triple rock social club: the thermals

Fast. It’s how The Thermals play, and it’s what makes them a hell of a live act. The Portland, OR band’s speed punk was on full display last night at an energy-filled show at the Triple Rock.

In high school I went to more than a few punk shows, and last night reminded me how much fun they can be.

Lead singer Hutch Harris sings as expressively as anyone I’ve seen, eyes wide as he belts out the political lyrics from their 2006 album "The Body, The Blood, The Machine." When he wasn’t playing the guitar, Harris’ arms would get into the act too, waving about. The rest of the band hopped about the stage a bit, mostly focused on playing as fast as they could.

The Triple Rock was nearly full, and the band’s energy infected the crowd, with quite a bit of bouncing around and a mosh pit formed a few times. I somehow resisted the urge to thrash myself against my fellow concert-goers, but still enjoyed the show immensely. The Thermals have set the bar high for concerts this year, and matching their energy will prove difficult.

home sweet home

Eight days of travel, of sleeping on guest beds and sofas is now concluded. For the first time, I returned home to my new home, and most important, to my wonderful, wonderful bed.

the end of the road

My west coast trip draws to a close sitting in the Portland airport. I've got photos and lots to blog, but they're calling my flight now, so for now all I can do is close my breaking laptop and head home.

laptops are the new ghetto blasters

While waiting for the bus in Portland, two teenagers walk by. One carries an open laptop playing rap music. Seems an inefficient radio, but then I'm not from around here.

to the jury

It won't stop the war. It can't have prevented the war. And he isn't Dick Cheney, who should spend the rest of his life being waterboarded in Gitmo.

But please, please, please send Scooter Libby to prison. Preferrably federal pound-you-in-the-ass prison. Thanks.

driving to the bay

Driving through California's central valley gives an appreciation for the size and diverse geography of the state. The megalopolis of LA yields to olive orchards and grape vineyards, which become rolling hills dotted with windmills. Six hours later we arrive in Berkeley, having covered less than half the state.

three days in LA

Los Angeles is a sprawling series of freeways and graffiti, barbed wire and palm trees, with clouds descending on the surrounding mountains. While the weather certainly recommends the region, the ingrained car culture leaves me lacking a sense of community or culture. Certainly LA is rich with culture, as diverse as anywhere in the country, probably the world. Yet each time I visit I spend too much time in the car, surrounded yet isolated in steel boxes careening around the region.

airblogging

In-flight, I awaken over the Arizona desert. The cracked, rusty ground unfolds to the horizon, and endless seams of plateaus and valleys melt into a mist of dust.

Eventually the valleys give way to hills and mountains rising from the ground. Recently I have discussed a Southwestern road trip with several people. This brief arial preview validates and bolsters this notion. Who's in?

my forecast

The high today: 18
The high tomorrow: 80

Air travel is marvelous.

three words

Pitchers and catchers.

Those three words announce the beginning of the baseball season. Pitchers and catchers report to Spring Training and the sounds of baseballs smacking leather fill the Arizona and Florida air. Spring is almost here.

Perhaps Spring Training holds such significance because baseball is so different from all other sports. The season is long, beautifully drawn out just as we hope each summer will be. There is a rhythm to the game, the season and its stories unfold daily. For six months, newspapers will print box scores – pages full of numbers incomprehensible to outsiders, but telling stories of drama and triumph to those who can read baseball’s written language.

Spring Training is a prelude to the coming spring and summer. Even as the temperature struggles and fails to climb above zero, news of men arriving to prepare for summer’s game portent a future of warmer air and longer days.

Until then, those three words bring me to a warmer place, of summers past and future, as the joy of another baseball season approaches.

expanding counter space

With guests for dinner seven of the last nine days, I’ve been busy in the kitchen. My greatest dissatisfaction with my kitchen is its lack of counter space. To alleviate this, I bought a kitchen cart:

And while preparing dinner for Mollie and Trevor my Super Bowl party, I discovered a recessed shelf:

The addition of two surfaces quell my desire to renovate my kitchen. While I’m still hoping to add a dishwasher at some point, with the new stove, cart and shelf, for now I’m content with my kitchen.

i look so happy to be here

After a month of waiting, my driver's license finally arrived. It's a lot more colorful than my old one. Thinner too, which is nice.

it's cold, let's cook

With sub-zero temperatures for the next 72-96 hours, I've stocked my refrigerator and will be spending the weeekend cooking. Pictures and recipes forthcoming, unless the tubes freeze.

probably not what he meant by "promised land"

The New Orleans Saints having been eliminated, the sports media covering the Super Bowl has decided the "sports are more important than they really are" storyline will center around the head coaches of the competing teams who are both black. ESPN.com's subhead:

Thirty-nine years after Martin Luther King Jr. imagined the Promised Land, two black NFL coaches got there.

Really? Two black guys coaching the Super Bowl is what Dr. King was talking about? Really?