Oh, fucking hell. In a world of screeching guitars and screechier vocalists, Soundgarden was heavier, with more of a Sabbath-influenced sound, and they eschewed guitar shredding for emotion and momentum. They were my first baby steps out of the classic and hair metal rock genres, which dominated my high school years, and pointed the way towards my future tastes. Seasons was one of the key songs of my later college years, and still remains one of my favorite all-time songs. I’m sad to see him gone.
We’ve been cursed with rain for the past three weeks, with intermittent days of warm sunshine. Usually these days fall on workdays when I’m stuck in a pair of chinos at my desk in DC unable to take advantage of the situation.
Saturday was one of those rainy days. We decided to make lemonade by getting out of the house and spending time together, running errands and taking Finley to be tested for a gifted and talented program at Johns Hopkins. They want to see where the kids fall in their ability to think, not measure how smart they are, reasoning that this is a better predictor of future success. Finn was a little nervous going in but came out feeling good about the whole experience, so we did some clothes returning and then some shopping, where I scored a sweet pair of black wingtip oxfords, Mama a dress, and Finley some much-needed summer clothes. Then we stopped in at a favorite sushi restaurant and celebrated.
It’s been a long, boring road, but we’re beginning to think she might be coming out of the flavor desert she’s had us trapped in for years. Up until that point she was a fearless omnivore, unafraid to try anything new and in possession of a gourmand’s taste buds. At about four that ability dried up and she wanted buttered noodles all the time. We don’t negotiate with terrorists, so this made meals difficult to navigate. We basically had to find stuff we’d all eat within the narrow confines of her taste.
At the sushi restaurant Mama and I got daring and tried a couple of wild new rolls we’d never had before, and each found them delicious. Finley, who had her own California roll, saw what we were eating and asked to try one, and then the other. We then had to stop her from eating the rest of our dinner. This and a couple of other smaller signs could mean she’s beginning to come around again–which would be fantastic.
Sunday was sunny and warmer, so I got out in the yard and started cleaning. First up was to finish staining the playset, which got done at about 11. Next I cleaned up the woodpile and got the bark in one area and the rest of the debris into bags. There’s big patches of mud under there but it doesn’t look like a brontosaurus shat all over the yard anymore (well, except for the pile of bark).
Then I pulled the grape trellis stakes out of the ground and cut down three newer, taller ones to replace them. I was at the point where I could put them in when we had to clean up and run across the street for Finn’s piano recital. She did great for a kid who had just smeared both knees across the sidewalk in front of the church, requiring disposal of her mangled tights and four band-aids before her performance.
We had the neighbors’ kids over for playtime afterwards, and as I was finishing the yardwork their parents walked over with some drinks and we enjoyed the evening sunshine catching up. They invited us for dinner, so we grabbed some drinks and steak fries and made an evening of it on their deck while the kids played past their bedtime.
I read an article last week ranking the best entries in a book series about seminal albums in music history, and I got curious. The series is called 33 1/3 (RPM for LP vinyl, you whippersnappers) and it covers everything from the Rolling Stones to Public Enemy. The authors are different for each volume, and there are (as of this writing) 120 books in total. Intrigued, I looked through Amazon’s listings, found that Paul’s Boutique was rated highly, and bought a used copy.
The books themselves are small, but there’s a pleasing amount of information per page. Dan Le Roy, the author, starts out at the launch party for the album and then resets the clock to the end of the Licensed to Ill tour, explaining where the band was creatively, why they moved to L.A., how they eventually met the Dust Brothers and a man named Matt Dike (the unsung third producer of the album), smoked a mountain of weed, somehow recorded the album, and details the aftermath of the release (which bombed). The end of the book is a track-by-track runthrough of the album which goes into short detail about the stories, samples, and background of each.
I was not a fan of Licensed to Ill when it was released; all the proto-bros in my high school loved it, which didn’t compute (these were the same casual racists who hated rap and loved Slayer) and I couldn’t stand the nasal whine of their delivery.
Paul’s Boutique is a touchstone from my college years, after I’d been exposed to De La Soul, Tribe, and Jungle Brothers, and found that I did, in fact, like hip hop. The first time I heard it I was blown away by how different it was from what had come before. It was the soundtrack of most of the parties I was at in the latter half of college. It stands as a monument in my life for a time of optimism, poverty, boundless creative energy, and a sudden discovery of who I was and what I was good at for the first time in my life.
I just put Endtroducing, Spiderland, and Exile on Main Street in my Amazon cart. Here’s to hoping they are as good.
I like photography and I like cars. This woman wrote a fantastic ‘How To’ Guide to Car Photography which also includes business, technical, and visual advice. Worth reading on several levels.
I reassembled the stunt carburetor I’ve had sitting on the bench since the end of January and put it aside so that I could tear down the good one. Actually, Jen needed the box that the rebuild kit came in for something, so I figured I’d straighten up the bench while I was moving the parts around. Once I’d gotten that put back together, I looked over the good one and started pulling it apart. I was pleased to find it’s in really clean condition, with a little dust in the phenolic bowl, a tiny bit of corrosion around the air horns, and a lot of clean metal everywhere else. The floats are almost brand new (but will be replaced with brass) and the internals are all clean as a whistle. There was a little leftover gas trapped in the horn that made the basement smell, so I moved it out to the garage this morning, where it’ll get a good dunking in carb cleaner.
→ This is a syndicated post from my Scout weblog. More info here.
The Lockardugans had a busy weekend and I think we were all paying for it Sunday evening. We were invited to the neighbors’ for a Cinco De Mayo party on Friday, which meant margaritas, Mexican food, piñatas, and staying up late. We all had a good time, although Finley had a run-in with an older boy outside which turned out bad for him; two other girls stepped in and helped her fend him off. When she was asked to explain what happened, she sat calmly and rationally outlined her side of the story, which I don’t think the other parent was expecting (her kid was hiding behind a pillow). Her story never changed, and she stood tall in the face of pressure. She is such a confounding mixture of clueless disorganization and razor-sharp self awareness, I don’t understand how the different parts of her personality exist in the same brain together. But hearing how she carried herself, I couldn’t have been a prouder father–and we made sure to tell her so.
Saturday we had the Morrisses in from Easton, which was fantastic; Finn and Zachary got along like best buds the whole day. We drove into the city to check out the Science Center, but first had a delicious lunch at Encantada, the bistro on the top floor of the American Visionary Arts Museum. Sadly we missed the kickoff of the Kinetic Sculpture Race by a couple of hours, but the Science Center was relatively quiet for a Saturday, and we got to check out all three floors of exhibits.
One area I’ve never been to with Finn was the Kid Lab, where eight tables are set up with different science experiments to accomplish. Finn and Zachary extracted plant DNA, did a blood test, and checked out a bunch of different slides under a microscope. And rocked a pair of lab coats.
Sunday I got up to mow the lawn in preparation for my neighbor and a friend to come and split more of the wood in the backyard. We’d rolled three of the big 36″ rounds on their sides last fall so that they wouldn’t suck water up out of the ground on their flat sides. With the splitter running, we made pretty short work of each of them and filled his truck twice. I was working on getting a bunch of the smaller pieces down to size when the shear bolt on the hydraulic ram gave way. Luckily I’ve got a bunch of Grade 5 and 8 bench stock from working on the Scout and had it fixed in about 10 minutes, but soon after that we called it a day. There are only a few pieces left–mainly a few medium sized stumps and one huge round that was cut too thick to go in the splitter–and a huge pile of bark.
I also took fifteen minutes to put the soft top hardware on the Scout (the hardtop came off two weeks ago, just in time for the rain) and get a bunch of smaller stuff in the garage straightened out, as well as putting a new wheel on the barrow I got from Mom & Dad (the original rusted through at the hub, which made it impossible to use).
Finally, I filled the feeders on Sunday morning and let the birds discover the new seed; within two hours a squirrel was poking around at the base of the poles. I took one shot and nailed a female, who got bagged and thrown in the trash. There were more outside this morning, and they will soon meet their maker.
Baltimore Brick By Brick is a blog that details the buildings taken down by a salvage company. The author takes the time to learn about the people and neighborhoods around the buildings they take apart, and provides a glimpse into the city that was.
I have no idea where this came from, but it’s priceless. (via)