Site hosted by Angelfire.com: Build your free website today!

Showgirls


Friday, February somethin' - I was going to tell you about two recent job interviews i had this week, but i just don't feel like writing today. Instead i'll quickly give you the breakdown in the Brooklyn Kickball Mascot poll (99% presincts reporting):

* A chicken (0)
* A chicken wearing a trucker hat (1)
* Damien (1)
* One of the old lady bartenders from the Greenpoint Tavern (0)
* A dandy hipster wearing vintage clothes, necessarily wearing an ascot, because then he could be "Ascot the Mascot" (1)
* Alf (1)

A four-way tie, thus necessitating a run-off. Or, because i'm lazy *and* pragmatic, i'll just say "Kevin."

Talk to you soon.


Monday, Feb. 24th - It has been a rough month for mascots too. Not only was the head of the Phillie Phanatic stolen, but i read yesterday that someone recently attacked the Orlando Magic mascot during the waning minutes of a game against (of course) the Nuggets. The guy who attacked him was 6'2", 240#, and had to be subdued with a stun gun. Best of all, though: the mascot is named STUFF The MAGIC DRAGON. Hoo.

I'm wondering now what a good mascot for Brooklyn Kickball would be. In my mind, it's a choice between:
* A chicken
* A chicken wearing a trucker hat
* Damien
* One of the old lady bartenders from the Greenpoint Tavern
* A dandy hipster wearing vintage clothes, necessarily wearing an ascot, because then he could be "Ascot the Mascot"
* Alf

Vote Here, and while you're at it, check out the official site: BrooklynKickball.com.

Yesterday was another semi-successful DJ outing for yours truly. Well, there was one incident. I acquiesced to Kevin doing an 15 minute rock-bloc with his IPOD, while i took a break and chatted with folks. He, after announcing to the bar that it was time for "The all-gay 15 minute set", started out with an Ambrosia song (at which point the old grizzly prospector-like guy who's at B-Side every night earnestly asked if he had any Olivia Newton John), then another song i can't remember, then about 15 or so seconds into a "Spice Girls" i did a hostile take-over and booted him from the decks. And, poor Kevin did get a merciless amount of shit for his selections, and a debate ensued over the contents of his IPOD. It was agreed they would start with a letter, in this case N, and Kevin would have to defend the songs in his IPOD. He got about 3 in before Jesse (Fuchs) proclaimed it "The IPOD of Misfit Songs". Afterward i got paid $20, which i spent on tacos. I just don't know if i'm cut out for this sort of gig.

It's nice out today, so i'm gonna get my stroll on.



Thursday, Feb. 12th - A quick PSA. We found out last week that Brooklyn Kickball (The Commish, Kevin Dailey, presiding) has gotten McCarren Park in Williamsburg, Sunday nights from 6-10pm, starting April 14th and going all Spring AND Summer. This is obviously very exciting news. As soon as i'm done with the latest work project, i'm going to update our official site. But, in the meantime, between making jokes about Saved By the Bell, i set up profiles on Friendster and MySpace as a way for you, the playa/spectator, to keep posted.

If you belong to Friendster, Click Here, and be a kickball friend.
If you belong to Myspace, Click Here, and, i guess, kick it in our space. I dunno.

Updates as they occur.


Wednesday, Feb. 11th - This morning, i spoke on the phone with the Head Hairstylist from the movie Showgirls, one Mrs. Marie Ange Ripkin. She was probably in her late 60s, very sweet, very French and very opinionated. She spent an enitre month working 18 hr. days in a hotel in Vegas and basically never leaving. For Showgirls. I asked her what she thought of the movie, and she said with a laugh (insert French accent here) "Ah, it was terrrib-le!" Later on today, i get to chat with the Head Make-Up person, hopefully to talk at length about Elizabeth Berkley's overuse of lipstick. Here's hoping he's catty.

But enough about that for now. Here's the best band e-mail i've received in quite a while, courtesy of The GIRAFFES, of course ...

OK so:
we are playing a show on sunday in manhattan, the cover is ten bucks but if you say the password at the door you get in for five, and the password is: "CHEW BALLS"

no joke
seriously

tell the door guy to "CHEW BALLS" and get in for half price!

show info below:
MODERN SNACK BAR
Sunday, February 15
@ Filter 14(432 W. 14th St. at Washington)
(212) 366-5680
9 p.m. until 4 a.m.

With:

THE GIRAFFES at 11 p.m
THE IOS at midnight
BASTION at 1 a.m.

Man, that door man is gonna get sick of hearing that. That suddenly reminded me of the time in High School we tried to get our friend Hylise's parrot to say "LICK MY BALLS!" Our idea was to make a cassette tape of "LICK MY BALLS!" by saying the phrase about 10 times, then dubbing it over and over onto the tape, then putting it in the auto-flip tape player, placing a blanket over the bird cage, and the cage next to the stereo, so the bird was essentially in a sensory-deprevation situation, experiencing no sensation other than the repetition of the phrase "LICK MY BALLS!" We left him there for a 24 hour period, convinced he'd be talking in no time. When we went back to see how it went, we lifted up the cover and the bird was shaking.

As for The GIRAFFES, they put on a particularly dramatic performance last night at the weekly party at Black Betty (feat. your host Jens on Rock n' Roll trivia). I really like seeing bands there actually, because the sound is good, but due to neighbors and a weak P.A. can't really be too loud. So this called for some creative sound management on the part of the band, including Damien turning his Marshall stack with the speaker pressed into the wall, muting his sound. And, with a diminutive stage capable of holding about half your average rock band, Aaron was even more comfortable breaking the 4th wall, including picking up a chair and doing a faux-lion taming act with Damien during a protracted guitar solo. He then forced Damien (still shredding) into the chair and began to wrap the mic cord around his neck. It was great improv, and the crowd went nutz afterward. Oh, why didn't i bring the camera? And why didn't i shout out for a song from the EP? I was later informed if anyone had asked for one, they would comply. So, if you are going on Sunday, don't forget to say "CHEW BALLS" and shout out for songs from the EP.

The first place prize (won by Sean, ex-of the Toilet Boys) was a VHS cassette of a kung fu movie whose title escapes me. 2nd place was the Giraffes EP, and i probably don't have to tell you was won by ... John from the Giraffes. So, he got the third place prize, a mini-flashlight. See all the fun and prizes you are missing out on? Plus, $2 beer is served, there are bowls of spicy fried chickpeas at the bar, and Jesse Blockton goes every single week. I'm really starting to enjoy seeing bands outside of the natural milieu of a club. It is exciting to see how bands deal with unusual spaces or situations, like the Giraffes did last night. The most enthusiastic responses Girl Harbor always got were from shows at weird venues or when there were equipment mishaps. Best of all, this theory fits neatly into my new vow to never set foot in the Mercury Lounge ever again (just 'cuz *someone* has to make a stand against that place someday). I could go on and on about this, i gotta start working hairdresser gossip into my script now.


Sunday, Feb. 7th - Below is from a website that generates colorful maps based on what states you've visited in your life. Red means you been there, green means you ain't gotten around to it yet. I filled it out, then realized i've been to 45 states, and so the map was mostly red, and not very interesting to look at. So, the states in red (wishing i knew how to make red text here) represent states i've been wicked drunk in. Green, i've stayed clean, for some reason.



Saturday, Feb. 7th - Having just finished The Rings of Saturn over a couple of Stellas last night at the coffeeshop, i'm forced to conclude that i just didn't care for it. This puts me on one extreme end of the critical spectrum, as i have yet to dig up anything less than a completely laudatory review of the book. And, i'll readily admit that all the components of a great book are there: an ambitious topic (or in this case, group of related topics), unusual writing style, evocative imagery, erudition, blah blah blah. But, what does it add up to? The book, based on a walking tour of the eastern shores of England, takes on the feeling of a stream of consciousness, or maybe it's a stream of sub-consciousness. "Dreamlike" i guess. And it's effectively written in that style. The text is accompanied by the occasional blurry black-n-white photo, perhaps to compensate for almost a complete absence of paragraphs. And, you will be reading about, say, a rich eccentric who willed his dwindling fortune to a housekeeper he never spoke to, then you slowly realize you are reading about the history of herring fishing. Or was it the other way around? Pretty audacious stuff, in its own seemingly-modest way. And, so like a dream, it all the stories seem quite vivid, and somehow interconnected. And, like waking up from a dream, those details and connections recede quickly, and you realize much of what you experienced is lost. I had to look at the chapter listings to come up with that above example. The final "climactic" chapter is about the failed attempt at silkworm cultivation in 1800s Germany, before ending very abruptly. So, i spent a week reading a book, a very good book, yet took nothing from it, other than i read it. Nonetheless, reading to me is still such a new concept, that finishing *any* book is a source of modest pride. And it was a nice thing to have at Coney that one day. And, most importantly, Sebald's certainly a better writer than i am.

Speaking of writing, i should do some ...


Friday, Feb. 6th - I write today to tell you about my favorite new artist. His name is Walter L. Mosley, and you should really read his statement before checking out his work. I think it will add to the appreciation of his paintings, especially the still-lifes. His latest exhibit can be seen at the Kitchen of Bengal Indian restaurant ($7.95 buffet lunch!) on 209 Bedford Ave.

Okay, back to work.


Thursday, Feb. 5th - I made a pot of coffee last night, but drank hardly any of it. I discovered it just now (around 12:30) as i went to make myself a new pot. That's when i got an idea: instead of using water to make the new coffee, why not just use the old coffee? So, i gave it a whirl, and, well, i think i'm about to have a heart attack.


Tuesday, Feb. 3rd - The enormity of the task that lies ahead of me - researching and writing factoids for the re-release of the Showgirls DVD - is just beginning to sink in. You see i have until the 15th (next Friday) to complete this task, for legal approval by the studio. We quickly figured out that, based on us (me) coming up with one fact every 10-12 seconds of the movie or so, spread over a 90 minute movie, well that's 500 facts relating, in even the most tenuous/tertiery manner to Showgirls. Okay, it's a lot in such a short amount of time - especially considering i'd never seen the movie - but i figured "it can be done." Only one problem: the movie is actually 131 minutes long. I'm going to tell the secretary to hold my calls now, and i'll see you in two weeks.


Monday, Feb. 2nd - When i find myself getting melancholy, i inevitably retreat to the ocean, which cheers me up instantly. So yesterday, the day that ice-cold beast January finally gave way to an at-least seasonably brisk sunny day, called me toward Coney, and its shuttered stores and frosted beaches. I brought the latest book club book The Rings of Saturn by W.G. Sebald, a dream-like walking travel diary/batch of obscure history lessons, perfectly suited for reading next to a desolate ocean beach on a winter day, as well as my camera. And, the beach wasn't actually that desolate, i saw a cross-country skier and a photo shoot in progress. And, a few bars/restaurants were open (anyone willing to postulate that *anything* tastes good fried are urged to try the soft-shell crab sandwich at Nathan's; you'll come away a changed man, one with a desperate need to find a bathroom). I knocked down two chapters of the book, took in a beer at the bar below the Cyclones park, got sad all over again over the Guiliani's destruction of the old ivy-covered Thunderbolt (which was recently judged illegal and unfounded by a city court). I whiled away a good 3 hours, felt much better afterward, and didn't even need gloves. Ah, the healing powers of the ocean. And, sure enough, i just found out today i've got 2 weeks of work from my old boss/pal Tad Low. It involves researching and writing factoids for a Showgirls DVD. Ha. I'd best get crackin'. Enjoy some photos.

Former home of the Thunderbolt
Was it worth it?

Check out the snow ... uh ... thing!

Lastly, i moved my recent reviews to the new/old review column, and added one more disc (Mishka's So Long EP), and much more. And, i should also mention i took Kev for $32 on Super Bowl bets yesterday, off $3 from the year before. Once again, him giving me 3:1 odds on there being a blocked kick in the game (for the 2nd year in a row) proved costly to the poor rube. And to anyone who thinks that whole Justin Timberlake/Janet Jackson "wardrobe malfunction" (yes, that was really the term used in the mea culpa) was anything less than completely calculated and probably assiduously choreographed and rehearsed, i've got some biological weapons to sell you. Cheep.


Previous - Archives - Links - Reviews - Read the Guestbook - Sign the Guestbook - Write Me - Home