Archives : all posts by Dan

Chiddy Bang - "Breakfast"

Frank, 9, dances alone in his room. The house afternoon-empty, Alison out in the garden, this is Frank's time to be truly happy. He's doing a kind of swirly-hip thing, pumping his fist straight up in the air, like Funky Mario. His lungs are bursting, his butt stuck out like a sore thumb, his tucked-in jeans and squinted sullen eyes, he is in the midst of a truly shameless boogie. First communion certificate newly on the wall, bookshelf with too-young kids' books, blanket with puppies on it. Stucco ceiling no match for the lid-blowing he's doing.

[Buy]

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ELEANOR FRIEDBERGER CONTEST:

Thank you all for your contributions, the winner is: "FREE: one larger bride", for its elegance and whimsy, by Jason. I've emailed you, Jason.

Oberhofer - "Homebro"

Alison's ideal home. Remote, off a rural road, with a gate and a small porch (planter and a swing chair). A bedhead lawn, sad-eye windows, and space enough on the back lot for a horse. It would have matted, padded winters and clear-sky summers, the earth would heal yearly, it would reset and somehow tell the future by keeping such open books. And in the house she would live with Frank, 9, and there would be one rule: no unmade decisions. Decisions must be made immediately, and the state of 'undecided' or 'i don't know' would simply not exist, and the parsing out of all things known would simply be a matter of time. [Buy]

Eleanor Friedberger - "Early Earthquake"

Eleanor Friedberger at the Vancouver airport. Her sunshine bangs take the edge off the morning, she sits sipping on a donut, tired of getting lilty every night. She takes out her notebook and sees the 6am scratches that don't seem to make much sense: "McDonald's in the duck pond, unwanted bastard managers trying to close the drop-in center." She smiles earphone to earphone and shuffles off to the gate, to SF and Charlotte and Westing and Claire. She passes Edmund, who has no idea who she is. [Buy]

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ATTN MONTREALERS: The Eleanor Friedberger Anagramous Tribute

Eleanor will be playing Montreal this Saturday, May 5, and Merge has offered us a couple tickets to give away. Leave your best anagrams of ELEANOR FRIEDBERGER in the comments, I'll choose a winner by THURS MAY 3 at 11:59PM EST.

I'll get it started: "Reindeer, or Elf-barge?"

Pow Wows - "I Heart My Goldifox"

Edmund and Helen at the airport Days Inn. A rough and tumble little tryst. His erection requires a series of justifying mantras, ones that are said half-squinted, under the breath. He wonders smiling if it was his tears that attracted her, or the way he nodded good-bye, knowingly, as he left the plane. Or the way he instinctually checked her skirt as they both waited for the shuttle. He thought about her skin, the way it had been affected by all that recycled air. He had no idea how old she was.

His phone beeped during. Afterwards, when he checked it, it was May: "Land okay?" Cheating in the age of texting is a gruesome procedure. Her ghost knocks upon the door and it's fine to just ignore it. And yet, simultaneously, he became more excited about May. About his decision. "Yep, made it!"

[Buy from Get Hip]

Rebecca Taylor - "Sole Command of the Day (Viking Moses)"

May jogs in cold spring. As she crosses streets, she often tries not to stop, not to break pace. She nears Elm, and a car is approaching. It's not really a close call, but she paces up a little to make it look like she's making an effort. And at the grass, her breath somehow still visible in late April, she turns to glance at the car that she sped up for. A black two-thousand-and-who-cares ToHondia Something. The way it passes, so perfectly at the same speed, as if she had never been there, it seems that the world closes up behind you. If you don't move, you won't survive, and as soon as you're gone it just closes right up behind you. When you jog there's only room for one thought at a time.

[Buy]

Josephine Foster & The Victor Herrero Band - "Puerto De Santa Maria"

Edmund is flying. West in blind pursuit of the sun. To a conference for his 4th career. On the back of the headrest in front of him, he can see that he's somewhere over the prairies. Out the window, it looks like a cloud carpet, lumpy in spots, shifted perhaps from the gods making love on their floor. Next to him, a chubby fellow in a tight t-shirt, camera dolloped on his stomach. Edmund crushes the rest of the ice in his teeth, and fills his cup with the napkin, a perfect unit of refuse. Now the tray is up and he'll have to focus on keeping his leg from bouncing until the attendant picks up his trash. Flying makes him so emotional.

He can look out at the sky, have the sun break through from around the front of the plane, and it will bring him to tears. Vast majesty, etc. Below are all the things he's done and seen and wanted and lost, and for now he will never return. From up high the world seems like a pretty fuckin silly place, and this is delightful to him, and depressing. Kevin is down there, trying to lose weight. Frank is probably running, against his will, home. Jen is down there, texting, or laughing with Tate. Alison is probably, as always, on the brink, with a drink. Carolyn is nuzzling something, undoubtedly, be it Melon or Garry. And he is here, the parent and lover and husband and son, that doesn't ever seem to quite fit. As if, collectively, they had ejected him out of their lives with such force that he popped like a cork 30,000 ft into the sky.

He makes a decision. Suddenly, like when the tail of the plane ducks under choppy air, he makes a decision: I want to marry May. I'm going to ask May to marry me.

"Can I take your cup?" her nametag reads Helen, and she leans over the sleeping chubby. "Oh, yes, sure." He squints when he feels there are tears on his cheeks. "Thanks, Helen."

[still on myspace]

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Josephine Foster & The Victor Herrero Band have done it again. A lush, brilliant, sun-dappled treasure, called Perlas will be released May 15, and with it it will bring all of summer, all at once.

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Also: Tomorrow night, Wednesday April 25th, at Comedy Bar (945 Bloor West) in Toronto, the second installment of For My Own Benefit will take place. A very special and extremely high-quality comedy show for the benefit of pancreatic cancer research. Presented as always by The New Humourists, they will perform one of their written works in its entirety, and will be joined by stand-up comic Tim Gilbert, and sketch troupes Bronx Cheer and Tony Ho. Capping off the night will be the touching improvisational, Craigslist-inspired show Personals. Come see, it will be grand. [Facebook event]

Zeus - "Are You Gonna Waste My Time?"

Good Father Day. Edmund wakes up in May's arms, his head against her single breast, and his feet coldly dangled off the edge of the bed. They seem to have slept in smiles, the way you can fall asleep with makeup on, their faces sore from the constant easy strain of it. His phone is ringing.

Frank is crying.

"Garret Ng said he's gonna chase me off a cliff." As Edmund makes one-handed toast with almond butter, in May's pristine granite kitchen, he calms Frank down and wonders to himself shouldn't he be in class? is he hiding in the bathroom? "He said he's gonna make me swallow his farts." The bright morning traffic looks cold from the window of May's 8th floor glass, but today will be hot come the afternoon. "Frank, a bully is a weak person, if you can muster the courage, remind him that he doesn't actually control you," May's hand on his back, "You control you." He loves her short blond hair. She loves his height, standing naturally, lips at her forehead.

Off to see Evelyn run cross-country.

The classic rock blares at the track, teachers in white shorts and sunglasses, everyone's leisure like a window to their true selves. They've dressed the way they dress when they don't have authority, and thus risk never getting it back. The heats are listed on a large piece of dollar-store bristol board, and Evelyn is third. She looks up at him from the track, her long ponytail a hazard in this sport, but a striking unique quality amongst the runners. In the distance, there is Trey, her ex, the one that's caused her so much pain. She sips from her water bottle and doesn't seem to mind. Though there comes a time when your children become curators of their own feelings, they don't just show you everything anymore, they're not the crumbled humble emotional messes they used to be. Evelyn wins her heat. She has the ambition gene, from Edmund. A quiet, competitive streak. With that body, that wit, and that streak, she will go very very far.

Tate at daycare draws a picture.

He and Jen call it "Tatecare", because the ECEs are always talking about some breakthrough that Tate has shown, they seem to be calling him out as a genius now so they can take credit down the line. Today, Edmund arrives and Tate has drawn a picture: a "road to nowhere" he calls it. They mention the presence of a vanishing point, the representational quality of something as simple as a road, and the detail of a traffic line down the middle, all point to seriously advanced intelligence. Edmund thinks about some stock interview footage, of Timothy Leary or some such thinker, talking about the way school is designed to find the best soldiers; the literal, rule-following, button pushers. He pats Tate lovingly on the head as he finishes his chick pea salad.

Edmund drives home in the sunshine, he's forgotten his sunglasses so he squints and feels those sore smiling muscles. 41 years ago, he was just being born, in the kingdom of Carole King, Joan Baez, and Three Dog Night. In this moment, not too much has changed.

[Buy]

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This Sunday, April 22nd in Toronto, there is going to be a delightful show at the Garrison. Featuring gramofriends Henri Fabergé and The Bawdy Electric. Go go.

Pavement - "Grounded"

Love is a series of performances. And I would like to finally admit, "I am scared."

Edmund slips that note in the crack of May's front door. And thinks again, as he often does at times like this, of his first car. The Alfa Romeo that his friends called "pipsqueak" because of the feeble sound that the horn produced.

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"Grounded" was the earliest-dated file I could find on my computer. August 22, 2003, I'm sure it was a sunny day.

[Always buy Wowee Zowee, never don't buy it]

Caetano Veloso - "Cucurrucucú Paloma"

There is normally no such thing as slow motion. News replays and memories and heightened heartbeats make us think there is slow motion, but there is not normally any such thing. Catastrophes happen at their normal speed, the speed a car is going when it crashes is fast. When they go through the windshield and an organ donor pops and the city is fed with harvested life, that normally happens in a snap, like 1-2-3. But today, there is slow motion, today everything has the time to breathe, to consider.

Edmund and May make grinning love in sun-dappled 12th floor sheets. She is raised above him, spinning, and the ficus waves a twisted leaf.

Frank is tossed by Garret Ng, bully-ish straight-A, into fresh and shit-smelling mud. Before Frank can land he thinks, in what pocket did I leave my phone?

Jen high-fives the daycare worker taking care of Tate. He is tall and has beautiful perfect dark skin. They are high-fiving re: Tate tied his shoes, but today it's a prolonged rubbing of their palms. Jen crushes easily.

Howie halves a grapefruit. The knife splits the skin like a zipper.

Kevin looks down at a fallen bird's nest. Mixed into the sticks and leaves are fortune cookie fortunes: Be ever vigilant and Much has been said about you.

Evelyn eats cheese off a sultry vendor's knife. He has handed it over the counter, she stands slightly on her tip-toes, hands hovering over the display glass.

Carolyn swims under the feet of an Aquafit class. She imagines she is a shark and these are her victims.

[Buy]

(miniature by Lori Nix)