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A little while ago I was in a band called Robber & Thief. We released an album called Bright on Both Sides. We began recording for a second album however, in the year and a half between releasing the first album and the bands hiatus when our lead singer moved to LA. So with a bunch of mostly finished tracks on my hard drive I decided to release an EP to promote some of the more finished ones.
And so I give you: To the Rooftops: Demos and Songs 2008-2009
They’re all up for free download on the Last.fm website. Give them a listen too. For those of you who were at one of our shows, a few of the other staple songs like Pet Wolf, Covers/Sheets or I’m Gone may be included in a second release if there’s enough interest for it. We’ll see how it pans out.
No on 1, loses. Suddenly this initiative pops up for the 2010 ballot:
An Act to Remove Protections Based on Sexual Orientation from the Maine Human Rights Act, Eliminate Funding of Civil Rights Teams in Public Schools, Prohibit Adoptions by Unmarried Couples, Add a Definition of Marriage, and Declare Civil Unions Unlawful
I am furious. Spread the word.
- Vote today: No on 1, No on 4 and Yes on 5. (Maine residents only) Perhaps also vote for Kevin Donahuge? No other City Councilor has commented on Potential! so far.
- SonyEricsson debuts iPhone rival, meet the Android-based Xperia X10.
- Getting shot dead is probably not considered a work perk for ex-KGB spies.
- Bears: 1, Islamic millitants in the Kashmir region of Pakistan: 0.
- Iran planning on moving capital from modern Tehran to conservative city of Qom.
- Stuff to watch for in todays elections accross the nation. (Maine gets a shout out.)
- Luciano Anastasini saves homeless dogs and puts them in showbiz.
- Let’s all take a moment to consider Matt Damon.
While we’re on the quest for truths and a realization of our physical oneness with the universe, I’d like to throw out some clips from an article called Agnostic Christianity that my good friend the Rev. David Butler wrote for his church blog. Now I’ve mostly known David outside his occupation as a minister for the First Parish Congregational Church of Gorham, ME; however his views on religion are incredibly insightful and in step with my perceptions as well. So, I’m going to throw up some good excerpts in hopes that you’ll read the article and perhaps respond.
Here we go:
When preachers get into the pulpit and say that they are certain that God wants you to do one thing or another, they are either manipulating you with dishonesty or badly delusional themselves. To pretend that you know a thing that you cannot know is wrong on so many levels. To take the fruit of human imagination (either current imagination or centuries old imagination) and preach it, promote it, or legislate it as fact and or as the truth, is dangerous and oppressive. It narrows our minds and it creates a barrier preventing any future growth and discovery.
…
One of the central themes of the Hebrew Scripture is the proscription against idolatry. The early Israelites understood that the real threat to faith was not unbelief; it was worshipping things that were not worthy of worship. They knew the danger to genuine faith of treating relative things as if they were absolute. They knew that elevating human-made things to the level of sacredness was the one thing that would separate people from a real relationship with God. The very first commandment and the most vital was to “have no other gods before” Yahweh.
Theologian Paul Tillich defined faith as an “ultimate concern.” Everyone has something that has ultimate value to them whether it be God, money, family relationships, humankind, race, nation or some other. Faith is that relationship that we have with whatever it is that we consider truly transcendent. The danger is to have an ultimate concern for things that are not ultimate at all. That is what happens when the Bible is considered sacred in itself. Human beings wrote it. It is a human document. To consider it perfect or inerrant or directly created by God is to take something human-made and to elevate it to the status of God. Even within the bounds of the faith traditions of both Christians and Jews, this is idolatry and the worst kind of affront to genuine faith. We all know how scary it is when race or nation become people’s “ultimate concern,” because those sources of allegiance and identity tend to separate people and alienate one group from other groups. The elevation of one book or one doctrine within a religious tradition to “ultimate” status creates the same kinds of human divisions.
…
As Paul wrote so wisely (he was not so wise about many other things), “we have this truth in earthen vessels.” Those earthen vessels are us; our limited thoughts, feelings and understandings. If we believe that God is infinite, then by definition, God is beyond our comprehension. We cannot know or express anything substantial about what we cannot begin to understand. When we trumpet our “truths,” whether from what we’ve been taught or from what we’ve experienced, as the only truth or the truth for all, we are indeed delusional. We are taking the, oh so limited, contents of our own minds and hearts and inflating them into some universal things that they are not. That is an affront to reason, to the real search for truth, and an affront to the infinite nature of God.
And so, for religious people, and I am one, what we “know” is always a personal thing. We have experienced things that we insert into our own personal mythologies in a particular way. We may link those personal narratives with the broader narrative of a part of the Christian tradition, but when we think about the wider world we must always understand that our ideas are, not just limited, but provisional. Our constructs may be built on personal experience, but they remain just our own constructions that don’t even begin to grasp what we believe in as God.
Even the idea of God is a provisional one. What we have experienced when we refer to the experience of God is some tiny microcosm of what the idea of God might actually mean and we can’t quite grasp even that. We can speak only in stories and metaphors and vague language about realities that are completely beyond us. To assert that God, as we interpret God, exists or doesn’t exist is both beyond our ken and beside the point.
…
So perhaps the most faithful thing that we can be is agnostic. We look at the universe and into the human heart and sigh with the mystery of it. If it is the infinite we are after, any label, any concept, any thought, had better be provisional or it is just plain stupid. Thoughts of transcendence should open our minds, not shut them off. Ideas of an infinite God of love should connect us more deeply to other people who are different than ourselves, not erect more barriers. True experiences of the holy should leave us wondering at the mysteries, not trying to sell our little ideas to other vulnerable people.
Go read the rest of it here. Potential! will still be waiting for you when you get back.
NAME: Tu Casa Salvadorena Restauraunt (urbanspoon)
TYPE: El Salvadoran Restauraunt
INFO: 70 Washington Ave, Portland, ME 04101
PRICE: $6-13 an entree.
“Tu Casa” is Spanish for home. Located on Washington Ave (on the Peninsula in Portland) Tu Casa is one of the many international options open for eating in this sometimes neglected corner of the city. Considering that the other option for Central American Cuisine is a place that translates to ”crazy chicken” my dear Mint Films colleague Andy Barbo and I decided that to go ”home” was the best option.
Now Portland is not short on burrito options, there are maybe 15 options for Burritos in the GPA (Greater Portland Area) from fake-Mexican (Magaritas) to fake-everything (Taco Bell) to authentic-something-or-other-wrapped-in-a-tortilla-so-we-call-it-a-burrito (Wild Burritos, Bruce’s, the late Granny’s etc.) but for authentic South/Central American cuisine you typically need to head out to Washington Ave.
Now El Salvador is small, 21,040km² to be precise (compared to Maine’s 91,646km²) and crowded (almost five times Maine’s 2008 population) but they do make good food. The pupusa, a kind of tortilla-turnover being one of their signature dishes which is supposed to be quite good and sopa de pata which seems like a high-culinary version of a cafeteria dare.
Not speaking Spanish or knowing anything about El Salvadorean cuisine however, I was in a tight spot the first time I walked into the medium-sized restauraunt. The menu was mostly in Spanish (authentic Spanish, the kind that doesn’t help you out with pictures) with only some recognizable words like shake, and burrito and I was confused by the order-at-the-counter-and-then-sit-down procedure that all the regulars seemed to find the easiest thing in the world, so I gringoed out “burr-EE-tow com POY-oh” and then requested a blueberry shake. The guy behind the counter laughed and said that I did a good job. I then stood around for a while until he told me to sit down. When I came in the second time with Andy I was thankfully able to naviagate around this.
So, for repeats: Walk in. Order/Pay at the counter. Sit down. Eat. (You can also watch any number of interesting Latino channels they have playing on the TV in the corner.)
The Set-Up: What if Mom came home one day and said “I think I’m going to knock down a lot of walls and set up a restauraunt on the first floor of our house.” If she was managed to pull it off on a shoestring budget the result would probably look like Tu Casa. Clean, if a little spartan. Relaxed with people talking, to eachother, to cellphones or to the TV chattering away in the corner. Fun, not to shabby, but probably not a place to bring your prom-date.
The Eats: Home-cooking is the key word here. Presentation is not. My burrito was delivered alone on a plate like some delicious avacado-filled Ayers Rock. Andy got fajitas (adventurous aren’t we?) and aside from the bell peppers on one side of the plate the meal was an adventure into the world of browns. I did see some guy eating something that could have been sopa de pata which was bright and colorful but presentation-junkies beware, this place is not your friend.
But it doesn’t have to be.
Burr-EE-tow cawn POY-oh, SEE VOOZ plates.
The food is good, filling, warm, sittin’-at-Mom’s-table good. You get a red and a green sauce for spice which is sufficient for most. The portions are hearty but you can usually clean your plate and don’t feel like you’ve been shortchanged. The shakes are great, simple, things of beauty and you can crack can after can of Goya if you’re thirsty for soda-pop. They serve beer too!
The Rest: Wondering if you remember anything from those four years of Spanish in High School? Miss the meals mom made back in San Miguel? Want a dollar fifty papusa? This aint a bad place to go for any of those options. Plus it’s local.
NAME: The Full Belly Deli (urbanspoon)
TYPE: Kosher Delicatessen
INFO: 1070 Brighton Ave Portland, ME 04102-1030 – (207) 772-1227
PRICE: About $8-10 a meal.
In Portland, if you are a loyal University Credit Union customer who happens to be without a debit card the only place you can go for cash on a Saturday is the branch way out on Brighton by the Lowe’s Plaza. Being one of these unlucky few I scraped together some shrapnel/change/silver coinage and hopped the number 4 bus to try to get some grocery money for the weekend. Now the bus ride was uneventful, and the bank experience uneventful as well, but throughout this tiresome trek to the far corner of our Emerald City my stomach was constantly reminding me of a promise I had made that I had not kept up on. A promise called lunch.
I was headed towards Quiznos for a sub and some nasty dipping sauce when the sign for The Full Belly Deli caught my eye. As a true Portlander, I decided to opt for the little guy instead of treating myself to a gut-bomb courtesy of Corporate America. Buy Local, you know? And so the first Potential Eats! review was born.
Now I am not a stranger to the Full Belly Deli. The place has been open since I was two (1987) and my parents when we were in town would make a point to stop by here for their ruben. I can’t recall what I had back then as I was only a lad of five or six, but the FBD’s fat, four-eyed logo—forever marfing on a deliciously huge sandwich—captivated me as a youth and the place has stayed with me. So with confidence and perhaps a bit of nostalgia I walked in to see what they could do for me.
The Set-Up: From what I remember the store seems to have changed little over the years. Maybe it’s a little bigger or cleaner, but the set-up is still basically the same: a cafe/cafeteria mash-up in true deli style. ‘Nothing Fancy, It’s the Food that Counts’ reads an old newspaper article displayed on the wall and it seems that the Deli has stuck to it’s guns.
The Eats: I am a man of no small fondness for any Thanksgiving themed sandwich. (Punky’s holds my love so far as the best spot in the Greater Portland Area for that purpose.) Seeing something comparable on the menu I quickly waltzed past the older couple arguing about blintzes and ordered a Fall Fowl sandwich with a drink. The lady rung me up for 10.12, did an about face and promptly barked out “FALL FOWL. BULKIE ROLL. MAYO. FOR HERE” to the four gents in the kitchen who echoed the order back in a chorus of shouts.
I sat down and tummy grumbling, awaited my feast.
In less than three minutes it arrived:
Is that a pickle sticking out of your Bulkie, or are you just happy to see me?
Eight layers of turkey, a patty of delicious stuffing, a good amount of cranberry sauce and some mayo. Had I gotten a lot less I would have been disappointed (hey, ten bucks is a lot to drop on lunch) but I was certainly pleased to get so much. Quiznos can go dunk their heads in steak juice, this is a sandwich.
And a kosher pickle? Cool.
Now there were a few minor things, first the turkey, which they list as fresh roasted, seemed to be fresh roasted and chilled, the stuffing was what was keeping the sandwich warm and it was struggling. Looking back at the menu I guess I should have ordered something from their hot sandwiches list if I wanted it warm so I decided to stop complaining to myself and enjoy. Which I did.
The Rest: This place is cool. A varied crowd, lots of businessmen and elderly couples. A fun list of yiddish phrases on the wall and tons of local, community supporting business memorabilia to look at too. They offer everything from blintzes to rubens, fried clams to spaghetti buckets and, if you’ll forgive the pun, most likely it’s all pretty kosher. The cooks laugh and yell and make PG-13 rated jokes that make you chuckle. It’s a real establishment with a strong clientele that makes you feel at home. It’s the best option if you’re out in this area. A great place to bring a co-worker, a friend, or your parents if they’re not looking for something fancy.
Plus I learned some yiddish!
Kugel Noodle or bread pudding usually cooked with rasins.
Nudnik A bore. A nudnik is a person who, when asked how he is feeling, really tells you exactly how he is feeling.
See?!
This is what leaving Portland for the weekend looks/feels like. Music is “Sunshine” by Robber & Thief, from “Bright on Both Sides.”
Graffiti in Portland is on the rise. From eyesores to artwork there are new pieces coloring in our city every day. In an effort to educate and enlighten here is a short list of basic terms for the common man to use while discussing various pieces with graff-artists or friends with highlights to specific places around Portland as examples.
First and most importantly there is the writer or artist. The person from whom graffiti stems. This person may have one or more names/symbols/motifs that they practice under and may or may not be practicing legally. Typically the aim of the graffiti artist is to get up by tagging numerous locales accross an area to enhance the visual aspect of a bleak neighborhood or surface or to simply gain notoriety.
Sometimes, affiliated writers will form a crew, (or krew or cru, etc.) to enhance collaboration and push out other writers who write over or deface a members art.
Writers typically have a black book which they practice various tags and color/letter combinations and draft plans for large pieces. A seasoned veteran, viewing a poorly executed or tasteless piece may advise the artist responsible to “stay in your book.”
Then there are some of the major types of graffiti:
- a tag is a stylized signature and typically the most common type of graffiti in any city. Tags are typically executed in one color with anything from a Sharpie to a spray can or even an acid scoring pen. Many artists will include their tag in larger pieces and incorporate tags of artists they are associated with.
- a piece is a large elaborate type of graffiti. Typically they take more time and effort to execute than other pieces. The walls outside The Asylum are a good example of legal pieces done in the city. The more complex and illegible pieces are referred to as wildstyles and the more legible ones sometimes referred to as straight-letters, though these terms can be applied to tags and throwies.
- a throw-up or throwie is any quickly executed and often illegal piece of graffiti that is greater in complexity than a tag but of lesser quality than a piece or burner. They are commonly bubble letters and are “hollow” outlines or “filled” with another color.
Then there are a few vital miscellaneous terms:
- capping is purposefully covering or obscuring another artists signature, and derives its name from NY artist ‘Cap’ who became infamous for covering up others graffiti. Since most artists invest a lot of time and money into creating tags this practice is frowned upon, and a person who caps will find themselves capped even more in retaliation. Executing a cap which does not cover the full piece or unintentionally overlaps is referred to as sidebusting.
- a free wall is any space in a city where graffiti is allowed. In Portland the only fully open legal space is on the Eastern Prom by the Water Treatment Plants. The Asylum, the old Bingas and a few other places are legal as well but are typically invite only.
- slaps or sticks are pre-prepared pieces of graffiti (often tags or reduced size pieces) on stickers or name tags. While for some artists this is a great way to showcase their forms, some writers feel that this takes the element of time out of the equation and look down on artists who excessively use slaps without expanding their repertoire.
- bombing is the practice of getting up in an area multiple times in rapid succession.
- toy is a descriptor often attached to an action, piece, or writer who lacks class and ability. Someone who scribbles a hasty straightletter on every glass storefront, someone who doesn’t put effort into improving their style, or someone who just tags anarchy symbols is engaging in some “toy-ass shit.”
For a more expanded lexicon see Wikipedia’s entry on graffiti terminology and the Writers Forums at 120z Prophet.
- Palestinian Prime Minister Fayyad drafts document that pushes statehood, infastructure for Palestine.
- Some aboreal treelines advancing as planet warms, study says.
- Wikipedia to launch controls on editing certain pages.
- CIA used mock executions, electric drills, firearms and other “enhanced” interrogation techniques on terrorist subjects investigation reports.
- Iran puts hundreds of opposition leaders on mass trail under the pretext of destabilizing the government and trying to start a coup.
- North and South Korea to hold talks to re-unite families separated by the Korean War.
- One dies, two rescued after being swept into the sea while hundreds crowded Thunder Hole in Acadia Park to watch huge waves from Hurricane Bill.
urban: of, pertaining to, or designating a city or town. -mancy: a combining form meaning “divination,” of the kind specified by the initial element.
I remember when I first started travelling to Portland my poetry was filled with images of the city: Forbes Meats, MECA, the Public Market, the Maine State Pier. Each name was enough, standing alone in time like the Gardens of Babylon. Every homeless person was a drunk prophet or a radical madman crushed by the weight of modernity. Seperate but obsessed I walked the big streets and took pictures from the tops of parking garages. Now less excites me but I notice more, the quiet whispering, dialouge on a bus between strangers, the stained glass heraldry above the windows of the smoke shop at the top of Forest Ave. Now I take the shortcuts, footpaths, alleyways and the city does not open up before me but instead I wander and read the writing on the walls. It has changed and I have changed, like old friends we do not talk much but instead exchange silent glances. Our in-jokes are old and in truth I have forgotten most of them. They have painted over the walls I fell in love with when I was eighteen and changed the locks on all my old apartments. Buried deep in the back of the closet, in the dustiest crawlspaces, there are secrets from so far ago, precious treasures, histories, quiet little pageants of our struggle and our fall. Etched in the eves of the Abyssinian, forged in the iron of our sewer grates, under the peeling layers of paint on our easternmost wall of our city by the sea.
