, and he's definitely had some songs that don't do much for me. In fact, when I first heard Peter Murphy back in high school, I didn't like it -- I've since found that most of his music takes a few listens to hook me, but then it's just incredible.

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So I finally saw Sin City last night. Holy crap, is that movie dark. As Duane put it, "I so don't have a dark side."

There's a book by John Cleland called Fanny Hill. I'm fuzzy on details, but I think he was in prison when someone said, "I bet you can't write the most lewd book imaginable without using a single naughty word," or something to that effect, so he wrote Fanny Hill. Based on some cursory Googling, it looks like he also was imprisoned for actually writing the book, so I'm not entirely clear on how long he spent in the clink, or when it actually was.

At any rate, Sin City reminded me of this -- not because the book and the movie have anything in common other than a general flouting of the seven deadlies, but because it seems to me that someone approached Frank Miller and said, "I bet you don't really have a dark side," and he set out to prove them oh-so-very-very-wrong.

Which brings us to the Tuesday question.

Tuesday Question

Do you have a dark side?

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Tuesday Question

I don't know if this is going to be a regular feature or not, but it occurred to me that it would be fun to have a question of the week. Plus, I have a new favorite question to ask people, so I already had one in mind today. I'm not sure if I'll come up with a good one every week; we'll see how it goes.

Today's question: what were your birthday candle wishes when you were growing up?

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The weekend began with drinks and pool, something I don't do enough. I love playing pool. We had a pool table at home when I was in 8th and 9th grade. It was a little warped, but I spent a lot of time in the garage playing pool. I got to be decent, though not stellar. There are people who get progressively better at pool the more they drink. I am not one of those people. For me, I get progressively better until I have one or two really good shots (pool, not alcohol). I'll sink a bank shot or a sweet rail shot or, if the fates are smiling, a jump shot. Then I get all excited and cocky and start missing the easiest shots in the world. I think the word "shot" needs to appear in this paragraph at least three more times. Shot, shot, shot.

So then I went and hung out with Miss Joseph and Ransom, then to dinner with the latter, and wound up watching the funniest Red Dwarf episode ever.

Saturday was all about pulling weeds until dinner time. Then there was yummy BBQ, a game of Mall Madness, and The Epoxies' show. We got there right as Telephone went on. I thought Telephone were really boring, but I guess they're the new hip band around town. Fortunately, The Epoxies are extremely fun and their new album totally rocks. They're touring much of this year, so go see them. They're rad.

Sunday was fairly uneventful until the midnight trip to the emergency room. Poor Kungfukitten has had far too many health problems lately. It's her story to tell, and I'm sure it will end up on her blog, so I'll let you read about it there. I'll tell you this much: she's fine and at home resting today. Send her good thoughts.

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It's a good thing Theo tolerates turtles better than he does other cats. He likes to sniff them and occasionally takes a swat at them (but he has no claws*, and is always supervised, so they don't get hurt). He also likes to just sit and look at them a lot. There's none of the yowling and wedging himself behind screen doors like there was when Other Kitty was around.

Though it must be said that Napoleon is way better at protecting herself than Leroy. Leroy is more likely to stick his head out to investigate the large furry paw headed his way. Napoleon just does the turtle thing where her head and legs disappear. It's neat.

* No, I didn't declaw my cat. He came that way from who knows where.

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Whilst perusing the Not Totally Inept comments box, I came across a reference to Living Longer is the Best Revenge, an article by David Brooks wherein he takes a look at a recent study that suggests fat people live longer. It's a very witty article that had me giggling, even as I contemplated all those wasted late-night hours trying to get a 4.0 in high school.

"The chief moral lesson I take away from this report is that Mother Nature is happy to tolerate marginally irresponsible misbehavior. She doesn't want you to go completely to seed. If you're truly obese and arouse hippos when you visit the zoo, you could still punch your ticket at any moment.

"But she does want you to eat the occasional Cinnabon, so long as it isn't bigger than Delaware. She wants you to have that fourth glass of wine, and lecture the dinner table on the future of the papacy based on your extensive reading of 'The Da Vinci Code.' She wants a little socially productive mediocrity."

Read the full article.

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I've decided that today is Anagram Day. Happy Anagram Day to you! You will notice that various links in the sidebar have been changed -- you'll have to either use your massive brain power to unscramble them, or just click them to find out where they go.

Many thanks to Rages for the link to the Internet Anagram Server.

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Miss Joseph got me in to see Moby last night. It's been a long time since I've gotten in anywhere on a guest list, even as a plus one (or plus two, as the case may be). So that was kind of rock 'n' roll.

I've never really gotten into Moby -- it's not that I'm opposed to him, it's just that I never really sought him out. So I wasn't sure what to expect. Here's how I'd sum up Moby: you know those huge music nerds in high school who had the huge vinyl/tape/cd collection? They usually ran the school's radio station at lunch and after school. That's Moby. The show was a little bit like we were at his house and he kept saying, "Oh man, you totally have to hear this song!" He had a great deal of fun playing bossa nova covers of Creep and Purple Rain. Also, though it has been requested at every show I've ever been to in Portland, he's the only musician I've actually seen play Free Bird. Mike Doughty came close once, but warned the crowd instead that one day our Pacific Northwest irony would backfire and someone actually would play Free Bird with all seven guitar solos. Moby played a truncated version, and it was bossa nova, so it was more funny than excruciating.

Overall, I'm glad I went. We were upstairs at The Roseland, and it was fun to look down on this sea of people all dancing and enjoying themselves. I don't usually go to shows where huge, mustachioed former frat boys are singing along to "euphoric techno music" and generally enjoying themselves. So that was weird. Not everybody enjoyed themselves; there were a few significant others who were obviously dragged along, but for the most part people seemed to be genuinely enjoying themselves. There's beauty in that.

Joe, Lara, and I were struck by how wholesome the show seemed. Personally, I thought the last song (where everyone raised their hands and bright yellow lights showered the crowd like sunlight) felt a little bit like the tent revivals we learned about in American History class, only instead of praising Jesus, they were praising "euphoric techno music". That was a little weird, too.

Moby used the phrase "euphoric techno music" a lot. He also signed a Scrabble board and confessed to thinking of two and three letter words while playing. It's strange to be at a concert, looking at the stage, and thinking, "That guy could totally kick my ass at Scrabble."

So, to sum up: Moby seems pretty cool, I dig some of the music, and the show was good, if a little weird.

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