If you live on the Hill, you know Bobby Lipps. You might not have ever spoken to him, but he's lengen... wait for it... dary. I had a blowout fight with an ex boyfriend once about Bobby's paintings. He said he liked the paintings, and since my ego was slightly bruised from him judging my taste in art earlier that day, I shot back, "You only like it because it's outsider art and he has no idea what the fuck he's doing!" Yes, in the heat of the moment, I can be a raging bitch. Anyway, we made up, and for the next gift-giving occasion that came along, I got him a Bobby Lipps original.
I found this documentary about him on the St. Lawrence website. It's 20 minutes, but it was worth posting.
bobby lipps from lcm=liquidcreativemedia on Vimeo.
Showing posts with label videos. Show all posts
Showing posts with label videos. Show all posts
July 8, 2010
To the Window, To the Wall
I just moved to Munjoy Hill, and I'm sure the bartender at the Front Room thinks I'm probably stalking him. No, they just have really amazing happy hour deals. I'd been wanting to move back to the Hill for a while. I won't miss that terrifying place known as the St. John Valley, except of course, Nicka P and the Pizza Villa.
Mandy had picked me up the day before we moved into our new place at Vesper Street, and we went to meet Angela at the Front Room. We parked on Howard, my old stomping ground, and I pointed out a house next to my old house which had a beautiful garden. The couple that lives there used to put on MPBN Saturday morning while they did their gardening. From the windows, I could tell that their decoration of the entire house was really amazing. Mandy happened to mention the walls and the windows as we walked by. A few steps later, in unison, out loud, we started singing Lil' Jon's Get Low, "To The Windows/To The Wall!" IN UNISON! Urban Dictionary says um, well, you'll just have to look at it.
Here is a video which might accurately capture the whiteness of the whole situation, Mandy and I, Munjoy Hill, Lil' Jon... There was a girl at karaoke once who did the song, actually, she nailed it, while wearing a yellow cardigan. I'd post a video of that, if I could.
Mandy had picked me up the day before we moved into our new place at Vesper Street, and we went to meet Angela at the Front Room. We parked on Howard, my old stomping ground, and I pointed out a house next to my old house which had a beautiful garden. The couple that lives there used to put on MPBN Saturday morning while they did their gardening. From the windows, I could tell that their decoration of the entire house was really amazing. Mandy happened to mention the walls and the windows as we walked by. A few steps later, in unison, out loud, we started singing Lil' Jon's Get Low, "To The Windows/To The Wall!" IN UNISON! Urban Dictionary says um, well, you'll just have to look at it.
Here is a video which might accurately capture the whiteness of the whole situation, Mandy and I, Munjoy Hill, Lil' Jon... There was a girl at karaoke once who did the song, actually, she nailed it, while wearing a yellow cardigan. I'd post a video of that, if I could.
June 16, 2010
Cardigan Innovations
In case you and I are ever hanging out, and you're not sure how much I've had to drink, if I'm acting like this: then yes, I'm drunk.
Darcy took this video a couple of years ago when we were on an all-girl camping trip. If I remember correctly, we decided to make margaritas the first night, which was fine, but the second day we were all out of margarita mix, and had a bunch of tequila leftover. Because I'm a genius, I decided to just get some Stewart's Key Lime soda to mix with the tequila, and drink that instead of the beer. One thing led to another, and well, here it is.
Note: I can totally admit when I'm wrong, and yeah, I was wrong. Please, everyone, don't let me button my cardigan like that ever again. Mandy, sorry for the dis.
Darcy took this video a couple of years ago when we were on an all-girl camping trip. If I remember correctly, we decided to make margaritas the first night, which was fine, but the second day we were all out of margarita mix, and had a bunch of tequila leftover. Because I'm a genius, I decided to just get some Stewart's Key Lime soda to mix with the tequila, and drink that instead of the beer. One thing led to another, and well, here it is.
Note: I can totally admit when I'm wrong, and yeah, I was wrong. Please, everyone, don't let me button my cardigan like that ever again. Mandy, sorry for the dis.
May 19, 2010
Pulling Mussels from a Shell
My sister has two young children. A few weekends ago, I was fortunate enough to spend the weekend with them. Andrew is 3, and Alahna, or “La La,” just turned one. She isn’t the happiest baby; she smiled like three times over the course of 48 hours. I have no idea what the timeline is for babies growing and developing, when they start getting teeth, crawling, walking, resenting. La La eats potatoes, chicken fingers, toddler-ready meals, and just about anything else you’ll put in front of her. She’s kind of huge. I hadn’t seen her for a few months and she had grown so much in the lapsed time that I accidentally exclaimed, “That baby ate my niece!” (This is probably only second to the time in the hospital, Andrew, the hours-old newborn wouldn’t stop crying. Partially because I’m not comfortable around babies, and partially because I deal with my feelings by making jokes, I got really close to my sister and said very seriously, “You know, Ashley, I hear that babies really like it when you scream in their faces and shake them.” Holy shit, was my mom pissed!) I’ll be allowed to joke about La La’s weight until she’s old enough to understand. I kid because I love.
Occasionally, I’ll tell someone a little bit about my Lewiston upbringing, the current state of my family- my mother has worked the same job at the hospital for 30 years. My father has been unemployed since, well, I don’t know when. My sister, bless her heart, is struggling through community college, while taking care of two (healthy and happy) babies. I’m a student, working at a coffeeshop. I surround myself with inspiring, engaging, artistic people, musicians. There are no babies, no welfare, no blue-collar boyfriends. And they can’t put two and two together, other than that time that I met this girl Bitzy at a part and she said, “Oh! You LOOK like you’re from Lewiston!” which was weird.
Anyway, we were at breakfast at Uncle Andy’s Diner, “Where the Elite Meet to Eat.” Ashley, La La and I were out to celebrate Mother’s Day. Since our mother was working. I figured, hey, Ashley has kids, which makes her a mother- consider my Mother‘s Day obligation fulfilled. We’re feeding La La some chocolate chip-strawberry pancakes (my idea, fucking awesome.) Sometimes we broke off pieces and put them in front of her to let her pick them up off the plate, and sometimes we put the fork in her gummy little mouth and fed her that way. Because she’s a baby, and doesn’t like, know baby sign language, and hasn’t been watching Baby Einstein, and isn’t Stewy, when she’s done eating, she just stops. I put a piece of pancake in her mouth, and she just pushed it out with her tongue, wearing a completely blank expression on her face. She drools on her chin a little bit, and the slimey pancake bit falls to the floor. Now picture me, as an adult, doing that in a fancy restaurant.
Which takes me to the night before I was scheduled to go on my first ever trans-Atlantic flight. I was so nervous and excited- this was it. I was going to FRANCE. Twenty four years old, and leaving the continent for the first time- I had a Passport (which, holy shit. You try and use a Passport as a form of ID at a bar… Prepare to feel the heat. In my early days at Pizza Villa, this one DMB-listening-douchey bartender gave me a really hard time about using it as my form of id. I was like, REALLY? I can get into UZBEKISTAN with this thing, but I can’t get a vodka soda at Pizza Villa? SERIOUSLY?) Angela Pizzo had a gift certificate to Ribollita, and we went there as a sort of, a "This trip could change your life and you could be a different person when you come back/what if something goes wrong and your plane crashes or worse, you end up like Tom Hanks in Terminal, stuck in the airport for ten years, or whatever" meal. It was... amazing. Since breaking my veggie edge, discovering Thai, Indian, Sushi and fine dining in my adult life, as a Portland resident, I've also developed a love for seafood, mussels in particular. The amazing thing about eating mussels is that the broth can be complicated or simple, fancy or traditional, and the mussels can be just as good. Mussels at J's Oyster Bar, the Blue Spoon, Local 188 and the Dogfish Bar and Grille (coconut milk base, ridiculous,) have been contenders for the top mussel-spot, but something about these Ribollita mussels were indescribably delicious (obviously, I'm not a food writer.) The bread they served with it was buttery and fluffy fococcia... maybe it was the lighting in the restaurant, or the wine, or the fact that I knew I could possbily never be the same after this trip... I dipped that bread in that broth practically up to my wrists. I was like a mad woman, having to consciously restrain myself from licking my fingers. Angela was really into it too. They were so. good.
In Lewiston, cloth napkins are few and far between. It's not that I don't have manners, per se, I know how to say please and thank you, and wait my turn to speak. But sometimes I'll pick a wedgie, or wipe my hands on my jeans (worn-in, faded jeans are the best, so I tend to move the process along as fast as possible,) completely forgetting that it's inappropriate in public.
That night at Ribollita, I forgot my table manners. But it wasn't my fault, I could have died. Angela and I both wore dresses, and I remember the hostess having some kickass boots. Cue the shoe-envy. We had probably been talking about work, or something work-related, my nervousness about flying to France, alone. All of a sudden, I was sopping up a particularly huge piece of bread in the mussel broth- it was like a sponge. I made sure to get bits of the floating onion and garlic. All of a sudden, something hard crunches between my teeth. This isn't supposed to be happening, it was just soggy bread. Flashback to all of the many, many times I've had nightmares about my teeth falling out. In waking life, too, they've been through a lot. Fillings, root canals, my wisdom teeth being taken out. I chew slowly, with my mouth full of food, wide open. See-food. It's a shell. It's a triangular, dagger-like piece of shell, and it was in my mouth. My life flashed before my eyes. If that thing went down my throat, it would rip through my esophagus like it was warm brie, and I was as good as dead. France? France what? So I pushed it out of my mouth with my tongue, just like the baby. It fell into the plate, at the restaurant, where we were probably going to spend over a hundred dollars on dinner. You can take the girl out of Lewiston, but you can't take the Lewiston out of the girl.
Occasionally, I’ll tell someone a little bit about my Lewiston upbringing, the current state of my family- my mother has worked the same job at the hospital for 30 years. My father has been unemployed since, well, I don’t know when. My sister, bless her heart, is struggling through community college, while taking care of two (healthy and happy) babies. I’m a student, working at a coffeeshop. I surround myself with inspiring, engaging, artistic people, musicians. There are no babies, no welfare, no blue-collar boyfriends. And they can’t put two and two together, other than that time that I met this girl Bitzy at a part and she said, “Oh! You LOOK like you’re from Lewiston!” which was weird.
Anyway, we were at breakfast at Uncle Andy’s Diner, “Where the Elite Meet to Eat.” Ashley, La La and I were out to celebrate Mother’s Day. Since our mother was working. I figured, hey, Ashley has kids, which makes her a mother- consider my Mother‘s Day obligation fulfilled. We’re feeding La La some chocolate chip-strawberry pancakes (my idea, fucking awesome.) Sometimes we broke off pieces and put them in front of her to let her pick them up off the plate, and sometimes we put the fork in her gummy little mouth and fed her that way. Because she’s a baby, and doesn’t like, know baby sign language, and hasn’t been watching Baby Einstein, and isn’t Stewy, when she’s done eating, she just stops. I put a piece of pancake in her mouth, and she just pushed it out with her tongue, wearing a completely blank expression on her face. She drools on her chin a little bit, and the slimey pancake bit falls to the floor. Now picture me, as an adult, doing that in a fancy restaurant.
Which takes me to the night before I was scheduled to go on my first ever trans-Atlantic flight. I was so nervous and excited- this was it. I was going to FRANCE. Twenty four years old, and leaving the continent for the first time- I had a Passport (which, holy shit. You try and use a Passport as a form of ID at a bar… Prepare to feel the heat. In my early days at Pizza Villa, this one DMB-listening-douchey bartender gave me a really hard time about using it as my form of id. I was like, REALLY? I can get into UZBEKISTAN with this thing, but I can’t get a vodka soda at Pizza Villa? SERIOUSLY?) Angela Pizzo had a gift certificate to Ribollita, and we went there as a sort of, a "This trip could change your life and you could be a different person when you come back/what if something goes wrong and your plane crashes or worse, you end up like Tom Hanks in Terminal, stuck in the airport for ten years, or whatever" meal. It was... amazing. Since breaking my veggie edge, discovering Thai, Indian, Sushi and fine dining in my adult life, as a Portland resident, I've also developed a love for seafood, mussels in particular. The amazing thing about eating mussels is that the broth can be complicated or simple, fancy or traditional, and the mussels can be just as good. Mussels at J's Oyster Bar, the Blue Spoon, Local 188 and the Dogfish Bar and Grille (coconut milk base, ridiculous,) have been contenders for the top mussel-spot, but something about these Ribollita mussels were indescribably delicious (obviously, I'm not a food writer.) The bread they served with it was buttery and fluffy fococcia... maybe it was the lighting in the restaurant, or the wine, or the fact that I knew I could possbily never be the same after this trip... I dipped that bread in that broth practically up to my wrists. I was like a mad woman, having to consciously restrain myself from licking my fingers. Angela was really into it too. They were so. good.
In Lewiston, cloth napkins are few and far between. It's not that I don't have manners, per se, I know how to say please and thank you, and wait my turn to speak. But sometimes I'll pick a wedgie, or wipe my hands on my jeans (worn-in, faded jeans are the best, so I tend to move the process along as fast as possible,) completely forgetting that it's inappropriate in public.
That night at Ribollita, I forgot my table manners. But it wasn't my fault, I could have died. Angela and I both wore dresses, and I remember the hostess having some kickass boots. Cue the shoe-envy. We had probably been talking about work, or something work-related, my nervousness about flying to France, alone. All of a sudden, I was sopping up a particularly huge piece of bread in the mussel broth- it was like a sponge. I made sure to get bits of the floating onion and garlic. All of a sudden, something hard crunches between my teeth. This isn't supposed to be happening, it was just soggy bread. Flashback to all of the many, many times I've had nightmares about my teeth falling out. In waking life, too, they've been through a lot. Fillings, root canals, my wisdom teeth being taken out. I chew slowly, with my mouth full of food, wide open. See-food. It's a shell. It's a triangular, dagger-like piece of shell, and it was in my mouth. My life flashed before my eyes. If that thing went down my throat, it would rip through my esophagus like it was warm brie, and I was as good as dead. France? France what? So I pushed it out of my mouth with my tongue, just like the baby. It fell into the plate, at the restaurant, where we were probably going to spend over a hundred dollars on dinner. You can take the girl out of Lewiston, but you can't take the Lewiston out of the girl.
There's a song I always sing to myself when eating mussels. This is it:
May 15, 2010
All Things Gaga
Here's a video combining two of my favorite things in an unlikely way: Lady Gaga and public radio.
May 2, 2010
The Blow, at Space!
Kate Digby Skinner and I were just talking about how amazing we think the Blow is. Low and behold, they're coming to Space. Check out this video:
See you there?
See you there?
October 10, 2008
Chocolate Dipping
This afternoon I had a bit of a renactment of this episode of I Love Lucy when I was posting about 900 peices of mail. I thought I'd post it... the humor really stands the test of time, I think.
October 9, 2008
September 16, 2007
Feist - 1 2 3 4
Has anyone seen this? It's a pretty great one-shot video from Feist, who you might know from her recent iPod Nano commercial, or as a member of Broken Social Scene. I've been on a bit of a YouTube binge, and thanks to Josh's sister, we've found a million Flight of the Conchord episodes. If you haven't seen it, they are side-splitting funny.
September 6, 2007
The Puppetmaster
Nearly every time I hear an artist explain their work, they're totally full of shit. This is probably because of my short art school stint where I basically paid the school thousands of dollars to listen to other student recite a lot of bullshit. Okay, but, since cynicism isn't really my thing, here's a fun video to watch:
I think everyone could use a little Dancy-Dance time. Also, I don't think I've ever been so attracted to Elijah Wood. When did he become a dancing indie rocker?
When perusing bookstores, videostores, and musicstores, I tend to get really overwhelmed, essentially trying to recall all of the times I've thought "hey, I should pick that up." On numerous occasions, I've walked into Videoport, and left after forty minutes of walking up and down the aisles thinking, "well, it's tough and triassic day, so I really should get a classic or an action, but I've been feeling like my foreign film library needs to be broadened, but what I really want is a Sex and the City, even though I shouldn't because I've seen every episode twelve times" and eventually leaving the store with nothing. Today at Borders was almost the same story. But I held out, waiting for some kind of sign... and it ended up being, "Children authors writing for Adults" which is where the Best of Roald Dahl was, and I'm intensely happy about my purchase.
Leaving for Chicago in T-minus five and a half hours. Maybe I'll get some sleep and hopefully I'll meet Oprah.
I think everyone could use a little Dancy-Dance time. Also, I don't think I've ever been so attracted to Elijah Wood. When did he become a dancing indie rocker?
When perusing bookstores, videostores, and musicstores, I tend to get really overwhelmed, essentially trying to recall all of the times I've thought "hey, I should pick that up." On numerous occasions, I've walked into Videoport, and left after forty minutes of walking up and down the aisles thinking, "well, it's tough and triassic day, so I really should get a classic or an action, but I've been feeling like my foreign film library needs to be broadened, but what I really want is a Sex and the City, even though I shouldn't because I've seen every episode twelve times" and eventually leaving the store with nothing. Today at Borders was almost the same story. But I held out, waiting for some kind of sign... and it ended up being, "Children authors writing for Adults" which is where the Best of Roald Dahl was, and I'm intensely happy about my purchase.
Leaving for Chicago in T-minus five and a half hours. Maybe I'll get some sleep and hopefully I'll meet Oprah.
August 2, 2007
Can't Tell Me Nothin
I'm a little bit obsessed with this video. You have to watch it- I think I have at least six times now... Will Oldham can't stop laughing in the backlighted scene. And Zack Galifinakis is so spot on I can't even handle it.
Oh, and who would have thought that there was a place like this is Portland? "Here's to being single, seeing double, and sleeping triple." Really??
Oh, and who would have thought that there was a place like this is Portland? "Here's to being single, seeing double, and sleeping triple." Really??
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