The Source Weekly - Bend, Oregon | Issue Archives | Aug 28, 2008
  • Issue of
  • Aug 28 - Sep 3, 2008
  • Vol. 12, No. 35



  • Letters to the Editor
  • Insult to Injury

    Letter of the Week  This week's LOW goes to Greer Thomas, if for no other reason than his dogged persistence. Like Fox Mulder, Thomas and the rest of the Truthers keep searching with the knowledge that "The Truth Is Out There.
  • Letters to the Editor
  • No Thanks For Biden

    Obama chooses a lock 'em up drug warrior as VP? You gotta be kidding! I read of a recent drug sting on August 8, in Maryland, where a police dog sniffed positive on a package that was then intercepted, but instead of just confiscating the marijuana, under-cover police decided to go ahead and deliver the package (possession and delivery of a controlled substance). The home of a Maryland mayor was then staked out.


  • Book Talk
  • Book Review: Frayed Ends of Sanity

    Frayed Ends of Sanity An editor becomes a prisoner of the page in Senselessness "We are all tainted with viral origins," William S. Burroughs once observed. "The whole quality of human consciousness, as expressed in male and female, is basically a virus mechanism." No one understands this idea better than the agitated writer-hero of Horacio Castellanos Moya's "Senselessness," who has taken on the task of editing a 1,001-page oral history of the torture and mutilation of a Latin American country's indigenous population. The man has three months to complete the task - a not unreasonable deadline, if only the sentences of the victims didn't unhinge him so. "I am not complete in the mind" is the first sentence Moya's narrator reads. It comes from a man who watched his wife and children hacked to death by machete. This utterance soon describes the narrator's frame of mind, too. Paranoia rises up within him, clanging like an ever-louder alarm. Something is not right. People are watching him. The secret police know he is in the country. If only he could relax. Feverishly, he tries to seduce one woman after the next, but the images he reads in that day's work of editing combine with his pornographic fantasies in a hideous montage. Moya brilliantly scripts this breakdown. His sentences bulge and seethe, coiling around the parenthetical self-justifications and self-recriminations of his increasingly frenzied narrator. Following each lapse of debauchery the man attacks the report with more empathic gusto. He is a novelist, after all, so he doesn't just tinker with style and language; he must imaginatively place himself at the center of it. He imagines being maimed and murdered; he imagines himself doing the killing and the torturing.
  • Picks
  • Our Picks for the week of 8/28-9/4

    Sheryl Crow thursday 28 This summer has been all about masculine-dominated shows, but thankfully, one Sheryl Crow is coming to the big Schwab stage to do a thing or two about that. Turn the page and read more. 5pm. $85/reserved, $45/general. Les Schwab Amphitheater, 344 Shevlin Hixon Dr. Empty Space Orchestra friday 29 A lot of Bend's music community had this date circled on the calendar as the night that our very own hip-hop super group, Person People, was going to play in the Parrilla back yard. OK, so plans changed and PP will be taking the stage next week (9/5) but the Empty Space Orchestra is filling in. Despite some lineup changes, expect ESO to bring funk fusion and all sorts of whirling soundscapes to the outdoor venue to close out the Show Us Your Spokes concert series. Does this mean summer is over? Hmmm...kind of. 7pm. $4, $5 if you show up by car. Parrilla Grill. 635 NW 14th St.

Food & Drink




  • Outside Features
  • Ditch the Remote: Extreme Ironing, DDR, Floating and the Reverse PPP await

    Future olympians?THE TORCH MOVES ON If you are like most people, you were unusually glued to your TV the past two weeks watching the Olympic coverage from Beijing. You were blown away by the incredible, record-setting gold medal perfection of Michael Phelps in the pool. You were mesmerized by the gymnastic performances of Nastia Liukin and Shawn Johnson. You were shocked and dismayed when we dropped the baton...twice. And you have probably learned more about beach volleyball than you ever wanted to know. Maybe you even rooted for Bend's own Adam Craig in the mountain bike race. Now that the torch moves on to Vancouver for 2010, I'd like to submit my candidates for new Olympic sports: Extreme Ironing: Founded in 1997 by two Brits named Phil and Paul, but better known as "Steam" and "Spray," EI is a sport that "combines the thrills of an extreme outdoor activity with the satisfaction of a well pressed shirt," according to the Extreme Ironing Bureau. "It involves taking an iron and board (if possible) to remote locations and ironing a few items of laundry. This can involve ironing on a mountainside, preferably on a difficult climb, or taking an iron skiing, snowboarding or canoeing." In 2002, the German Extreme Ironing Section organized the highly successful World Championships in the village of Valley near Munich with German ironist Hot Pants winning the individual event and a British team taking the top spot in the team event. The international popularity of this sport makes it an obvious selection for the Olympics.


  • The Blender
  • The STP Sing-along

    Last night my 4,312-day Stone Temple Pilots concert drought came to an end as the four men of the newly reunited STP brought their aged selves onto the Les Schwab Amphitheater stage on a particularly brisk night for what can be most easily and predictably described as a 1990s nostalgia sing-along. After waiting for a good hour after I disappointingly missing openers Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Led Zeppelin's "Good Times, Bad Times" boomed over the largest collection of speakers I've ever seen on the LSA stage and the lights finally went dim. Enter three-fourths of STP, dressed for the event with bassist Robert DeLeo actually in a sport coat variation and brother Dean in some sort of quirky-yet-classy Western shirt. They all saddled up - but still no sight of Scott Weiland. Instantly, my mind went a little nuts as it often does, wondering if Weiland had again fallen off the wagon and was maybe camped out somewhere in between Bend and Seattle (where the band played a headlining slot at Bumbershoot) ingesting whatever substances he could get his hands on. I imagined him sitting in a drainage ditch for some reason - perhaps that's what my generation expects out of Weiland. But then out of the shadows, the red glimmer of a freshly lit cigarette glowed through the darkened stage and there was Mr. Weiland. With a cowboy hat, scarf, sunglasses, and skin-tight designer jeans, Weiland took one last drag, hacked a sizable chunk of saliva to the side and got the show on the road, manhandling the microphone stand as only Weiland can do as the band got things started with "Big Empty." It was only a few seconds later that, just as my pubescenent eyes saw on November 11, 1996, precisely 4,312 days prior, Weiland hopped up on the monitor speakers and strutted around. And just as I did more than 4,000 days ago in Seattle's Mercer Arena, I, and everyone around me was singing along, without a care of how silly a line like "her dizzy head is conscious laden" sounds. How often do you describe one's head as "conscious laden"? Probably not often. But nonetheless, the sing-along continued through familiar ditties like "Creep," "Big Bang Baby," "Lady Picture Show" and of course, of course, of course "Plush." Weiland is still heroin-addict skinny (that's just illustrative language and not to be taken literally, OK?) and still arrogant as all hell, dishing out the occasional hip thrust and finger point from his front-of-stage, monitor speaker altar. In this day of modest indie rockers who enjoy themselves on stage, yet have no delusions of hubris, it was strangely refreshing to see the kind of showmanship Weiland brings to the table. Another weird thing about Weiland...he was super tan. You don't see that in a rock star too often. The venue included seats for the first several rows, stopping any chance of a mosh pit, as was once the norm at an STP show. There seemed to be more than a few testosterone overloaded fans who disagreed with the fence keeping them from getting closer to Weiland and the guys, as a massive contingent gathered around the entrance to the seated area. One aforementioned man-of-men showed his disappointment by hucking a trash can over the fan at a security guard. But for the most part, STP fans have aged to the less aggressive, stand-and-sing-along types, rather than mosh pit enthusiasts. Damn, I used to love mosh pits.
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