Saturday Evening Post: Hammerheads

The new place of choice for Louisville hipsters is most definitely Hammerheads, located on Swan Street right in the heart of Germantown. Inconspicuously placed in the basement of an old house, in the middle of a neighborhood, perhaps the only way to distinguish Hammerheads from the surrounding shotguns is by the giant stuffed shark above the door or the constant stream of tattooed boys in skinny jeans with mad men hair cuts pushing through the door.

Known for their variety of Pale Ales and their creatively oiled French Fries--everything from sweet potato to grippo flavored, and fried in normal or truffle oil--Hammerheads is doing American food well. Served on solid cutting-board style plates, each dish is thoughtfully constructed, artistically presented, and well-made by the former sous chef of Seviche. The atmosphere is classically dive-barish, complete with a moose head (plastic and very chique) on the wall, flamingoes and christmas lights around the edges, and beachy pastel paint. Probably most striking, the patrons of Hammerheads seem to be a mix of foodies and folks who are mostly typical of Germantown--which is to say, either the aformentioned hipster variety, or the scraggly PBR (Clint Eastwood inspired) drinking Sailor Jerry types--we also saw a 10 year old boy with a feather in his hair. 

Overall, Hammerheads is about the right price for the quality of the food (around $10 per entree, side not included) and the drink selection is good. There is not a hostess so come early or ready to wait, and dress lightly...the heat of the kitchen is shared by all, especially in August. 

ByTheWayFriday: Proto Evangelion - Dimly Lit

So all day I rode around in the company car praising God and rocking out at the same time. For this ByTheWayFriday post, therefore, I think it makes sense to do our first CD review of Proto Evangelion's Dimly Lit. 

The record starts with All Creatures of Our God and King, of St. Francis of Assisi fame, beginning with a riff that would be just as fitting for the intro of a Death Cab for Cutie song. Riley Taylor's voice sounds very Seattle (in the same way Ben Gibbard's does) throughout Dimly Lit, but by the end of the record we realize that it's pep is really just a mixture of Northwestern accent and enthusiasm for the Lord.

I could really go on and on in my excitement about this CD, but I don't want to ruin it for you, so I'll only review two more songs: the old Sojourn favorite In the Shadow of the Glorious Cross, and a Proto original, I Have Seen the Resurrection of the Dead. 

In Proto's version of Brooks Ritter's In the Shadow, the listener is led into what is essentially a lyrical lament of the sinful human condition by the ghostly and mournful plucking of the classic Seattle telecaster sound. Soon after, Taylor's stark (and very enunciated) voice leads us through the verses of a song we are used to hearing be wailed. Between each chorus/verse interchange, Proto makes time to rock, and by the end of the song we are positively crying out to God and thrashing around the car...Oh wait that was probably just me.

In contrast with the indie sound of most of the old hymns, Resurrection of the Dead starts with a kind of fireside strum and leads into a very moving chorus backed up by the kind of "wall of sound" ambient guitars we usually hear on a Radiohead single. The bridge of the song positively screams "How can I serve you my master, how will I love you as I ought? O to have touched the holes in your hands, O to have seen the risen Lord!" with crashing cymbals and burning guitar lines that beg the listener to go and make disciples in their enthusiasm. 

From what I understand, Proto Evangelion is the worship band for Calvary Fellowship in Seattle. Their name means "first gospel" and comes from Genesis 3:15 where God proclaims the message of salvation for the first time: "And I will put enmity Between you and the woman, And between your seed and her Seed; He shall bruise your head, And you shall bruise His heel."

1. All Creatures of Our God and King

2. Before the Throne of God Above

3. Resurrection of the Dead

4. In the Shadow of the Glorious Cross

5. Inheritor

6. What Wondrous Love is This

7. Be Still My Soul

8. The Saviour Calling

9. The Love of God

10. Let Our Voices Rise Like Incense

http://calvaryfellowship.org/audio

B.R.R.'sDay: Age 78

Age 78: “yes I would like the bold please. with a sleeve if you wouldn’t mind.” “how are you today sir?” “I’m well. thanks for asking. I’m enjoying this blue sky it seems fresher...” “I know! your coffee will be right out.” “oh. O.K.” the shop smells of stale grinds—that is to be expected—but also something like polish or oil paint. everything is surgical now. time passes like an injury to a bone or a deep bruise. each day gnaws at me if I wallow, but in retrospect, history—like a body’s broken rib—moves quickly, mending snags and setting splints. what I wouldn’t give for a fall night at O’Claire’s by the patio fountain that smelled of fish and mold, all of us acting like kids—being kids. a walk down Navajo Road each of us happy to be paired with any other for the moment, “I’m so thankful for you.” “we are always so in tune.” “live in anticipation of the dawn!” “breath of fresh air?” a fight, even, with all of the love and frustrations, graces and sacrifices wrapped into expletives that were too malicious and red-faced for either of us to take very seriously. I hope you made it to that big house you imagined, my dear, that you found my mother, that nothing reminds you of me,—you deserve a moment alone after James and Liv and my own eccentricities—that the journey has ended just as we lived for it to. the paint around the window is a standard taupe, but where the chair has rubbed, green is peeking through. I wonder if this used to be a video store, or perhaps a doughnut bakery.

Remember Whensday: Mountain Goats at Cosley Lake

So for this Remember Whensday I'd like to post about something recent that made a really big impact on us. About a month or so ago we took a trip to Glacier National Park in Montana and had one of the best experiences ever. So many posts could be done about our trip, but one afternoon in particular made a really huge impact on Molly and me and I'd just like to share it. We took a five night backpacking trip in the park and, as you'll see in some of the pictures, we stayed on a giant glacial lake called Cosley Lake. At around 45 degrees, the lake was not much of a swimming hole, but it was gorgeous! One day we took a hike to Elizabeth Lake (around 4.5 miles away) and in order to get to the mountain pass we needed, we had to cross Cosley, and because the water and air were both chilly, it made sense to get naked in order to do so. Long story short, we ended up crossing Cosley with our bums hanging out, making it to Elizabeth, hiking back the same day only to cross again, and living to tell about the experience with a video of Molly laughing hysterically as her private parts are playing peek-a-boo with the wilderness.

Nine miles two days in a row is a lot (even for us :)) and the next day we found ourselves a bit wiped out, so we walked to the crossing section of the lake again and fished and napped all day. Although I didn't catch anything, I've never had a more relaxing time--the water was so clear I could literally see my fly sinking from 30 feet away--and Molls seemed to have a very nice time reading in her hammock (I must give her props...she fished for a little while too). Just as we were about to pack up and head back for dinner, a herd of mountain goats walked up behind us and watched us as if we were from another planet. Needless to say, we took as many pictures as possible, Molly stalked them into the undergrowth, and just being close to them was awesome enough, but as we stepped back and started to leave, the goats began to cross the lake at the same point we had the day before. As a family they organized themselves into groups (babies with adults) and then doggie paddled much more gracefully than we had done. When one baby and its baby sitter were left behind (too scared or curious about us to cross), the biggest male goat stood on the cliff across the stream and bleated encouragement. Best of all, he climbed down from his perch, swam back across the freezing water, and then crossed behind his two kids (that's what I like to imagine they were). The scene reminded me so much of my own parents, our Heavenly Father, and the kind of man that I want to be some day, and this simple encounter with nature left both Molly and I equally awed, excited, sort of wanting to have babies, and sort of wanting to get a goat. We were are so thankful for such a lovely memory.

Chewsday: A Farewell To Arms

So this Tuesday I am going to present A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway as something to chew on.

A Farewell to Arms is the story of a wartime love affair between Frederic Henry and Catherine Barker. Henry, known as "Tenente" throughout most of the book, is serving as an ambulance driver in the Italian army during WWI. As an American volunteering overseas, we are immediately confronted with the reality that he is isolated and dissatisfied, different from his peers. Hemingway masterfully examines the masculine experience by highlighting Henry's relationship with his Italian friends, and uses their association as soldiers to discredit the war from with many different voices. 

While AFTA is about WWI and all of the adventures that the war effort confronts Henry with, (being shot at, being wounded, shooting someone, drinking A LOT, almost drowning, eventually deserting) possibly more important is his relationship with Catherine, a British nurse whom he meets and impregnates. As sparse as Hemingway's language is, he is able to communicate a real sense that Henry loves Catherine, and by the end of the novel we are taken on quite an emotional rollercoaster. Because I sense that mostly girls read this blog, I'll leave out the better-than-twilight details of the best love affair of World War One and tell you to either read the book or watch the movie featuring Rock Hudson. Not only is this story riveting, exciting, and lovely, but it is a classic--voted one of the top 100 books of the 20th c by the MLA--completely worthy of your facebook favorite book section and a prideful "I'm smart" smiling admission when you are next asked what you've been reading. Chew on that.

Monster Monday: Ryder

Name: Ryder Gray Roberson

Birthday: 8/2/10

Breed: Weimaraner

Story: While working at Rainbow Blossom Molly met two Weimaraners--Olive and Jack. We had been wanting a second dog for a few months (because we mistakenly thought Kola's mellowness was a sad yearning loneliness) and because she had fallen in love with the temperaments of Olive and Jack we looked around on the internet for a litter of puppies. Ryder had been born two weeks previously and things worked out so that we could pick him up on the way home from Paul and Cameron Jones' wedding in Chatanooga, at a farm in Whitley City KY. Adam and Sam helped us bring him home and true to form he never whimpered or even peed in the car...choosing instead to try and eat things and sleep like a log.

Hobbies: escaping (from car windows even when moving, from fences, from his crate) only to sit outside of whatever boundary he has crossed, gloating, until we find him. Eating anything and everything (including eggs shell and all, chickens...alive or dead/cooked or un, rocks, sunglasses (RIP)). wrestling with Ben and Kola. Swimming. Cuddling.

Pet-Peeves: Hunger. That is all...you could literally do anything to Ryder and he would not mind.

Favorite Foods: Living Chickens.

Sleeping Places: Crate (he does really well for a Weim, but never fails to moan like a dying old woman at 6 AM EVERY morning), anywhere...including on the sidewalk during a walk if he is too hot.

Nicknames: Pwecious (Molly's), Idiot (Ben's) (JK)

Quirks: Despite his very boyish nature Ryder is one of the cleanest things about our house. He bathes himself meticulously and if he is ever cut he somehow cleans it into healing every time. Ryder will literally follow us anywhere. Ryder hates dancing and will try to bite any dancer until they stop. Ryder feels no pain--we once tried an invisible fence and he would literally walk right over the line barely stopping to shudder...this would seem to indicate that the fence wasn't strong enough, but I tried it and almost cried, Kola yelped at the top of her voice the one time she got shocked, and Lincoln, a Pit Bull/ Lab mix frantically ran around our yard in circles whining when he tried on Ryder's collar...yikes.

Palm Sunday: Yard-to-Table

In my last year of undergrad I had the opportunity to take a break from kinesiology & physiology courses & branch out & take some anthropology electives. I was hesitant at first because I have only ever enjoyed math or science classes but Ben promised me that I would love it. Little did I know it would change my life, my way of thinking, & our home. I read omnivore's dilemma, a book that explores one man's journey of food & society. The book opened my eyes to a whole new world, I really started to think about what I was eating and where it came from. I then proceeded to watch Food Inc and began to understand big business over taking the family farm. I was quickly inspired to change my food ways starting with buying local, drinking raw milk, going to more farmers markets, growing my own stuff, and getting CHICKENS.

When I approached Ben with the backyard chicken idea he was thrown off but like always did whatever he could to make me happy. He literally built me a coop over night out of wood scraps from the fence he made. I met this lovely woman at a farm-to-table food event at Woodland Farm who accidentally ordered 24 chickens for her family instead of 6 so she was very eager to give us a couple. We started modestly with two and it was so easy we got two more!

Quick Facts on chickens:

1. You legally can only have 5 in the city.(We are a little rebellious & now have 6--don't tell).

2. You do not need a rooster to have fresh eggs every morning (hens ovulate and that process is what produces an egg...roosters just help them make chicks). 

3. Hens lay an egg on average every other day.

4. Chickens need grit--in our case oyster shells-- in order to make calcium to form the shell. We didn't know this at first and our chickens were laying shell-less eggs for a few weeks.

5. The best place to get organic chicken feed is Fresh Start on Jefferson St. Chickens also love fresh veggies or food scraps!

6. Water is essential and chickens like to peck at a bottle that has a nipple lid. We use a 2-liter Dr. Pepper bottle with a coat hanger through the bottom that hangs on the roost inside the main coop house.

7. They love to eat my weeds which is a really nice perk!But watch out...they don't know the difference between weeds and hydrangeas.

8. When you build a coop make sure it is well ventilated, has some removable nesting boxes (think wooden half shoe boxes), & elevated bars for roosting during the night. They also love to be warm in the winter so invest in a little heating light. Also, hay or cedar chips are good to spread around on the floor because they insulate, cut down on poo smells, and provide a cushion for projectile egg laying.

9.Make sure you secure the coop door at night to hinder critters who love the taste of chicken like I do! This is not a joke...be prepared, if you get chickens some will die and it is weird at first. 

10. Chicken poop makes GREAT compost!

P.S. You can get almost all the equipment you need at Fresh Start! Advice included!

The Red Wheelbarrow

William Carlos Williams

so much depends

upon

a red wheel

barrow

glazed with rain

water

beside the white

chickens.

The Saturday Evening Post: Akiko's

The Saturday Evening Post was/is a bimonthly magazine that finds its roots in Benjamin Franklin's Pennsylvania Gazette. As one of the nations first magazines, the Post surely reviewed things that magazines review--shows, restaurants, celebrity love triangles, etc.--and we hope to carry on with that sort of tradition, reviewing some icon of Louisville culture that we've experienced during the week. 

Akiko's: Akiko's, commonly referred to as Kinko's, is a Karaoke bar on the corner of Grinstead and Bardstown road. As the setting for both of our first experiences with Karaoke, it will forever live in our memories as a magical place, for all of these reasons:
1. It is very hot
2. Only three people seem to work there (Akiko herself, someone who is probably her son, and a young man from India or Bangledesh who DJs the actual Karaokeing and talks like a rapper.
3. The place is filled with any number of flamboyant types (men in sparkle shirts, bachelorette parties, rocky horror picture show singers) and stoic people-watchers (frat boys, groups of would-be rappers trying to decide if they are too cool to sing)
4. One of our friends (who wouldn't want his name in print) sat with a girl on stage as she sang "I'll make love to you," and loved every minute of it...even though he was determined to hate karaoke.
5.  Ben sang Wonderwall in all sincerity to Molly as the last song of the night.
6. There are black lights.
7. You can leave Akiko's, having sung two songs and consumed two drinks, for less than 10 dollars.
8. Everyone there sucks and it is the perfect place to cut your karaoke teeth/ get over your fear of the stage.
9. White people always sing either current hip-hop or 70s ballads and it is awesome.
10. The dance floor is always open but BEWARE! there are experienced gropers walking around...just ask Carol Anne.

By-the-way-Friday: Stuff White People Like

By-The-Way-Fridays will usually look like every other blog out there. For instance, you may often find random lists of things we want to buy, pictures of our most recent latte art experiences, rants about the government, or movie reviews written as if we are the hipster version of Robert Ebert....actually probably not. These are just normal blog posts.

We are White people and this blog strikes several chords.

#127 Where the Wild Things Are

July 13, 2009 by clander

It is a guarantee that whenever it is announced that a popular book is being turned into a movie, white people will get upset. This is partly due to their fear that something they love will be made accessible to more people and thus enjoyed by more people which immediately decreases the amount of joy a white person can feel towards the original property. Yes, it’s complicated.

The other problem is that these announcements create a ticking time bomb where by a white person must read the book in ADVANCE of the release of the movie. This is done partly so that they can engage in the popular activity of complaining about how the movie failed to capture the essence of the book. But more importantly, once a book has been made into a movie, a white person can no longer read that book. To have read the book after the movie is one of the great crimes in white culture, and under no circumstances should you ever admit to doing this. Literally dozens of white friendships have imploded when it was revealed that someone read Fight Club after 1999.

So when it was announced that Where the Wild Things Are was being turned into a feature film, white people didn’t immediately get excited at the prospect of this film, in fact a great number of white people cringed when they first heard it was being turned into a movie. This was merely instinct. Immediately, those concerns quickly turned into an opiate-like peace when they found out that the film is being directed by white person favorite Spike Jonze and adapted for the screen by legendary white writer Dave Eggers.

Though the talent and the material has white people in a tizzy, the real excitement comes from the fact that this film is based off a book that is 48 pages long and made up mostly of illustrations. This means that white people do not have to re-read the book until the day they head to the movie theater. Thus freeing them up to watch The Director’s Series: The Work of Spike Jonze DVD which they bought years ago but only watched once.

Finally, and perhaps of most value to you is that the film has generously provided you with an excellent way to test out how many white friends you have. When the trailer was released a few months ago, you should have been inundated with emails, instant messages, and Facebook wall posts about how you need to see the trailer immediately. If you received no word that the trailer was available, then you currently are in possession of no white friends. If you received multiple notices, you should take note about who sent it to you first.

#128 Camping

August 14, 2009 by clander

If you find yourself trapped in the middle of the woods without electricity, running water, or a car you would likely describe that situation as a “nightmare” or “a worse case scenario like after plane crash or something.” White people refer to it as “camping.”

When white people begin talking to you about camping they will do their best to tell you that it’s very easy and it allows them to escape the pressures and troubles of the urban lifestyle for a more natural, simplified, relaxing time. Nothing could be further from the truth.

In theory camping should be a very inexpensive activity since you are literally sleeping on the ground. But as with everything in white culture, the more simple it appears the more expensive it actually is.

Camping is a multi-day, multi-step, potentially lethal activity that will cost you a large amount of both time and money. Unless you are in some sort of position where you absolutely need the friendship of a white person, you should avoid camping at all costs.

The first stage of camping always involves a trip to an outdoor equipment store like REI (or in Canada, Mountain Equipment Co-Op). These stores are well known for their abundance of white customers and their extensive inventory of things for white people to buy and only use once. If you are ever tricked into going to one of these stores, you can make white people like you by saying things like “man, this Kayak is only $1200, if I use it 35 times I’ve already saved money over renting.” Note: do not actually buy the kayak.

Next, white people will then take this new equipment and load it into an SUV or Subaru Outback with a Thule or Yakima Roof Rack. Then they will drive for an extended period of time to a national park or campsite where they will pay an entrance fee and begin their journey. It is worth noting that white people are unaware of the irony of using a gas burning car to bring them closer to nature and it is not recommended that you point this out. It will ruin their weekend.

Once in the camp area, white people will walk around for a while, set up a tent, have a horrible night of sleep, walk around some more. Then get in the car and go home. This, of course, is a best case scenario. Worst case scenarios include: getting lost, poisoned, killed by an animal, and encountering an RV. Of these outcomes, the latter is seen by white people as the worst since it involves an encounter with the wrong kind of white people.

Conversely, any camping trip that ends in death at the hands of nature or requires the use of valuable government resources for a rescue is seen as relatively positive in white culture. This is because both situations might eventually lead to a book deal or documentary film about the experience.

Ultimately the best way to escape a camping trip with white people is to say that you have allergies. Since white people and their children are allergic to almost everything, they will understand and ask no further questions. You should not say something like “looking at history, the instances of my people encountering white people in the woods have not worked out very well for us.”

#6 Organic Food

January 19, 2008 by clander

Because of the balance of global wealth and power, there is a general assumption that white people are pretty shrewd. And for the most part, history has proven this to be true. But white people have one great weakness: organic food.

As seen by the image on the left – when faced with eating food that has been processed and loaded with nitrates, sodium and saturated fat, or organic rat poison, 10/10 they will take the rat poison.

Just like with farmers markets, white people believe that organic food is grown by farmers who wear overalls, drive tractors, and don’t use pesticide. In spite of the fact that most organic food is made by major agribusiness, and they just use it as an excuse to jack up prices, white people will always lose their mind for organic anything. Never mind the fact that if the world were to switch to 100% organic food tomorow, half the earth would die of starvation.

But white people don’t care, just so long as they aren’t eating pesticides they are pretty sure they can live forever.

It’s almost guaranteed that if some Columbian drug lord can start offering “organic” cocaine, he’ll be the richest guy ever.

B.R.R.'s Days: Age 4

Disclaimer: B.R.R.'s Days (pronounced brrrrrr'sdays to rhyme with thursdays) are basically Molly's effort to give me some reason to write things and she is sweet for indulging me. I am of the opinion that writers are some of the most arrogant wind-bags that exist in world, because they invariably assume that anyone would want to know what is in their minds, so as a disclaimer I ask that whoever reads this forgive me beforehand and realize that I am just having fun/pleasing my wife--which is also fun. 

Second Disclaimer: the following--for how many weeks I don't know yet--is part of an idea I've been tossing around that uses many sections of flash fiction (poetic, train-of-thought, flash images in prose) each representing a different year in a person's life. The main goal would be to put them all together (maybe not in order) to present an interesting and realistic, if disjointed, picture of humanity complete with the characters and characteristics of an identifiable main character's life. Bear with me, but the project was inspired by a quote from On the Road which reads "our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life." Here, I think, it would be more appropriate to argue that life is the road, and that is the sort of thinking that has inspired me to do something so weird. 

Age 4: outside the blanket Daddy pushes his hands under me like he is scooping water from a bucket and I think he has too much hair on his arms. in my dreams he has the same face as God but I know he is just him even though the Bible says he is made in God’s image so I don’t know. Daddy says he would cut off his arm for me if it would save my life but I don’t understand what he means—only that it means he loves me more.  when the covers are all tucked Daddy lays down next to me after he turns on the tape and I put my nose against his nose and try to breathe through my nose at the same time he breathes. I wonder if he is already asleep and if he is pretending so that I will fall asleep first and then I watch the fan and try to see just one wing of it instead of the whole spinning circle. i am too warm but I don’t move much because I am tucked in. i try not to but I think about what if Daddy and the whole world are robots and I am the only real kid and I can’t get married because they aren’t the same as me and I can’t have kids either I don’t think. I pretend I am only imagining because I feel his soft nose and his foot touching my foot but except for that dream about being stuck in a giant house with no doors, I dream it all the time and it scares me because I feel alone, but also like the hero of the world.