YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!

I totally believe in values and stuff, so I tell lots of true-ish stories to our children to instill those values deep, so they will turn out perfectly roasted and delicious when they are adults, like a good casserole, which coincidentally I'm just realising is relevant to the short story I'm about to share. This is my morality tale for today, and looking into the far future, I think it's going to have an appreciable effect on our children's moral center. Here it is, in case you forgot to read any ValueTales books today. It's about honesty.

HARRIET.
When I was a kid, we would go to church, and after church, there would sometimes be a potluck*; which is yet another thing stolen from Native Americans, and a bunch of people would bring a bunch of different food, and some it would be very good.

There was a little old lady named Harriet**, and she would stand behind her pots of soup and casseroles, double-dipping a massive serving spoon in and out as she taste-tested dishes to ensure their quality, cheerfully, surreptitiously flattening health code guidelines like traffic cones beneath a steamroller.

Also, the potlucks were vegetarian, which is beside the point, as is the fact that I am still vegetarian, except for the fact that people expected and assumed everything to be vegetarian. 

There was the day we discovered that Harriet made it a practice to spice up her dishes in un-vegetarian like ways with not-quite vegan additives like beef; a small point she brushed aside with a smile, spoon lick, wink, and "...nobody can really tell now, can they?" 

So, she was not being very honest about things.
And she eventually died.
It's important to be honest.

The end.

Go live your life with honesty today. I'm certainly going to try to, I think.
____

*potlatch
**not her real name

QUESTION: 80s power ballad of the day?

Post by Joseph Long.

FIVE THINGS That Made Me Smile This Weekend (Vikings, Robots, and Apple Crisp)

1. My children arguing about who is more left-handed. Reality: neither one, unfortunately. I have rarely been more proud though, for their simple
DESIRE to be southpaws. I am so sorry, children, that our genetics failed you. 

2. My son's discovery that his beloved scimitar (a type of curved sword) fits perfectly in the waistband of his underwear, particularly if unencumbered by pants. It
Is difficult to be in foul spirits when an elf warrior wearing a Viking helmet is chasing you around with a scimitar stuck down his underwear begging you to swordfight with him.

Vader vs. Viking (shot by Countess Becca)

3. We hit the open road in our automobile this weekend, and in a rare moment of generosity I would like to publicly give my wife an A+ for her travel snack pack she assembled. All bought with love and a few dollars from Trader Joe's.
A. Chopped yellow and red peppers.
B. Black and green olive hummus
C. Snap peas
D. Vegan trail mix cookies
E. Thai chili and lime cashews 
F. Grape tomatoes 

4. Watched An American Tale. Know how old it is? TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS OLD. Feels like my first brush with mortality. Wow...anyway, it held up well, considering it's been decades since I last saw it. It feels like one of the last traditional, sincere animated features. Not in a good or a bad way; I enjoy the snappy, self-aware, cultural referencing of today's animated films, but it's also enjoyable to experience that classic sensibility of earnest humor that exists more in its own universe, rather than acknowledging and referencing others. I think it would make a fine double feature with Ratatouille. 

5. I guess it's football season. I used to love football. I used to know a lot about professional sports. Matter of fact, I still do, as long as we're discussing the period from about 1985 to 1993. I've been planning to get back into the sports. In fact, I told my wife I'm going to be picking up a new hobby next year: sports or video games. I think she's very excited for me. Matter of fact, I already bought a game. Pacman. Goodwill, three dollars, plugs right into the telly, coolest thing ever. And I've already made it to the third level. Or maybe it was the second. No matter. I think she is quite excited for me. She played Pacman also, but she is not very good.

Also, I watched Pacific Rim (directed by Guillermo del Toro), and I enjoyed it, but it is nowhere near the movie that his Pan's Labyrinth was. THAT was a film from an auteur; someone out to make a different kind of film than anyone else. Rim, despite some moments and impressive robotics, was still more of a Transformers for adults, by way of Aliens. 

Also, my sister made some killer apple crisp. I had seconds, and thirds, and breakfast. 

Jolly weekend end, all 

THE WINNERS TAKE IT ALL, AND KATHERINE HEPBURN IS AWESOME, AND SO ARE STUDENTS WITH GOOD TEACHERS.

I walked past an empty classroom with an open door. Only it wasn't empty. It was filled with a morning blast of ABBA, and a teacher bobbing her head in time to Mamma Mia as she prepped for classes.

I have a rule in life: whenever someone is playing ABBA, I will stop whatever I am doing and go enjoy it for a few moments with that person. I have had some great moments as a result of this rule. So I stopped in and had a delightful five minutes of conversation about classic cinema, Katherine Hepburn and two of her most razor-tongued and entertaining films: Bringing Up Baby and The Lion in Winter. You want to know how to verbally stop someone in their tracks? Ms. Hepburn 101. It all comes back to Katherine.

Step turned to skip as I left. More ABBA, more Hepburns, more loud music, more

teachers who soundtrack a morning with classic Swedish pop. I will let you remain anonymous, Mrs. O.

ABBA
The Winner Takes It All
Super Trouper
1980

Duckfeeding with my little sister

It's not that I'm nostalgic;
it's just that my little sister and I were feeding ducks yesterday in 1984
and now she's getting married.

We were a really good duck-feeding team. 

circa 1984 - Nehalem Bay area

WHY SHOULD I RUN; I'M ALREADY ON TOP OF A MOUNTAIN?!

This morning, I looked out my big window at the great outdoors and the gray sun valiantly trying to awake and realised sadly I would be sitting in a chair, slopped in front of my computer for most of the day. But then I had one of my infrequent* brainstorms. Today is the day.

For Iron Maiden. Once or twice a year, I gotta dig into my old metal collection and set the day afire. And today is the day.

If ESPN could see me speed-editing, they would dedicate a whole new category of the X Games to me. Flying, like Usain Bolt on a bobsled.


Deep Hit of Evening Sun //// Longx4 April 2, 2013

Like a few other late '70s and '80s bands, Iron Maiden was lumped unfairly into a single genre: Metal. More accurately, the parental favourite sub-genre of "Metal That You'll Promise Me You'll Never Listen to, Ever, OK?"

Their visual iconography is both disturbing and laughable, but the operatic vocals of leadman Bruce Dickenson and galloping breakneck guitars are no joke. Technically amazing and emotionally...thrilling.

"Run to the Hills" has got to be one of the most fast, furious, poppiest, dancingest metal songs ever.

Also, it's ideal for blasting while working in front of a computer on a sunny Spring afternoon.

Happy Dienstag, all.

*frequent

Iron Maiden
Run to the Hills
The Number of the Beast
1982

OH, THOSE INLAND FISHERMAN'S BLUES.

Grrr. I was not planning on doing this, but Starbucks has forced my hand. I am so irked with them, except for Austin, who is unquestionably Employee of the Year. This is why : there is a very special song that I have had tucked away in my heart for years, and I have been waiting to share it with you. And then I walked into one of my offices (you might know it by its corporate name: Starbucks) and sat down at my desk (also sometimes called 'table') and pulled out my computer. Started to put on headphones because it seemed like a PJ Harvey kind of afternoon, but then the opening chords of my very favourite song in the universe exploded through the speakers and I recoiled in fury: Yes, this song is 25 years old. Its birthday is this year, and I have been so excited to share it, and I have been patient. There is only one song that can even begin to rival it for glorious Saturday morning wakeup glory (that would be Johnny Cash's The Man Comes Around).

It is a track that is so beautiful it will make you want to hop on a ship, head to Ireland, and soak in the foggy beauty of the sea life. It is one of those rare things that is both intimate and anthemic; Joseph Arthur and U2 with a wave of saltwater drenching its yearny melancholy. Strings, gorgeous strings seesawing against the workingman's spiritual poet-voice of Mike Scott. If you have ever heard this, then you know what it is: The Waterboys and their 1988 folk-anthem Fisherman's Blues. Wrenching beauty. And Starbucks yanked that moment away from me. I am prematurely letting you know before you walk in and they rob me again of the chance to introduce you to it. So my disgruntlement was obvious, because Austin came round with a fresh blend for me to sample, and then dropped by again with brownie, and then slipped back AGAIN with a coupon for a free tall caramel macchiato.

So I was somewhat mollified, but I still don't know that he'll be able to prevent them from playing it again. Some songs are just so good that they shouldn't be wasted on casual, inattentive listening. That is why I rarely listen to the radio: because it takes songs - even really, really good songs - and drives them into the ground until you grow weary of them. Some songs are too special to treat like that. So do not listen to Fisherman's Blues until you are properly prepared to respect it. And fall in love. And if you walk into a Starbucks and there's a song playing that has violins and makes you long for the ocean, then just walk out. Leave. Your first time hearing it shouldn't be in Starbucks. Or, if you see Austin, just ask him to turn it off.

Magdelana and Becca alerted me to his excellentness, and they are correct. Good job, Starbucks: I was about to boycott you forever until Austin saved the day. Remember, I can always take my business elsewhere, to the billions of other places in the area with free refills and complimentary WiFi. And brownie samples. Here's to you, Fishermen, even though I'm vegetarian. Here's to you, Austin.

The Waterboys

Fisherman's Blues

Fisherman's Blues

1988

KAFKA, COUNTESS, AND THE MORAL RELATIVITY OF IRONMAN.

ADVICE FOR THE DAY (REGARDING RELATIONSHIPS):


Jeremy & Jonny (August 2005)

Jonny and I invented something several years ago called The 60-Second Phone Conversation.

It goes something like this:

(Ring-ring)

Hey Jonny, it's me.

- Yeah I know.

I know you know. What's up?

- Not much. Just working. What are you doing?

Just driving. Listening to Taylor Dayne. Hey, do you think Taylor Swift is better than Taylor Dayne?

- No way. Taylor Dayne did "I'll Be Your Shelter." Honestly, that's probably the best song I've ever heard in my life.

Yeah, I agree. Okay. Later. Okay bro. Bye.

(Click)

And it's done. Sixty seconds or less.

Couple rules:

1. Can't be about anything too important, unless it involves music or Manute Bol.
2. There cannot be any guilt trips involved.3. There can be no attempt by either party to prolong the conversation.

Jeremy is getting good at it too. We're actually working on a 30-second version, but it's still in beta. The important thing is that you know you can call someone for a very fast conversation and have it be done quickly. It's like the Olympics of Conversational Athletics. You gotta be committed.

Note: the above conversation is used for example purposes. It is fake, but true. Happy Wodensday, world!

Taylor Dayne
I'll Be Your Shelter

Can't Fight Fate
1989

Countess Becca, at Oregon Children's Theatre post-Lion, the Witch & the Wardrobe (2013.02.17)

I am so, so glad to be married to someone who listens to Jay-Z while paying bills. She is literally bouncing in her chair. The little things. Here's to you, Countess Becca.



What kind of stories would Kafka be inspired to write today if he were around in the telephone era of (Kafka-esque) Customer Service?

BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL, THERE IS A HERO OF AMBIGUOUS MORAL CORE WHO IS WEARING A SILLY SUIT:


Daddy, Ironman is bad.

- Actually he's good. 

He laughs, huge condescending grin.

I KNOW, Daddy! I know he's good...I'm pretending he's bad. I'm PRETENDING Ironman is bad. And Thor is good.

-I know!
(I said impatiently)
- I know Thor is good!

(and I did know, seriously I knew that)

Homage to Tenzing Norgay (Wild Packs of Children Ascending to White Fluffy Clouds).


Cirque du Park (2013.02.13)

IS THIS IT : TWO SISTERS AND THREE OTHER PIECES OF ADVICE BY ME AND THE STROKES.

Couple weeks ago, my sister called me up. She said: wanna go to a movie? On me?

I said: Uhh, yeah.

So we went to see Skyfall, the newest Bond, in which 007 again performs incredible feats of daring and romance while keeping intact his Tom Ford suit and dark wit.

Also (this was at Cinetopia, the most luxurious movie theater in the galaxy), she got us popcorn, fries, and Caesar salad, and we watched some really good trailers, including one for a Tom Cruise film that looks as if there will be many broken bones, yet apparently is squeaking by with a PG13. Anyway. Skyfall was a magnificent experience, and it was not my birthday. It was just another ordinary day made extra.


Leanna, early- to mid-1980s

Walked into my classroom last Monday and a student brought a latte up to me: "Your sister left this for you."


Lanessa, June 2000 (4.5 years old)

This is the amazing part: this was a different sister. A totally different one. And it was the third time this year that she has pulled a stunt like that. Brought me coffee at school, and it has happened on the most perfect mornings when my eyes were bleary from being a semi-successful media mogul working many late nights and getting up too early to also help educate young minds.

If you have done the math, you may have counted two. Two sisters. Not one. Two. Which leads me to a few pieces of life advice:

1. Drink a lot of water every day. Try adding some lemon.
2. Listen to a lot of music every day. Work in some Rachmaninov and Mates of State.
3. Give people your attention when they're talking to you.
4. Try to get two sisters like the ones above (these ones are not available as sisters).

As a rule, I find the pursuit of perfection better left to folks like Michelangelo and Usain Bolt. It's more challenging to find adventure when you're doggedly on a single path with horsey flaps over your eyes. Probably a good thing sometimes. I have so much more fun though pursuing the ecstatic messiness of falling and failing.

So perfection is like a casual perk that falls into your lap once in a while, like a couple sisters who are perfect - not perfect in an absolute sense as human beings, because, for example, one of my sisters forgets to charge her phone every night - but perfect for me, in a relative sense, with their role as my siblings, in which they treat me to pleasant treats and hug big.

Also, other bits of perfection that I have accidentally discovered are the enchiladas of Micael Serrano, the cardamom bread of Matt Westermeyer, and the drumming of Fabrizio Moretti, the Strokes percussionist. On the title track of their 2001 debut Is This It, his robot-with-a-heart drumming lugs the droll song along like a split cupcake of Anthem and Ballad. Perfection. Greatest Song Ever. Definitely.


November 2006

I wonder what today would be like if I had a third sister?

The Strokes
Is This It
Is This It
2001