March 2005 Archives

We met when I was a lamb in a mountain goat disguise. He flashed that wolfish smile and I started to shake behind my bravado. I learned how to hide better as time went on.

Lining up on paper doesn't mean jack in real life. I learned to appreciate being grounded and built a poseur meter to see when I was getting out of line.

Sometimes you just have to roll with what feels fresh and interesting at the time. I know now how to guard that Achilles' heel and never let them see me sweat. But, occasionally I admit also to that other L word.

I can barely remember his face as time has passed. Sometimes it's just better that way. I hate that this applies to more than one.

He helped hone my bullshit detector and showed me what I didn't want to be. He taught me to be vigilant about surface relationships and to see behind the flash. It took me a long time to stop being jealous of him and his fabulous life. He made it look so easy until I figured out the secrets.

You can't judge a book by its cover. I learned to fly under the radar while staying in plain sight. It just works better that way.

I've remembered dreams I thought were way behind me on the road with him. It's hard to love and hate and admire and disdain all at once, but it's easier when someone loves you for all your nonsensical inconsistencies too.

It's because of him that I'm hyperskeptical of those who are "down." There's a thin line between honest reverence and objectification. Neither is that appealing.

I may aspire to be more stereotypically normal in comparison to other people I know, but not boring like that. I hate it when they whine.

There's the exciting and vague hint of danger and there's "being with you might get my stupid ass killed." Sayonara, son.

Sometimes you're just so far off track that you need to be jolted back to reality. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. I am weary, let me rest.

I think the most annoying thing about the conference week (yeah okay, I'm about to run out of steam on that tip. You know me, I'm a roundup maniac) was seeing all the acts that need to be getting some critical acclaim but someone is dropping the fucking ball. I'd give anything for 3 Killa Kela articles to every fucking M.I.A. cover.

Especially since I don't give a fuck what every critic and ILMer under the sun says. I've seen her for myself. She fucking sucks. You can crow about her talent (that screechy fucking voice! give me a break!), dancing (worse than a spastic toddler), beauty (if you like that butterface steez), and her exoticness (cause we all know that brown but not like black is what's really good). I was pretty fed up with the circle jerking bullshit before I left but to get down there and see all the covers and album reviews and articles and the hype amount to balls was too much for me to bear. That shit was making me sick. I thought my head would explode. *deep breath*

Besides that though, it was all fun. Wandering through the Raleigh [when I get some real money, it's so on there!] Friday looking for panels, C and I ran into the man I went all the way to Montreal to see 4 years ago. He's super wee, but so awesome. [Getting stuck down in Florida an extra day made me miss the album release party (though I could've sworn Return To V has been out for ages) last night.] Going back the same way afterwards, we saw Ben Watt who blew the hell out of the place the Wednesday night. Through the weekend, I wondered if there were any music people left in England. The drum and bass crew were representing massive -- we heard that the World of Drum N' Bass party was a rager but we were wary about spending $60 and running to downtown parts unknown in the middle of the night. I caught 33Hz Wednesday night and what I remember of that night, it was good. That was my only nighttime bender because I woke up around 6am in my hotel room bed totally clueless of about 5 hours. That's never a good sign. So after that, I kept my drinking to double fisting it at the M3 evening parties.

True to me, I had the most fun running around with randoms. Friday night, I was running with the d'n'b heads up and down South Beach, marvelling at the super dope hotel stays everyone else was having and flirting extra tough with the Brit boy. You'd think they'd spent all their time pouring over Car and Driver and dealership windows cause they would freak the fuck out at the sight of every stylish car rolling down the way. Miami is crazy with the flashy cars. My personal fave: the old Monte Carlo running on 26's -- and I only know that because there was a decal bragging about it in the window. C and I got to doing our best Chris Rock impressions earlier in the week ("Look at 'em spin, nigga! They spinnin!"). Sunday night, I rolled into a crazy tech house party with kids dancing on the floor -- literally. Momentarily, I thought I'd like to have whatever they were on and thought better of it. Do we like dancehall and garage in our house music? Yes indeed. C has thinking over the idea of launching a grime, ghettotech, brazilian booty bass, and dancehall party for the summer. Says she: "We need a place with a stripper pole and once you bring the girls with the big booties to the place, everyone else will follow." I can't argue with that. I think it can be a hit as long as we keep the corny non-dancing ass hipsters out the loop. We've got our long term focus on.

"New York...just like I pictured it! Skyscrapers and everythang!" If you can identify that line, you can go get a cookie. You deserve it!

I touched down at LGA circa noonish, starting my journey at 4:30am in MIA. The extra day wasn't quite as flip as my last post by far. True to form, I had another travel disaster just when I began to breathe easy. Missed my flight out yesterday afternoon and got screwed on catching the last one out of town on that airline. Back to Miami Beach I went. The hysterics faded as I holed up in a hotel for cheap with some delicious Cuban food and quality time with my two current fave albums on the Zen. I fucking adore that town and wish I had money to set up shop there. Meanwhile if you notice me, brushing up on my Spanish, that's why.

The trip was awesome -- if only for the people spotting and musical hodgepodge alone. I spent so much time cruising and walking around listening to music. Miami is like a perma NYC summer with music blasting from everywhere. They actually have good radio stations! I've returned wanting to consume everything -- breaks, ghettotech, acid house, grime, soca, samba, and shit that I don't even know the name of. My mind was blown by everything I saw and did and I love that it all was so relaxed compared to the frantic unfulfilling nights around here in town. I'm super brown and the smile is enormous. I feel fantastic.

And the fact that spring finally arrived really does not hurt. I also know I'll probably be miserable again before the week is out, but I'm trying to savor this before reentering the grind tomorrow. It was so good while it lasted.

Miami is so much fun I've decided to stay an extra day...or something like that. Y'all don't mind, do you? I'll be back one of these days.

We've reached the quiet stage of the trip. Last night M3 ended in a big blast of a concert with Tortured Soul, Los Amigos Invisibles, Slam Dunk, Louie Vega, Eric Kupper, and Cirque de Soleil on some synchronized swimming tip. I floated around spinning with the ultra technicolor dress, working the strut, looking for something more than the crowd I was wandering with. I've been thinking to myself that I probably would've liked to have been one of the many catching their shuttles to the flights, sunglasses on and head slightly pounding from the hijinks. I got my headache yesterday from too much time in the sun and not enough sleep, but I had the energy on mid because it was only the halfway mark after all. I feel like I've been here for weeks, but I know the second I reach the NYC shores, it'll feel like I could've stayed so much longer. The grass is always greener and all that.

Last night, we spotted The DJ who we'd seen once so far, though he's running the same trip time we are. We got gobsmacked with why he's made himself scarce and we couldn't help but feel the sting. It's something I couldn't shake off and it's still bothering me. Hmm...could that be related to the present trip blahness? Might be. I confirm or deny nothing. Meanwhile, we need another beach trip because all dispatches from NYC has us believing the sun will never shine there.

We're in rockstar mode -- or perhaps sunshine warrior mode -- getting super crisp and rocking the light fabrics. I haven't worn a skirt in like a year before this but I've worn dresses like every day.The game is to be sold not told. No pictures please.

We stopped into the actual M3 Summit happenings yesterday and caught a panel or two (including the putting on live shows panels moderated by this guy. After the panel, I asked the Vice Records guy re: his comment about feeding music to blogs in order to break them if he didn't worry about further narrowing the buying audience of the music he's trying to get decent sales for. I mean, come on, bloggers get their shit for free so they're not buying anything. Even I get free music and bullshit and I'm not even a music blogger per se. Then again never underestimate the force of sheeple looking to be told what's cool I suppose. Speaking as that disillusioned blogger, this net shit is overrated) and also checked out the high tech phones that Verizon will be rocking three years after everyone in 2010. I love my service but get with technology people! I also can't sign on to the phone/mp3 player/datebook/camera/toaster/electronic bulter model because I'm a clumsy motherfucker and it will be broken within the week. Reason #498 that I love my Zen: takes a licking and keeps on ticking! I drop it on the cold concrete once a week at least. Can an iPod do that shit? Me thinks not, dun.

We've been happy dialing/emailing folks from our phone. Aaron The Outer wrote us back with the fat attitude and the snideness of "awesome. can i expect to read this conversation on your blog soon? maybe you'll use an internet cafe...stop calling me 'dunny.' christ." Someone's a little testy! How you like that snow, dunny? We're on some 2001 shit. You can't kill the focus! We've also got an appointment at our house next week with the fit one from the U.K. and Deadwood Season 2 episodes to date. Wikkid!

I think the scariest part about the trip so far is that we're only at the halfway point and I feel like I've been here for a month. Now that is a fucking vacation.

We're down here getting crispy and having a ball. We met a crazy Brit who wants to move down here together -- we're both media people, we're a lost breed! But, we might pass because we laid eyes on the glorious first Mr. Kittypower, otherwise known as Adam F. Our husband was doing a Q&A, patiently enduring the questions of the magazine person. I think it's pretty sad to be a high on the masthead editor of an electronic magazine and to not only be inarticulate as a motherfucker but to ask with a straight face "so, you do drum-n-bass? Hmm...what's that about?" I would've been embarassed for her if it wasn't so
infuriating. C and I joked about bumrushing the stage and coming out with our own Qs. "So Adam, have you heard that old adage 'once you go black, you never go back?' Any thoughts or comments on that one? Are you single? Looking for a girl or two to fill that open partner slot? Are you big on ass-smacking?" We don't even like blonds, but we like him.

Besides that, we've been checking the shows. Greenskeepers were pretty much bomb-like (Coban could be the crazy secret son of Eric Burdon. Catch the "Spill The Wine" video on VH1 Classic and you'll be like "whoah!") and we had a blast dancing in the sand doublefisting the free spirits. I caught an instore by guess W.H.O. She sucks! But I knew that already. I actually went with a pretty open mind hoping the charisma would overpower me and I'd become a believer. No go. It's wrong when you're wishing the background singer/dancer would ditch that other chick and launch her own shit. Such is life with hype and the like.

In the middle of the night, I'm off to make my way to a 6:50 am flight. That is a pretty fucking brutal time, but I only paid $209 four days before my trip and a one-way on Jet Blue was about that much. When you're dealing with Hotwire, beggars can't be choosers.

I'm going to Miami for the various conferences, but I think I plan to spend a good chunk of time just vegging on the beach with my notebook. Just like I felt in October before heading to LA, I need this trip. The sun, the sand, the new energy. I've been battling with a heap of things behind the scenes and I just need to take a breather and come back refreshed. I need some major internal/lifestyle restructuring. Believe it or not, I actually really got into writing something today and I'm trying to get it together to send it off. We'll see what happens with that and with me.

Since I'm laptopless, I might not be writing much for the trip duration. I'm sure the world won't stop turning. Adios.

Over on ILM, I spied a thread about the new Ying Yang song and I had to download it for myself. Whoa...cognitive dissonance alert!

After a certain point, you get used to powering off the brain at the door for club bangerish rap songs. On my playlist right now: "You Owe Me," ""Some Cut," "Say I Yi Yi." "Backpack rap" isn't free of that either: ever listen to the last minute or so of "Train Buffer?" I have been for the past couple of weeks now. Fuck, one of my fave albums of 2002 was Hood Rich. You can say I'm a little used to this stuff.

But, this song takes the cake. I was feeling the beat at first and then they came on with that damned whispering. I can't even put into words yet how I feel about it, but have you ever been dancing and then just got distracted by thinking "what the fuck? no really, what the fuck?" I can't even stay on beat with this one and just start to scowl. "Hey bitch. Wait til you see my dick." It's like the dirty man on the street anthem. But hear it for yourself.

Story first: I'm headed home earlier in the week and I stop into the Chinese takeout place around the corner. I'm stressed out, tired, starving, and just trying to get some food and then camp out in my room. As I'm walking in, a guy is with his friend in front of the bodega next door. He calls out to me and I ignore him to keep going in. I'm standing around waiting to place my order when he comes in. He chatters at me all "what's up girl? did you hear me calling you out there?" and I ghost him and order. He says "don't you want something with that?" and adds rice to my fucking order. I look at him and push back the thought of dredging up that kickboxing training and kicking his stupid ass in the face. The counter guy looks back and forth between us and I clarify that I meant what I said. The pest is actually still talking to me and I tell him get out of my face in two words that sound like fuck off. And he says to me, "I don't know why you have to be so nasty" before he flounces off. No words.

This is staying at the top until March 18th has passed. (Oh, look -- it's here!) It's that time of the year again and I'm not even going to pretend I'm going to keep up on updates. But, I actually did pretty well I think. Even though, some smarties didn't notice that there's been plenty of new stuff right below this. Next week is the birthday (party details forthcoming...I guess) (check. I'm a million years old!), then The Closet, and then I'm off to the WMC.

In all seriousness, come to The Closet! It's gonna be the shizz for real. You can watch me tear my hair out and try not to let my head explode! But there's a lot of cool shit in there that you'll be kicking yourself about missing afterwards.

So basically, KP should be back to something resembling normal in umm...April I guess. Of course, because I just said I probably won't write, they'll be some new shit underneath this since I'm contrary and all. (How right I was!) And if there isn't, imagine me running around like a crazy and probably having fun. Toodles.

Jamirakid: aaron the outer is a fucking dead man
Jay-V: why
Jamirakid: he's got other people saying "oh you're the blogger girl!"
Jamirakid: "my friend aaron told me about you"
Jay-V: lol
Jamirakid: this bartender in 419 who i've been seeing for fucking years said that to me
Jamirakid: i totally recoiled
Jay-V: LOL
Jamirakid: i'm gonna kick his ass
Jamirakid: i also saw shady at aaron's party last night
Jamirakid: with a fucking clone of me in 2002
Jay-V: he's still alive?
Jamirakid: apparently
Jamirakid: he's so fake. "oh how are you? we should catch up blah blah"
Jay-V: well what did you want him to say?
Jamirakid: "fuck off, bastard. a) i'm on the phone b) stop playing"
Jamirakid: he made such a production of it
Jamirakid: a drive by "hi" would've done well enough, thanks
Jamirakid: and that girl wasn't really a clone
Jamirakid: a) she was ugly too b) she was lame
Jamirakid: mmm...i had a big cup of hater tea today!
Jay-V: lol you sure did!

Good thing I never said I wasn't a fucking bitch, eh? Later on,

I laid on the cool wood, marvelling at the ridiculousness of lounging on the floor simply because I ran out of options. I rested a foot on the stack of pillows crowding the living room and stretched. The door to my room opened behind me sent a shaft of light where I was, but the room was mostly dark. I thought to myself how I'd simply shrug if my roommate(s) came home to see me laying there so stupidly. And perhaps we'd laugh and they'd say "you're weird" and I'd reply "tell me something I don't know!" Through it all, he spoke and I listened.

He probably thought I wasn't listening, but I always do. I was thinking also about how many fake or would-be relationships had crashed and burned with me listening and them talking about something I'd rather not have heard. People like to talk to me. I like to listen. I guess. They feel comfortable with me and they tell me everything. I give the appropriate responses and they talk some more. Occasionally, I chime in for a second and then retreat. And then they talk some more. It's how it works. Surface things need surface chatter. I came up with that rule to be enigmatic. It's a relic from the days when I was too shy/uneasy to put myself out there with someone new. You know, the old days like an hour ago.

I'd rather listen and see what I'm getting myself into. False intimacy makes me unnerved. When I'm unnerved, I put the barricades up and the filters on. I always look the gift horse in the mouth. You can never say I don't learn my lessons. I obviously know how to talk. All these words on the web pages didn't appear from thin air even when they did.

I considered talking last night and also the night before. Instead, I listened and smiled and made response noises. And that was as far as I felt willing to go. I want my voice to have weight and I'm tired of wasting my breath.

The "I'm sorta busy and have a heap of vitrol stored up, but I'd rather be glib since that's better for my blood pressure" edition.

I hear the apostles have a beef with this rival crew led by these dudes called Pilate and Herod. And the dude's got a temper. He smashed up the moneylenders' booths at the temple and shit. Total aggression issues. Except then in interviews he goes on and on about peace and love. I think he smokes a lot of pot.

I've got a secret. In fact several. But, it's more fun for me to be cryptic on here since I may be narcissist but having strangers know all your business is weird. Perhaps I'll send them a postcard.

And the punchline is they couldn't have made this up if they tried.

MUTOMBO: [Sipping a virgin strawberry daiquiri] I like your restaurant, Yao. It's made for 7-footers and guys like Patrick Ewing, who is really 6'9". [Ewing has always been listed as 7 feet.]

EWING: Hey, I may be 6'9", but I'm a bad 6'9". And what about you? When I first met you, you told me you were from Zaire.

MUTOMBO: No, Congo. [Zaire was renamed the Democratic Republic of Congo in 1997.]

EWING: How many languages do you speak, seven?

MUTOMBO: I speak Ebonics now, so eight. Yao, do you speak Ebonics? [Yao shrugs.]

* KP Disclaimer: Whenever I come out boldly against anything on a definitive thought basis, I'm bound to change my mind immediately afterwards. (This only applies to "I think"/"I feel" type statements.) I'm flightly as hell and beyond that, those declarations are good for making something happen to make me wish I never wasted the breath in the first place. (My forbidden phrase is "what else could happen?" because that usually makes things worse.) So, know that and understand it. Thanks. The Management *

What I was really complaining about the other day in regards to parties and their non-fun is a lack of the zany randomness that used to punctuate nights out and about. I need occasional assurances that I'm not the only weirdo in the world.

I had a couple birthday non-parties last week. The first at The DJ's night where having cute guys hug me so well was a present in itself. PrincessNella and Anthony conferred to choose for me which guy spoken so much about got the Friend Seal Of Approval. They picked the surprising one and it's good to know, but as usual, I'll do my own thing. I saw The Outer again (not surprising being that it's his party too) and he pronounces my AIM name totally wrong which annoys me. It's like Jamiroquai minus the -oquai plus -akid. Then again, if he knows enough to blow up my spot off of one misuttered word, he probably knows that and is just being a jerk. I take my AIM very seriously, goddammit. Friday, the kids came over and we stood around in my kitchen and ate that fucking good $30(!) strawberry cheesecake from Junior's. And I ripped a rack out of the wall in a semi-drunken wrong grab. Then, we walked out into the mini-blizzard and I discovered my neighborhood summer hangout spot. It doesn't get any better than cheap and around the corner, folks.

Last night, I found myself rolling out the house at almost 1am which is becoming par for the course when I've decided to keep the night in BK and not too far away from me. I'm into all these places sorta near my house (meaning a nabe or two away). So far I've been mostly popping up in Clinton Hill. The last blah night out had me going from a new Marquee-esque place by the Navy Yard and this chill spot where I got an African dance show(!) in the middle of the party. Then again, both places (well, maybe not the first) were super cool. I'm just a jaded asshole.

I ventured to the Clinton Hill/Williamsburg border and was amused to feel like I was transported back to a party at Wes or something. What do you get when you combine fresh faced Pratt kids with late 20s/early 30-somethings with an art collective space? A good fucking party, that's what. I spent the first bit of time there semi-apprehensive. A million little rooms -- but bands and a few massive dancefloors made up for the ultracliched sidecafe with bad poetry. Ever notice when people reading poetry that really sucks that they're all doing that hyperaffected tone? It makes me want to maim for real.

The second person I recognized at the place was The DJ. On some movie shit, the crowd parted just so and we saw each other. He gave me a wave and I waved back. I ran into him periodically as the night went on. Unless WMC brings things to a head or some miracle, I'm about ready to let that one drop. The first person I recognized was B whose band I was there to see. I've been rocking their gifted EP and popping up at their shows/DJ nights because I'm a fan. I've come to the conclusion that it's the '80s throwback clothes that make him look like Leisure Suit Larry because the resemblance was back for me. I dared not mention it again because he was a bit salty about that the last time.

ETA: The best part which I almost forgot. I was standing around in the bathroom line when I got into a conversation with this random (like I'm known to do). We're shooting the shit and he's like "I'm David, I DJ." I'm thinking *yawn* who isn't nowadays but me, but I say "oh really?" He drops his name and I go superfan spazz as I do everytime something like this happens. You'd think I'd be used to it by now. The funny thing is we actually met before in my Wes days when I was hanging with Mr. Scenester for a min, but it was a two second thing and I'm sure I look astronomically different. He handed me a flyer for his party this week and I chimed "oh, I already know about that." (Bugz! Squee!) He introduced me to his girlfriend Kitty and I repeated it lamely at her because I couldn't believe an adult could be named that, but she told me it's a nickname for something I forgot. The kicker though was when I was all "yeah I've been listening to a lot of [eh. check the link] lately." He sorta winced. *buzzer* I lose. It's bad form to be bringing up people's ex-wives at a party. Minus points for me.

I found myself bouncing all around, making friends with randoms. Dancing, drinking too much, wandering, laughing, just having a good time. I'll be bold and say that the stupidest sounding thing a guy can ever ask is "can I kiss you?" It is guaranteed a smirk and I've been known to come out with a "no" and then walk away just to be as ridiculous as that question. You could've colored me shocked that I emerged from the place at 6:30am. The light hurt my eyes! In a drunkie state, I decided to look for food and a good old crosstown bus. I was successful on the food front (mmm...White Castle!), but before I knew it, I had walked home from Flushing Ave. Ah well. I need the exercise since I'm on "Getting Back The Beach Body!" mode. I've got nine days, people!

That new leaf apparently meant Junior's strawberry cheesecake out the box, sweats, and an IM marathon. I think I need to rethink that. My pants can't handle it. Plus it's boring. Ho hum. Back to the drawing board...

I think what I really need to work on is impulse control...and getting rid of some Catholic guilt I picked up by osmosis. My life is ruled by too many binaries. I = reserved, boring, full of ideas, needing the push. I'm drawn to those arrogant, loud, full of energy, exploding everything in their path. I like people who are what I'd like to be and would rather gloss over flaws and warning signs because I've got baggage of my own. I decided somewhere along the line that I can be as obnoxious as I want to be on the inside, but it's better to have people around openly doing the bad things I can be contrasted with and made to look better next to. While I do all kinds of more screwed up shit undercover.

Most of the people I know fall into the category of squares or crazies. I'm rolling along as an unhinged rhombus. Or I'm just bored and in love with angst and need a stepladder to get over myself. Super likely. But, what's really good?

One day in, 24 can go either way.

In many ways from last year's blowout to now, the excitement died. Right after the party in '04, I went into hardcore job hunting hibernation. I'd spent most of the post-school fall and winter as super temp over at the evil empire (with some funny episodes) and having the best of both worlds: hardly working yet having enough money to finance going out up to 5/6 nights a week (plus the knowledge and skills to leave the house with $20 and come back after a long run with $19). But by March, that was mostly over and I was staring at walls again. Farmer had moved to Florida and I was adrift. I'd spent too much time for comfort in strange places just disassociated from everything. And really I admitted to myself that I was simply bored doing fuck all and wanted to settle down and be respectable.

So, I went and stayed in the house until I landed the job, then I started staying in because I just couldn't hang (often) until 5am and then whip into shape in an hour and change to get to work on time. But, I kept at it because I'm really a night owl and I had to work through my whatever with needing to find something more interesting at all times. Spending 3/4 of my time in the straight world and trying to make some sense out of compressing my running around into bite sized fun has failed miserably. The same parties, the same people, the tired music, the outdated trends, the terrible mismatches. I'm tired of paying in time and currency to stand around and wish I was home. I can't find excitement out there anymore. I was born jaded and my current state is really beyond the pale. As anyone who knows me well is aware, I do the most inexplicably fucked up things out of boredom. (Didn't I used to not smoke? How did I end up in so many strange situations?) I've been cruising towards the brick wall at a steady pace and early this week, I crashed. I'm down here on a heap, so the only way to go is up. What better time to make a real change than the year leading up to my quarter century anniversary?

Here's to foresight and using that undervalued brain in there somewhere underneath all the hair. And less melodrama -- dumbly manufactured and reaction wise -- in 2005.

I've heard this strange rumor that it's my birthday and stuff. So...yeah.

The people at my job, however, heard no such thing. Good thing I hate them already because I do for real now. ETA: My boss forgot and was embarassingly guilty. Should I hold out for a present to be evil? Hehe kidding...not.

Also, my present to myself this year was the first piece of soul-sucking plastic since I chopped them in despair three or so years ago. My first impulse was to go buy jeans. My second impulse was to go wild and buy tix to both of the May Prefuse shows. I. Will. Not. Miss. A. Prefuse. Concert. Again. I forsee financial ruin and/or strange salvation in my future.

The WMC listing I'm most excited by at this moment in time -- subject to change as I keep combing the masterlist:

THE ONITSUKA TIGER INDUSTRY LOUNGE

Presented by: Asics Onitsuka Tiger, the South Beach Group, and UrbanGroove Artist Development

DJs/Performers: Guest DJ Sets All Week By: Radio 4 (Astralwerks), the Fever (Kemado), Junior Sanchez (Cube), parag (haus), the Bravery (Island), Danny Dominguez (Counterflow Recordings), Manuver (Counterflow Recordings), Benzos (Stinky/NYC), Karibomb (Up!/Pianos/NYC), Spencer Product (Black Moustache), Alexander Technique (DJs ARE NOT ROCKSTARS), nihal (Chakra/UrbanGroove/SF), BOYJAZZ (Frenetic), and many more TBD.

Where: The Catalina Hotel & Beach Club, 1732 Collins Avenue, Miami Beach

When: 12pm - 6pm

Price: FREE by invitation only — RSVP by March 21 w/ name and industry affiliation

Details: The ultimate industry retreat. Take a break from the conference madness with food and drinks and guest DJ sets all week long. Grab some brand new Asics Onitsuka Tiger kicks, bags, and gear. Demo games on Nintendo's new DS handheld video game systems, and pick up travel certificates and other goodies from JetBlue Airways. Giveaways and contests all week long!

It's all early 00s up in the Zen today.

In other news, we hate the snow but at least it's not doing it tomorrow like we feared. Instead, it'll be the coldest day of the week! Woo? Also, someone up there got sick of my "I'm fat" talk and thought it amusing to almost blow me into traffic with some wind. Fine. I'm not fat. But, I am big boned which is something those evil scales can't differentiate. And if someone rich is up for some last minute shopping, yes please. For kicks really.

And speaking of Fox Brown, Jay-V IMed today:
Jay-V: foxy brown has a papa john's
Jamirakid: haha are you serious?
Jay-V: thats what wendy is saying
Jay-V: shes reading something about her...i dunno i just turned it on
Jamirakid: funny. what's next: a subway?
Jamirakid: golden krust outpost?
Jay-V: lol i know. will celebs start buying up other chains?
Jamirakid: mariah carey relaunches crazy eddie's!
Jay-V: lol
Jamirakid: "our prices are so low...they're insane! just like me!"
Jay-V: jigga's 99 cent world!
Jay-V: heh apparently foxy owns a papa johns and something else too
Jay-V: i want to say a starbucks but i cant remember
Jamirakid: she owns a dunkin donuts!
Jamirakid: or a krispy kreme!
Jay-V: yes! thats its
Jamirakid: hahahaaha
Jay-V: *it!
Jamirakid: i was really joking
Jay-V: like wtf??
Jay-V: no i really think its a krispy kreme
Jamirakid: that's fucking hilarious
Jamirakid: i'm gonna fall off my chair and get fired!
Jay-V: lol

I think I'm ready to declare 2005 a bust. Yes, I know it's only the second week of March. It just sucks that hard. I've spent the past couple of weeks running around like a wind-up toy about to crash. I'm becoming even more cynical than usual if that's possible. I'm having a repeat of my dentist visits a few months back where I was humming along cluelessly for years and then go to the doctor's to find out that everything is falling apart. Let's say it's nice to be all insured and stuff.

But, my birthday is Wednesday. I guess I'm excited sorta. I'm trying to think about all the glorious cake and chill out. It's gonna be at this party and I'll be the sullen girl -- or perhaps the drunk and happy one, depends on the mood.

Believe it or not, sometimes I actually do pause at the random invites I get. One email that came through last week was for a reception at a furniture store for a chair launch. Do I give a shit about chairs? No. Do I like raffles and open bars? Indeed. So, am I going? Undecided. We'll see how that one plays out.

Friday night, I hung with the friend C in preparation for the immersion in Miami. We met up at Superbar before ending up at a mag launch/concert in midtown. The headliners were this group I went to HS with, several years older. I remember I used to think it was a big deal that they were playing all these shows and opening for cool people. I caught their slot before Slick Rick in '98 I believe and I remember being so underwhelmed. Six and some change years later, the beats are still tight but the flow is still weak. Some things never change.

By the time Saturday night rolled around, I was beat. I had been out way too late almost every night and my mood had been deteriorating as the week went by. I really had to kick my own ass to get to the last Public Enemy panel at NYU -- I was late as shit, but it was really worth the trip. (The response to the record company exec who wanted to know how to "build" consciousness in his artist: "Get a new profession." And the woman who said "I've got to ask two questions since I'm the only sister who got to the mic." The Observer roundup has more jewels including some I missed.) I strolled through Washington Square Park afterwards, excitedly telling Mr. Daddy about the event and setting up a joint birthday trip to our fave spot. I wandered into Kmart and felt perplexed when they said that they weren't selling gloves anymore. Why the fuck not when it's 20 degrees? I think that's way more appropriate than tank tops and flip flops!

I dragged my carcass home and made a big dinner without burning the place down. (Fun fact we got at the lease signing: our building is so old that if there was a fire in our place, our shit would get burned and whatever, but the walls are so thick that the neighbors have nothing to worry about. Woo?) I lounged and considered a nap, checking email and feeling blah until I decided to go out and keep it local(ish). Some folks I sorta know were DJing about a mile away at a place I wanted to check out for a min.

I ran in and got a drink before going off in search of the bathroom. I leaned on the wall and thought that builders need to realize that equality just isn't logical in terms of bathrooms. I feel like I waste hours of my life out and about just waiting on line to get in one. At the far room, I noticed a guy getting pushed out by a disembodied hand. He looked startled but was also grinning madly. Fucking sniffers, I thought to myself with an eyeroll. I looked at him dispassionately as he walked my way until my brain clicked into gear. It was The DJ.

He was newly back from a Caribbean trip, looking refreshed and great. Actually, scorching hot. So fucking hot that it beat my sniffer bias into submission, but not enough for me to be more than my usual blase self. Sometimes I wonder how I'm perceived. I know I definitely run hot and cold. When I like someone, I'm friendly yet a little reserved. But when I'm just kicking it in a non-tension filled sort of way, I can be super chatty and engaged (which then gets mistaken for flirting...blah). So, I like him, but I'm not feeling him per se, since I hardly feel any closer to knowing anything about him than I did back in October. But anyways, that's something for offline chatter which is why I keep getting in trouble/my spot blown up. Because who you least expect is always reading. We chatted about maybe having the birthday party at his night (undecided) and both heading down to the WMC this year. And that was it, more or less.

Monday, I was back in the the thick of event planning and thinking of all these places to hit with flyers and promo. I wish it was possible to just throw flyers in the air and people would just take them. I'm becoming way more anti-social and hermit-like in my old age. Talking to strangers enthusiastically? No thanks. But, part of life is to suck it up and deal. Or so the mysterious "they" say.

But don't mind me, I've got a birthday staring me in the face. I'm another year closer to infirmity and feeling rather disgruntled about it. I still young (natch), but mentally I feel about 124 and I've got to go-go-go for the next few weeks while running on fumes. Perhaps a good night's sleep would change everything.

The "Oy at the job! They gave me back AIM but are now blocking my KP email! Fucking shit!" edition.

The varied history of The Bowery in this week's Voice.

Kristal sounds philosophical about the changes. "The whole Lower East Side is changing," he says. "That new building across the street from me—people say it's so ugly but I think it's a nice modern place. A lot of this neighborhood could be nicer and cleaner. So things are gone, places are gone. You want old stuff? Go to Europe. This is New York."

Kimora goes ganstarrific in today's Page Six:

ONLY a very brave woman should flirt with Russell Simmons. The hip-hop mogul's wife, 6-foot former model Kimora Lee Simmons, repeats over and over again in a profile in next month's Vanity Fair: "I will beat a bitch's ass." Kimora adds: "I don't play that disrespectful ho [bleep]. I have very little respect for those kinds of women. And if I catch you with my man, disrespecting, I will beat your ass."