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Get Sum... Tickets.
Hey kids, here is your official notice: If you are a former or current student/employee of NYU, go to the Kimmel Center right now to pick up your tickets for the FREE myster show that is taking place on September 9th. Trust me on the greatness of the bill. Your tastes may not line up with mine, but this show has two bands booked that all the indie kids love. So get your tickets before they run out.
Also, if you didn't get a Franz Ferdinand ticket for the Roseland show on the same evening, my friend Dave sent me this email:
"Yo Jay. You know anyone that wants an extra ticket at face value for Franzy at Roseland? Only trick is they gotta come to the Upper East Side to pick it up. Just let me know if you know of anyone. Thanks dude!
So if you want to purchase the Franz ticket, just drop me an email and I'll forward your information to Dave. If you haven't seen these sexy bitches yet, get on this ticket fast.
You Better Start Believing It.
This morning I was reading last night's transcript of Rudy Giuliani's address to the RNC delagets at Madison Square Garden. While watching the speech, I was dumbfounded by the emotive sensationalism spewwing from our former Mayor's mouth. He splattered his words on the canvas of America in Jackson Pollock fashion. It was one big mess, but a few themes were pulled through the fray. Please don't buy into their words that are guided by the hopes of instilling fear in the public. I understand we are in tumultuous times, but turning a blind eye to other issues will certainly hurt our stance in the global environment.
Check out these stats on Rudy’s language usage. Each word is followed with the number of times it was used in his speech. Here are some of his favorites:
*** September 11: 11
*** Terrorists: 15
*** Terrorism: 22
*** War: 15
*** God: 7
*** Saddam: 6
*** Freedom: 9
In contrast here is a list of the words he seldom used:
*** Economy: 0
*** Jobs: 0
*** Finance Reform: 0
*** Veteran’s Benefits: 0
*** Heatlh Care: 0
*** Environment: 0
*** Civil Liberties: 0
*** Same Sex Unions: 0
And the most startling fact was that despite all the talk about 9/11 and the heroes who gave their life in the wake of the attacks, Rudy Giuliani neglected to mention the name Osama.
Make Every Mile Count.
The weekend came in went, and to tell you the truth it felt so short that this Monday just felt like a everyday is another Monday. Are we doomed to this cycle? This cannot be the only way to make a living. Either way, I’m saying fuck it because we have a three-day weekend on the horizon. There are some tentative plans to disappear, but don’t ask. They may not pan out. This could facilitate a repeat from the past weekend when a whole lot went down, but the days bled together.
Friends of P.
On my walk home from work on Friday, I ran into Kyle on 2nd Avenue. Upon passing the Mercury we ran into the RANA kids who just finished sound checking. We ducked into the club to hello to These Bones who were busy tweaking their instruments. Beach was out front chatting so we decided to stop over at The Library for some happy hour Irish Carbombs. It was a great way to usher in the weekend.
A couple hours later Dan stopped by the house for a bit before it was time for the rock show. The club was full of kids who were revved up for the festivities. It was nice seeing all sorts of people who came to support the cause. It gives you a little of faith in the scene. Special thanks to Steve Culkin for bringing me a copy of the new Interpol record Antics that hasn’t left the stereo yet.
Demander were four strong for this show. Matt RANA was a welcomed addition to the group, and even though it was tough to find the keys in a kicked up mix, Matt brought some energy to their set. Carlos also joined the ladies and though it didn’t feel as natural as their Luna Lounge show, I think he fits in perfectly with Demander. Karen and Sivan were at it again. While Sivan beat her kit like it was a drunk causing trouble at Bside, Karen let us know that under their thick skin there is some frailty and uncertainty when maneuvering through this Wicked World.
During change over I managed to catch up with some people, but for the most part I wasn’t ready for a big night. With no end in site, I readied myself for the These Bones assault. The boys sounded so much better this time around. Their Delancey show felt a bit strange. Bones played a great set, but I couldn’t get into it. Friday night was completely different. From the first chord they were on, and they looked like a band ready for that type of gig. Hopefully we can get them on the road and someone will take notice so they can reach an audience that will surely dig them. Visually speaking bones hung a flyer bearing their namesake that added more flair to a band whose eye candy is only match by their ear candy.
After a two-piece called The Gaskets played a few songs of synth pop that reminded me of Opti-Grab without the obvious Beastie Boys chip on their shoulders, RANA took the stage go lay it down for the crowd. RANA may not always sound like my particular brand of rock, but their bluesy side keeps me hungry. They kicked it all the way into level ten jams by 1:30am, but the night was getting the best of me so the plug got pulled.
Drinking Makes You Sexy.
If this were true, then I would have been a super model on Saturday. Builder, Jon and I managed to fight off our hangovers in pursuit of brunch. We ended up at Café Colonial on Houston and Elizabeth. If you hit this place, make sure to try the salmon sandwich with basil mayo. It is what Builder calls delicious. We decided to enjoy a bit of the weather before holing up and wasting the day. This entailed a walk over to visit Mike who was pulling a shift at the Apple Store. We found Stevo and Lisa inside doing the same. That’s the thing about Mike Rothfeld, you always want to say hello to him. He is a great kid.
Stevo, Jon, Builder and I made our way back to 186 where we were joined by Jordan to sip some gin and tonics while sitting on the fire escape. The day became night and we all got sauced. Dan, Kyle, Hawkins and Dee showed up and we wasted the evening in the kitchen playing cards and the newly beloved quarter hockey. Christie checked in on the tail end of the evening, but my ass was grass by 3am.
Who's City? Our City.
My original Sunday plan involved me watching the final day of the Olympics with little or no interruption. These aspirations were shattered by 10:30am when I was stirred by Kyle, Builder, Dan and Dee who were getting psyched for the huge protest. At the eleventh hour I decided to jump on the train and do my civic duty. We met up with Chris, Lou and Scott on 12th Street and 7th Avenue near the beginning of the march.
We were decked out in our hand made t-shirts that Kyle sketched earlier. My shirt read, “Voting Bush is Gay,” while the rest of the kids donned shirts with stick figures getting fucked by the President. They were truly a stroke of genius. We made the entire route with a stop in front of the Garden to scream at the cops and Republicans who were smoking pipes out front. We marched, we screamed, we danced, we sang and we felt like what we did made a difference. Hopefully you take strides to do the same between now and November.
My thanks to Dan for working me down and convincing me that my participation in the event, though minute, is crucial to the overall message it sends to the rest of the country.
After the protest we stopped for some grub before I returned home to relax for a bit. Cami and Leah stopped down to hang for a few before I made my way to Brooklyn for a VMA party at Emma and Ramie’s apartment. Pooja and I met up to take the F train ride together. She made fun of my distaste and fear of the outer borough the entire ride. We were interrupted by a performer who played show tunes that Pooja claimed were Stevie Wonder songs. In retrospect, they were Wonder songs, but I thought it would have been cooler if he was playing the theme song of Family Ties.
Ryan and Noah met us out front of their place in the Slope and we cruised through the heat to the apartment. We scored some grub at the supermarket along with enough beer to get us through the horror to come. To tell you the truth, I didn’t hate the VMA’s though I do think they focus on some of the wrong talent. Jay-Z’s video should have done better. It was welcomed risk in a market seized by bling and tits, but the judges didn’t think so. Jet didn’t sound like shit, and using Iggy’s riff certainly didn’t hurt their chances, but coupling them with Hoobastank and Yellowcard made me realize that our style of music doesn’t stand a chance on a large scale stage. It doesn’t have the impact of an Usher or Outkast. Jay-Z and Beyonce were uber cute when they gave shout outs to each other at the end of their respective acceptance speeches. Usher was the big winner, but it would have benefited all of us if MTV rushed him off the stage a bit. My favorite couple of the evening was Mandy Moore and Marilyn Manson. Is there something going on with them? God hopes so.
Anyway, the show wrapped up as did the party and my ass was back in the station waiting for the train. Why can’t they move Brooklyn over so it’s attached to Manhattan?
Before I Get Upset.
*** Some strange news reported from the Weezer Camp. The boys have scrapped the 5th record’s Rick Rubin sessions (I smell bootlegs and b-sides) and decided to produce their own record. This could get interesting. Let’s hope they pull it off. With Rubin steering the spiritual ship, could they return to former greatness?
 On another note, did anyone read today's NY Post? It was extremely offensive. Unfortunately, I'm trying to type these comments while our former Mayor pumps up the Commander and Chief. People, please don't be fooled by this insane rhetoric. Keep your thoughts grounded in the reality of the situation.
Heroes, sacrifice, true freedom? God bless each one we’ve lost. Every soul. Every single person. And God Bless America. Holy shit these guys are good. They just play the same card and people are to afraid to throw their chips on the table. Quit grinding it out America. It’s time to make a run. Fuck.
I’m so frustrated, but let me get back to the Post. While news outlets such as CNN who site protest organizer estimates (half million) or the NY Times who loosely stated a police estimate (half million), the NY Post had a law-enforcement source that chopped the number down considerably, (120k). Not only did they short change the demonstrators, the Rupert Murdock Newsletter skewed the actual peaceful nature of the crowd by running a picture of what was one frame of Anarchy in a roll of a billion positive images. In case you miss an hour of Fox News after a long day in the office, you don’t have to worry because the NY Post will have an official Arrest Count red box of danger in your morning edition.
Spare me any comments about how this has always been the case, because this is the first time I saw it first hand, and it is a disturbing realization.
And could somebody please hide Andrea Peyser’s computer from her? Come, come you NY Post employees; I know you have it in you. Take her computer and smash it so she can’t pollute the paper carrying her print. In this column the self indulgent Peyser condemns a young girl for protesting without having a full understanding of the meaning of her actions or the power of her words. Is she discouraging young people from getting involved in politics? Is she aiming to belittle the young girl’s intention which would inevitable strengthen her political alignment? Anyway you read it, she sounds like a fool. She pigeonholes the entire dissonance movement as a bunch of rich hippies who don’t know what they are fighting for. She couldn’t be further from the truth. Yesterday made each and every protester feel as though they were not alone. We realized the importance of order in our pursuit of truth. In this ideological battle with the existing system we managed to find the most moralistic means to state our opinions without violence or any serious offense to the law. Starbucks’ Revolution? What cross section of the march did you interview? Or are you sure you didn’t just wander into the Old Navy to check for deals on their new fall line?
Summer Haze.
This week Kyle and I have experimented in extreme laziness. Since work has been such a heavy burden, my energy is shot by the time I return to the abode. My only accomplishments include cooking dinner and getting haircuts. There is an explanation on the way, but right now I need address a couple things before they slip to the margins.
The first is quarter hockey. Mikey brought my negligence in regards to reporting the birth of quarter hockey to my attention. On Saturday night, Stevo, Kyle, Mikey and I had some intense kitchen competition in the quarter hockey arena known as our kitchen table. This game may be the best bullshit game ever invented. Fuck paper football. Kiss my ass bloody knuckles. Blow me basketball. Quarter Hockey is the new kid in town, and yes, it has better style than all of you poseurs.
Another thing I’d like to address is protesting. People have been getting on my shit because I’m not participating in the protests for the RNC. There are a couple reasons I won’t be standing in a cage with a bunch of hippies (sorry for the generalization, but I’m just going with it) or risking mace to my grill for being in the wrong place at the right time. These things don’t interest me. Yes, I’m unified with you against this common enemy (the administration), but I don’t think that means it is necessary for me to demonstrate against their little party occurring next week. If you want a really solid reason for just saying no to protesting, read this article by Rick Perlstein in this weeks Village Voice. Don’t let Bush be another Nixon. Increase the peace.
Quick Week Recap.
Let me just say that Ms. Karen Correa is so fucking awesome. Some of you may know her from the Hissyfits, some of you may know her from Demander and some of you may even know her as a steady patron to Bside, but I know her from the make out tunnel. Ok, maybe not from making out in the make out tunnel, but that’s how we met. After a long discussion at Bside regarding the layout of the walkways to the back room and how one is more conducive to making out, my check was cashed. She stole my heart. On Wednesday night she upped that ante by stopping by 186 after band practice with Sivan so she could give me a haircut. Karen has only given a few haircuts in her lifetime, but I’ve had many in mine. I can safely say this is one of the best. I’ve finally got that Paul Banks style (minus the obvious coolness) I’ve always coveted. Thank you Karen. I owe you pancakes.
Other than my haircut, this has been a fairly uneventful week. My days have been spent hanging with the roommate and cooking a lot of dinner. On Tuesday Cami came through with a sweet bottle of white wine to share in a meal I prepared that rocked some serious house. Unfortunately, the Hamburger Helper that was made on Wednesday didn’t really cut the mustard. Tonight’s menu includes tacos with a slight chance of guacamole.
Speaking of tonight, you all should come down to the Mercury Lounge for the Demander, These Bones & RANA show that is kicking off around 9:30pm. Jack D aka Jack Champion aka Napoleon Dolemite told me the opening band is solid as well, so if you can shoot through earlier, make it happen. Check out the flyer in an earlier post for details.
Lump Sat Alone.
So last night I returned home from work and got good news in the form of a Liz McDonald pop-in. It’s been ages since I’ve seen that girl and though her stay was brief, it was quite welcomed. After an hour of hang time, I rode down to the Bowery Ballroom to report for work. Last night I was selling merch for The Presidents of the United States of America. Yes, that’s right boys and girls, I sold t-shirts and discs for PUSA. It was a bit nostalgic, until they neglected to count out and my tired ass had to stay put for an extra hour.
Anyway, a couple things I would like to address in regards to last nights show. First of all, the Washington Social Club opened up and sounded pretty great. They remind me of my days spent at Less than Jake shows. They are a more indie than LTJ, but their crowd and energy has that feel. Oliva hung out and sold their merch during the latter half of the night so I bothered her with questions about playing on Warped Tour.
Secondly, sitting in the basement listening to PUSA pound through hits like Lump, Little Dune Buggy, Kitty, Naked and Famous and Peaches put me in a bit of a time warp. They sounded great from where I was sitting, and by the crowds reaction, it felt like 1994 all over again. They rocked out, but the set seemed to run forever. The third and final song of their encore was a cover of MC5’s Kick Out the Jams which was a welcomed curtain call.
Finally, I would like to discuss Harlequin which is a Brooklyn via Sydney band whose set I didn’t pay any attention to. Why did I overlook their music? Well, for one, their merch girls showed up and they were two of the hottest girls I’ve ever seen. I may be stretching this a bit because there are beautiful girls everywhere (I even think some of them are my friends), but in the context of last night, they were top of my pops. They were two stunning beauties. I’m talking in a classical sense. Great looking blonde girls with Aussie accents that would make you melt. Do you want to know the best part? After our introductions and some chit chat they went about their business. The business of making out. Yes, this sounds misogynistic, but trust me… I love all ladies no matter what their size, look and most importantly their sexual orientation. The way I look at it, hot girls don’t gravitate towards me. If they do (and they have) I’m a lucky gent. If not, they go with some guy who may not treat them right and who is a jackass in their own right. I’d rather see these ladies with other girls than douche guys.
That’s all I have to say about the subject. Feel free to berate me.
Free Stuff.
 Ok, it's not much, but I have 4 invites for Gmail and if you email me they are yours. I can only honor the first 4 people that hit me up, so get your requests in quickly. You can just click the "Contact Me" link on the top right.
If you have time, come back later because I've got tales of hot girls making out and millions of peaches, peaches for me. And don't forget to goto the Mercury Tonight. These Bones, Demander and RANA is a great way to kick off the weekend.
Friday Night Looks Good To Me.
Athens
Where it Takes Skin to Win!
Could This Be Happening?
Do you remember my first mild heart problem that occured this past winter? Well, I now have to ask if can pull your heart. I know it sounds crazy, but the heart is a muscle so isn't proper to assume you could pull it or strain it? In any event, I was showering in our always tricky bathroom this morning when the faucet blasted me with some ice water. My body locked up like a Christian on prom night, and since this instance, the middle of my chest has been killing me. Do you have any suggestions?
Let's Get Busy.
*** Chernin just emailed me this link. Apparantly the Dave Matthews camp dumped 800 gallons of piss on a tour boat. At least this is better than some of the war stories I've heard about what John Mayer's tour bus.
*** The Beastie Boys are playing Madison Square Garden on October 9th. Get ready to shell out some big bucks for these tickets.
*** You remember the Kings of Leon don't you? Well, they are trying not to fad into the backdrop. They plan to release another record early next year.
*** Does anyone know about The Exit? Filter did a profile of the NYC band, and from the looks of it, this could be a Belin band. Problem is that they are touring with the Rx Bandits. I think they are a Drive Thru band and unfortunately, I'm over it.
*** Chernin loves reissues. So does Pitchfork.
*** How could Joey Mcsweeney of Trouble with Sweeney hate indie rock? The band emulates the kings of indie rock. Pavement is all over their record.
*** Builder came in a close second. He loves SHRIMPS.
*** Even Iran knows that Freddie Mercury and the rest of Queen are totally Tits!
*** The Libertines get a half assed review in Rolling Stone. Pete, get off the junk and show up at Webster Hall. If you don't Sean Bones and I will eat your heart. On another note, why didn't anyone tell me you can get a lifetime membership to that magazine?
*** CNN does a profile on punk pioneers X. Personally I never got into this band, but we must understand their importance to the punk scene.
*** AMERICA! What the fuck is up with your musical taste? Don't buy into this bullshit. C'mon now! On a more positive note, people really do like live music. Survey says: Bring the rock.
*** Good news girls! Josh Hartnett is a slut.
*** In case you don't know, Jay doesn't like Hippies. This is another reason why. The dude asserts that if hippies were listened to, 9/11 wouldn't have happened. Give me a fucking break. Go eat more acid.
Listen Up BITCHES!
 Buy my Chips. I'm serious. Buy my fucking chips. Paul sent me this link to a potato chip company with a bitching name. I've already ordered myself two t-shirts. My mom is going to be psyched.
Also, how dumb is this! Cami sent this too me, and it got me pissed off. Why would you charge this guy with criminal charges. It's a damn shame that some fire fighters lost their lives, but could we get real for one fucking second. C'mon now.
Blitzkrieg Bop.
With my student body’s orientation on the horizon, it was necessary for me to stay in the office until nearly 7pm on Friday. If you don’t know by this point, let me tell you that working overtime on a Friday sucks worse than it sounds, but at this point I’ll bring on all the opportunities for a larger pay check. Speaking of, does anyone know if these new overtime laws will affect Unions? I’m currently a member of the Teachers Union (or something like that), and I’ve yet to come to a full understanding of these new laws. Maybe its time I read the news.
After work I stopped by my boys shop on Macdougal Street to get some t-shirts made for Oveis’ going away party at Bside. After a half hour or so, the shop owner emerged from the back with four t-shirts that read: “Oveis: He Put the Puff in Puffer,” “Oveis Dot Com,” “Who the Fuck is Alec Oveis,” and “Alec Oveis Gave Me Head.” I’ll let you guess which shirt was mine. Upon returning home, I was greeted by Beach, Chernin, Builder, Kyle and Alistar. We made our way to Boca Chica on 1st Avenue and 1st Street where the man of the evening was waiting for his crew. Oveis seemed to get a kick out of the love we were flashing with our new t-shirts. If you don’t know by now, Boca Chica makes the best Coconut Shrimp dish this side of the country. It’s more addictive than crack, (insert Pete Libertine joke here). This was evident by our ordering process. Seven entrees. Seven orders of Coconut Shrimps.
We found ourselves in mild comas following our big dinner, but we pressed on and decided to hit up the bar prior to the hordes of kids who were to follow. Carlos was tending bar when we cruised in so we scored a couple drinks and made our way to the back room to shot some pool. At this point Builder decided he was going to be the first bitch of the evening when he hunkered down on the backroom couch for a nap. Me being my usual asshole self, I found it appropriate to douse his crotch with a little beer. He didn’t take to the joke with the best of humor so I figured it would be best to join suite. Even my own effort to soak my pants with booze didn’t relieve Builder of his piss. He continued to bitch until other kids began to roll into the bar.
By 10:30pm the place was getting packed. It was great to see all the kids come out to see our favorite jackass off. Oveis is moving to New Haven, Connecticut to run a campaign for a state senate candidate. It’s a great career move for Alec, but he will be sorely missed. He has kept me informed on all the political happenings in a potentially volatile election year. With this loss looming, I decided to get absolutely shitfaced. We aren’t talking regular drunk here. No, no, no. What I mean is that my clock turned off by 12 or so due to the amount of shots everyone was buying. Mom, if you reading this post don’t worry, these types of binges aren’t too typical.
Anyway, before I let this evening spiral into the drunken mess it turned out to be, allow me to tell you the story of Lisa. If you were there, you know what I’m talking about. Lisa was this little crazy crack head of a woman who entered the backroom during a changeover on the table. I was preparing to break when she stormed over to the chalkboard and proceeded to erase the entire queue. It was evident that Lisa was fucked up on something. Some sort of drug that gives people the power to be shitheads. Whatever she ate, snorted, drank or booted should not be consumed by regular humans. It turns normal people into crazies and crazies into freak shows. Lisa got the crowd loud with her hooting and hollering. She was such a scene. Everyone seemed to score a laugh or two from her antics. She even did the alligator (jumped on the table and struck a pose) after she lost her first game after finally getting a chance to play. Oh, and she grabbed my junk, three times. Word on the street is that Hawkins made out with her… does anyone have an eyewitness account?
There were tons of all-stars at the bar that evening. Thanks to Stephen Culkin who bought me a shot. This is the same kid who was asking for a Culkin at a Bowery show awhile ago. Stephen walked up to me while I was chatting with Montana, and he proclaimed that he wanted another Culkin tonight. I tried to bait him while Oveis dropped down, but my push was insufficient. Stephen successfully defended. This wasn’t the only Culkin attempt of the evening. There was rarely any success due to the packed out scene that was Bside. The only real victim was, naturally, Builder who got it real good from Alistar and Beach. My night was cut short because I stood by the corner of the bar and took way to many tequila shots in a short period of time. Noah said he was talking to me while I was trying to enter a cab, but couldn’t because I was pulling on the frame of the wheel rather than the door. Chalk me up to idiot status.
Saturday Was My New Sunday.
With my Sunday stolen away from me by work, I had to make the most of my Saturday. After some Olympics, Alistar and I walked up to Devil Moon Café to meet Christie, Beach and Sug Knight for some brunch. On the way we took some time to gaze at the various paintings on the West side of Thompkins Square Park. This was in conjunction with the Howl festival which reared the park useless to those of us who have trouble with crowds. My stomach was playing tricks on me so my dumbass ordered a salad of which I took maybe seven bites. Noah ducked in from the rain to join us while we finished our brunch. After food, we stopped by Sam’s house for a quick session before heading down to 186 to have some cocktails.
Christie, Noah and I scored a bottle of Vodka so Z-Money could cook us up some Cape Cods. A few drinks and Steven Soderburgh’s The Limey later and we were getting quite bevvied. Stevo showed up to join the fun. Later that evening Kyle, Steve and I laid low, watched some Olympics and waved our middle fingers at Saturday night.
You’re So Fucking On.
Sunday was the orientation for the program I work with at the Law School. Things went smoothly, but by 4pm we were all dreaming of the beautiful weather we had to stare at through a window. I made my way over to the Howl festival to join Hawkins and Christie for a quick hang before returning home to do a quick piece of work.
Later that evening I met up with Tony W, Hawk, Christie, Alexis and Helena for some more shrimp at Boca Chica. Let me take this moment to apologize to Builder for getting shrimp without him. I didn’t mean to break your heart. We finished another solid dinner and a headband stare down before heading to the Zangrilli’s roof for some drinks and cards, (did we even play cards?). Cami, John, Sam and Julia joined the crew for a bit before Hawk and I strolled down to 186 to hang with Kyle.
Sorry This Is So Boring.
More work, less to talk about. Kyle and I sat around 186 in our shorts because a cleaning lady came through on Monday morning. More Olympics. More beach volleyball. Life is sweet sometimes.
No Soap Radio.
Can you believe that last week when I was shopping with Christie in the store on Ave A next to Odessa, (what's it called? one of the cuties from On! Air! Library! works there) the clerk didn't know the No Soap Radio joke. If you don't know it, call me so I can come over and punch you in the stomach.
*** Fat Darrell is one mean sandwich. A more appropriate name might be Stoner Boner.
*** Do you remember the other day when I was talking about the Dogger? Well, that cock gobbler has a blog of his own. His URL is gayer than a rainbow with a Unicorn at the end.
*** I'm kicking out Kyle and letting this animal take his place.
*** In other roommate related news: Sandra Bullock is sueing Builder!
Thanks to all the kids who sent me links today.
You Know What Burns Me?
The amount of incompetence I have to deal with on a daily basis. There are numerous projects floating across my desk at any given point of the day and at the same time other departments expect me to guess what they need for a given event. These people frustrate me, but you know what? I’m not going to sweat it.
The Perfect Kind Of Sunday.
After a weekend filled with heavy drinking, I had to drag my ass into work this past Sunday. No big worries because I’m in need of the overtime. I’ll also be working 9 to 5 this Sunday but time and a half is my bitch. Bring on extra hours. Once I finished up in the office I rode over to Sidewalk Café to watch the Zangrilli sisters and Kara enjoy some brunch. It was great to see Kara even if it was only for a few minutes. Hopefully we’ll get down to Washington D.C. in the near future and hook her up with Whitney because he’s so cute.
Then I rode over to Beach’s apartment to indulge in what we consider the best Sunday afternoon activity. We sat around watching the Yankee game and the PGA Championship while sipping Margaritas and pretended we were Jamaican. To top off the evening, Oveis came over as our wings arrived. It was a deliciously decadent (most over used phrase in Food Editorials) meal that sent me on my way. Another quick stop at the Zangrilli’s for some Night At the Roxbury on TBS and I was returned home content with a well done weekend.
Monday’s Are My Bitch.
On Monday my international students arrived for their prep course at the Law School. It’s actually a pretty interesting day because I get to meet so many people with diverse backgrounds and varied perceptions of New York City. After our reception I rode home for a quick bite to eat before my first attempt at working for the Bowery Ballroom.
I was told to report to the venue by 7:45 pm. In an effort to show my promptness, I left 10 minutes early and rode Blue Steel. Like a moron I left my bike lock in my room. I ended up being 5 minutes late and covered in sweat. Jeremy who must be the Killers tour manage (or manager) set me up by doing count in for me. Since the show was a bit of a one off, all they had were t-shirts, but as soon as the door opened they were selling like condoms to teenagers. The night progressed with the occasional jackass being a douche, but time flew by without any problems. Props to the Hong Kong who sounded great from my spot in the basement. Their manager and a few band members hung out during the Killers set and we made nice. The Killers sounded like the Killers. I’m not so fond of them, but the lure is obvious. Nice kids playing danceable tunes.
Beach managed to keep me out past my bedtime. We turned it up Monday night. We closed the Bowery and then made our way over 2A where we were joined by Marc and Denise who finished at the Mercury Lounge then strolled through. The night grew late and I managed to sleep through my alarm on Tuesday, but it wasn’t much of a problem.
I Would Definitely Kiss Him.
Tuesday was so fucking amazing. After a long day in my cube, I headed home with the blog on my mind. While passing the Mercury Lounge I heard a familiar sound from its depths. Sam Champion was sound checking for their gig later that evening. I stood around until they finished up and we all cruised over to 186 for a hang. With dinner calling our name, we found Builder and went to Croxley’s Ale House. Max was in the establishment and informed me that Walk Humongous played a show last weekend. To my disappointment I had forgotten. MAX! CALL ME WHEN YOU HAVE A SHOW!
With a belly full of deliciousness, we headed back to the house and once again I had blog work on the menu. After writing the first few paragraphs of the last post, Christie and Max came over to chill before going to the Mercury. After an hour or so, we got to the Mercury just in time for Noah, Ryan and Jack to take the stage. I must say that Sam Champion brought some serious rock on Tuesday. They made the conscious effort to turn up the guitars, and it tremendously improved their sound. Noah also has been adding some feedback to his guitar parts which helps Sam Champion walk the line between indie and jangle. It was the first time I couldn’t help but thinking Noah sounded like Noah and not like Neil, Jeff or Stephen.
After their set, Sean Bones, Beach and I piled into a cab and made way for The Bowery Ballroom. One of my all time favorites, The Libertines were set to play at 10:15. We ran in the club as the intro for Don’t Look Back Into Sun was queued up. Let me make clear one thing; even though Pete is off in some drug inspired fantasy world, his band is still putting on amazing live shows. With the guitarist from the Damn Personals filling in, the Libertines ripped through a set that included Skag and Bone, Can’t Stand Me Now, Vertigo, Time for Heros and Boys In the Band. My ass was shaking the whole time, so much so that when they ended their encore with I Get Along, I nearly broke my ankle. It still hurts today, but I’m toughing through it in the name of rock. Carl can manage that band without Pete. The only thing missing is the slurred, indiscernible lyrics of Pete. That and you don’t get to see as much man love. The Libertines kept things together with Gary’s tight as hell, cymbal crashing work on the kit and the sharing of a bottle of whiskey.
We finished the evening in the basement where Tequila Tuesday quickly became the unforgiving Wednesday. I managed to hold down conversations with Jo and Juliet, but my abilities were so hindered by the time last call was hollered that I cut my losses and went to bed.
Final Tuesday note: My apologies to Alister who was expecting me to open the door, but booze reared its ugly head and forced my brain to shut down.
When Will It All End?
With a couple of heavy evenings strung together, my plan was to keep it low key on Wednesday. Hawkins met me at 186 after work and we sat around watching The Warriors. Can you dig it? Have you seen that film before? It’s hilarious and it deserves its cult status. With the thought of New York Gangs in my head, (along with some smoke), I rode over to Rosario’s to meet Oveis before heading back to the Bowery, (I’m going to ask if I can hang a hammock and just start sleeping there). We met up with Beach in front of the venue and said hello to Noah who was working the door.
We hung out downstairs before the set, but the heat started getting to me so I made way to the main floor with Tumbleweed, Lucy and Matt. We found our spot in the back and settled in for a lot of echo heavy vocals from the young lads in The Music. Their set didn’t have me moving as much as the Roseland set a year or so ago, but that’s probably because Graeme and I were all cocked up that evening. I miss my Scottish pale. Anyway, they played their recognizable tracks like The People and Take the Long Road. They also played the title track to their new record, Welcome to the North and their new single Freedom Fighters. The crowd was going ballistic. It reminded me of what Manchester must have looked like when the Happy Mondays hit it big. Hippies man. Fucking Hippies.
After quick stop at Luna Lounge to see Arbor Day play a few songs, I went home to get some much needed rest.
Forget Me Not.
Editors Note: The first portion of this post was written last night. Hence me being in bed. Right now my sorry ass is at work.
Wow, this is almost surreal. I’m currently bunked up on my bed, laptop in tow along with some iTunes keeping me company. A strange peace has entered the room. Could it be my improving financial situation? Could it be the night of big rock I’ve got ahead of me? It’s probably just the knifer Kyle served up to me before heading to dinner with Jack, Ryan, Builder and Noah. We ate at Croxley’s Ale House (this sounds like a broken record) and I’m a bit buzzed and definitely psyched to see Sam Champion and the Libertines this evening. Let’s back track for a minute before the evening prohibits my ability any more than it already has.
The Weekend. What Weekend?
So I haven’t gotten cocked up in a good while. You must think I’m lying because of all the escapades at 186 and the various local establishments we frequent, but to be honest I haven’t talked with my good friend bender for quite some time. Spare me the comments about how a bender is a real commitment because in my mind a good bender can last only 48 hours if needed. The only necessity for said bender is booze and a willingness to go as far as possible. This weekend the belief in that characteristic of a bender guided my slow hand to Odessa.
It was Friday night and Chris Jacobson was celebrating his 24th birthday. We rolled into the diner made bar around midnight, but they had yet to turn down the lights and even though it didn’t feel like a high school cafeteria for indie rock kids, it sure looked like it. Douglas, our LA buddy, was in town after his short stint with a hippie band that shall remain nameless, (what was to be their final gig was actually one big wookiefied mess). Doug aka The Dogger always has some hilarious stories to pull out at the most inappropriate of times. He is a funny fucker. Anyway all the kids were in house and we managed to get quite proper as the evening progressed. Let me just say that TW may be one of the funniest kids I know. It was great that Tony and Anoush joined us for a lowbrow night of fucking about.
By 2 or 3am Doug and I had enough. Our veins were full of the sweet nectar and we needed sleep, (especially after some kids run around shoving candy in your mouth). Upon arriving at 186 we found a bunch of surly drunks at the house. By a bunch I mean a pair. By a pair I mean Builder and Beach. After some discussion we decided to head back to the Mercury Lounge for a drink. As the night came to a close, I remember struggling through a Michelle poured (read strong) vodka tonic. I was fucked and Doug wasn’t doing so hot either so we threw in the towel.
Little Steven's Big Day.
The next day everyone seemed to be puking. Friday had reared its ugly head on a small group of kids in the L.E.S. Dogger woke up in 186 and did an immediate heave. Poor little Hawkins was out of commission all day due to his insane drink consumption the previous evening. In any event, Dogger and I made it to the General Store for some breakfast. While I mowed through a BLT Dogger filled my head with stories of life in LA and his full proof plan to sleep with the Olsen twins. Trust me, its air tight and by the end of their first semester I’ll have two girlfriends.
After a stop at Hawkins to pick up the car, we went back to 186 to hang for a bit before Dogger skipped back to the West Coast for blowjobs and gambling. Dan, Erin, Cami and Louis made their way to the apartment. We saw Douglas off and then headed to Randall’s Island for Little Steven’s International Garage Rock Dealie. We managed to get into the parking lot with little problems, but I fucked up and forgot a couple of the tickets so we flew back down the FDR.
My boo-boo made us a little late, but it didn’t really matter. After getting bitched at by the guest list keeper, I managed to score a couple more tickets for the crew. I ran into Audra on the way in who was psyched to see Iggy later. We found our way to the back of the crowd and settled in for some extremely loud rock and some extremely poor MC’s, (why didn’t someone take the microphone from Kim Fowley?). I ran into Brandon who was looking the part of a rockstar festival attendee. His crew was getting rowdy which provided some entertainment for the non-drinkers.
The D4 had just finished their set, but the stage wasn’t rotating. Apparently it broke earlier in the day which made the event even more of a production nightmare. The Romantics hit the stage and plowed through a few songs including What I Like About You. This was the flow for most of the day which was great because even if an artist was kind of boring (read: Big Star) you wouldn’t have to suffer through a full set. The Dictators were as hilarious as expected. Little Steven announced them saying they were the bridge from rock to punk, but I think they were the bridge from punk to metal. They had Iron Maiden like guitar solos strewn about their punk anthems. Nancy Sinatra played with Conan O’Brien’s horn section. Yes, she played Boots, but not until she played two new songs. They were both horrible. The first was written by Morrissey and the second was written by Thurston Moore. Shite. Complete Shite. She needs to stick to the Go-Go sounds. Leave the dark indie rock to Interpol. But if you are wondering, yes, I would still have sex with Nancy. I’d be fucking a Sinatra.
Moving on. Big Star played next and as stated earlier, they were the biggest disappointment of the day. Stay retired Big Star. Bo Diddley played some great blues on his box guitar. He also rapped. That’s right kids, Bo knows hip-hop. It was a desperate attempt to update himself, but he should keep to his bread and butter. Don’t destroy the legend Bo. Then the biggest travesty of the day took place. The Raveonettes played two songs and they sounded like garbage. I don’t know the reasoning behind the short set, but immediately following their Kmart commercial single, Sharin unplugged and stormed off the stage.
At this point we caught up with Noah, Brian, Del, Allie and Kyle who joined the crew for the Pretty Things set. Since I can’t come up with anything to say about their set, all I want to note is that it was anything but pretty. They did provide some good entertainment. When the guitarist was shown on the big screen singing back up vocals that were limited to the word LSD, I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. Enough with this other bands, I was ready for the main events.
David Johansen may be a hideous specimen at this point of his life, but he can still bring the rock. Sylvain Sylvain can also wield his ax like he used too. Though the screws were definitely loose, they still played a great set with hits like Trash and Personality Crisis. I’m psyched to have them on my roster of seen shows, but they shouldn’t consider reformation for a comeback tour. It could be painful. The Strokes were up next and to be honest I’ve heard better, but I don’t want to seem like a hater. Let’s make this clear. I fucking love the Strokes, but last Saturday they felt a little out of sorts. The guitars seemed like they were dropping off and picking up at awkward moments. The redeeming quality to their set was Julian. That kid is a rock star. He is developing an on stage persona that could develop to Iggy status minus the self mutilation. The kid didn’t want to be there. Some of the fans didn’t want to see him. But he sung his guts out and kept us smiling with his banter about the hurricane. My biggest gripe is that they neglected to play The End Has No End.
After the Strokes cleared the stage it was all about Iggy. Outside of a gorgeous girl with a short haircut and an Expos t-shirt (if you are out there, email me because I’m in love, L-U-V), my eyes couldn’t be pealed from Iggy. The Asheton bothers and Mike Watt (who played furious bass and had a swashbuckler moustache) managed to steal a glance or two, but Iggy was the show. The man has the moves. The man has the attitude. The man has the look. He is god of everything awesome about punk rock and its offspring. They played hits like 1969, No Fun and Be Your Dog (twice!). It was a fantastic experience. He should take that show on the road, but first, Asheton brothers, please let up and play some songs off of Raw Power because it will save our souls.
My personal highlight of the entire festival was seeing Kyle launch himself off The Stooges drum riser then proceeding to dance around with the kids on stage during No Fun. He is a fucking star.
Saturday ended where it started. Dan, Kyle, Erin, Dee and I hung out at 186 getting all sorts of fucked up. The bender has continued. I’ll explain more tonight.
Bored? Try Reading.
Time for some shameless self promotion. First of all, go to your closest magazine shop and purchase the September issue of SLAP. It's a skateboarding magazine that ran my Shins interview from back in February. You can also check it out here.
Secondly, as promised, here is the Sam Champion, Robbers on High Street & Oxford Collapse listing from this weeks Flavorpill.
Additionally, if you don't have plans for Wednesday and Thursday, read my other listings for some solid entertainment.
Somebody Told Me.
Yeah, the tag line is from a Killer’s chorus, but right now it seems appropriate. Word of mouth is a classic DIY promotional technique, but this summer it feels like it hasn’t been working. Attendance at shows has been spotty at best, but tonight we have the chance to totally redeem ourselves. Tonight, August 17, Sam Champion is playing a big show at the Mercury Lounge with The Robbers on High Street and Oxford Collapse. This bill is well worth your $8 so get down to the club and support your local bands. Check the flyer below for details.
Following the show, plan to make a stop at Sin Sin where Dj Del has put together the ‘Sweet Hookups’ party. Here is Adam’s Blurb:
Tonight August 17, Adam Mandel in conjunction with Deez Nutz Entertainment presents "Sweet Hookups" at Sin Sin 248 E. 5th St. (at 2nd Avenue). Starting at 9 p.m. DJ Elle and Rukus Jones will be spinning old skool, hip-hop, electronic, 80's, rock and other things that will make your Tuesday not suck. The music will be hot; the drinks will be cold (and cheap).
More to come later. Sorry I'm so busy. I'm really trying to stop neglecting my writing, but these days there isn't even time for me to chill out. Ahhh... Fuck.
My Roommate Is Cooler Than You.
Yesterday a few of us went to Randall's Island for the big show. We had a great time, and there is an amazing story about Kyle, but I will get to it later.
*** First let me wish a quick and speedy recovery to Charlie Watts of the Rolling Stones who was recently diagnosed with throat cancer. He is expected to beat the shit out of the cancer and be back with the band in a year.
*** " Record companies, schmecord companies," Frank Black proclaimed in an interview with CNN. Wait a fucking second. CNN is covering Pixies news. Wow, this is a big deal.
Our Country Is So Gay.
In the matter of a day the California Supreme Court has decided to nullify over 4,000 gay marriages on the grounds that they violate the law that states marriage is a legal bond between a man and a woman. We also had to endure all the news coverage on Governor McGreevey’s resignation. Was his gay affair a cover up for some larger conspiracy? I seem to think so. After a quick chat with Oveis I found out he is quite possibly the most hated Governor in the history of the New Jersey. His administration is riddled with corruption so this whole homosexual adultery is a quick and easy way out. Well, it’s easier than admitting your faults. McGreevey did claim that he is a “gay American.” If his only reason for stepping down was his orifice preference, then he is an idiot. When is homosexuality going to be accepted? When are we going to stop being such hypocrites? Clinton got blown, Bush did blow and now McGreevey doesn’t have a problem blowing. This country doesn’t blow, but it sure does suck.
My Only Art. Fucking People Over.
Before getting to the last couple days of my life let me cover a few things. The first is regarding Little Steven’s International Garage Rock Festival commencing tomorrow at Randall’s Island. Yeah, it may be a bitch to hitch all the way up there, but don’t miss this chance to see hot shit like Big Star, The Creation, The Raveonettes, The Pretty Things, Bo Diddley, The Romantics, The Forty-Fives, The D4, The Paybacks, Gore Gore Girls, The Strokes, The New York (FUCKING!) Dolls and Iggy and the Stooges. The festival is going to be a bit of a cluster fuck because they only have one stage with a rotating surface so make sure you get there early if you have some current bands you’d like to see. They will only be playing 10 minute sets. This structure suites our 21st century attention spans, but I won’t get to hear Sune sing all the songs I want to hear.
Also, this evening, I’ll be having a bit of a pregame festival at 186 for those of you planning to stop by Odessa to celebrate Chris’s birthday. So give me a call and bring me some Red Bull.
*** Jonathan Zwickel though I may agree with you about the record, your damn review sounds like a rehash of unoriginal garage rock reviews from a year ago. Save your breath dude. Why do Pitchfork writers feel the need to ramble on, especially in the news updates. Do you feel the winds of change? They will start blowing soon.
*** I just told my boss that Dill is the new Cilantro. You know I’m right.
*** Thighs Wide Shut had this link to the schedule for Saturday’s Festival schedule. This is going to be a shit show. Who’s coming with me to see the Sexy Magazines at 10:30am? No one? Yeah, that’s what I thought.
*** Can we hear it for the Bowery Presents! Supergrass, The Stills, The Libertines, The Walkmen, The Faint. Webster Hall never looked so good.
And Back To White Again.
Ok, so allow me to explain the horror of this week. Some of you thought it may have been drinking or being broke that got me down. In all honesty I rode this week fairly clean. Well, not clean but a bit on the lean side. Anyway, I came home from work on Monday to find Kyle sitting in the dark. Upon asking him what the hell was going on, he quickly shouted that we didn’t have any fucking power. After an hour or two on the phone with my dysfunctional landlord and the good people at Con Edison who like to keep you on hold for hours. Our power was shut off because the people who own our apartment did not pay their bill. Well, to be clear they paid the bill but their check bounced (don’t know how that could happen when they mark our place up by $2,300) so we got screwed. The best part was that we couldn’t pay by check because of their bullshit. With all this in tow, kids began to show up to pregame before The Bahamas show at Luna Lounge.
I was more than pissed off so it wasn’t the greatest night to have a reunion of that size. Don’t get me wrong, it was great to see everyone and it was cool of you to support the band, but really, I just wanted to hole up after killing something. Unfortunately that’s not in my nature. So plastered on a smile and headed to the gig.
The Bahamas sounded great. Everyone who was there seemed to say the same. Some of the biggest improvements came at Lou’s end. The heaps of sessions Lou and Dan spent practicing the new guitar parts paid off. Louis sounded superb. He had this new guitar sound that made his ax sound like a slide guitar with a touch of reverb. Another great thing about the new songs is that Nicky Beats seems to understand where the band is coming from a bit more than in the past. He finds an awesome beat and then sits on it while the song builds around him waiting for that perfect point in time to drop a killer fill on the audience. Dan had some technical difficulties, but he powered through it despite Kyle’s heckling from the back of the room. Lou and Dan’s interlacing guitar parts really had me at a stand still. Kevin had a beard. Yeah, that’s what I have to say about Kevin. There isn’t much that can be said about Mr. Smith because he does his job so effectively. That creep can roll.
After the show I headed to Odea with Christie, Leah F. and Deeandra to meet up with Hawkins who had some free bar rolling. We caught up with Tony W., Raffe and some other kats who were enjoying the free Blackberry Margaritas. I had such a great time catching up with Leah who has some big plans for the future. We spent nearly a half hour discussing the current Criminal System in the United States. She is planning to fight for those who rarely have anyone on their side. Leah is so smart and sexy anyone would be lucky to be with that young lady.
My evening ended on Hawkins’ couch. He let me crash due to the lack of air conditioning in my apartment. It took some heavy conviction and massive denial, but eventually he stopped coming on to me, and I was able to get some sleep.
Tuesday Was A Bitch.
No seriously, Tuesday sucked. After another battle with Con Edison and the unreliable landlord, Kyle and I realized we weren’t going to get any power back on Tuesday so we decided to grab some Mexican at Mary Ann’s. We discussed the possibility of moving out and moving on. I don’t want to give up that apartment because the price is right and the location rocks. If I ever moved to Brooklyn, I’d better have a huge cheap place because I don’t like crossing rivers. Builder came home from a horrendous day at work. We were both bumming because of the shitty days, so we cruised by Manitoba’s for a couple beers. I’d just like you to know that Builder and I will soon be changing the face of popular Indie Rock. Details forthcoming.
My plan was to hang at Hawk’s place while doing my laundry. If you don’t know, Hawkins has one fucking sweet pad. The kid is flossing it, (I’m not sure of the definition, but it works). While sitting around the apartment watching the Yankee game on Gamecast, Beach gave me the obligatory Tequila Tuesday call so I hopped on blue steel and rode to Beach’s. We sat around for a minute before walking to International Bar for a couple of stiffer-than-paul-while-watching-gay-porn drinks. By midnight we were spent so we parted ways.
Upon return to Hawkins’ apartment I realized that his house keys had fallen off my ring. This came as quite a surprise since I’m the type of kid who doesn’t loose track of anything. After some panic I began retracing my steps back to Beach’s and through the bar. By 1:30am I had spent an hour riding around combing the streets of the L.E.S. No dice. It was now time to impart my burglary skills that were taught to me while in residency at Weinstein. While feverishly trying to use my Metro Card to break in, Hawk strolled up wondering what the hell was going on. After some apology and other attempts at getting in the building, we decided to try to get in through the back of the building. The only problem was a 15 foot wall stood in our way. There was also a hobo passed out in front of said wall, and we didn’t want any hobo juice getting on our clothes so we had to be very careful. I climbed on top of a garbage cage and pressed my body flush against the building. Hawkins then used some hand hold to hop up and get on my shoulders. He proceeded to hop the wall and disappear from my sightline.
A few minutes later I could hear him yelling from the front of the building. He made it! We were in! Actually, we were in the building, but not his apartment. I spent some more time trying to pick into his apartment, but the door was bolted. We found a bunch of keys in an empty apartment so we tried those as well. No such luck. While hanging out on the terrace of the vacant 3rd floor apartment, Hawkins decides to start scaling the balcony. This was my first time seeing the Monkeyhawk in action, but let me assure you it does exist. He climbed up the building like spider man. His super human strength lifted him all the way to the sixth floor. My nerves were shot. I had 911 already dialed in my phone. Hawk was making noise while scaling the building so I ducked inside and turned off all the lights. A minute later I heard him calling down the stairwell. He made it, and by 3:30am I was able to calm down enough to get some sleep.
The Queens Of Rock, (Plus Carlos).
Wednesday was so joice, (Ivy if you read this, that’s a nod to your new word). When I returned home from a demoralizing day at work, I found our power was restored. The next few hours were spent sitting in the living room watching The Simpsons with the air conditioner blasting. It was satisfying. I final managed to get my Flavorpill work done for the following week, and even snuck in a nap before heading the Luna Lounge for Demander’s record release show.
With a massive headache plaguing me, I made way to the club where Jen and Asako greeted me. The girls were pretty psyched to see the band and Jen even offered to buy me a drink. So sweet of her, but my headache and exhaustion stopped me from consumption. I found a seat and settled in for the blistering beats of Demander. The mix was turned up so loud, but it really suites Demander’s style. The girls were in full force tonight and with the addition of Carlos, the band felt complete. When Karen and Sivan were playing as a two-piece I thought the shows were good, but their sound definitely benefits from a third member. Carlos, though he is not a permanent fixture, looked like he had been playing in the band from the beginning. There was some playful stage banter and the occasional freak out riffing that made him look great. Sivan and Karen have started a song catalog that would kick the shit out of any other female led group you can think of because their tracks are well crafted, bouncy and so dynamic.
After the show Matt RANA, Pooja and I stepped over to San Loco to watch Matt inhale some tacos before heading back to Luna to congratulate Demander on a job well done. My night came to an abrupt end once my head hit the pillow.
Yesterday I had a few tasks to accomplish after work. I ran uptown to pick up some tickets for the festival on Saturday and then I did some laundry. You may think laundry sucks, and so do I, but it does give you an hour window to make some phone calls so I decided to check up with my girls. Mom, Rachel and Chris are all doing fine. I love those girls. Upon returning home, I laid down in an effort to catch up on lost sleep. My lazy ass didn’t wake up till well into Friday so I missed Megan’s Birthday Party. Megan, forgive me. I’ve got nothing but love.
Birthday Love.
Ok guys, I know postings have been few and far between lately, but I'll be back with full force in the days to come. Check back today... I'm a cook'n up sumptin. In the mean time share in the Birthday Love:
***Christine Belin (19): Happy Bday Little sis. Don't get arrested in Canada! Your brother loves you kid.
***Megan (25): That's half a century Megan. Sorry I didn't make it out last night. The sandman punched me in the face.
***CJ (24): Friday the 13th and it's your birthday. Do you turn into a pumpkin later? Go to Odessa tonight to celebrate with Chris.
All Bets Are Off.
Holy fucking weekend! When will they slow down? Who wants them to slow down? After this weekend I'm realizing that a move from the city, though somewhat necessary, isn't going to happen anytime soon. There is still a small possibility that I could jump ship, but then who would captain it? Probably Builder, he seems nautical.Friday Fuck All.This Friday I pulled a disappearing act. In an effort to relax for a full 24 or so hours, I took another vacation day.
Del the Funky Dj and I met up for a sushi lunch and then I rode around the city for a bit before returning home. At this point I purchased myself a bottle of Canadian Club and began to settle in for an evening at home. Noah popped in to keep me company before he headed to work. Then it was just me and the Corleone Family for the next hour or so. I spent my time putting heaps of records onto our new hard drive. Our 160 GB hard drive looks like the future.
Eventually Oveis came by to keep my drunken ass company. We talked politics for quite some time and he told me his stint in NYC is coming to an end. Alec took a job in Connecticut working with a candidate who is running for the State Senate. Congrats to him, and I wish him the best even if he is working for a Republican, (I kid, I kid).
As The Tide Turns.
Saturday morning found me feeling great. After a solid 10 hours of sleep, I got myself up and went hunting for the new issue of Slap Magazine which gave my interview of the Shins two pages. Nate informed me of our press. He took the stellar photos of the Northwest nice guys. After no luck finding the magazine, I stopped by Key Foods to pick up some grub for the rooftop BBQ that was taking place later in the day.
Editors Note (Meaning Me): My life has been a mess the past couple of days. The previous portion of this entry was written on Monday afternoon, about three hours before shit hit the fan. Since then, my unstable life has been full of dead beats and no sleep. Don’t worry, I’ll explain later. Let it be known this entry could go on forever.
Let’s get back to the food preparation. Since I’m such a huge fan of the BBQ, I wanted to roll into Jeff and Simon’s throw down with weapons in hand so I marinated 16 chicken legs in different sauces as well as some kielbasa. Once the meat was packed away (hold your comments Paul), I made huge container of guacamole and waited for kids to show up. Erin and Leah showed up with Jack who is the cute dog Erin is babysitting. He ran around the house like a wild man until Erin calmed him with a bone, (get your minds out of the gutter). Nate and Oveis stopped by before Hawkins showed up with Tony and we made our way to Brooklyn with an overstuffed car because Lewis decided to come with us.
The weather was a tad under ideal, but the barbeque was so choice it didn’t matter. I honed my skills as the grill master and took charge of the cooking. I may have been a bit of a Nazi with the tongs, but it was with good reason. So much food was consumed by the huge turn out. During the first keg things started to get a bit rowdy. It started when I took an old sweaty hotdog off the grill. The neglected meat stick need some love so I chucked it across the roof and it hit Nate square in the back. It was at this point that Hawkins and I decided to call the bet off. This means you can come to my house and make out with me if you sticky icky icky.
Lots of old and new friends were at the bbq. It was great catching up with Pat from Philly and Lee from St. Louis. At one point Tony and Lewis got into a hilarious beer fight. Later in the evening Nate and Oveis Culkined me while I was manning the girl. My apologies go out to Leah for taking her down with me. The chicken went over well, and the party was a hit. By 10pm the kegs were gone so Christie, Oveis and I headed to 186 for a quick drink.
After our beverage we made way to Rothko where Dirty on Purpose were playing their homecoming show. They were out on the road for a week doing a small tour on the east coast. Joe and Dj both told me the shows went really well and the turnouts were often surprising. Next time they cruise through your city, make it a point to check them out because they rock without a lot of the pretensions that come with being a New York band. We also ran into The Headset, but instead of Elliot, they had Stevo. We fucked about for a bit before the band came on. Right before they hit I ran into Jin who was a happy momma. Kudos to her on pulling off her first tour. The sound in Rothko is always so loud, but on Saturday night it was quite soothing. The problem was that I couldn’t hear Joe’s vocals from the back of the room. I moved up front and danced around with Jin before we took a tequila shot and my night began to spiral. The last few things I remember went like this: 1. Monument is a fucking amazing song. 2. The little nuances of D.O.P.’s songs are a big part of what makes them great. 3. The Delancey has dickhead security. 4. Gabe is 21. 5. Pizza.
No Sleeping On Sunday.
After an early morning viewing of the Pirates of the Caribbean, I hit the streets in hopes of finding a copy of SLAP. I ran into Steve and Jordan on Houston Street and opted out of my cup of coffee with Cami so I could calm the beast within. We ate some delicious grub at Croxley’s Ale House. Who knew they could throw down on Brunch? Then I went up to Hawkins to grab his car for my first mission of the day.
Noah was waiting out front of Odessa when I pulled up. He needed some help moving some Modest Mouse merch from Inland Empire’s Office to the Hammerstein Ballroom. To be honest the whole mission felt a little glamorous at the onset, but after the drop off I realized we were errand boys. But I still got to ride around with their t-shirts!
We dropped the car off and tried to coax Hawkins out of his hole, but he celebrated the bet being off like it was 1983. Noah and I stopped by 186 for a fe | | | |
