July 2005 Archives

Hello, lovely readers:

I am currently buried under stacks of print out and folders doing double duty at work (Gotta love the fall rush!) and until August 11th, I'm also digging deep to find some assured sociability to promote for The Closet (linkage forthcoming when I get some time to put on my webmaster hat...le sigh). Expect tumbleweeds for a min. There really aren't enough hours in the day.

But NYC locals: I'm totally up for Taco Tuesday, neighborhood pints, Company's happy hour, wings on W4th, and all of those other episodes that combine chatting and/or eating with some social time because otherwise my head might explode. Visit some of those fine links.

And everyone else can IM me and listen to me complain. Laters.

Love, The Management.

Sometimes I feel like an utter freak because there'll be at least one thing I'll be playing 24-7 and obsessed with that absolutely no one seems to be listening to also. I know for sure it's not because I'm so ahead of the curve or whatever. I just latch on to "bizarro" things and hold on for dear life until I've exhausted myself. I should form an album of the month club so I can spread stuff that seems sadly mostly unknown.

Last month was Shawn Lee. Nowadays, I've sprung off that via his collabo with Chauteau Flight to their album with rap duo La Caution, the album called Crash Test:

It's split between instrumentals and some of those tracks backing La Caution. All raps en francais, so my brain is struggling to translate everytime I listen. "Deserts et Lezards" is a great electro-rap track that would be fun to hear at a party. Stream the album here. Here's "Une Epave Sur La Route Feat Alin Adren"

It's probably a bad sign when I hear about those bloggers getting fired from their jobs and I think "ooh...those lucky fuckers!" I can totally see where that would be Worst Nightmare worthy, but the lazy, creatively-stifled bastard in me thinks that hanging around idily at home would probably be fun for a good two weeks or so, i.e. when I'd start having to worry about bill paying. Besides, I'm not crazy and haven't been slagging off the place per se just the way I feel. (Please take mercy on me, HR!) I actually think my boss would get a kick out of this, especially since it's not like she knows much at all about me after a year and change. The seperation of church and state is not a game in my world.

Wednesday, I forcibly removed myself from in front my keyboard and the fan to go out and meet my neighbors at the happy hour. Me being me (i.e. inexplicably shy and socially retarded), I got as far as the patio door before turning around and running back to the bar -- more than once. I actually ran into one of the few people I met from the hood independently and tried to encourage him and his roomie to come with to the gathering. No dice. I amused myself by standing at the door peeking and trying not to hyperventilate at the thought of saying hello when I was spotted hovering and got a convo struck up with me. And that's all it took really to make me feel okay. I can be so ridiculous sometimes. The site regulars were all totally cool and it was a good time. I definitely drank too much cider and got a little stupid as the night went on, but par for the course I guess.

I sorta stepped into a bit of a trap over on ILE and it's only reminding me of what I already know about myself.

I might be cool and other good adjectives, but I'm not especially nice. I'm selfish, cynical, shallow, and self-centered. And flighty. And I don't particularly care if other people know it. Like I said, not nice.

There's a huge part of me that's like: yeah and so what? I've never really seen the point in pretending to be a Polyanna. At least I'm self-contained and don't go around flinging my shit around and screwing up others. For the most part. Sometimes I end up being a little too honest. I hurt people's feelings occasionally -- and you know, they hurt mine too. I've got enemies and it's just one of those things. I'm well aware of many of my flaws. No one's perfect. And I'm not an active fuckup or anything.

Besides, I'm sure I'll just end up laughing about what a silly I was now in 5 years or so. It always goes like that. And I've come up with another t-shirt idea: "I'm Not A Whore...I Just Play One On The Internet." Maybe I'll wear it and post a pic and they can deface it or something.

To tie back to the last post, the day was spent like most of the weekend: considering the list of activities to do, but mostly being really idle.

I dragged myself to the muddy Summerstage and saw Femi, but I was so disgustingly sweaty that I stood still long enough to inhale a bottle of water and get my body temperature back to normal before heading back off. It was the daytime mirror to Friday night's adventure in Williamsburg (I've spent more time there in the past two weeks than I have in at least a year for sure). Then, I wandered the streets in search of a place I'd been trying to make way to for a few good months and ran into G, Wes friend/former housemate of Tino, Lina, and Alex. He tried to help me but was too stoned to be much use. I reiterated why I generally avoid the hood (too dark and creepy, hardly anyone strolls alone like I do, too many shadows like a horror movie set) and he said that he always felt safe. I considered arguing man vs. woman/self-preservation tactics vs. bubble induced stupidity, but decided it was a waste of my breath. Anyways, I ended up in my destination and chilled to try and stop being a miserable sweaty mess. This random kept popping up to bug me about why I wasn't dancing. Erm...cause I don't feel like it? What do you want? "Don't want to be swept in with the white people embarrassing themselves...haha." Get out of my face. Whatever. "I'm building bridges with you by making fun of my people. I'm so enlightened and self-aware! Aren't you impressed?!" It always reeks of insecurity and annoys me. The Friday guy and the one yesterday at Summerstage had that same overeager "give me a point!" facial expression like puppies looking for a pat. Ugh.

An unrelated episode had me wasting a lot of time talking with this random. A total motormouth spazzy freak. I was searching the whole time for my escape route when he said that he was gonna take off because he didn't really feel any "passion" between us. I almost laughed in his face -- I should've actually. As it was, I was just sorta amusedly dumbfounded. I think he thinks he was rejecting me. He wishes. And a semi-devestating (to my music pride) mistake: "Is this the Erykah Badu live album playing?" "No, it's Miles Davis." *shame*

Faiks and I spontaneously decided to check out a movie last night. It was the first one I've paid to see since...Chronicles of Riddick maybe. As I've gotten older, I don't really do movies...unless it's free/I've gotten passes or catch it while I'm waiting for food in that Chinese restaurant near my house that doubles as a black market new movie seller. We meant to see Charlie and The Chocolate Factory, but apparently Sunday is super movie night and every showing was sold out. We chose Happy Endings instead. I think I've seen the trailer for every indie flick coming out in the next 6 months. The ex-drama geeks had simultaneous orgasms as the Rent trailer played and I snickered. Our movie was really great. It had a lot of heart and drama without being so ridiculously self-congratulating as most indie flicks are. Lisa Kudrow was awesome, but I like her in just about anything that's not Friends. She's got more nuance that you'd expect seeing her in that show.

The movie made me melancholy and I've been thinking ever since about love and hurt and taking chances and whatever. I've been in one of my "bah humbug love" phases lately since couples seem inescapable during the summer. I've been hearing dispatches from England about Farmer so happy with his girl and wandering about almost two months and counting. I noted the other week that Mr. Sailor's been popping back into the brain. I think I'm just bummed about being utterly prospectless and trying to make a clean break from a lot of things. I've got a lot of wonderful friends and new people around that can become friends, but I really miss the heart flutter excitement of building a relationship. And I don't even really remember what they're like. I almost wonder if I missed my chance and didn't even realize it. I dunno. It's just a jumble of stuff.

Look what I found browsing the archives:

Conscious self	Overall self

Take Free Enneagram Personality Test

Still totally spot on.

The weekend's been lovely. Mostly being lazy around the house, trying to get my room clean once and for all. I've been considering tying the cat down and using a Dust Buster on her. Fucking hair is everywhere and the brush provokes kitty panic attacks! I've rarely answered the phone and been laying around mostly. So nice in comparison to the past couple of weeks. Today's extra special plans: Laundry (or not). Summerstage (or not). Apps (or not). Nap (likely).

Because I reserve the right to reverse my opinion on everything every few months, my new thought is: grad school! Eek!

The last time I mentioned anything about long-term planning, I was planning to make the LA move in January (and everyone was highly skeptical). Throwing a bit of a monkey wrench in that is the current job situation because the thought of staying here through then frankly makes want to step in front of a bus. I've been half looking for a new job but ridiculously busy and the thought of finding something great and then packing up and leaving it in 5 months sounds kinda stupid to me. So, I'm not leaving town anytime soon if I get a job here -- I'm still eyeing things on the West Coast, but have made no moves towards driving, so hands tied, etc.

Meanwhile, I've started to kinda miss learning...which might sound a little ridiculous. I've been reading some fun books and thinking about how I really miss arguing in class and formulating theories. Being able to talk with others about what I'm reading and the satisfaction of crafting a really good argument in a paper. Also, I've been feeling kinda assed out on the job front here. It's like I got here after flying blind for years and found out there was a heap of shit I should've been doing in school (like a gazillion internships!) that have put me at a disadvantage. 24 is young enough to spend a year or two circling the wagons a bit. I'm legally responsible for my own education costs, so I can get away with the "but I'm poor and independent" tack and I'm responsibility-free enough to survive a few more lean years.

I'm considering three local programs right now. I could start as early as January, acceptance willing. We'll see what happens. It's just a thought right now.

Today, I'm totally exhausted but really happy. The event was a complete smashing success. Everything I micromanaged went off without a hitch. 300-400 people came out with us to drink, dance, chill, and listen to music in the middle of a fucking laundromat. Hilarious was when I was pitch hitting as a bartender and people spontanteously started tipping. Money for me? Nice!

All around it was awesome. I was a little on edge the first hour and a half, but even I relaxed and had a good time. Thanks a million to Bill and Kelly, Amy, and Oliver. Pictures hopefully TK. Event #2 coming up in about 3 weeks and then The Closet. But first, a weekend of sleeping and turning off my phone. I deserve it.

The big event is tomorrow and I've been running around like a headless chicken all week. Blah blah stress blah blah is it Friday yet? I've been passing my time with some choice songs: Jamie Lidell "What's The Use" | La Caution vs. Chateau Flight "Une Epave Sur La Route Feat Alin Adren" | Handsome Boy Modeling School "First...And Then (featuring Dres from Black Sheep)"

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Loving the new Jamie Lidell. I've glanced at some reviews/chatter and the Jamiroquai comparison bugs me. He sounds nothing like Jay Kay (speaking of him, an AOL music performance of Space Cowboy. I love that leaping little gnome!). It's actually a lot like the AZUR stuff or a male Nikka Costa.

I've been running around like a maniac most of the past week. I might have alluded to it once or twice already, but I'm helping throw a party Thursday night. It's gonna be nutso (hopefully): in Williamsburg, a 6,000 sq feet laundromat by day covered with giant art pieces with a band and a DJ and alcohol sponsorship. It's definitely been a challenge being an event planner in basically the 4 hours of the day not sucked up by work and the rest of my life. It's been seriously dramatic -- I don't even want to say how much (yeah, that's been edited. You might not be crazy after all). It's felt really good and I'm exhausted but hopeful. The friends know I've been cursing up a storm for weeks about it, but I'm secretly loving making sense out of the chaos. I'm off to jump back into it. Of course, this won't be the last anyone is hearing about this. Wish me luck.

I read Rules of Attraction last week and it turned me into more of a hater than I am usually. (Imagine that!) In the same way that my overdue freedom from Wes turned me into a dancing vampire (for a min anyways), a book sending up the inanities of GOSPLACs has me on a residual anti-pretentious bit. Less syllables, less words. I, of course, am exempt because I'm running this show. It pays to be the boss.

I rang in the 4th with Faiks and Trendvickster on a terrace outside the U.N. "Happy birthday, America!" screamed out this little old lady who'd be overly enthuasiastic the whole fireworks show. Faiks hooked us all up and it was cool to be the closest I've ever been to that type of stuff in my whole life. I was reminded why when we and the thousands of other people watching the action from the FDR Drive were penned in going up 42nd Street. It took us at least a half hour to go a block. Not so fun.

A was my co-pilot for Taco Tuesday, my fave event so far this summer. It was funny just catching up and thinking that he's known me since the first day of seventh grade, almost 12 years ago. We were in school together for 10 years. Have we changed at all? I'm less angry, sometimes less confident, still opinionated as all shit, and always talking a mile a minute. He's come more into his own and still struggling to keep up with me. It's just fun to reminisce sometimes and be with people who've seen you change and grow over the years.

We've both got the "what's next? what do you do when you're from the place people like to move to and you're bored with it?" thoughts running through our heads. We're also busy. He's in school and working. I'm running around event planning and working. Sometimes it's just nice to be still for a moment with an old friend.

The "long bits catching my fancy" edition. You better have your glasses handy.

Tuesday's Gothamist interview, author Kemp Powers on being a Brooklynite and a New Yorker:

You write in The Shooting that while you still love New York, you couldn't live here again. Do you consider yourself a New Yorker still, even though you're now settled in Los Angeles? Are there certain qualities that make someone "a New Yorker," or is it simply how one chooses to identify? Are New Yorkers more prideful of being New Yorkers than people in other cities are of their locations?

I will always be a Brooklyn guy, no matter where I live. I'm a product of the New York public school system. Everything I do in life is done from a New Yorker's perspective. I consider myself a New Yorker who lives in Los Angeles, period. I still love the city dearly, it's just no longer what it once was. Some of the changes are really good, but some are pretty depressing. The smoking ban cracked me up. New York is Gotham, and they want to make it into Metropolis.

Brooklyn has become so transient. People move there right out of college, have fun for a few years doing the starving artist thing, then when they decide they want to have a family, pull up stakes and move out. Part of the reason I enjoy living in LA, a place I once despised, is because there are more native born New Yorkers here than any city I've been to outside of New York. I was at a parents’ event at my daughter's school last year, and I ran into point guard Mark Jackson. It turned out his kid also attended that school. It's also funny that I find myself in the unusual position of having to defend Los Angeles in conversations with my New York friends, most of whom aren't even from New York. I can usually end the conversation by reminding them of how much I used to have to defend New York to outsiders, back before people were taking family vacations there. Despite the allure of Hollywood, LA is also a working-class place, just like my Brooklyn.

Please understand that I see being from Brooklyn much different than being from New York. Brooklyn is unique, and being Brooklyn born and bred has unspoken connotations. I have a core group of friends from Brooklyn, and I routinely describe them as "my Brooklyn guys," no matter where they happen to be living. Being a Brooklyn guy means that, no matter how much or little education you have, you're going to approach situations a certain way. You lay out a problem for a Brooklyn guy, and he's going to approach it in a certain way. My mother always stressed proper diction, so I don't even have an accent, but as a friend of mine jokes, when I'm pissed off I go from zero to Brooklyn in about ten seconds.

I think there are plenty of qualities that make a person a New Yorker, but I'd have to say that the most important one is commitment. You don't have to be born in New York or live there to have a commitment to the city. And I mean a real fucking commitment, not some bullshit crush. Ask yourself this, if you weren't pursuing or living your dream as an artist, writer, musician, broker, or whatever; if you had two kids and had to take a job as a janitor for the next 20 years of your life; if the city had the highest crime rate and worst poverty in the entire country; would you still live in New York? If your answer is yes, then you're a New Yorker. Not because you think the place is cool, but because you consider the place your true home, regardless of how much of a success or failure your life is. What makes New Yorkers different is that commitment to the city. People from other places often grow up dreaming of leaving. Growing up in New York, the thought of leaving never really crosses your mind, no matter how poor you are. You leave if you have to, not because you want to. My brother in law got into lots of trouble with the law, but he still didn't want to leave New York . . . they deported his ass.

The comments for Hashim's post on "Music Critics vs. Normal People" were pretty interesting:

Hard is when your income is too much to qualify for the projects and too low to even be considered middle class. Hard living is when you have it hard, and you have 3 pair of pants that you try to switch up throughout the week and freak the coordination so peeps don't recognize that the pants you wear on Thursday, you wore on Tuesday, and the pants you wear on Friday, you wore on Monday, ya dig?

Project dudes aren't hard, they just don't give a d*mn. That's EASY...that's not HARD, that's EASY. Project apartments are decked out materially...What? You didn't know? Well you better ask somebody that does know. It just so happens that money-management is where some people from the projects run into problems. That's why there are project generations where there are like 2 and 3 generations of families that have dwelled in the projects without exit or change, in their project of residence.

Sars on the drama of clothes shopping:

What a revelation the men's section always is, too, where sanity reigns and sizing is actually done according to measurements. There's no 6 or 8 or "regular" and "long," there's no plus-sizing, there's no mucking around with subjective ideas of petite and tall. Waist measurement, inseam measurement, thank you, goodbye. Can the women's side of the aisle please get on the rhyme-or-reason-in-sizing stick? Because "10" doesn't really tell me anything. It tells me, usually, that it won't either fit like a tube sock or fall straight off me, but that's about all it tells me. It doesn't tell me what body type the item is cut for, or on what body type it will look either cute or disastrous -- can you please get rid of numbered sizes and do something more along the lines of "32/30 with boy hips and a bit of a cheese-sandwich gut"?

Thanks to ILX, I've got two posts just chilling in draft mode cause I'm too busy talking about R. "All I Need Is A Full Bladder and A Preteen" Kelly to finish them. But, I've also got the greatest idea: t-shirts! I shall make some at home in my free room with lovely phrases like "Gentrifyier," "You Only Like Me Cause You Think I'm an Oreo," "Black Girls Do It Better," and "Trustafarian." Cha-ching!

And I bet you think I'm joking. You'll see.

Life is currently this strange mix of busy and chilled to the point of comatose. The song of the long weekend is “Sentimental Mood” by St. Germain.

I went to The DJ’s party Thursday night. I’ve been running into him a lot randomly lately and I’ve been nice but cool. The boat has sailed big time on that one and he’s looking a little worse for wear right now. *cough*fuckingsniffer*cough* I floated, chatting with the usual suspects. I said to B, “I want to review your record!” and he was awfully excited. I tried to back pedal all “dude, I’ve never done a record review before” and shit, I can’t focus long enough to write a blog post…though these monsters are longer than any review might ever be, so that’s a bad comparison. I should look myself in my room today until I write something. Back in the day, that’s how I wrote my fucking senior essay and finished the damned yearbook: locked room, no food or distractions, worked until I felt faint. Desperate times and all that jazz.

There was the amusing interlude of sitting down on the couch minding my business when some random turned to me and was like “talk to me.” I gave him the patented “what, you fucking nutter?” look and replied “erm…why?” We ended up chatting about much of nothing, trading names and such on a low interest level on my part. Unless I’m pissed off, I’ll chat (most of the time). I’m usually solo and bored, so it passes the time. When he forgot my name, I sent him over to the one of the crew who I was certain didn’t know it (and he proved me right) and The DJ also fed misinformation. I was amused. Later on, I chatted with The Outer and he reminded me he is nice when he’s not making fun of me on GP. I popped off home and felt like a Mach truck had driven through my skull the next morning. I’m getting old. I can’t bounce back like I used to.

Friday, I felt achy and near vomit most of the day. Thank God for holiday half days! I had to go to a planning meeting for this party I’m throwing with the crew in less than two weeks. It’s got the potential to be awesome or a total disaster, but I’m erring on the side of awesome. All I’ve got to say is: art party with a band in a laundromat with free booze. Just on the randomness scale alone, it’s a winner!

Jay-V and I had our quarterly face-to-face meeting at this Cuban restaurant off Union Square. Cuban sandwich and a mojito…extra yum! In the first of many times that Mr. Sailor’s been mentioned this weekend (strange that…people don’t usually reenter the brain sphere as he has without some strange coincidence about to happen), I regretted the horrible breakup for a split second if only because I would’ve liked visitation rights with his mom and the occasional steak sandwich. I had it once on that Iowa visit, but Jesus, it might be the best sandwich I’ve ever had! His mom could cook her ass off and I felt connected with her being a New Yorker and a shortie with a shoe size that just does not compute. Too bad I can’t call all “hi, I dated your son almost three years ago and we hate each other, but I’d love to be friends with you!”

I gave Jay the shirt I procured for her with my hefty company discount, the rare perk. I’d be wearing it out if I was skin and bones like most of the other girls at my job. Teen catalogs don’t offer many options for someone with an adult body! Shocker! When I was an actual teen, I was all about their product though.

A mistimed nap later that night zapped whatever going out energy I would’ve had and I parked it, going to bed about 1am. Saturday had me up bright and early on some happy homemaker tip, doing laundry, sweeping, mopping, and whipping up meals all by lonesome. I raged against my neighbors who were blocking up the entrance because they had to lounge on the stoop and have their extended family for a cookout when I’m lugging a bag filled with what felt like every piece of clothing I owned up the stairs. Go to the park, assholes. It’s two blocks away. They refused to shift and I contemplating smacking them with the bag and/or cursing up a storm, but instead I seethed.

I watched TV for the first time in a long time while eating my dinner and caught the repackaged Live 8 show. How fucking disjointed that thing was! It was like American Bandstand (or Top of The Pops) for Africa! I’m pissed because I missed Pink Floyd while switching back and forth between that and Cry-Baby on Oxygen. Those Overstock.com commercials are bizarre (fucking Word keeps changing bizarre to bizarre. Spelling fascist program!), that woman acts like she’s shilling a Rabbit Pearl or something.

Later, I got into another convo about Mr. Sailor with my new friend from Canuckistan. We were playing the “Who’s Got The Shittier Ex?” game. Drudging up a heap of bitter feelings is definitely the way to start a night out! I guess all of that keeps coming up because I’ve been feeling like I’ve gotten to the point where I’ve burned off a lot of the really bad mental energy that was circling around afterwards. I made a bit of an unspoken note to do anything I could to avoid another relationship, from chasing after those I should’ve know better about to just destructively fucking with people because I could. I’m definitely not looking and I’m also not finding new and fucked up ways to fill an emotional hole. I’m just chilling’. It’s nice.

I finally left the house to do a drive-by hangout with Faiks before wandering the streets until I met up with C to see Adam F, our Miami obsession, spin. The first d’n’b party I’ve been to...since Miami probs. Our boy fell off big time! Back at the conference, he was tanned and fit, but last night, he looked like any old pale dude. I can only obsess over one pasty English dude at a time, so Fourtet is the one circa summer 05. We most missed his set, but ran into The Brit’s brother and his girl. (He’s another wasting away on the sniffer diet. Tsk, tsk.) He greeted me with this painful ass slap and I told him that just because his woman has no ass, doesn’t mean I’m up for abuse. I considered inquiring about the boy, but self-preservation (and pride) put a cap on that. Knowing the brother, he’ll hear about the sighting regardless and there is the chance for an actual awkward encounter at the big 4th party. I can’t say I feel one way or another about it, but I’ve got a soft spot for him, even if the reality is futile.

Some random who I saw looking on a room pan-scan popped up on me as I was strolling along. “What’s your name again,” he said and he got that look. Why do they do that?! Whoever put it in the flirting handbook that coming out with some non sequitur is a good look needs to revise…like post haste! I explained to him that it implied we’d spoken before and reminded him we had not, so what was his deal? God bless him though because he was cute, but I just didn’t feel like going there. He told me his name and after some hemming and hawing, I gave him mine, but killed the conversation to go back and dance. And yes, I’m well aware that it’s not the best tactic to meeting someone new and amazing being a difficult asshole, but hey, that’s me. Anything that’ll ever happen will probably be to spite myself and when I’m ready, it’ll happen. At the moment, I really just don’t care.