June 2005 Archives

Oh yeah, I forgot I should be posting..

I know I'm old when I think to myself, "oh yeah, school's out. Now, I can leave the house later because the little assholes aren't clogging up the train!" Yet later in the day mentally remark, "ugh...why are you shits so loud on the streets? Year-round schooling!" Happy summertime...

Besides that, we're broker than broke. And in a mood. We're slacking in life lately. It's more fun to lounge about and nap with the fan on level 2. The weekends are too short. We've got big projects that we're working on with the potential to be awesome or totally disastrous. We have a whole list of things that we want so badly, we dream about them. We're not really sure why we're using the royal pronoun, but we're going with it. The family still thinks we're blimp-sized which is why we only check in once a year. We can put ourselves down just as well, thanks. Pass us some more pizza.

We'd like it to be 10 degrees cooler. And somehow unearth a hundred or so to make the crunch less painful. But, summer is our favorite season because most things worthwhile are free. A good bit of luck and we'll be solid again.

ETA: To keep y'all entertained, here's a fun little thing I've unearthed from the depths of Helga. It's a blast from the past snippet of a interview that I did with dear friend/rock star Alex senior year when I actually believed I could focus long enough to write something -- and that I never did get around to transcribing. For the record, I don't think I've giggled since that much in my whole life. I'm not really known as giggler. I also hate the way I sound on recordings, but that's neither here nor there.

So, if I've decided that I'm out of my present place by the end of July (despite getting a nice raise!), new job or none, would I be crazy or fucking crazy? Anyone need a media office bitch?! I can crunch numbers and talk on the phone and write really well! Le sigh.

I'm around Port Authority on a Thursday night pushing 11:30. After a day feeling subdued, I was ready for something different to pass the time with. I had made tentative plans to meet up with a newish kid and there we were in the club basement, apparently some of the only few showing up for the show without been dragged. The group was a baby Battles on a jazz tip. I meant to find out the name, but I was too occupied feeling semi-awkward. A rum and cran. And another. And another. The idle curiosity had gotten the better of the bartender by then.

"I've never heard of anyone ordering that before," he said with a smile.
I smiled back, glancing at the kid standing to my right at the corner of my eye. "Yeah, my friend made it up and I'm running with it."
"I think I'll try it." He pours my drink and a thimble for himself. I hand him my money with another smile and consider if I should wait or not before I drink.
He comes back and we do a cheers.
I monitor his facial expression, amused. "It's an acquired taste."
"It's okay...it's different. Maybe I'll make it a special. I need something to call it. What's your name?"
"Candice."
He moves down the bar and I follow, moving closer to the kid yet still talking. I consider having pangs about being a bad fake-date, but then again, it's not like I give a shit about things like that. He throws out names and they're silly but I still smile. Someone else comes to the bar and he's pulled away. I turn back to talk to the kid and say "bartenders like me because they know I'll spend a lot of money." Soon after, we head off upstairs. I see the bartender walking around with people, looking as if he was off for a cig and some air. It was one of those times I wished I smoked.

Friday night circa too late found me in the midst of bottlepoppingsville. I'd given up the boredom of wandering around aimlessly for hanging with C and a different kind, that of feeling simultaneously above and outside this shiny world that once upon a time I thought only existed in videos. All the girls are rocking the long hair, high heels, bare skin, and clothes from the Cute(TM) rack. I'm wearing too many clothes, feeling short, and hating that with all the square footage in this place everyone still only had one or two places to walk, currently right into me. Hanging with C always ends up a strange sort of adventure. She's always networking and gravitates towards the trendiest things there are. She's high strung, marvelling at it all and I'm low-key. Been here, done this.

She runs around talking to the guys that I would've simply stared at all night doing nothing. That I have been in fact. It's making me feel frustrated. I think how I have looks and charm but no initiative where she is all Id and I'm envious. I point out one who could've strolled out of central casting for would-be love interest. He's got a "Got Grits?" shirt and that might be the funniest thing I've seen all night. She runs up to him and manically chats him up as I chime in and smile shyly in the corner. After a min or two, he walks away. She turns to me and says, "obviously, he's not worth it. He didn't look at my titties once!" Right.

Saturday, I'm scavenging in the kitchen for a non-empty bottle. I'm at a Wes kid party, surprised by the low turnout and wondering how long I'll give myself before I break out. This girl is standing next to me and she suddenly launches into chatter. I fucking hate small talk. I'm no good at it. But, I make the attempt to make the appropriate noises. She hears I went to Wes and turns out to know someone I do vaguely and that kicks her up a notch.
"Wes boys are so hot!" she says and I look at her like she's nuts. Erm, has she looked around this apartment? Not too exciting.
"I loved that place," she continued. "I went to visit one weekend and I got so much ass."
"Uh, that's great," I mutter non-committedly. Fucking oversharing drunkie.
"Like it was nuts, I went to this one party and I was getting head on the fire escape!"
"Hmm. Well, sounds like your weekend was more exciting than my first year and a half."
She goes on and on and on about her sexploits and I wish I had an IV and some rum because I'm not nearly drunk enough for this shit. After too long, I see an escape route and run to get cornered by a girl who wants to talk about work for the next half hour or so. What the fuck? This is why I avoid these people.

Since I was tired of being taunted by my ever-expanding list of links when I didn't update for a min, I've revamped that whole side. Links can now be found here where you can marvel at my Dreamweaver shoddiness. And as soon as I figure out how to set it up, I'm gonna do a side blog thingy for links and such. Aren't I just special?!

Oh, the projects you can come up with when you're too lazy to clean your apartment!

To bring a bit of lightheartedness back to these parts, music talk!

My favorite artist that no one else seems to have ever heard of is Shawn Lee. Arthur Russell for the '00s, people! Stop sleeping! I first heard of him circa 2002 when I was addicted to net radio stations (and had my own broadcast for a second there) and the stations I listened to were always playing him, Jeff Buckley, and Daft Punk, kickstarting my obsession with all three. A bit of backgrounder:

[He] will be known to breaks n'beats collectors as the man behind "The Ape Breaks" and "Planet of the Breaks" series which were sampled by everyone from Guru to The Gorillaz. As a multi-instrumentalist and singer he has played and recorded with a diverse range of artists including Coldcut, Leeann Rhimes, Martina Mcbride, UNKLE, Tony Joe White, Chateau Flight, The Dust Brothers, St. Etienne, Jeff Buckley, Bomb the Bass, The Spice Girls, and Natasha Atlas not to mention solo records for Talkin Loud and Wall of Sound imprint We Love You.

This song should totally be on the soundtrack to a Cake or Sweet Action party -- well, the one in my dreams where there aren't pasty and/or teenage looking boys thinner than me: Fannypack, "On My Lap."

In the latest of instance of ILM reminding me I really love a song, Change, "Glow of Love."

And the song I wish Trapped In The Closet Part 5 had been: The Persuaders, "Thin Live Between Love and Hate."

I think it is in the parents handbook how to be frustrating with a loving touch. The three 'rents are freaking out over the weight thing. Yes, I'm well aware I've gotten rounder, thanks for making me more self-conscious. "What happened to my slim daughter?" Mr. Daddy said yesterday at dinner, followed by his Eddie Murphyesque laugh that makes me want to punch something. He said the last time he saw me almost two weeks ago my face was all puffy and he decided then that I needed a talk. First of all, I've never been slim and it frustrates me that they can't see that I've realized that I let myself go and have been losing, only that I weigh "too much." I've deduced that their vision of an ideal me was when I was half-insane, stressed out, and wound up circa the emotionally disastrous DC semester when I was too depressed to eat and that yearbook summer after graduation when I was practically locked in a room working to finish and come home, bingeing on whole pizzas when I was too weak to focus any more. But, they wouldn't know that those times are nothing to emulate. Keeping secrets is the family way.

The dinner had been months in the making. It was supposed to be the joint birthday dinner from three months ago. But I'm busy and I live in the city and he's busy and he lives upstate, so it took a minute to get our schedules in sync. We went for duck in Chinatown as we just about always do and had the typical conversation. "What've you been up to?" "Nothing." "You still hanging out late and down there on the Lower East Side? For whatever reason. It's not too safe down there as I remember." "Not really. It's lame now. Nothing really goes on there." "You've been thinking of going back to school yet? Might as well do it now before you get tied up in stuff." "No. I still hate school plus I don't think they accept IOUs. And I still don't know what to study." "You could always get a master's in..." "Don't start with the teacher thing." "Well, what do you want to do anyway? "I don't know." "Maybe you should apply for a federal or state job." "Ugh...everyone I know with one hates it." "Depends on the one you get. They're not all bad." "I already hate my job. I don't want to get a worse one." "Everyone hates their job. Might as well make a lot of money." "I'd rather do something I want to do." "Like what?" "I dunno." I can't really think of how to say that I just want to take time off for myself to write that novel sitting in my head, but I feel trapped by worrying about money and staying afloat all the time. I also wish I could strike it rich in the lottery but can't afford to funnel money towards tickets.

And there was a black cloud hanging over our dinner because it's family death season again. My dad's cousin had a fatal heart attack at 40. In yesterday's conferring session between my dad and uncle, it was revealed that the guy had a heart condition, was working two jobs to keep up on child support payments, and checked into the hospital Saturday and didn't call his mother until Tuesday to lie that he was on vacation. He didn't want to worry her because his brother is fighting colon cancer and not looking too good. He was always the secretive loner type, my father says. The brother called around to alert everyone before they even told my aunt about it and she found out when a cousin fucked up and called her to offer his condolences. My uncle and father tutted that everyone knows that the last thing you would think to do is call her. I gravely said to Mr. Daddy that I hoped he'd never go off to do something like that without telling me first, but now I remember that unfortunately it's family protocol. When I was seven, I went to California for the first time for a week and change and when I came back, my grandmother was dead of liver cancer and buried. And I didn't even know she had been sick. Is that fucking depressing or what?

I'm sitting at work, thinking of how tired I am of being an automaton but feeling stuck on what to do. The other week, I liberated the bass from the upstate closet and it's sitting next to my bed, calling for me to be dedicated this time around. My notebook is the first thing I see when I rummage through my tote looking for things. My apartment walls are still bare after six months and I'm trying to visualize how I can make it more like a home. I've been listening to albums, thinking about how to twist those bite sized impressions into sentences. I need to spend less time considering and thinking and more time doing. It might be morbid (but understandable considering the surrounding events), but the only thing I fear right now is being dead tomorrow with nothing to show for 24 years but a messy room, broken relationships, and dark secrets waiting to be unearthed. I'd rather fail living my dreams than be a failure at life.

Music To Dream Myself Away From Work With:

Savath and Savath, "Te Quiero Pero Por Otro Lada"
Handsome Boy Modeling School, "I've Been Thinking feat. Cat Power"
Jamie Lidell, "Multiply"
33Hz, "Hot Flashes"
Metro Area, "Machine Vibes"
Turin Brakes, "Above The Clouds"
Shawn Lee's Ping Pong Orchestra, "Brooklyn"
Four Tet, "Sleep, Eat Food, Have Visions"
Masters At Work, "I Can't Get No Sleep feat. India"
Sam Prekop, "On Such Favors"
Gaz Nevada, "Secret Agent Man"

To all those lovely people who say I look like I'm losing weight, I kiss you! (And the check is in the mail.) I actually am though. It's been too hot to stick to my winter/spring diet of cheeseburgers 24-7 and I've been wandering around town with a mega bottle of water trying to breaking in the flyest of the new sneaks. At the Tortured Soul show Saturday night, I almost delivered some beatdowns when drunkies were stepping on them. Dude, you can't fuck up my pristine sneakers! Give it a week and I won't care then!

Over the tail end of the weekend, I was telling everyone my epiphany: every guy I like (however briefly) falls into two categories. There's the "I'm an artist, I do all sorts of cool things that I don't like to brag about (but you can see it here). You know, you're kinda snarky. I think it's cute. Wanna get drunk/watch me brood?" (see: Farmer, K, The Director, The DJ). Or the "I enjoy the sound of my own voice to the exclusion of everything else. Aren't you fascinated by my neverending, so illuminating opinions? I'm so fucking brilliant! Well, what do you think? Er...hold up. Listen to this..." (see: Shady, Mr. Scenester, Crackhead) Apparently I pick guys like I'm still in HS. Damn that late bloomer thing! It's not a totally left field thing though. Is it wrong for me to like overblown, more focused versions of myself? They're at least interesting until I get bored with the whole episode.

Yeah. Is it not obvious that I won't be settling down until sometime around 2016?

Tag. I'm it.

Total volume of music files on my computer: On my computer, 18.53 GB (which still seems low) and 10GB on my 20 GB Zen.

Last CD I bought was . . .: I haven't bought a CD in years seriously. The last were probably Prefuse 73, Extinguished and Stone Temple Pilots, Thank You circa holiday season 2003. The last CD procured in erm, a not so legal way was Shawn Lee's Ping Pong Orchestra, Music and Rhythm last week.

Song playing right now: DJ Funk, "Ass & Titties"

Five songs I listen to a lot these days: Jamie Lidell "Multiply;" Four Tet "Smile Around The Face" (both especially because of the June/July XLR8R...marry me, Kieran! Even if you do look a zombie in all the issue pictures!); Shawn Lee's Ping Pong Orchestra "East West;" Dizzee Rascal "Off 2 Work;" Cindy Mizell "This Could Be The Night."

I choose to carry on the meme:
• Jay-V
• Mac
• Camilo
• David
• Stevie Nixed

The one problem I have with the summer is that there's nothing to hide under. Perhaps it's the latent tomboy who hates attention in me, but when the heat forces away my sweaters and jeans, I feel doubly exposed. There's the obvious level where I have to confront the feelings in my own head having my flesh out there and resist the urge to wear a jacket no matter how hot it is. Then there's the cause and effect of stripping away layers and skin exposed drawing the stairs. I got whistled at by a truck driver crossing the street yesterday at lunch. It bugged me to hear him still talking as I tried to suppress the urge to rip his throat out and thinking to myself: "well, I guess I should be used to it by now." I don't want to be used to it.

The other day at home, I calculated that I've gained approximately 50lbs in the 6 years I've been out of high school. It's been the evolution from athletically skeletal to the chubby side of average. The numerical aspect is kinda frightening but I don't mind really. I'm prone to fluctuations and I've been in a losing period lately. Which no doubt will probably be hastened by the summer. On the street, I'm sick of watching them watch me being barely restrained by things that used to be looser. I feel like a steak on a plate. And I just quit my gym. Time to buy a bike to ride around the park on!

Ugh...if I hear about another girl my age or younger getting/being engaged, I'm going to scream...isn't that "everyone around but me is getting married!" angst something you're supposed to be able to wait until at least late twenties for?! I'm not even dating anyone -- and that doesn't bother me (most of the time) -- so the pressure is just annoying. It's strange to say, but thank god most of my friends are like me in that respect because if one of them went all Bridezilla, I'd freak out. 'Cause it's all about me, me, me ! No non-singles in my vicinity...except for Lina, but that's complicated. Of course, I kid...sorta.

Anyways, the other week, the whole company was corralled into going to see a teenie movie since the book was written and then the movie produced in house. All of the other divisions of my company are so much more fun that mine! I'd basically gone kicking and screaming since it was required, but it was a damned good movie. Don't tell anyone this, but it actually made me cry a bit. Sob...don't die, little girl! Sob...you've remarried and made a new family, but what about me?! Sob...I thought sex would fill a hole in my soul but it didn't! Sob...this movie is hurting my cold heart! Sob! I'm a closet sap. I totally admit it. And I want to see The Perfect Man...on cable one day, just so I can be happily sappy in the comfort of my own home.

I'm attempting to work on my first review type thing ever -- and because I'm a clown, the focus list of one album would be the one that I can not track down to save my life. Both of my trusty pirating methods failed me. (If you've got it, give a holla.) I'm off trying to force myself to think of an alternative. Le sigh. ETA: Hot damn! Found it! Viva La Slsk!

In the meantime, I dragged myself down to National Wholesale Liquidator and bought a fan. Everyone in the store, street, and train looked like they wanted to bumrush me for it. Chill, y'all, it was only $14! Go get your own! And now that we're not burning up, we can go back to room dancing with today's slk spoils: Dizzie Rascal, "Off To Work." (original | instrumental | remix instrumental | craptastic video on some timewarp Big Daddy Kane shit) It's reminded me that I've always wanted to drop anchor in the LDN, but with no money and skills, hella unlikelier than just about anything else. I shall continue living vicariously I suppose.

I almost forgot that the whole point of this blogging thing is to you know, blog.

The weekend highlights: Domestic errands. Battle of the Bands. Being amused by fave band is gone! (WTF?!) I was too much of a lazy bum to see Sam Prekop's two Mercury Lounge dates (Boo at me). The cat and I laid in the dark trying not to move so we wouldn't pass out from the heat.

I haven't been up to much: obsessing about Trapped In The Closet, trying not to melt in the oven otherwise known as my apartment, loving that I can leave the sweater and scarf at home, masterplanning a summer trip that won't break the bank (I'd love to go to this but the fucking airfare is like $700+! Le sigh.), and breaking the news all over the place that I'm pretty certain that I'll be jumping town to LA once the fall/winter rolls around. It's hit the stage that I'm semi-amused by the jawdrops and "you're joking?" Apparently, I'm the last person they'd expect to leave town. Despite it being *New York City*, it's home and I'm more than ready to fly the nest. I mean, I love this town -- I've had good times here and great experiences, but I'd also like the chance just to restart everything somewhere else to see if I sink or swim. I'd rather go to a new city and totally fail than stay here my whole life and always wonder. Also, this city is definitely not going anywhere and who knows if I'll ever have the chance to be as free to go wherever I want again.

But besides that, I'm just bored with being around here. This town brings out all my base bad habits. I need a change of scenery. Of course, that plan is down the tubes unless I learn how to drive, natch. My biggest challenge is probably saving up money. And I'm not ruling out finding another/better agency job here since I've kicked up my search from halfhearted. I would also say there's the dim possibilty of meeting someone who would make me stay in town, but a) I'm a coldhearted cynic b) I've exhausted my own patience for even caring about crap like that c) I'd probably leave anyway. My cousin is off in LA this summer doing an internship and the plan is to visit and scope out the place. The current plan is a December/January exodus. We'll see how it plays out.

The more disjointed than usual edition.

The Black Feminism blog shall be the first new link added when I stop being lazy and get to restructuring those sidebar links. Just on the first page, reference to the B-Girl Be Summit, a word on the Wait/Voice controversy, and Lil Kim the class.

I found myself rather confused a few weeks back when I got an email from the long-dormant Jamiroquai mailing list about a new single. Jay Kay finally got his shit together and stopped being a sniffer meglomaniac long enough to make some music?! Fucking A! The new song is meh, but hell, I'll see them if they tour NYC. So, I was just amused to see that Jay got a whole item (3rd down) in the gossip columns. Until I noted that former crush/would-be baby daddy Stuart Zender got some inches too:

Meanwhile, Jay Kay's former bandmate Stuart Zender has been taken under the wing of a hot new music manager: Leo DiCaprio.

The "Aviator" star digs the sound of Zender's new group, Leroy, so much that he bankrolled their demo. He's even let the bassist crash at his L.A. mansion now that Zender's split with his wife, ex-All Saint Mel Blatt.

DiCaprio's faith may be paying off.

We hear Geffen Records head Polly Anthony is close to signing Leroy.

Former ANTM winner Eva fired as an Apple Bottom spokesgirl. Well, there's a shocker! A woman with no ass isn't the right promotional fit for jeans made for women with ass. What are the odds?! But the most notable thing in this blurb, is Janice is out of ANTM! What the fuck?! Janice makes that craptastic show! Tyra got her horse weave sewed in too tight. Ah well, I and you blog readers can relive my "vintage" first hand account of the lovely craziness.

Man Man interview over at The Stycast.