The Contrarian

La Dolce Vita and Soak Me in Cognac. . . By Jebson Interlandi

For the past twelve days, I’ve been sauntering through the healthy climes of Italy. When the Prez first gave word of my “assignment,” I booked a flight to Palermo and eagerly waited my expense check. This was his faxed memo to yours truly:

“Foreign Correspondent Interlandi: The Contrarian will provide supplies and means for your immediate travel to Cefalu, Sicily, in order for you to take photographs of Aleister Crowley’s Abbey of Thelema. Western Union has your money."

It could’ve been my Great Shark Hunt, but that cheap bastard of a Prez only wired me 15 bucks with a pathetic note: “Hey Jeb, be sure to learn about Cefalu and have some 'Za on me." Luckily, I had recently won a fair amount of cash in a game of chance with some street urchins in Amsterdam. Let that be a lesson to those scamps — never bet against a blue-eyed Italian on a hasheesh bender.

My time in Cefalu was flush with hiking, sun, gelato, vin della casa and seafood. On the last day I finally managed to find Crowley’s old residence, which proved to be a difficult search as there are no signs advertising its whereabouts. Situated beside the soccer stadium, the decrepit compound of that charismatic and influential magus still stands, enshrouded in palm tree-overgrowth.

The house has surely seen better days — its roof is crumbling away and the rooms are littered with rubble. In fact, there’s no reason at all to visit the Abbey, other than to see Crowley’s now-faded artwork on the sanctum's innermost walls.

I experienced a warm, tingling sensation, however, as I stood on the floor where Crowley once performed his unique rituals. Hashish, goats, yoga, sodomy, cocaine, Egyptian incantations, 69ing. . . the energy still lingers. No, not really. Any sensations come solely from the historical imagination. But all in all, it was pretty cool:

The Wickedest Bungalow in the World.

Rec Room Window of the Damned.

DirectTV Antenna picks up "Cooking with the Scarlet Lady (a.k.a. Rachael Ray.)"

Satan's housekeeper is clearly on vacation.

The smiley cock-boobs demon makes you feel right at home.

Translation: Perdurabo gives good head.

Better soak me in Michelob Ultra instead — I'm counting carbs.

A similar design can be found in the Romney family room.

If you want to know how it all really went down during those dark nights at Thelema, watch this clip. Yes, that is Ron Jeremy as the priest.

After Sicily I took a Ferry to Naples. I’m not a fan of that burg, and I don’t expect I’ll ever go back.

Rome is, other than Paris, my favorite city for overall aesthetics. Any metropolis that's laden with statues and fountains (especially fountains) naturally wins my endorsement.

My favorite region in all of Italy is Cinque Terre. On the northern coast of the Mediterranean, these 5 coastal villages are all connected by an 8 mile hiking trail with bedazzling views of the verdant surroundings. The ambrosial air is perfumed with a sweet, floral fragrance. I also read a lot of Maupassant and Gautier on this trip.

Last stop was Florence, which is another open-air museum. I thank The Contrarian for granting me a period of renewal and professional leisure.

For anyone interested in Aleister Crowley, you might like to know there’s a new book on the way entitled, Aleister Crowley and the Temptation of Politics by Marco Pasi (my current professor). The English translation should hit the stores in a month or two.

Man Warns City Council of Possible Zombie Attack.

I really didn't love Salt Lake City, but I certainly got a kick out of the curious cultural schism between the city's Mormon gentry and its ignoble heathens.

Exhibit A: this awesome April Fool's prank concerning reanimated corpses and city preparedness, courtesy The Salt Lake Tribune. Yes, Molly — it's for reals.

OK, time to hit the skies. Oh, how I've missed you, DC!

Click here (or simply scroll down) to see my SLC photo montage.

Salt Lake Visions.

Never got the chance to verify this statement. Plus, I'm married.

Duh.

The view across the street from our hotel. Seriously.

The "Real" Patch Adams. Authenticity is important!

Before I left, Brooke said, "Don't surprise me by bringing home another wife." So I drank these instead.

There are a few bars. Here's one.

X marks the spot.

Ugly, yet interesting building.

Mountains. Arby's.

The venue.

Inside the venue. That pipe organ is huge.

Even in the heart of Latter Day Zion, one can, if one is industrious, find worthwhile reading materials.

Mountains 'n' Mormons.

I've been taking a lot of pictures of Utah sundry, and will post soon. We checked out the venue yesterday. Majestic. I'll upload some shots when I get a second. We play this afternoon at 2:30. I feel pretty good about our performance in rehearsals, but there are some lingering doubts about the technology. Fingers crossed. Our piece is being recorded, so there's a good chance I'll post it here for your consideration.

In the meantime, read about George Dvorsky's existential angst. I would rarely want anyone to speak for me, but I'm happy to point to this post as an example of my own intimate uncertainties.

Good morning from sunny Austin, TX.

Blogging from my iPhone while I eat breakfast at a Mexican seafood restaurant. They're showing Spanish soap operas on the big screen TV. The wait staff seem
transfixed.

Yesterday, I saw British Sea Power and Motorhead, but not on the same bill. Also caught a few hipster bands at the Fader party. Gotta go to panels today, then the Bloodshot Records BBQ. Later (and I mean later), it's metal time.

Death of a Glutton. . . By Jebson Interlandi

Insignificant Man Officially Bored With Food

This would've been a familiar headline had the Associated Press bought my story. I suppose they don't consider my sated appetite newsworthy. Jerks.

Yes, it's true. After seven years of intense eating and drinking, I've officially lost interest in culinary comestibles and gustatory treasures. Sporting a paunch since age 21, I've consumed megalithic proportions of all that is ingestible. Ever since my first raw oyster at age 6, I've been a confirmed seafood junkie. The memories. . .

Sun-dried cutlets of octopus on the beaches of Ios; steamed snails followed by raw mussels and french-fries in the streets of Brussels; Egyptian pigeon with a view of the pyramids; gnawing on rabbit bones in the hillocks of Delphi. The list goes on and on. Elk jerky, pig's stomach, calves liver, goat, frog legs, bratwurst, quail’s eggs, etc. You name it. It was not uncommon for me to conquer an entire Clam Supreme pizza in one sitting. I’ve glutted my way around Europe, to be sure — always washing down my daily feasts with ale, retzina, absinthe, whisky, ouzo, raki, reds and whites…

Those days are behind me now, thanks to the holiday season. After spending several days in Germany, stuffing my gob with schnitzel and drowning myself in liters of smoked beer, I’ve retired from my epicurean ways. My attraction to food has been quelled.

Aside from gaining a newfound respect for moderation, I also managed to steep myself in historical Germany over the holiday break. Bamberg and Munich, in particular, offered a few cathedrals in which I took temporary retreat through a timeless space. I’ve got a thing for Gothic aesthetics and their effects on the senses.

Christmas day was spent with the family in Dachau. This was a far more poignant and somber occasion. Walking through that wrought iron gate was a difficult step into a not-so-distant reality. It’s almost impossible to prevent the tears from welling up. Germany’s first concentration camp, Dachau began as a baleful prison for political dissenters, mostly journalists and academics. We all know the events that followed. I suppose this is the reason I’m deeply thankful for checks and balances. . . well, the idea of checks and balances, anyway.

New Years' in London was the end of my holiday hiatus. I was caught in a mob along the Thames, unable to see any of the fireworks emblazoning the sky due to the heavy fog. That was no problem. There was champagne being passed around.

Oh yeah, when I was in Brussels prior to Germany, I accidentally stumbled into Main Square, catching an impressive sound and light show using the windows and towers of the King’s House (a huge palace/cathedral-like building). The finale was Queen’s "Bohemian Rhapsody."  Never before was I in such strong need of good hash.

I hope everybody else made merry. I’m off to buy tickets for Colin Newman and Billy Bragg. I’m feeling hungry. Perhaps I’ll stop for a raw herring sandwich chased with sheep’s bile.

Up For A Road Trip?

Well, you better be driving a hybrid spacecraft — gas is gonna be 'spensive: Scientists Discover "Second Earth," 20 Light-Years Away. [Guardian UK]

Here's a tune for your travels. It's an oldie:

MP3: Clutch — "Spacegrass"

And a helpful translation, for the Neil Fallon-impaired:

So, Yeah. . . Baltimore.

Big stage. Regular-sized Neil.

Got caught up in stuffs yesterday, and didn't get to tell you about my trip to Baltimore to hang out with my singer-songwritin' buddy Neil Cleary, who was opening for British pop-jam-rockers Gomez at Ram's Head.

It was a private show for the attendees of a big organic convention held at B-More's lovely Inner Harbor. Neil and I cruised the food section, eating free samples and drinking thimblefuls of wine, which actually got us both a bit buzzed. My wagoneering has resulted in remarkably diminished tolerance. . . wonder what Neil's excuse was? This booze booth was "manned" by a 16 year-old kid who reminded me of George Michael Bluth at the family banana stand. We really got a kick out of him.

Pre-show was a blast; I've known Neil for over a decade, but we rarely get much bro time. We spent a good portion of the night in the green room, passing the acoustic guitar back and forth, playing and singing everything from "I Wish I Was in Dixie" to Elvis Costello ditties. Actually, the latter were all Neil. I could only half-remember a few Beatles and Stones numbers.

At first glance, Ram's Head seems like an odd venue, at least layout-wise. The main floor is rather small, but this is made up for by a couple of wraparound balconies, each equipped with a bar. It's a pretty decent design; you get a clear view of the stage from just about anywhere. Queens of the Stone Age played the night before; Morrissey will be there there in a couple of weeks.

Neil's set was great, but I ended up zoning out on the the last few tunes. This had nothing to due with his performance, but rather my embroilment in conversation with the General Manager of Music Matters — an organization which, among other eco-friendly activities, "greens up" tours by big-name and developing artists. (They were also responsible for putting together the entertainment for this particular event).

Gomez, well. . . I'm not much of a fan. English acts would be well advised to not imitate American jam bands — it just sounds forced. Their Brit-rockish stuff is OK, but there's a "heard-it-all-before" quality to their material. Neo-hippies dig it, though. Go figure.

After the show, I had a couple more house brews, which tasted the same way going down as one imagines they would coming back up. Now that's consistency.

I also found the bathrooms somewhat distasteful. In the men's room was an aging black porter, working for tips. He was quite sweet, but do I really need a senior citizen squirting soap in my hands, keeping the water running and then toweling off my mitts? I'm sure it's some kind of living, but it smacks of the kind of institutional racism I thought we had put behind us.

Anyway.

Here's the opening cut from Neil's new album, I Was Thinking of You the Whole Time. You can buy it on iTunes or what-have-you.

MP3: Neil Cleary — "The Go Ahead Girl"

Guess what? Me an' Neil found some more creepy "lifelike" sculptures! What is it with Maryland and off-putting statuary?

Neil and his partner read the riot act to a Golden Hippie.

"I'm not holding, Narc!"

"We've got the goods on you, Punk. Just come clean."

"I dunno. . . Maybe he's telling the truth. . ."

"Don't look into his eyes! Oh no — it's too late!"

Mastering Pitfalls.

. . .Or so says the I Ching. . .

There will be great good fortune, and all action taken will be in every way advantageous.

The situation is evolving slowly, and Yin is gaining ground.

Still, there's plenty to do on the road to Damascus.

Enough with the metaphysical gobbledegook. I gotta go catch my Metro to Destiny.

In the meantime, you can weigh in on another Transistor Blast query — which is the best post-Beatles solo effort? Hint: it ain't Give My Regards to Broadstreet.

We'll catch up later.

DC on the Cheap

Casey and I have been in DC for nearly a month now, and since we are unemployed [Editor's Note: you're not!], we've been able to spend some time with our nation's treasures. Most of this is due to the Smithsonian Empire, which is all free (well, there's a small toll charged to all of us on tax day). I thought it was time for a visual summary of our sightseeing.

We went to the Smithsonian Folklife Festival on The Mall. We stopped by the Virginia Stage for a few minutes of the blues. 

This was the Hat Boi Orchestra from Vietnam. It sounded like they were singing a soap opera. But good. It can't compete with Molly's Passions, but it worked for us.

A few days later we took in "Encompassing the Globe: Portugal and the World." People have been taking The Smithsonian to task lately, but I was encouraged by this small African subset of the show, which was mounted with care. The rest of the presentation was like a theme in search of artwork to back it up. I am holding our hope for this exhibit at the Hirshhorn. 

We went to the National Zoo — one of my favorite things to do in DC — where we witnessed a family of free-ranging Golden Lion Tamarins. We also saw seals, apes, elephants, birds galore, fishing cats, mole rats and many other animals. The zoo has live cams for many animals, if you ever feel like sitting around for hours watching naked mole rats wander through plastic tubes.  

Checked out Baltimore's Inner Harbor. No one tried to sell us drugs or hats, but we did meet a friendly man named Leo in the bookstore who thought Casey was an Iraqi, and asked us for money. We saw this poisonous frog at the National Aquarium.

And these blue poisonous dart frogs.

And this talkative creature.

We visited the Great Falls, but Casey thought they were pathetic falls, so we didn't take any pictures. Last weekend, we headed to Old Town, Alexandria to see the George Washington Masonic Memorial, but we got there right after it closed. Instead, we walked by the water and saw a fife player in costume and tried to figure out what his back story was.

It has been nice to live in a place where there is an abundance of things to do for free, but we're still hoping to find jobs so that we don't end up on permanent vacation. Maybe then we can pay the big bucks to see this exhibit.