A Beautiful Movie

Last night we went and saw "A Beautiful Mind." We enjoyed it. I loved the sets. Especially his office with the code-breaking collages on the walls. That was fascinating. They did a phenomenal job with the settings. I really belived they were back in time. So many movies lose me with bad set design. I don't know why, but that will fuck with me and sort of make me overlook the power of the overall performance. Little details shouldn't matter as much I suppose, but they do.

In fact, I noticed a scene last night where they jump to "Princeton, 1994" and just as the subtitle fades away you see a couple kids walk across the screen. One of the kids is wearing these New Balance kicks from around 1999. I had the same pair. That bummed me out. How can a kid be wearing 1999 kicks in 1994? That's the sort of shit that bums me out. This giant movie made my the elite entertainment folks, and some scrub can't ge the era right? Hollywood dicks.

Crowe's performance was pretty amazing. Schizophrenia. I can't imagine the terror one must feel trying to ascertain real things in a dillusional world. It was a powerful performance.

Westerberg Was Amazing

Hello to everyone in the land of the free, and maybe not-so-free. (We cover our bases for all walks of life.)

Another work week gone by. Lots of good stuff finished up the last couple days. The pace is pretty rad. There is always something to be tuned up, or looked over. I completed my 4th work week today. 20 days down. I'm diggin' the place. I'm getting drafted into a different project. More news as things settle.

All shook down: Westerberg, Westerberg.

First off, I found myself in "fan mode," anxiously awaiting his entrance. That was refreshing. Haven't felt that in awhile. Melissa made light of my jitters and excitement with her rolling eyes. He rolled in, set up and played a jumbled acoustic set filled with old faves and new stuff. He'd forget parts, stop, say something coy, drift off under the laughter and start it up to finish the song. He handled the place pretty well. Then they formed a line for signatures. Autographs? Aw, what the hell. We jumped in line and waited out turn.

It was pretty cool. Each person got a chance to have some small talk with him. I got a handshake and had him autograph this old promo "14 songs" promo piece. He was very gracious and gritty. He's got quite a weathered veneer, slightly reeking of cigar with one serious gray set of teeth. I'm a fan. I got to thank him for the tunes.

His little kid and wife were walking around. What a resemblance in the little tyke.

I often thought of the guy when I'd be cruising around Minneapolis. Where'd he live? Did he write his songs in some dirty little basement, or in some studio? is that him in line at the grocery store? Y'know, general "fan" questions.

Hope everyone had a good week. Bring on the weekend. Melissa and I are gonna kick things off with a trip to Target tonight.

Sadly Beautiful

Paul Westerberg tonight. Real excited to check it out.

Portland Rhythm

The days have been going by fast.

Friday already? Fuck. Funny how a "workweek" can feel more like a "workday" at a glance.

There isn't too much to report. I wake up, go to work, work, go home, call it a night. I like the rhythm.

Next Tuesday is gonna be pretty amazing. Paul Westerberg is appearing in town to do an "in-store" at a local record store. You can bet yer ass I'll be there to catch a glimpse. In the past bunch years I've grown into quite a Westerberg fan. I guess it's the Minneapolis connection, the cynicism and the romanticism of simple rock-n-roll. I put him up there on the list with other notable artist such as: Jay Farrar, J Mascis, Wayne Coyne, etc. I guess what I like so much about these guys is their respective mystiques. They don't give out too much of their personal lives. Rightfully so. So many fuckers out there offer it all up, as they have to. What these guys don't tell you is the most interesting part of being a fan. Wondering about their processes, their hometown situations, etc. They are regular people. I'm a fan.

Kenny!

Calling all men who look like Kenny Rogers! Actually, I've got one in mind. Get yer ass over to this god damn link right now!

How about that. Glorious. Triumphant. It's about time someone settles the race for Kenny submissions.

Bookmark that page for future reference and enjoyment.

CINCO, week 2.

Another work week almost wrapped up. Settling in to the CINCO, getting used to the flow of the place. I'm not used to this sort of environment. The pace is different. There are some good thinkers here doing really good work. Inspiring.

Challenging in good ways. Things are going well.

SoCAL FUCKERS: Listen Up.

Some words for the naysayers: (Oh yeah, you know who you are....)

Rant: You wanna know something, I'm fucking glad to be the out of Southern California. For those of you "predicting" the same sort of "California loathing" to come out of me in this Portland setting, well, you are sadly mistaken. This place is good. That place is bad. This place fits, sorry. Have fun spending the top dollar for congestion. Dig that sun. Enjoy the inflated dollar, as it doesn't go too far in those parts. I'll stop.

I've heard a lot of talk along the lines of, "Shit, you'll be bitchin' about that place in no time." Nope.

I knew within a couple days SoCal was fucked. All ya gotta do is drive through it.

Happy Californians, when the big one hits, you'll be hoping yer headin' north or east. Until then, enjoy the fabricated suffocation.

REAL GOOD

Thoughts on Portland living: I'm digging the place. It has the same feel that Minneapolis had for me. Big city, small city... things to do, things to see and just enough hustle-n-bustle to deal with. New York's tight confines have a sense of claustrophobia, Los Angeles' glamour has an air of superficiality. Portland feels good. People are walking around, riding their bikes, eating at little cafes. I like the sense of community I see around us. We have everything we need close to us: Work, grocery stores, buslines, highways, along with fun stuff like record stores, book stores and niteclubs. Things are good and I'm extremely thankful for our current situation.

Tonight I'm gonna catch Richmond Fontaine at Berbati's Pan. With any luck I'll see the Fred Green, undercover or not. This is why I moved here; to have things to do on my level.

Diggin' the Portland.

About The Drive North:

The "little" things like mountain passes gave us some trouble. At one point the brakes began to spark, dropping from 4000' to sea level in about 6 miles. I was gently tapping the brakes, and I guess enough to get them really hot, hot enough to spark.

That freaked us out pretty good. I was doing my fair share of "White knuckle driving," to say the least. There is something about racing down a mountain pass, with God-knows-how-much weight behind you, knowing that "stopping" or "slowing down" is sort of out the question. There is no way those little brakes are gonna bring that beast to rest. You gotta go with the flow and trust the road. One part trying to be brave, 2 parts being fucking terrified. I coasted down the hill and once things levelled out I tried tapping the brakes.

There was this weird bumping sound.

What was making that sound? Warped rotors? Welded together? Cracked drums? Broken brake lines? Way too many ugly things were racing through our heads. We coasted for a awhile, gently giving her gas to get us to the next exit ramp. I rolled off the big road, slowly, and came to a snail-paced stop. The brakes made some funny sounds but did the job.

They were just heated up real good, that's all. That first big pass "turned things up a notch" as far as the metal-to-metal quotient is concerned.

I leaned down and spit a good one in through the hub cab into the brake drums. The metal hissed. I could've fried an egg on that metal. Hot stuff.

We let her cool down before we continued on.

That night we made it to Bakersfield. We were sook up so we called it a night.

The next couple days went pretty smooth, even through the Shasta Gulch passes. We made it into Portland, pulled into Floyd's place and unloaded the Passat off the car-carrier. This way we had wheels to get around the city.

It felt good to be here.

PORTLAND!

We made it.

Phew. What a ride. Mountain passes almost got the best of us. As Derek D always said, "Slow and steady wins the race." I took those words to new heights with our rig situation. The Ryder was bogging pretty good up those hills. I had him filled to the brim with my gear and, for extra drama, we had "Big S" in tow on the car carrier. The whole enterprise was quite a setup. Coming out of the SoCal wasteland, as you climb and drop into the "valley" was the first inkling things might get a little crazy when elevation would come into play.

MORE LATER.