send in the clouds.

reflection is what saturdays were made for. it goes without saying that it's geographical placement in the sequence of the seven day week is conducive for such a thing. when i was younger, there really wasn't anything substantial on which to reflect; i had cartoons, brookside soccer and st. e's football to distract me. high school started to give us a little more to think about, blissful ignorance was starting to lose it's allure, and the hangovers weren't as severe. then college came, we avoided eye contact with responsibility and the hangovers started to become a celebrated art form.


so this is what saturdays have been reduced to; sweatpants. drinking coffee. alone in my studio. blogging.

i suppose the point of all this pseudo-intellectual nostalgia and cheesy sentimentalism? last night i had a welcome run-in with history; my boy kevin, who i've known since kindergarten just moved to portland. the scene in kc has become a little too, well ... crappy, so he decided to skip town, which i totally respect.

homegrown memories materialized over pbr tallboys. we use to carpool to football practice in grade school. kevin's mom shuttled all of us in her giant blue dodge caravan to and from school, listening to cypress hill and the smashing pumpkins. we used to play 21 in kevin's backyard and jump on the trampoline. i'll never forget being in fifth grade, walking up the hill at tower park on holmes, john and kevin explaining the abraisive and sobering lyrics to 'longview.' to this day, i still get choked up when i look at the back cover of dookie. i remember my mom being impressed by chris anton's ability to sing sheryl crow. i also remember chris kicking my ass on the blacktop in fifth grade. we used to take long bike rides to ward parkway screaming 'bad habit' by the offspring. we used to play 'clifford ball' in travis' front yard. ms. levitt would make us mini-pizzas on rainy days while we played risk {dorks!} in their kitchen. we'd go to columbia to celebrate charles' birthday and tackle each other on the hill, oblivious to whatever the tigers were doing on the field.

this was life in kansas city's catholic ghetto. but then again, wasn't this what every other group of middle-schoolers were doing in the mid 90's?

we're told our sense of smell has the strongest tie to our memory, but moments like these make it difficult for me to believe. my sensitivy towards sounds and voices and music only strengthens these memories further. most of the time, i can't even recall the exact emotion that a song or sound or voice will recall, i just know they're feelings wraught with weight and substance. i can feel my heart drop. i get sick to my stomach.

so, thank goodness for portland's music scene; i would be wreck without it. on my agenda for the next month ::

m.ward {tonight},
tv on the radio {10.02}
clap your hands ... {10.12}
sufjan stevens {10.13}
the national {10.14}
the decemberists {10.18}
the heartless bastards {10.27}
silversun pickups {10.28)

what else is money good for, anyway? that corbusier chaise lounge is going to have to wait just a little longer.

i heard the new mudvayne album is legit.

it's monday night, 11.45 pm, and my neighbors are moving their furnature upstairs again, so you know what that means; it's blog time, baby.

i found out my parents read this blog regularly. oddly enough, this doesn't irritate me.

so, after a solid weekend spent with my girl leah up in seattle, it's safe to say i'm approaching an interesting crossroads up here in the rose city, and i'm not referring to my paralytic feud between the idealistic and realistic halves of my brain regarding my involvement in health care facility competitions at work. no, i'm faced with a series of decisions whose reprocussions weigh much heavier. then again, everything is relative. needless to say, my hurdles, both day-to-day and beyond, are hilariously insignificant to other unlucky individuals in the world, so i will continue to do what i am good at doing, and will quietly internalize all of them.

that's out of the way - time for the interesting stuff ... at least to me. the trip to seattle was pushed back from friday evening to saturday afternoon. reason being? asmund and tyson {sweet guys from zgf} were staging a birthday party at their house. as good as seattle was looking, considering it would be another night on the seattle scene, a chance to hang out with both leah and kelley {and her Royals-loving love-interest, carl ... mad respect} i'd be a fool to pass up a night of sweet hangs with a gang of sweet hipsters. several textbook indications that it was a 'hip' party include, but are not limited to,

1. half the party arrived by bike,
2. the food was excellent. roasted potatoes {a variety of blue, sweet and yukon gold, of course} a beet salad {respect} burgers {free range meat, of course} and maybe some blue corn chips and salsa from trader joes and a bowl of spicy peanuts or something,
3. bottles of wine outnumbered bottles of beer,
4. selection of beer was local. the farthest was probably sierra nevada. the once exception? pbr tallboys,
5. i didn't know any of the bands playing on asmund's apple laptop,
6. there was a hookah in the living room.

to be honest, i almost feel a little intrusive coming to these parties. i look at it this way; asmund and tyson know most of these people from college ... they have a history. the only reason i am in the same room is because they're polite guys and invited a few people from the office to come. no matter what, i still know that i am, in principle, on the periphery on their group. this is just another subtle reminder of how long it will take me to feel comfortable out here.

so what do dorks do? they do dorky things ... consistantly. and they drag their friends along.

"so corbin," says leah. "you just arrived in seattle. do you want to take your bag to my apartment? do you want to see queen anne? do you want to get some coffee? do you ..."
"the library. take me to the library."
leah rolls her eyes.

OMA's new seattle public library is finally open. my last visit only allowed me to see the outside, so i coerced leah to chauffeur me. i think she enjoyed it ... i think. probably not.

once that was out of the way, the weekend was basically a satisfying series of hangs, gorgeous urban scenery, and a consistant, solid diologue. most of the discussion revolved around the usual topics; ethnic food, elitism, kansas city drama, bill clinton, and sean hughes. essentially, i was given the 'king's tour' {pun intended ... seattle humor?} of the town; the best espresso in the united states at Vivace rostaria, numerous microbrew drinks while some annoying folk singer crooned, proudly advertising his uniqueness with 'THIS MACHINE KILLS HIPSTERS' scribbled across the body of his guitar, and an afternoon jaunt to west seattle and a walk along the puget sound to top everything off.

finally, when the lonely hour is approaching, you're bound to run into real 'characters.' we were approached by some degenerate at the final bar after he was so plowed that he was falling into {and breaking} the outdoor furnature while trying to call his 'girlfriend.' he seemed mildly ashamed of his inebriated state, but more than made up for it by asking, "hey, do you guys have my girlfriend's phone number? no? man ... *long, awkward pause* she's got huge tits, but she is such a bitch." after this, things improved drastically. he inhaled a quesadilla above us, {i don't think it was his} and did a good job of shoving the rest in our faces, asked me to take some shots {"hey bro. let's take some shots. let's bleed out the ass tonight, bro!"} and told me my girlfriend was boring. {leah laughed especially hard at this one}

the rest of the conversation is too inappropriate to repeat.

what a weekend. what a town. what great people. basically, seattle's legit.

i wish the chiefs weren't 0-2. i wish missouri wasn't 2-0 {they're going to let us all down. just wait} i wish the royals weren't winning {they're only getting our hopes up, too. just wait}

goodnight.

ps. i stayed up until 1am writing this.

{ SOUND THAT I COULD FEEL }

i think justin timberlake is legit. there. i said it.

in fact, i place so much creedence in this belief that i bought his new album last night, FutureSex/LoveSounds at music millenium on 23rd.

a questionable purchase? far from it. a chip in my poorly crafted masculine armour? give me a break. if anything, i am confident this actually validates my status as a comfortably heterosexual male. {transparent rationalization} but let's be honest boys and girls, JT is the hottest thing since double sided tape, and he's probably only going to get better ... as an artist, i mean. for one to suggest otherwise is about as outrageous as a sunny december afternoon in portland.

i typically indulge in these mindless {careless, actually} musical shopping 'sprees' which i find myself subjecting myself to about every month or so. by the end of the experience, i find myself at the store counter with a sizable stack of cd's, half of which i have already stolen from someone through mytunes or a burnt cd but wanted to buy because i like having a true musical 'collection.' {i'm terribly idealistic.} i can safely say this is a relatively healthy indulgence, considering the unmentionable vices {chemical, liquid and otherwise} within arms reach, not to mention my recent work schedule has provided me with a healthy dose of overtime hours and a reasonable amount of expendable income. {see: weekend trip to seattle.}

cd's purchased included;

Justin Timberlake - FutureSex/LoveSounds
Sleater-Kinney - One Beat
M.Ward - Post-War
Tapes 'n Tapes - The Loon
The National - Alligator
TV on the Radio - Return to Cookie Mountain.

i already had The Loon {people at work have taste} but i love the album so much i had to break down and buy the real thing. {i tell people i heard the liner notes were 'cool.'} everything else was a new purchase. my boy sam recommended The National, which so far sounds like Interpol's older, more mature and astute brother ... basically a modern version of the Smiths. {could that comparison be any more obvious?} Sleater-Kinney is quickly moving up my personal charts. I am still a little steamed i wasn't able to see them play their last show here in portland. i guess there's always youtube. everyone is talking about m.ward, plus he's local, and therefore legit. tv on the radio needs no explaination. although i'm a little purturbed that they're playing on letterman. for now, i'll withhold judgement.

in other news, my work life is about to {briefly} return to a temporary state of normalcy. as i speak our design 'team' is in denver showing off our proposal. last night was the first night in over two weeks that i was in bed before two in the morning. i am in no way complaining about this, simply because relative to the rest of my 'team,' i have nothing to complain about.

* first of all, i was basically getting paid to be in studio, which is basically what we all went to school for anyway.
* second of all, the members of my 'team' have families. they have to adhere to a level of responsibility that i have no real concept of. they have daughters who need help with homework, sons who need rides to football practice, and wives who need their attention. one of the guys has five kids ... five. i think the oldest is ten years old. another just got married last month. another has a teenage daughter who is on a travelling soccer team. i have a stack of cds and a twenty year old television that doesn't go any higher than channel 39.

this is déjà vu in a sense; after having a fifth year studio with guys like gabe mckee and todd bundren ... they were married, in college, and had newborn babies. i could sit here and rant about responsibilies and relativity but that is a tired subject and it's unnecessary for me belabor the topic. i respect the devoted readers of western assimilation too much to do that.

this weekend? i would say i'd be catching up on sleep, but that would be a lie. hopefully i won't be too hungover saturday morning so that i can get on the early train up to seattle. the scene in portland is played.

CK.

WITH MY KNEES ON THE GROUND AND A STICK IN MY BACK ...

does anyone else find it interesting that we as americans celebrate the american worker {and our earthy and laborious roots} by earmarking one specific weekend to be especially lazy? you would think 'labor day' would be a day when we work our collective asses off for twenty four hours; the entire country, doing the most strenuous and punishing work imaginable. it would be a glorious, mass-produced, sweaty maelstrom of old-fashioned productivity. we could all write blogs.

instead, i chose to take the train up to seattle for the annual bumbershoot festival. stupid name. good lineup. sweet town. i'm all in.

i was mildy vexed by my girl leah spending her break in new york with her boyfriend, which meant i was left to endure seattle on my own, but she was gracious enough to let me stay at her place. {eat her food and sleep in her bed.} the view from her apartment is outrageous, and is far superior to my awe-inspiring view of a brick wall. unfortunately, i wasn't in seattle to hang out with her cat and stare at lake union. i arrived pretty late on saturday, was pretty exhaused from the walk from the train station to queen anne, and wasn't feeling pathetic enough to drink by myself in a bar, so i drank by myself in the apartment. Halley {Leah's blind cat} and i busted out a sweet hang over a decent bottle of chardonnay and watched baseball tonight. needless to say, Halley doesn't like to spoon.

bumbershoot wasn't just a celebration of music, but also a gigantic stage to showcase several types of media; from comedy to musical poster art to crafts. i really wasn't there to see anything other than the music, though. the bands i witnessed included:

the new pornographers > excellent show, pretty much up to my high expectations, but the songs were identical to the album versions. but who am i? funny story: these lame teenage hipsters i stood next to asked me where i was from. i told them i was a writer for The Pitch in kansas city, and was on the scene to write a review of the festival. needless to say, they thought i was completely full of shit, scoffed at the idea of living in the midwest {they were from san francisco}, and quickly returned to their unbearable discussion of kanye west's relevancy in modern hip hop. i wanted to murder both of them.

spoon > incredible show. perhaps the best show of the day. spoon continues their reign as my favorite band. i will say that britt daniels was showing off quite a bit at the beginning of the set. i think he felt a need to do so with all the drooling photographers and impressionable indie-kids in the audience. one of the supreme highlights was when britt announced they would have a special friend come on stage and visually interpret their next song {The Two Sides Of Monsieur Valentine} for the hearing impaired. their 'friend' happened to be dave cross, who was also performing at the festival {some collaborative act; 'tinkle'?}. he did some funny poses, ran around in circles, fell of the stage, and then mooned the crowd. legendary.

jeremy enigk > this guy and his 'band' were playing before the mates of state. bluntly stated, this was a complete waste of time. if buckcherry and creed had a sloppy make out session and then were flushed down the toilet, this is how they'd sound. i'm being gentle, too. i made a list of the cloud formations that i came up with when i decided to ignore the band and stare at the sky for fourty five miserable minutes. notables include;

• the bat signal,
• chevy chase,
• yoshi from super mario brothers,
• mrs. buttersworth.
  

the mates of state > i have just recently been introduced to this band. the fact that they happened to be performing at bumbershoot {and that they're from lawrence} was an added bonus. i was extremely impressed. if the new pornographers were even more 'sing-songy' and cute, this is what they'd sound like. they're an extremely creative {and good looking} husband|wife duo. it's interesting how they stare at each other the entire show. perhaps this is a poetic way of validating their marital 'connection'? anyone? anyone?

zero 7 > my only real exposure to zero 7 has been the garden state soundtrack, which i probably haven't listened to in a good six months. so i was entering this show with an 'oh, why not' attitude. big mistake. i was flabbergasted {yes, that's what i said} how well they performed. the shock value alone might have catapulted their set above that of spoon. {ehh, maybe not} the gorgeous platinum-blonde lead singer bounced all over the stage, she swore in a sexy british accent, one of the three keyboardists continually speed-jogged in place, and each member mixed drinks on stage between songs and passed them out to the rest of the band whilist they all jammed. needless to say, i was thoroughly impressed.

oh yeah. i also visited oma's public library. as luck would have it, the holiday prevented me from entering. i plan on returning sometime soon, and drooling uncontrollably.

don't forget to tip your watresses.

corbeano.

{oh yea, pictures.}