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C.B. Broadwater

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re(sist, tard, main, lay, frain)ceptionist [Apr. 7th, 2005|11:49 am]
C.B. Broadwater
[music |Yo La Tengo--Little Eyes]

I am not a receptionist. It's something that I do, but not something that I am. I hate the sound of it. It sounds like a football position--quarterback, lineman, tackle, receptionist. Or, like a surgeon's assistant, some white-masked apprentice who takes and cleans the used and bloody scalpels. "Receptionist?" Yes sir? "Please take this number seven and hand me the number three rib cutters." It's subservient and no-collar. Worse still, and perhaps most misleading, it sounds like a television broadcast technician, some guy in blue coveralls on a roof, twiddling with the antennae. I never say "I'm a receptionist," when people ask me what I do. I say, "I'm a recent graduate," or "I'm on the job hunt." And from now on, when people ask, I shall respond proudly that I am a hunter, a non-corporate savage, tracking down something, smelling out the kill. I will appear masculine and in-control when I say this. I will seem strange, yet compelling. I will not have the air of someone who answers phones and cheerily greets people in a lobby. When I announce this, that I am a hunter, people will see blood running from my mouth and torn flesh in my hands. They will shudder at my raw power. They will be scared, but then they will love me. And receive me.
I'm thinking of putting a tip jar on the front desk.
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Mystery and Manners [Dec. 9th, 2004|03:12 pm]
C.B. Broadwater
[music |The Clash: London Calling]

If anyone is interested, two of our older songs are posted at www.purevolume.com/mysteryandmanners. You can stream them or download them, whatever suits yer boots. They are "Greens and Browns," a poppier number than normal for us, and "The Triad," an instrumental that we recorded, almost live, onto 8-track. This song would be a lot better if we had used a metronome, but no matter.

Our show went well. All of the new songs are faster and more dynamic than the old stuff, so I am pleased. Gideon, although he puked no less than five times the day before, managed to keep the beat without so much as missing a cue.

Thanks to Netflix, I've been watching lots of old Mystery Science Theater 3000, among other things. Doog and I watched them spoof "Timechasers" last night, then popped in the new Zatoichi. Good stuff, all.

I'll be home Christmas eve, and in the area until the 29th.

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Anagram Madness [Nov. 29th, 2004|04:02 pm]
C.B. Broadwater
[mood |bored]
[music |Johnny Cash: I tremble for you]

Well, yes, I'm bored at work. So here are a few anagrams I've scrambled from the names of a few friends. I only know clinton's middle name, so he fared best (more letters=better results). Here goes:

Clinton Douglas Jones:
Lancelot's good injuns
Locating London Jesus
Cajun's indolent logos
Colossal joint gunned
Locals outdo Jennings (Peter, I assume)
Jello-sounding cantos
Jung's colon deflations (a personal favorite)
noon, adjusting cellos
Unloads jesting colon
Conjoins legal donuts
Jealous, conning dolts
Jungian, cloned stools

Jonathan Recher:
Hannah Rejector

Josh Ryan:
Shorn Jay
An hrs. joy (how sweet)

Nevin Laughlin:
hell'uva inning!
anulling hive
hun village inn
and, my favorite, "ill nun, heaving"

Matthew Kevin Smith:
"Twit! Shave them mink!"

Nathan "Doogie" Pracht
A hacienda thong port
Pooh! A tenth cardigan...
Got a handicap, hornet?

And here are a few new ones for me, Casey Brian Broadwater:
Tweedy barbarian Oscar
Barbarian wasted Corey
Screwy, aborted Arabian
A weary, Orient scabbard
Yawner: absorb bacteria
and, of course, "War Bard: Satanic Obeyer"
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Too cool for school. [Nov. 22nd, 2004|01:07 pm]
C.B. Broadwater
[music |Johnny Cash--I walk the line.]

It's finally getting cold here, as evidenced by the layer of ice that somehow accrues on my windshield overnight. Juli has me well supplied with blankets, and the heater in our apartment performs with zeal, but sometimes I like standing on the porch in a t-shirt, breath ghosting, clutching a mug of tea. I'm a sucker for the hot/cold combo. I recently bought enough tea to last me a good month or so, grean tea's of all sorts, and some fine chai. There was a time, in high school, when nearly every night, from 11pm until 2am, was spent in bed with a book, a bowl of popcorn, and a cup of Earl Grey. But I've been really slacking on my reading lately. It seems I only crack a book when I'm waiting for something. I've been too busy watching movies. However, I did find a copy of Dancing at Lughnasa, which is a Brian Friel play I did in highschool. I'm amazed at how many lines, even monologues, I still remember.

The band is slowly getting on its collective feet. We have a show Dec. 3rd at the "Kirkland Teen Center." We dropped by to scope the place out and there was a thick chump with a backwards cap strumming acoustic jingles to a crowd of baggy-panted kids. I have a feeling we'll want to import as many of our own crowd as possible. We're trying to get the five song demo done by then, to pawn and fund the rest of the recording.

I finally caved and signed up for NetFlix. Hopefully this will curb my dvd-buying habit and deliver some instant, movie gratification. Their selection, I've found, is surprisingly decent.

I need to get out more.

This weekend, Juli and I went to a church in seattle with an 8 piece orchastra. I was impressed; at times they sounded a wee-bit like belle and sebastian with a measure of godspeed thrown in.
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(no subject) [Nov. 11th, 2004|03:58 pm]
C.B. Broadwater
I've been on a serious dvd binge lately. Last night I finally became a member of Scarecrow video, and I bought "Cure," a Silence of the Lambs-ish film by Kiyoshi Kurosawa, and Ju-On. Then today, I won Fukasaku's notorious "Battle Royale" on e-bay. Now, in front of all the world, I'm going to make a pledge to stop buying movies for at least a month, and allow my check-book to recuperate. Hold me to it. Seriously. Spy on me if you have to.

In other news, I started reading "Pale Fire," by Vladamir Nabakov, and have been surprisingly entertained. I would suggest it to anyone who is a fan of non-conventional fiction. The first half consists of a 999 line poem, and the remainder of the novel serves as the footnotes to the poem. Wierd.
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Ba Ba Ba Baa Baa Baaaa [Nov. 4th, 2004|04:35 pm]
C.B. Broadwater
For anyone interested, I've started an alternate journal at Rotten Tomatoes, an excellent film site you should all frequent. Here's the link: http://rottentomatoes.com/vine/j/hidingmywings

Bird is the Word.
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Home, everybody wants to go home. Even when they're old, even when they're small. [Nov. 4th, 2004|10:02 am]
C.B. Broadwater
[music |office sounds, unfortunately]

Recently, I've been having trouble defining what "home" means to me. I waver. Sometimes I think that memory is more of a home than any place can be, but lately I've felt this sub-gravital tug towards western Maryland. I think everyone has a psychic/spiritual tie with the region of their birth. It's not just the people there, but the landscape, the trees and streams, the types of plants, the wildlife. More than that, it's the way the buildings look late at night or early in the morning, or in fog. It's the quality of the atmosphere. Like Cumberland, where I was born, for instance. Whenever I go there, there's this heaviness in the air that I associate with places that have surpassed their prime, towns that have settled and sunk on a foundation that's crumbling beneath them. With Cumberland, it's the coal trade and local industry. The town feels economically dank, and though this may seem depressing, in a way it lends the place a charming, timeless quality. Unlike so many American towns (cluttered with chain-stores, architecturally white-washed), Cumberland feels like a "place," feels unique and strangely resiliant. It has no pretensions about progress. Even the downtown overpass feels ancient as it winds past the copper-spires of hill top churches and gothic government buildings. Maybe it's this transcendence of time that makes a place feel like home. I sense it when I go down to the Potomac, or when I bicycle to the cemetary by my grandmother's house, or when I stand at the edge of my grampa's strip-mine, tossing rocks into wind-hushed void. I don't, however, feel it at all when I visit Loudon County, which is the third fastest growing county in the nation, and my residence for ten years.

On a different note, last night I watched a Korean horror film, "A Tale of Two Sisters," which, though somewhat confusing at the end, was one of the scariest films I've ever seen. There's no American dvd release for it yet, so I had to get a region free copy off of e-bay. If you're up for it though, I highly recommend it. Jon, have you seen this yet?
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Soon it will be over. I laughed under my breath over your shoulder. [Nov. 3rd, 2004|04:46 pm]
C.B. Broadwater
[music |Iron and Wine: Such Great Heights]

I've been having strange dreams about the Potomac river. Sometimes I'm floating down it on a log, other times I see a man fall into a pit of teeming water mocassins. Then, when I wake up, I think of that day Clint and I took pictures along the river. We thought it would be a good idea to throw sticks at a snake curled up in the limbs of an overhanging tree. One of us scored a direct hit (I forget who) and the snake fell from his perch with all the limpness of an untied rope. Once on the ground, however, he fiercly writhed up the banks towards the path where we stood. If I remember correctly, Clint and I took off running like the cowards we are. I would never do this, but I always imagine someone picking the snake up by the tail, dashing its head against the tree trunk, and flinging the unmoving body into the river to watch it float into oblivion.

I've noticed a significant number of posts regarding yesterday's elections. Here are my only thoughts: 1.) At least we didn't have the debacle that was the 2000 elections, and 2.) I'm not at all surprised. I'm very much a centrist politically, so I think I can speak with no bias. It seems to me that no one was really passionate about having Kerry in office. No one could say "Hell yeah! Kerry's our man!" It was more like, "let's sack Bush!" As such, the lack of excitement about Kerry as a candidate (and not just a means to dispose of Bush) translated into a lack of votes. Unless Georgie-Porgie does something wildly successful, the Democrats are definately poised for a 2008 comeback.

I don't know if anyone else caught this, but at one point in the broadcast, Dan Rather's digital feed got screwy and his voice glitched several times in a row, exposing him as the robot he truly is.
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A rant. [Nov. 1st, 2004|10:55 am]
C.B. Broadwater
[music |Elliott Smith: Pretty now, Ugly before.]

Juli and I went to a 1930's themed party on Friday--I came as a newsie. Some guy, obviously confused, came as a British parliament member circa 1781, white wig, ruffles and all. We had hot buttered rum and applecider, and I ate lots of cupcakes. On saturday we had a party for Juli's brother Joe, and I quizzed trick-or-treaters about the motivations for their costumes. One girl was a vampire, but I told her she looked like Micheal Jackson...I could sense the tears welling, so I gave her a generous handful of Nestle Crunch. Then, of course, there were the pre-teens, who don't dress up but hold out king sized pillowcases. Halloween is for them, as Garrison Keiller says, "a festival of sugar."

As for my beef with the world, it stems, in part, from the old adage "history repeats itself." Sure we have progress, but in reality, the problems have only changed on the surface. Take the war, for instance. The powerful have always used violent means to achieve selfish ends. Well, that makes sense in a skewed way. What doesn't make sense is, simultaneously, we use violence in attempts to achieve a peaceful end. This is why the war in Iraq was such a giant mistake. Radical Muslims don't see us trying to "liberate" Iraq, they see us as invaders who demand political, moral, and economic compliance. We're so bullheaded. We look at what we want to happen, then set out to accomplish it with no regard to those it might affect. Sure, radical Islam isn't good for the world, but we're not helping matters by bombing the hell out of everyone. Talk about drumming up hatred. The only reason we're remotely concerned about the middle east is the oil trade. Before that, it was a concern that Russia would get too chummy chummy with Iran. The thing is, we're damned either way. No one complains if Switzerland doesn't get involved with world affairs, but we're the top dog and everyone expects us to sort the world's wheat from the chaff. This opens us to scrutiny, however. Who cheers for the top dog (well, except for Yankees' fans)? Enough of that rant...but think about the other problems the world has. Poverty, dearth, poor health care, depleted resources--nothing has changed, each generation simply puts a new veneer on an old issue. We're Sisyphus, rolling the rock uphill and watching it tumble to the bottom again. Has any real progress been made in three thousand years? Sure, we've improved the "quality of life," but how do you even measure that? We measure by comparison--with whom? The wealthiest, those with the best healthcare, those with the most technology, those with the longest lifespan. Attributes that in no way guarantee happiness. Here's where my Platonic ideals come in. I want to believe that life is meaningful, but it's obvious to me that meaning cannot be isolated in the material, temporal aspects of our humanity. You could go the theistic existentialist route, and say that meaning is found in the interactions and love we have with one another and God, but that doesn't account for history. I want to believe that history itself is meaningful, that it's not just a cyclical struggle or God's violent means to a peaceful end. But, I always have this creeping doubt about it. There is no explaination, at least, not the kind I'm looking for, and so my hope for meaning rests on faith, which is, to be honest, a bed of nails.
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(no subject) [Oct. 15th, 2004|01:38 pm]
C.B. Broadwater
[music |Fearless--Low covering Pink Floyd]

The tootsie roll tosser stuck again today, and this time I tested the faux-chocolate for softness. An easy squeeze, I tell you, an easy squeeze. I don't think he realizes that there's an enormous candy bowl right next to me filled with goodies of the highest quality--Laughy Taffy, Milky Way Midnight, Smarties--and that no one wants to eat his flaccid pocket candy. Okay, that sounded really dirty.
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