In the '90s, I bought the cheapest, crappiest bed I could afford on my temp-agency salary when I lived in Arizona, and slept on that god-awful bed for years.  

Finally in 2004 I was making "a nice wage" (as my brother would once write) and splurged on an expensive mattress/boxspring set for almost $800, which was hella spendy back then. I bought a Serta Perfect Sleeper Modesto, and it was deemed by many people to be The World's Most Comfy Bed. (I don't know how to type that without it making me sound like a slut. I'm just saying I was proud of my purchase because it was one of the only nice things I owned, so lots of people tried it.)

They say you should replace your mattress every seven years, though that may just be the mattress companies telling you that... but for the last 9 or so years or so it was pretty obvious that the non-Jill side of the bed was significantly lower and more broken/sunken in (read: broken) than my side of the bed. Matt's back has been bugging him now for a while, so we decided it was time to buy a new mattress.

I take after my mom-- I am not a shopper. I have noooo interest in going to 12 different places to find the best price and compare 47 different things; I just want to walk in, try a few items, and buy the one that I like that also offers the least amount of hassle. I don't care if this means I might pay $3.69 extra for something. I've got a life to lead. 

So yesterday we looked online to see what stores in the area sold Serta Perfect Sleepers in hopes of getting a mattress close to what I've got now (only not broken on one side). We decided to hit the Concord Mall on 202 where we could go to Sears and Boscovs in one shot, and then head over to Raymour and Flanagan if those didn't pan out. 

On our way to the mall we passed Raymour and Flanagan, so we said "screw it" and went there first. (50,000 points for Matt's fast reflexes and driving skills.)  We walked in and were greeted by a lovely saleslady who showed us a bunch of mattresses. She was a good salesperson with just the right amount of personable gab, but also knew when to leave us alone. She'd clearly been to Mattress Selling School, asking questions about how we sleep, if we have back problems, what we like/don't like, telling us all about the best type of mattress for hinky spinal injuries, and I'm not gonna lie... we settled on the most expensive one we tried. She didn't even try to force us into it; it was just the most comfortable. We are thrifty in most other aspects of our life, so why not splurge on a thing where we spend 70% of our time? (We spend a LOT of time lounging in bed; waaaaaay more than your average human). (Another way I take after my mother.)

This bed is like a cloud, and it apparently will help keep Hot Flash Jill cool during sweaty nights. I'm skeptical, but hopeful... because right now I have a stack of towels next to the bed that I rotate in and out throughout the night. (In fact, that's why I started writing this blog entry at 6-something AM... the bed was soaked and it woke me up. Sexy.)

They have next day delivery, so it should be coming today. (actually, the delivery guy just called and said he'll be here between 10-1. Woot!)  They'll take away the old mattress and box-spring and set up the new bed, plus there's a 100-night no-questions-asked return period. I liked that there were no hidden or extra charges... the price is the price and you don't have to pay for delivery or setup or taking away the old mattress, yadda yadda. 

We opted for a split box-spring hoping we might move to NYC someday where narrow stairwells would make getting a queen-sized boxspring into an apartment potentially tricky. It felt nice to be thinking ahead. 

I feel like I'm saying goodbye to a friend that got me through some really important years of my life... but it also feels nice to be buying a thing with Matt as a couple. We don't really have anything like that, really; we just have my stuff and his stuff all co-mingled, but nothing that is *ours.*  It only took us seven years to make this leap. :-)

NYC

In other news, we went to NYC this past week to see Steven Page's new trio at the Highline Ballroom on Tuesday night. We were supposed to go with Jeff and Mindy, but they were busy so we went with Brian Marshall and Tom Moynahan.  Steve was funny, smart, sounded great, and did a great mix of old and new stuff.  Matt and I grabbed a hotel (yay, Hilton points!) and slept in the Financial District, right at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge in Manhattan, an area of the city we'd never stayed in before, and it felt like it could be home.  We saw an apartment building we loved, and a two-bedroom is only $7500/month sooooooo we won't be moving into that particular building anytime soon I guess. :). But it did have a great Australian breakfast/lunch place nearby called "Hole In The Wall" which was deeeelicious, and I had my very first flat-white, which is a coffee-drink originated in either Australia or New Zealand (they argue over it)... it's like a latte except the milk isn't frothy at all (it's flat; get it?). I'd wanted to try one forever, and it lived up to the hype. 

Anyhoo, it's 7:55am and I woke up in a puddle of sweat about 45 minutes ago, so I'm ready to go back to sleep. I'm turning my ringer on nice and loud so I can hear the bed delivery guy's call. (He called! They'll deliver between 10 and 1.)

It's hard to believe this is the last morning I'll be sleeping/snoozing on this bed. 

Thank you, bed. You've been the best bed. 

--

PS: The weather has been absolutely GLORIOUS the last few days, hasn't it? Man, this season (aka 'the Fifth Season') is by far my favorite season. 75 degree days, low humidity, slightly foggy mornings, starry nights, sleeping with the windows open... so good!

PPS: I watched the clips from this weekend's SNL premiere and I howled! I thought they really nailed it. Apparently I like Adam Driver. I did not know this before, even despite my Kylo Renning.  (Kanye though... what the hell was that?)

x-posted to dreamwidth.org

NAFTA
you're a Clinton treaty
i said, NAFTA
from the past century
i said, NAFTA
you're not all about me
there's no need for you today

NAFTA
it's time to let you go
i said, NAFTA
i want people to know
i said, NAFTA
that this time it's my show
so i'm going to rename you

your name is now Us-M-C-A
your name is now Us-M-C-A
yet much to my chagrin
i could not work "Trump" in
but we know who did all the work

OK if you take the soft white corn tortillas (which are very thin and fragile) and spread a tbsp of pasta sauce on them then put them in the toaster oven for a "toast" cycle and let them rest a bit, the sauce will cook down enough so that you can then put cheese and meat on top for a second toast cycle and they won't fall apart when you eat them. Maybe even have a bit of browning on the bottom for a lovely crusty crunch.

And it's not terrible, even tastes pretty good, for a GF pizza-like food product.

It's taken like a half dozen disintegrating, bad tasting, why am I eating this garbage variations to arrive at this bit of culinary wisdom over the past few weeks.

So if this is a road you'd like to travel, I've put down some gravel, at least, so you don't get your wheels stuck in the soggy tortilla mire.

Bear with me here; this takes a bit before I get to the point. So I'm a nominally heterosexual caucasian white male. I have a tiny little amount of street cred when it comes to prejudice and discrimination, but nowhere near enough to justify me going on about it (anti-Appalachian prejudice does exist, but I can pass, kind of thing.) That said, it's bloody well time for everybody to go on about it, because Trump and his fellows have enabled a huge amount of complete assholery and oh-my-god-are-you-really-saying-that that has actual, real world consequences for huge numbers of people across the planet. 

I want to do something. I donate to causes (it's hard to donate to political campaigns in the US from Canada), I vote, all that kind of stuff, but I was at a loss as to what. 

When I sat down and thought about the situation, I had an idea of something I can do. It's not a lot, and it won't actually affect the people who are most complicit in this disaster, but it might nudge the center of the bell curve 0.000001% in the right direction. The thing is, I'm worried about it. 

Here's the idea:

As a piece of art, I'm designing and building a game. Six players, concentric track-based - imagine Trivial Pursuit if it had three circles instead of just one- drawing cards to affect gameplay, etc.  Players draw cards -I'm stealing from Ticket to Ride here - that tell them what they have to do on that game board. So far, so good. 

The key bit is - I am building discrimination into the game rules. Certain players will have a definite, highly unspoken, advantage; they get more choices, they get a starting bonus, they can do things to the other players that  the other players can't do back, and so on. I won't state it in the rulebook that "Player X represents WASPs, and player Y represents Mexican-Americans" - it's just that there are more cards in the deck that let the blue player do things to the yellow player than vice versa. 

I'm thinking about including cards that let the players choose to vote on altering the rules - five out of six players can vote and say that the yellow player can't enter the inner circle, say, or that three out of six can demand the other three give them all their cards. 

It will be entirely possible to play the game so that everybody has the same shot at victory - just don't use the cards that screw other players over.

The goal is to get six male, white, cis players to sit down and play it - and maybe film the thing, maybe not, depending on human experimentation permission. Hopefully, as the game goes on, one or more of the players will realize that they are being systematically dicked over by both the rules and the other players. "Hey," they should say, "This ain't fair. I can't win", at which point I leap in and go "That's the point!"

There are games-as-art out there; there's one called Train that uses the act of playing a game to induce a feeling of complicity in an atrocity (I won't say how, that's part of Train's point). This one, though, isn't about complicity, it's about systematic discrimination.

The thing is: I am nervous. 

I don't want to be a dick. I don't want to be the white guy co-opting the oppression of others. I don't want to be Kevin Costner doing Dances with Wolves and thinking he's doing the First Nations a favor. 

I am, being white, cis, male, etc., complicit in the system that discriminates. I can't speak to the nonwhite, noncis, nonmale experience. What (I think) I can do is address how systems are put in place by people somewhat like me that result in systematic discrimination.

Is this fair?

Can I do this without being a dick?

It's 7:47 am. I have put a load of laundry in the washer and cleaned up after the dog. 

Why Is The Sudden Resurgence Of The Song 'Africa,' by Toto, A Thing? 

The song 'Africa,' by the pop-rock band Toto, has recently surged in popularity on the Internet. It has become a popular tune for musicans of all types to cover, and YouTube videos of the covers are shared frequently. However, some argue very effectively that the colonialist nature of its lyrics and ham-fisted attempts at echoing indigenious African music are insulting to Africans and their descendants. In this essay, I will argue that the recent embrace of the song  'Africa' shows us more about ourselves, via resitance to toxic masculinity, white fragility, and cultural imperialism, and embrace of new communication methods. 

This essay assumes that the reader has basic familiarity with The Internet, the concept of memes, and the song "Africa" by Toto. We also assume that the reader is familiar with the popular music video which supported initial single and album sales. A full analysis of the video will be available at another time, upon request. 

"Africa" reached number one on the Billboard Hot 100 chart on February 5, 1983. Though Toto has other top 5 hits, it remains as their most memorable song. The band was more attached to another hit song, "Rosanna," and in an interview with KROQ-FM, dismissed Africa as "an experiment" and "dumb," and said that it has used "placeholder" lyrics that stuck (such as Phil Collins' use of "Sususudio," or Trey Parker's use of "Shpadoinkle"). The lyrics used as placeholders aren't nonsense words, and they end up illustrating ideas that show a colonialist bent. On its surface, the song seems to be about a white man, who goes to Africa, expecting to find knowledge, spiritual fulfillment and romantic love. The explosive chorus of the song (listed in 2012 by NME magazinein 32nd place on its lost of "50 Most Explosive Choruses") implies not that he found any of these things, but that he "bless(es) the rains down in Africa." The implication that the narrator has the godlike power to bless a force of nature places him in a selfishly powerful position. The rain, in the cathartic chorus, is a release from the tension that the rest of the song sets up.  

Embracing this song, with its colonialist attitude, implies that the next big meme probably should be Old Kentucky Home, with its original lyrics. The song doesn't seem to be shared by people of color. Though it's been recently covered by Weezer (their recording peaked at #3 on the US Adult Top 40), no R&B artist has covered it, no rap artist has sampled it. despite the fact that it would be very easy for someone like Kanye West to do so, it simply hasn't happened. The rap community samples, re-mixes and shares their work, at a higher rate of viral speed than other groups (citation needed), but a popular African American re-interpretation of it hasn't surfaced in the way other versions have. The covers of this song which have gained popularity have been voiced by men. Versions have been made popular by Family Guy, American Dad, South Park, and Jimmy Fallon. There hasn't been a version which grabbed the zeitgeist that is sung by a woman, or a non-binary and/or outwardly LGBT person.  Essentially, it's a straight-white-male-hit. Is this song a secret white supremacist dog whistle? An anthem for the Brock Turners, Richard Spencers, and other rabid tiki-torch carriers? Though that interpretation, sadly, is valid, we need to examine this phenomenon more closely. 

To start simply, let's look at the sharing of this meme. The website Know Your Meme details the inception and process of it being shared via YouTube. As of this writing, their charts show that its popularity as a meme is rising. 

In 2010, working musician Mike Massé shared a video of his low-fi interpretation of the song. The performance was solely on guitar and bass, with no drums. It's a soulful, catchy, intimate video. Their choice to strip the song down and avoid drums left the possibilities of alternative musicianship in performing the song wide open. In 2013, the Angel City Chorale used the summer-camp game of making hand sounds to simulate the sound of a stirring and visceral rain storm in their YouTube performance. Angel City's mission is to promote tolerance and diversity in Los Angeles,  so the colonialist nature of the song was brushed aside in favor of the musicianship of the explosive chorus. The popularity of the song allowed the choir to showcase its strengths, and garner over eleven million views. 

In both cases, what we have here is the use of a popular, simple, song to allow musicians to show their strengths, via re-interpretation. A subreddit was created, challenging musicians to submit their alternative versions of the song.  It's entirely possible that the subreddit may have been created by whatever record company owns the rights to the song. Unlike the Rickroll meme, in which the song "Never Gonna Give You Up" varied minimally, if at all, this meme required variations on a theme. The result was that musicians learned, re-interpreted, recorded, and published their versions of the song, and those publications were shared. People who share memes for the sake of sharing them shared it, along with people who actually care about the musician or the song. It has been popular among more than one generation. Essentially, the song is shared because it's shared. It's popular because it's popular. 

What about the song itself? Does the "sharing to share" of this song mean that there's more racism going around than people would like to admit? Fine. Let's unpack these lyrics. You could go to Geniuslyrics dot com and look up other interpretations, but you're here, and you got this far. So, get yourself a fresh beverage and strap in, folks. Here's my interpretation of "Africa." For the purposes of brevity in this already too-long essay, and because of the song's resonance with young white men, we will refer to the narrator as a "he," though the gender of the narrator is never mentioned in the lyrics. 

I hear the drums echoing tonight

We start with an unreliable narrator. His initial description of the world is drumbeats and darkness. We know that this is an oversimplified, cartoonish version of Africa, the continent. It is possible that the drums could be echoing from a neighbor's stereo system, or blood rushing in his ears from his own heartbeat, or any number of sources. However, at its essence, what we have here is drumbeats, darkness, and mystery. 

But she hears only whispers of some quiet conversation
She's coming in, 12:30 flight

The narrator is distanced from a "she." She is separated from him, by gender, flight, by the bubble of an airplane and the safety of quiet conversation. 

The moonlit wings reflect the stars that guide me towards salvation

He years for some kind of spiritual fulfillment, reflected in her safe space in the flight, the quiet conversation. I interpret this symbol as the space that feminists and other progressives claim, to debate topics and make progress. It's distant from the narrator, and he knows it. By contrast, he has drumbeats and darkness. But, he wants to join that space. 

I stopped an old man along the way
Hoping to find some long forgotten words or ancient melodies

The Magical Negro is a symbol that has infiltrated Western fiction for centuries. The lyrics don't say that this man is African, but we assume he is. In any case, the narrator assumes not only sagacity in the old man, but also that the old man is willing to dispense knowledge, like a vending machine. 

He turned to me as if to say, "Hurry boy, it's waiting there for you"

The man doesn't say anything. He only turns to him and gives him a look, to get going. The sage doesn't provide a proverb for him. Or does he? is the adminition to shut up, stop overthinking, and get going, a message in itself? The listener is left to wonder. 

It's gonna take a lot to take me away from you
There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do

We get the first version of this chorus. It is unclear if the "you" mentioned here is the aforementioned "she," or the nation of the song's title. Whatever this "you" is, it has become integral to the narrator's quest for knowledge and spirutual satisfaction. 

I bless the rains down in Africa

How does the narrator have power to "bless" rain? He doesn't. He's not a god, his distance from spiritual fulfillment indicates so. Could "bless" be interpreted as a word for the expression of gratitude? If the lyric had been, "I thank the rains down in Africa," it wouldn't have scanned as well. In the 21st century, we experience heat and hurricanes like never before: rain can be a welcome gift, as well as a killer. To say "I thank the rains" oversimplifies the power that rain can have. To use the verb, "bless," rather than "thank," implies the deep spiritual relief that rain can provide, or the epic nature of the power of rain.  

Gonna take some time to do the things we never had

The narrator knows that he needs patience and persistence to acheive his goals, but the lyric falls short of resolution. Like what has been called a "feminine ending" in Shakespeare's iambic pentameter, this lack of resolution shows the narrator's unreliability, and powelessness to finish his quest. 

The wild dogs cry out in the night
As they grow restless, longing for some solitary company

Again, we have another cartoon-metaphor of Savage Africa: wild dogs, to go with the aforementioned drumbeats. However, feral dogs can exist anywhere, coyotes can be heard in Los Angeles. So far the only concrete evidence of the narrator's world is that it has drumbeats, darkness, and wild dogs howling. he described them as restless and lonely, not dangerous or hungry. The dogs are a metaphor for his own loneliness and restlessness. 

I know that I must do what's right
As sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti

Kilimanjaro is nowhere near the Serengeti. Both are located in Tanzania, but they are 100 miles apart. This makes it clear that the narrator has only the thinnest understanding of what Africa is really like, and probably has never been there. He mentions Olympus. Whether he means the mythic, fictional Olympus, or the actual Olympus, in Greece, is unclear, and unimportant. He is taking an African geographic icon and understanding it by applying  his own knowledge of icons important to the Western mind. In this sentence, he shows his own cultural weakness. This leads up to the most important line in this song (highlighted by the harmonizing backing vocals):

I seek to cure what's deep inside, frightened of this thing that I've become

The narrator acknowledges his own weakness, confusion, and unreliability, and wants it to be cured. After this line, the song's chorus repeats, with little change. This concept is as far as the narrator's understanding progresses. he knows that he doesn't like what he is, and wants to change it. He doesn't have a plan, or a totem to grab, just a bad state of mind that he wants to escape. 

The "Africa" in the song is not the literal continent. It is a state of mind, where the narrator is ignorant of other cultures and mindsets, but hungers for understanding. He is in the dark, and can only populate that darkness with a few concepts he has been told about. His conflict remains unresolved. Let's go back to the fact that the narrator's gender is never mentioned: he's not even trying to hang onto a concept of manhood. In the traditional version of this song, the coda is a stripped-down, nearly emotionless version of the drumbeats from the opening of the song, implying that the narrator remains in this dark, lonely state. 

Songwriter David Paich said (in an interview with The Guardian) that the lyrics came out of his childhood desire to see the world. He was fascinated with stories the priests at his Catholic boys' school told about missionary work. The minimal understanding of Africa in the song comes from his childhood's thin understanding of Africa as a continent. He also said that the biggest conflict the priests faced was the loneliness and celibacy. And, of course, sex sells pop records.  The band has stated that they are uncomfortable with the overt meaning of this song's lyrics. As guitarist Steve Luthaker said to Paich, "Are you Jesus, man?" Though Paich didn't intend to write a song about toxic masculinity in conflict with nature and "other"-ness, the conflict is there.

It is entirely possible that young white men embrace this tune out of a desire for validation of colonialistic urges. However, as we see in this lyric breakdown, it could be the story of a guy who wants to break away from a closed-minded, dark, lonely state. The resurgence in popularity of this song can indicate a male desire for multiple interpretations, for participation in culture, and a need to be part of something greater than themselves. Whether or not the people who share this meme are aware of this or not, like the conflict in the song, is still a mystery. 

THANK YOU FOR COMING TO MY TED TALK, AS THE KIDS SAY. I am available for pop-culture-analysis writing gigs upon request. 

I just had a rather fantastic encounter at my local coffee shop (Peet’s). I had settled in to do some catch up work on art stuff. I had just finished a commission for my buddy Krishna. His wife asked his daughter the age old ‘If you could have a super power, what would it be?’ thing. When they heard the result (a modification of Elsa, of course) K commissioned me to draw it up. The result is above.

Anyway - so I’d just finished up the image, and a family came in with a little boy who can’t be older than 8. I noticed the printer paper in front of him with... are those comic panels? And pencil drawings? Why yes. Yes, they are.

”Are you drawing a comic?” I asked.

He was a bit shy with the big hairy stranger, but with a glance at his mom (grandma?) sitting next to him, he said “Yeah.”

”Well that’s awesome! This is what I just finished!” at which point I turned the iPad to face him and clicked the play button on the time lapse video for the image.

His jaw dropped and his mom started Oooh-ing.

We proceeded to have a conversation about art and comics and I introduced them to software he could get for his iPad and of the very concept of ashcan comic books. He’d said that he was doing them and keeping them to himself. I explained that (if he wanted to) ash cans would let him keep the originals and still share copies with his friends.

The whole family seemed delighted.

For a while now, I have been in seventh heaven listening to the sounds of the little boy quietly narrating his comics to himself as he works. Both dialogue and (far better) sound effects keep coming while he’s drawing.

He’s not playing on an iPhone. He doesn’t have his own laptop here. He’s not watching Youtube. He’s drawing. With pencil and pen on paper.

That. Was. Me. When I was a kid, and it’s just so very good to see as an adult.

* * * * *

In case anyone’s curious, this is the text for the commission:

"Here is what M told me she said: "If she could pick any magic power she would pick being the princess of ice and snow mountains and being in control of fire. And she hopes one eye was clear and white and one eye was red and orange"."

And here’s a link to the time lapse video of the process - https://photos.app.goo.gl/YQEXkK1kQEe4DHw47

So, this is after. What a difference a day makes. Next up, heat pump.

I was just reviewing my OPW posts and saw I'd put up a floorplan of the previous apartment, but I haven't posted our condo's floor plan. So here it is.

A bit sloppy as the original was flipped but I've updated it with the moved closet in the master BR (it used to be a wart in the smaller bedroom, rude). The kitchen bar/passthrough is wider and has no uppers now, and there's a laundry machine in the adjacent storage room.

It's an interesting building and I think it's very smartly designed. There are two 20 storey circular towers, each floor with nine suites. (There is no "13" floor, and the top floor that would be 21 is labeled "PH" though the suites there are identical to those below.) That angle between the two walls is indeed 40 degrees and it's kind of a pain dealing with it. On the other hand, it makes for much less wasted space in the common elevator area. All of our doors open very near each other in the centre of the tower, a small hallway that runs around the elevators / stairwell / mechanical ducts in the centre of the building. Most of the units are nearly identical in layout and size, though there's +/- 10% square footage to accommodate structural elements. There's a low building between the towers that has six floors of units with rectangular layouts. On the ground floor and three floors below that are parking, lockers, and extensive amenities (gym, sauna, pool, library, movie room, hobby/woodworking room, etc). And there's a nice garden too.

All told there are nearly 400 units. I figure this, combined with the smart design, is how our condo fees are so low given what we're getting for them. One might think the $250K per month the condo corp receives in fees is a lot, but it's not cheap to run and maintain a big building, and do it well. Plus pay city taxes.

We like it here, and the only annoying thing right now is the shortage of personal storage lockers (e.g. rental closets) that are presently oversubscribed, so we still have a few boxes / bins of art materials and tools that should ideally be stored away out of sight but there's nowhere to put them but in our living space.

Also it's easy walking distance to p much everything.

It's 1:39am on September 22 East Coast time. Forgive my unmade face, undone hair, and overexcited NJ accent... but I just invented what's basically a 3-D salty/sweet cronchy version of Fun Dip. This is what inventors look like.

I am not proud of this. I am SO proud of this. It is gross and delicious and I am also not proud. But proud. But not proud. Yep.

I was originally gonna lock with post so only my OPW people could see this, which is why I didn't care that I recorded this video au naturale, sans makeup et sans le coiff, et plus de drooooop. But I also don't give a shit. This is whatcha look like at 47 and eating marshmallow fluff snax. 

Enjoy. 

​​​

...and some ibuprofen. 

Out of boredom with my piano lessons (which are mostly scales at this point), I (legally) downloaded the sheet music for an Easy Piano arrangement of Little Red Corvette, and spent the last hour teaching myself to play it. 

It's a good thing that His Purple Majesty has passed beyond the veil, because if he had seen how rudimentary this arrangement is, he would have sued for libel ("Nothing I wrote could ever be that simple!"), and if he heard my rendition of it, he'd have turned inside out and disappeared in a column of violet and golden flame. I spent an hour pounding my way through it, grateful that nobody can hear me, trying to stretch-jump from a high E to a regular E with one hand. My whole right arm hurts, which means my form is terrible and I'm doing it wrong. 

But, I can play the opening eight measures now. 

I'll keep you posted.