WASA Big Idea? Part 4

Get the backstory: Part One here, Part Two here. Part Three here.

This could be the final installment in the gripping WASA saga unless something INSANE happens. But for now, just a post-op report.

It's been a couple of weeks since WASA's Plumbing Berserker perforated a bowel and caused much yelling en español (see part three for details). Since then, nothing has exploded, we haven't died from lead poisoning, and everything seems wonderful. Our tap water doesn't taste like the distilled tears of Heaven's purest angels or anything, but then, we'd have to move to Juneau to get that.

(Alaska Tourist Bureau, that'll be $500 please)

One good thing about WASA's finish is the full re-patch in the sidewalk (photo above), where they had chipped away the cement to access the public water meter. Some similar WASA action must have happened years ago, since that area of sidewalk was broken away and infested with weeds and ugliness when we moved in. It's good to see the lads cleaning up after themselves this time.

As previously reported, they are laying new grass seed in front yards where the test-pits were dug. They're also seeding the turf on the public side around the meter (note the odd protective blondie-fiber wig thing in top photo). So by summer's end, the street might actually look decent.


And there's real actual living grass popping up. Hooray for the little green people.

Early on, there was some concern about our retaining walls but as far as I can tell, no damage was done. Several of our neighbors' walls have been leaning and bulging precariously for years. Ours is no worse than before.

BUT, one huge fix remains: Our block is now riddled with about a dozen exposed concrete pits in the street, where the steel plates had been. It makes driving that block something of an ugly obstacle course. If the job is truly done, could we please have a fresh skin of asphalt? Pleeeez? WASA? DOT? Dept. of Public Works? Somebody?

Admittedly, part of me wants them to keep the pitted street as-is: it's done a great job of slowing down the speed-freaks (I'm looking at you, bastard-faced Maryland licence plates heading out to PG County during afternoon rush at about fifteen million miles per hour).

Anyway: Now, the war-zone has moved on and WASA is busy turning the 700 block of Irving Street NW into a noisy cloud of dust. Good luck, neighbors. All is not lost. Just watch them suckers if they need to do the job in your basement. Have towels handy.

SpaceTime Continuum no.2

THE SPACE:
Malcolm X Park (Meridian Hill), Washington DC
THE TIME:
Sunday 3aug08, 4:10pm. 90 seconds.

Truth in advertising

I was blown away by this little bit of decorating a while ago; just now getting around to documenting it.

So here we have a detail scene inside our friendly neighborhood boozer Wonderland, with their gorgeous new addition to the decor.

That old wedge of neon spent ages commanding the corner of 11th and Park like a proud figurehead on the prow of a rum-soaked viking ship. The old liquor store has been dead for a long time and is set for demolition as part of the whole Bi-Rite market rehab.

As reference, this was it six months ago:


And now it joins the rest of the goodies in the Wonderland. They've got a great collection of DC relics in there; signs from long-dead shops and countless bits of random weirdness. I would have loved to witness them trying to mount that sucker on the ceiling.

Always a fan of the old signage. Glad to see it will outlive its old home...

Sonic Circuits 2008: a teaser

DC is about to host one of the most crucial celebrations of experimental music in the country. Again. We are truly blessed.

This year's Sonic Circuits festival is stirring in the womb and the contractions have started already, with a series of benefit concerts at the Pyramid Atlantic art space in Silver Spring. The first of these was held on July 13th with TL0741, Pinko Communoids, and a Violet + BLK w/Bear collaboration. A second benefit has been set for August 24th (performers TBA).

The flyer above is just a teaser (another classic by IntangibleArts, click it for mo' bigga). The full schedule is still being worked out, but we do have the span of dates and the names of some of the heavy-hitters in the lineup. There will be many more added to the list in the weeks to come, not the least of which is IntangibleArts' own BLUE SAUSAGE INFANT, scheduled for the fest's opening night at the Velvet Lounge.

Watch this space or the festival homepage [here] for updates. In the meantime, get cranked for a week of unexplainable, unpredictable, and irreproduceable music in early October. And go to the benefit on August 24th. Abandon all expectations and embrace raw adventure with your malleus, your incus, and yes, even your stapes.

To whet the appetite, a brief slice of the July 13 benefit at the Pyramid Atlantic: A bit of turntable collaboration between Violet and BLK w/BEAR:

WASA Big Idea? Part 3

Possible subtitle:
On The Rag with the DC Water and Sewer Authority

Get the backstory: Part One here, Part Two here.

In Part 2, it was revealed that we did have lead pipe in the feed from the street to the house: In the photo above is the test-pit WASA dug in the front yard to discover this. So we scheduled with WASA's contractor to replace the offending metal. Awesome. The missus and I took the day off to supervise.

And at precisely 8am, they came: Mercenaries of doom with their implements of destruction, heading down to the basement to do great things.

First of all, I admit... our basement is a work in progress. I've been turning it into a double studio (graphic design and music recording) as well as a groovy lounge area... a true DUDE's room. It reeks of nag champa and good music and books and funky awesome vibes down there. But it's a work in progress. Lots of STUFF still to organize. Papers and boxes and cables and books and all manner of things.

It was quite a task to move all that STUFF away from the street-side wall of the basement to give WASA room to do their work. But I was able to clear out a full one-third of the total floorspace. I gave them much more room than they needed, not to be NICE, mind you: just being paranoid about my STUFF getting covered in dust, getting stepped on, etc.


Good move. The brick-drilling device was insanely loud and raised an unholy cloud of red dust which billowed around, lighter than air. A lot of my sensitive equipment was protected under sheets, so it seemed everything was going to be JUST FINE.

I had carved a path through my pile of STUFF to the Mac at the other end of the basement, so I could keep half an eye on the guys and do some work at the same time. I was even getting used to the ear-splitting noise of the machines.

And then a new sound: Crazed shouting (en español) out the basement window to some other worker. He sounded both panicked and angry. Now, my spanish isn't just rusty, it's completely dissolved. I took 2 years of Spanish in high school but of course, it's long since fallen out of my brain. Today, my Spanish consists of, maybe, the days of the week and, on a good day, I can ask to be directed to a bathroom. Or a beer. Depends on the priorities of the moment.

So I looked towards the shouting just in time to see a giant wave of red soil-water flowing through the hole in the brick wall, covering the floor like a rushing tide, towards my sacred pile of STUFF.

Holy shit, señor.

It would seem that their "mole" (that would be the Porta-Mole, an earth-boring machine) had punctured the bit of pipe behind the closed valve, causing a full-force leak of city water to flood the new hole and thus, the basement. The best comparison would be getting a perforated bowel during a colonoscopy procedure... oopsie!

The water keeps coming. Worker guy runs back to the basement window and shouts more words in hyperspeed Spanish, sounding more panicked, more angry. Eventually the flow stops. Meanwhile, I've grabbed all absorbent items I can find; towels, blankets, etc., and have fashioned a barrier which saturates with the filthy stuff instantly.

Back to the window, more shouting. A pair of hands appears from outside, shoving in a bucket and some rags. Another guy comes in, and all three of us enjoy a silent half hour of bonding over a floor. And a bucket. And a pile of rags.


Luckily, I was able to build my mountain of STUFF without anything valuable on the bottom. So, miraculously, nothing critical was destroyed. From the beginning, I've designed this basement with the expectation that it WILL flood some day. Doesn't every basement eventually have a flood?

If anything had been damaged, I'd certainly be all over the foreman and working out a cut (or total waiver) of the cost of this operation. Anyway; on with the show.


The shiny new pipe was threaded, welded, sealed, whatever, and all workers disappeared in a flurry of motion. The site supervisor came by to inspect the work, and he explained their little mishap. I had never heard of a "mole" in equipment terms. I was half-believing this was the work of an underground rodent creature that could puncture hundred year-old lead pipe with its teeth.

A 'mole' eh? You don't say...

So now, like the shell-shocked combat veteran that gets twitchy when a helicopter flies over, I may FREAK OUT whenever I hear somebody shouting in Spanish. It may be years from now, when this event is long forgotten. I'll pass some dude screaming in Spanish, and I'll suddenly be compelled to grab blankets and rags for no reason...

The Truck Stops Here

A random scene: P Street NW, Washington DC: looking west from 14th. A summer evening. Hotter 'n hell, as the painted lads used to sing...

Day-job deadlines have ruled the days (and nights) for a while, hence things have been pretty quiet around here. But the clouds have parted and updates will follow. The magazine is out the door as of 7pm today, winging its way to the printer.

Breathe. Breathe.

Yes. Updates will follow, not the least of which will be the conclusion of the gripping WASA saga, with the lead-pipe replacement project as reported earlier.

And oh yes, it's a gripping saga alright.

Much is planned for the near future here at the Intangible Arts Ashram, Bodega, and Sleep Deprivation Chamber, so stay tuned goddammit.

Your humble narrator will not abandon you.

WASA Big Idea? Part 2

Last month, I began an intense document of DC WASA's project to replace the lead water-service pipes on our block, as an almost tongue-in-cheek service piece for others in the neighborhood. See the first installment here.

Since then, I haven't reported on it because WASA's creep down Irving Street has been very slow indeed. As soon as we thought they'd get to us, they switched sides of the street. But now they are upon us. The destructo-hoarde has arrived!

The scene above is the view from the porch, taken yesterday morning.

While WASA is dealing with the lead pipe on the city's side, homeowners have elected (or not) to allow a selected contractor to handle the private-property side of the feed.

This involves having a 5'x5' pit dug in the front yard, where the contractor can check the pipe: if it's lead, they replace it. That involves more digging and a bit of destruction to the basement interior wall, where the feed enters the house. If it's not lead, they fill the hole and move on.

So far, it seems many of the homes on our block have not needed the full treatment. And I'm happy to see them seeding new grass after patching the hole.


Here's one nice thing (photo): WASA was able to excavate the public-side meter under the sidewalk without destroying the humble wood-frame flowerbox that M put in this year. It was an ugly little patch of grass before; a place for collecting discarded vodka bottles and filthy scraps of street weirdness. But it was much improved with a few shrubs from Home Depot and some scrap wood to frame it. The shrubs haven't fared well with winter and being walked on, but hell, it's something. And with luck, it may survive the WASA project.

As I write this, a freaking gigantic truck-sized jackhammer crane thing is pounding the hell out of the street outside the front door. The dog believes The Apocalypse Is Here Now. And who am I to argue?

NOTE: Two of the workmen just asked to check the inside, where the water feed enters the basement. They say they've been "missing" the pipe junctions with their 5'x5' test-pits and want to make sure they're digging in the right spot. So if you're looking at this wall of destruction approaching your place, fair warning: they'll likely need to check your basement without advance notice. Wait, that's a knock at the door. Just a minute:

DC WATER AND SEWER AUTHORITY,
THE ENVELOPE PLEASE.......................

Well, it appears that we DO have lead pipe leading into the house. So we'll get the full treatment, including a bit of home invasion next week and a 2'x3' hole cut into the interior drywall to allow them to do whatever surgery needs to be done.

The drama continues. Tune in next time, when we puzzle over what the hell to do with the dog while all this chaos is going on. Exciting, innit?

Love in the time of tourism

Here: A little Love for your Tuesday morning, from a wall on 11th Street.

Today is the first day of July, and Old Man Summer still has some knives in his pocket. Don't make eye contact. Protect your face. He means to do us harm!

The swell of tourists is palpable these days, as the National Festival of Blowing Shit Up draws near. More observations on that to come. But I must say: One amusing aspect of tourist season is watching them interact with the uptight lunch crowd downtown.

And that's no slam on the locals, for I AM one of the uptight lunch crowd. But I try to stay mellow and laugh it off. Because it really is a good show.

Places like the Au Bon Pain at Vermont and L Streets are calibrated for high-capacity, high-speed breakfast and lunch business. All the customers are regulars, everybody knows what they want before they walk in, zoom-zoom, pay the cashier, out. Like an out-patient surgical procedure. Zoom-zoom.

Now, add to the mix a random sprinkling of sleepy tourist families (dad invariably in turquoise or margarine-yellow polo shirt: why, dad, why?) after just bumbling out of their hotels and, blinking in the sun, wandering towards the first visible source of muffins and coffee.

And WATCH 'EM, it's precious: None of these cats notice or understand those golden words that keep civilization alive:

LINE FORMS HERE.

That's what caused the fall of the Roman Empire, you know. As soon as the conquered subjects of Caesar stopped heeding the sign at Bon Pain that says LINE FORMS HERE, the monuments toppled, and the whole game was over.

Nevertheless. It's awesome to see the turmoil that a few visitors with faulty internal gyroscopes can cause at lunchtime. We must laugh, lest we cry...and go on some massive killing spree, and I just don't have that kind of energy anymore.

NO! Enough talk of killing! This post is all about the LOVE!

Speaking of all things lovely, head over to Prince of Petworth, where my latest guest-post is up, glorifying the newly-crowned Mrs. District Of Columbia. We had the great fortune to attend the regional pageant to crown that title (and that of Mrs. Maryland, but we shan't speak of that one).

Beauty pageants are not my typical scene, so it was plenty weird at times. But it was a blast, rooting for our neighbor and good friend Markette, who was in the contest. No spoilers here. Go read the thing.

Funk the Police

Just one more reason why I love DC as a place to live and work: Here we have a random incident, witnessed during my brief circuit from office to liquor store to bus-stop, after work on Friday.

Vermont Avenue: Looked like the youth protest group FUNK THE WAR was holding another march action. A group of maybe fifty young white folk was heading north from the direction of the White House. For a workplace neighborhood, Farragut West beats the hell out of Capitol Hill for these kinds of things.

As is my habit when I see stuff like this, I stake a claim on a nearby corner, pull out the camera, and wait. What the hell, something interesting might happen. It looked like the Funkers had been corraled into a very tight group by a team of blueshirt chaperones; DC's Finest.... Presumably this was to keep 'em out of traffic as much as possible. But the group seemed intensely packed-in, practically stumbling over each other's feet. At L Street where I was, the march turned east.


And conveniently, here it went a bit wonky. Looked like one of the escorting coppers knocked over a couple of marching folks (middle of the crowd in the shot above).

Accident or no? Tensions mount! Aiee!


And there followed that deliciously electric pause. Before the shouting began. Some of these kids seemed more experienced than others at such protests and confrontation. Some were reactively timid and pensive, while their seasoned companions launched fists and bellowing madness against the cops for felling one of their own. The cameras came out, held aloft from within the mob. And the barking frenzy got louder.


Middle fingers thrust into cops' faces, the crowd hurls verbal abuse at the Blueshirts and chants of SHAME! SHAME! SHAME! as the cops stood, consulting whatever little rule-books they have implanted in their brains: what to do in situations like these...

Any War-Funkers out there? What was this scuffle all about? Was it an accident gone weird, or was it the work of some evil bastard with badge and holier-than-thou complex?

It was a lively distraction, anyway. Reminded me a bit of my own younger days in this town (insert wobbly flashback effect here). I think Positive Force DC still exists, but what about No Business As Usual? Are them cats still around?

The effectiveness of street actions is debatable, but when you're involved, there can be a tremendous sense of importance and passion. I still have fond memories of the "Punk Percussion Protests" against Apartheid, outside the South African embassy in the late '80s. Deadly serious but fun as well. Perhaps it's that tiny splash of "fun" that keeps the "deadly serious" from spilling over into rage and riot. But finding the right balance can be damn near impossible.

WASA Big Idea? Part 1

Blogging encourages a certain level of hyper-local reporting. And starting today, Intangible Arts will beat the SNOT out of the idea, drilling the idea of "hyper-local" down to a single block of Irving Street NW, between Georgia Avenue and Warder Street.

The reason is simple: The DC Water and Sewer Authority will be transforming this block into a war-zone for nearly three months, as part of their program to replace lead service pipes. And the photo-ops will be many, since Intangible Arts HQ is right in the middle of it.

WASA appears to be doing this in a block-by-block sweep across certain areas affected by lead pipes. And so I figured: maybe someone in the area is still waiting for this to go down on their block, and might dig hearing about it beforehand. Because we certainly had questions. And still do.

The idea is, simply, to replace any lead pipes up to the boundary of private property. But WASA has provided access to a contractor to handle the homeowner's side of the pipe. Que convenient! We opted for this as well. The full monty. Bring it on.


We were given early notice of this project months ago, with only the vague warning that AT SOME POINT, we'll be given 48 hours' notice before the destruction begins. And that notice arrived last Friday.

A trench will be dug (presumably along the public sidewalk) to reveal the main service pipe, and individual 5'x5' test-pits will be dug at each rowhouse unit to determine what sort of pipe is down there. So say goodbye to those day-lilies, hostas, or that festive ragweed garden you've been tending for years...

There will be blood.

This weekend, the trees along Irving Street were caged in bright orange safety-mesh, and a plague of equally bright orange traffic-cones appeared, ready for action. It seemed amusing, since the city just planted those trees recently. Clearly there's a lack of communication between divisions here.


The tone here may sound cynical, but this is actually a good thing. Theoretically, once the service pipes are all lead-free and consist of the same (or similar) metals, our first blast of tap-water in the morning should NO LONGER smell like Satan's own leftover egg salad. And that will be a joyous day in Intangible Land.

So, stay tuned: This is merely the introduction to what should be a freakin' fascinating series. If you had fun watching the grass grow, watching paint dry, or meditating on TV static, buddy, you ain't SEEN real fun yet. Updates will follow. Oh yes they will.

AIPAC of wolves in the halls of power

M and 9th Streets NW, Washington DC: Big-head war-criminal Bushie and a Code Pink activist duke it out like champions outside the Washington Convention Center during this morning's bit of the AIPAC conference.

As I was strolling past on my way to work, Nancy Pelosi, Harry Reid, Hillary Clinton, Barack Obama, and House minority leader John Boehner were inside the Convention Center doing.... whatever it was they were doing in there.

AIPAC? That's what this was?

Living in DC encourages news-junkie behavior, and I'm as guilty as anyone. But I need to detox once in a while, and go into a self-imposed current-events exile. It's like a purification ceremony.

Thus, I've been in total news-blackout mode for a while, and I had no idea the big American/Israeli dry-humping fest was going down. All I knew was, for the past three days, there have been an UNGODLY amount of chartered buses traveling in police-escorted convoys across downtown, to and from the Convention Center.


I hop off the 79 bus at 9th and M for work, so that puts me in the thick of the action in the morning. Yesterday, I finally looked past the dozen or so idling buses at the fluttering banner and saw it was the annual American/Israel policy conference.

Ah. Okay, so that explains it.

But still, I don't care who you are: Congress-folk, executive branch, visiting foreign heads of state: Ain't NOBODY important enough to warrant all that noise and gridlock.

These are supposed to be the leaders of democratic nations, right? So how the hell can they be expected to sensibly govern the "free world" if they're carted around like emperors? Sends the wrong message, says I.

If you're a high-ranking diplomat and you're due to attend or speak at a conference of global importance, just book a room at a decent hotel somewhat close to the venue and get there early, like any of us normal peons would. Jesus Christ, y'all, you'd think there was an air-strike on Capitol Hill or something.


And that's another thing: seems like it's wasting the DC Police Department's time, putting too many officers on duty guarding empty buses while they idle outside the convention center.

At least Code Pink was there to lighten the mood this morning.

THE ELECTRIC POSSIBLE: June 1, 2008

Since I tend to write capsule reviews of experimental music performances in DC, I suppose a recap of Sunday's event is in order, since I'd been hyping it for a few weeks. And not to toot my own (so to speak) but it was an enjoyable return to live performance after some time spent away from the muse... (& thanks to Marian for shootin' it)

The venue was a classroom in the basement of GWU's Phillips Hall, and even with acoustic buffers in the ceiling, it was a challenge to do any delicate mixing: The whole thing was mixed based on the reverberating roar of noise bouncing off the back of the room. But the PA seemed plenty loud enough, at least.

Mine (Blue Sausage Infant) was a 25-minute improvised set that began with darkly ambient tones and vocals, which mounted into a frenzy of rhythmic self-indulgence. Case in point:


It can be quite fun to amplify and distort the shit out of a pink toy guitar and violate it with an electric razor for a while, as a bhangra drum loop, short-wave static, tremolo-distorted harmonica loops, and moog synth waves do their thing on auto-pilot...

Eventually, the freakout wound down, and returned to the mellow dreamy stuff, with native american flute layered over breathing loops and meditation instructions... Totally self-indulgent and ripping good fun.


Next up was Field Shaman, whose expansive sonic textures filled the room with equal parts sound and silence, sweetness and tension... Using only guitar, cello, vocals, and a b'zillion effect pedals.


The effected cello provided a phasing wind for the guitar's rhythmic patterns and whispered words; very heady stuff; zero-gravity music. Calm, menacing, melancholy, and spacious.


Closing the show was Violet, with a typically minimal-yet-intense wall of sound, using the trusty turntable-with-aluminum foil (i think), autoharp, effects, and whatever-the-heck else he had hidden behind the podium. It began with a blistering, strong carpet of hairy, throbbing, rolling noise, chopping into quieter passages, building layers of turntable crackles and pops, eventually building a final mountain of roaring tones and piercing frequencies before the whole thing stopped suddenly...

A damned fine evening. Many thanks to Jeff Bagato for hosting the event, and for providing an outlet for unique local music. Further Blue Sausage Infant activities will be announced here. And for more info on future Electric Possible events, dig the site here.

Behold the Trash People

Diggit: A temporary exhibit of sculptures by HA Schult, in the courtyard at the National Geographic building on L Street NW in Washington DC. Rows of slightly larger-than-life-size human figures, whose flesh seems oddly familiar...


Schult's "Trash People" was originally installed in 1996 in Germany and included one thousand such human figures, constructed from items retrieved from a dump in Cologne.


The figures will also be visiting Manhattan and Antarctica, where I'm sure they'll disturb and vaguely creep out tourists and penguins, in turn. But they're here in DC until the 8th of June.

It's a fascinating thing to walk slowly between the bodies and dig the details; a crushed tin of meat here, soda-can there, computer motherboard, odd bits of glass... the detritus of humanity, molded to resemble humanity. Bitterly fascinating.

THIS SUNDAY: Bringing the noise

Just a reminder: You have plans this Sunday night in Georgetown.

The Electric Possible's organizer Jeff Bagato tags these events a "mad monthly laboratory for Promethean sound experiments" and that seems accurate.

But this weekend's event is crucial:

Your intangible narrator is celebrating the 20th anniversary of the BLUE SAUSAGE INFANT project, which began in a tiny apartment on 16th Street in 1988, with only a guitar, some aluminum ducts, a toy drum-kit, an open-reel tape machine, and a plastic Casio sampler. The equipment has changed since then, but the mission is still, simply, to build a hypnotic swirl of improvised music, and to have insane fun while doing it.

After several relocations across the country, the INFANT is back home and making hypno-surrealist noise in DC again, using a mix of electronics, weird acoustics, and whatever else I can find...

Also up is VIOLET, who's approach to drone and noise-music has been legendary in the DC area (and elsewhere, via overseas tours) for decades. And FIELD SHAMAN creates vast carpets of ambient soundscapes, using voice, cello, guitar, and ??? -- All highly recommended.

Details on the when-and-what on the flyer above. Click it for a higher-resolution version. And I'll see you at the 'Possible.

Gomez Explains Binary Code

Gomez Explains Binary Code: A humble boxer demonstrates his grasp of computer arithmetic with zen-like precision.

In other news:

Dunkin Donuts has pulled a web ad featuring a photo of Rachael Ray, because it offends Fox News pundits. Michelle Malkin said Ray's paisley scarf resembles a Keffiyeh (middle-eastern headdress), and Fox News was quick to "educate" the American public that these scarves are the fingerprint of Palestinian terrorism.

That's right: Donut-eaters are now supporting worldwide terrorism. I'm lookin' at YOU, mister jelly-filled! You're in league with RACHAEL RAY! That giggling pixie is Guantanamo bound, and not a moment too soon!

Christ on a crapper, people!

Is it any wonder why Americans are seen as the over-privileged idiots of the world? If THIS is worthy of outrage, it would be fair to sack the talking heads of Fox News because they "could be mistaken" for actual journalists.

And finally:

Head over to Prince of Petworth, where my latest guest post went up yesterday: a brief examination (with some selfish navel-gazing) about the McMillan Reservoir, and its place in the neighborhood. Good stuff.

You gonna finish that donut? I didn't bring lunch today...

Go East, young Mayorga...

I conspired to meet the missus at Mayorga Lounge after work today, to celebrate.

Hell, who needs a reason? Uh... to celebrate the longer-lasting sunlight... celebrate her last and final visit to the bone-doc, following a long ordeal of healing a busted knee... (no? it wasn't the last visit? There's another appointment? Jeezus, these doctor creatures are vampires!)

As it turns out, tonight was the first night of a new menu at Mayorga.

Gone was the predictable cafe grub, which was always decent but mediocre. Now, I'm never one to complain unless it's really dreadful: Others were much more critical of the food there, whereas I still remember when the building was a dead shell of a place. Thus, I'm just grateful SOMETHING nice is in there, something clean and groovy and free of rats and crumbling plaster and racks of exposed rebar, looking like the ribs of a deceased antelope herd, rotting in the urban sun of northwest DC...

What? Anyway...

So today was the unveiling of the new menu: all Japanese and Korean stuff. The ownership and management is the same as it was before, but the kitchen crew is all new blood: The little Korean lady behind the swinging kitchen doors doesn't speak a word of English and bless her, the food was marvelous.


I'm no expert on the cuisine, but the modeum twigim appetizer (veg tempura with sides of kimchi, shredded radish, watercress, and some fish thing) was almost a meal in itself, and fresh enough to render the dipping sauce almost unnecessary.

We shared a bowl of the chop chae donburi (rice & wheat noodles with veg), which also came in a generous portion ("donburi" being the oversized rice-bowl: thank god for wikipedia): it was just enough to feed two moderately hungry adults. The noodles were done to perfection and the proportions balanced just right with the rice, vegetables, dressing, etc.

Having a Delaware beer with such a meal probably shatters the cultural vibe, but what the hell. It was a summer-ish day (mid-80s and a bit humid) so it all went down fine with a pint of Dogfish IPA.

Then, to completely destroy the Asian-cuisine vibe, I noticed the fresh bottle of 15-year Balvenie behind the bar. And, uh, well... call it "research" for our trip to the UK in a couple of months. Sure, we'll spend most of our time in London but I want to at least dip a toe into Scotland, and uh... "Research," as I said. Homework.


And the Balvenie 15 was the perfect cap on a cultural mishmash of food and booze at Mayorga. Any day that ends with a good single malt is a fine day indeed.

Anyway: for the locals here in Columbia Heights DC, I just wanted to spread the word on Mayorga's new menu. Get over there. It's a nice departure from the expected bar fare, and it appears to be authentic and quite well done.

IT MUST be a sign...

Went to the DC United team store at RFK Friday afternoon to get some shirts. I wasn't going to make it to the match against Toronto on Saturday, but had to do SOMETHING to put a little blessing in the air... Had do my part to feed the hungry gods and help beat the 4-match losing streak. On my way out, saw one of the old Gomez stickers from a year or two ago. Sure he isn't with United anymore but his legend looms large.

And we ended up beating Toronto FC 3-2.

So I offer a sincerely big thanks to magic t-shirts, the ghost of Christian Gomez, and of course the fine work of Peralta/Moreno/Emilio for the three goals (viddie well, brother. Viddie well.)

Little darlings

What the hell is all that noise?

Now, don't get me wrong... I love the birds. In many cases, more than humans. Birds have it made. They've discovered a life of true bliss: If you're a bird, you can hang out all day, poop where you stand, and if things get dull, you can, like, fly around and stuff. And if you happen to be a raptor, you can fly around like a ROCKSTAR and terrorize the little guys once in a while. "Doing donuts" in the neighbor's airspace like a ruffian biker. Zoom down to the ground, pluck a mouse out of the grass, and give the little bastard a lesson in Natural Selection.

It is absolutely THE LIFE.

But for the past few days, there has been a riot of activity in the two trees above our back yard, particularly in the mornings. Gomez is noticing it as well, and it's hilarious: He will run out, do his "biological imperatives" and then sit quietly, staring up at the colossal oak tree and furrow his brow thoughtfully.

What the hell is all that noise?

It sounds like an orchestra of shortwave radios all scanning different frequencies; a bubbling, tweaking, rage of static as if each leaf in those trees is receiving police-band signals from the third moon of Jupiter.....

Those are all birds? Must be thirty million of 'em.

So I finally sat with the dog, studying the trees. And we discovered that it's not just "birds", it's the starlings. And it's not just starlings, but the starlings' children.

They've all got identical little ones; almost full-size, ash-gray, and screaming their hunger into the void, while pop (or is it mom in the starling family?) runs around frantically, looking for food. Or a toy, or a comic book, or that Elmo DVD...something to keep Junior quiet.

So as a public service, I felt I should pass on this great discovery. It would seem that every starling in the world had a kid on the same day, and they're all freaking out simultaneously. Gomez remains fascinated. Someday, those gray downy screamers will all leave home for college and the starling parents will wonder if they've done the right thing... and is it too soon to rent out Junior's room?

Talk about "empty nester" syndrome.

I'm using the chicken to measure it.

I've been in the wind-tunnel of magazine deadlines for a while. Thus blog activity, photo activity, and musical activity have all come to a jittery, caffeinated, crashing halt.

Reality should come back by Wednesday.

But for now, a brief pause... I left the office typically late and M met me at The Heights for a light dinner and a couple of pints.

She brought a small rubber chicken, thus proving her superhuman level of pure awesomeness.

Ten points and infinite glory in paradise for the first one to identify the source of the title. Without looking it up, I mean. 'Cuz I'll KNOW, dig?

More deep journalistic substance Wednesday.

BSI to be reborn on June 1

I was active in the DC experimental music scene in the mid to late '80s: Played a bunch of shows at venues that no longer exist (DC Space, BBQ Iguana) and a few that DO still exist (DC Arts Center, Takoma Park planetarium, WMUC, the Alternatives Festival in Dupont Circle). It was a vibrant and creative time for local noise bands and avant garde improvisers.

After moving to upstate NY, live performances dwindled (Syracuse isn't much of a "psychedelic noise" town), so I retreated to the home studio. I played just one show during that period: a collaborative effort with NYC's Changes to Blind, at the Last Exit in Troy, NY (another great venue lost to history). Moved to Tucson, and by 2001, all music had stopped. Even coming back to DC didn't break the inertia.

Fast-forward to 2008.

An epiphany struck: The first cassette I did as Blue Sausage Infant (Trance Warfare) was born in the winter of 1988. Jesus, that's...twenty years, innit? Suddenly, the prospect of BSI having a 20th anniversary seemed profound enough to kick up the noise once again.

It's evolving every day, but the new sound of BSI is louder and stranger; more disorienting, blissful, self-indulgent, and FUN than it ever was before. This is music for swaying on the floor like an idiot while drooling on your shoes and letting your pupils dilate until they swallow the room in a pool of sticky black shadows. And that's before the fleet of jellied owls begin vomiting fire into the air and making tiny constellations and galaxies with the burning embers.... dig?

Dig!

Anyway: The rebirth will be June 1st at The Electric Possible, which is a monthly series of experimental music events at George Washington University. El Possible has been going on consistently for five years already, on the first Sunday of each month. See the poster above for show details (click the dirty space koala for magnification).

Also on the bill is Violet, who has been a comrade of BSI since the early days. In fact he's the only one from that circle who's been making music all this time. The Violet sound can be lo-fi loops and drones, or blistering walls of distorted noise...but always very satisfying. I haven't seen Field Shaman yet, but what evidence I've heard online is very promising. This could be a new Golden Age for DC experimental music.

So be brave. Descend into the bowels of Georgetown on Sunday, June 1st. The consciousness expansion begins at 8pm sharp.

There. Shameless self-promotion now concludes. Samples of older, less relevant BSI can be found here.