Random Analysis

1. I am strangely comforted by the presence of Catholic nuns. In general I am more comfortable around people who were raised Catholic, regardless of whether they practice or not, than people who weren't. That much isn't that surprising; it's just a common upbringing thing. But nuns? My schools had very few (and they were mostly unpleasant, and also mostly former nuns in any case),and the only one I ever knew well was my Aunt Katie, who I never really thought of as a nun anyway, just as my aunt. I don't know. But nuns! If dating nuns were allowed, I might have to look into it.

2. No matter how much my rockstar instincts may push me to be a guitarist, I can't fight the fact that I am a bassist. It would be like trying to not be white. I just couldn't do it. It's good, though. Being a bassist is great and everyone always needs 'em.

Wales, Pt. 2

And we are back.

I had intended here a section about all the great things that increased my love of Wales, and a few things that are cool anyway. But rather than do all that, I will just talk in general about being a Walesophile (or whatever you want to call it).

I have a tattoo on my right arm of Y Draig Goch, the Red Dragon, which is the Welsh emblem, found on their flag, some local beer labels, and assorted other Walesful things. The most common first question regarding this is something along the lines of "What's the deal with the dragon?" The second is usually "So, are you Welsh." It's a natural question, to which my answer is usually "No, I'm just a fan."


Fig. 2a. A dragon on my arm, or an army of my dragon?

No one overtly seems to judge me for this, but then actively criticizing someone's tattoo is rather a faux pas, so they could just be polite. But, reactions in general are usually at least "oh cool," and at most "that's awesome!" The only situation related to the tattoo that has had me at a loss for proper reaction is when I met someone else who wasn't from Wales who had the same tattoo. It was the foreignese/Eurotrash employee of a local cafe; he pointed out my tattoo, said he had the same one, showed me (it was slightly further up his arm than mine, and it also had more friends), and we talked about how Wales is great and we both have visited and loved it. At first I was a little put off just by having the same tattoo as someone else, but once that had sunk in, I enjoyed the encounter quite a bit. Someone else understanding on that level really helped me feel less awkward about my generally Wales-influenced mental state.

I have been trying to teach myself the Welsh language for a couple years now, but it is very slow going. This is not because it is exceptionally hard to learn (the pronunciation is by far the hardest aspect and I've had that down for a while), but because it is hard to learn a language independently and completely removed from other speakers. If anyone wants to learn Welsh with me and speak it to the end of confusing others around us, and essentially having our own secret language in almost any situation, feel free to let me know.


Fig. 2b. Curiously, this is a google image search result for "Welsh language"

I have taken something of a liking as well to Welsh music. Wales' folk music is actually surprisingly different from Irish or Scottish music, bearing some resemblence to mainland northern European folk music in its tonality and flow. The most widely known form of indigenous Welsh music is male vocal choirs. Also popular among people who are me are the Super Furry Animals (who often sing in Welsh) and Tom Jones (who sadly does not). There are two annual festivals in Wales that I positively ache to attend. One is the National Eisteddfod (ay-steth-vod), the largest Welsh cultural event there is. This year it was in Mold; next year it will be in Cardiff. The other is the Fishguard Folk Festival. Fishguard is on the southwest coast of Wales, in Pembrokeshire, and the festival looks to be a sort of Welsh Folklife. Count me in, sirs.

I take interest in Welsh or Wales-themed literature and film. I cheer for Welsh teams when they pop up in sporting events (which is generally just in international rugby, unless I am paying attention to second-tier British football leagues). Sometimes, I bake Welsh cookies and cakes. Basically, two roads diverged in a forest, and I take the one that is Welsh. And that has made all the difference.

Wales, Pt. 1

As many of you are aware, there's one thing I'm into in an almost over-the-top and generally unexplained fashion. That thing is Wales. After having been questioned so much on my fascination, I've done some thinking about it, and shall herein attempt to illuminate for you all a bit of the history and reasoning behind me and my Wales fixation.

Background and Initial Curiosity


Fig. 1a. Wales is well known for being full of Sheep. This is not an inaccurate characterization.

Of course always aware of a place called Wales, and that it was part of the United Kingdom, I was all the same unfazed more or less by the existence of the tiny country. The first two things I can remember being accutely aware of as particularly Welsh are Tolkien's inspiration by the Welsh language as a base from which to build Sindarin Elvish and an obscure bowed lyre instrument called a crwth. I saw one on display at a stringed instrument store and was told a bit of its history -- there were traditionally 24 songs written for it that all crwth players knew, and it was popular before the much more versatile fiddle was introduced Britain -- and its function -- it had two bowed-and-fingered courses and two plucked drone strings. I loved obscure things, I loved interesting instrument designs, and I certainly loved words where "W" was a vowel. But, for some time, I learned nothing else new that was Welsh.


Fig. 1b. The crwth: funny looking and hard to pronounce

The next step came when I decided to plan a brief tour of mainland Britain, and wondered what parts I should visit. I consulted assorted travel guides and general facts about the island, and decided that this trip would primarily to Wales and Western England. While I learned a good bit about England in these studies, the facts that caught my eyes most were those about Wales. The literature focused more on North Wales than South, so I didn't learn especially a lot in advance about the latter. But I did learn a few phrases in the language ("Bore da" means hello, "diolch" means thanks, so forth), a brief history of King Edward I's conquest of the Welsh and subsequent building of many castles, a few facts about the region and national park of Snowdonia, and the general demeanor of the rural, sheep-filled north versus the largely urban and suburban south.

Plans for the trip solidified, and I decided to spend two days in the south and two days in the north, selecting a town from each with a castle in it and about which I had at least some information to go on. Cardiff, the capital and first city, was chosen for the south, and Conwy, a tiny and somewhat touristy village, for the north.

The Trip

Cardiff was the second city I visited in the UK, after Bath, and not counting Gatwick airport as visiting London (it's just an airport, you see). I got off the train in the central city and hopped a Welsh cab for the hostel at which I had booked a bed, and was immediately struck by a gorgeous city that reminded me instantly of my own beloved Seattle, especially the green and greatly walkable neighborhood in which I was staying. Unfortunately, while I was in Cardiff I was still figuring out just how to travel, and wasn't quite good at it yet, so I didn't enjoy it as much as I might have, or meet as many great locals as I might have (one part of the problem is, having been a 20-year-old American at the time, I was not used to being in public houses, and thus was not good at striking up conversations there). But my impressions of Cardiff were this: scenic, friendly, and easily maneuvered around. I also remember there being a lot of very, very attractive women in Cardiff.


Fig. 1c. The buses even look kind of like Metro

Having seen all I could schedule myself to see of Cardiff, I took a train (via a brief stop to visit a friend in Birmingham) to the North. The train went to Llandudno, from which I caught a cab to a bed and breakfast just outside the old castle town of Conwy. The cab ride, by the way, was two or three miles and cost all of 2 pounds. So there.

I remember several things about Conwy that made me truly happy. The first is how nice the Bed and Breakfast I stayed at was. There I got the two best nights' sleep I had gotten sleep I had gotten thus far on my entire trip, the lady who ran it was very nice, and both mornings I got delicious British breakfasts with vegetarian sausage and incredible grilled mushrooms. The other things had much more to do with the general character of the town. Everyone was incredibly friendly. The lady at the post office saw my last name on the traveller's checks I was cashing, and talked quite a bit about how she might have known someone with the last name Clauss to have been around Conwy at some point. The guy who ran the shop by the castle that sold replica medieval weaponry and armor was enthusiastic and helpful. The two middle eastern dudes who ran the fish and chips shop on by the quay were extremely friendly, if impleaceably shady. Most memorable of all, though were the people at the George and Dragon pub.

My second evening in Conwy, I decided to go pub-hopping. The first I don't recall the name of, but I went early enough that it was empty save a gossip of French teenagers with whom I had a long and broken conversation in English and French (and something in between). The second, I believe it was called something like the Post Master or Postman, was nice and would have been enjoyable had I been better about socializing myself. But after a couple drinks, I left in favor of a third pub, the George and Dragon. The folks there were of a much older set than the other two, and also of a much friendlier manner. They introduced themselves (though I'll be damned if I can remember any names; I was pretty tipsy at this point), asked about my national origin, and we discussed our common dislike of George Bush and Tony Blair. Eventually, I left the pub happy, and stumbled back out of the castle walls to my comfortable bed.


Fig. 1d. It is important to emphasize that I think North Wales is fucking gorgeous

The next morning, I left Conwy and Wales in favor of the disappointing English town of Chester, taking with me memories, pictures, a miniature replica claymore, and accidentally my room key. I haven't been back to Wales since but I hope to return as soon as possible at this point.

Next time: Learning more and yearning more.

An Actual Mike Thought Process

I'm hungry.
I wish the hot dog guy had been outside last night.
I really deserve a god damn hot dog!
Wait, what have I done to deserve that?
Dammit Mike, just get yourself some lunch. You're going nuts.

In other news I'm graduating tomorrow and on monday I have a job interview. It's big times here at the Project.

A Mesomorphic Lifestyle

My life is in transition. I am moving back to Seattle from Bellingham in mid-June. I must finish my school responsibilities, find employment and a place to live for when I do move, continue with my professional (read: musical) responsibilities, and of course, attempt to keep up relations with multiple sets of friends. I haven't been doing a good job of this last one. And I sure haven't been doing a good job of keeping up relations with this belt dealie here. So I apologize to all of you for the neglect and flakeyness I have been showing and will possibly be showing for the next couple of months. I will do what I can to keep up with my duties on all fronts. Expect more posts some time, possibly on the exciting subject of health among elderly migrants.

THAT THING WAS YOU

Today was the 59th anniversary of the creation of the sovereign state of Sri Lanka, known previously as Ceylon under British colonial rule. Today, like most other days in Sri Lanka, there is much in the news of those who seek to form another sovereign state on the South Asian island. "Those" would be the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam, who seek to create the state of Tamil Eelam in the Sri Lankan north to be a homeland for the native Tamil language group, seperate from the Sri Lankan Sinhalese language group. There are of course a number of ways to see this struggle -- as an instance of an Indo-Aryan language group oppressing a Dravidian group, as violent renegades creating terror, as just another far-off dispute out of western reckoning -- but in any case I'd like to think that on American independence day we would have thoughts on struggles for freedom on our own soil, so I feel that it is prudent to give the story of the Tamil Tigers and the Sri Lankans a little air today.*

Not too far from East India, in the People's Republic of China, it was the 55th birthday of Li Yinhe, a sociologist and sexologist who devotes much study to the sexual norms of the nation, a topic with just as much resonance in our own American home front. And while we are back on these familiar shores, it was also both the 1st anniversary of the death of, and the would-be 86th birthday of second-wave American feminist Betty Friedan, who studied gender roles in our own society decades ago.

And here in Bellingham, it was the 22nd birthday of your noble blogger Mike. I celebrated by pondering social issues abroad and at home, and by being with some of my very favorite people in the world. Today was a very good birthday, and perhaps will even go down with the previously mentioned historical events as a revolution, a triumph of good times over the oppression of bummed-outness and the formation of the new state of 22 Year Old Mike-istan.


*The 4th of February has actually been historically a prolific day for revolutions, reform movements, and the like. In 1861, six states first formed the Confederate States of America. In 1969, Yasser Arafat first took the reigns of the PLO. The SLA kidnapped Paty Hearst in 1974. Hugo Chavez staged a coup d'etat in Venezuala in 1992, and was elected president of the nation exactly seven years later. And, in 2000, the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia became Serbia and Montenegro, a country that would be further revised in identity six years later (though for once not on this day) as the seperate states of Serbia and Montenegro.

Written this morning

Today, my horoscope in the Seattle Times read, "People will like you better if you do not challenge their misconceptions." This seemed very apropos of my life in general, as I often feel like my tendency to correct people is a great alienator. However, after a second thought on the matter, another possible interpretation comes to mind. Could this be meant to refer to people's misconceptions about me (that is, all Aquarians who read the Times) in particular? What misconceptions, I wonder, do people have about me, and would they like me better if I allowed them to persist? I have often thought that I tend to make bad first impressions, but there is always the possibility that I am wrong in this. It bears thinking about.

What misconceptions do you, my dear readers, feel are made about you?

Been a Long Time Since I Rocked and Rolled

So much has happened in the long while since I've posted. Brief recap of things:

Blue Congress
The Democrats take both houses of Congress and a number of gubernatorial races, much to the pleasure of all. The very close Senate races in Montana and Virginia seal the deal. Many have attempted to frame this as a victory of conservatism, as so many of the victorious Democrats are moderate or right of center, but to that I say bull shit. We are moving genuinely leftward in this country, and most of the new faces in the Senate show this. Plus, look at our in-coming House Speaker, a San Fransicgay liberal no less. Anyway, we also saw the departure of Rummy. Gooooooood riddance.

The Bards Are Back
Tomorrow evening, I will be seeing Blind Guardian in Seattle. It will be the most amazing thing ever since the last time I saw Blind Guardian (four years ago).

Magical Transportable Computermajig
With my next pay check, I will be purchasing a laptop from work. It will be a PC, which is on the one hand lame, but on the other hand, I will be primarily using it for gaming and taking notes at school, until I get a chance to put Linux on it, which is very un-lame.

Let's Get the Hell Out of Here
I talked to my advisor at school recently about my graduation prospects. They are good. Bearing unforeseen events, I will be graduated from WWU in June, after which I will take a trip to Europe (possibly taking in the Welsh National Eisteddfod in Mold. And on a related note, there might be a brief trip to Italy in the spring as well. Exciting!

Indescribably Awesome
This.

Ok that's it. Coming soon: Wizard Belt Project Presents the Jake E. Lee Award for Mediocrity!

Many Blogs, part 2

Now, moving on to Tara's request, I will write about spirituality aside from the aspect of organized religion, the positive side of it as I see it.

I consider myself a spiritual person, by and large. I believe that there is more to the universe than the empirical; that there is more to this world than this world. That being said, I don't believe that there is any definitive way to qualify or quantify the world beyond what we can empirically observe. Suffice it to say that there are experiences in this world that can be interpreted as "spiritual" ones, whatever that may actually mean. Indeed, I am of the belief that all experiences in this world should be treated as such. I believe in, to put it in as dense a manner as possible, the transcendent spirituality of the carnal* and terrestrial. There's nothing that can't be treated as a form of personal worship or meditation or whatever else you want to call it. Everything from cooking to making music to sex to taking a shit, and so on and so forth and shooby dooby doo.

I keep meaning to attend a Quaker meeting, out of curiosity more than anything, but have not had the opportunity yet.


*While this does include the meaning of carnal that I'm sure you just thought of, it also includes other things. So there.

The Question of the Day is "Why?"

So, I'm back. I'll try to write more frequently now.

So, I quit my soul-sucking corporate pigsty of a job. The job where I was sent home one day to shave. The job where they made drivers throw packets of ads into peoples yards -- customer and non-customer alike. You know, the bullshit job.

Now I work at a pawn shop three blocks from my house. It's pretty awesome. The coworkers are cool, the customers are a little less pushy (usually), there's a lot more autonomy. One weird part though: Now I'm selling guns.

That's fucking weird.

BOURGEOIS PIGS

Yesterday I gave my two weeks notice at Papa John's. I'm working on a nice long rant to post here on that subject, I may find time to finish it tomorrow.

In the meantime: Yesterday my writing was parsimoniously described as "amused self-indulgence." Thoughts on that from my faithful audience?

Dumb Fun and Just Dumb

Last night I went to the Papa John's new employee orientation. It was a lot of paperwork and uniform handing out and going over rules, but the highlight was clearly the training video. As soon as I had been told I was going to an orientation meeting with a video, I thought of a particular sketch on one of my very favorite tv shows of the past, Mr. Show, wherein a Marilyn Manson-styled character is the host of a training video for his very own chain of pizza parlors. The sketch finished with the "16 Ps" of success, one of which was actually mentioned in the Papa John's video ("Positive Mental Attitude"). But, aside from the silly dress code rules* and dumb phrases, the video actually reminded me quite pointedly of another Mr. Show sketch called "No Adults Allowed," wherein middle-aged squares attempted to appear as teenagers on a cable access show. The video was really the perfect synthesis of Marilyn Monster's "We're cool and different but here are strict rules by which you must always abide and live by" and No Adults Allowed's "We're painfully out of touch with youth and reality but here's some hints of things we think we heard are cool; that's cool, right?"

So recently we've been hearing a lot about one Ann Coulter. Claiming that 9/11 widows are profiteering "harpies," that "all liberals want to live like Swedes,"** and that Jews are Christians but Episcopalians are "barely a religion," there is no shortage of things to correct her about. I mean, it's almost too easy. How does one even start to correct someone who purports (very specifically, I might add) that it's good that conservatives and Christians are pushing for Earth to be over-populated to the point of "standing room only."*** Perhaps the sheer incredulity that one can't help but feel in light of her bizarre opinions is why so many of her critics end up stumbling into ad hominem comments on her ghost-like face and Adam's apple. One is left gasping for air in a sea of disbelief, and her ugly neck and head are the only solid things one can stand to hold onto (perhaps holding onto her neck actually is a good idea) to escape drowning in the madness of her rants.


*The dress code at Papa John's includes: Belts must be worn if one's pants have loops; no form of visible body piercing or any jewelry is allowed (excludive of wedding bands but inclusive of watches); pants must be khaki; no facial hair between chin and ear lobe. Tattoos are strangely absent from any mention in these rules.
**And it's true!
***If you don't believe any of this -- and you probably shouldn't -- check out of the first chapter of her new book.

Blockbuster Hit of the Summer

Item 1: Responsibilities, or Lack Thereof
As of yesterday at about 12, spring quarter is over for me at school. I was just hired at a job, starting on monday. My band, having just been into the studio and played a show, has no pressing obligations for a good while. I don't move into my new house untitl next week. In other words, I have, at least for this weekend, no important responsibilities. It's pretty awesome, and pretty uncommon. By a week from monday, I'll be in class again (10 credits, two classes), and working, and will have to move across town in the meantime.

Item 2: Workin' for The Man™
This new job is at the Bellingham location of Papa John's, where I will be delivering pizza. It's the same position as my old job, but it will be completely different. For example, while at Mad, the only dress code stipulation was wearing a store shirt, here I will be required to wear a brand shirt, white undershirt, and khaki pants, and keep my cheeks clean shaven at all times and my visible body unpierced.

More annoying than clothing restrictions, though, is the fact that I will have to attend the company orientation nonsense that will be held on monday, at 5 o'clock, in Everett, WA. Now, I'm not entirely sure if I have anyone reading who is not from Washington state, so let me just assure you, that Everett is a terrible place to go any time, but during rush hour on a weekday, it is nothing short of cruel and unsual to send someone there. Getting there from Seattle (which is where I'll be for most of this weekend) by the freeway takes, in good traffic, about half an hour. I dread to think how much time I'll spend on the road getting there this time.

So, long story short: I am a corporate sell out and boo on me, but I'll have money now so I can finally by that hurdy gurdy I've been after.

Bass Instincts

For me, this has been a week of falling in love again with music, and especially with the electric bass as an instrument. Too often in the recent past, I put bass playing on the back burner in favor of guitar playing. But this is changing thanks to several things and people, which have inspired in me newfound passion for my old instrument. Here they are in order of coming to my attention over the week, in narrative form (and with a number of links included):

On tuesday night, I was stopping at the local food co-op for something to eat after practice with Whiskey Galöre, the band in which I am playing bass these days and which started me on the serious revitalization of my practice. On my way back to my car thereafter, I saw a flier for a show happening the next night at WWU's Underground Coffeehouse featuring Taarka, the "seismic gypsy hypno-jazz" quartet who are mainstays of assorted Seattle art festivals and other similar events, as well as playing many more real shows (which I had not yet myself attended).

I have seen Taarka play with several bassists before, none of which have disappointed. But when I saw them wednesday night, I was blown away. Doing the greater share of this blowing was the bassist playing with them that night, Damian Erskine. Here surely is a god among bassists. The six strings of his instrument are merely appendages of his cunning hands and mind. Suffice is to say, I want to have his bass babies.

The next day, after enjoying the recordings on Damian's site, and doing a fair bit of practicing myself, I did some thinking about the fact that when I get some disposable cash, I need to invest in new amplification for my bass rig, specifically a couple of smaller speakers do complement the booming thuds of my single 18-inch speaker. But, I was quickly distracted and lulled into long, lustful stares at several ridiculously exotic instruments (seen here and here). I shall certainly have one of these, next time I have five or six thousand dollars lying around.

So there it is, and now I take on the playing of my instrument with an enthusiasm I have not known for a long while. Good days to be.

Quickie

Quick post while I try and think of something better to write about. A brief anecdote and an odd ponderance.

First, the story: The other night, I was in the car with several people, and the radio was on. The station playing was Vancouver, BC's The Fox, a rock station more or less equivalent to KISW in Seattle (except with much less irritating DJs and, as you'll see, a bit better music sometimes). The song playing when the station turned on was both familliar and awesome, but I wasn't sure what it was. I first proposed that it was "Who Was In My Room Last Night" by The Butthole Surfers (which I had not and have not heard in years), an assertion backed up my room mate, who said that it sounded very Butthole Surfers-esque. As it turns out, the song was "Jesus Built My Hotrod" by Ministry, which just so happens to have a guest performance by Butthole Surfer Gibby Haynes. Funny! Sort of!

Now, the odd thought: If I think Rosie the Riveter is hot, does that make me a good feminist or a bad one?


(Hotness)

Whiskey Galore

Excitngly, I have joined a new band. This is the second band that I have jammed with that I found on Bellingham's fairly new Craigslist page -- and, by quite the coincidence, happen to have the same drummer as the last one and practice in the same space in the remote Bellingham suburb of Sudden Valley. The really great part about this band? They play Irish/Celtic style rock! More like The Pogues than Flogging Molly, but still very fun and awesome. I feel a great chemistry with the other band members, and am looking forward to writing with them in the near future. It feels great and I'm ecstatic about it. We even have a gig lined up in June at the Old Peculier in Ballard. And it's also got me working on my first straight up Irishy folk tune. Yes indeed, good musical times ahead.