Davy and Peter Rothbart kick ass.

Did you miss this awesome show? See them Thursday night, 6pm at GMU.

Perhaps more reflective thoughts later. Right now it’s too late and time for sleep.

I might be hitting the hay, but at least we know that…

The Booty Don’t Stop

I tell you that you’re special, that you’re the only one
And I say I love you though we haven’t been together long
I take you to the movies and I show you all my moves
And you know when I play basketball I bust that J for you

I buy you flowers and candy, and I call you every night
When I drop you off at home I stay ‘til you turn on the light
I do it for one reason, I won’t feed you any line
When I first saw that ass I knew I had to make it mine, ‘cause

Chorus
Damn the booty don’t stop girl (3x)
What you gonna do, what you gonna do yeah

Your mama won’t let me in your room no matter how I plead
And your papa says when to have you home if I want to keep my knees
Shorty tell your family stop frontin’ on my game
‘Cause if I don’t get to touch that ass I’ll never be the same

Other girls may have it and even more may try
But baby I don’t love them hos and let me tell you why
‘Cause I wanna warm that ass up and tap it like a phone
And call it on those nights I’m cold and feelin’ so alone, singin’

Chorus

David and Goliath, Moses and the sea
Noah and his punk ass ark don’t mean a thing to me
But mighty is the crescent, and holy is the hole
So baby let’s get biblical and I’ll show you the score

Other boys may covet, and others may be meek
But other boys don’t get to watch you turn the other cheek
‘Cause you are mine forever and you will be mine tonight
And we’ll be getting’ freaky while I treat that booty right

Chorus

Or maybe it’s just experimental theremin that is less cool than expected.  Or perhaps it was as cool as expected, but I missed it because Echolalia/Amber was on the floor for most of her performance and it’s kind of hard to see what’s going on from the back of the room (even a small room like the Velvet Lounge) when the artist is playing from the floor (she needs those big overhead mirrors like you might see on a cooking show).

According to her MySpace page Echolalia’s music sounds like:

Basically whatever pops into my head at the time. Sometimes quiet, sometimes noisy, sometimes spooky, sometimes funny, sometimes sad or other times a mix of everything.

I can attest that this is true.  Apparently tonight she was thinking about sneezing because little voices sneezing seemed to be a leit motif in her piece.  A piece that lasted for an interminable amount of time.  A piece that caused members of the audience to switch on their cell phones to check the time so often that it was as if the last few fireflies of summer had found their way into the room.

And then it was over.  Finally it was done. And while I smiled knowingly (because I really do like the uncomfortable moments created by artists who take a hook and drive it into the ground for the shear pleasure of driving something into the ground), what I really wanted to hear was something to sooth my inner bourgeoisie suburban soul.   I wanted Act Three of This American Life’s episode 223: Classifieds.  I wanted to hear the cover of Sir Elton John’s “Rocketman” punctuated by Lev Sergeivich Termen’s famed instrument.  Instead I got ah-choo!

Vending, originally uploaded by outdoor_type.

Of all the cool things we saw on our tour (and there were many) I think this shot of the vending machines brought the biggest smile to my face.

A few years ago This American Life visited the USS John C. Stennis as it sat on station in the Arabian Sea…

Only a few dozen people on board actually fly F-18s and F-14s [note: the only country flying the F-14 now is Iran]. It takes the rest of the crew — over 5,000 people — to keep them in the air. One person stocks vending machines, twelve hours a day.

Listen to their stories on one of my favourite episodes of the show (and it doesn’t even have a piece by Sarah Vowell).

All of the photos from Paul’s great three hour tour (on a decidedly not tiny ship) are now on Flickr.

Flight deck, USS Harry S. Truman. The last of the steam powered catapults.

My Nina Totin’ Bag arrived in the mail today. It arrived at work and my co-workers wanted to know what was in the box because what’s usually in the box is a photo of some sort and they always seem interested in my photos (at least they’re polite about them).

Of course I knew it wasn’t a photo, but wanting to have a little fun I performed the un-boxing right there in the lobby. The sturdy canvas bag was packed securely with those packets of air filled plastic. No harm at all was coming to my limited edition tote bag, that’s for sure.

I pulled out the bag. Everyone was like, “You got a bag? A tote bag? Why did you get a tote bag? Wait, you paid for a tote bag?”

“Yes. Yes. Because you see,” I explained, “It’s a Nina Totin’ Bag!”

The bag is only cool when A. you know who Nina Totenberg is and who she works for and B. know that the tote bag is one of the most clichéd gifts in all of public broadcasting.

And so the joke was lost on everyone. Still, I am happy to have it. Did I mention it was a limited edition? And sold out!

Such a nerd.

1. Nina Totenberg reads a transcript (1 drink)
2. Oboe is heard (2 drinks)
3. Malcolm Gladwell reference (1 drink)
4. Scott Simon cracks himself up (1 drink)
5. Daniel Schorr mentions Watergate (3 drinks)

Now, to say that I have not been sleeping much isn’t entirely accurate. I sleep every day. Really, I do. And sometimes I even sleep for as many as four consecutive hours! It’s the falling asleep part that I cannot seem to wrap my brain around. I can’t do it. I cannot fall asleep. It’s as if I am afraid to let go of consciousness. I mean, what if I miss something?

So I have trouble falling asleep. And I then I have trouble staying asleep, usually on account of life getting in the way. When you don’t fall asleep until 3:30 in the morning the rest of the world doesn’t wait for you to get up and moving. Your “real” job still expects you to arrive relatively on time. And the people on the other end of that phone ringing in your ear have no idea that you started to bake cookies or do your laundry or edit photos at 2am. They thought they were being polite! They actually waited to call you! And you do it to yourself. You commit to go running or biking or kayaking in the morning because you do like those activities. And they really are more fun to do with other people.

This not sleeping though leaves me a little groggy all day. I yawn. I yearn for a nap. It’s too bad our culture never developed a passion for the siesta. Stupid temperate climate!

Saturday began like many other Saturdays, pulled from sleep by the phone and a bike ride. The ride was followed by delicious pancakes and a group hang at the Trader Joe’s. A short time later I was home, showered, and faced with hours and hours of free time. I had nothing to do, no responsibilities, a dark room, a comfortable bed.. I could nap.

But I couldn’t nap. I could not fall asleep! I turned on the radio. NPR would put me to sleep. It would be lights out for Brian in no time! But Saturday was the first day of their annual fall pledge drive and so instead of dulcet toned announcers and clever programming all I heard was usually off-air, behind the scenes people pleading for money, “We’re only three-thousand dollars short of our four-thousand dollar goal for the hour!” Ugh. I hate pledge drive week.

I was in a half awake/half-asleep daze when it happened. The clock clicked over to 3pm and the not quite ready for radio voice of one Mr. Ira Glass floated out of the radio. ..Hello, from WBEZ Chicago, it..s This American Life… Only it wasn’t, not really. He started a clever speech about pledge drives and funding and the new cable version of his show and how for just a little bit of money each month, not much more than a cup of coffee really (or some such analogy) you could get both the latest “Best Of” CD AND a sneak preview DVD of the new TV show!

So it is the fault of Ira Glass that I leaned over the side of my bed, navigated my way to wamu.org, clicked the correct succession of links, plugged my info (including credit card number) into the form, and clicked submit. Moments later my phone beeped letting me know that I had mail. It was confirmation that I was once more a member of the tote bag totting crowd (only, you know, cooler).

But still I could not sleep.

Sarah Vowell @ Lisner Auditorium 003, originally uploaded by outdoor_type.

Sarah Vowell returned to GW’s Lisner Auditorium last night for a reading, question and answer session, and book signing.The show was to begin at 8pm but 8pm came and went without any sign of my favourite author. Shortly after the expected start time a woman came to the stage and announced that Vowell had been delayed on account of issues with her train. In the meantime, they played the Fresh Air interview from several years ago when Sarah was out promoting The Partly Cloudy Patriot. The interview ended and still no Sarah. Music played. A little while later the woman came back to the podium, this time with a phone. She held the cell phone to the podium microphones and the distinctive voice of Ms. Sarah Vowell filled the auditorium.

We listened as Sarah described her drive through the city…

“There is the Washington monument which I think I am on record of pretty much hating. Oh there are the lights blinking at the top of it.”

She also speculated on how we were handling the delay, as if we were stuck in some sort of historical blackout situation.

“…You’re offering each other snacks from your purses… and um you’re comparing, you’re comparing notes of which of my stories are your favourite… you’re making new friends…Maybe, you know, nine months from now babies will be born…”

After taking a question or two from the audience the woman thanked the wayward voice and hung up the phone. Not long afterwards and without further fanfare or announcement Sarah Vowell hurried out to the stage. She apologized and explained how Acela trains don’t work well without power and that she’d been stuck on the train for three hours without food and water and oxygen. Then an “emergency train” came to pick them up, but Sarah explained how the people on the “emergency train” thought of the train as just their regular train and acted slightly put out by the need to share space with those “Acela people.”

Vowell then read several passages from Assassination Vacation… the first about Lincoln, the other about Garfield. The part about Garfield was less about our 20th President and more about the Oneida Commune, or as the members of the commune referred to it, the OC. The OC was a utopian commune that practised free love until as all good things must, the community broke up. This happened mostly because, as Sarah puts it, the leader was “bogarting all the teenage girls.” Anyways, I loved how she was able to work one of my favourite, frivolous shows into an historical treatise on Presidential assassins. Real genius.

After reading from her book Vowell moved on to a few recent columns she’s been writing for her hometown paper. For a moment I was thinking, “That’s cool, she’s going back to her roots and writing for the Bozeman Gazette or whatever they call it in Montana.” But of course she meant her other hometown paper, the Grey Lady, the New York Times.

The pieces read from the Times were the most stridently partisan writing I’ve heard from her to date and I think some of the crowd was surprised. But, the surprise was unwarranted. They only needed to have read either of her last two books to know that Sarah Vowell is a big lefty with few nice things to say about the current administration. I laughed and applauded even if others around me did not.

Then it was time for questions and answers. And people asked some of the typical “how did you get into writing?” and “who should be the next president” sort of questions. About half way through I started raising my hand and finally, after going into some deep political tangents she called last question and then picked me because I’d been rather persistent she said.

“So about The OC,” I began. “Do you think the show has jumped the shark? Do you think it maybe jumped the shark a few weeks ago when Johnny fell off the cliff?” I sat back and listened as she repeated the question for the sake of the audience. People had already begun to leave in large clumps and my less than academic question was not one to keep people rooted to their seats. But you have to admit it was a fun one.

Sarah quickly recapped for the audience how there was a character (Johnny) who while cute and likeable was also slightly annoying and had gotten his heart broken and decided to get drunk and then on account of his broken, drunken heart he fell from a cliff and then died.

Vowell apologized for ruining it for the rest of the audience and then went on to say that yes the writing seems to have diminished, but she still watches every week. She said that for her the draw of the show was the Cohen family, the marriage between Sandy and Kirsten and their son Seth who is so smart and funny. At least I’m pretty sure that’s what she said because I was still so psyched about having actually been allowed to ask my question in the first place that I was having trouble paying attention.

After my question she thanked the audience for sticking it out and waiting and then she left for the book signing part. The line that formed snaked from the main lobby, back into the auditorium, and down the aisles until it was about midway to the stage. We moved steadily shifting our feet and advancing every few minutes. When finally it was my turn I handed her the book and cutting off all chance for small talk blurted out, real smooth like, “Brian with an I.” It was not even as clever as the last time I had her sign my book. That time I blurted out, “I was a band geek too!” To which she asked me what instrument I played and then gave a sort of raised eyebrow, snarky remark because everyone knows trombones are always the goof offs in the band.

This time I merely thanked her for answering my question about the OC and then happily took my signed book and headed for the metro. Maybe someday I’ll be able to talk with strangers or celebrities but for now I’ll just smile and maybe adopt the Sarah Vowell motto… “It Could Be Worse.”

From The Partly Cloudy Patriot:

“Though nothing bad has ever happened to me, everytime I’ve had my heart broken or gotten fired or watched an audience member at one of my readings have a seizure as I stand at the podium trying not to cry, I remind myself that it could be worse. In my self-help universe, when things go wrong I whisper mantras to myself, mantras like “Andersonville” or “Texas School Book Depository.” Andersonville is a code word for “You could be one of the prisoners of war dying of disease and malnutrition in the worst Confederate prison, so just calm down about the movie you wanted to go to being sold out.” “Texas School Book Depository” means that having the delivery guy forget the guacamole isn’t nearly as bad as being assassinated by Lee Harvey Oswald as the blood from your head stains your wife’s pink suit. Though, ever since I went to Salem, I’m keen on “Gallows Hill.” As in, being stuck in the Boise airport for ten hours while getting hit on by a divorced man with “major financial problems” on his way to his twentieth high school reunion is irksome, but not as dire as swinging by the neck on Salem’s Gallows Hill.”