reading

The latest in the continuing series. This particular memory inspired by a friend's standing-room-only reading that I attended this past week at one of our local bookstores. Watching her read in exactly the same place Rocket Girl read nearly sixteen years ago.

Capitola - Summer, 1995.

Previously.

what does it mean that these all look like attractive alternatives?

Craigslist Apartments.

not quite a hiatus

As you might deduce from the weeks that have passed since the last post, things are currently a bit (well, actually more than a bit) unsettled chez citizen. But rather than just let this sucker sit here untended while things either do or do not work out, I thought I'd fill the void with assorted stuff I happen upon during my increasingly sporadic random net exploration - minus the scintillating commentary that this blog has never actually become known for.

Today, via Clayton Cubitt, it's the video for Woodkid's Iron. Both the song and video are by Yoann Lemoine (who, coincidentally, was also the director of this previously posted video). While you can watch it below, it's a lot better at its orginal size on vimeo or at Yoann's web site.

what matters in america

From the front page of today's Huffington Post:

Plus, it's hot on Twitter!

c'mon people, what the hell's it going to take?

Seriously.

cold war

Still not much bloggin' energy, but I'd been meaning to post this for a while with some would-be clever writing about how you should go buy the album and listen to it all the way through in one sitting while giving it your undivided attention. So, sorry about the lack of cleverness, but do it anyway. This woman is an artist of astonishing potential (which, if you're not already familiar with her work, will only become obvious when you've heard more than just this song).

how anonymous did it

Fascinating.

(via ars technica)

irish spring

On Monday afternoon, August 2nd (our 26th anniversary), Rocket Girl went shopping at the local Costco and bought, among other things, two very large packages of 4 oz. bars of Irish Spring "Original" soap. They were put away in their traditional place in the bathroom cabinet next to the shower where they would be within easy reach whenever it became time to replace a bar that had eroded past efficient cleansing utility.

This morning, I opened the last of those bars of soap.

For the first time in a little over six months, Irish Spring soap is back on our shopping list.

Fuck.

ecstatic dances for the human sacrifices

Not much energy for bloggin' around the Citizen's place these days, so what better time to fulfill my goal of making the archetypal liberal blog post:

What digby said.

emperor tomato ketchup

In honor of an unexpected development in another of my sources of distraction, here's Stereolab performing Cybele's Reverie and Les Yper Sound live on Jools Holland back in the mid 90s.