The royal we hearts Gary Oldman. Inspired by this
September 2008 Archives
I randomly heard Born Slippy over the weekend and it reminded me of how back in the day I'd never forget to stay up late to watch AMP on MTV. Then a few days later, I'd go to the basement of Tower Records on West 4th Street to go see if I could find the import singles. Ah, the days of pre-P2P. A few videos I was first exposed to back then plus the song my dad drilled into my head as a kid.
I don't think it's a secret that things are generally sucking for me right now. 27 and everything that makes up this life is overwhelming and I'm on major lemonade duty. You just get kinda sick of wallowing after a while and I'm trying to make a point of having some goddamned fun again.
To that effect, I made a real effort this weekend to have a good time. Friday evening saw me rolling downtown with Faiks and N, having a much needed cocktail klatsch. I've hit the point where telling stories about the recent makes me laugh instead considering smacking myself, so that's a start. From there, off to my usual perch at the Raccoon, with a bizarre batches of randoms taking the seats cattycorner from me.
I'm still not that much of a fan of Bushwick even though I spend a shitload of time there nowadays. I've been hanging out steadily at that bar for over a year now (time flies!) and it's kind of amazing how the little world around it has changed over time. Right now is prime next wave of kids flooding into town and the demographics some nights are hilarious. New New York is weird and a bit alienating to me sometimes. Everywhere is supposedly super safe and wonderful where even ex-frat boys and sorority girls are slumming it in a ramshackle Bushwick railroad. Everything's fun and games until someone gets mugged...or killed. I'm semi-traumatized by a Raccoon friend telling me last week about a girl that was raped, strangled, and thrown off the roof three doors down from her and how she was scarred by letting curiosity get the better of her and looking out the window at the scene. They make everything look much prettier on TV than it is in real life. The worst part of the whole thing is that it didn't even make the news or the local neighborhood blog, which advertises itself as some kind of bullshit authority. Fucking crazy shit happens all the time. Some aspects of the city never changes.
As I was sitting on my stool watching TV, this pair of randoms sat near me. The guy half was a drunken tool and making a spectacle of himself. I shot him a few withering glances and then for whatever reason, they tried to chat with me and I wasn't having it. Then he got the brilliant idea of making noises and faces to get my attention and I ghosted them. I was definitely heartbroken when they went away. The next set were a guy and girl, having a hilarious conversation that about how she slept with every other guy in the neighborhood and might as well give him a chance too...except for them being "homies." I covered my face to stop from laughing out loud and later let him know that I had heard everything. He was a pretty good sport about it.
I've been trying to improve my shitty eating habits and I had a minor victory later on the way home when the local diner over there was closed (no 4am breakfast for me) and when I got off the train near home, so was the Crown and I resisted the urge to go two blocks out of my way for White Castle. Every little bit counts.
I lounged lazily Saturday until the family decided to make a guerilla visit. The funny thing about living alone now is that I'm constantly fielding calls from the 'rents checking up on me. Never when I'm in bed on a crying jag, but that's a good thing I think. It's good to know that someone will be checking up on me after a day or so if I fall off the grid. This place has been a bit of a trial. I had a major problem with my kitchen sink that stretched on for weeks and ended up getting fixed after going through the ceiling of my downstairs neighbor, installing a new pipe, and all sorts of ridiculous shit. But I felt proud last week that I put up my curtains by myself (complete with installing the brackets) despite my general decrepitude. I entertained here with a sink full of dishes and tried to get my dad to help me solve the broken futon mystery (missing pins is the answer) until they felt satisfied that I wasn't totally falling apart and left me alone. In my playlist is this random remix of Lollipop, so I wasn't thrilled when my little brother (9!) was saying that it was his favorite song. WTF? Kids nowadays...
I ended up getting bored later in the night and went on a wild goose chase for dinner and a potential party down in Dumbo. That didn't work out at all and I went to the Raccoon to see what was up. It was pretty quiet and I chatted with everyone until heading off to that fave of mine monthly warehouse party. Last time I went, I got exposed to a band that I'm playing to death nowadays, so I had high hopes. I ran into some Raccoon buddies and was having a shenanigans-free time until we merged with another crew and then it all became a blur. I woke up at 8:30 in a very compromising position in an art cave statue with the party very over. The space is unreal with the lights up and no people or music. Everything that looks so mysterious and fun in the dark or with flashing lights takes on a comical air with the bright sunlight washing over it. I stepped out into the morning feeling like a vampire and fell deeply asleep once my head touched the pillow. I had a very good time.