In the mid 90’s when I was just out of High School I remember a conversation with a fellow hardcore kid about the lack of real metal available. Death metal had been great, but by 1995 it had hit a layover valley on its way to a more technical and stronger future. It was a tough time for metal in general (a transition period in hindsight), and most metalcore being played in VFW halls by sxe kids just wasn’t cutting it. Mercyful Fate had reformed, but that was more of a touring thrill than an excitement about new material. King Diamond had started to drift. Iron Maiden didn’t have Bruce anymore. Michale Graves was fronting some band. Times were tough. We both knew it would swing again to greater heights as unknown records would someday be released by bands more brutal and heavier than we could ever imagine. It would work itself out, but we sadly acknowledged that at that moment we stood in a desert of sorts. At that same moment we took a great deal of comfort in agreeing that Danzig proudly and solely was metal’s standard bearer. In the good times, bad times, and in between times, Glenn was there, man. Every 2-3 years another Danzig record would come out and it would be good. It was a gimme. We both talked about many records that evening but I always remember agreeing easily on the strength of the Killer Wolf upon parting.

Well, within a short year or so that BlackAcidDevil record was released. What a heart breaker. Glenn had let us all down. Granted, good metal soon came back around in numerous new splintered variations so it all worked out, though it was tough to take considering the throne we had placed Glenn’s output on. The subsequent records were better, but still horribly mediocre compared to what the Misfits, Samhain, and first 4 Danzig records showed us we could expect. I saw the Satan’s Child/Samhain Reunion tour and loved it -- completely satisfying and impressive. I had calmly given up on the possibility of any impressive studio output while still knowing that the live shows would deliver, kind of like Slayer.

All of this chatter leads me to just how impressive the Lost Tracks of Danzig is -- two discs of chronologically organized B-sides and unreleased tracks that are easily up to the quality of the first 4 records. Disc 1 is stellar and disc 2 is closer to lukewarm, though still highly listenable. I still doubt that Danzig has any brand new material worth getting excited about, but this is a killer release. Hey, the Killer Wolf is in his 50’s after all. Time is marching on for all of us.

After a recent trip home I grabbed all of 7” records (maybe 75 or so) and brought them up to Madison. Bringing all of my 12”s would be a little too brutal of an undertaking considering the size of my apt, but thankfully my 7”s don’t consumer as much space. Before moving away from Chicago a few years ago I did some legitimate pruning of my records, trying to ebay away everything that had absolutely no value to me. It seemed tough at the time but I can’t say that I miss any of the records I jettisoned. I do think back on the blue marble One Truth 12” by Strife that I unloaded, but every time I listen to a Strife song I remember that the band never really did it for me. I think I just liked the idea of a mint, gatefold lp on blue marble. I used to buy 7”s constantly at shows -- it’s so easy to just give anything a try for 3 measly bucks. It’s even easier to give something a try if you know it’s a limited color or pressing, never escaping the record nerd part of myself that knows that I could trade or sell it down the road and do just fine. I was never a speculator, but rather just aware of the market in place that would someday lead me to possibly getting the Negative Approach 7”, or Mercyful Fate’s Live From the Depths of Hell 12” (two unfulfilled quests so far).

So now I’m on a new project to listen to the entire collection again and find out what I’ve completely forgotten I own, what I used to love but now just cannot get into, and what I remember as mediocre that is now so much more than that. I was always a lukewarm Mouthpiece fan but their final 7” Face Tomorrow is really rubbing me the right way. I remember liking it better than the lp, but not this much. We’ll see what happens as more sxe goodies are reevaluated.

It has been hard to come up with more Alaska stories since the big ones have already been written. Perhaps this will drift into more tidbits than wide, expansive storytelling, but that will have to do.

The 10 days in Alaska coupled with some random rain on weeknights when I returned has blunted my riding schedule a bit but it has been dry and hot these past 2 weeks so my mileage should be back up where it belongs. Not so good for sweet corn, but the lack of rain is great for cycling. This weekend looks rain free and my schedule is wide open for riding. With any luck my legs will be torn up by Sunday night.

My canoe trip was a mixed bag. I saw very few people and plenty of wildlife, easily caught several very large rainbow trout, had almost glass like lakes to paddle across in the strangely windless mid days -- yet I never felt the country was substantially different from the Boundary Waters in northern Minnesota. I would rather have looked all around me and seen mountains landscaping the background. Not having officially marked campsites was also a mixed bag. You were allowed to camp anywhere and the maps had noted known campsites, but it would have been a bit nicer to simply declare some of them as official, improve them, and then make all others off limits as the forest reclaimed them. It works in Boundary Waters. Small complaints I guess. I did find out that America has 2 designated wilderness canoe areas, Boundary Waters in Minnesota and the Kenai Wildlife Refuge in the great Alaska. I’m now 2 for 2.

Paddling steadily around the numerous 90 degree turns on the Moose River, I encountered 2 moose (on separate occasions). It is something to come around a corner and find a huge moose standing in the middle of the narrow river just 30 yards away from you. Not enough time to grab my camera, but just enough time to make a little bit of noise and get the thing to move out of the way for me. I am endlessly amazed at just how big those animals are. Like a cow on stilts.

Big Flickr update

Another Tale From the Great White North…

I had always heard the phrase combat fishing here and there but never really thought about it. It always floated out of my mind just as quickly as it lit in. There is really no combat fishing to speak of in the Midwest. Smelting on the Chicago lakefront doesn’t really qualify. I’m told that during the Walleye run on the Wisconsin River it can get a little congested, but it’s really nothing to get that impressed by. Combat fishing in Alaska is a unique animal and something I never would have believed had I not seen it with my own eyes. The above picture is from Willow, right off the Deshka River (the King Salmon were running through). It was much, much worse on the Russian River (Red Salmon running through). While driving through the Kenai Peninsula we saw it in full force. Apparently the bears even come out in close proximity to the hundreds of fisherman – everyone present just wants fish.

In Wisconsin the fishing is rarely as good as it is in Alaska, but it’s almost always guaranteed that you can find a part of the lake or shoreline to nestle into to quietly fish, chit-chat, and simply enjoy the lake and outdoors. Now, Alaska is a very big place and there are uncountable places where you can fish alone, but when the salmon are running and you are within driving distance of Anchorage (half of the state’s population) you can bet you’ll be combat fishing.

I was a little put off by it myself, but if we had actually caught some King Salmon I’d probably not care at all. People are constantly getting their lines tangled with each other. Most of the time one person will reel all the way in and unhook the other line. I did this for a few people myself, but the glasshead that reeled in my line found it easier to simply cut my line with his knife and then smile. We were on a boat and he was on shore so there was enough distance to prohibit a shouting match, etc. I was pretty angry at first and then realized after taking a breath that tomorrow I’ll be waking up with a good job and education while he’ll still be a burned out meth head. Fine, you showed me up, dude. Have your laugh with your buddies. I’m assuming some strange class envy magically developed because we were in a boat and they stood on shore. I guess they were keeping it real and we were the Magnificent Ambersons or something of the like. Silly.

Faithfully

A Tale From the Great White North…


Skate videos always gave me songs to hear in my head as I attempted to put together my own runs. Certain songs still always appear in my mind visually along with the exact trick that was landed at that musical moment. Gangstarr and Mike Carroll are prime culprits.

Journey’s Greatest Hits is the hottest CD in my life right now. Driving back from a canoe trip in northern Wisconsin a few weeks ago found the CD played straight through from Tomahawk through Stevens Point. It’s perfect driving back to civilization music (We listened to Neil Young on the way up – perfect entering the woods music). That Sunday night “Don’t Stop Believing” became canonical again via The Sopranos. In Homer, Alaska a week later I found myself at 6:30 am waiting to get on my Halibut charter. Your limit is 2 per day and we went out for 2.5 hours into the ocean for this ugly as sin (yet delicious) fish – 6 of us in total. I guess we started fishing around 10 am and our captain told us we were on a shelf of kelp that had big fish on it, and that we wouldn’t get any hits for about 30 minutes, until our bait and chum bag fully announced our presence. About 20 minutes later one guy caught a 25 lb fish but threw it back. It was too early to limit out on small fish. Then right at that 30 minute mark another guy caught a 60 lber. Beautiful fish. The sun was shining and it was about 55 degrees out, but with the wind on the ocean sea it was a little chilly. I kept a jacket on during this and still had a shiver but the crew had simple sweatshirts on – locals. With the nice weather and our settling in on our fishing grounds, it was time for music, so decreed the captain. The Journey CD came on and the captain mumbled, “They always hit for Journey.” No shit. Soon I hooked my 73lb fish, fought it for almost 10 minutes to songs unknown in the middle of the CD. It wiggled and pulled on the drag, but ultimately the experience descended into pulling up a sewer cap from 45 feet. So much fun and truly an exhausting experience. As the day begun I fought the discomfort from a long ride in the ocean coupled with the smell and noise of a diesel engine. Along with the chill from the wind I was eager to see my mood change, and given that it took about an hour for me to catch a fish I was nervous about being skunked to say the least. After I saw that gaffed 73lb fish flopping around the rear of the boat I cannot explain how quickly my mood changed. The day then relaxed for me. If I caught another fish and capped my limit that would be great, but if not then 73lbs is a very nice fish, considering they bone out around 60%. After landing my halibut the captain told me personally that I had caught a nice fish. This was nice to hear since I, along with everyone on the boat, had very little sense of what a good day or fish would be. He probably tells that to all the shmucks that catch something. I was feeling pretty good about my catch (still am) but I was soon trumped. A guy from California caught a 100+ lb fish which he had the pleasure of fighting to “Don’t Stop Believing.” Lucky guy. Over the next few hours 2 more 100+ lb fish made it into the boat. When the fishing slowed down at that spot we headed over to deeper water where within 30 minutes we all limited out on 25lb fish. Much smaller that pulling up a 73lb sewer cap, but challenging in its own way due to that fact that those 25lbers live at 125 feet. So we headed back on our 3 hour ride with everyone in the boat catching their limit while also getting some much larger fish than usual. My fish was just a warm up for the boat in the end, but I sent 48 lbs of meat home so no complaints. Maybe next time I’ll get two 100 lbers.

It’s the easiest fishing I’ve ever done. You bait the circular hook, place a 2lb sinker a foot above it, and then lower the whole operation to the bottom of the sea, feel the plunk, and then reel in 2 feet of line. Place it in the rod holder and wait for the hit. Easy. Also, with circular hooks you don’t need to set the hooks. You just look around at the scenery, take some pictures, drink a coke, and then grab your pole when it bends in half. Easy. One of the first things we were told on the boat was that when the crew was dragging our fish into the boat we needed to grab the 2lb sinker and hold it for them. “That damn thing easily turns into a wrecking ball when we’re wrestling a fish.” He then pointed at his forehead, “It sucks. Trust me.”

Sadly, they did not shoot my fish. When the first 100lber got close enough to be seen the captain asked us to stand back while his crewman held the gaff nearby. “This could get active.” I saw the revolver in his hand and watched him silently load one bullet as his eyes stayed on the fish, still 10 feet out from the boat. As the fish was gaffed it was steadied next to the boat and then a single shot went right through its head. Even with that when it was hoisted into the boat it flopped around like a madman and the crewman that grew up in Montana straddled and kneeled over it like a bull and wrestled it to a momentary calm where he gave it a few wacks with a sizeable, rapidly produced varnished stick and settled it once and for all. My fish did not warrant the head shot and I do feel cheated by this. The other guys got to take home their shell casing.

I have no clue whether we had a typical day or a great day. It felt great to me, especially counting the weather (Sunny and over 50 in Homer is a gift). I heard the captain mention to another captain back at the dock when we returned to Homer that our day was epic. I’ll take that as fact rather than tourist cheerleading.

Epic indeed. Journey will always mean fishing in Alaska to me and the great strength it takes to pull up big fish from 45+ feet below.

I seldom fly so I have no litany of horror stories about airlines, but that may be changing (I’ve actually flown fewer than a dozen round trips in my life). I was informed via computer voicemail that my NWA flight for tomorrow was cancelled and that I had been placed on an 11am flight Friday morning. That is a 24 hour bump in under a day’s notice! I called and was told that the computer had made the bump and that I could be placed on a different Thursday flight. Fair enough, though I do now have to spend a 3 hour layover in Detroit. I’ll be in the last frontier Thursday night so all is well.

Piss on the Red Wings.

How do you write a book review for a 15 year old book? It’s not new, but it is not old enough to have begun the endless war with time and relevance that all works of art must undertake. It’s not yet the same as writing at length about books by long dead people from decades long before I was born, or even work by Salinger, whom is socially dead by his own design. Wayne is not dead. He is still very much greeting Chicago daily with 2 fists raised up, his back endlessly against filthy gangway bricks.

I always dug The Holy Terror, and not just for the omnipresent Chicago scenery and mood, though that is wonderful. Reading it for the first time 9 or so years ago I remember being struck by the wash of grey in the characters, environment, and conclusion. The conclusion is unsettling and unresolved, something I enjoyed immensely back then. The Painkiller is still out there, lurking in Chicago’s broken streets, though gentrification has certainly shoved him out of Wicker Park (I’ll also gather that Humboldt is too pricey as well). I loved the way the city breathed on each page and became a hulking character in the corner of each scene.

This past week’s reading was a bit different. I found all the things above still there in the same ways they had been before, but I ended up focusing on what wasn’t there – the attractive people coming and going, the nice bars, the good neighborhood with the nice homes on its blocks, and the pain free people. These things are mentioned sparsely and then forgotten. There seems to be a brutal disconnect of the world all of the characters occupy and the rest of Chicago. It is very clear that there are two (maybe Infinite) Chicagos at play here, and that Wayne only cares about the one with grime, filth, broken cement, and pain ridden humans, each responding differently to themselves. It is interesting to think of the true Wicker Park of 1989 in the novel and place it next to the true Wicker Park of today and see that the other Chicago steamrolled Wayne’s characters and their world. Their stomping grounds were not very happy so maybe that’s ok. Chicago is a big place and there will always be dirty alleys and narrow gangways for Vic and Haid to retreat into. They are still out there for sure, stumbling around El platforms.

I can’t recommend this book enough, both as an excellent modern horror tale and a true snapshot of Chicago. It’s not that expensive. C’mon, read a great book and then tell Wayne about it.


Oh yeah, while I’m telling you how to spend your money, buy a Cognition cap. Mine fits better than any other cycling cap I’ve ever bought. Good hat, good people.

Through a few patches of old growth pine...

Before the rain in the afternoon, Saturday was a beautiful 60 degree day in the North woods. This is a beautiful, smooth road through the Timms Hill County Park, near Rustic Road 62 (do people actively try to visit all of the rustic roads?) and Ogema. These woods up north never cease to impress me. Summer is pretty much here.

It was 36 degrees Sunday morning. Summer is maybe not here just yet.

Oats, brah.

It starts out poorly but I think the story pays off.

I eat oatmeal every morning at my desk and therefore have the big cardboard cylinder container in my drawer. Now, it’s cheapest to buy the big 6lb boxed plastic bags of oatmeal at Sam’s club and just fill up the cylinder every 3 weeks or so. Like I’m carrying a fragile newborn babe I end up walking home every now and again with the cylinder in my hand to avoid getting it smashed in my bag. I assume it looks a little silly. While walking home the other day I passed a guy my own age that nodded and then added , “Way to go with the oats, brah.” It was not sarcastic at all. It felt like it needed a high five and a gentle smile in the vein of some phrase like “Yeah, I recycle as well, brah.”

Only in Madison. Cred for eating oatmeal.

Hotel in Homer, AK. Check.

Reservation on Halibut and Salmon charter boat? Check.

Canoeing long days with maximum daylight in the Kenai Refuge? Check.

Most of my wilderness adventures have been in Wisconsin, Minnesota or Michigan – the Midwest at the very least. My impending June trip to Alaska has me remembering that almost every time I head to the woods I bring along my dogged copy of Hemingway’s complete short stories. It has only seldom been accurate, but reading about Nick Adams and looking around at the streams and birches surrounding me makes it believable that I am right where he wrote those stories about 100 years ago. The countryside would have easily looked the same. I did visit the two hearted river last summer in the UP and while it was just as beautiful and similar to all of the north woods I’ve seen in my lifetime, it also added a bit extra for the Hemingway nerd. But, Hemingway never set foot in Alaska. It seems odd that it never came to happen in his life of travel and adventure, but it eluded him. I’ll still drag along the short stories on my canoe trip but it might not be the same. Maybe it’s time to bring along the complete works of Jack London and read beyond the main novels and more famous short stories…

Excellent Choice

Way to go Alaska!

Comics this week…

No spoilers here, but be careful if you jump to the wiki link.

Rumblings spread across the internet a few months ago that there was a very sad disjoint between the 52 braintrust’s storyline planning and the OYL factoids already on display in the current books. Having Rucka, Johns, Waid and the God of All Comics is enough for me to simply say, “Hey, they’ll build the storyline bridge some way and it’ll be great. No worries.” From the message boards at the time there was more concern than I had, but I dig all of their work independently and have loved 52, so I’m a cheap date for the future possibilities. They can write their way out of anything. This week they did their job but

First off, why is World War 3 4 comics, especially when they have to come out on the same day? Make them one big book, annual sized, and be done with it. Oh, but then it would be close to $10, and would therefore scare many people off. For $2.50 a book people will bite and then immediately pile on for the remaining three. There is also something to be said for buying 4 books and knowing you have the entire set. I’m calling it a scam nonetheless. The story also didn’t merit that high of a page count either. I can see the pitch session clearly and envision the inevitable statement: “If its 4 books then it can be a trade.”

I was initially confused as to whether I should have read 52 #50 first or plowed through WW3 first. The cover of #50 told me that WW3 begins here so I went that route. I loved that book. It covered a huge battle, showed some character changes, and had a strong resolution. No complaints. Jumping then to WW3 was such a downer. It was essentially a drawn out, less interesting retelling of the story I had just enjoyed in 22 pages. Why was Martian Manhunter’s presence looming like the Spectre usually does? I know the Spectre is MIA and it was addressed but still. Too much navel gazing. If this big event helped us fill in some of the OYL bits, and it did, why do I still have no clue about Commissioner Gordon? That little fact is nagging me. I’ll bet a Batman annual will fix that in the next few months. $4.99 I’m sure.

I love comics and more importantly never mind spending cash on books I plan on reading – it is almost always an inherently good act. Still, this feels very much like an unnecessary book. 52 #50 covered all I needed to know and about an extra 15 pages here or there would have given me the OYL info I needed. This, coupled with the pricing I noted above, makes this feel more bloated than usual.

I love 52 and I’m in for Countdown. Black Adam is one of the most interesting characters around these days but it would be nice to see him in a better set of books. I’m sure Countdown will fix that. These events, when elevated above this week’s bloated books, are very interesting and will happily resonate for the next year of infinite purchases.

Did Infinite Crisis result in newly energized sales across the board? Did the One Year Later stories catch on? On a creative level, I like some books and ideas and dislike others. Nightwing is bland when it is not terrible, Green Arrow is very cool as always, having Gordon and Harvey Bullock back is great, and I could care less about Hawkman/girl. I'm interested in JLA yet still not sold on it's big picture, though there is so much to like here and there that I'm surely in for the long haul. JSA is a blast (I love Starman), but I dig the Justice Society so much that I'm a cheap date on this one. The jury is still out with 4 weeks of 52 left, but so far a mixed bag with an uneasy sense of poor planning lingering over the OYL concepts.

On to what matters -- the sales figures. Do these numbers represent DC's storylines and events and their success (or apparent lack thereof) ? or are they harbingers of the ongoing comic marketplace's economic reality?

Its well worth a read and not as dense as it appears upon first glance.

Covered with dust in the barn I dug through box after box of books that I had decided needed to make the migration from Chicago in 2005. In hindsight at least 3 boxes should have ended up in a thrift store on the south side, probably Unique on Archer. I wasn’t as brave at the time and thought that all of those books would eventually be reread someday. A fair amount will be, but a fair amount made the trip for nothing. On Saturday I came up with two medium boxes filled with paperbacks and a few hardcovers that will soon end up at Jasper Junction. Saturday night I was disappointed that I only came up with 2 boxes so I promised to look through it all again Sunday morning. This produced another full large box, this one with many beat up Far Side collections. They are funny but I hope to buy the complete collection someday so perhaps that will speed that goal along. So many great books made the cut and will be allowed to stay until I get another bug to dig through things. All of the Hemingway made it of course. Flipping through each text produces a flutter of notes and scribbling in the margins. If I could ever see myself rereading something it could not be given away. This explains the huge box of Archie double digests that remains. I still dig those books. If it is something I could see lending endlessly I could also never give it away. That explains the piles of Sin City and DC trades. If it is anything that I would definitely buy again I could not throw away my ratty old copy in good faith. I may buy other copies, but the fraying and splitting copies of In Our Time, The Things They Carried, and A Farewell to Arms are the specific copies I know I read for the first time. How could I get rid of those?

Meme

I don’t know if it is some sort of spring fever bug or just an attempt at the endless pruning of my life, but I’m knee deep in digging through boxes and boxes of stuff (mostly books) to drop off at St. Vincent De Paul on Williamson or perhaps even ebay. I have always hoped to have no more possessions beyond what I could pack into my truck for a single trip move, but this has never happened. I’m a materialistic jerk like everybody else, and I have too many bikes – but I’m still reaching for that brass ring of simplicity and immediate mobility.

I’ll be home this weekend digging through boxes and boxes of books in the barn. All of the books are decent and I have read and enjoyed them, but some of them need to find new homes (If they weren’t jettisoned during my Chicago->Madison pruning they must have some interest, right?). I can’t promise a hardcover but how about a paperback meme coupled with some inevitable cdr evangelization (Lair of the Minotaur, Dio, Joe Coffee, etc.)?

Post away and I’ll accommodate (Salma, I know I owe you for your meme and BG) with a package containing a mystery paperback and some metal.

Word has trickled down here at the office that streaming video (no surprise there) and streaming audio (this one really hurts) is now a no-no. Even streaming radio is bad news. This stinks. Its not a distraction like video is, but rather a great way to drone out the office noise. I’ll sorely miss Chicago’s Roe Conn Show, This American Life repeats, and Milt Rosenberg archived shows. They have been replaced by a little music (Mercyful Fate, Merauder, The Jam) and lots of Rollins spoken word. There is something about hearing speech rather than music that helps the work day move quickest. Aside from lifting more often and heavier, the Rollins results remain to be seen, though a result is surely coming. I remember most of the bits and a fair amount of the phrasing but it’s interesting to go straight through and digest it as a whole.

I love it when companies surprise me and have fun with the process of doing business. Joe Coffee's new cd "When the Fabric Don't Fit the Frame" is out now directly from the band and being the loyal fan I am I jumped on it ("Stink of Love" is a terrific and true track).

Here is the confirmation email I received from the online company:

Your CDs have been gently taken from our CD Baby shelves with sterilized contamination-free gloves and placed onto a satin pillow.

A team of 50 employees inspected your CDs and polished them to make sure they were in the best possible condition before mailing.

Our packing specialist from Japan lit a candle and a hush fell over the crowd as he put your CDs into the finest gold-lined box that money can buy.

We all had a wonderful celebration afterwards and the whole party marched down the street to the post office where the entire town ofPortland waved "Bon Voyage!" to your package, on its way to you, in our private CD Baby jet on this day, Friday, March 30th.

I hope you had a wonderful time shopping at CD Baby. We sure did. Your picture is on our wall as "Customer of the Year." We're all exhausted but can't wait for you to come back to CDBABY.COM!!Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Sigh...--Derek Sivers, president, CD Baby
the little store with the best new independent music

Ford's Gym War Hellride

Maybe its because I will always have on toe in Chicago, or maybe because I try to remember to find the smaller things in life that make a place unique, memorable, or interesting . Either way, small Wisconsin details never cease to interest me.

At the pot luck or VFW dinners in Chicago or Indiana you will have the option of water, coffee, or kool-aid. In Wisconsin there is no kool-aid option, but in its place you can have 2% milk. As much as you want! Eating corned beef and cabbage really gives me a taste for milk served by charming old women in American Legion smocks. I jest, but I had two glasses of milk like the ever acclimating person I’m trying to be.


I am starting to sound like Garrison Keiller. (“Stupid blog! Be more funny!”)

…

A new member of the gym looks just like Wesley Willis, only a little less hefty. He benches 225 lbs in reps of 2, over 10+ sets. Its very odd and silly, aside from rudely monopolizing the bench for 30 minutes. Some have dubbed him Benchy, which is appropriate. I only hear “Rock on Madison. Rock on Ford’s Gym. Wisconsin – You’re among Friends!” when I see him.