Kitty Power

You Saw It All

In a less serious vein for a change, why, oh why, oh why don't I live in London? Seriously, shit like this never comes here!

FABRIC: 10 DECEMBER

ROOM ONE:
Craig Richards, Matthew Herbert, Jamie Lidell(LIVE), Raf Rundell
ROOM TWO:
Terry Francis, Ben Sims, Christian Smith
ROOM THREE:
VERSATILE...
Chateau Flight (I:Cube & Gilb-r), Joakim

That type of stuff probably wouldn't even be happening if/when I go there. I'd probably touch down in time for like a Take That/All Saints reunion tour or something. Lame.

Slow And Steady Wins The Race

I've always been a bit of a big picture/eyes on the prize type. I dream big things and build them up in my head...but usually get waylaid by ADD and inertia. Writing career? Yeah... Moving to LA? Er, no time soon. Learning to drive? It's been about 10 years since I first got excited about that and literally no movement in a year.

But when I really put my mind to it, I can do something -- and do it right -- no matter how insane it might make me in the process. Jay-V probably remembers well my sophomore year adventure in play directing. Then there was the yearbook literally built from nothing through sheer blood, sweat, frustration, and tears. The never fucking ending apartment hunt that came out alright. I can be a tenacious little fuck when I want to be. It might not be a timely thing, but if I want it bad enough, it will happen.

So today, while trying to think of new and exciting ways to procrastinate, I had a eureka! moment: if I'm going to work myself to death, I'd rather it be for something that's mine and I can build. I want to open a business (no, it's not actually that vague. I just feel like being it at the moment) in the nabe. I've got vision and drive, but of course, no money. I've already started some research (as much I can while working and "working") and am ready to master plan in a major way. And I really think I can do it -- in a way I haven't been serious about anything in years. We'll see how it all develops. It's the possibility to be a hell of a ride.

Made To Fade

The best part about this present long weekend is that it's only Saturday! That's pretty great. It's been a little low-key. I didn't get to eat as much as I should've and got to skip the "you're looking a little chunky..hehe" family talk. But, I've been doing enough of that myself (not in an overly depressing way though). We're going back on our last year slim down plan. I stumbled onto a stash of old pics on the comp and it was just like "shit, I think that was my peak, but I'd like to get some of this fat off my ass regardless." I don't think I'll ever really look like that again though -- hat aside. I think I just had a lot of non-jaded hopeful freshness about me that being in NYC again these past 2.5 years has beaten out of me. Eh...kidding.

The Song Remains The Same

First, a few reasons why I'm a lamer:

1. This whole "10 posts in 10 days" thing isn't going so well. I'm just lazy (and lame). Sorry.

2. Most of this weekend has been me lounging around all day in the house -- barely rising to eat -- and then emerging when the sun goes down like a vampire.

3. I was actually telling myself today that I need to give up on this weight loss/exercise kick because I realized that the first thing to go would be my breasts. We can't have that. I was flat chested for too many years to let them go! Yes, I am obsessed with my own tits. I am totally weird.

4. I've spent over $100 this weekend on nothing but takeout and booze. That sucks.

5. I was in H&M the other day and I heard this song playing and correctly identified it as The Arcade Fire, even though I've never heard them before. That shows you how much goddamned time I used to spend on ILM.

The weekend was pretty great though. Friday night, I did something that's been thwarted for over a year now: saw Lisa Shaw live. True to my lucky ass self until the end, I won tickets and VIP seating. I wasn't especially crazy about Canal Room, but free is always good and she was great. Then off to a few joints on C for Hani's (belated) birthday gathering. Drank, drank, drank. Then met up with my friend C on Chrystie and was bored. Waiting forever for the train and getting home about 4. I just enjoyed the novelty of leaving Brooklyn on a Friday night.

I took no less than 3 naps Saturday and did jack all day. Fucking wonderful. I met up with neighbor-friend Alafairnadia for Wing Wagon wings and whiskey and cokes at this local joint Mooney's. The best. And then off to Soda, another nabe place. Cider. Then I got the golden idea to walk from there (Vanderbilt and St. Marks) to Classon and Flushing. Why, you ask? Because when I drink too much, I get all sorts of dumb ideas and roll with it. Though, I was pretty soberish (and freezing my face off) after that 30 minute stroll. Thank God it was hot and crowded as fuck when I got there!

I kinda look forward to parties there all month. I first found out about them in February and have been going pretty steadily ever since. I got there a little before 2am and left about 8:30am. With the exception of last month with Trendvickster, I don't actually go there to dance. I drink and wander and people watch. This month had people I know DJing, so it was cool to chill with them for a minute. And Justin! Who I've only seen around once -- and that was his party, so it didn't count. He introduced me to his friend and was all "she has a site, etc" and I was like "hold up now! Just because it's on the internet, doesn't mean everyone's gotta know about it!" Or something...right. The royal we likes him though, he gives good hug.

I drank and wandered, drank and wandered. Started a-chatting with randoms. Lost my goddamned belt. Grr! Drank and wandered. Ran into this dude that I used to always see when I used to be a 419 resident. I told him that I recognized him and left out the part that I remembered he's a drug dealer as well. Drank and wandered. Helped this kid find his friend who was making out with a literal 16-year old. Drank and wandered until the place was practically empty and I couldn't ignore the bright ass sun any longer. Of course I stopped at White Castle, but since it was all day and all, I opted for the breakfast sandwiches. Strolled more than halfway home before I got tired. I was waiting for the B48, but it roared past me before I could make it to the stop. Goddammit. So, I took the Shuttle (I told you: stupid drunken ideas) to the 2 and collapsed until 2:30pm. Good times.

The highlight of the Sunday evening was QT with Ant and the cat, who is finally brave enough (after like 7 months) to let him touch her. But, she had such a spazz attack afterwards that it'll probably never happen again. Cats. She's 72, for christ's sake. You'd think she'd have grown out of the whole scaredy thing by now. She's just a big baby.

In It To Win It

If I had $310 million dollars, I'd be fucking richer beyond my wildest dreams. Of course, rich isn't the end all be all, but you know, I'd like to test that theory out for myself.

If you can't deduce, I've been playing Mega Millions this week. I had $2 and a dream to spare Monday and went for it. Of course, I'm not going to win since I a) have no extra special luck like that b) if I did, just jinxed myself, but I've thinking about the ways I'd spend those hypothetical millions and what I'd do. I love to imagine the possibility of cartwheels in the office as I quit and buying some stupid nice apartment somewhere in the city. I'd probably go set up shop somewhere with nice weather in a beach for 3 months to 6 months, where I can chill out, write, and wander about aimlessly. Maybe I'd donate money to one of my old schools to get something named after me. Maybe I'd take one of those interesting internships that I wouldn't be able to survive off of in real life. Buy something or another for the folks. Splurge on all the electronics I've been denying myself. I'd probably lose it just trying to wrap my head around that kind of money. I'd have to roll around naked in a pile...just because I can.

My grand winnings ended up being $7. Hey, $5 profit! What sucked was that I was off by 1 number for the remaining two and could've been $250,000 richer -- theoretically. Ah well. Was fun regardless.

You Could Have It All

The real part of the night begins with cider (for me), beer (for Farmer), and splitting a plate of penne pasta with chicken. I'm amused to be in a Williamsburg pub eating pasta in the first place. How random can you get! We chatter -- well, I chatter, nervous and animated while he looks at me bemused. My enthusiasm is infectious and I know he's secretly proud to see me do anything besides mope for a change. And he wonders if I was secretly like this about him back in the day (yes and no, I was a blustering child then...two years feel like a million sometimes). I'm proud of our little bonding time. The optimist in me was let out of her cage one day to prophesize that we could be awesome friends and I was right. I do so love to be right.

I get a text from the boy and feel glad that if I go extreme and blush, it'd never be seen in this dark cave of a place. I hurry us along and we bound -- I bound, he saunters -- out to go to the party. This one thinks he's slick as he decides to smoke and send me off inside to meet myerm, the boy. I feel like I see him in the crowd (one shaggy brown-haired tall dude in a crowd of them...no so much), but I opt to get a drink first. Free drinks will always be my favorite kind.

And then, the crowd parts and there he is. Okay, no it didn't. Farmer came back in and we stood in the middle of the room with our drinks and up came the boy. I smile and "hey" and I must restrain myself from launching at him to get a hug. I'm so cool on the outside, but never in. They're both at least half a foot taller than me in my super flat sneakers and I have to stand a few inches back, making our group into a triangle just to see their faces without hurting my neck. Tall bastards. Everyone else mills around us looking expensively disheveled. Gravitating towards the bar areas, keeping an eye on who is keeping an eye on them. I just look between them, feeling like a puppy. Is everyone getting along okay? Yet? Now? Huh?

Farmer steps away and I ask what the boy thinks of him. "He's kinda obnoxious," he says irritated. I think I reply "what makes you say that? Though that's what everyone says" and I keep myself from adding "that obnoxious dude saved your punk ass from the reject box, son." Farmer comes back and he goes and I tell him what he said. Oh, he's pissed and goes on a yadda yadda rant about how none of my friends like him. "Like you even care," I say. The boy comes back and he goes off to smoke. I tell him that I told him what he said and he tries to backtrack on some hippie dippy "everyone has their place" shit. Whatever, man. Stick to your opinions. "Why'd you do that?" "He's one of my best friends. I tell him everything." Oh, he's sorta annoyed. Like I care. I'm just an instigating bitch.

Farmer makes his exit to meet some friends and the boy and I are alone in the crowd to make eyes at each other and drink more. We decide to ditch out and walk past where our whatever hit the guard rail last week. I make some joke about it and I secretly plead with him not to break my heart again. Heh...like I have a heart. We're traipsing through the outskirts of Williamsburg going...I'm not really sure where. The weather kinda sucks with this light drizzle falling over everything. I look at him kinda funny when he stops me mid-stride. He leans down and kisses me so quick that I can barely get my brain to respond. I wish there was Tivo for life sometimes. I smile at him and say "I was thinking about doing that." He smiles back and we're walking again.

We meet up with his friends and I like them all. They're easy-going and chill, non-intimidating and I'm just me instead of on edge wondering if I'm making a good impression. We're bouncing from place to place, with them, just us until we land on the bar with the live band. I'm not in the dancing mood, so I hang back and wander. After a circuit, I observe him dancing/talking with some Raggedy Ann looking chick. I process. I'm territorial, but not possessive. I've got high enough self-esteem to know that if the guy I with chooses some corny bitch over me, he's just playing himself.

So, I'm just watching impassively in between passing time walking around. After the next circuit, he's alone and I go over to maybe dance with him. He tells me that he's traded his hat for Raggedy's scarf and I want to ask "are you fucking high?" but I already know that yes, yes he is. He's also the worst dancer I've ever seen. Like no joke. He's doing some spazzy shit and completely unable to be led. It's actually kinda making my head hurt. I halfway wander away and see some girl eyeing me and them him to see if the coast is clear. I almost want to laugh. He's cute and all, but the stampede is a bit much.

We head off to the G and chatter along until we get off at Hoyt. We stand there at the top of the stairs at an impasse. It's past 3am on a Thursday and I've got to go out into the cold and wait for a bus once I leave there. He's switching to the A. He gives me one of his crappy hugs and I'm all stiff and unyielding. I'm trying to decide how I feel at the end of the night. I give him a real hug and we just stand there holding on. If the token booth clerk hadn't probably seen it all, she'd probably shake her head at us looking stupid. We hear the rumble of his train and I tell him to go catch it. He's giving me some laser look and I let go and step back to resist the pull. And we walk our separate ways.

Gonna Take A Trip And Multiply

Nowadays, my head is in a million places at once, so the playlist is heavy on NIN, Massive Attack, reggae/dub, and electro dancey stuff. I'm in the process of building a new mix for Alex. We're going to snail mail stuff transatlantically, even though he's come to the dark side and is on IM (though it's just MSN Messenger) now. I love any excuse to keep that music arranging part of my brain working. Have I mentioned lately how much I miss my old radio show? Because I still do.

Latest songs for grabs:

Jamie Lidell, Multiply (Gonzales Remix)
A Perfect Circle, 3 Libras (Massive Attack Remix)
Massive Attack. Dissolved Girl
Ini Kamoze, World A Reggae
In Flagranti, Bang Bang (Halts Maul Mix)

Where The Heart Is

The past two weekends, I've barely gone beyond a one-mile radius of my apartment. One reason is laziness and another is the awesome batch of neighbors I've got. This week, I was hanging with at least one of them 4 out of 7 nights. They're all pretty much without fail amazingly cool and it's usually a pleasure.

Farmer's heading off soon to go back to traipsing around the world and I'm pretty beat about it. This friend thing is going swimmingly and it makes me feel so justified that I believed in him as a person even when things between us were at the worst. Soon, he shall be reunited with his girl and I'm really happy yet sad about it at the same time. I want to meet her and yell, "hey bitch, don't take my friend away. He means the world to me and I just got used to him being this wonderful rock to have around." But of course, I wouldn't do that (out loud) and instead I'm just "mew. Don't be a stranger, man."

The other day I asked him if I was territorial and I got no pause before the "yes." I was amused at the total lack of hesitation, but I know that it's true. I am loyal to a fault when I like someone and when someone else comes in making waves, the gloves are off, the nails are out, and you better watch your back. I've had plenty of arguments with friends as the years have passed over their significant others and my general disdain for them. I love my kids and only want the best. If they're with some wack trifling idiot, I'm not going to hide my feelings. After all, I don't have to like who they're with...I'm not fucking them and I generally don't feel like I ought to give more than a passing thought if I think they're idiot just like everyone else. I'll go out of my way to avoid people and be real cold. I'm a bitch, but hey, it's better than fronting.

There's very strange dynamics at play with the neighbors sometimes. We've built a bit of a clique that does it up on the reg. There's inside jokes, a truckload of messages, and of course, a little gossip to keep it all fun. [CENSORED] Alas, the world keeps turning and it keeps chatter over drinks interesting.

But, it's one of those things that seems ripe for a dramatic coda. If I was more inclined, I'd push fate along a bit. I theorized to Jay-V the other day that I'm just an alpha bitch in beta's clothing. I do so enjoy stirring up the pot. Still ultimately, not only do I hate getting my hands dirty, but pish to effort. For now, I'll just sit back and enjoy the soap opera shit.

Doesn't It Make You Feel Better?

I've decided to turn back off the bad slacker path I've been on and do 10 posts in the next 10 days. I asked Jay-V on how long she thought I could keep it together and she said 4 days before I just forgot to post again. My guess was 1 day, but dammit, I'm gonna focus and do it for you kids!

The week's highlight was seeing Death From Above '79 in Greenpoint at this Polish nightclub turned into a rock venue for the night. Like I said before, I missed them at the NIN show (pesky on-time starting show!), so for $10, I figured it'd be worth it to finally check them out. True to me, I missed the first opener because my attitude is unless I know of them and have a bit of curiosity, who the hell cares? I'm kinda feeling blah about rock in general, so nowadays I'm pretty much only interested in who I consciously paid to see. That night it was DFA79 and Japanther because I'd heard the names and wanted to see what was up. I saw the band before them and wished I didn't. They sucked. The girl couldn't sing. They couldn't keep their equipment together. Waste.

This two man band thing kinda amuses me. I look at it and think, "geez, that's just a lot of work. Is it really that hard to get one more person?" But I think it's admirable when it sounds good and/or makes a lot of noise. Then again, I like basses and guitars, so only one is like "aww...some poor guitarist can't catch a break because of you guys. Maybe they'll start their own 2 person band. Or pull a Braxton and go solo with his pedals." Japanther were fun and noisy and they sang in mics rigged in old school telephone receivers. The drummer had his back to the audience. I was pretty much "okay...but I like this!" DFA79 are a perfect fit for that NIN tour. Probably better than Queens to tell you the truth. They've got some serious volume for 2 dudes and good songs, even if the singer is on Styx-style shit with all the trilling and yelping. But, they should never open up their stupid mouths.

Here's an idea of some of their stage banter: ""Let's talk about Tom Hanks. He's such a good actor. Like in Splash, he was trying to get rid of Daryl Hannah was splashing around in his tub and in Philadelphia, he was trying to get rid of AIDS splashing around in his body. Or like in Big, he was wishing that he could go back to being a kid. And in Philadelphia, he was wishing he didn't have AIDS. Oh you want us to just shut up and play, okay?" Or "I think we're gonna do a cover. Like that Kanye West song" *dude sings the video/radio version of the "Gold Digger" chorus* "Sing along, guys. Broke broke...oh you guys, you didn't say the word! You're all scared to say the word nigger. Well, we're not, cause we're Canadian! We don't have any African-Americans in Canada, just Canadians...oh...and Jamaicans and Haitians and stuff like that." *plays a bit of "Wait"* "Oh, I love that 'beat the pussy up' song!" Ugh. Can you believe I almost forgot they were signed with Vice? Well, they couldn't have that! I think it's general rule that the bands on that label have to be more than a little douche-like.

Winning the best friend of the week award is Farmer, who got off a plane from Houston and came straight to the show to hang out with me. And gave me hugs and tough love. (And everyone thought I was crazy when I called him my NYC-version of Tino!) According to the super wise Farmer, the general blah going on right now has about less than 5% to do with the boy and more to do with an overarching sense of "where the hell is my life going right now?" I'm going to be 25 in 3 days shy of 4 months and I'm finding it pretty hard to process. The road leading up to that birthday hopefully won't lead to another quarter-life crisis type deal as 24, but it'd be really good to wake up 25 and think that I have most things exactly where I want them to be. Right now, it's not there at really on a professional level, but I am happy overall about getting over most of the personal "real adult" speed bumps in not too bad shape. The one thing I hated was always feeling so removed in my own life, always making sure I recorded everything. The good part is I can just go out and do things, but the downside is in general I write a lot less about anything which is of course, Very Bad. The suggestion he gave me was to just refocus my energies on me: making a real nest out of that senior year looking minimalist joint Ant and I call home and actually doing something about the fixable stuff I complain about. He's completely right, so I'm doing it. I've gone to the gym three times this week and I've never felt better. Ant said he's already seeing results and I do love it when people blow smoke up my ass, so yay! I can get all strong and beat the snot out of all the assholes who say rude things to me on the street. That would be very satisfying.

I Was Looking To See If You Were Looking

For the record, my Halloween costume was Sarah Dash and if that prompted a blank stare, an extra from Good Times. (Yes, I know those two things aren't the same thing, besides no one asked.) Trendvickster took one look at me and declared me a hipster however. My Halloween visions are always so misunderstood.

We went to the big Halloween party at that big space on Flushing, along with every Pratt student in town. The place was even more packed than usual and a million degrees. We got a couch show from some overly horny kids and raved about the out there brilliance of the dude dressed as a pad. The funniest rumor I read on the net was that Missy Elliott was in the house and I think that's gotta be the most ridiculous thing. Call bullshit on that, no doubt. Kids were obviously indulging too much in the pot brownies. I stayed a bit after she was gone and ran into this non-DH board dude from the nabe (though he admittedly lurks). He was standing on the wall glassy-eyed and I smiled and passed. I felt about 80 in the crowd. The events of the past few weeks have been getting me down, I'd had like a drink all night, and was like one of the six people not on drugs, so it lost the appeal fast. I strolled off around 5am to do the typical White Castle 3 cheeseburgers and a milkshake run and cabbed it home.

Thursday was the show. I've been feeling confused about why I don't do arena shows (besides no one I really want to see doing those and not wanting to pay a shitload of money for tickets) and wanting to go to one. Nine Inch Nails was amazing, better than I would've imagined even, but I doubt I'm ever doing another arena show anytime soon for a few reasons:
a) With the jumbotron off, unless you're literally front row center, you have no real clue what the hell is going on. We had pretty decent seats, but I had no idea what Trent Reznor was doing besides being that little thing running around and playing the guitar here and there. Queens of the Stone Age played for a half hour and I vaguely thought the songs sounded familiar, but couldn't distinguish anything since I know what Josh Homme looks like but couldn't even make dude out.
b) If there's no spectacle happening, the set's a disaster. Back to QOTSA, they're not an arena band. I was actively annoyed listening to them because they just didn't have the sound to fill up an arena.
c) People who go to arena shows are annoying. It's like there's a special douche handbook that everyone else but us got. Slow song = take out those lighters, folks. Yeah, it's funny the first time, but every time? Fuck off.

Apparently, the angsty NIN-loving teenagers of the '90s grew up to be fratty banker types and/or gross goth holdouts. We were boxed in by the frat pack all "woo, dude, he brought it old school to Pretty Hate Machine! This rocks!" and the cape-wearing (oh, I'm not joking) guy next to me who was doing his tortured routine with breaks for air drums. The "highlight" was the goth couple in my line of vision that were inspired by heart-warming songs like "March of the Pigs" to attempt and eat each other's faces off. I think I threw up in my mouth a bit.

I can't believe I almost forgot about Why Arena Shows Suck Reason d): those fucking things start on time! Wack. Doors opened at 6:30 and the first opener Death From Above 1979 started at around 7:30. Me being me, I strolled in like 8:45 to QOTSA already in progress. So, that was wack. I kinda really wanted to see them since Alex recommends them so highly. I'm in luck though. They're playing tonight in Greenpoint and get this: a foam party is to follow. That's nutty. I think it'll be fun.

I Won't Let You Fall Apart

My brain is currently holding me hostage. I've got mad posts sitting in draft mode because I can't think about anything that doesn't involve moping about the fucking boy for more than 5 minutes at a time. I've regressed to the angsty mess I thought I'd finally made peace with and I'm a bit unclear how to get out of that mode. It's rather irritating.

Somehow when I wasn't paying attention and/or thought I was okay about it, I got gobsmacked with all this despairing bullshit. I have no idea where it's coming from, but it's getting worse. And I'll tell you what, being on a concert-induced NIN kick isn't helping. I've pretty much lost all rational thought and I don't know what to do about it.

The really sickening part is though I like(d) him well enough, I don't really see what the big deal is. The first person I liked enough all year to actually tell people? No, not really. The first person in forever that I could really see myself starting something with? Nope. Some great ...something or another? Nyet. He's the one with the issues so this dissolution isn't even my fault. That it wasn't going to work out was fairly obvious and I was really good like last week at sucking it up and dealing. It's typical me really: I come out swinging like a hardman and then end up all pathetic and emo.

The stupidest thing of all the crazy thoughts surrounding him was that we look good together. I look good with some scruffy borderline hipster motherfucker? It makes me think I don't even know myself sometimes. But when we were surrounded on all sides by the young and drunken, I looked at him and smiled and for a brief second, it felt like the only place in the universe I was supposed to be. And that was really sweet if ultimately wrong. I need a lobotomy. But for now, going to the gym will have to do.