today i learned about scarabs

Many horror movies and thrillers rely on the great swarm-of-insects cop-out. It’s hard to think of enthralling ways to kill someone that doesn’t involve hacking and slashing, so it’s much easier to have your villain or whoever killed off by a swarm of ravenous insects. Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull fell back on this with the ants, a scene that I could write pages about for all the reasons why I don’t like it. Today I watched The Mummy before the Euro final started. I’ve seen it before. It’s not very good. I just needed something to kill some time while I waited and wrote. I’ve seen the scarab swarm before, the flood of flesh-eating bugs that kill more than one person in this period-piece action movie. They’ve always bothered me. Not disturbed me, but bothered me. As far back as I can remember hearing about scarabs, I didn’t remember them being quite so carnivorous. There’s a scene in The Mummy where Rachel Weisz has her hands on one of the dead bugs, and she sits next to Brendan Fraser calling it a flesh eater. My red flag rose higher than usual, and I immediately went online to do some research. Here is what I found.

There are 30,000 scarab species, comprising roughly 10% of all known beetles. Scarabs are found on every continent except Antarctica. They range in size from teensy to gargantuan, from 0.08 inches in length to 6.7 inches. Some scarab populations are threatened by habitat loss and collection by beetle hunters, but most scarab populations are relatively stable. The diet of scarab species includes live plants, fruit, fungi, carrion, and other insects, but probably the most famous sustenance of a scarab species is dung. The dung beetle was worshipped by ancient Egyptians as an embodiment of the sun god Khepri. They saw the way the scarab rolled its ball of dung across the ground, and it was that motion that they likened to the movement of the sun across the sky. Egyptian scarabs are not flesh eaters. The only known scarab whose mandibles can penetrate human skin is the Titan beetle, indigenous to the Amazon region of South America. Titan beetles are the largest of scarabs, growing up to 6.7 inches including the antennae. However, Titan beetles do not sustain themselves on human flesh. Larvae live and feed inside of trees. Once reaching adulthood, Titan beetles do not feed. Instead they simply fly around looking for mates. Their jaws are very strong, but they only bite in self-defense, not in a predatory manner. No species of scarab finds sustenance from human flesh. Even the Hercules beetle with its fearsome visage is harmless to humans. Only the males have horns, and they use them the same way that rams use theirs – to achieve sexual dominance. Males fight each other to win the rights to a mate. Hercules beetles spend most of their time scouring the rainforest floor for fallen fruit. In the end, most scarab species are herbivorous. If they do eat meat, they simply eat other insects. None of them travel in swarms looking for unlucky slow humans to feast upon.

References:

http://animals.nationalgeographic.com/animals/bugs/scarab.html

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

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

You learn something new every day if you’re willing to look.

summer mix 2008

Some people have received my summer mix for 2008. Unfortunately, cost restrictions and limited supply mean that I cannot make a mix CD for everyone. Here is the next best thing. http://leitzke.muxtape.com/ Enjoy! And may the music make your humid days less miserable, your stormy days less chaotic, and your pleasant days as awesome as a kangaroo backflipping through a dozen hoops of fire into a wading pool full of gravy.

take care of yourself, and take care of somebody else

George Carlin died of heart failure yesterday afternoon. He was 71. I had a chance to see him perform this spring here in Roanoke, but I passed it up, knowing I needed to work, knowing I needed to save money. Now I will never be able to see him.

George Carlin sparked my adolescent revolution. He lit the moment where I realized that all adults are lying to you, that life isn’t going to get any better or worse than it is when you are fifteen, and that you might as well enjoy what you have before someone says you can’t do it anymore. I usually mark eleventh grade as my year for absorbing all the anti-establishment art and literature that made me what I am today, but I always knew that George Carlin started it all. Back In Town was the first special of his that I watched from start to finish, recorded, and then watched over and over much to the constantly shifting amusement and irritation of my parents. His work achieved Simpsons status for me and my brother. We would quote lines to each other ad nausea and then quote them again, working ourselves up into stupid laughter every time. Carlin knew how to mix the silly and the profound in just the right amounts to create the resonant. I went back and got my hands on as much of his material as I could, purchasing Brain Droppings along the way. Out of everything I think Jammin’ In New York is his best routine. Rush out right now and buy it. It’s the best 60 minutes you’ll ever spend in your life. Jammin’ In New York has his great rant about the first Gulf War, a genius journey through the insane nuances of air travel, and his riff about entropy. “You show me a hospital on fire and people on crutches are jumping off the roof and I’m a happy guy!”

At the end of all the intensity in this act, though, he concludes with one of the most thoughtful and peaceful moments in his career. He’s ranting about environmentalism, and at face value he might sound like he’s complaining about environmentalism. He tells us not to worry about the planet, that it will survive: “The planet is fine.” But he moves on. “The planet is fine. The people are fucked.” That was George Carlin’s greatest strength, what he did to me that changed my life. Most of us are passionate about the right things, but we focus on the wrong details. The planet is fine. The people are fucked. We have to change our perspective in order to properly fight our battles. We have to stop thinking about saving the planet and start thinking about saving our species. And he draws the act to a close with his greatest quote, one of the greatest quotes I have ever heard and one that has always stayed with me. “I think we’re part of a greater wisdom than we will ever understand…You know what I call it? The Big Electron. It doesn’t punish. It doesn’t reward. It doesn’t judge at all. It just is. And so are we, for a little while.” That’s been such a mainstay of my thinking for well over a decade. I look to George Carlin as the catalyst for my intellectual development. He was always a huge hero of mine, and now he is gone. The world is much less without him. He will be missed.

Here is Jammin’ In New York in its entirety, at least until someone says You Tube isn’t allowed to carry it anymore.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=OBcrvGpAzXw&feature=related

http://youtube.com/watch?v=Phdw-Huwl_g&feature=related

http://youtube.com/watch?v=0q1lZNowEvY&feature=related

http://youtube.com/watch?v=p5XU3bFlKCI&feature=related

http://youtube.com/watch?v=gmokun20L4Q&feature=related

http://youtube.com/watch?v=dIXygZJhWU8&feature=related

what did the queen ever do to you?

Let me tell you what irritates me about the Sex Pistols. Punk did not begin in England in 1976. It began in Detroit in 1967 with MC5 and the Stooges. People peg the Sex Pistols as this beacon of punk rock, the band that all other punk bands strive to be. I argue that the Sex Pistols were striving to be the Stooges, and so vicariously all other punk bands are striving to be the Stooges, and therefore the Stooges are the beacon of punk rock that all other bands strive to be.

I think of the beginning of 24 Hour Party People where Tony Wilson calls the first Sex Pistols performance in Manchester a cultural revolution. Looking at who was in the audience and who was inspired by it is impressive. You have Wilson, founder of Factory Records, and you have the entire line-up of Joy Division, without whom moody 80’s rock probably wouldn’t have been the same (although it would have existed anyway thanks to Roxy Music). You also have the insane producer played by Andy Serkis, the guy whose name I can’t remember who made Joy Division’s drummer dismantle his gear and record his part in “She’s Lost Control” on the roof. To say all of this is thanks to the Sex Pistols is rather daring. At the beginning of the movie Wilson talks about all the bands who were going strong by then – Siouxsie and the Banshees and the Jam to name two. You can’t overlook what originated here in America, though. What about the Ramones, who were just starting on their way at the time? What about the New York Dolls, who had risen to modest greatness and then collapsed in a heroin implosion? And what about the very show about which Wilson waxes and croons, that first performance by the Sex Pistols? What song are they performing? “No Fun” by the Stooges. It all goes back to Iggy Pop and the Asheton brothers.

And compare two records by these bands. Take Never Mind the Bollocks and Raw Power. Never Mind the Bollocks sounds like all the rehashed pop-punk that’s out these days, and here’s the thing. You can make the argument that the reason why it sounds rehashed is because it came first, that Never Mind the Bollocks was the catalyst for a sound. But there’s a catch. When I first heard the pop-punk sound, completely independent of having ever heard the Sex Pistols, it sounded rehashed. It sounded generic. Let’s play loud and sound angry. Nothing else matters. I’m mad. Now look at Raw Power, and I’m not going to rant about much aside from “Search and Destroy” and “Gimme Danger” followed by “Your Pretty Face Is Going To Hell.” You start the album with James Williamson ripping his guitar to shreds, and they melt right into a hauntingly longing tune, and then they erupt with renewed energy as Williamson explodes your eardrums and Iggy Pop howls like a fire alarm. There’s more to it than loud noises and anger. There’s craft. There’s substance. The Sex Pistols have neither.

Finally, “God Save the Queen.” What the hell did the Queen do to you? She has no authority. She’s a figurehead. Let’s call the Queen a fascist because it’s sure to draw a few amused cheers and raised fists. The Queen didn’t make the laws. The Queen didn’t send you to school. Parliament and the prime minister make the laws. Get your priorities straight. This is just like the Declaration of Independence. King George III didn’t do these things to the colonists. It was Parliament. We’ll just be angry at someone because we want to be. That’s more dangerous than actually being angry with someone. Unbridled teenage angst is not art. It’s silly. It’s buffoonish. There’s nothing more depressing than an eccentric clown falling victim to his own antics and being swallowed by his lifestyle.

Give the Sex Pistols some credit, though. They came to their senses and walked away from it. I give them kudos for that. Rest in Peace, Sid Vicious.

maybe it's because i see myself and my memories in these songs

So I’ve been in love for a few days. Have you ever been driving and realized that if the rest of your life was like this, you would die happy? You get locked into a moment, into a song that hits you and stays with you and makes every sight, sound, and memory an eternity. You can’t shake it, and you don’t want to. If it stays this way forever it would be a blessing.

I’ve been in love with Bon Iver. I hadn’t listened to him in a few months, stepping back from a favorite CD to let other music have a chance, and when I came back to him last week it was lightning. For Emma, Forever Ago is the best CD I’ve bought so far this year. I may have to break my own rules and call it record of the year, since it came out last year. This year was it’s Jagjaguwar release, the version most people are familiar with. I’ll be hard-pressed to find a better record, a record that moves me like this. Everything about it, right down to the album art, works in one cohesive whole. It’s under my skin and I’m pleased to give it a home.

Each song is like a memory of lost love, maybe a first love, a first love that ended the way most first loves do. First loves are the ones that stay with you, buried in memory and surfacing now and then to torture you when you least suspect it. First loves can be the ones you remember most fondly, since you’re still figuring out this whole relationship thing. Hopefully the lessons you learn with a first love make you all the stronger in your next relationship. And you try not to take things too personally, knowing that you’re both beginners. The pain stays with you, but you’re all the stronger from enduring it.

For Emma, Forever Ago is all of this. The cover is a view from a window. The view is almost completely frosted over, maybe ninety percent. A few bare treetops poke into clear sky at the top. Forever ago this great love happened, and forever ago it broke apart. He’s looking back years later, remembering what he can even though it’s mostly frosted over and obscured. The lone photograph in the insert is of an icy river thawing in spring. Great chunks of ice break apart at the foot of a hill. The view becomes clearer, the memories flow more easily as he looks back.

When I talked about Son of Rambow I talked about loving movies where each individual shot is a work of art. This love is the same for music. Each song on For Emma, Forever Ago is a painstakingly crafted work of art. He’s actor and director at once, making you see what he sees, feel what he feels. You can’t help but listen and believe.

A few moments give me goose bumps.

At the beginning of “The Wolves (Act I and II)” he sings, “someday my pain, someday my pain,” and in the lyrics it continues, “will mark you,” as though he’s defiantly saying someday his pain will become so strong that she’ll understand what she did to him. But he doesn’t complete the sentence when he sings, moving into the next line. At the end of the song, after softly crescendoing with, “what might have been lost – don’t bother me,” he brings that first line back. This time it’s in multiple voice tracks layered over each other, another attempt at defiance, but all they can manage are whimpers that can’t complete the thought, either. “Someday my pain.”

And then “Blindsided,” which may be my favorite track, has the wonderful line in the chorus: “Cause blinded I am blindsided.” Whatever happened to break them up, whatever it was that made her leave, it was something he should have seen coming. If he knew what he was doing he could have prevented it, but he was blind to himself. The problem was in him. There is no agony, just loss. Just shock. You wonder how could this happen, but in the end it should come as no surprise. It’s just you. There’s nothing you can do about it. It just didn’t work. You’d almost rather be agonized than just be.

There are plenty more moments on this record, but I would have to talk about every song. Just know that each song has the grace of a glacier run-off, a gentle flow that carves a path through your head and stays with you all day long. I’ve been listening to it in the car for four days straight on the way to work. It’s so peaceful. The songs stay with me. I play that line from “Blindsided” over and over throughout my day: “Cause blinded I am blindsided.” It’s a stress reliever. I’m not anywhere near as stressed and worried when I work with this music in my head. There could be a line in drive-thru stretched all the way to Chick-Fil-A and I’m just like, “Whatever. They’ll get helped when they get helped. I got Bon Iver in my head. I’m fine.” I’m in love and that’s all there is to it. I guess we’re at the halfway point of 2008. I love this record.

By way of a PS, I got my hands on a 12-inch EP last week by Music Go Music, called Light of Love. This is in heavy rotation on my turntable. Abba-esque pop never sounded so palatable. This will lift you up where you belong.

what i tried to do with my economic stimulus

What do I find in my mailbox upon coming home from work yesterday but my tax rebate, or as the government has so lovingly termed it, my “economic stimulus.” I expected to have it in hand soon. Actually I was hoping to have it sooner and I was starting to squirm, wondering if it were going to arrive at all. I was happy to find it yesterday. I was happier to find it was worth $600.

I don’t know what I did to deserve a $600 stimulus (that sounds like a sex toy; “Honey, for our anniversary this year I think we should get a $600 stimulus”). I’m not going to argue with it. I do wish I could have had this thing earlier, because I skipped out on an old friend’s wedding this weekend. I couldn’t afford the gas, I couldn’t pay for a hotel, and I couldn’t miss two days’ worth of income. Had I had a $600 stimulus a month ago, I could have made the trip. A day late and a dollar short. Story of my life.

So I started thinking how I could otherwise spend this money. Two other friends are getting married later this month, in town, and I will be able to make it. I need to get their present. I also keep saying I will buy a coffee grinder as soon as I have the money. Now I have a $600 stimulus. Lastly, a rather large and juicy used CD sale came to Plan 9 yesterday before I went in for my shift. I already picked out the ones I want. There is new My Morning Jacket today, as well, and there is a Fugs LP I want to get. All of this is within reach thanks to my $600 stimulus. All of this will be mine.

First the bank beckoned me. I had a pay check to deposit, a rebate on my auto insurance deductible, and my $600 stimulus to pad up my checking account. I deposited my money, and the teller handed me the receipt. I noticed my available balance at the bottom. $170. Uh-oh. Thank God for my $600 stimulus. I didn’t plan on spending more than $170 today anyway, and I have a wallet full of tips for rainy days. I guess it was pouring today.

I drove to Target. What do I find but all three of their gift kiosks unavailable due to updating. Well, shoot. I’m off Thursday this week, too. I decided to come back then. Starbucks is near Target, so I went down the street to see if tips were done for the week and see about a coffee grinder. Still no tips, and all of the coffee grinders have been recalled because of mechanical flaws. Okay then. I hung around and wrote a little on my laptop, took advantage of the free internet (free internet for partners, and if you register a Starbucks card online you get free wi-fi hours), and then headed out. I would have gotten my coffee markout today had I been able to buy a grinder, but I still have to grind mine in store, and I have some Kopelani to finish before I get more coffee. So, the entire trip to Valley View came up empty-handed, but maybe this is a good thing. I used cash to pay for my Plan 9 purchase (no way was I skipping out on my music), and I returned home with much of my $600 stimulus still intact. I guess my $600 stimulus will go towards what I suspected I would use it for all along – paying my rent. There are worst things in this world to blow money on. We must be wise with our $600 stimuli when we get them, for they are fleeting. Although the pleasure may be intense, it is over far too fast if misused, leaving you empty and unfulfilled.

Currently listening to: My Morning Jacket, Evil Urges. I just started listening to it. What the hell am I going to say about it?

School's out forever

I bought School Is Hell last week and read it while I worked my shift at Plan 9. Matt Groening is one of those cultural geniuses that comes along once every fifty years or so. The drawings may be crude and Bongo the bunny may only have one ear, but it is truth. Here are a few quotes I think speak volumes.

“Secret Nursery School Fun: during nap time, lie on your little blanket on the floor and feign sleep. When the teacher walks by, you can look up her dress. Your education has now begun.”

“Things are improving. Back in grade school they treated you like you were in nursery school. Here in junior high you get treated with the dignity due a more mature kindergartener.”

“No matter how bad it gets, don’t kill yourself!!! They will make jokes about you. Death lasts longer than grade school and high school put together There is no TV in heaven. (There is TV in hell, however)”

“How to tell by merely glancing at the mail whether or not you have been accepted to the college of your choice: Thick envelope = Good! Thin envelope = Bad! Postcard = Uh oh.” (This is true. I’ve received too many thin envelopes lately. I’ve gotten a few postcards, too.)

“Basic (College) Rules: Avoid Administrators. Skim the required reading. Skip everything else. Write vague, spineless papers. Cram. Blot out any knowledge inadvertently absorbed in class during the week with brain-damaging debauchery on the weekend.”

“School’s out! School’s out! Teacher let the monkeys out! One went east! One went west! One went up the teacher’s dress! -- traditional grade school chant”

“School’s out! School’s out! Teacher let the monkeys out! One was jailed! One prevailed! Both asked God, ‘How have I failed?’ -- traditional grad school chant”

It’s all true. There’s more, but I’m rambling on this. I need to get to the real meat. Part of the book is Matt Groening’s fifth grade diary, word for word what he saw and experienced. I’m glad to know I wasn’t the only one who thought it was always the boys who got in trouble at school. I’m also glad to know I wasn’t the only one who quietly gloated whenever a girl got in trouble. Nothing about this section of the book is overtly humorous, but it’s obvious why he included it. He knew everyone could relate. Nothing has changed since Matt Groening attended grade school. Fifth grade was the worst year of my life, but somehow my friends and I still managed to have fun. The same goes for little Bongo (little Matt Groening) in the comic.

One part stopped me dead when I read it. The next to last frame of one of the comics reads, “April 23, 1965. Mr. Shute taped my mouth shut all afternoon because he saw me whispering to Freckles Jackson. Every one laughed when he put the tape on. I guess that is why he did it. To make me feel stupid.” The next frame is Bongo sitting at his desk with tape over his mouth. That’s the end of the strip. It’s just so sad. That’s something that never leaves you, the treatment you receive at the hands of a bully. You like to think that only kids bully other kids, but that isn’t true. Teachers will bully children. You can say it only seems like it when you’re growing up, that it’s all discipline and the teachers are only doing their job, but I mean really. Putting tape over a boy’s mouth? That’s sadistic. I’m pretty sure everyone knows a teacher who did things like that, if not from direct experience than by witness or by word of mouth. I never saw anything like that (that I can remember) but I heard stories. In seventh grade Mr. Whited liked to make his students do push-ups. He was fired. You just wonder what makes someone become a teacher. I know the vast majority of people who become teachers do it for all the right reasons. Maybe they all do it for the right reasons. Some people are just bullies, either naturally or because they remember a moment in their past when they were bullied. They need to bully someone else to cope. Why not bully children? They’re easy to bully. Most of them won’t fight back.

I’m probably going too far, but it is true. It’s sad that out of all the education we are supposed to receive we remember the pain most vividly.