Check out the double exclamation mark on that title.
Music Video Contest Update!!
Mourning the Slow Death of Oregon Journalism
Kari Chisholm of the Blue Oregon blog laments this week about the increasingly sad state of Oregon journalism and the stampede of journalists into PR jobs with government and the private sector.
A New To-Do List: Talking golf, driver’s license photos and 2009’s priorities with Jessie Baylin
Doesn’t look like a golfer, does she?Jessie Baylin, who relocated to Nashville after a six-year stretch in
Los Angeles, has just received her Tennessee-issued driver's license.
And she's not all that excited.
"I kind of look like a dweeb in it. My California license was really
cool and I'm kinda upset about this one," she says from the home in
Nashville that she shares with her fiancée Nathan Followill, the
drummer for Kings of Leon.
The new license and its accompanying dweeby photo has hardly been the
only change for the 24-year-old Baylin over the past year. During 2008,
Baylin saw her disc, Firesight, become one of the most well received
singer-songwriter albums of the year, played at Bonnaroo, and made a
name for herself on the pop music landscape. With a soulful sound laced
with folk and rock flavors, Baylin has earned spots on several
high-profile tours, including her opening gig for Marc Broussard that
brings her to the Tower Theatre on Tuesday night.
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Walden Takes a Bold Stand Against Fairness
Our own Congressman Greg Walden is carrying the conservative banner against attempts to reinstate the broadcasting "Fairness Doctrine."
Riverboarding
With this uncharacteristically warm and mild weather in town and wet at best conditions up in the mountains, my attentions have been slightly diverted. Trying to stay constructive, I focused my energy on some summer sport fun and construct a new riverboard.
Bend Home Prices Down — But Still No Bargain
The median sales price for single-family homes in the Bend area fell to $226,000 in December, the lowest level in four years, The Bulletin reported this morning.
Me and My Yoga: How an anti-exercise, reformed wreck of a man bends his body
Get down and give me a downward dog. If anyone had told me 10 or 20 years ago that I'd be doing yoga at this
point in my life, I would've told them to f**k off. After a lifetime of
self-inflicted physical and mental abuse with my old friends, drugs and
alcohol, I had always subscribed to the belief that I needed a quick
fix, no therapy, and definitely not any form of exercise whatsoever.
But
then after being clean and sober for almost 10 years, I decided to give
it a try. The fact that my girlfriend is a yoga instructor at Namaspa
in the Tulen Center didn't hurt either. I finally gave into the dreaded
pretzel twisting regime to stop hearing her ask (every five minutes),
"When are you going to try my class?" Seriously, what did I have to
lose except maybe a few bad thoughts and a coupla unwanted and
unsightly pounds? I began by participating in an introductory workshop.
When I strutted in wearing my yoga shorts, carrying my new mat and
sporting my sweatband/headdress/bandana, I was approached by my
classmates as somewhat of a swami. The first question, "how long have
you been practicing?" and my response, "umm about two days" put an end
to any looks of admiration.
The Soccer Bowl
There were some unhappy faces at the Left Field desk on New Year's
Eve day as we sat unhappily clanking away at the keyboard as the Sun
Bowl kicked off in El Paso, Texas where Oregon State was taking on 20th
ranked Pittsburgh. The Beavers were playing in a bowl game and we were
at work; an injustice of the highest sorts.
But the fears of
missing out on one of our region's biggest games of the year were
quickly quelled when we accidentally came across the final score - OSU
3, Pitt 0. Three points in 60 minutes of play…that's it. It might as
well have been a soccer game. There might as well have been
unintelligible chants emanating from the mouths of scarf-wearing,
confetti-tossing fans. The players might have well spent several
minutes of the game rolling on the ground holding their shins- we doubt
anyone would have noticed.
Back to the Drawing Board: The Spirit falters in Sin City’s limelight
So why do they call you the gay blade?There's something extremely vapid about The Spirit and I don't mean the
character-the movie. Sure there are big guns, pummeling, wisecracking
and tons o' cleavage but the acting is wooden and stiff. The characters
all seem soulless, leaving the audience no reason to care about any of
them.
This work pays homage to the work and genius of comic book
writer Will Eisner. Director Frank Miller gives Spirit his Sin City
treatment-color highlighting the black and white tone, a constant weird
sepia look, manic silhouettes, and white blood. You'll leave the
theater with memories of these images, but the slick stylizing of Sin
City just doesn't gel. There are some really funny lines, some
over-the-top scenes, but overall it's too arty for its own good. All
flash and no heat.

