Spouse had an exciting Johnny Marr sighting last week at his place of work: Marr was purchasing an XTC record and looked every inch the Modest Mouse producer. Today was even more exciting when Spouse was careening down a major street and stopped short at a door swung open on a red Mustang, and found that he had almost killed the king of jangly, layered guitar. I’m really glad he didn’t.
Post 2: I’ve decided I’m going to keep all my nerdy Marr sightings here. In the Spring of 2009, I got a call that Johnny Marr was at Nike, visiting shoe overlord Parker Green. I was so excited, I hid in a cubicle and took very bad pictures with my phone. He was travelling with his kids, who also got shoes, and as he walked out (towered by his children) a woman asked “Who’s that? Is that the Jonas’ brother’s dad?” Yes, that’s who it is. It’s funny working somewhere that Kobe Bryant and Lebron and Michael Jordan regularly show up, but I don’t care until Johnny Marr appears, and then nobody else pays notice.
Dec 2010- Made plans to do the Helium open mike with Stacey Hallal, picked up spouse at Crossroads records for dinner, and suddenly in walks the mushroom haircut of the Marr. I froze like a rabbit in the path of a freight train. I had to move away from him so that I would not start blathering smart-sounding things about Kanye West. He talked to Spouse about a record he was looking for, and that he had been working on soundtracks. Spouse said, oh, how do you find that? and Johnny said, well, you know I did a lot of the Inception soundtrack, and that went alright. And he didn’t even Know that spouse nearly ran him over in a car once! And he probably never will.
I guess the most important thing to know is that our neighborhood is still ‘in transition’, so when we were working in the front yard yesterday and Spouse found 200 rounds of handgun ammunition stashed in our lavender bushes, we were not entirely surprised. We called the police, who were pretty casual about the ammo but who were glad to come pick it up, and who let us know that we might also be on the lookout for a gun, and not to touch it. It’s nice that they reminded us not to handle, or get fingerprints on, a strange gun. It’s all fun and games until someone gets shot!
The spouse and I have just returned from a trip to NYC, celebrating the occasion of our fourth wedding anniversary. I don’t think it’s so impressive that we have been married four years so much that it’s been consecutive. I celebrated a lot of it by following him from record store to record store to record store.br /br /One of the high points of the trip for me was seeing Alan Cumming, Cyndi Lauper, and Nellie McKay in the Threepenny Opera. Alan shocked everyone by playing Mack the Knife as if he were a bisexual hustler, or as if he were still in Cabaret. Nellie was fantastic as Lucy, and Cyndi looked mighty foxy in her Pirate Jenny hooker-wear. Costume design by Isaac Mizrahi, who is a hack. I could put rubber pants and a priest’s collar on a chorus member as well as anyone. We had a great time attending a party for the Ron and Fez XM radio show, and one thing led to another and we sat in on the show the following Tuesday. I really enjoyed it, despite being nervous, and if I had not looked at the message boards for that show immediately afterwards I never would have realized that I am am unfunny asshole.
Here is Ron imagining himself as a baby chef, from a bit he did on the show I sat in on, pic courtesy Photoshop Mike./ppbr /Our only surprise celebrity sighting this trip was Russell Simmons, enjoying a vegan brunch with an attractive young lady the day before his break with Kimora broke in that bastion of newsworthiness, the New York Post. Beloved Spouse thinks he saw Karlheinz Stockhausen, but he frequently hallucinates.br /br /Another feature of the trip was seeing the Munch exhibit at MOMA, and you may think you’ve seen a lot of Munch, but it included a painting that was just discovered in 2004. It looks like a nightmare Gauguin, and when’s the last time that lazy, dead Norwegian painted anything new?
We enjoyed hanging out with our gracious hosts and some other friends, and we got to see Stephin Merritt at his DJ night at the Beauty Bar, where we were showered with candy and girl-group hits, so it was really a nice time all around. When we landed, it was 65 and sunny, and when we left six days later, it snowed for an hour, so we enjoyed a lot of variety.
It will be of great interest to no-one that I hit 2000 miles on the bike odometer this morning. That’s right, just like the Pretenders song. Or the Proclaimers song about walking 500 miles back and forth to your chick’s house, but if you played it twice. I’m not sure how big Scotland is, but I think that to do 500 miles you’d pretty much be limited to a periphery. All the way from Thurso to Dumfries is only 341 miles. Where does this chick live, anyway?
Anyway, I am glad to know that I could pedal from Portland back to my native land of Dallas in one hour a day, and that it would only take me seven months. It’s a time commitment, but I think it would be worth it.
As long as we’re talking about my bike, let me make some etiquette suggestions. If you wish to drive past a cyclist and scream something unintelligible that ends in “bitch”, you might want to check that you aren’t running into a traffic jam that will cause her to catch up with you in 15 seconds and spit gum in your passenger’s lap and ride off laughing. Not that I would ever do that. After the the cyclist who recently got clocked by the bus rider in our fair city of Roses, not only am I mostly not spitting gum at people, but I have put a bumper sticker on my bag that reads “Don’t Hit Me! I love you!”
This is a clip from an excellent show from across the pond, the Mighty Boosh. It won’t help much to explain the background, but in this episode, there’s a 70/30 man/fish named Old Gregg in love with a jazz maverick called Howard. Old Gregg happens to keep the Funk in his cave with him, which is why he sounds and looks a bit like a soggy Rick James. Anyway…enjoy.
I have survived hosting my two sisters, their British-brother-boyfriends, their boyfriends’ parents, and my mother and my brother from San Diego in my tiny house. It was. An. Adventure. Their dad wandered onto the tarmac while waiting for their flight out from Austin, and was detained for being a terrorist. He claims that no-one told him he couldn’t go walking on the airstrip. He also liked to splash himself with water in the bathroom instead of taking a shower, which has the overall effect of washing the whole bathroom, including the mirror. He is obsessed with Boddington’s pub ale and hot chocolate, but refuses to pay more than $1.50 for anything.
We had a little party after Xmas so that Laura’s friends from Portland could come visit, and this was my first family party I have ever been to that went on past 3 AM. I went to bed at two to the sound of my future father-in-law swishing soy milk around in his Egg Nog bottle to get the last dregs of whiskey and milk out, and my sister Laura singing to the detuned piano on the back porch, and my spouse singing as Tom Waits in the front room.
Laura Ryan: Oh, I was playing that piano last night, it is sounding so creepy and awesome.
Me: Yes, I heard you.
Laura: You could hear that?
Me: It’s right outside my bedroom. There’s not, you know, any kind of soundproofing out on the patio. You’re just a drunk person outside. I love family time.