Just Launched!

23Nov09

All of this but more official now at

Julibloggs.com

(note the slight difference in spelling)

I’ll try to have this page automatically re-route to the new domain, but in the meantime, go ahead and follow the link.


Confused Vegetables

Now, I know it can be difficult to stay organized all the time in a store as large as Whole Foods, but this is just straight up incorrect.


Sometimes you just need to lock yourself alone in your apartment, shaking and sobbing for a few days with nothing but quesadillas and beer to keep you company. You may take a cup of coffee from time to time in an attempt to pull yourself together, but this will only dehydrate you further as you consider drowning yourself in the claw-foot bathtub.

When true disaster strikes one must maintain a sense of humor, even if you’ve lost all composure, pride, hope, joy, “trust, loyalty, niceness*”.

These feeling of sadness and loss are just a natural vicissitude of life and should be taken in stride as nothing more than a “rough patch”. Times will pass, things will change, and eventually you’ll be on the upswing towards your old cheery self again. Maintaining some perspective until this time comes is important, but in the meantime, here are some of my tried and true suggestions for getting through the dark, cold, lonely betrayal of winter.

Allow yourself one nice, cleansing cry
Take a hot bath
Go for a long run or bike ride
Throw a brick through a storefront window
Drink till you pass out
Steal a stranger’s credit card and go shopping for house wares
Shave your head and take up smoking
Set fire to dumpsters
Insult the only people left to defend you
Experiment with intravenous drugs
Shoplift lipstick and hand cremes from Whole Foods
Evade suspicious questions by calling yourself a “social drinker”
Read the Myth of Sisyphus
Write intensely tormented letters to old friends and store them up in a shoebox beside your bed so you can take them out and read them from time to time, just to keep wounds fresh

I also have a list of rainy-day do not’s:
Do not eat anything that is not potatoes, cheese, or sugar
Do not wear underpants to work
Do not drink coffee after 8 pm or you will toss and turn with thoughts of your miserable life until 4 in the morning

If you have any suggestions in this vein, I would be happy to add them to the list.
*The Adventures of Pete and Pete, “Das Bus”


As recently run in the North Coast Journal on Oct. 15, 2009 

“For a brief period of time I find myself wondering if what I am doing is so abstruse that even the lexicographers think I am a nerd.” If this is a thought you’ve had, then you’re probably right. You are a nerd. In attempting to read the entire Oxford English Dictionary in one year while chronicling his discoveries and insights in a Supersize Me documentary manner, Ammon Shea sets himself squarely in the “nerdy” category.

That said, the Oxford English Dictionary is no easy undertaking, the current edition running 22 volumes at 21,730 pages. Even reading at the rate of 8 to 10 hours a day, it takes Shea an entire year to digest every word, but his point in exploring the plethora of options available to us is made clear: Very few of us who claim to speak English know anything about the words we do, or do not, use.

What’s truly humorous, besides perhaps his blissful ignorance to the fact that no one is interested in his daily trials and tribulations of etymological exploration, are his own little notes and addendums to the selectively scribed vocabulary that makes up most his book. From A-Z, the reader is presented with words equally useful such as impluvious (“wet with rain”) and hilariously useless, such as lant (“to add urine to ale, in order to make it stronger”). Some words lacking immediate use may be worth retaining for just the right occasion, such as gymnologize, “to dispute naked, like an Indian philosopher.”

Presented as he is with so many similar words, Shea finds himself constantly plagued by onomatomania (vexation at having difficulty in finding the right word). “Of course, as soon as I learned this word I promptly forgot what it was, but this just provided me with the frustration of not being able to think of it, and then the satisfaction of once again finding it,” he says.

In an age when English has fallen from grace and radical grammarians such as Lynn Truss suggest actually defacing public property with large markers to correct grammatically-incorrect advertising, Shea’s goal appears both tame and reasonable. Recognizing the outrageous number of perfectly serviceable words we’ve simply chosen to exclude from our vocabularies for a lack of knowledge that they exist, many of us are, as Shea describes it, more akin to tourists with language guidebooks of common words and phrases than articulate English speakers, and so are lacking in a historically rich and verbose vocabulary that could make our lives much clearer.

Now, will you be able to use the word advesperate (to approach evening) without being called a blouse-wearing pussy? Probably not, but you will know that there’s a word for it while gloaming in your own self-congratulatory erudition. And no one can call you a pussy for that.


I know that you’re lacking the back-story, but to keep it simple this is my status: I’m living in Seattle now. I moved up in August to begin working on an 83 year old gaff-rigged schooner called Lavengro in Lake Union. Summer aboard the boat in close quarters with two eccentric young men generated a lot of interesting stories to be related at another time. Our concern for now is to relate to you that there is a new blog to be cared for aside this one: apartmentxfiles.wordpress.com is where you can find the daily warstories of my room and boat mate Ryan and I in regards to our totally terrible apartment, Apt. X (no kidding), and the people we find ourself interacting with in the Cascades neighborhood of South Lake Union.

I have just MOMENTS AGO updated the Apt. X files page, but was so tickled by it I thought I’d re-post it here on Juliblogs where it’s likely to get more traffic. If you’d like to view the material at its original address you may do so here.

Again, I apologize for my absenteeism but do plan on updating both blogs regularly from here on out. Enjoy!

Moka's Mochas

Cascades, the neighborhood surrounding our home sweet home, is a recovering industrial area on the edge of downtown, populated by an equal mix of junkies, scum bags and yuppies. My roommate and I live in the unnumbered basement unit of a 100 year old building across the street from an abandoned brick complex with a large white smoke stack, and even here there are more than four coffee shops within a quarter-mile radius. Welcome to Seattle.

In my ample free time I have perused a number of coffee shops in the area, judging each on a complex scale of varying criteria such as quality of music playing (and its subsequent volume), variety of seating options, décor/ ambiance, and of course, the care with which they present me with a double Americano.

Meeting these criteria are a few choice cafes in the area, each one of which I’ve carefully staked out in order to be on a first-name basis with a roving staff of baristas in order to receive free coffee from each. The process of this endearment is simple: you show up at the same time three days in a row to order the same drink. You make small talk as necessary, but on the third day will invariably introduce yourself to the now-familiar looking employee behind the counter. By day four, your coffee is on the house.  While this may appear to be a scam for self-indulgent ends, baristas do invariably make great acquaintances. They typically interact on a highly-caffeinated level, and emit a positive attitude in regards to their easily-relatable hobbies (which they’ve picked up in order to relate to a wide discrepancy of clientele). They are usually well versed in pop culture and music, being as “ipod operator” is their secondary responsibility to food-delivery system, “the regrettable, necessary step between chow and chow-hole”* which means they can likely recommend a good show for you to see any night of the week. In the case that such a recommendation is provided, you now have an opportunity to invite them out as your platonic date in order to buy them a drink, thus recouping them for all the free java they’ve passed your way. This also legitimates your relationship beyond that of mooch and provider (unless you’re tipping them for each free coffee, in which case you’re already a good person and the provision of beer is unnecessary unless you’re actually trying to get in their pants).

While I have met a number of fine coffee-industry employees and spent a great deal of time at both Café Vivace on Yale Ave. as well as Uptown Espresso on Republican (a shout out to their respective baristas, Mike and Bryan), the one spot I long, but have yet, to infiltrate is that of the Mokka Café and Coffee Bar, home of the most dangerously delectable mocha in this entire city. In fact, I’m going to go get one right now in order to better describe it to you: holy shit it’s delicious.

The perfect Mokka Mocha is a delectably suffused amalgam of espresso and chocolate mixed in harmonious proportions so that neither overwhelms the other. It is like a sugary yin yang, just enough coffee to chocolate so that the two combine to taste like a tall cup of steamed cream. This being Seattle, said coffees are always topped with impeccable latte art, which has unfortunately become more requisite than impressive. Ryan says that he recently witnessed a barista creating a latte-art skull in preparation for the Barista Olympics (but let’s not go there), which is impressive. That’s what I want to see more of. If not a skull, then possibly a badger- to ask me how my day is going. Practice, practice, practice.

*The Stranger- How To Be A Person Who Isn’t A Failure; Jobs- How To Be A Barista, Sep. 2009


Before I had coffee, before I brushed my teeth, before I even swung my feet over the side of the bed to wriggle my sleepy toes into the carpet, I reached for my computer and put on the new Stephen Steinbrink. That’s how crucial his new album Ugly Unknowns is to my summer existence.

image from natrixnatixrecords.com

image from natrixnatixrecords.com

At just 21 years old, the capable Arizonian is a member of Gilgongo Records alongside such artists as Hell-Kite, Foot Village, and Married In Birdichev. Previously performing under the moniker French Quarter, he now chooses to perform under his own name, Stephen Steinbrink, to which is latest album is credited.

Besides the calming beauty of his kindly voice, Steinbrink has an obvious way with words, articulately crafting contemplative and poetic songs reflecting his search for truth, morality and stability. Songs such as “On Sleeping” and “My Best Intent” prove brutally catchy with their simple guitar riffs paired with Steinbrink’s peacefully ringing melodies. In the words of Gilgongo, Ugly Unknowns are “blissful and uplifting survival songs recorded throughout Arizona at various friends’ houses. Urgent, sincere and real.”

Try it out from Bolachas Gratis here, then kick down some dough for the real thing here.

Be sure to check out his blog and catch him along the way of his following tour with Foot Ox:

6.25.09 – Portland, OR – Da Punx Palace w/ Bri White

6.26.09 – Olympia, WA – ABC House W/ Polka Dot Dot Dot, LAKE

6.27.09 – Seattle, WA – Healthy Times Fun Club w/ iji, Your Heart Breaks, Calvin Johnson

6.29.09 – Arcata, CA – The Green House w/ Watercolor Paintings, David Jaberi

7.01.09 – Sacramento, CA – Cosmic Cafe w/ ALAK

7.02.09 – Davis, CA – Robot Rocket House w/ ALAK

7.03.09 – San Francisco, CA – The Oven

7.06.09 – Isla Vista, CA – Isla Vista Food Co-op

7.07.09 – Los Angeles, CA – Women w/ Whitman

7.08.09 – Long Beach, CA – The Hickey Underworld

7.09.09 – San Diego, CA – The Boat House

7.10.09 – Tucson, AZ – The HangArt

7.11.09 – Flagstaff, AZ – Killian and Jonathan’s House

7.12.09 – Phoenix, AZ – The Trunk Space w/ Bri White


Apparently there’s a direct correlation between the size of the world and the amount of time you spend on social networks. For starters, when your friend’s new roommate Troy says he’s playing a potluck show and turns out to be Dead Western, who you knew through a month-long email correspondence while trying to set him up with a show in Arcata.

When the band spending the night on Troy and Drew’s floor has the exact same colour, make, and model car as you and park it next to yours, which is confusing at first.

When you sit around listening to KDVS all afternoon and find a reason to re-fall in love with radio because of a show called Frizzltroniks & Plunderphonics, an experimental mashup show that turns out to be DJ-ed by Encephalous, the man behind Pretty Hemp Princess.

When your friend joins two other bands- Chelsea Wolf, the girl who opened for Shelby Sifers the time we met Skip from Estereo, as well as Alak, formerly Alas Alak Alaska, who played a show at your house a few years back.

Le sigh. The coincidences you find when you’re looking for them.


Days go by and I continue packing. Not much left anymore. Just cardboard-box towers holding all the ticket stubs, show flyers, and albums I couldn’t bear to throw away yet.

Packing requires an eclectic playlist to keep you going- old favorites that cheer you up along with upbeat new stuff devoid of any sentimental value so you can throw stuff away without tearing up. The playlist over the past few days has consisted of a lot of this:

The Monks- Black Monk Time, A great re-release by Light In The Attic of a 60’s garage classic. Taking their place as the Anti-Beatles, The Monks were ex-army boys in Germany who started a rock band after their tour of duty was up. Complete with shaved heads, monk robes, and neck-tie nooses, they set out to make dissonant, angry music for the ugly world around them, and ended up with a ranting, raving underground classic that gains a wider audience each time it’s re-released (this edition marks the 6th). This album is new to me and I’ve only listened to it a couple of times through, though I’ve already picked my favorites to sing along with, most notably “Drunken Maria.” Strikes me as an apt title for a radio show whenever I get to wherever it is I’m going.

The Animals- The Singles Plus, I’m not one to condone “Best of” compilations, but I do make casual exceptions when it comes to introducing myself to a band with a large catalog. In this case, The Singles Plus contains well, the classics, which is exactly what I was looking to hear. Nina Simone cover “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood,” “House of The Rising Sun,” and of course, my packing theme song, “We’ve Got to Get Out of This Place.” The only thing that it’s really missing is their epically funny “Story of Bo Diddly,” a story-song that includes their own brief musical history up through the 1960s with small impressions including the Beatles’ “Hard Days Night” and Bo Diddley himself.

Sunset Rubdown- Dragonslayer, because Spencer Krug involves himself in such a variety of projects, it’s totally possible to listen to several new releases of his a year. As Stereogum aptly noted, Krug releases usually come in a round of three: Swan Lake, Wolf Parade, Sunset Rubdown, repeat. As Swan Lake recently put out Enemy Mine, and Wolf Parade has just released At Mount Zoomer, it’s high time for new Rubdown release, which June 23 will officially bring via Jagjaguwar.

I loved Dragonslayer as soon as I put it on, and my fondness for it grows with every listen. With great lyrics and pure rocking passionate, it’s looking to be my album of the summer. While I want to gush my praise by quoting every line and hailing it as “genius!”, I’ll resist, merely  quoting the first of many great lines of Idiot Heart, “No, I was never much of a dancer but I know enough to know you gotta move, your idiot body around.” So true.


Well, graduation was a success in that it occurred and I didn’t trip while crossing the stage. It started off at the ungodly hour of 8:30 in the morning with all the cold and fog that the hour entails. This is me doing my best graduation airplane arms.

I love California graduation shots because everyone’s invariably wearing sunglasses. It makes the whole event feel that much hipper.

Now that I’ve moved on from the student thing, I’ve taken a temporary PR gig for the Fortuna Rodeo despite the fact that I’ve never been to a rodeo. On the side we’re getting Das Gast Haus all ready for re-sale, a terrifying undertaking that entails throwing away four years worth of accrued knick-knackery and boxes of things I “just can’t” do without. Tis the season for a yard sale.


In light of the Hannah Montana review, my roommates bought me this beautiful graduation present from Kmart while they were tooling around yesterday. They’re actually two different pairs, but I figured I would mix and match.

It’s true, I’m graduating from HSU tomorrow morning at 8 fricking a.m. Don’t they know arts and humanities students sleep in later than any other department? Regardless, this hilarious Asher Roth parody has been brought to my attention just in time, reflecting my sentiments exactly. There’s even a Humboldt reference. Check it out: I Hate College by Ivan Ives