Mijares and Will Ferrell

Please note that Mr. Ferrell is wearing a Mijares t-shirt. This will mean something to you if you grew up in Pasadena. Mijares is Pasadena landmark restraurant and they serve is red-sauce, white-people Mexican food. But it's good. Stiff margaritas. Mijares has a bar where middle aged single alcoholics go for happy hour. In high school when you went to Mijares with your family, you looked at the ground when you walked by the bar. You didnt want to become one of those people. I am thereby announcing a field trip to Mijares.

Hospital Beds

Last night I parked my car in Jurassic Park, moseyed through a clot of Universal Citywalk patrons who appeared to have been temporarily neon-blinded and/or sausage-stunned - maybe even deadened by the dueling piano-bar - and continued ambling until we walked by an exploding Waterworld ride to arrive at Gibson amphitheater for the KCRW concert.
Immediately, I saw James Blunt leaving the alcohol wristband line. I wonder what it must feel like to see real musicians play real music as an audience member when you are James Blunt.
Then, sequentially, I saw Nate Corddry.
I thought I saw Lauren Ambrose, but I was wrong.

In order:
Breakestra - annoying funk jam band. Pass the peas, right off the bat.

Then:
Cold War Kids. Great, lots of hitting on half empty wine bottles, maracas, etc. See below.




Then:
Rodrigo y Gabriela, who I had never heard of before. So all the better to stun you with. Both play mean, rapid acoustic guitar inspired by "trash metal". I dont think we knew what to do in the audience as a response, maybe offer up first born children. It was that good.

Then: Travis was the surprise guest. I felt kind of bad for them. Well, for anyone coming after Rodrigo y Gabriela. Fran Healy said they were listening backstage and were preparing their own nooses to sling over the rafters since they were on next.
Creepy tall bass player.

Then: Lily Allen. For shame, Lily Allen. For shame. A horn section dressed in Izod. For shame.

Then: The Shins. I don't hate them, but they did not and have not previously changed my life. I always fall asleep, despite their energy. I felt like maybe the lead singer was suicidal. There was something sad about him that I couldn't bear to look at. We decided that the other band members were not letting him speak for this reason. But then he gave a hello to his nieces. I think he is Edward Norton.

Sarah, Human VideoHut

Immigration: The Human Cost

MC Nuggets represent represent

Like a Party

Deaths, Palm Springs artwork, Ikea trips and a Pisco sour.
This in the Week of 29 years!

Here is a birthday-ish video.

A Leprechaun. Or a crackhead.

The Owl

Watch. Creepy

For Alex and Heidi

As per recent discussions:

I work with a lot of spirited, bright, funny, beautiful people. And a large majority of them are peace-loving Christians. It's just the math, it's just how it is. Is the PICU a vortex for that, who knows.
And I won't be at bible study with them anytime soon. But I want the world to know that I have the spirit too.
It just doesnt have a name.
Most often it is music brings out the Spirit for me, so I wanted to offer up an example
where the subject matter so beloved by people I love (and yet sort of far from me) overlaps with the thing that brings out my own brand of Bright White Light (TM).

Ladies and Gentlemen, the Rev. Al Green:



This is also for Bill, Gena, Katie, Jen, Natalie, Stacy, Monica, Fran, and Nick at Nite.
And Rachel. And Hanna.
And Lil' John Frommelt.

Further examples to follow.

Chubby Little Loser

This is for laughing.

From Ricky Gervais' Extras, Season 2. In which he plays a career extra who then stars in a horribly middle brow sitcom where he wears a wig, Sally Jesse Raphael glasses and blurts out the worst catch phrase ever. Here he is enjoying an evening out as a VIP.




And here he attempts to audition for a play being directed by Ian McKellen.
Again, for laughing.

A Song for An Ad For A Feeling, I Don't Know What (Window in the Skies)

Ever seen something you were sure was a World Cup/Super Bowl/Olympics ad for Coca Cola or Kodak that was framed by a song that made you feel full of goodness and light but made you suspect some sinister, corporate undertow at work?
Ever seen that kind of thing but different sort of...where the song makes you try to remember some other, older song that never existed...where it is full of the glory and light of music itself but also the passage of time and the somewhat beautiful sad sad sadness that best describes the state of the planet? With a Kindersurprise to boot?
No?

Here. Look. Really.

The Kindersurprise is really good. Did you find it?

Duly and Lovingly Noted Therein:
David Byrne's Shoe Tapping and Boombox
Arcade Fire at Coachella
Young Van Morrison, Breaking It Down
Iggy Pop's Circulatory system
Nina Simone
Baby Keith Richards
Patti Smith



Mom, can you find your friend Flava Flav?

It's ok to feel this good.

Failure Pile, Sadness Bowl

Hellhound at my heels

I wanted to change my blog address, but shortening the blog title would result in something approaching erotic fiction: slowlycomes, slowcomes, slowcome, slowlycoming, et ceterae. So I thought, how about I beckon forth ye olde hellhound. Why not!
I considered:
hellhoundatmyheels
hellhoundroundthebend
hellhoundunderthebed
hellhoundeatingcheetos

Anyway, the hellhound was abandoned too.
Sorry, little guy, but I know you're always there when I need you.

Sometimes I have to consciously try so hard to elicit the kind of creative farckle (def.: the lint on your sweater) that used to come so effortlessly once upon a time that I convince myselt that I have lost my true person utterly.

Anyway, I'm back.
Yer pal,
Hellhoundeatinghobbits

Return

The experiment has failed. The controls and variables were all over the place.
I come back to start anew.
New city (crash! bang!)
New bike (whirrrr)
Lebo 2.0!

goghead

Originally uploaded by Sarah Lebo.

I think I will come back to you, old blog.
I will abandon my other creative endeavor.
At least I tried.

L
SHL

All These Things That I Haven't Done Even Though I Think Long And Hard About Them

Dear old blog, I miss you. You are simple and straight up and I dont have to get creatively frustrated with making it look 'special' or 'different'.

I Henceforth Redirect You

I know I will lose an approximate fifty to seventy-five percent of my 'readership' in doing this.
However:
I henceforth redirect you to my New Blog.

It's not totally finished yet. It might take a long time to load, and you might not be able to see
The Rad-Ass Fonts. Sally forth and let me know.

Dance, magic dance.

Mexicans no know how drive.

My favorite essay on the sick ethos of Crash winning can be found here.
I burnt my chicken broth while reading the numerous Op-Eds on the story. BURNT my chicken broth, yes.

Today is day five off of work, but it is a sick day and my left eustachian tube is utterly compacted with viral swill, still pressing on my tympanic membrane and the little bones contained therein.

I went to Mammoth this weekend. It was a gong show (on my end). I had all this pent-up excitement to get out of LA and away from work, was told I *really deserved a vacation* and so believed it. Closer to the truth was that I *needed* a vacation.
It has been a few weeks at work where we all felt like King Theoden, looking over the remnants of battle at Helm's Deep: So much death.
So I finagled my way into a group of people heading up to the mountains and upon waking we found high winds, dumping powder and my a throat completely numbed by the toxins of some kind of infection. But did I try to ski nevertheless? Yes I did. The conditions were essentially complete whiteout with intermittent spots of simple high wind. Having not been able to find my contacts, I had to wear my glasses under goggles. These fogged immediately. Nothing could remedy the situation. I became immediately frustrated and Jordan Innes the 7th had to wait for my sorry ass at the bottom of every run, or halfway though. It was awful. We went back to the condo where I found myself febrile, shivering and the boys returned with ginger ale for me. Next day was sunny, I was still sick, but I wanted to have a Do-over of the previous day. And indeed it was a better day. I felt more comfortable on my skis and could wear my prescription sunglasses while enjoying clear visibility, but I still felt like my head was wholly detached from my body and wrapped in a layer of pink insulation foam.
By lunchtime, I was ready to join the rest of the group and not be a complete feeb and maybe even run some blacks.
Alas it was not to be. Mysteriously, no one showed up to the said meeting place for lunch. I felt jilted and dumped and skied the rest of the day alone, in the singles line for lifts. I was trying to tell myself that I shouldnt be mad and shouldnt feel dumped, but guys, I sure did. I tried to tell myself that skiing alone is really not so different from skiing with others. But, well, that's gullcrap. (not an eyelash was batted among them regarding me in such situation).
Nevertheless, I attempted some black runs, my first in many years. i did not snowplow. I did not make out with the mountain face first. I liked my parabolic skis. I was however in excrutiating thigh-pain, thought my quads and lats were going to break my femurs what with all the intensity of my uptight skiing posture in an effort not to fall.
The drive there and back...those bits were enjoyable. The rest of the time I have to say I felt like a chump.

However, there will be do-overs. I intend to sample the local runs this month, and to do so with GREAT LIGHTHEARTED ENJOYMENT. This will be achieved via clarity of sinuses, the company of others and good visibility.

Get on the love train. Join hands.
People of the world now, join me.

Tuesday night, post-shift.

I've never written a drunken post. So I am being Columbus!
Our evening's sponsors:
Big Wangs (on Hollywood at Selma) where sports bar Calgary meets Howood hipster.
Cabernet sauvignon, probably from a box under the bar
The Valet for the minimall parking lot (wherein Big Wangs is located)
Madonna, American Life (for the unruly drive home-singalong)
Hot and Sour soup, Trader Joe's
Chocolate Sugar Free Jello Pudding
and
The Best of Jiminy Glick
(to which I eat my soup and pudding)

A wide world shout-out to Moon Boots (the next feature on Slowly Comes).

Have a pleasant evening. May the universe bless you.

S

Not the Craic

dobutamine: beta adrenergic
Originally uploaded by Sarah Lebo.

On Craic:
From the Irish, pronunciation: (crack) n.:a good time, whatever is 'up' e.g. 'What's the craic?' or "how was the craic?" or, "that was good craic".

YES, IT MOST CERTAINLY IS THE CRAIC. GOOD CRAIC:
1) It's All Gone Pete Tong (from the director of FUBAR)
2) The Best of Youth (six hours long. all Italian, all the time)
3) Brianna's French Vinaigrette and Caesar dressings rendering my cruet useless
4) Large artichokes
5) For Real: Okkervil River
6) the Olympian "Joey Cheek"
7) The Blues are Still Blue: Belle and Sebastian
8) dates with parmesan and bacon at AOC
9) Punks in the Beerlight: the Silver Jews
10) The Russian ice skaterman in the pairs, who won, who dropped his partner on her head once, dressed as the Superhero of Air Fresheners.

NO, NO. NOT THE CRAIC AT ALL.
1) The initial and ensuing all-body horror that accompanies one's first medication error, leading to prayers to a God one doesnt believe in, in the staff washroom while sobbing.
Not the craic. Not, not , no no no.

Tiger like a Jelly

tiger jelly
Originally uploaded by Sarah Lebo.

At my place of work, we have three main elevators that are named after animals: giraffe, peacock, and tiger. My main line is Tiger, and I barely ever use the 'Cock. Near all the elevator entrances are paintings/drawings by children of said animals. This is my favorite. [N.B. - It is entirely possible that I have put up this picture before and forgotten that I did so.]
This painting by a 3 year old perfectly captures how children at this developmental level are unable to pictorally reproduce perspective, yet try nevertheless. I tend towards perkiness when I see this one on my way to nuclear medicine/pharmacy/cafeteria/MRI. Maybe it belongs on cuteoverload. Also, it sort of looks like a rabbit in addition to being both jellyfish and a tiger.

This morning I went to do laundry up by the Gelson's, where the air is clear and I don't have to smell the rotting produce for sale next door at the Armenian grocers like I do at the yellow formica washpalace on Hillhurst.
I was listening to a Ricky Gervais-Stephen Merchant-Karl Pilkington podcast while folding, and there was a woman next to me who made me think she should try being a witch for Halloween because she just has a face made for that kind of thing. I was trying to stifle laughter so as not to make the witch think I was a nutter. If you havent heard it yet, you should try it. But it's a very mean show wherein Karl Pilkington serves as both font and receptacle for all humor therein, so you have been warned. You don't know who he is, and neither did I. Here is his bio.

In sadder news, my narcissus and the other bit of plant life whose name I cannot recall gave up and fell over yesterday. Together.

What is your best approximation of the texture of lobster? I had it for the first time last Friday. Disgusted, it felt like the fish looked in Return of the King, in the gross-out fish eating Gollum scene crossed with firm grapefruit.