Saturday, Jan. 31st - I think this cold snap (being a relative term of course, seeing as how we don't live in Grand Forks, ND) is starting to make people very aggressive. First off, Jay H. and Jeff M. of Break-Up fame got accosted by two nice fellows on the J train last night. Apparently, the assialants looked like linebackers, and one of them hit poor Jay upside the head. If only they saw the recent Break-Up show, they would've thought better of this. And, Josh saw a conducter on the train he was on throw someone off who was fucking with an old homeless lady. The crowd at the Giraffes show was *moshing* (ugh). And, how about this unusual conversation? I was waiting for the bus in frozen Greenpoint when i saw my bundled up friend(ster)s Kayte and Justin, who were heading to a different show. Back in the day, Kayte went to Simon's Rock, where about half the people i currently know went to school. We started talking about facial hair, how useful it is in the winter, and then i brought up Zack's new messianic beard. So, as we were boarding the bus, i asked Kayte if she'd seen Zack (another Simon's Rock-er) lately. As she paid her fare, she mentioned that she'd accidentally snubbed him at a local bookstore, because she didn't recognize him with the aforementioned beard. So, i busted her balls and said "Wow, that's fucked up, not even recognizing one of your old friends, Kayte" and she laughed. And then the bus driver said quietly, almost to himself, "yeah, that *is* fucked up."

You know, it's like the city has a giant case of cabin fever. I know i'm pretty antsy myself. No job, the prospects i have are seeming more and more tenuous, no band. Josh and i had a conversation roughly 3 weeks ago about moving away from NYC. We mentioned Portland - he has some friends there - which in retrospect seems like kind of a joke. But leaving here doesn't. I'll probably stay though, just so i can have one more summer at Coney.

I went to the Giraffes show last night, their EP release party. The word was this was the only time they were ever going to perform those songs live, presumably because they find that material too much of a departure to really work into your standard Giraffes set. I hate when bands get conservative like that. People, music fans, are going to compartmentialize what you do as it is; why do so yourself? Why limit yourself? I always find it dangerous to think there are things you can or can't do. If you have a good song, you should play it. Playing a bunch of good songs seems preferable to having a "sound", don't you think? Yet, this is a particularly pervasive mindset among bands, to color within the lines they've drawn for themselves. The Giraffes are by no means alone in resisting what they perceive to be departures from their established sound. I probably don't have to name names. Still, it's maddening to me. Consistency is for fast food restaurants. If you have good songs, play them for Christ sakes. Because, think of how many bands *don't* have good songs. I had the idea recently of forming a band that plays songs that my friends' bands have abandoned. It's a goddamn Comstock Lode, i tell ya.

Needless to say, their performance of the EP songs was terrific (at least i thought so) in spite of their self-consciousness about the endeavor, and the new material would fit seamlessly into what they already do. But, no one ever listens to me about this sort of thing. Someday. Actually, i should be commending them for even playing it at all. I'm glad i saw it. I'm glad i have the EP. And it was a fun show. Although, just like every show in rock history, the band before them were pretty crummy AND seemed to have more fans. How the hell does that work? I don't know what they were named, but they were an instrumental band, and, at one point, the guitarist whipped out a double-necked guitar/bass combo instrument, the type Cheap Trick probably has 40 of, and he was actually more than adept at both. And, i *still* didn't like them. Karen's right, i'm a crank.

(Editor's Note: this was the day i finally decided to return to writing a review column, which has since been updated, and even has a pretty picture. Check it out! I'm not such a crank after all ...)

Thursday, Jan. 29th - Today was "Art Day." I believe it will be the first of many. After trudging through snow and 20 degree temperatures to not just one but *two* out-of-business art supply stores (ah, Williamsburg, we hardly knew ye), i finally managed to track down a great place on N. 8th St. for supplies. Supplies in this case was, well, everything. Except easels. And, i had some old oils left over from my last attempt(s) at painting, way back in 1995. That was when i made my masterpiece (Untitled), an ultra-cartoonish painting featuring a smiling sun in a sherbert orange sky, being greeted by a little blue bird on a farm. That painting has since been stolen/sold-off/thrown out by someone who used to live with my mother, and that saddens me deeply. I wrote her recently and told her she owed me a painting, an obligation she's more than able to fulfill. As for me, i have to pick myself up after all this time and reignite my painting career. So, Karen and i set up shop in the computer room, sunny and somewhat clean. We had some beers, listened to Lesley Gore records, and knocked out the paintings you see below. See if you can guess which arteeest made which painting.

El Corazon, 2004

Tug McGraw at a Sears Portrait Studio, 2004

Hey, check it out, it's my old band! They are now known as The Break-Up, and there are two others not in that photo (keyboardist Allie L. and bassist Jay H.). Last night was their debut, at the Mercury Lounge, which, as you know, i hate. But, it was a fun night, the turn-out was good and the band has some terrific new songs. You may be wondering what it's like to see your old band on stage, and in the case of last night, it was weird in that it wasn't weird at all. It was like seeing any other friends' band, like i was never in it. It made it pretty easy to enjoy. It was nothing like seeing the Cash Registers after i quit. Maybe i was more sensitive then, but that *was* weird, hearing the songs not sound as good, wondering what happened to all your old parts, wondering if they always seemed that unimpressive when you were in the band. I was in the Cash Registers for two years and one mere 7", only to be replaced (along with the drummer) by two fossils for a rhythm section, at which point they turned into a bar band that played exclusively at the old Nightengales before breaking up for good two months later. What a waste. I don't think i have to worry about that happening with the Break-Up. Especially once they phase out all the old Girl Harbor songs, which already sound anachronistic. Go get 'em boys! And girl.

And, speaking of seeing friends' bands, i'll probably see you out and about for one of the many shows (GIRAFFES, VITAMEN, Tris McCALL, NEGATONES, etc.) happening on Friday.

Writing was a struggle today.

Tug McGraw's lifetime statistics here.

Saturday, Jan. 24th - Today, i realized life is more interesting when you leave the house occasionally, no matter how cold it is. So, i made an abortive attempt to visit Jesse at his place on the Upper West Side, only to be foiled upon my arrival in wind-whipped Queens by the out-of-service 7-train. The 7 seems to be the new L train when it comes to not running on weekends. In disgust, i gave up and decided to repair to a new local bar a block from the taped-off train hole. It’s called The Cave, and it’s downstairs from the burrito place James is so fond of overrating (although i did have an okay chimichanga today). I got downstairs and was greeted by your typical NYC female bartender, and two or three of her pals, and no one else, at the bar. You know the type, sweet but kinda dim brassy rocker girls, listening to bad girl rocker music over the stereo. But, ah well. I got a pint of Brooklyn Lager, grabbed a comfy section of a couch in an adjacent room, and took another crack at a chapter of Stockhausen on Music, which i’ve decided i carry around just in case i need to get really irritated. It was the Q&A section in particular, where Heir Stockhausen explained the failure of American Pop-Art (these are lectures c. 1971, mind you), somewhat compellingly comparing the fetishization of consumer goods in America with the use of Jesus and crucifixes in renaissance art. An interesting point. But, it did make me wonder, seeing as how i’ve never heard a note of his compositions, what they even sound like, considering the amount of explanation he seems to deem necessary to give his work any sort of context, and i decided he’s still a pretentious ass.

It was while reading that chapter that two interesting things happened. First of all, i overheard the bartender announce, perhaps one decibel too loud, "I’ve really had much better sex with women than with men!", greeted by "totallys" from her friends. Then she said "I love this song!" and the stereo volume went up slightly. I returned to reading, then thought about how much philosophy annoys me. I stared blankly, half-distracted at the pages, and in doing so have invented a new concept: musik. You see, the difference between plain old "music" (e.g., Elvis) and musik (e.g., Cecil Taylor) is this: if music can exist - for better or worse - completely free of explanation or context, then it is "music." If it demands explanation/validation from a source not having to do with the music itself (the political/intellectual/philosophical clime that spawned it for example) it is musik. Put another way, if you have to explain why a listener should be enjoying a certain piece of music, it transcends that term and becomes musik. Actually, it should probably be pronounced "musique", thereby giving you jingoistic / anti-intellectual folks a chance to get a dig in on the French and the Germans simultaneously. Anyway, "Art" and "artifice" strike me as being similarly interchangeable terms for that medium, as do "writing" and "The Village Voice". About that time, i started paying better attention to the "music"/musik playing over the stereo, particularly the lyrics, which seemed to beg unashamedly for attention the most. That’s when i caught this exceptionally stellar couplet: "You’re record collection don’t exist / you don’t even know who Liz Phair is." Which was followed by the relatively banal, yet still embarrasing chorus "Baby, if it's alright / Won't you rock me all night." "Wow!" i thought, almost gleefully, "this is the worst shit i’ve heard in my life." Naturally, i had to ask the proudly bisexual NYC bartender what i was being made to listen to. It was Liz Phair.

Hey, since we're about to learn conclusively by year's end that democracy doesn't actually work in its current form, tell me what you think of this idea, which i half-alluded to previously. Now, i know that things aren't in a good way when you are looking to the U.S. Justice system for guidence, but hear me out. Well, first of all, you completely eliminate all political advertising on television and radio. In each district, in each state, being a registered voter, from a party, is akin to being available for jury duty. When election day comes, a pool of roughly 100 voters (here on in referred to as "jurors"), of a political make-up (affiliation-wise) symbolic of the, er, diaspora of the political tendencies of that district, are chosen. Representatives of each candidate have to settle on a final list of 12 jurors. This will likely produce 12 very-even minded, neutral, possibly ignorant-but-not-unintellegent jurors. Then, the trial begins, and each party has a chance to say why theirs is the best candidate for that election, as well as the chance to cross-examine all of the other candidates. Then the 12 jurors are sequestered until they can decide unanimously one one candidate. Maybe for dramatic effect, you don't let them go to the bathroom until they've picked someone. Just to make sure no one is tempted to skip out on the jury pool, double their salary is paid until a verdict is rendered. This is important, these elections, and worth the money, especially considering how much is saved with the elimination of on-air advertising. Then, when 99% of presincts have reported, this is equal to what, a one or two thousand votes? For, what is at least assumed to be, the most logical candidate for the voters of that region. Plus, those votes are a whole lot easier to count than the millions that Florida had to deal with. Frankly, i think this is very exciting idea. When i form Carstenshtien somewhere in the current Vermont with lottery money, this is how electoral politics is going to work, and you can't stop me.

Upon re-examining those first two paragraphs, some of you may find something almost contradictory about what i've written. I don't think that's the case. You see, i do believe it is possible to push art and make statements, and yet do it in a way that's accessable to people who are not as well versed in the medium as the artist is. And that's the trick, to do something new without frightening or confusing people. And, there's nothing wrong with striving for that. As long as the result isn't some crummy Liz Phair record.

An update: I just listened to a clip from Howard Dean's supposedly hysterical speech, and, honestly people, what's the big deal? Christ. The problem with politics, hell with democracy seems to be the electorate itself. Judgemental, reactionary, uninformed. I think voting should be based on a jury selection system. You know, pick the 12 most guileless ignorant people you can find, and make them sit and decide. 'Cause this shit just ain't gonna work any longer.

Friday, Jan. 23rd - Some random thoughts this morning (now severly edited, for the sake of making sense, hopefully):

* I think i'm too impressionable sometimes. Two books i've taken to reading recently are Moneyball, a profile on Oakland A's GM Billy Beane; and the occasionally-inpenetrable Stockhausen on Music, a collection of lectures from legendary avant-garde composer Karlheinz Stockhausen. "Contrast" is such a grade-school essay word, but it was odd to read a book about a guy (Beane) who, after betraying his instincts by pursuing a career as a baseball player, made his name by building a insect-colony-like team based completely on a series of obscure statistics (but still has yet to advance past the first round in the playoffs); and at the same time read the opinions of a musician (Stockhausen) who trumpeted the virtue of instincts and improvisational abilities in music, yet developed (at one point) a system for "improvised" composition, like, in lieu of sheet music, writing instructions such as "play more notes, now play quieter, now play like you are in tune with the universe". It made me almost hate the A's, and feel ashamed that i ever tried to like avant-garde music. Yup, it's nothing but the Braves and Creed from now on.

And i do think it's true that the more i read, the worse i write. Or, maybe i hold myself to a higher standard now? Yes, that's definitely it. But, it's disconcerting to think thoughts like "i wish i could write like the hockey columnist in the Daily News." I should just become a landscaper.

* I know little of politics. Not anything more than what i read in the papers. This makes me your typical voter, regardless of my color on the political spectrum (redd-ish orange). So, i can say i'm at least a little objective when it comes to evaluating something such as the Democratic race, and my opinion is this: for some reason, the media doesn't want Howard Dean to win. I don't know why, but it's apparent to me. It's the media that shapes the images each candidate has, and this is treated with a lot more importance than policy discussion. Those without the time to read the New York Times and Washington Post each morning (i *do*, but i don't want to get into that) will be unfamiliar with pretty much *anything* a candidate has to offer, other than an image they had little role in making. So Howard Dean is "angry." I'm not sure how in this day and age, people can be so easily swayed by mere images, labels. *Anything* can be taken out of context, especially in politics. A guy can learn a lot by not reading newspapers. Besides, i can imagine few people, no matter how docile, being able to withstand being labeled "angry" (or anything really) so doggedly without blowing up at some point. This is not (necessarily) an endorsement for Howard Dean, as i know little of his platform that doesn't have to do with "Bush sucks." Which i'm obviously in tune with. But, i do agree that this is the most important Democratic primary of my adult life, so i do hope to vote for the best candidate. If only i could really find out who that is. Shit, it's probably Sharpton.

* Having embarrassed myself by talking about politics, i will not even attempt to redeem myself here. I cannot say i'm that excited about the prospect of the New Jersey Nets moving to Brooklyn, if it happens. Not that the words "Nets" and "excitement" were ever meant to appear in the same thought, unless you read the New York Times yesterday. The Times dedicated almost the entire sports section yesterday to this impending move, and the tone of the articles was, surprisingly, overwhelmingly positive (and you'll soon discover why). Maybe reading Foul Ball has contributed to my apprehension about a Brooklyn arena, or the thought of homes and businesses - some of which have been there for 50 years - being displaced so the *NETS* can move there (and probably given some cheesy new name like the Brooklyn Future) just seems, well, wrong. Bernard King, legendary Knick, points out that the site where they plan on building the arena is the same as the Dodgers spurned way back in the day. Eerie! And, it sure is ironic how the Dodgers moved because of the perception of a lack of parking spaces around Ebbets Field, where the Nuts are suffering because of no public transportation to their arena across the interstate from a gigantic parking lot. True, all of it, but it all seems like a transparent ploy to win the hearts and play to the sentimentalities of Brooklynites who otherwise would probably know better. Ah, the victim culture of modern-day New Yorkers. Mostly i wince at how many "finally, Brooklyn gets a big league team again" spurned-Dodger-fan articles i'll have to endure before this thing gets built, if it does. What a load of crap. This is not merely my prejudice against those other, lesser sports than baseball, but baseball is at least a somewhat appealing sport for a community because there are 81 home dates for your team, as opposed to 40-ish for hockey and basketball and 8 for footbrawl. And, the tickets tend to cost between 1/3 and 1/2 your average arena sport ticket price. Moving a basketball team to Brooklyn is a nice symbolic gesture, but really, who can afford to go to any of the games on a regular basis? Right, the same people who could currently go to Nets games now, but just don't. I'd dare say most of them wouldn't even come from Brooklyn. Oh, and the city would have to pitch in about $150 million in infrastructure improvements (a herculean task considering where they're planning on building the arena), about half of what it cost Denver to build Coors Field, which you can get in to for $5. Actually, here are two articles - yes, two articles that make my case(s) much better than i do.

Also, i enjoy how i dedicate 3 times as much writing to sports than i do to the Democratic Primaries. I'm proud to be an American.

* Okay, enough of my ham-handed opinion making. I haven't eaten since about 2 pm yesterday afternoon, and that is because Karen and i met with the Vitamen's Jesse Blockton and slammin' hip-hop engineer Bo Boddy for all-U-can-eat Indian food on Bedford Ave. $7.95 gets you limitless plates of Beef Curry or Chicken somethin-or-other, plus delicious slices of heavy nan, and complimentary chai whenever it's ready. So, we sat around and gorged ourselves and made fun of my girlfriend for going to the gym. And, i haven't needed to eat until about a half-hour from now. Ah, back to talking about my lunch. All is right with the world. After paying our bill, our very nice waiter informed me, "you are invited back again!" and i thought that was a nice thing for him to mention, just in case there was any confusion.

* My roommate, having fully recovered from a roughly 3-day long illness, began celebrating his wellness by tearing up the old blue linoleum tile from the bathroom, to discover white mosaic tile underneath. And it looks pretty cool, too, at least the 80% that's still there. Today begins the grout rampage. So, we'll see how that turns out. The best part is Josh may have found an alternate use for all of the old Girl Harbor t-shirts still in my hallway: rags. He just grabbed another t-shirt from the pile and said, in reference to the slogan printed on the back, "Born to Fuck, Forced to Grout."

* Okay, lastly, i'd like to promote the shit out of my Kinda Rockin' Sunday Brunch this Sunday at B-Side (209 Ave. B at 12th St.). It's going from 5-9 and it's rumored that none other than Martin "Marty" Nienstedt will be having his 31st Birthday celebration there. So, not only have you not seen me in forever, you really haven't seen Martin in a spell. Plus, i'm bringing bagels, and the Bloody Marys there are excellent. 5-9 pm folks. I'll be spinning some choice adult rock, as well as some regular rock. Consider it a fun warm-up to what ever Super Bowl party you end up at the following week, only without all the boring football.

Saturday, Jan. 17th - More yuks. Last night, after a fine show in the basement of Northsix featuring The Blue 88s and Mishka Shubaly (whose new gigantic-sounding EP So Long is quite excellent), a group of us retired to the newly-remodeled Anytime diner for lamburgers and such. While waiting a buzz-killing 40 minutes in the not-very-busy restaurant for our orders, conversation turned to the subjects of this surprisingly on-point and readable Village Voice article. One revelation from the article is that none other than alleged pedophile R. Kelly (facing around 700 counts of child pornography charges) wrote a *children's book* this year. Yup. To which Jesse Blockton replied, "is there a fishing line attached to it?"

Friday, Jan. 16th - Perhaps the highlight of yesterday, in an evening that had Karen and i inexplicably trudging through sub-zero temperatures all the way to 29th & 10th Ave. from Brooklyn, to the Coral Room, to see Fresh Kills and Aerial Love Feed (what loyal fans we are), was our cab ride home with Damien and John of The Giraffes. For some reason, Damien had his old composition book handy, filled with notes and doodles from his East Coast tour with his old band Body Rock from, what, 1999? Of particular note was a surprisingly lengthy series (multiple pages) of hangman games they played in the van, all of which had very homoerotic answers, like "juicy anus" and such. There was also a doodle of the 4 members of Body Rock (Damien, Ethan "Baby Dayliner" Marunas, Stan Blackett and Adrien Grenier) having a gang-bang/bukake party on what looked like a dog, but was apparently a quadrapledgic. Also, you'll be relieved to know that, in the sketch, none other than Ethan - inspite of there being a black dude in the band - was drawn as having by far the biggest unit. Makes sense to me. And to think, on the Girl Harbor tours, we used to do crossword puzzles and make jokes about Slobodan Milosevic. Karen pointed out the biggest difference between touring if you're in a girl band, as opposed to the standard male band, and that is, girl bands actually *hook up*, where guys just talk about it a lot. No one disagreed.

And, considering how cold it was out, i'm glad we went.

Thursday, Jan. 15th - An essay i enjoyed.. Read "Memorial Madness" and comment if you'd like.

Having just finished If on a winter's night a traveler (which is no Dragonlance novel, but ...), i wondered how many books i've read completely in my life, and if i can remember them all. Reading has become a recent hobby, so the list shouldn't be too hard to complete. I will attempt this now. Not included are reference materials, books with cartoons in them, or anything featuring Dee Dee Ramone. See if you can guess which ones involved writing a book report.

If on a winter's night a traveler
Moby Dick
Life of Pi
Invisible Man
Winesburg, Ohio
The Last Samurai (which has *nothing* to do with that damn Tom Cruise movie)
Ball Four
and Foul Ball, i believe making Bouton the only author i've read twice,
Ribsy
Tale of Two Cities
Anthem (Ayn Rand's *short* book!)
Breakfast of Champions
Lord of the ........ Flies
A Wind in the Door
Alive!
Four Arguments for the Elimination of Television (I agree with the latter reviews here)
Tom Sawyer
To Kill a Mockingbird
The Missing $10,000 Bill (It was in a book in the study.)
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
Tours of the Black Clock
My Cousin, the Gastroenterologist
Old Man and the Sea
How to Eat Fried Worms
Of Mice and Men
Childhood's End
The Stranger, and
Honorable Mention: the first 30 pages of Tropic of Cancer about a dozen times.

Phew!

A view from my bedroom window

Rock Names: i ran into ex-bandmates Jimmy Spoiler and Greg two nites ago on the street. They very excitedly told me of Greg's new rock name, which they came up with very late one night while recording. Actually, for the uninitiated, a quick character study of Greg: Greg is very much an embodiment of the 70s rock revival. He loves 70s rock, but listens and is influenced by current music. He enjoys drum bashing and tunefulness equally. He smokes pot, but doesn't do many other things of that nature. He is good-natured, says funny off-the-wall things without realizing it, and can pull off wearing things like lavendar polo shirts or a necklace with a fairy on it without it seeming at all forced. And he has very curly Gene Wilder-esque hair, usually quite voluminous. Anyway, the nickname so suitable its a wonder it wasn't thought of, by any Girl Harbor-ite, many years ago: Greg McMuffin. Anyway, so yes, Tad Low. Karen and i went in to his luxuriously carpeted office on 29th St. and gabbed with him about our show, and he seemed receptive. So, after coming up with a one-page treatement of our idea (which, obviously, i haven't gotten to yet), he said we can try pitching it to a Music Network That Isn't VH1. Additionally, a show of his just got picked up, and he is still looking for writers. So, things may be looking up for ol' Jensie in the professional realm. Then i'll just need a new band.

I'm listening to a copy of an EP The GIRAFFES are about to drop, and so far it's really really good. I saw Damien last night at a party at a new weekly party Black Betty. He was DJing, and whipped out a good Slayer track. I also spoke with John (the bassist of the Giraffes) and we talked about the tendency of political corruption in wealthy states with crappy urban areas (Connecticut, New Jersey), as well as the New York Mets. We also shared some trivial tidbits about former president Howard Taft. Black Cat Revolver played a solid set, inspite of poor Johnny Raubert's recent dental surgery. I won a t-shirt (not the one you see there) in their rock trivia contest, and learned that Marvin Gaye's last words, after being shot by his father during a dispute over coke on April 1st, 1984, were, in fact "Nigga, this had *better* be an April Fool's joke!" What a night. I'm DJing there next Tuesday, along with the dame, and Josh Taggart, so get ready to be inundated with invites to this special evening. Other than that, i've been reading (finishing Life of Pi in time for Book Club, and starting If on a Winter's Night a Traveler independently), making t-shirts with iron-on transfer printer paper, like the one you see there, which i'm giving to Kevin tonight for our state of the Kickball League meeting), and generally trying to stay warm. There you have it.

And now, a little something to make you believe in miracles: I walked by the Genovese on Manhattan Ave. today, the one that used to be a dancehall, that still has a gigantic disco ball hanging from its domed ceiling. This is the drugstore that has the vending machine with old packs of baseball cards in the slots for 75 cents or $1 each. But, i decided today, for some reason, i have enough baseball cards from the late 80s, and invested my 3 quarters in some 1990 Topps basketball cards instead. As the parcel began the plunge to the bottom, i thought to myself, thinking of Mark Puner of Pop-Up Video fame, whose knowledge of obscure pro athletes from the 80s and 90s continues to inspire me to this day, i thought, "i sure hope there's a Mike Gminski card in this package." Needless to say, along with a surprise Nugget ("The Pink Panther", Walter Davis), "Akeem" Olajuwan (before the "H"), Sam Bowie (the guy that was drafted after Hakeem - and before Michael Jordan - in 1984), Spud F*cking Webb!, there he was, in his red Sixers uniform, the 2nd-to-last card, the "G-Man", Mike Gminski.

Head-scratching Similie of the Day - CAN YOU FIND IT?!

You can only imagine how excited i was to see this offer hanging on my apartment door the other day.

Friday, Jan. 9th - Pictured below is one of the all-time great Xmas gifts i've ever received. It's a very nice glass chess set - courtesy of the girl you see in the picture - and all of the pieces are shot glasses, in a variety of shapes. The Knight is represented by a standard shot glass, the pawns are smaller, rounded ones, the higher players all have a fluted quality to their shapes, and the rooks (my favorite pieces) almost resemble small Guinness pint glasses. And of course, when you capture a piece, you drink its contents. Hic! Chess + shot glasses = yet another simple, brilliant idea for a product. It came in the mail the other night, so naturally we had to try it out for a couple of games, Oracle (S. Africa) Chiraz 2002 vs. Smirnoff Ice, playing while debating the merits, or lack thereof, of the new Rapture record. Personally, i found it more than a tad derivitive, and it didn't really send me, and if you're gonna name your band after a Blondie song, wouldn't Atomic be a much better choice? But, all i do is find flaws in things all the time. Maybe it's one of my new resolutions to quit being such a critic of everything. Maybe. I mean, *i* like continuously listening to the same Blue Öyster Cult record, but you should never stop trying to broaden your horizons, especially if you want to have conversations with people who care about the same things you do. All this is going to say that, naturally, while cleaning out the chess pieces after just the 2nd game, i broke one of the rooks. Drat. Incidentally, are you "Rapture Ready?"

One-upped again: Josh, after reading about the cocaine-induced death of one of the Righteous Brothers, shrugged and said "He Lost that Livin' Feeling."

Tuesday, Jan. 6th - Not that there's ever a good day for the beloved (#45) Tug McGraw to die, but did it have to be yesterday? The same day that not only does another more well-known baseball player (Pete Rose) make the news, but so does a New York franchise (the Knicks getting Stephon Marbury from the Phoenix Suns), thereby relegating him to story #3 in the tabloids today. Also meaning that, for headlines on the back pages, we got "PRODIGAL SUN" (Marbury) instead of, uh, "YOU GOTTA BEREAVE?" Okay, that was terrible.

J.R. (l.) made me that foil duck (r.), as thanks
for getting him a bean taco (not pictured) from San Loco.

Last night, while listening to the exploits of DJs J.R. (of Fucking Broncos fame) and Lil' Kay Slay (the Dame), i had the idea of becoming a brunch-time DJ. Jeff and i are scheduled for another round of our KaZaA-download spinning at B-Side (Ave. B & 12th St., The Big City) on Sunday, the 25th, and i asked Sivan if i/we could try doing the afternoon shift instead. She seemed receptive to this groundbreaking idea. I'll say that my music collection is much more suited towards it, you know being a 33-year old man with increasingly cheesy tastes and all. I can finally whip out some Hawaiian songs, or 70s Elvis ballads, or play "Brandy." Plus, there's probably be some sort of Bloody Mary special, i could bring bagels, it's the week before the Super Bowl, so you got nothing else going on, i'm just saying. I'll keep you posted, and take requests as well. J.R. informed us that the Fucking Broncos are playing another show on or around the 27th at some girl's apartment. I asked who was going to play guitar, then offered up the services of Josh Johnson. J.R. said "so he's a good guitarist?" and i said "no" and we both agreed he'll do nicely. Then J.R. played (among other former-record-store-employee obscurities) "Marlon Brando" by an L.A. punk band named Black Randy and the Metrosquad and i thought "gee this sounds a lot like the Doors" and apparently i'm not alone in thinking this. Great stuff, though.

Speaking of bands needing guitarists, here's one for you. It's Demander featuring the ex-Hissyfits/Beauty Supply rhythm section of Karen Corrêa and Sivan Harlap. Karen is now writing songs and singing to accompany her signature bass thwomping, and Sivan is a hard-hittin' drummer and she owns a bar for chrissakes. So, tell your guitarist friends to write me before they miss out on a very good opportunity to rock in a new way, with hot girls at that. Just trying to help.

There have been quite a few articles lately about the demise of the TOKEN, including this old Daily News article which originally offered a graphic suggesting new uses for old tokens, including nose rings. But, none that i've read mention that there's still one place you could buy/use them, and that is the Roosevelt Island Tram. Or at least you could when Kev, Sasha and i took our bikes on it last week, enjoying the lovely 5 or so minutes of scenery paralleling the Queensboro Bridge into the East Side. And by the looks of it, they sure aren't planning on modernizing the method of fare collection, or anything involving the Tram, anytime soon. So token enthusiasts, weird-jewelry needers, and unusual NYC attraction seekers, you have a new destination to visit.

I went back to The One today to bug them for work, and, you know, we'll see ...

Monday, Jan. 5th - A rainy day, best suited for doing nothing. I'm listening to some records in hopes of being inspired to start writing reviews again. So far nothing, although i am enjoying this Scientist record quite a bit. The roomie is at a job interview, the girl is making rum balls with a friend, and i'm weighing the merits of going into The One today to beg and plead for another job. I'm waiting a spell to hear back from someone, anyone, but around 2 or so, i'll probably muster up the energy to head up there uninvited. Probably out of boredom. Speaking of things done out of boredom, i repainted my room yesterday, this time Forest Green, leaving a few blu stripes around one wall, and i think i may grow to like it but it hasn't really happened yet. First i think i may have bought runny, inferior paint. Secondly, i managed to spill about 2/3rds of the can on my tile bedroom floor. It was like the Alaska coast after the Valdez in there for a while. Miraculously, not only did i manage to clean almost every trace of it up, but i still had enough paint afterward to finish. Still, the whole thing felt a little cursed, and i probably should've just stuck with the soothing blue i had in there previously. But, if nothing else, Karen's light up gnome she got from her bandmate Sivan looks right at home, as you can see.

Now i'm listening to a jazz compilation record named The Hot Ones and it's pretty spastic and not conducive to writing at all. I'm gonna put the dub record back on. You know, i'd like to learn more about dub. For someone who's never smoked pot, i find dub to be pretty captivating stuff. Unlike this shrill Benny Goodman-Count Basie tomfoolery, which is making me nutty. Hold on a second. Okay, that's better. I took time out from my busy day yesterday to fill out (one category of) the Tris McCall Critics Poll, and i encourage you to do the same, seeing as how we live in a democracy and all.

Another thing about the painting project: the paint fumes hadn't really subsided by the time Karen and i went to bed last night, and i think they kept me awake and a little delirious. Not delirious in an interesting way mind you, so don't get your hopes up. But, i did my version of counting sheep and that was going over rules of card games i've tried to invent. After all this time, i still haven't perfected Charge the Mound, the card game you play with baseball cards, but, after 3 years, i think i may have finally perfected Sandcastle, a game Jesse Fuchs originated as a way to teach students prime numbers. There's that one and 13th Floor, a standard tricktaking game, that i can write up the rules to if i find myself with nothing to do later this week. And take another crack at Charge the Mound. It's nice to have a hobby. I finally got to sleep around 3, and my brain still hurts.

Also, you'll be delighted to know i finished 4-3 in my College Bowl picks. It was that or 3-4.

Okay, time to look for work. I'll start at the coffeeshop.