Local Natives

So, these guys will be at Sasquatch. They are sweet. Not sweet in the 'that's a sweet Camaro' sense, but I imagine that if they were a Portland band and not an LA band we could hang out all the time and sit on rocks by the Washougal in the summer and they would lead our late night birthday party noise making sessions with a gentle air of authority that would somehow lead to everyone singing the same thing, in tune, on beat without being resentful. I think it's the harmony and the strings and all that. They just sound like nice guys.

Recovery

While it may be admitted that I kind of suck at life, I am coming to the conclusion that this is not a completely negative thing. It is really horrible to lose things but I'm not sure there is anything more wonderful than recovering them. I had an average to poor day yesterday, most likely a direct result of the weather, and after work I went back to the house where the party was (a million dead cigarette butts on the sidewalk in front) and I stood on the porch and knocked on the door and looked towards the grungy smoking couches to see my glasses sitting on an end table in their case, completely intact. I practically skipped to my car in the rain and the air smelled like cherry blossoms.

I feel like there is a life lesson in there somewhere. You know, something about having to lose things to appreciate them or something like that. That's my theory. People who are good at life just don't appreciate it the way that I do.

Neck Punch!

Highs:

My first hockey fight. I mean, I wasn't in it, but I was watching it and it was hilarious and the refs just stood there in their striped shirts and their skates and the crowd went wild and I don't know if anyone else knew this, but the Winterhawks are all teenage boys. I kind of thought they were men.

Snowboarding with Rian and singing in the car and first run at like, one. Has to be a lazy snowboarding record.

That foursquare church on Ankeny with the eighties stained glass tower. It's magical in the moonlight.

Getting up early and working on the dirt berm (it will soon be a garden)with the window open and Nurses on the stereo.

Lows:

Belly flop to frozen ground and the subsequent aching ribcage.

I lost my glasses. They actually fell out of my purse somehow, probably at that crowded party and I'm sure they were stomped on by some permed girl in keds.

Spring!

In the past week I have seen:

1. violets scattered on non-groomed lawns

2. crocuses

3. the beginnings of blossoms on the trees outside my office

4. daffodils

5. weird pale white guys wearing shorts and flip-flops

Spring is early this year and I am already imagining river trips and camping and skating and swimming and drinks on sunny patios and coffee in the morning sun. In Japan everyone celebrates cherry blossoms by hanging out in the parks under trees and having seriously elaborate picnics and drinking chu-hi (this kind of malt beverage, the equivalent of Zima maybe, but it's less sweet and higher in alcohol content and without the high school connotation, like, it is perfectly acceptable for a grown person to drink a chu-hi). And they call this event Hanami. And because the whole "watch" versus "look at" versus "view" thing is a confusing english language distinction, they will tell you that they enjoy watching the cherry blossoms. The photo above was taken in Yoyogi Park, one of the most popular parks in Tokyo and I think it is a pretty good representation of the insane festival quality of Hanami. And I think we should bring this to Portland and celebrate spring.

Ween versus Pavement

A Portland three-day weekend full of the usual suspects: postcard parties, bike rides, late-night birthday dance parties, delicious breakfasts, shuffleboard, monster truck rallies (maybe not so usual), napping on the parental couch, getting lost in the gorge, rewarding hiking legs with an IPA and then, to top it all off, the Sasquatch lineup delivered via text by one Alexis Chicoye who attended the lineup announcement party in Seattle. Maraschino cherry text.

Ween is headlining! I really couldn't be more pleased but it's going to be pretty polarizing. There are lot of people out there that do not love Ween. May in fact, hate Ween. I almost stopped talking to someone over the holidays due to a heated Ween/Pavement discussion. I don't like Pavement. May in fact, hate Pavement. Why? Well, let's pretend Ween and Pavement are not bands, but instead, two people.

Pavement is this 90s pop song guy and he overthinks things and is slightly too large for his tightish jeans and he thinks a lot about his feelings and is self-deprecating but still, sadly, takes himself very seriously. His parents never took him camping when he was a kid. He has some sort of graphic design job. He peppers his conversation with popular culture references and we would end up watching movies all the time and drinking affordable beer.

Ween is a mixed bag. He is probably not as boyishly attractive as Pavement but he doesn't think about his looks. He eats drugs and then runs around in the woods. He has had many strange jobs: guy that fills the condom machines at strip clubs and gas stations, commercial fisherman, Tijuana tour guide, fork-lift operator. He may be slightly insane but in a very charming way. He would appreciate a chemistry set as a birthday gift. We would do science together. He is way more fun. We would probably end up sailing the world and eventually be destroyed by Somali pirates.

Yes. Now you know one of my methods for articulating why I like or dislike a band. This is why I don't review music for a living.