Last night the Canals were fortunate enough to have been in attendance for the Obama rally at Independence Mall. The rally itself was great — over 35,000 people showed up, more than any other campaign event yet — but the self-organized march up Market Street afterwards was the clear highlight. Here’s a post about the event from the Atlantic, but it seems like it hasn’t received too much coverage so far. We’re coming out of hibernation to try to change that.
(Obama’s in the car in the 6th video. If you go frame by frame, you can almost make out a blur.)
You don’t see much out the window from the 15th floor. We do have a construction project going on across the street, and I have a pretty good view of the skyline. But unlike on lower floors, the scene is unchanging. Nothing ever moves. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t even be able to tell the seasons apart from this altitude.
So when a leaf floated past today, it caught my eye. It hovered at my eye level before being whisked away to greater heights. It took me a moment to grasp how truly remarkable this was. The tree it came from couldn’t have been more than 5 or 6 stories high – that leaf had to work hard to get up here. It had to defy gravity, to defy fall, to find the perfect gust of wind to rise above its place of birth. It was remarkable that it would never reach this height again, except on its way down. This was its one last hurrah, a chance to get a good look at the world before succumbing to a fate of sneaker-bottoms and decomposition.
For me, though, the most remarkable thing about it was that it caught my eye at all. There’s something terrible about being so far removed from the earth. There’s something grotesque about a high rise. I love hotels and dream of an office in a skyscraper penthouse, but life at high altitude just isn’t the same. A bug on the window is an event. I find myself being merciful to the pests that find their way into the room – I’m either desperate for nature or just in awe of the fact they made it up so high. And my ears pop every time I go down the elevator; I’m so foreign to the ground that my body needs to recalibrate. Next year, either my world needs to move to the 15th floor, or I need to move to ground level.
Tomorrow, the Canals will be venturing northward to that sideshow of Scranton: Wilkes-Barre, PA. There, we’ll be attending the 7th Annual Sideshow Gathering — the world’s largest freak and sideshow convention — to report on the events for our class at Philly’s local radio station, WXPN. Although we’re not sure exactly what to expect, we do anticipate a couple of days of pure ecstasy. And since it is paired with the INKIN’ THE VALLEY Tattoo Convention, we may come back with something a bit more indelible than memories (feel free to leave comments of ideas for Danny’s prospective tattoo). Our final piece will be aired on WXPN sometime in December, so listen up if you’re in the greater Philadelphia area.
The Band sang about an early 20th century circus variety act (no doubt containing both shows and sides) in…
While briefly watching a bit of King of Queens – one of dozens of television programs featuring a fat man and a hot wife – it came up that the Leah Remini, who plays the wife Carrie, is a scientologist. I know it’s in vogue to spurn L. Ron Hubbard and his quacked-out offspring, but I’m a bit ambivalent about Scientology. Regardless that it obviously has some crazy and illogically suppressive rules about it, I’m still a huge fan of one of their most prominent members.
When my roommate mentioned “Carrie” being a scientologist, I immediately had to bring up Beck, my idol from the future. His whole vibe, from the beginning of his career as an early freak-folk pioneer to his current mode of spaced out techno-rock, fits into the scientologist theme: aliens, technology, space, religious dogma, and pure madness. After talking briefly about Beck, I started to wonder if he was due for a new album soon. I hadn’t checked in on him since getting his last album, The Information.
I guess we just needed some time apart. 2006’s bastard hybrid of hip-hop, rock, and folk had some pretty stellar highlights, but I’ve felt that Beck hasn’t had a real breakthrough since Sea Change. His website mentioned two post-Information tracks for download, a remix of Dr. Dog’s “The Girl” which I had already heard, and a single that was released in August called “Timebomb.” Theoretically, it will be a track on his next album, which has yet to be announced (but rumored to be produced in part by Jack White). Much like the remix of “The Girl,” this single is an obvious brainchild of Information-era Beck, full of techno beats, blips, and M.I.A.-esque layered vocals. It’s a cool party song, but I just hope that Beck doesn’t get too wrapped up in this new scene and forget his roots in cynical, spaced-out, folk-rock.
Beck - Timebomb
Locust Walk was interesting today. Besides the usual shameless advertising for on-campus events, students were promoting some important social causes. On the right, a group of students barked that I should support Alzheimer’s research. On the left, a girl forced me to take a breast cancer flyer. Yellow balloons swayed in the wind, signifying the start of Islam awareness week. Above me, a banner screamed that we were in the midst of Terrorism awareness week as well.
In most cases Locust Walk is the perfect venue for the ideas expressed there. I don’t need more than a passing glance to decide that I’m not going to be attending the next a capella concert or buying a lollipop to support a sorority event. Today, though, I found myself thinking about the Walk’s issues long after I passed 36th Street. The messages seemed more strategic than usual. By setting up shop next to a competing ideology, each managed to get inside my head. Should I have listened to the guys on the right, or the girl on the left? The balloons or the banner? I was suddenly faced with moral dilemmas that I was wholly unprepared for.
Boobs or Memory?
Muslims or Terrorists?
I’d never given much thought to these age-old dichotomies, but Locust Walk had given me no choice but to consider my positions. What good are boobs if you don’t remember them? What good is memory without boobs? Should I be aware of Muslims, or be aware of Terrorists? What if I chose to ignore both? What if they weren’t two dichotomies, but one quadchotomy? Boobs, Memory, Muslims, or Terrorists. They almost seemed elemental; how could I be expected to choose between them? And on a humid day, at that? I was long past moral or philosophical – these seemed impossibly paradoxical.
Luckily, I didn’t have to wait long for my mind to be put at ease. The Crazy Christian was out in front of Van Pelt with his easel, markers, and dogma, assuring me that the Apocalypse was near. Nothing like the threat of fire and brimstone to clear your head.
If you haven’t noticed, the Canals have been on a bit of a break from posting. Two weeks to be exact. School seems to have gotten the best of us. But that doesn’t mean we haven’t been thinking about you guys.
I saw The Darjeeling Limited last weekend, and I’ve been on a Kinks kick ever since. Here are two songs from the soundtrack and a few other of my favorite tracks of the past 14 days.
mp3s will be posted for a limited time and are for evaluation only. If you would like me to remove any mp3s, please email me directly: thecanals @ gmail.com
