this is why going to sleep sober isn't all it's cracked up to be.

I had a vivid and disturbing dream last night. I was shacking up in this flop-house on northeastern Manhattan (in my dream it was in Harlem but I don't think that's correct). Instead of being on the water, though, the building was smack up against a hillside, a huge, rolling hillside with a metal fence running the length of it. Like, one whole side of the building was without windows because it was almost built into the hillside. People hung out on the rooftop, much like they do in front of the halfway houses that run the length of Summit Ave b/w Howell and Pine. Two of those people were jbin and Woody Harrelson, and the three of us started smoking crack out of a pipe fashioned from a test tube, with a screw-on cap/screen combination reminiscent of a Mason jar. The next thing I knew, I looked over, and jbin had shot an arrow through his dog's head. He'd done it from behind so that the arrowhead was protruding from between her beautiful (and now lifeless) eyes. Blood was trickling out of her mouth. I LOVE this dog as though she were my own, and this action broke my heart. I got up and walked to the edge of the roof, looking out at the fence. I wondered to myself if it were an electric fence, and just then I saw two raccoons come scrambling down the hill. One of them lost its footing and tumbled into the fence, and I watched it spasm and jolt as a current ran through it (Is that equivalent to lucid dreaming? I'm kind of inclined to think it is). While I was distracted by that, the other raccoon jumped over the fence and started to hiss and growl at me, shoulders haunched and fur standing straight up. I started to back away slowly, when he lunged and sunk his teeth into my wrist. I swear, I've never physically felt the pain in a dream like I did last night. It burned. I could feel it on my nerve endings. At times like these remembering dreams is overrated.

i really do hate to say i told you so...

My camera is en route to me, so once I get that I'll throw up a huge post about the Truckasauras/Portland weekend. Until then, however, maybe this GLOWING FUCKING PRAISE from PITCHFORK and Line Out will tide you over.

I called this shit like a year ago. Those boys are gonna be famous. Much love to the Truck.

feel my iPain.

So. Last week at Ratatat's "DJ" set at Havana, I lost my iPod. jbin said he saw me, at one point, look down at my bag and see that my headphones were no longer attached to anything, and whimper. The next morning, in a slightly-less drunken state, I realized it was long gone. I went through brief moments of incredulity and irritation, and then just decided that instead of spending my next Chop Suey check on my bike, I'd replace my Nano with the top-of-the-line 80GB video iPod, which I did in Portland (no sales tax).

Last night, a conversation with one of my coworkers went something like this:
Him: "I want to start filling iPods with music and selling them, rather than burning discs of stuff."
Me: "iPods are expensive."
Him: "Yeah, but I find a lot of them. Like, last week at Havana I looked down and kicked what I thought was a flyer, and this iPod went flying across the floor."
Me: "..."
Him: "And it's got some hella good shit on there. Aesop Rock, MF Doom/RZA..."
Me: "OHMIGOD you found my fucking iPod! God DAMMIT!"

Needless to say, I'm slightly annoyed this conversation didn't take place BEFORE Saturday. So now I have two iPods. Annoying.

2nd best call-out on blogging suckiness...

While talking about this weekend's debaucherous intentions: "Gotta give you something better to talk about than Triscuits and hummus."

Oh, snap. Burn.

Keep posted for an On The Road/Fear And Loathing-type journal of Truckasauras' Portland Weekend Blast-off Extraordinare.

yum.

I'd be a far less picky eater if all food came in Black Pepper flavor.

Seriously, I could subsist on these crackers with hummus for the rest of my days. Throw an avocado in there and I'm set.

trim the fat.

While watching last week's episode of Lost (not this week's, mind you, as it is on right now and I'll patiently download it tomorrow, thank you very much), I found myself wondering why Sawyer is my favorite character. Granted, Josh Holloway is a rugged stone fox, but there's also that whole "tortured soul that won't let anyone close" schtick that he's got going for him, too (although, that sums up Jack and Kate in a nutshell, as well). What I realized, however, is that I identify with the fact that he refers to everyone by nicknames (I also noted this literally seconds before Sun made a bet with Sawyer, the stakes being that if he lost he wouldn't be able to call anyone a nickname). Freckles, Doc, Snuffleupagus and Grimace... He referred to the Korean couple as Crouching Tiger and Hidden Dragon in this episode. My Lost-watching companion cried "Rah-ceest!" while I just laughed my ass off. The thing is, I do the same thing. With the exception of my family and people that I work with, everyone in my life has an alternate moniker that I use to label them. Segal/Veins, Arty, LT, Mar, jbin, Cuban-B, etc. (Yes, I'm counting last names as nicknames). Even people that I'm not super tight with (Parks, D-Nyce, Enthusiastic Matt) get these unique handles. I'm not necessarily the one who comes up with them, but I'll pick up on their usage in an instant and perpetuate it. When discussing "romantic" endeavors, aforementioned Lost companion and I refer to people, even though we know their names, by distinguishing characteristics: "The Hippie," "The Twin," "The Coke-head," and so-on and so-forth. I suppose there are just far too many Jennifers, Jasons, Heathers and Ryans in this world to keep them all straight, so the idiosyncratic nomenclature comes in to play.

ladies and gentlemen...

May I present to you Jonah Santos Dominic Lamas.

Born March 6th at 4:17 AM (12 days late! Obviously inherited his father's sense of punctuality).
9.13 lbs, 21 inches long.

I'm going to be the best ADOPTED aunt ever.

On a side note... I suck at blogging.

i beg of you.

I have a proposal for all males over the age of twelve: Can we please call an indefinite moratorium on the usage of "weiner," "weenie," "weenis," or any derivative thereof when referring to one's member? That terminology stopped being cute around the time you learned the scientific nomenclature for said organ. Whenever I hear it, it literally makes me cringe. If you stop using that, I'll stop referring to you as "boys." I swear.

steve jobs needs to get his act together.

Due to Apple's 2007 Campaign to Drive bailee. Absolutely Batshit Crazy (brought to a screeching halt by my benevolent mother), posting has been impossible as of late. Vegas is keeping me busy, so I'm just gonna throw up this one that's been percolating for awhile:

Via Seattlest, BLVD Gallery's Damion Hayes has begun a video series on local artists on his blog, Artstash. Much to my merriment and delight, his first installment features both my fave Seattle street artist, No Touching Ground, and the divine musical stylings of my boys in Truckasauras' more developed and brilliant main project, Foscil. Enjoy.

notes on a failed attempt (or, he really can rap that fast!)

I was all stoked for the Busdriver CD release party here in LA last night. It was to be Busdriver performing alongside Nobody and Boom Bip (who shared production duties on Roadkill Overcoat), and Daedelus was going to be recording his set for a live album. I got my girl Brooke all excited, she rallied the troops, and off we went.

We showed up to The Airliner around midnight and things looked promising. Not too bad of a line to get in, or at the bar, and the crowd seemed rather sparse. We grabbed drinks and headed back to the show space, snaked up a few stairs, and walked into a wall of people. We tried to move forward into the crowd, but we were walking uphill (!) into a reverse amphitheater-type setup. Daedelus was just beginning his set, but there was no way we were going to be able to see anything, so we headed upstairs to a different section. This decision proved fortuitous, as Boom Bip was throwing down rave-tastic acidy breakbeats for the unlucky people who couldn't squeeze onto the show floor.

We danced for a bit (to Peter, Bjorn and John's "Young Folks" at one point), and I headed outside to "catch some air." What's this? The upstairs smoking area was a deck looking down onto the stage! All was not lost. Busdriver had just begun his set (with "Casting Agents and Cowgirls," no less. It irks me when people begin their sets with the first song from their album. Daedelus did the same), so we were able to catch his entire performance, paper party hat and all. He played choice selections from Overcoat, threw out a stellar freestyle, and ended the set with "Imaginary Places," leaving a screaming, bouyant crowd.