Journalist. Editor. The anesthetic wearing off.
stv [at] stvanairsdale [dot] com
Jason Molina, the leader and architect of the bands Songs: Ohia and Magnolia Electric Co., has been on my mind a lot since news of his death emerged on March 18. He died a few days before that during a protracted hiatus from recording and touring. In 2011, fans, friends and peers helped raise money to support Molina’s long and ultimately unsuccessful recovery from alcoholism. I wish I had known then, and I wish I had contributed. I also wish I’d known how much his songs would possess me over the last month and a half, because I might have held off revisiting them for a while. As it stands, 45 days after Molina’s death, I cannot silence them.
HOW MANY LIVES COULD HAVE POSSSIBLY BEEN SAVED OR CRIMES SOLVED BY THE AGENTS OVER THE YEARS WHO HAD JOINED BECAUSE OF” DIE HARD “. This does’nt excuse any crime commited but sometimes one must take into account the totality of the individual. The epic moral sensibilty in the work of John McTiernan needs a voice once again . The culture cries out ! Who knows who or what his work will inspire ! So , it is with this that I call all who can be if help to possibly help -FREE JOHN MCTIERNAN. Prayers to St Patrick to Intercede .
“[Rob] Thomas is responsible for delivering not only a movie to his devout Veronica Mars following, but also the tokens customarily promised to Kickstarter backers for their various levels of largesse. At 9 this morning, that meant no fewer than 34,763 limited-edition t-shirts. It meant 17,919 DVDs of the finished film (plus Blu-ray copies for the 7,222 backers who have pledged $100 or more) and 8,092 Veronica Mars movie posters — 2,885 of which must be signed by the film’s cast, as ensured by Thomas. At least 967 backers at the $175 and $275 levels will receive the complete Veronica Mars TV series on DVD. The vast majority of these rewards must be designed, manufactured, packaged and shipped new to the organizers, who then must repackage and reship them (within the US only!), after various stages of customization, to their respective backers. […]
Looking at the figures and the estimated deadlines for delivery (most are concentrated around Thomas’ projected release date of February/March 2014, an astoundingly tight production schedule even for a film with whole-hearted studio backing), the obvious question is, “How can this be accomplished?”
I can’t believe they got an entire Super Premium Adult Dog in this bag.
From my new longread, “The Fresh Wars,” at Slate:
“I think it’s meaningless, almost, now,” says Mark Crumpacker, the chief marketing officer with Chipotle. “You could claim that something very heavily processed was fresh, I guess. I don’t think there are any rules around ‘fresh.’ You can just say it with impunity. And I think lots of people do.”
So maybe “Is it fresh?” isn’t the question we should be asking ourselves as we lose the tortilla, slice up freshness, and muddle through the trenches of fast-food trends. Instead, amid the varying strategies, we have a much more basic and far more crucial determination to make: What does fresh even mean?
I’ve wanted to write for a while now about Sacramento’s tragic history with cultural self-esteem, and how the shiny and expensive new airport terminal somehow signifies both the city’s long, singular cry for help and a turning point in its cultural identity. Until then, here is the 56-foot-long rabbit art that now salutes Sacramento’s visitors while enthusiastically sending its citizens out into the world. It frightens and exhilarates and exhausts me; I fell in love with it almost instantly.
I still have the ticket somewhere: The Dead Milkmen. Dec. 7, 1990. Cattle Club. Sacramento, Calif. Supporting acts: Mojo Nixon, The Cave Dogs. All ages. $10. The promoter had squeezed all the details into a rectangle in some horrible screaming serif font, replicated eight times on a standard 8.5×11 page, and photocopied maybe 40 pages, fanzine-style, on Kermit-green card stock. The Cattle Club couldn’t likely hold many more ticketholders than that. Not that everyone that night 22 years ago would have a ticket, but I had mine — my first show attending parentless.
Happy Monday. Go get ‘em.