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.
