Let's Dance

So, my birthday was pretty cool. First Candace & I went out Saturday night - a.k.a. Birthday Eve (I always have "Eve's" for whatever holiday it may be, which might be because we always celebrated Christmas on Christmas Eve around the Todd household) - to the always delicious Pineapple Grill (I refuse to call it by it's proper name "Da Pineapple Grill," sorry, I know that it speaks to its Hawaiina-ness, but it just sounds stupid) and the... well, the grocery store - which makes me feel like an old person - and finished the night off with a sundae at Mill Hollow.

Speaking of sundaes (see how I did that...) Sunday was the Birthday proper. Pretty chill. Went to church, came home, ate some peanut butter and honey sandwiches on this awesome Grandma Sycamore bread, went for a ride to get sis to sleep, took naps ourselves, opened presents, talked to my parents & siblings, grilled some burgers, lit a cake on fire, blew it out, lit it on fire again, blew it out again, ate some of said cake, put sis to sleep, went to the emergency room. All in all, it was a pretty cool day. Well, except for that last one. That sucked.

See, my ears have been sort of jacked for a week or so. I got this cold, I'm assuming from Sadie, and my ears have been sort of muffled for a while now, but last night, my right ear was acting all weird. Thinking it was just (I know it's sort of gross but it's my body, what can I do?) waxy build-up, I had Candace put some Debrox (an ear-wax softener) in there and that's when it started to hurt like a sonuva.

With a pain in my ears that would preclude any sleep, I decided I would get help at the only place open in Rexburg on a Sunday night: the emergency room. Within an hour I was home with a handful of ear-drops and a sample pack of Keflex (an antibiotic) because... (say it with me now) I have an ear infection. Yay! So yeah. My ear killed all night, feeling sort of like someone jabbed a railroad spike in the side of my head and just left it there, leaving me with the advice to "Get some sleep now, birthday boy!" Oh yeah, I also have no insurance, so it should be fun to see what this little birthday present ends up costing us.

So yeah, my birthday was 90% awesome, 10% screaming pain. I got an Amazon gift certificate (the online store, not the ferocious tribe of female hunters) which is, of course, already spent, a handsome shirt (featured in these pictures), a cool book on stencil graffiti and this sweet bracelet:

Yay.

Anyway, thanks to everyone who wished me a happy birthday. You're a bunch of swell folks. I can't believe the big Three-Oh is here. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go put a bunch of medicinal crap in my ear and fumble around the house half-deaf. Seriously, I feel like Brian Wilson. Only, you know, not a genius. Peace.

*The title's from the spooky M. Ward version of the David Bowie song, found on his second album the Transfiguration of Vincent which I just downloaded from eMusic. And which is also pretty dang good.

The Door To This House Remains Open

(or) The "Thingie" Thing

As you get older, you start to look back on stuff you did in your younger years and say, "what the heck was I thinking?" For example, one time, when I was in second grade, I drew a, well, a "thingie," (pronounced: "a weenie") on an illustration of a dinosaur on some hand-out they gave us in the library. I remember thinking it was hilarious and the kid next to me thought so too. This was in Utah, too by the way. Lehi, Utah. I got caught and kind of got in a lot of trouble. I can only imagine how horrified my poor parents were, which sort of adds to the funniness of the story in retrospect. Such was the beginning of me doing stupid stuff for laughs.

I'd like to say I outgrew this sort of stuff, but well... you all know me. "StudipStuffForLaughs," has become my other middle name. Besides, you know, Dylan. It's sort of become my schtick, if you will.

I'm turning 30 (30? Really? Already? Weird.) tomorrow and I still sort of think that the whole "thingie" thing is kind of funny. Candace & I went out on a date tonight (it was fun, by the way) and, somehow I brought this up and we were both laughing pretty hard about it. Is that wrong? Should I not find this funny any more?

Because I still kind of do.

So there it is: I'm 30 years old and I still think dinosaur genitals are sort of humorous.

Carnival Kids

How awesome would it be to name your son Kungfu Grip? Think of how cool it would beon the first day of school, when they're calling out names to hear, "Kungfu Grip Todd?" Wouldn't you be so excited to raise your hand and say, "Here, sucka?" That'd be super boss.

My name was always mangled in elementary school (in my entire public school carreer there was never another Dylan, I think in high school there may have been a Dillon, but I always got pronounced "Die-Lann." [sigh] Now I can't go to the grocery store without some mom around my age yelling at some snot-nosed, faux-hawked brat: "Dylan, put that down! Right now, mister!" Kids these days.) Anyway, what do you think? Kungfu Grip Todd? It's awesome, right? Right?!

Selfless, Cold & Composed

I bought this yesterday:

I don't know what it is about Paul Pope's art that grips me, but it does. It's messy and heavy and sort of ugly and I could look at it all day. Plus, Villarubia's colors are seriously impressive. I flipped through it at Barnes & Noble and knew that it was too cool and too beautiful to leave there. I knew it would be coming home with me. Batman as anti-fascist freedom fighter in a dystopian future with ultra-rad Pope mechs? I'm so there.

I don't know if it ranks up there with the Dark Knight Returns or Year One, but I think it's one of the better Batman stories I've read. Pope's Batman is Batman as I've always imagined him: tough, resourceful and grubby. He's dressed in repurposed gear and gets banged up repeatedly. His sleeves are too short and you can see his wrists between the end of the sleeves and the top of his gloves. His utility belt is, well, utilitarian and not a catch-all full of deus ex machina superspy gear. He's a fast, tough man in a creepy mask trying to scare the bejeepers out of the bad guys. He's the Batman.

Dead Melodies

From Beck's Mutations album. I prefer "weird Beck" to "folky Beck," but this album's quite good. It's a little dull at times, but the highs outnumber the lows, unlike the more applaudded, but ultimately more dull, Sea Change album. And neither of them add up to the one-two explosion that is Midnight Vultures and the Information.

So, I finished my second and, for this project, final screen. No photo. Sorry. It looks a lot better than my first one, that is fo sho. I didn't realize on my first screen that I was supposed to put emulsion on the bottom and top of the screen. Oops.

I'm hoping to get over to the school and purchase some bookboard and bookcloth so I can get started printing these babies. Probably tomorrow. After work. I'm excited to get started on this. I have everything ready, just have to mix the ink and I'll be ready to print.

Also, new Lost is tonight. One of these days I'll work up my theory and post it here. Because that's what the internet was invented for: nerds who feel the unnecessary need to share their opinions with everybody. Peace.

Green Arrow

Indie Rock Fun Fact: Did you know that the Shins' leader, James Mercer, lives in a house that was previously inhabited by none other than the late great, and I do mean great, Elliot Smith? And Mercer didn't figure it out until after he'd moved in? Weird. Well, now you know.

Skin Parade

First off, I'm trying something new with the titles of my posts - I'll be randomly selecting a song from iTunes and making the title of that song the title of my post. Reduce, reuse, recycle. That's my motto. Well, that and "Do A Good Turn Daily," and "Who's Got the Cookies?!"

Anyway, so today's title comes from a Guided By Voices album, Universal Truths and Cycles, which marked their return to big indie label Matador after trying to break into the big time over at TVT with their previous two albums: Do the Collapse and Isolation Drills. For what they are, both of those are decent rock albums the latter being my favorite of the two despite containing the most personal songs in the GBV canon (just give a listen to "the Brides Have Hit Glass" to see what a 40-something Midwestern rock god sounds like when he's in the midst of a divorce).

That said, Universal Truths and Cycles is a passable GBV album, ranking somewhere near the bottom of the list. There are a couple of truly excellent songs on here, "Cheyenne," and "Everywhere With Helicopter," are the type of anthemic rock songs that Robert Pollard can, and given the sheer mass of the man's catalog, apparently does write in his sleep. But the album as a whole sounds weak, and a little tired. Sort of defeated, maybe. The follow-up, "Earthquake Glue is a step in the right direction, but nothing substantial when held up to earlier classics like Propeller, Mag, Earwhig! or Under the Bushes, Under the Stars let alone the career-defining and wholeheartedly recommended Bee Thousand.

So, anyway, this is what I've been up to the last day or two:

This is my first prepared screen for printing. I'm using it to print on the back of 10" by 13" envelopes that will include my resume and some work samples. The finger will be printed on the back and slightly overlap the flap. I'm excited to print it tonight after the touch-ups I just put on there are dry. It's been a cool learning experience and, hopefully, it'll print. The next one will be a lot better, fo sho. Cross yr fingers. I'll have photos up when I get some packets put together, so you can get the full effect. In the mean time, I'll tease you with this because I'm tricky like that. I'm really hoping that this will "wow" possible employers into taking a chance on this young, studly recent grad. We shall see.

Anyway, I've got to go get the oil changed in the car and then it's off to work. Raise the roof.

Justin ¡@#$%^&*! Timberlake

We finally got our issue of Entertainment Weekly after being without for the last month or so and whose mug is gracing this week's issue? Justin ¡@#$%^&*! Timberlake, that's who. Does he bother anyone else? Because he bothers me. A lot. Seriously, what can this guy possibly have to say that I want to hear? Why should I take him and his ex-Mouseketeer @$$ seriously at all? Am I really supposed to believe that this guy is anything approximating a human being at all? It's like he's a Martian, he's so removed from reality. And not a cool Martian, a lame one. A lame one that used to be in a ridiculous boy band and was once a Mouseketeer but is now a "serious R&B singer." Seriously, I skimmed the article and he's all huffy because people always refer to his music as "pop music." Seriously? You're Justin Timberlake, not James Brown or Al Green or even freaking Cameo. Talk about delusions of grandeur. You are lame and you'll be lucky if 10 years from now you're anything but a question on Trivial Pursuit: the Lame Edition.

And now he's an actor, too, so I'll get to see more of him promoting stuff I could care less about. Yay me. Here is an open letter to the Justified One:

Dear Justin Timberlake,
Please go away. You are annoying.

Thank You,
Dylan.

Seriously, if anyone can forward this to JT, that'd be great. And ask for an autograph while you're at it.

Dinosaurs Would So Eat Us If The Terrifying Things Were Still Alive Today

So I haven't posted in a while. Well, I've posted, but not posted posted. You know what I mean. Anyway, there are some reasons why this is. Mainly because there's nothing really going on that is in any way post-worthy. Also, I just thought it would be funny to post old pictures of weird looking guys saying funny things. And also that awesome Fatlip video.

So lately I've been spending my time looking for a job with approximately... zero results. I've been rethinking my strategy and have come up with a better way, I think, to go about looking for a job. I'll post more on it when it's more complete, but I think it will definitely get better results than what I've been doing, which is basically sending things electronically. You know, resume's and samples. It's a lot easier to delete an email than it is to throw out a cool resume/work sample packet you got in the mail, and a lot less impressive to view something on a computer screen at 72 dpi than it is to hold something in your hand.

Which got me thinking. As much as I love the internet and technology - and trust me folks, I love the internet and technology but not as much as you you see... always and forever, always and forever... - it's no substitute for the concreteness of holding something and being able to manipulate and interact with it physically rather than through the interface of a computer. Which is why I've always been a lot more drawn to print work than motion or interactive, as impressive as that stuff is. I'm far too tactile to spend hours working on something that isn't, at least as far as my 2007 narrow definition is concerned, "real." That is, something I can't touch. Like Woody Allen said, I don't like anything I can't reason with or fondle.

There's a lot of talk about society becoming paperless, and while I think there are definitely things that can benefit from the translation to a digital form (newspapers, namely), but some things, like books or magazines or posters, just need to be hefted or touched in order to really work. There's something missing when I browse a magazine's website or try to read anything of any great length on a computer screen (Like this post, for example). The smell of the paper, its texture and sound. These things can't, and shouldn't, be replicated in digital form. To do so would be to cut off an important piece of the experience, a part that is intricately linked.

Call me old school, but I still miss CD packaging now that most of my music comes through the internet. Shoot, I still miss LP's. Are we throwing things away that still work? Or is this just the sound of nostalgia creeping in as the world moves on? Will I be caught huddling in a corner with all my obsolete junk when the technological revolution goes marching by or will I be there, marching along into the future? Can't I have both? Please? Can I march with at least some of my junk?

Also, dinosaurs are freaky scary. Can you imagine seeing one? I can imagine there were a lot of messy cavemen undies when our sloped-foreheaded progenitors were confronted by one of those shocking creatures. Even the small ones would be enough to do me in. They were chicken-sized. Can you imagine being attacked by a chicken? With teeth? How about a tyrannosaurus? 40 feet of pure flipping-my-wig terror. When you're roughly the same size as something's teeth, it doesn't exactly inspire anything but dread. And a gigantosaurus? A GIGANTOsaurus?! I don't even know what that is exactly, but it doesn't sound too promising.

Anyway, I'm out. 8:30 church comes pretty early. Especially if you've been having nightmares about being attacked by dinosaurs all night. Which I will be. Peace.

Dang.

That blew up pretty good.