The Fire Within

Hi friends. I hope everyone's holidays have been as pleasant as mine, although I know that is not the case. Many of you were swallowed whole by Denver's voracious snow cloud; all the while, Sioux Falls idles in a bog-brown-like haze, picturesque of an Irish February more than a Midwest December. But alas, this may be the fate our warming planet has in store for us. Regardless of these "convenient metaphors" (Al Gore's impending poetry attempt), the year 2006 A.D. is about to close. Rather than wallow in reflection over the year's public curriculum vitae, I wish all of you a positive personal reflection on 2006 and the incipient 2007. Think not about what did or didn't happen, but what can happen. Hope is the soul's sunshine. And the "soul" in many ways is all we will ever have, including meaning. I couldn't think of something more valuable, yet more manageable. You may not have control over everything that happens to you, but you are completely in control of how you respond to everything that happens to you. And that is what keeps optimists like me looking forward: we. have. control. We can change our planet, our governments, our friends, our addictions, our fears, our futures...

All that is required is will -- the will that is available in abundance from friends, family, and even strangers. So as the sun sets on one diminutively small chapter in time, may I offer you all -- as friends and fellow human co-conspirators -- my will to make 2007 a chapter of enlightenment and happiness. To will is to have.

Excuse Me Grandma, Could You Please Pass Me Some More Of Your Delicious "Chidurcock"?

While I certainly have never eaten one, I bet the Chidurcock is good in all of its fleshy wholesomeness. I've never really appreciated Thanksgiving like so many other Americans, most likely because of my unique eating disorder, called "health-and-quality-edibles-only-exia" -- unique, yet a simple euphamism shared by all all eating disorders: control freak. I do, however, appreciate the clever amalgams that Americans dream up to ensure the holiday will be, pardon the pun, fresh. Example: the "Turducken," which I'm told is a turkey stuffed inside of a duck stuffed inside of a chicken. Now, I'm not going to ponder the size-limitations instrinsic to each bird that may quell such ostentatious feats of culinary artistry, but I will give them (us?) credit for creativity. I have had quite a laugh coming up with the seemingly endless possibilities of avian matryoshka food, such as the "Chidurkey," the "Durtuken," or my favorite, the "Chidurcock," which is obviously a chicken stuffed inside of a duck stuffed inside of a turkey stuffed inside of a peacock stuffed inside of your mouth. Mmmmmm. But since I don't eat meat (excluding small arctic seals), I assume carnivors eat any living creatures, including peacocks. Why not? The added bonus would be plenty of colorful Christmas decor ready to deck the walls on the following Friday.

Out of "Respek" for my fellow carnivores, I should confess the absurdity of my own Thanksgiving delight, the "Tofurkey". This rare species is a delicacy among us vegetarians, foraging the medium-sized, but not too big island of Veggistan (oh, those poor people that actually live in these "[Mad Lib noun]istan" countries that have to put up with incessant ignorance and ridicoule from the good 'ol US of A). Ahem, however, the Veggistanian tofurkey population is disappearing at an alarming rate, something I'm sure most liberal vegetarian wackos would be concerned about. The good news is that the tofurkey population is easily controlled because their slaughter is nowhere near the genocide endured by its Darwinian cousin, the Chidurcock -- which, mind you, amounts to four dead birds per meal! Furthermore, tofurkeys are benefiting from increased public awareness resulting from Al Gore's new slide show, "A Convenient Truth: if the torfurkey population increases, global warming will decrease". Think about it. It's the same logic linking the decline in the number of pirates with the increase in global warnming (see the Flying Spaghetti Monster for more details). Clearly, all we need to do is increase the tofurkey population (which I said is easy to do, remember?) and we will have plenty of tofurkeys and small acrtic seals for our kids to enjoy. I just love it when things work out!

Despite the endangered tofurkey population and increasing global warming, I was able to savor some soybean-flavored blood on Thanksgiving because, after all, Thanksgiving is a holiday celebrating gluttony; it is a holiday that anoints all guilt; it is purely American. And so on that note, I would like to end with a toast to the Puritans. It is the Puritans -- the founders of Thanksgiving, the planters of tofurkeys everywhere from the beaches of southern California of Redondo to Calabassos, to Khe San and Lan Doc and Hill 364, and the fashion icons of pirate garb that may someday save our warming planet -- that I am most thankful. Happy Mailman Day, everyone.

Create Your Wave

It is no secret that I am a progressive, liberal-minded individual. I am, however, no Democrat. Despite this, I would be lying to say that I am not pleased with last night's midterm election results. The United States government has been devouring itself and the greater good of mankind (environment, wealth distribution, war, ect.) for many, many years. I don't, however, think that the gluttony is a result of Republicans, Democrats, or Republicrats; rather, the gluttony is the result of a taciturn, satiated American public that is allowing the government to become a voracious monster. What happened in last night's elections was not, in my eyes, a victory for the Democratic Party -- it was a victory for change. We need change. And we need it now. Excuse that bumper-stickered expression, but in a technological age that has advanced the human race into a global society, the ramifications of bumptious nationalism and raw ignorance have much more potency than they did even 20 years ago. As the most powerful nation on the planet -- at least in terms of wealth, innovation, and technology -- it is our mandate to embrace our anemic planet. We have not been doing that. Instead, corruption has unwound the threads that bind our country's integrity, and as a result of our incredible power, has destabilize the entire planet. Corruption has even infected the meaning of Freedom: "the power or right to act, speak, or think as one wants without hindrance or restraint" (Oxford dictionary). After reading that and considering our current plight, it is clear that freedom is not necessarily granted if you are poor, gay, atheist, Native American...

I don't, however, think America or any other governed people have ever been truly "free". The human being is just too fallible. But that should not prevent us from trying. In recent years, freedom has been regressing, not progressing. Most of this effect is the result of the nicely packaged hysteria sold as "9/11". I fear that governments have learned from the Nazi regime, but not in a way to prevent such atrocities from happening again; rather, they have learned how to make the atrocities invisible. Why force away freedom if you can convince the public to vote it away? In our current president's own words, "You are either for us or against us". This is not too dissimilar from "You are a traitor if you don't support the president," which, of course, sounds a lot like the propaganda from a particular 20th Century nationalist government. But that type of rhetoric was precisely the chant following 9/11 and it continues to persist today...or at least until yesterday. I now see a crack, a glimmer of hope -- not a "wave" as many political pundits are dubbing -- but a change nonetheless. The salt in this sweet drink is that the "change" voted on yesterday is likely embodied by more homogeneous, robotic republocrats that will waste time hitting back on the playground while America continues its obscene feast on Planet Earth.

But I am an optimist, especially about the potential of the American people. I urge you to be active in upcoming political endeavors. It is important; it is your mandate. Apathy, while inert in primitive, local villages, is too dangerous in our technological, global village. So please step with care. Don't be duped by what you are sold by your church, your cable television, your gasoline automobile, your "conveniences". Someone, somewhere is collecting your debt in the form of war, hunger, disease, and death. In the cautionary words of Voltaire, "Those that can convince you of absurdities can make you commit atrocities". America is unfortunately being convinced of a plethora of absurdities and committing numerous atrocites. But you can help change that.

And so I leave you with the wisdom of Gandhi as a mantra for our future: "Be The Change You Want To See In The World". Godspeed America.

Portland, My Portland

My lovely city has been showing her best face lately and I wanted to share some of our recent photo shoots. Isn't she hot?! Click on the photos to enlarge them.

***Election reminder: don't forget to be an EDUCATED voter tomorrow. Know your candidates; know your issues. If you do not, leave that particular vote blank for the people that are educated (like John Kerry! ...that's a joke...really....). Contrary to popular belief, skipping a single vote does NOT nullify the rest of your ballot. And since this is my blog, I will take the liberty to encourage you to VOTE FOR CHANGE on the national level!

Hi, Atus!

If only that was my name, I'd have a good excuse. Yes, it's been all too long since I've embraced The AstroSite. Since I last updated, I've passed my qualifying exam to become an illustrious "Ph.D. Candidate," I've stomped through the leave-littered grounds of northern Vermont, I've moved into a castle, and...I'm still moving into a castle (but I'm almost done), I've shared wine and dine with one of Portland's most reputed maverick professors, and I've assaulted an empty stomach with too much alcohol at a Halloween party (but sub-regurgitating, thankfully). Somewhere in there I did a lot of reading and science, but obviously that too has been relegated to a less priority. And alas, I will soon have to hang out with Grant...again. This is indeed the same "Grant" as before (see previous posts), but now he must be prepared for "The Real World" (a.k.a the NIH) like every other adolescent. Therefore, Grant and I shall once again sojourn the NW coffee shops in search of the ephemeral mitochondria permeability transition pore. Sigh...

In other news, my good friend (well, not really) Jamie Lidell is back this Friday to charm P-town with his somehow believable British Motown. For those of you unaware, this man deserves all the accolades he can get. He is a computer programming god with a God-programmed voice, de parfait! Other upcoming procrastination bonanzas include an election night party (stay tuned for an upcoming AstroSite special soon!), a live musical performance/debacle by yours truly, an evening par excellence among the brick and mortar crenelations of my new home, a completely heterosexual Thanksgiving with Matt Inc. (I'm not going to explain), aaaaaannnnnddd....then a grant deadline on December 5th. Speaking of...I think I hear him. I've gotta run. More soon.

Oh yeah, and happy Identity Crisis Day...

HAPPY ROCK-TOBER 1st!

That smell is in the air, that twinkle is in the light, that simmer is in the night. Need I say more? Happy Rock-Tober 2006!

Analog Love For A Binary Universe

I'm just going to get it over with: This Binary Universe is the most important feat of musical accomplishment in recent memory. Yes, those are some heavy accolades that should be used with great care. But I’ve owned This Binary Universe for over a month now and I feel qualified to shower its music with glowing reviews. Before I review This Binary Universe, however, I should introduce you to Brian Transeau, or “BT”. BT is an accomplished pianist cum computer wunderkind that has been on the electronic music radar since the mid 1990’s. He has consistently breached the frontiers of music by effectively knitting rock, classical, hip-hop, and electronic genres, among others, into a distinct “BT” amalgam. This Binary Universe is an exception to his previous work in that he has truly outdone his own exceptional curriculum vitae.

This Binary Universe is primarily a classical work with each track characterizing various themes, and each theme characterizing various movements. Texture is added through an impossible ensemble of instruments from tympanis and xylophones, to acoustic guitars and sting basses, from rain sticks and pianos, to a 108-piece string orchestra. But what makes This Binary Universe such an avant-garde accomplishment is its thick, glossy polish of electronica. It is here, in the binary universe of micro-second edits, stutters, and digitized sonic sweeps, that this album departs from being simply “music;” This Binary Universe is indeed an experience. This can even be taken literally as the album comes packaged in two forms: a 2.0, 44.1kHz standard CD format and a sensory-assaulting 5.1 DTS surround format complete with animated short films complimenting each track. The result is indeed “the most important feat of musical accomplishment in recent memory;” I am nonplussed to provide an accurate description of the gorgeously novel soundscapes BT has created.

Using his electronic prowess as the binding thread, BT has managed to seamlessly weave together nearly every style of music in existence, from classical to hip-hop, to Indian, to rock in a single track. For example, in “Dynamic Symmetry,” what begins as a gentle bell melody over an alternating 4/4:5/4 time signature evolves into a crescendo of acoustic guitar patterns and 4/4 IDM-style drum loops. The song then drops a bomb by transitioning into a jazz swing complete with stand-up bass, piano, and ride cymbal. But then, like a creeping fog, the electronica slowly takes hold and puts the jazz into a spiral through three different time signatures, with the last one dropping us off where we started in 4/4 – ah, dynamic symmetry par excellence. “1.618” – which is named after the golden ratio – is an elegant, emotional track floating somewhere between air and consciousness. Yes, some fluffy prose, but accurate nonetheless. The short film accompanying “1.618” track is equally beautiful, transfixing your eyes like fire with computer-generated “machines” morphing into each other like a three dimensional M.C. Escher museum. Another notable feat is “The Antikythera Mechanism” – a track named after the ancient analog computer discovered off the coast of Greece. This track is BT’s opus. Clocking in at over 10 minutes, “The Antikythera Mechanism” is arguably the most accomplished production in This Binary Universe. This track opens with a rusted piano melody (which makes sense if you listen to it) that gradually cleans up into a gorgeous acoustic guitar duet. Electronic sweeps and bleeps pepper the atmosphere and eventually take hold of the rhythm, where the sounds then take on an increasingly sinister spiral toward a ferocious finale of, yes, a 108 piece orchestra, which later explodes into a million digital pieces. Nice.

Part of the brilliance of This Binary Universe is that BT never tolerates redundancy. There is no “wow, that was great; let’s go back to it again later in the song”. Each track differs wildly from the previous track, and each movement of a track differs wildly from the previous movement. But why keep reading about this album when you could hear it? The below website will allow you to sample songs, artwork, ect. from This Binary Universe, but for the just-mentioned reasons above, short samples will do this album little justice. But alas, I should compensate my inept descriptive writing with actual song samples.

To sample any of the songs from This Binary Universe, click on the below link and then click on "Downloads":

This Binary Universe"

One More Flaming Hoop

After approximately 2 hours of cross-examination, I have successfully earned my "Ph.C." -- which is none other than, my "Candidate of Philosophy" degree. It won't get me a faculty position outside of Bob Jones University, but it will get me a subtle, yet refreshing $40 / month raise and a nod of approval within the Vollum Fraternity...I'm sorry, I'm meant to say the Vollum Faculty (yes, that's just a joke). Anyway, now all I have to do are the laborious experiments that I so laboriously defended to my committee for the past 2 hours, after which I just may upgrade my alphabet soup to a "D".

SNAP INTO A SLIM JIM!!!!...oh, yeah....

To Touch The Intangible

There are times when I'm faced with regrets. These are common feelings in our human experience, yet some of the most difficult to assuage. The reason for regret may be evolutionary pressures favoring altruism as a means for species survival, or it may simply be a question of spiritual evolution, of which I do prescribe despite being a self-proclaimed corporeal rationalist. Religion has certainly staked its claim in this question as evidenced through rituals of sin forgiveness and asceticism. Here, "God" lifts the weight of regret. I prefer to directly deal with my regret -- which usually involves wronging someone I care about – by acknowledging my mistakes and openly apologizing. But no matter the method of lifting regret, we inevitably crumble toward chaos like everything else in this universe, and make the same mistakes again and again. This is frustrating. I could not count the number of times I’ve said “I’m not going to do that again,” or “I’m not going to be like that anymore,” only to let myself down again by bearing the same regrets.

So why, then, is regret a weight in the first place? One could argue this from a purely biological perspective in that, as mentioned above, distancing ourselves from one another through wrongdoing does not promote species survival. Regret would then be a mechanism that motivates us to fix tarnished relationships and learn from our mistakes to improve success in the next relationship. This perspective isn’t limited to relationships either, as I could easily “regret” attempting a backflip off a large rock that would dissuade me from ever trying it again, thereby improving my chances for procreation. The problems with this perspective, however, are numerous. I have met plenty of people that are by no means pleasant to be around, yet procreate like roaches. At the same rate, I wouldn’t say regret would motivate me to improve my relationship with Matt so we can procreate – which may actually be God’s motivation toward preventing the birth of the anti-Christ. From a spiritual perspective, regret motivates growth of our intangible inner selves. Of course, this has problems as well, starting with “our intangible inner selves” being a nebulous entity at best. Nonetheless, there is a certain simplicity in the spiritual perspective that can provide just as much motivation as the biology perspective to encourage us to maintain good relationships with other people.

So what is my motivation for writing this blog entry? Could it be that I have regrets? Doh! Guilty as charged. Importantly, there isn't a particular recent faux pas precipitating an AA-style telethon for forgivness; rather, as is usually the case for the AstroSite, my entries are but a falling leaf from the sky. But since this my blog, I suppose I do have the podium; whether I have anyone’s attention is a different supposition, but alas, my prefrontal cortex can't win all of the time! The largest regret I have is something I’ve carried since I was that feisty little child refusing to go football practice (I know, tough to imagine I would object to FOOTBALL practice). But I was so adamant about not going that it was the first time (and only time, thankfully) that I told my mother that I “hated” her for making me go. This of course, is absurd, but I’ve regretted it ever since and it highlights my most frequent regrettable offense: I am, and have always been, very sharp-tongued. Often, the lacerations I inflict in someone are invisible to me at first, as arrogance is a permanent trait of my personality. But in time I realize the damage I caused, regret takes hold, I apologize, I scold myself to “tone down the F’n rhetoric, dude!”, and a week later without realizing it, I rip through someone I care about again. And again. I think part of my struggle is that passion is certainly another trait of mine that will never – and maybe should never – be silenced. But my passion, despite its best intentions to champion all that is “righteous," can recruit my arrogance, and usurp my mouth to mince the thickest of skin. This is something that has caused endless regrets.

Yet, I continue to be blessed with the undying love of an amazing woman, I am surrounded by friends that even Shakespeare couldn't accurately describe, and my family, despite my frustration with it at times, remains an inspiration. How can this be? I realize that I probably have enough good, non-regrettable experiences with people that a few sharp words are easily forgiven; I also realize that we are all human, and therefore we share a handful of regrets. In the poetry of Bono, “we hurt each other, and we’ll do it again”; while Brian Transeau replies, “all that makes us human continues”. Yes, indeed. Somehow. Musing upon these axioms, a paradox presents itself: how can someone regret regret if regret is what motivates us to become a better person? Ah, the gray shade of the truth once again bleaches the black and white. But whether a result of biology, God, the inner self, or my fake veggie bologna sandwich, the purpose of regret may be irrelevant if the consequence of regret is growth of our intangible inner selves. And so I offer my apology to those that have been, and will again be victimized by my arrogant, passion-sheathed tongue. But please trust that I will learn and grow with the healing of your wounds.

Good, GREAT Riddance

Sorry, Grant. The time has come to spend time with a REAL friend.

But in case you'd like to meet him (come on, he really needs a friend...he's...a nice guy, but just needs to meet that special "someone"),

"Hello, My Name Is Grant"

...plus my family is always asking "what is it that you actually do?"; I couldn't think of a better way to answer that question...in 10 pages or less.

All....Most....Done....

...as long as I just follow the instructions

Excuses.

My, almost a MONTH since my last post. That's disappointing. Yes, "Grant" is about to overstay his welcome (actually, he was never invited now that I think about it...), but I'm about ready to deliver his notice of eviction. All those faithful Astrosite readers out there (OK, probably just my mother, but I like to pretend) have probably given up on me! "Where's the input, Johnny 5"?! Well, bear with me for just...a....little...longer. Believe me, I look forward to musing upon the moon, tall trees, homeless people that growl (that was last night), and just about anything in life with color -- most unlike the black and white lines engraved across my veiny eyes. Soon, my binary friends, soon. Maybe I'll try to make up for the dearth of postings with an especially risque, succulent posting sure to keep your midbrain satiated. Until then, I'll leave you with a completely arbitrary, yet favorite photograph (which technically isn't true since it's digital) taken recently by my brother. Feel free to post your initial feelings about it, as perplexing, silly, arbitrary, or stoic as they may be. Remember, feeling nothing is still feeling something -- just as 'a stopped clock gives the right time twice a day'.

Grant's Womb

It is an absolute relief to write this blog entry today. Not necessarily because writing in my blog is so cathartic, but because writing in my blog is not writing about the mitochondrial permeability transition pore, or "mPTP" for you ignorant, ignoramouses (insert deep, echo-y hallway laugh here). As weak of a segue as that may have been, let me introduce you to my new friend, "Grant". Grant is one of those tiny people who appear frail, but when pushed, can leave a shark bite in a shark. Sounds like an asshole? Well, lately Grant has been just that. Never happy, always taciturn, and inconsistently cantankerous. But the more we get to know each other, the more we get along. I'm not going to say we don't have our fights (partly because he has kept me from my good friend, "Beer"), but by September 5th, he should be (ahem...WILL BE) mature enough to live on his own, and then I can get back to spending more time with Beer. Simply put, I am but a temporary womb for Grant, providing him with nutrients, time, encouragement, and occasional anecdotes to remind him of the little parasite that he his: the Ruth L. Kirschstein National Service Award, a.k.a., the "NRSA".

Yes, I should be working on my NRSA grant right now. But I've got 30 minutes until I meet with my advisor about my "Specific Aims" page, so what better window do I have to procrastinate and feed my soul to the binary universe. Since my last post, I have repeated an entire set of experiments in four days (which, of course, consumed a weekend), I spent quality time with my girlfriend's parents visiting from Tennessee, which included a four-day stint near Crater Lake, I chased down my ex-dog that ran away in southeast Portland while on a move with my "Ex" from Sioux Falls to San Francisco (yes, that is a little odd, but "Petey" was found), I am scheduled to "volunteer" this weekend at the 2006 Portland International Beer Fest (yes, I get to hang out with Beer briefly. And his friends), I have been sweating like hell under a magnifying glass, courtesy of the world's automobile addiction, my aunt from Dallas, TX flies into Portland today with Lance Armstrong (yes, also a little odd), there is a farewell outing tonight for Matt (*see earlier post...or don't), who is leaving tomorrow for a month-long neuroscience ed-you-kashon in Wood's Hole, MA...

And I've been working on my F*&%-n' grant. Except for right now. Yes, it's a busy time for Dustin. And that won't likely change anytime soon, as Grant is sure to overstay his welcome as my brother arrives for a 10-day Pacific Northwest sojourn on August 8th. But my brother's visit will provide a nice intermission from all the writing, especially our planned camping trip with about 8 other friends. Alas, to live busy is to be alive. "Wow, that's so deep, Dustin; so profound! Ghandi couldn't have said it better. You should really spend more time writing with such elegant words, especially about science."

Thanks, Grant.

...asshole.

An Ode To "Your Nastiness"

Finally. Last weekend I found some time to escape those nebulous, invisible binds that had ever-so-slyly constricted my serenity. I was gasping for mountain air! Summer is typically skewed in the Pacific Northwest, with July signaling the start of a three-month blue sky marathon. As you can see from the photos, I found plenty of unbounded, blue canvass (click on the photos to make them larger).

The trek began last Saturday afternoon while looking for that perfect, untrampled, new locale. I, along with my good friend, Matt, careened up a network of boulder-laden fire roads to Wahtum Lake in the Mark O. Hatfield Wilderness. Having never been there, I didn't know what to expect except, obviously, a lake. Of course, our travel to "Point B" was less than linear (for those of you familiar with Matt's keen sense of direction), eventually taking cue from some burley men pouring black liquids into roadside trucks -- you know, the people that probably know every tree in the forest. "Wahtum Lake? Why would you want to go there? That's a nasty little lake," they replied as we asked for directions. Eventually we convinced them that we really did want to go there, despite it's "nastiness," and they referred us to a turn-off 180 degrees and two miles behind us, precisely where Matt assured me that "he would have noticed if that sign had said 'Wahtum Lake'". After turning up this avenue (where the sign most certainly did say "Wahtum Lake 10 miles"), we were greeted with a new sign reading, "Warning, Storm Damaged Road". I was expecting some potholes and downed branches. What the sign SHOULD have read was "Warning, enormous bolders all over the road and teetering from above, just waiting to jump on top of your car, in combination with sheer cliffs that, for some reason, have no guard rails -- oh, and don't pay any attention to Mt. Hood, because if you look to admire its awesome presence, then the bolders don't matter because you'll drive off the cliff anyway". I realize that would have to be a pretty big sign, but somehow "Storm Damaged Road" seems a little terse.

We rolled into the campground, immediately grabbed our packs, and hiked the short quarter-mile trail down to the lake. And let me tell you: I have NEVER seen such a nasty little lake. With one look, you would swear that you've discovered where all the US Congressional legislation ends up -- along with that missing gaggle of bucolic bulls. Wahtum Lake is indeed the nastiest little lake I've ever seen. Just look at it! But we decided to stick it out since we had finally found it, and I was finally feeling those constricting binds relaxing. Despite a crowded parking lot, the trail and campsites (which were nothing more than padded grass and a circle of ash-covered stones) were rather empty. We claimed a nice piece of lake-side real estate and decided to contaminate the lake further with our beaded sweat and dirty nailbeds. YO! So the lake isn't just nasty, but COLD! I suppose snowmelt from Mt. Hood is a few degrees below room temperature, but...alright, I'm not complaining. Maybe "refreshing" is more apt than "cold".

Now that we were refreshed, it was time to hike. Somewhere. Uhhhh...that way. Trusting my keen sense of direction (and Matt's keen sense of smell), I figured we had a good chance of finding our way to Chinidere Mountain AND our way back to camp. This two-mile hike was steep and full of obnoxious trees EVERYWHERE! I swear, if it wasn't nasty lakes, it was obnoxious trees blowing in the wind, dropping nuts and things...and growing...but again, we made it this far so we figured we should check out "Point C." Now it's time to lose the hyperbole for just a moment, because "Point C" was remarkable. Unforgettable, to be more precise. In my nearly three years as an Oregonian, I have yet to trump the view atop Chinidere Mountain. I was able to count five mountain peaks of the Northern Cascades, including Seattle's mammoth, Mt. Rainer. There, unlike Bono, I did find what I had been looking for: a solace sojourn apart from data, qualifying exams, and my life of heresy some call "Science." I was -- now in agreement with Bono -- simply, "one". And then Matt made a cell phone call. Partly because he wanted to share the moment with his lovely, yet absent girlfriend, and partly because "I just switched to Singular and they're so awesome, dude, I mean, look, I get three bars even in the forest!". Yes, somehow, we all still love Matt for those moments, despite any mountain mantras being interrupted by the incessant rattle of his rock drum sticks against his rock snares and rock toms. Anyway, hiking makes me hungry. Back to "The Nastiness"!

Somewhere between Matt deciding whether to eat an entire pound of beef or just 2/3 pound, I cracked open the first lake-chilled Deschuttes Twilight Ale and began my usual nuts-and-berries feast. Two vegan pizza burgers and a half-bag of trail mix later, it was time for my staring contest with the fire...that we didn't have. With Oregon on our side, we quickly found enough wood (ahem, small trees) to ignite some moonlit flames. There were beers drank, a bottle of wine imbibed (by...the bears!), 46 songs of jazz and blues critiqued (iPODs + Camping: who could have guessed such a harmonious marriage?). All we were missing was Ang Lee for the sequel. OK, OK...there were NO sheep, I promise!

The sun came knocking loudly on my tent the next morning and the lake, in all its nastiness, was begging for companionship. DAMN that's COLD! I mean, "refreshing". I later devoured some delectable eggs and a cup of non-bleach filtered, micro-roasted Z-Beans, French Roast, slow-drip coffee. The rustic woods never tasted so good! Before uprooting camp, I explored neighboring campsites to consider returning to Wahtum Lake with my friends and brother this August. It took little consideration. After another hair-bending traverse back down the "Storm Damaged Road" and a "minor" problem with Matt's breaks smoldering to a near-fire, we reached "Point D," which looked exactly like "Point A," but somehow felt like an entirely new place -- a place where I could breath. I attribute that effect to the charm (and polluting, toxic hallucinogens) of "Wahtum Lake, Your Nastiness".

South Dak-Oregon

There is strange trend I’ve noticed since August of 2003: South Dakotans moving to Portland en masse. It wasn’t long ago on this very blog that I was welcoming a long-time friend to Portland, Billy. And now, not even four months later, I am welcoming two more old friends to this great city, Kari and James. Both are moving to Portland for reasons that many South Dakota expatiates share: to attend school, to pursue a fresh change in lifestyle, and to live among friends in a most “livable” city. While Portland is seething with twenty-something free spirits from all over, there is something uncanny about the high percentage of South Dakota’s youth moving specifically to Portland. South Dakota is a small state with a total population of roughly 650,000 people. If “people from South Dakota” was a somewhat normally distributed statistic, one would expect that I may run into one or two people in Portland that call South Dakota home. But by the end of this week, I will know twenty South Dakotans – by name – that live in the Portland area. That is not including the people I know in other parts of Oregon, or friends-of-friends that happen to be from South Dakota. So, assuming I know 200 people in South Dakota by name, that means 1/10 of those people now live in Portland. That is remarkable. The statistics are even more absurd considering that there are likely people here that I don’t know or know of that live in Portland. And then there are the people that have moved to other cities – Minneapolis, Minnesota, Austin, Texas, Denver, Colorado… There is clearly an exodus of people in their twenties moving out of South Dakota. There could be many reasons for this, reasons that I won’t contemplate here. But if I were a state politician, I would curious, if not concerned; I certainly haven’t met anyone that is moving to South Dakota.

Aside from making local pub visits seem like a high school reunion, it is a privilege to have so many old friends in a new city. I acknowledge the rare opportunity I have to continue friendships and experiences with people that have already contributed to my friendships and experiences; excuse the cliché, but it really is a new chapter in an old book. Furthermore, friendships can expand as people connect via a disparate network of scientists, musicians, baristas, lawyers, and significant others. If my personal network was mapped, the nexus would currently be in Portland, Oregon. Granted, there is some bias due to the type of company I’ve been fortunate enough to keep. As mentioned, my friends are a disparate group, but we share a penchant for travel, liberalism, music, and the outdoors, all of which make Portland an obvious stomping ground. Regardless, the world is a shrinking place, both metaphorically and literally – we are connected by our technology, by our shrinking global resources, and by our exploding population. Solutions to these problems require a special network of people with myriad ideas, expertise, and skill. While “saving the world” may not be a conscious agenda among our small network, we are a people that inject respect for one another and for the potential of the human “experience” (Ahhh, here I go again; I could write about my macchiato and somehow steam a cosmic muse into the foam!). For these reasons I'm confident that Portland will welcome you as it welcomed me: with open arms, challenges, and a nebulous slice of destiny. Welcome to your new home, Kari and James!

To Half Or Not To Half? That Is Not The Question.

I spent the larger part of Sunday, June 4th, 2006 remembering Saturday, June 3rd, 2006 – my 26th birthday. One would think that after 26 years of experience, a birthday would become monotonous. To some degree this is impossible in American culture due to seemingly continuous rights-of-passage, e.g. 18 = voting, military draft registration (if you call that a “right”), and smoking; 21 = alcohol; 25 = decreased insurance rates and the “right” to rent a vehicle. American culture or not, there surely must be an age at which the birthday hourglass becomes half-empty and begins counting down to “death day”. Pardon the macabre muse, but Sunday, June 4th was the first time I wondered if my birthday hourglass had indeed started counting down instead of up

This, or course, is not likely true as I’m far from the median life expectancy age. Yet, as long as I am 100% convinced that I’m alive, I am 100% convinced that I will die. And I’m afraid of death. Saturday, June 3rd, 2006, however, was about life. I woke up on this day with no agenda until 7:00 PM, mulling about the sunlit cafes and ateliers of Portland. I refused to read a scientific paper, talk about a scientific paper, or even read the news. I let the world spin on its own, and the world let me spin on my own – just for a day. “Is this life,” I wondered? Am I so busy trying to “live” every day just to avoid dealing with the fact that I’m slowly dying? But that is a question about death, and June 3rd, 2006 was a day about life.

At 7:00 PM I was among friends. I was regaling in drink and conversation at a local favorite of mine, the Rogue Brewery. Here, there were conversations about life; conversations about what people were doing with their time, like getting engaged, shopping for new cars, studying for exams, and moving to new cities. There was an appreciated simplicity, even relief, that these are the things people do. And they do them everyday. Travels to Spain or travels across Portland, somehow it all seemed so novel. At 7:00 PM, June 3rd, 2006, I was celebrating life.

At 8:00 PM, we walked to Bridgeport Brewery to continue and expand the celebration. 26 years of age or 6 years of age, certain elements of a birthday party remain the same. There is food, drink, conversation, songs, candles, laughing… Birthdays have energy, a very positive energy. But this has been the case since I turned 6 years-old. How could this not be mundane? Could it be that I sensed everyone around me to be truly alive? If so, this is something that could never be mundane.

At “Don’t Ask Me” O’Clock, we moved to the last location for the night, “Slabtown”. If NW Portland could have a dive bar, Slabtown is it – an apt place for a night to land. Here there were only unfeigned, jovial smiles. My drinks slowly diluted to pure water (life’s true medium!), and the night eventually walked me home with a gentle hand. I, along with a handful of great people, had celebrated my 26th birthday.

***

A few daggers of crimson light escaped the Coastal Range cloud barrier to frost just the upper limits of trees. June 4th, 2006 was about to be an ephemeral memory. Poised against an apt, if not metaphorical, half-lit moon, I was wondering if my 26-year-old hourglass was half-empty. It was a feeling as though I had died, likely because I felt so alive just the day before. But if I had died, was I in Heaven or Hell? Speeding through uncharted canals of NW Skyline Drive, my mind was floating where both ecstacy and melancholy exist as one. This is a strange Universe were a 7-10 split is a strike and where every trench has a view. And that’s precisely the place where both life and death also exist as one: to live 100% is to die 100%. I then realized that I am frightened of death because my 26 heavily-textured years are so valuable to me. It is as though I’ve borrowed so much from the life bank that I’m going to owe big when death collects. But if there was no such thing as death, why, then, celebrate life on June 3rd, 2006? All I would ever know is life. Is that even a “life” at all? With the sun now buried deep in the Pacific Ocean, I accepted that death is the currency of life; without death, life is a worthless piece of painted paper. Shopping for cars, taking exams, getting engaged, getting un-engaged, laughing and crying…these, paradoxically, cannot be the wealth of life without death. On June 3rd, 2006, I was among a wealth of good friends and great memories. There was life. Because there was death. This Ying and Yang is something that wills me to live through June 5th, 2006, June 6th,2006, my 27th birthday, and my 72nd birthday, all the while still being allowed to fear death; it is a Universe where my hourglass can be both half-empty and half-full. For this, I thank all my friends and family for filling both of those halves to make the whole that is me. You give me life.

And The Best Shittiest Beer In 2006 Is...

Michelob Ultra. Yes, it makes my heart ache. But apparently not my stomach. I don't want to believe it, but indeed, Michelob Ultra wins as the best shittiest beer in 2006 -- but barely. Click the link below to download the Xcel file with raw data, statistics, and graphs. There were some interesting finds, including one that may help explain how the HELL Michelob Ultra won the contest. Ultra was the beer that gained the most points from Round 1 to Round 2, indicating an increased appreciation for its benign, if not banal flavor. Comments like "water" were written on the scorecards, which was evidently a good thing because "at least it isn't #3 (Round 2)," which was, of course, this year's abysmal loser, Rolling Rock. Rolling Rock was the only beer that was given below-zero scores (which I reinterpreted as the lowest possible score of a "1"), and Rolling Rock was also the only beer that was WORSE than Steele Reserve, an abominable malt liquor. As for the statistics, if you're a stats fiend, you'll find little in this data worthy of your Nature publication. I discovered that people's palates differ enough to make our seemingly large sample size statistically insignificant. To account for this, I compared the cumulative scores of each beer's "taste," "aroma," and "overall" from both Round 1 & 2 to reach a sort of "integral beer score" for each insulting ferment. Importantly (at least for Portlanders), PBR Light came in a close second place as the best shittiest beer for similar "not enough taste to taste bad" reasons; PBR Light was also a beer that gained significant points in Round 2 with, again, comments like "water" on the scorecard. Interestingly, PBR "regular" came in just one burp better than Steele Reserve. ...PDX, don't hurt us! We didn't mean it! ...we just...we didn't know...look, we like the "Light"...really!

Feel free to submit any of your own interesting statistical maneuvering to the AstroSite. I look forward to the responses, further findings in the data, and a repeat of "The Best Shittiest Beer Fest" in the future. Thanks for playing, it was great fun!

Some Findings:
PEOPLE WITH THE SAME FAVORITE BEER BOTH ROUNDS -- Oyer: PBR Light; Erik: Coors Light; Evan: Steele Reserve
PEOPLE WITH THE SAME WORST BEER BOTH ROUNDS -- Jeff: Steele Reserve; Victoria: Steele Reserve and Olympia; Kurt: PBR; Kirsten: Bud Heavy; Erik: PBR; Ian: Natty Ice; Billy: Fosters, Natty Ice, Steele, Rock Lght, Bud HeavY
MOST CONSISTENT BEER BETWEEN ROUNDS -- Kokane, with a total StDev of 2.0 is a consistently "decent" shitty beer
LEAST CONSISTENT BEER BETWEEN ROUNDS -- Keystone Light and Michelob Ultra, with a total StDev of 3.2. This makes Keystone Light the least consistent "decent" shitty beer, and Ultra a least consistent, but "best" shittiest beer
PERSON WITH THE PICKIEST PALATE (lowest total scores given) -- Billy, only 141 total points given
PERSON WITH THE LEAST "REFINED" PALATE (highest total scores given -- Bridget, with a generous 279 total points given
MOST INCONSISTENT DRINKER (highest variance between round 1 & 2 -- Bridget, 10.9 point variance. It sounds like Bridget will drink anything inconsistently!
MOST CONSISTENT DRINKER (lowest variance between round 1 & 2 -- Erik, 1.4 point variance (Billy was 2nd at 2.8)
BEER WITH THE BIGGEST COMEBACK IN ROUND 2 -- Michelob Ultra, possibly after people realize that it was a beer that had no taste, thereby not repulsive
BEER WITH THE BIGGEST LOSS IN ROUND 2 -- Rolling Rock and Miller High Life (cans), possibly after people realize, "oh yeah, I remember that one, and that was about as bad as Round 1 got"
BEER WITH THE MOST COMMENTS WRITTEN ON THE SCORECARD -- Rolling Rock, with comments like "urine" (Katie), "-1" (Christina)

CLICK HERE! for the Results of the Best Shittiest Beer Fest 2006

1838 days later: "10,000 Days"

It has been nearly five years since Tool's last album release, Lateralus; naturally, there was considerable anticipation about their latest album, 10,000 Days. Whether intentional or just a consequence of a pursuit of perfection, bands that release albums every five years take a risk: high expectation from their listeners. This is especially true for Tool since Lateralus, for the most part, is an exceptional album. I attempted to trump all expectations by avoiding a single review or listening to a single track before the release of 10,000 Days. But in the tradition of Radiohead releases (also plagued with infrequent new material), I couldn't help but wonder, "What will (or can) they do next?". And on Tuesday, May 2nd, I got my answer: "Oh no, this packaging is ridiculous". I flinch when artists sell their music embellished in profligate artwork as though it is a guise for the music. But Tool has always wrapped their music in adventurous artwork and the music has not suffered, so I yielded. And when I got home, I realized that the artwork was something quite special. Alex Grey, who also created the artwork for Lateralus, is a truly gifted, albeit extremely psychedelic artist that is a worthy companion to Tool's gifted, albeit extremely psychedelic music. At the very least, the 3D stereoscopic glasses built into the packaging adds a nice "whoa, dude, it's like I'm on 3D mushrooms...or something" effect.

Ahem...the music (see, maybe the artwork is a distraction!). By the time the first notes of the first track, "Vicarious," traverse your auditory neural circuits, you will be rewarded with that distinct feeling that is "Tool:" geometric time signatures of guitar and bass coitus. At the 00:45 mark, the heavy petting is over as coitus turns to raucous. Nice. It is then I realize in all certainly that I am listening to a Tool album. But then something interesting happens at the 01:07 mark: Maynard sings with the restraint of a horny priest. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, as restraint in music is a fine art in itself, especially when you have the skills to elicit "auralgasm" at will like Tool. Lateralus demonstrated that the key of mature song writing is to tantalize the listener with slow builds, executing only parsimonious climaxes. This leaves this listener constantly wanting more – consequently, the album becomes a permanent fixture in the music library. But the restraint on 10,000 Days, both vocally and instrumental, is so refined throughout the entire album that the auralgasm is never achieved. So yes, I was let down despite “Vicarious” being a decent song. Guilty as charged: I ultimately did have expectations. Track two, “Jambi,” begins with a quick-wristed guitar mangle that even the Swedish metal-heads would applaud, however, the only climax we get is a one-octave-up, yet-still-restrained Maynard. And then the pace slows for the first of the expected (there I go again!) minimal-vocal-noise-tracks-are-so-profound-but-we-can-get-away-with-it-because-we’re-Tool (or Radiohead) tracks, “Wings For Marie (part I)”.

And now for the positive spin. Track four, “10,000 Days (Wings Part II),” is a rock epic worth every slow-building second. This song is a story. Don’t ask me what the story is about lyrically (I clearly don’t do enough DMT), but for all purposes, it doesn’t matter. This song exemplifies Tool’s ability to forge new soundscapes, as this track slams through a solid two-minute swing in the middle of the track, exploring intricately beautiful, yet elegant jazz-infused rock. Innovative, interesting, and seamlessly performed. I would love to hear more of these sounds from Tool in the future. “The Pot” is another highlight. Maynard’s voice here is brash and reverb-free as he explores a new vocal aesthetic of mantra-chanting, lyrical engineering. This is the only song on 10,000 Days that really lets those Tool-specific endorphins flow as I turn my stereo up to eleven. MORE PLEASE! Oh wait, another noise track. Two of them. By the time the album picks up pace again, I’ve made up my mind: this is a good, but not a great album from Tool. They explore some new sounds, but abandon embracing them. The result is that 10,000 Days falls flat. Tool needs to accept they cannot be both mythically underground and bombastically profound at the same time without eliciting high expectations from their listeners. At nearly 70 minutes in length, 10,000 Days provides almost 30 minutes of “noise tracks,” which, while they may make for a profound acid trip, I get tired of waiting for Tool to do what is does best: music.

NEW ASTROSITE FEATRE!
Click Here to hear a sample of "10,000 Days (Wings Part II)"
Click Here to hear a sample of "The Pot"

BSBF 2006 A Success!

Thanks to everyone that showed up last Saturday for the Best Shittiest Beer Fest of 2006! Aside from some acid reflux and liver cirrhosis, the event was indeed a success. And afterwards we ventured to the Kennedy School to treat ourselves to a proper pint. McMennamins beer never tasted so good! I'll be sure to post the statistics as soon as possible, but preliminary results indicate the beers with the least flavor (and thereby the least offensive), Michelob Ultra and PBR Light, were the big winners and the beers with the most "flavor," for example, skunked Rolling Rock, were the losers. In fact, Steele Reserve malt liquor fared better than Rolling Rock (at least in round two)! But no need to jump to conclusions; the actual results will be posted soon on The AstroSite. In the meantime, look for a review of the new Tool album, "10,000 Days" in the near future.

The (return of the) Best Shittiest Beer Fest

The sun is a shinin'. The birds are a chirpin'. The barbecues are a cookin'. And the beer is a flowin'. The Rainy Season is drying up, my friends. But that doesn't mean that we can afford all of those swanky summertime brews. So when the wallet goes flat, what's the beer to swallow instead of to spit?

Welcome to the return of "The Best Shittiest Beer Fest," where we seek to find...well, the best tasting cheap beer (and also the worst tasting expensive beer). This event is a blind taste test of various "shitty" beers, where each beer is scored anonymously, tabulated, statis-tic-alized, and ranked. Do you really think your favorite shitty beer is worth your dime? Put it to the test! Do you really think your "quality" $7 'sixer of Heineken is worth the fluff? Put it to the test!

(1) Just choose a beer from the list on the flier (click on the picture to make it bigger), (2) make sure no one else has already claimed your favorite shitty beer, (3) POST A COMMENT ON THIS BLOG to claim "your" beer, (4) reach into your pocket for the $1 admission fee (Portland Parks liquor permit), and (5) go to Wilshire Park, NE 33rd & Skidmore on SATURDAY, MAY 13th at 5PM. And since shitty beer goes well with non-shitty food, bring some barbecue grub (we will need volunteers to bring a couple grills). ...But there's more! After we've had enough shitty beer (IMPOSSIBLE!), follow us to the KENNEDY SCHOOL (7 blocks north on 33rd) to end the night with a non-shitty pint.

The person responsible for bringing the "Best Shittiest Beer" gets a soggy certificate, a bottle of Tums, and a free pint (or two) at the Kennedy School! ...and ALL of the leftover shitty beer, which there will be plenty!

Rain or Shine (but it can't really rain in May, can it?).
I hope to smell you there.

Where Did I Leave My Concert Review?

Last Monday night, April 24th 2006, I finally saw Ryan Adams in concert, although I doubt he saw me. Not that I was hoping our eyes would meet and stars would fall upon the heavens, rather, the fog that inhabits Ryan's brain may be too thick to see much of anything beyond his own neuroses. But that isn't necessarily a bad thing. Ryan is foremost a poet, and if history has any law, poets are not sane people -- quite the contrary. Of course there are rare exceptions, but Ryan Adams reminds us that brilliance is the only friend to a truly lonely soul. Even Ryan acknowledges this maxim as he warned the crowd, "don't ever date me".

The brilliance in Ryan Adams is a gossamer balance between anguish and bliss. Just the titles of his albums illuminates this: "Heartbreaker," "Gold," "Demolition," "Love Is Hell," "Destroyer," and his thesis title, "The Suicide Handbook". Of course, this brilliance comes at a high cost: the most subtle breeze can cause a collapse. What we witnessed last Monday night at the Roseland Theatre in downtown Portland may have been Ryan weathering a storm of breeze-force winds. He came on stage late; and he came on stage stoned -- very stoned. After fumbling about with papers, cigarettes, a beer, some duct tape, a request for some vodka, and the voices in his head, he eventually found his piano (or his piano found him) to open with a sweet "Sweet 'Lil Gal," the last track on Heartbreaker. He then spoke to "Mr. Lighting Man" to request only red lights -- excuse me, "Stoner Lighting" -- to allow him to focus on the next song, "Call Me On Your Way Back Home". Bliss. Anguish. And frustration that when he did eventually find his guitar and stop fumbling and rambling, the songs were gorgeous. The notes, his voice, and the mood were sharp arrows that cut through the theatre's silence like a thunderstorm. But the frustration would have to be dealt with, as it quickly became obvious that this bipolar emotional ride would become the theme for the evening; however, somehow that was alright with me. I realized that we are experiencing Ryan Adams tonight, not some prepackaged, shrink-wrapped, distilled production that Big Music loves to sell us music fans -- pardon me, "Consumers". We were, in a sense, captivated by Ryan and forced to weather his storm.

Highlights include an absolutely spine-numbing performance of "The End" from his country album, "Jacksonville City Nights," a moonless-night version of "Let It Ride," and a new song, "Two," where Ryan seems to beg for anything but loneliness saying "Now I'm Fractured/From The Fall/And I Wanna Go Home/It Takes Two And It Used To Take One" (Sorry, man. You sold your soul to the devil a long time ago!). After this song I could tell Mr. Adams was running out of steam (or booze), which left me wanting even more (he's doing this on purpose, isn't he!) being that he played only one song from most of his albums, aside from Heartbreaker, and no songs from Gold. But then Phil Lesh came out from behind the curtain, resolving an earlier mystery as to who "Phil" was that Ryan kept yelling at behind the stage most of the night. For those of you unseasoned to the 1960's counterculture, Phil Lesh was the bassist for the Grateful Dead. Together, Phil Lesh and Ryan Adams winched the crowd from the depths of anguish into the heights of bliss, jamming for nearly 20 minutes through a continuous track of Wharf Rat/Bird Song/Magnolia Mountain (Cold Roses track). Their fingers and voices wandered aimlessly, but were never lost. Bliss. Anguish. And no longer frustrated.

Ryan Adams is like a really good book in that the best ones are often the most difficult to read. The performance I experienced last Monday was exactly that: a difficult experience. But an experience nonetheless. It will be hard to forget the absolute raw display of confusion, comedy, song, poem, frustration, and brilliance. More importantly, it will be impossible to forget how I FELT during the experience, a feeling that will likely be unmatched by any other artist in the future. For that, I thank you Ryan Adams and please return to Portland again soon. Just don't die.
***************************************************************************************
Complete Setlist:
1. Sweet 'Lil Gal
2. Call Me On Your Way Back Home
3. Please Do Not Let Me Go
4. Elizabeth, You Were Born To Play That Part
5. Let It Ride
6. The End
7. Dear Chicago
8. Who Were We?*
9. Everything Dies*
10. My Winding Wheel
11. Solitare^
12. new song on an upcoming Ryan Adams/Willie Nelson album
13. Two
14. Stella Blue#
15. Wharf Rat-->Bird Song-->Magnolia Mountain#

* = new song
^ = Jesse Malin song (opening act)
# = with Phil Lesh

...And I'm Not Talking About e-mail

I suppose this argues that "Vegetarian" isn't a gene in my family.

Uncle d. / Lidell-ify

My, this is a busy week for the AstroSite. I have to report that at around 6PM yesterday, I became an uncle! My youngest sister just delivered a beautiful girl, "Avery," to this world. It is unfortunate that I won't get to meet Avery until December, but I'm very happy for my sister and our family. Avery is blessed to have my sister as a mother, someone that will ensure happiness, understanding, and patience throughout Avery's life. To my sister, congratulations, and to Avery, welcome to a world that, despite its flaws, is constantly reminded that new life is indeed new hope.

********************

Last night I saw Jamie Lidell for the second time (I first saw him in October of 2005). The show was incredible; in fact, I'm nonplussed, which makes writing about the performance moot. But I can describe the emotion I felt during and after Mr. Lidell's performance: bliss. It was an A.M.A.Z.I.N.G. show. Lidell's preternatural stage presence grasped the entire Doug Fir audience and folded it into a cohesive origami of soul -- Jamie's Modus Operandi. The collective group shouted, danced, and sang together as an organism in itself, leaving all blues stuffed deep into our darkest corners. And I even got to shout all of my soul into the microphone during the encore performance of "Multiply," which is, in my good friend Tom's words, "The best song Al Green never recorded".

But don't get me wrong. I'm not a Motown aficionado. Jamie Lidell is something different. Most notably, he is a computer wizard, recording and sampling his beat-boxin' voice over the sounds of tripped-out beats and blips. But then he sings. And my, does Jamie Lidell sing. The result is the juxtaposition of familiar, recycled sounds into something beautifully original. But I caution those that might pick up his latest release, "Multiply," and expect to be blown away. While the album is strong -- VERY strong -- it does not (nor should it) capture what Jamie Lidell's music is about. That, my fellow cyberfriends, is something exclusive to those fortunate souls attending his live performance. I talked to him at the bar after his set, inviting him back to P-town anytime. His response, in all his British flair: "absolutely, mate".

I'm excited to report that April is proving to be a very, VERY good month for the Portland music scene. Earlier this week I saw Subtle at the Doug Fir, who are an experimental hip-hop-tronic group from the Bay Area. This show was also impressive, exploring a unique blend of rapid-fire rhymes, subtle (no pun intended) electronic beats, and a consortium of organic instruments, from flutes to guitars. But the true gem to bless this city comes next Friday, April 24th. Ryan Adams will be performing in all his macabre beauty at the Roseland Theater, which is walking distance from my apartment. The cast is truly a winning roster, featuring Ryan Adams, his guitar, and a piano. Obviously (especially to those that know of my teenage obsession), I'm very excited. Expect an AstroSite review very soon.

Until then, keep music in your soul, and "soul" in your music.

Coda

My good friend, Billy, who I befriended during my high school years in Sioux Falls, moved to Portland just this week. I'm very excited about this, not just because I am reunited with an old friend, but also because Portland will provide Billy the perfect anecdote to those South Dakota blues. Likewise, Billy will provide a fine match for Portland's progressive, bike-loving, music-loving, expressional ideals (I couldn't think of any more adjectives, sorry). So, Billy, meet Portland, Oregon, and Portland, Oregon, meet Billy.

Billy and I became friends through music. I played bass guitar, he played drums (and still does). Together with a friend I've known since elementary school, we started the trio, "Seven Day Sail". Our mission (although largely subconscious) was to do something different than the seemingly ubiquitous, yet monotonous three-chord anger ballads. Many of the Sioux Falls bands at the time liked to play loud and hard with overtones of vocal screaming. Granted, there were some bands like "Floodplain" that performed this music very well, but there were many that did not. Gathering on influences from Sunny Day Real Estate, Sense Field, and Into Another, Seven Day Sail engineered some novel emo-like sounds (a term that was at the time undefined) for the late 1990's Sioux Falls music scene. Now, I don't mean to sound pretentious as this was YEARS ago and my vocals, while I did attempt to sing, were far from elegant. But in retrospect, our only "professionally" recorded album, "Systomatic Entropy," showcased some musical chemistry and creativity that was something special -- especially for 16 and 17-year-old kids. Upon high school graduation, I departed Seven Day Sail to pursue a college degree (and eventually graduate school, which is why I'm here in Portland), but the rest of the musicians evolved to form a new and improved band, "Billy Music". This band produced in its later years what remains as one of the best albums I own, "Midwest Index". Their sound was intense, passionate, technical, and original. It was as though they took the best ingredients from all my favorite bands and blended them into an delectable sonic elixir. It is an absolute shame that Billy Music parted ways, thereby depriving listeners of more music. But alas, such is the fate of most good bands. Their legend lives on through MySpace, which I encourage you to visit: Billy Music

It is interesting that after moving thousands of miles away from my home in Sioux Falls, SD, I can once again call a great friend my neighbor. Is it my presence and rave reviews of Portland that brought Billy out here, or is it more a result of us sharing unique, albeit quirky personality traits that caused us to choose Portland? I argue that it is the latter. Either way, I look forward to sharing new stories and experiences with my good friend, all the while reminiscing about our old stories and experiences. Welcome, Billy.

To Have Sprung Spring

I'm getting bad at updating The AstroSite. But this is by no means a precedent. My excuses include finals week, a six day trip to Seattle, the Oregon Society for Neuroscience meeting, and an approaching tax deadline. But enough excuses. The important thing is that it's spring! While those that know me will know well enough that my favorite season (by far) is autumn, the paganite within me celebrates all seasons. And spring is no different. Yes my fellow cyber friends, an organic rebirth is among us. Spring is "springing" all around. I've noticed that spring in the Pacific Northwest, as opposed to the Midwest, is dominated by tree flowers. And as you probably are aware, there are many trees in Portland, hence many, many flowers. In fact, as polluted as city air may be, right now my bike commute really does smell like roses. And the foliage is of pink and white confetti. This maternal environment arouses equanimity and anticipation -- it is as though our ancestral genes relax after helping the organism though the "Dead Seasons" of fall and winter.

I think many of us share these feelings when spring arrives, so much so, that maybe we should move the New Year to April 1st. It is hard to find motivation for change -- of which is the nature of most new year resolutions -- in the dark, cold (and wet in Portland) days of January. This is especially relevant to the popular American ambition to lose weight. January 1st may be the WORST date to decide to diet, maybe in part because our genetic baggage is expecting more months of starvation. Moreover, it is more difficult to exercise in the cold and dark winter days. But the spring...Ah, this season is nearly texting your mobile phone with words of encouragement to go outside and play.

So be it. Forget January 1st. This Saturday, April 1st is the New Year, 2006 (realize that also makes you three months younger). Nurture all that callused baggage you've accumulated over the past six months and reveal something new. Something beautiful. Something alive. Millions of other species, from insects to oak trees, are heeding the same advice. Why should we be any different?

Hometown Reds

I've got the blues over the Reds in my home state. With help from a religious conservative base, South Dakota made it a crime this week to perform an abortion, except in the rare case to save the mother's life. I strongly oppose this law. There are a number of reasons as to why I oppose -- even abhor -- this new law, but I will expound on just one reason here for the sake of brevity. Importantly, I can respect a difference of opinion. I will not harangue, rather, I will elicit one of my perspectives as dialogue.

Outlawing abortion is another major advance toward outlawing our American freedoms. Americans are currently experiencing unprecedented freedom restrictions under the Patriot Act and other less-characterized laws. For example, it is currently legal to be imprisoned indefinitely without a warrant, have our phone conversations tapped and our mail opened, have our bank records monitored, and even have our houses searched without a warrant. At the same rate, when our "leaders" speak publicly, protestors are restricted to "Free Speech Zones" (oxymoron alert!), which are sometimes placed blocks away from the speaker's location. And all of this is tolerated in the name of security.

This includes the latest attack on our freedom, South Dakota's abortion ban. In eyes of the anti-choice individual, "The unborn are now safe from abortion and have been granted the freedom of a human citizen". Biology aside (which I admit is difficult for me), freedoms have simply transferred, not increased. A fetus will now indeed be granted the freedom to mature in South Dakota (assuming it even can mature in the case of incest). But once that fetus matures and is born as an infant, there will now be two people with restricted freedoms instead of one. There will be little freedom for the new mother and child, as both will not find much help from our bankrupt social services system. A vast number of abortions are performed because the mother is too poor, too uneducated, too young, too sick, or too unstable to raise a child properly. The result from these women delivering children will burden primarily mother and child, followed by the public, thereby further limiting everyone's freedoms. Obviously, the ideal solution is to prevent these pregnancies from happening in the first place. But power begets freedom. And when one is born without power (e.g. poor and uneducated), one is likely to grow up without the power. This is the system that maintains the freedom of powerful people -- such as the people voting to outlaw abortion in South Dakota. Hence, the social service system will be burdened even more by eliminating abortions. This increases the crime rate, including rape and prostitution, and the cycle repeats exponentially, leaving everyone less secure. How ironical.

For the cause of preserving the freedoms of every American citizen, especially that of the mother, I reject any attempts to outlaw abortion in the United States. If you reject the South Dakota law, there are many ways your voice can be heard, one of which is by hitting South Dakota where it would hurt most: tourism. Send your intents to boycott visiting South Dakota by contacting the Secretary of the Department of Tourism and State Development, James Hagan, and the Director of the Office of Tourism, Billie Joe Waara, via e-mail at: sdinfo@state.sd.us

Yarrrrrhhhhhh!!!!

Yes, I'm still alive; no I have not become a pirate (although I've been tempted to try that career). I just realized that it has been a while since I've updated The Astrosite. Unfortunately, the site will remain unintelligibly updated for a little longer. I have been blessed with visitors for the past two weeks, which managed to push off updating this blog and a LOT of school work -- until now; hence the Yarrrrrrrhhhh! If only international "Talk Like A Pirate Day" was more than once a year (it's currently on September 19th). What a great holiday! I've been kicking around the pirate talk lately since my good friend, Josh, and I crawled the pubs of Portland last weekend, proving that beer really can stimulate intelligible conversation. So me mateys, hang in there and the Astrosite will be back soon (insert here a parrot voice summarizing the main point -- GAWK!!!). There is much to discuss. Much to discuss. Especially my vociferous little home state and its intent to move AWAY from the 21st Century -- in addition to the recent abortion ban, it is now legal to ride and horse and bicycle while drunk. Yarrrrrhhhhh!!!!!

To keep you interested until we meet again, copy this link into your browser:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/International_Talk_Like_A_Pirate_Day

Conspiracy Furry

I came across the film, "Loose Change," while browsing Google's video website. I have an obligation as a scientists (and often as an American citizen) to be as objective as possible. This, of course, can be very difficult at times -- even impossible. But restraint and time seem to be the best tools toward reaching clear conclusions. Therefore, I have not made my conclusion about "Loose Change". But the film is at its least intriguing and challenging. Now, I am not about to dive into the "conspiracy of 9/11" or my own beliefs; this is not the place for that as it would easily be the match for the forest fire. Rather, I want to concentrate entirely on the film.

I have been familiar with most of the arguments made in "Loose Change," such as the possible demolition of the Twin Towers and the cruise missile strike against the Pentagon. These theories have been circulating for some time, but with disparate evidence. So it was interesting to see additional evidence supporting these theories, as well as evidence (or lack there of) for theories that have not been highly circulated, such as incorrect engine turbines found at the Pentagon crash site. The film producers have done an enormous amount of research. This is essential when presenting such polemical -- even blasphemous -- arguments. Nearly every point made is supported with some form of evidence, whether documents, witness interviews, or pictures and film. And I especially enjoyed how "Loose Change" used initial media reports from major news organizations, such as ABC News, to support some of the film's claims. For example, soon after the first tower collapse, Peter Jennings comments how similar the collapse looks to a controlled demolition -- not what one would expect from a catastrophic structure failure. Similar descriptions were given on CNN and other networks. The film presents much more evidence than this, of course, but it demonstrates that after years indoctrinating the "The Official Story," we easily overlook some of the initial observations.

The problem with "Loose Change" is that the producers made a short story, not A Story. After touring all three events on Septermber 11th, 2001, exposing holes in The Official Story, the film ends without stating a motive or tying its points together. In other words: why? If the events of September 11th are indeed an unthinkable government crime or cover-up, what is the motive? I can think of plenty of motives, but the film leaves this question a hanging chad. If "Loose Change" wishes to make a cogent argument to skeptics, it must address evidence for a motive. Moreover, some of the evidence they use is dubious at best. An example of this problem is the often grainy video used by the film to draw conclusions. These problems, however, should be taken with some forgiveness as the film is in its nascent stages. "Loose Change" is scheduled to be revamped into a full-length theatrical release later this year. I will expect a much more polished, cohesive story.

Regardless, "Loose Change" makes one very strong point that is difficult to refute: The Official Story has many holes -- so many holes that it may be a conspiracy theory itself. Clearly, "The Truth" about the events that took place that day will never be known. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't pursue answers. This, however, is an argument I've already made (see my 01.17.06 blog post).

I encourage you to watch this film and draw your own conclusions. Just click on the link below to watch Loose Change. There is also a "Version 2," but I think "Version 1" is better for brevity's sake. Importantly, downloading the film (right column) and then watching it will allow for a higher resolution viewing.

Loose Change

Scientizzle's Blog -- Now With A Working Link!

I have learned that since The Astrosite's inception, my friend, "Scientizzle's," blog link was not functioning -- nor was my Mercy Corps. link. Both problems have been fixed. I encourage you visit Mr. "Scientizzle's" site as it is updated frequently and provides a nice contrast to the heavy self-indulgence of my blog.

...And on an unrelated note, congratulations to the Seahawks for finally representing the Pacific Northwest in the Super Bowl! But my sudden interest in football is quite an anomaly, I assure you. My friends have been shocked that I even knew of "The Game" today, let alone that I wanted to watch it. While it wasn't a great game (in the sense of being nail-biter), it is always welcome to see victory anoint a team for the first time. So yes, when "The Game" is on again soon, I'll be watching and rooting for "D," who I've discovered is always the most popular player in sports.

To Be Or Not To See?

When I was in high school I wrote a short essay on "The Truth". My inchoate, adolescent mind was able to come to two conclusions: it either doesn't exist or we cannot know it. This fleeting entity has humbled human effort for ages. It flunks to no intellect; fractures to no strength; loses to no slight of hand. The Truth is the deceiver of deceivers; it is exclusively the knowledge of God. So why pursue it? Every person I've ever met has surrendered a part of their life to pursuing something unobtainable. What madness! There is no better example of such a person than myself: an aspiring neuroscientist. But maybe it is the pursuit of the truth that gives all fallacy meaning. If, for instance, the absolute nature of an orange was known, then what? It won't matter how the orange tastes, or its color, or its weight, or its origin. All those things will be known to everyone, everywhere, forever. The orange is resolved. And that is boring. I don't want to eat that orange. It is the mystery in an orange's texture and flavor -- the diverse opinions from people that may describe the orange differently -- that allow the orange to be delicious. And it is this type of mystery that oils the sprockets of human purpose. We shall never know The Truth unless we are to be purposeless, or for a more savvy muse, unless we are to be God. But it can also be argued that the truth doesn't exist at all; hence, the orange has no true nature, just fleeting existences. Humans, including myself, have problems with this second perspective. Without The Truth, there can be no pursuit of it, and with no pursuit comes no meaning. So then maybe our lives have no meaning. Obviously this won't settle well either. I have plenty of experiences, people, and places that certainly have meaning to me. In homage to Descartes, we do exist because we can ask if we exist. This ability is truly beautiful; it is God's signature. Our brain -- an organized mass of carbon-based molecules -- knows it exists. But do the mouse neurons I'm culturing in the incubator right now know they exist? If they do not, at what point do they gain "awareness"? On the contrary, if they do know they exist, then must my orange also know that it exists? What madness! Perhaps the only truth we will ever know is that we cannot obtain the truth; to do so would be to know the mind of God. And to know the mind of God is to be God, which we're clearly not. And now I'm back to where I started (how humanly typical!): we know nothing.

No matter your perspective on what The Truth is or isn't, it is imperative to respect The Truth (which is precisely what many cultures have been doing for ages through the lore of deities). Unfortunately, abuse of The Truth is rampant. It is as though our brains have gained some serious evolutionary hangtime as a cost for the launch of our consciousness. We have evolved, are aware, and can now "see," but the sheer glare from the intangible Truth can scare us into believing just about anything so long as we don't have to float in a void of blind pursuit. I've been immensely disappointed in people that are supposedly engaged in the pursuit of The Truth for passion's sake (such as a true [pun not intended!] scientist); yet these same people make perfunctory assumptions to which they prescribe as The Truth. We are all guilty of doing this for time to time, but problems arise when pertinacious acknowledgements are made that "The Truth" has been reached. For example, when I would see dark, black clouds while living in South Dakota, I assumed it was going to rain and acted appropriately -- like finishing my beer in the garage. But I didn't cancel the party because maybe it would not rain despite the ominous sky. In this example I acknowledged the truth as a probability, not as The Truth. Likewise, just because two people are dating doesn't mean they are having sex; just because someone is a beer aficionado doesn't mean they drink too much; just because someone deplores George W. Bush doesn't mean that they are a Democrat; Hence, in the search for meaning, we easily lose it. We cannot, nor shouldn't try to dupe The Truth. It will always have the last word. We must respect that. Just as there are, no doubt, 35 black dots in that image above, the glory -- the meaning -- is in the pursuit, not in the nature of The Truth.

Happy Year of the Dog

I'm not sure I know what it means, but my calander told me this morning that 2006 is to be 'Year Of The Dog.' This is somewhat appropriate since the Dog Genome was recently sequenced, but obviously the timing could have been better had that discovery waited a few months. Regardless, it has been way too long since I've updated this, but it's not like anyone has been checking it anyway, so I guess I shouldn't care. But I did have a good friend give me a pumpkin bread recipe (see earlier postings).

2005 was an incredibly intense and complex year for me. I'll spare the details, as much of the details are too personal for the public forum. But in sum, it was a transition year. Or better, a reconstruction year. Old foundations were completely demolished and restructured. The glory in this toil is the confidence that my new life structure will be better than the old. Change is hard, but for someone like myself who is constantly searching -- exploring -- for The Human Experience, change is growth. And, unless you're a tumor, growth is good. There is nothing novel or profound about this statement; rather, it's that the weight of the statement is now understood. I have completely reconstructed relationships, beliefs, and perspectives, all of which are very heavy stones in a very human house. I look forward to 2006 as a year of refinement (after, of course, my coming bouts with lots and lots of dogs). I don't think anyone has the capacity to tolerate constant change, nor should they. Refinement is focus -- clarity -- and right now 2005 remains as a tenacious hangover. And so, like everything else, I am at the mercy of time. Patience will be required to allow refinement of the profound changes I experienced in 2005. And in a paradoxical way, NOT working at achieving this coveted focus is likely to yield the clearest picture. Some things are tarnished by effort; they are, in a sense, live entities in themselves that must prosper on their own. 2005 is one of those entities for me and will require time to mature. So I wait in anticipation for 2006. Like the product of a genetic code, a year's product is an amalgam of elements you can and cannot control. And since probability is required to give you as many deleterious as beneficial uncontrolled elements, utilizing even the smallest amount of controllable elements in your favor is bound to lead to a mostly good year. How's that for an analytical approach!

I hope all of you find at least some good reflections in 2005; may 2006 embrace your best ambitions.

Happy New Year!