Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Shorter New York Trip
For those who don't want to read my 8000 word power-wank travelogue below:
Love Is All were awesome on Friday. The Masters of American Comics exhibit was awesome on Saturday. Friends were awesome both days. Drinking was awesome until it became not awesome. Walking was fine until it started to hurt. And the "elegant" Century Chinese Buffet in Windsor, CT, is as shitty as every other Chinese buffet ever.
For those who don't want to read my 8000 word power-wank travelogue below:
Love Is All were awesome on Friday. The Masters of American Comics exhibit was awesome on Saturday. Friends were awesome both days. Drinking was awesome until it became not awesome. Walking was fine until it started to hurt. And the "elegant" Century Chinese Buffet in Windsor, CT, is as shitty as every other Chinese buffet ever.
New York Round Two
here's the first part
Saturday morning I woke up on Scarnsworth’s couch around ten am, as hungover as an Irishman on March 18th. I met Chris’s roommates and one of their girlfriends and dozed off again for a little bit. At some point I got up and took a shower, which helped a bit with the booze pain. Rip was talking up the brunch at this placed called Essex, so we headed that way a bit before noon.
At Essex we encountered the absolute worst waiter I’ve ever dealt with. He was a jolly enough fellow, not surly or anything, but completely disinterested in actually doing his job. He’d take our order, or ask us if we needed anything, and then go sit down and talk at another table for twenty minutes. Apparently he was best friends with every table in the section except us, including the ur-hipster in the tattered Florida Gators shirt and his friend in the head-to-toe Patriots gear. Brunch came with free bloody marys or mimosas; I got the latter, Chris the former. Our waiter was Johnny on the spot with the mimosa refills, ‘cuz they just had a pitcher of that shit sitting in the corner, but it’d take him 15 minutes or more to get Chris another bloody mary. Because of that mimosa pitcher, I had like six glasses of orange juice and champagne in a little over an hour. I forgot that shit had alcohol in it. On top of being hungover as hell, I was freshly drunk again, and on a liquor I generally don’t enjoy getting drunk on. Eventually we got our check and headed back to Rip’s apartment. I first got an inkling of the troubles ahead when I struggled to walk down the stairs at Essex.
Okay, so I was drunk and hungover and walking the four or five blocks back to Rip’s place. We were going to grab a couple of things and then head up to his empty new apartment and then the Masters of American Comics exhibit at the Jewish Museum. My feet were already hurting from the hours of walking on Friday. I was wearing my coat ‘cuz I figured it’d be cold, but the sun was shining, it felt like it was 70 degrees, and I was sweating profusely. I was already feeling pretty shitty in a variety of ways. I dropped my coat and umbrella off at Rip’s, thinking I wouldn’t need them. We took off for the subway, which was several blocks away. Within ten minutes of leaving his place the sky turned grey and started to dump several oceans worth of rain on us. Chris thought ahead, and had an umbrella; I just had to deal with it. I was completely soaked through within a few minutes. It was sometime around here that I felt like I was about to simultaneously vomit, defecate, and pass out right there on the sidewalk. That’s an awesome experience.
Eventually we made it to the train. I was praying for an empty seat, ‘cuz at this point I thought I was about three minutes away from death, and didn’t want to fall and bruise my face and be all purple looking in the casket. Seats were unavailable, of course, so I just stood there drip-drying. Thankfully the rain had stopped by the time we got to Rip’s new place up in the 70’s.
We check out the barren new apartment, which should be great as soon as it has furniture and stuff. The color was kind of off-putting, but that’s easily taken care of. It was roughly the size of my living room, but cost just as much as our two-bedroom place in Somerville. NEW YORK! I sat on the floor resting my dogs while Chris tried to get the hang of his security blinds.
The Jewish Museum was a few blocks away, right next to Central Park. We got there about quarter to three. After making it through the most confusing security check ever we wandered into the most immediately accessible exhibit room, which housed about 800 paintings of the same woman, made by some amazingly obsessed (and most likely insane) stalker creep, I think. Assuming a stalker creep can also be a loving and artistically inclined husband. We got out of that room as quickly as possible, my wet shoes squeaking like a wailing banshee, and found our way upstairs, where the comics exhibit was located.
So this Masters of American Comics exhibit is awesome. Everyone should go. It’s free on Saturdays, which rocks. The exhibit at the Jewish Museum is only the second half, 1940 on; the pre-war comic strip portion can be found in Newark, although I think Charles Schulz’s work is there, which kinda mucks up the date break, but whatever. Anyway, an introductory statement declares that the exhibit is an attempt to create an official and universally recognized canon of comics masters, or something. They mostly picked well, although Art Spiegelman’s last-second withdrawal hurts that credibility somewhat.
It starts with a bunch of pages from Eisner’s The Spirit, both his original pencils and the final newsprint product, including a few stories displayed in their entirety. The split from the comic strip show kinda undermines one’s ability to realize how ground-breaking Eisner’s work was, unless one is already familiar with the artform in its early stages. Needless to say the man was massively important in the development of the language of sequential art, etc etc, and the pages on display provide some proof.
From Eisner they move on to Jack Kirby, the greatest superhero artist of all time, and the man who basically defined that genre for anybody born after 1950 or so. They don’t have much from his pre-Marvel days, but the pages from Fantastic Four and The Mighty Thor are beautiful and amazing. Best of all, though, is this almost spell-binding double-page splash from Devil Dinosaur that’s kinda unbelievable in its detail. There’s a really swank splash from an issue of Komandi, too, but little else from after he left Marvel in the early ‘70’s. Rip, not a big comics fan, made the observation that Kirby’s work is like the textbook example of what a comic looks like; the fact that a non-comics reader can immediately pick that up attests to how foundational Kirby was in laying down that very physical, dynamic, non-cartoonish superhero style.
Harvey Kurtzmann was up next. There are a few pages and covers from various ‘40’s and ‘50’s war comics on display that are quite nice, but mostly, of course, they focus on his work from the early days of MAD Magazine. His style is more cartoonish than Kirby’s or Eisner’s, all soft and curvy. It was good stuff, mostly new to me, and thus perhaps not as immediately interesting as Eisner and Kirby. Still, definitely some good work. I should definitely put some effort into reading his stuff.
After Kurtzmann they move into the alternative / underground / indie comics phase, obviously looking first at R. Crumb. I’m not always a fan of his art, and I’m rarely a fan of his writing, but you can’t dispute the man had some skills. Very little about his content appeals to me at all. Fritz the Cat is an amazingly cute drawing, for sure, but I have no interest in reading four pages of him talking various other animals into an orgy. It was important for somebody like Crumb to come along and break down many of the barriers that existed within the form, I guess, but his work was often more juvenile than the blatantly kid-centric stuff that it opposed. The best piece on display is his biography of Charley Patton, which is not almost gorgeously drawn but also educational.
Gary Panter was up next. His design work is fascinating, but often to the detriment of his story-telling abilities. Still, an amazing artist, and some of the pages on display were incredible. Not much to say about him, really.
The final guy included in this exhibit is Chris Ware, who in many ways is dramatically far beyond anything that’s come before him. His design skills are amazing, and his storytelling is perhaps just as good. He harkens back to the early days of comic strips while creating something unmistakably contemporary. He can wring real emotion out of his audience (or at least me) without being overly manipulative. His are the most beautiful and heart-breaking comics I think I’ve ever read. More than anybody else in this part of the exhibit Chris Ware is the total package.
After Ware they have an ancillary exhibit called Superheroes, that focuses on Jewish immigrants’ involvement in the development of that genre. It’s nice and fairly informative but the artwork on display mostly isn’t up to the caliber of the Masters exhibit. They also waste some space by devoting an entire wall to nothing but one giant painting and a series of biographies on various creators. The painting was unnecessary, the biographies could’ve been moved alongside the artwork on display, and the extra room could’ve been allocated to the Masters exhibit, which hopefully could’ve convinced Spiegelman to participate. The lack of anything by the man who is this generation’s most acclaimed comics artist is really glaring, and partially undermines the exhibit’s entire concept.
Anyway, yes, awesome times at the Jewish museum. I almost rode a Sabbath elevator, too.
Afterward I was completely refreshed and feeling great. Beforehand I was considering grabbing a bus home Saturday night, I felt so bad, but after drying off and walking away the hangover and getting past the champagne I felt good. Except for my feet, which ached, but whatever. We left the museum and walked across to the Central Park. We stood by that massive pond for a while, admiring the cold breeze and beautiful view. For the first time all weekend I felt like I would love living in New York. What a fucking cliché.
We got some coffee and a soda and headed back down to Rip’s apartment. His roommates were getting ready for Halloween, with some dance mix blasting and the heat all the way up to 78. It was pretty uncomfortable, so after resting for a bit we went back out to get something to drink and eat. We had a couple of cheap pints at a place whose name I can’t remember, and then got a burrito from Benny’s. We went back to Rip’s apartment around nine, or so, and spent the next couple of hours talking and finding out what was happening that night. Eventually I decided to just stay in, and try to get some sleep. I felt kinda bad about that, like I was letting Chris down, but my feet and head couldn’t stand another night of walking around and/or drinking. Around midnight Rip left to go meet Noella at some bar; I called Allyn, talked for a while, then fell asleep around one am. All in all, another great day.
I had a one pm ticket home on Sunday, but woke up at nine and decided to get on an earlier bus. I talked to Rip for a bit, he told me about his night, which sounded fun, and then I said goodbye and took off. I wound up walking down to Chinatown, despite my fucked-up feet and their many blisters, and was able to swap my ticket for one on the eleven am bus. Four and a half hours later I was home. I spent the rest of Sunday either lying down or with my feet in a bucketful of hot water. All in all, an awesome weekend, with a handful of trying and/or uncomfortable moments. Still, I hope to do it again soon.
here's the first part
Saturday morning I woke up on Scarnsworth’s couch around ten am, as hungover as an Irishman on March 18th. I met Chris’s roommates and one of their girlfriends and dozed off again for a little bit. At some point I got up and took a shower, which helped a bit with the booze pain. Rip was talking up the brunch at this placed called Essex, so we headed that way a bit before noon.
At Essex we encountered the absolute worst waiter I’ve ever dealt with. He was a jolly enough fellow, not surly or anything, but completely disinterested in actually doing his job. He’d take our order, or ask us if we needed anything, and then go sit down and talk at another table for twenty minutes. Apparently he was best friends with every table in the section except us, including the ur-hipster in the tattered Florida Gators shirt and his friend in the head-to-toe Patriots gear. Brunch came with free bloody marys or mimosas; I got the latter, Chris the former. Our waiter was Johnny on the spot with the mimosa refills, ‘cuz they just had a pitcher of that shit sitting in the corner, but it’d take him 15 minutes or more to get Chris another bloody mary. Because of that mimosa pitcher, I had like six glasses of orange juice and champagne in a little over an hour. I forgot that shit had alcohol in it. On top of being hungover as hell, I was freshly drunk again, and on a liquor I generally don’t enjoy getting drunk on. Eventually we got our check and headed back to Rip’s apartment. I first got an inkling of the troubles ahead when I struggled to walk down the stairs at Essex.
Okay, so I was drunk and hungover and walking the four or five blocks back to Rip’s place. We were going to grab a couple of things and then head up to his empty new apartment and then the Masters of American Comics exhibit at the Jewish Museum. My feet were already hurting from the hours of walking on Friday. I was wearing my coat ‘cuz I figured it’d be cold, but the sun was shining, it felt like it was 70 degrees, and I was sweating profusely. I was already feeling pretty shitty in a variety of ways. I dropped my coat and umbrella off at Rip’s, thinking I wouldn’t need them. We took off for the subway, which was several blocks away. Within ten minutes of leaving his place the sky turned grey and started to dump several oceans worth of rain on us. Chris thought ahead, and had an umbrella; I just had to deal with it. I was completely soaked through within a few minutes. It was sometime around here that I felt like I was about to simultaneously vomit, defecate, and pass out right there on the sidewalk. That’s an awesome experience.
Eventually we made it to the train. I was praying for an empty seat, ‘cuz at this point I thought I was about three minutes away from death, and didn’t want to fall and bruise my face and be all purple looking in the casket. Seats were unavailable, of course, so I just stood there drip-drying. Thankfully the rain had stopped by the time we got to Rip’s new place up in the 70’s.
We check out the barren new apartment, which should be great as soon as it has furniture and stuff. The color was kind of off-putting, but that’s easily taken care of. It was roughly the size of my living room, but cost just as much as our two-bedroom place in Somerville. NEW YORK! I sat on the floor resting my dogs while Chris tried to get the hang of his security blinds.
The Jewish Museum was a few blocks away, right next to Central Park. We got there about quarter to three. After making it through the most confusing security check ever we wandered into the most immediately accessible exhibit room, which housed about 800 paintings of the same woman, made by some amazingly obsessed (and most likely insane) stalker creep, I think. Assuming a stalker creep can also be a loving and artistically inclined husband. We got out of that room as quickly as possible, my wet shoes squeaking like a wailing banshee, and found our way upstairs, where the comics exhibit was located.
So this Masters of American Comics exhibit is awesome. Everyone should go. It’s free on Saturdays, which rocks. The exhibit at the Jewish Museum is only the second half, 1940 on; the pre-war comic strip portion can be found in Newark, although I think Charles Schulz’s work is there, which kinda mucks up the date break, but whatever. Anyway, an introductory statement declares that the exhibit is an attempt to create an official and universally recognized canon of comics masters, or something. They mostly picked well, although Art Spiegelman’s last-second withdrawal hurts that credibility somewhat.
It starts with a bunch of pages from Eisner’s The Spirit, both his original pencils and the final newsprint product, including a few stories displayed in their entirety. The split from the comic strip show kinda undermines one’s ability to realize how ground-breaking Eisner’s work was, unless one is already familiar with the artform in its early stages. Needless to say the man was massively important in the development of the language of sequential art, etc etc, and the pages on display provide some proof.
From Eisner they move on to Jack Kirby, the greatest superhero artist of all time, and the man who basically defined that genre for anybody born after 1950 or so. They don’t have much from his pre-Marvel days, but the pages from Fantastic Four and The Mighty Thor are beautiful and amazing. Best of all, though, is this almost spell-binding double-page splash from Devil Dinosaur that’s kinda unbelievable in its detail. There’s a really swank splash from an issue of Komandi, too, but little else from after he left Marvel in the early ‘70’s. Rip, not a big comics fan, made the observation that Kirby’s work is like the textbook example of what a comic looks like; the fact that a non-comics reader can immediately pick that up attests to how foundational Kirby was in laying down that very physical, dynamic, non-cartoonish superhero style.
Harvey Kurtzmann was up next. There are a few pages and covers from various ‘40’s and ‘50’s war comics on display that are quite nice, but mostly, of course, they focus on his work from the early days of MAD Magazine. His style is more cartoonish than Kirby’s or Eisner’s, all soft and curvy. It was good stuff, mostly new to me, and thus perhaps not as immediately interesting as Eisner and Kirby. Still, definitely some good work. I should definitely put some effort into reading his stuff.
After Kurtzmann they move into the alternative / underground / indie comics phase, obviously looking first at R. Crumb. I’m not always a fan of his art, and I’m rarely a fan of his writing, but you can’t dispute the man had some skills. Very little about his content appeals to me at all. Fritz the Cat is an amazingly cute drawing, for sure, but I have no interest in reading four pages of him talking various other animals into an orgy. It was important for somebody like Crumb to come along and break down many of the barriers that existed within the form, I guess, but his work was often more juvenile than the blatantly kid-centric stuff that it opposed. The best piece on display is his biography of Charley Patton, which is not almost gorgeously drawn but also educational.
Gary Panter was up next. His design work is fascinating, but often to the detriment of his story-telling abilities. Still, an amazing artist, and some of the pages on display were incredible. Not much to say about him, really.
The final guy included in this exhibit is Chris Ware, who in many ways is dramatically far beyond anything that’s come before him. His design skills are amazing, and his storytelling is perhaps just as good. He harkens back to the early days of comic strips while creating something unmistakably contemporary. He can wring real emotion out of his audience (or at least me) without being overly manipulative. His are the most beautiful and heart-breaking comics I think I’ve ever read. More than anybody else in this part of the exhibit Chris Ware is the total package.
After Ware they have an ancillary exhibit called Superheroes, that focuses on Jewish immigrants’ involvement in the development of that genre. It’s nice and fairly informative but the artwork on display mostly isn’t up to the caliber of the Masters exhibit. They also waste some space by devoting an entire wall to nothing but one giant painting and a series of biographies on various creators. The painting was unnecessary, the biographies could’ve been moved alongside the artwork on display, and the extra room could’ve been allocated to the Masters exhibit, which hopefully could’ve convinced Spiegelman to participate. The lack of anything by the man who is this generation’s most acclaimed comics artist is really glaring, and partially undermines the exhibit’s entire concept.
Anyway, yes, awesome times at the Jewish museum. I almost rode a Sabbath elevator, too.
Afterward I was completely refreshed and feeling great. Beforehand I was considering grabbing a bus home Saturday night, I felt so bad, but after drying off and walking away the hangover and getting past the champagne I felt good. Except for my feet, which ached, but whatever. We left the museum and walked across to the Central Park. We stood by that massive pond for a while, admiring the cold breeze and beautiful view. For the first time all weekend I felt like I would love living in New York. What a fucking cliché.
We got some coffee and a soda and headed back down to Rip’s apartment. His roommates were getting ready for Halloween, with some dance mix blasting and the heat all the way up to 78. It was pretty uncomfortable, so after resting for a bit we went back out to get something to drink and eat. We had a couple of cheap pints at a place whose name I can’t remember, and then got a burrito from Benny’s. We went back to Rip’s apartment around nine, or so, and spent the next couple of hours talking and finding out what was happening that night. Eventually I decided to just stay in, and try to get some sleep. I felt kinda bad about that, like I was letting Chris down, but my feet and head couldn’t stand another night of walking around and/or drinking. Around midnight Rip left to go meet Noella at some bar; I called Allyn, talked for a while, then fell asleep around one am. All in all, another great day.
I had a one pm ticket home on Sunday, but woke up at nine and decided to get on an earlier bus. I talked to Rip for a bit, he told me about his night, which sounded fun, and then I said goodbye and took off. I wound up walking down to Chinatown, despite my fucked-up feet and their many blisters, and was able to swap my ticket for one on the eleven am bus. Four and a half hours later I was home. I spent the rest of Sunday either lying down or with my feet in a bucketful of hot water. All in all, an awesome weekend, with a handful of trying and/or uncomfortable moments. Still, I hope to do it again soon.
dude, mine sucks.
Here's my take on that thing DJ put up yesterday. For some reason the iPod was shooting out nothing but Bob Pollard at the end. Also a couple of comedy bits popped up; I didn't skip over them, but did add at the end the two songs that would've come up after the last one, so you can ignore the comedy tracks if you want and bump the songs up to fill whatever holes need to be filled.
If anything, this just proves that I have to purge some stuff from this device. I normally would've skipped over half of this shit.
opening credits
"Black Cab", Jens Lekman
waking up
"Nothing Ever Happens", Pavement
first day at school
"Pearl 'N' Roy (England)", Mott the Hoople
falling in love
"I'm a Man (Live at Radio City Music Hall, New York, 1989)", The Who
breaking up
"Let's Go Crazy", Prince
prom
"Quest", Dinosaur Jr
life's ok
"Radio Prague", OMD
mental breakdown
"Other Comedians", Neil Hamburger
driving
"Actually It's Darkness", Idlewild
flashback
"Geezers Need Excitement", the Streets
getting back together
"They Removed All Trace That Anything Had Ever Happened Here", Hood
birth of child
"Three-Ism", Coyle & Sharpe
wedding scene
"Over the Neptune / Mesh Gear Fox", Guided By Voices
training montage
"Love Reign O'er Me", The Who
final battle
"Whispering Whip", Robert Pollard
death scene
"I'm Not Looking", Acid Ranch
funeral song
"Artboat", Guided By Voices
end credits
"Deaf Ears", Guided By Voices
alternates: "Okie From Muskogee", Merle Haggard; "Troubled 'Bout My Soul", Frank Palmes
Here's my take on that thing DJ put up yesterday. For some reason the iPod was shooting out nothing but Bob Pollard at the end. Also a couple of comedy bits popped up; I didn't skip over them, but did add at the end the two songs that would've come up after the last one, so you can ignore the comedy tracks if you want and bump the songs up to fill whatever holes need to be filled.
If anything, this just proves that I have to purge some stuff from this device. I normally would've skipped over half of this shit.
opening credits
"Black Cab", Jens Lekman
waking up
"Nothing Ever Happens", Pavement
first day at school
"Pearl 'N' Roy (England)", Mott the Hoople
falling in love
"I'm a Man (Live at Radio City Music Hall, New York, 1989)", The Who
breaking up
"Let's Go Crazy", Prince
prom
"Quest", Dinosaur Jr
life's ok
"Radio Prague", OMD
mental breakdown
"Other Comedians", Neil Hamburger
driving
"Actually It's Darkness", Idlewild
flashback
"Geezers Need Excitement", the Streets
getting back together
"They Removed All Trace That Anything Had Ever Happened Here", Hood
birth of child
"Three-Ism", Coyle & Sharpe
wedding scene
"Over the Neptune / Mesh Gear Fox", Guided By Voices
training montage
"Love Reign O'er Me", The Who
final battle
"Whispering Whip", Robert Pollard
death scene
"I'm Not Looking", Acid Ranch
funeral song
"Artboat", Guided By Voices
end credits
"Deaf Ears", Guided By Voices
alternates: "Okie From Muskogee", Merle Haggard; "Troubled 'Bout My Soul", Frank Palmes
Monday, October 30, 2006
I Went to New York, and Obliterated My Mind.
Okay, so, other than the stuff mentioned below, my little weekend jaunt down to New York was pretty amazing. Hung out a bunch with Rip, saw Rob for the first time in literally days, and got drunk with Joseph Abraham for maybe the first time ever. I also saw a great rock show and a fantastic museum exhibit. And most awesome of all, I almost got to ride in a Sabbath elevator. Good times.
I took the Lucky Star bus down on Friday afternoon, and it was utterly hassle-free. Cheap as hell, comfortable enough, and yet still apparently unpopular, as everybody was able to stretch out with two seats of their own. The Fung Wah bus that took off at the same time as ours was completely packed, so really, no question which Chinatown bus I’ll be taking in the future. I spent the five or so hours sleeping, reading DC Showcase Presents The Phantom Stranger, and listening to some stuff on the old iPod. We also stopped off at the elegant Century Buffet in Windsor, Connecticut, for some reliably bad yet cheap Chinese buffet food.
The bus dropped me off in Chinatown around 2:30. I walked up to 4th street and stopped in at Other Music. They had a bunch of stuff I wouldn’t mind owning, but nothing that felt absolutely necessary; after a half-hour or so of poking around I took off without buying anything. I walked around Washington Square Park, which still sucks, took a look at my old school buildings, called the three dudes I knew in town, and eventually headed over to St. Mark’s to hit up Mondo Kim’s and my old dormitory. Both still exist, and both still suck. At this point my trip really wasn’t so hot, especially since I had to take a mad dumb and couldn’t find any worthy facilities. The public john at Washington Square didn’t even have stalls, just a row of five toilets with nothing to block ‘em off. There was a homeless dude in there talking to himself and leaning over shoulders to check out everybody’s manhood. Just like old times. Apparently they’ve been filming that Will Smith remake of Soylent Green or whatever in the park, and so there were these giant industrial Hollywood lamps everywhere. One on a tractor almost ran me down.
After a couple hours of wandering around on my lonesome I got a call from Joe, who was finally out of class. Almost immediately Rip called, as well, and plans were made to go to this bar called dba, which was around the corner from Joe’s apt. and about two blocks down from McElveen’s. Joe and I got there first, he got a glass of something, I ordered a large Three Philosophers, not entirely aware that it was going to be a whole bottle. Which was awesome. So I drank that probably a bit too quickly, setting off on a ten-hour bender that cost more than I make in a day and that led directly to a miserable Saturday morning. Rippy showed up around 5:30 or so, we hung out, drank, etc. Again, good times.
At 6:30 or so I hailed a cab down to the Knitting Factory. Love Is All were playing two shows, and I had a ticket to the one that started at seven. I met Rob Lomblad at the club, got my ticket from will call, then went out to grab dinner. The only place nearby was a deli around the corner; we both got chicken sandwiches, and I also bought a chocolate brownie whose constant presence in my inside coat pocket helped keep hope alive over the following 30 hours or so. By this time it was raining, and with nowhere to eat inside the deli we stood beneath some construction scaffolding and ate our sandwiches standing up. I ate half a sandwich and a bag of chips in like 50 seconds, I think. I ate faster than I could think. We stuffed the second halves of our sandwiches in Rob’s bag for later on and headed back inside.
The first band was pretty bad, so after a couple of songs we went out into the bar and ordered a couple of $4 High Lifes. Around this time Joe showed up; he had never heard of Love Is All, but he felt like hanging out, and that was a good thing. We stayed in the bar for an hour or so, ate the second half of our sandwiches, and only headed back into the main room when we realized the second band was on. We wound up missing most of their set; no idea what the name was (maybe Cause Co-Motion?), but it was pretty good shambling, jangly indie-pop, in a total mid-‘80’s vein. There were four dudes in the band, and they all looked like they were, at most, 20. I wish I had seen more of them. After a couple of songs they finished up, and as soon as they were off-stage Wyatt walked out on there and started fiddling around with the microphones, or something.
Love Is All were pretty much amazing. I can’t remember the last time I saw a band obviously having as much fun as they were. I figured they’d be relatively energetic, but I was surprised as how high-energy the show was; they didn’t really stop between songs, and every member was in motion at all moments. They played a little bit more than half of the album, plus a few songs I didn’t recognize. The set was short, not quite 40 minutes, and the encore was only one song, but I’ve got absolutely no complaints. I totally got my money’s worth, and I really regret not sticking around for the second show.
Afterward we talked to Wyatt a bit, finished another round of over-priced High Lifes, bid farewell to Joe, and then hopped a taxi back to dba, where we reconvened with Rip. By this point my memory was getting hazy, and I can’t recall if we had a drink or not at dba this time. We noticed the Cards were up 4-2 in the ninth, and Rob and I shared a sigh for the Tigers. Very quickly though we left dba and headed for another nearby bar called Mama’s, which Rip swore was great, and which was, in fact, quite great. We just sort of hung out and drank here for a few hours, talking about all sorts of shit. At one point I started shit-talking about photography to get a rise out of Rob. I don’t think it’s possible to get a rise out of that guy.
Around one or so Rob left to make the train back to Brooklyn. Rip and I headed to another bar, called Lakeside or Lakeview, or something, and had a couple more rounds. I have almost no memory of this whatsoever. I do remember walking around the East Village at three in the pouring rain with a broken umbrella in order to get tacos from Snack Dragon, which was an excellent decision. Finally we headed back to Rip’s apartment and cracked open a couple of Yuenglings. This was probably my thirteenth beer, or something, so not really the best decision. Not too much later Rip retired to his bedroom, and I, in my infinitely drunken stupor, called Allyn, despite it being 3:45 in the morning. I didn’t know what we talked about until I got home Sunday night, when she recapped the conversation for me.
Anyway, night one, and it was as fine as could be. Little did I know that Saturday morning would bring an unflinching descent into the flaming bowels of Hell.
Okay, so, other than the stuff mentioned below, my little weekend jaunt down to New York was pretty amazing. Hung out a bunch with Rip, saw Rob for the first time in literally days, and got drunk with Joseph Abraham for maybe the first time ever. I also saw a great rock show and a fantastic museum exhibit. And most awesome of all, I almost got to ride in a Sabbath elevator. Good times.
I took the Lucky Star bus down on Friday afternoon, and it was utterly hassle-free. Cheap as hell, comfortable enough, and yet still apparently unpopular, as everybody was able to stretch out with two seats of their own. The Fung Wah bus that took off at the same time as ours was completely packed, so really, no question which Chinatown bus I’ll be taking in the future. I spent the five or so hours sleeping, reading DC Showcase Presents The Phantom Stranger, and listening to some stuff on the old iPod. We also stopped off at the elegant Century Buffet in Windsor, Connecticut, for some reliably bad yet cheap Chinese buffet food.
The bus dropped me off in Chinatown around 2:30. I walked up to 4th street and stopped in at Other Music. They had a bunch of stuff I wouldn’t mind owning, but nothing that felt absolutely necessary; after a half-hour or so of poking around I took off without buying anything. I walked around Washington Square Park, which still sucks, took a look at my old school buildings, called the three dudes I knew in town, and eventually headed over to St. Mark’s to hit up Mondo Kim’s and my old dormitory. Both still exist, and both still suck. At this point my trip really wasn’t so hot, especially since I had to take a mad dumb and couldn’t find any worthy facilities. The public john at Washington Square didn’t even have stalls, just a row of five toilets with nothing to block ‘em off. There was a homeless dude in there talking to himself and leaning over shoulders to check out everybody’s manhood. Just like old times. Apparently they’ve been filming that Will Smith remake of Soylent Green or whatever in the park, and so there were these giant industrial Hollywood lamps everywhere. One on a tractor almost ran me down.
After a couple hours of wandering around on my lonesome I got a call from Joe, who was finally out of class. Almost immediately Rip called, as well, and plans were made to go to this bar called dba, which was around the corner from Joe’s apt. and about two blocks down from McElveen’s. Joe and I got there first, he got a glass of something, I ordered a large Three Philosophers, not entirely aware that it was going to be a whole bottle. Which was awesome. So I drank that probably a bit too quickly, setting off on a ten-hour bender that cost more than I make in a day and that led directly to a miserable Saturday morning. Rippy showed up around 5:30 or so, we hung out, drank, etc. Again, good times.
At 6:30 or so I hailed a cab down to the Knitting Factory. Love Is All were playing two shows, and I had a ticket to the one that started at seven. I met Rob Lomblad at the club, got my ticket from will call, then went out to grab dinner. The only place nearby was a deli around the corner; we both got chicken sandwiches, and I also bought a chocolate brownie whose constant presence in my inside coat pocket helped keep hope alive over the following 30 hours or so. By this time it was raining, and with nowhere to eat inside the deli we stood beneath some construction scaffolding and ate our sandwiches standing up. I ate half a sandwich and a bag of chips in like 50 seconds, I think. I ate faster than I could think. We stuffed the second halves of our sandwiches in Rob’s bag for later on and headed back inside.
The first band was pretty bad, so after a couple of songs we went out into the bar and ordered a couple of $4 High Lifes. Around this time Joe showed up; he had never heard of Love Is All, but he felt like hanging out, and that was a good thing. We stayed in the bar for an hour or so, ate the second half of our sandwiches, and only headed back into the main room when we realized the second band was on. We wound up missing most of their set; no idea what the name was (maybe Cause Co-Motion?), but it was pretty good shambling, jangly indie-pop, in a total mid-‘80’s vein. There were four dudes in the band, and they all looked like they were, at most, 20. I wish I had seen more of them. After a couple of songs they finished up, and as soon as they were off-stage Wyatt walked out on there and started fiddling around with the microphones, or something.
Love Is All were pretty much amazing. I can’t remember the last time I saw a band obviously having as much fun as they were. I figured they’d be relatively energetic, but I was surprised as how high-energy the show was; they didn’t really stop between songs, and every member was in motion at all moments. They played a little bit more than half of the album, plus a few songs I didn’t recognize. The set was short, not quite 40 minutes, and the encore was only one song, but I’ve got absolutely no complaints. I totally got my money’s worth, and I really regret not sticking around for the second show.
Afterward we talked to Wyatt a bit, finished another round of over-priced High Lifes, bid farewell to Joe, and then hopped a taxi back to dba, where we reconvened with Rip. By this point my memory was getting hazy, and I can’t recall if we had a drink or not at dba this time. We noticed the Cards were up 4-2 in the ninth, and Rob and I shared a sigh for the Tigers. Very quickly though we left dba and headed for another nearby bar called Mama’s, which Rip swore was great, and which was, in fact, quite great. We just sort of hung out and drank here for a few hours, talking about all sorts of shit. At one point I started shit-talking about photography to get a rise out of Rob. I don’t think it’s possible to get a rise out of that guy.
Around one or so Rob left to make the train back to Brooklyn. Rip and I headed to another bar, called Lakeside or Lakeview, or something, and had a couple more rounds. I have almost no memory of this whatsoever. I do remember walking around the East Village at three in the pouring rain with a broken umbrella in order to get tacos from Snack Dragon, which was an excellent decision. Finally we headed back to Rip’s apartment and cracked open a couple of Yuenglings. This was probably my thirteenth beer, or something, so not really the best decision. Not too much later Rip retired to his bedroom, and I, in my infinitely drunken stupor, called Allyn, despite it being 3:45 in the morning. I didn’t know what we talked about until I got home Sunday night, when she recapped the conversation for me.
Anyway, night one, and it was as fine as could be. Little did I know that Saturday morning would bring an unflinching descent into the flaming bowels of Hell.
back
Training's over, and I will have things to say. But first, a few things I had forgotten about New York City:
1. Mondo Kim's sucks.
2. Washington Square Park sucks.
3. NYU sucks.
4. Walking everywhere sucks.
5. $4 High Life sucks.
6. Hipster fashion sucks.
7. Getting caught in a massive rainstorm without an umbrella sucks.
More in a bit.
Training's over, and I will have things to say. But first, a few things I had forgotten about New York City:
1. Mondo Kim's sucks.
2. Washington Square Park sucks.
3. NYU sucks.
4. Walking everywhere sucks.
5. $4 High Life sucks.
6. Hipster fashion sucks.
7. Getting caught in a massive rainstorm without an umbrella sucks.
More in a bit.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Monday, October 23, 2006
Yo Kenny Rogers...
Quit wipping you ass with your hand then putting it to your mouth. That's how you get AIDS.
Quit wipping you ass with your hand then putting it to your mouth. That's how you get AIDS.
still training
This should be the last week. Hopefully.
We saw Marie Antoinette over the weekend. It's beautiful yet staggeringly boring. The script, if one existed, was probably about ten pages long. I don't know why they used any recognizable actors, beyond Dunst; there was very little acting on display. Mostly people just sort of stand around in awesome clothes while Bow Wow Wow plays in the background. It would've been much better if it had been just two hours of good looking people frolicking in Versailles while New Order played on the soundtrack. Bummer, 'cuz I really liked this lady's previous movies.
This should be the last week. Hopefully.
We saw Marie Antoinette over the weekend. It's beautiful yet staggeringly boring. The script, if one existed, was probably about ten pages long. I don't know why they used any recognizable actors, beyond Dunst; there was very little acting on display. Mostly people just sort of stand around in awesome clothes while Bow Wow Wow plays in the background. It would've been much better if it had been just two hours of good looking people frolicking in Versailles while New Order played on the soundtrack. Bummer, 'cuz I really liked this lady's previous movies.
Friday, October 20, 2006
another france read
In which DJ tells us what he's been listening to. With a ghost-writerly hand-out by yours truly.
In which DJ tells us what he's been listening to. With a ghost-writerly hand-out by yours truly.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
No Way In Hell I Can Even THINK About Working Today
FUCK PUJOLS AND HIS EGOMANIACAL SMIRK/SCOWL.
FUCK EDMONDS AND HIS EXAGGERATED FLIPPY DIP SHOWBOATING.
FUCK BELLIARD AND HIS EXCEEDING UGLINESS.
FUCK LARUSSA AND HIS MICROMANAGING BULLSHIT BREATH.
FUCK ROLEN AND HIS REFUSAL TO SHUT IT DOWN AND DO WHAT'S BEST FOR HIS TEAM.
FUCK EVERY ONE OF THOSE OVERACHIEVING SHIT RELIEVERS.
FUCK SPIEZIO AND THAT MEAT CURTAIN HANGING ON HIS CHIN
FUCK THE INCOMPREHENSIBLY IDIOTIC MIDDLE-AGED FEMALE CARDINAL FANS WHO THINK IT'S A GOOD IDEA TO TRY TO LOOK LIKE SPIEZIO.
FUCK MOLINA AND HIS HOLY THROWING ARM THAT BASICALLY LOST THEM A GAME LAST NIGHT.
FUCK WEAVER AND HIS DEAL HE SIGNED WITH THE DEVIL.
AND FUCK TAGUCHI AND HIS WAGNER-RAPING ASS.
FUCK PUJOLS AND HIS EGOMANIACAL SMIRK/SCOWL.
FUCK EDMONDS AND HIS EXAGGERATED FLIPPY DIP SHOWBOATING.
FUCK BELLIARD AND HIS EXCEEDING UGLINESS.
FUCK LARUSSA AND HIS MICROMANAGING BULLSHIT BREATH.
FUCK ROLEN AND HIS REFUSAL TO SHUT IT DOWN AND DO WHAT'S BEST FOR HIS TEAM.
FUCK EVERY ONE OF THOSE OVERACHIEVING SHIT RELIEVERS.
FUCK SPIEZIO AND THAT MEAT CURTAIN HANGING ON HIS CHIN
FUCK THE INCOMPREHENSIBLY IDIOTIC MIDDLE-AGED FEMALE CARDINAL FANS WHO THINK IT'S A GOOD IDEA TO TRY TO LOOK LIKE SPIEZIO.
FUCK MOLINA AND HIS HOLY THROWING ARM THAT BASICALLY LOST THEM A GAME LAST NIGHT.
FUCK WEAVER AND HIS DEAL HE SIGNED WITH THE DEVIL.
AND FUCK TAGUCHI AND HIS WAGNER-RAPING ASS.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
same name, different guy
Shit. When I heard that former rock musician John Hall was running for Congress in New York, I got amazingly giddy. I was hoping it was John S. Hall, from King Missile. He's from New York, he's a lawyer, it's not entirely outside the realm of possibility. I know I'd definitely vote for the man who wrote "Double Fucked By Two Black Studs". Instead it's this dude, from the band Orleans, who gave us "Still The One".
Shit. When I heard that former rock musician John Hall was running for Congress in New York, I got amazingly giddy. I was hoping it was John S. Hall, from King Missile. He's from New York, he's a lawyer, it's not entirely outside the realm of possibility. I know I'd definitely vote for the man who wrote "Double Fucked By Two Black Studs". Instead it's this dude, from the band Orleans, who gave us "Still The One".
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
don't expect much
I got promoted the other week. I'm in training for the next three to four weeks. I won't have much time for internetery or blogocism. Maybe I'll get around to stuff at night. But my nights are mine, so probably not. So yes, light posting and no radio shows for at least the next three weeks. Sorry.
Oh yeah: Gilmore was good last night. Probably better than Veronica Mars. VM was very enjoyable, but was too broad and unbelievable in many ways.
I got promoted the other week. I'm in training for the next three to four weeks. I won't have much time for internetery or blogocism. Maybe I'll get around to stuff at night. But my nights are mine, so probably not. So yes, light posting and no radio shows for at least the next three weeks. Sorry.
Oh yeah: Gilmore was good last night. Probably better than Veronica Mars. VM was very enjoyable, but was too broad and unbelievable in many ways.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
No More Sutton
Don's gone from TBS. I doubt I'll even notice the loss. Mostly because I can't really watch many games anymore, but also because the rotating booth set-up makes the loss of a single dude not too big. Unless that dude is named Skip or Pete.
Don's gone from TBS. I doubt I'll even notice the loss. Mostly because I can't really watch many games anymore, but also because the rotating booth set-up makes the loss of a single dude not too big. Unless that dude is named Skip or Pete.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
bridging the chasm
I have a radio show today that airs on WZBC 90.3 FM from 3 to 5 pm. They've got streams. So stream it.
I have a radio show today that airs on WZBC 90.3 FM from 3 to 5 pm. They've got streams. So stream it.
Oh, Georgia.
Gwinnett's making Cobb look good.
Here's a link for the non-AJC-registered.
Seriously, between this and the Spanish-language book thing a few months ago, Gwinnett's really stealing some of Cobb's thunder.
Gwinnett's making Cobb look good.
Here's a link for the non-AJC-registered.
Seriously, between this and the Spanish-language book thing a few months ago, Gwinnett's really stealing some of Cobb's thunder.
Tuesday TV: It's Weird Watching These Shows With Commercials
Veronica Mars is better than Gilmore Girls.
It’s a fact. A fact I would’ve denied up until two months ago. Or maybe even last night. Granted it’s only one episode, but last night’s Veronica Mars was better than the last two Gilmores, and most of Gilmore Season Six. There’s just more to Veronica Mars. It’s got the humor and soapy operatics of Gilmore, but with the crucial addition of hot teenaged sleuthery. Also Veronica Mars doesn’t routinely make you hate the main characters. I don’t think I’ve ever yelled at the screen ‘cuz of a VM character acting like a complete idiot. Well, I don’t think I’ve ever yelled at the screen during Gilmore, either, 'cuz I generally don't yell at inanimate objects*, but I’ve definitely felt the urge far more than with Mars.
Gilmore wasn’t bad last night, and was an improvement from last week; Rory’s diatribe against Lorelai was completely justified and necessary and really well done. Still, I’m losing patience with the entire romantic triangle. I’d much rather have a season with Luke and Lorelai getting accustomed to married life than another iteration of the whole “Christopher ruins everything” theme. 70% of the time you see David Sutcliffe’s name in the opening credits, you know something torturous will be happening.
Veronica was a great first episode for a season. It set everything up with no wasted moments or strenuous effort. It was funny and fast-paced and I didn’t want to throttle anybody. Hopefully the lack of a season-long mystery won’t harm this show.
*: digital 8-tracks with hard drive read errors are an exception.
Veronica Mars is better than Gilmore Girls.
It’s a fact. A fact I would’ve denied up until two months ago. Or maybe even last night. Granted it’s only one episode, but last night’s Veronica Mars was better than the last two Gilmores, and most of Gilmore Season Six. There’s just more to Veronica Mars. It’s got the humor and soapy operatics of Gilmore, but with the crucial addition of hot teenaged sleuthery. Also Veronica Mars doesn’t routinely make you hate the main characters. I don’t think I’ve ever yelled at the screen ‘cuz of a VM character acting like a complete idiot. Well, I don’t think I’ve ever yelled at the screen during Gilmore, either, 'cuz I generally don't yell at inanimate objects*, but I’ve definitely felt the urge far more than with Mars.
Gilmore wasn’t bad last night, and was an improvement from last week; Rory’s diatribe against Lorelai was completely justified and necessary and really well done. Still, I’m losing patience with the entire romantic triangle. I’d much rather have a season with Luke and Lorelai getting accustomed to married life than another iteration of the whole “Christopher ruins everything” theme. 70% of the time you see David Sutcliffe’s name in the opening credits, you know something torturous will be happening.
Veronica was a great first episode for a season. It set everything up with no wasted moments or strenuous effort. It was funny and fast-paced and I didn’t want to throttle anybody. Hopefully the lack of a season-long mystery won’t harm this show.
*: digital 8-tracks with hard drive read errors are an exception.
Monday, October 02, 2006
