Podcasting since 2004; Conversations, conflicts, adventures and monologues from around the world.
This was supposed to be a organized and passionate rant. Instead I fizzled out by the end of the day, started listening to lots of Utah Phillips labor stories, and voila this podcast. I’ll try and better articulate my thoughts next time. Also there’s soundseeing; Brief photoshow on Flickr, just change when you here the bell.
27min+, 64kbps, 12Mb+
Featuring:
Tribute to May Day
Utah Phillips
Adagio for Strings
Response to Podshow Announcement
Queen’s day in Amsterdam with the Mindcaster
You’ll catch alot of posts out there about Queen’s day. Some writers will talk about the parties, some will talk about the craziness, and others will just talk. I’ve seen alot of national celebrations in my travels; Carnival in Venice, Popular Saints in Lisbon, New Years in Manhattan… all very big and crazy. But none, I repeat- none, has the vibe and the sillyness of Queen’s day in Amsterdam.
To support my case, you need only look to the children. Beneath all the drunkedness, and the techno-crap music blasting from the floating parties, there are in fact many little people who I believe are the backbone of the REAL Queen’s day.
They sing for money…. they sing well.. they sing badly, they sing. They juggle, they drum, or they do that devil stick thing. They make bands and plug in amplifyers to be alterna-rock-jazz stars for the day. They play violin, fife, trumpet, you name it…. give them some change if you like it, or maybe in hopes that they’ll stop. While they are little and an often ignored minority, my theory is that they are the soul of this holiday. They set the pace, the relaxed, silly, friendly, childish spirit that we so often loose along the journey of life.
For my part I had the pleasure of a boatride, city walk, and on the street danceclub with my buddy the Mindcaster. While we took plenty of photos and recorded lots of audio, I must urge you all to go beyond this level of experiencing second hand. Whatever that place you love hearing about, whether its Amsterdam or Rio de Janeiro, you must experience these things first hand. So save those pennies, book the trip, and experience. – Then blog about it, cause it’s fun to read about.
Tomorrow’s podcast will have more on this, and you’ll hear me declare war on something which is brewing in podcast land..
I can smell the stench of old beer and urine already, it is Queen’s Night here in Amsterdam, the eve of one of the messiest, nuttiest, look-i’m-wearing-my-orange-shirt days of the year. But let’s leave that for tomorrow, today I’m telling a story from my childhood:
Growing up in Newark, my parents had a store in the Ironbound (Portuguese section). As far as I can remember, this store sold – generally speaking- Portuguese things. I remember records, shirts, table cloths, and oddly enough- large virgin mary statues. The store was called Voz de Portugal (voice of portugal) and everyday afterschool that’s where I would be, in the back room watching cartoons and building McGuyver like objects out of the spare radio parts I found. Oh yeah, we had a homemade recording studio in the back where we would record a weekly radio show for the Portuguese Community.
The one thing I remember about this store, was that it really wasn’t about selling things. It was a front. Not for drug running or money laundering – oh no… it was a community center. I remember everyday the same old men and women would come in looking for my mom or dad, always toting letters in English that they just couldn’t understand. Tax forms, green card renewals, letters from that dam phone company – they brought them all for my parents to transcribe. Often times the regulars wouldn’t bring any letters at all, they would simply bring the problems of the day. Or maybe some gossip from the neighborhood.
While at the time I didn’t think anything of it, and just kept doing my McGuyver thing, looking back, I still carry the lessons I learned then. Like my parents, I too specialize in helping random fish at the fishtank with their life problems. Even if I’ve got tons of things to do, I still put it aside, and help the frustrated international student understand the letter from Canal+ or the foreign police. Only one difference of course, after they leave, in my mind, I’m completely fed up with this inability to say NO.
I digress, the Voice of Portugal was an amazing place to grow up.
Oh and rumor has it BlondeButBright‘s blog is all the talk in Minnesota.
I have tons of catching up to do with podcasting, still lots more to share with you, and much to learn when it comes to audio editing on a MAC. But I did this whole show in garageband (nerd talk) and it works fine. I had a fun time interviewing the internets’ own Madge Weinstein during my lunch break yesterday, so this one runs half an hour just to keep the interview somewhat in tact.
31min+, 64kbps, 14Mb+
Featuring:
Madge Weinstein: I got a vagina in the mail today.
Madge Weinstein: Someone sent me a silicon vagina with lube
bicyclemark: Really! scented?
Madge Weinstein: i didn’t smell it
Madge Weinstein: no batteries, though. and girlscout cookies!
bicyclemark: thats sweet
Madge Weinstein: it’s fucked up
bicyclemark: I want those cookies with the peanut butter in the middle
bicyclemark: the vagina?
Madge Weinstein: it has like a little bit of fake hair on it
they have a fetish site and want me to plug it
Madge Weinstein: so they sent me a cunt
Madge Weinstein: Maybe chauncey will lick it
— Will Chauncey the dog lick it? Find out, on the next edition of Yeast Radio.
It’s a bit pathetic, yesterday was my most favorite holiday EVER, and I didn’t even notice. I didn’t flip open the Portuguese newspaper, I didn’t reflect or write, I didn’t salute a beautiful event in the history of the world. I just kept repeating the date to myself like an old man losing his mind: 25 of April. 25th…. April… 2o plus 5. And only now, after receiving an email from my father, do I realize why the date echoed in my head. It’s the anniversary of the Carnation Revolution in Portugal. April 25th 1974… 31 years ago.
31 years ago a country that had lived under decades of dictatorship, torture, and lies, awoke from a long slumber. Led by the armed forces, who were tired of fighting brutal colonial wars, people took to the streets. The tanks rolled down the streets of Lisbon, but not with the intention of killing. In the barrels of their weapons, carnations, what would become the symbol of the revolution and later, the socialist party. A symbol that stood for peace, democracy and human rights.
People tend to say that it was one of the few bloodless coups in the history of the world. Though that’s somewhat true, people did actually die on that day, when the murderous secret police opened fire from their headquarters, on the singing masses outside. But beyond that, the revolutionaries successfully booted out the dictator and the fascists behind them. They demanded socialism (their form of it) and a society opened to the world.
Of course, 31 years later, it’s pretty telling that even a fairly intellegent boy like myself forgets to celebrate. My generation doesn’t really notice or remember. They see Portugal and it’s many problems, and don’t feel much like cheering. The reality of the situation is that the global economy hasn’t worked to well for the average citizen. Quality of life is good for some, but everyone knows it’s far below what it could and should be. The ideals of the revolution were discarded along the way, the political class has firmly implanted itself, complete with the same ol rhetoric of empty promises and populist ideals.
Still, as is clear from my post last year, I love allowing myself to get caught up in the romance. Because it must have been an amazingly romantic time. Everything I read and watch about that time oozes hope and passion about the future. Who doesn’t like feeling that?
Feliz 25 de Abril Portugal. O povo é quem mais ordena.
AudioCommunique #30(mp3)