Kitty Power

Made You Look

Nothing to add really. I'm experimenting with an offline life for a while. I'll be back and in force soon enough. Meanwhile, I'll be making myself stalker-friendly at Bembe tonight (perhaps Nah, just a thought), the Phoenix/Benzos (because those are the only two groups on the bill I care about...so far) Bowery Ballroom show tomorrow night (definitely), Sapph on Thursday playing guinea pig as usual, and the Mercury Lounge with Man Man and Out Hud Saturday.

But, I've got random exchanges that made me chuckle. Perhaps not so much for the contextless:

Random IM from That Crazy Bastard: Hey, wanna come over to my friend's house and do drugs?
Moi: Umm...no.
ETA: And then Bill IMed me the same thing! People, I don't do drugs. I'm high on life. That cigarette over there was totally tobacco and I didn't smoke it. Not even once.

Him: And there's this dent in the wall, but you can't really fix something like that without cutting the drywall around.
Moi: Shit, man, how'd you dent the wall?
Him: Umm, wrestling.
Moi: (raised eyebrow) Wrestling?
Him: Okay fine, sex.
Moi: Ha. I thought so. Wrestling?! I mean, come on!

Moi: (shaking my head at the hilarity of actually skulking about in the middle of the night trying not to wake up the real grownups) Is this what I was missing out on when I was a kid? Sneaking around people's houses?
Him: (with a smile) Sometimes.

La La La

Fucking shit. There need to be 30 hours in a day. I'm not even that busy but I don't have time for a thing.

So, lately I've been interviewed (along with Jay-V, but she was the lucky one with a quote. Bitch!). I've developed a strange addiction to Craig's List (you might want to know, but I don't plan on elaborating further. Deflecting, Rants and Raves is a fascinating place. What strange thoughts lurk in the minds of people!). DC was fab, thanks for asking! As the person who could've given the least amount of shit about U2, it figures I would find myself face to face with the slowest moving truck in the universe yesterday on my way to Whole Foods. I'm working myself up to pitch (and trying to grind out what gigs I already have). I'm trying to be the only person in my office without the sniffles. Farmer coming to visit is something I might be looking forward to a bit too much. Moving announcements are imminent. Next year, I'm planning to hit Miami, Mexico, and Hawaii before the year is up. I think this might be the one holiday season in memory where I don't think I'm missing out. Singlehood is a blissfully underrated and fun path. I think I'm too selfish to ever settle down again and I'm okay with that. (Declarations to be made void any week now when drama begins anew. O sweet flighty bird of youth!)

Meanwhile, NYC is fun again. Fall is one of my fave seasons. What I lack in sheer quantity of choices is made up by quality nights out -- either alone or with friends. I've rediscovered some sort of joy to wandering around again. Quite nice.

A highlight was the Man Man show at NYU the other week. Though I spent most of the show wondering was I ever as young (-acting and otherwise) as the kids in the crowd (because I've apparently bypassed 23.5 and gone straight to 65), I was in hysterics at the antics of the band. It's been a while since I've seen a show of theirs and also one where the people on stage were into having a good time and playing their stuff with enthuasiasm. Sincere joy at being there is also an underrated thing. It was nice to take time off from the shows, gaining local and far-flung converts, and then to go back and have an honest to goodness good time. Viva Man Man! Buy their shit!

Also, the most interesting search that led to this little corner lately has been "Morgan Geist blog." Does one exist? It should. He's pretty interesting -- at least this article makes me think so. I think it's fascinating when musicians have them. I, casually obsessive fan, love hearing about the creative process/random bullshit. The Prefuse news page/musings is tops. 1 Prefuse page = (KP Blog golden moment)^50 in my book.

DC Bound

PrincessNella and I are bound for that lovely city I've got the most massive of a soft spot for, DC, for a day (and night) trip. ESL for a min? Perhaps. Back after the weekend with perhaps some pics, but most definitely renewed DC love.

Welcome To Music Town

You are most like Gina. You are confident in your
sexuality. You want romance, but you don't get
it often. Maybe this is because men suck at
romance. Nonetheless, you are happy with just
some good sex. You like to be the center of
attention and appear very confident, but you
have lower self esteem than most people would
think and you try to make up for what you lack
by hiding your real self behind your exterior.
Chances are, your family life kind of sucks and
you don't get along with your parents,
especially because they don't approve of most
of what you do.


Which Empire Records character are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

So off, but thanks ILM!

Nuggets

Awesome or too ridiculous for words? I can't decide. Chuurch. Urkel?

Zen Picks

I'd say that right now I spend a good 16-20 hours a day listening to music. Sometimes I even fall asleep with my little headphones in my ear. I'm beyond addicted to my Zen. I need an intervention! (I also need a chill pill because I'm slightly annoyed about the major ad campaign and backing for the Zen Micro because of the blank stares and run around I got for months when I was asking places when they'd get the Zens in. Damn, those Micros are cute! I might get one for Mr. Daddy, as technology inept has he is, one for Christmas.)

It's been kinda fascinating just what's been popping into my head lately from it. Last weekend, I created the Electro-House-Party playlist (plus some songs which have nothing to do with anything else except I like it) and I've been rocking that hardcore all week. It makes work hilarious when I'm fighting back "Mother fuckers are so nice...suck my dick, lick my ass...in the mix, we have sex... every night with my famous friends." Unclassics is the shit, in case you don't know. And I think I play Booty (La La) about 4 times in a row every time it pops up before I can move along. It's all about the dancing music right now.

Ten Eleven Songs I'm Most Likely Blasting the Hell Out of This Week:
Booty (La La) -- Bugz In The Attic
Mine To Give -- Photek featuring Robert Owens
Frank Sinatra -- Miss Kittin and the Hacker
When You Find Your Love...Hold On -- Alistair Colling vs. Tortured Soul
Disco Train (Morgan Geist Caboose Mix) -- Dance Reaction
Nu Nu -- Lidell Townsell
Don't Change For Me -- Erro
Get A Life -- Soul II Soul
Pleasure From The Bass -- Tiga
Pont Des Arts -- Saint Germain
The Conductor (Thin White Duke Remix) -- The Faint

ETA: In the realm of new to me, I was at Sapph last night (because after all where else would I be on Thursday? Gotta drop in at least a min.) and was hanging out as they were trying out some new DJs. I was kicking back with T's latest creative masterwork drawn into this song playing and it hit me: "a dub cover of Pink Floyd? Dude..." I went to talk to the lady spinning all "my God, who does that song?" and she showed me this album cover. That has my fucking vote as the second best thing I've heard all month. (Unclassics is the undisputed king, sorry. That fucking Victor song? Baja Imperial? No stopping it.)

Interiors

I occupy myself at work by being flat and doing what I've got to do and thinking about what fun things I'm thereotically going to do afterwards. I like my job, just not this month. I also like maintaining dualities. Compartmentalizing has always been a fun pasttime of mine. Many here are on some "work should be like camp! woo!" thing, but I actually enjoy maintaining my distance and making my interior/post-work life a lot of more interesting than being with the herd could be. Then again, I've also been a loner and like being contrary, so YMMV on that one. My SAD is setting in and making my mind wander too much.

The out and about compartment is always pretty fluid thing. Simple is always the way to go. I like dark corners, randomness, silly adventures, good music, bass, room to move, and interior flavor. I'll go just about anywhere (minus Crobar where Lina tried to lure me with news of a 2-hour open bar. Sorry, not even if they're handing out bottles of Patron at the door), so that keeps life semi-interesting. I was so excited about the vacation because it was supposed to shake things up. I got back and the next couple of days I was bent out of shape about the election, then back to work and trying to dig myself out of the mess waiting for me. It wasn't long before I was freezing and back to wondering "is this all there is" as if I've never gone anywhere.

The Friday after I got back, when I had to be up to apartment hunt at 10am on a Saturday, I found myself traipsing to Chelsea Piers around midnight to catch a party I'd been on the mailing list and such for a good while. Party on a boat? "House party on a boat!" I screamed to me to convince myself to keep going on those long ass avenue blocks. Then I was still fresh off LA, needing to hear some serious bass and dance like I did so happily on the other coast.

It's no joke coming up on the piers at night. It's crazy dark over there! I almost jumped out of my skin when this water rat about 3/4 the size of my fat ass cat even hinted at running in my direction. But, I went in and wandered, hanging close to the corners and people watching. Eventually, I got tired of doing nothing and went upstairs to make a call when I found my phone ringing instead. A dispatch from The Director, out of the blue as they all are. I shrugged and agreed to traipse downtown to meet up with him and his friends. I made my way through the boat, coat in hand, and came face to face with the focus of my big stupid crush. "Oh shit," I screamed, far from quietly, and ran in the other direction. (Yes. I am 12 years old.) I thought of making a slight attempt of talking to him after I got over the shock, but I was then embarassed on top of being chickenshit, so I just left.

Off downtown, then on a search for The Director who was slightly confused of exactly where he was. Great. I finally walked into a cozy bar/lounge somewhere in the EVil and met cute with him. "You look strangely familiar. Kinda like this guy I used to know." "Are you sure? Do I know you?" "Shut up...how are you?" Hug. I was introduced to a girl friend of his and some other guy who standing with them. We broke off and started chatted briefly before I was off on a bathroom break. On my return, he handed me a G&T and turned towards his friend now alone. I stood along the wall, sipping and looking around taking in everything. The place was cool, somewhere I'd probably hang out in for kicks if I was in the area. After 10 mins or so, I was nearing the bottom of my glass and bored. I looked over at them, deep in the thick of a convo, boxing me out. My mind began to wander and I played around with my phone, sending a text to Jay-V. It was about 3am and my bed was calling me.

I tapped him on the shoulder and said I was heading out. Blah blah blah "yeah, I think so. I've got an early day tomorrow. I'll catch up with you sooner or later" blah blah peace out. And I wasn't even especially whiny/bitchy/snide/passive-aggressive about it, though it would've been easy to be. It was a hard situation to navigate, but fuck it, life is too short and I was practically asleep on my feet. On my walk to the train, I got a call asking me back, but I was pretty sure in my steps. "Another time maybe." The whole thing wasn't that serious really, but sometimes you just get tired of holding up walls.

I'm feeling beyond blah. I'd like to say this time last year, everything was better and different, but nope, November is notoriously a bad month for me. I'm really not kidding about the SAD. I need to shake shit up quick or maybe get one of those special lamps. I think I'm over vampire mode for now.

In Technicolor

I'm a really shitty photographer. Something about point, shoot, and hold steady is really beyond me. I am who digital cameras were made for. I fix my fuckups before wasting my time (and money) on developing them. My pics are only a day and a half worth of stuff. Sunday afternoon before heading off to the beach, I realized I had almost nothing to show for my trip and went on a snapping rampage. Here are the ones that don't look totally like shit compared to the rest:

Ho Hum

*whisper* Can I go back on vacation? Or can we at least speed up this end of year thing and bring on the holidays? Work is fucking torture for real. I'm starting to feel again like I did before I left, i.e. frowny and hating everything. I'm still heavily into "LA was awesome!!!" mode and have more comments and pictures to give y'all, but being stuck at work all freaking day all week is an energy zapper and sucks my invisible nuts.

And Fizzie is gone! Wah! And men are clowns...and I'm a silly little clown myself. But on the flip side, I get to run the town with Alex and he's going to help me be less of a bumbling fool. And the kids and I put down a deposit on a massive ass place in Astoria (cross your fingers!). So, unless someone up there hates me, stuff's going to work out fine. Plus this wretched year is almost over. I'm glad about that.

The Eyes Spied

Typical for me, the most interesting things that happened to me in LA were all on the random side. Let's get the star sightings out the way.

At The Grove on two seperate days: you may know him as Lex's dad on Smallville, but to me, he'll always be The Devil. Tall, thin, salt and pepper hair, beard, looking like he was off to pick up a tent from Patagonia for the camping trip; and one of my old fave VJs (6'4"?! Yeah right, Imdb! I'm barely 5'5" and I'll give him like 6' tops.) with this guy who gave me the nastiest look when I did the sighting double take.

At Segal, I noticed him when he double taked me (god knows why). Later when I was trying to navigate my way through that damned maze of a women's section (What is up with that store? Way too complicated for me. From box to box to box. I don't get it.), I strolled into the Cosabella room and came face to face with her. Again, 5'5" my ass, Imdb! She was the palest little 5' I've ever seen. I started looking at things and talking with the sales girl while she went into the fitting room. Did you know I'm a freak and had to get the biggest size tops they had? Isn't that interesting? Rose came out and I went in and gagged. She dropped a serious bomb in there! I breathed super shallow until the smell dispersed and I could make my exit. I kinda smile/smirked when I ran into her at some other little box before heading off on my merry way.

As I stood to do check-in at the airport for my return trip, he was strolling through. Imagine my surprise when we were on the same flight. I also loved how he got himself a seat facing the center walkway so you couldn't pass him without thinking "isn't that...?" Oh, those vain celebrities!

KP Hearts LA

Most amusing now that I'm reacquainting myself back to the routine is the tan thing. I think most just can't acknowledge me as tanned given that I was already, you know, pretty brown. They can't tell the difference! Their eyes aren't made to detect slight gradations of brown! Browner is still brown! Ms. Mommy, on the other hand, is just playing contrary. She can't acknowledge me as darker because she can't acknowledge me as around 10 lbs lighter because then she'd have to give me a point or something. The woman is obstinate beyond belief, folks. One person who had no problem noticing was PrincessNella who broke into the convo I was having at the maybe place with the broker with "my God, you're so dark!" I gave her a "WTF?" glance and the man wondered if we doing some sort of private blackspeak, so I translated that she thinks I'm really tanned. Because I am. A lot. Nothing wrong with the brown.

(Administrative note: The above has nothing to do with anything. And there's gonna be at least 3 posts about the damned trip. The sightings, the crazy/typical KP shit, and an all pics post. Just letting you know. Jay-V made me promise to split it up into morsels to protect everyone's eyesight.)

Los Angeles has always sorta called me. (And yes with that, I start off the first of who knows how many posts with utter cheesiness. Can we tell I haven't been writing a damned thing of substance lately? Yeah, thought you could. Moving along...) I felt about LA the way people envision New York City: I wanted to see if the hills were as high, beach was as golden, people were as gorgeous, weather was as beautiful as they made it out to be on TV. I wanted to experience the Walk of Fame, see movie stars, get some sun, and maybe pull a Lana Turner in a soda shop. I'm a person prone to immersion so as the real estate hunt turned me into a Curbed fanatic, thinking of LA got me practically breathing LA.Comfidental, LAist, and naturally Defamer. I was so very ready when I got there.

I started off staying with old friend C and experienced enough of the Metro train system to last me a lifetime. I didn't come to town with a plan per se. I wanted to see as much as I could, focusing on leisure activities: beach, night travels, shopping, touristy shit. Am I an uncultured clod because I vetoed museums with hardly a pause? No, but I might be if I say "fuck that shit because I can see it at home?" Perhaps. The way I explore a town is to experience it on the ground, hoofing it up. LA was like an extended suburb, almost impossible to do anything without a car. Thursday we rented one and were off and running, but I still had the most fun strolling around Hollywood Blvd (in the reminiscent of Times Square without so many sheep Walk of Fame area), the boutiques on Melrose (I heart Sportie LA, even if I hemmed and hawed and ultimately left the sneaks I had my eye on. Kitty Power always gives it up to good service. Oh, and fine salesguys.), and The Grove. Midway through the trip, I moved over to The Roosevelt to get a new start on my vacation and fed off the energy of being in the center of Hollywood. I played solo explorer and was off to Santa Monica and Venice to stroll the beaches Halloween Day before spending the night aimlessly walking down the Walk of Fame and snapping pics before going to the Tortured Soul show.

Wednesday night, I rested, but Thursday I was determined to do better. Before I got out there, I had discovered the ArcLight online and read about their 12:01 am showing of Ray. I went in person to get my ticket and in the travels of the day, also saw that Raphael Saddiq was doing an in-store performance and signing at Ameoba. The show was great as usual and I got flyer signed. As I got up to him, this guy came from behind the stage and started talking to him. A store employee was heated and revealed that they had kicked that guy out earlier for whatever reason and that he had apparently worn a costume(!) to get back in. My only question was: "Uh, I can still get my thing signed, right?" All about the priorities. I went back to the homestead briefly before heading out. Star Shoes: cool concept/space, blah "early" crowd. The Room: my, what scary entrance alley you have! I braved it and the place was nice. Solo me stuck out like a sore thumb, so I moved onto my movie. Jamie Foxx and his leading ladies were really great. The actress who played the mother was beyond awesome. But, I thought the movie itself was kinda tv movie clunky...and that ending, please. Still good though.

To add some variety into the mix, I prowled LA Craig's List and found an activity partner to go out with Friday. We met up at this place in Los Feliz and I was really blown away by it. My new pal S was super chill also. I didn't even mind hearing those dreaded words: "So, I read your blog." I just laughed and laughed. Things like that aren't really bothersome to me as much anymore: 1) hello, it's the internet. 2) when I have my personal domain as my email domain, I'd be surprised if someone wasn't curious. 3) it's not like I write anything especially revealing on here anymore. I've got another one for that. So, we chilled and drank before I made a Man Man convert out of him (shouldn't I negotiate a commission for bicoastal shilling?) heading down to Hollywood for a party I'd heard of online. A Bushwick...excuse me, East Williamsburg warehouse art party was airlifted to California for the night! I noted amused that if Fizzie was there, he'd just say "you've got to be fucking kidding me." Actually, it was like a Delancey party in a Knitting Factory Main Space room. The night's performers were Dance Disaster Movement. S and I conferred that it was cool that two guys were the whole band and stuff, but fuck, get another guy so the spazzy singer/keyboardist/drum machine manner can be as spazzy as he wants to be without worrying about changing the beat. Plus, it's just visually boring to just have two guys sorta jerking around but really too busy multitasking. From there, pizza and random conversations with drunkards. Definitely the most NY night ever outside of NYC.

Saturday night, I entertained myself by laying my massive fluffy king sized hotel room bed and resting my nerves. Yeah, that's really it. The daytime was just a lot, but there's a fire hydrant in Silverlake that won't be giving anyone nasty looks again. I spent a long time at a gas station waiting for a cab and a Mexican Boss Hog took it upon himself to holler as I spoke with Jay-V on the phone. "My truck is turquoise," he said. I stared at him quizzically and relayed the words to Jay. "And your earrings are turquoise too. Look, we've got something in common!" "Uh...that's great. Did you hear that shit?"

Sunday, I was up bright and early to go to the Grove and return an impulse buy from two days earlier. I'd gone into Lucky Brand on a whim and been so excited that something fit in the palace of the no ass and hips allowed that I bought it on the spot. $100 for a pair of jeans? Ixnay big time. From there, I took a leisurely bus ride to Santa Monica and then Venice. I had a massive sun headache on my return trip, but I was happy because I haven't been to a beach in years. I did a little wading in the water and was just happy to walk on the sand. I got plenty pf pictures of Santa Monica Pier, Arlington West, and other beachfront sights.

Back in Hollywood, I napped before the night's activities. I vetoed a Halloween costume and strolled the streets in the unearthed white blazer, camera in hand. I caught up in the creeping herd on Hollywood Blvd and was amused by the cops' weary: "there's no parade over here and nothing to see, people. The parade is in West Hollwood. Just. Keep. Moving." The point of the night for me was a pilgrimage. I was off to Deep. When I first got back home post-Wes, all I ever wanted to do was dance. That's something that's ingrained me. Much of this year has been hard because one day the spark just ran away. I'd been hearing about Tortured Soul for a long time but something always came up when they were playing a show around town. I figured the combo of some hardcore house music and good band would have to light a fire under my ass.

And of course, I was right. I was all over the place. Most awesome party. Fucking kickass band! (So much so that now I kinda find myself disappointed to listen to their studio tracks. The live spark is totally missing from these recordings. They sound sorta sterile in comparison. Which sucks.) The crowd's energy was crazy. On Sunday night (though everything ending at 2 makes things way easier to go nuts on a pre-work night), the place was packed and going strong. The DJ was great also and I was all in the middle of it, dancing, taking pics, meeting randoms. You know how I do. I even got a t-shirt.

I really got a kick out of LA overall. I spent too much money and I didn't see half of the place, but it was crazy fun. It was nice to get some sun before coming back here and to today's 30mph winds (what the fuck, man?). I'll be going back there sooner or later. Maybe I'll escape a NYC summer of frying like an egg on the sidewalk for a min. We'll see.

Stating The Obvious

Well, I'm mad as shit. I actually had to stop checking the results last night because I was getting so pissed off that veins were throbbing and I feared a stroke coming on. Fuck a goddamned Bush.

For the intrepid ones amongst us, here's a helpful tidbit from that CNN article making the rounds:

Those wishing to move to Canada could always take a risk and claim refugee status -- the path chosen earlier this year by two U.S. deserters who opposed the Iraq war.

"Anybody who enters Canada who claims refugee status will be provided with a work permit...it doesn't matter what country they're from," said an immigration ministry spokeswoman.

And a nice lovely transcript to make me feel safe. We're so fucked.

But, did anyone hear about the lovely snowstorm in Texas? Hell has done frozen over. Let's hope we live to see 4 more years.

The Departure

Before I spend the next god-knows-how-many posts doing a post-mortem on the LA trip, I should mention that my dear friend Fizzie, partner-in crime, interviewee, and drinking buddy extraordinaire, has finally stopped resisting the call of The Bay and is out as of this weekend. I'm channelling my extreme sadness into a party Thursday night at Sapph. Come one, come all, drink with us!

(I suppose I should say where Sapph is and all that, but as much as I talk about it, if you don't know, I don't know what to tell you!)

The Return

I'm baaaaack.

I touched down circa midnight and I'm exhausted. I'm browner and have a strange desire to wear my cool new sunglasses everywhere though it'd be a real waste of time here. The grand plan for Tuesday, the last day before I go back to the grind, is sleep and apartment browsing. And voting, natch.

I see y'all were here looking at something or another for the past week and change, but did anyone actually miss me while I was gone, goddamit? Sheesh.