text:
A riddle bandied about a few days before the jaunt. 'Das Mammut' had entirely fictional groundings - spill-over from Strang's dirty coffee mouth; the last of its kind kept alive in a hill on the fringes of Berlin by the Nazis and now dormant, either dead or alive but definitely alone in the hollowed out hill.
Why this matters now will become clear later but the whereabouts of the Mammut, however fictional, would at least give us an excuse to speak out of turn in Ferropolis, Gräfenhainichen; the "city of iron" where Melt! could be found 80 minutes outside Berlin.
Rust-ridden to their dockings, five imperious coal excavators dominate Gräfenhainichen's bleak landscape; 100 foot high industrial behemoths that hark back to the decline this East German area felt after the wall fell. Deserted by workers, citizens and captains of industry when the East and West reunited in 1989, the vehicles - some of the biggest to have ever moved - splinter the skyline of these barren flats like tar pit casualties from pre-history; skeletons stuck in their tracks beside a poisoned lake.
Day one
Will it breathe new life into their bones when 20,000 individuals suddenly come swarming back round their ankles? The organisers certainly seem to think so, flattering the machines in expectant lighting and draping them with glitter-balls that hang like Weimar earrings on built, lumbering Fraus. These though, are - or were - boys' toys; boasting no curves, just strutted this way and that with tough teeth and jutting vertebrae. X-rays in place and the light waits. Unfortunately, life looks beyond them - no-one manages to plough one into the lake or I'm From Barcelona so the glitter-balls become baubles on embalmings, as Melt!'s chemically-abused populace dive in to the chemically-abused lake; gums gnawed numb from bitter tongues and jaws clenched tight like a fist.
It was difficult to know what the phetted Germans would make of …Barcelona. Rather than punched back towards the main stage, balloons and confetti drop to the tarmac among the feet of the still sparse afternoon crowd. The collective seem naïve to the fact their incessant yelping is about as galling as some loon wittily peppering your eyes with fart gas. Not sure any damning critique can dull them though; Emanuel Lundgren leads the parade like a perma-smug Pied Piper, the rest follow.
After such a sickening Swedish sugar rush Final Fantasy's warped musings are an effort to engage with. Owen Pallett's multi-instrumental fuss just seems too limp-wristed and when 'This Lamb Sells Condos' should compulsively jolt along it's all too whimsy, only further diluted by the dross visual projections that accompany the set.
So, instead, we bound back to the main stage for Jamie T. It's interesting to see how he goes down in this environment - the Lundun guttersnipe plucked from familiar backdrops and made foreign agent in the heat of the east German sun. Not sensing the need to throw the ausland crowd with plot adjustments, Treays runs through the same set he's been playing for a while back home - 'Ike and Tina', 'Northern Line', 'Back in the Game'. The sound, not for the first time this weekend, is weak though, and doesn't work in the parts where Jamie needs to flank his wisecracks with muscle. Still, it's fun to play 'Englishman or Anglophile?' with the crowd who bellow out "Looooondooooon!" wholeheartedly, in all the right places.
Before all of this, the first acts of the weekend came in the Coca Cola tent, where The Trousers and then The Flaws bored us with the muscle-memory rockisms of EveryLeatherJacketActEver and Editors, respectively. The third slot, though, brings what you might call a refreshing departure. Synth-led Sussexian Thinskin dismantles easy-going euphoria and builds it back - the sort that takes Gui Boratto and Chemical Brothers and then straightens out all the bumps, plasters over all the cracks, irons the curtains. As the Tetris-techno of 'Game Over' kicks in, the mains's pulled out, set over. Though lacking in an unsettling darkness to truly bend minds, it provides an innovation at odds with what went on in the tent earlier.
Later, the sun went down and we trudged around in the artificial shadows of the machines. The Notwist fed a ground swell of virtuous dirge out into Ferropolis, slow-steaming guitar creeping like thick green gas round the edges of the second and third stages, where they clashed and were blown out by the sound of other, quieter bands - Apparat & Band, who are good but not right for busy blood, and Alex Smoke.
We spend the majority of the Glaswegian's set skirting at the peripheries trying to find something to keep us awake - these continental festivals don't tend to peak 'til about 5am, and we're broke from two n'alf hours sleep last night. We're unsuccessful, and, with the harsh consonants of Deutsch rapper Dendemann ringing in our ears, wander heavily elsewhere.
With guts sloshing, a seat is found outside, look out with weighty lids over the lake. All hope is lost. Soon we shall surely fade. Then, from behind our heads, someone, asks us, for a look, at the program, hanging round, our necks. We turn...
"Hej. My name ist Milan. From Holland. Can I sit?"
Die Mammut. An intervention. We proceed to arm wrestle the mammoth, both putting up admirable fight - "are you from a tough district or something?" - but ultimately, obviously, failing. We talk over The Thermals, who are playing front stage. Legs spread, they play with an urgency to them and toil to encapsulate rock to its every square extent, but Hutch Harris sounds suspiciously like Billy Joe Armstrong smovvering Stephen Malkmus..
Loading up on liquids, we lose track of the mammoth and decide to go for a wander backstage before Dizzee Rascal starts hup n' prancin'. Drink has slipped us from collaborators to agitators, so we agitate; strutting around with a sickly Anglo-Saxon superiority complex and grey, weary eyes sticking to the pavement like homeless gum. We follow the pavement up to a ramp, up to the Gemini stage expecting to get palmed off by the dead-faced German security. But no, he's distracted – so we climb up, while Tiefschwarz is absorbed in his sound box and bowlabout for a while, criss-crossing behind and then in front of him on Melt!'s second stage like a lost red arrow stunt team.
We get word from Mammut – he's at the front with his herd, staying awake. It doesn't take long to find him and he bundles towards us and back through the crowd again, leading the way like a day-glo wrecking ball and earning us furrowed glares from every one he leaves a'barged in his wake.
There aren't many resident to east London here tonight, but talk of "shanks" and "pussy'oles" goes down well all the same. The boy in the corner has calmed, the Rascal is not quite so piercingly blunt. Nor loud - the weekend's dampened by subdued sound levels - as all stood gob-agape directly in front of Dylan Mills and able to natter. 'I Luv U' stands contentedly enough alongside 'Sirens', but whereas the former revels in its lo-fi glory, the latter descends into a nu-metal dirge not seen since Jonathon Davies' braided locks swung with such vinegary vigour. It reflects that whilst the new material satisfies all, it lacks the reckless innovation of old. Rascit finishes with Stand Up Tall; we skulk off back to our ride home, content to let the mammoth roam for now, 'til he finds some rest between the feet of machines.


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Wednesday, February 15, 2012
observed celestial recurrences
45 comments:
- AnonymousTue Feb 14, 09:29:00 PM
Waiting patiently for your return.ReplyDelete
Thank you, Delores...I'm back!ReplyDelete
Heh, I just posted for the 1st time since November. I love your new glasses (that pic is groovy baby), and I may just have you beat on hours logged on Facebook. Best of luck with your new chapbook. Let me know when to click buy. Thank you.ReplyDelete
Ha! Looking forward to what shows up in this space :)ReplyDelete
Thanks, Liza...yeah, I enjoy the quick and easy posting of Facebook, as well as the fun social atmosphere...ReplyDelete
Always delighted to see you, Willow! I have been known to stalk, er, chat with, Tess on FB, yes, but you, well, you are the promised breath of springtime that makes the lovely winter seem long...with apologies to Kern and Hammerstein :-)ReplyDelete
you blog is interesting, makes me curious; like they way you write too;ReplyDelete
also Poirot looks in tea cups and solves mysteries; can you do that?
Mike, I solve a lot of things by staring at teacups...ReplyDelete
please don't go away. . . I'm not on facebook . . . love your blog!ReplyDelete
Instead of taking the Christmas tree down, you could redecorate it with purple and sackcloth :-)ReplyDelete
Christine, thank you...no worries...I'm here to stay...ReplyDelete
Kathy, a Lent tree! Now that's novel... I pride myself on quirkiness...ReplyDelete
my tree is up too - its too dark to take down the lights!ReplyDelete
Keep grin, wear glasses ... lose cigarette. (my tree is down)ReplyDelete
Christmas tree down for Lent...back up on Easter Sunday? --grin!ReplyDelete
Peeps in my neighborhood--a Spanish-majority community--still have outside lights glowing from 2010 Christmas. All the lights slow down the drug traffic (it says here, Hmmmmm)...
I also vote for the grin--the rest is up to YOU, Babe!!! This REALLY ain't a serious place, ya know? (Did I tell you Michael Cain's glasses make him look O L D ???)--grin!
LOVE your poem...OH? You didn't WRITE one? Oh my, Steve. Embarrassed again. PEACE, Tess!
I've been on a sabatical as well. I am doing a lot of painting these days. Come visit my site I am trying to post photos when I can. :-)ReplyDelete
Steve, old?! Hey, they're waaay quirky-cool! I'm keepin' the glasses and the silly grin!ReplyDelete
Oh and by the way...my nose isn't really as big as it looks in this picture...it came with the glasses...ReplyDelete
You manage to make absence sound exciting. Not too sure about the glasses; won't Michael miss them?ReplyDelete
Hooray for a new chapbook, Mr. Larkin, and the return of Willow!ReplyDelete
I have missed you so and look forward to anything from the Manor.ReplyDelete
Four years blogging is a long time to post a daily poem, no wonder you've petered out. Face Book can be easier. Fewer expectations there, but the blog world to me seems deeper.ReplyDelete
I think Facebook is such c**p. I've closed my account and opened another, which I think I will close, too. Too invasive, with the government poking about in it all the time. Or at least planning to do that.ReplyDelete
I know how it feels when it seems that blog-steam is in short supply. But hey, if you're taking time out, who better to spend it with than Larkin?ReplyDelete
'Embiggen' - I like that word. I might use it with your permission.ReplyDelete
as long as it's unlit.ReplyDelete
I began blogging in 2006 and for a long time posted almost daily. i enjoyed it, but now feel a need to back off and just post every now and again.
glad to here work is happening on your second chapbook. good luck.
and you and Michael look like twins in your glasses. Move over Johnny Depp.
it's never too late to take up a new hobby. has anybody invented a pleasing spinach cigarette yet?ReplyDelete
Great you're back, nothing like a break to re-energise one.ReplyDelete
Lol re Christmas tree still up, I just yesterday took down some little Christmas painted eggs of a branch decoration, just so I could put a few love-birds on instead. I'm thinking I'll keep doing that; leave the decorations on until they need to be moved for the next feast.
did notice you were awayReplyDelete
just figured you were doing something more fab
but I did apprecitate that you kept posting Mags
Tree still up...hmmm
I smell a bit of gloom
get it down
- AnonymousWed Feb 15, 10:41:00 AM
Glad to see you back. Breaks can be very useful. I have been taking a break, too. Getting through the necessary business of the day takes all my energy lately.ReplyDelete
Love your glasses, tres retro. Kind of remind me of someone ; )
A fine piece on Larkin in this month's Harper's. Philip Larkin was one of the great poets of our century, and a truly awful person.ReplyDelete
This comment has been removed by the author.ReplyDelete
I've been out of blog steam for a bit, too. My blogging muse also has awakened and is again active. (At least for the moment).ReplyDelete
Tom, of course, yes, please use "embiggen"...I've claimed it as one of my words...but it's not original with me...ReplyDelete
A sabbatical is necessary for all creative work, I believe. Whenever I come back from one, my work is more fresh, energetic and focused. Looking forward to celestial recurrences!ReplyDelete
That Willow is always worth waiting for - two eyes or four eyes, they are eyes that see what others can't.ReplyDelete
Nice Willow. I've notice that with the blogs that I follow the shelf life is about 3-4 years. I have to include my own in that one. It's getting harder to get inspired to post. I understand completely.ReplyDelete
Glad to have you back....ReplyDelete
Missed you... but how fitting for you to return - along with the Daffodills!!!ReplyDelete
Love the Michael Caine Glasses....you KNOW you dangle a ciggie just like him - and look serious! It will be a great shot!
♥ Robin ♥
Dear Tess: The work one must do to publish; totally understandable darling~ WoWem~ I am elatively happy for you my dear~enjoy the sabattical; we will wait with pepperminted bated breath~ReplyDelete
I'm glad your back.ReplyDelete
- AnonymousThu Feb 16, 06:35:00 PM
i like your haiku, especially the celestial reference.ReplyDelete
Dude, no WAY did you get retro glasses! I'm getting retro glasses! They're on the way to me right now! In the mail!!!ReplyDelete
Mine are cat's eye (you may have seen my recent blog post about them?).
Soul sistahs.

subset: commoncrawl


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DWTS Karina Smirnoff To Celebrate Birthday In Las Vegas, New Make-up Line, & More!
According to Vegas News, Karina will be celebrating her birthday on January 14th at the Gallery Nightclub inside the Planet Hollywood Resort & Casino if you'd like to attend. You can read all about it at the link which highlights her career and all of her current plans including a new make-up line with Girlactik Beauty.
This girl is on the move with so many projects it's hard to keep up …and what do you think about the photo above? Gorgeous!


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Google Glass wearers will now be able to stream whatever they see and hear and share it with friends.
The Livestream video-sharing app became available this week, offering Glass users the ability to video all they see and share it with other Livestream account holders, according to Wall Street Journal. The app starts filming when users say, "OK, Glass, start broadcasting."
U.S. & World
The idea is that users can use the app to share their experiences at concerts or events, or even as a "teaching tool during surgery," the WSJ reported. However, if users want to broadcast all over the Web, then that's $399 a month.
Privacy activists have already protested Google's wearable device loaded with a camera and the Internet because it could easily film others without their knowledge. "Obviously, there are privacy concerns with Google Glass," said Livestream Chief Executive Max Haot. "But if you think of it more as a professional tool, we think it has a great future."
A Google spokesman said the company is sensitive to the privacy issues and is allowing users to provide feedback about the device. It also forbids sexually explicit and "illegal material" on Google Glass, along with no facial-recognition software.
Google has reasons to be careful about video on Google Glass. Already there's been backlash against the device, partially from the $1,500 device being a metaphor for the haves versus the have-nots in San Francisco, but also because people don't want to be filmed or photographed without their knowledge or consent in bars or other places.


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Hey, with this whole Gen. McChrystal flap, reckon there's any chance all those pundits and columnists will break out the historical comparisons and contrasts?
Is the Pope Catholic?
Here's just a sample of the bumper crop so far, springing up faster than you can say "Doris Kearns Goodwin":
- The Greensboro News & Record gives it to you short and sweet.
- The Kansas City Star, complete with slide show.
- From The Atlantic: "Obama Borrows the Military Back." Get it? Get it?!?
- Politics Daily ranks the "Top 3 All-Time General-Against-President Feuds." Guess what the top two are. No, go on. Guess.
- Hey, speaking of Doris Kearns Goodwin…
- You know, what this scenario really needs is somebody to play Grant to McChrystal's Young Napoleon. From ABC: "As one Marine told ABC News, 'the softball is teed up for Petraeus to hit it out of the park.'" Ta-daa!
- NPR notes that "commanders must carefully negotiate the discrepancy between the enormous power they wield in the field and the deference they must show to their civilian superiors." Then they offer up the Conway Cabal as an example, despite the fact that Washington was not Conway's civilian superior. Bonus points, though, for invoking something besides McClellan and MacArthur.
These are all from the first page of Google results I got, and it's not even been twenty-four hours since McChrystal got called to the principal's office.


text: Photos by Pete Mazzaccaro Chestnut Hill was back to normal this morning. Most of the roads were passable, if not entirely plowed. Businesses were open and people were out and about on the Avenue. A few kids were even heading down Ardleigh Street to the Water Tower Recreation Center, sleds in hands. Walking around Chestnut Hill, sidewalks were in good condition. Side roads were slushy and slippery, but a few forecasted days with temperatures reaching 40 degrees by Thursday should mean melting snow this week. Below are a few photos taken around the neighborhood. We'd love to run your snow photos. Send them to me at firstname.lastname@example.com. You can click on any photo to see a larger slideshow, including full-screen views. The slideshow is hosted by Picasa.


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As Mitt Romney draws closer to a decision about his 2012 running mate, speculation about who the Republican presidential candidate will select to be his No. 2 has reached a fever pitch.
Romney is expected to make the announcement sometime after he returns from overseas next week. In the meantime, his campaign has launched a major surrogate blitz, dispatching seven of the most buzzed-about VP contenders to rally Romney supporters in swing states.
But this afternoon, the campaign added a surprise name to the list: Florida Attorney General Pam Bondi.
According to a campaign release, Bondi will travel miles away from her home state on Saturday to stump for Romney at three stops in New Hampshire, including a Women for Mitt Kickoff Breakfast in Concord, and campaign office openings in Bedford and Stratham.
Incidentally, the events will put Bondi in close proximity to both the Romney campaign headquarters in Boston and the Romney family's vacation compound on New Hampshire's Lake Winnepesaukee.
Conventional wisdom would suggest that Bondi is not high on Romney's VP list. The specter of Sarah Palin still looms large over the Republican Party, and Bondi, with her unknown background and all-American sorority-girl looks would undoubtedly spur Palin comparisons and a 2008-style media feeding frenzy.
But there are actually some compelling reasons why Romney might be considering Bondi for his No. 2 spot. And given that everything anyone writes about the VP process so far is only speculation, we might as well have some fun.
Here's why Bondi might be on Romney's shortlist:
- She's a woman. And she's young. While the Romney campaign is said to be looking for experience and gravitas, there are obvious demographic advantages to picking someone who can appeal to women and young people.
- She's from Florida. Bondi could give Romney a much-needed advantage in the crucial swing state.
- She tried to take down Obamacare — and almost won. Bondi was the lead attorney general in the lawsuit to overturn the Affordable Care Act. With her as VP, Romney would have one less problem to deal with.
- She's really pretty.
She also seems to have a good rapport with the candidate. Here's a picture of Bondi and Mitt hanging out with Lenny Kravitz at the Daytona 500 that she posted on her Facebook page:
But Bondi also comes with some political baggage, not least of which is her complicated marital past. Bondi is twice married and divorced, and earlier this year postponed her wedding to her current fiancé under strange circumstances. According to the Miami Herald, Bondi had planned a destination wedding in the Cayman Islands this May, but unexpectedly cancelled the nuptials at the very last minute. The very last minute. Here's an excerpt from the Herald story:
In November, she told the Tampa Bay Times that she was hoping for a spring affair. Political insiders eventually caught wind that a destination wedding was planned for Memorial Day weekend, but details were limited and the guest list was exclusive….
…Even some of the guests invited to join the couple in Cayman didn't know about the change in plans as they embarked for the Caribbean. Former Tampa Mayor Dick Greco said he isn't sure when he learned there wouldn't be a wedding, perhaps on the plane ride there.
"Some knew, and some didn't," said Greco, who traveled with his wife, Linda McClintock. "But everybody knew before Saturday."
There was still partying and even kind words for the bride and groom, but no formalities, Greco said. "They had a prayer and a couple of Bible scriptures and said that is what they had decided to do."
Here's a picture of Bondi serving her guests cocktails on the plane to Cayman, courtesy of Florida state Senator Paula Dockery's Facebook page:
Bondi later told the Herald that she and her fiancé are still "happily in love." But obviously the last thing the Romney campaign needs is another Cayman Islands problem.
Even if Bondi doesn't make Romney's VP cut, it's safe to assume we'll be seeing a lot more of her on the campaign trail. The Florida Attorney General has been ramping up her national profile in recent weeks, joining a Republican National Committee effort to recruit more women to the party and defending Florida's controversial voter purge against Democratic criticism.
Plus, if the presidential race once again comes down to Florida, Romney will definitely want this woman in his corner.


text:
Clinic, Home Health, Hospice, Long-Term Care Nursing
Based in Washington state, PeaceHealth is a not-for-profit Catholic health care system, serving communities in Washington, Oregon, and Alaska. With approximately 16,000 caregivers system-wide, and a multi-specialty medical group with over 900 providers, PeaceHealth prides itself on our dedication to patient-centered care and safety.
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text:
Tanner Thompson, an art major at Bemidji State University from Longville, Minn., will be featured in the University's Talley Gallery beginning April 15.
Thompson's exhibit, "Ativan Altar," will feature a collection of paintings and ceramic work. The show, which is appropriate for all audiences, runs through April 30.
"I've had an anxious personality since a very young age," Thompson said. "I have tried to capture the exact moment when these feelings first started; a rush of feelings that consume me on a daily basis. That moment of panic when the only thing I know is fear. My vision becomes blurred, my stomach churns on itself, and I feel disconnected from my body. There is a constant feeling of being overwhelmed and claustrophobic. The thought that there is no escape and I am trapped. All that is clear is a landscape that goes on forever, with no possibility of finding the way out. There is a constant urge to vomit from the simplest of daily tasks and this fear of being watched.
"With such a state of anxiety, the line between excitement and nervousness fades. The mind races with every possible negative thought known, with no sights of alleviation."
"For years I was given a false sense of hope. Through medication and the idea of prayer, I was told that it isn't normal to feel this way. I long for the feeling to not be able to feel at all. I decided to go face-to-face with my anxieties by creating odd and creepy creatures representing my dark side. As a result these creatures represent my depressed mind and I try to overcome this."
An opening reception for "Ativan Altar" is scheduled for 2-6 p.m. Monday, April 15, in the gallery. Refreshments will be available.
Located in Bensen Hall room 212 on the campus of Bemidji State University, the Talley Gallery is barrier-free and open at no charge to the public. All activities in the Talley Gallery are supported by the University's Student Activity Fee Allocation Committee and Bemidji State University's Department of Visual Arts.
Hours for the Talley Gallery are Monday through Thursday from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m.; Friday from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m.; and Saturday from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. All activities in the Talley Gallery are supported by funds from Bemidji State University's Student Activity Fee Allocation Committee.
For more information, contact Talley Gallery Director Laura Goliaszewski, (218) 755-3708, firstname.lastname@example.com.
Talley Gallery


text:
Lots of stuff I've been working on is finally getting somewhere (well, some of them). I finished getting my Order of the Cloud Serpent reputation to exalted and was given my Cloud Serpent (which made me happy). I flew around (on said dragon) and finished up all the Lorewalker "books" locations and got the Exalted achievement there too.
I've continued to work on the Tillers every day and I should hit Exalted either today or tomorrow (I'm thinking today) and I have 7/10 "Best Friends" so far with one more that might hit there today. Working still on Golden Lotus rep and I finally hit Revered which unlocks the Aspects and Shado-pan dailies.
In addition to all of this, I have run the LFR twice. Once (just the first half) on Monday night and then both parts on Tuesday. I think the fights all seem pretty interesting as far as I am concerned. I picked up a new neck piece but otherwise just gold and a couple Sigils for the Black Prince quest. I'm also working on finishing up Dread Wastes as well as working on my Druid here or there.


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September 15, 2018, 10:30 AM
Whether you've had your license for years or are just getting started, at some point you will have to take the California DMV written exam. We offer practice tests for review on the first and third Saturday, and second and fourth Tuesday of each month. Please call Lucy at 951-845-1357 to register.
September 15, 2018, 2:30 PM
Think you have a refined palate? Put those taste buds to the test with our taste test challenge.


text:
For Katy Perry, her upcoming tour won't be just a musical and visual experience, but also an olfactory one too.
In an interview with Rolling Stone magazine, Perry talked about her California Dreams tour, which will incorporate smell-o-vision.
"It's the first concert that's going to smell good," she said. "It's going to smell like you're in cotton candy heaven. It's a fun little nuance. I am a woman of detail, and you will be seeing that — even down to the 15 outfit changes I'm doing in concert."
The worldwide tour begins Feb. 20 and runs through Nov. 2. "I just really want to raise the bar," Perry told Rolling Stone. "Touring is no longer an ordinary thing where you play an instrument in jeans and a T-shirt. It has some pizazz these days, and I'm definitely bringing the pizazz with a lot of bells and whistles. "
Perry is currently nominated for several Grammys, including Album of the Year for "Teenage Dream"; she will also perform at the awards show.
Selected Readings: Rolling Stone, Grammys Web site


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�Fort Macon,� the newest addition to the Images of America series from Arcadia Publishing, was written by Paul R. Branch Jr., a park ranger and historian at Fort Macon State Park for the last 32 years.
The brick walls of Fort Macon may not be able to talk, but a collection of etchings, drawings and photographs in a new book may go a long way toward telling the story of the 187-year-old military post.
�Fort Macon,� the newest addition to the Images of America series from Arcadia Publishing, was written by Paul R. Branch Jr., a park ranger and historian at Fort Macon State Park for the last 32 years. Branch is the author of two previous books about the historic garrison.
Branch culled through about 4,000 images in the park collection in addition to other collections and picked 200 images that carry the reader from the fort�s design and construction between 1826 and 1834, through the Civil War, the Spanish-American War, a two-decade abandonment, restoration by the Civilian Conservation Corps, use in World War II and re-establishment as a state park.
A four-page introduction serves as a foundation in which the high points in the fort�s history are laid out for the reader, but it is the imagery that fills in the details.
Branch provides copies of plans for the fort and introduces us to Nathaniel Macon, a North Carolina statesman and national political figure after whom the military base is named.
It took more than nine million bricks to construct the pentagon-shaped fort, its concealed casemates and emplacements for 54 cannons. With modifications in the 1840s, the job cost $463,790.
Though it had only intermittent use in the following years, the fort was seized on April 14, 1861, by the Confederacy two days after the start of the Civil War. The Confederates were forced to surrender the fort on April 26, 1862, following an intense bombardment from land and sea.
Fort Macon was used as a civilian and military prison for 11 years until it was deactivated in 1877, but the following year was manned again for the Spanish-American War.
The garrison was completely abandoned in 1903 and remained vacant for two decades, allowing weeds, briars and shrubs to nearly overtake it. It was given to the state for $1 in 1924 and became Fort Macon State Park. During the 1930s, the Civilian Conservation Corps restored the fort, but in 1941, Army Coast Artillery troops manned the fort once more for the duration of World War II.
Following the war, the site was returned to the public, and it is today one of the most visited state parks in North Carolina.
Branch will hold a book signing from 1 to 3:30 p.m. Saturday at Fort Macon.
The 128-page softcover book is available for $21.99 at www.arcadiapublishing.com or by calling 888-313-2665.
Drew C. Wilson is a reporter for the Havelock News


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Cone Nebula (NGC 2264)
Resembling a beast from a nightmare, rearing its head from a crimson sea, this celestial object is just a pillar of gas and dust. Called the Cone Nebula, this pillar resides in a turbulent star-forming region.
This picture was taken by the NASA/ESA Hubble Space Telescope, shows the upper 2.5 light-years of the Cone, a height equal to 23 million round trips to the Moon. The entire pillar is seven light-years long!


text: After spending most of the day trying to figure out where Fed Ex stashed it I finally got my Green Fade ME Quatro A Shout Out to Brent Moss and The Guitar Shop You my Friend Rock !!!! The Top is a High Def 3D Flame pics dont do it justice I will try and take some this weekend when the and if the sun comes out!! Tone report and video to follow hopefully later tonight


text: I think I've seen the video of that guy's first launchJakeFarley wrote: ↑Wed Mar 22, 2017 3:51 amSeveral years ago I was riding at a crowded site being fully lit on a 12m Waroo on a short narrow board. I had come in and landed and when packing up I saw this guy pumping up a 20m "C" kite. I went over and asked him about his experience. He said this was his first time kiting, no lessons, no friends that kited, and that he was a professional water skier. So I told him that 1) this was way too much kite for the conditions, 2) his experience as a professional water skier was of extremely little value, 3) he would be seriously injured or killed if he got someone to launch him (winds were directly onshore with trees 50' away), 4) he would endanger other kiters and bystanders and be subject to a reckless endangerment lawsuit, 5) he should invest in lessons to learn to kite safely, and 6) that I had seen too many kitemares and I did not want to have to explain to his widow and the authorities why I allowed him to kite. After all that he still wanted to launch! So I told again to take lessons and if he wanted to go it alone to wait for a day with 10 mph winds and a big wide open spot with nobody around that he could injure. He finally backed down and took my advice to take some lessons. I think that if I was not there at that time, noone else was going to stop him.


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Washington (CNN) - As President Barack Obama begins his second term in the White House, the remaining structure of his re-election campaign will re-launch as a new political organization with a mission to advocate his agenda over the next four years.
CNN has confirmed that Obama for America will transform into a non-profit, tax-exempt group, that will attempt to leverage the re-election campaign's powerful grassroots organization and social media operation, as well as its rich voter database and vast email distribution list, to build up public support for the president as he pushes for agreements over the debt ceiling and the federal budget, gun control legislation, immigration reform, and other objectives.
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A senior Democratic official with knowledge of the plans confirms to CNN that name of the new organization will be "Organizing for Action." The formal announcement will come Sunday, at an Obama campaign legacy conference being held in the nation's capital.
Jim Messina, who steered the 2012 Obama re-election campaign, will serve as national chairman of the new group, as first reported earlier this month.
The new organization will be set up as a 501(c)4 group, which would allow the organization, by law, to accept unlimited contributions. The law also does not mandate that the names of donors have to be publicly disclosed. But a Democratic official says the new group will most likely voluntarily reveal its contributors.
An email to supporters Friday announcing the re-launch of OFA included a video of first lady Michelle Obama urging people to join the group.
"Let's be clear. All that hard work was about more than just one election. So if we want to finish what we started and truly make that change we believe in, we can't stop now," she said in the video. "That's the mission of 'Organizing for Action'–to build on the work that we've already done."
Adam Green of the Progressive Change Campaign Committee, a left-leaning group which seeks to motivate grassroots support for political causes, said the re-formed OFA could be a positive development.
"If the president uses the gun fight as a model, proposes bold policies that fight corporate interests, and rallies the public behind those policies through OFA, he will be very successful," Green said. "If he cuts a bad deal with corporate interests and asks the grassroots to ratify that bad deal, the power of his email list will shrivel as people look for other places to put their activism."
Unlike four years ago, this time around the Obama campaign grassroots organization will not be stored in the Democratic National Committee. In early 2009 the remnants of the 2008 Obama presidential election campaign were put under the DNC. The operation was used to try and build up grassroots support for such first term fights over health care and Wall Street reform, which both narrowly passed through Congress and became law. There's some political disagreement over how successful the organization, known as Organizing for America, was in building up support for the president's first term agenda.
In April 2011, OFA was put back under the direction of the Obama campaign, with the launch of the 2012 re-election organization.
Finally, an organization where the vast middle of America can count on getting things done. Those of us who are not driven by the far left and the far, far right, the gun nuts, and the moral police will have a place to direct our dollars. Perhaps we can elect some people like us who are able to compromise for the benefit of the the nation.
Great, the new version of the corrupt ACORN. Just what we need more corrupt non-profit organizations to waste time, money and and effort, all while distracting the American public. Did we not learn this lesson the first time?
Um...the Chinese Cultural Revolution was 50 years ago...and failed...how about let's just skip that part here in the US Comrades?
Congress needs an incentive to boost it's approval rating and this organization will provide such incentive. Time to replace "by the money for the money" with "by the people for the people'. I hope congress becomes more functional before it becomes irrelevant. The math: 9% approval = irrelevant.
What does the group plan on doing? That is an important question. Was any example of their goals or agenda given out?
Being an ineffective leader and unable to work even with his own party in Congress, our President tries an end-around, with a propagnda machine,playing on the emotions of the people through smokescreens, grand lies and false narratives. Triumps higher tax rates for the wealthy but then gives 70% of the increased revenues back to his corprorate sponsors in tax breaks as a thank you for his re-election. Talks endlessly about saving the Bush tax cuts for the middle class but neglects to mention that he will let expire the 2% tax holiday which is a non-progressive blow to 77% of all Americans, all of whom are middle class. It's endless. Take a look at the Consumer Confidence index for january.
This could be very dangerous for the American people. Think of the unlimited fund foreign governments and groups that can and will contribute to this "company" and use this powerful grass roots influence to change our laws for "their betterment" under the pretense of "Obama for America"! This already happens today so why create a bigger and belter machine to assist them in doing this? Please don't be naïve and say it won't happen our Gov't today is living proof of how big money corrupts…. "Obama for America" is not going to turn away huge donations in the name of our best interests and freedom…..we are going to be further sold to the highest bidder and this special interests groups. Obama should see the grave error this is but he just can't….he is selling us out once again!
Republicans are still scratching their heads, "How'd they do that?"
great news the people will have a voice. I see the repos already trying to brand it a socialist thing. They are really sorry they did not think of this first. You all can go back to Norquist and the rove super pacs. Grass root supporters can get things done.
Organizing for America under the leadership of the BEST and most SUCCESSful "community organizer", organizing the world's most diverse and successful community,the USA, to better meet the needs of the people that comprise it.
Great, sign me up!
Then we can work on term limits.
"There's some political disagreement over how successful the organization, known as Organizing for America, was in building up support for the president's first term agenda."
Interesting comment. Who exactly has expressed this political disagreement, CNN?
"Being an ineffective leader and unable to work even with his own party in Congress, our President tries an end-around, with a propagnda machine"
This sickens me. This reeks of Communism. If we could only turn our guns on Democrats, this country could heal. But no, it's more poison as a cure.
Excuse me,
The Framer's of the Constutition already did that. It's all over but the shouting. Too bad a lot of people forgot the Constutition. There is nothing holding you back but yourself. Try getting your feet wet and doing it yourself.
"This sickens me. This reeks of Communism."
Oh? Do tell. We're all dying (of laughter) in anticipation of your explanation of your "reasoning" for that claim....
Bill wrote:
This could be very dangerous for the American people. Think of the unlimited fund foreign governments and groups that can and will contribute to this "company" and use this powerful grass roots influence to change our laws for "their betterment" under the pretense of "Obama for America"! This already happens today so why create a bigger and belter machine to assist them in doing this?
You're being most hypocritical, Bill. Tell that to Karl Rove and Dick Armey. At least OFA makes their books public.
This nation is going in right direction. We passed healthcare, on gun-control, fuel-efficiency etc. true. Stocks are not faltering–still strong to say we capitalistic nation.
The start of "the brown shirt" brigade? The concentration camps are ready we hear.


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THE SQL Server Blog Spot on the Web
I will be in London to teach the Advanced DAX Workshop on June 11-13, 2014 (if you are interested, there are still seats available).
During my stay, I will also deliver an evening community session titles SSAS Tabular from the Trenches on June 11, 2014 at 6:30pm. The London Business Analytics Group organized this free event and you can find more a complete description of the content in a dedicated page, where you can also register (for free!). In a few words, I will share several experiences of SSAS Tabular adoption, in different scenarios, trying to help who is still struggling for adopting Tabular (or not). Questions and open discussions are always welcome in these events!
Are there any other evening sessions besides the 11th as I cannot make that night but would like to attend.
Hi Peter,
I will be in London in that date - take a look at http://www.meetup.com/London-Business-Analytics-Group to view more events of the same group.


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Liberty News
USA Softball players practice on campus, tour new stadium
Two selling points for Liberty University's softball program — its new stadium and its head coach, Olympic gold medalist Dot Richardson — left members of the USA Women's National Team awestruck on Tuesday.
|Construction continues on the new Liberty Softball Stadium.
"It's probably one of the state-of-the-art softball stadiums in the United States right now," Team USA Head Coach Ken Eriksen said after visiting the facility, which is in the final phases of construction. "You're not going to find that kind of ballpark anywhere in the country, no matter what conference you're in. It's a palatial park for any student-athlete to want to come to."
Lynchburg is the first stop on the team's 2014 Exhibition Tour. It will face a Central Virginia All-Star team coached by Richardson in a doubleheader on Friday at 7 p.m. at City Stadium, before putting on a softball clinic from 9 a.m. to noon Saturday at Peaks View Park for ages 6-18. The games and practices are serving as part of the team's selection process.
"It's going to be exciting," Richardson said at a news conference announcing the team's visit. "Coaching the (Central Virginia All-Star) team against our USA National Team will be a switch, but it's going to be a lot of fun."
The All-Star team is composed of current and former players from regional colleges, including four recent Liberty graduates — pitcher Alyssa DeMartino, infielders Marybeth Sciolino and Sammi Shivock, and outfielder Katie Zavodny, who on Wednesday was named to the VaSID All-State Softball First Team.
|Prospective USA Softball National Team members gather at the end of Wednesday's practice on the old Liberty softball field.
The 24 current Team USA prospects, including four players from Southeastern Conference (SEC) rivals Florida and Alabama which met in the June 3 College Softball World Series final — practiced together for the first time Wednesday morning at Liberty's old softball field.
Second baseman Lauren Gibson, named 2013 SEC Player of the Year as a senior at Tennessee, met Richardson two weekends ago at the College Softball World Series in Oklahoma City. On Tuesday, she and her USA Softball teammates, who flew in from all over the country, received a personal tour of Liberty's new stadium from the USA Softball legend.
"It was a lot of fun," said Gibson, who will be competing in her second Pan American Games next summer in Toronto, Canada, after leading Team USA to a championship in Guadalajara, Mexico, in 2011. "Any time you get to be around a gold medalist is a very exciting time. Just to be able to talk with her has been great. I've always looked up to her when I was little. She played second and short, just like I do."
"To be here at Liberty and to have Dot involved was a huge deal," Eriksen added. "She's an icon in the game, and history will show that she's probably one of the greatest players who have ever played."
Richardson was 17 years old when she made her first USA National Team. She went on to lead the squad to five World Championships, five Pan American Games titles, and two Olympic gold medals — in Atlanta, Georgia in 1996 and Sydney, Australia in 2000.
The last time the USA National Team was together was last August, when it run-ruled Canada in the gold medal game of the Pan American Qualifier in Puerto Rico, outscoring opponents by an 84-4 margin overall in the tournament.
"We were successful," Eriksen said. "We ended on a high note, so we're trying to carry over that momentum."
That qualified the team for the Aug. 13-23 International Softball Federation World Championships in The Netherlands and next summer's Pan American Games in Toronto. First, it will compete in the World Cup of Softball, July 7-12 in Irvine, Calif.
The team will play exhibition games in Findlay, Ohio, and Purcellville, Va., next week before Eriksen and a Women's National Team Selection Committee trims the roster to 17 players.
- Liberty University is a sponsor for the USA Women's National Softball Exhibition Game on Friday at Lynchburg City Stadium. Tickets can be purchased online or at the door, if still available. Gates open at 5 p.m. and players will sign autographs after the doubleheader.
- Visit Liberty's Athletics page for complete rosters of the teams and details on the exhibition games.


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In getting to know your essential self (in dis-identifying from what we are not), there are ten mirrors of identity to look into:
- The Mirror of Reflection (physical mirror)
- The Mirror of Others' Minds, Approval, & Feedback (social mirror)
- The Mirror of Circumstance, Status, Rank, & Reputation (situational mirror)
- The Mirror of Roles, Membership, & Affiliations (relational mirror)
- The Mirror of Action, Professional Identity, Performance, & Pastime (behavioral mirror)
- The Mirror of Possessions & Ownership (material mirror)
- The Mirror of Body, Age, & Health (bio-data mirror)
- The Mirror of Time, Memory, Imagination (temporal mirror)
- The Mirror of Language, Words, Description (linguistic mirror)
- The Mirror of Consciousness (inner mirror)
Once you study yourself in these mirrors you will see that 9 of these mirrors offer you nothing but distortions – you are not how you look, you are not others' thoughts about you, you are not your body, you are not even your own thoughts about you, and so on and so forth.
It's only the 10th mirror (the Mirror of Consciousness) – the mirror of meditation – the inner mirror – that allows you to catch a true glimpse of your essential self.
The metaphor of the mirror is essential. Here's what Antonio T. De Nicholas has to say on this point in his profound Four-Dimensional Man: Mediations Through Rg Veda:
[L]ooking in the mirror is…one of the most important philosophical acts we perform on ourselves daily. To begin with, the mirror gives us only an image, and this is a triviality. However, the triviality may turn into a nightmare or a liberation the moment we start looking carefully (philosophically) at the image in the mirror, for the image we see in the mirror is always an image we recognize in relation to a very similar image we saw previously in the mirror; and this, in turn, we recognize in relation to another image we saw in the mirror—and so on. The fact that we lump all these images under the same personal pronoun "I" is trivial; for this "I" is, again, a linguistic image within a mirror of language that reflects whatever images we decide to conjure up. However, the decision about which criteria to use in relating to these images is not in the images, in the mirror, but is entirely up to the language-user or mirror-user to decide. The mirror confronts us with these two possibilities; we may acknowledge the source of the images—namely, us, I, man, woman—as forever unknowable and unidentifiable, or we may reduce ourselves to the image in the mirror. Unfortunately, this second choice is the one we usually take;…by reducing ourselves to the image in the mirror, we have chosen to live in the mirror." (1976, 82)
Mirror teaches us about our own essence, about how to reflect without clinging. By looking at the mirror meditatively we learn how to do the same.
Adapted from Lotus Effect (Pavel Somov, 2010)


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Issue 13 will feature a brand new tale, "Crime Takes a Holiday." In the adventure, Rob travels to the French Riviera for a much needed vacation but discovers that crime rarely takes a rest!
Also tentatively on the docket at a later date is a special issue 0 of Rob Hanes Adventures that I hope will serve as a nice re-introduction to the character. Although it's not a re-boot and doesn't change any continuity or the basic settings of the story, it will be an attempt to update the back story a bit and re-introduce the character to a new generation of readers. It's important to note that the series was initially introduced while the Cold War was still in full swing, so this is something that's a bit overdue.
I'll release more details about lucky issue 13 and the planned issue 0 as they become available!
Website Updated
I've updated the WCG Comics website a bit to add a slideshow of news items and images to make the site a bit more visually interesting—it appears to be all the rage!


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Two Fayette seventh grade students have earned top ratings with their science fair project.
Logan Franks and Kellen Keiser teamed up to create a salt water battery project that earned a superior rating March 8 at the regional tournament at Northwest State Community College, but failed to move on along the national tournament trail during "super judging."
They'll try the project out again at the district tournament Saturday at the University of Toledo. The district tournament leads to state competition.
"Everybody in class made a project," Logan said, and teacher Sheila Killam invited students to compete further.
They first entered the Pettisville science fair, just to see what science fair competition is like, Kellen said, and qualified for district and regional competition.
The boys connected a light bulb to a container holding an iron bar and magnesium electrode, then added water and salt.
The current generated wasn't enough to light the bulb, but it was detected with a measuring device.
"It was really fun," Logan said, and Kellen agrees.
When it comes time to come up with a project next year, they'll be ready to go.


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Rhythm Section
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Cecil Montgomery was in the hospital, and it looked like he wasn't getting out, and that meant I needed a job.
I'd been playing bass for Cecil Montgomery for six years, and it had been a really good gig. The music wasn't the most challenging thing in the world, pretty much straight 12-bar shuffle blues. But we worked constantly, touring the United States and Europe relentlessly, and we made good money.
The band got along well, and Cecil was a great guy, fat and funny. He was one of the old school bluesmen, grew up in Texas, the stories he told of the old chitlin' circuit, playing in bars lit only by kerosene lamp, playing with people like Son House, were enough to keep us young players gathered around his knee like wide-eyed kids.
But his weight caught up with him. He had congestive heart failure and he'd gone back to Houston to the ICU, and the rest of us scattered to the four winds from whence we'd come.
It was like a funeral when we all got our stuff out of the tour bus for the last time, everyone telling stories about Cecil and promising to stay in touch.
I headed home to Seattle, where I pay rent on a small apartment in Fremont that I never use. It's a great place, in a funky old house of stucco that seems to be more window than wall, which helps endure the long, dim months of winter.
For two months, it was fun to be home. I made the rounds of all the blues clubs and jammed with my friends and got some local gigs here and there. I made my way up to Capitol Hill and hit my old gay haunts on Broadway and took a couple guys home for the night, and it was good to get my ashes hauled. I even toyed with the idea of staying home, it was so good to be still for a minute.
But when the call came from Cecil's record company that Hickory Cane Watson needed a bass player immediately, as the old one had quit mid-tour, I was packed and on a flight as fast as American Airlines could get me to Denver.
"I almost hate to hear you sound so happy, " said Claudelle, the tour manager for the label. "There's a reason the bass player quit. Hick is an asshole. Pure and simple. And his drummer Leon is impossible, from what I've heard from bass players. And he's gay, too, Leon is, and I know that bothers some folks. He's not in your face about it, but some players don't want to share a room with him."
"That sucks for Leon," I said. "I have no problem with it." I didn't figure she needed to know I was gay, too.
It was Leon sent to pick me up at the Denver airport, and my first look at him set me back some. I guess I envisioned some shaved-headed black giant with a lisp, given his intimidating reputation and his open sexuality. But when he found me at baggage claim picking up my upright bass from the oversized bags, he was small, about an inch shorter than me, and I'm 5' 10". He was also younger than I expected, maybe in his mid-30's. And he didn't look gay. He looked gangster, in a sports jersey with cornrows braided into his hair.
"Are you Eric?" he said, looking faintly puzzled.
"Yeah, you're Leon?"
"That's right. You're the guy they sent down from Sterling Records?"
"Yeah, that's me."
He clearly was thinking something he was reluctant to say. We were checking each other out like two fighting dogs, unsure of whether to wag tails or lunge for the throat.
"Is there a problem?" I asked.
"Does Hick know you're white?"
"I don't know what the fuck Hick knows," I said. "He knows what the label told him, I guess. Is it going to be in issue?"
"You'll be the first white guy he's worked with since I've known him," said Leon. "I thought that's the way he wanted it."
"Is that the way you want it?" I asked.
"I don't give a rat's ass," he said. "Just as long as you can play better than that fuckhead who just quit."
Leon was kind enough to grab my electric bass and we made our way to the concourse and grabbed a shuttle.
"We got a show tonight and there's no time for a rehearsal so I hope you been listening to the material," said Leon.
"Yeah, I been listening to all six albums and checked out all the youtube I could find, seeing as how Hick didn't see fit to send me a set list," I said. "But I don't know that my masters from Berklee and my sixteen years on the road or anything else could qualify me to learn six albums worth of complex material in two days, especially since you guys seem to play it different live than you do on the records."
Leon actually rolled his eyes.
"I can see how this is going to go," he said.
I was immediately furious.
"Yeah, I can, too," I said. "Not only do I see how it's going to go tonight, I can see how it's going to go for the rest of Hick's sorry fucking career if he expects side guys to show up pre-programmed for his show with no fucking set list, no video, nothing. It's going to be one shit show after another."
"That's the attitude you're bringing?"
"It could quickly become the attitude I Ieave with, too," I said. I found myself wondering bizarrely if I was going to be the first player to quit Hickory Cane's band before I even met him. "Tell me what part of what I just said doesn't make sense to you."
"Look, I ain't going to lie," said Leon. "Hick's an asshole. But if you make it through the first few shows, you'll find the set list is the same every night. It's only two hours of music. But you gotta come ready and willing to work your ass off. I don't mean to bust your balls."
"Then tell me what fucking tunes are on the set list and I'll listen to them until tonight. I charted them all already, so I can just grab the charts and do my best. But don't expect me to be Marcus fucking Miller my first night out or this whole thing is going south," I said.
"You charted all six albums?" There was a faint glimmer of surprise on Leon's dark face.
"Yeah, I got that 'work your ass' off thing together. For a white guy."
"Oh, Jesus, simmer your ass down," said Leon. "It ain't me that's got the problem with it."
"Well, Hick's already shown himself to be an employer of diversity," I said, glaring at him. "So hopefully he can work around my damn skin."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" said Leon, cocking one eyebrow and folding his arms. There was no one else on the shuttle, thank god, because this was getting tense.
"Just what it sounds like," I said. "If he can deal with you being gay, he can deal with me being white."
"Oh, you got a problem with that, now?" said Leon. He never would have shown up on my gaydar, in spite of the gold hoop in one ear. In fact, I had been wondering if Claudelle even got it right until Leon confirmed it.
"No, fuck no, I'm gayer than you," I said. "I'm just saying. He can't be that fucking uptight."
Leon suddenly burst out laughing. "You're white and gay? Oh, this is good. Whatever you do, don't tell Hick. Don't tell anyone. Listen, this is not the fucking ACLU we're on the road with here. Most these guys are back woods. They all come up from Mississippi with Hick. Trust me, we don't just call him Hick 'cause it's short for Hickory Cane. His dad was the pastor of the Burning Book Baptist Church of Podunk, Delta or some shit, and half the band came up through that church. They're all pretty sure I'm going to hell. Not that they don't fuck as much road pussy as they can possibly pin down and spend the next 600 miles giving us all the play by play."
"Jesus H.," I said. "What did you tell them for?"
"I didn't," he said. "It's just a known thing about me. There aren't so many gay black drummers in blues bands out of Mississippi, you know."
"Not a lot of gay Russian blues bass players either, I guess, but I'm from Seattle, so maybe that's the difference," I said.
"Well, don't think we're going to be hitting it because we both swing the same way," said Leon, banishing the dawning warmth I felt for him. "I don't shit where I eat."
"Charming," I said. "Trust me, it was not on my mind."
"Well, good, because we're sharing a room," said Leon. "Hick's tight as fuck and half the time we're going to be sharing a bed, too, so don't flip out about it."
"Since we're sharing a room, you're going to show me the difference between the tracks I have and how you play it live and do it by show time or my ass is on a plane," I said. "And I'll explain to Claudelle just why, and she'll explain it to Hick, and whatever happens after that ain't my problem. But I'm not going on stage with no fucking clue just so I can get my ass kicked by some racist homophobe in front of three thousand people."
"Hey, I don't want to suck any more than you do," he said. "You damn right we going to work on this shit in the hotel."
We only had three hours. I set up my little practice station on the hotel dresser as fast as I could, plugged in my iPod, and Leon grabbed a practice pad. I took the list he'd jotted and collected the appropriate charts.
For the next three hours I did what I do best, which is play bass, and we became nothing more than professionals, retooling my charts to reflect the live arrangements.
Leon was none too friendly, but nor was he hostile. Within an hour, we were grudgingly impressed with each other, I at his ability to communicate, he at my ability to learn fast.
When the knock at the door came for the shuttle to take us to sound check, Leon said "Listen, just hang right by me and keep looking at me, and I'll cue you, alright? And don't lose your shit and quit if Hick freaks 'cause you're white. He's got no options at this point."
Hick did freak.
He took one look at me and snapped open his flip phone.
"You know I don't work with no fucking crackers," he said to Claudelle without preamble. I folded my arms on top of my bass case in the glare of the white overheads as the sound crew moved backline around the black stage floor. I could hear Claudelle's voice as clear as if it was on speaker; like most lifetime musicians, Hick was half deaf and thus had his phone volume cranked.
"Listen Hick, you're lucky I could find anyone of any fucking color to play with your nasty ass so you ought to kiss my feet you even got anyone at all. I tell you what, you're on thin fucking ice with this label and if you want us to kick you to the curb like Stone did and Fat Possum did, keep being a bitch. That's the last fucking band member I'm sending, and I better not hear of no..."
Hick snapped the phone shut and muttered, looking at me.
"Fucking stupid bitch, I oughta quit that label, start my own, god damned cow, it's not like they do shit for me anyway."
"She ain't lying," said Leon. "You pissed off the whole east coast and the midwest and you burned out every bass player in the south years ago. You done worked your way to Seattle. Unless you want to take your chances on finding a Hawaiian bass player, you better work with this guy. He does not suck."
Coming from Leon, that felt like high praise indeed.
"How come of everyone in my band, it the faggot that's got the balls?" said Hick, laughing. I instantly had him pegged. He was one of those bullies that only respects people who fight back.
"You don't want to lose the rather insignificant balls you got, you'll mind your fucking manners," said Leon, staring at him coolly. I didn't stop myself from bursting into laughter.
"You think that's funny?" Hick snapped into warrior mode, glaring at me.
"I thought it was fucking hilarious," I said, glaring back. "What would really be hilarious is you trying to pull your show off with no bass player in an hour and half. That would be so god damned funny I'd stick around and watch before flying home and telling Claudelle what a piece of shit you are."
"You better not suck," he said. "Or I'll knock that mouth right off you."
"Now that would be some comedy," I said. "You're lucky I don't suck, 'cause otherwise you'd have to back that shit up and I'd break you."
The other band members were casting wary glances our way. I could see they were all terrified of Hick.
There was a long, tense moment.
"You better get him through this," said Hick to Leon.
"He'll be fine," said Leon, giving me a look to say I'd better be fine.
I'm good under pressure. But after that night, I'd set a new high water mark for myself. I stood by Leon, and I'll say this, he was about teamwork. Between my charts, the hotel rehearsal, and his cues, I knocked it out of the park. By the end of the second set, Leon actually smiled at me for the first time halfway through my bass solo.
He was a phenomenal drummer. We clearly listened to all the same people, too, because he started picking up my accents and for a second we were Gary Grainger and Will Calhoun and the crowd went apeshit. Inspired, I put over a series of blinding chops and Leon was right on top of it, and we grinned at each other as we nailed it.
It transformed his face. Up till then, he'd been brooding and edgy. The grin took a decade off him, put dimples in his cheeks, and for the first time I noticed that he was actually very good looking. I mentally smacked myself on the hand.
After the show, the band members came up one at a time and gave me props, and Hick was acting like he'd picked me out himself.
"You the man!" he said. "Listen, don't pay me no mind. I'm an asshole. Anyone will tell you. Just ask these guys." He jabbed a thumb at his band. "You did good. Hope you don't mind staying with Leon. Just sleep on your back."
"Fuck you, Hick," said Leon from where he was tearing his drums down.
"Don't get your panties in a twist," said Hick. "I'm just playing."
"Let's box," said Leon. "I'll just be playing."
"I got no problem with Leon," I said. "Hell, I'm..."
Leon caught my eye and slashed his hand across his throat furiously.
"...from Seattle." I said. "They practically make you a P-FLAG member when you move in."
"What ever that is," said Hick. He forked off $300 and handed it over.
"Look, we got off on the wrong foot," said Leon back at the hotel. "It's my fault. You see how it is with Hick. I live in fight mode. You did an amazing job. You are a fucking great bass player. I hope you stay. There's a place down the way that delivers pizza till four am. Let me buy and make it up for being such a dick."
"You were a dick, so I am going to let you buy," I said. But I was smiling. "Look, you got me through it. You are a monster drummer. Where did you learn to play like that?"
He started out in church in Jacksonville, he said. That's also where he picked up his fight and his gangster style. Being a gay black kid in Jacksonville was a Darwinian situation, he explained. I began to notice that for a gangster, he was remarkably well educated.
He'd gone on to study jazz at Louisiana State in New Orleans. No wonder he was so good. They don't give jazz degrees to chumps there.
"Why do you stay with Hick?" I asked. "Why do you deal with all that homophobia? Why don't you move to California or something? I'm sure you could go out on the road with Coco Montoya or someone a lot cooler than Hick."
"I love the music," said Leon. "I fucking love Hick's music. It's so funky. There's no one out there playing anything like it. It's tight, got jazz style, but solid blues roots, and as much as Hick's a jackass, he lets me run my show."
We talked music and shared our histories over pizza. His history was horrifying, even more so because he told it so matter of factly. His parents put him out on the street at 15 when they found him with his boyfriend en flagrante delicto. From there he'd lived in shelters and on the streets until a preacher took him in and let him stay at the church. He'd played the drums all night, alone, in the empty church, on the stage for two solid years. It was the only thing that kept his head on straight, he said. Soon he was playing in the church band, and the church finally took up a collection to send him to college. So he got his GED and studied hard for his SATS, and off he went.
"So I got mixed views on the church," he said. "There's my folks' hating-ass church, and there's Saving Grace Episcopal, that put me through college. They knew I was gay. They're just open to that."
After that, I felt pretty boring. But he thought my story of arriving as a Russian refugee in the middle of the cold war, only eight years old, pretty interesting. Like many refugees, we wound up in Seattle, and I went to a school where the kids spoke a total of 37 languages. I took to bass early, and won a scholarship to Berklee, which impressed Leon to no end.
When we turned in, we were allies.
The next day we loaded into the bus and headed for Omaha.
The four band members that made up the horn section and the keys, as well as Hick, were birds of a feather. They cracked on each other, sucked up to Hick, pretended to be gay, tried to one-up each other with pussy stories and generally behaved like high school douche bags. They ignored me for being new and white, and when they talked to Leon, it was with a cautious respect. I could see how Leon got his reputation.
The problem I was having is that Leon was starting to turn me on. He was possibly the toughest guy I ever met. And one of the most talented. And he was hot. There was no way around it. He had high cheekbones and big, full lips and huge dark eyes and the buff arms and shoulders of a drummer. And I learned last night that he was a truly nice guy, once he'd taken you off the enemy list.
But he'd made his policy clear. It was a good policy, too. There's nothing to fuck up a band and a professional reputation like drama between quarreling lovers. Still.
The Omaha show went even better than Denver. I spent the whole show with my eyes glues on Leon, and it wasn't just to pick up the cues. Drummers are sexy, like human machines, and they drive the whole machine that is a band. Leon played with a poker face, impassive, even intimidating. That's why when he cracked a grin at me mid-solo, it not only drove me nuts, it drove the crowd nuts. He was sexy as fuck.
I started thinking about what I look like. I have never had trouble picking up guys. My Russian coloring doesn't hurt. I have dark brown hair and very pale blue eyes and the combination can be a little startling. Some people really like it. I keep my look a little gay, too, in a tight-tee-shirt, well-groomed, designer-jeans kind of way. And I keep myself in shape, hitting the hotel gyms every place that has one and getting up early to jog where they don't.
I resolved to get in even better shape, and the next morning before we headed for Lincoln I got out my track shoes and sweats.
"You going for a run?" said Leon, sleepy in a white wife beater and boxer shorts, from the other bed. As new guy, I was assigned to room with Leon for the foreseeable, and that suited me fine.
"Yeah," I said.
"Fuck, hold up, I'll come," said Leon. "God damn. What time is it? You are a sick mofo. Gimme one second."
I heard him brush his teeth in the bathroom and he emerged in a jersey and sweats and we headed out, headed into the suburbs behind the hotel where there are lots of sidewalks and little traffic.
It felt great. I love running, and he was in great shape and we ate up miles, side by side and breathing easy.
"You do this every day?" he said.
"Yeah, it's the only way I ever see where I am," I said. He laughed.
"Ain't that the way? Everyone thinks because you tour, you've seen the world. And all you've seen is hotel rooms. Shit, you do this every day, I'll come. Hell, I'm glad to have you on this tour. This will be good for me."
Back at the room I stripped my shirt on the way to the bathroom and tossed it at my suitcase. I saw him watching from the corner of my eye. The devil on my shoulder was running me. I grinned inside.
We got into a good routine in the next weeks, playing at night, each night getting tighter and enjoying each other more, running or lifting weights in the morning, weather and hotel amenities dictating. Hick and the band mostly ignored us, and when they lipped off, cracking that Leon must have turned me out, we presented a united and extremely hostile front. We were respected, if not liked.
On our days off, we worked on music in the room or kicked around the city together, shopping for clothes and music and catching up on laundry. I learned he was funny and irreverent, intellectual, politically aware, profane and spiritual at the same time. We had long conversations about everything. Everything except our love lives.
Then we had a night off in Salt Lake City.
We went to the Red Iguana. Every one does on tour. There's no Mexican food like it in America. They make their own mole. They also have a wide array of tequilas. It turns out Leon has a little weakness for expensive tequila.
I don't drink at all; like many musicians, I had to quit long ago. When I drink, I drink too much. That's all there is to it.
"You're getting a little buzz, aren't you?" I said to Leon as he drank a fourth $15 shot of tequila.
He raised his eyebrows.
"Don't lie, you're jealous," he said.
"I won't be when I'm watching you try to go running tomorrow," I said.
"You're too fucking disciplined," he said. "No wonder you're single."
We handed our cards to the waitress.
"I'm single because I never met a man who wanted to have a relationship with a phone," I said. "They tend to trade the phone in on something life-sized and warm, after a month or six."
"God, you ain't lying," he said. "I love this life. But I hate that part. I hate the crying lover on the phone. 'Leon, I met someone, Leon, I'm so sorry, Leon, when can you come get your shit, you were never here for me.' And I know it was true, so all I can do is get my shit next time I roll through. That does suck."
We signed our slips and walked out.
"I just about stayed in Seattle after Cecil went to the hospital," I said. "I'm halfway through my 30s. One of these days I'd like to get into something permanent. You know, someone to buy a birthday gift for every year. I haven't bought a birthday gift two years in a row for anyone but Mom since I was 20 and Dad died."
"Yeah, me, not even that," said Leon.
We piled into a cab and headed for the hotel. In the back seat, I could feel something change. Maybe it was body language. His knee was close to mine, maybe closer than necessary. I hardly dared hope.
"I just can't see myself ever stopping doing this," said Leon. "I love traveling. I love playing music. I love the festivals and all the good people I meet and everything. And now you're here, and I got someone to hang with, I'm happy as a pig in shit. I don't know if I could stop to make it work for a dude."
"Me either," I said. "What I need to do is hook up with another player. At least he'd understand why he never got to see me. We could get together between tours."
Not, you know, a player I work with or anything.
Leon paid the driver and we got out.
"Fuck, don't do that," said Leon, as I unlocked the door. "Players is all crazy as shit. You can't trust any of 'em. They spread it around like peanut butter."
"Yeah, look at us," I said. "Spreading it around like celibate monks."
That cracked him up as he followed me in.
But when the door closed, he stopped laughing.
"Eric, much as I love playing music with you, I almost wish I didn't," he said. "If we didn't work together, I might try to be that birthday gift guy."
"You would probably make a great birthday gift guy," I said carefully, suddenly flushed and dizzy. "Don't think I haven't thought about it."
"It's just I've tried to do that before," he said. "More than once. I've never had it work out with someone I work with. I lost gigs that way. Had a hard time getting new ones, too, after that. My reputation was shit in Mississippi after the last go round. It's part of why I'm stuck working with Hick. It was that or move. Hick has to take who ever can deal with him. I fuck this up and I'm looking at jeopardizing the one thing I love to do most."
He flung himself back on his bed and I did the same on mine, and we stared at the blank TV.
"Well, Leon, if you don't want to go there, we should probably stop talking about it," I said. "Or I'm liable to tell you exactly what I've been thinking lately, and that will do you no good."
"Fuck, this is the tequila talking," he said. "But what exactly have you been thinking?"
"You tell that tequila to shut it's Mexican yap," I said. "You want to know, ask again tomorrow."
Leon rolled himself up in a huff like an armadillo, but I saw him smiling. When I was sure he was asleep, I got up and walked around his bed and pulled up a chair and just looked at him, the little scar in his eyebrow, the smooth perfect caramel skin. I thought of him as a kid sleeping like that in a cardboard box, like he'd said he did.
I got up and got an extra blanket out of the closet that had the ironing board in it and put it over him, curled up with his shoes still on and his hands sandwiched between his knees.
The next morning I saw him register the blanket.
"We don't have checkout till noon and we're only going to Ogden," he said. "Give me a damn minute before you go charging out the door."
"You really going to run, tequila boy?"
"Fuck you, I'll dust you," he said, grinning at me. "After I've had me some coffee."
He then scowled dramatically, eased himself out from under the blanket, and headed out the door, returning a few minutes later with a tray. I was touched. He'd grabbed coffee and cereal for both of us. That was a first.
"Thanks for the blanket," he said so shyly and sweetly I melted.
Weeknight gigs pay jack, and we were playing Ogden on a Monday. So when I opened the next hotel room door and I saw one double bed, I tipped my head back and laughed.
"I don't know what the good Lord was thinking," I said, "but take a look. Hick's feeling tight."
He walked in after me.
"Fuck," he snorted. "The last time this happened, the bass player quit."
"Oh, is that what happened?"
"Yeah, that and I took a tooth out of him for telling me to keep my faggot hands to myself."
I chuckled.
"Yeah, well, keep your faggot hands to yourself," I said.
"Bitch," he said, laughing. "Don't make me send you to the dentist, too."
"Bitch," I said, shouldering him. "You talk a good game. What you got?"
"Bitch, I'll show you," he said, grinning and shoving back, and we started sparring and pushing and laughing and soon we were grappling and what the rules or goal were, I don't know.
But he got me in a head lock under one arm and I grabbed a knee and pulled hard and we sprawled onto the bed and for a second we just looked at each other and then it was too late.
"Oh, shit," he said, and the humor drained from his face. And then he leaned over me and his face eclipsed the room and his mouth came down on mine.
His mouth was made for kissing, it was so full and soft. I kissed him back with everything I had, and when I felt his soft tongue, I pushed up against him and moaned.
His hands came to my ribs and he pulled me close to his body and threw a leg over me. I scooted until I could get no closer and it was a full body kiss. We caught fire, thrusting against each other, pulling each other closer, rolling, kissing frantically.
I grabbed his perfect ass and thrust against him hard and he caught his breath and did the same and we were grinding against each other like teenagers.
"Damn, Eric, I've wanted this," he said between kisses. "Damn, boy."
"Me too," I said against his mouth. "So bad."
"Baby, hold up," he said, out of breath, going still but making no move to untangle.
I went still too, and just looked at his incredible face, inches from mine, feeling him breath in my arms.
"We going to go down this road, we need to know what we're doing," he said. "I'm too old to fuck and figure it out later."
"You're 32," I said.
"That's old enough," he said. "You said ask you tomorrow. I'm going to ask you again, what have you been thinking?"
"I'm thinking this tour is toxic," I said. "I'm thinking I want you and me to go on the road with Mighty Sam McClain or someone else positive like that. Oh, babe, I ain't gonna lie. I'm picking out dishes."
I caught a glimpse of the defenseless boy he must have been once.
"You know I love you, right?" he whispered, like it hurt him to say it. It knocked the wind completely out of me.
"I'm off my ass in love with you," I said helplessly. He shut his eyes for a moment.
"When did you know?" he said. The way his long eyelashes hid his eyes made me want to shelter him from every possible harm.
"Day two," I said. "That's when it started. You're so tough, but you turned out to be so cool. I get why you're such a warrior all the time. But when you let me see the rest of you, well educated, thoughtful, decent, honest, brave, I fell like a ton of bricks."
"Yeah, that's when it started for me, too," he said. "Even before. When you stood up to Hick, I suddenly noticed how sexy you are. I've been fighting it ever since. But you play with such intensity I get hard sitting behind the drums. And you're so good to be with. You are the mellowest, most wonderful, amazing, talented, beautiful guy I've ever known. That you're a bass player I just can't believe."
I ran my hand over the rough surface of his cornrows, traced the tiny grooves at the corners of his mouth.
"We don't have but half an hour till sound check," I said.
"I want to hold you till then," he said. "You're right. This band is horrible. It's a horrible situation. Let's try to make ourselves a positive space, just you and me. We'll get outside in the mornings and hang by ourselves and love each other. Read the same books and talk about them. Do political stuff on line together. What ever we can think of to counteract the poison of Hick and his crew."
It occurred to me his language had cleaned up. It, too, was a way he held people at bay.
"Kiss me," I said, and his soft, perfect lips covered mine again and we didn't stop until we heard doors opening down the hall. We unwrapped from each other and the air seemed cold against my body.
Sound check took forever. I wanted to kill D. J. the keyboard player. He kept wanting to run through songs, making an unnecessary rehearsal out of sound check. Then all the guys wanted to eat. Downbeat was in an hour and we still had to change. I could have cried in frustration. Leon kept his perfect poker face on.
I didn't even have time to get to a drug store, pick up a few necessities, given where I knew we were going. And the next day started a long haul up into Illinois that would find us all sleeping on the bus.
Back in the room, Leon seemed a little shy. But as soon as the door shut behind us, he caught my hand and brought me around.
"We could hit it quick, but I want something a little more special than that for the first time I love you," he said.
"Oh, God, Leon, when?" I said, taking his other hand, too. "I'm going to die, I want you so bad. I can't even get to a drug store. I thought I was going to kill D.J."
"Tonight," he said. "I can't wait any longer than that. I got a few things with me. I always carry that stuff for the sheer sake of being responsible, but I got to tell you, it's gathered dust."
I smiled and he pushed me gently against the wall, stood between my legs and kissed me until I was so hard it hurt.
Leon and I played together with a furious brilliance that night, the near- psychic dynamic responses between us a surrogate for the sex we wanted. The 35 people in attendance got to see one of the best rhythm section performances ever seen in Ogden, I have no doubt. He kept his implacable face on, and it drove me crazy, the way he played like a perfect machine.
"Damn, Leon, did you turn him out?" said Hick, afterwards, gleeful. "You playing like you fucking. I'm going to stick you in a single room more often."
"Fuck you, Hick," we both said in unison. He just laughed and paid us.
"God I am tired of having to constantly hold the line on that guy," said Leon as we tore down.
The band scattered like cockroaches down the hotel hallways after, and I tried to act like it was any other day, walking through the door.
But the second it closed, Leon's body was pressing mine against the door, searching my mouth with his, and we were tugging at each other's shirts until we were naked chest to chest and the heat of his perfect body cost me my mind.
"You know what I want to do right now?" he said into my ear as I struggled to undo his belt. "You know how many times I have heard the shower run and thought of you in there? Let's get in together. I want to clean up. And I want to see you naked."
I smiled and we kissed and undressed each other, leaving a trail of shoes and clothes all the way to the bathroom.
He ran the water and stepped out of his underwear and his naked body was stunning, his ass perfect, round, legs long and graceful, upper body muscular. I stripped too and stepped under the water and realized a second later he wasn't getting in, was just watching me.
"You are too hot for belief," he said. "You make me crazy, boy."
"Get in here," I said, and when he did I pulled his wet body against mine and felt his hard on, thick and heavy, against my own.
I slid down his body, sank to my knees in the spray and took him in my mouth, saw him reach for the shower curtain rod to brace himself, saw him bite his full lower lip.
Going down on him wasn't easy. He's hung. But I was going to be the best he'd ever had, if it was the last thing I did, so took him all the way down, anyway, fighting to breathe in the water, took his heavy balls in my hand, and when I needed a break, I took them in my mouth too.
Oh, did he make it worth my effort. His whole body jerked, and he gasped and moaned and told me how good I made him feel and how good I looked and how long he'd waited to see that.
"No, no, no, don't get me off in here," he said a few minutes later, as I took him all the way down again. "You do that again I'm finished. Come here."
He kissed me, and then he went to his knees and the pleasure was incredible as his warm mouth closed over me and drew me in.
Between his hands and his mouth I could barely stand. I had to hold on to the soap dish to stay upright.
"Jesus, Leon, God, yes," I was barely aware of my words. The sight of him below me, taking me in, was such a turn on I had to look up and away if I wanted to last another minute.
"Come on, let's go to bed," I said. "I want you to fuck me."
I didn't know if he bottomed but if he didn't that was alright. It wasn't my steady diet, but once in a while it was fine, and I knew we would figure out the rest. He rose to his feet against my body and we kissed in the cascade of water and then got out and toweled each other off. He did it so gently and reverently I felt his hook sink deeper into my heart.
I dried his face softly, and he blinked those enormous eyes at me over the towel and once again I saw the gentle soul inside the warrior and knew this thing between us had legs.
I kissed him with all the feeling I could express, and then took his hand, turned and lay back on the bed and pulled him down.
The feel of him, long and naked, stretched out full length beside me, drove me insane, as his tongue came into my mouth again. He held nothing back, moaned when it felt good, and there's nothing in the world that turns me on like a man letting me know how good I make him feel.
Finally he leaned off the bed and reached a muscular arm for his suitcase and came back up a second later with a condom and a small bottle of lube.
"You okay with this?" he said.
"Tonight I am," I said. "But take it slow."
I watched him put the condom on, loving the way it looked, and crazy with excitement, waiting for it.
Then he knelt above me and poured lube into his palm, and oiled himself with it, and then slid a finger into me, making me gasp and buck. He slid a slick hand up and down my cock as he readied me. I was going nuts, mastered by his hands, desperate for him.
When he finally positioned himself and pressed against me, I braced myself for the brief pain. He was big, and it hurt for a second, but he gave me time. When I was ready, I pulled him in.
"God, I love you, Eric," he said. "Do you know what you look like, with my cock in you? Tell me you like it. Do you like it?"
"Oh, Leon, fuck yeah," I said. "I've never felt anything like this. Just don't stop. Fuck me and don't stop."
He dropped to his elbows and his tongue invaded my mouth. I was full of him, drowning in him, and let myself go, crying out against his mouth, straining up against him, seeking more.
That set him off. We could not get enough of each other, slamming against each other, panting and moaning, kissing and gripping. It was overwhelming. I lost control of my body. I was going to come, I felt it, and told him, and he built the pace, watching my eyes, and when I came, he drove himself into me even harder. We stared right into each other's eyes as I shot all over his chest, yelling through gritted teeth.
A second later I watched his big dark eyes glaze over in an ecstasy like pain, and I felt him come hard inside me, heard his choked cry as he tried to keep the neighbors from hearing him. His back arched, he slammed a hand into the mattress, struggling to keep himself from screaming.
"God you're beautiful when you come," I said in awe, pulling him into my arms as he caught his breath, still jerking with aftershocks.
A moment later he turned his face to mine.
"So are you," he said. His fingers traced the spot right behind my ear, smoothed my temples, and he grinned, perfect white teeth and big dark eyes. "That was amazing. You are amazing."
"I'm so crazy about you," I said, kissing his nose.
We cleaned each other off, cuddled each other to sleep, and woke that way, still tangled in each other.
"Six more weeks of tour," said Leon. "Then I'm pretty sure Hick's going to want to do an album. So we'll probably hole up in Mississippi for a while, and then head for L.A. But we'll have a little time off, first. What do you want to do?"
"I want you to come to Seattle," I said. "I want to show you everything. You can put your suitcase in my apartment. We'll call it shacking up."
"I can't wait," he said.
We walked up the street together, went to a bookstore, grabbed two copies of Dreams From my Father, and agreed to read them all the way to Illinois, where Obama had been a senator. Leon is a huge Obama fan. I reserved judgement until I read the book.
When everyone fell asleep on the bus, he shut his copy and I shut mine and we looked at each other across the aisle.
"I love you," he mouthed. I mouthed it back.
All they way through the Great Lakes, we made desperate love at night, and sometimes it was his long legs wrapped around my waist, too. We talked about the book, which won me over, and others we read. I turned him on to Stephen Leavitt and he devoured Freakonomics.
We joined the Southern Poverty Law Center and sent them donations on my laptop. We signed petitions for Organizing for America, wrote letters to our hometown papers about the Prop 8 trial in California and sent money to the Red Cross when the earthquake struck Haiti.
"I've never had a relationship like this," I said one night. "All the stuff we do together. Being involved in the country together. This is amazing."
"I don't ever want it to stop," he said, running his hand down my spine, which he knows I love. "I'm thinking long term, now."
"Me, too," I said.
Then we got to Cleveland, with two weeks left on the tour.
There was a huge backstage, with several green rooms. We locked the door to one, fell into each other's arms after ten hours on the road, with only a few minutes to go before we hit the stage.
The doorknob turned, and in walked Hick. The lock didn't work.
"What the fuck?" he said. His voice was huge in the room.
"Hick, mind your own business," Leon warned, stepping away from me, and there was homicide in his eyes.
Hick should have paid attention. Instead, he lost his mind in rage.
"That's fucking disgusting, you fucking faggots," he said, and swung the hickory cane for which he is named at my head. Leon's hand caught it, quick as a cat. His other hand struck like a snake. Hick took a table down with him as he fell, and I knew that sound would draw a crowd.
The rest of the band poured in.
"What the fuck is this?" yelled D.J.
"Hick needs to learn to mind his own fucking business," said Leon, ignoring the slow ooze of blood from his knuckles.
"Oh, my God, you and Eric?" DJ. sounded horror stricken.
"Oh, you need to learn to mind your own business, too?" Leon's eyes were a little crazy.
"I got no problem with you," said D.J.
"We got to play in five fucking minutes," said Louis, a horn player. "Guys, what are we going to do?"
Hick sat up.
"Leon, you're fired," he said, thickly. "Both you faggots are fired. The show tonight is cancelled. Where's my phone. Gimme my phone."
He called the promoter and told him what had happened, fully expecting the promoter to share his horror at finding his rhythm section lip-locked, and when the promoter expressed far more horror at the cancellation of the show, Hick seemed genuinely puzzled.
He called Claudelle, and she couldn't talk any sense to him either. A minute later I was on stage packing my gear, and Leon was dismantling his kit, both of us right in front of a sold out crowd.
As I dismantled my gear, Hick stormed on stage.
"Tonight's show is cancelled," he yelled into a mic. "You know what I just saw, you'd understand. I walked into a dressing room and my drummer and my bass player were getting it on."
The crowd was stirring like a herd of cattle before a lightning storm. They didn't know if it was a joke or not. I felt a thousand pairs of eyes on me and Leon, the accused.
"I tell you, faggots got no place in my band," thundered Hick. I saw Leon straighten and leaned my head back and groaned. We'd be lucky if Leon didn't wind up in jail.
But instead of heading for Hick, Leon headed for me. He grabbed my arm and hauled me in and kissed me, furiously, in full view of everyone.
I pulled him in tight and gentled him down, kissing him with love and joy, stroking his hair and back. I felt him ease and slow, forget Hick, focus on me, and his graceful hands cupped my face.
There was a rising noise from the audience. Some of it was disgust, but there was a swell of applause. There were hoots and catcalls and whistles.
I pulled away from Leon's unbelievable mouth and put my nose against his and smiled, brushing my knuckles across his cheek.
I could dimly hear Hick screaming some invective, and a couple stage hands were pulling him off stage.
Leon smiled back, deep into my eyes, and then we actually laughed. We broke apart and headed back to our gear to finish breaking it down.
"Hey, you guys are hot!" yelled some drunk college girl.
"That's fucking gross," someone else cried. I was aware of little fights starting in the crowd, as people fought over their reaction to us. I smiled. Leon was there. I feared nothing. He put his cymbals in their case and grinned at me.
"Ain't no shame in this game," he called over to me and he straightened under a heavy load of drum bags and cymbals.
"Hell, no, baby, no shame here," I yelled back. We flashed peace signs at the milling crowd and walked off to a smattering of applause and catcalls.
A cab took us to the airport and we spent most the night in the terminal, bitching about Hick, laughing at our balls for kissing on stage, trying to figure out what to do next and waiting for Alaska Air to take us to Seattle.
We slept all the way to Sea-Tac and took another cab to my place.
Leon was wide-eyed, seeing the Space Needle for the first time. It was a perfect spring day and boats were scattered over Lake Union like a child's marbles. The wind snapped flags out straight and Mount Rainier loomed over the whole southern skyline.
"God, this place is gorgeous," he said.
"It's our home for the next little bit anyway," I said. "And babe, I hope it's our home forever."


text:
Trailer FrenzyA special place to find the newest trailers for movies and TV shows you're craving.
The trailer for mockumentary The Conspiracy follows the crazy old guy you see on the streets, screaming wild ideas at the skyscrapers. But what if the funny people with the cardboard signs were right? The trailer for The Conspiracy follows around one man who has the right idea, after he sucks a team of filmmakers into his world. At least it's a new spin by director Christopher MacBride, on a trope we've seen before. Fingers crossed they can keep this idea fresh.


text: PIC32-RETROBSD-SD is a 4GB Class-4 microSD card that will come with a RetroBSD image installed for the PIC32-RETROBSD board. The image will be the same freely available build that you can download from the board's order page. Purchase this when you want to get up and running with the board quickly rather than having to download and write the image yourself.


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