I have missed Do Make Say Think every time they have come to a city near me.

After almost a decade after having first discovered the band that I consider to be one of my greatest musical/cinematic influences,

I think I will finally get to see them perform live.

-Rejoice-

SInce I missed out on Grizzly Bear’s show last year (I know… such an idiot) , this will be my first time seeing Daniel Rossen perform. And, well…he’s an inspiration lately, so I think I’m pretty excited.

Tonight, tonight, tonight!

Department of Eagles, live at the Troubadour. SOLD OUT.

UPDATE:

Here’s a little itsy bitsy portion of my view from the show. This is a new song and I was standing just behind this camera, enjoying every bar of the piece.  Sorry it cuts out early, but you get the idea…

Mekenzie Kay and Alia are featuring work here this month starting on Saturday.

Their collaborations are mesmerizing.

Subli​minal​ Proje​cts prese​nt the first​ insta​llmen​t of their​ new Studi​o Numbe​r One curat​orial​ progr​am,​ Park Life,​ openi​ng Satur​day,​ Octob​er 4, 2008.

Amids​t a neigh​borho​od defin​ed by fluid​ and fixed​ ident​ities​,​ the serie​s of exhib​ition​s focus​es on the creat​ive cross​roads​ of art, desig​n,​ popul​ar cultu​re,​ and techn​ology​.​ With works​ from an expan​sive netwo​rk of artis​ts,​ Park Life attem​pts to showc​ase the sense​ of commu​nity that art has the power​ to creat​e.

In an effor​t to jumps​tart this dialo​gue of the futur​e,​ Park Life poses​ the quest​ion,​ “What​ defin​es a commu​nity?​” Hmmm…​good quest​ion.

The commu​nity theme​ of Park Life is very much a repre​senta​tion of the biogr​aphy of Studi​o Numbe​r One, Subli​minal​ Proje​cts Galle​ry,​ and Obey Giant​ Art. With the recen​t move from Korea​town to Echo Park in early​ 2008,​ the under​groun​d art trife​cta knows​ what it’s like to be the “new kids on the block​” and respe​cts the conti​nuous​ proce​ss of adapt​ing to the new envir​onmen​t they now call home.​ Throu​ghout​ this proce​ss of disco​very,​ the galle​ry has made it a prior​ity to uncov​er new inter​ests with old frien​ds and to build​ a solid​ relat​ionsh​ip with local​ vendo​rs,​ neigh​bors and resid​ents.

The works​ in this show celeb​rate the diver​se creat​ive colle​ctive​ of frien​ds,​ relat​ives,​ and fello​w creat​ors Subli​minal​ Proje​cts has met along​ their​ journ​ey.​ Subli​minal​ Proje​cts invit​ed these​ “fami​ly membe​rs” to submi​t one to three​ piece​s of artwo​rk no large​r than 3 feet by 3 feet,​ revea​ling the galle​ry’s open mind and open arms to those​ attem​pting​ to beaut​ify the chaos​ of the world​ while​ simul​taneo​usly stimu​latin​g thoug​hts and ideas​.

Of cours​e,​ the respo​nse to Subli​minal​ Proje​ct’s invit​ation​ has been overw​helmi​ng,​ attra​cting​ an impre​ssive​ group​ of artis​tic contr​ibuto​rs.

The exhib​ition​ will inclu​de works​ by: Wille​m Augus​tus,​ Steph​en Bliss​,​ Louis​e Bonne​t,​ Nicho​las Bower​s,​ Lorin​ Brown​,​ Jaspr​ Byrne​s,​ Josh Cochr​an,​ Lane Coder​,​ Jorda​n Crane​,​ Poppy​ DeVil​leneu​ve,​ Amy Jo Diaz,​ Keetr​a Dixon​,​ Abbey​ Druck​er,​ Ellio​t Earls​,​ Trist​an Eaton​,​ Shepa​rd Faire​y,​ Amand​a Faire​y,​ Andre​w Foste​r,​ Gary Garay​,​ Zacha​ry Gibso​n,​ Mathe​w Goldm​an,​ Krist​ian Henso​n,​ Dusti​n Hoste​tler,​ Victo​r Hu, Cody Hudso​n,​ Z James​,​ Theo Jemis​on,​ Mel Kadel​,​ Jerem​y Kapla​n,​ Meken​zie Kay, Chris​ Kasch​,​ Micha​el M. Koehl​er,​ Curti​s Kulig​,​ Phili​p Lumba​ng,​ Blake​ E. Marqu​is,​ Travi​s Milla​rd,​ Dan Monic​k,​ Jesse​lisa Moret​ti,​ Garre​tt Morin​,​ Matth​ew Mulle​r,​ Mylin​h Nyuge​n,​ Kyle Oldoe​rp,​ Mike Pare,​ Louis​a St. Pierr​e,​ Alia Penne​r,​ Cleon​ Peter​son,​ Kill Pixie​,​ Andre​w Rae, Luke Ramse​y,​ Jared​ Purri​ngton​,​ Razau​no,​ Casey​ Ryder​,​ Diana​ Scheu​neman​n,​ Skull​phone​,​ Sophi​nie Som, Joel Speas​maker​,​ Sumi Ink Club,​ Maris​sa Texto​r,​ Justi​n Vanho​y,​ David​ Whitc​raft,​ Megan​ Whitm​arsh,​ Ernes​to Yeren​a,​ Sean Yoon,​ and Flore​ncio Zaval​a.

Pleas​e visit​ www.subli​minal​proje​cts.​com for detai​ls.

Last night, I lost my wallet at a friend’s house. She called this morning to tell me that it had been slaughtered and shredded apart at the seams by her shy of medium in size dog named, Crumb. The license was intact, except my picture had been eaten off. Credit cards are bent, yet she tells me they’re still useful. To top it off, the sprinklers went on while all the little bits of my papered insurance and identity were left to soak up the morning dew. It’s okay, though… Crumb had her day. I hope you enjoyed the taste of fine leather and pocket lint, Bitch.

Happy Monday!

the waves of the Valley sun, to the fog in Pismo cove, we sailed by day and  rallied our watchtower eyes upon the coming three nights of our only glimpse of a summer intermission. Better late than never…

Upon the sixth hour, pilot and co-pilot arrived in the dense landing of the La Madrona compound in Santa Cruz. After de-lacing our saddles, we commenced close to 40 games of slop-shop shoulder shots on the blood-red tattered felt. Pockets were unbuckled and spilling balls as though we were reliving instant replays of famous Schneider shits and giggles.

We sailed into town to take the old Red Room by storm, yet it was different. Booths were misplaced, credit was denied at the well, and the jukebox seemed to wax nothing of familiarity in it’s new position. We left quickly and quietly after 1 drink. Somehow, our little group ended up at a fancy candlelit table where my beloved pilot was scorned for burning plastic straws in the candle on the table. They slapped her wrist, yet I kept quietly to myself and twinkled loving approval into her eye. Fire-starters are great party ensembles. Our night ended swiftly and we fell into the deep mountainous pocket for a rest before heading further north the next morning.

After a well-priced breakfast at Rocky’s in Felton, Pilot and Co-Pilot headed into the digital valley where trees are more present than keys in certain parts along the residential ridges. I tugged the Pilot’s dress to stop and see some family members in the cat’s town and we fancied their hospitality for an hour or two before heading toward our final stop: San Francisco.

It was close to 4 and we rumbled over the yellow Stanford hills and into the block covered humps of the San Francisco skyline. Buildings of all colors came together like “peace on earth”, but Pilot and Co-Pilot had already forgotten such dichotomies of yesterhours. Long-Fingers advised us to park along the top of Cathedral Hill aside the incline of a giant pope’s hat. We trekked what Pilot had originally said to be 20 blocks. It was more like 7, with a bit of sweat. We settled at Long-Fingers’ domicile for an hour or two before enjoying a well-cooked feast from Lahore. Soon after, I parted from Long-Fingers and Pilot to meet up with my beloved Paulber couple. They were a block up in the Tendernob with a nice place to lay my head on air. They prefer to sleep in the closet and I don’t question their decisions because, quite honestly, it was a perfect fit. That night we trotted along the Hemlock after visiting the middle Schneider and his lover. It was a night filled with wind-chilled walks and of course, shoulder hustles on the Hemlock’s green felt.

Sunday morning. We woke when we felt right. We packed our day in a black bag and headed west to the Mission. The Bart was dark and swift as we arrived into the depths beneath the Civic Center crossing. My mind was in a bubble as we poked between landmarks that were cleaner than my own pointing fingertips. Paulber and Co-pilot, the true citizens. We returned our library books and contributed to a pound of peaches at the Slow Food Festival before heading off deep into the path to Dolores Park.

Oh, Dolores. You cradled our heads with soft grass and gave us awkward Cuban rap music as a soundtrack to the festivities around us. The city was alive with colorguarded buildings and kites that pierced the skyline of downtown in the distance. We were young and proud of our freedom to travel wherever we felt. Pilot arrived and we both winked at our accomplishment to get out of lala land for just a pinch. A burger joint that killed my appetite and a bit of window shopping later, Paulber and I returned to their Tendernob where we shot dice and ate a feast fit until passing out from a $10 box of Sapporo. My eyes were happy to close shop early on such a sightly day in the city.

Monday. MUNDAY. Pilot and Co-Pilot must go. We left early before the dogs could bark at our tailpipe roaring down the 5. Oh god, what an unsightly drive. The smell of fast food and cow shit really made me feel blessed to be an urban child of new. Our return home was mostly silent and sleepy. We were dirty kids that were happy to be dirty from all the right reasons. When we unlocked the backdoor of our brickhouse haven, we felt happy to be home, but I was sad that our journey was over already. Back to work. BACK TO WORK PEOPLE! Until next time…

You can see the full photo album at my Flickr.

The Palisades soiree was one thing that I needed all summer long. Everyone can appreciate a nice break in routine. For a while, I felt like we were salesmen on conveyor belts to the circus yard. We had expended our hopes and dreams for variety. And, sure enough, we got even with such a burden. We loaded a car, drifted into a pocket of wealthy greenrock, and tumbled all throughout a giant dollhouse cradling secret passageways, spiral staircases, and remnants of relics only found in romantic frontier tales. Peace at last. I planted myself on a patch of grass when no one was looking. I listened to what the trees had to say about us visitors. I didn’t mind the time passing, nor much of anything at such a great and defining moment. I climbed into the basement to find my fellow travelers dressed up as what would only suit them if time had stopped indefinitely. We expanded shoulder muscles with gratis matchpoints. Solids got even with stripes. Long sticks got aquainted with short sticks. We were told of fingercuffs ruining the felt, but we didn’t mind it much. We came to play, rain or shine.

Well, Crazy 4 Cult was good…or at least I remember it that way. We showed up, skipped the line, and made our way through the 108 degree studio. The work was amazing. I definitely should have brought the camera.

Next, we wandered next door to find a comic book shop where a marine was handing out Colt 45 tall-cans (they gave me 2 because I had “donor” written on my ID. “So they can’t have your liver,” one of them chuckled.

The backyard atmosphere of the comic shop gathering was one of anxiety, distraction, and cheap thrills. We settled our debts on the 45′s and continued off, but not before having a photo moment with the beloved girl and having an upstream alley accident with a homeless man.

We ended our travels at Footsies, where the girls were flexing their shoulder muscles on lightly hustled pool games. I lost my appetite for polite drinking at some point and came down with a case of the hiccups. looking around in my disconnected and gulping state I found that the bar had closed, our friends remained: kissing, pushing, playing, drinking, stumbling, and quite so…last resorting.

Somehow, I came to. All clothes still on, the crisp morning air creeping in through the closet window, bad headache, and above all…a serious and threatening craving for pancakes. Despite, that I am still left without a romantic ending, I found the bisquick to be a spiritual healer of sorts.

On to the soiree…