Friday Question

Let's do more algebra. That was fun. Wow, never thought I'd put those sentences together. (Damn you, Mr. Presas at Sacajawea Jr. High!).

Last week we talked about things that you just couldn't enjoy even though other people did. The response was great although just a tad, shall we say, fueled by white hot rage. So we'll go positive this week.

You have a music collection, whether you use the Compacted Disc format still or the iTunes or the what have you. And there's something in there that if some people spotted it, well, they'd make fun of you. Something cheesy, something out of style, something that may have been a little out of style even when it was in style. BUT YOU DON'T CARE WHAT PEOPLE SAY BECAUSE YOU LOVE IT.

And sure, yeah, it might not be the latest hip band like Oh My God There's Something Wrong At The Disco or that other band There's A Fire In The Arcade Run For Your Lives, but it's music that you like. Maybe you're ashamed of it and love it anyway or MAYBE there's no shame at all. Let's tear down the wall here. Let's proclaim our love for the music that the cool kids say we shouldn't like. Let's put the system on trial.

"You might make fun of me for having z in my music collection but I am proud of it!"

What does z equal?

I had to use a new variable in the question because X is already a band.

For me?
z= Meat Loaf. I can't consume Meat Loaf every day but sometimes a big helping of the Loaf just hits the spot. I love Loaf. And that cell phone commercial never happened.

Here's Meat looking all sweaty and dangerous.


And here's a picture of a sunrise on Mars. Not related to the topic but, you know, hey wow.



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Joe Pesci stars in the new film Tiny Dancer

Oh wait, it's just my daughter modeling her new socks. Sorry. Never mind.

A Question from Charlie (age 7)

HIM: Is Herrelly Clinton going to be president?
ME: No.
HIM: Then why is she still on TV and in the newspaper?

Kate (Age 5) Explores Folk Music and Annoyance

HER: Dad, can we practice that one song Charlie sang in school? I can't remember all of it but I know the part where I saw it bug me.
ME: You saw what bug you?
HER: No! That's what the song says. It says, "I saw it bug me" and then there's a golden valley.
ME: Are you talking about "This Land Is Your Land"?
HER: Yes!
ME: Oh, wait a minute, is there an endless skyway in there?
HER: Mm-hm.
ME: Okay. I think I know what we need to do. Let's sing it together.
HER & ME: "As I was walking that ribbon of highway
I saw it bug me, that endless skyway
I saw below me, that golden valley
This land was made for you and me."

Stupid endless skyway. Really gets on our nerves.


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Friday Question: Am I Missing Something?

A bit of Friday Question algebra here.

"Everyone seems to be crazy about x, but I just can't seem to get into it."

What does x equal?

This could be a band, a movie, a food, an author, a city, a political figure, anything you like. Or rather anything you DON'T like but everyone else in the world seems to like a lot and it makes you wonder, "Am I missing something here? It's not THAT good." So it's kind of like I'm On To You but with more insecurity. Like it's something you know you SHOULD like but you just can't seem to do it. How can the world be in love with it and you're not? Is there something wrong with you? Or are you right and millions of other people are wrong?

For me:
x = Radiohead. Tried. Tried again. Can't. Everyone calls them the most important band ever. I wonder why it just doesn't work for me.
x = Gourmet cupcakes. They must be fantastic if they're a whole industry. Just taste like cupcakes.
x = Massage.

So: What does x equal?

No need to elaborate if you don't wish but please answer in the form of algebra: "x =" and then your answer.

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All I Need Is A Truck To Drive Through Those Holes

Lately, I've become very interested in flawed security systems. There are measures in place to protect children or employees or air travelers that are well intentioned but just completely unworkable. But unlike most unworkable products, they persist anyway. I think it's a testament to the intention being more important than the relatively smaller threat of whatever danger they're supposed to present. There's the classic "small amount of liquid" at the airport thing, of course, but I've noticed several equally dunderheaded measures in day to day life.

1. During this family leave, I've been volunteering a bit at my son's school. When I go in, I am supposed to go to the office, which is kind of tucked away, in order to sign in. Nothing makes me do this, I just know that that's what's done. Once there, I sign my name (illegibly like all others) and write down why I'm there. Then I write my name on a sticker, affix it to my shirt and walk away. No one checks ID, no one makes eye contact. I could sign nothing and make up a reason ("Amway sales", "fistfight") and write THREAT on the sticker. It would not make a difference. The system is in place today.

2. At another school I'm familiar with, parents are asked to sign their children out when picking them up at the end of the day. But there's often a big line around the single notebook used for this purpose and so most parents don't bother. Those that do might wonder why they bother. The system is in place today, as far as I know.

3. When I worked at Amazon in the late 90s, the company did not yet have real security badges (too busy taking over the world and hiring me for jobs I was unqualified to do). So they gave us pieces of construction paper with our names on it. We were expected to hold these up to poorly paid inattentive security guards as we walked past. Sometimes, often, the guards would be across the lobby and would yell, "Can I see your badge?" and we'd hold them up even though nothing could be checked or verified. We could be holding up any piece of blue paper in the world. This system is not in place today but it was in place at one time.

There are creeps and bad parents who have been denied custody but try to get it anyway and corporate spies and disgruntled employees in the world. And they must be stopped. But there are a thousand really stupid security systems in place that actually make things worse and make it harder to stop bad folks because they fool people who should be in control of the situation into thinking that security is under control when it is absolutely not.

Friday Question: About That Movie

Okay, so the producers called. They've had some new thoughts.*

Making a movie about your whole life would be difficult. The casting, the locations, the research of it all. Too much. Instead, they want to make a movie about your week. Starting last Saturday and going in to today. There's no script yet, we'll get to that later they say, but they want to talk genre so they can get the right screenwriter and director lined up. Was your week a buddy comedy? A French tragedy? A coming of age sex romp?

If it was MY movie (and it's not, it's yours), I would describe the genre of my week as a bittersweet domestic comedy. Not laugh out loud screwball type, just ordinary people presented with the challenge or dramatic conflict of this new baby and adjusting to that. The characters adapt, maneuver around each other. More dramatic tension is brought when one of the kid characters insists he's sick but the dad sends him to school and then the kid barfs in class but he's oddly proud of that. Meanwhile the dad has never been home from work this long in his life and needs to adjust to that. The baby screams a little but mostly just looks gravely concerned all the time. There's also the triumphant bike riding scene, the possibility that new friends for the parents have emerged, and the rather tedious shopping for pants scene that didn't really need to be in the movie at all, actually. No tragedies, no thrilling capers, just a bittersweet domestic comedy.

But again, it's not my movie, it's yours. So the question is:

In the movie of the past week of your life, what is the genre?

And don't worry, you don't have to elaborate if you don't want. Just say, like, "Tragic adventure made by Belgians" or something and leave it at that if you want. More mysterious anyway.


And congrats to Team Rowley!

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* This is something I often heard during some very abstract, preliminary, and disorienting talks last fall about Conservatize Me film rights. These talks happened and don't get excited because they happen all the time with tons of books. The movie has not happened. Nor has world peace or a Mariners world series title. I give them all equal odds.

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Also, I've changed comment moderation so that I don't have to approve them. Most comments are just fine. Just don't swear and get all gross and don't be mean. Common sense. Pretend you're at a dinner party.



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Things to say

Sometimes I just don't have the energy to work up a whole cogent post especially when I have three children who enjoy stomping on my energy level.

1. I added a feed from Twitter over there on the right. It allows you to see brief glib things I have to say. As I flood the world with words you can see if I somehow get more trenchant.

2. Highlight on Twitter today. I posted a comment: "Why can't the Mac and the PC both be friends with the Panasonic video camera?" To which John Hodgman then replied, "because that guy is an ass." And we all know who John Hodgman is. Which means, that's right, I got my own little private Apple commercial there, didn't I?

3. Today, a trip to the mall.
JILL: That mall wasn't as depressing as I thought it would be. It wasn't that bad of a mall. Or that good of a mall.
JOHN: It was a mall. We could have been anywhere. Nothing actually just happened.

4. On Saturday, Charlie Moe got an idea. He figured he could go out in the front yard, find some cool looking rocks, and then sell those rocks to passers by. He found a cardboard box which became his counter and desk. For pricing, he thought, well maybe $8.95 for a set of rocks. I suggested 25 cents per rock. Jill suggested selling perhaps some lemonade, her silent reasoning being in agreement with my sentiment: AIN'T NO ONE GONNA BUY ROCKS! Well, by the end of two hours, he had sold ten bucks in rocks. Everyone was buying rocks. One lady had no change so she gave him five bucks. He paid his sister/assistant manager two bucks, bought some donuts, and saved the rest. He sold rocks that were already on the ground. They were at these people's feet. But Charlie is charming.

5. We have some fancy cable at the rental house. Fancier than I'm used to. Not like HBO fancy but channels like MSNBC. And here's the thing: I thought MSNBC was like CNN or Fox News and had news on all the time. But after a certain point in the evening, it's just prison documentaries all night long. Straight on until morning. Every night. And...wha?

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Friday Question

Congratulations! Hollywood Pictures is making a movie of your life. We'll get to things like casting, treatment, genre, and musical score later. But short term there is a more pressing issue: toy tie-in. A little giveaway item to promote the film version of you. Available with any meal. Production needs to get started right away.

Your job is to design the toy. WHAT DOES THE TOY FROM THE MOVIE OF YOUR LIFE LOOK LIKE AND WHAT DOES IT DO? Keep in mind it needs to be pretty simple and cheap. Still, it should capture the essence of you, or at least the you character from the film. And please describe how the toy is played with. BONUS QUESTION: At which restaurant is your toy distributed?

I'll go first:
The toy me is seated on a couch with a laptop computer. The computer screen is blank. Above my head is a plastic thought balloon saying "DEADLINES!!" in creepy gloomy letters. Around the couch are children in pajamas who are not going to bed. When you pull a little lever, my hand reaches up to my hair and pulls on it in stressed out fashion while the pajamaed children punch each other in the head.
The toy is available only at Paseo, a Caribbean restaurant in Seattle's Fremont neighborhood. Negotiations to distribute it at Dixie's in St Paul fell through.

So once more:
WHAT DOES THE TOY FROM THE MOVIE OF YOUR LIFE LOOK LIKE AND WHAT DOES IT DO?
and
At which restaurant is your toy distributed?

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Cheers created by Kate (age 5) in support of her brother Charlie (age 7) as she watches him ride his scooter

Charlie Charlie, he's the man!
He can do it, he's the best!

Charlie Charlie, he's the best!
He can fight, he's the best!

Charlie Charlie he's the winner!
He can win two trophies!

Charlie Charlie he's the winner!
Trophy two, trophy he!

Charlie Charlie he's the man!
He can win three trophies!

Charlie Charlie he wants a dog!
He wants a collie he he he!

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Friday Question

Making it easy this week (complex questions possibly returning next week).

Who or what are you on to?

I'm on to you, processed fruit snacks.
I'm on to you, Bill Bavasi.
I'm on to you, CBS dramas.

Highly Observant Commenting

This from kbow on the post about Margaret's big premiere:

Also, whaaa!? You instigated a life-altering household move when your wife was eleventy months pregnant? Mrs. Moe is a ROCK STAR!

Yes. She is. Like Queen of the rock stars. Atop her throne in Rockstasylvania.

And also, yes we did move while beset with pregnancy. We found out about what would eventually be Margaret late last August. So everything written on this blog since then was written with the knowledge of our knocked-upatudedness. That means deciding to move to St Paul, getting ready to sell our house, selling our house, packing up, moving across the country, the I'm On To You phenomenon, watching Mr. Megnorium's Munger Penorium. Everything. And it also colors the sort of multiple nervous breakdowns I had along the way. The baby was actually part of our decision to move out here. We could afford a 4-bedroom house in St Paul and could have three kids there. Seattle is more a place for the one child wrapped in plastic sheeting inside a $400 stroller. We were becoming a Midwestern family; better get our asses to the Midwest. The baby that would be Margaret made only indirect appearances here.

I was excited and delighted about the baby, of course, but I've been around enough to know that things can happen in the pregnancy process and it doesn't always go according to plan. It's stressful, as is moving. But you look forward to the brighter tomorrow you're arranging for yourself even as it all seems like great big truckloads of madness.

I remember last December, my arms covered in paint and my head full of hassles trying to get our home gussied up to attract suitors, thinking how in May I would be living in a different part of the country in some house taking some baby for a walk. It did not seem real. It wasn't going from point A to point B. More like going from point A to point 672JKLH991.rr3. And actually that daydream of that walk really sustained me. It was the happy place I went to even though it seemed about as likely as walking into a movie.

And once again, kbow, yes, Mrs. Moe. Holy Toledo. Give it up for the woman. Everyone up on your feet. While I was psychically weighed down with this existential blah de blah, she had a person in her uterus and all the attendant STUFF that goes with it. So while we planned this whole thing and made eleventy billion phone calls she was going through all that. And she was tired and couldn't lift things, which is kind of a big part of, uh, moving. On the plus side, repeatedly lifting most things we owned did wonders for my upper body strength. First rule of Move Club: don't talk about Move Club.

But we got through it in two ways: first, we had sort of sealed our own fates on this one. We had set things in motion that were pretty much irreversible. Secondly, we knew that time passes. We would get there, the temperature would rise above -4, the baby would arrive, that walk would take place. And a couple of days ago after Margaret returned from the hospital and experienced direct sunlight for the first time ever, that walk DID take place. It also featured Kate clinging to the side of the stroller and repeatedly poking Margaret, which was not part of the plan but whatever.
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Granted...

Margaret's first attempt at impersonating Joe Pesci playing Popeye flipping someone off wasn't perfect. But she was only a day old. We'll keep practicing.

Yogurt Monkey Sylvia Poggioli

So I've been in public radio full time for almost seven years now. And I get asked all the time how I got involved in something like that (people always add that emphasis because public radio = you so crazy). And it's kind of screwy, really. See, first I was an actor in Seattle. Then I was a frustrated bored actor who felt like he was wasting his time on dumb projects. Then I was that same actor who wrote plays.

Then Rewind came on the air. First local, then national, news satire on NPR, produced at KUOW, hosted by Bill Radke. Jill heard it, thought I should write for it. I said meh and did nothing about it. Andy Jensen heard it, was directing a play I wrote, thought the play could use some publicity, cold called Bill Radke pushing me as a comedy sketch writer, Bill called me, I started writing for the show. The reason: the money. Make no mistake. For every 3-5 minute sketch they bought, Rewind would send me $200. I could not believe it. So I wrote as many as I could and got a pretty good track record.

Later, I went to work for the show full time as a writer, then elbowed my way on to the air as a sort of correspondent and later a back up host. Then Rewind got canceled so I elbowed my way into the rest of KUOW as a producer and later on the air. Meanwhile, Bill decamped Seattle and went to LA to host what was to become Weekend America. I started freelancing for them, elbowing my way on to their airways and was later offered a full time job.

So how did I achieve this weekly national air time? Not journalism school, not internships: funny writing, stubborn persistence, and lots of sharp elbowing. And Bill Radke more or less.

So I knew baby was on the way this week and I knew my work week would be short. No time to report and file a story. So I pitched the idea, which was then accepted, of me writing a comedy sketch based on current events that Bill and I could do together. If you listen to this sketch and never had a chance to hear Rewind, well, you're listening to Rewind on Weekend America.

(whoever is the first to explain what the title of this posting has to do with the subject matter wins a free invisible theoretical Monkey Disaster t-shirt.)

Friday Question

All I can come up with for the Friday Question is:

Hey guess what?!

Not much of a question but I've been a little occupied.

Please welcome to the world Margaret Eleanor Joy Moe. We'll call her Margaret. We might even call her Maggie. So far: Margaret.

Name etymology:

Margaret - a name we've always loved. We think it's smart, kind of sophisticated, classical, and fun. Also, if she's Maggie, that makes her the baby sister with an older brother and a middle sister, just like The Simpsons, a program I've always enjoyed (but wait a minute, if Charlie's Bart and Kate's Lisa, that makes me...d'oh!)

Eleanor - (music geek alert! beware!)
We wanted to involve music in this child's name in some way since music is such a beautiful part of life. One of my favorite songs is "Eleanor Put Your Boots On" by Franz Ferdinand. It's this slow dreamy song about how Eleanor can do all these wonderful things and leap from the Coney Island Roller Coaster and the Statue of Liberty and have air streams gently set her down and how "I could be there when you land". It's just magical and beautiful. Better still, it was written about the lead singer's girlfriend Eleanor Friedberger, who is in the band The Fiery Furnaces, a band SHE started with her brother. So you have beauty, magic, love, and family all in the one name. And it's kind of classy besides.
(music geek alert complete)

Joy - Two middle names! Because why not! This is Charlie's. He says it was the feeling he got when he thought about the baby. Come to find out he also heard it in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles "and Pokemon!" Kate pointed out. But he insists it came from his heart first, not a cartoon.

Moe - Well, yeah, Moe.

Doppelsota

When you live somewhere for a long time you get used to seeing the same people over and over. So when you move somewhere new, I think you instinctively look for those same people. They're not there, of course. So you start to find people like them. Last night I went with my friend Michael to the Town Talk Diner and I'll be darned if the waiter wasn't Minnesota Matthew Baldwin. It's turned into a whole thing around here. Jill and I will be out somewhere and she'll say, "Hey look, there goes Minnesota John Smersh!"
"Yep, he's talking to Minnesota Steve Scher," I'll reply.
It's like my whole life has been recast and staged like they do on America's Most Wanted. Still murder-free for the moment.

“I, a CD-ROM?!” ribbed a bearded Mordcai.

A blog dedicated to Falindromes or failed palindromes. (found via Andrew Sullivan).

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Me and my impossible to avoidedness

Ways you can load up on more me than you'll ever need.
1. I hosted Weekend America today. I talked to the 2007 Mr. Irrelevant and chronicled a cross country drive with my hamster.
2. I was recently a guest on The Sound of Young America, talking to both Jesse Thorn the host and also to young america. It's in the archives. Hunt. If you want. If you don't know about this radio program, please learn.
3. Twitter. I twitter. When I remember. And I keep getting new subscribers. These are people who want access to brief things I say. You can evidently be one of these people. Although honestly between the blog, Facebook, various freelance writing and, well, MY RADIO JOB, I'm running out of things to say. Like a while ago.
4. The Seattle Times asked me to write a breakup letter to Seattle. I did. I've never been paid to break up with someone before.
5. We're home most nights. Come by!

UPDATE: My breakup letter to Seattle is presently the #1 most e-mailed and #3 most read article at SeattleTimes.com. This means that torrents of hate mail and angry letters to the editor are about to come gushing forth. And yes, it bears some resemblance to a blog posting of a while back.

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Friday Question

We've all heard the question about what music you would take if you were to be stranded on a desert island. That's ridiculous, though. That kind of thing never happens. I've got a better idea.

1. Let's say the laws that govern our universe were suddenly and radically altered specifically in regard to music.

2. Let's further say that an eccentric authoritarian government was able to seize power over every aspect of our lives for precisely one year, after which point their power would expire and everything would go back to the way it was. There is no doubting their power and also no doubting it's precise one-year time line.

3. This government then issues a decree: you must select one band or artist. The music of that band or artist will be the only music you hear for precisely one year, the duration of this government's odd power.

4. You will have no control over which song you hear at a given time. It will be a shuffle of the entire catalog. You can simply choose to listen to music or not to.

5. Often, however, music just occurs during the course of life. So let's say you go with REM. When a child sings Happy Birthday, you will instead hear, say, Cuyahoga. And not kids singing that song, I'm talking about the original REM recording emanating from the children's mouths. The "I'm Lovin' It" commercial jingle for McDonald's might become Gardening at Night. Someone walking down the street with their lips in a pucker will not make a whistling sound, they will producing the full recorded version of maybe Oddfellows Local 151. Every cell phone ring tone is REM.

6. Other people will hear different music of their own choosing.

7. You have no volume control.

8. Again, after one year all will return to normal and your catalog expands once again.

So. You must pick a band or an artist that will be your entire musical experience for one year.

Factors to consider:
a. How expansive is the catalog of work from this music provider? Are there recordings you're unfamiliar with?

b. Considering there's a decent chance you get sick of them, is it a music provider you're willing to risk hating/resenting for the rest of your life?

c. How dynamic is this music provider? Do they represent a multitude of moods and genres or are they one kind of music all the time?

So the question is: Which band or artist do you choose to be your only source of music for a period of one year?

Also, one more thing: this eccentric authoritarian government wants you to explain your choice. If you don't pick anyone, they will automatically assign you Big Country.


BEGIN!

THOSE books

Jeannie over at DEFCON House has some thoughts on those books where people go off to do wonderful things in pastoral locations and their lives are much better and happier than yours and then you're supposed to buy their book to give them more money as they recline on a divan in Provence while you have to catch the fucking bus to go to your fucking job.
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Bonus Coverage

I stopped blogging the thoughts of Charlie (Age 7) a while ago. But I am powerless to stop myself from posting the conversation of this morning.

HIM: Dad, do you believe in heaven?
ME: Well, I don't know. I've seen no proof for or against it.
HIM: But I don't believe in the other place. The devil place. It doesn't make sense. Why would the devil want to torture people he supported before?
ME: Good question.
HIM: And who's in charge of heaven?
ME: God. That's what they say.
HIM: I don't think He is in charge because He has too much other stuff to do.
ME: So he's in more of an executive position and someone else runs the day to day operations of heaven?
HIM: Yeah. I think a fairy, probably.
JILL: Female or male?
HIM: Male fairy. And what do you think heaven's like?
ME: No idea.
HIM: I hope it's not old fashioned girl stuff. Like, I don't know, unicorns and beautiful peacocks and flamingos in tutus.


Friday question below.

Friday Question: Convenientpowers!

(a weekly feature, at least until I start forgetting to post it or lose interest)

What makes a superhero so super? And heroic? Superpowers, that's what. Abilities that far outstrip the capacity of mere mortals. For the big names, this is stuff like flying, bulletproofness, lightning speed. But where does that leave the rest of us?

I was talking to my friend Larry the other night and he was explaining how he had two notable abilities.

1. He watches a TV show. Commercial break comes on. He changes the channel to watch something else. THEN! He switches back to the original show RIGHT EXACTLY when the program resumes! He doesn't miss a thing!

2. This one's a little less useful, relying as it does on out of date technology. Driving in a car, listening to music on cassette, song comes on he doesn't like so much, Larry hits fast forward and is able to stop the tape and hit Play RIGHT EXACTLY as the next song begins.

These superpowers won't earn Larry his own comic book or action figure but they are small examples of how a person can skillfully gain an advantage over the petty challenges the day presents. I guess they're less "super" powers than they are "convenient" powers.

Convenientpowers! The mundane real world version of superpowers!

The Question is this: What is your greatest convenientpower?

Together we will form a sort of superfriends! Well, convenientfriends anyway.

The Election

I'm not going to publicly endorse one candidate over the other. Journalism and all that. But I will say this: if McCain wins, that means Darrell Hammond stays on Saturday Night Live for another four years AT LEAST. If you're of the opinion that it was time for Hammond to go at least four years ago, please consider that on election day.

(and surely someone, besides Fred Armisen, can be found who can find something in Obama to make fun of.)

A Song from Kate (Age 5)

From down the hallway, we hear Kate (who is a dwarf) singing a new song to herself.

ME: What's that song you're singing, Kate?

KATE: It's about dwarfs! But it's like "George of the Jungle". Goes like this!

"Dwarfs, dwarfs, dwarfs, dwarfs, dwarfs dwarfs dwarfs dwarfs.

Ahhaahhaaahh!"

(pause)

ME: "Watch out for that dwarf"?

KATE: No! "Watch out for that tree, dwarfs!"


Yep. Watch out for that tree, dwarfs.

The Guys In Skates I May Love

So I live in St Paul now (official city motto: "We Seem Nice But Are Evidently Intent On Killing You With Our Cars"). It's trouble with my sports teams. The Mariner games don't start until 9pm local time so I don't know what happened until the next morning usually. And the Sonics? O, woe.

But I am becoming increasingly intrigued by the Minnesota Wild of the NHL. It's hockey! And they're up 2-1 over the Colorado Avalanche.

I've watched much of each playoff game, all of which have gone into overtime. I've even seen goals scored. I have begun to recognize player names like Koivu, Gaborik, and Demetra. But really only those three. Oh! And Rolston also.

I dig the pace, the drama, and the sweaters but I still don't know anything. I don't know what anything means in a game, don't know why all the fans start yelling for no apparent reason sometimes, am years away from knowing what an icing penalty is.
But I am fascinated by it. I stare slack-jawed while others understand.

Hockey to the rest of Minnesota is LA Confidential:


Hockey to me is more like Boobah:

Things Learned

That's what it's about, right? Learning things? Here are things that people have learned in their lives so far.

Friday Question

(a weekly feature, at least until I start forgetting to post it or lose interest)

Let's switch over to movies this week.

You're traveling. Alone. You're in a hotel and you've got some time to kill. Maybe it's evening. Maybe it's morning and you don't have anywhere to be until 1pm or something. Regardless: alone and spare time. So you watch TV. And you're flipping around the various channels and you come upon THAT ONE MOVIE. The movie that you know you're going to get sucked in to watching even though you've seen it before. Maybe many times. But you just throw the remote over your shoulder because you know you won't watch anything else when that movie is on. It has power over you.

This week's question: What is your toss-the-remote movie? The one that saps your free will and makes you watch.

I'll go first. Back to the Future. I have to watch it. And I think it's for all the little moments. George McFly falling out of a tree, Marty being mistaken for a sailor in a life jacket, Marvin Berry calling his cousin Chuck, Biff's comeuppance. Knowing that there's always a moment like that around the corner means I can't leave the set.

Moving up fast on the list: Ocean's 11. Soderbergh/Clooney/Pitt/Bernie Mac version. Again, too many perfect moments to steer away from. Damon in the bar in Chicago, the Mormon brothers racing cars, Pitt and Clooney wondering if ten would be enough but maybe they need one more. Don Cheadle's terrible dialect which isn't really a moment but just a hilarious abomination. Enough perfect moments that I can endure Julia Roberts angry giraffe-like performance.

Again: What is your toss-the-remote movie?

Playoffs start tonight!

In St Paul! With the Minnesota Wild taking on the Colorado Avalanche! I hope that Lemaire has his boys ready and that Gaborik and Demitra really come through. And...that they all skate...good. Also that whoever is the guy in front of the...netting...is able to catch the...hockey...ball.

Still trying to adjust.

.

Oh yeah, forgot to mention

The big box of stuff. What started with a frustrated posting here, ended with a radio story here.

Listen, if you'd like to pick over the remains of my...uh...me.
.

Friday Question

(a weekly feature, at least until I start forgetting to post it or lose interest)

Let's stay with music for a little while. A two-parter:
What was your first favorite band or solo artist? Talking about the musical entity that first made you aware of artist identity. The one that lifted you beyond having a favorite song to having a favorite singer/guitarist/drummer/electric flautist.

Second part: How's that holding up for you? Are they still beloved? Scorned? Little of both? Can you listen to them at leisure or only in a setting of nostalgia?

I'll go first. Fleetwood Mac. I don't know how the Rumours album happened to come into my life but man I wore that dang thing out on my little turntable. Memorized lyrics, stared at the hirsute males in the band and their spangly multi-frocked female counterparts/companions/lovers/ex-lovers/who could even keep track. There's all this stuff in there about sex and cocaine and betrayal and it all flew FAR above my head but all those voices, all that emotion, and it sounded so adult! Nothing like the Candy Man can cause he mixes it with love and makes the world taste good (wait, what the hell kind of song is that anyway?).

Plus, obviously, hot for Stevie. Who wasn't? Turns out that originally the rest of the band wanted Lindsey Buckingham to join and NOT Stevie but he said either my girlfriend gets to be in or I won't go. Because, yeah, that's going to be a band headed for a smooth working relationship. Later, of course, she started sleeping with Mick Fleetwood, which is like hooking up with Sasquatch as opposed to Lindsey Buckingham who was more of a, I don't know, genteel Sasquatch.

But today? Can't really stay with them. I'm told Tusk is amazing but, yeah, well, can't do it. It would be like trying to rediscover one's love for Fonzie.

Are we seething with turmoil or just so completely massively 12 different kinds of stoned?

So again. Two part question:
What was your first favorite band or solo artist? How's that holding up for you?


Have at it!

The results of walking to and from work each day, which works out to about 6 miles a day.

1. I have not put gas in my car since it arrived in Minnesota. When it arrived it had about a quarter tank of gas.
2. My clothes fit better and in many cases are looser, especially in the pantsal region.
3. Exposure to the early spring snows and cold temperatures may have exacerbated this flu I got, which kicked my ass all over the place. One of those "what if this means I'm DYING" kinds of sick. Better now. Somewhat.

So, two out of three. And that ain't bad. Right, Meat Loaf?

Actually, we had a lovely time on the train

Although it's true that, as the photo would indicate, the children did become a tad restless.

So second part of the story. The house sold rather quickly, like I said, and we knew we had a closing date of 3/3. So we booked our train tickets for that afternoon. Understand that in late January, March 3rd can seem like a lifetime away. We slacked off about a week and then began packing, making phone calls, solving puzzling situations. It was exhausting in every single way: physically, emotionally, spiritually, uh...uh.. dermatologically! We got the flu. We got along. I went insane a few times.

I think I was prepared for the hard work but what took me by surprise was the psychic toll of all that is related to moving. More than once it felt like death: you say goodbye to people, you get your affairs in order, (loading up a moving truck - that part not so much), and you wait to be reborn in this other place that you don't really know all that well. Sometimes you have to go through your personal papers too. You break up your rock bands.

And the thing is, you really don't know how to pace it. I've never moved like this before. Does it require 12 hours of work per day? Two? By the time we got down to the final day, it was also down to the wire. We finished packing at about 3:24pm on 3/3. We had to leave for the train station by 3:30. Jill and I did a final moment in our house that was not unlike Chevy Chase and Beverly D'Angelo checking out the Grand Canyon in National Lampoon's Vacation. Then, weeping, off to the train.

Hear me now: TAKE THE TRAIN. But also DO IT RIGHT. We had booked passage on the Empire Builder. It's a train financed by various neoconservative think tanks. Not really. But it is called the Empire Builder. Don't go coach, you'll never sleep. You get a sleeping compartment that converts by day into a regular compartment with seats, a conversion enabled by a porter. Getting said sleeping compartment means you're a First Class Passenger and thus your meals in the dining car are all covered (total bargain, by the way, if you book carefully it's not even very pricey). Best yet, the waitress in the dining car gets to know you over the course of the trip. "Pancakes and orange juice, Charlie?" she asks my much delighted boy.

But man, the train is great. Big windows, leisurely pace, and you get to see America from the ground. If you need a kid friendly adventure and you're not in a hurry, take the train. At least once.

We left Seattle around 5:45pm, dozed off around Moses Lake or Ellensburg even. Woke up in Glacier National Park with all its glacial majesty. Slept the second night somewhere in mid-North Dakota and woke up north west of the Twin Cities, arriving in St Paul around 9am. Stepped off a train and into our new life. Which felt infinitely cooler than walking out of a jetway and into the MSP airport terminal.

One regret: we didn't bring enough to read or play with. The kids had Pokemon DVDs, we had a few novels we had never read before (which turned out to be novels we still didn't want to read) and one New Yorker I grabbed from beside the bed on Monday afternoon. And it turns out the Havre train station doesn't exactly carry the Utne Reader. Or Sports Illustrated. Or anything. So we kind of had to make do. And we did. Train = awesome.

Then we got to our new house and the kids started playing in the snow. A practice that will continue on this the first day of April. There are several inches of freshly fallen from yesterday. No fooling on that one.

UPDATE: But no wi-fi on the train! Be warned!

Friday Question

(a new weekly feature, at least until I start forgetting to post it or lose interest)

Friday afternoon? You're not getting any work done, dude. Come on. I think it's a good time to think something over and contribute your thoughts on something. You can think about it other times, too, like Monday morning.

Question is this: What element in music gets you every time? Maybe it's a harmonica or a falsetto vocal or cowbell. Something that, if a song has it, just makes it infinitely more likely it will be a favorite song.

I have two, both of which have to do with lyrics:

1. Proper names! When they skip the pronouns and mention people by name.

Like in Old 97's "Big Brown Eyes":

"'Cause if Robert's dad is right, We might not make it through the night, And I'd hate to go alone. Please pick up the phone."

Or, from Ben Folds' "Not the Same":

"You took a trip and climbed a tree
At Robert Sledge's party
And there you stayed 'till morning came
And you were not the same after that"

Not to mention Ben Folds' song where Steven charms everyone here except Tamara Easter.

Proper names! They give specificity, which pop songs often lack!


2. REVENGE!

I love revenge in popular music. It's compelling, it's audacious, it's terrific.
Like the Decemberists' "Mariner's Revenge Song".

And the Mountain Goats' "Up The Wolves":

"I'm going to get myself in fighting trim,
scope out every angle of unfair advantage.
I'm going to bribe the officials.
I'm going to kill all the judges.
it's going to take you people years to recover from all of the damage."

And, of course, Viva Voce, a husband-wife team who do the song "We Do Not Fuck Around":




Revenge! Hooray for Revenge!

My question, again,What element in music gets you every time?

GOAL MET!

Thank you all for your overwhelming support for the Overnight. We went over the top today, surpassing our goal of $2000 raised. It's an excellent cause and your donations are deeply appreciated. I've been walking to and from work every day since I got to St Paul, 3 miles each way. I'm going to have to expand my distances to get ready for June but I will be ready. Thanks again. I have great friends, including friends I've never actually met in person.

Go here to see the dorky coda to the dorky graphic/sound effect on the donation page.

UPDATE: Goal exceeded by $100!

Accurate Yet Perhaps Not Entirely Prudent Suggestions For St Paul Tourism Slogans

"St Paul: Go ahead and cross at the crosswalk, but that doesn't mean any cars will slow down."

"St Paul: Come for the snow and stay for the snow. Because there's apparently always snow forever or something."

"St Paul, Minnesota: Where people apparently never want to get off the phone even if they're the guy calling to tell you he just set up the phone and that your phone should be working now and you're like, well, that's great maybe we should stop talking so I could call someone I know but oh, what?, okay, let's talk about what you think some more about politics, that's cool."

"St Paul: You will need a hat."

"St Paul: Why are you smiling at me? Have we met? Oh, I'm sorry. You're just smiling at me even though I'm a total stranger. Wow, now I really feel like an asshole."

"St Paul: Park for free downtown after 4:30. 4:30!"

"St Paul: We know it's cold here. And we would like to talk about it almost all the time, please."

"St Paul: Now that you're here, try to understand hockey! We dare ya!"

68%! $1365!

I am humbled and heartened by all the donations for the walk. We are getting ever closer. And contrary to Jane's comment in the post below, I won't reset the goal after I hit two grand (though donations after that will be not only welcome but extraordinarily helpful). Once I hit the goal, we're done. Hey, this is sounding awfully public radio pledge drive. No tote bags offered, though.

UPDATE: Now up to 85% of goal and $1700! Thanks to all. We're almost there. I will put up some non-fund raising content soon, not holding out for 100%. Just trying to wrestle a particularly challenging radio story to the ground.

UPDATE

Two days in to fundraising and 33% of the goal met! Thank you to all who have donated so far.

Update update: 52% of the way there and climbing! Damn, you people are all kinds of awesome.

Update update update: 54%! And because I have no way of emailing the Anonymous donor: thank you Mr./Ms. Anonymous!

I'm going for a walk. Perhaps you'd like to help.

Hello friends.

A little break from comedic programming here for a pledge drive of sorts.

It's been almost a year since I lost my brother Rick to suicide. It's been a year of walking in darkness and searching for light. Fitting then that I should be participating in the annual Out of the Darkness Overnight, a walk to raise money for suicide prevention and to raise awareness of one of the leading causes of death in this country. Every 16 minutes in America someone dies by suicide.

Since I first heard about this walk, I've found it absolutely fascinating. It's in Seattle on June 21st (New York has one on June 7th) and the idea is that you start walking around sunset then walk about 20 miles, ending at sunrise the next morning. You walk through the darkness into the sunlight, hopefully bringing some attention to the cause with you into that light. Most of the people walking have been affected by suicide in some way, either within their families or circle of friends. I'm coming back to Seattle, however briefly, to be in that crowd and to walk those long miles. I've never been one for causes but I am now.

And oh yes: the fund raising part of it all. It's organized by the American Society for Suicide Prevention. The money goes to research and prevention programs, specifics of which are described here. All participants are asked to raise at least $1000 for the cause. I've set a tentative goal of $2000 since I think I may know a few more people than the average participant.

I would like your support at whatever level you feel comfortable with. In return, you will receive gratitude, some photos later on, and knowledge that you helped spread some sunlight on this terrible darkness. It's not about me, it's not my therapy, it's a chance to help other people.

The event's website is here. To donate, please go here. I've also included an ongoing link in the upper right hand corner of the blog up there.

Thanks,
John

UPDATE: $355 in so far! 17% of the way there according to the thermometer with dorky sound effects on the web site. Thanks a million to all.

And because it's been a while...

I'm on to you, Jay Leno. And I have been for years.
I'm on to you, Quinoa.
And Eva Longoria? I'm afraid you've been found out. I'm on to you, too.

(see previous posts)

(also, I just Googled "I'm on to you" and this blog trails only a couple of references to a Neil Diamond song. Nice work, y'all! I'm on to you, algorithm!)

And what/who are YOU on to?

(update: and for the record, yes, I realize everyone is on to me as well. Thank you for your that.)

We Are In a Different Part of the World

Japan, specifically.



Only quarrels: the omission of a Japanese Kim Carnes to drop in "when we" (Japanese Diana Ross steps in instead) and the omission of Japanese Dan Aykroyd to stand around in the background making people wonder "what the hell is THAT guy doing there?"

Japanese Cyndi Lauper is all kinds of awesome, though.

What's It Like in Minnesota?

Well, there are trade offs. Things tend to even out.

If you want beer, you must work for it. It is not at the convenience store or even the grocery store. It's at liquor stores. And the liquor store near my house closes at 8pm. Because who would ever want to buy beer after 8pm?
BUT
This is a place where they have The Onion free on newsstands with local entertainment sections.

Temperatures have soared to the high 40s here lately which means all the ice and snow are melting and I may yet avoid learning to work my new big flat shovel.
BUT
It gets cold again at night so in the morning when I walk to work (3 miles!) I step on wet sidewalks and puddles that are actually tiny ice rinks causing me to slip and flail about madly as though in a cartoon.

People are very nice.
BUT
One of my co-workers thinks that many Minnesotans are kind of superficially nice. Like they're just acting nice but they don't mean it.
BUT
That's fine with me. I don't want to share my soul with the lady at Caribou Coffee, I just want pleasantness. Isn't superficially nice just another term for polite? And I'll take that over the folks at Uptown Espresso in Seattle where I felt like I was really ruining their day with my perpetual demands to engage in some sort of "cash for coffee" business arrangement.

A brief encounter this morning:
ME: Good morning.
PERSON WHO IS APPARENTLY MY CO-WORKER: Good morning! Wait... are you Roger?
ME: No. I can be if you'd like. I'm John.
PWIAMC-W: John MOE, right? Weekend America?
ME: Yeah. Hi.
PWIAMC-W: I was thinking it was Roger. I guess I was thinking of Roger Moe.
ME: Who is Roger Moe?
PWIAMC-W: Nobody. I've never heard of Roger Moe.
ME: Okay then. Well, nice to meet you.

New Kid in School

This week, my kids started at their new schools. It made me think about the role of a parent in that situation. I read one time that Eminem would go visit his daughter's school from time to time and that when he did he made sure he wasn't seen as big rap star but just as "Hailie's dad". In that situation, he didn't want to be Eminem as the world knew him.

Got me thinking. He's on the radio. I'm on the radio. But his presence on the radio is kind of the opposite of mine. Maybe I should go the opposite direction of him and be as much like Eminem as possible in the school.

So when I dropped the kids off I made sure to launch into angry violent rhymed tirades about all sorts of people. I made sure to get a really short haircut and glower menacingly. I made sure to bring in a reluctant Dr. Dre to the school (easier to do than you'd think) to be my mentor. And I made absolute certain to sign on with director Curtis Hanson to film a tense gritty drama based on my hard scrabble upbringing (harder than you'd think it being Federal Way). Finally, I made sure to disappear from public view for several years and make people occasionally wonder what the hell ever happened to me.

I think it made a big impression on both teachers and parents.

What Happened With The House

So you may have noted a rapid embargo of real estate information immediately after the house went on the market and the Hey Look At Our House era ended. Two reasons: rapid sale and the Interweb.

We put the house on the market on Friday the 18th of January. I was hosting Weekend America that week (shrewd planning, Moe, maybe you'd like to adopt a chimp that week too just to keep a bit BUSIER?) and so I went off to work, kids went to school or Grandma's for the day, Jill, well, I'm sure she did something. Life was a bit of a blur. Afterwards, we all went to Tukwila (suburb south of Seattle) and checked in to a hotel so we could be out of the way and so the kids wouldn't spill food and fling toys all over the house we were trying to sell for a whole bunch of money.

Cut to Saturday morning. When I host(ed) the show from Seattle, I would get to KUOW by around 7am to make sure everything was ready to go and to do last minute script tweaks. I check my email and it's our realtor saying there's an offer. After one day. If you listen to the show I hosted immediately after, I believe you can hear many things in my voice, including exhaustion, madness, hope, and cynicism trying to drown the hope. I couldn't quite believe that in 2008 an offer could be made so rapidly. I also knew it was a great house in a great neighborhood at a fair price.

So later on Saturday, we get an email with an attached scan of the offer. I read the names of the potential buyers and what's the first thing I do? Right: I Google the crap out of them. Within less than a minute I have at least a cursory knowledge of who they are. Then what happens? Right: the dawning of the knowledge that they've probably already done the same to me and there are many, many things about me online. And now I knew how people in their 20s who grew up online feel ALL THE TIME: everything I ever did online is out there somewhere. And look, I've always written online as if anyone in the world could read it (not that they'd want to read everything I ever wrote) but still, I lead a sort of public/private hybrid life and much of it's out there. I hope they never found out about My Terrible Secret! (note: no terrible secret).

Part of the staging of the house involved the placement of a bottle of wine (given to us by Jeannie Sleater-Yandel) on this antique radio we have. We decided that when the house sold, we would uncork that wine. We signed the offer, the deal was in motion before an open house was held, the house went through inspection, and that wine popped open.

But in real estate there is the SOLD sign going up and then there's closing, usually many weeks apart. And so: information embargo. Talk about packing on the blog, I figure. Talk about sports and Obama and all that. But as for real estate talk, lips zipped shut. The house closed just as we were boarding the train.

Next time I'll tell you about the train.

It was minus 8 when I woke up today

Which means that Monkey Disaster is now a St Paul based publication.

Many details to follow, including sale of the house.

But first I must huddle by a radiator in terror.

UPDATE!

After tonight's final mission of Chicken Starship, the band and assorted groupies will be adjourning to Leny's - 2219 N 56th st, 98103.

There Are Other Blogs

Turns out my sister writes one. It seems to be mostly about jewelry and even then mostly about jewelry using quotations from Shakespeare and even then mostly earrings. Shakespearrings she calls 'em, as you might expect. I think she should work up a set of earrings with the opening lines from The Merchant of Venice where Antonio says "In sooth I know not why I am so sad," (left earring) "It wonders me, you say it wonders you" (right earring). You know, for chronically depressed people! Then maybe with a picture of, like, a dour Patrick Stewart or David Suchet or something. My sister calls her blog Bijou Bliss but I DON'T KNOW WHY!

I have another sister but she doesn't appear to have a blog. So what can I do, really?

The Final Voyage of Chicken Starship

On Friday night, there will be a concert. By the most important rock band in the WORLD. It is the final performance of Chicken Starship, a combo I have been fronting for most of the past two presidential administrations.



Oh yes.

The idea is that it's not a farewell show, it's just a pre-reunion show. There will be more shows but just not as many and not for a while.

Chicken Starship has been a wonderful part of my life for many years. Some key points in the history:

1993ish - I am living near Green Lake with Joe and Sean. There is an evening of Beer Theater (self explanatory, no?) coming up and we decide to form a band: Sean and I on wooden spoons and car keys and vocals, Joe on guitar. Band is named Free Range Chickens after a product spotted at Albertson's. And we are Joe Chicken, Sean Chicken, and Little Jackie Chicken (me).
1994-95 - Randy Chicken joins on bass followed by Scott Chicken on drums and Steve Chicken on more guitars. There are amps, there is noise.
Mid to late 90's - Much playing, many bass players, Weird Al comes to see us. Stardom never grasped, never reached.
Very late 90's - Following a wretched gig at a tiny club with a bass player who hates us, we kind of realize it's done. Sean Chicken moves to Bellingham.
2003- Jill Chicken (my wife) secretly arranges a surprise party for my birthday and gets the band back together with a new bass player. It's supposed to be a one night only thing but we realize it's still fun. Also realize that we can approach it like a bowling league with beer and fun and non-sexual male companionship. Band is re-christened Chicken Starship, using the "starship" name to denote bands that should have stayed broken up but ill-advisedly re-formed. I decline Grace Slick style jumpsuit.
2005- Tom Chicken joins on bass. Only took us a decade to find the right bassist.
2007 - I announce my imminent departure to St Paul.

Thus, the prereunion show. Afterwards, there will be adjourning to a bar. Don't know which one.

So come!

Hear hits like Let's Go Camping, I Don't Wanna Die, and Divorced White Male Seeks Anybody.

See the chicken suits!

Meet Charlie (age 7) and Kate (age 5)!

Rock!


Friday, February 29, 2008
Time:
7:00pm - 10:00pm
Location:
Seattle Drum School's L.A.B.
Street:
12510 15th Ave NE
City/Town:
seattle, WA


Why "Pre-Reunion"? Well, Jack Chicken is moving to Minnesota to be closer to Target, but rather than break up the band we're going to "go on hiatus". So this is our pre-reunion show, since the next one will be an actual reunion. Unless, of course, we replace him with Gary Cherone or something...

Anyhow, we're sending Jack off with a final show at the L.A.B. at Seattle Drum School, up at 15th NE and 125th in Seattle (the address is 12510 15th Ave NE, and the map is here). Relatively easy access from I-5, and while the show is all-ages, there is a tavern about a half mile north on 15th for those of you who can't watch us without getting your drink on.

Kicking off the evening's entertainment are Dapper Jones, a band we've never played with but sound cool, at least based on their MySpace stuff. Kind of a power-pop-punk thing.

It's an early show - 7:00-ish start - and it's a Friday night, so get off work early, come on out, and give Jack Chicken the all-ages sendoff he so richly deserves!

Kevin Durant? Weirdly, he's a fervent Mike Gravel loyalist

Greg Oden comes out for Obama. Norse God Odin still undecided but leaning toward Ron Paul.

Oh well hello old friend

Good lord, it's been since last Saturday? Well then:
1. Early on in this blog's life, I kind of felt it necessary to sort of blog In Character, you know? Be arch, be snide, be above it all. But now it's just talkin'. Oh, I'm still snide and arch and above it all from time to time, but I come by that sincerely now.
2. Thing is, Obama is just running a better operation. They haven't panicked once. Dude used to organize GOTV efforts in Chicago. Dude's a Chicago politician. Some would argue Obama's got better positions, some would say the same about Hillary, I'm not saying that about either one, but he runs better plays. It's like football. They're both good quarterbacks, but one of them happens to also be a brilliant head coach.
3. I drove from Seattle to St Paul in a little over two days. It was me, a loaded minivan, and Fuzzy the hamster. First night we reached Billings, MT. Second night was harrowing, driving through North Dakota at night when THERE ARE NO TOWNS FOR MILES AND MILES and therefore no lights along the freeway. And through parts of it, Fargo for example, the temperature was 20 below. 20 below. Such things happen, evidently.
4. We stopped in Fergus Falls, MN that night, a few hours north of St Paul. It was 15 below. Here's what you do in that situation: run from the van into the hotel. Run. Get the room. RUN back to the van, get the hamster, and RUN back in when no one's looking at the fact that you have a hamster.
5. I ate at Applebee's that night. It was packed. In 15 degree below zero weather. If 15 below happened in Seattle, buildings would explode, people would physically shatter apart, newscasts would be nothing but shrieking for 30 minutes straight. This would not be an illogical response or even an incorrect one. Mastering living in Minnesota will involve carrying on with life as if these temperatures are acceptable. That's what I've done with rain most of my life. Okay then.
6. The lady at the hotel in Fergus Falls used the term "Uff Da" unironically.
7. Reached Twin Cities, dropped Fuzzy off at the sitters, put stuff in the new rental house, soon headed to airport to fly home.
8. Numbered lists make you feel like you're getting somewhere, even if all you're getting is to the end of the list.
9. I've got to stop ripping off John Hodgman's technique of CAPITALIZING things for COMIC EFFECT. But the thing is, it WORKS.
10. I spent much of the van trip listening to cassette tapes of my college radio shows. Which was PAINFUL.

Venus has more weekend getaway locations than Mars

We are a little more than two weeks from the move now. The packing is in pretty good shape. The planning is in pretty good shape. The Moe children are in pretty good shape. The Moe adults? Well, they're in different shapes. The lovely and talented Mrs. Moe is having a weekend away with some very good girlfriends. They're at a...cabin?... or something? I'm not sure. I just know her phone doesn't work there. Or, more accurately, I just know that she says her phone doesn't work there.

Me, I had the members of Chicken Starship (the most important rock band in the world) over for a rocky roll rehearsal tonight, in advance of our big Pre-Reunion Final Concert of All Time. There was beer. And electric guitars. Led Zeppelin noodling. In many ways, Mrs. Moe and I were having similar friendship times, living up to our gender archetypes.

But! BUT!

Tom Chicken, the bass playing Chicken, is the husband of one of Mrs. Moe's friends up at the cabin. And he asked, quite sensibly, "can you imagine anything worse than the five of us (in the band) having a weekend retreat together? To just hang out and talk?"

He's right. It would be unbearable. And these are some of my favorite fellas. But a weekend just hanging out in a cabin with them? No. God no. No. I think we'd be drunk by, like, 7pm on the first night, and then what? Braiding our hair? We're mostly balding. Discuss feelings or hit ourselves with hammers? Comparable! I guess we could watch Caddyshack but it's only about 90 minutes and even then I suspect it's not as good as I remember.

No no, a rocky roll practice, a few Alaskan Ambers, and we're just fine, thank you.

Mars has more amps.

Yes, but what's the matter with Kansas?

"The chief songwriter and founder of the band Boston has more than a feeling that he's being ripped off by Mike Huckabee."

I'm on to you...

This was a big hit last time. So I wonder what you're on to since then.

As for me:

I'm on to you, gourmet cupcakes.
I'm on to you panini sandwiches.

Update

All those cards, letters, and notes I said I was throwing away? I didn't throw any of them away. I'm turning them into a radio story.

The Curse of Reach

So I pretty much started this blog in order to keep the writing muscle in shape. I could keep a journal but I'm way too insecure for that. What's the use of writing if no one's reading it? Who's going to give you the approval you so desperately crave? I figure a few friends would read it as well as the occasional stranger stumbling across the transom or someone who knew my work, somehow wanted to see more of it, and googled me. But then more friends started reading it. Then my family. Then my extended family. Latest horrific discovery: lots of people at my old college are reading it too.

That's where I am now. Back at the college. Whitman College of Walla Walla, Washington (they use the buildings vacated when the Wishy Washy Washing Machine Company shut down). I gave a talk here yesterday to loads of students who showed up for some reason (McSweeney's? Boredom?) and a few professors I had when I was here. Many seem to have read the blog.

I've always kind of avoided the relentless self promotion that some of my contemporaries practice on their blogs because I guess I've been sustaining this idea of this being a more personal side away from the book and the radio. But then again, the book was really mostly about me and loads of stuff on the radio is about me.

I'm sitting in the big Campus Center building. "Dancing in the Dark" is playing. "Man, I ain't nothing but tired / I'm just tired and bored with myself". Screw you, Springsteen. I don't need your ham-fisted soundtrack. Why does he appear so chipper in that video anyway? And when will Ben Gibbard cover this song? Tomorrow please?

Anyway, I had a lovely visit to Whitman College, something I would have said even if I didn't know people from there may be reading this. Among the advice nuggets I gave to students (often without provocation):
- Don't go directly to grad school.
- Don't ever go to journalism school.
- Attend a lecture on something you're not interested in.
- Everything you do in college will be on the final. Except the final is life. And it's not a test. But everything will be on the final.
- It doesn't matter what you major in.

College boys look like they're from the 1970s these days.
I'm all, "where's your dune buggy?"
I'm all, "when does Frampton next come alive?"
I'm all, "where is the innocence as to the eventual brutal cost of your excesses?"
Oh, there it is.

Got a good night's sleep

Feeling less morose. Thanks!

Sometimes I can't quite believe it's happening

The last time I moved to a new city was when I came out to Seattle from Missoula. I had everything I needed/owned in the back of a car and there was still room in the car for my girlfriend. And all her stuff. And our friend Bob Knutson. We stopped at Senor Frog's in Spokane on the way. It was tacoriffic.

Well, that was almost 15 years ago. The girlfriend is now the wife of almost 13 years. A home got purchased. Kids got had. Old got got. And stuff accumulated. Up until lately, that stuff has been the big issue. Getting rid of the stuff, throwing it away, donating it, selling it. We seem to have found a moving method, though, that will be cheaper than the full on Van Lines and less shameful than attempting to fix friends' ruptured vertebrae with pizza and beer so stuff management does not weigh quite so heavily. More on that in future posts.

So as the stuff anxiety lifts, other anxieties now creep in. Because something must always fill the anxiety hole. Team Moe is launching this exciting new life in this new city soon. There will be cheaper bigger houses, friendly people (at Caribou Coffee and elsewhere), great schools, mind shatteringly cold temperatures, more and better career opportunities, less of a chance that I'll inevitably end up working at Microsoft. And we brought this all on ourselves. IT WAS MY IDEA with the full support of my employer. But now I think about what I leave behind. The relatives and neighbors who formed an astounding support network that we never managed to repay. The friends and colleagues. The fact that really most of the time a jacket will do.

I think it's easy to see the duality of destination and former home in stark terms: I left there and went there, that's old and this is new, I want that now and I don't want that any longer. But while I don't regret our decision to move (except when St Paul had a high of -4 the other week), I am increasingly aware that it's not a promotion or an escape or a copout or a triumph or anything. It's just a trade. We give up our veteran pitcher to get a hot young prospect. Swap our point guard for a center. We embrace change. And it will be hard and it will be easy and it will be confusing and it will be wonderful and it will sometimes be lonely as hell.

But we will go. In early March. On a train. The reason for the train is that we felt driving out there would be TORTURE and flying would be strange because you sit down for three hours and there you are in your new home. We want that feeling of transition. But something tells me a feeling of transition will happen no matter what we do.

Sometimes I think I get less funny all the time. Other times I feel like well hell I just don't need to be funny all the time. But that doesn't really change the first feeling.

Official Monkey Disaster Super Tuesday Analysis Spectacular

1. Republicans behaved in a predictable way, choosing the candidate they knew best. Because Republicans almost always do this.
2. The Evangelical candidate did well in the South, as Evangelical candidates almost always do.
3. The Mormon candidate did well in Utah, a state that is home to many Mormons.
4. The Democrats had a hard time making up their minds.
5. Super Tuesday did not resolve the presidential race.
6. The campaigns of the Democratic candidates tried to explain the results in a way that favored their candidates.
7. Noisy people shouted things into television cameras in an attempt to attach greater meaning to all this.*
7. Fish swam. Birds, on the other hand, chose to fly.
8. Bears shit in the woods.
9. The Pope is Catholic.
10. Bacon is delicious.

Love,
John Moe, professional political author and pundit.
Conservatize Me, now available in paperback.


* I assume they did. We don't have that kind of cable anymore. Ditched it after the '04 election. We're happier.

PAPERBACK!

In stores today!

Here's the difference between hardback and paperback.
10/06 (hardback release): I'm gearing up for a nationwide tour with several media appearances. There's a release party at The Big Picture.
2/08 (paperback release): I'm getting ready to wake up at 5:30 tomorrow to do a phone interview with some drivetime DJ in Baltimore.
10/06: I'm working at KUOW.
2/08: I'm working for American Public Media.

Can a lightsaber cut through Superman?

Answer here.

Late Breaking Local Radio Firestorm!

In case you Seattlesque people are checking blogs at this hour*...

I'll be on 710 KIRO tonight at 9:30 or so flogging the paperback edition of Conservatize Me. The new paperback is less lethal when hucked than the hardback. It also features new browner cover design (because brown = funny) and a smattering of supportive blurbs. Plus, three fewer typos. The paperback is expected to win the Delaware caucus tomorrow but finish a disappointing 12th in New Jersey, after which the paperback will drop out of the race, throwing its support behind a dream ticket of a Kucinich/Tancredo tag team co-presidency.

The KIRO thing will be part of Too Beautiful To Live, the new evening show hosted by my friend, former Rewind collaborator, and NPR escapee Luke Burbank. I'll try to mention things like sustainability and Howard Zinn just to see if I can make him snap back into pub radio mode.

Afterwards, Luke and I might go to Azteca cause it's just across the street. Also, if you haven't seen Luke's legendarily painful Sigur Ros interview, well, I'll show it you some day. But not now.


* don't check blogs. Spend time with your family.

Attention!

If you wrote me a letter or scribbled me a postcard or even left a memo on my dorm room door from ~1985 to ~1995 (when email started to obliterated all), I want you to know I probably saved it. Today, however, I threw it away. Piles and piles of papers and letters and programs from my late adolescence and early adulthood. Heartfelt letter from people I could not remember. Cryptic letters from people I did remember. Just no room for them anymore. Don't want to pack them.

I did save all the letters from my wife. I destroyed letters from ex-girlfriends, which, if they're reading this blog, they'll understand, I'm sure. Although really, why would they be reading this blog? Also, why do I seem concerned? See, these are the issues to not bring with.

Several eastbound trains leave Seattle in early March. One will be Moeful.

Famous People Who Are Nice: David Sedaris

A series I've been meaning to start for a while now. I've met a fair number of famous folks through my work. Some are NOT NICE. But lots, most even, are very nice indeed. Among the nicest: David Sedaris. A few days after I interviewed him, I received a post card from David thanking him for the interview. Nice fella.

Don't be fooled by what the web content says here. It's me interviewing him.

Honestly, Craigslist scammers, at least try a LITTLE harder

Good day seller,
How are you today and how is work over there, i will
be buying the item you posted here but i will like to
tell you that i will be paying with a certified check in US dollars
and as for the shipment my shipper will come for the pick up at
your location upon your confirmation of receiving the
payment and i dont want you to look for any other
buyer.I would have love to come down for the
pickup,But i do not have chance to do that now due to my job but am
satisfied with your discription of the item i will like you to
give meyour contact info for me to send your payment
.................
1....your full name to be on the check
2..your full contact address to send the payment to
3..your zip code
4.your mobile nad land nunmber to reach you.i will
expect your mail.asap
Thanks in advance.

best regards.......donald

In other news, posting shall be spotty, I think, for a while. Because I'm spent.

"Celebrity" being a loose term in my case

If you're reading this over the weekend and are looking for something to do Sunday night, I'll be doing something approximating comedy here:

SUNDAY JANUARY 27

Celebrity Open Mic at The Comedy Underground

(OPEN CELEBRITIES) Our home club, the Comedy Underground, opens its doors for a “Celebrity Open Mic” featuring local superstars, including tv legend John Keister, cartoonist Peter Bagge, and writers from The Stranger. Some spots will be reserved for newbies, so you - yes, you! - could perform on this night. Arrive at the club by 7:30 pm if you want to put your danglies in the water. Dartanion London and Paul Merrill will host, and Barbar Sehr, Danielle Radford, and Owen Straw will be showing up as well. (Comedy Underground, 222 S Main Street, 628-0303, 8:30, $6, all ages) DARTANION LONDON

It's part of something called The Week of Fun, standing in contrast to the other 51 weeks of the year which are naught but misery, of course.

The Way Games Sometimes Go In My House

When we play Rock Paper Scissors, we count it out like "Rock, rock, PAPER!" or "Rock, rock, ROCK!" So I'm playing yesterday with Charlie (age 7) and Kate (age 5).

ALL: Rock, rock--
ME: PAPER!
KATE: SCISSORS!
CHARLIE: Tidal wave! Tidal waves crush paper and scissors!
ME: Let's try it again.
ALL: Rock, rock--
ME: SCISSORS!
KATE: ROCK!
CHARLIE: GODZILLA! You can't defeat Godzilla with paper or scissors or rocks!
ME: Oh, I have one. Here we go.
ALL: Rock, rock--
ME: LOVE!
KATE: What?!
ME: Love. Love conquers everything. Godzilla, tidal waves, rocks, scissors, paper.
CHARLIE: Oh that's stupid.
KATE: Oh me! My turn!
ALL: Rock, rock--
KATE: HATE!
ME: Hate?
KATE: Hate beats love! And everything else. Hate.
CHARLIE: Well, I'm doing BLACK HOLE! Black hole defeats hate.
KATE: Nothing defeats hate, Charlie.

Small Items

1. With 10 1/2 hours to spare, I'm declaring the house ready to go live on the market tomorrow. We need to take the garbage out, re-make the beds, and dispose of a mystery basket but these are all things that could be done in less than ten minutes if a realtor called and wanted to see the place. Therefore: the house is ready.

2. Getting the house ready = hardest thing ever. Harder than book writing, harder than finals week, harder than an Amazon launch. Theater folk: imagine a month of tech rehearsals where you're the actor, director, light and set designer, board op, stage manager, front of house staff, and stage crew. I hit the wall a week ago but it was not possible to stop. Moving should be easy.

3. The house must sell. It's a great house in a great neighborhood. "I want someone to fall in love with the house," says the astounding Mrs. Moe, "not just buy it but LOVE it." They will.

4. I think the thing with Conor Oberst/Bright Eyes (a musician/band) is those backing vocals he uses. Man. One of those things that makes me love life. That and Homsar.


5. I'll post the listing for the house soon.

Spirit? Snap. Broken.

So we are in the waning hours before the house goes on the market. S'posed to happen Friday. Open house on Sunday. Holy guacamole, cats and kittens. I don't think I've ever done anything this hard before. I really, honestly, have mostly lost my ability to joke about this process. Here are several lines of information about this past week or so.

- We've painted mostly the whole interior of the house. There's a bedroom and a rec room unpainted. I think I need to do touch-ups on the rec room. Aaaaand the bedroom.
- I used to hate painting, then I loved painting. I'm back to hate and in hate I shall stay.
- Our contractor is more or less part of the family, for good or ill.
- Pressure washing is an almost unbelievably awesomely fun thing to do. Until your hand cramps.
- A pinched nerve hurts like a son of a bitch. I got one in the neck. Yes, prepping the house was A Real Pain In The Neck.
- Having a tattooed Iraq/Afghanistan war veteran do your carpet cleaning is a really interesting thing to have happen.
- The kids are getting sick of watching TV. Think about that.
- Please buy our house.

Finally, I got a comment on the blog the other day that called the blog "a harsh judgmental snoozefest". I didn't publish it, of course, because how dare you judge me, you know? But the phrase Harsh Judgmental Snoozefest stayed with me. It sounds like a some sort of music festival. Who would play at Harsh Judgmental Snoozefest? Ryan Adams? Oasis? The Singing Senators?

Small Items

1. We're trying to get the house on the market next weekend, which means all sorts of work. We're looking for a good house cleaner or cleaning service that can do things like return our calls, get to the house quickly, and do good work. Any ideas?

2. Luke Burbank, with whom I go way back, has forsaken NPR for 710 KIRO. He has a new show called Too Beautiful To Live in the evening slot at 7pm weeknights. They say the ghost of Tony Ventrella still haunts that building. Tune in if you've always wanted to hear Luke do something other than agitate you to fly on Alaska Airlines.

3. Good Will Hunting with all the Minnie Driver scenes edited out would be a damn fine movie. Someone get on that, okay?

4. The Sacred Truths are a rock band full of geniuses and pumpkins. Tomorrow night they play their final gig and my band, Chicken Starship, opens the show at 10pm. We've been practicing up the Truths' song Unlikely Donut Picnic for the occasion.

5. Did I already mention the house cleaner? We need one.

Oh my

This whole Clinton campaign is beginning to feel just a bit like one of those casino shows by a band that should have broken up a while ago. They used to be awesome but now...


"There's lots of things I can't do," he says.

He also can't make MC Hammer any younger, Skee-Lo any taller (or a baller for that matter), or Monie Love a male.

Obama and me but barely me

So in 2006 when my book came out, I did a little book tour all over the country. Went to book stores, nice crowds, pleasant. The last stop on the tour was the Texas Book Festival where I was scheduled to be on a two-person panel about first-person humor writing with the brilliant David Rakoff. Our event was happening in the Texas Senate chambers. At the same time over in the Texas House chambers, there was an appearance by another author, Senator Barack Obama.




His event was packed like the Beatles at Shea Stadium. Our event was more like a Mets game at Shea Stadium in September when they're not going to the playoffs. The room was actually full but many attendees were disgruntled folks denied admission to Obama and, yeah, humorists were no substitute. The panel went really well, folks laughed, all that.

Afterwards, David and I were escorted to a tent outside where people could line up and get books signed. David had a steady trickle, I had occasional visitors. And as we sat there chatting with readers and mostly each other, there was a roar outside that got louder and louder. We looked to see what it was. Obama walking across the lawn surrounded by hordes of devotees.

"This is the exact same thing that happens when I do an event with David Sedaris," said Rakoff, ruefully.

Mrs. Clinton, I don't know how to get in touch with David Sedaris but I do have David Rakoff's email if you need someone to talk to.

HLAOH and the Pressure Washer

We need to pressure wash our deck, sidewalk, driveway, and maybe even house to get ready for HLAOH (Hey Look At Our House), currently scheduled to go on the market 1/17 or so.

Cost to have mullet dude in Harley Davidson jacket come do it - $350
Cost to rent the thing and hope for the best, bearing in mind our contractor's information that "it's fun!" - $65
Cost to download Queen & David Bowie's "Under Pressure" to listen to on iPod while having said fun - $1

So. $66 it is.