Evil and Balance

Ways to Go About Doing It

2008-01-26T02:59:00.000-08:00

It's positive year, it's 2008! bad things happen to good people, but now bad can mutate. i lost my cell phone and am losing my hearing, but today my sister saved herself 900 bucks in city taxes and a man bowling pinned another guy to death but it was only on the silverscreen and i got to laugh and drink diet coke afterwards. the times are not so savage!!!

So there's this girl thing i go to.. we talk about girl things and eat cheeses and the other night we took a crack at 'problem solving.' most of us didn't share any dilemmas of particular weight, it was getting late and sometimes you just don't want to go there b/c you need to save energy to jog or brush your teeth the next morning. but things don't have to be heavy to make your life heavy... shed some of the light crap and how much more manageable your situation can become. that's one premise anyway.

gnight

Found Footage: Tour '06 - Entry #4

2006-05-31T21:49:00.001-07:00

It's hard to reflect and harder to write it down. Luckily I got this (very) little video clip from our friend Samuel Dixon. Location: backstage at World Cafe Live in Philadelphia, just before we hit the stage, when we were still young and slightly innocent. Contains mild nudity and no music. Enjoy.

Click HERE for video.

Microsoft Country: Tour '06 - Entry #3

2006-05-05T17:49:00.000-07:00

[highway, seattle]

the rumors about the pacific northwest are totally true. northern northern california into portland into seattle ... what great smelling territory! mends the little broken puppet sides of you and makes you feel appreciative and happy... good pine, good mountains, good fog...

Portland also secretly houses one of the most hospitable families i've ever met (kim's cousins). We stayed with them our second night in P-Town. Besides the bedding, towels, a key to the house, welcome notes, don't worry about making noise notes, we woke up the next morning after her cousin's had already gone to work. We were tired, crusty, hungry and wandered into the kitchen to find it mapped out with post-it notes on all the cupboards like so:

wow.

As for Seattle...

i got to see a friend i hadn't seen in 3 1/2 years. Somehow in that short spell, he'd gotten married, become the father of a handsome two year old and had another baby on the way, He came to the show in seattle where the loud girl shouted for kim and me to go back to la. That and damp clapping left us down on our show, but he said that we girls "delivered the rock." And he reads the Economist and owns lots of cd's. So, okay...

But not before Sia announced she was dedicating every song that night to us . Every single song. Even when she forgot, she'd do a backwards dedication "...oh and that song was for Eagle and Talon, too..." SO nice. Very sia.

And I'd like to go on, but it's time to pack up my drums for the t's bowl gig tonight. Kim got back from Canada just a few hours ago! Eagle and Talon is whole again!

Nothing is Free: Tour '06 - Entry #2

2006-05-03T16:48:00.001-07:00

Suffer for your art! Exhibits a & b.

[Publicity machine/poor posture in alice's living room]

[Eagle and Talon Cares EP slowdancing after 4/3 Troubadour show, kim's living room)

Minimum Five Cries: Tour '06 - Entry #1

2006-05-01T20:03:00.001-07:00

[E&T and our tour manager chad, n. jersey diner]

Preface:
I used to think I ruined things. Un-midas touch, you know..things you touch turn to tar. Like several years back when I eurailed europe, I really DIDN'T have the best time of my life...went to foreign cities, sometimes liked their statues and things, but sometimes felt like a lonely nomad -- I was worried there was something to the core wrong with me.

Then i met this gal from berlin who was a 'negative optimist' - basically low hopes for most things and then being happy when outcomes weren't completely shitty. Anyway, it got her by. I thought hmmm maybe a way to be i dunno...

Enter Spring Tour 2006...

Present-day Alice was pretty sure we were going to have an incredible amount of fun on the road (first ever national tour with the lovely sia and her adorable band) but I was also thoroughly prepared for me or kim to break down and cry a few times, have some spats, endure a couple of ego-destroying shows, get fired.

FINAL SCORECARD:

Crying: I think k talon shed tears about 2 1/2 times and i cried twice. (causes included: pms, anxiety, jerks, border tension, bad weather)

Fights: no hair-pulling or bitemarks but Kim punched several stomaches and left bruises on one of the tougher-looking guys on tour...Things got a little dicey during the dirty, drive-intensive leg from minnesota to chicago to toronto. But food, a ymca and apologies kept us intact.

Awful Gigs: As some of you know, kim got heckled in seattle. Actually, we both did, but only kim heard it, so essentially she suffered alone. In philly we suffered together though. Nothing serious just our little friend, Signor Technical Problems of Yore dropping in to say hi.

Job Security: We didn't get fired!

Of course, these are the first thought that fizz inside my head as i try to BLOG about this whole tour thing. More details and stories and pictures to come. Welcome to the BELATED TOUR CHRONICLE of the twin talons and their trusty (trusting?) tour manager CHAZZZZ.

hold hands, cross slowly...

love,
alice

Eagle and Talon Let Go

2006-01-30T16:37:00.000-08:00

It was our first time doing this sort of thing and inside the trailer parked outside a sculptors workshop/warehouse out in east la, nice amiable people were all about working hard to make us to look more like ourselves. Shellacked in hairspray, flesh-toned powders, expensive rouge and strategically enhanced with lash extensions, orange shadow, green liner, kim and i were realler than we'd ever been before.

We were just getting our final touch-ups when Kurt the photographer came in: "So, i think i know what we're going to do. We found this gigantic barrel out back...Alice, we're going to have you get inside it and Kim will be on the outside not really aware you're there, you know, it'll be like...two prairie dogs. It'll be good."

I was giving myself over to being deeply amused when kim let out a nervous laugh and asked, "are you serious?" He smiled and threw out a reassuring "we'll just try it out okay?"

Okay. (?)

I spent the next hour squatting inside a giant peeling barrel with a totally great outfit on and just my head poking out. Next to my rusty doghouse and totally beyond my line of vision, Kim tried hard to look langorous lying amidst wheatlike shrubs, itchy grass and damp soil. I tried looking at her with evil intent the way i thought an evil prairie dog might do. my feet went numb.

In the end they got rid of the barrel and took another round of pictures with us in fancier borrowed clothes that were intended to help explore the scene's "yinyang oppositional" concept. I got into it (as in slight friction) with the wardrobe stylist, but eventually gave up being bratty and just put on the damn chiffony top they wanted me to wear. We took photos for another 45 minutes. I'm sad to say they ended up choosing one from this batch so you won't get to see eagle and talon's suffering in the grass properly documented.

Anyway, i'm making it out to sound a lot more horrible than it was. Truth is, it was really fun and there are worse things than getting pampered and made up by a talented crew and trying out some girly rituals that you've tended to avoid most of your life. Admittedly, I was a little dumbfounded with the elaborateness of the whole production, but maybe that's what happens when things get professional.

I dunno.

Whatever the case, the whole experience was eye-opening in terms of the malleability of image and how there are just so many ways to represent yourself (in print, in text, in life). And sometimes, and i do only mean sometimes, it doesn't have to be such a terrible thing if you approach it with a sense of adventure or happy halloween everybody! or whatever, rather than seeing it as an assassination of who you are.

that said, you won't see me wearing a leopard-print thong in this lifetime (unless it's keeping my head warm or something).

yours,
alice

p.s. the article comes out this sunday in the latimes/west magazine. be gentle.

The Cowboy and the Gunslinger

2005-11-12T14:02:00.000-08:00

I'm off to the 1st annual international tamale festival (up on n. spring st and w. ann) with my kid brother and his newly arrived girlfriend (from Korea via Taiwan). we're going to sicken ourselves with cornmeal. It should be delicious fun.

In honor, a dream (from friday night):

Am sitting in some kind of well-lit coffee bar, the kind you find in the bottom of a hotel lobby in some country in asia. There's no smell of coffee, no chatter or rough drafts, just tables and me. A stranger (caucasian, male, jeans) comes up to me asking for an extra pen (to keep). I'm sitting at a round wooden table with a stapled manuscript, a good pen on the left and a clear plastic one on the right . I look at the cheap one - i was writing with it -- "No."

Later he's sitting at a rectangular table next to the window. Now we're enemies and somehow i happen to know that this guy has four balls and I start taunting him about have those two extra testes and he doesn't like that much. But it's not enough to just see him riled and I start calling him "Quattro!" from across the room. That's when he loses his shit and suddenly jumps out of his chair lunging and is in my face reaching for my throat he's gonna rip out my larynx make it stop saying
"Quattro" but my right arm is already fully extended, my right fist, two inches from his nose "Don't or I'll punch your face I'll do it I will!"

Scene.

-a

Psych Lab

2005-11-10T15:30:00.000-08:00

The term "Bambi-Is-A-Snake" I heard a few weeks back at the restaurant. My customer was explaining how his wife worked at Nordstroms and how much it sucked, the hours, the customers, "...not to mention Bambi-Is-A-Snake [referring to his wife's bitchy, but sunny-faced co-worker]..."

Anyway, friends knows this -- i used to be a English teacher in Taiwan. For more than a year, I walked around with stabbing headaches and cheeks shredded by acne --- I'd never been so stressed in my life. Once, before class, my whole torso filled up with, yes, gas and I ended up at the school track, burping for three rubber-turfed laps until I worked off all the anxiety. It was hard being insecure and a teacher.

So, I can sorta empathize with my teacher at LACC. (The class is THTR 001 - beginning acting. Signed up cuz I was scared and curious) She's a short, slight woman, late thirties to early forties, cute, but large pouches under her eyes, skin shiny from lotsa daily moisturizer. Her hair is amber colored, wavy, above chin-length, bangs in the front. She always wears three-quarters length pants.

So there's this girl, M________ all brown curves spilling out of expensive, too-small clothes with nice salon highlights and haircut. Almost sexy. Like Eve Langoria (sp?) with a wrester's build. A total attention hog but amusing and uninhibited and always the first to get up and volunteer to go up when everyone else is feeling pre-noon shyness -- even if she does always preface by announcing that she hasn't prepared and is just gonna have to wing it.

The first week we had to go up and share a life-changing moment with the class. She told us she'd gotten into pot at 13, coke when she was 14 and everything else the year after and was basically a total wreck until her mom forced her to go to rehab and boarding school. And now she was totally cleaned up except for the occasional rendezvous with weed.

This past Monday she walked in, went up and whispered something to the teacher -- turns out she'd lost her voice and would have to do her monologue on Wednesday. She sat down and during critiques, whispered hoarse comments to the guy sitting next to her, which he then rebroadcast to the class. As I was leaving class, I told her I hoped she got her voice back. She laughed and answered in her normal voice.

Yesterday only 6 of us were in attendance. Rain was mucking things up outside. We were discussing different ways to approach our monologues and ended up on the topic of "covers" -- my teacher's term for how we mask feelings we don't want to show -- like busting grins-all-around when we're actually upset about something or making mucous jokes after we've finished crying our eyes out (me) or just staying really stoic when inside we're MOTHERFUCKIN MAD!!

So twenty minutes into the class, M______ pops her head in the door and gesticulates wildly. Something about being double parked...she'll be back in a second.

The discussion continues. Pretty lively. People are rifling their pasts for insight, they're asking the teacher lots of questions. Everyone's engaged. My teacher is standing in front of us, riffing fluidly:

She has a student in another class who doesn't come often but when she does, is always crazy hostile and antagonistic. Later it comes out that the girl's family was displaced to Lancaster after Katrina and her homelife has been an absolute madhouse.

She has a British friend that covers his disappointment with his life and his bitterness with his country's class system with explosive anger. Favorite phrase: "fucking cunt of a whore." Once a plate went flying.

Covers help us feel in control of our situation. We use them all the time.
Like, she continues, if any of us had to, we could easily do imitations of each other. We would just pick some essence of the person that we radar in daily interaction and just act that out -- and essentially we'd be acting out each other's covers. For instance, (she goes over to the doorway), she could do M____. (She crouches a little and waves her arms wildly and makes a goofy exaggerated imitation of our double-parked classmate.)

It's a poor impression. My mouth is registering a funny taste.

M__ apparently never finds a way to un-double-park her car because with thirty minutes left in the class, she's still not there. As the discussion winds down - teacher brings our missing classmate back into it:

"Take M____ for instance - here's a person who has very few or almost no covers" (Two students in front look at each other quizzically and chime "or just one big cover!") The teacher keeps going.

"That's what makes her kinda this free personality," she gesticulates to conjure some related essence, "and frankly" she strolls over to her desk, "kind of... fucked up." Really matter of fact like. Like she's not telling us anything anybody doesn't know. Somebody laughs.

The Armenian kid who told the butt-shaped avacado parable during Week 2 and a girl with long turquoise fingernails who looks a lot like Nico go up and do their two-minute condom skit.

We're instructed to think about "covers" over the weekend.

I duck out early to move my car. Wednesday street cleaning. Meter's almost up.

--alice the worm

Seed Freak

2005-09-29T15:06:00.000-07:00

Things are very specific. Cappucino is too lite and frothy. Espresso is too strong and too hot. A latte is kinda feyish and in all the jokes about over-priveleged folk. Perfection on a hot sluggish day I guess is then a double shot of espresso over ice with a small splash of half and half and a quarter packet of sugar. A brownie or something chocolate-y and solid is good company too.

So I've just spent too long at the art store trying to differentiate between cream, banana, sahara and eggshell paper stocks for the eagle and talon ep/demo. But I leave the store with two large sheets of color paper in hand. Time to reward my decisiveness. I swing by the Beverly Coffee Bean (which alanna (sister) hates and boycotts solely because she hates the font) and order the usual double espresso over ice, one of the shots decaf please. The kid who makes it needs the order repeated. Clue 1.

A little about the beverly coffee been. It's a small one. Hyper space conserving. Really an angular enclosed coffee stand with one way traffic indoors and a small outdoor seating area. It's not a real coffeehouse. Whatever. It gets the job done.

So I'm waiting behind the plexiglass which keeps steamed milk particles from coating my specs and my mouth vapors off the stainless steel espresso machine. The kid who's making my thing turns to the curly-haired gentleman in front of me and asks whether he wants water added to it.

???

The man affirms. The kid goes to the back, near the ice machine, adds water, smacks the cup on the counter and announces that my double espresso with a shot of decaf over ice is ready. I look at the watered down mixture floating an inch over the ice and ask if he put a SHOT of decaf ESPRESSO in there (as opposed to some unpotent decaf coffee?) He says YES, sans flinch or hesitation, zero indication that anything is wrong.

Okay...

[The sad little girl goes outside to the patio to dress her coffee.]

Outside, I look at the tan colored water again. I taste it... -- well still fairly strong, maybe I saw/heard wrong. Okay. So I add some half and half (a little less than usual-- just in case), stir it up, examine the coffee a few more times as I walk out of the place and grow increasingly perturbed by the thought that the kid MUST HAVE have added water to my afternoon life elixir. I get in the car drinking my now increasingly weak and watery- tasting coffee, going back and forth on what just happened. Maybe there's a possibility that he didn't do what I SAW him do.

Though my memory is auto-repeating the scene:
"Do you want water added to this?" said the Coffee Bean's slim novice to the curly-haired gentleman as the unwitting asian girl stood by watching. "Sir, would you like water added to this?" "Sir, water to ruin her coffee?" The barista strides to the back to add water.

Revisionist history. The Holocaust. 1984 and the Ministry of Propaganda. I am here in sunny, happy privileged, Los Angeles away from female hurricanees, drinking the key to the seed.

The REVISING of reality to explain/make sense of an unexpected or undesired reality... In my world view it made absolutely no sense for a barista to add unsolicited WATER to my espresso and then ask somebody ELSE if it was okay. Why would he do that? He must not have done that. My coffee must be okay.

Despite the fact that it's weak, thin, not okay.

Does the evening weather report later reveal that ice had a lower melting point this afternoon causing water levels to rise in coffee drinks to unexpected levels?

Who know.

Well, I"m home now. Blogging, drinking an anemic iced double espresso, listening to recently downloaded "Maneater" and now "Suburbia." Melodies were amazing back then.

My woes are definitely trivial.

Still, insofar as a bad cup of coffee unleashes diseases of the mind, everything

AVEC PLAISIR

-alice

microfiche

2005-07-11T10:56:00.000-07:00

I like technology. I like watching it bring in new day-to-day rituals for the american public. I like the easy or messy transitional period and how it eventually gives way to a time when such and such technology is implicated into our lives as something we do without thinking -- like coughing between movements at Roy O., putting the stick between my groceries and hers, swerving to avoid the smashed up squirrel.

So, yes, yes, Google has changed library sciences and IMDB is an indispensible party tool ("what other movies has Emilio Estevez been in?") Somehow, more is known with books being opened less - thank you, Internet. Not everyone can be as cool as you...Still:

The other day i was in my car, driving out of the labrinth underneath Best Buy and Target (near La Brea) and there was an express line for people who'd already paid for their tickets at kiosks. You get a ticket going in, you pay a dollar into a machine on your way out, you find the lane with no operator and stick your card in, the bar lifts, you look at the guy with the walkie talkie helping out drivers trained in their old way of life -- (the way that still involves a minimum wage parking attendant, sometimes smiling but often not, who slides your magnetic strip through a card reader, takes your money, tells you to have a good day) -- you're amused while you look at walkie talkie guy cuz you're smart and you don't need his help but America (California) ((Los Angeles)) (((West Hollywood))) will continue to need him for probably at least another half a year (actually maybe shorter if Best Buy higher-ups eventually realize they can streamline the process with bigger signs, cashiers reminding shoppers to pay for their tickets and more strategically-placed kiosks. But either way) a whole category of boring employment will have been phased out on the corner of Santa Monica and La Brea. You exit the parking structure. Culture evolves in small and mundane ways.

i went to a party a month and a half ago. it was public, well-attended and at somebody's apartment so smoking was allowed cuz the whole operation was illegal to begin with. It all flooded back. how "going out" used to mean coming home with clothes that were permanent pressed with a gross amalgam of sweat, smoke, and vaporized beer. sore feet and odor were the price you paid. and then you got used to it... same way you're now used to california, the producers leaving bad tips, atkins keeping bread off the streets, TJ's herb salad mix, band friction, band release, traffic patterns on beverly, strawberry crepes, things happening slower than you expect blah blah bluh bleh buhhhhhhhhhh...

-a talon

Concussed in the Back

2005-04-22T00:56:00.000-07:00

er something like that.

Hey! I've decided to be punctual again. I realized the propensity for staring at my car clock (set 11 minutes fast -- it works!) while speeding -- gas meter hovering on empty -- toward whatever destination i'm about to be exactly 10 minutes late for and then parking, jumping out of the car and running the final leg when my heart has no wish to palpitate this fast and my gambs are most often used in the service of WALKING to procure FOOD -- it's just no good. Plus being late induces stress and fiasco.

Fiasco-most-recent:
Tuesday. Just before noon. I'm only five minutes late to work and am in fact congratulating myself as I walk up to the restaurant only to find the front door locked. bummer. must go round to back.

Go round to the back gate. Locked. What is this?!

I start shouting the names of cooks cuz i can hear activity in the kitchen but the only person whose attention I get is a grumpy young guy who lives in the back house adjacent to the kitchen's alley. He sticks his head out his window and barks out in this hating life tone how he's trying to talk on the phone and would i stop yelling and go in through the fucking front. He doesn't actually say "fucking." He's one of those guys who doesn't have to punctuate his words with expletives and it still sounds like he's said them. cuz his heart is FULL OF POISON.

I gather he's a misanthrope. Or maybe he's just existentially dissatisfied and doesn't know what to do about it. No, at that moment he's a misanthrope and I definitely kind of hate him.

I calmly explain to Jerk that it isn't my purpose or joy to be stuck outside yelling like this and the front door idea was duly entertained, look, would he like to yell on my behalf so I can shut up or what? He barks ineffectually then ducks back into his house. After about 8 more minutes of yelling, Cuyo, the shrimp prep chef comes out but instead of taking the five steps forward to unlock the gate, he tells me to go round to the front again.

Guess what? Front door still locked.

Back to the back gate, more yelling, same cook finally lets me in.

I stomp in ranting about idiots only to see my boss and the other waitress already inside. Apparently, my boss has decided that morning to lay down the law and teach all his chronically tardy employees a big fat lesson by sealing the restaurant entrances at exactly 11:30 am and ordering the punctual employees not to let anyone in. His smugness and sense of justice served and lack of remorse make me livid. To think that all the yelling and getting yelled at and running back and forth around the building were due to my boss's inability to have a civilized conversation with his employees. Ire!!!

So i crashed around the restaurant, throwing forks next to plates and fluffing napkins, crying and calling my boss immature, and chastising him for not just stepping up and being boss enough to talk to us like adults, saying how mean it was to just let me stand out there yelling with no clue what was going on and making me get yelled at by the mr. alley asshole...
The hysteria went on for a good half hour. Then I calmed down, we talked, we apologized. Everything's okay now. I still have a job. I'm still not mature.

In other news: I was almost late for being on time to work this evening, but after I backed my car out, I had to close my garage door to keep evildoers out. It's a heavy garage door where you have to yank down on this metal handle on the inside that cuts into your hand as you grip it and i use the inside handle even when I'm trying to close the garage door from the outside because it's easier to reach. And then when you get the door partway down, you duck under and finish closing it from the outside.

For some reason, I forgot to duck and brought the garage door crashing straight down on my head. The cranian is apparently really hard b/c although i was quite positive i'd caused some nice lateral cracks, my brain remained inside my head and I was able to drive to work. Thank the goodness for skulls.

I have no feelings to talk about right now. Just woeful anecdotes that may explain why i suddenly start showing up to places early all the time and why I can't remember my name.

booooooooooo

-a talon

what are "drivers"? what makes someone a "driver"?

2005-04-15T00:57:00.000-07:00

I was blinded by beverly today. I was weaving down her hair when for the first time since I left the house, I took off my sunglasses. It felt like I fell through a hole like alice did through the looking glass. I quickly put them on again to help secure the lives of other "drivers". The sun here somehow seems unnatural, it's not like the sun in other places. and not only that; it's not honest. but, maybe its not the sun's fault that it lies, los angeles has made the sun a monster and it's not its fault.

all of this directly relates to our recording venture. where is our recording venture? it's moved locations, it's stopped to think, it's been picked on and bullied (by us) and now? well, I'm going away next week so it rests a little longer until its found its other shoe. what's important is that: it will get done, there's nothing wrong w/ switching studios 2/3rds into a session and we are feminists.

the talented director Serena Shen of China has recently completed her documentary titled "Girls Gone Band" about the claws of Eagle and Talon. It's emotional, hilarious and revealing. We will perhaps screen it someday or put it up on our website or you can go over to Alice's house when she's sleeping and watch it then.

I'm going to go to put things down now but, a few things you may want to know about:

1)Airborne- you may have heard of it, it's an all natural orange fizz/herbal mixture that helps prevent colds when you feel them coming on, I like it, it works (echinacea can't hang on its own anymore)

2) When your angry it's hard to stop being angry

3) There's this phermone that moths are attracted to that you can buy and stick to sticky cardboard, they're called moth traps and they do just that

4) Keeping up old friendships with people you never really liked may be a waste of time and energy

5) Don't sign a month to month lease, it allows landlords to raise your rent as often as they feel like and in certain cases take away the one parking spot shared between eight tenants (who knew?!?)

So, that's enough.

More news about how the girls have gone band to come....
K-Talon

when will this end? when will it begin? is this now?

2005-03-23T01:08:00.000-08:00

it's late (for me right now). it's cold (my arms are annoyed) and apparently I'm whining. things are much more difficult for a lot of people yet, I'm whining. is that allowed?

at least there's the rain, I hope it will just pour and pour until all the dirt's washed away and the gum.

there's a lot of recording going on. i'm almost finished recording this song for Justice Duncan's album which is really fun for me. it's a completely different style than I'm used to, it's lady-like and sugary. next man recording shall be for MC Corwin's split album which is also relieving because I don't have to write anything! it's just there, how nice.

tomorrow alice and I tredge down to little tokyo to do a little pre-recording recording w/ the help of Alanna Lin. we're recording 3 songs w/ Richard at Sonora and need to find out if we've successfully figured out how to play bass yet. it's a strange thing; this idea of ours. let's record a demo that has bass on it, and instead of asking one of our bass player friends to play for us, let's just do it ourselves. you know, teach eachother how to play bass beautifully in five weeks and then write the bass lines of our wildest dreams.

I can't sleep. I'm afraid of the moth's. apparently we have a moth infestation (little ones)and this morning while making my bed I noticed little moth wings on the opposite side of the bed that I sleep on, I just breathed. what else could I do? but I hate them I kill them and I don't care.

maybe I'll go change my sheets and put moth balls in my stuffed animals and cedar chips in my mouth.

wishing you a restful evening, you know -k tal

Life-like

2005-03-14T16:08:00.000-08:00

Today, on the way home from Fascinoma practice in Little Tokyo, I stopped at Koo Koo Roo, the chicken palace on the corner of Larchmont and Beverly. The car was loaded with gear, the kick drum was indiscreetly hidden under a dirty maroon bedsheet, the high hat stand was collapsed and getting grease on the backseat upholstery. I was totally exhausted.

It had been manic music days all week, Saturday had been what that famous fem artist Barbara Kruger might term "incredibly life-like," and the prospect of going to work (waitressing) in less than an hour in this state made it imperative that I get some good franchise food in my body.

I've been at this Koo Koo Roo exactly twice now, but the affinity is not a new thing. When I lived in Taiwan (2 yrs ago), I hung with a rough gang of expatriot ultimate frisbee players and Sundays after our pick up game, we'd sometimes go to dinner. Once we went to Koo Koo Roo (or what is logged in my memory as such, but as I'm writing this, I'm beginning to wonder...whatever, anyway) the seed was planted there when I had one of their delicious chicken fajitas. Then I crossed the pacific, to sweet L.A.

In early 2004, back when Fascinoma was still Linister and Eagle and Talon had just begun to play out, I somehow got pulled onto a strange side project that involved two guys and me pounding out relentless, repetitive metal riffs and a successful animator in his 40's putting on a flesh-colored bodysuit custom outfitted with a giant (again "incredibly lifelike") prosthetic penis -- complete with painted warts & pubes -- (theoretically) improvising spoken word delights to an enraptured audience that would appreciate the unlikely pairing of such content and visuals. Unfortunately, the whole thing was a bit of a bust (read: DISASTER!!!) and suggested that the contemporary public-- and the guy's Industry peer group -- did not enjoy seeing a grown man flail about in a penis costume, screaming beer-laced obscenities while pretending to crap on stage through creative use of his magic "snake-in-a-can." Worth noting: the prosthetic genital was the size of a large forearm and was outfitted with a plastic tube that enabled the wearer of the penis suit to spray his audience with warm beer. (Homage to urination?!)

In retrospect, there were many reasons not to be involved in this project, but somehow I ignored them all -- (the hazards of an open mind and a mouth that leaks "yes"). So the project lasted exactly one very well-attended gig after which bass player and I politely excused ourselves from any future involvement, the guitarist stuck around out of kindness, and the band leader admitted to the possible presence of accumulated anger interfering with his ability to make enjoyable transgressive art. But the point the point! is that I still fondly recall the days I'd speed up the 101, exit Lankershim, pass the lighted sign of Koo Koo Roo which was just adjacent to our rehearsal space, careen into a parking lot, and dart into the Boston Market of California to get a side of macaroni, garlic mashed potatoes and green beans before heading up to practice -- which consisted of the guitarist, bassist and me working out our parts and playing our three "tunes" for a stamina-building ten minutes each, while the lead singer sat and listened and made sure we were laying down the appropriate bed of sound for him to improvise on come The Big Night. But he never actually sang with us during rehearsal, a fact which now clearly seems to prophesize the project's necessary doom, but we'd all heard him waxing lyrical and poetic and hilarious on old recordings and it was clear from the archival stuff that the guy really had something.

The fact that "old" meant "from the seventies" somehow failed to phase any of us. So Tuesday night band practice, despite resembling an evening of karaoke at a karaoke bar with no patrons and no participants, just a dangling mic and a broken machine spitting out vehement instrumentals at maximum volume, went on like that. We all willingly proceeded on faith and maybe the notion that genius lasts... Then the performance came, shame was felt, and Penis Man rehearsals and my once-a-week romance with Koo Koo Roo in North Hollywood came to an end.

So yesterday, back at Koo Koo Roo, the Penis days far from my mind, but faith sort of hovering in the foreground (I'd dropped Alanna off at morning mass earlier that morning), I pulled out the copy of God, Guilt, And Death I'd grabbed off alanna's shelf. It was a formidable looking paperback with GOD, GUILT, AND DEATH printed in big navy blue letters on a stark white cover. Talking to my food was boring, so I read the preface.

The book (dense, but lucid) basically deals with the phenomenology of religion, that is, not the truth or falsity of religious tenets, but the Experience of religion, the forms, the significance and the existence of religiosity and spirituality in humans. Alanna had raved about the book last year - - it had been one of her favorite reads -- but I'd been cultivating a distance from religion since my junior year abroad (in a surprisingly secular Scotland) after which I stopped being tortured about my non-faith. I'd become what I cagily referred to as an "atheist with agnostic leanings" and came to adopt a general disinterest in any topics concerning religion, even though I'd sometimes marvel at the good works of certain religious institutions and even though Alanna/Pastor Mindy Chiu is a respectable woman of faith.

(Cleveland Metroparks & Mindy Chiu, Nov. 2004)

Anyway, apart from my dad's occasional attempts to argue proofs for the existence of god during a family hike in the Cleveland metroparks last year and my parents predictably volunteering me to lead prayer before holiday dinners, I no longer agonize over God or first causes and universal morality, the problem of evil or whatever. The pressure's off as far as religion's concerned, so the claws have retracted a bit, and dismissiveness has just recently given way to mild curiousity. Admittedly, I've sort of treated religious friends/siblings I regard as intelligent and cool as freak accidents, whose religious proclivities are just a glitch in the wiring (to be acknowledged then passed over.) The thing is: it's not something I actually understand and I kinda want to at this point. Seriously. Like for modern people, what is the whole god thing about?

(Mom and Dad Lin)

I'm only a few pages into the book and have no plans to start counting beads or asking anyone to be my personal savior, but the author's already brought up some really intriguing ideas re: the function and creation of the sacred and I'm very excited about the insights the book might yield. Anyway, I'm in for a very good read. Maybe you are, too. For those interested , it's officially (and scarily) God, Guilt and Death: An Existential Phenomenology of Religion by Merold Westphal.

Something to poo to!

-alice

I'm Determined to B-B-B-B-log!

2005-01-01T16:41:00.001-08:00

This is my new post. It's been a two month hibernation. Not that I haven't thought or felt anything for 60 days-- just a general failure to organize and articulate that swirly cumulus into something intelligible for the blogship. But threats and ridicule from peers and bandmates and self-guilt have combined to get the best of me. To celebrate the new year, I'm coming out of my hole.

Various things:
I'm now 28. I still get carded. I now own a small container of facial moisturizer. Thanks dad.

It's 2005. I've been in LA for slightly over 2 years. This year, according to one dead self-help guru, i'm supposed to take stock of my "true singular obsession" (true unsingular obsessionS?), then work up the discipline to make them manifest in physical reality. 2005 is the year of The Game Plan. Goodbye meandering pastry-obsessed lifestyle. Hello SUCCESS!!! -- for my mom's sake. (On the phone a coupla months ago: "I know you guys will always be successful, but please have some success soon so i can tell my friends Mommy was right." (re: letting us do what we wanted with our lives and not interfering too much.) )

My brother's getting married in Houston at the end of January. Alanna and I will wear light pink satin and walk the aisles as bridesmaids. I will try to behave. I will use the opportunity to think more about love and how the heck people commit to existing as non-separate entities. I will wonder if I'll ever meet Mr. Alice Lin, and if we'll have kind-hearted children and if my kids and alanna's kids will live in the same neighborhood and be best friends (or enemies). Wondering: Is it safe to have my brood at 50? Do I need to start doing morning stretches to keep the vitals elastic?

Fascinoma is meeting today. We are concretizing. Drawing timelines. Figuring out what exactly needs to happen to make an album that's been (in a way) many years in coming. Being in a band is a dramatic occupation. There's a lot of negotiating that goes on with all that intimate personality intersecting. It demands that you act mature when you feel like shooting turds in your diapers and it makes you have to be humble when you pride is trying to get all the attention and it makes you act like a Jerk-baby when you're pushing almost-thirty and supposed to be better than that, and it makes you realize a lot of people throw away beautiful things cuz they don't know how to work things out, BUT..

... if you really love something and you love the people you're working with and you're willing to blood sweat and tears it toward the thing that you all collectively want and if you master talking shit through and splice that talent with a little foresight and planning, there's a chance for survival and possibly even some excessive flourishing. I want fascinoma to excessively flourish in 2005.

What else? Much else. Kim gets back in a few days. She'll be tanner. I'll be chubbier. Eagle and Talon will commence it new year strategy to Not Waste Time. As with Fascinoma, recording's the order of the day. That and figuring how to reduce the number of guitars required for a live show. Mystifying really. But the girls will prevail.

So anyway, that's the reportage. Other upcoming renovations for the new year are in the works. Rumor is that Alice is going to get a little Protools on her computer so she can manipulate some of the voices in her head for a mike corwin style recording project. Quote me on that. Blogging will attempt to be more regular. A populist library is in the incubator.
Perspiration will reach record highs this year.

Everyone: please have a beautiful day this Day One of the new year. Spend some time talking to yourself; think about what you really want. Throw some kindness (in thoughts or $) toward all the folk dealing with the post-tsunami aftermath. Love your loved ones.

Back,
alice

Do you have half an hour?

2004-10-29T03:25:00.000-07:00

I’d like to first thank all of you who came to our Bye Bye Bush show for helping us raise money for the Kerry campaign. With election day so close now, it seems like the cat may already be in the bag but, it’s not. There are still undecided voters out there who we have access to, who need to be reminded that their vote can make a difference. In 2000, 22 million single women decided not to vote on election day. 80% of women vote democratic. If those women had voted then, we wouldn’t be in the mess we are in now. Please join myself and the other ladies at codepink (www.codepinkalert.org) to contact these women and remind them of how their one vote can help to overthrow a dictator. We will be making calls until November 2nd to these women (mostly in Florida). If you are interested in being part of the effort, please email Colleen Galbraith at colleengalbraith@riseup.net for a calling list.

Also, if you’re not busy this weekend, it’s not too late to join a trip (for free!) to some very seasick swing states. There are free trips going to Tucson, Phoenix, Las Vegas and Albuquerque that leave friday, saturday and sunday. Go to www.concertsforchange.org for more info.

Other things we can do?
Help ensure a fair election at www.electionprotection.org
Prepare for a stolen election by signing the “No Stolen Election Pledge” at http://www.nov3.us.

Sorry to bombard you with all this info. but, we can be “busy” after this tuesday. Also, don’t forget that we can also swing the vote among our friends, families and just people we meet. Get into an argument with a republican at the grocery store, it’s worth it.

Lots of love and energy to you in the next five days, -kim

Castanettes all over the place

2004-10-26T11:19:00.000-07:00

Last night I felt like we were scrambled eggs and I can’t help it. It was a monday night, we started too late and we were at the beautiful El Cid to play a show. Negativity breeds negativity so I should stop. I should embrace people’s warm affection’s to our songs despite sound issues but, instead I chose to let darkness descend, once again. It actually felt dark and smudged with charcoal because we couldn’t hear things, like the paper had been wet and the colors were running all over. I should leave these things alone now.

What was nice about the show was that we had a lot of good friends and new friends there, DANFORTH. Friends who had to be up early the next morning waited and we think that’s really nice in Alice’s heart (I don’t have one). Thank you Michael Anderson for inviting us to play, I will take your advice to not be apologetic and promise you that our shows aren’t usually that “smooth”.

The most exciting thing that has happened in my life within the past five days is my new boyfriend named, “Dirt Devil”. This dirt devil is a real devil! I can’t stand it! All the dirt, dust and floating moths that descend from where knows? all get suctioned away like a dragon eating houses as a snack. If you feel like sweeping is a dead end way to keeping the floors clean then, you’re in for a real treat. First, some facts.
Full Name: Dirt Devil: Extreme Power
Color: Silver
Full Function: Cleans both carpets and hardwood floors
Convenience: Cordless, Fold-away handle, 1 year warranty
Dignity: 14.4 volts

As children, we dream about magic, we wonder how it happens. That’s how I feel when I use the DDEP. It’s like one big disappearing act after another in my household. When things are clean you feel clean, scrambled eggs can be sucked away by a deep lean of a vacuum scream. For further questions or gushing’s about the DDEP, feel free to write. This machine is available to you right now at K Mart (on sale for $49.99) or you can go to www.dirtdevil.com to look at pictures.

Have a good time, -K Talon

The streets aren't safe for the saints

2004-10-20T01:10:00.000-07:00

Tonight our cutest friend/Fascimona bass player and love wuzzle was rammed into, in the rain, in a vehicle that he wouldn’t have been in if it weren’t for the talon’s. In our time of need, he flocked to alice’s apartment to deliver a large fender amp that we needed so desperately for sound enlargement. alice offered to pick it up but, he declined the offer with kindness and chose to visit us instead with heavy big box in hand. we ate very good pushy scones that a-town had just baked and played mc our new song (very poorly).

we let him go, into the hungry mouth of the storm. we practiced and then scurried off to our recording session with justice. alanna called on our way and let us know of the sad and makes our stomach hurt news. and for the rest of the evening we just “oooohed” and “awwwed” about it. we called mc and offered unlimited full body massage and sponge bath, the invitation still stands for up to eight months.

we’re sad that your speed has gotten interrupted and that you hurting but, we’re happy that you’re able to eat soup and talk.
To cheer you up, alice will be performing her middle eastern scarf dances for you:
Tomorrow (wednesday, october 20th) at 1pm
in Your Bedroom
and then on Thurdsay at 4pm at Your Bedroom:
“Alice’s mighty trapeze act avec leotard”

I will be pumping spiritual iron for you as well as rocks, -kim

Body No. 1

2004-10-17T11:31:00.000-07:00

(I’m feeling a little BLOGMANIA today. This is perhaps due to the fervent blogging activity of my bandmates and others in the LA musical community of late. I blame all of you.)

Woke up wrapped in a sleeping bag and a comforter with a fan blowing cold gusts over the “bedspace” (foam squares over a layer of acoustic soundboard and carpet padding crowned with a sumptuous feather bed) to defend against the fleas in the cracks of my bedding. Apparently they’re the fittest of those who have survived the fumigating that took place like two weeks ago. Yep, the exterminator came and gassed the place and still the invisible guys are taking little stabs at my legs whenever the tube socks are off. A-holes. This week I’m buying myself a bed. A good foot or so off the ground. Away from the little jerks till winter comes and freezes them proper.

I know having fleas is a recipe for pariah and therefore probably not something I should publicize, but most of my friends know anyway, and beyond the fleas, I’ve also got a bad case of BLOGMANIA whereby I’m compelled (like physically) to share the inner workings of my mind with my online peeps. Unfortunately the thing on my mind is fleas because they make my physical existence extremely uncomfortable (Evangenital Julie understands) and it’s hard to focus on more transcendent things when your leg is an inflamed war zone. Matter over mind. As my grandpa liked to say in short passionate speeches: “Body Number One!” The self-actualization kids shout “mind over matter” and they’ve got a point, but you’ve also got to respect the fact that at the end of the day, we are corporeal and that the stuff’s all connected.

Noted:

1) I am a black hole of negative energy and non-inspiration when I’ve had no sleep. I become what is affectionately known as The Poo. When I’ve slept, I’m (according to bandmates Alanna and Sexy Bao), “a completely different person.”
2) A visit to the gym or circumambulating Pan Pacific park three times have been shown to significantly reduce stress levels in lead singers of bands I play in and possibly normal people as well. Exercise brings endorphins and oxygen and tension release bring peace to the those “creative types” freaking out about life and future and destiny.
3) Snacks are the oil for smoothly functioning Fascinoma/Eagle and Talon rehearsals. Me and Kim discovered a while back that when things, i.e., we, started getting peevish or when we started hating our music, a trip to the kitchen and gorging ourselves on Sour Cream & Dill Kettlechips and Double Rainbow Double Chocolate ice cream could quickly reinstall harmony and band faith . And Fascinoma rehearsals are pretty much book-ended by meals and then punctuated midway by a visit to the Japanese market to get treats! (chili shrimp chips, gyoza, bubble gum and sierra mist). Eating makes us happy. Happiness makes us want to make more music.

So anyway, the examples could go on and on, but this is all just to say: Your body’s involved in your life. No way around it. Therefore, be attentive to the “temple” and its needs. Yes, life is still going to get whirlwindy sometimes and in the midst of all the strive and fervor, you’re sometimes gonna have to pull out the old mind-over-matter trick, but a matter-AND-mind mode of daily operations deserves serious consideration…

She can talk but can she execute?

-Alice

Daily Bread

2004-10-12T17:23:00.000-07:00

Today I bought transmission dipstick & a quart of transmission fluid. Transmission fluid is pink. It helps your car’s gears shift. Transmission sticks are short. They should be checked with the car running said Alfred, the guy who did my smog check. He’s Middle Eastern and has 19 credit cards and tapes little scraps of paper with how much he’s spent to the face of each card. He’s going to flee the country in two months.

My car passed the check. We were both happy. Me ‘cause now I can renew my registration and drive my car into the ground as I originally intended and I can continue to have the gasoline/carwash/insurance expenses which I’ve become accustomed to and therefore bring me comfort. Much. And, yes, Alfred is happy too because he doesn’t have to deal with me eyeing the failed smog test report and saying (not-at-all-insinuating-anything) “but it passed two years ago” and him having to say, “look lady, two years ago Saddam Hussein was still in power, I still had a full head of hair, and I didn’t have an army of prescription drugs to take and you had 10,000 miles less on your odometer…”

Funny. How time is always changing things. Funny how much of this week I’ve spent trying to revive my Nissan Stanza after many months of neglect. The lessons of this year are manifold, but one for sure that keeps asserting itself is this: Life takes maintenance. To think otherwise, is to be the dumb headless chicken I’ve been for most of my life. For some reason, contrary to your education and basic observational powers, you think that everything’s resilient as worms. Auto-regeneration. You get offended when your car starts rioting after you haven’t given it an oil change in 9 months. You wonder how your love handles got to be so plush. You’re bewildered by tartar. See, I have this tendency to treat upkeep like it’s this terrible waste of my precious time. Like errands are for sissies; defragging your hard drive -- for the weak. But it’s foolish to think this way cuz neglecting the fact that entropy happens, that food molds, that in LA, fan blades get tarred and feathered spinning all that cool smog-infused air into your living room, means you inevitably end up dealing with AFTERMATH. And suddenly you’re devoting your Precious Time to putting out fires that could’ve been avoided – if you just retired that policy of cumulative neglect.

So, I’m working on it. On breathing deeply while I drive east on Hollywood Blvd with real live palm trees flanking the streets (I’m a real citizen of LA!) and feeling good that I’m on my way to North Hollywood to pick up a transmission dipstick. I’m working on liking to get up and brush my teeth when my body’s already collapsed on the couch whoop-assed from a day spent rehearsing with bands comprised of people I have the honor of really loving (Alanna, Kim, Mike, (Me)) or an afternoon building balloon websites for the unequivocal Addi Somekh. Lots of work and working on.

On good days, I remember not to whine.

In the next issue of chickengate: Alice processes the Eagle and Talon Bye Bye Bush and The Heavenly Service of Mindy Chiu shows that went down this weekend and helps the world to understand the wonderful burgeoning music scene that's in LA and the best way to slaughter procrastination. Stay tuned.

Love and sprockets,
alice talon

Miss Hannigan

2004-10-11T19:34:00.000-07:00

Now that I've washed (most) of the city off of me in my scalding shower in my apartment that just won't stay clean, I think I can answer these questions. but first, let me talk about how dirty everything is.

everything is dirty. i feel like there's dirt like flagstone tiles caked onto everything that surrounds me. this includes the floors, my eyelids and arms. maybe this makes you think that I'm dirty because i never wash it off, but I do. i just want to scrub scrub scrub, all the time. i feel more dirty here than i did when i was living in new york, coming home from flip-flopped days with black feet with gum on the bottom.

so, the questions. the questions have been about why I don't share writings on the e.a.t. website and that I should and why don't I...
well, I haven't because I haven't felt very inspired to. nor to write music or to be a positive thinker or to go to school (which I skipped today). I've mostly been inspired to go to Alice's to use rehearsal's as a disguise to eat the cake in her fridge let over from Alanna's b-day party.

alice and I spit something out called DARKNESS DESCENDS from a casio improv session a few weeks ago, and that's just how I feel. it has ghost noises, witch cackles and haloween like minor chords pulling it up and down the scale. sometimes people are surprised by how dark our music gets but, they don't realize that "darkness descends on a mountain where wild wolves are trapped in little girls' clothing"

the other reason I haven't written is simply b/c I've wondered "who cares about what my fingers have to say about my mind?" but, then I reminded myself that i love reading the thoughts of my friends and that people don't have to read if they don't want to.

so, now that that's over with, I will become a regular in this home of buttons and screens. and next time i will talk about band stuff and attempt to be more conventional and less darkness descends. wishing you a good night, -kim talon

2004-09-10T02:37:00.000-07:00

NYC City. Rio Grande River.

2004-09-08T13:32:00.001-07:00

So we’re back from the mighty nation of NYC. Friends inevitably ask whether it was awesome did we have an amazing time and when I’m feeling lethargic I answer affirmative. When on an honest streak I explain it had its peaks and valleys and I’m glad to be home. Truth is, it’s like a lot of things that occur in my life or (everyone's) life where any experience (such as a trip to nyc) is made up of a bunch of (hard to cleanly delineate) baby experiences. Some babies are wonderful, some mediocre, some not so good...

We got the worst over with two days into the trip with the worst gig of our lives at a club called Siberia. Walked in, apart from the charming door guy who looked like a doughboy in the wrong clothes (all black), the particular swirl of beer, smoke, aging vomit and non-descript punk music raging from the basement did not bode well for the evening. Only the most loyal of friends managed to stick it out to the 2:00 am start time (an hour late) where the curly-haired bartender/soundman opted to voice his indifference by staying behind the bar while those little girls of Eagle and Talon played through tornadoes of feedback and bewilderment at how the world (the soundman!) could be so cruel. We ended our set early and spent the next few days believing that the gig had gone so completely badly that we didn’t even feel traumatized. Only Kim stopped feeling excited about music.

That was Gig No. One. Thankfully things picked up after that. I will write more on those (to balance the complaining anecdote above) when I’m not just procrastinating.

-Alice Talon

The Flusher

2004-09-01T09:10:00.000-07:00

Yah, it's true. The circular atrium of the sunlit guggenheim was 3/4 covered in water.
I know cause i was there. I know cause i was THERE there.

A little backstory: a few years ago when i was fielding a little obsession with ethics and moral behavior i decided to target public bathrooms as my cause du jour and it just became this thing where now i can't really leave a public restroom without picking up the loose bits of paper towel or strewn toilet paper that accumulate. So, my friends think it's weird (and dirty) but I figure why should every person who comes in after me have to see the same mess that i see, plus disarray breeds greater disarray/disrespect -- people see a place gone to shit and even the good kind ones miss the wastebasket and say "eh" or leave the sprinkle on the toilet seat or don't flush all products down.

Anyway, it's this issue that i tried to address this past monday after kim and i made it to the guggenheim an hour before closing and decided not to see the artwork and instead to go jack ourselves with caffeine in the museum cafe --"oh but lemme just run in here a second..."

So kim waited outside. Inside the empty corridor connecting the atrium and the cafe, a small line formed.
Inside: I had done my (lite) business, deligently wiped the seat till it was gleaming, activated the auto flush, and saw to her chagrin that the toilet bowl was now filled high with shredded toilet paper. not to standard. But the water looked high and i thought about waiting till it went down a bit. naw. life is about the little risks, no?

I bypassed the autoflush pressed the button above the sensor and watched as water ripped out (normal) and raged (no, no, not normal) upward toward the lip and out, spilling over the seat and onto the floor first forming a puddle around the base of the bowl then into the area beneath the sink then towards me and the door then right past my semi-submerged sandals into the hallway past one security guard then two security guards and kim and everybody are watching in disbelief and mild horror at what is going on (i don't know guys!!) i rush back into the burning fire, no fountaining waters and look for some sort of tap to close but the toilet is roaring white water still and there are no signs of letting up. back into the hallway where walkie-talkies are dispatching help. I look at the whole wet mess one last time.

We slip out the side door, walk past feather earring vendor and hang around the scene of the crime while I grapple with guilt and mild shame. when we go back to check the (once glorious) circular atrium is pretty much covered with a slick 1/2 inch of toilet water except for a small crescent of dry marble near the entrance.

Very pretty.

So yah. I flooded the guggenheim. All i can say is with indigestion, things could've been worse.
Oh Eagle and talon.
(we'll be back from nyc on saturday. see y'all then.)

love,
alice