The funny thing about the blog vacation was that it was fairly easy just to keep it going. I can understand the view "normal" people have of bloggers where they can't understand why we're so addicted to writing everything down. Not blogging saves some time for sure. At work, I worked. At home, I found instead of spending hours typing my hands off, I could just go to bed. I even lost weight because I was going to the gym and being active instead of sitting on my ass tied to my computer. Such a novel thing. But oh well, the addiction starts again.
I met up the Friday before last just past Union Square for dinner with TrendVickster and some of her new school friends. We found ourselves at the diner next to Irving Plaza where the performers that night were the Scissor Sisters. I felt very In Living Color because I was all "seen them and hated it." We were off to a net cafe on 13th to get the directions to the night's main event in Bushwick. We emerged from the L at Morgan and I was reminded why I just can't get down with that whole industrial living thing: I really keep way too late hours to be traipsing around vacant lots and streets with no lights on the regular. I've never been mugged, attacked, etc. and I just don't believe in tempting fate. Besides, nothing pisses me off than the two people walking towards each other on a dark street thing scenario where if one is me and the other one is white, they'll always move/panic/do something assy so that I want to scream "hello, you're a fucking 6'2" man, what could I do to you really? And if I could, you've got problems bigger than my barely 5'5" self." Makes me want to rob someone just out of spite. And that of course is irrational.
Anyways, we get there to find music and skating on the second floor of a converted warehouse. The decor was totally Fast Times At Ridgemont High/any 80s movie view of the suburban arcade where kids hung out. I felt like I was on a National Geographic expedition into a foreign land. I searched around looking for what I was there for and found out that I had missed them performing. Bummer. I did run into Kelly TAOS though, skating around in a purple dress and hotpants. So cute. I was about to get some skates of my own and kick up the fun a notch when I realized that I was without my ID. Turns out I'm a fucking idiot and had left it back in Manhattan at that net cafe. So genius.
I ran out of there and split up with TrendVickster at the train station, getting to the place just in time. It was only about 11 and I was restless as usual, so I decided to take a stroll to the next destination talking all the meanwhile with Lina on the cell.
I showed up at Siberia for the first time since my semi-traumatic yeti trampling to support K, the Wes head making moves, one of my original projected interviewees. I got my rock show courtesy of DONK and band with K on the upright bass. My instantaneous review was that it was what I imagined a Jeff Buckley show to have been like. It was really great. K and I spent a lot of time chatting as I tried to find out some info to base my questions because I don't know him half as well I should since I only see him about three times a year. But eventually, I had to accept that I was bone tired and succumb to the call of bed and home.
All day Saturday and Sunday I was making up interview questions and writing a cute little blurb (I hate that picture but not much as I do most of the ones taken in the year since). Some time Sunday night, I realized I was an idiot who had just about every day of my interviews covered but the first. Luckily, Steven popped up and we did his interview part 1.5 to get him up Monday.
At the office the next day, I found my work face temporarily pierced by a guy in another department that was all, "I saw you on Gothamist." Yeah, no shit? Get away from me. I was definitely worried about the blog becoming an office pastime, so that's another reason I kept the output nonexistent last week. If you have nothing there, they'll lost interest and stop coming. Though that hasn't seemed to stop random Wes people from popping through (Yeah, I see you).
Post-work, I met up with PrincessNella and TrendVickster for a mag party a few blocks away. Yay goodie bags! A slight pause on running into a girl from work (not so bad because she's one of the 3/4 I like) and a Wes girl (who chatted with about a mutual friend I lost touch with. It happens).
From there, downtown to meet up with Fizzie for Man Man Show # 875 (in actuality, 7 or 8). It was the first time I was bringing the kids to a show and I was a bit nervous. Worlds colliding and all that. They were simultaneously curious and frightened because I'm a weird girl, I like weird things, and them being introduced to those things can be a hit or miss situation. I made the mistake of going two levels down instead of one. Silly me not to intuitively know that they were moving up in the world. The place was on the crowded side, which was interesting. I sat with my friends all wide-eyed and "Do you like it? Do you like it?" referring at the moment to the stage setup looking straight out of The Birds. Their faces weren't looking so promising, so I went to the bar to get some cider and avoid the running commentary they had going as the band warmed up.
You know, it's good to be right. Earlier in the evening, I'd spoken to Ryan Man Man to ask what the projected starting time was if only because I was liking the mag party and hoping to get another comp drink before I had to bounce. He said 9:30 and I replied "okay, 9:45 when y'all finally finish setting up." The crew and I didn't even get there until 9:40 and they got started about 10 minutes after that. That story is relevant because while I was at the bar, with my back to the gang to avoid their guilt-inducing looks, the band was getting started. There were people at the show -- tons! That warmed my heart. They were even the "let's get up close to the stage and really watch" types. That can be a good or bad thing because most NYC crowds are of the "I'm going to stand here with my arms crossed as if I'm actually more than just a little punk bitch. Now, impress me" variety. (What kind of audience member am I? One who just kinda chills out on the sidelines. If I'm there, I just want to listen. And I hate being bumped, so I'd rather be off out of the way.) The warmup was amusing...I smiled at the bar until Fizzie rushed over with a "Trendvickster, just threw up!" She didn't really -- just almost choked on some water in shock -- but it was allegedly a funny ass spit take. Shit. I miss all the good stuff.
I rejoined the friends and pointed out the guy I believe was the former yeti suit clad trampling bandit. They were mostly dumbfounded at the music (demented carnival music was Fizzie's take), but they didn't outright hate it so that was a start. Post-show, I looked on amused that apparently the group has would-be groupies. This one was really noxious. Bad weave, looking like Robin Givens after a crack binge. I was not amused. I can't really wrap my head around a Man Man groupie. They're not like Velvet Revolver or something, but I suppose boys in a band attract that sort of element. The kids got an intro to Ryan and basically stared wordlessly at him after the pleasantries. We shot the shit, mostly consisting of "yes yes, I'm such a good shill. Heap praise on me!" and I got the album. Sweet! (It's been glued to the stereo for over a week now, y'all. October 5th. Buy that shit!) until some chick strolled up and he vanished like the wind. So then, they just switched to staring wordlessly at me. It was like the Inquisition.
I've been a little edgy the past couple of weeks. Actually, that's an understatement. I've been fucking insane the past month and change. The not so hidden secret of Candice is that I'm a control freak in disguise. I'm just about the worst handler of stress I know. I'm big on compartmentalizing to keep shit manageable, but naturally things spiral out of control and my little boxes overspill and what follows is that I lose my shit. Fizzie felt the brunt of the other week's meltdown and in general, I've been going around with the eyes narrowed and the potty mouth hitting landfill sewage levels. I went on a minor cursing jag from their pressure until I wound myself down. Another not so hidden secret: I've got a majorly short attention span.
I moved onto complaining about how this interview thing was driving me nuts heading into Day 2 and I half-heartedly searched around for someone to interview. Then, inspiration struck: Fizzie. I set off to make up some Qs and we experimented with candles in that dark ass room to get a decent pic before he and PrincessNella decided to go to the hall where the light was. The plan was to run an interview to play up his NYC hater status with a disclaimer at the end saying, "he doesn't really hate it, he's just lonely and bitter." His answer for "your greatest NYC moment:" "the day I went back home [the Bay] for four days." It was gonna be way over the top. We were cackling up a storm in the corner in anticipation. I know we looked insane...and we weren't even drinking. We blew out of there 11ish and I got straight on my computer after I walked through the door to transcribe. I had a change of heart about the interview we had done and tweaked questions and got new answers over IM from Fizzie as PrincessNella emailed me her pictures. That's teamwork in action. I was happy with how it actually turned out -- not that the process was any more on the fly as the week dragged on.
But, I think I've done more than enough peeling the curtain back for one blog post. Oh man...this is a monster. I really am back.
