This isn’t a cry for help or some futile attempt to lure girls with self-deprecation, but I’m a fucking reject. If you believe anything I’ve written over the past couple years, believe this apparent fact. As I lament the shortcomings of this past weekend, my decision to go into detox is complete bullshit. I’m writing this while sitting in the dimly lit backspace at The Library. I’m not talking about Bobst or the NY Public Library. This is a Library familiar to most. It lies on Avenue A between 1st and 2nd Streets. If you’re familiar with this establishment then you know the toilets often wreak, the jukebox kicks ass and the bartenders are super cute. If you are (or pretend to be) a hipster, you know Marc Spitz featured the bar in his novel, How Soon is Never.
Sidenote: It’s now Tuesday and the above paragraph is still suiting my mood, but I’m going to continue sans the bullshit.
Friday seems so long ago. My after work plan was to get some work done, but it was spoiled by a call from Hawkins. I decided to meet him and Tony for some fabulous margaritas a la Will at the Juanita’s on Rivington. As Tony gawked at the waitress (and made a futile attempt to get her number), ex-neighbor Will and I got a quick chance to catch up. Following our drinks, we picked up Beach at the Mercury and headed to Paladar for a couple of Cuban sandwiches. Chernin joined the crew and pulled up big by paying the check for our obnoxious party. Seriously, the women sitting next to us were appalled by the conversation, but it’s difficult for 5 guys working on an early love buzz to keep things PG.
We finished up the grub and headed back to 186 to pound some Sparks before Beach and I packed into a cab headed for the Northsix. This is where my first weekend blunder occurred. Jay managed to tip the cab driver $82. Yeah, I thought it was a $20, but later realized I handed over my weekend budget to the asshole who took advantage of my love buzz. Hopefully he’ll get in a car accident and die. Ok, that was harsh. Maybe he’ll just die. We met Cara outside of the venue and proceeded inside to find the best spot in Northsix. The Picture was beginning their set. They sounded decent, but it was nothing to get wet over. I’m not going to tell you about the secret spot because it doesn’t need to be over populated. We ran into Christie, Elliot, Mark Filter and a few other monkeys who were embracing Friday with the rest of us.In an effort to stop my bitching, Beach kept buying us tequila shots which lead me to forgetting the entire evening. I Love You But I’ve Chosen Culkins took the stage only to play a set that was less than impressive. It just seemed flat. I was expecting something grandiose, but it just sounded like darker indie rock. By the time Longwave took the stage, I was drunk enough to throw water bottles at the band. What is it with me and Longwave? Everytime I see them I end up heckling them in some manner. If friends of Longwave are reading this, I apologize. They are actually a band I enjoy, but since its surly season, my motives were skewed. This is where things get even more blurry. Cara and I bailed. We traveled for what felt like days, and the next morning I woke up in Jersey City.
I’m not shitting you; my feet touched Manhattan, Brooklyn and Jersey all in one evening. It was quite a leap for a kid who is afraid to cross 14th Street. It managed to work out because the next afternoon was our first big trip to the new Chili’s in Jersey City. After a couple hours of Mr. Show watching, Cara’s friend Kat joined us and we walked over to the Dirty Jersey Oasis. As we waited upstairs at the bar, I began my day with an El Nino that was tarter than Sarah and Karen combined. We were quickly joined by Beach, Lucy, Tumblehawk, Shannan, Noah, Del and Builder. The party took their seats and began throwing drink orders at our cute waitress Estephanie. She was so nice to put up with our shenanigans throughout the course of the afternoon. As we pounded through some boneless buffalo wings and an awesome blossom, Ashley and two dudes who’s names I didn’t catch, (probably because they weren’t given) joined us for the main course.
The meal ended up being fantastic. It was one of the few times we’ve made the exodus to Chili’s that didn’t end with Noah or me puking our respective guts out. Towards the end of the meal there were mix ups with drinks so the table ended up scoring some colorful free bevies. We settled up with the ladies, said goodbye to the New Jersey contingency and headed for the Path Train. After a botched attempt to put Beach down in the snow, we made our way back to the city for a quick hang at 186.
Around 6pm Noah and I made our way to Webster Hall for the sold out Ian Brown show. The front door saw a whole lot of action that night, but with the much needed help of the crew things went decently smoothly. The show must have been packed with British Patriots because the band sounded terrible, but the place was going absolutely nuts. I only managed to catch a couple songs, but it wasn’t even listenable. Yesterday Lee told me it was pretty awful and that the band even stopped a couple times in the middle of songs. Bad form Ian. You should definitely practice before taking your step class on the road. We emptied the room by 11pm so I got back to the house for a quick beer with Builder and Becca.A few minutes later I headed to the Mercury Lounge to meet up with the crew for the 2nd stage of the evening. After a quick drink with some folks out front, I slid to the back to catch some of Boobytrap’s set. The five-piece band delivered exactly what the name promised. The exclusively lady act wrapped their sexy around me and forced me to pay attention. Saturday was a celebration for their full-length release, One False Move And and if the disc delivers the same loveable indie rock as the live show then its well worth a listen. These girls flashed massive chops and made for a great kickoff to my post work evening. As the set changed over, we were joined by the likes of Tumblehawk, Lucy, Gigs and Dana. Everyone was revved up for the headliners.
It has been awhile since my last Peelander-Z experience. I may have to dig as far deep as the bill they shared with the Bahamas down at Don Hill’s. Either way it’s been too long. This band is so much fun. Don’t go in thinking you’ll hear some innovative punk rock out of these three Japanese dudes. Just go into the show realizing you are going to have fun, yell a whole lot, po-go in a pit and possibly end up on stage playing their instruments. A Black Peelander took the stage and made the announcements for Peelander Red and Blue before disappearing. Peelander Yellow was then lead to the stage by Peelander Pink who guided the way using her wireless spotlight. They blasted through a set that included nose picking, random gibberish and my two favorite songs: Mad Tiger and Steak. Everyone in the room was having a blast. At one point they pulled a few people out of the crowd to take over on their instruments while they proceeded to perform the bowling portion of the evening. It was a madhouse. Beach was so psyched to see Peelander Blue flashing the “Freddie Mitchell” belt move throughout the course of the night. For me, it was all about Peelander Yellow’s ridiculous banter flowing from front toothless mouth. It was pure enjoyment.As they finished up their encore, we were joined by Builder and Del. A quick tequila shot later and we were upstairs at 2A. Dan and Kyle joined us. Dan told me Jeff’s birthday party was all but over and that Jeff was passed out after a violent puking session. Happy Birthday Jigga! Sorry I missed your party, but I do have a couple presents for you. Somewhere after 3am I pulled an obvious Belin, scored a slice and promptly passed out.
Sunday morning found me a mess, but I managed to join Noah and Merida for some brunch in the neighborhood. Once the necessary amount of coffee was consumed, I made way for Christina’s apartment for a productive Loose Team meeting. Later that afternoon I stopped by Beach’s to watch the Irish get their lunch handed to them by UCLA. Then it was off to the Library for some writing while my wash spun next door. Del cruised through toward the end of my cycle. We decided to head back to 186 to drink some terrible wine before The Oscars started. Though most of the show was terrible, there were two redeeming moments: Charlie Kaufman’s awkward acceptance speech and the segment where Chris Rock polled moviegoers at the Magic Johnson Theatre.
Monday fucking blew. Well, everything except for the latter half of the evening. Nothing seemed to go right for me, but by the end of the day I was copasetic after a Boca Chica appearance with Beach. We dined on some bitching coconut shrimp. At some point the coconut shrimp challenge must take place, but a handicap must be set if Builder is to enter. Dude could eat more shrimp than Shamoo. Then I met with Cara and Carli at Ray’s while they finished up their dinner. We proceeded to head to the Mercury where the ladies had to check out Ringside for work. Denise was working the back bar which is always a welcomed addition to the evening. I also ran into Lee who seems to be the everywhere man these days. Well, actually I only recently met him, but now that we are acquainted it seems like we are always at the same gigs. We watched as The Primms finished up their set of grunge laced hard rock. Their high energy level certainly helped the cause, but the lead singer could use a little work. Marc appropriately played Nevermind following their set.We met up with some coworkers of Cara and saddled up for a set by Ringside who are a Los Angeles band not worth too many damns. Brenda Walsh was in the crowd and must be dating the lead singer because he dedicated their slow, piano driven track to “Shannon.” She was a tiny little person, but she still looked pretty damn good. The one redeeming member of the band was the drummer, but I was later informed he was only hired for the tour. Near the end of their set I’d had enough of their U2 meets Bon Jovi rock that was laced with ambient beats and LA smog so I stepped out front to hang out with Greg for awhile. Once my knickers had frozen it was back to the show room for a song or two by Walking Concert. They began by spray painting the head on the bass drum with their logo. That was about all I could handle. They weren’t our style so Cara and I decided to call it an evening.
*** Christie threw an email at some friends this morning announcing her 2nd place finish in a blogs design contest. Christie and Brie’s (Manchester Hue) creation are displayed on the cute ears of Little Z. Check them out and place an order. The girls will love you for it.
*** Meet Brendan Donnelly. He is probably cooler than you and has a better eye for fashion than anyone you claim to know. Check out his new website and be amazed by his work. Dude has got some serious goods. Couple that with a good times attitude and you get a grade A monkey.
*** At dinner last night, Beach informed me that The Upwelling have been added as the openers to next weeks second night of VHS or Beta, (March 8th). The stellar bill also features The Crimea. Get your tickets here.
3 Comments:
JJJay,
How can we dance when the beds are burning? Culkin Steve..
You Piss to put out the fire...
oh man, how do you know? yeah, i wear diapers.
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