First Flashmob Ever

Hey people. Wow. It has been A WEEK around here. I've been vacillating wildly between "I suck, and am totally ineffectual and irrelevant," and, "I am awesome. The only thing more awesome than me is my gigantic submerged iceberg of potential awesomeness."

Basically, yeah, tinfoil beanie time. What has managed to pull me out of several nosedives this week though, as usual, has been the right tune at the right time. That and getting to ride my bike really fast a couple times-- On pavement, but still pretty fun, especially with the obnoxious silver and purple wind-spinner I taped to my handlebars. WEE!

Enjoy this awesome scene from one of the best movies ever-- Ferris Bueller's Day Off. (Sis- we are totally renting this next time I come down.) You WILL be in a better mood after this, especially if desk-dancing is involved. Guaranteed.



In Other SueNews:

The river has risen a bit since last weekend, but nothing critical.

This is the hanging-out, having beers deck. Our house is still on dry land.

The grasses are getting quite a hair-wash. Looks cool.

A few of you have said Tina looks like me. I'm not so sure, but thanks.

If anyone's been wondering, Tootie and Mike's red hot romance is still ON.

But, she has been busted flirting with Ray when Mike's not around. The slut.

Oh- Also, Dan and I determined I sometimes laugh like Scooby Doo.

Here's hoping you find a little window of fun and/or jamming out today.

Jezebel Birdsong

OK. It's 2 "A" dot fricking "M" people. I'm 35,000 words in on my revision and the manuscript is up to 78,000 total now and counting. Think I can finish by Fri?? D'ya think???? The good news is most of the end doesn't need any work, it's just getting through this middle part.


As far as weldy stuff goes-- "They call me Hell, they call me Staceeeeeeey...That's not my name." This is Jezebel Birdsong-- one of my characters, a ghost. This is with just the warpaint.

Now with her bandit mask she's starting to look a little wrestle-mania.

OK, now we're talking. Now I'm really feelin' her. I think she's surpassed my lame drawing-- thank God!

Stuff coworkers would have endured today-- frequent air guitar breaks using whatever was handy, usually the welding gun, head whipping episodes resembling seizures-- or maybe me being shaken like a ragdoll by an invisible giant, me stomping around singing "I am the greatest man that ever lived" (yeah I said it) super loud, and "Monkey Wrench" and busting out my awesome terrible dance moves.

In truth none of that would have occurred if I had coworkers because I would have felt too stupid to totally rock-out in front of them. Instead I would have, with great effort, restrained myself, and tried to mentally block them out, and been mad at them for unwittingly oppressing me and my rockingness. --- Or, more likely, I would have tried to corrupt them into being all goofy with me and no work would have gotten done.

See? I'm way better off on my own.

Getting there. Shoulders and arms are still off.
Hopefully tomorrow will be a pwnfest.

T minus 6

That's how many weeks I have until the show people. This week I need to start strategizing. This is the part I like least, and almost always wind-up rebelling against. I even hate it when I tell myself what to do. I'm thinking in this economy I should concentrate on low budget stuff. I've got an idea for kind of dogtaggy necklaces with messages stamped into them. I'm tempted to conduct a little experiment and have a bunch that say, "O FDL STX" and some that say, "EFF EFF EFF" and see which ones sell better. I suspect people secretly like to be bad and sweary when they can get away with it, but I could be projecting. My fav saying so far is "PWN IT BB".

As you can see Ray is still trying to poison my ass with cutosterone. Here he is pretending to be a bolster pillow. Look at his curled-up little feets-- or wait-- don't! I'm not sure if he can transmit through the internet at you. Better safe than sorry.

This horrible blurry shot is of a couple of holes I burned in my finger yesterday, and Annie pointedly ignoring me. "Let me know when you're ready to pet me, or feed me. Le sigh."

I played a lot of White Stripes and Black Keys yesterday to dispell the suck of last week. Whew-- iPod = still awesome. I run on tune power. it probably tires me out more because I have to occasionally rock out and that uses up energy, but, it needs to be done. After listening some more, I do actually like some of Dan Auerbach's new album. I just had really high expectations and was looking forward to super dirty guitars and more oomph-- yelly stuff.

I almost made my goal of finishing the birch commission. Painted rusty steel is my favorite kind to work with but the absolute WORST to weld. So this one is taking forever because there's a million tiny tack welds all over it and it's too heavy to get onto the SuckWOW (bench). It's about 4' in diameter, so most of the welds yesterday involved a squat of some kind. Good workout anyway.

These people really like Asian art and that aesthetic-- lots of negative space and a weird asymmetrical balance. My version is surely some bastardized hybrid, but they seem to like it. Today I'll put on the finishing touches and open up the edges of the design more. Pics tomorrow.

As far as other stuff-- was exhausted after work yesterday but Trusty Pam dragged me out for an hour + 20 ski that woke me back up. (I told her when we met if she hung with me I'd turn her into an outside girl. I created a monster yo.) Then last night I got on a revision roll (another 35k down) and got sucked back into "Uglies" (cool book btw if you like kind of sci -fi stuff) and was up until, like, 3:30. Yikes.

Today after I finish waking up I'll weld up that commish, then run a little, then, yep-- more revision.

So-- would you be an "O FDL STX" person or an "EFF EFF EFF" person??? I'm kind of both. Maybe I should sell ball-chains separate so people can mix them together...

Snow-- Yay!

What happened? I tell you what-- my powers people. I have been squinting up my face all week transmitting my snow vibes, and-- voila! The ice at the trail has been really pissing me off. When it's really hard and smooth, even with the yak tracks on (these stainless steel coils on the bottom of your shoes that give you more traction) I feel like a dog with too long toenails-- scooting around corners. Maybe now some bikes will go pack all this down and by tomorrow it'll be perfecto again. (transmitting perfect trail vibes now) (>.<) Isn't this sign cool? It's the same sign in my story that marks the entrance of the secret hideaway, forgotten, bootlegger resort/ hippy enclave where most of it takes place. It's even called "Hubbard's Sunshine Resort".

This is cool too huh? It's out in the woods by the river. Supposedly some guy was going to log out some trees a long time ago and his truck just died there. Another freaky thing about my story-- I was talking to my cool artist neighbors (who've lived here forever and who we share the big woods with) and I told them my story's setting was a place like where we live, but lots bigger, and the site of a big old resort. They looked at me all weird and were like, "You know this was a resort at one time right?" No. Way.

They showed me some old foundations out in the woods where there had once been cabins, and there's old bottles and junk all over down here and up along the bluff. That's not even the freakiest thing.

The day after I read my crit partner a scene where a major character dies, there was a news story about a guy found in some river up in new england. They weren't sure how long he'd been in the river (he was just bones wearing a coat by now), and he had on a backpack full of rocks, with just one photo inside. This is almost exactly, exactly the deal with my guy. She said she got the big time chills when that happened. Sometimes I wonder if that guy's name was Dave too.

Cosmicness abounds.

In other sue News-- apparently my musical idols have banded together to try to crush my dreams this week. First Dan's album, while "good", wasn't the head exploding rock-fest I'd been looking forward to, then last night--- the White effing Stripes reunited for Conan's last show. When they announced it I literally squealed and grabbed Dan's arm with my talons of excitement. I'd been pestering him for another back rub, using my usual argument -- "Hey, a lot of people would pay good money to rub my back buddy" (this only works once in a while) and when they announced The White Stripes it was a total surprise and I went wild.

After spazing out about Jack White for about ten minutes I jokingly said, "Ok Stripes, don't embarrass me." (Because Dan isn't that into my music and was all -- "Who?") Then Meg stands there in this hideous-beyond-belief Mama Cass get up, playing her little red guitar like it was her first lesson. They did one of their mellowest songs ever-- badly, no drums (um-- hello-- did anyone tell you guys you're The White effing Stripes?) and Jack kind of croaked unenthusiastically looking like he'd rather be getting a colonoscopy. Thanks guys-- for making me quit wishing you'd get back together. Go Racs.

As far as my own actual life-- writing-wise I have about 20 k left to go on the revision. Art-wise, this weekend I want to finish the birch commission. I'll have to work like mad but I think I can do it, and I want to finish my revision (this pass of it) by the end of next week (plus I want to get in a full run of the trail sometime next week, all four sections). There's a Grandma day in there too (I promised her another "date".) I'm still fresh enough where this just sounds cool, not exhausting. Right now I feel like there is so much waiting for me, so much I want to do. Wow, an energy buzz and I haven't even had caffeine yet.

Think of any new stuff you're going to try this spring/summer yet?

I Got Yer Rock Right Here

Hey People-- welcome to Fav Music Friday. I had been planning, for months, for this to be the post where I featured Dan Auerbach's new album "Keep It Hid", but, it was rather disappointing to me in its lack of head-whippage. Sorry Dan-- Still love you though. (But get Pat back in the studio.) (It's not that it isn't good, just not what I was looking for.)

So-- you remember me talking about Buffalo right? Well, amid all the weirdness there I stumbled on a secret treasure trove of vintage vinyl.

There are hundreds of albums dating back to the fifties-- most from the sixties and seventies.

Some are scratched, but they're only asking about $7 per, so if you even just want the awesome covers, it's probably a good find. They're hidden in this unlikely looking antique store that totally smells like old lady closet. No one would ever suspect. I picked up a cool shirt there that's kind of Jack White meets Howdy Doody too. Email me if you want deets (on the vinyl not the shirt).

Houses of the Holy for $7?! Come on man!

Anyway, today's selection is kind of a tribute to those older bands. Oasis has been rocking it hard for about 14 years. They're a Britt outfit run by the Gallagher brothers. Frontman Neil Gallagher is well known for volatile "Rock Star" antics, and they're sound feels big to me. When I hear them my ears prick up the same way they did when I heard Robert Plant's pre-Allison Krause solo hit "Shine It All Around" on the radio the first time. (Not realizing it was him-- insert glowy halo effect and sustained harmonic choir note.) There was some kind of intentionality to it, and quality that made me go-- "This person knows their shit".

I'm NOT comparing Oasis to Robert Plant. I'm just saying they remind of that seventies big rock sound. I picked "Bag It Up" because I love the line "someone tell me I'm dreaming, the freaks are rising up through the floor". It reminds me of the ghosts in my writing.

Enjoy the vid-- which is a fan vid but has lyrics. Complete lyrics after the jump. (Scroll down)

Lyrics to Bag It Up :

Gold and silver and sunshine is rising up
Pour yourself another cup of Lady Grey
Take my hand in the meantime, when you've had enough
You'll find me on the end of a runway, babe

Tell the world that you love them in a melody
Send my old piano and a telegram
Gotta get me a doctor with a remedy
I'm gonna talk a walk with the Monkey Man!

Someone tell me I'm dreaming
The freaks are rising up through the floor
Everything I believe in
Is telling me that I want more, more, more

Lay your love on the fire when you come on in
I got my hee-bee-jee-bees in a hidden bag
Tell me what you desire and we'll bag it up, high

Someone tell me I'm dreaming
The freaks are rising up through the floor
Everything I believe in
Is telling me that I want more, more, more

Lay your love on the fire when you come on in
I got my hee-bee-jee-bees in a hidden bag
Tell me what you desire and we'll bag it up, high

Shine a light on your fire when you come on in
I got my hee-bee-jee-bees in a hidden bag
Tell me what you desire and we'll bag it up, high

Wurkin'

Hey people-- Behold the SuckWOW. It's 99% done. Yesterday I did a lot of cutting and what I did on the bench top as shown went fine, but when I hung the steel out over the edge and tried to work that way it wasn't sucky enough and the room filled with metal dust and fumes. Boo. The next modification will be cutting a couple of slots on the sides I can close off with magnetized "doors". But admit it-- awesome no? Tadaaaahhhh!

Here's how the next commission is progressing. Hopefully you can tell it involves birch trees. They're going in that wheel rim. The clients want to mount it on the wall of their sunroom. (These are the very nice Unitarian Wisconsinites who've been waiting for about a year and a half-- I know-- I am suck-- wow.)

Some leaves and a view of the SuckWOW's top.

Work itself went pretty smooth the last couple days. No more fires, getting a lot done, but yesterday was a bit disappointing in the jamming out department. I got myself a little treat and downloaded "Keep It Hid", Dan Auerbach's new album. I listened, and it was alright, but Dan--wtf dude? I still have a face! You DID NOT rock it off.

Apparently, even though you are massively, virtuostically talented, Pat's rock/punk influence on you is a big part of what I enjoy about the Black Keys. (check the player) I can only take this less than rockin' solo debut as a sign you've finally managed to get over me and move on. I get it, you needed to try something totally different, all on your own, to help you get out of your box. This is good, and healthy, even if I don't like it as well as other stuff you've done.

Maybe now we can move into the much more fun bromance phase of our relationship. No more weirdness, just hanging out, goofing around, and sometimes socking each other on the arm affectionately.
Whew.

In other Sue news-- Ray continues to try to poison us with cutosterone. Still up to his evil fuzzy geniusing tricks.

Here he is with Mike (aka Meathooks). Yes, we don't have a sun room, but the cats do. Priorities...

God this is random, but -- too bad, I'm going for it.

So last night I got together with a couple of my arty/writery buddies and they asked me if I'd learned the drum solo from "InnaGoddaDavida" (or however you spell it) yet, and I said we actual drummers, who've had 3 or more lessons, feel huge extended drum solos are a little showboaty and the mark of an amateur. (You know, in retrospect I think they may have been secretly mocking me... ~simmer~)

Anyway, later they asked me about my leg-- how it's been holding up with the running (which I've been pwning lately btw). I said fine and we got to talking about injuries and stuff and I was like, "It's a bone. It should heal by itself." But secretly inside I was picturing myself in some kind of Charlton Heston God get-up thumping my staff booming, "Tibia-- heal thyself!" -- and my tibia sort of quaking with fear and getting on it.

Then last night I had this dream where I was getting a drum lesson from this old Moses-y dude. I busted into this giganto fill and he was all, "NO NO NO! You're not playing the silent beats. Like this--" then he forces my to play just three, painfully slow beats with miles of space between. Hmm, deep? or just trippy?

Oh brain, sometimes I wonder just who is entertaining who here.
Take it easy people. Shake something if possible.

Get Your Heart On

Hey people. It may be Valentine's Day weekend, but it's also Fav Music Friday, so buckle-up.

Take a good look at me now, because after March 7th my face will have been rocked the eff off. In yet another futile bid for my affections, Dan Auerbach (of the Black Keys) has booked a show at 1st Ave in Minneapolis.

Some of you know our history-- how he has this obsession with me. I keep telling him I already have a Dan at home. But-- Can't blame a guy for trying I guess. You know I'll always love you honey, but we have to be just friends. (sniff) (That was him.)

Speaking of imaginary almost boyfriends, my pretend ex, Dave, stars in today's video feature.

He has selfishly disabled the embedding, so you have to click HERE. This is one of the sexiest videos I've ever seen yo. TMI to be sure, but Dan has benefited greatly from this vid. If I was that girl I'd be on that glass like a mofo. I'd figure out some way to squeeze through that little vent thing. I wish you wuz on my back dude. Check :41 where he's grinning goofily for just a spit second. Oh Dave. You big goofball. He is still smokin' hot (Grammy performance eval-- grinning wildly while drumming his ass off for Paul friggin' McCarney-- yay! While wearing a shirt-- boo!). We broke up though because I kept beating him at ping pong and he just couldn't handle it. We're still good friends though. (He'd still be way into it if not for his new family man life.)

In RL, Dan and I don't really do V-Day so much. I used to go with a guy who was super into buying me stuff-- flowers constantly, fancy dinners, clothes (he like to try to gussy me up), but it was really kind of ick because it was mostly about his ego. I never was a roses girl.

When Dan and I hooked up, he made a feeble stab at the traditional guy gift fiasco, but always pretty much sucked at the "romantic" stuff. We girls are pretty pre-programmed to believe the entire relationship hinges on these pivotal calendar days where the guy is supposed to miraculously become intuitive and sensitive and find the perfect way to express his deep love for us through the selection of a gift. Bonus points if this gift took some kind of huge effort on his part.

This is bull ladies. Guys aren't wired this way really. Some try, and some are better at this stuff than others, but it's not the yardstick you should measure your relationship by.

Dan sucks at picking out gifts, but his cards-- now usually embellished with a handwritten note just plain old telling me he loves me and how much he digs our life together-- are awesome. He shows his love in other ways, scraping my windshield and building my shop, and letting me do my thing unhindered, and chasing me around with a flashlight for a while before we totally make-out-- oh, sorry. I ventured into TMI-land again.

Have a good weekend. Try to shake something at some point. If you're not with anyone, love yourself up. Take that however you want. (Man you people are freaks.) ~~hug from me~~

Strange Victory

Hey people-- and welcome to Fav Lyrics Fri again. I found the coolest video for this week's pic, but youtube is once again making me its bitch and refusing to post, so here's the link (worth the click). Look for that actual vid to show up at some distant, random point in the future.

I picked the song because of it's weird, unlikely lyrics. It exemplifies beautifully how valuable it is to wade around in the lyrics/poetry pool every once in a while. The bizarre word combinations and imagery are so unlike anything I would come up with on my own. Somehow this kind of stuff pries open the door to that room in my head-- you know the one writery and art types.

The video is awesome because of it's DIY cool factor. FBO is on my blog list too now, and they're looking for band members music heads. Check it out.

I love when people go all indie on stuff, especially when they use old school, "any one could have done this" (but they didn't-- did they?) mediums. On that note, I've linked this a couple of times in the past but check out Miranda July's DIY book promo. (Be sure to click pink arrows in bottom right corner.) Genius. I can't wait to work on stuff like this WHEN my novel gets picked up.

In other Sue-news-- Thanksgiving went well yesterday. We got to meet the newest family member, my cousin's one month old baby- Jacob. Super cute! (and most babies really aren't, let's face it.) We had about an hour drive each way so I got to play one of my favorite car-ride games with Dan. I wait for him to drift up next to another car, then I turn towards the window and, after making certain no one in the other car is looking (unbeknownst to Dan-- who needs to think the opposite, that some big dangerous guy IS looking), begin gesticulating and yelling, "My husband is going to kick your ASS!" Especially funny to do at tough motorcycle guys. Yes, Dan's life is one, big, long, fun-fest. (He actually thinks it's kind of funny now, and sometimes plays along-- threatening to tear the other drivers arm off and beat them with it etc, all in a super deep macho voice-- hilariousness.)

Today was mostly spent (already talking as if it's over-- a lost cause) avoiding cleaning. I deliberated for a long time about whether to chop a lot of the back of my hair off (ARTAD persists) but decided not to, wandered room to room jamming-out, practiced my rocking stage jump off bottom 3 steps into entryway, designed logo for Monroe's (novel character) new band, then went shopping and running with Trusty Pam. Was going to driveway weld since it is all of 40 degrees today, but there is no more outside water and dried leaves all over, so not very safe. Oh well, guess I'll have to write. (secret- yay!)

Alright-- check out these lyrics. Remember to play the home version you really need to listen as you read. It's in the top of the player. Email subscribers-- I love you guys but you are missing out if you never visit the real live blog and check out the player and all the labels and links and pics. Shake it this weekend people-- it's good for you.

"Strange Victory- Strange Defeat"
by The Silver Jews

Squirrels imported from Connecticut
Just in time for fall
How much fun is a lot more fun?
Not much fun at all
What's with all the handsome grandsons
In these rock band magazines?
And what have they done with the fat ones?
The bald and the goatee'd?

Strange victory!
Strange victory!
Strange victory!
Strange defeat

A tale is told of a band of squirrels
Who lived in defiance of defeat
They woke up in the nightmare world
Of craven mediocrity
They said, "We're coming out of the black patch!
We're coming out of the pocket!
We're calling into question
Such virtue gone to seed!"

Sue Heffner Mode

Hey people-- The onset of winter around here also brings on more frequent appearances of Sue Hefner. That's what I call myself when I spend the entire day in my robe writing.

Since Dan is still not finished building the "shop that time forgot" (cue echo-y announcer voice), and there is no way in heck I'm going to weld out in the driveway when it's, like, 25 out, I get to be Sue Hefner. The neighbor stopping by yesterday was a perfect example of why this can only be a wintertime writing ritual. If he'd have come by in June there is no way he'd catch me schlepping around in my Foo Fighter's T and underoo's. (I so wish there actually were adult underoo's. How cool would Wonder Woman underpants be?! That might be enough to get me to institute summertime Sue Hefner days...) (Actually that might spur me into a whole host of swashbuckle-y antics.)
All he saw was me in the robe though, and, being an artist too, didn't really raise an eyebrow. (I love where I live-- It's like my own private hippy compound, much like in my novels actually.) This was like 3 in the afternoon. Nothing strange about that.

My robe, I have to say, is pretty much made of awesome. It's some kind of space-age ultra soft material that a lot of baby blankets etc are made out of. When I saw it at the store I wanted it so bad I talked Dan into getting it as "our" anniversary present one year. "We can call it 'the love robe'," I pleaded, trying to convince him of how awesome it would be "sharing" the robe. "You can wear it every other weekend!"

In keeping with the tradition of me getting almost everything I really want, (and him too), we got it, and for a while I even went through the motions of sharing it with him, casually asking, "Have you seen the love robe?" and "Did you have it last?" He'd just look at me like, "Do you seriously think you can pull this farce off?" Now it's pretty much just mine.

I wear it with my sheepskin boots. I put off buying these for years, feeling guilty about the $, and, you know, the sheep, but finally succumbed this year. Sorry sheep, but soooooo comfy. I try to convince him this is a sexy get-up, "Kind of like Princess Leah without the honey-bun hairdo." I demonstrated the potential of this idea by whipping one edge of the robe aside displaying partial leg nudity (w/ boots-- bonus points), and waving the butter knife around like a light saber. Unfortunately Dan is more of a "My Name Is Earl" geek than a fanboy geek so he just gave me the same sceptical "love robe" expression and said, "Yeah, lose the robe and we'll talk."

Yesterday I laid down something like 3500 words, which is pretty decathlonic (Yes Virgina, you can invent words) for we writery types. Steven King I guess writes 3000 a day, which kind of pokes my competitive side. Hey-- what one person can do, another can do. Besides, my characters were on a roll and I had the love robe mojo going for me. My motto for word count is, "Insist on 1000, shoot for 2000, and beyond that, quit when the scene ends or the characters take a smoke break."

There hasn't been a whole lot of jamming out lately aside from shower performances (which I have rocked btw-- too bad no one ever witnesses these), so I'm going to leave Brad Sucks at the top of the player a little longer, because really, he doesn't suck. Oh goody, irony.

You email subscribers need to visit the actual, colorful, picture enhanced blog so you can see what a real slag hammer looks like, check out the labels and vastly improved bloglist, and play you some music.

Remember to shake it sometime today. Later.

Death Cab for Cutie-Grapevine Fires (Live From Seattle)

Hey people—Welcome, once again, to Fav Lyrics Friday.
Even you rock scardey’s will probably be into this week’s pic. It’s pretty darn mellow.
Check out “Grapevine Fires” by Death Cab For Cutie.

When I fist heard OF Death Cab, I thought—“cool name”. Then when I heard them play, I was like, “Cool drums, singer—blech.” But he’s won me over.

See, I have this thing about tenors. When guys take it high vocally, I actually prefer it if the wheels kind of fall off. I love when Jack White’s voice just shatters all to hell and before you know it he’s just kind of yelping or screaming. Some guys can pull off the soaring thing (Jimmy Eat World), but I’ve got to be sold on the lyrics, that they’re coming from inside somewhere. (Hello?-- Cold Play—not sold).

If a guy’s going to take it up into the upper registers I want to feel that he’s giving it up—That it’s about the song and not his voice. Otherwise, if he holds his note it just comes off as some lame ego display, and if he can’t quite-- balloon-y, running out of air badness.

Anyway, when I heard Neil Young hand picked this band to open for him on tour I went, “??????—Neil Young you say?”

That made me think of Greg—Remember Greg?
And Neil knows from song writing. I had to take a harder listen.

This song is beautiful, and I guess I’m sold on the guy’s writing. They don’t rock as hard as I usually like to, but good is good so there you go. Enjoy, and remember to support the artists you enjoy by buying t heir music—from them when possible.

Grapevine Fires
By Death Cab For Cutie

When the wind picked up, the fire spread
And the grapevine seemed left for dead
And the northern sky looked like the end of days
The end of days

And a wake-up call to a rented room
Sounded like an alarm of impending doom
To warn us it's only a matter of time
Before we all burn
Before we all burn
Before we all burn
Before we all burn

Bought some wine and some paper cups
Near your daughter's school when we picked her up
And drove to a cemetery on a hill, on a hill

We watched the plumes paint the sky gray
She laughed and danced through the field of graves
And there I knew it would be all right
That everything would be all right
Would be all right
Would be all right
Would be all right
Would be all right

And the news reports
On the radio said it was getting worse
As the ocean air fanned the flames
But I couldn't think
Of anywhere I would've rather been
To watch it all burn away
Burn away
Burn
Burn
Burn
Burn
Burn
Burn

And the firemen worked in double shifts
With prayers for rain on their lips
And they knew it was only a matter of time

What's In A Name?

OK-- Can I just say "Flomax" and "Boniva"?-- Two of the funniest drug names ever.
Setting aside the seriousness of the conditions that would require you to take them, can you imagine being in those meetings? What were the other suggestions? "How about 'Pee-hoz-omine'?"
I love those names because they are so descriptive they sound like something the SNL writers would have come up with. (Annual anyone?)

In my books there are a lot of musicians, so one thing I get to do is make up band names. I LOVE band names. The best ones are the most random. Here are some from The Current's playlist yesterday (yes-- they're cool, and yes-- they stream, and no -- not one commercial)

One Day As A Lion
Badly Drawn Boy
School Of Seven Bells
Trampled By Turtles
The Broken West
Supergrass
Drive By Truckers

These are only a few-- I was trying to pick bands I've never mentioned and you may not have heard of yet. Of course my favorite recently discovered band name is just one guy really but-- Brad Sucks. That name is pure genius. At the very least it makes you curious. Go on-- push play rock scardey cats, I dare you! Actually, I challenge you to not go there on the "yeah-yeah's" -- tres impossible! (spoken in pretend french). Oh yeah, you'll be shaking it and you'll be likin' it.

Some of you may remember I changed the name of Book 1 from "Dirt Nap" to "The Crimson Cord" because I began to feel Dirt Nap may have sold it short on some level. I still think it's kind of grabbing though. Crimson Cord has ties-ins with the narrative and feels more meaningful and, who knows on this one-- but I read books that start with "The" are more popular. ???? (I know, pretty lame.) I also went through this whole thing a while back where I almost changed the name of this here blog, but decided to keep it. Screw all the pervy slang implications. Slag Hammer is mine Urban Dictionary-- mine I say! (insert trademark menacing finger twist here)

So here are a few of the names I've come up with for the pretend bands in my books. Feel free to toss yours on the comments pile, but be warned-- they may get stolen! Tell me your favorite-- and any other thoughts-- novel name change good idea? Bad?

Plot House
Big Eye
Pilfer
Footy
Punch Drunk
Klooj
Retzin
Apex
Gravity Check
Quirty
Yard Sale
Ditch Mission
Spook Tank
Fubar
Trike
Red House
Grind Lab
Roughy

Weird-Ass Wed

Hey-- sometimes when a theme presents itself you just have to go with it. So welcome to another Disturbia post starring everyone's favorite-- creepy dolls!

Ok-- who thought this was a good idea? And, more to the point, do you think they knew what they were doing? Disturbia masterpiece or misguided attempt at adorableness?

This is a submission from buddy Linda (actually a lot of these are-- thanks Linda!). I love the scale and framing of the shot-- it infuses it with so much more dread and despair than if it were just centered nicely. Great job! "Someone save her!"

This is so wrong on so many levels. For those of you not familiar with the humiliating past of Minnesota politics-- this is Jesse Ventura-- yes, former pro wrestler, current horrid facial hair wearing idiotic nutball, and former GOVENATOR (as he called himself) of our state. God help us. Again-- kudos to Linda for posing him in the fanciful super white wicker chair. Way to emasculate.


Ok, I took these, way back when Linda and I attended the MN State Fair last summer (again-- insert shimmery dissolve indicating time travel here)

This booth was a Disturbia treasure-trove. I was particularly horrified by some extraordinarily corpse-like "dolls"-- I guess. WTF people? Who would find this in any way appealing?

Then I saw some infotainment show explaining it all. They're called "reborns" and apparently there is a whole subculture of demented women who "adopt" these things and tote them around pretending they're their very own real, live baby-- that will never ever grow up and leave them. Have you ever heard of anything so sad and creepy? Remember the log lady from Twin Peaks? (Yes-- I'm that old, but am so immature you'd never guess.)

This one is actually kind of cute. it's like it's saying-- "Yes, hello-- I'm totally NOT real, and hello-- neither are any of the rest of these creepy things-- wacko."

Yeah, again with the sad-badness. The booth was also brimming with angels.

Don't get me wrong-- I know some people just collect dolls because they admire the craftsmanship of whatever, but the whole, taking it to the park and swinging it on a swing with all the real live children was just a bit over the top for me. Plus-- sorry, most dolls freak me out.

In other Sue-news-- The writing yesterday went unexpectedly well. Ok, actually, not a lot of NEW writing happened, because I had to go back through what I have and reacquaint myself, but i was pleasantly surprised.

First of all I thought i was 25 to 30 k into #2, but am actually 40k in, and have notes etc, bread crumbs to follow to get me the rest of the way through the first draft. Then I will have TONS of tweaking to do, and already have a bunch of notes about that, but first-- get it all down right writery types?

Not only that, but #3 is busy assembling its bones as I run and drive around. God I love these characters, and all the ghosts, and the town. Can I move in with them do you think?

For those of you missing the jamming-out posts, I can tell you the $20 I spent over at Brad Sucks was the best investment I've made in recent memory. Rock "Bad Attraction" in the player and go download you some Brad Sucks music over at his site. I'll be bugging you more about him. He deserves to break big. Let's take him viral folks. Spread the linkage.

Ch-ch-ch-Changes...

Play David Bowie's Awesome "Changes" in the player and get all old school rebel-y.

This is the pixie-ish face that has greeted me from the box of my most recent hair color incarnation for the last few years. The color even had a great, evocative name-- "French Roast". Many a time Trusty Pam has endured impressions of this hair model -- me looking slightly poutily over my shoulder at her, blinking doe-like, and, in my best pretend-french accent, exclaiming, "Ooo-- French Roast!"

Now she's been replaced by this, this interloper! The color name has been changed too, to "Deep Bronzed Brown". Why don't they just call it "Blahsville"? I'm not sure what this girl is saying, but I'm sure it's in some disgusting, whispery, baby voice. Ish. Booo Revlon. Booooooo! You have incurred my wrath!

I remember when I was seventeen thinking it was hilarious brown hair color even existed. If you were going to go out and intentionally color your hair, go to all the trouble, why, oh why, would you pick brown-- the most boring color on the planet? I had a lot to learn.

For one thing, when you've already had about every color there is, and your last "do" was a little number you and your stylist named the "Atomic Fireball", (short, spiky, three colors of red with some blond and just a couple of pink sections-- awesomeness!), brown sort of becomes the new pink mohawk.

You take it back, this original hair color, as close to the one you were born with as possible, just to "rest", while you contemplate your next hair incarnation. Then it takes on a hint of irony, like pigtails on a goth chick. Before you know it, all those other super wild ghosts of hairdo's past just begin to feel like costumes you no longer need. Now I'm into the brown, even if I still rock it out a little with black tips or the occasional streak of pink or two.

Ok-- enough hair-age.
In other Sue news--- I still have some art deadlines to meet and some art revenue to generate to keep things rolling along here, but my novels have been poking my brain. My characters have been taking meetings with me while I'm out on runs or driving around. I read a great interview this week over on the "Tell It" blog (see bloglist) and that author suggested, among other things, writing short chapters so you can more easily move things around. Genius!

I have lots to move around and I think book 2 is actually books 2 & 3, both partially underway. Can't wait to get back to writing! Only a couple more days.

The financial crunch has me making hard choices. Not as hard as many folks. Not "Hmmm, food or medicine?" But I was really into this super fierce coat---

And also had my eye on these badass Frye harness boots, and / or tall dress boots, but I have my current drum set to consider. It is, let's just say, slightly less than awesome.

Now everything I look at I'm like, "Hmm, this-- or drums?" -- and drums usually wins. There's also a new idea surfacing. One of my coolest characters-- Elmira -- who you may remember from my driveway, plays electric blues/ rock guitar, and that sounds pretty awesome too. I think I'd really like to learn how to work a distortion pedal someday too...

Well, sorry to report, the drudgery is not yet completed. More cleaning today-- and some cooking-- I promised Dan. Later cool people. Remember to shake it at some point today.

Skip Day! Wooo Hooo!

Ok, so here's a dream for you:
I was trying to escape from this Texas timeshare salesman on a snow saucer in the middle of downtown Minneapolis when I met this diminutive black dude (not Prince) dressed as Little Lord Fauntleroy. He came up to me as I was getting off my sled at the bottom of a hill with a cocktail in his hand, thumbing over his shoulder and rolling his eyes at this other guy wearing some kind of Foxy Brown get-up, complete with gold lame skirt. He seemed completely self-possessed and not at all embarrassed about his frilly shirt or velvet knickers.

We got to talking and soon bonded over our shared Dave Grohl, Foo Fightin' love and busted into "Gimme' Stitches" together. "Sink with someone tied to me-- I'm makin' you volunteer..."

Yeah, and then she woke up and went running.

Go ahead and play "Gimme' Stitches" in the player -- if you're not a rock scaredy-cat . You're not, are you? (balk-balk-balk-buc-aw!) (That's right, I'm not above openly mocking you into listening.) I defy you to get through the opening riff without making guitar face and shaking something.

Today I'm taking the day off, but unlike Sunday am not vegging all the way out. I'm actually dressed and on the way to hang with buddy Beth. We're going to scope out a used drum set. (No-- I didn't technically make enough to justify this at the last show, but I may pull the "Oh you shouldn't have!-- Thanks for the awesome drum set for Christmas!" on Dan.) We're also going to check out cool shops in this little college town nearby and have lunch and search for disturbia. I'm so psyched. I haven't completely screwed off in a long time.

I encourage this behavior and have threatened in the past to start a hedonism boot camp for women. Let me know if you want to sign up.

Last Minute Edit:
Mrph! Just as I was about to hit "publish" Beth called and can't make it because all their power etc is out. I will not be deterred from my massive day of screwing off however. I think I'll go up to the music store and look at their used stuff, and maybe catch a matinee, or try to corrupt another buddy into playing hooky. My powers of persuasion are vast and irresistible after all.

The White Stripes - Walking with a Ghost

Ok-- I've had this video on before, but today it is just sooooo appropro, and besides-- it's Jack Flippin' White people! Get your spooky rock on! Props to Tegan and Sarah who wrote it.

I have exactly one week from today (Fri) left to prepare for my show. I load and set-up Fri, which leaves me virtually NO time for extensive moisturizing etc. (my usual show prep routine). The sensible course of action would be to continue cranking out my "Frank Lloyd Wright's Yoga Studio" stained glass pieces, as well as more necklaces and earrings right? Yes, yes it would, but as I've pointed out numerous times -- much like Dan Auerbach's futile and hopeless crush on me -- things don't always make sense.

What I really have been feeling since about 6:00 Thurs night is this woman from my novel. She's this old blues guitar playing bayou woman. She's super cool (natch), and this woman KNOWS some things... We'll have to see what transpires... Stay tuned-- It's all about her face. If I can get that I'm going to go for it.

And as for the blog costume party--I'm not playin' here people-- get me those Halloween pics "toute suite" as the pretend french say. I've only received a smattering so far. Deadline for submission is Sun! (Remember, animals, people, old, new, funny stories, all good) C'mon-- be a weenie! (Halloweenie)

This weather is trying to make me fat!

I'm really not one of those weather complainer people who whine about winter-- honest. I actually like having four seasons and enjoy outdoor activities year round. But today is the first day this year where it's actually cold-- as in, have seen a few snowflakes cold-- and 30mph winds, plus sleet? Come the heck on man. I am not running in this today. I know I have to "woman-up" pretty soon because it's going to get progressively colder, but it's not going to be today.

In other news-- my new Moo Cards arrived. These are the ones for the Slag Hammer blog, so feature some of the characters from my novel, and the ubiquitous "Hubbard's Sunshine" sign, also from the novel (You know-- my novel? The Crimson Cord? Hopefully to one day be published-- You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll get creeped-out, you'll go "awe", you'll even maybe get a little turned on -- That one.) , along with other slices of sue-life. Anyhow, nifty eh?

This is what I've been talking about in the utter chaos department. I've totally taken over the dining table, and part of the living room, and, ok, kitchen too. If you click to enlarge this you can see Dan running around in the background. He's been busily working on my soon to be shop which you can also make out behind my trusty subaru (yes, I completely fit the profile-- artist, public radio listener, tree hugging greeny, subaru driving lefty.)

Oh-- the weird colored things dangling off the backs of the chairs? Cat toys of course.

Work has been coming along, with the aid of some occasional head whippage. Don't be a rock scaredy-cat-- check out "Cannon" by The White stripes (Jack flippin' White!- come on!) in the player (It's only 2 1/2 minutes. You can take it.) He likes to rock him some Bible. His guitargasmic "WOO!" comes in at :35 -- so whoop along and shake it people.

A reminder this Fri is Halloween, and I'm having a little blog costume party. Stay tuned for more info, soon, very soon. Stay cool people.

Don't Make Me A Target

Welcome to "Fav Lyrics Friday" folks. Do be fearless and check-out Spoon's "Don't make me a target in the player. Remember, to play the home game you really should listen while you read lyrics. I'll be sure, as always to post the entire lyrics at the bottom of this fascinating post, but first--

Allow me to catch you up a bit on all things Sue-ish. So yesterday was the anniveraire, (as the pretend french say), and thanks for all the comments you guys, very nice. As is our custom we apologized about both laming out and not getting cards, but sat on the sofa together and watched "CSI" while Dan gave me a leg rub. Usually we do cards, but-- whateves. We know the cuddley score.

As far as writing goes-- yeah right. I've had no time and have switched my brain over to visual mode to work full time in ye old art shop (I say that a lot don't i? "ye old"...) But I still managed to have one minor freak-out at someone this week about my impatience at waiting for cool-ass chicka agent's reply. This person was very cool and non-judgey about this, and I ultimately decided I was just having a bit of a tantrum and I should just "shut up and wait" like the hordes of other wanna be authors out there.

Also-- attended my very first writing group critique this morning. I was quite nervous about what my face would look like as people spoke to me. On the drive there i was trying to hypnotize myself, "Look, interested, appreciative, and impassive. Don't do that thing where your eyes get all watery and dart psychotically around the room." you know, basically imagining the worst. I figured, depending on the feedback, my reaction would fall somewhere between, "Thank God these people acknowledge my genius" and "Wow, these people totally do not get me." Hey--I was right! I am right in that ballpark somewhere. One or two people really didn't get me at all, and one or two were totally "feelin' it". Everyone took a lot of time and care reading my stuff and their opinions will take some time to penetrate. I'm not sure how I feel yet, except maybe... naked, in public???

As far as art work goes, I'm on stained glass stuff now since the weather crapped-out. I lost half a day because of a design flaw I had to fix. I'm used to working with steel, which pretty much stays put once you weld it. Lead can sag. How dare it?! I like the little designs I've come up with and am hoping they sell. I'm calling them the "Frank Loyd Wright's Yoga Studio" series, but only to myself. Well, back to the garage for me.

Enjoy your weekend, and enjoy this cool song. Not sure what it all means, but like "dialect drawls" and "smells like the insides of closets upstairs, the kind where nobody goes."

Here come the man from the stars
we don't know why he go so far
and keep on marching along
beating his drum

Clubs and sticks and bats and balls
for nuclear dicks with dialect drawls
they come from a parking lot town
where nothing lives in the sun

Don't make me a target (3x)
When you reach back in his mind
feels like he's breaking the law
There's something back there he got
that nobody knows

He never claimed to say what he says
He smells like the inside of closets upstairs-
The kind where nobody goes

Don't make me a target...

Midweek Meltdown

My house is now complete and utter chaos-- (like, even the cats are going, "Who the heck is running this hell-hole? --I want to speak to the manager on duty!") I'm spending most of my waking hours either in the driveway or garage, usually colder than I want to be. I've now determined my Dad will probably be fine, but still, that was a stress-out. I have a self-inflicted haircut inducing case of hormone poisoning, and less than two weeks to get everything ready for my next show. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!

Also it seems an unusually high number of drivers are intentionally trying to incur my wrath (that's right "shay (heart) bay" --I'm talking to you) I'm aware of the possibility this is all "just me". (sigh)

I have to admit, at times like this it does please me, even though it's wrong and bad, that Dan Auerbach persists in his vain attempts to win my affections. Take a listen to "All You Ever Wanted" in the player and you'll know what I mean. Another great make-out song from the phenomenal Black Keys. (You email folks just scoot over to the real thing by clicking on the blog title)

As for my own music career (joke) -- it's on hold for now. I loved my drum lessons but as my assignments grew more complicated the old pillow and cookie sheet just weren't making it. Everything pretty much sounded like this-- "poof bap, poof poof bap-- clank, clank, poof bap." Not very jamtastic. Hopefully, after the show I'll be able to scope out used drum sets on Craig's.
For now I'll be content to shake it in ye old driveway and garage, and shower... you know, jamming out as best I can.

Remember to check out the much tamer and saner ART BlOG if you're so inclined too.

"Report To Sickbay"

(Insert prolonged annoying groaning sound here.)
Booooooo. I have a cold. While I realize this isn't Polio, or some other more horrible affliction, it still sucks. Hard. I HATE being sick. I'm not sure if I'm a bigger baby than Dan or if I actually get worse bugs, but I don't seem to just get a runny nose-- it becomes this whole Dickensian death's door shmoopiness. Booooooo.

I still managed to put on an impressively energetic shower performance of "Live in skin" (check it out in the player) by my beloved Foo Fighters, complete with pointing and lots of costly (moan) head whipping. "I'm amazed that i'm still standing and I demand that we all blend in..." Hey-- I owe it to my pretend public. Oppressive shmoopiness be damned.

Since my own characters have gone on hiatus, I've found myself craving the words of others. That's another upside of working at my visual art-- plenty of time to listen. So today it was New Yorker fiction podcast day. Awesome. I think I need to check out Chekhov. I've avoided him in the past, thinking he was too remote and collegiate or highbrow for me, but little snippets I've stumbled upon have really intrigued me. I need to be fearless and see what he can teach me. There was a short story by Nobokov that was pretty kick ass too.

Crying Wolf

Hey, Welcome to Fav Lyrics Friday. This week check out Blitzen Trapper's "Furr". I discovered this-- where else?-- on The Current (single-handedly saving music radio). The song tells a bit of a story which you don't hear much of these days, and yanks at a weird taproot in my brain about fantasies I'd have as a kid, about turning into an animal and running away to live in the wild, and I'd almost always pick being a wolf! (And from 17 to 23, I kind of was a wild animal-- Ask my parents.) Anyway, these guys sound awesome and they're playing the Turf Club Nov 8th--- hmm, what else is going on that day? -- Oh yeah, my awesome art show!

Check it out-- listen along in the player for the full effect (email subscribers go to my actual blog for this). Enjoy! (and hey-- support artists you enjoy by buying their music, from them when possible. iTunes only gives them like 9 cents a song.)

Yeah, when I was only 17,
I could hear the angels whispering
So I drove into the words and
wondered aimlessly about
until I heard my mother shouting through the fog
It turned out to be the howling of a dog
or a wolf to be exact.
The sound sent shivers down my back
but I was drawn into the pack.
And before long,
they allowed me to join in and sing their song.
So from the cliffs and highest hill, yeah
we would gladly get our fill,
howling endlessly and shrilly at the dawn.
And I lost the taste for judging right from wrong.
For my flesh had turned to fur, yeah
And my thoughts, they surely were
turned to instinct and obedience to God.

You can wear your fur
like the river on fire.
But you better be sure
if your makin' God a liar.
I'm a rattlesnake, babe,
I'm like fuel on fire.
So if you're gonna' get made,
don't be afraid of what you've learned.

On the day that I turned 23,
I was curled up underneath a dogwood tree.
When suddenly a girl
with skin the color of a pearl,
she wandered aimlessly,
but she didn't seem to see.
She was listenin' for the angels just like me.
So I stood and looked about.
I brushed the leaves off of my snout.
And then I heard my mother shouting through the trees.
You should have seen that girl go shaky at the knees.
So I took her by the arm
we settled down upon a farm.
And raised our children up as
gently as you pleased.

And now my fur has turned to skin.
And I've been quickly ushered in
to a world that I confess I do not know.
But I still dream of running careless through the snow.
An' through the howlin' winds that blow,
across the ancient distant flow,
it fill our bodies up like water till we know.

You can wear your fur
like the river on fire.
But you better be sure
if your makin' God a liar.
I'm a rattlesnake, babe,
I'm like fuel on fire.
So if you're gonna' get made,
don't be afraid of what you've learned.