There's a little EVEL in all of us

RIP Evel Knievel

1938-2007

Evel Knievel died today. I think it's important to remember the passing of your childhood heroes. I don't care about the red, white, and blue jingoism or his later conversion to Christianity. All I know is that Evel Knievel made the Jackass movie stunts look like padlum by comparison. He holds the Guinness World Record for the most broken bones!You can find out about his life and career here or here. This was the only decent news video I could find on his death. Finally, I could only locate one or two video tributes that didn't suck.

Evel Knievel wore crazy patterned shirts, dressed like a superhero in public, and tried to fly over a canyon in a frigging rocket. If there's ever a movie made about his life, I hope Bruce Campbell gets the lead. So far I've only seen this cheesy MTV-esque take on Knievel (with George Thoroughgood soundtrack).

Instead of Ruins

My friend Andrew at blueruinpdx.blogspot.com/ sent me this incredible video.

I thought I would just watch it for a moment but got sucked in for the entirety. This video is ostensibly about bikes and transportation; actually, it is more about urbanism and how encouraging participation (“citizen engagement”) can help to improve community. There is a great feeling of possibility that comes out of this 30 minute clip. Because most of the interviews are with city planners, the radicality of this project, and Portland’s residents, becomes even more apparent. The segment with Portland seniors was priceless.

Be Cheerful or Else

James Lilek’s new book has arrived! Gastroanomalies: Questionable Culinary Creations from the Golden Age of American Cookery is the long-awaited sequel to the hilarious Gallery of Regrettable Food. The subject matter is, of course, nauseating photos and ridiculous graphics and text from old American cookbooks. What makes this better than actually owning these nasty cookbooks is Lilek’s jaunty and acerbic commentary- it’s like reading your own thoughts aloud. I keep my copies of Lilek’s books behind my tiki bar for reading when imbibing tropical drinks. (The only other book that gets bigger laughs is “How to Pick Up Girls”). Furthermore, these books are beautifully designed on every level and look posh on the shelf.

Instant Trouble is proud to announce our first official endorsement.

They Wrong, We Write.

Let's Start Talking About Literature

I recently picked up Pierre Baynard’s How to Talk About Books You Haven’t Read. Since I have not yet read it, I figured it would be apt to discuss it.

Baynard is a psychoanalyst, professor of French, and a fiction author. This is ultimately a book about education, about reversing our ideas about how we must behave, interact with others, or absorb information. It is also about creation, about how our modern education tends to stifle imagination. And it is about the fine and pleasurable art of conversation, about the intersection of history and story. I will report back when I’ve actually read the book.

I heartily recommend B.R. Myer’s brilliant A Reader’s Manifesto (subtitled ‘An Attack on the Growing Pretentiousness in American Literary Prose’). I read it a few years ago. It rightfully skewers a number of well-known and successful writers including Paul Auster, Annie Proulx, Cormac McCarthy, Don Delillo, Jonathan Franzen and David Guterson. The book also references and comments on the essay’s criticisms and the controversies that surround it. I’ve always wondered why I found all these “prize winning” author’s books unpalatable. This book reminds me why I put down these author's works and convinces me that a desire for clear writing need not make me simple or prudish.

I’m just like everyone else. I’m not like everybody else.

Unemployment is the poor American’s vacation. You can never quite relax because time is money and every day without work means less money. Being unemployed, I temporarily have more “free time”, though it is primarily time spent preparing to re-enter the work force. Taking a shower, folding the laundry, keeping yourself fed, even your relaxing and unwinding and socializing are all just arranged to get you ready for another workweek and to ensure that you are fit and ready to produce for the Homeland.

There are not many ways out of this. You can either become the Man (landlord, boss, bureaucrat) or you simplify and become creative. Or you become a criminal. Those who choose to simplify and live creatively are practically considered criminals. Those who want to live outside the system or hidden within it are treated as delusional people who should be locked up in mental institutions or prisons. Aren’t they aware that there is no escape?

Amazon Dot Oz

I live down the street from Fortress Amazon. I can see the building, like a golden Oz, from my bedroom window. I live in this Bermuda Triangle of whoop whooping cop cars, wailing ambulances, and tractor trailer horn blasts. I can hear the freight train warning whistles as the passenger jets roar overhead. I moved out here from the East Coast fifteen years ago, pushed out by gentrification. I was in one wave among many waves of displaced people; now I have been pushed to the edge of this city.

My rent is cheap. Most of my friends live piled up in group houses. Another friend squats in a house nine blocks from me. However, The Captain ‘owns’ a small house and my friends Mr. Howell & Lovey are building a tiny house on one of the islands. My girlfriend “N” ‘owns’ a condo, which is the housing model for this city. There is no affordable housing but plenty of development.

There was a period where I went eighteen years without having a bank account. Earlier this year I ended a twenty year car-less stretch by purchasing a used car with N. We bought the car from my employer. A month ago I was laid-off by this employer. I’m unemployed- thus I am compelled to begin this blog by lying, by omitting certain facts.

A few weeks ago my car was broken into and my week’s groceries and ratty backpack stolen. Aside from the damages to the lock, they stole my passport, my checkbook, my car’s registration, books & pamphlets & magazines, clothes, and some loose change. My backpack turned up in DesMoines. The only items left in the bag were the car’s registration, two pairs of American Apparel underwear, one stripy fingerless glove, and a few loose coins. Oh, and they left behind a copy of the New Yorker.