Monthly Archives: February 2008

2006 was more (whatever Harper's said) than 2007.

Written by Michael Clinard. No comments.

I’m a big fan of Harper’s. The articles are stimulating, and when you read sections like Index, Excerpts and/or Findings, it immediately raises your IQ in ten point incrementals. Read it two or three months in a row, and it’ll cause heavy brain drip from the nose what with all the knowledge you’re attempting to make room for.

You can say something like: anthropologists determined there was an early ancestor of primordial man that laughed. AND you’d be right.

So in my best Harper’s Magazine-type, deadpan delivery style of Index and Findings, here goes. Bare in mind that the images don’t truly exist in a Harper’s but think of the allusions and what one might see if the story could be in pictures:

I typed something out that had another day in the sun in a different context, in a different arena of readership, altogether. In the dark of Magnuson Park, folk in Seattle took photos. Moving pods were packed by Michael Clinard, Jacob Gerber and Gina Cholick–who is currently on her way to LA to tear it up down there (photos of moving pods are everywhere, I like this photo more). When Day/Nyquil bottles are left about the kitchen, smooshed paper towels work wonders to combat pet hair and dander from entering into the inherent technique of delivery. Gretag Macbeth color cards and ASUS eee PC’s are delicious. Jenna and Michael are swing dancing.

Democracy in Action: Introducing your PCC

Written by Michael Clinard. No comments.

When some of us in the NW see/hear “PCC” we think a natural food/co-op market with yummy deli selections that, when weighed out to the pound, are as valuable as some precious metals. When I say/write “PCC,” I mean, Precinct Caucus Chair.

I’m speaking ’bout revolution in the mindstate my hungry babies. . . I’m pandering for real change, my people!

Just this past Saturday, February 9th, yours truly had the great honor of participating in the Washington state caucus as my precinct’s appointed caucus chair in the 32-1209′s Democratic party candidacy shindig at Highland Terrace Elementary School.

When I arrived that afternoon, it was nothing like I remember of the Iowa Caucus. In my Iowa Caucus experience, I remember hundreds of folks crammed into spaces that only molecules occupy. By my estimation, the space that molecules occupy aren’t comprised of people in funny costumes. Spaces for molecules don’t speak loudly and/or make you feel bad for standing in a corner in support of a particular candidate, but that’s what I remember of Iowa.

However, in Washington state, there was little fan fair and caucus molecules were breathing quite well in the elementary school gymnasium. Things were casual and everyone was carrying around this kind of muted, only-in-the-NW-informed ‘excitement.’

That Saturday, I approached my elementary lunch table in the gym with the same kind of excitement for taking part, first-hand in the electoral process. I sat down at the 32-1209′s lunch table and people were talking. In the midst of all the lunch room table talk, I let it slip that I’d once participated in the Iowa Caucus.

See, “participate” is a loaded word for me. Standing in the corner of a room in Iowa, with an arm raised is much different than reading guidelines to a group of Washingtonians looking at you as a capable figurehead ensuring their voice/vote will be heard/counted. Some at the table felt that given my Iowa experience, I’d be a natural choice as the precinct’s chair. After taking the reigns and digesting the many number of forms and instructions contained within our precinct’s delegate envelope, I knew the next two or so hours were going to be quite interesting.

Long story short, attendance swelled and soon a great many number of us were shouting our viewpoints, or in my case, instructions and guidelines we were to follow as caucus attendees. In the 32-1209, all 48 in attendance were able to sit through the required paperwork and herky-jerky Democratic processes in order to rightfully distribute our precinct’s six alloted delegates. Mad props to my Tally Clerk, Mary (seen in the 3rd-from-the-top photo in the black turtleneck), our precinct caucus secretary and my right hand man on the cellphone calculator, both of which are unnamed and unidentified in the pics above.

O’ yeah! The let’s-take-it-back sentiment is contained in the envelope below, Mama:

Spittin' Fierceness

Written by Michael Clinard. 1 Comment.

There’s speculation that Tom Petty was lip-syncing during the Super Bowl. That, I can forgive, seeing as how Tom Petty went to bat for scores of artists in the 80′s against Big Music’s contractual agreements dictating that they (big record companies) own the music. And, in effect, it was kosher to slide the musical performers some scratch here and there while Big Music took in the lion’s share of album sales.

Things have changed for the most part, and there are a number of different models out there now. You might say, ‘so, Mike, you like Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers?’ And I’d be like, ‘heck, yeah. I love ‘em.’ I like them so much I dedicated an entire morning a couple weeks back to Peter Bogdanovich’s 4hr. documentary on the group.

The idea of a four hour documentary might incite some sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. At its mention, you might begin to recall some childhood trip when the family drove from Point A (home) to Point B (aunt’s house). You weren’t a big boy or girl and didn’t have front seat privileges or the opportunity to soak in all of the air-conditioning during the middle of summer with a humidity level hovering around 98%: an ‘are-we-there-yet’ kind of feeling cycling through your head.

As long as my pops was bumping the Heartbreakers, that’s a trip I could’ve endured (and in fact have from Nolensville, TN to Athens, GA).

While watching the film, I had a very personal reaction because out of the blue, I began singing aloud nearly every song they featured in the documentary. I knew them all by heart, but never really thought about it until then. My dad had in fact played a many great number of the records all of the time throughout my childhood: in the car, in the house, in the boat if fishing. . .

In reference to my title, thought I’d post these pics of me as I spit some rhymes during my parent’s anniversary party. I’m kidding, I wasn’t freestylin’, just doing a rendition of Johnny Cash’s ‘Boy Named Sue’ on some kind of karaoke thing you hook up to a television. Someone snapped a couple shots during the performance which subsequently brought the house down.