Thursday, May 31, 2007

It is not the singer, it is the song

Witness (click on the > icon, otherwise you'll be fucked):

PrinceWhen Doves Cry


The Be Good TanyasWhen Doves Cry

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

Go Jazz!

Go Jazz!, originally uploaded by Theorris.

Jazz lost.

Oh well, they had a great season and bested my game one prediction by 2 series.

Things to look for: a Kirilinko trade; Araujo becomes a starting forward opposite Boozer with Boozer playing center when Okur opts to be shooting forward that he really is; Fisher gives way more to Dee Brown; Okur recovers from his new-found fatherhood and finds his game again; CJ Miles is finally traded because his purpose on the team is pointless (he will, of course, go on to be a great player for another team in the great tradition of former Jazz guards); and someone in the front office will get a clue and obtain a full compliment of players instead of focusing on one position (such as guard) that they've done in the past.

The season is done. I plan on watching no more basketball intentionally until October.

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

Salt Lake Tribune - MONSON: Hate to say it, but Monday's crowd was classless

As I heard and saw the chaos and contempt in EnergySolutions Arena, I reflected back on the old Boston Garden crowds of the Larry Bird-era. Those were knowledgeable fans who picked their spots to let the refs hear and know about their displeasure. But it wasn't constant. It wasn't incessant. It wasn't paranoid, booing as though somebody was out to get them. (Salt Lake Tribune - MONSON: Hate to say it, but Monday's crowd was classless)
I know you've been here for a while, but welcome to the Beehive State, Gordo! Recall, after all, the many people who opine that Rocky Anderson, instead of someone speaking his mind, is an "embarrassment to the state"--the entire freaking state! Recall, as well, that people actively get worked up (and embarrassed) over an overwrought, over-acted series like Big Love because it is set in big lovin' Utah and comes too close to the seamier side of 19th century Mormonism. You might also recall the desperate seeking for attention when some quasi disaster occurs in our pretty, great state, such as when California suffers horrible wildfires, and inevitably the local TV news will find some odd brush fire in Utah to compare as if to say "see we have a fire too!" just like cool California! Furthermore, recall the endless hand wringing before the Olympics about "what the world thinks" with the unspoken undercurrent of "fuck the world!" (Although I suppose in local parlance it would be "fetch the world!") Most of the time Utah seems to be a very passive-aggressive kind of place: a place where people get worked up about being persecuted or, on the flip side, live in a continual state of embarrassment because they live in Utah (for Christ's sake!)

At least, I suppose, with last nights bad behavior that, while not quite on the Detroit-level of crowd violence, does give Utah Jazz fans a reason to be hated and a reason to be embarrassed. Welcome to Utah: it definitely is a state of mind.

Friday, May 25, 2007


Near-miss, originally uploaded by Theorris.

I was walking back from the corner Tesoro moments ago when witnessed what surely would have been a terrible car wreck. Minding my own early-summer business, enjoying the pleasant air and the warm sun, I heard the sudden screeching peel of rubber against road. Looking up, I saw a small Toyota pickup coming to a halt right in front of a Ford red F150 with a grounds keeper trailer tagging along behind. The F150 peeled out quick, crossing dangerously close to the now stopped Toyota, barreling away much too fast for this suburban road.

As the Toyota driver resumed his course after a brush with death, I noted his oddly placed smile. Sometimes it is funny how we react to dangerous situations. The scent of burning rubber hung in the air.

Calling all quilters!

Calling all quilters!, originally uploaded by Theorris.

Anyone know of any quilters out there who could restore my poor, messed-up quilt? I would just chuck the thing, but my now-deceased mom made it for me to take away to college. It has been falling apart for the past few years now, but, you know how it is. I can't part with it. So my only recourse is to store it somewhere (and what is the point of that?) or have some handy quilter fix it.

I have fond memories of my mom setting up her quilting frame in the back yard the summer before I left for the East coast, working diligently for a month in her off time to complete it. I know she would never have articulated it, but it was her way of sending something of her with me on my journey.

This thing has seen me through a big portion of my life.

Its a right old bossy boots

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

"Paw Paw for Jesus!"

If you didn't hear This American Life this past weekend, then I urge you to listen to it (Episode 102: Road Trip!) online via mp3 or with their player doohickey that I can't link to here because it is javascript-crippled. The first three acts are ok, but act four--"Paw Paw for Jesus!"-- is classic. The fun commences around 50 minutes. "Paw Paw for Jesus!" is a short story by Chicago writer Cheryl Trykv who I or the Internet's tubes know precious-little about. I do know she's done other This American Life stuff, but that's about all. Anyone heard or read other stuff by her?

Monday, May 21, 2007

Rain Study No. 5

Rain Study No. 5, originally uploaded by Theorris.

Being purposefully without a car exposes you to the elements affords you more opportunities to observe Beauty* in odd places much more than just running from your driveway to the porch so as not to get wet.

*And yes, I a using old-fashioned capitalization here since I think Beauty is a concept (albeit a much misunderstood one) and not just some piss-poor aesthetic value system.

Saturday, May 19, 2007


337, originally uploaded by Theorris.

We went to the 337 art house last night for the Gallery Stroll. My friend Trent Call's work is featured prominently. I saw former colleagues Grant and Nicole there with their kids. Years ago it wouldn't have been a surprise to see them at such a place. Funny how I used to see them everywhere, and then saw them nowhere. Anyway Nicole is working on a new novel which is pissing her off because it lacks a narrative flow.

"Faulkner!" I said, thinking of Wild Palms and Go Down, Moses.

"Yeah, right," she said in that dry Nicole-kind-of-way.

Thursday, May 17, 2007

Strange things we remember or I saw a man die (maybe)

When I was ten I was instrumental in hospital triage and emergency care. You see one fine June day when school was out, I was dragged along by Mom to my grandmother's radiation treatment for breast cancer. Grandma was a downwinder and witnessed many of the open-air nuclear tests that happened in the 50's from her Cedar City vantage. Now, of course, her breast cancer could have been caused by many environmental and genetic variables, but given that none of her female ancestors suffered the malady--unlike my paternal grandmother who was also a Southern Utahn and died before said nuclear tests--it seems more-than-likely that there was a link to errant nuclear radiation causing her affliction, due to the fact that she was living in Southern Utah and breast feeding in the early 50's when the tests were being conducted. (I should note that my sister in the mid-70's visited the Panguitch cemetary at night to see the glowing headstones caused by radioactive fallout from the 50's.) Of course it is more than ironic that radiation treatment cured my grandmother of her cancer (along with a mastectomy) but a diatribe against radiation and horrible government policy is not the point of this post. The point, as my initial sentence states, is that I was essential, as a ten-year old boy, in the immediate care of another human being.

I remember it clearly: my mother was not a fan of letting children into certain establishments--hospitals being top of the list. She was not a modern 70's woman by any means, and followed the code of conduct established long before that hospitals were no place for healthy children. I was told, in no uncertain terms, that I was to wait either in the waiting room or outside. I was to go no further. So after watching the cool fish in the LDS hospital waiting room for a while swimming their exotic salt-water way around the giant bubbling tube, I felt compelled to go outside.

Of course there was nothing outside, either, but I remember sitting on the strange benches that inter-cut the main entrance to the hospital and a parking lot further on. For some reason I want to picture myself with a skateboard, but I don't think that is accurate, given my bad experience with 70's skateboards earlier that year in fitth grade. I might have had a skateboard or I might not have, in any case I was doing something out by the weird garden-in-between when all at once a blue Ford F150 pulled up all skeewumpus next to the guard rail separating the little enclave from the ring road around the parking lot. The driver was clearly in the wrong spot and he had nearly pegged the guard poles. The door creaked open and a man of average height staggered out. I was a bit scared at this point, as I'm sure anyone, let alone a kid in some weird hospital situation would be. He fell and then stood and then staggered to one of the guard poles, grasping it weakly.

He looked at me.

I looked at him.

"Are you all right?" I said.

"No. No." His lips were blue and ringed with a white crusty salt. That image sticks in my mind particularly. "No."

"I'll get the doctor!" And I ran as fast as I could into the hospital to the receptionist, not minding the cars or anything.

"There is a man out front who is sick!" It sounds stupid now, but what was I to say? "I think he is having a heart attack!" Luckily the woman in the window took me seriously and grabbed her phone.

I stayed inside next, jumping up to see the woman behind the counter. Within seconds a stretcher appeared from the elevator which was off-limits to me. They went outside.

I didn't.

Moments later they came crashing through the doors and headed to the inner-sanctum of the hospital.

I hung around and looked at the fishes some more and then went back to the desk to hear what had happened. I asked her and she said "He'll be fine!"

"Massive cardio-infarction" is what she said to her coworker.

I don't know why the image of this man blue lips with their salty rim sticks with me to this day. I don't know if he died or if he lived. I only know he didn't die right there in the middle-ground between parking lot and hospital. Or maybe he did.

It is one of the things I will never know in this life.

Garden update: Only one died

Only one died, originally uploaded by Theorris.

The Italian basil bit the dust in March. There was one still alive in the big pot (the now bare spot.) I put peppers to replace them and after taking this picture put an eggplant in the bare spot. I think the basil died of fusilium wilt. The tomatoes and everything else are doing great. See flickr for more garden pictures.

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

CoffeeGeek - Brewing Turkish Coffee

Ever since my work colleagues and I went out to the fancy new 9th & 9th Mazza last week, I've been hankering a Turkish Coffee--strong enough to put hair on your tongue. Making it, however, looks like a lot of tedious work with equipment I will never purchase: CoffeeGeek - Brewing Turkish Coffee.

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Big lights

Given that the NBA has seen fit to use its evil might to deny the cable-refusing public (well mostly cable-refusing, given that I have broadband cable) the ability to see most of the play off games, we are forced into finding alternative reception methods. For most of the play off games, friends and I have been heading to local drinking establishments. Tonight, however, we took advantage of the ever-popular Brewvies:
...again on Tuesday we will be showing Game 5 of the second round playoffs between the Jazz and Warriors. Tipoff is at 8:30 PM. (Brewvies Cinema Pub - Home)
It was a tight game, made even more enjoyable by the big screen. Middlebrow was there as was the regular Wilhelm crew.

Jazz won.

Oy. Bring on the hmm Suns?

Sunday, May 13, 2007

Fast games

I've read various commentators who state that the Jazz should slow the game down against Golden State. Such an action, I think, would be a mistake. Golden State while they look like a fast team, play very sloppily when the pace speeds up. That was proved by Dallas, who, unfortunately for them, thought they should slow it down. The Jazz just need to play their solid game as they did tonight and in their initial loss in the series. Yes, the Jazz played exceedingly well in that first game. You can't, however, recover from miraculous 3 point shots (even though the Jazz literally spanked Golden State in the fourth quarter of that game.) Tonight showed the real seasoned Jazz presence. They held tight and didn't panic in spite of what looked like another route in the second quarter. They played smart even in unjustified foul trouble.

I'm now officially proclaiming the Jazz will move on to the fourth round. Neither Phoenix nor San Antonio has the team to beat them. Of course Golden State has a small chance to pull out a miracle and win three of the next four games, but it would take serious malfeasance or injuries on the Jazz to do it. Either those or my Ostertag nightmare could come into effect.

Tarkovsky on Cinema

Oh the humanity!

I just woke up from a horrible nightmare: I dreamed that the Jazz were forced to bring back Ostertag because of team injuries. He played point guard.

Dear god!

(In my waking moments I know such a move is impossible, but it sure shows my anxiety about the Jazz, doesn't it?)

Thursday, May 10, 2007

You gotta love it, baby!

Fisher, however, headed straight for the scorer's table once he arrived in the third quarter from a trip to New York with his family, and checked in immediately. The crowd erupted in a huge ovation, and after the game, several of Fisher's former teammates on the Warriors hugged him in support.
'He's a big-time player,' Williams said. 'He's a special player. He's hit big shots all his career. For him to do what he did . . . He got off the plane, he didn't warm up, he didn't stretch. He didn't shoot a jump shot. . . . There's not enough that could be said about him.'(Salt Lake Tribune - Fisher's timely return sparks Jazz O.T. victory, 2-0 series lead)

I've seen a lot of basketball in my time, but I don't think I've seen a more fascinating and dramatic game. Take these memorable moments: Dee Brown's neck nearly snapping under Okur's weight; Fisher walking into the game in the 3rd; Williams lofting a perfect last-second shot; and Fisher snapping off that 3 in over time.

Oh my.

Hey, I predicted the Jazz would make it to the second round after their first game of the season. I'm predicting they'll tough it out to the 3rd now. They'll have a rough time in Oakland tomorrow, however, but I think they might just steal a game there.

Orange life vests are for pussies or Getting it Right

Ok we were all sitting around enjoying the long weekend birthday bash for Catinlap aka the Late JC when the irrepressible Jacquie mentioned a series of amusing GI Joe PSA remixes.

I haven't laughed so hard since the last time I found myself on the floor, laughing.

Monday, May 07, 2007

How I spent the weekend

The view, originally uploaded by Theorris.

Great snow. Fresh pow. Started snowing on Friday and hadn't quit by the time we left. Nice.

Oh yeah and the Jazz won! I was so pissed at officiating at one point that I had to go outside--which wasn't very far given that we had a sweet triple balcony complete with a hot tub which threw water at you even if no one was in it.

Saturday, May 05, 2007


Update: Well that didn't work. Guess that is what I get for posting from a "fully functioning luxury resort." There is a movie reference there and it was hilarious at the time I made it. Not so much now.

Thursday, May 03, 2007

Signifying nothing Biggest Basketball Asshole of the Year

Well the NBA has its MVP of the year, so your friendly Signifying nothing editor has decided to establish the "Signifying nothing Biggest Basketball Asshole of the Year." (The Snabby Shabby Assholaria.)

While there were many good candidates this year all the way from overly-whiny players to overly-zealous, you want to fight, big guy? you want to fight? referees, (drum roll please) the Snabby Shabby Assholaria goes to Carmelo Anthony of the unfortunate Denver Nuggets for his sucker-punch run away! run away! style.

(Rim shot.)

Good job, Melo you asshole, you! If you're going to throw a punch like that, at least have the balls to stick around and face the consequences. Pussy. (See Condiment: I've been out of high school for nigh on 2.5 decades and I can use "pussy" in appropriate circumstances and with not a flinch of shame at my Jr. High-based language.)

Any nominees for the Basketball Asshole Hall of fame?

Thoughts that make you stop dead in your tracks

I was posting a long meditation on my professional blog when I realized that my parents were married on this day 57 years ago. That threw me. If they had lived they'd have been 78 now.

I hate getting thrown for a loop by time.

Ben Tiedman tells all or pathos rulz!

Ah how much I love the Onion:

I'm not some pathetic, lonely soul who sits in front of his computer refreshing his e-mail in hopes that somebody from HarperCollins, Three Rivers Press, or Random House will offer me a book deal. In fact, to prove how little I'm expecting from the blog career-wise, I'm taking the next few weeks off to focus on my spec script for Two And A Half Men—which I'm doing strictly for the practice, you understand. I could care less if it lands me an agent and a three-movie deal with Paramount. (The Onion, If Someone Wanted To Publish My Blog Entries For Money, I Wouldn't Say No | The Onion - America's Finest News Source)


Hey there. Remember me? I'm that kid who had a report due on space. You probably don't recognize me because it was a long time ago. I used to wear my hair totally different. It was in this sort of Prince Valiant-style pageboy bowl cut. Hey, it was the mid-'80s, what can I say? Sometimes, I look at old pictures of me, with that hair, and I think to myself, "You sure have come a long way since the days when you had that report due on space."

You sure you don't remember me? That kid? Who had a report due? On space?

For a couple years afterwards, I'd get recognized pretty often. People would come up to me and be like, "You look so familiar. Where do I know you from?" And then I'd say, "Encyclopedia Britannica. I'm that kid who had a report due on space," and they'd slap their foreheads and be all like, "I knew I recognized you from somewhere! (The Onion, "Remember Me? I'm That Kid Who Had A Report Due On Space")

Wednesday, May 02, 2007

Window poem

Window poem, originally uploaded by Theorris.