Tuesday, April 27th, 1:38pm - An open letter to prospective employers who find themselves here today ...
Hey boss,
Thank you for taking the time to peruse my resume and my little site here. I wanted to assure you that sending my resume from the address brooklynkickball@hotmail.com was in NO WAY some sort of publicity stunt or fake membership drive, and was instead merely a boneheaded oversight on my part. Actually, omit "boneheaded oversight", as that makes me seem somewhat less than employable. Uh, crap. So, yes, I *did* do it intentionally. Pretty groundbreaking, huh? I'm always thinking, you know, "outside the box." Okay, see you Monday. Or Sunday.
Signed,
Jens Carstensen
Writer / Administrative Genius
Funny junk e-mail name or current/one-time major league baseball player name of the day: Gauri Leech
(Note: also posted on MySpace) How this went undocumented up to this point, i may never know. But, i should tell you about the bike ride Roomie and i ended up on two Sundays ago, just before Kickball Week 1. It was a beautiful day, and we thought it best to bike into the Lower East Side for some delicious to-go Margaritas from the Hat. And so we did. With some time to kill we decided to see how far north the bike path on the East Side goes, whether it would take us to the 59th St. Bridge. Well, for safety's sake, i'll ruin the surprise and say it doesn't. They (whoever "they" is) have been working on the East Side bike path for a while, and it can be pretty maddening to navigate. There are some stretches where you have to walk your bike, where you have to cross interstate off-ramps, there aren't really any signs, etc. But, things were going well enough. Around, i dunno, 34th St., the path starts to become a little narrower and a little indeterminate, but being the booze-addled adventurers we were, we pressed on, convinced it would only be a matter of blocks before we're on a clear path again. Then, our lane gets narrower and more glass-and-rock covered, and suddenly we find ourselves on THE FUCKING FDR! I'm not kidding, we are biking on a shoulder about 18 inches wide as cars are whizzing by us at 55 mph. We have no idea what to do but press on. We rode for roughly a mile on the FDR on our bicycles. A cop in the center median, hoping to catch speeders, announces over his loudspeaker "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU GUYS DOING?!! YOU'RE GONNA GET KILLED!" and as i look over and shrug helplessly, i notice his eyes are cartoonishly wide, like saucers. I'm sure this was discussed at length at the Presinct. But he can't really help us, so on we go, hoping we don't die, but still not fully coming to grips with our situation. Around 50th St. there is a little pedestrian walkway park, separated from the hi-way by a six-foot high fence. I indiscriminately toss my bike over the fence and hop over. I shout to Josh - ahead of me by a good distance - to do the same, but he doesn't hear me and sallies forth. About one minute later i spy him in a construction area about a half mile up that appears to go nowhere. I call him on his cell phone (thank g-d for cell phone technology, and yes, you told me so), then wave to him, where he returns down a narrow bike path, seperated from me by a ratty cyclone fence. He has to hand me his bike, which at one point involved dangling it over the East River. Then he scales the fence and we stay on the streets where we belong, before ending up back in Long Island City, drinking bloody marys.
Take that, Critical Mass.
Speaking of kickball, go to the Brooklyn Kickball profile to read about Week 2.
Earlier that day - I had trouble getting to sleep last night. I'm not one to believe that my best days are behind me, by any means. And i'm not one to worry about the future or try to predict it. Normally. Lately, i have though. I saw Jules today when to the coffeeshop this morning for steamed eggs with basil. I weaseled out of my shift today, knowing i guess that i still wouldn't be finished with the work i have to do for Tad Low and his latest brainchild Fuse Clues. As it was, yesterday, i squandered a rainy day listening to Coney Island Baby over and over (perhaps Lou Reed's most beautiful/melancholy record, which obviously is saying a lot) and making only the most perfunctory, abortive attempts at writing. Maybe it was the rain, but nothing of substance got done. So, i set the alarm nice and early today (9am), and, while not exactly leaping out of bed, i did manage to be out the door before 10 for the first time in weeks. Jules came in while i was 3/4ths done with the crossword puzzle. I was timing myself to see if i could finish it in less than 10 minutes. It was going to be a close call, but talking to Jules seemed more important. I asked about Dave, and he's going through a hard divorce, and doesn't seem to know what to do. Jules has an art-show coming up, and can't even work in her new living space, and isn't sure what to do. She's a sensitive type, but she called the neighborhood a "vortex of sadness." I told her of my inactivity yesterday, and she said i shouldn't feel so bad about it, that yesterday was a wash. What started out as a very morose conversation (friends who have died, friends who are taking heroin again, friends who are older than me and don't know what to do, and please note these are friends of hers and not people i know directly), started taking some very positive turns toward the end, especially when i told her about our recent kickball matches against drunk pirates and Orthodox Jews. That turned her frown upside down! And, i actually do feel like working all of the sudden. But, maybe i'm getting away from my point. And that is: i find myself for the first time in a while in a group of people older than myself, and yes, it is a possible glimpse into my future, especially considering the biological pre-disposition i have toward not being a very effective adult. And no, i'm not making excuses. There is a reason i gravitate toward 40-year old fuck ups, rather than 40-year old fuck ups with jobs and kids. It's because i'm probably going to be one. I just hope that when that day comes, that some 28-33 year old version of myself thinks as wary but warmly of me and finds me as inspiring as i do the people i often see in this strange neighborhood.
Just think, all this soul-searching talk, and it's not about love or dames. Hooray!
Lastly, i sense an inevitable protest from Jeff Mensch - or *someone* - that there aren't enough pictures on the website lately. I'm just remembering now i dreamt last night that i had my camera again. Huh. Anyway, here's a precient photo from the lens of Miss Sheri Barclay, the same kind soul who bought me the copy of Coney Island Baby that so wonderfully dominated my day yesterday.
Sheri also, that same nite, took a great one of Jeff Mensch eating the mic during the Break-Up show, but i didn't save it and it's gone now. Poop.
Eh, Why not? "Dias and Thomas were frustrated for an entirely different reason."
From Steely Dan: Reelin' in the Years by Brian Sweet.
Friday, April 24th - A quick update on a rainy Friday eve. I wish i had any point in the last week to write anything. Would you like to hear about the first big kickball outing? It seems like ancient history at this point, but it was a pretty special event. The Village Voice was there. A team of Pirates showed up, with fake scimitars and drawn-on mustaches. Rumor has it they were drinking Robotussin - suitable pirate behaviour - but i can't verify that. I can tell you they were a drunk, rowdy, trash-talking bunch, in a good way, if you ask me. We also did another "Topps card" night, and Kevin says the photos (about 30 in number) are pretty hysterical, but i still haven't seen them. Tommy of The Mark played in game 1, and is bringing a team called the Orphans next week. I'd like to form a team called the Orangesleeves (this was the best name the Pirates could come up with for me, or was it?), but i also realized i actually kind of prefer umping to playing. So, inspite of some field snafus (including a Mexican baseball league that refused to leave the field), a barbecue meltdown, and general chaos/confusion, our second Week 1 was an outstanding success. Keep your fingers crossed for next week.
Ah, more tomorrow.
Funny junk e-mail name or current/one-time major league baseball player name of the day: Esix Snead
Tuesday, April 13th - This is the best news i've gotten in a while: Tris McCall is posting the script to Scumbaguette online. Scumbaguette may have been the first work of his in any medium i'd ever been exposed to, and it still ranks (to me) as one of his most memorable. That and "Song 74." Read it.
Funny junk e-mail of the day: Isidrio Lin sincerely writes about my "mor tg age [sic] application." The subject of the e-mail: "dung"
Monday, April 12th - Yesterday was Opening Day/Dummy-run for Brooklyn Kickball. The grand total of attendees was 9; me and Roomie and Kickball Kev, the Braun Brothers of Melody Lanes, K. Thor Jensen (the Player Who Kept Trying to Catch the Ball With His/Her Face of the Week), a nice fellow named Rob who found out about Brooklyn Kickball on MySpace, and two local jazz musicians who had been throwing a football around between their afternoon and evening gigs. We managed to get one game in (Team Carstensen def. Melody Lanes 7-0) before the jazz cats had to split and the lights failed to go on, at which point we retired to the Turkey's Nest to lose at Quick Draw and to get our viewing of the Bruins/Canadiens game interrupted by the weekly showing of The Sopranos. Goddamn television. And actually, i should note the disputed, asterisky result of the above contest was 7-1. Wily junkballer Jens Carstensen was on the mound, and had just earned a save (well not really, because you can't be up more than 4 runs for a save, but you get the idea), when Special J Braun, stuck on deck, wanted one more go. So, down 7-0 with the bases empty, we gave Team Melody Lanes a 4th out. Naturally, J hit a dribbler up the first base line, whereupon Kev chased him around and kept intentionally missing, while J ran giddily the base paths like a special, special kickball player, finally dodging one last throw from Kev at point blank and crossing home for an inside-the-park home run. We all felt good about ourselves after that.
Dude, you're a total ball wipe.
|
Kickball Kev is amused by my observations on Yankee Stadium. I said both that Yankee Stadium is the gulag of baseball, as well as saying the slogan should be "Yankee Stadium: we dare you to have fun." I should prelude this rant by saying i actually *did* have fun Opening Day last week, but this was almost entirely due to the company i had. Because, really, seeing Yankees games is about as bad as it gets. For starters, Yankees fans are just about the biggest bunch of front-running douchebags outside of the NFL. Where were about 70% of these "fans" when Don Mattingly was playing? Secondly, you can't bring anything at all into Yankee Stadium, except maybe food, if it's already in your mouth. These days, you could probably bring a flamethrower into Shea (and, yes, Jeff, i know i cracked this joke already, but i'm just trying to make a point). Nextly, if i have to hear "God Bless America" or any such jingoistic crap at a sporting event again, i'm going to snap and/or move to Montreal. Please, New York, America, let us collectively get over our victimhood. In fact, is going to a Yankee game a metaphor for our existance in New York right now? Can't drink (in the bleachers), the police presence is oppressive, you can't smoke OUTSIDE!, you are reminded of 9-11 on a constant basis (like you need to be) and you are so busy patting yourself on the back for being in New York that it's easy to forget that the rest of the League/World hates you. Crap, at least when i show up at Shea, i'm just going to see a damn baseball game, and not trying desperately to feel better about myself. |
Funny junk e-mail name o' the day: Yphtnsco Bddrnfum. I see Junk E-mail Name Inc. has finally outsourced their labor to monkeys with typewriters.
Saturday, April 10th - A few minutes to kill before going to see Vic Thrill tonight. Last night was "bad music Friday" at the Lazy J Ranch. Roomie, as you may know, works at a recording studio that also runs a record label. They put Roomie in charge of weeding through 80 unsolicited demos, looking for anything even remotely good. Amelie and her former roommates came from downstairs and they were all good and soused. And so our night consisted of drinking either gin or wine and making fun of some unimaginably bad/misguided attempts at music. Of the pile (the first of three apparently), about 5 demos survived the cut. The one stand out was a band called the Holidays, who played right into mine and Josh's screeds of bringing back adult rock. The perfect modern cross between Steely Dan and Roxy Music. The Break-Up made the cut as well, mostly because we played them for the girls without telling them who they were, and they actually stopped making fun of the music for a second or two. So, they're on to phase two, along with a few others i can't remember now. One other guy from Brooklyn who sounded kind of like the Magnetic Fields. Last night was also when i came up with the platitude/theory that 90% of bad rock music can be traced directly back to the singer, and the remaining 10% can be blamed on the drummer. And why, oh why do drummers think they need to come up with "interesting" drum parts for rock songs? Okay, probably because of Radiohead. But, still, note to you young/inspiring drummers out there: just join a good band and keep the damn beat. Please. Speaking of Amelie, she just came up now to use the interweb, so i'm gonna go party. But i'll leave you with these, courtesy of me, Roomie, and Dave Weston, who came over for a spell last night:
Roxy Music cover band: Proxy Music
The use of overdriven tube-amplifier vocals in modern rock, a la the Strokes: Strokals
Supergroup that would've happened in a better world: Public Enemy, Ltd.
Funny snippet of conversation, People We Know division: (our former downstairs neighbor Mindy, while listening to bad demos) "I went to a hippy school, i feel the need to reward!"
Funny snippet of conversation, People We Don't Know division: (some guy at Brooklyn Brewery on a Saturday afternoon) "Dude, Pee-Wee Herman was *not* in Slap Shot!"
I should also mention that i introduced Dave Weston to the magic that is Hawkwind's "Motorhead", which is, of course, the best rock song in history. And, it was also decided that any band that, in lieu of an actual demo, instead sent a baggie containing a "googly-eyed turd" would be signed immediately.
Lastly, these from my junk mail folder ...
Funny junk e-mail name o' the day: Alfreda S. Pellet
Funny junk e-mail subject that will be made into a song, probably a bad one: "Melinda finally let me touch her"
Thursday, April 9th - I'm going to the Yankees' home opener today. Go figure. Mensch, Karaoke Chris, Kirsten of Santa-con fame, and myself. The good news is, for the only time this season, they're not playing the Devil Rays. The other good news is Roger Clemens, because he's now proud to be an Astro, is not pitching today. This will make today the 2nd or maybe 3rd Yankee game i've ever seen where Roger Clemens wasn't the starting pitcher. But, screw it, i'm rooting for the White Sox anyway. They have Timo Perez.
Speaking of bands, i went and saw Karen's band Demander (who does not yet have a website) last night. First of all, i think i prefer to call her Karen, rather than "my ex-". Because that's just kind of gross. Secondly and more importantly, they're *great*! Karen's voice is fantastic (she sings lower now than in her previous bands) and she raised the singing/bass playing bar frighteningly high for this nascent singer/bassist. Their guitarist Jordan is a perfect fit, Sivan is more hard-hitting and manic than ever, and they put the drumset on stage left. Kinda like the Ventures did in Live in Japan 1965, only left to right. Damien said afterward "Those bitches RULE!" and that pretty much sums it up. I didn't even mind being at the Mercury Lounge to see it.
Funny junk e-mail name o' the day: Napolean Rangel, who sent me the ...
Funny junk e-mail subject o' the day: "Football not good."
Monday, April 5th - Today finds me going through the many wonderful Mix CDs made for me by Carstensen sympathizers. Right now, i'm hearing a Tommy Roe song ("Sweet Pea") and we've just gotten to the predictable fucked-up key change. B.A. made me this mix, as well as an accompanying "surprize [sic] bonus disc", which was 12 runs-thru of Journey's "Don't Stop Believing." So, i guess i can't stop believing now, not that i was inclined to in the first place. Shelby was kind enough to give me my first ever AC/DC mix, as well as (hearts!) making me a copy of the Day-Glo Abortions. I spun "Ronald McReagan" twice. Newest pal "Lea D. Bradley" made me a klassic funk-heavy Brooklyn Kickball mix. It also has "Peg" on it. This makes me easy to peg, i guess. "Hobo Humping Slo-Bo Babe" just came on. Remember that one? Holy crap, this is great. Jeff titled his mix "Mr. Met", and it has two different Pavement B-sides on it, as well as a great Pattern song ("She's a Libra"). Art lover Sheri Barclay slept until 8:30 that evening, and so missed out, but apparently has something for me. Hopefully it's just a copy of Coney Island Baby. Kevin got right to the point and just put his whole music collection onto two DVDs. He also made me and Roomie name-tags with leftover materials from Crown Trophy. Josh now hails from Parsippany, and i'm from Juneau. If i'd only known, i would've suggested "Great Neck." I mean, "Jens Carstensen, Great Neck", i'd be getting all kinds of action. Jesse (Fuchs) played wingman with his IPOD (an arrangement that will definitely be repeated), Dave Lipp brought two CDs that i requested but never ended up playing, Shannon looked pulchritudinous sitting at the corner of the bar getting biblicly drunk. It was a truly wonderful evening. Thank you all, seriously.
I've been thinking a lot about bands lately, and this is mostly because i've been thinking of starting one of my very own. But, in a sense, haven't bands, or at least the notion of a band, outlived its purposes somewhat? I feel the same way about LPs, "full-lengths" if you will. I'm tempted to draw parallels to jazz right now. Think of it this way: there hasn't been a notable jazz record made in roughly 30 years. Jazz's last stand, stylistically anyway, was the free jazz of the late 60s and the early 70s, and after that, there was really no ground left to break, at least not in such a way that you could still refer to the end result as jazz. I mean, "Rockit" was an excellent attempt to modernize jazz late in the game, but i'm not sure what else has stacked up to that. Anyway, i fell as if maybe the early 90s was sort of the commercial exploitation of the only things there was left to do in rock. Everything that has come out in the last 6-8 years has been directly derivative of *something*, no matter obscure that something is, or how much you still like the source material. The great, new era rock i anticipated happening sometime around 2001-2002 was clearly wishful thinking on my part. Nirvana may have been the answer to Warrant, but is it true that there's no answer to Nirvana? I sure hope that's not the case. But, it might be. And so, the only thing really left to do in jazz's case was to see individual performers. See, i'm about to tie this in! Because, rock, and this has always been kind of the case, has been a pretty individual persuit. Bands are cute and fun, but much more often than not, there's one person really calling the shots. It's okay that your average bassist or drummer is in 5-6 bands. An actual band is an anachronistic concept, not to mention a terribly limiting one. We've all heard of the great song that doesn't really "fit" the band. This wouldn't be a problem if everyone just admitted you are going to see the singer play his/her songs, or maybe if i'm lucky, you are going to see the bassist or the drummer. Now, i still happen to like certain bands in this here scene, if it can even be called that nowadays. And so, i don't wish to say anything that could be construed as disparaging. My point, if i ever had one, may be this: if i've got songs and i wish to sing them, do i really need a "band"? Or just a bunch of talented pals who are willing to back me up when they're not too busy pursuing their own goals? Rock by committee. Because that's what i have now - that's what everyone has, really - and i think it's a splendid arrangement. And why don't more people think along these lines? It pains me greatly to admit things like this, but Tris McCall may have been right about that one all along. I still don't think the Padres are winning the NL West, though.
Stephen Pride, who has a band, called me "a fun person to disagree with" today, and that's just about the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.
It was at the most recent Break-Up show that i finally saw Mishka Shubaly (not in a band), fresh off his most recent tour. I guess he's on a diet now where all he does is drink some solution made out of something like lemonade, black pepper and tobasco sauce. Mishka continues to be the one friend who i will never again let use my bathroom. Yeek.
I'm still waiting on the Funny junk e-mail name o' the day, because i just don't think "Joking U. Suicide" counts as a name, middle initial B. damned.
An unrelated p.s.: Last night found myself gracing several parties / events but not really staying around for any. I would wander into one place, stay for somewhere between one minute and one drink, then leave again. I guess i just wasn't in the mood. On my way home, i passed Tommy's Tavern - the forlorn establishment i wrote about yesterday - and strangely enough, the place was absolutely packed, with good looking young kids at that. People were even dancing in the back room. It was just about the weirdest thing i could conceive of at that point. But, i went home anyway.
Funny junk e-mail name o' the day: Mozelle Poppleton
AL Central: as in years past, the winner of the Central - and therefore first round cannon-fodder for the Yankees - will probably only need 85-87 victories to do it. I give the nod to the Royales, as both the Twins and White Sox have lost rather key players in the off-season. I'm also tempted to be controversial and say the Tigers *won't* come in last, but i'll leave the controversial stuff to Tris McCall.
AL West: in contrast to the Central, there will probably be three 90 win teams. Only one will make it to the post-season, and that team will be the newly-freespending Angels, my pick to reclaim the World Championship. Texas will be the worst team in baseball. John Olerud makes another run at the AL Batting Title. Go, John, go! Oakland is about one more impressive-but-ultimately-futile season away from having a Moneyball book burning in center field.
NL East: i want to pick the Phillies, but i have contractually obligated myself to pick the Braves each year until they finally lose the damn division. So, Braves, Phillies in the wild card. Phillie Phans blame their runner-up status on the new stadium. The Marlins - now with Armando Benitez! - lose more games, and again, more fans. The Expos will *once again* suprise everyone by having a winning record. The Mets will sign Milton Bradley, and lose 100 games anyway, 10 of which i'll probably be at, 16-18 of which will be charged to Tom Fucking Glavine. Roger Cedeno will finally say "fuck it" and start trying to catch balls with his face. John Franco's arm falls off.
Best Website Ever, finalist: Mets By The Numbers (fixed the link!)
NL Central: I dunno, the Astros? 4 way tie for 2nd place, the Brewers in last place where they belong. Actually, this will probably be the only interesting race in the NL. Someone *will* hit Roger Clemens in the head in the first 2 weeks of the season. The big controversy around the Cincinnati Reds organization will revolve around what to put on their uniform to honor the departed Marge Schott. The Cubs fire Dusty Baker. The Pirates, much like many of the major characters in Sherwood Anderson's Winesburg, Ohio, will continue to merely exist. I'll be in St. Louis for Marc Levitt's wedding the second week of September, so that's exciting. And someone other than me will finally realize how much Cardinals manager Tony LaRussa looks like John Fogerty. Put me in, coach!
NL West: Tris picked the Padres. I was initially stunned, now merely just kind of amazed. I mean, David Wells isn't *that* good. Sure, it's boring, but why not pick the Giants again? The Dodgers will score about 200 runs all season. Mostly, though, as long as the Rockies challenge the Mets for worst record in the NL, i'll be happy with baseball 2004.
The Giants, in a rematch of the lowest-rated World Series in TeeVee history, lose to the Angels again.
Sorry these aren't very funny.
An update: I almost sent resumes today for a writing position for the National Kidney Foundation, and a copy writing slot at Harlequin Romance Novels. In fact, i don't know why i didn't. Hold on ...
Another update: Today was the New York debut of the new liberal radio network, whatever it's called. I haven't had much time to think about this, nor have i gotten around to listen to it, but i'm reasonably sure it's going to tank. There are two reasons for this.
A) Two of the network's programs are based on puns from the names of other programs, "The Oh, Really Factor" being one of them; another is a playful jab at an NPR show who's name escapes me. Does this reek of desperation already, or is it just me?
2) I'm about to sound very collegiate saying this, but i just don't think liberalism really lends itself to demogougery. I don't know too many true leftists who seek public/media validation for their opinions. Throughout history, being on the left of the political spectrum has always been at least a little controversial, and you just kind of deal with it, and state your case insistantly but prudently. A network such as this risks reinforcing a lot of current negative stereotypes about the fair liberals, the insecurity and nebbishness surrounding it. Well, i'm hoping Chuck D. can save face a little bit. But, being very much a lefty to this day, i can say people histrionically trying to make me feel better about myself is pretty much the *last* thing i want to listen to. The Rush Limbaughs of the world are easy targets that we should be above even dignifying with obvious jokes. I read the Press (rapidly veering left in the last year, true), the Sun (when i can find it) and the opinion columns in the Post for a reason. I already know what i think, what do other people think? It can be pretty fascinating.
Friday, April 2nd - Yesterday, i did nothing. Well, that's not entirely true. I practiced some singing and bass playing last night, and made abortive attempts to finish some lyrics. And, there is yet another last minute fix to the Showgirls trivia track that i tried in vain to impliment. But, i just can't watch that movie any more. The mere mention of that movie, seeing the title, the names of the principle actors almost gives me a seizure. Are you interested that Gina Gershon once starred as Nancy Sinatra in a teevee movie? Me neither. The hole in question appears during the S&M dance segment. I first came up with a pretty comprehensive list of terms for obscure S&M practices, things involving the licking of eyeballs, or being sexually aroused by trees, but, after initial fears they wanted to change around 100 facts, this was the one run nixed by MGM. So i replaced this with what i found to be an endearing quote from Gina Gershon, about when she told her mother about her upcoming role in Showgirls. This was sourced, and took up the minute in question. This was nixed too. Research into proper care and maintnence for your S&M gear proved unexciting. Around 1 am, i gave up, e-mailed Tad and essentially shrugged it off. Ah, well, i tried.
| Greenpoint's social scene continues its trend toward neutron-star density. Everyone i know in the neighborhood i know through either the coffeeshop or the Mark. Amelie, my downstairs neighbor and aside from me, the person who's lived in the building the longest, is now doing shifts at the coffeeshop, after abdicating her previous post at Tommy's Tavern, a.k.a. the World's Crappiest Bar. I spent a beer chatting with her about Tommy's and she clued me in to the amount of nefarious activity that occurs rather routinely there. My memories of Tommy's are few. Well, there's the time Martin and i went there, just because we'd both lived in the neighborhood for years, yet had never ventured in. In fact, the very name of the establishment had remained a mystery to us up to this point. This same night we ended up at the old 996 Club, where i realized that not only are drunk Polanders pretty violent, they're also *really bad* pool players. My most recent venture into Tommy's Tavern was on a Sunday, where Mom (no, not mine) was tending bar and watching the Lifetime Channel with a bearded acquaintence. I went in to play MegaTouch, and the machine was unbelievably loud, and i felt self-concious about interrupting their viewing pleasure. So i left without even finishing my $1.50 mug of Bud. Sasha's last birthday was held in the back room of Tommy's, strangely enough, and that was pretty much a flop. That's the night Kevin and J. Braun finished off an entire plate of pot brownies by themselves. Tommy's, now why don't *they* have a website? |
Tommy's Tavern |
It's gloomy out again today, and every time there is a snap of weather like this, i think of April Long, who, when we worked together at Pop-Up, would absolutely flip out when the sun wasn't shining. No matter how late i would show up to work, she dependably showed up a half-hour after me, sometimes her two-toned hair flying about in all directions, with a vaguely, but suitably, psychotic look about her, like "where's the FUCKING SUN??" I still laugh about that.
I may also add that last night i went on a rather narcissitic jag, and read a big chunk of the writing - both here and from my private reserve - that i've done over the last coupla years, dating back to about 2001. I'm really happy that i've written as much as i have, even though a lot of it is pretty embarrassing and almost seems like the work of another person. I guess i couldn't really help but write even if i tried, and there are times i *did* try, thankfully to fail and pick it up once more. I do find the amount of writing i did/do about myself really disconcerting, especially as i at least claim to find other people more interesting than myself. I do, actually. Thus i should be dedicating more time and text to the people i encounter. I'll start tomorrow.
Josh just got back from the deli. He said he's gonna call the Maury Povich show to suggest me as a guest. The theme today is "I was a Geek in High School, But Now I'm Sexier Than Ever!" I thought that was sweet.
Funny junk e-mail name o' the Day: Manfred Bosy
"art", the really rad spread at the show, an uncharacteristically press-shy Sheri Barclay |
Thursday, April 1st - I finally got the star-spangled disposable camera developed, after taking one last photo of Betsy at the coffeeshop. Therein lied several grainy failures from a Fresh Kills show (though none so indecipherable as to not be able to discern Zack's discoloring pit sweat in his green striped golf shirt), a downright sad photo of Josh next to our busted living room table, a blurry shot of a laughably smashed "Table Talk" brand cherry pie for sale at the deli, and a few snaps from that pathetic art show i wrote about last month. I gave Betsy's picture to her, and after that, there weren't too many winners. I scanned them in, as you see, but after seeing the one big scan, i felt it had - as Jesse (Fuchs) would say - gestalt as one big piece, and just left it as is. Still, i think i could use another digital camera, and there was one at Rite-Aid for $89, so we'll see.
I'd like to share with you what i'm finding to be a rather British phenomenon. Maybe it could use a name. It is a syndrome/afflicition where a seemingly perfectly normal fellow will fly overseas, stateside, merely to hook up with a girl he may not even have a chance with. Some of you may remember a nice fellow from Blimey named K-2. He's in a rock band of some sort out there, and met Sivan and Karen during the Hissyfits UK tour 2k3. Poor K-2, in spite of knowing that Sivan has a boyfriend she's very ecstatic about, became smitten with her anyway, and soon after, planned a trip to the Big Apple. He arrived and called up Sivan, and they agreed to do some drinking, at which point it was learned that K-2 came out solely to see her. So, this misguided fellow became sort of a hot potato, tossed amongst Sivan's friends to drag around and entertain. I had breakfast with him one morning, with Karen and some of her pals from Denver. And he was a nice guy, certainly, and i liked him, but he did seem kind of shellshocked in a way, and didn't say much. And i thought, "what an odd thing to do." |
I did learn one valuable thing, though, from the fellow, after he ordered a Red Bull and Vodka, perhaps the UK's most popular drink. I asked "has anyone come up with a name for that drink yet?" not letting him in on April Long and mine's suggestion of the "Brit-Pop." He said the drink is called a "Raging Bull." I said "oh, of course!"
Funny junk e-mail name o' the Day: Mishandle B. Lozenge. Who the FUCK comes up with this stuff?
