This is such a struggle. It’s as though my fingers have stiffened. Each keystroke feels more difficult than the last. It needs to stop. I’m going to drink my coffee with the hope that it perks me up. Hmmm… The cup of crank didn’t do its trick, but I’m pressing on regardless. First of all, I’d like to petition the gods to increase our day from 24 hours to 26 hours. It’s been my thinking that if we had a couple more hours each day, a hell of a lot more could get accomplished. It’s just a thought.
Fucking A. Joy Division is amazing. There’s another thought. Think about and report back to me.
Shall we recount the past couple days? I know that’s why you’re here. You’re waiting to see if I ate at Blue Nine Burger or Sal’s Pizza. You’ve been biting your nails in nervous anticipation. Did Jay have his last vodka tonic at Sofie’s or Bside? Yes, I understand the fact that these unanswered questions leave you tossing and turning, so let me continue this year long vanity plate. Has it been a year? Holy shit, I believe so. Anyway, let me stop being a dick and get down to the lecture at hand.
But before I get to the past couple days, I'm proud to announce that 186 is now a non-smoking apartment. I couldn't be happier. This is your formal warning. Unless you are in a designated smoking area or we just finished making out, there will be no smoking in our apartment.
If George Orwell had any balls one of his best works would have been titled 1981. Fuck ’84. That year was for suckers. Tuesday was one of those nice days at work. Nothing to hectic. Nothing to urgent. Just a steady day that leads you to quitting time like a long trail back in Pennsylvania. After work I hustled home to get a few things in order prior to reporting for work at Webster.
By the way, my student loan situation has been ironed out, and at this moment a move won’t be necessary. It does look like this Brooklyn hater may have to become a Brooklyn lover. Yuck.
In any event, The Donnas and The Datsuns show went smoothly. The door got pretty crazy a couple of times, but we held it down as per the usual. There were a number of pretty young girls seeing the show, but I managed to suppress the inner pervert in me. Unfortunately a couple of older gents didn’t exercise the same restraint, so we had to endure some lude comments from the peanut gallery. I especially enjoyed the instance where a girl asked if she had to be chaperoned by her father the entire night because she was only 16. Some jackoff in line took a look at her and yelled, “I’ll be your dad.” Nice work guy. Nice work.
Another hilarious encounter involved Jesse from the Eagles of Death Metal who came to the show with Claude Ween who will be drumming for EODM in Josh Homme’s absence. Jesse and I got to talking about his gig, and though he seemed quite flustered, he managed to promise me a spot at their CBGB’s show this Friday. He seemed pretty psyched to be talking about his band, but I knew there were other factors (read: drugs) that were probably contributing to his exterior nature. Later that evening he came running up the front steps and grabbed me by the arm. He asked me how security worked at the club. It confused me so he repeated, “What’s the deal with security at this club? I just knocked some guy out down at the end of the block.” I took one look at him and realized he might be serious. At this point I told him, “Dude, just get your fucking ass upstairs,” and he disappeared up the staircase.
The most important aspect of the Tuesday’s show had little to do with the music. I’d like to focus on the hotness of the double bill. For the ladies there was the Datsuns. If Dolff Datsun doesn’t make you wet down there, then their acrobatic lead guitarist should do the trick. They are pretty boys from the land down under who play some serious rock. The Donnas… oh The Donnas. I’d love to be the whore on that tour bus. As they walked into the club, I couldn’t help buy think that given the chance I’d make out with any of them, (even the bass player). Later that evening, Gigs and I were to the front of stage right watching their set, and I was flipping out at the hotness of the lead guitar player. Though she owes a great debt to Joan Jett, I could give a shit. I want her. In addition, the drummer and lead singer are the type of girls my 18 year old self, (and 23 year old self for that matter) would dream about.
Hump day is so fucking choice, my friends are… how you say… so best and me, well I’m just happier than a pig in shit to be in the middle of it all. Yesterday’s post work extravaganza began with a cooking session a la Chernin. We whipped up some seriously spicy fajitas that left us both gasping for air. My attempts to work were futile. We decided to join Sean for a couple beers at his lady friend’s house. When we arrived I was psyched to meet Maya’s dog LouLou who was welcomingly spunky. Dogs kick ass. Noah and I interrupted Sarah, Dalia and Maya’s viewing of America’s Top Model dealie, but they didn’t seem to mind. Jody showed up and we settled into a couple of King Cobra tallboys and the Jessica Simpson and her right place at the right time husband’s Christmas special. This prompted Sean to tell us about his Bing Crosby phase, but I didn’t believe him.
We set off for the Shindig party around 9:30pm. When we pulled up, Builder was hanging out front rocking his skater look. He was so thug last night. The boys from Dirty On Purpose we also catching some fresh air so after a couple quick hellos and the obligatory ribbing, we cruised in for a drink. The room was absolutely packed. It was just a big open room with some bands playing in the back and a bar on the side. It felt like the old VFW shows I used to attend back in Pennsylvania, but instead of crap punk or ska, we were being treated to DoP. We managed to muscle our way to the bar, and Sean scored us drinks. I have to send an apology out to George who gave me a dollar to grab him a drink and though I thought Sean was on it, that drink never got delivered. George, I owe you 100 pennies.
After Hawkins and Anoush joined the crew we squeezed up front to catch a few songs by the Go To Town who actually sounded pretty good despite the venues complete lack of vocal volume. Their guitarist can certainly play his ass off. Their sound was a unique mesh of surf rock guitar, NYC new-wave beats and punked up bass riffs. I’m going to go out on a limb and recommend you check them out. After their set we ran into Jin, Juliet and Jo who were in the corner getting pie eyed. Everyone was in high spirits due to the DIY approach of the party. Builder and I stepped outside for some fresh air. We ran into Alister who was just walking by and Andy de Punk who if I recall, called the band “Your beloved Dirty on Purpose.” Damn straight Andy! We ventured back into the joint and went back to Jin’s spot. At the mention that I wanted to go up front, she grabbed me by the arm and fearlessly led the push. I lost her between the bar and the front, but I did manage to get a sick spot wear Anoush and Hawk had gathered.
Dirty On Purpose began their set with my much hyped favorite Monument and George was inducing some major feedback. It’s great to see George completely let go on stage. The band has the perfect opener. It’s the type of song that forces the audience to take notice while the band warms up with some tough as nails noise. They then took it into a track that featured shared vocals by George, Joe and Erika. Joe and George shared a microphone (though, as stated before, you couldn’t hear a vocal to save your life) as well as a tender moment were Joe planted one on George. Quite cute. Doug was hammering away at the kit which really kept the band driving in the right direction because the guitars drowned each other out at times. It was solid for a band playing in a loft with no sound check. The best visual element of their set was DJ’s many attempts to find a spot to lay down the bass line. Luckily the neck of his guitar would barely miss Erika’s head as he bobbed and weaved between her keys and the drum riser. Unfortunately their set was cut a song short, but that’s ok, because next Saturday they are playing Jin’s birthday party. At this point, it’s nearly impossible for me to grow tired of Dirty On Purpose’s music.
Sidenote: Speaking of Jin’s birthday party… Did you know I’m laying down the music between three fucking amazing bands? That’s right kids, J Good Times will be back in the booth (or whatever kind of set up they have) next Saturday night playing all your favorite Queen songs between sets from Fxxxing Lions, Sam Champion and Dirty on Purpose. If you are thinking, holy tits that’s some hot shit, then you are exactly right. If you haven’t been put on the guest list yet, drop me an email so you can insure your spot to one of the bestest birthday bashes ever. Thanks to Jason for the shout out on his web site. Now I must embarrass him.
As the night grew older we were joined by Z Money who I haven’t seen in a minute, (I’m so fucking hip hop today). Since the joint was running out of drinks and Franco Sexy Magazine’s junk was hanging out in plain sight, we decided it was time to move on. Christie, Alister, Sean and I kicked it over to 7B where I was delighted by the fact that they sold 24 ounce cans of Natty Light for $4! Yeah, I know you’re as stoked as me. We were later joined by a silly than usual Jin and Juliet and we also ran into Christian, Phoebe and Molly who were hatching plans for their big ass party tomorrow. It should be a solid gold night of rocking out and making out.
Speaking of big time throw downs… DJ Del has some evenings mapped out for those of you looking for massive drunk sing-a-longs and endless good times. Check him out here (from his email):
TONIGHT- Thursday Dec. 2 @ Micky's Blue Room
171 Avenue C. (between 10th and 11th)
10 p.m. til 2ish
(they have pool, darts and really good beer)
TOMORROW- Friday Dec. 3 @ Motor City
127 Ludlow (tween Delance and Riving)
6 p.m. til 10 p.m. (officially the worst time slot ever)
(they don't have pool, but they have Ms. Pacman and pinball and the bartender has a great rack) – I’m vouching for this. It’s truly great.
SATURDAY- Dec. 4 @ Company
242 East 10th St. (betwixt 1st and 2nd Ave.)
10 p.m. til I'm drunk
2 Comments:
everyone is scooping me on my own birthday party. i likey.
scoopin and poopin!
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