The Annapolis Sound

Etymology: Commonly Cumbersome

admin — Sat, 20 Aug 2011 22:27:17 +0000

Socrates said, “The unexamined life is not worth living.” So, let’s examine it together. In Etymology, I’ll be presenting a word each week with its generally accepted definition and riffing on this word as a way to get us to talk about life together. This is meant to be a discussion based article, with emphasis on “together.” In one sense, these articles will be written and complete when they are published, but they will not be whole without your input. All of us could use better words to describe our lives. So, let’s go through life together in words. Helping each other and improving together and always remembering to breathe.

By Brianne Leith

“Some things will get more cumbersome before they get better.”

~ Debra Neiman

I was walking down Cornhill Street in Downtown the other day. The sidewalk is slightly treacherous, being narrow and an uneven terrain because of the bricks. My friend was next to me with his large Timbuk2 messenger bag overflowing with items, one of them being my laptop. Feeling bad about this circumstance and its surrounding obstacles, I offered once again to lighten his load by taking my Mac.

“It just seems cumbersome for you to carry all of this.”

Immediately I was taken aback by my word choice of cumbersome. Cumbersome is not a word I commonly use, nor do I hear others using it for the most part. Actually, the only time I can remember hearing it used was in the song Cumbersome by Seven Mary Three, that was popular in the mid-90′s.

There is a balance between two worlds 

One with an arrow and a cross

Regardless of the balance life has become cumbersome

  Too heavy, too light, too black or too white, too wrong or too right, today and tonight

Cumbersome 

Too rich or too poor, she’s wanting me less and I’m wanting her more

The bitter taste is cumbersome.

Seven Mary Three: Cumbersome

I turned to my friend and laughed, “Did I really just say cumbersome!?”

Cumbersome is defined as:

burdensome; troublesome.
unwieldy; clumsy

“Life has become cumbersome.” Juggling different activities and responsibilities can make life feel burdensome. Everyday walking around with all of the stresses on your shoulders can make you feel like you are walking down a narrow, bumpy sidewalk with too many things slung around your arm. When one thing becomes cumbersome, everything else seems to become cumbersome also. Even you become cumbersome.

Even the word “cumbersome” is cumbersome.

But even though life can feel like a winding spiral staircase or feel like you are just a big block of stone mindlessly shuffling to work, there are a myriad of different things to be ecstatic about. Fall is coming. There are businesses in the Market House, finally. The temperature outside does not give you heatstroke the second you step out of your house. *Insert your own personal good things*

Do some stress relieving activities.

“Stop and smell the roses.”

Though life may be cumbersome, it is not unmanageable.

Life is not impossible.

This Place Through Time: Can You Read a House? Part 2 The Murray House

admin — Fri, 19 Aug 2011 20:27:57 +0000

Every day we Annapolitans walk, drive by, work and play on hundreds of years of Western history. Our city is an old, old city and one that has played an important role in the life of our nation even before it was conceived. But how many of us know more about our rich heritage other than a few well-worn anecdotes? This Place Through Time is The Sound’s new weekly feature that tells the story of our ancient city through the words and pictures of Annapolis’ own historians, one chapter at a time.

Murray House: Home of James Murray, Revolutionary War Doctor

Merchant Thomas Rutland was one ofAnnapolis’s earliest property developers. In the early 1760s, he built the house at207 Hanover Streetnow known as the Peggy Stewart House for its connection to the 1774 burning of the ship by that name by its owner, Anthony Stewart, who was then living in the house. About the same time, Rutland also built the original portion of the house at 9 Maryland Avenue known as the Tilton House, with its unusual four-bay quasi-Georgian plan. Two decades later, in the early 1780s, Rutland built the house at140 Prince George Street.

In 1785, Dr. James Murray bought this last house from the financially-pressed Rutland. The son of Dr. William Murray and his wife, Ann Smith, James was born in Chestertown in 1739. He attended the College of Philadelphia (in the same class as William Paca) and received his medical training at theUniversityofEdinburgh, as did a number of colonial physicians. Murrayreturned from Britain in 1769 to practice medicine inAnnapolisand sometime after 1772 married Sarah Ennalls Maynadier, widow of John Rider Nevett.

During the Revolutionary War, Dr. Richard Tootell established a military hospital on the grounds of the State House in the building used by King William’s School. When the school building burned in 1777, the hospital moved for a time to a rented house and then c. 1780 to the county’s poorhouse (located near theNationalCemeteryat Taylor and West). This was the facility where James Murray treated the sick and wounded when he took over after Tootell’s death in 1780.

Glimpses of Murray’s medical practice in the 1790s come from the diary of silversmith William Faris. Murrayremoved a growth from the tongue of Faris’s son Charles in 1792, paid house calls to treat the family, and prescribed remedies considered appropriate at the time but dubious at best today. In 1799, Dr. Murray was one of the founders of the Medical and Chirurgical Faculty of Maryland; another Annapolitan, Dr. Upton Scott, was its first president.

The 1798 Federal Direct Tax assessment describedMurray’s property as including, in addition to the dwelling house, a one-story brick kitchen, a 16’ square brick medical shop, and a brick smokehouse. In this home theMurraysraised a family of three sons and three daughters. Their son, James Henry Murray, served as a U. S. Senator from 1847 to 1861. The three daughters married well: Anna Maria to General John Mason, son of George Mason ofGunston Hall,Virginia; Sally Scott to Edward Lloyd V, governor ofMarylandfrom 1809 to 1811 and later a U.S. Senator; and Catherine to Richard Rush, son of Dr. Benjamin Rush, signer of the Declaration of Independence.

Dr. James Murray died in 1819, his wife Sarah Murray in 1837.

About the author:

Jean Russo is a native New Yorker who has lived in Maryland for many years. She has a Ph.D. in colonial history from The Johns Hopkins University, works part time for the Maryland State Archives and Historic Annapolis Foundation, and does volunteer and freelance work for most of the historical entities in town and in the Four Rivers Heritage Area. She is co-editor of Colonial Chesapeake Society and The Diary of William Faris . . . An Annapolis Silversmith. Ms. Russo is a founding member of the Annapolis History Consortium.

The Annapolis History Consortium is an informal organization of professional and amateur historians who meet about ten times a year to discuss issues, places, and events pertaining to area history. The more than one hundred members of the Consortium’s online group discuss issues and answer questions online.

A Decibel Disparate: Karen Garalde’s Wearable Art

admin — Wed, 17 Aug 2011 02:03:55 +0000

A Decibel Disparate: Exposing the community to local artists: musicians, writers, designers, performers, thinkers, who are doing things outside of the “Annapolitan box.” You will find no sailboats or Blue Angels here. This is a place for raw and unique talent. Let us look at our city with a “view askew.” Diversity is life.

By Brianne Leith

Photos by David Adkins

“I do fashion designing, because…” Karen Garalde’s hands become untangled and she gestures wildly and her face becomes a large smile. “…it’s such a generic answer…but it’s my passion. I’ve always loved fashion.”

Karen Garalde sits on an off-white computer chair in her studio at her house in Baltimore. The room has a couple of clothes racks that colorful outfits hang from, a large main table, sewing machine, dress-form mannequins, a computer and numerous sketches. It has a feeling of artistic organization and professional modernity. She smiles as she pushes against the back of her chair in a rocking movement. Karen continues to look calmly ecstatic with her kind eyes smiling as much as her mouth throughout the entire interview, but she is exhausted. Baltimore Fashion Week starts on Thursday the 18^th and she is the opening designer. Her 18 pieces are completed, besides some minor adjustments, and she thought she was going to be able to rest forgetting about the interview we had set up.

Her computer was playing music that filled up her work space. “Is this too loud? Do you want me to turn it off? It’s Pandora…I always listen to music or watch movies while I am working.”

Karen’s clothing/accessory brand is named Kalai Kai. “It’s a very special name to me since it’s the nickname I was given as a child and a name that has stuck with me among my family.” In 2009 Karen started Kalai Kai and in 2010 started selling her products. Though she started mainly selling jewelry, there became more demand for her clothing, and this demand has grown greatly within the year.

“The Kalai Kai collection is heavily inspired by the beauty and culture of traditional and natural materials, like deadstock and organic. I draw on a variety of experiences, sights and textures to personalize my designs with my own unique touch. I hope to offer both a modern and fun vibe, yet still maintain classic elegance.”

Kalai Kai is fun and fashionable pieces with the hint of avant garde style but everyday sense. When you see someone wearing her pieces it turns your head. They are attractive and stand out, without being too outrageous. Karen’s sense of style has been fine-tuned and matured through her years of absorbing herself in fashion.

Karen studied pattern making and design in a college in the Philippines to get back to her roots. It was her second degree, but she wanted to really immerse herself in fashion. While she was there she interned with a famous Filipino designer, Oskar Peralta. Continuing her education in fashion, she took a couture class in Baltimore under Susan Chalje. “I learned draping and how to fit one of a kind pieces…couture techniques…and started manipulating patterns by draping.” She then found a job with a major clothing company.

Karen lowers her cheerful eyes, “I wasn’t exactly happy because I wasn’t designing…I was doing ‘behind the scenes’ things.” Then Karen immediately brightens up as she swivels back and forth in her chair, keeping her hands folded neatly in her lap. “I started selling my own stuff to friends of friends, and at festivals, and I brought my line to Pageboy Boutique in Pittsburgh and Vivo! in Annapolis…”

“Mae Whitman actually bought one of my animal rings for Emma Watson…”

Karen stops abruptly and gazes at me; her eyes have become to betray her tiredness though the corners of her mouth still point upwards. “…is there anything else?” She pauses and then her hands start moving wildly. “There is just so much to talk about.”

“Well…How about, why do you do this?”

“It’s my passion. I’ve always loved fashion. The process is completely therapeutic…and it’s a good way to express myself.” Karen leans back and her beauty shines out of her. “It makes me happy that I can make others happy and feel good about themselves. The most rewarding thing for me is to see people feeling beautiful because of my clothes. It means a lot to me to be able to make things for people of different lifestyles and ages. And I really love playing around with things people don’t think are worth anything and are basically just trash.”

Karen won the Being Green Rocks contest at ArtScape one year for her line of “trash wear.” She focused on non-traditional material like corn husks, paper, pine cones, crocheted plastic bags, burlap sacks, coffee filters and telephone book paper. The pieces are magnificent. They are high fashion with society’s discarded items. “I got so much attention for them after I won. Crowds of people came up to me and my models, asking to take pictures or to buy them. People were shocked I could make such pretty things out of trash. The feedback was so great…and it was from people of all ages and even people who weren’t into fashion at all…

…that memory keeps me going through the hard times of designing.”

“These recycled outfits are so fantastic…will you sell them at all or just keep them for your own collection?”

Karen’s lips flatten out into a straight line. “Not a lot of people want to be wearable art. These are art pieces in the form of clothing. And it would take so long to remake that it would cost… like… thousands of dollars.”

But her new clothing line, which can be bought, will be shown at Baltimore Fashion Week. (http://www.baltimoresfashionweek.com/) As Karen starts posing for pictures holding up different pieces against herself, she glows as she speaks of each one. “I love these pants…they are so abstract…fun, feminine and flowy…looks like a skirt then you walk and they are pants.” (These pictures, and all of the pictures of her line for the show are not allowed to be shown in this article, because of BFW regulations.)

I thumb through Karen’s sketch book for the show as she locates different dresses and outfits she wants to show me. “What is this last page with the cheesy movie pictures?” “Oh, Those are pictures of a movie from the 80′s called Body Rock. It’s my inspiration.” I look at her slightly skeptically, since in my mind her clothes were much better than the absurd pictures of men in neon sweatbands. “My pieces are updated versions. Bright colors and just fun. I want people to know you can wear fun clothes.” My eye scans over to a vintage bathing cap that is on the table near me. Karen smirks. “I am using vintage bathing caps for accessories on the runway. The movie had a lot of bandanas, and I thought an updated version could be a turban…but then turbans became trendy, so I thought an updated turban could be a bathing cap. And I found some on EBay… I wanted to set myself apart during Fashion Week.” Karen places her head into a neon pink bathing cap and looks adorable and oddly chic.

Karen Garalde needs no help standing apart.

Karen Garalde can make you into a walking piece of Art.

Check out her clothes on www.kalaikai.com or this Thursday at Baltimore Fashion Week.

Etymology: Seamless Enjambment

admin — Sun, 14 Aug 2011 03:21:51 +0000

By Brianne Leith

As my life seems to flow seamlessly from one thing to another, from one event to another, from one day to the next, I am reminded of poetry. Life has its poetic moments; dare I say, Life is poetry. Life is not always flowery and rhyming, but neither is poetry. Some of the best poems are disgustingly real, dark, gritty and painful and in prose form without a sense of rhyming at all. They are reality beautified, and complicatedly simplified to only a few words. These small amount of lines can encapsulate a myriad of emotions, events, and sights that are shared amongst almost every person. Poetry bonds humans through their differences by showing the common link through a well-worded phrase. Though poetry is based on life through poets’ eyes, poetry is not life.

Life is Poetry.

Life is Poetic.

My life of poetry is illustrating a poetic device called enjambment. Though this word is typically only used in classrooms of students banging their heads against the desks, because they have to find the deeper meaning in the line, “We cut across the common with the coffin,” (taken from my Eighth Grade English class) I think it easily illustrates life in general.

Enjambment is defined as the running on of the thought from one line, couplet, or stanza to the next without a syntactical break. In prosody, it is the continuation of the sense of a phrase beyond the end of a line of verse. T.S. Eliot used enjambment in the opening lines of his poem The Waste Land:

April is the cruelest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain.

Winter kept us warm, covering

Earth in forgetful snow, feeding

A little life with dried tubers.

……

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow

Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,

You cannot say, or guess, for you know only

A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,

And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,

And the dry stone no sound of water. Only

There is shadow under this red rock,

(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),

And I will show you something different from either

Your shadow at morning striding behind you

Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;

I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

Enjambment evokes a sense of connection, flowing together with an urgency and forced quickening of pace.

Recently, enjambment has become my life. Everything is connected, flowing together with a sense of forced urgency. Days are melding together. There is no difference in my mind from one day to the next. Always something to do from one moment to another. It is enjoyable and a pure delight when unrelated activities overlap and give new meaning to each other. When taken alone it is just one phrase, one bit: working at Vivo!. When life becomes enjambed it becomes:

Working at Vivo! I

Met an artist who I now want to

Write an article on, directly from work

Drove up to Baltimore to see

a band at the 8×10 with a

Handsome bass player who

Misses me when I am not

Around.

Enjambment can be fast and stressful when put into our lives, but it also can make things colorful and a sort of more completed thought. A finished thought.

“Let us now celebrate the literary allusion. Let us now celebrate the trope and willful enjambment. Let us now celebrate the assonance and alliteration of all of it. Let us now celebrate the sound of our own voices.”

Sherman Alexie

Arsenic… Strike… Hoarding… Suck… It’s all here. It’s REVERB.

SarahM — Fri, 12 Aug 2011 20:24:30 +0000

Welcome to REVERB – The Sound’s recap of the top stories (and some not-so-top) involving Annapolis and Anne Arundel County that we found interesting enough to send your way… with a complimentary side of sass.

Arsenic Chickens Revisited

It’s been quite a while since I’ve harped about those arsenic-laced chickens, so I thought I’d hop back on that carcinogenic bandwagon.

The Bay Daily Blog reported Monday that “Drug maker Pfizer voluntarily agreed to stop marketing a form of arsenic as an additive to poultry feed as the result of a U.S. Food and Drug Administration study that found levels of the carcinogen in chickens sold to the public.”

So okay, score one for no more arsenic in chickens…for now. See, it’s really only a small victory because as Johns Hopkins scientist Dr. Keeve Nachman points out, a permanent ban, rather than a voluntary suspension of arsenic feed would be preferable. “In the short term this seems great,” Nachman says, “but in the long term, I’m not so sure – because it is a voluntary suspension, which means they are free at any time to return it to the market.”

So at least for the short term, we’ve got a moratorium on arsenic-fed chickens. I suppose we could celebrate that Pfizer is going to temporarily stop trying to kill us.

I do, by the way, realize I’m being completely hyperbolic by embellishing what in reality is probably a virtually harmless amount of arsenic, and that I’m more likely to get mercury poisoning from the disgusting amount of sushi I eat than suffer any ill effects from this arsenic mess….but this is fun. And anyhow, I figure Jeremy Piven could help me out with the whole mercury poisoning bit should I need to quick cut and run from any Broadway productions.

How Not to Strike

Verizon workers have gone on strike!

Oh but wait before you get your panties in a twist thinking your secret sexts to your congressman friend will get lost in cell phone limbo. You can relax because these are actually Verizon landline workers.

[crickets]

Yeah, that’s the problem with striking when no one really gives a damn if you ever go back to work.

According to the article in Hometown Annapolis, “striking landline workers say they shouldn’t be expected to give up contract benefits just because they work on a less profitable side of the business.”

Wait, so people who are contributing to the part of a business that is not as profitable as the other side say they should be on equal grounds with the people contributing to the more profitable side?

Isn’t that communism?

Last I checked, the whole communism thing doesn’t really pan out.

“Management says the company has to change to stay competitive and the 45,000 landline workers can’t expect to be paid the way they were when the phone company was a monopoly.”

No kidding! Landlines are slowly going the way of the rotary phone and the Pony Express. Of course the people who man the lines of a dying medium are going to have to be cut back. We don’t still pay people to ride letters by horseback across town even though they laid the foundation for communication. Times change, roll with it.

The funniest part of the whole striking thing is that there has actually been enough management in the stores to fill in for the striking workers to cause only “minimal impact” to the service of the six landlines still in use across America.

People Really Really Suck

Eye on Annapolis blogger Ella Reed, affectionately known by the alias “The Bar Bitch,” relayed a story this week about burnt hair and its bloody aftermath that made me happy there are people besides myself who can find all the negative aspects of the human race and gleefully harp on them for both amusement and catharsis.

Reed described the votive candles that scatter the tables of the waiting area of her bar, something that most restaurants use to decorate, and something that most people notice and choose to keep away from their hair. “Out of nowhere,” she said, “the overpowering scent of burnt hair wafts through the restaurant. This was closely followed by whispers and a whole bunch of ‘oh nah uh’s.” [a phrase, it was later established in the comments to be a phonetic spelling of “oh no she didn’t.]

So some lady singed her hair on the votive, and Ms. Singed and Confused was offered a drink on the house. “One drink apparently was not enough,” Reed continued. “All of her friends were furious and demanded that they all deserve a free drink because of their friend’s misfortune.”

Since when did it become typical to assume you deserve reparations for something you witnessed? Free drinks by association? That would be like witnesses of a hit-and-run insisting that they deserve a chunk of the civil settlement too.

Humanity is crumbling in upon itself, but I would like to send a cyber-hug to The Bar Bitch for noticing it too.

Next on Hoarders…

Things What’s Up Mag editor Nadja Maril writes usually leaves me scratching my head, but after her nearly 900-word ode to antique lunch boxes, I needed a shot of tequila.

Maril orated on the vaious lunch-packing practices of people from the 1700s to modern day, even going as far as giving examples of things that are prepackaged in lunch-sizes now (carrots, yogurt, cookies, etc.)

I learned that 1935 started the themed lunch box phase and before I knew it, Meril was tossing out figures like the objects in question were rare works of art. A Jetsons lunch box (with the original thermos, natch) from the 1960s would today sell for a cool $1700, and Trekkies can find a lunch box to their liking for around $3000.

Here was the kicker: An original 1935 lunch box with the Mickey Mouse lithograph would fetch in the vicinity of $7000.

Seven THOUSAND dollars.

If you have the money to spend seven grand on a lunch box then you have done something phenomenally right with your life (or you’ve married someone who did something right and you do nothing but sit around sipping Dom and ordering superfluous lunch boxes for roughly the same amount of money one would pay for a used car.) and I salute you and your astute business/medical/legal maneuverings that have resulted in your gobs of money. The praise ends there though, because if I ever met anyone who paid $7000 for a lunch box from 1935, I would slap them so hard they wouldn’t even remember who Mickey Mouse was.

I don’t care that people call this “collecting.” I call it “hoarding.” There are shows about people like this. Sure, it starts with a few antique lunch boxes, but before you know it, your kitchen is filled with Disney-charactered aluminum tins, your living room no longer has a place to sit, and there are rats feasting on your remains since you died a week ago and no one has been able to find you.

Etymology: Myriad of Possibilities

admin — Sat, 06 Aug 2011 22:27:48 +0000

By Brianne Leith

“I don’t like going where I’ve already been. Life is a myriad of territories to discover. I don’t want to waste time with what I already know.”

- Jeanne Moreau

A plethora of opportunities. Innumerable choices. A myriad of possibilities.

We may not wake up every morning and realize what a vast world it is. Our lives are littered with opportunities. We may have responsibilities that hinder some possibilities, but those responsibilities were once chosen (intentionally or not) by us from an infinite amount of possibilities. Every morning we should think of the myriad of things we can do throughout the day. It is endless. A myriad.

Myriad is defined as:

Noun

1. a very great or indefinitely great number of persons or things.

2. ten thousand.

Adjective

3. of an indefinitely great number; innumerable

4. having innumerable phases, aspects, variations, etc.

5. ten thousand.

“Myriad” tends to be a word of exaggeration, but it is such an exquisite and unique word. Many things are not “indefinitely great in number” or are “innumerable,” but the idea that there are things in the world that are infinite is amazing. That is so beyond our understanding, being completely unfathomable to us, that it is breathtaking. I want to use this “myriad” as much as I can. It adds a touch of awe and child-like wonder to our everyday lives.

Having this sense of “endless possibilities” when we wake up is really not that far of an exaggeration on my part. From the second you open your eyes, good and bad choices come flooding at you with the light that makes you squint and groan. You can rise immediately and begin a day of infinite opportunities or you can close your eyes, pushing opportunities back 5 more minutes and most likely be rushed for work.

Neither of those choices is bad, they are yours and each will be followed by a myriad more. From what to wear, what to eat, to what you want to do with the rest of your life, each day of our lives are filled with opportunity. Do not forget this. Do not waste this beautiful facet of life as a human being.

We live inAnnapolisMaryland; there are things to do all the time.Annapolisis small, but filled overflowing with activities. Live music can be found on the streets, Rams Head, Armadillos, Middletons, O’Brien’s, The Whiskey, in theParoleCenterand many other places. You can go to a theatrical performance at Summer Garden Theatre, Bay Theatre, or Colonial Players. You can go to a myriad of different bars, restaurants or historical landmarks. Go to a lecture atSt. John’sCollege. You can take a walk by the water. You can go to the Mall. You can get crabs from a small stall on the side of the road or go to Cantleer’s, Mike’s and not have to deal with the mess afterwards. You can stay in from this oppressive heat and watch a movie. No matter what your preferences are, no matter what you want to do, there is something.

You can do everything or you can do nothing.

A myriad of possibilities are presented to you all the time.

The choices are yours.

“Why I came here, I know not; where I shall go, it is useless to inquire –

in the midst of myriads of the living and the dead worlds, stars, systems, infinity,

why should I be anxious about an atom?”
- Lord Byron

Death by Smart Phone, Daryl Jones is Breaking the Law, and Crime for a More Fuel-Efficient Tomorrow

SarahM — Fri, 05 Aug 2011 11:56:29 +0000

Welcome to REVERB – The Sound’s recap of the top stories (and some not-so-top) involving Annapolis and Anne Arundel County that we found interesting enough to send your way… with a complimentary side of… well, sarcasm.

If Whatever You Were in the Hospital For Doesn’t Get You, Your Cell Phone Will.

So remember the days when cell phone use was strictly prohibited in hospitals and merely holding one in your hand brought angry glares from the nurses’ station and a tap on the shoulder from an overweight security guard with coffee stains on his shirt? Yeah, it seems those days are gone. Hospitals have relaxed their restrictions on cell phone use – probably because those bedside rotary phones don’t have texting and data plans.

According to a recent article in What’s Up Mag, a new study shows that patients’ cell phones are twice as likely to carry dangerous bacteria like MRSA than are the cell phones of healthcare workers.

I’m pretty certain this was a colossally poor use of space on surveymonkey.com considering I could have come up with the same results by rubbing my temples and humming to myself for five minutes. The humming and rubbing of course just a careful ruse because obviously the phones of healthcare workers are cleaner, what with them being HEALTHcare workers and all, I would assume they would be more likely to sanitize their phones. My aunt, a nurse, carries sanitizer with her everywhere to wipe off her phone, which at the rate she sanitizes, I assume must be positively teeming with MRSA and hepatitis and bird flu. I, on the other hand, am all, “what is that goo on my phone?…” [puts to face anyways].

So now my question is this: Why all the uproar? A blind spider monkey could figure out that healthcare workers’ phones are cleaner than the schmuck in room 407 who eats, pees, texts and picks his toenails without so much as a running his hands under warm water. A better solution seems to be to simply hand out some sanitizing wipes to the patients and brochures warning that MRSA will KILL, but not before it renders you blind, impotent, and eats a hole through your thigh.

Councilman Thinks He’s Above the Law…What Else is New?

Eye on Annapolis reported Tuesday on Anne Arundel County Councilman Daryl Jones who has been charged in district court for “willfully” failing to file tax returns on his $244,365 income in 2005. He claims he neglected to file because he was dealing with the illness and death of his mother at the time, and says that eventually he did file “a couple of years ago.”

First of all, for someone who was stupid enough to ignore his taxes, this guy is grossly overpaid.

Second, I certainly recognize that life tends to get hectic/tragic/scandalous at the most inconvenient times, but it’s not like tax day can just accidentally pass by you! There are ample apocalyptic warnings that April 15 is around the corner. News outlets devote segments to tax filing, restaurants have specials, thousands of pigeons dive-bomb pedestrians on their walk to work – those types of warnings.

While it is tragic that Jones’ mother was ill, the U.S. Government really doesn’t give a kamikaze pigeon about that. All they care about is that the damn tax form is filed. And as a government official (who gets paid more than a lot of doctors), what a terrible example Jones sets for his constituents.

Body Cavity Search, Party of One.

Christopher Glen College, reports the Baltimore Sun, was arrested at BWI Airport on Tuesday when a TSA agent detected a .45-caliber handgun in his luggage at a security checkpoint. College was charged with “illegally trying to transport a handgun on his person and taking an unauthorized weapon into an airport screening area.”

I love reports like this.

For real – Laughing at the rapidly rising stupidity levels of America is actually a favorite pastime of mine.

Sure, nutcases (and even some absent-minded normal people) have things confiscated at airport security all the time – Swiss Army knives, shampoo bottles larger than 3 ounces, teddy bears stuffed with street-grade heroin…live pigeons. Seriously, it happened, but it really kills me that any of these people actually believe they are going to make it through security. I can never decide if they are more foolish or ballsy…or maybe equal parts.

At least the people with unexpected things get points for originality. Stuffing live pigeons in your leggings? That is some serious creativity. It’s also horrifyingly disgusting to imagine live birds squirming, all salmonella-ridden and feather-covered against your bare legs, their beaks pecking at your thighs until they hit femur marrow, and this person should probably be committed to a facility with padded walls.

But still. Creative.

The guy with the gun though? Weak, man. So weak.

Better Luck Next Time.

Historic Annapolis Patch hit another one out of the park with the story of a 17-year-old who stole a scooter. Seriously, how do all these crazies fit into this small town?

Ronald Dow stole a scooter around noon last Thursday on Madison Street. When the owner of the scooter discovered it missing, he found it behind his apartment building underneath Dow who then held up a knife and demanded money. When the victim said he had no cash (Seriously, is this kid stupid? Everyone knows no one carries cash these days. It’s all about the debit cards, child.), Dow made him go to an ATM. “Once inside the BB&T on West Street, the victim told police he asked a bank teller for help while Dow waited outside.” The police showed up and the rest is history.

What is this, amateur hour? The kid obviously has a long and legendary career on the wrong side of the law ahead of him, but he is really off to a rocky start.

Mistake 1: Stealing a scooter in broad daylight.

Mistake 2: Stealing a scooter. This town is full of filthy rich people with fancy-pants cars that run on dolphin tears and beluga caviar. Go big or go home, Ronald.

Mistake 3: Sticking around on the stolen scooter instead of getting the hell out of dodge.

Mistake 4 (The most glaring and therefore the most hilarious): Letting the victim physically go inside the bank instead of using an outside ATM while he idled outside. What did he think was going to happen next?? I suppose in a perfect world, the victim would have walked alone into the bank full of other humans with phones and a direct line to the police, and instead of reporting the lunatic adolescent who stole his scooter, would simply take out the cash needed to complete the theft of his vehicle.

But this is hardly a perfect world. The existence of Lindsay Lohan proves that.

I’m not a criminal, but even I know how to steal a scooter the right way.

Also, I am especially curious about exactly what kind of “scooter” was stolen. It was never specified in the article, and a sane mind would assume it was some sort of Vespa. However, a quick Google search reveals that “scooter” can be one of many things. When visualizing the vehicle that is central to the plot of the story, feel free to use any of the following images:

Option A:

Option B:

Option C:

Personally, I choose to employ Option D:

A Decibel Disparate: Justin Marc Lloyd, Technically Noise/Creatively Genius

admin — Mon, 01 Aug 2011 22:11:48 +0000

A Decibel Disparate:Exposing the community to local artists: musicians, writers, designers, performers, thinkers, who are doing things outside of the “Annapolitan box.” You will find no sailboats or Blue Angels here. This is a place for raw and unique talent. Let us look at our city with a “view askew.” Diversity is life.

By Brianne Leith

Photos by David Adkins

“You’re interviewing Justin Marc Lloyd? He is so talented that it will destroy him. It will be his downfall.”

Justin Marc Lloyd leads David and I into his “creative nook,” so we can get the whole experience of his artistically devastating passion. This intimate surrounding begged me to understand Justin Marc Lloyd in his uniquely odd and creative entirety. “I’m in my native environment; surrounded by guitar pedals and cats. Yeah, that pretty much encapsulates me.” Justin’s high pitched “ha” centered laugh rings out into the room as he sits on his right leg and pushes himself further back onto his bed. He peers over at me through his oversized glasses for the initiation of the interview.

“I guess just start from the beginning and when you get to the end…stop.”

“Well, currently I am guitar and vocals in a band called Sea Breezes…” Sea Breezes is a harsh and screaming rock band with beautifully poetic lyrics. The screaming is so pleasant and melodic it is almost soothing.

“…drums and guitar, depending on the song, in Boat Water…” Boat Water has a more mellow sound to them. Acoustic and relaxing with a hint of importance, a significance that makes you pay attention to every sound that comes from each musician.

“…and I have three solo projects Dementia and Hope Trails, The Human Excuse…” Dementia and Hope Trails has an ethereal essence to it. A dream-like quality of walking through a hauntingly enchanted forest the moment after a storm cleared. “Like a David Lynch soundtrack.”

The Human Excuse is Justin singing with an acoustic guitar. Sweet, heart-wrenching songs in a falsetto timbre with intricate guitar riffs and melodies. “It’s sappy, you don’t love me anymore lame singer songwriter sh*t…it’s not unique, but it’s not the point. I’m expressing myself, not doing ground breaking things with The Human Excuse.”

“…and Pregnant Spore.”

And Pregnant Spore…And Pregnant Spore.

“Pregnant Spore is unclassifiable…” Justin has been fiddling with a large hole on the bottom of his striped socks and gazes up at me innocently. He reclines back, his eyes become wide and questioning. His mouth makes an “o” shape “…is that satisfying?” I lean back in my chair, cross my leg and smile. “Well, I just hate using the term Noise because of its negative connotation. It’s sounds. It’s audible Art. It doesn’t have a melody to get stuck in your head or repeats any beats.”

Noise (music) is a term used to describe varieties of avant-garde music and sound art that may use elements such as cacophony, dissonance, atonality, noise, indeterminacy, and repetition in their realization. Noise music can feature distortion, various types of acoustically or electronically generated noise, randomly produced electronic signals, and non-traditional musical instruments. Noise music may also incorporate manipulated recordings, static, hiss and hum, feedback, live machine sounds, custom noise software, circuit bent instruments, and non-musical vocal elements that push noise towards the ecstatic. (Wikipedia)

Pregnant Spore can be felt through your whole body. “A friend of mine who is respected in the Noise Community said of one of my songs, ‘listening to that made my teeth hurt.’” It is a man-made machine accident wrapped in a nightmare of high frequency screeching darkness…but it is phenomenal. It is right. Pregnant Spore is something that we are missing and even avoiding in our daily lives, when we should be embracing it. Pregnant Spore is something beyond us. It is extremely technical, and innovative. It is not just “noise” it is Art.

“When I first started it had no sense or focus or composition…just experimenting. No theme, just knob twiddling. I thought it sounded good, but then I realized what it could actually be. I changed and started over with Pregnant Spore.” Justin had pushed himself further back onto his bed, with his acoustic guitar laying across his chest. He plucked a few strings in between his words. It was actually a beautiful little song. But he had no idea; he was lost in thought. “It is meditative and moves smoothly…it’s not just a bunch of crazy noises…but it is loosely improvisational. I won’t play something live that is on the CD.”

Justin alters different pieces of equipment to create the sounds that permeate his songs. Circuit bending being only one of the ways he creates different noises, Justin also likes recording anything he thinks might make an interesting sound. “I love equipment and it’s a never ending evolution of learning. I will be at people’s houses and flick something on their table, then I will want to record it. I am always trying to find new sounds. I want something new every time…

I once recorded my cat Scrambles licking and walking on a plastic bag.”

Scrambles is resting peacefully sprawled out in Justin’s suitcase full of equipment.

“I like Art that makes you feel.”

I concentrate on Justin’s hands as he seems to be constantly moving them. They are never moving just for the sake of moving, they are playing his guitar, or playing with his cats or smoothing his cheetah print leggings. “So, why do you do this, music and everything?”

“Why do I do this? Because I have to.

It is instinctual…I have to.”

“And doing Pregnant Spore live is the most therapeutic. I have more control, then when performing with the bands, being alone. I tap into deep parts of my psyche. It’s the most honest and raw I can get. I try to forget about everything around me. And who says music has to be soothing? Sometimes I want to do something that does not sound good. I’m not always happy and I want to channel that. Noise is absolutely beautiful and real and simple. It’s fascinating.”

It is fascinating. Watching Justin perform is entrancing. He lunges forward, his long body slouched over his equipment as he twists dials and knobs systematically. He feels what he is doing, He becomes one with his electronics. There is nothing else. Just Justin. Just the sound. Just the Noise.

Justin has moved over to sit on his desk in front of his wall of cassettes. He did not want any staged photos, so he continues talking and acting naturally as David shoots throughout the interview.

“I don’t have any specific goals with this. I don’t need to sell a certain amount of records or anything. I want to keep playing and keep getting better. I just want as many people as possible to hear what I am doing. Not all of them need to like it. I just want them to hear it and decide if they like it or not. If two out of a million like my work, then I am really happy and feel privileged. ” His legs swing back and forth rhythmically.

“No wait, I want to be Willie Nelson. Say that, say that I want to be Willie Nelson.”

After Justin’s laugh dies away, he pauses to see if I have any more questions. I continue to watch him and keep relatively quiet. “You know one question people ask me and you have not yet, is why I do all of this when I could just stick to one kind of music and not spread myself so thin?”

I looked blankly at him. Why would anyone ask that? His hair had been newly dyed brown, because his technicolor snowcone-esque hair was fading badly. His arms are overflowing with random whimsical and awesome tattoos. And his glasses took up 60% of his face. I would never question his need to express himself. What he was doing was right. What he is is right. “That never crossed my mind Justin.”

“It is just completely impossible. There are so many facets of my art. I can’t reign it in.”

“No one should ask you to, or think even think that.”

As David and I walked out of Justin’s front door, Justin holds the door open and stops me. “If you want to just fill the article with complete lies and make everything up…I’d be cool with that. Actually… I think that would be hilarious, and you should do that…and I will be excited to read it.”

Justin Marc Lloyd.

I am speechless.

Know everything Justin Marc Lloyd is doing at http://violentthreads.blogspot.com/

Mission Impossible, Coach Brand Ketchup, the Boys Will ALWAYS Be (Little) Boys

SarahM — Fri, 29 Jul 2011 16:10:16 +0000

Welcome to REVERB – The Sound’s recap of the top stories (and some not-so-top) involving Annapolis and Anne Arundel County that we found interesting enough to send your way… with a complimentary side of… well, sarcasm.

Leave. The Ketchup. Alone.

According to a recent articlein Hometown Annapolis, “It’s a very exciting time to be making ketchup.”

For real? There is absolutely nothing about that statement that does not raise eyebrows.

It seems ketchup is becoming fancy, and I just have to plead with the ketchup industry: Please don’t mess with ketchup.

Ketchup is fine the way it is. It belongs in ballparks and amusement parks, oozing off hotdogs and burgers, and making that gross squelching sound as it squeezes out of a bottle. It does not belong in some chemistry kitchen where someone tinkers with what isn’t broken to make it more sophisticated.

Ketchup, by definition, is not sophisticated. “In some ways,” the article reads, “the concept of gourmet ketchup sounds slightly oxymoronic.”

I would like to amend that. The correction should read: “In ALL conceivable ways, the concept of gourmet ketchup IS completely and utterly oxymoronic.”

But apparently this is totally lost on some as “chefs and food entrepreneurs seek new inspiration.”

Okay, 1) Ketchup is fine, no need for more inspiration. It’s only going to screw things up. It will be New Coke all over again, and 2) Food entrepreneur is a thing? What’s next, beverage contractor and condiment consultant? The world is out of control.

The end of the article left me scratching my head as I read a bevy of ketchup/catsup recipes. As far as I’m concerned, ketchup should never be any of the following: gourmet, curry, made with apple cider vinegar, peach, raspberry balsamic and or Thai.

Just leave the ketchup alone, and for the love of all that is red and gooey, don’t ever, ever spell it “catsup.”

“Football Enthusiasts” Try to Convince Maryland They’re More Than Just Lost Little Boys Searching for Approval

Eye on Annapolis ran a feature about “Maryland’s Team,” a business launched by two men from Anne Arundel County who “recognized there was a crucial need to unite fans throughout Maryland through the use of a distinctive visual item during games.”

First designer ketchup and now this.

These “self-proclaimed football enthusiasts” came up with the idea because “Our team is not from D.C. or Pittsburgh; our team is from Baltimore, and Baltimore alone.”

What does that even mean? Baltimore and Baltimore alone. Whew. At least we got that cleared up, because I’m sure there were thousands of confused Ravens fans out there thinking their team was from Baltimore and somewhere else.

And for serious, no self-respecting football fan would ever call themself a “football enthusiast.” That’s far too highbrow.

They claim that the item needed to unite Maryland fans “needed to be a symbol of pride that held greater meaning than just some cheap, old ‘towel,’ which, call me crazy, but sounds like a direct jab at Pittsburgh Steeler fans. So typical.

But I’ve really gotta ask, why do these nuts feel that there needs to be a unifying item? Do they think that fans are too dense to remember that their team is from Baltimore and that Baltimore is in Maryland? I mean, is there really a “crucial need” to unite everyone from all over Maryland? Is it that they feel like no one from Maryland has a right to be a Redskins or Steelers or Eagles fan? Or hell, what about someone who is a Bears fan? Does that just knock off the internal hardware of these men that there could be people in their fair state who are fans of teams from many states away?

I guess I’m having trouble with this whole concept because being a football fan is hardly a solely geographical endeavor. It’s a state of mind. It’s a passion that burns so deep it can’t be quelled no matter where you live on the globe. If we were using the rules of the Maryland’s Team group, then one would seemingly have to switch allegiances with every relocation. Those poor military families wouldn’t know who to root for.

This whole thing reeks of that kid in middle school who insisted his group of friends was the coolest and anyone else was a loser. Haven’t we evolved beyond this yet?

Ew. Just… Ew.

A Glen Burnie physical education teacher pled guilty to multiple counts of possession of child pornography. The Baltimore Sun reported that Gregory Christy must forfeit his teaching license and register for fifteen years as a sex offender. He was not sentenced to any jail time since his life is essentially ruined anyhow.

According to the article, several hundred thousand pornographic images were found on Christy’s computer, and of those, 562 photos and 143 videos were of children. His roommate turned him in after he bragged about his porn collection.

He bragged about his porn collection? This man is either incredibly moronic or incredibly arrogant to announce to someone, even if it was a friend, that he was in possession of loads and loads of porn when he knew that any inspection of said porn collection was going to find someone face to face with naked children, and himself in a whole lot of trouble.

Porn is disgusting, sure, but it’s relatively mainstream in our culture, and anyone who claims they’ve never seen porn in any form or situation is either a nun or lying through their teeth. That said, there is something truly heinous about people who harbor an obsession with child porn. I just cannot wrap my head around what goes on in the brain of someone like Gregory Christy. I hope there’s a special place in hell reserved for them.

Attempting the (Nearly) Impossible

“A statewide initiative aims to significantly reduce the number of traffic fatalities in the state – toward a final goal of zero,” so says Historic Annapolis Patch.

This is an admirable goal that the city and state are striving towards, but speaking as an eternal pessimist: the dream seems way, way too steep. Zero seems like an awfully unrealistic goal, especially when one considers the caliber of drivers in this state and the fact that according to the article, around 500 deaths were the result of traffic incidents in Maryland in 2010. Maybe it’s just me, but that hardly seems like a number that will dwindle to zero any time soon.

Still, the effort is a valiant one, as the police crack down on enforcement for seatbelt, sobriety and speeding.

It’s really a matter of people being less stupid, but as long as there are sickos watching naked children on their computer and crazies attempting to improve the chemical composition of ketchup instead of curing cancer or something less ludicrous, the police certainly have their work cut out for them.

A Decibel Disparate: Cat Reinheimer’s Sweet Fashion-ation

admin — Thu, 28 Jul 2011 14:00:50 +0000

By Brianne Leith

Photos by David Adkins

Model Photos by Cat Reinheimer

“Art saved my life.”

Cat Reinheimer sits across the table from me on one of the hottest days this summer. At this exact table I had seen her years ago with her fashion sketches and colored pencils sprawled over the surface, her serious gait of concentration could not conceal the joy emanating off of her. Seeing her love come to fruition and sitting at that same table, now interviewing her for her accomplishments is a heartwarming honor.

Cat looks at me. As she smiles, her large dimples are exposed and her eyes become slits underneath her glasses. “It’s hard to talk about art in this way…When it’s art it is just something that you do, not something that you analyze while you are doing it.”

“I design, because it is a form of art.”

“It is my artistic contribution to women.”

“It is a creative outlet. Don’t over think, just let it happen. It organically just happens…I either start with a sketch or sometimes I start with a great fabric and let it speak to me.” Cat chuckles bending forward slightly in her chair. “It does not always happen the way you want it to. I have started with dresses that I end up chopping into skirts, and then they are fantastic.”

When Cat speaks of her own fashion label positivity flows out of her. She is a ray of light. She is all smiles and glee. But this joy sprung from a trying period of her life.

“I always liked clothes and drew clothes and mixed and matched outfits, but I never thought of it as a career. Then I had my back injury. I was bedridden for months. Everything I had worked towards in college became useless. So, I had time to think about who I was, and what I wanted to do with my life. The answer was simple; Nursing and/or design clothes…and Art saved my life. Being creative gave me a reason to get out of bed.”

Cat bought books about sewing and started sketching all of her ideas. She bought a sewing machine and found an old dress form at Goodwill. She began experimenting with fabrics, ideas and a myriad of different styles. And with that all “Cat Reinheimer Collection” began.

“One day I brought my sketches into Vivo! and they were excited to carry some of my clothes. I went home and started sewing immediately.”

Cat’s clothing line ranges from upcycled, redesigned or original pieces made from scratch. Cat’s blue eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “My clothes are a direct reflection of who I am. Strong but girly. They are vintage inspired, but not literally vintage. I use only quality fabric like organic cotton and bamboo. I design what I want to wear myself…what women want to wear. Things that when you wear them you feel more confident. When you have a great outfit…you just walk taller.”

In everything that Cat makes women have never walked taller, nor have ever looked cuter. Cat’s clothes are a woman’s love and a girl’s dream.

“I get inspiration from the people and things around me.” The “Emma” dress was inspired by an iron gate that Cat saw while she was walking around downtown. “It was Fall and the leaves were falling with scattered colors and shapes.” Cat cut about 500 diverging sized circles out of her 1997 prom dress’ chiffon overlay and layered them sporadically to emphasize the symbolism of the leaves. I, myself sold this dress to an 18-20 year old, while I was working at Vivo!. As the light-haired girl barely let me take the dress from her to put it in a bag, I asked if she was planning on wearing it to someplace special. She looked at me serenely and said, “I’m going to wear it everyday.”

This feeling of possessive needing of Cat’s collection also landed her a gig as an opening designer in Baltimore Fashion Week. (www.baltimoresfashionweek.com) Cat Reinheimer will be showing her clothes on Saturday August 20^th and will be live streamed on the internet. Ted Williams “The Voice” will be Emceeing the event. She was chosen from hundreds of applicants worldwide. Our own Cat Reinheimer will be representing Annapolis flawlessly.

Cat repositions herself and tilts her head slightly to the right for emphasis. “For my Baltimore Fashion Week line, I decided to go with a loosely based 1950’s look. It is a modern take on “VJ Day, The Kiss” by Alfred Eisenstaedt. It is a picture of a sailor kissing a nurse in Times Square. I am inspired by what fashion was at that time…and it evolved from there. It is soft and hard, feminine and masculine, and Ready To Wear.”

Though Cat plans to build up her line and eventually wants to mass produce it, right now everything is done by her own hand. And what a caring and wonderful hand to be in. Her line will be seen by people all over the world during Baltimore Fashion Week and on her online portfolio www.fashionbycat.carbonmade.com. Be a part of the upcoming fashion trend.

Cute. Sweet. Strong.

Cat Reinheimer and her Collection.