 Rock & Roll: it's not always pretty. |
Man oh man was i sick Friday night. Sick, sick, sick. This may be one of those entries that may make you lose your appetite. I may have been Top 3 sick of all time Jens history. And i had to play a show. After arriving too late for a non-existant soundcheck at LUNA LOUNGE, GIRL HARBOR drummer Greg Altman was kind enough to let me nap in his apartment on Ludlow St. I spent about three hours alternately sleeping, having the chills and dry heaving so bad i was crying. Finally i was woken up to go down to the show. Beforehand i grabbed a "vitamin water" (i think it was "revive" flavored) from the deli. Vitamin water? Normally i never fall prey to such scams as vitamin water, but it was the only thing that sounded like it would help. Anyway, it tasted like weak Kool-Aid and i'm convinced only made me sicker. I threw half the bottle away and went into the club. Should've stuck to the Gatorade. When i got to Luna it was packed and i was sick and could barely stand and thought it best to avoid everyone, so, after informing TRIS McCALL i wore my ruffle-shirt to make up for my lack of stage presence that evening, i spent about 20 minutes in the idling GIRL HARBOR VAN parked outside. Good times. James was nice enough to set-up my bass gear for me, and even rounded up a chair for me to sit in while i played if i wanted, but i declined. It's rock and roll after all, and the show must go on. I pulled myself together enough to play our 9-song set, which actually went over quite well, then exited immediately to catch a cab home. |
The problem being, of course, that according to the cab driver, the Williamsburg Bridge was hopelessly backed up. So i had him take me to the L train station so i could get back to Brooklyn that way. The cabbie's erratic driving started to make me feel worse and worse. The L train came mercifully quickly, but it was also very crowded and i was quite filled with anxiety, and it seemed like the trip to Bedford Ave. (the next stop, in Brooklyn) was taking forever. Sure enough we pull into the station, and knowing what was going to happen next, i ran right over to an overly full trash can and shot vitamin water everywhere. Blurt. I couldn't decide if i felt like some scummy E. Village junkie c. 1995 in a ruffle shirt or some present-day bridge-n-tunneler who couldn't hold his liquor. Nonetheless, it was pretty lowdown. I exited the station thinking i was over it, then started to puke into my hands as i was walking up the stairs. Ook. I took another car home and went straight to my couch, where i spent the next 24 hours napping and watching hockey.
Ew, sorry 'bout all that ...
February 16th, 2001: That is the date that appears on an old issue of the DAILY NEWS EXPRESS (betcha don't remember that thing, huh ...) that was at the bottom of my newspaper pile. Yes, it's been almost a year - 51 weeks - since i've recycled my newspapers. It's not quite as bad as it sounds, as i usually read the newspaper at work instead of home. Still, i was fascinated to see what was going on in our fine city, and world, at that time. Well, tech companies were laying off tens of thousands of workers, Million Man March organizer Khalid Muhammad was rumored to be dead, black and gray were all the rage during Fashion Week, the New Jersey Nets were 17-36 and Jennifer Lopez romantic comedy The Wedding Planner ("dreadful" raves the Daily News) was in the theaters. And there was still the DAILY NEWS EXPRESS. Man, it was like being in some kinda crazy time warp or something.
Actually, it wasn't really that interesting.
Sometimes i wish i had, like, a magic robotic eye that would take pictures. Then maybe i could hook a cable from my ear or my nose to the USB port in my computer and download my brain. Someday. I mention this because today i was walking by the terrible Anna Maria's pizza place on Bedford Ave., and in the front window i spied a dude in a leather motorcycle jacket reading the Voice and cutting his pizza into bite-sized pieces with a switchblade.
This week's funny snippet of conversation (and there seems to be one every week) comes from Greenpoint's own Salvation Army store. I was holding the door open for an old lady with a big clunky pushcart who was exiting. She didn't say "thank you", nor did she do anything rude, but instead quickly looked at me, then up at my typically uncombed hair. "So, do they call ya Spike?!" she asked, loudly, before quickly cackling and walking off.
Second place goes to the singing crazy guy on Manhattan Ave.:
"Papa was a rolling stone/
Where-ever he laid his home was his goddamn home/
And there's notagoddamnthingyoucandoaboutitEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRR!"
I, apparently, am "avant-garde" ...
... and easily amused ...
While you are here, don't forget to read about GIRL HARBOR Tour 2k2 (the good one).
