V.21 No.29 | 7/19/2012
Have Fork, Will Travel
Denver on a Dime
Eating up a long weekend in the Mile High City
Denver is a big city with the easy-going personality of the mountain states. While it’s not much bigger than Albuquerque in square miles, it’s denser in population and infrastructure. The city is a warren of neighborhoods with names like Capitol Hill, LoDo and Cherry Creek, and I’ve watched them mature over 30-odd years of visiting friends and relatives there.
V.20 No.33 | 8/18/2011
It’s been four months and I’m still finding stuff
Today’s Office Excavations post is about a box of phlogs. If you punch this word into Google, you’ll get a dozen different definitions. I think, in this case—although there is no explanation accompanying the box—the artist means “photo logs,” or something of this ilk.
The box, which was under a stack of junk on a bookshelf in my office, is full of black, matte, blank greeting cards, each with a black and white photo glued to the front. Most of the subjects pictured are people, although one is cutlery and dirty plates. Each photo has intriguing composition and exudes a melancholy feel, such as I like my art to have. On the back of every card is an essay relating to the image on the front. The essays are little capsules of narrative poignancy.
A sheet inside the box reads “Phlogs: Journey to the heart of the human predicament. Note card series by George Stranahan.” (Dirty dishes do get right to the heart of my predicament.)
It turns out that George Stranahan is a physicist, philosopher, educator, writer and photographer who lives in Colorado. He is also a brewer. He started the Flying Dog brewpub in Aspen, which expanded to become a brewery in Denver, with his friend and neighbor Hunter S. Thompson!
The note cards are an offshoot of the book, Phlogs: Journey to the heart of the human predicament, which is full of photos and essays by Stranahan. He had some help on the bound version from author Nicole Beinstein Strait, who wrote some of the essays.
The note cards are really cool and I’m willing to share. If you comment on this blog, I will mail you one at random, and you can regift it or tack it to your wall. (Up to 12 people, because that’s how many cards there are.)
V.20 No.32 | 8/11/2011
Wheelchair Sports Camp
Everybody in the house, please sit down!
V.20 No.19 |
The Daily Word: Melatonin-Laced Brownies, No Heaven For You, Oprah's Final Guests
U.S. Army Corps of Engineers opened the of floodgates on the Morganza Spillway, forcing almost 4,000 people to evacuate.
Man stabbed after parking space argument.
The abandoned Anasazi Building is getting some security upgrades.
Denver school district bans breast cancer awareness bracelet.
Roswell teen arrested and charged with posting a nude photo of his girlfriend on Facebook after she refused sex.
The most powerful atomic clock EVER!
Steven Hawking: There is no heaven.
Scientists discover an obesity master switch.
Netflix announces deal with Miramax to bring hundreds of films to it's popular streaming service.
Meet Albuquerque's Red Light Camera Queen.
NBC renews Celebrity Apprentice.
Chuck E. Cheese is sued for promoting gambling in kids.
Oprah reveals her final guest list.
Are Lazy Cakes the next Four Loco?
V.19 No.45 | 11/11/2010
You Are Going Down
Denver is talking shit about Albuquerque!
Coldcock!!! (as they call themselves) returned to the trivia competition last year and took second place.
The taste of glory remains fresh in Albuquerque’s collective mouth. But now Denver comedian Adam Cayton-Holland (adamisfreakingoutrightnow.com) is trying to taint our nerds’ hard-won victory with the bitter flavor of shitty jokes.
Oh, Denver. I thought your inability to grasp what “Mexican food” is, not to mention the fact that your city planners can’t stop playing footsie with the Klan, were bad. But sending some no-name comic to fan the flames of contempt—with balloon fiesta material (uggghhhh), no less—how could you stoop so low?
John Dicker, Quizmaster-in-Chief of the Geeks Who Drink pub quiz franchise, passed the video along to the Alibi this morning.
Hey, Denver. Fuck you. You’re going down.
V.18 No.31 | 7/30/2009
On: Goggles, Crushes, a Saw Factory, the Wrench
Rain and rain and rain
+ sweaty me + facepaint = eye bath in the blazes. Later, I will dump 4 oz. of beer directly into my left eye when flailing dancers erupt because the Hot White chick is twisting on the floor all pained and sexy and furious. I should have worn the goggles.
Night two of Titwrench.
Let me tell you about Rusalka. Crushing, just crushing. Audience presses in tight, clumps around her table on the floor. We contract as she pulses. Some people get all choked up. And I don’t think it’s because they’re sad.
Christina the Hun plays drums and sings/speaks/shouts. Her drumming punches one in the neck? Nah. More like a hearty back slap that stings. Her lyrics definitely finger one’s guts. She finishes each song with a sheepish chuckle.
Burrow Owl reads like some high-frequency priestess ushering in piercing, saw factory-like sonics with slight movements of her raised arm.
Hell-Kite’s voice is probably my favorite of the weekend. And that’s saying something because singing talent squirts amply from the Tit(wrench).
And more. More I didn’t film.
Someone else will have to tell you about night three. Jobs, etc., yank us back home. Driving out of Denver we wonder: How will the festival organizers make it through another night? After Friday, they look spent. After Saturday? Damn. And still, another frantic, astonishing evening in front of them. Can’t wait for 2010. Thank you, women of the wrench.
On: Cake Batter Air, Avant Opera, Composting
NOTE: Hell-Kite is playing Albuquerque tonight on its way back from Titwrench. Friends, get thee to the house show.
No parking at a noise(esque) show? I’m sure it’s occurred in history, but not in mine. We roll up in our mom van (blue Toyota, three-disc CD player from the ’90s, drives like a champ) to Rhinoceropolis, an outsider venue in Denver’s industrial district.
Tired. Late. Stinky. Sitting among piles of gear and a delicate giant albatross puppet. Happy though. Way happy. Everyone involved will echo the sentiment in these next 48 (or so) hours, but an all-girl, DIY, experimental music fest is fucking good for the soul. Camaraderie. Inspiration. Best of all, the music is unfailingly phenomenal. A-games all around.
The room is hot. Hot Paris Hilton hot. And hot temperature hot. Stuffy. Who can live in humidity? The air is cake batter and I’m trying to suck it in through my pinhole nostrils.
Catch a beautiful set by local Sybil Vane. (Can’t find a web presence for her. Anyone else?) Showtunes. Lounge. Opera. Hilarious narrative about turning 30, about breaking bottles in the street after a relationship ends only to fall asleep to the sound of her neighbor sweeping up the shards. Brutal. Hilarious. The pianist shouts down the backyard partiers. Then spotlights his homemade man tits in honor of Titwrench. Vane closes with “Like a Virgin” and rounds it off by screaming about what it’s really like to lose one’s virginity. Walks up to me first to screech in my face. I must look alarmed—sister dies laughing next to me.
I only take two video clips all night. Stupid. Nothing personal, just burnt documentation on my part. All performers were something to see. But festival organizers had someone filming every night. When/if those become available, I’ll blog it here.
Tomorrow: Night two. Beer in my eye. Noisier.
V.18 No.30 | 7/23/2009
Friday a.m. I’ll be loading local noise chicas into a minivan (thanks, mom!) and driving out to Denver for what promises to be one nipple-twister of a music fest. We’re going as Milch de la Máquina, a group that formed around the beginning of ’09 just to play in the all-girl experimental gathering Titwrench.
We’re bringing: string instruments, black feathers, thumb piano, goggles, many fx, bass, contact mics, voices and a giant albatross puppet with car speakers for eyes that requires all four of us to operate.
I mention this only to point you to the lineup, curated by Sarah Slater. (Descriptions ganked right from the Titwrench page.):
ASHLEY PAUL and ELI KESZLER (Dissonant clatter improv from Providence, RI)
BAST (Dance from San Francisco, CA)
BECCA MHALEK (Improv by Ex-Nightshark saxaphonist from Los Angeles, CA)
BOYS LIFE (Debut performance from Denver, CO)
BURROW OWL (Harsh noise from Vancouver, BC)
CHRISTINA THE HUN (Drummer/Singer extraordinaire from Fort Collins, CO)
DÖERSOVIT (Post-Riot Grrrl from Denver, CO)
EMILY FREMBGEN (Deep folk from Denver, CO)
FANCIE (Multi-media artist/composer from Berlin, DE)
HELL-KITE (Dark experimental folk from Tempe, AZ)
HDOT (Video Art from Denver, CO)
JUANITA WOW (Burlesque from Denver, CO)
LADY PARTS (Avant-chamber pop from Denver, CO)
LAST EYES (Experimental solo from Denver, CO)
CHRISTIAN TEENAGE RUNAWAYS (Glam Post-Punk from Denton, TX)
LUST CATS OF THE GUTTERS (Garage love rock from Denver, CO)
MARLO EGGPLANT (Experimental noise from Seattle, WA)
MARRIED IN BERDICHEV (Ethereal noise from Denver, CO)
MUTATING MELTDOWN (Noise-Punk trio incl. members of Finally Punk from Austin, TX )
NIGHT OF JOY (Dreamy no-wave from Denver, CO)
ORIGAMI HANDS (Lap Steel/Synth duo from Fort Collins, CO)
RACHAEL POLLARD (Folk from Denver, CO)
ROMA X MANKILLER (aka Joy Von Spain-Industrial noise with vocals from Seattle, WA)
RUSALKA (Harsh electronic noise from Vancouver, BC)
SALINA GOMEZ (Video art from Denver, CO)
SYBIL VANE (Avant-opera-punk from Denver, CO)
TIT 4 TAT (Collective experimental from Denver, CO)
(VIA) (Electronic fluids noise from Denver, CO)
YELLOW ELEPHANT (Sweet ambiance from Denver, CO)
ZAYANTE SPOILS (Avant cello-voice-distortion from Boulder, CO)
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