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nauseateddrive · 4 years ago

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MYSTERY LIGHT by Catherine Sinow

Something terrible happened one night while Cassie and I were parked on a cliff in Los Feliz. It started off innocently enough; we were looking over a valley of twinkling homes in her 2005 Mercedes, her mom’s old car, listening to Iceage, a band we both love. A Yankee Candle air freshener hung from the mirror, which might have been ironic, which I loved because doing things ironically is so her. The car always made me feel cozy with its vintage leather smell and I imagined that I’d drive something similar if I ever upgraded my tattered old Subaru.

Cassie and I often enjoyed going to Griffith Observatory, sometimes combining it with a trip to Permanent Records, our favorite record shop. We would always park on cliffs and chat afterwards; it had totally become Our Thing. I always enjoyed being with her; just the way she looked at me with her blue-green eyes and laughed at my jokes like she was in a little fit. I really found her kind of flawless, even her weird aspects, like how she had a few too many pictures of her with her grandpa on Facebook.

We’d been hanging out less though since she got her boyfriend, this tall dude named Owen, about six months ago. They met because our good friend Jack is in a band with him. Owen plays guitar, drums, and keyboards, and his voice is pretty smooth, not going to lie. I don’t even understand how one person is so good at so many instruments. But whenever that gets me down I remind myself that he honestly has kind of shit taste in music. I mean, he’s a little too into Tame Impala and Beach House, and everyone knows those bands are cliché and unoriginal. He also has bleached hair and plays a Telecaster. Kind of a poser music boy thing—my style’s a lot more original (I wear mostly beige tones) but also classic (Converse and natural hair color). And I mean I’m pretty tall, too, 6’1” in fact, but this dude is TALL. Like, so tall that other people force him to be on basketball teams. Anyway I was so grateful to have Cassie as a friend, even though I really wished I had gone for her before Owen got to her. She’d been spending less time with me due to him and I can respect that even though it makes me kind of upset.

The Iceage album ended and Cassie switched the music to Ava Luna, a great band we got into together after seeing them play live at Origami Vinyl. Whenever I listen to them I think of her.

“I’m always better at cleaning my room while drunk! I just get the irresistible urge to clean!” she said. I loved little quirky comments like these. We always had great conversations when alone.

“Really!” I said. “I’m better at almost nothing while drunk. I’m better at like, talking about my embarrassing moments from 6th grade while drunk.” She laughed with her cute little scrunched-up-nose giggle. I kind of hoped she’d ask further—I’d been getting pretty good at telling this story about how I was the flag monitor and I left the flag up over the entire two-week winter break. She didn’t ask, unfortunately, but like the sharp girl she is, found a hysterical thing to say instead.

“I’m better at getting the mail while drunk,” she said, giggling. See what I mean?

“I’m better at stowing away in an airplane wheel while drunk,” I said, which really got her going. It made me feel accomplished—an Oscar moment.

Afterward she started to open up to me about some issues she was having with Owen,so I listened attentively. It seemed like even though he always took her amazing places and got presents for her, he was missing a key ingredient—he had a hard time sitting down and really emotionally empathizing. And Cassie’s a really sensitive person, so I know that matters. I found my advice always ended up with the bottom line of “You can do better,” but deep down I wanted to help her talk out her issues and respect her decision to stay with Owen. It was her choice, after all, and I try to respect the choices that people make.

“Jake, look! What the fuck is that?” She pointed out the window. It was plain as day: a big flash of white light trailing through the air. It was completely silent, but it kept expanding in big circles.

“FUCK,” I said.

“What? What? Is that a plane? Is that not just a plane?”

This was bad and I knew it. “I’ve been watching some videos about this recently,” I exclaimed. “It’s a Christ damn nuclear missile. Look, it has that shape. I think the shape determines it.” Yes, I do like looking at Wikipedia articles about strange things such as nuclear missiles.

“Fuck, like, how long do we have to live?”

“I have no fucking idea,” I said, my heart pounding. “Minutes? Look, do you want to make out with me?” I felt the words tumble out of my mouth and a feeling of otherworldly liberation washed over me.

“Um—um—yeah I do! What if we fucking die! I’ve lived such a good life! I miss Owen! My mom was so sweet to me and I was a little brat to her. Fuck, it’s all flashing before my eyes. I can’t stop thinking about this road trip to Utah we took as kids and how my parents took this picture of us by this gigantic sandstone rock formation that was like, these two arches!” She made a perpendicular gesture with her hands. “I thought it was cool then but I think it would be even cooler now! ‘Cause I’m an adult! And it’s all ending! Will I ever get to be old?”

Tears seemed to dribble out of her eyes and she looked so infinitely sad that it felt profound, more profound than any work of literature I’ve ever read, probably. I wanted so badly to comfort her. Now, I need to let you know that I actually thought I was going to die at that moment. Well, not completely, but maybe like a 75% chance? I don’t remember, but I do remember thinking there was a pretty good chance that this was the end of the world.

We crawled into the back seat and started making out. It felt so, so good to plant my mouth on hers, tasting her rose lip balm, after having only stared (both in real life and on social media) for so long. I tore off my beanie and removed her rounded glasses, tossing them into the front seat since I knew she would never need them again, and let my hands meet her inhumanly smooth skin, her shoulder-length dark brown hair, her denim jacket, her modest but subtly curved body. We panted and slammed our clothed forms over each other like the shirts and pants were barriers to break through. My final fuck, I thought. Just do this and maybe everything will be so beautiful, so powerful, that the world won’t really end after all.

“I’m so scared,” she said as she took her jacket, then long-sleeved shirt off. “The world is actually ending.”

“Just make the most of our last moments!” I shouted. So we had sex in my backseat, me on top. I had only had sex once before, with this girl from Tinder, but it seemed like that one time was decent enough practice for the end of the world. I really felt during that sex that Cassie and I combined into a singular human, maybe not even a human, but a unified plane of energy. I savored every raw bit of emotion outwardly flowing from the pits of our stomachs combining with this incomprehensible fear, knowing that in minutes our entire lives and the entire world would be obliterated into nothing. All my middle school classmates, the toys I got for all my Christmases, every vinyl record I had taken the time and money to purchase was for nothing, all at the devastating hands of fate and the man’s technology careening out of control. All my life, all the life and history of the world spiraled into her and my passion I was driving forward. I cried out her name, and she cried out mine.

After we finished she propped her head on my chest and let the sterile, stony moonlight cast over her face. I wasn’t really thinking anything at all, mostly luxuriating in the afterglow. Then she suddenly jolted upward and I had an internal freak-out. She covered her chest with her denim jacket without putting it on and reached into the front seat for her faux leather backpack. My heart tightened. I saw a message from our friend Molly: “Hey are you free? We’re about to start AHS Hotel but we can wait for you”

This was bad. This was really bad. I felt relieved the world wasn’t ending but that relief wasn’t that significant, probably because I didn’t fully believe that in the first place.

“I don’t think the world is actually ending,” she said, mumbling to herself out the window. “At all. Did I ever think that?” I looked out the other window; the mystery light was now nowhere to be seen. I decided to put on my clothes in the meantime. She eventually did too. We said nothing. And then:

“Just drive me home.”

She sat in the back seat and buckled herself in. I walked around to the front of the car and drove her just like an Uber, but in complete silence. I’ve actually always wanted to be an Uber driver; I think I’d be pretty good at it. I’d be one of those drivers that keeps bottled water and pretzel pouches in the cupholders.

I knew I was totally fucked. I honestly don’t think the sex was bad at all; it was actually pretty great. I found myself wondering if this would cause a rift between her and Owen, giving me a chance to slip in, but at the same time I knew that was unrealistic.

I woke up the next day and snapped some of my friends about the mysterious light. My friend Derek who’s a total news hound told me that it was a nuclear missile test—unarmed—by the government in Eastern California, sort of an empty threat in response to a North Korean missile. So, sort of the end of the world, but not really. I was almost right. I’m a pretty intuitive guy, but intuition can’t get you everywhere.

At the moment my entire friend group is trying to work their schedules around me not seeing Cassie, and I know they’re probably doing the same for her and Owen. I think they’re really good people by trying not to take sides. I haven’t heard from Cassie at all—maybe Owen isn’t allowing for it. I’m pretty sure I lost my best friend that night. It might not have been the actual end of the world, but a big part of my own has ruptured.

Catherine is an ambient music fanatic in the Pacific Northwest. She tweets at @ConceptualCamel

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terrypender · 7 years ago

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Jonny Lang Coming to Kitchener

KITCHENER — A blues rocker from Fargo, North Dakota who cut his first album at 15 and won a Grammy at 24 will headline the annual fundraising concert for the Kitchener Blues Festival in Victoria Park this August.

Jonny Lang is now 37, with eight CDs that mix blues, gospel and rock with stellar vocals and guitar playing behind him.

The Kitchener Blues Festival fundraising concert will be held in Victoria Park Aug. 9th. Opening for Lang will be Rick Emmett and Resolution 9.

Lang's first recording in 1997, "Lie to Me" went to No. 1 on Billboard's new artist chart. At 17 his second CD, "Wander this World," earned him the first of three Grammy nominations. His 2006 CD "Turnaround" won a Grammy.

His latest release is the guitar-based blues CD "Signs." Think Buddy Guy, Howlin' Wolf, and B.B. King. At times it has the stripped-down sound of Delta Blues legend Robert Johnson.

"I have been lucky, very fortunate," said Lang from a hotel room in Atlanta, Georgia.

When Lang was 13 is dad took him to hear the Bad Medicine Blues Band at the Clay Makers Sports Bar in Fargo, North Dakota. It changed his life, and launched his career in music. He was soon taking lessons from Ted Larsen, the band's guitar player. Within months Lang was playing with the band. And within two years Lang had recorded his first CD.

He remembers that pivotal moment to this day.

"It is a small town, and it was a small-town type bar. It was back in the days when your dad could say: 'I am with my kid and he just wants to come in and watch the music,' and they are: 'Ok,'" said Lang.

It was his first exposure to live music, and the young Lang was entranced by the sound of Larsen's electric guitar.

"I remember listening to the sound of the guitar in a room, I had never heard that before — a band playing in a room," said Lang.

"I grew up with records and signing along with them, but hearing the live thing, it was a whole different, more immersive experience with music than I ever had before that. I was like: 'Man, I've got to try to learn how to do that.'"

Lang literally grew up in the music business — on the road and in recording studios. After joining the Bad Medicine Blues Band, the group's name was changed to Kid Jonny Lang & The Big Band.

When he was 15, A&M Records signed the band after a gig in Minneapolis. Lang was a blues prodigy, joining the likes of Kenny Wayne Shepherd and Derek Trucks. Along with that early success came hard partying with both alcohol and drugs. When he was 20, Lang quit both. He married and now has five children. They live in L.A.

"Like anything else in life you can let stuff get out of control, but essentially you find a balance for yourself that makes you happier," said Lang.

"I think if that didn't happen my story would be very different today because I was getting pretty deep into it at that time in my life so it was probably a good move to step away," said Lang.

Buddy Guy, Greg Alman, Steve Earl, The Sheepdogs and Los Lobos have all played the Kitchener Blues Festival fundraiser show in years past. That event is held on the Thursday night before the festival weekend, which typically attracts 85,000 blues fans to downtown Kitchener. It now costs about $1.2 million to put the festival together, and the only ticketed event at the festival is the Thursday night show.

"We only had top notch performers for that show and we are continuing with that tradition," said Claude Cloutier, the blues festival's artistic director.

Last year's fundraiser was a huge success with The Sheepdogs. Beer sales at that show last year set a record. There was standing room only under the big tent in Victoria Park. Cloutier wants to build on that this year with Lang's show.

"Our fundraiser is supposed to make us some funds, and last year it did," said Cloutier.

Beer sales, ticket sales for the fundraiser concert and corporate sponsors, such as TD Canada Trust and E&Y, enable free admission for all other shows during the festival.

Last year, blues festival organizers paid out $300,000 in artists fees, $170,000 for stage equipment and operations, $100,000 on marketing and advertising, $32,000 for insurance and $25,000 for administration, $8,000 on limousines for musicians, $30,000 on hotels.

Government grants help offset the costs — $52,000 from Heritage Canada, $94,000 for the Ontario Arts council, and $65,000 from municipalities. Beer sales generated $200,000 last year. Vendor permit fees, the silent auction and merchandise sales also produce revenue.

"It is quite a gift to get that festival happening for free admission, by and large," said Cloutier.

"It is a huge gift to the community and to music lovers. If people like that, they should support us and come to that Thursday night show because that's where the engine is," said Cloutier. "That gives us some seed money to do some deposits for bigger bands this year."

This August marks the 18th Kitchener Blues Festival, which began in Victoria Park with an outdoor show by the late, great soul-funk-jazz-blues fusion guitarist Mel Brown. To this day, the Mississipi-born guitarist remains the musical spirit of the festival.

Every year the festival gives out The Mel Brown Award, and this year it goes to Holger Petersen — host of the CBC Radio show Saturday Night Blues with Holger Petersen, who also owns and operates the roots music recording company Stony Plain Records.

Kitchener Blues Festival fundraising concert

Jonny Lang and Rik Emmett & RESolution 9

Victoria Park

Thursday, Aug. 9th

Tickets on sale now —- $30 for general admission, and $150 for a Gold Pass that provides VIP access throughout the festival.

Tickets can be purchased online or at Encore Records in downtown Kitchener.

[email protected], Twitter: @PenderRecord

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sensitivefern · 8 years ago

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Kalanchoe ‘Three kalanchoes really push my buttons’ – in a good way, doncha know... Kalanchoe blossfeldiana is definitely not one of them... No. 1 is K. beharensis, which is ‘soothing’; all forms of the species are ‘worthy of meditation’, and they all ‘quietly implore you to include them in succulent combopots’... No. 2, K. thyrsiflora, ‘excites me’, conjuring up images of ‘well, pancakes’... No. 3, K. tomentosa, is a ‘sedative’; they remind ‘me’ of ‘lighting from disco days’ – ‘It’s so willing to grow that healthy leaves that fall from the plant will in time root and make new shoots, even if the leaves fall on a windowsill or desk’... do not keep the soil constantly moist, and never spray the leaves...

‘I strongly encourage you to grow a few hyacinth beans’ – in containers... make sure they are situated in a spot where the sun will illuminate the pods... they, of course, need constant warmth from germination to death; ‘Grandpa Marsh’ planted his beans only when the soil ‘felt summery-warm, not springy-cool, on his bare feet’...

‘So why isn’t lettuce grown more in containers?’... the following are recommended for pots:

‘Emerald Oakleaf’

‘Green Ice’

‘Majesty’

‘Prizeleaf’

‘Royal Oak Leaf’

[Encyclopedia of Container Plants]

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NAVELWORT: (Omphalodes) The annual species of navelwort (O. linifolia) grows about a foot tall and has white flowers. It thrives in moist fairly fertile soil in part shade. Sow the seeds, 1/8-inch deep, where the plant is to grow, in spring for summer bloom; if sown in the fall it will flower early the following spring. A variety, O. linifolia caerulescens, has blue flowers and is suited to dry, stony soil.

There are also two perennial species that grow about eight inches high, with bright blue flowers. O. cappadocica is a fine subject for a shady spot in the rock garden, while O. verna, the creeping forget-me-not, is grown most often as a ground cover. Sow the seeds in the spring, or divide the roots in spring or fall. These, too, like a shaded position and moist, neutral or slightly alkaline soil.

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BALTIMORE, JULY 16, 1948. I returned yesterday from the Democratic National Convention in Philadelphia... I managed to get through the uproar without damage. Last night, the closing session ran until 3 AM, but I came out of it not only unharmed but actually feeling fit... [...] The convention was a show of almost incredible obscenity. Truman, when he arrived to accept his nomination, looked scared, despite his truculence. I sat only twenty feet from him with a clear view of him. Despite his braggadocio, it was plain that he was not sure of himself. Old Alben Barkley, a political hack of the most dismal sort, took the Vice-Presidential nomination without any apparent enthusiasm. When he and Truman appeared on the platform to accept, Truman had his wife and daughter with him. Barkley had only one daughter with him, though he has two. He looked sad to me. His wife died last Fall, and it was only too obvious that he was thinking of what she was missing. The Truman women and Barkley’s daughter are all homely, and they did not stay on the platform long.

[H.L. Mencken]

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One thinks of Dr. Woodrow Wilson's biography of George Washington as of one of the strangest of all the world's books. Washington: the first, and perhaps also the last American gentleman. Wilson: the self-bamboozled Presbyterian, the right-thinker, the great moral statesman, the perfect model of the Christian cad. It is as if the Rev. Dr. Billy Sunday should do a biography of Charles Darwin...

[H.L. Mencken, Prejudices, Second Series]

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❚Banned in Boston From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia "Banned in Boston" was a phrase employed from the late 19th century through the mid-20th century, to describe a literary work, song, motion picture, or play which had been prohibited from distribution or exhibition in Boston... This movement had several unintended consequences... the phrase "banned in Boston" became associated, in the popular mind, with something lurid, sexy, and naughty. Commercial distributors were often pleased when their works were banned in Boston—it gave them more appeal elsewhere. Prominent literary figure H. L. Mencken was arrested in Boston in 1926, after purposefully selling a banned issue of his magazine, The American Mercury. Though his case was dismissed by a local judge, and he later won a lawsuit against the Watch and Ward Society for illegal restraint of trade, the effort did little to affect censorship in Boston.

Sarah Silverman Before a date wash ur armpits balls & asshole w soap. Floss & brush teeth & scrape tongue. NO COLOGNE. Ur clean human body smell is the $

Bruce Springsteen played secret White House concert for Obama staffers

The President Of Vice: The Onion Looks Back At Two Terms With Diamond Joe Biden

Fiona Apple unveiled a pointed and infectious anti-Trump chant, "Tiny Hands," for the upcoming Women's March on Washington.

William Onyeabor, the Nigerian funk artist who, after self-releasing a wellspring of albums from 1977 to 1985, achieved worldwide acclaim nearly 30 years after he permanently left the music industry, died Monday following a brief illness in his home in Enugu, Nigeria. He was 70.

Former US president George H. W. Bush in intensive care Former President George H.W. Bush was admitted Wednesday to the intensive care unit of a Houston hospital with pneumonia, and his wife, Barbara, was hospitalized as a precaution after suffering fatigue and coughing, a spokesman said.

Michael Flatley Will Dance for Trump at Inauguration Liberty Ball

Pennsylvania mall sold for $100 after failing to pay $143 million debt ...Pittsburgh Mills at Frazer Township has been in business for 11 years and...

Not Just A Crock: The Viral Word-Of-Mouth Success Of Instant Pot

Running May Be Good For Your Knees Many people worry that running ruins knees. But a new study finds that the activity may in fact benefit the joint, changing the biochemical environment inside the knee in ways that could help keep it working smoothly.

The Story Of FMX, The Wannabe Radio Standard Of The 1980s

The Lord Jesus Christ takes time off from his busy schedule of appearing on toast and is promptly arrested for Trump assassination threat

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