Kitty Power

I Know You Need It, I Need It Too

I'm a terrible slacker, I know. My summer output has been pretty anemic. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

The highlight of the summer was the Daft Punk show at Keyspan. Trendvickster and I checked that out together. My souvenirs (besides an obsession I couldn't quench until I found a bootleg recording of the whole damned show and a desire to go to Vegas for that festival around Halloween) were pretty shitty photos and vids via my terrible cameraphone and some glowsticks that are looking pretty pathetic two weeks later. And I survived a forty minute wait on line at Nathan's and came out with a wine cooler in a big cup and some delicious mutant frog legs. It was fun jumping around at the show and being a part of the big roar of the crowd. My only nitpicks were the shafting of Face To Face and how irritated I was by the sound of Harder, Better, Faster, Song the third (and possibly not the last) time it got mixed in with some other song. But, that stands as #1 on my show of the year list so far. Maybe GZA/Jamie Lidell next month can come close, but won't top for sure.

Besides that, I've been chillin. This summer has been all about the lazy routine. Sunday evenings, one of my more recent neighbor friends and I meet for drinks, takeout, and Battlestar Galactica. Tuesdays after work, I splash around in the pool at the Y doing Aquacize. I've been making random pilgrimages to my new fave non-local local bar. Last Thursday, I was propped at the bar, wincing at a terrible sketch on that incredibly unfunny show on Comedy Central (cookie to you if you can take a wild guess on what show it was) and got into a conversation with this random next to me about the horribleness. Which led to talking about politics, work, travel, love, life, and all those things. And it felt nice in the way it can when you feel like you've beat the odds and actually made a connection in the most random of ways. But, I saw him off with a "have a nice night" and "maybe we'll see each other again." You never know how those things will play out.

Hey Mr. DJ, Let The Beat Play

My new fave commercial. I think the bemused British chuckle does it for me...and dude being like "I'd be happy with just one." I think I realized as I watched it that I had never heard Becks speak before. And damn, he sure is blond.

I'm about 95% free from this mega-project I've been devoted to for most of the past couple of weeks. It looks pretty dope if I must say so myself. (Ask me off-site if you're remotely curious about the link.) While I've been mucking through it, me being me, it's not like I totally stayed at home...at least not on the weekends. I might still be a little burned out from the out and about every night of the week thing from a month or so ago. I'm old and tired, I can't roll that (much) anymore.

The other weekend kicked off early Friday evening when I rolled from work (Summer Fridays never seem to work out as planned lately...) to the monthly happy hour of this downtown agency my old job collaborated with. TrendVickster came along and we chatted and drank and oohed and ahhed the company head's brand spanking new iPhone. He tried to front like he was nonchalant while fumbling through the controls and the whole spectacle got a meh. TV and I split a slice of cake (what a nutritious dinner!) and I was off to the wilds of Bushwick to party and get a fangirl thrill.

It might be the Brooklyn girl in me but I don't get why Bushwick is hip. I hear the name and I think nowhere worth going. Williamsburg is vaguely understandable being that it's super convenient from Manhattan, but Bushwick is just out there and it really hasn't changed much over the years. I got off the train at Morgan to find this place and turned a corner to feel like I was in a horror movie. One where the zombies come out from the empty lots and seemingly abandoned warehouse buildings to drag a poor unsuspecting girl in the wrong place at the wrong time away to feast on her brains. And then I walk down the street to see something or another filming and this converted factory building with a gourmet supermarket and cafe and little hipsters hanging out on the bench in front. And I walk another block and it's back to zombieland, with the faint sound of techno coming from a roof. I hobble my way up the stairs and the joint is packed with hipsters from god knows where, most looking fresh off the road from Bumblefuck, USA and some real neighborhood kids amusing themselves. I was feeling antisocial and wandered across the street to this random bar that I'm a little in love with now. I chilled with the bartender and randoms watching Saturday Night Fever (one of those movies that you realize is super fucked up when you actually really pay attention to it) on DVD. I went back to the roof to satisfy my thrill (oh so dirty sexy pretty!) and left just as I heard the sirens coming to shut the party down. Back at the bar, I ended up in this overlong conversation about work and the crazy admark industry and I kinda felt like a very fulfilled nerd. And then called a cab to drag my drunk ass home to my doorstep. Good times.

Saturday's vague highlights was marvelling at party locations nowadays. I'm just waiting for someone else to do a laundry party at this point. This one was in some random ass loft next to a gas station and I saw Abe and other folks I know. I had a spazzy moment with my current fave DJ from the party that I'm becoming diehard about where I told her how much I loved her podcasts mixes on the bathroom line. Ah well.

Last Friday got me back to 419. My knee hurt, so I perched myself on the back bar stool and was content to sip on something and people watch. But, noooo...whenever a woman is sitting alone somewhere, it obviously means that she's dying to get picked up, right? Wrong! First dude slid across within 5 minutes and he had sub-game and I was beyond monosyllabic and after some uncomfortable minutes, he finally went away. This other dude rolled in all fake thug in a hipster party and sideglanced me for a while. He was easy on the eyes and I may have noncommittally looked back once or twice. His big move was telling me to let him know when I wanted a drink because he could hook me up and then saying he'd be right back and SMACKING ME ON THE ASS as he walked past. I totally gasped and him booking it was the only thing that didn't have me getting up and hurting him, lame knee be damned. Who the fuck seriously does that? Jesus Christ. It's bad enough that being by yourself in the midst of people and stuff means you have to get damned every bullshit pass in the place, but the ass slap is beyond disrespectful. I was fuming. I even broadcasted it to my dodgeball list in fact. I was bitching about it later on to this random who amusingly looked on when guy #1 and the slapper tried one after another to kick it to me again upstairs on the patio. The slapper was really close to getting a drink thrown in his face (he doesn't know about me...I'll do it) when he was mewing that I'd gotten my own drink instead of letting him get it. Fucking lamer. He was pretty beat later on when I was chatting up the random too. So strange that ass slapping isn't much of deal sealer.

In the best of circumstances, I'm admittedly difficult to meet at a party. I loathe being hit on. If you try, you're deaded. In fact, you probably just wasted your time bothering with the walk over because I'm not trying to hear it. Where the random vaguely succeeded where the other two failed (though the slapper torpedoed his own chances) was that I'd given him "can you believe this crap?" exasperated glances during the loser parade and when they left me alone, we had something to chat and joke about. In a nutshell, I might minorly be a control freak and I hate feeling like a piece of meat. Not that I like doing all the work, but I don't respond well to the "you're my prey and I'm pouncing" methodology. YMMV I suppose.

If You Really Knew The Answers, You Wouldn't Brag About It So Much

There's not much I don't love about the summer. Away with the sweaters and coats, on with the lightweight clothes and flip flops. It's mostly all good as far as I'm concerned. I spent most of the spring hustling for work and all that related stuff, so now I'm trying to reap the rewards and have some fun. Health-wise, I haven't been feeling a 100% for a while, so I feel more determined to plow through it and try to feel as close to the old me as I can get nowadays. And how do I do that exactly? By doing a marathon week of events/shows/being out and about.

I've been out every night since Tuesday, after a Sunday and Monday of rest after a bit of a wild weekend.That night I went to 419 and stood in the corner of the patio drinking overpriced drinks until I made an escape to Brooklyn to see an awesome show by the Yohimbe Brothers at Zebulon. That's one of those venues that I'm always amazed that I don't spend just about all my time at. I've seen some kickass performances just stumbling in there randomly. Wednesday was going to Soundfix to catch The Sea and Cake's in-store and getting annoyed at the crowd and the shitty opening band who just droned on and on (same problem at the Webster Hall show except their set might have been 3x as long). At the store, most of the people left when that band finally released the stage which was incredible to me. Oh the power of indie hype. Both nights, TSAC ripped it. I've got a major soft spot for them. I was theorizing Thursday night that they all look like teachers I wish I would've had in high school. Sam is English, John's Calc, Eric is Drama, and Archer is the science teacher I would've spent a lot of time thinking inappropriately about. I have to get around to checking out the new album. Friends of friends I randomly came across in the audience Thursday said it ranks high up there with the older stuff. I was happy to hear Mr F, Parasol, and some others I've forgotten between now and then. Good times x2. I got the fun experience of the bartender remembering my drink on the first pass, so every time after that she was like "another gin and tonic?" with the unspoken drunkie on the end as the night wore on. If you had to endure 45 minutes of that middle band, it'd drive you to drink too.

Also Wednesday, I went down to Dumbo at this newish venue, a coffee shop that apparently turns into a big event space nightly now. The show was old school latin soul and it was a good time. The thorn in my side is this guy I keep seeing around. I used to have a bit of a crush on him and go out of my way a bit to set up the opportunities to interact with him, but now he just annoys me. His general reaction is to just look at me as if I'm supposed to run up and give the full court press. I don't even care enough anymore. He's not all that. There's just something about him that doesn't make me want to try. I take that as a bad sign.

Friday night, the recently back to NYC Trendvickster and I did up the hipster event in Greenpoint pretty big. Well, I did and she was along for the ride. As I'm getting older, I'm starting to finally distinguish between the good and bad (for me) liquors. The borderline out of control episodes of the not so recent past: fueled by rum. A good indication that the night is going to end with something rather inappropriate (though pretty fun): scotch. Left to my own devices, I chatted with former associates through my old job and confessed my slight crush on one of their coworkers to more than one person; played a lot of pinball; would have some pretty scandalous photos if the photo booth wasn't busted; and was part of traumatizing some random who just wanted to go to the bathroom. All before 1am. And it's not even the first time I've misbehaved in that space, despite the name change. I think I might have to avoid that spot for a while. Good thing I've never claimed to be especially angelic.

Saturday night had me at Studio B, mostly leaning and watching instead of dancing like I wanted because of a hurt foot. The funny thing about going out frequently again is that I see people I know a lot more often. Which can go either way in terms of bad or good. In Flagranti and G. Rizo were great, but I was pretty disappointed in Mr. Oizo. He really couldn't mix for shit and the space between the songs and/or the abrupt switch overs were really jarring. Ah well. Fun night regardless.

Rest Your Sad Head and Let That Shit Go

A moment of silence for Helga, my formerly indestructible HP that conked out on me. I had it about two months shy of 8 years, so I can't be mad and getting above and beyond my money's worth of it. I've been saving up for a shiny laptop for while and today I bought another HP tower that I'll pass along to my mom once I get my piggy bank ready for the laptop buy. A $400 computer was still lightyears away from what I've been working with all this time. Luckily, I've been slowly migrating my info to my external hard drive for a few months now, so no big info loss. I'm still vaguely confident that I can transfer settings, but it remains to be seen. That poor computer survived 8 years of moves, dust, good writing, bad writing, many IM conversations, angry emails, overlong blog posts, music downloads, and days and nights of overwork. The new computer clean slate feeling is kinda interesting. I feel like everything happening around/with me right now has something to do with salvaging the good pieces and/or rebuilding from the bottom. I don't mind really. Change is a very good thing.

The other week found me venturing into Midtown on a Saturday night. Very strange since the last thing I do when I leave it on Friday evening is clamor for more. I was off to check out this new to me band that I'd been digging for more info about. The show was in this art gallery, hidden in the shadows of office buildings and delis and theater row. The space was transformed into a maze with sculpture and writings decorating the walls. I wandered in, looking for the music that was promised to be at the end. I saw a band, not the one I was there looking for, sitting around and taking apart equipment. I looked at them, they looked at me, and wandered away. I came across this guy, looking like an antsy hipster complete with the shaggy hair, hoodie, and classic sneaks (shelltoes in this instance), and we struck up a stilted conversation as I asked where the refreshments were hiding. Our chatting would reoccur as the night passed. The place was on the miniature side. Three turns and you were either out the door or back where you started. I tried to wait patiently for everything (the set to start, the drink girl to replenish the supply, a lightning bolt to hit this girl who started some story with "not that I'm a racist, but..."), but mostly aimlessly walked around and around. That guy was from SC visiting for the week and one pass we talked about the upstate region and its little cities and towns. I felt a twang slip out and I missed my old summer trips for the quickest of seconds.

And then the band played, mostly acoustic with the music going low as the mike-less singer sang. I was mesmerized by the bass, all strings and neck. I stood in the corner on a bucket and tried to keep my balance and take a pic or two with my shitty camera phone. Almost at the end, there was competing noise from a sax player and drummer playing out front on the street. They wrapped up quick and suddenly and everyone ventured outside. The discordant noise brought down a tourist to complain about her lack of sleep. She walked about and fumed helplessly and everyone watched the showdown between her and the saxophonist amused. I used the lull to stroll off the next destination. There were no more fireworks to be had there that night.

I had a choice of parties to go to with one big possible drawback to them all. I was playing the shell game and trying not to be where The Boy could end up. But true to form, I paid my money and bought my first drink and looked to my left to see his friend and then him sitting there. Figures really. I kept to myself and this random I knew from the neighborhood where I used to work and he hovered around like the mosquito you can't quite kill and finally just ghost. I coped with the Long Island Iced Tea special and chugging to calm my nerves. Too bad my stomach wasn't so happy as time went on. I spent the next day at home lounging like Sheba and considered how fun it would be to live somewhere where my past wasn't always been thrown in my face.

Tuesday, I attempted to see a show by the old faves, but fatigue and the noxious crowd turned me back. Instead I went to the 2nd show of the week by Saturday's group. There again was that guy from SC. We had another strange conversation and he confessed that he was at the show for lack of a better option and stir crazy. I gave my condolences on that and perched myself by the bar hoping for a good watching angle. It was a good show again and I was happy that I got it together to see them. That guy had disappeared before the show was over. I hope he had a good trip.

The Rolls and Waves

This past week, I've just been trying to keep my equilibrium going. I'm one of those people that need a neutral balance or else I'm going to fall into the hole. Last Thursday was a pretty shitty day, for instance. I got beyond drenched out in the rain, had some very not so good interviews, found out my insurance was cut off, and just felt super alone and loserish and overwhelmed most of that day. That great mood carried on to early Friday when I tried my best to just stay under the covers and cry before I got the call about some more interviews and then had some drinks and tried to perk myself up.

I ended up at a big party at 3rd Ward that night. I was determined to enjoy myself and succeeded. There was an annoying interlude with this random who latched onto me early and wouldn't leave me alone. He was too old, marginally funny, looked like a lost member of X-Clan (well, not that there's anything wrong with that part), and had this really irritating habit of singing in my ear. I had to break out some stealth moves to finally shake him. Good thing about huge warehouse parties is you can go hours withough running into a person again. I ran into Benny and Tim and ended up talking with Benny about their group and an upcoming show. He said that they were looking for singers to do background stuff and I (strange for me) volunteered. Er, haven't done more than entertain my cat in four years. That's going to be an adventure. And then I wandered around and around for hours before escaping at 8am into the insanely bright sun. It's always tough strolling in somewhere in the dead of the night and finally accepting that it's daytime and you need to go home. We party hard.

I made a new friend Sunday and I shall call him Red (for obvious real life reasons). We went to Floyd's and didn't play bocce (which is almost blasphemous) and then to see Disturbia. Which made me really hot for Shia LaBeouf, until I found out that's he's not even 21. You'd think I'd be on some what's good for the goose is good for gander since I'm hard pressed to think of the last guy I dated/liked/whatever that's not older than me, but yuck at younger guys. I'm sure I'll change my tune in 5 years or so.
Last night was another Battles show. Most of my time was spent wishing bodily harm on this group of jerks who decided that no matter what the song, a mosh pit was needed. The boy came over at the end all "you're here, cool, I was going to text you to see if you knew about it, but here you are." Blah. He should make himself useful and get me a damned Battles bag. I've talked so much about it this week that the crazed need is awakened.

This week was kinda tough. I've been worrying a lot about the job situation, natch. Good/bad effects: weight loss. The "so stressed that I'm despairing" diet works wonders. But I've been working my ass off the past couple of weeks and it paid off with mad interviews and finally today, a new job. I'll be freelancing as a PM/producer at an agency that could eat my old one for breakfast, so I'm really excited. And I even have nothing but goodwill (today at least) towards my old boss for forcing me onto the market to make a living wage. Yay for me!

Same Old Trip It Was Back Then

I've been listening to a lot of 90s music. Tis strange. A kid at work has been blasting decade themed music every Friday lately and I requested grunge and C+C Music Factory for the other day. Listening to 90s stuff makes me feel like an angsty kid again. Strange how those songs just bring all the weirdness back. Good thing this was nostaglia week I suppose.

I'm kinda upset about work. I feel like the situation is getting worse and it frustrates me to feel like I'm basically in the same position as last year, except halfway in the poor house because of the paycut. Adulthood blows. PrincessNella and I are masterplanning a trip for March again. The main draw for Miami is lessened a bit this year, so maybe California this time around. I've got a little under six weeks to get my license -- I've decided that since my learner's permit (shut up, I grew up three blocks from the subway and they didn't do driver's ed in my Manhattan high school) is expiring, I'm going to get a damned license instead of being embarrassed by renewing the fucking thing -- so maybe we can even tool around in a rental. I promise to avoid crazy LA drivers and fire hydrants.

A rather bizarre thing in my world right now is modern technology (yes, as all encompassing and vague as that is). I feel like I'm getting more socially inept as I get more connected to things. Recently, I've been friended by these DJs I see a fair amount out and about since I'm on their mailing lists and they play the shit I like to hear and all. And they've been vaguely communicating with me via these technological things and for me it's like "well, now what?" I'm strangely too chickenshit to bridge the gap and being a known unknown freaks me out. Dilemma, dilemma.

In a fit of randomness, I ended up swept back into the Sapph scene tonight. Crazy C and her ragtag bunch of friends. Being around them makes me amazed at my lack of a drug addiction. The super blast from the past was The Brit and his brother. His brother is a nutter and he's so obsessed with my laugh. He makes me feel self-conscious, especially since he has a totally different picture of what went on with me and The Brit than what did (which I'm sure he didn't try to set straight). Speaking of him, we didn't speak at all. It's been a year and a half damned near and we barely know each other anymore at this point. The episode was fairly painless. How different my past year + would've been if I'd had some barely worth recording flirtation that never got off the ground with the boy. But, as I thought to myself bitterly one day, the wrongs are always the easy ones to catch and the hard ones to throw away.

Everything Leads To The Big Bang

I was feeling pretty blah heading into the long weekend. I'd worked the dead week at a mostly empty office and all those things that I actually had to be getting done, just weren't happening. And I had a nice demoralizing convo with my boss. All in all, I could've comfortably laid in bed until New Year's Eve. But then I wouldn't be me, would I?

Friday was a miracle day: off work way early (not that it helped me in my fool's quest at Circuit City) and had an honest to goodness fake date that wasn't a disaster (well not from my perspective, but what do I know?). I was engaging, cracked jokes, made fun, made cute, and was unashamedly terrible at video games. We wandered around the greater downtown Brooklyn, chatting and laughing. It was...nice. I didn't think I had the capacity to be lighthearted and cool anymore. Occasionally, I surprise myself.

Way later that night, I ended up wandering around the Financial District after an ill-advised detour to Williamsburg. I was on my way to one of those parties I'd miss if (really, it's when about now) I leave NYC. And it was what I hoped it would be: good music, packed with people, more than a handful of those I knew and liked. I even got some blasts from the past: The DJ strolled in looking like death warmed over (drugs are bad, kids) and an old 68 High/Wes buddy (I was feeling inappropriately warm currents there. Let's try to pretend that didn't happen). I even ran into the boy gang from the building's 10th floor. I'm amused at how they travel in packs. The guy from 10 that I like sometimes despite myself rescued me from a confrontation with this random. I had been standing on the wall minding my business when this sweaty fool came in my face saying I had dissed him. I was gearing up to give him a good neck roll and stream of obscenities when 10 guy stepped in on the pretense of chatting with me. The weirdo kinda stood along there for a second before he went across the room to randomly spring up on the next girl. Again, drugs are bad.

Saturday night, Alafairnadia and I went to a party near the Gowanus. She left a little early and I made lemonade out of lemons by recruiting my nearby work friend Banana to the festivities. The whole place was a little bizarre: optional costumes with a table full of props to choose from (I passed), the planned bonfire with a wooden contraption, and the highlight had to be the giant stuffed Shrek packed with dry ice and then blown up. I would've hated to be a neighbor on that night. The two of us momentarily fell in with a pair of freaks. The ringleader of the two was flirting and at the same time saying "why do people think it's weird that I go out without my wife? Do you think that it is weird." Umm, perhaps a bit. And then the shy sidekick who wheeled around the backyard in a wheelchair and uncomfortably humped my leg. Good times...or something.

And then New Year's Eve at Alafairnadia's place. The early on crowd was packed with board people talking about the board and I thought my eyes would get stuck in the rolled position. Let's talk about the internet at a real life party! So fascinating! And let's use our board names because it's not like we're real people with real names! Super! Ugh. We hit the stroke of midnight on the roof watching the fireworks from Prospect Park. Another fun ringing in the new year with my friends. Let's hope '07 blows '06 out of the water. At this rate, it wouldn't take much really. A group of us wandered off to Studio B for minimal dancing but maximum chatter. I randomly found someone who had made the move from here to the West Coast some years ago and spent way too much time drunkenly talking about how I needed to just drop everything and go. Definitely not news to me. I'm not long for this town, but I plan to enjoy it while I still can.

I Can Feel It In The Beat

I'm holiday partied the fuck out. The whole week has been a blur of coworkers and I travelling in packs and imbibing and mingling and acting (a little bit) like fools. It's interesting actually working in a fun part of the media world for a switch, so I can actually be social me instead of always wearing the mask like the old place. The sad part is that our work party isn't even until next week, so I wonder if I'll even be able to do anything but whimper at the sight of alcohol by then. To avoid that, I've grounded myself through the weekend to stave off another bout of the 6am dry heaves. My liver was threatening to commit suicide.

Tuesday's party was in celebration of the passing of the 21st Amendment (which ended Prohibition and all that). Our lovely clients were the sponsors and all of us who slaved on it got to run around and drink ourselves stupid. My coworkers rule. It's always a pleasure being around them. Getting there was a big adventure with the meeting on a strange corner and then shady random (damned good actor) giving us directions. We ended up being the first bunch at the party...which wasn't that cool, but it evened out. We were mingling furiously. A few years back when I was newly returned to NYC and barely in my 20s running around with late 20 somethings/early 30 somethings, I wondered where the hell all the guys my age were. Now still running around with early 30 somethings, the guys my age have appeared from a secret mist or something. And they're some accomplished cool ass fuckers too. I can't bring myself to date or "date" any of them (yet), but seeing them makes me happy. Likewise, these random packs of 23 year olds everywhere. They're so earnest. It almost warms my cold bitch heart. Erm, sidetracked. So, to make a long story short, we heart media boys and the ad world and open bars. Amen.

Except when some of those media boys see you at parties and spazz on you. Wednesday's party was another company's holiday party that we all got the 11th hour invite to. Yes, I will be there with bells on to drink your top shelf spirits and stuff myself with hors d'œuvres and maybe even dance if i can be persuaded. Imagine my surprise when I came face to face with this random who lives near me that I've passed some meaningless time with. Well, I actually wasn't that surprised at all. It was established that we both worked doing the same type of shit, though his company is like 5x the size of mine. I was even amused when he visibly blanched when he saw me across the room. Kids nowadays aren't skillful enough at playing it cool in front of pseudogirlfriends and coworkers. So much for that one.

Wake Up and Live Forever

Note: this post has been liberated from the unpublished archives and I was just too lazy to update most of it

August was a super strange month for me, with a lot of deja vu-inducing moments. Wacky neighbor friend who gets a little besides himself after some drinks? The DJ looking cute but ultimately ridiculous to me? A boy who should be in the past, but I'm having random hangouts with him where I just kinda shake my head and wonder why? What fucking year is this really? And I've been on my broke as a joke diet and looking downright early 2005 lately. Sayonara, chipmunk cheeks! Until the next round of cheeseburgers at least.

And me flitting about until real life ultimately comes slapping me in the face. Trying to be a grown up is really hard work. Sometimes I'm juggling like a pro, others things just get broken and I have to get out my superglue and try my best to fix it. I've spent a lot of time thinking about social superficiality and the few things and people that really have brought me joy in random, flighty ways. It's funny that I went in a week from saying that everyone's social MO is to greet drive-by style to wishing that I had broken myself from that pattern with the ones who were really special. Like the wonderful AG, gone now but briefly a bright light in the after dark world for me.

I've definitely seen more shows lately than I have in a while. PrincessNella and I went to Amsterjam thanks to a guy at work with connections. Busta: weird and leaning on the newer shitty material and not looking so hot. LL: the awesome! He did songs I forgot I knew from all through his career. But, he teased us by not going totally shirtless. He's looking less bullish lately. It would've been super hot. Foo Fighters: I really thought I sorta liked them until this show. They did the newer hits which blow and every song just ended up annoying. That might have been because the mosh pit erupted right next to me. Fuckers still do that shit? Christ on a cracker! We escaped to the lovely scene of a chick giving her pedophile boyfriend bus head in the corner of our eyes. As my dad used to say before he went all suburban, "you pay your fare, you get a show." Eww...I'll pass.

We wandered through Queens lamenting the utter lack of post-10pm eats and ended up in a spot familiar to me, near where Trendvickster lived before her big Chicago move. I marvelled at the time I used to spend in the area and how long ago the bulk of the '03 hijinks seem. Then off to Greenpoint where work and my life combined in fun ways. I felt really glad about how different everything is for me than it was six months ago. I don't regret the leap a single moment, even though many of these months have been painfully tight. The happiness will always win out.

In the past month, I've seen a few celebrations of love and commitment. I'm in a place where I'm happy to see really loving couples because I think "one day, that'll be me." I don't feel a rush, but in doing this ridiculous palling about with the boy, it makes me feel more acutely what I'm missing. There's not really anything I can actually do about it, but just sigh I guess.

They Got The Steely Dan T-Shirt

I'm such a lady, but I'm dressing like a ho....aurgh! Shoot me. No more VMA clips. I'm a little amused by the resurrection of Timbersnake. It only makes me feel worse for my real 'Nsync fave, JC. Dude doesn't stand a chance in the pop world at the moment. He'd be better off doing some random ass XLR8R-approved techno/electro collabo and trying to recast himself as hipster avant garde.

Banksy v. Paris: video | flickr set | news article. Maybe it just makes an asshole but I think you almost deserve to get a doctored version with "That's Hot" on a megaloop if you actually purposely go out to buy a Paris CD. [via Abe]

Interview snippet:

10. What do you think of laptop DJs?

Its whatever, I dont think anyone likes seeing someone checking their Myspace profiles for new messages from hot girls during a set.

If youre gonna act like a performer, then do something magical.

Laptop DJs should be hidden in a black box because its distracting and very unflattering what they are trying to do.

Ouch.

I've been having more than a few moments lately (especially when I start to think about the upcoming new apartment hunt) when I think it might be fun to pick up and go somewhere new. And then I remember I can't drive and/or speak more than the basics of a foreign language and that I'm broke and then that nips itself in the bud. And then I had one of those "it can only happen here!" couple of days and I really forget about that.

Thursday night, I left work and went downstairs to the boy's lair. We're friends it seems..at the moment...I guess. I'm just the type of person prone to silly entanglements, but I'm trying to get better. (In an aside, I've decided to blame my guy friends for that. Besides them giving me mostly ineffectual advice, I must be the only girl in NY with a horde of attached guy friends who know nothing but...other attached guys. What are the fucking odds for fuck's sake?! Since I'm left to my own devices, all I've got is recycling and the internet. le sigh.) We palled around about dumbo, then went to the birthday party for this band guy I used to harass the hell out of. The boy intro'd me with a "you remember Candice..." and I got the unsure blink of recognition, but at least he didn't say "you're the bitch who used to get on my nerves!" I might have if the situation was reversed.

Everyone at the party besides me and a handful of people were giants. I'm about average height, so it's very strange to be somewhere that 95% of the crowd is 5'10"+. It makes me wish I had a spare pair of heels stashed in my bag to at least be in the same atmosphere as everyone else. One of the other shorties was this random who was very weird. She and the boy are friends of friends and they were chattering away. She looked at me once like "are you lost?" and then again after some time had passed like "hmm..you're not going away..." What did I do? Well...nothing. I was drinking and passing the time, I didn't really feel any way about her besides amusement. When he wandered away for some reason, she gave me the grilling (why do they do that?!) and I was pretty blase. She perked up when I said I lived in the Heights and she dropped that her boyfriend lived a block over from me on Lincoln. Well...bully for him. Soon after, she poofed and I'll admit I got a slight thrill dropping to the boy about her bf living in my hood. He kinda visibly deflated. I might have hid a snicker. Good times. But, some good advice: let's just avoid the hero at 3am, even if someone else is paying. It'll just make you feel bad the next day. Seriously.

Saturday night, I was representing for the office at a coworker's DJ gig. Also there was this guy we work with that I had a crush on until I realized a) we'll always be working together, so it's to my best interest not to be that into him b) he resembles a young Tom Cruise circa Risky Business and reminds me of how much I always hated that guy with his dead eyes and chicklet teeth. Poof! Crush gone. Biggest thrill of the night was hearing "Sweet Freedom" and then spazzing with the DJ partner about how much we love Michael McDonald and how a yacht rock mix would be the sweetest thing ever. Yacht Rock...bringing people together. Also, being at a party in Williamsburg with the '06 crowd of FOA hipsters made me feel like I was 40 years old. Deliverance now!

Alafairnadia and I took in a show at the shores of the Gowanus Sunday afternoon. I love shows in random ass places. We heard good music, got a new DJ hero, and even got to see Justin...though saying hi almost got me a broken foot. Ouch. Amusement was making a bathroom line friend by talking shit about how slow the people in front of us were and running down how we and others reacted in other lines. Kids gotta get their kicks where they can I guess.

So Does Everybody Else

First, the quotables:

"What ruins polka for me is that it's all guys from Minnesota singing about milk and cookies"
I laugh. "Or cheese and bread!"
"Or the Mall of America!"

"Okay, I've figured it out. They're either gay or German or gay and German."
"I can see them being all those possibilites."
"Yeah, they totally seem like they're gonna make out. They need to just get it on already."

"That's the cute girl? She's not even that cute!"
"I. Know!"

More TK.

I'm On It

Er, so I really fixed the comments this time. Sorry to Alafairnadia and the creatively named theglow@shonuffizabeeatch.com for the rejection. Re-comment away!

It's a fucking scorcher in the city. 110 heat index for today and Wednesday. Utterly brutal! Needless to say, the bike is staying at home until it has passed. I'm really not trying to pass out from heat stroke in the middle of Fulton St or something.

To all those who've expressed their concern over the past post: eh, you know me. It's usually all doom and gloom cryptic-cakes, but not for the reasons you'd think or as bad as I made it out to be. It's mostly all good. Minus the fact August is going to be a really financially tight month for me. No Chicago trip. Sorry, Trendvickster and David! But, guess who's getting lean and mean? Try the girl who lives on the top of a hill and has to carry her bike up four flights of stairs!

Weirdness of the week: I inadvertantly got the urge to check up on Farmer and I found out that he's like buddies (at least photographically) with my favorite Soda waitress. No way! Why he can't be friends with the bitch we all hate who almost got her ass handed to her last week? Ugh. He's tainting everything!

We're very much on Ghostly's jock right now (and so is XLR8R!) ...and in a parallel aside, if you can identify this DJ (we suspect Bodycode cause that's what we think we heard at that party), you might be my new best friend. ETA: It's Adam X. Music critics are good for something after all! We should've known better to listen to an idiot tripping off Sparks. He did play Bodycode though, if I'm not mistaken. Speaking of that party, it was fun as hell and kids were even dancing. But the obscene amounts of alcohol might have helped with that. I even quipped: "since when do fucking hipsters like techno?" That is the question of the summer.

Believe it or not, someone called me "Candizzle" yesterday and my head didn't explode. I only made a half-hearted threat of bodily harm even. While smiling. Ugh. I'm getting soft in my old age. I'm such a sucker for a pretty face.

She's Pretty And I Like Her, But She's Too Well

I've been trying to tell myself this week that summer romances are overrated. Disdain and retreat is after all the last refuge of wounded pride. I don't even know what I want exactly. Non-rejection would be nice for a switch.

The past couple of weeks have just been a series of painfully demoralizing misadventures. I'm sick of the freaks, they just make me feel worse. I've been stood up, rejected, non-optioned, and made to endure ridiculous monologues about exes, pharmaceuticals, and dysfunction. It's bad enough trying to go through internally trying to get back where I was in some respects with being kicked halfway back down the hill. Even though I feel like the most well-adjusted girl in NYC in comparison to some of them, stick a fork in me, I'm done.

In the meantime, I'm focusing my dissatisfaction on Love. Okay, the décor kinda sucks. It's more than a little heavy on dark cave meets acid trip with that random picture of MLK Jr out of nowhere and the flow stopping door that separates the dancefloor from the rest of the place is super ill-advised. But, the best soundsystem and usually stellar lineups and it's always TOTALLY EMPTY. Okay, it's been not empty once for Alexander Robotnick, but that's one time in the damned near 10 that I've been there. A crying shame really. That place rules and with one good party, it could be amazing.

I went with PrincessNella, celebrating her birthday by dragging her around town and getting cheap drinks in this NYUcountry bar until the screechy idiots drove us out. The painfully empty party was fun. Sweet, glorious techno. Some random cornered me (literally) and decided to chat music with me. He was like "is this house? Or techno? I can't tell the difference. It sounds like progressive house to me" and I shook my head at him sadly. Boredom kept me from walking away until having practically pinned me into the narrow space and traded cards and asked me for my AIM name, he was casually all "I run a record label...with my wife. We have two kids..." and I gave him a well-deserved "WTF is wrong with you?" face and made an escape. Gah. I just don't know if it's them or me at this point.

Digital

I Know You, I Live You

The dilemma I face when I'm home and avoiding responsibilities: to buy the PS 1 summer season pass or not? I think I went a grand total of twice last year, but going halfsies with someone wouldn't make it too bad. (Like my mom likes to say, the less time I spend in bars, the more money I'd save. Should we let her know I'm not in bars that much anymore because I'm too busy chained to my desk? I don't think she believes it anyways.) Though it's still hard as hell to get there for my house. We shall see.

Dilemma #2: when shall I plan my weekend trip to Chicago for? Original plan was to go mid-July, but yeah...ain't happening. (You know what's sad, I work so much now that I was actually really beat about having two days off for the holiday because that was two less days to build into the production schedule, which is gonna make this week a bitch and a half! Help, I'm a pod person!) I guess I'm waiting until August now. I need some sort of activity to plan my trip around. Paging David the Chicago social director!

In general, I'm having a really bad month, but I'm trying to look on the bright side when I'm not mewing. Ever been like exhausted on multiple levels? It sucks. I also got the "I think of you as a really good friend," not as stinging as "I think of you like a sister" (Thank God. That one is like the basis of justifiable homicide or something), but saddening and infuriating all at once. I think I'm hitting crazy depressed cat lady territory. Mew. I blame the rain. Umm can I get a dose of wild and exciting summer stat?

I'm Back With An 808 Cause I'm Bossy

Help, it's 80,000 degrees in my apartment. The cat and I are considering laying on the floor in front of the AC to sleep at night. And it's only June, so August is gonna be a real blast. Sigh.

Thursday was one of those old school nights (where old school means like two years ago) in terms of just simply being out and about. It was nice to leave work on or close on time and I went off to the special "Arrivederci, Mr. Daily Heights!" happy hour. Without him and the site, my neighborhood social life would be a lot different I'm sure. Post that, I was off to meet friend C somewhere in NYUcountry and partake in free spirits. The journey continued to Aaron's party where he practically cheered when I said the blog was as good as half dead. Tsk, tsk. I think I've finally found my motivation to write more, y'all!

I was caught up in a nostalgic moment leaving there and went to Sapph for the first time in forever. What a waste. Nothing there even remotely appeals. Between that, Rothko closing, and more scary pubs than you can shake a stick at, I'm ready to just to declare that part of town a wasteland and not go back . Not that I've been there much in the past couple of years anyways, but you know.

After all that, I went across town to the 8th Circle of Hell a.k.a. The Meatpacking. Did you know they charge $3 for hot dogs from a cart in that neighborhood? Utter bull. Shudder. Did I really used to hang out around there all the time? That's how I feel just about everywhere in town lately. Did I used to hang out in this space when it was Tapis Rouge and now these bitches are selling pimp juice for $5? Lame, lame, lame. Now that going there has become a novelty, I can totally just write Manhattan off as a waste of time generally. Except for $1 vodka drinks at Lit and open bars. There's always time for that.

I met up with the lovely Claudia and her friend at a place I probably never would've wandered into on my own when we discovered we were about a block away from each other. Dude was gorgeous, smart, funny, with an actual career, and 25 years old. Er where are those guys in Brooklyn? I'll trade my infinite supply of 28, I mean 27, year old artists for a guy my age who has his shit together. Not that a guy like that would be interested in me anyways. Meh. I'm not as bitter as I might sound, but I'm going through a frustrating period. Guys. Can't love them and can't kill them.

And then a trip to 419. God, that place is like forever perfect. Even with the sniffer assholes. I waited 10 years to get into the bathroom and out came a trio looking like the fiends they were. And what did I find on the mirror ledge when I went inside? A lost bag of sugar! And I trashed it with a toss. I considered being elaborate about it, sprinkling a path to the toilet and flushing it or whatever, but it wasn't worth the effort. I come out to seethe fiends waiting outside. I walked past and went back to the bar. They sit across from me and keep glancing my way. Finally one comes over.

"Hey."
"Hey."
"Did you see anything in the bathroom when you were in there?"
"Huh?"
"Did you see something left behind in the bathroom?"
"Er, no."
"No really, you can tell me. I won't get mad."
Blink. Sneer. "I don't know what you're talking about."

And he walked away. They kept looking at me from across the way and one stood up and went back to the bathroom to do a real search I suppose. They found what they were looking for and went dancing happily for the rest of the night. Pathetic.

Standing at the bar, I caught sight of this guy I knew who used to work there and the last I'd seen, had gone off to greener pastures. I expressed my confusion to the chattering guy sitting next to me and he said that dude was now the manager. Weird! I chatted with the guy and after all these years, he still remembered my old drink, a glass of Taylor's 10, and gave it to me on the house for old times' sake. I can't believe I used to slide up in there drinking port all the time. Times sure change! But, it is nice to be remembered.

She Smells Like 2am

In my slight hiatus, I've: worked and worked and worked (working until almost 1am on a Friday night is strangely not the bomb. Who knew?) and listened to music (James T Cotton and She Wants Revenge, ho!) and played silly games with the boy and became overtired and was a bit of a homebody for a while there and/or stayed in the confines of the B69 axis (going to Manhattan is like a novelty to me now. It's kinda amusing) and experimented with the camera on my new cell (Jay-V sees an invitation for seduction and I see the colossal grocery filled sized bags under my weary little eyes. Not to mention the chained to my desk diet working for me.).

To that end, I declared Saturday night would be the end all and be all to celebrate the homestretch of my insane period. My treat: banana bread, the special kind, sold only at the party I look forward to obsessively every month. I had imagined that the vibe would be on the chill side with all the little college brats disappearing for the summer. So just picture my face when I strolled up and found the line halfway down the block.

Still, I waited patiently and fought my way through the colossal amounts of people inside to get to the magic table. "Banana bread?" I said hopefully and the woman smiled at me to pull out the special baggie of heaven. I scurried off with my piece like a kid ending a candy store pillage and scarfed it in mere seconds. Magic? Magic now? Not quite. I think I feel something. Do I feel something? I dunno. I'm being neurotic and overthinking. I'm so in my head that I can't tell if it's working or not. Gah. Fuck this. I need this to work. I need another piece. Ever been utterly useless brainwise? That was me circa 2:30am. It rules.

Just my luck, I ran into a random from HS. I can say this is a kid I never really thought about at all, now or then. He was our grade stoner, nice enough in the less than 10 encounters I had with him in 6 years there. Only notable because I remember him being overly concerned with me leaving at the reunion a couple of years back. And here he was gushing about high school being the best years of his life and who he still hangs out with and vaguely reminiscing with me while moving steadily closer. I had a strange sense of worlds colliding interacting with the sheer potency working its way through me and mumbled a vague something before bolting further into party. Where I came face to face with the boy.

"I'm so happy to see you," I murmured, despite also remembering that we were in the middle of a days long freeze and still looking over my shoulder for HS weirdo. But, he smiled and came out with a string of apologies and I smiled too. Oh, young...distractions. And the smiles are short-lived against the typical push and pull. We wander our seperate ways.

I am conscious of music and spectacles and people through a distant fog. I'm feeding off the energy of the environment and just happy. I meander my way around and around and as things work, I run into the HS guy again. He talks to me near the scupture maze and I'm slightly surprised to find myself mindlessly chatting back. I feel a tap and see the boy's friend giving me a quizzical face with a side glance at the HS guy. I greet him warmly, while feeling annoyed and amused. The old cock block. He disappeared soon after and I bolted again after a few minutes when the bizarre vibes became too much again.

And I walked around and ran into the boy again. We danced and chatted and left for White Castle and the B48. Two wishy-washy people equals the constant push-pull. But, I know how to fix that. He later shakes his head at me and smiles despite himself. "You just do whatever you want to, don't you?" "Yes," I say with a smile. He knows he lives for it.

What Is The Question Again?

To start off with an aside: Prefuse @ Summerstage on August 13th! Woo! Now, I feel even less regretful than I did yesterday (that is to say not very much) about totally skipping the May and June dates. I love summer in the city. Everyone swings by for free sooner or later!

Jamie Lidell show #4: ridiculously amazing. Alafairnadia and I made good on our promise and trudged the whole er, 7 or 8 blocks to Southpaw. Jimmy Edgar opened up his set kinda shakily.and we wandered around, coming face to face with Justin. He's my personal gauge of if where I am is gonna be good time or not. Ain't no party unless he's there, etc. I'm amused when people say that about me. I barely even go out anymore and free and/or cheap drinks are my standard of fun really. Anyhoo, we wandered back and the Edgar set picked up considerably. I'd never heard of him before, but now I'm a sorta fan. Yay for new music!

Jamie came on the stage and killed it. It was very techno heavy (but not as meandering and noodly as the Rothko show), but had straight up versions of things like my fave song "What's The Use?" and "Music Will Not Last" plus the Edgar/Lidell live collabo for "When I Come Back Around." "Game For Fools" and "Multiply" as the encore. And the encore was when things got interesting. He had to go the audience participation route. Too bad most of the audience was filled with utter fucking freaks. This one chick, who we'd been contemplating beating with a shoe for most of the show since she was running around screaming and vamping, was the first one to the mic and was all "Jamie, I want to rock your world!" Then came the guy who said: "I want to make romance in your body!" Er, what now? Not to mention the other clowns who decided to house the mic since they got confused and thought they were on Star Search. And all that before everyone got on stage and this "singer" decided to torture us with her painfully off key melodies before breaking into a rap. Chaos. And that was our cue to bounce.. David quipped when I was telling him the story that perhaps Jamie Lidell is the hipster Usher. Could be...

Amusingly enough, the one piece I forgot to mention about that party is what became the thing today. I work the floor above this company that's a big shop for music people of a certain ilk and am forever seeing these kids who work there in the elevator. Especially since there are only two and all. For the first week or two of work, there was this one kid I was seeing just about everytime I rode it and then one day riding my bus. And then there he was at the party! Curiosity killed the cat, etc, so I introduced myself to him saying we worked in the same building and stuff and he was all, "oh. yeah. I've seen you around" completely disinterested and intro'd me to some other guy who supposedly worked there too and disappeared. I was like "okay, dick, fuck you too" and didn't think anything else about it since I stopped seeing him after that as those things go. It'd be one thing if I was hitting on him (I wasn't), but a) I'd had a lot of $1 vodkas b) I was still the new girl around the office/building and I was just excited about running into someone I recognized from there c) I'd had some open bar stuff too before those $1 vodkas, so I was just being happy drunk friendly overall and him being kinda lame pissed me off that much more.

Fast forward to today when I'm coming out the building and dude's standing on the curb with some boxes. I wasn't going to say anything at all, but he's all like "hey!" I reply "hey" in a whatever tone and go about my business. Later on, I'm sitting at my desk and I spy this dude at the office door talking to one of my coworkers. And then he looks my way and waves. I kinda frown and look around all "is he waving at someone else?" and then wave back with a sorta puzzled expression when I establish that I'm the one. And then dude comes inside and walks over to me and starts shooting the shit like "hey! remember we met at that party? I wasn't sure if you recognized me earlier. I'm DJing the office party tomorrow" and on and on. And I reply kinda half frowning, hella confused. He blew me off and now he's acting like we're cool or something? See, this is why I've given up on guys for the time being. They're fucking bipolar. Plus that was embarrassing because I could see my coworkers all "hmm...who's this random?" And I'm dreading having to shoot the shit at the party. Utterly lame. Moral of this story: no point in being nice to the douches on 10.

Flash Forward

I need a new computer desperately. After too many years of service, my girl is about 3 months from the scrap heap. I'm trying not to get too heavily seduced by the iMac at work, especially now that the Mac action I remember well (a.k.a. the computer being a total fuckup) is beginning to rear its head. Laptop? Desktop? Mac mini? iMac? Decisions, decisions...

I'm getting back into that old habit of raging and working during the week and taking Friday as the day to go to bed at like 10pm and get a breather. It's weird getting up around 8:30am on a Saturday morning well rested, and also to see all these text messages and voicemails like "you out?" but the good night's sleep is amazing. I'm loving the new job, even if it's kicking my ass a bit. It's hard for me to be clueless and I'm working hard to soak up all the knowledge I can. Every frustration is a lesson at the end of the day. I still don't regret a thing though. It's so worth it.

Last week was a bizarro blast from the past type deal. Except for a silly little crush that I'm intent on not letting get anywhere, I'm detoxing from liking anyone and the inevitable crappy patterns that follow. I came to the conclusion that it's pretty much a waste of vital energy and I'd rather be hanging out with my friends or getting in shape to ride my bike to and from work or staring off into space than being as frustrated as I used to feel all the time. Life's too short yadda yadda.

Anyways, I was at a friend's party and saw that guy who had given me his card some months back. I'd been running into him for about a week straight and got like 0 recognition. So, I walked up to him and started shooting the shit and then he remembered and was sorta flirting with me just like he had before. So, the pessimist in me was right and the cards don't mean much. Weird. Over that, I was wandering around at the same party and came face to face with The DJ. He's looking like hell, must be on the sniff and water diet. Our common friend mocked him when he turned away and I mentally patted myself on the back for having all that just kinda stall from the start. Dodged a major bullet there. Last Friday was my inaugural "stay in and sleep," so I missed the "Farmer has taken up residency in the nabe" bombshell. It's one of those things that sorta amuses and irritates me at the same time. We saw him Saturday and he looked ridiculous and out of place. It's not really worth thinking much more about on my end. I'd probably hardly ever see him anyways. Out of sight, out of mind.

I'm really looking forward to the rest of the spring and summer, especially now that I have two cents to rub together again. I was painfully broke for a good month and it's nice to let go of those "how am i going to make ends meet???" nightmares. I'm starting to get back into my swing of things. Looking forward to the Four Tet DJ Kicks. Catching Jamie Lidell Wednesday at Southpaw (hoping for more Bowery/m3esque and less Rothkoish). We're loving and hating Hot Chip at the same time. They're so fun on record, but total wastes of time in person. Though, I am giving them one more chance in the summer -- because it's a free show. They're playing South Street Seaport in August, if i recall correctly. Something random to leave you with: I've got almost the whole dance routine from the Sean Paul "Temperature" video memorized. Love it!

And You're So Hot For Me

I have returned!

I shirked my blogging duty in Miami this time around because...well, because I was just too lazy to do it. I was on vacation after all. The weather wasn't the hottest and the Summit wasn't as cool this time around, but in terms of good times and relaxation, it was tops.

The trip started off "fun" as Farmer and I went out boozing the night before my 8:30 am flight. I, being me, had left most of the packing and stuff of that nature until the last minute, so I got to have a delightful mostly drunken allnighter session of getting my shit together before heading off to the airport with no sleep and general muddled idiocy. I discovered in my journey that AirTrain takes Metrocards...but not unlimited ones and now hate the confusing ass Atlanta airport that used up my 40 minute layover just trying to find out where the fuck I was supposed to be. The Miami hotel was kinda budget, but that pool and oceanview with a pretty decent sized room was totally fucking worth it. I dragged my exhausted ass across Miami Beach to a party featuring Prefuse and friends -- very heavy on the friends -- DJing and was that girl at the party barely fighting the urge to nod off in the corner. I finally gave myself a break and went back to my room after a while.

Every other day is a blur. I boozed, I danced, I laughed, I chilled with friends, walked around, chatted with randoms, had fun, and looked forward to summer in the city when I could wander around in my flips on my home turf. I really thought M3 was terrible this year. Too scattered, sound not so great, acts not so inspiring. The better performances: Jamie Lidell (though he said after the set to the dude standing next to Alafairnadia and I that he was rubbish, he was pretty stoked when we were like "you were awesome! We can't wait until your Southpaw show!"), Curumin, J'Davey (even if the chick's voice got on my nerves), Vitalic (yay techno!), She Wants Revenge (just on stage presence alone -- singer dude is totally the Prince and Robert Smith lovechild), Hypnotic Brass Ensemble, Bugz In Da Attic, and The National Trust. I missed a lot of acts I would've like to see because the presentation was just fucking boring for most of it and I would just wander off. Better luck next year. The most fun was random ass parties either in West Bumblefuck or with spring breaker randoms where the music was just fun to dance to and I did until my knees ached. Good times, even though the weather kinda sucked (75 with a breeze is not that hot really...I wanted to fry!), UPS is fucking incompetant (8 days for an overnight package...good job!), and Farmer, house- and kittysitting, kept calling me with things going wrong to stress me out.

The best part to me was coming home after all that to finally be done with my month of leisure and back to the working world. All Brooklyn, all the time for me now. Farmer's actually living with Ant and I for the moment, which is kinda amusing and surreal. We're cleaning together and making dinner and shit. It makes laugh because I think, "didn't I used to hate his guts? And now we're friends?! Weird..." Times change and kids grow up. Or something. Here's to a good spring regardless.

From Here To Polarity

Favorite thing said to me on the birthday: "Your music is really turning me on." Peaches is good mood music for a relapse.

That reminds me of an exchange I had a few weeks back. Dude was like, "so what kind of music do you listen to?" and my response was: "techno. And Man Man, and Prefuse 73. And The Sea and Cake. But mainly, techno." I'm not really sure where that answer came from.

The Kelley Polar show was fucking something. I've seen some spectacle heavy shows in my day, but it took the cake. It was like Ladyhawke the musical. Pretty fun and entertaining though. Dude was wearing armor strung through with Christmas lights that would alternate being lit and not. The kicker was the disco lights deal with the chest plate during the encore. Woo boy. The crowd was pretty much dumbfounded through most of it and after a certain post, most just gave up the gaping to chatter. It reminded that I don't really like the KF main stage as a venue. And if there was any justice in the world, that would've been an M3 performance. Drunk people at the Surfcomber's heads collectively exploding. Ah well. Always hope for next year. I appreciate songs like "Ashamed of Myself" that I barely gave half a listen to before a lot more now.

The birthday itself was pretty low-key and consisted of me watching soaps and lounging (like every other day last week) until sundown approached and I started to feel like an idiot for neglecting to line up any real plans for the day. Katebklyn and the boy came to the rescue and I went from drinks to more drinks and fun chatter to even more drinks and the whole day perked up. It was a nice day and I feel like I have a really good life. The night winded down a bit unexpectedly, but ultimately a lot of fun. The birthday party was overwhelming yet very chill. The DH posse represented in full force, Wes friends rolled through, PrincessNella, A, and Trendvickster had oldest friends bragging rights, The Director and girl came, my mom hung out with everyone, and I drank most of those lined up drinks and shots without a wince. I am a professional after all. It was a little hard to get up before noon and hit the shopping trial with PrincessNella the next day, but I survived. Saturday night wasn't the nice weekend cap like I would've hoped though. Between a homicidal cabbie, overly aggro dudes everywhere at my favorite party, and the boy holding me hostage with his emo shit (ugh...we just don't work!), I was really stressed and unable to even enjoy myself. Fucking sucked.

Less than 10 days until I go to Miami! Woo! I need to make some money and get my trip list together. And the strangest thing I've noticed lately: the more weight I lose, the younger I look. Weird.

It Really Didn't Make Sense, Just To Leave This Unresolved

I'm going to try to challenge myself and post more. Especially since I'm going to have a bit more time on my hands soon -- well, until I fall into the work pit that is. I don't have much to say really. Planning the party in the nabe (next Friday night: my house or the less annoying local? Dilemma!), trying to extract myself from the dead end situation with the boy (I just can't continue to be excited about someone who I feel isn't excited by me), going show announcement crazy (two Man Man shows! Kelley Polar! Sam Prekop & Archer Prewitt walking distance from my house!), decorating the home space. I have yet to buy my Miami tickets (to leave Wednesday or Thursday? Aurgh!) yet I'm so there mentally already. I've realized this week that I've never quit a job the right way, like with a resignation instead of "well, I'm leaving the town, so I guess I'm done" or qutting in a fit of pique. It's kinda frightening actually!

The weekend was fun! Man Man show #2,876,305 was a good time. Kate Ace Fu threatened/promised/proposed running around in hot pants and she brought back bad memories of the infamous trampled by a guy in a yeti suit night and I had to fill Alafairnadia in to the story. People have really fucking shitty show manners and I am a rager, so they generally heard it from me. Really, what's up with standing an inch in front of someone and not only blocking their vision but also invading their personal space? Sure, it's gonna be cramped and that's to be expected, but when you can't even lead with an "excuse me," you can eat shit and die and I'll tell you as much. I was heated! From there, we were off to Jay-V's birthday celebration and I kicked myself for not going to the ATM since the bar had a $50 minimum. Ugh. We made a Scenic pitstop and had no sign of the random of indeterminate origins. He joins the mythical ranks of boys seen only once (or twice) that inspire a bit of mental headslapping and wistfulness down the road.

(As an aside, there's one custom I'm still trying to get my head around as "real" adult: giving someone your card. I actually had a long involved convo with PrincessNella about this. I dont' have a card -- though I will soon I believe -- since I don't have any official business or whatever and/or am still stuck in the "well, let's trade numbers or email addys" mode and/or shy away from things like that since I'm a networking dumbass. Weeks back at a party, this dude gave me his card. Business card yet not 9-5 business and it had all his contact info if I wanted to get in touch I suppose. He's stupid cute and I'm thinking the odds of seeing him around again are pretty slim unless I grease the wheels a bit. But the retardation comes in because I don't know if I got the card on a "hey, contact me and we should get to know each other" thing or if passing out cards is just the thing to do when you meet people a la the new handshaking. I can't deal with cards. I'd rather someone call/email/My Space message me, but of course, I do understand that if they don't have a card with that info, how would they know how to contact you? Everyone can't be a computer junkie with a lot of time on their hands, photographic memory, and craftiness I guess. I'm fucking stuck, man, because I kinda do want to get in contact with him. Advice someone? Anyone?)

Saturday night, I wandered off to Nublu and did my typical holding up the wall thing. I really like the place, but something about it always makes me super inhibited, even when I'm having a good time. I dunno what it is. Saw Justin who apparently spotted me at the Man Man show, but didn't even say hi (I don't actually mind, I'm just amused at busting his chops about it). Sunday had me up early (for me) and going to gym before I'd even had breakfast, then cooking and rearranging my furniture and stuff to make my bedroom feel like less of a crypt. I tried to bribe the tallest guys I know (Farmer and the boy) with home-cooked dinner to help me change my lightbulb which has been out for embarassingly long by now, but no dice. I'll just keep ruining my eyes and squinting in the lamp light, guys. Nice to be loved.

No Parking On The Dancefloor

Okay, I might be overindulging this week. I woke up crazy fuzzy Thursday morning and convinced myself that my cell phone was lost the night before. I went back to Subtonic and searched all over, feeling super discombulated in the meantime. I, of course, didn't find it and began considering the fucked luck of losing a phone 3 months before gettting one practically for free and thinking I'd do an eBay search for a new one. And also that someone might be calling Madagascar from my phone. (Phone aside: my contract is up in May and I was thinking of getting a 917 number again. Anyone think it's worth it? The two people I know with landlines's long distance bill would thank me.) I moaned and whined about it all day and night, only to get home at 2:30am and discover that I'd left it my pants from the night before. (Yeah. I'm an ass.) And then I went on Friday night (and got a case of the fuzzies when bartenders at 419 I haven't seen in a good year and a half recognized me) and vomit is never a good look. Now I just feel like refried shit. I'll rest up tomorrow and Monday.

But the past couple of days have been fun. Alafairnadia and I went to a Playgirl party where they gave us the most swagtastic goodie bag (toys for days, dude) I've seen in a while. I saw yet another ANTM judge in the flesh -- which brings my grand total to 3 plus my wacky encounter with Janice. Since Twiggy doesn't count, Tyra and I crossing paths is now inevitable!.The mag itself sucks donkey balls. Way to make naked men really unexciting, ladies! The female nudity is about neck and neck in it for one thing and the whole thing is just thin and toothless. The only advertisers are like Boys Gone Wild and bigdickchatroom dot com or whatever. The best part of the night was free drinks, the not so much when the bartender kept coming up to where we were and then ignoring us. Lamer.

The most exciting part of my week has been a sudden influx of great new (to me) music. I DLed this really fun mix by Ulysses featuring "No Parking On The Dancefloor" (among other things I must get the names of) and I'm getting my Miami dancing conditioning on. I've finally accepted that I'm going to actually use My Space and I've been making friends with musician pages. Even discovered a new Prefuse production! Woo! (Speaking of him, "Illiterate Interlude" on the new album is hilarious. I actually have heard people say that about the last one. And people say dude doesn't have a sense of humor!) And I've somehow ended up obsessed with Gonzales and Cosmo Vitelli through some musical links I followed. Be my pal. Here's some songs:

TTC - Dans Le Club (Gonzales Piano Remix)
Daft Punk - Face To Face (Cosmo Vitelli Remix)
Push Button Objects - 360 Degrees(Prefuse 73 Remix)

And let me talk about this week's pet peeve: My job title is trafficker (traffic coordinator, if we want to be specific) and unless you work in marketing/advertising/production, you probably don't know what that means. (I, of course, don't talk about my job because I'd like to leave voluntarily and not be fired for blogging or whatever). But hey, I don't want to assume no one knows cause sometimes they'll surprise you. So when people do the annoying "what do you do?"/how does my job stack up to someone else's thing, I say "I'm a trafficker" and every FUCKING time, the reply is "human or drugs?" People, just no. It might have been chuckle worthy the first time, but now: no. Not original, just stop. Sorry. Had to let that one out.

And This Ship Will Sail, And This Heart Won't Die

Lately, I've been emerging from my cave in a big way and despite a few ill-advised late nights, it's been a lot of fun.

The most awesome thing to happen to me last week was getting a midday IM from Kate on Wednesday asking what I was up to that night. I had vague plans to meet up with the prodigal Alex, but was focused on trying to get through a shit afternoon at work. She let me know about a private Man Man show going on about 3 blocks from where I work and I was on that like white on rice. I hadn't seen them perform since last summer/fall and to say it's like a new band now would be the understatement of the year. So, I was stoked! I was wandering about the party, a-chattering with Kelly and Kate and Alex and randoms. The saddest news was hearing that I had missed out on an intro to my favorite writer ever. I've been joking since that it would've been a headline worthy event: "Blogger Shanks Critic MacGyver Style With Hairpin."

I wasn't sure what I thought in the moment of the show and all the new elements. I was trying hard to hear everything fresh instead thinking "X wouldn't have been done that way before." The new drummer is the shit as advertised and the present band member interplay is really tight and awesome. My overarching thoughts were that apparently guys in Philly look like lost cast members from Napolean Dynomite and that the group was even louder and noisier now, something I didn't think was possible. I got the new record (yay!) and I was really kinda bewildered on the first listen, but now I really love it. I can compare it in my mind to how I felt about Mama's Gun after Baduizm or One Word Extinguisher after Vocal Studies and Uprock Narratives: they did something I wasn't expecting soundwise and once I stopped looking for the carbon copy of what I loved before, the shining moments came out. But, enough of that. In a nutshell: beer hall + Psycho Beach party = the shizz. One of my fave new songs: "Tunneling Through The Guy."

Post-show, I ran into Aaron and friends on the street and made a detour to wandering the town with them before heading to the special version of Pure Fire, a party I've been meaning to check out for a while now. I was semi-bumbling and I propped myself up near the bar and drank water, while watching Poltergeist play out on a screen and chatting with some dude about the randomness of watching Poltergeist at a party. In writing my email address down to get on the mailing list, I realized I was probably drunk and stupid, and also since I haven't written print in so long that my former calligraphy class honed handwriting was looking kinda chickenscratchy. Bah. And I'm lame because the first thing that popped in my head to request at a grime party was "Pow." Le sigh. Would "Stop Dat" have been better? I dunno. After I left, I was thinking of that song though. I met and chatted with Chris about the podcasts that I hadn't been listening to until this past weekend...because my throwaway comment about being an iTunes hater got me shouted out in the weekend newsletter. Fuck iTunes(!), but those podcasts are great. One of them has "777-9311," one of those classic songs I always forget I adore until I hear it and the stars align...or you know, something.

But you know what I haven't done in the past week? For one, get a good night's sleep. But most importantly, not go to the Battles show. I just broke and tired all last week and couldn't do it. I heart Battles though and I would heart them more if I could magically find a Battles bag for sale like on their site or something. Ahem.

Wow, it's Valentine Day...just another day really. I plan to run straight home after work and curl up with the one I really love today: Helga. Happy VD!

ETA a special exchange with Alafairnadia:
Jamirakid: eww i'm chatting with the boy now
Jamirakid: i refuse to mention VD
Jamirakid: bah humbug to that shit
Alafairnadia: hehehe
Alafairnadia: VD?
Jamirakid: you know
Alafairnadia: er
Jamirakid: it's officially the 14th....
Alafairnadia: oh oh
Alafairnadia: I was like vin diesel?
Alafairnadia: sorry. I already anti-celebrated. I'm done.

Come Here, Baby, I Love Your Company

I've been thinking lately why I'll inherently never get ahead in certain spheres and just decided to opt out: I'm not a brown noser and I don't really stop myself from broadcasting if I think something is not worth the time. I can muddle through my own bullshit well enough, but I'd rather not have to deal with someone else's too.

On that front, want to hear a joke? The Plug Awards. That thing was an utter disaster. Unrehearsed, meandering, more people in the VIP section than the main floor at one point, shoddy production values, boring, and terrible in every sense. I don't even want to get into the "funny" little taped skits. The MTV VMAs has nothing to worry about. I was pretty sure that I spotted Shady in the crowd (surprise, surprise). I'm not really sure if he saw me or not (if he had, I'd probably get a random IM about it. Bleh.). The boy and I were wandering along and was just like "*shudder* We need to not walk that way." We stuck it out about an hour before making our escape.

Hanging with him was great. We met up near the venue and I pushed going to get a drink -- to ease the pain of staying late at work again and to kill some of the initial awkwardness. Despite a rough patch where he went off about marketing people and companies like the one I work for (don't give me that self-righteous hippie bull, son!), we were talking more over those two drinks than we may have...ever. Then off to the awards and to a Beans show at NYU which was the point of meeting up in the first place. We chattered and people watched, both confused by this thing one of the guy in the band had that was like a cross between a tape reel and a spinning wheel. Dude looked ridiculous throwing tape over his shoulder and we couldn't actually distinguish what kind of sound it made. I dunno. From there, more wandering and it was just insanely comfortable. Of course, it's up in the air like everything. I'm getting used to it.

Champion Sound And We Just Don't Care

Things are simultaneously very relaxed and very hectic. I'm trying to masterplan my WMC trip and decide if the formal conference really is for me or not. After all, I just want to drink some cocktails and go to shows and BS around as I choose. Panels and workshops for most of the daytime doesn't really help with that. We'll see. I'm on vacation for a good solid week and I might schedule a post-M3 day or two just to lay around in the sun. I really can't wait.

The next couple of months is looking good in general: the return of the prodigals Alex and Farmer, the trip, and of course, the birthday! It's 5 weeks from Thursday. Countdown to start shortly. 25! Strangely, I don't feel half as bent out of shape as I did turning 24. That whole changeover was the pits. I'm actually kinda looking forward to this one. I've been working on my resolutions. #1, 4, and 9 are interconnected and I've set a personal deadline of March 17th to wrap a lot of shit up. (Yes, I am going to be cryptic for now.) I'm pretty much focused on that and the trip only. Everything else is kinda whatever. I reached out to the boy (#8 and a little 10) in a random mood and we might meet up on Thursday and just chat-- though now that my lucky ass won Plug Awards tickets that plan is up in the air. I've hit the stage where I don't want him in the old sense, but I miss being around him. Best case scenario: it won't be strained. We'll see how it winds up.

The funniest thing that happened lately was a night out with neighbor friends Alafairnadia and Carnivore. Us three plus Carnivore's coworker drank free Sparks (fucking noxious!) in the basement of Lit all a-chattering. My age got brought up and the coworker said to me: "God, what year were you born? You're so young. Do you even know any music from the seventies?" I went *gasp* and said, "I can't believe you said that! I'm not talking to you anymore! Okay, for 20 minutes." And he would keep turning back to talk to me and I'd shake my head and he'd look at his watch and sigh. Silly, yes. I blame the Sparks. It makes you retarded. I did end up chatting with him again (before the 20 mins had passed actually. That's a long fucking time, man. I've got a short attention span) and when he headed off, the DH three headed over to the former Guernica.

There was a show that we completely missed, but we hung around at the bar just drinking and stuff. As I was paying for my drink, I ended up striking up a convo (as I do) with this random. He had like four beers lined up in front of him and was all "eh. I dunno if I should do this. I'm already borderline alcoholic." I raised my glass and replied: "aren't we all?" and we chattered from there. He had this accent that I could not place for the life of me. Kiwi? Bizarro Afrikaaner? I dunno. The others were off at a table and were beat with it fast approaching 4am, so Alafairnadia took matters into her own hands.

As I ironically said to Carnivore, "when I'm on the fence, she chats with the dude and pushes things forward" (even if I was really just chatting and not even trying to get more than dude's number or whatever), she was (unbeknownst to me) saying to the guy: "Listen, it's decision time. Either you take her home and fuck her or let her come home with us. You've got 5 mins to decide" and walked away. Yes, that's what she said. So then, he comes back over to me super serious and says: "I would really really like to take you home and sleep with you, I've really been having a great time talking to you, but I can't. My sister is really sick and I have to take care of her tomorrow, but I would like to hook up with you very much." I'm looking at him like he has 3 heads. Erm what? Who said anything about going home with him? I was way confused and though I connected it with something she had said to him, I didn't think to ask. I was just ultrapuzzled and then left. Lame. But, I did post a missed connection about the whole thing (because I'm not so secretly sappy, yes it's true). No response so far. Ah well.

My Mic Sounds Nice, Check One

Happy Fucking New Year!

We convinced PrincessNella to join us in our neighborhood to ring in the new year with the neighbor friends. She, Ant, and I went to KateBklyn's place where we saw most of the crew and Cupcake and drank and watched the fireworks and made merry. It was an awesome time and I always feel good about starting the New Year with friends.

Because I'm me, in the wee hours of the night, I was ready to keep the party moving. PN and Ant were off to bed and I was flying solo. I traipsed myself across Brooklyn via cab to go this warehouse party somewhere in Bushwick. It was crazy, crowded, and everyone was basically drunkenly hooking up where they stood, but I was amused. I got in for free (yay!), drinks were $3, and I even had some hijinks. Dude who invited me there is one of the cutest guys in NYC and when we saw each other, we made the move to do the kiss on the cheek and just missed. And kissed right on the lips. He grinned and I grinned and shrugged and said "happy new year!" Awesome. There was also my bathroom mishap where I was minding my business and wondered what that weird smell I detected was. Oh, it was just my purse on fire! I jumped up all "holy shit!" and dumped water on my charred straps. (This year is 2 days old and I'm already super slicker!) Later on, I'm chatting with the guy again and I'm like "this party is crazy! I'm setting my shit on fire because I'm retarded!" and we're talking about something or another and he said the phrase that'll usually make a single girl's blood run cold: "Oh, that's funny. My girlfriend says the same thing!" I'm pretty sure I made a face. Ah well. Flirting him is just fun regardless. But, I was pretty much done with the place after that and navigated my cheap ass home on 2 trains and a bus and got home around 7:30am.

I wasn't doing shit most of New Year's Day. I rolled out of bed after 2 and jumped on my computer like the addict I am. Some long buried random IMed me -- just like he did while the transit strike was going on -- all "hey, want to hang out?" you know in that sweaty naked sense. And my general response was "eh..." and I instead spent about 12 hours hanging out with my neighbor friends. A girl's gotta have priorities.

Music Makes Me High: Roundup Part 1

I actually may have discovered more music this year which really isn't that surprising guess. I did pick up and go to Miami for the express purpose of hearing music 24-7 and the rest of the year just followed. I learned a lot of things by osmosis and followed the musical links. It's been a very good year for all that. This year, KP was into:

1. Favorite New-To-Me Finds: Chateau Flight, Liquid Liquid, Four Tet, Handsome Boy Modelling School, Dub Trio, Beans, Battles, Diverse, In Flagranti, Dry & Heavy, most of the Massive Attack catalog

2. I Gave Into The Hype And I Actually Liked It!!: Jamie Lidell, Death From Above 1979, LCD Soundsystem, Dizzee Rascal, Kanye West, !!!, Fannypack, Kelley Polar

3. Most Awesome Bits of Revisted Youth: Nine Inch Nails @ MSG and Jamiroquai @ Nokia Theater

Anways, my best of what I was listening to all year, in no particular order:

Albums:
33hz, 33hz
Chateau Flight, The Meal
Death From Above 1979, You Are A Woman, I Am A Machine
Dub Trio, Exploring The Dangers Of
Four Tet, Everything Ecstatic
Jamie Lidell, Multiply
Prefuse 73, Surrounded By Silence
Run The Road
Sam Prekop, Who's Your New Professor?
Shawn Lee's Ping Pong Orchestra, Moods and Grooves, Vol. 2.

Songs:
Amerie, "Talkin About"
Damian Marley, "Welcome To Jamrock"
Fannypack, "On My Lap"
In Flagranti, "Bang Bang"
Jamie Lidell "Multiply"
John Legend, "Ordinary People"
Kanye West "Gold Digger"
Kelley Polar "Cosmological Constancy"
LCD Soundsystem, "Disco Inflitrator"
Mariah Carey, "We Belong Together"
R. Kelly "Trapped In The Closet Part 1-Infinity"
Tiga "Good As Gold"

Not Even New Shit That Wouldn't Let Me Go
Brandy, "The Ritual (Chateau Flight Remix)
Massive Attack, Mezzanine
The Jones Girls, "Nights Over Egypt"
La Caution vs. Chateau Flight, "Deserts et Lezards"
Dizzee Rascal, Boy In Da Corner
Urban Renewal Program
Asian Dub Foundation, "P.N.K.B. (Dry & Heavy Remix)
Boogie Down Productions, "The Bridge Is Over"
EPMD "Crossover"
Talking Heads, "Born Under Punches"
Disco D + Princess Superstar, "Fuck Me On The Dancefloor"

Favorite Shows of '05:
1. Winter Music Conference/M3 Summit -- March '05 -- If only for the sheer numbers of people that I saw including Los Amigos Invisibles, Tortured Soul, 33hz, Mylo, The Glimmers, Ellen Allien, Killa Kela, Digable Planets, Mark Farina, Donald Glaude, Marques Wyatt, Slam Dunk, Greenskeepers, Ben Watt, and more that I don't even freaking remember (and some I want to forget). It was music overload. Nothing even came close to topping it.

2. Dizzee Rascal @ Irving Plaza -- 4/23/05 -- I'd only started listening to him a few weeks before the show and I got my ticket on a mostly ulterior motivation, but the show was classic. A hip hop show top to bottom. Dude has massive stage presence and it's really impossible to look away. I was a fairweather fan before I got there, but seeing every song get twice the recorded energy made me a true blue.

3. Beans/Battles/Prefuse 73 @ Bowery Ballroom -- 5/7/05 -- It's almost hard to believe that I had never seen Prefuse do more than a little spinning until May...especially with me being all obsessed and all. So, I rectified that fully this year. He came and went earlier this month and I didn't even pause. No more Prefuse for another year or so. But, this show was the 2nd of the two night stand and Trendvickster and I did it up. I hadn't given more than a passing though to Beans (though I knew of him), so I was blown away by his performance. Full of personality that dude is! (and he's been really cool when I've run into him since.) Battles came from nowhere to blindside me the first night and I was still all about them the second. Likewise, Ian Battles is very nice, considering I badger him about that damned bag every time I see him. I think Prefuse could've banged a garbage pail along to a CD of the music playing and I still would've loved it, but live drums and keys along with the samples was the shit. It definitely enriched the flavor of the songs and gave it enough weight to fill the room and then some.

4. Dub Trio/Nisennenmondai/Tyondai Braxton /Prefuse 73 @Rocks Off Boat Cruise -- 9/18/05 -- As The Director joked, the incredible concert with no words. Awesome musicians every last one, but you know what? My favorite part was being on a boat on a warm fall night spitting distance from the Statue of Liberty. That was an incredible sight that I haven't seen in too long. That was a true "I Love NY" moment.

5. Nine Inch Nails @ MSG -- 11/3/05 -- I've never ever been to an arena show and I've kinda regretted it over the years. And then I remember that I'm usually broke as fuck. So, now I know that in an arena, you can barely see shit and you're just one of a mass of thousands of people, but dammit, it's exciting! You feel a part of something bigger than yourself. And it definitely helps when the band on stage is playing most of your favorite songs and the sound is immense going all the way to the back row. It rocked.

Measure By Measure, Drop By Drop

Man Man - Tear of Octopus (Adam Sparkles Remix)

I've been trying to figure out for the past 2 days exactly where I got that song from and why it's been unloved and unlistened to all this time. It's exactly the type of stuff I would've been loving all along: Man Man chopped up and gone borderline electro. Thank you, sir, may I have another? It fits the general wackiness of the weekend misadventures lately. It’s all been fun if occasionally borderline absurd.

Last Friday, neighbor-friend Lirio and I were off to Dumbo to do up some open bar action. I’ve resorted back to mostly not thinking much about that neighborhood at all since a) it’s shit inconvenient to get there from where I live b) my only connection to the place was the boy and…yeah. I was actively dreading the chance of running into him since we had to walk right past where he works and the place was about two blocks from his studio, but no dice luckily. The gallery has this sign outside that really pisses me off: New Tribeca. Come again? Dumbo really is bad enough. (“Hey, let’s name our ‘new’ neighborhood after this acronym that’s also a cartoon elephant! Awesome!”) But to then try to rename it after another fake neighborhood name where the new one would just be actively retarded? Oh hell no. Does anyone see any triangles or a Canal St in Dumbo? Yeah, I don’t think so. Stop smoking crack. And then in the gallery, the open bar consisted of vodka and Mountain Dew. Do you know how nasty that is? Plenty disgusting, let me tell you. That didn’t stop us from drinking, erm, 4, but it was really gross. If it wasn’t free and all, we would’ve had a real problem!

From there, we went a block over to this bar to drink hot cider with rum and pal around with the locals. I really like that bar because it looks so sleek and borderline fancy, but really is a cheap neighborhood joint. We watched the bartender literally throw this drunk dude into the street on his ass and got chatted up all over the place by the randoms. I ended up in this absurd debate with a guy from Manchester about who got the worst end of the stick: the working class in Britain or poor black people in America, but I really just wanted to ask him if he was perhaps Jimi Goodwin from Doves having set up shop in Brooklyn. Or at least related. The resemblance was kinda uncanny really.

The next day, I persuaded Alafairnadia to roll with me to this random art show/magazine party in someone’s apartment about 4 blocks from us. I figured it’d be good for a time killer and boy was I right! Everyone in the place was about 19 and most were totally socially retarded. Any slight feeling I’ve ever had of missing college house parties were totally erased by it. There was a makeshift bar in the kitchen with $3 40s or $5 unlimited rum drinks. The “bartender” actually had a measure to make the drinks with and she, by that point, was so trashed that she could barely get the liquid in the damned thing. Not to mention the annoyed looks of romantic rivalry passing through and the total absence of game anywhere. It was like a painful episode of “This Was Your Life.” Such a bad scene. And the “art” sucked.

This Friday was some sort of photo book show in Williamsburg with Lirio. [Oh, look at me, I’m such a hipster! All I do is go to art parties! No, not quite. I’m just a freeloading lush. I don’t know shit about anything except which liquor sponsors mean fun mixed drinks and real(ish) bartenders (and that would be Bacardi. Viva their marketing team!).] The place was a madhouse since everyone had traipsed through the fucking treacherous streets to just get there, so goddammit, we were gonna double fist those drinks if we wanted! All was cool until this aggro bootleg Mr. T asshole went nuclear when Lirio noted that he was practically knocking her over. Major prick. Then we met some randoms and I planted the seeds to bring back some old high school slang.

And then we leave and here’s where it just gets strange. We’re strolling down the main drag and we see this guy and a girl about to cross us carrying a Christmas tree. The guy is Ian Battles and I’m all “hey! You! What’s the deal with the Battles bag?” And he’s looking me like I’m retarded (which is the only way to play that) before he goes, “oh yeah, I met you at the Bowery show.” He blah blahs something about bags soon and I’m all “yeah whatever.” Maybe some time before the apocalypse, guys! So, I turn to the girl and I’m like “you’re [his gf], right? I’m friends with [the boy].” And she’s all “cool!” (The boy and she are friends.) We all stand around and shoot the shit for another minute and then it’s back to walking through the cold. The two of us were off to town to dance and I got home about 4am, scarfed down some leftover BBQ chicken, and was out like a light.

Saturday night was the party I adore so much. I met up with Alafairnadia after retrieving her from a few wrong turns en route. Fun dance night for sure, but I’m really not into the whole “woo! We’re dancing like we’re extras in Animal House to the old soul 45s” thing. Nothing I can actually do about it though. Two of the bands were interesting: this group of dudes that looked like professors who were finally playing their Sonic Youth-inspired songs somewhere besides the faculty lounge and this group with an amazing kick ass bass playing chick that really has inspired one of my new year’s resolutions to be take the fucking bass out the closet already and figure something out. I’ve had that thing since ’97 and I think I know how to play it less and less as the years pass. I almost ripped this girl limb from limb in my first try at the coat check line when she dumped all this fake snow in my hair -- and I'm still picking little hidden pieces out two days later. Grr. But, heaven is splitting a plate of pasta around 4am. The randomness for that night was running into one of the dudes from the Dumbo bar. Small world. For reference, I’m ridiculously vain and flattery really does get you everywhere. Well that and the right frame of mind natch.

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.

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 Can't Get No Sleep

I greatly prefer the slow fizzle to the fast brakes, which would probably come as a surprise. I like to work things out in my head before accepting the inevitable, compared to blowouts where I'm sure to say something rash and then brood indefinitely afterwards. Besides, this is less messy now that I've had time to run the gamut from sad to pissed to *shrug*. Life goes on and that and it really wasn't that serious. Though I kinda wanted to be...I think.

This week's platter included Jamiroquai at the Nokia Theater on Monday. I was my typical intense obsessive self about them starting in '97 or so when I first saw that video (oh, you know which one), then bought the album, then watched the VMAs show, then saw them at the Garden, bought all the records, joined mailing lists, made up an IM name in tribute, and etc. The band hardly represents what it was back then and neither do I, but it didn't make it any less fantastic even if neither Jay nor I are as limber as we were all those years ago. Bill was the show companion, pinch-hitting for Trendvickster. We were late-ish (totally my fault) yet shoved our way to practically the front anyways. Cute was when this chick I had done my "excuse me" to before perching called herself getting argumentative with me. She was taller than me! She could've shut the fuck up and looked over my head! I blinked at her like "you're kidding, right?" and kept an even tone, though I wanted curse her out and beat her ass. I'm getting good at that in my old age. Because of Bill's encore speculations (it was Deeper Underground..pish), I've had "Mr Moon" and "Stillness In Time" stuck in my head all week. I've even gone as far as audibly singing to myself in public. Thanks, Bill. Where's that Jamiroquai post?!

I woke up Thursday hungover to the point of standing at 14th Street waiting for the local and thinking, "you know, we can just go behind that stairwell and vomit just a little. A little bit of vomiting might make us feel slightly better. It's worth a shot, right?" That was my whole day. With my appetite finally back, PrincessNella and I went to this show and I was way more interested in boxing out the grill than bands. We chatted with Ryan Man Man and got a new album sneak peek. Yay! (Even if I've seen so many shows that I hallucinated that some of those songs were already on the first one.) Sounds richer yet more restrained with a little death metal vocals action. Though I got a "you crazy?" look when I said "death metal sound." You can decide for yourself in '06.

I'm still trying to figure out a Halloween costume -- really, if I care enough to do something. (Last year: I was a tourist and the year before: disco diva, pronounced by everyone else Tina Turner.) We're thinking Medusa. I've got the hair for it no doubt.

Let's Hit The Dancefloor, I'll Show You How To Do My Dance

One of the things that make this town so great is that with a little initiative combined with the art of randomness, you can sometimes just be in the right place at the right time. Last week was running all around all over the place. Alex was in the tail end of his whirlwind trip and we palled around like it was '01 and we were back in his old kitchen at 68 High. We were deconstructing the present entanglements and cautioning each other to get to know the kid and not go nuts. Easier said than done obviously.

That Monday night, I dragged myself through the rain over to the Bowery for the Jamie Lidell/Four Tet show. Going to shows is one of those things that can function on a timetable now like the commute to work. In the mornings I know if I leave somewhere between 8:30-8:45, I can get to my desk around 9:10-9:15. Later than that, it's pushing 9:30. With shows, if the doors open at 8. 1st act goes on about 9. 2nd act about 10. Headliner should be taking the stage about 11 and wrapping up a little before 12:30ish. It becomes second nature at a certain point.

Anyways, I walk up and start fumbling around for my card case to remove my ID. I got there the same time as these bunch of tall dudes and I hope weakly that it's not one of those shows where it's the redwoods towering over a little bush like me. I get a look at their faces and do an inner double take. Well, I'll be. Tourmates stick together. Now, I'm still obsessed with that fucking bag and I was mentally preparing for ambush when I lost sight of them downstairs and set myself to the show time wandering. I made it upstairs in time for Jamie to take the stage.

Oh, he was great. He's a certified nutter. But, I was kinda disappointed because I'd read all this stuff in an email about him touring with a live band -- missing the in Europe part (I'm gonna be cooking with grease when I take the GREs in a few months!) -- because it was just him solo with a big old table of electronics and a mic. He strolled out like a flasher in a trenchcoat, taking it off after a while to reveal this bizarro gold robe thing (which would've been familiar if I had watched the video for Multiply before today). He did "What's The Use" twice, which is okay since it's my favorite and was different each time, and live sample his beatboxing and such before singing over it. Hilarious to me was when he got all noodly with a song and broke out into something that was sounding a bit tech-house-ish and the kids in front of me had this look of horror in their faces like "ohmigod, is that techno? Hold me, I'm scared!"

Set over, I wandered downstairs to the merch table. The scavengers had picked it clean, but I glanced at this Koushik (the first opener that I missed) mix. I ended up in a convo with the merch chick. I'm semi-notorious among my friends for having a fair amount of stories that go "we were just talking and drinking and whatever. I dunno what happened. I didn't think he'd make a move...it was so out of the blue" disingenuously. So, I'm standing there talking to her and I'm like "did I just do the head tilt? Why am I still here? Why did I just buy a CD? I haven't bought a CD in almost two years! Oh what the fuck...am I flirting with her?" And I just walked away and decided to stop with the G'n'Ts.

I got back upstairs in time for the Four Tet set. I was there loving it because Kieran yay!, but after watch him stare intently at his laptop screen and punch a few sampler buttons for about 10 mins, I was over it and went back to wandering. I perched near the bar (okay...maybe I had one more...) and noticed the dude from Battles standing near my left. I was all "hey" and he said "hey."
"I've got two stupid and really random questions to ask you. First, I should know this, but is it PREE-fuse or PREH-fuse? I heard someone say it a way I thought was weird so now I'm confused."
He was like, "uh, I think it's PREH-fuse." (Well, I've been saying it wrong apparently for like ever! Someone revoke my fan pass!)
"Hmm..okay. The second, I'm a little obsessed with the 'I Have Battles In My Life' bag. Where can I get one?"
"Heh. People ask us that all the time. We don't have any more."
"No more? Nooooo....but why?"
"Well, we're not on tour."
"Can't you just make one? I really, really need that bag! I'm obsessed. I've got a website where I've written a lot about it. Google it, you'll see." Ladies and gentleman, I've officially jumped the shark. I'm now a Stupid Blogging Asshole...well, in a literal sense compared to occasionally like before.
"We might start selling them on our website soon."
"What's soon?"
"Like, two or three weeks."
"Great!"

The bag journey is coming to an end! We chatted for a few more mins and then he trotted off. I tried to get back into the set, but I got bored again and left.

Wednesday, I was off to Rothko which was packed beyond belief. Luckily for me, I avoided a CMJ door drama repeat and had bought my ticket in advance. I got into the main room and didn't have enough room to breathe, let alone see. Standing by the doorway, I spied a dude with the fucking Battles bag and eyed him hard, weighing the options of waiting vs. the Brooklyn bumrush. And then I thought to myself...oh shit, I know that dude. I strolled over and asked, "did you get that bag on tour?" "Yeah, how'd you know that?" "I went to both shows here in town." Chatter about crap interrupted by people not-so-politely crossing through. It was funny to watch as Jamie made his way through the crowd to take the stage and they kicked it for a minute. Then, the show started and I was boxed into the corner standing on my tippy toes for a quarter of a sightline. Not a good look.

Dude tapped me on the shoulder and gestured I follow up the semi-hidden ladder stairs to the second level near the sound booth. Nice! I spied !!! members (an offshoot of their's was the opener. What I saw I wasn't too crazy about...) and folks that I run into all the time. Oh, how different my life would be if I had a whit of networking skills and ambition! He got a kick out of me asking the name of the "you gotta be karate fucking kidding me!" song and he replied something that I can't remember no matter how hard I try, but it's gonna be on the new album, so woo! Sadly, that's my show highlight because I wasn't feeling Jamie at all. Apparently, he and Four Tet were paired for a less obvious reason: as live performers, they're better in smaller doses. He's always doing something on stage (which is interesting), but I couldn't have been any less captivated by the show overall. It all ended up noodly and stretching on for mins longer than it needed to. More than 45 mins of a set for him is just a waste. I left before the show was over, even though I knew the encore would probably be "Multiply" again and I do really like that song. Ah well.

In continuing the present "annoying performances from your favorites" kick, I went to that event I was excited enough to note with a big ass graphic the other day. Dude kinda hovered around the edges not doing anything which was a bit dumb. Hello, Mr. Headliner, get your ass on a fucking turntable...you're billed as performer, not a goddamned host. I was pissed. Especially since I dragged the boy and Farmer down with sheer force of will and unflagging enthusiasm. Wack. But hot damn, free drinks will never go out of style! From there we wandered around the neighborhood, checking out this house drink at Bembe that was grainy yet awesome and catching a performance at Black Betty. And then I got home at almost 5 to get back up at 7:30 (didn't happen) and wanted to kill myself at work all the next day. Good times.

Drive By Dub

Good weekend all around. Except for the boat concert, I didn't especially do much of anything -- besides clean my house and entertain. Ever notice all I talk about is cleaning? Well, if you lived on auto-pilot like we do for most of the week, you notice on the weekends that you have to force a path out of the clutter.

Dear friend P. Diddy came down from New Haven to spend time with me and we had fun catching up. I dragged him to Soda like I take everyone (any excuse to go there is really A-OK with me) and we spotted the one person in the neighborhood I've got semi-ill will towards. Still a good time with cider/beer and the famous cheeseburger before meeting Faiks for a night of barhopping and shisha to cap off the night. We caught the 4 train pulling in the station and made it from Bleecker to Grand Army in 20 mins! That's really unheard of.

Like a good friend who knows me well, he met up with someone else for brunch and let me sleep. Circa 1pm though, I was up and got Ant up to for the bake sale. I got this sickeningly good apricot pound cake and he got the orange scone. We kicked it with the neighbors, including the hilarious Cupcake. In the "NYC must really only have about 300 people sometimes" files, she knows some people I know (vaguely) from Wes that are longtime friend A's other friends. She passed on a sighting of him singing "You Sexy Thing" at karaoke, which is so improbable that it made my brain hurt. I emailed him all "WTF?" and his reply subject line was: "Now I know how David Cross and Owen Wilson feel." My boy's making the blog gossip rounds! From there, brunch and hanging out again with P. Diddy and G before resting up for the boat show.

I trotted out to West Bumblefuck, Manhattan, a.k.a. the waterfront on the West Side, to meet up with The Director. The security line for the boat ride was a little excessive (patdowns, bag searches). The boat itself was decked out in a cross between a booze cruise and a junior prom. It seemed like floors of an NYU dorm had sponsored a trip or something because the kids were out in full force. The bars were committing highway (seaway?) robbery by charging $8 for well drinks. We just chilled and caught up. I like it when the conversations can be easy and actually an exchange. When I'm unsure, I tend to hold back and when I'm nervous, I babble, so it's comforting when I can talk to someone I like normally as I would anyone else I know. He's screening his last short, just finished writing a new one, and maybe about to work on another movie. I just find it interesting when talking to someone that's focused on what they do. Because I don't know what the fuck I could say that my direction/passion is now. Am I involved in music? A writer? In marketing/advertising? An event planner? Your guess is as good as mine. I'm a dabbler with too many unfinished things around me. I need a career coach.

The Director joked later that it was a no lyrics night. Lineup was Dub Trio, Nisennenmondai, Tyondai Braxton solo, and Prefuse 73 with DJ Nobody and that mystery (well, to me) drummer guy who was also on the last tour. I saw other Battles members walking around, as well as a chick with a Battles bag, and I wanted to run over and ask where I could get the damned "I Have Battles In My Life" bag I was so obsessed with at the other show. But, I didn't. I'm coldly serious about my new "Oh...helllll no" stance on tall assholes who like to prop themselves in front of shorties like me. At least 2 guys got the poke in the back and the nasty look at the show. And you know they moved. My screw face is not to be fucked with. Seriously, what's up with that? You can stand anywhere you want and see. Why do you have be muscling in right smack in front of somebody as if your view is obstructed. It's hard enough to be short and craning at weird angles to catch glimpses as is. I kept being distracted by two girls at the show who decided that the middle of the crowd was the perfect spot for their pseudo-performance art interpretive dancing. You know what? Cut that shit out. Enough of us just ignored them, so they just slinked away after a while. Sorry, attention whores! Get your own damned show because no one paid $30 to see you!

The royal we likes Dub Trio more and more each time we see them. I'd say they singlehandedly jumpstarted the current dub obsession, but in actuality, it's been gradual after spending a good portion of the year at The DJ's party. It wasn't until I saw them a few months back that I became totally obsessed though. Their general sound reminds me of my sentimental faves of Alex and the boys and dammit, they just seem cool. They're understated yet brilliant. Next up with Nisennenmondai, a noise trio. It took them forever to set up considering the set was like 10 minutes and I got really annoyed (for them) that they're setup was further impeded by guys a-fluttering around "helping." They're musicians! They can set up their own shit! The drummer was a monster. She was totally possessed beating the crap out of her kit. It was funny when they stopped because I was thinking they were just introducing another song. Nope finished.

In the intermission, we stood outside on the deck to watch the Statue of Liberty pass. The boat went so close and all of us standing out there were really awed. I haven't been that close since my trip there in 1989 or thereabouts and then all of sudden, there she was, way bigger than life. We strolled back in midway through the Tyondai set. And I can say it's pretty much everything I've ever heard about it: dude on the floor with his pedals and such. Sorta interesting, sorta not. The main event was Prefuse, DJ Nobody, and mysterious henchman/drummer dude. I was amused watching Scott Herren run around sticks in hand looking generally annoyed with the sound people until whatever was up was fixed. I had an obsessive's version of an existential crisis wondering why I felt like I was hearing the same song twice. Oh, it was a different song! But "Perverted Undertone" and "One Word Extinguisher" sound the same to me live. I squealed to The Director hearing "Suite For The Way Things Change": "that was totally my fave song forever!" Yeah, dude, forever! I found myself momentarily annoyed by this one dude who had to park himself right in the front of the crowd. Quick and easy way to tell music hack, erm, critic at a concert: they're the asshole blocking up your way and determined to be stone-faced and statue-like no matter how much fun everyone around them is having. This prick finally gave in two songs from the end, but he was just being a pest before then.

We docked before the last song was over and had a good 20 more minutes of music before it was all over. The two of us were bound to this 9th Avenue bar near Port Authority that looked like a hardcore sports bar, but was filled with the most random cross-section of drunkards I've probably ever seen. $3 well drinks on a Sunday night...hell fucking yes. My head wasn't too happy about it the next morning, but hey, what can you do? As strange as it sounds, The Director is someone I have too much fun with. We've known each other going on a year and a half and it's very comfortable. It's in some strange space between friends and not-so-platonic, but generally freeze-framed. I dunno. Weird how those things go. It was so great to connect that I was seriously wavering on the new boy for days, clutching at straws to stop my growing interest in its tracks. I'm a sick puppy, man. Which explains why it's been almost 3 years since I've been in a unit. I really dunno where my head is half the time. I'm resolving to pretty much wait and see on all fronts.

I Hear That Everyone You Know Is More Relevant Than Everyone I Know

Yeah...whatever I said about newly having my free time back was a fucking lie. I've gotten the crap slammed out of me at work this week. I'm so glad that the weekend is finally here. I couldn't take another day of crazy working. The plan (unless I oversleep like I have twice this week) is to be to work at 8:30ish and hopefully be out by 6:30/7. Yes, this week is kinda sucks to be me.

Not to imply it hasn't been fun. I made time to apparently take up take up a mid-week residency at Soda. Tuesday night, I went to meet up with Mr. Now (for lack of a better pseudonym) I guess and while I was waiting, one of the neighbors strolled up to me. I was neutral and we chatted for a min and he offered that I should knock if I needed anything in a way that made my skin crawl. Yeah...hold your breath for that, son. He slinked off and soon after the boy came along and I smiled and everything was good. Back to the same bat station the next night for the weekly happy hour episode #1. I've got some pretty cool neighbors and we had a great time. With the bonus of spawning a hilarious thread on the board. You know I must've been worn out to say:

Hipsters are like chihuahuas, I'm Lucky the Ghetto Poodle. Both are little bitches, but I'm more entertaining.

In the meantime, read up at Four Four (categories on Tyra Banks, ANTM, and other crackhead-filled shows plus music!) and Angry Black Bitch. I should even finally getting around to posting the Prefuse boat show wrapup...like Sundayish. Hopefully.

Get Right

The busy season at work seems to have subsided, so I can finally rejoin the land of the computer-tethered timewasters again. Well, more than the couple of lines here and there like the past month and change at least. I can't tell you what I don't have: much money. Bills, bills, bills are killing me and I'm trying to keep my eyes on a New Year's trip prize, so the LA and Toronto trips (and things I've wanted for too long like a digicam) are ixnayed for 2005. Lease renewal time (is that crazy or what? time flies!) is also coming around the bend.

On the bright side, Farmer has finally returned from exile in England for a brief stopover, Alex is jumping back for a min from Portugal soon, and Fizzie is making a long-awaited visit to NYC in 2 weeks. Yay! I've started back with the gym and my legs have been throbbing ever since. But it's okay. I know you've got to go through a little pain to get thighs like steel. I've got about a half year's worth of sluggishness to reverse. And I seem to have discovered random guys my age in this town. I feel like Santa Claus in that M&M commercial: "they do exist!" And me proving myself a lucky ass bastard once again won tickets to the Prefuse/Dub Trio booze cruise (well, they're not identifying it as such...but it will be. Trust.) on Sunday evening. I think The Director is coming with, but I'm pretty much undecided.

When I haven't been at work actually working, I've been out and about at all hours of the night. I've been drinking a lot of spirits to keep me going and I think Ant is starting to eye me as if he is wondering if it's intervention time. I'm okay! Tuesday, I got my senses assaulted in Park Slope at an open mic night that a new friend and I stumbled upon in horror. I think a good 90% of my experiences involve making a wrong turn somewhere and then wondering why I'm there instead of cuddling with my cat where I belong. We escaped to one of the only places I know by name in the entire neighborhood (with a special note in the archives as where I first met The DJ) where we discussed New Orleans rebuilding in the empty joint with the lonely bartender, his accent getting thicker when J identified himself as from Texas. I won $10 when my rap knowledge got challenged. Shit, I mean I know I don't listen to the radio or much hip hop nowadays, but I sure as fuck know that Trina and Trick Daddy are from Miami. Please. You know I gloated. Too much to drink and too little sleep persuaded me to call out sick and I bummed around the house eating takeout and watching ATWT all day.

I emerged way after sundown to get denied at the Man Man show for being a non-ticket buying procrastinator. Still, I hung out, got partially rained on, and got to say my hellos to Kate Ace Fu and Mr. Schmancy Panelist Anthony before trotting home like a good girl. I ran into the same motivation difficulty Thursday night before talking myself into trotting across Brooklyn. I caught Hot Chip and their technical difficulties, but I wasn't feeling the "quirky" especially with a crowd filled with drunken assholes making me annoyed. This one dude plopped himself directly, I mean 3 inches, in front of me. I poked the shit out of him belligerentely with my phone all "hello! I. Can't. See!" And he probably saw the dangerous gleam in my eye and how I was clutching my bottle neck, so you bet your ass he moved.

Not soon after, I left to check out a friend's party only to get stopped at the door and accused of having a fake ID. I finally replaced the learner's permit (yeah, that's right. I'm a non-driving ass New Yorker!) I lost back in December a few weeks ago and it was fresh out the mail and my first use. The day I signed my forms and paid the fee, I had eyed that poster at the DMV wondering what dumbasses thought of such a shit design. And then there I was protesting: "I'm 24! I don't need a fake ID!" He looked at me really skeptically and I remembered what else would someone say but something like that! Then a chick came up with an actual fake and instead decided to pitch a bitchfit. Yeah that's a good way to bypass the bouncer, dick, piss him off. Kids nowadays. Dude finally stopped being on my case and let me pass because I'd been there before. Whatever.

The most exciting version of a good Friday night this week to me is in bed with my cat where I belong. And that's where I'll be.

Second Verse, Same As The First

Yo, get this: blogs don't update themselves! Crazy, right?!

The internet world has been humming along without me. Dirty drunken mattress sex (with special stoop fucking anecdote bonus). And the revealing of the dude most likely to be getting his ass kicked this Wednesday night at Savalas (*hint, hint*).

At work, I'm swamped up to my eyeballs, barely having enough time to take up residency on the DH forum, but I make time to talk about the best liquor stores in the area and planning neighbor meetups. Oh yes I do. Last week was just a long painful blur. Friday night, I was in bed around midnight and woke up bright and early Saturday to do laundry and mostly lounge about. We're setting the world on fire!

Saturday was meeting up with friend C at PS 1 and heading to her place in Bushwick. I don't really "get" loft living. Isn't it just cheaper in the long run to get the place with walls? I'm a media bitch, not a carpenter. I'll be where the professionals already did that job. Plus it cuts down on such lovely interludes as when her roommate and his girlfriend decided to just start having sex. They closed the door, but surprise, the window area is just a hole, so we got every groan, moan, and creak. Lovely. C had to bring it to my attention (I'm good at only hearing what I want to hear) and then had a freakout which made me feel awkward because I'd hate for someone to be fucking up my shit when I'm in my zone...erm, or whatever. I'm just glad Ant and I don't have that problem. We've got some solid walls.

Anyways, we went to the d'n'b weekly. Jungle and d'n'b upstairs, speed garage in the basement. We surveyed the crowd warily for a long time. "Ugh, this crowd," she said. "It's just white bread idiots playing adventurer."

"Well, what do you expect?" I replied. "Who else lives around here now that apartments are $2600?"

"None of these people are junglists. First, there's no spliffs. Second, no colored people (besides us). Third, no camouflage. And most importantly, no screw faces!"

I'm not really a junglist myself, but I can screw face with the best of them and just throw myself in there. Word of advice to people at dancing parties who don't dance: get over yourself, find the beat, and ride it. You look 100x stupider being a statue than you would doing the Elaine dance or whatever. This has been a Kitty Power public service announcement. Thank you and good night.

See you next week!

I Stay Dipped, I Stay Laced, And I Know You Know I'm Fly

My summer is officially my own again. We return to our regularly scheduled program of...hmm, I dunno what. Shows, bitching and moaning, occasional jewels thrown here and there. I'm actually smiling, but I'm totally still curmugeonly as ever. This August weather is killing me and I'm not looking forward to the brain roasting I'm going to get out and about at PS 1 today.

I've been preoccupied and broke so my concert going has been the bare minimum. Stuff I saw but never got around to mentioning: DJ Spooky/Sun Ra/MC5 @ Summerstage. I was only half paying attention since I was flyering but it was pretty interesting. The first chance I got to see what any of them sounded like, besides Spooky who I'd seen before on the Snocore '97(or '98) mega bill of Spooky/Black Eyed Peas (with original singer chick)/Everclear. Ah youth!; The Juan Maclean @ Tribeca Grand. My hatred of hotel bars still stand. If I'm paying around $9 for a fucking drink, it'd better be a big cup and/or some personalized shit from Milk & Honey. They were meh. I was transfixed by the theremin (I think that's what it's called) and liked the party because it was all that glitchy shit I listen to at home; Femm Nameless @ one of the Rubulaud parties. I've seen them playing Wes years ago and they're still awesome. There might be something else, but I can't even remember what I ate for dinner last night, so no hope for recalling a show I saw last month.

I ended up txting back and forth with The Brit Thursday night when I was afterpartying myself into Friday's hangover. I really haven't thought about the boy in months, but when I stumbled on the listing for the Roll Deep/Kano weekend special, I had to check in to see if he was coming down. I think it'd nice to catch up and all that. I'm not sure if I still feel the butterflies or whatever and I think the moment has passed really, but the connection of being our age in the same field and being the more "straight-laced" of our common circle is still there. I've actually kinda missed him.

Trendvickster and I did up Roll Deep last night in tandem. I'd like to take the time to send a big fuck you to the like 7-foot tall asshole who propped himself front row center as if (as if!) he'd have trouble seeing anywhere else he'd want to stand. Also to the fucks who didn't understand that if I am standing on the upstairs platform to get a better angle, being short and all, standing in front of me when you are taller isn't the way to go unless you love dirty looks and curses. None of you fuckwits are made of glass and I could give a shit about your collection of concert pics for your wack-ass blog/flickr page. Keep that in mind on your next concert excursion.

The first DJ sucked, but we knew that which is why we avoid his parties like the plague. Fizzie's brother is coming in to play at that dude's party and I hear that he's an awesome DJ, but seriously, I just can't bring myself to go because of the other dude and his all encompassing wackness. Next DJ up was decent, doing his turntabalist thing. I observed the strange phenomenon of loud cheers whenever some line containing that "n"-word in its permutations was isolated and pumped out. "Woo...it's that word we can't say even though there's only like 6 black people in the building, including the performers!" Interesting. And then the crew came on and did their thing. Seemed like there was a tiny bit of drama for a sec as dude who looked like was a raver that got thrown up on stage on the way to a party got called out for being a bit of a mic diva. Not as high-energy/gloss as the Dizzee show, but I'm just happy to see a grime event with people in it about now. I'd rather they not be statues, but that's what happens when the non-skills-having hipster/internerd massive shows up somewhere.

We ran into The Brit's brother and his girl, but not the boy. I was a little disappointed, but there's always tonight if I can get over another case of DJ hatred to go. He gave me a wink with a bit of a "oh hey, I know why you're here!" but I see them all the time at shows, so he wasn't really that surprised to see me in the house. We bitched about the statues in the house and agreed that it was pretty much par for the course.

It's interesting to hang back and watch him just network since he knows everyone and was chatting with Wiley and shit. I'm totally inept with things like that. Basically, the reason why I'll never be a real event planner type. I can strike up a random convo in a controlled environment, but the spontaneous thing just isn't me. It's not that I'm not social, just inexplicably shy. Yeah I dunno. One of those things. An end of the year resolution maybe?

You Know My Style

You should know the drill by now. Flyer is staying up top until August 11th. Piping hot new stuff underneath.

Happenstance

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.

You Don't Know Me

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.

Buildings Wrap Around Me

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.

Sentimental Mood

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.

Us Girls We Like Dances Too

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.

And I'll Give You Candy

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?

I Aint No Hollaback

Isn't it fitting that the corniest song of 2005 has a crappy video too? I hate that song. It's starting to make me twitch, but I can't escape it. Twice in the past day, it's been dropped in places that you would think should know better. Boo. ETA: Get lost, Stefani fans. I don't really care how many comments you leave, I don't plan on adding them. Go write a fan letter or something.

The most exciting parts of my weekend were the last bit of laundry, two new pairs of sneakers (I'm so cool and fashion forward I can hardly stand it), and friends QT. Friday night, saw a show spent too much money, 'twas rainy and cold all weekend, boo. Saturday, Ant and I lounged around the house enjoying not having to be chained to our desks. Weekends are thoroughly inactive around these parts. Dear Work Fairies, set us free from our slave labor miseries! The money's not worth the stress!

Later on that night, I met up with Jay-V and friends on the West 3rd Strip. A birthday was being celebrated and I had floated out the name of a club in the area as one they might like. Apparently, the place was beyond pale and on an 80s and rock kick, so the early arrivers ran screaming (on the inside) to the place next door. I met up with them and I felt like I had been whisked back to Wes. It was like an X party meets grown and sexy. Hip-hop, hip-hop, hip-hop with a side of dancehall. I usually find myself in some makeshift event somewhere, so I was amused by the "wow...people dress up to go to parties?! That's amazing!" novelty. That soon wore off paying $9 for a fucking rum and cranberry...after a $10 cover which was only bearable because I'd just found $10 in a cab on the way there. I hate going anywhere in that fucking neighborhood...unless wings are involved.

PrincessNella and I trotted off to Emerald, this joint way east where the friend C sent me a text about having an afterhours. I sipped a (cheaper) rum & cran and blathered on and on about the perpetual stupidity of my love life. In a nutshell: dud in every permutation, but occasionally entertaining -- to other people at least. At 4am on the way home, a phantom voicemail from The Director. I laughed dismissively and went to home to get meow-yelled at by my cat.

When You Find Your Love

Sorry. Busy and stuff. But, keep watch: I've got Tortured Soul, the grime Heat party, and odds and ends for you like tomorrow.

Meanwhile, Battles' "B + T" holds the spot as my absolute favorite song of May to date.

ETA: Well that tomorrow ended up being a few days, but it's all good.

Thursday was the light at the end of the tunnel of the longest week ever. I was tired from going out Wednesday -- a waste of a trip if any -- and definitely in a mood by the time I forced myself out into the world again after work. I got to SOB's just before Tortured Soul went on. I realized there that it's one of those venues I always mean to go to but never follow through. I've been there only once or twice I believe -- a Slick Rick show in like '98 and this party two years ago. The one thing I did remember was the gouging you get buying drinks in that joint. Brand X rum and cranberry is like $8.50. A) WTF? B) How annoying and arbitrary to charge non-whole numbers! So, I was already in a mood going into the show.

I smooshed myself into the front area and was so thrilled getting beaten with a drunkie's bag from behind and my feet stepped on from the front by a guy doing the Elaine dance. I watched with amusement as this guy with a trucker hat and a bandanna got his Timberfake '01 on. The band was tight but all I could think about was how the venue sucked. It was like Sapph doubled in size with the stupid pillars intact. I just wasn't feeling it and left before the end of the set.

I leisurely strolled across town to Sapph and made myself comfortable in my corner. I got to raid a free pile of mags (Complex! Love love love!) and get my T's whim mystery drink while surveying. There was a bachelorette party in the house and I snickered as the bride-to-be had to order stupid things like a slow blowjob. For the record, if I ever get married and have to do that crap, do not take me somewhere lame like Jackrabbit Slims or Nerveana or trash like that. First of all, I'll walk out. And secondly, that couldn't be farther from what I'd like to do. Four words: Male strippers and Vegas. Well I dunno if I'd like to do that either but it's at least fun to imagine.

Anyways, I got into the briefest of convos with Mr. Man. We're friends of friends and at least familiar looking to each other after almost two years. He's on the wagon and sticking to water nowadays. Admirable in his scene for sure. He recommended highly that April Complex and was off. As was I soon to Aaron The Outer's party where I stood in the corner and drank water for a few mins before making my way home.

Friday night, I was in bed at 10:30 and woke up the next day at 8:30. I was beat and the Bermuda Triangle effect of the apartment was in full effect Saturday afternoon. I meant to run errands and go to a really cool event, but instead I napped, cleaned my room, and chilled until the evening.

The rag tag bunch of me, Trendvickster, Farmer, and C with The Brit and his brother coming along later went to Crash Mansion and one of the worst promoted parties I've ever. The Director and friends were supposed to come along also, but they got sidetracked. It would've been worlds colliding event, even more stranger than it was already. Back in Miami, the Vice Records guy made a big deal at the panel of how they target a certain crowd and they expect to "break" grime that way. Let me tell you that they're fucking up big time. The DJs were mixing crunk and reggaeton with the grime, 2step, and garage and I thought to myself that it all went together pretty well. People who go to hip hop parties could get down to that, but they never will if they don't know about it. There was live rhyming and DJ Cameo was laying it down crazy. C and I were going nuts but the rest of the crowd might as well have been statues. Seriously, what's the point of going to high energy events and standing around like you're watching a golf game? Hipster fucks ruin everything. It definitely also sucked for the performers because there's no fun in flying overseas to perform in a half-empty party as lively as a tomb. Grr...angry angry angry.

I tagged with C and The Brits to the afterhours party. The kid frustrates me. We've basically hit a wall. Oh we like each other a lot and that's great, but nothing is ever going to happen there. He's in sowing the wild oats mode after being on lockdown for nearly six years and I'm finally out of the wild stage and just want to settle down with someone and watch tv. And at the same time, he's ultra serious about his job and working his way up the ladder and I can't run away from mine fast enough. In most other situations, I'd keep at it to see what happens but I'm trying to learn from mistakes and dead shit when it's just not working. And I've tried and tried on this one but it's DOA. Ah well. Relax, relate, release, etc.

You've Got To Be Karate Fucking Kidding Me

Eh. Vacation aborted. I wasn't trying to kill it or anything -- like I said, if I was going there, I'd have deleted the whole thing -- but I'm over the metaness of how it is right now (says she, being meta). It's just not fun for me anymore. It's like "peek into the head of a girl, 24 going on 14." I hate it. I'm vain and angsty and blah enough in real life without having randoms across the lands know it also. The coming up on 2 year anniversary rule: less meta, more fun.

Anyways, Trendvickster and I took in Prefuse extravaganza #2 at the Bowery. In continuing the "I can't go anywhere without running into someone I know" thing, Friday night was a HS girl and Saturday was a gaggle of Wes kids. One in particular I knew well back in the day since our radio station time slots were back to back senior year. I hate the torture of formalities you have to go through. It's like a pissing contest. "What do you do?" as code for "let me tell you why I'm so fabulous." I don't even have a shitty job on paper (in terms of mentally, it's asstastic), but I hate how those conversations are just gauge if you've become a "loser" or not since your escape from school/wherever. And he further bugged me by hating on the new Prefuse and saying that he'd only gotten into him via One Word (what did I say yesterday about neophyte hipster fucks?) and though every album was progressively worse since Vocal Studies(!!!!), he decided to check out the show anyway. Around then, we moved away because I thought my head would explode.

Bowery Ballroom is hands down best live venue in town. I adore that place. I'll see anyone play there. We staked out a place near the front for the show. We loved Beans -- how I've managed to avoid him/his shows/his music for so long is actually a major mystery to me. He had something everyone else on the bill lacked: stage charisma and interplay with the audience. Though I guess, when it's you and your music player standing in the corner of the stage, I guess you have to interact. I love his voice -- both rapping delivery and speaking voice. He talks from the stage like "hey, I'm up here performing right this minute but after this, I'm gonna like take my videos back to Blockbuster and maybe we can hang out, so I'll catch you later." And after his set, he was just in the lobby hanging out. We had been on our way to check out the merch table (You know what would be a nice belated bday or happy blogiversary present, the "I Have Battles In My Life" bag. What the fuck does that even mean(?!), but damn I want one! Anyone catching a later tour date, let me know and I might send you the $20 to cover that) and we were pissed that there was no Beans CDs. We spotted him and I encouraged Trendvickster to go yell at him. She did just that and he was like "sorry, but you can get it at the store. I make more money that way. Don't be mad, give me a hug!" And I was like "ha!" hanging back and he said, "don't be shy, you. Come get a hug too!" Hilarity! I even ran into him later when The Director and I went into the afterparty and he said, "oh, I remember you. Give me another hug!" He's great.

Battles were awesome again and I was surprised that their set was mostly different from the night before. On one hand, thank god, but on the other, I liked those fucking songs and I think they were just slighty more fun than the ones they picked -- minus a repeat or two I recognized. We marvelled at the rail-thinness of most of the band -- probably with the exception of the drummer who is like a super ripped giant man. I've never heard anyone hit a drum kit so hard -- not even at the Deftones show! And then the random cymbal like 6 feet in the air that he hit without even shifting that much. He's a monster.

Another thing I noted between the two shows were how fast they were on stage. Friday, it seemed there was always dead space between setting up and playing that just dragged, but last night was like clockwork. I don't even think there was 10 mins in between Beans and Battles. They must have a stern taskmaster at Bowery. Another cute thing was everyone wearing each other's shirts. Beans had a Battles shirt, Tyondai of Battles was wearing a Prefuse one, and the Prefuse drummer was wearing a Beans one (though I might have just made the last one up. It's fuzzy now that I think about it.). I'd say the Prefuse set was better than the night before. The only different song I noticed was Choking You but I think the band was tighter this time around. I also thought about how much I hate the "let's go offstage like we're just gonna leave, but instead come back and play another song so the crowd will think they had some effect on us" thing.

Post-show, pizza and we got latched onto by a random Australian who wanted to talk our ear off about the Jet/Oasis double bill (erm, no thanks) and The Director popped up. Trendvickster called it a night and we wandered uptown in search of other friends and the show after party. (Oh, did you know I'm not only a hipster, but a snob too? News to me!) They killed Openair!!! I loved that place. When I first moved back to town, it was one of the first places I went to where they were playing the electronic music that I liked to listen to at home. The changeover is especially annoying because all they did was strip away the flat screens and put some pseudo-APT wallpaper up. Wack but the drinks are still cheapish. Like I said before, Beans was there and chatting near me to some guy who was like "dude, you're great. I love that fucking Karate Kid line!" and misquoted it, but was lovingly corrected. It reminded me of how I laughed when I heard it. We then cabbed it back to BK, drop off in Williamsburg for him, and straight down Whythe/Franklin to my hood. I'm becoming addicted to cabbing it in my old age. Living closer to everything has only made me more lazy.

Silencio

If you really thought I was going to go to the Prefuse show and have nothing to say about it, you're insane! After this, I shall return to the hiatus already in progress...

(A quick note about the Farmer reunion...in keeping with the "chaste rules!" turn everything's been taking lately, we met up at Lit (where we randomly ran into Jenny), got drunkish, and just talked for what feels like the first time in too long. With laughing and yelling and hugs. How fucking adult! And he's being good for his girl in Merry Olde and I'm...I dunno. A big yay! for trying to have a real friendship and clearing the air. If anything, it strenghtens the thought I had the other week about going off on some "hey, we should still talk since it seemed like we were going to be at least decent friends for a while there" missions since I've been bad with cutting things off at the knees this year. If I can have a nice reconcilation with Farmer, anything should be possible.)

Concert numero uno was deep in the heart of the neighborhood I'd been doing a good job of avoiding until the last month or so, Williamsburg. There was last weekend's party and an encounter with The Brit weeks ago and now The Director's moved out there. Bah to it just the same.

Northsix is a weird venue -- it's like a cross between a high school gym and an auto body shop. I wandered around, staking out a nice spot on the wall near the bathroom and then getting annoyed when people took that as a cue to stand like an inch in front of me blocking up the aisle. Seriously, what's up with that? I've hated that aspect about every show I've ever been to. I can't be the only person in the world who would rather be farther than closer to other people. If there's the space, there's no point in being packed up like sardines. Give me some breathing room, please! And why does it always have to be some asshole who wants to flip her hair in your face/is 10 feet taller? Gah. Still, I'm happy I did the 5'7"ish conversion because the giants (and the midgety girls who love them) were out in full force. Are concerts really date activities? The last place I'd want a date is a show because unless I hate it and want to talk shit, I'll be no doubt paying more attention to it than you. Concert going reminds me I fucking hate most concerts. They make me more curmudgeonly than usual. And since I'm already complaining, the crowd was ass too. It was fairly obvious most of them bought up the tickets because they'd heard One Word Extinguisher only (it was pretty well reviewed, you know) and besides that, Prefuse is cool, man. You know, I almost named this post "Surrounded By Statues" because that was what it was like during the set.

But on to the rest of it, I missed Beans because the weather was kinda crappy and I was running late and finally decided to cab it since it was around 10 and there was no way I'd get there before midnightish on my planned out route. I arrived as Four Tet got into it. He's further proving a truism that every Kieran is super hot. He was doing the man at a console setup but he was bouncing all about so endearingly. I was thinking that I really should be doing something rather than staring at the stage since there really was nothing to see, but I was so locked into position by the hoardes that it was inevitable. I was amused by the copycat effect in the audience of "well, he's freaking out on some beat, so maybe I should do that also!" I think I'd heard maybe one Four Tet song over the years, but now I've got to comb the catalog.

Next up was Battles, a group notable to me at first because a guest vocalist from Surrounded... is a member and I think he's a friend of one of my Friendster to real life friends. I truthfully didn't know what to expect, but it was ridiculous! A random concertgoer who I struck up a convo with asked me my opinion and I said: "it was like Living Colour got together and decided to do nothing but Tool covers." For me, that would be camp out on the streets and enter every stupid contest under the sun and bribe/cheat/steal to get in on the awesomeness, so to say I liked it would be the understatement of the year. Take a wild guess about the last group I connected with so instantly. If you can see them, GO.

The venue had lost a fair amount of people by the time Prefuse and crew got on circa 12:45ish. Setup was two drum kits, bass, and shit too far in the back of the stage for me to see but what I assume was turntables, keyboards, and sampler. It was sublime to hear songs that I listened to nonstop every day for months/years. As far as I can recall, they did (in no particular order): Suite For The Way Things Change, Silencio, It's Crowded, One Word Extinguisher, Perverted Undertones, I've Said All I Need To Say About Them, And I'm Gone, Plastic, I've Got No Time For Rearviews (i think?), and I'm sure I'm forgetting something. Wild men drummers were in the house that night and the main drummer was a monster. Prefuse would man the second kit or run behind the boards depending on the song. I actually do dance at shows...imagine that! Tyondai joined them doing...erm, I'm not really sure what, perhaps something new(?) as the encore and then I was out. Trendvickster and I shall do it all again tonight.

Round We Go

Hi, I'm a dummy that broke my Movable Type when I called myself updating! I'll figure out sooner or later how to get the comments back... I fixed it! I'm the shit! Too bad I spend more time fucking around with my site instead of actual things I have to do.

*sigh*

That's pretty much how it went this weekend. All ridiculous and comedy of errorsish.

Proving that mentioning his name is like tempting fate, Farmer popped back into town and wants to catch up. My first reaction was to go all dramatic and refuse the offer. The hazards of chatting when I'm imbibing a homemade (read: like paint thinner) concoction. Hilarity was when he said "oh yeah, Farmer's out, right?" and I responded "been reading up, have you?" Back in the day when we first met and the blog was a baby, he was amused by me forever quoting him but generally it wasn't on his radar. I'm not really surprised he was checking in while we were on the outs -- in fact, I suspected as much. (The tracker is a most useful tool!) People I've had conflict with reading the blog and keeping tabs: shocker! If only everyone was so helpful. He is actually. Net addicted writer sorts obsessively writing on the web, net addicted photographers obsessively posting pictures up pictures on the web. Imagine that. And I'm not immune to checking up on others either. Shady's site is good for a nice eyeroll or 10. God bless the internet! Anyhoo, the next day with my hangover, I rethought my position and we might meet up. And my friends have all sent me cyber slaps on the head, but yeah well. Mistakes are good as long they're fun and painless. Now I just have to endure him wanting to rehash old posts and shit. Holy hell.

The party Saturday night where I got my hangover was this random thing I went to with Alex and his brother in Williamsburg somewhere. A girl moving into his brother's building was throwing a party in her empty old apartment. Did you know the new thing with the kids is to get drunk and start tossing beer bottles onto the floor? Yeah. I dunno. We ran into this Wes girl who moved into my senior house, affectionately called The Cake House For Midgets, the year after and now lives around the corner from me. We got into a convo about which corner store we had allegiance to and she declared: "I can't stand going to that one at the corner of St. Johns. I mean, if you can't afford all the letters on your sign, you don't deserve my business!" I was totally dumbstruck. Why I tend to avoid random Wes people personified. Let's hope no one lets her know about Daily Heights happy hours!

The cat was nowhere to be found all day Sunday and we were frantically looking everywhere. I had the same stupid exchange with Ant too many times.
Candice: Where the hell can she be? There's not that many places to hide.
Ant: I dunno. You sure you looked everywhere?
Candice: Yes I did. *beat* Are you sure you guys didn't do something to her? It's okay. You can tell me.
Ant: No, we didn't. Maybe she ran away?
Candice: She's too scaredy to run away...she runs and hides if I move too quick! *beat* Are you sure J didn't kill her?
Ant: He's a gay pacificist!
Candice: Hmm. Well. I hope she turns up.

My mom visited and looked too, but no dice. A quiet mew around 9pm helped Ant and I find her in the fucking dresser drawer. My cat is a clown. She learned from the best.

Showtime

The Dizzee show was as fun and crazy as I hoped it would be. The place was fucking packed to the gills. The crowd was awfully uniform. It's like an NYU dorm was giving away free tickets or something. DJ Wonder threw down some jungle in the preshow and you could almost see the collective "duh...how do we dance to that?" Dizzee started out in the dark with "Sittin Here" and I smirk-smiled all "isn't he all Mr. Fancypants Performer?!" I couldn't note the setlist as I would've wanted because things were slightly dramatic in the crowd between the folks I was with (The Brit, his brother, the brother's girl, and their friend) and this pack of punks, so much so that the show was halted momentarily for a kid to get carted away by security. He rocked "Jus A Rascal," "Everywhere," "Learn," "Respect Me," "Knock Knock," "Graftin," "Jezebel," "Dream" into "Juicy," and the two encores were "Fix Up, Look Sharp" and "Stand Up Tall." (I keep thinking "Showtime," "Vexed," and "Do It" also but that might be from listening to them to death at home.) The Brit grumbled that the newer stuff was lame because it was too Americanized and I grumbled to myself that I would've given money to have heard "Wot U On" (or did I hear it? I really don't know. I was distracted). The kids surrounding us varied between crazy spazz dancing and standing like stone. Get out the front if you're just gonna stand doing nothing, fuckers. Every single white girl in the front left section was having hormone fits over the hype man. He was no my husband Tyrese or anything, just alright looking in an average black dude on my block sort of way. But they were totally frenzied and I was amused.

I noticed this guy standing a few people over looking at me during the show. And because I'm vain and jaded, my reaction was "so what?" (The quickest way to get on my nerves: tell me I'm good looking. Pretty people are a dime a dozen, son. I could care less that you think so.) He said "hi" right before the encore, but I was too busy jumping up and down (I still have hops from basketball! Go me!) and going nuts to do more than shoot him a "back off" look. He looked like Paul Westerberg (and yes that age also) after he stuck his finger in an electrical socket. I ran into him again downstairs by the exit and he did some sort of awkward conversation asking for my number. Me being me, I was thinking "oh you're a bit of a clown" yet on a whim, gave it anyways. No rhyme or reason. He called this afternoon and that was a funny conversation.

Post-show, the hodgepodge group of me and the crew plus some random British girls they met at the show ran through the rain over to a restaurant basement party a few blocks away. Let me give you the nutshell specificless happenings that had things looking dicey for a while: 1) I have the capacity to be very jealous -- I'm not especially proud of it but hey, I'm no saint. 2) I'll front until the end if left unchecked if I feel it is the best policy for the situation. 3) If I'm pissed off, I'm likely to come out with some sweet-sounding sharp-tongued shit while smiling and fronting all the while. So, I was feeling like a bit of an unhappy camper and feeding the pro-me and The Brit camp (which I find astounding. The whole thing had a cute junior high "circle yes or no if you like him" aspect. I had spies and I didn't even know it!) some disinformation. Still, it was all smoothed over before the night was done. Have you ever gotten a pointed look with so much heat that you thought if you returned it, you'd burst into flames? I did and yeah...good thing I can't really blush.

ETA: Whoo...got my Prefuse at Northsix tix in the mail!

Stand Up Tall

Still here. Sorta. But if I play "Apache," "Pow," or "Stand Up Tall" one more time, my cat might scratch me to death. Did I mention I'm going to the Dizzee Rascal show Saturday? I'm so fucking cool I can't even stand it.

Yesterday, I was keeping myself occupied by throwing myself into the mix in this thread. This was seriously just about the only panel (the music blogs one too) that had me checking airfare like "I could totally go to Seattle...oh wait, I don't even have $10 to spare. Nevermind." It was running pretty well for a while there, but petered out some time this morning. Such is the nature of ILM mostly and also where would the discussion actually end up going? "They give me funny looks at shows." Check. "I never have problems, you're just being sensitive." Check. "Damn, y'all are just some complaining black bitches women. I don't want to deal with that." Check. "I can like metal/rock/country and Mary J too. Get over it!" Check. "But really what does this mean in regards to white people?" Check.

It's an uneasy position feeling like I should be able to go into a show situation neutral/neutered as a music fan and yet usually end up being the most conspicuous person there. The one thing doesn't look the other screech moment. I hate having to end up feeling self-conscious. If as an a confident and secure person end up feeling like an annoyed bug under a microscope, I can't imagine how someone else might. But isn't that the role of the black feminist in life, the strange visible invisibility? What better to illustrate that but a thread filled with over a hundred posts where a call for extra commentary besides us (really the only time such a call would be made) is a "eh...we'll sit back and watch." I'm considering a revive but I don't know what to say really. Obviously it's a highly personal topic for me -- black, feminist, critical (not a "critic") -- and reminds me of why I liked Afropunk, the movie and now the message boards. In there for once the field is level because with so many different representations of black people no one has to be the HNIC figurehead and finally black can not be the capitalized primary descriptor. The stance is I want to put across is that participation and opinions are needed because otherwise becomes the black people sideshow which unfortunately it seemed like the panel turned into. I don't know how to counteract that though. It's bigger than me. I can admit that.

Anyhoo, the Man Man show last night was fucking excellent. They were amazing -- the songs were filled with this unstoppable energy and they just really rocked. (See...this is why I'm not a critic.) I was most happy because they played a spanking new (to me) multi-instrumental (well more than usual) version of my favorite song. I got new converts in Alex and The Director. Lina was all "this is so weird...but the drummer is a monster." I rocked my old chopped t-shirt and let's just say, it was a little snug. I looked like I was late for my shift at Hooters. They might be real and fabulous, but too much for me yesterday, that's for sure. The funny part for me was running into the bouncer who was trying to kick it to me at one of the shows way back when. He's actually alright...NYU student and seems pretty interesting, but he just strikes me as sorta bland. I'm just a picky bastard unless I'm just gaming for fun. There really is no rhyme or reason.

Suite For The Way Things Change

What a difference the sun and a furry companion make! Believe it or not, I've actually been going around with a smile on my face. And when I'm lounging about my house, I'd rather be making tuna casserole than fucking around on the net...haha, that's a lie. I'm always on the net but I've also been making tuna casserole. Help! I'm turning into a pod person! I'm all mellow and shit. And with one of my fave friends Alex back in town, the mood can only improve. Sorry, folks, you might have to get used to a cheery me. It was bound to happen eventually.

I've been busy mostly. It's review and raise time at the job and I'm trying to have all my shit in order. I'm taking on more responsibilities with the crew, so that'll keep me heavily occupied come summer. Trying to make some goals and stick to them. As always, there's personal changes and I'm trying to rediscover things that make me happy. I was getting sick of myself being so melancholy all the time and I'm actively doing something about it. Farmer and I had falling out #1,598,237 the other week and it might just stay that way because I'm just tired of caring most. The like molasses moving thing with The Brit is just funny and fun because it's so chaste. For the most part, I never meet anyone cool and normal and my age, so I just want this to develop as it does. I'm most amused that it doesn't even really bother me that at this rate probably won't even kiss him until some time in the fall. Of course, I'm not dead, so other prospects are indeed on the table.

In other news: I need to do a total revamp of the links. Some of that stuff is way out of date. My neighborhood blog is the bomb -- and not only because they listened to my suggestion. One of my dear HS friends just got engaged and Ant and I rolled up to the party to drinks some Belve and see how the other half lives. I finally saw a group I've been trying to see since I moved back to NYC. But I missed one of my fave DJ/producers at a party I haven't gotten my shit together to check yet. I was mere blocks away listening to The Brit's brother drop some dope d'n'b. Everyone wants to be my myspace friend...God, people, don't make me log on! I hate that thing! But I did log on long enough to make Man Man my friend and I might even wear my shirt to their first NYC show in a min on Wednesday.

And you know, I'd be even happier if I could find a bike for under $100.

Rolls and Waves

Now that the hissyfit/spazzing is behind me (savor that while you can, I think I plan to be making some snips here and there...self-censorship rules!), back to the blahs...

I've resigned myself to finally getting around to fully unpacking from the trip circa umm...June. Why unpack for real when it's so much more fun to do it leisurely, checking out everything I pull from the bag while dancing around to "Let's Get Blown" and "Fuck Me On The Dancefloor?" Meanwhile, anyone want a stupid tall collection of electronic music mags and a pair of Technics dogtags? I've already promised the CDs after I rip and load the songs I want. The current MusicMatch playlist is reminding me how much "Wait" still makes me want to pop a blood vessel. The "clean" version was inescapable in South Beach and I would grit my teeth thinking, "yeah right...you may insert all the bleeps and/or moans you want, but it's still the street rapist anthem of 2005!"

*ahem*

The rain threw a considerate shade over the weekend fun. Also a nice thing called utter poverty. The byproduct of paying rent upon arrival on an off week. Ah well. I got a million emails about this AMAZING PARTY deep in the heart of DUMBO and I was considering using the money that I should spend on sensible things like food in order to go when I got a phone call. It was a friend of The DJ who I guess I'm friends with now kinda by default like all the rest. This one and I had hung a few times down in Miami but I always assume everyone is flightly like me and forgets things like that once some time has passed. We chatted for a min and I said I'd definitely go. I got most of the way and said "fuck this, it's cold and my bubble vest just isn't cutting it!" so I went home. The next night, he called again to let me know about my fave friend of a friend band doing a show. I demurred because of the shit weather, but true to contrary form, I went.

What kind of fucking rock club doesn't even have a real bar? No, I don't want beer or wine. I'd like a whiskey and ginger, dammit! I drank red wine bitterly and ended up sharing a look with this chick. I vaguely thought she looked familiar, but then I thought it might just be the universal law of brown acknowledgement at work and went about my way. I sat down on a stool and looked up to see The DJ standing above me. Joy.

Now as typically when I run into him around town, it'd kinda slipped my mind that the possibility was there. But really, what should I expect going to a show of people I met through him? Ah well. In the week and a half since I saw him last, the longtime cooling ardor is hovering around subzero. He was a little peppy (drunk? high? all of the above?) while I was fighting back a "oh it's you" and a yawn. The tables do turn eventually. He was downright chirping and I was grunting monosyllabically and playing with texts as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. That girl came over and sat next to him and I finally placed her: she was this cock-blocking girl I'd almost had a Wild West standoff with at a spinning night of his that I believe it or not did not blog. Miracles do happen sometimes! I remember her having the patience of a saint and me knowing damned well that I really wasn't into him enough to pull a power play. With her there, I didn't feel so bad about ghosting him and eventually just walking away. I just didn't care enough.

And you thought I was kidding about the slash and burn? I've barely warmed up.

Faraway, So Close

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.

No Pictures Please

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.

Just My Cup and String, Dunny

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.

The Long Haul

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.

Sugar And Spice And Everything Nice

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,

Jamirakid: i've got people around town going "oh hey, you're the blog girl! my friend aaron told me about you!"
Jamirakid: okay...one, but that's too many even
Aaron The Outer: *shrug*
Jamirakid: grr
Jamirakid: you suck
Aaron The Outer: maybe this well help you learn to not take yourself so seriously, and that the internet isn't a virtual phonebooth that allows clark kent to change into superman ;)
Jamirakid: oh stfu
Aaron The Outer: bwaahah

Take That, Rewind It Back

* 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!

Gently Downstream

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.

Like Gold

I went to a big blogger party (and a smaller one) and met a lot of bloggers. It was like every other blogger party ever -- except this one had music people and they strangely (mostly) knew who the hell I was. I'll leave the mad linking/blog fucking to someone else, but woo...the extra traffic is a little frightening I've got to say. But all in all, it was amusing and as par for the course, there was some adventure had (alas, my lips are sealed).

The main focus of the weekend was Ant and I rushing around trying to whip our place into shape before the housewarming party. Somehow, it all came off -- though my spanky new bed wasn't delivered until a hour and a half before everything got started, I wasn't even dressed with people came early (Q: who the fuck comes to a party early on a Saturday night? A: Binge drinking lamesters. They were so Ant's friends.), and I had to go and buy a shitload of beer (as if I drink that piss). I was cowering at my own party at that first wave of folks and P. Diddy and G were scared off pretty early on. But, appearances from Trendvickster, PrincessNella, Lina, Faiks, and wonderful HS/Wes friends helped me enjoy myself. We had a party freak (again, one of Ant's friends) that was following everyone around and making a nuisance of himself. Jenny played DJ with the Zen. The chillout room (a.k.a. our spare bedroom done up with candles and super massive pillows) ended up as the makeout room a certain point (tsk, tsk). The solitary barfer was pretty well contained. Not a peep was heard from a neighbor despite it going on until the wee hours because this is a post-war and the walls are thick as hell. We got mad compliments on the space and my wonderful cake. They didn't trash the fucking place and we've got liquor left over for the next blowout, i.e. my birthday pre-party in a couple of weeks. Good times, good times.

The best part of the weekend stuff personally is that there's not a solitary fucking picture out there of me, the most non-photogenic person alive, to drive me nuts for the next few months. And that Monday's a holiday. Everything else...blah.

Snippets

"Little West 12th and Washington."
"You look like a movie star," says the cabbie. I insert my eyeroll at the proper spot. "Have you been in something? You look familiar."
"Yeah right," I respond. "I wish. I'd love that movie star money."
"What do you do?"
"I work for a marketing company."
"Well, there's gotta be good money in that."
"Yeah, you'd think...but not really."
I feel him looking at me in the rearview and I look up. "Sorry...you should be a movie star. You look like the type going places."
"Heh. Thanks. Let's hope."

The day before, I was back to business as usual playing the wandering intrepid. Some downtown party had to be found on a street with a familiar name but hidden location. I had mapped it out at home to be sure, but was still a bit turned around on the street. I stood at the corner wondering which way and picked up the trail from the weaving hipster sorts walking my way. I could use the drunkies like breadcrumbs/a rainbow with a nice full glass of my own waiting on the other end.

I suppose the new thing is to forego those pesky front door and stairs combo to just give you an elevator to the street. I strolled on the scene confused and played with my phone until I was assured that I wouldn't look like an ass pressing the button. Emerging on floor 2 was the typical scene: too many people jammed into a narrow space (check), free something or another (check), booze freeflowing and calling my name (check). Wes kids at 2 o'clock damped the fun slightly but ignored them and kept rolling up to the makeshift bar table. The bartender guy looked at me expectantly. "Can I get a vodka and cranberry?" I asked.

He held up two bottles: Brand X El Cheapo that I bought a few days later for the apt and The Sponsor's Brand O' Whatever. I shrugged and he picked The Sponsor. As if it really makes a difference. He added tonic to the cup and I looked at him quizzically. He shook his head no and said, "you wanted cranberry" before putting that cup to the side and making a new one. I held in the "oh that's cool, I'll drink that one too!" for my benefit and thanked him when he handed me the cup.

Jenny came along soon after and I had someone to stand and gab with, which really is something that always starts to ball of randomness rolling. She ran into someone she knew and his friend and I went off on a "horrors of living on your own" dishfest after deducing that all of us lived pretty close to each other. The best part of being back in Brooklyn is that everyone else is here too. No more "I grew up in Brooklyn, but now I live in *mumble* Jamaica." Fuck a Queens! Anyways, I had my most fun unexpected blogosphere to real life crossover when Abe came over (seeing him always dredges up school spirit I didn't know I had. Yay Hunter!). [For the record, the strangest was Nick in Kmart. What's next someone in Duane Reade?]

Post-party, I was off a little uptown to do the friend-of-a-friend thing up real big and hopefully meet up with The DJ and D. Worlds collided as I instantly recognized one of the performers from his job at 419...okay, APT. I barely go there anymore, so I can take the psuedonym away. (Incidentally, I ran into him there Thursday night and gave a "good job" on his performance. Think that'll keep me in Taylor's 20 for a minute?) I marvelled at how miniature Joe's Pub was. I'd never been there before and just imagined it as way bigger. It makes Blue Note look like Roseland.

I settled into any place where I could find room and see the stage with my $5(!) bottle of water(!) in front of this table. I stuck up a convo with the occupants and took them up on their offer to sit. I got pushed all the way in and started chatting with the guy next to me about music and the like. Meanwhile, I ran into The DJ and D standing around. I remarked to them that their friend onstage was looking like Leisure Suit Larry. D laughed "oh, you're so right" (like a liar) and The DJ looked at me puzzled. I tried to help him: "Okay...I can tell you weren't playing computer games in the '90s. He had this whole thing like...uhh..." I was thinking Charlie from Empty Nest, but he seemed not like the Saturday night tv watching type in the '90s either. So, I continued with that guy's other persona: "You know, like Joe Izuzu!" Another blank. Bless his pretty heart. I took the B/Larry comparison back to the guy at the table and he knew exactly what I meant. Sometimes it's the little things. One of the girls asked him when he was planning on asking me out on a date and we both looked around embarassed. Something was vaguely setup for this week and we took a cab back to Brooklyn since we live about four blocks apart, but I'm a cynic and we'll just see what happens. Or not because I'm lazy too.

On Other Fronts

Since no one probably cares about the move (We love our new place! Buying furniture off Craig's List rules! I can keep not going to the gym for another month with all that lifting and running up and down the stairs I did! We're siphoning wireless net off some neighbors!), I'll tell you how I spent my Friday night.

I'd committed myself to checking out this party I'd been getting emails about for a few months. I trekked across Queens and Brooklyn on the J as usual, stumbling into the haphazard rerouting that had a special J train running in place of a 4/5 as an M/Q hybrid to Prospect Park. The MTA loves fucking up the weekend trains all at once. It's always so fun.

I found myself around J&R circa 1am, peering down a sidestreet and hoping that I had to be anywhere besides the dark alley. But, I took a breath and was off until I found the nondescript looking storefront building. My note in my phone said it was the place and I opened the door to see a Wes-like hippie man chilling in the lobby.

"Am I in the right place?"
"You're here for the party?"
"Yeah I think so."
"We've got to keep it lowkey, you know."
I nod sorta and look around for an elevator/stairs/something.
"So, are you a cop?"
I shoot him a funny look. "Yes. Definitely."
"Nah really."
"Yes I am." I laugh. "Come on, do I look like a cop? I'm like 4 feet tall!"
"Well, you never know. Are you a cop?"
"Yes..ahhh...no. Heh...I can't help saying yes. But, I'm really not a cop."

A new guy comes through the door and the door keeper quizzes him. The guy says yes too. It's impossible not to. The question is so ludicrous. Not that there aren't black cops, but I doubt the guy and I with our modified afros and slightly hipster gear would make the cut. This is real life, not 21 Jump Street. The door dude babbles on, "well, it's a legitimate question. If you were cops, you have to say you are when asked, you know." We get on the elevator, chuckling about it, and a girl and another guy hop on before the doors clothes. "I'm totally a cop!" she says and we all laugh.

We exit upstairs into a line in front of a door. Music thumps on the other side, but first we have to get through the chick with the clipboard and the man selling door tickets. I pay my $7 entry fee and pick up 2 drink tickets (also $7 a pop) before heading in. The party is live: great music and dancing, people all about. The bar is even professional looking considering the circumstances.

I spot D, newish friend, holding up the wall and he waves me over. "You've got perfect timing," he says. "The party just got really good."

I panscanned the crowd -- a heap of people I've never seen before. It's a miracle! I've been slowly phasing out a lot of the places I used to hang out and shifting into new ones. I'm trying to recapture the feelings I had last winter when anything seemed possible, but navigating things a little wiser this time around. If anything, I hate a lot more things than I used to, so my bullshit meter is pretty sensitive now.

In some sort sick cosmic joke, just as my wandering eyes landed on paydirt (fucking Morgan Geist at the same party as me! Holy shit!), the lights turned on. D and I glanced over to the doorway to see cops in uniforms busting in the place. He disappeared somewhere across the room and I stood wondering what was about to happen. "I guess the guy downstairs wasn't so silly asking if we were cops," said the second guy from the elevator who had the bluest eyes I've ever seen. True to form, I blathered with him and had no clue who he was (until I looked it up on the net, natch). Some guy came up to him solemly and shook his hand saying, "I really enjoyed your set last night. It was really awesome." He demurred thanks and I glanced on it quizzically. Ignorance is totally bliss.

Some hecklers encouraged the cops to go waste their time on real criminals, etc. and chanted "9-1-1." One got grabbed up by the arms and marched out. The notable thing about that to me was the fact that he was picked up by the undercovers...who were straight up as plainly cops as ever existed. They looked like someone had gone to central casting and ordered up some "cop-looking" characters. I wondered how the hell paranoid door guy would ever let them through. Maybe they lied and said they weren't, totally disproving his little theory.

They made with the kicking out of the partygoers and I used my scarf to cover up my little plastic cup of rum and cranberry. I met up with D on the street and he was amazed to see me sipping. "This is a $21 drink, goddamit. I wasn't leaving it in there!" We made our way past City Hall and Uptown. It was only 1:30. The night was still young.

Limbo

(Before I get into it, I've actually updated my page o' mp3s to grab because I love.)

Over the weekend, I was cross legged on the floor surrounded by papers, keepsakes, and all sorts of accumulated crap from the past few years of my life. There's that book about the puritan family I couldn't unload from my US History class. A little wallet sized photo of me in my pink princess prom gown. Graduation program. Yearbooks. That photo of me and The Ex that I still love. LA pics. Me, Ant, and Farmer at Union Pool. Do I need Find Law printouts from the DC program...shit, almost three years old? Yes...no...maybe.

I'm mentally moved into our little walkup place, but I'm physically boxed up in Queens. As terrible as it sounds, I almost didn't realize Monday is a holiday until I got an email about it at work. I've got the long weekend to get my stuff in and nest a bit.

I made a harrowing trip through town with Grandmastah H's lent air mattress strapped to my back. I couldn't even be too stoked that I made it door to door from the West Village in 25 minutes because that fucking thing felt like it weighed 25 pounds. I was doubled over in pain at Underhill, almost unwilling to walk the extra half block. But, I made it and faced down my new apartment nemesis: the tricky lock before inflating the fucking thing and collapsing. All the while, I was thinking "I can't die out here. I've got to get home first." Because that place already feels like home. Probably because home is where your money vanishes into thin air.

The weekend was pretty low-key. I've been rolling lean and staying out of sight because $10 can only take you so far once you've gotten used to being limitless. Saturday though I found the best parties ever. What I like to call "that crazy motherfucker going apeshit" party at the Knit. I was surprised to see it so underpopulated but the man is unstoppable -- DJing and scatting with horn players and percussion. I love that shit and I was amused at the yuppies just in for a drink who were glancing at the stage like "what the fuck is going on over there?" I like an element of "what will that crazy do next?" at a concert. Most shows are the same old setups and proceedings, so a dash of zaniness adds a little something. Plus they've got cider on tap there. I'm all about enjoying a glass of not!Beer for a cheap.

From there, I was up at Starfoods for this. I was doing the old sitting off to the side and taking it all in routine, but the music was so ridiculous. I love that party but something about it makes me feel inhibited. Perhaps it's the feeling of social claustrophobia as I see the same old friends of friends plus randoms I've met along the way. For a city of millions, I see the same 30 people everywhere I go. Maybe I'm just burrowing deeper and deeper into the scene, even as I "branch out," or perhaps maybe this is all there is. As I've been mentioning a lot (only on the web, I don't know anyone who'd care in real life), MF Doom was supposedly there also. I think that's neat because what little I know about him, I feel cool to be somewhere he might be. Compared to if it was like, I dunno...Fabulous -- one of the reasons I haven't gone to Gustavino's (does that place even still exist?) ever again. Of course, me being cameraless -- no mugging with him. Not that I'd know him if I fell over him. I know he's black and that's about it. I've got no identifying features besides that...which is kinda the point, I suppose. At least I can admit I'm fronting in this situation. I'm good for talking to someone I guess I should know as a music fan sort, i.e. running into the Greenskeepers guy when I fucking love them, and being all "duh...blah blah let's talk about bullshit and I'll kick myself later." Or looking right at them and not reacting at all (hey, Rufus Wainwright!). Ah well. At the end of the day, they're just regular folks. I've had my one lifetime "famous" person spazz episode, it's all whatever after that.

On To The New

Happy 2005, everybody! 2004 was a bit meh, here's to hoping it can only get better instead of worse!

I started my New Year's Eve traipsing across Queens and Brooklyn to meet up with Ant and the management company man. We read and signed and read and signed and read and nitpicked and signed. Exchanged checks for keys and papers. And with some finals handshakes, Ant and I became official residents of Brooklyn. We made our way from Boro Park to Prospect Heights, strolling up Flatbush and deciding that the birthday dinner (just over 3 months and counting) shall be held at Chuck-E-Cheese this year because...well, just because. (We were amused by the imaginary exchange: "So, how old are you this year, erm...little girl?" "Oh, 24.") We had a good old southern food lunch on Vanderbilt, murdering our food upon sniffing. We're very excited about all the stores in the area. We went to the place to guestimeasure rooms and confer on where furniture would go. This week, I measure for real. Next weekend is move in. Yay for us! And I spent everything I had in the bank minus $30 to get to this point. Not so yay!

New Year's Eve proper was rather anti-climactic. I dragged my feet and ended up where I wanted to be later than I planned. I had my first of 3 train rides with stupid kids running off at the mouth trying to start fights. WTF was up really with all the 16 year olds on the loose last night? In my teenage days, I knew I'd either be in watching Dick Clark on the TV, at a party with the folks, or someplace random like church. I sure as fuck wouldn't have been roaming the streets in a pack of knuckleheads. Later on that night on the G, two groups actually did get into a fight that other adults, being more benevolent than me (who just raised an eyebrow and then laughed at first with the folks sitting across from me), broke up. But when the group of little white kids (plus one boy of interminate ethnicity who had been getting angry that he was getting "played as a punk"), cowering in fear not mins before until the black girls who had been getting ready to open a supersized can of whoop were subdued, started talking smack now that it was safe again, I screamed on them to shut the fuck up since they were underaged little shits causing drama and we all should just let the girls beat the smirks off their stupid faces. And they did.

I rang in the New Year with my comp glass of Andre in Subtonic of the screwed up toilets, darkness, and DJ who was too busy playing Black Box (or something equally as random) to realize it had been 2005 for about 3 mins before he started the countdown. I had to quickest ride from Delancey to Bedford-Nostrand (like less than 15 mins) and strolled into the party at Jenny's invite. There were mini-cupackes, people! Cupcakes + alcohol = triple plus good in the Candice book. Listening to music, talking...I had fun. I made a half-hearted attempt to check out a party on 14th and then realized that I was definitely okay with going home at 4am. And the best part was not spending a fucking dime all night long! Return to the frugal crafty ways of back in summer/fall '03 era? Perhaps. Viva '05!

Roundup Part 4: Kitty List Power

The Most Cliched Parts Of My Year:
1. "Oh my God...not them too! Another fucking sniffer! They're everywhere!"
2. "Wow...I had no idea you were black on paper/the phone! And you're like super black...nappy hair and damn, you are really dark!"
3. "Oh hey, Candice. It's me, [insert punk here]. Just giving you a call to see how you're doing/what you're up to tomorrow. I'm/I'll be around in the city and I wanted to see if you wanted to hang out. Talk to you soon."
4. "No, he's very nice person. You guys only hate him because I told you all that bad stuff about him. If you'd got to know him, you'd like him. What if we got married or something, are y'all gonna disown me?"

Favorite Free Alcohol Fueled Adventures:
1. Film Fest Volunteers Party
2. Getting PrincessNella Involved In The Hijinks...Twice
3. Is That Scott Or The Doppleganger?
4. The Birthday Party, natch

Most Memorable Concerts of '04 (No Real Shockers):
1. Tortured Soul at Deep LA, Halloween.
The LA trip was pretty up and down. The weather was eh at first and there was drama with the host, but I got a kick out of the first trip checking out cool things and exploring. Halloween had been a glorious day -- going to the beach, snapping pics, getting baked in the sun, and really just having a blast on the last day in town. I had never heard a song of theirs prior to the show, but their grooves were so infectious that I became a diehard convert on first note.
2. Man Man/The Art of Shooting at Trash Bar, 6/19.
It was my first (and so far, only) visit to a place I'd heard more than a lot about in its previous existance as Luxx. I strolled in and liked TAOS because as stupid and base as it is, as a girl, I'll always give extra bonus points for a band of women playing and doing it well. I really thought their music was great heavy pop/punk and was excited to talk with Kelly and let her know that that. I remember that MM show as rather inspired and I've got a polaroid with Ryan as a memento.
3. Phoenix/Benzos at Bowery Ballroom, 12/2.
My post is one of the few that captures the thought process. I was super excited about getting the chance to see Benzos again and coming it towards the end bugged me. I only stayed for Phoenix out of curiosity, but the won me over with their breezy songs and charm. Every once in a while, the hardest cynical heart needs a good old pop show.
4. Man Man at Siberia, 4/28 or thereabouts.
Because really I've been getting mileage of "that's where I got trampled by a guy in a yeti suit!" all year. Plus that was probably the last time I was still pretty anonymous and talking to band people made me all nervous.
5. Erykah Badu at Chapelle's Block Party, 9/18
Yeah there were other people there and Fizzie and I left about midway, but I don't think any act would've compared to seeing her. I've got all her albums -- legally! -- and I've always been dying to see her in concert. And she didn't disappoint with that voice and talent jumping off the stage and her rolling with the punches as her giant afro wig was almost blown away by the wind. She is an amazing live performer and I want to see her in a proper setting in 05 for sure.

Wonderful Things That I Really Got A Kick Out Of This Year:
1. "You know, that was a good article/book/album. I wonder if they have a website/blog...oh, nice...they do!"
2. Strange encounters. If I wasn't getting surprising emails because of some thing I wrote rather flippantly on the blog (c.g. Fizzie), I was going somewhere and finding out that a person I just met was: in a group I liked, someone I should introduce people I knew in bands to, or had parallel interests to my own. Random magnet to the end!
3. Feeling like a real adult for a change. I feel like I definitely got my shit together in a lot of ways. It's been nice.

A Last Bit of Luck

Guess who won concert tickets after entering just about every damned Flavorpill NYE listing giveaway? Me! Yay me! And I'm special (or perhaps strange) because I'm the only winner! What...did every one else go for the 169 Bar party or something? Good luck trying to get into that bathroom, people!

I'll be at the Ghostly International New Year's Bash starring on the decks/laptops Todd Osbourn aka Osbourne and James T. Cotton aka Dabrye aka Tadd Mullinix, together also known as Soundmurder (or not...I'm confused. Different sites say different things) at Subtonic. I've got an extra ticket and will have no doubt a contraband bottle (or two) of Andre in the bag. But, I've got no one to go with. Ah well. I'm a random magnet. I know I'll make friends.

The question is: where's the after party at?

Ho Ho Ho

It actually took VH1 Classic to bring me some Christmas cheer this year. I stumbled upon the ultrasurreal catchy totally new wave video for Squeeze "Christmas Day." I need to post that song (ETA: here it is!). It even sounds bizarre.

Sheer laziness kept me in for the Eve this year and I passed the time watching cable when I ran out of net to explore. I watched Who's That Girl, marvelling at Madonna's terrible handling of accents even back then and thinking that Griffin Dunne sure had that uptight yuppie facing misadventures market covered in the '80s, eh? Also, Kicking and Screaming totally not my post-college experience but that's some of the realest sounding dialogue ever.

Sunday night found me stir-crazy and I jumped at the chance to hang with a random at this place I'd always slightly wondered about. I'm always amazed that no matter how many times I think I know better, I get confused about Greenwich St vs. Greenwich Ave. But the West Village can trip anyone up. We discussed The Sea And Cake and how the place was filled with a lot of wood and the menu was totally unintelligible. I proved myself as usual a random magnet when he went to use the phone as the typical drunken 20-something pseudointellectual fucker sitting next to us at the bar turned to me and started blathering about my companion's stated dislike of the choices. I shot him a look and remained noncommittal as he insisted "the food is so good though! If you don't like it, you can come to my house in Killington!" Whatever, Random. His apparent date and I shared some "someone's had a few too much to drink" looks. On his return, the loudmouth turned to him and said "order the steak. Don't you know that people are starving in Iraq?"

I laughed at loud and blurted out, "what the fuck are you even talking about? What does one thing have to do with the other?"
"He should order it and eat it because in Iraq there are people less fortunate and starving who wished they had steak."
"Whatever. That's so stupid what you just said. I mean there are people in Manhattan that don't have enough to eat, so why are you even bringing Iraq into this."
"I know there are people starving in Harlem, but I'm saying I know he'll like it and I'm willing to pay for it if he doesn't."
"Oh...will you invite him up to Vermont also if he doesn't like it?"
"No, you can come to Vermont, but not him."
"Okay...you're ridiculous."

And that was that. I found myself with a free drink appearing next to me from the bartender and eventually he and the date exited. Continuing on the "hey you, only black girl in the place, I just feel the need to talk to you!" train I always find myself on, an off-duty waitress sat next to us and proceeded to ask our advice on a customer handling faux pas she had made a few nights before. And then talking our ears off about it and her boyfriend going to Thailand to backpack (!) and randomness forever. WTF?

We stepped out into the snow, softly falling on the street. The hardened cynic in me noted that travelling the next day was gonna be a bitch and a half if everything iced over. But at that moment, it was just nice. And I trotted off to the train, hands in pocket.

I Know You're Hot, But Won't You Please Be Cool

I think I've lost the urge to write a real structured post. I'm just going to be like Hani and throw whatever sticks down.

The longest work week ever stretched on and on and on. As quickly as Farmer reappeared, he vanished back to a leisurely life I can only wish for. He's good for shaking me up when I'm feeling hardcore and closed off. He's my boy and he tugs those heartstrings I forgot existed. But, we're getting better in our old age because we're leaving the drama by the wayside. All things pass.

I spent the weekdays all sleep deprived and grouchy, but emerged all butterfly-like Friday night. I sorta combed my hair! I wore something besides a big sweater/sweatshirt! I put on a belt! You know, all those things I don't do for the office. I felt like playing wino but wandered out the house too late to bottle it. The bus/train combo moved in slow motion and I found myself at Essex circa 1am, unable to decide if I already wanted to call it a night.

Instead, I bounced to Starfoods and marveled at what a difference a year makes. Woo...old school jams! "Candy Rain!" "Dope!" That'd be nice if those songs weren't played out and I actually wasn't sick of partying like it was the early/mid-90s. I'm over the nostaglia train. Where the fuck does a girl have to go to hear some modern house/glitch on a Friday night? Throw on some Tiga! Give me a Tiefschwarz remix! That's my new phase. I considered how I wanted a real electro party -- the music fused with a Francopolozza/Monday nights at Sapph/Shelter vibe, in other words, non-rhythm having, non-dancing fuckers crowding the space need not enter -- and then I remembered how this is NYC and people don't really dance, they just pretend to while making sure everyone else is watching. And then I was sad.

Cheap drinks at Sapph and then to my new Friday party...I guess. I was wandering about aimlessly until I wondered to myself, "is that the DJ guy I see over there? Is it? Oh, it is...nice." What I forgot to blog a month ago was Alex giving me a kick in the ass (through threats and potential embarassment) to stop being a punk and just talk to him. It was painless and I was newly excited afterwards. Alas, I stopped caring from a week after that until I saw him again Friday. Out of sight, out of mind. I truly don't care enough to keep the interest level going on no returns. In my mind, I was out of commission. Behind the scenes, minus the Farmer interlude, I'm pretty much got everything I want at this moment in time.

Still, he came over and we yammered. Have you ever just been fascinated by a person? All I could think was: "you're so cute yet so strange. I can't decide if it makes me like you more or want to make fun of you." Then again, I'm an asshole, so I always think that. His friend joined the party and I yammered with him. I tried to convert the friend to both the Zen and Unclassics. They jockeyed for position and I hoped they weren't going to come out with something ridiculous because my reply would've been: "honestly, neither of you have a chance in hell. Currently preoccupied. Thanks for playing though."

And the DJ played my most favorite song: Bugz In The Attic, "Booty (La La)" and I danced felt like maybe there was hope for going out after all. I hung with them from the Bowery to the road until I took my exit at 14th for the F. I had an erm, lively adventure with some teenage guys on the bus who took my tired curses as playing hard to get and wondered what kind of fucking pheremones I was sending out to get the stares/comments in full force. Disinterest. The hot new scent.

More of the same Saturday night. Bizarro male interactions and me wavering between bemused, disbelieving, and "if I ignore it, it'll go away" mode. Somewhere in there, caught Man Man show #5690 and wondered if there was some rule in effect last week that the pre-headliner acts at shows had to be utter shit. This group was like The Go-Go's minus that pesky instrument playing. They suck. Headliner was meh. I had more fun drinking. Woodpecker on tap rules! I can have the pretense of drinking piss like everyone else, but know that I'm not succumbing -- plus drinks that size are way more cost-effective than mixed drinks, even if they lack the kick. I strolled away from the madness early for me and went home blissfully alone.

I saved the fun for the Pseudo on the Sunday reunion. It's just better that way.

Warm Road

Arma virumque cano...I found myself at the Bowery Ballroom in a rush last night.

Ant and I had been doing the potential place surveying, weighing the pros and cons at a homey would-be neighborhood restaurant. One had space that we both envisioned as a bar room yet the other had the potential to keep more money in our pocket by gaining a 3rd and was the more comfy of the two. Alas, we leave it to fate and money.

I ran as fast I could up the steps of the Bowery stop, hearing Benzos as I almost reached the sidewalk. I showed my receipt and ID and got my wristband and ran downstairs and waited to get checked off with my credit card (yet got no ticket. Just because I buy online, I can't get a real ticket?) and hurried through the lounge and ran upstairs and hurried through the crowd and there they were on stage. "We've got two songs left," one said. I unzipped my parka and tried to catch my breath. I people-watched as the music sweeped over. Weezer meets Radiohead? I only think Weezer because the player keeps playing "Across The Sea." And because the singer who does the glitchy stuff is very Riversesque looking to me. Then again, you seen one skinny floppy haired singing like that, you would mix them up too. They rocked and the crowd murmured appreciatively and I wandered back downstairs to the bathroom.

"I just got here. Did Phoenix play yet?" said some girl.
"No," someone responded.
"Oh good...cause I'm only here to see them."
"Yeah, me too!"
"Who just played?"
"Umm...Benzos. They were alright. I'm waiting for Phoenix."
"Do you know them?"
"Well I know that song, you know, the one in Lost In Translation."
"Yeah, that's a great song. Me too."
"Yeah, I came cause I thought it'd be cool."
"Yeah..."

My first instinct was to sneer. My first instinct is always to sneer. I imagine most of the crowd is like these girls in their distressed vintage casual threads from Urban Outfitters or thereabouts. Phoenix is like such a cool band, man. They're like French and stuff. Air with, like, guitars or something. When I think of Phoenix, I think of my semester in Paris...or when I went to visit last year...or like how cool Paris is, they say.

Instead, I tune them out and focus on the girl holding the water bottle above the door of a stall and murmuring to the girl on the other end. "I'm ready for the water now," said the wan figure opening the door a crack. Vomit. At the second act. I really sneer and head off into my stall.

I get a drink and wander the crowd. All look same, but I'm fascinated by the hipster boy hair. It's so fluffy and mop-top like. It shakes when they move! It's so shaggy! My hair even when it's bone straight defying gravity and nature can never be so shaggy like that. It's the only thing I occasionally covet. I don't want to be tall or thin, just have some shaggy hair ever once in a while. Maybe I can buy a wig.

I wander over to the merch table. "Let me know if you need any help," she says. I give her a glance and a faint sneer/smile, "I think I'll be okay." Plenty of shit, but nothing for Benzos. A band with no merch? The fuck? Can a girl get a fucking sticker or something please?

I chat with Alex on the cell. I lounge on the wall. I observe the mating and relating habits of the young urban youth. Shit, these 18+ shows make all the difference. I might be one of like 100 above 21 in this piece. Except for the old guys. There's always some random old guys. Spidey sense says journos. They look even more jaded than I do.

I think of how the Bowery Ballroom is one of my hands down favorite venues. Shows are always amazing there. Too bad the next to headliner had to semi-ruin that. Sheesh...they suck. What is that? Like hootenanny brit-pop? Can it. I'm amazed at how one of the guitarist/singer guys' hair is defying gravity though. He must've pulled at it for a good 10 mins to get that perfect, "just stuck my finger in a socket" look.

Wander some more. Mind drifts. Don't look at me sideways like that, hipster boy. I'm not checking you out. I wonder how a person can have bones that small. Eat a meal. You look like a walking corpse.

Phoenix takes the stage. They play something and I'm blah. It's a French Travis! Eh. Oh okay...I'm into it. Look at little him with his little rock star attitude and band freeze until the crowd goes wild. That was cute. Okay, they rock. I might even tap a foot. Ugh, drunkies...give me some breathing room. Woo...this band is great! Fine, you're all so hot, even if you are all so shaggy and weigh 300 pounds collectively. Oh nice, they played my song. I still like the Todd Edwards mix better. And with that, I'm out. I'm not in the mood for a late night. I'll beat the kids' rush.

ETA: Matthew was there too and he's got a helpful set list -- for Phoenix at least.

Made You Look

Nothing to add really. I'm experimenting with an offline life for a while. I'll be back and in force soon enough. Meanwhile, I'll be making myself stalker-friendly at Bembe tonight (perhaps Nah, just a thought), the Phoenix/Benzos (because those are the only two groups on the bill I care about...so far) Bowery Ballroom show tomorrow night (definitely), Sapph on Thursday playing guinea pig as usual, and the Mercury Lounge with Man Man and Out Hud Saturday.

But, I've got random exchanges that made me chuckle. Perhaps not so much for the contextless:

Random IM from That Crazy Bastard: Hey, wanna come over to my friend's house and do drugs?
Moi: Umm...no.
ETA: And then Bill IMed me the same thing! People, I don't do drugs. I'm high on life. That cigarette over there was totally tobacco and I didn't smoke it. Not even once.

Him: And there's this dent in the wall, but you can't really fix something like that without cutting the drywall around.
Moi: Shit, man, how'd you dent the wall?
Him: Umm, wrestling.
Moi: (raised eyebrow) Wrestling?
Him: Okay fine, sex.
Moi: Ha. I thought so. Wrestling?! I mean, come on!

Moi: (shaking my head at the hilarity of actually skulking about in the middle of the night trying not to wake up the real grownups) Is this what I was missing out on when I was a kid? Sneaking around people's houses?
Him: (with a smile) Sometimes.

Interiors

I occupy myself at work by being flat and doing what I've got to do and thinking about what fun things I'm thereotically going to do afterwards. I like my job, just not this month. I also like maintaining dualities. Compartmentalizing has always been a fun pasttime of mine. Many here are on some "work should be like camp! woo!" thing, but I actually enjoy maintaining my distance and making my interior/post-work life a lot of more interesting than being with the herd could be. Then again, I've also been a loner and like being contrary, so YMMV on that one. My SAD is setting in and making my mind wander too much.

The out and about compartment is always pretty fluid thing. Simple is always the way to go. I like dark corners, randomness, silly adventures, good music, bass, room to move, and interior flavor. I'll go just about anywhere (minus Crobar where Lina tried to lure me with news of a 2-hour open bar. Sorry, not even if they're handing out bottles of Patron at the door), so that keeps life semi-interesting. I was so excited about the vacation because it was supposed to shake things up. I got back and the next couple of days I was bent out of shape about the election, then back to work and trying to dig myself out of the mess waiting for me. It wasn't long before I was freezing and back to wondering "is this all there is" as if I've never gone anywhere.

The Friday after I got back, when I had to be up to apartment hunt at 10am on a Saturday, I found myself traipsing to Chelsea Piers around midnight to catch a party I'd been on the mailing list and such for a good while. Party on a boat? "House party on a boat!" I screamed to me to convince myself to keep going on those long ass avenue blocks. Then I was still fresh off LA, needing to hear some serious bass and dance like I did so happily on the other coast.

It's no joke coming up on the piers at night. It's crazy dark over there! I almost jumped out of my skin when this water rat about 3/4 the size of my fat ass cat even hinted at running in my direction. But, I went in and wandered, hanging close to the corners and people watching. Eventually, I got tired of doing nothing and went upstairs to make a call when I found my phone ringing instead. A dispatch from The Director, out of the blue as they all are. I shrugged and agreed to traipse downtown to meet up with him and his friends. I made my way through the boat, coat in hand, and came face to face with the focus of my big stupid crush. "Oh shit," I screamed, far from quietly, and ran in the other direction. (Yes. I am 12 years old.) I thought of making a slight attempt of talking to him after I got over the shock, but I was then embarassed on top of being chickenshit, so I just left.

Off downtown, then on a search for The Director who was slightly confused of exactly where he was. Great. I finally walked into a cozy bar/lounge somewhere in the EVil and met cute with him. "You look strangely familiar. Kinda like this guy I used to know." "Are you sure? Do I know you?" "Shut up...how are you?" Hug. I was introduced to a girl friend of his and some other guy who standing with them. We broke off and started chatted briefly before I was off on a bathroom break. On my return, he handed me a G&T and turned towards his friend now alone. I stood along the wall, sipping and looking around taking in everything. The place was cool, somewhere I'd probably hang out in for kicks if I was in the area. After 10 mins or so, I was nearing the bottom of my glass and bored. I looked over at them, deep in the thick of a convo, boxing me out. My mind began to wander and I played around with my phone, sending a text to Jay-V. It was about 3am and my bed was calling me.

I tapped him on the shoulder and said I was heading out. Blah blah blah "yeah, I think so. I've got an early day tomorrow. I'll catch up with you sooner or later" blah blah peace out. And I wasn't even especially whiny/bitchy/snide/passive-aggressive about it, though it would've been easy to be. It was a hard situation to navigate, but fuck it, life is too short and I was practically asleep on my feet. On my walk to the train, I got a call asking me back, but I was pretty sure in my steps. "Another time maybe." The whole thing wasn't that serious really, but sometimes you just get tired of holding up walls.

I'm feeling beyond blah. I'd like to say this time last year, everything was better and different, but nope, November is notoriously a bad month for me. I'm really not kidding about the SAD. I need to shake shit up quick or maybe get one of those special lamps. I think I'm over vampire mode for now.

KP Hearts LA

Most amusing now that I'm reacquainting myself back to the routine is the tan thing. I think most just can't acknowledge me as tanned given that I was already, you know, pretty brown. They can't tell the difference! Their eyes aren't made to detect slight gradations of brown! Browner is still brown! Ms. Mommy, on the other hand, is just playing contrary. She can't acknowledge me as darker because she can't acknowledge me as around 10 lbs lighter because then she'd have to give me a point or something. The woman is obstinate beyond belief, folks. One person who had no problem noticing was PrincessNella who broke into the convo I was having at the maybe place with the broker with "my God, you're so dark!" I gave her a "WTF?" glance and the man wondered if we doing some sort of private blackspeak, so I translated that she thinks I'm really tanned. Because I am. A lot. Nothing wrong with the brown.

(Administrative note: The above has nothing to do with anything. And there's gonna be at least 3 posts about the damned trip. The sightings, the crazy/typical KP shit, and an all pics post. Just letting you know. Jay-V made me promise to split it up into morsels to protect everyone's eyesight.)

Los Angeles has always sorta called me. (And yes with that, I start off the first of who knows how many posts with utter cheesiness. Can we tell I haven't been writing a damned thing of substance lately? Yeah, thought you could. Moving along...) I felt about LA the way people envision New York City: I wanted to see if the hills were as high, beach was as golden, people were as gorgeous, weather was as beautiful as they made it out to be on TV. I wanted to experience the Walk of Fame, see movie stars, get some sun, and maybe pull a Lana Turner in a soda shop. I'm a person prone to immersion so as the real estate hunt turned me into a Curbed fanatic, thinking of LA got me practically breathing LA.Comfidental, LAist, and naturally Defamer. I was so very ready when I got there.

I started off staying with old friend C and experienced enough of the Metro train system to last me a lifetime. I didn't come to town with a plan per se. I wanted to see as much as I could, focusing on leisure activities: beach, night travels, shopping, touristy shit. Am I an uncultured clod because I vetoed museums with hardly a pause? No, but I might be if I say "fuck that shit because I can see it at home?" Perhaps. The way I explore a town is to experience it on the ground, hoofing it up. LA was like an extended suburb, almost impossible to do anything without a car. Thursday we rented one and were off and running, but I still had the most fun strolling around Hollywood Blvd (in the reminiscent of Times Square without so many sheep Walk of Fame area), the boutiques on Melrose (I heart Sportie LA, even if I hemmed and hawed and ultimately left the sneaks I had my eye on. Kitty Power always gives it up to good service. Oh, and fine salesguys.), and The Grove. Midway through the trip, I moved over to The Roosevelt to get a new start on my vacation and fed off the energy of being in the center of Hollywood. I played solo explorer and was off to Santa Monica and Venice to stroll the beaches Halloween Day before spending the night aimlessly walking down the Walk of Fame and snapping pics before going to the Tortured Soul show.

Wednesday night, I rested, but Thursday I was determined to do better. Before I got out there, I had discovered the ArcLight online and read about their 12:01 am showing of Ray. I went in person to get my ticket and in the travels of the day, also saw that Raphael Saddiq was doing an in-store performance and signing at Ameoba. The show was great as usual and I got flyer signed. As I got up to him, this guy came from behind the stage and started talking to him. A store employee was heated and revealed that they had kicked that guy out earlier for whatever reason and that he had apparently worn a costume(!) to get back in. My only question was: "Uh, I can still get my thing signed, right?" All about the priorities. I went back to the homestead briefly before heading out. Star Shoes: cool concept/space, blah "early" crowd. The Room: my, what scary entrance alley you have! I braved it and the place was nice. Solo me stuck out like a sore thumb, so I moved onto my movie. Jamie Foxx and his leading ladies were really great. The actress who played the mother was beyond awesome. But, I thought the movie itself was kinda tv movie clunky...and that ending, please. Still good though.

To add some variety into the mix, I prowled LA Craig's List and found an activity partner to go out with Friday. We met up at this place in Los Feliz and I was really blown away by it. My new pal S was super chill also. I didn't even mind hearing those dreaded words: "So, I read your blog." I just laughed and laughed. Things like that aren't really bothersome to me as much anymore: 1) hello, it's the internet. 2) when I have my personal domain as my email domain, I'd be surprised if someone wasn't curious. 3) it's not like I write anything especially revealing on here anymore. I've got another one for that. So, we chilled and drank before I made a Man Man convert out of him (shouldn't I negotiate a commission for bicoastal shilling?) heading down to Hollywood for a party I'd heard of online. A Bushwick...excuse me, East Williamsburg warehouse art party was airlifted to California for the night! I noted amused that if Fizzie was there, he'd just say "you've got to be fucking kidding me." Actually, it was like a Delancey party in a Knitting Factory Main Space room. The night's performers were Dance Disaster Movement. S and I conferred that it was cool that two guys were the whole band and stuff, but fuck, get another guy so the spazzy singer/keyboardist/drum machine manner can be as spazzy as he wants to be without worrying about changing the beat. Plus, it's just visually boring to just have two guys sorta jerking around but really too busy multitasking. From there, pizza and random conversations with drunkards. Definitely the most NY night ever outside of NYC.

Saturday night, I entertained myself by laying my massive fluffy king sized hotel room bed and resting my nerves. Yeah, that's really it. The daytime was just a lot, but there's a fire hydrant in Silverlake that won't be giving anyone nasty looks again. I spent a long time at a gas station waiting for a cab and a Mexican Boss Hog took it upon himself to holler as I spoke with Jay-V on the phone. "My truck is turquoise," he said. I stared at him quizzically and relayed the words to Jay. "And your earrings are turquoise too. Look, we've got something in common!" "Uh...that's great. Did you hear that shit?"

Sunday, I was up bright and early to go to the Grove and return an impulse buy from two days earlier. I'd gone into Lucky Brand on a whim and been so excited that something fit in the palace of the no ass and hips allowed that I bought it on the spot. $100 for a pair of jeans? Ixnay big time. From there, I took a leisurely bus ride to Santa Monica and then Venice. I had a massive sun headache on my return trip, but I was happy because I haven't been to a beach in years. I did a little wading in the water and was just happy to walk on the sand. I got plenty pf pictures of Santa Monica Pier, Arlington West, and other beachfront sights.

Back in Hollywood, I napped before the night's activities. I vetoed a Halloween costume and strolled the streets in the unearthed white blazer, camera in hand. I caught up in the creeping herd on Hollywood Blvd and was amused by the cops' weary: "there's no parade over here and nothing to see, people. The parade is in West Hollwood. Just. Keep. Moving." The point of the night for me was a pilgrimage. I was off to Deep. When I first got back home post-Wes, all I ever wanted to do was dance. That's something that's ingrained me. Much of this year has been hard because one day the spark just ran away. I'd been hearing about Tortured Soul for a long time but something always came up when they were playing a show around town. I figured the combo of some hardcore house music and good band would have to light a fire under my ass.

And of course, I was right. I was all over the place. Most awesome party. Fucking kickass band! (So much so that now I kinda find myself disappointed to listen to their studio tracks. The live spark is totally missing from these recordings. They sound sorta sterile in comparison. Which sucks.) The crowd's energy was crazy. On Sunday night (though everything ending at 2 makes things way easier to go nuts on a pre-work night), the place was packed and going strong. The DJ was great also and I was all in the middle of it, dancing, taking pics, meeting randoms. You know how I do. I even got a t-shirt.

I really got a kick out of LA overall. I spent too much money and I didn't see half of the place, but it was crazy fun. It was nice to get some sun before coming back here and to today's 30mph winds (what the fuck, man?). I'll be going back there sooner or later. Maybe I'll escape a NYC summer of frying like an egg on the sidewalk for a min. We'll see.

The Departure

Before I spend the next god-knows-how-many posts doing a post-mortem on the LA trip, I should mention that my dear friend Fizzie, partner-in crime, interviewee, and drinking buddy extraordinaire, has finally stopped resisting the call of The Bay and is out as of this weekend. I'm channelling my extreme sadness into a party Thursday night at Sapph. Come one, come all, drink with us!

(I suppose I should say where Sapph is and all that, but as much as I talk about it, if you don't know, I don't know what to tell you!)

Fuck Yeah!

America, fuck yeah! Saw it Wednesday with Fizzie and a theater full of folks. We're still wearing our wristbands and Fizzie was slightly annoyed at me because my reply to his "go get them [being Trey and Matt] to sign the shirts" was: "But, they're standing right here. *blink* They just passed." Oops. And I discovered I'm an idiot because those "matchbooks" are actually filled with puppet-sized condoms...which is funny, but damn I wanted free matches.

The week was an alcohol and/or sleep deprived blur. I was never in bed before 3 am, so every day before noon at work was a total wash. Is it time for my vacation yet? But, I got a good night's sleep last night because I got up today at 3:30. Good times.

Monday, I spent QT with my dear Steven, even playing bystander to his relationship drama. Further proof that even "dating" is for the birds, kids. I also made the mistake of taking him out Tuesday night to meet up with Jenny, open bar, and new drinks in radioactively glowing green cups (Everglo, folks. It's aight.) and then forgot the cardinal rule of getting a heartbroken friend drunk: put their drunk ass to bed so they can't cause any more damage. Ah well.

Wednesday was the previously mentioned movie screening, followed by a trip downtown to a monthly party when I played mouse and mouse with the DJ/promoter I had met in Brooklyn the other week. It didn't take too long to realize the problem with going to a party to talk with someone while having another guy with you ambiguously. I was being a chickenshit natch, but he was kinda intimidated by Fizzie there. We really ran circles around the place with no connection. Hi, I'm 23 going on 11! I really needed someone like Alex or PrincessNella at that moment who would just shove me into him and/or bring him over to help out a hopeless cause. There's always next month I suppose...or around town. NYC is wonderfully big and socially tiny place. After getting that flyer from him, I heard about the party from no less than 4 other places on the net/mailing lists. I found out we were at the same Halloween party last year. He's a friend of a friend...and on Friendster. I could rock the hell out of this with only some nerve. Le sigh.

I've been doing CMJ stuff only tangentially. Thursday night, I went to two showcases for a min way late. Kitty Power says no to hipster art metal and empty dance floors, respectively! Life has mostly been wandering around with the kids and being happy that places are filled and strangely fun for a switch. And marvelling that just when I had forgotten about The Director again, there he was -- almost for real this time. Developing...

The World Keeps Turnin

It's my blog and I'll not blog if I want to. Don't worry, I haven't actually been up to much of anything anyways.

This was a big drift weekend. The theme of the weekend was college, wandering with kids, doing up the house party thing. I got lovingly yelled at Friday for being MIA from that branch of Wes friends and enjoyed seeing everyone after such a while. Saturday was off uptown with Trendvickster and her school friends, trying not to sneer at the ghetto fabulous party theme. No, don't ask me for approval on your costume, you shit. But, it is amusing to know that ghetto fabulous in that universe means bandanas, track pants, and sweat bands. Oh yeah, they roll mad deep in Scarsdale, yo.

Sunday night I decided to say the hell with being in bed the day before a holiday work day (grrr) like a good worker bee and ventured out to a happening. Hung with Jenny and friend and was horrified/amused by the freaky dancer guy trying to get all up in my space. We taunted Bill by calling him a party killer and I found myself strangely in a dance off. I lost -- but only because I was wearing 3-inch boots and backed into a corner. I call rematch! Was good times though.

Work has been eating my time and attention this week. I may *jinx* be in line for a promotion after only a little over 5 months. *jinx* The whole thing has been random and fast and I've been trying to put on my good face yet be me at the same time. I can think of an equal amount of pluses and minuses for getting or losing out. A few for new position are: more money than I can shake a stick at (+) and the satisfaction of being really successful doing shit my own way (+), but also if you think I've disappeared in the past couple of months, you haven't seen anything yet (-) and I'd be losing the account variety for one massive one with a self-identifying micromanager. Joy. (-) I'm waiting and seeing what happens now. ETA: I jinxed myself just like I knew I would. Didn't get it. I'm sorta disappointed, but ah well. Life goes on.

Regardless, I plan on coasting through the rest of the month -- though this week has the possibility to be a little hectic. (Woo...CMJ and other music related stuff!) At the end of the month, I'm finally finally going on vacation. My last real one was the Florida trip from hell with the psychotic French and this one is going to La La Land to visit recent transplant and pal C. Interpol at The Wiltern...yes please. I was telling PrincessNella about my aspirations to get a Defamer sighting trifecta of Twitney, Lohan, and Paris and she worried about my sanity. That'd be the shit, y'all. I'd be a god on the Fametracker boards! I also aspire to meet Jason Negro Please...or at least get his recs on some hot spots in town. Actually, any- and everyone with a rec should give a shout.

Invigorate

I'm back in the saddle.

First things first before the freaking novella to follow: I met him! *cue fangirl screaming* He was nice and all, but we don't have to get married anymore. He's got a doppleganger (or at least did Friday wandering around the party) that was just more. Would it be really ballsy of me to put a missed connection on Craig's List all "you looked like my fave musician was supposed to look but didn't. Holla back." I'm pretty tempted.

I spent Thursday night after work at the gym after finding no one who wanted to do anything more than watch the debates (Fizzie, Ant), sleep (Lina), or be M.I.A. (everyone else). On the bikes, I watched bits of Joey (what the hell happened to Paulo Costanzo? He used to be all proto-Seth on the O.C. dorky yet cute in things like Road Trip, now he looks about 15 and blah. Regrow the white man 'fro, Paulo!) and Veronica Mars (which is such a shameless blend of Buffy and Nancy Drew. She even talks like Buffy. Paris Hilton cameod and is a strange plastic afghan looking giant with no intonation in her voice. And it was so annoying how everyone addressed the title character by first and last name. "Oh, Veronica Mars, what do you think?" "Get out of here, Veronica Mars!" "Veronica Mars, you so crazy girl!" It drove me nuts!). I dropped by Sapph where tumbleweeds were blowing through and showed off my Zen, chatted some, played guinea pig, the usual. I was actually in the house by midnight...on Thursday! You know I had to do something about that the next night.

I'd heard about this show early in the week and wild horses weren't keeping me away from my man. I've managed to miss all of his New York appearances for years and I was determined to rectify that -- especially since this place was mere blocks away from my job and I'm all about open bars. Talking with Ant as the work day wound down allowed me to draft him up for party duty.

I went first to make sure I didn't miss the bargain and was confront with a major pet peeve of mine. Don't you love it when people willfully are skipping you on a line and then want to chat with you as if you don't notice? This bitch was pretty obnoxious about it too. The colder weather has ushered in the return of the kicky stil boots, so I was tall enough to shoot withering looks down at her. She stepped aside when we hit the bar at the same time because I'm sure she could see in my face I would've swatted her down like a fly.

The party itself was great. I was really stunned. I've learned to accept that at an art event, it's pushed to the background while people mill about practicing cool faces. The $5 cover must've brought out the serious folks because not only were the pieces given a prominent role but people were actually looking at them too. The space was cool and had a massive terrace outside adjacent to the High Line. Ant and I milled about until I spotted a Wes head that I run into a fair amount but usually get semi-ghosted by. We weren't unfriendly back at school and worked at the radio station together. I bitterly noted that fact to Ant and said I could probably go up to where he was get zero response. Oh, did I mention yet that the party bars were only serving beer (not an option) and Red Bull and Vodkas? Whoever made up that drink needs to be shot. I'm the worst handler of caffeine in history. When I was younger, it used to put me to sleep and now it has an effect which I can equate (based on observing other people) to Ellen Burstyn's diet pill dementia in Requiem For A Dream. I start to twitch. My eyes get wide. I turn ON GODDAMMIT! It's really sick. So, when I had this brilliant idea, I was on V&RB #1.

I stroll over to him and look him in the face about to pass him and he's all "hey, Candice!" all happy fake. "What's up, D," I said neutrally. "How are you?" And we go on some long drawn out reunion convo that was strangely not painful, though I had to be all "I see you all the time and you never say hi. I saw you at The Sea and Cake concert!" (almost a year and a half ago. I do believe heavily in holding grudges) His reply was that he'd never seen them. Liar! As if he's not totally distinctive looking. He says he works in the music industry nowadays which brought me to wonder that who -- besides me -- doesn't have their hands in that, especially guys. Every NYC guy I seem to meet are in graphics, music, and/or journalism. But where I hang out might have a lot to do with that, natch. Anyways, he was all "doing a CMJ showcase, I'll give you a call to check it out" blah blah. I'll believe that when I see it.

I was off back to Ant with V&RB #2 and we were chatting when I turned to him and said suddenly, "ohmigod, that's him!" And replied, "future husband, etc." I motioned over to this tallish, thin guy all in black, slightly scruff with hair pulled back. I thought that something was slightly off about him compared to the pics I'd seen, but I chalked that up to photogenic issues. He was still hot though, but in a way I hadn't expected. Ant was amused as I stalked him with my eyes before getting up to follow him inside. He went to the bathroom line and I waited on the female equivalent occasionally looking over and trying to think of an opening. I was about to speak when he went into the bathroom and I just frowned instead and took my turn. When I got out, he was gone. I was pan and scanning on my way back out to the terrace when I almost ran into another guy. Equally tallish, scuff, and thin but his hair was beyond and he looked like he'd just rolled out of bed and come over. His face clicked in my head and I was all "oh shit, that's him! Prefuse has a bizarro!"

Newly scared to talk to him (again), I ran back outside to tell Ant that we had a case of dopplegangers on our hands. We went back inside to meet the newly arrived Fizzie and brief him on the haps. We stood within sight both inside and out as I worked on V&RB #3. Finally, as he stood alone over by the DJ area, I just walked over and blurted out, "you're Scott, right? I'm a major major fan of all your work. I love your site. The commentary is so funny. I love that story of getting barred from APT that you wrote before it got taken down. I'm such a fan" and he was all "bless you bless you" and I walked off, grinning. Woo!

After all this, we settled down into the corner of the roof and chilled out. I dragged out my Zen to let Ant hear the song Fizzie and I are beating into the ground about a year too late. "Fire in the disco! Fire in the...Taco Bell!" Fizzie had bought 5 drinks tickets on arrival and now he was determined to finish them off. He got me another V&RB (#4) and Ant, the lightweight his 3rd Red Stripe. By then, the caffeine was about two seconds from making my head explode, so I was taking miniscule sips. Fizzie, the binge-drinking sadist, shoved another in front of me and I mostly declined. The time was midnightish and we still had a concert to check at the Blue Note.

Poor Ant was wrecked on arrival and went to the bathroom looking a little green. I shoved water at him and made him eat some of the fries that came with my Portobello Cheeseburger (so. damned. yummy) while we listened to K's jazz group. We pretty much stayed long enough to finish the food and try in vain to keep ourselves awake before bouncing. Nice leisurely train ride back to Queens and I was in the door by 3am, not passing go but going directly to the bed for some shuteye.

Another Saturday, another apartment visit. It's damned near impossible to look for an apartment with a full-time job. Everyone likes to do things M-F 9am - 5pm when you'd think they'd realize that those responsible tenants they want are off making money. Who knows how it went? I'm starting not to care anymore. Just give a nice cheap little studio and let me call it a day.

That night, the plan was to check the opening night of a party I liked but had previously been too far for me to go to. I called around but Fizzie was hurting from his like 2 drinks the night before and Lina and I were playing phone tag. I put a call into Jenny and in the spirit of adventure, trekked out to Park Slope. A friend of hers was having a goodbye party and once that broke up, I convinced Jenny to go to this spot, ironically the former site of that party.

We settled into the corner and I pan-scanned. I think I knew officially that I was different/this weekend had been unusually stellar when I realized that the DJ was criminally terrible (god dammit, they need a "how to beat match" guide with every turntable set!) yet I wasn't that bent out of shape about it. There's something about that bar I like. Besides, cute boys everywhere. I heart Brooklyn from the depths of my heart and it was a fun reminder. I need to go to Brooklyn more often. Apparently in Brooklyn, good-looking non-skeezy guys politely and amusingly come up to you and your friends and start talking charmingly. Imagine that?!

I let Jenny be the mack princess and wandered around. I was standing at the bar getting a refill when I was offered a cupcake from a box we'd been eyeing earlier. Mmm...non-chocolate cupcakes. Why can't every bar have cake at 2am? That's what I wanna know.

Me sitting euphorically in the booth with my cupcake apparently signaled the deluge. Apparently I'm attractive when I smile and eat. I'll note that for future reference. I've missed the sitting and chatting so. My flirting skills are rusty because it's been so long since I've cared and I smirk too much, but all in all still fun. I went off wandering as I do and started talking to another guy I had noticed in the crowd. We talked about the DJ (terrible), 419 nights we like (awesome) and his night at some trendoid spot I've strangely managed to avoid thus far (maybe I'll make an exception next week). The cupcake giving man walked by somewhere in there and gave my convo companion the thumbs up signal. I snickered. Boys are so subtle. I took that as my cue to wander off again.

Soon the place had thinned considerably and we were ready to take our leave circa 3 am. Strolling through the streets, on the F to the A to J to the bus, home. Fucking good feeling weekend. Maybe fall's my season.

Color Blocking

Another day, another event. Waiting for Fizzie, partaking in the open bar. Some guy slides up for me and I neutrally respond to his chattering. His dismal game involves him dropping that he knows the artist through his cousin that went to school with him. They're from "a suburb of the Bronx called Mamaroneck." I sneer, "oh, you mean Westchester?" He continues by dropping that he used to be involved with music himself in Europe back in the '90s but "really really bad stuff."

"Bad like sucky? Or bad like evil?"
"Both."
I was mildly intrigued. Some guesses included being a Vanilla Ice background dancer, producing him/C&C Music Factory/Marky Mark and The Funky Bunch/skinhead rap/rapping Swedish children/Kylie Minogue/Ace of Base/rapping Swedish grandmothers/ABBA before he dropped the working mostly in Germany clue and I guessed Milli Vanilli. Bingo. I laughed a lot before saying that at least he made money instead of being a member of the group.
He encouraged me to tell a deep dark secret and I assured him I don't have any (which is mostly true).

"Well I'll tell you some stuff about me: I live in Westchester. I don't eat pork. And I don't date white women."
*blink, blink* I laugh...and laugh..and laugh some more. "Okay, I'm kinda stuck on that. You said that like, 'I don't eat pork and I don't like the color green.'"
"No really. I can't stand it when I see a black woman with white men. I love my African Queens. My mom's an African Queen, my nieces are African Queens..."
"Right. Didn't you say you lived in Germany? What'd you get up to there?"
"Nah really. I never went there. I grew up in the suburbs. They're not mysterious to me."
Hmm. I was saved by the ringing phone. I went to take Fizzie's call and conveniently forgot to come back.

Not that I was feeling him in the first place, but I can't really get behind that approach. You don't date white women? Wow...neither do I! We've got so much in common! I might set off a powder keg here but coming at me with some borderline bigoted shit isn't really going to push my interest level anywhere but down. I could be any black woman to him because as long I'm not white, I'm alright. Does he want a medal? Was I going to do some sort of a "thank god, one real honest to goodness black woman-loving black man! My prayers were answered!" jumping around and being gleeful thing? I think that was a piece of unnecessary and not at all flattering info. The flip side of the "I can't stand black woman because they're so...blah, blah...and white/whatever women are so much better at...blah, blah." That's your personal dumbass preference. I could really give a shit. Besides, when you're protesting that much, you've got some issues.

Am I supposed to be anti-white women or whatever? I shake my head at all of those chicken little articles that come out all the time about them "stealing" my theoretical men. I don't think of them much as a monolith much at all...unless I'm cursing one mentally from flipping her fucking hair in my face, treating me like I'm invisible, and generally tripping on herself or trying on pants and hating a faceless girl for making it practically impossible to find shit that fits. But, in general, I dislike people on an individual basis. The feminist me is all why do you have to kick one group of women down in order to big the other one up? Again, that's more to do with a him than us.

My personal stance is black like me is great, but I'm really not going to stand on the wall biding my time for some Tyrese lookalike to take me away. I wondered later if he would've tripped out if he would've seen me and Fizzie hanging out? "You're a traitor to the queens!" I should've gone back with him just to fuck with that guy. Clown.

Shilling Ain't Easy

This is me earning my Most Bestest title...

Ace Fu 2nd Annual Chinatown BBQ!
� WHEN: Thursday, September 23, 2004 � 7 PM until 2 AM

� WHERE: The Delancey (168 Delancey St.) NYC

� OPEN BAR: 9:30 PM until 10:30 PM
� FREE HOT DOGS: 8 PM until 9 PM (veg too)
� GUEST DJ: John Schmersal (Enon/Brainiac)

OFFICER MAY @ 8 PM | RUNNER @ 9 PM | MAN MAN @ 10 PM | AQUI @ 11 PM | THE DEARS @ 12 AM

Or alternately, check out interviewee DJ Lindsey and the Negroclash crew at APT.

I'm aiming for both plus Sapph because my favorite part of Thursdays after all is pretending like I don't have somewhere to be mad early the next morning. You're only young once.

What We Do Is Secret

The funny thing about the blog vacation was that it was fairly easy just to keep it going. I can understand the view "normal" people have of bloggers where they can't understand why we're so addicted to writing everything down. Not blogging saves some time for sure. At work, I worked. At home, I found instead of spending hours typing my hands off, I could just go to bed. I even lost weight because I was going to the gym and being active instead of sitting on my ass tied to my computer. Such a novel thing. But oh well, the addiction starts again.

I met up the Friday before last just past Union Square for dinner with TrendVickster and some of her new school friends. We found ourselves at the diner next to Irving Plaza where the performers that night were the Scissor Sisters. I felt very In Living Color because I was all "seen them and hated it." We were off to a net cafe on 13th to get the directions to the night's main event in Bushwick. We emerged from the L at Morgan and I was reminded why I just can't get down with that whole industrial living thing: I really keep way too late hours to be traipsing around vacant lots and streets with no lights on the regular. I've never been mugged, attacked, etc. and I just don't believe in tempting fate. Besides, nothing pisses me off than the two people walking towards each other on a dark street thing scenario where if one is me and the other one is white, they'll always move/panic/do something assy so that I want to scream "hello, you're a fucking 6'2" man, what could I do to you really? And if I could, you've got problems bigger than my barely 5'5" self." Makes me want to rob someone just out of spite. And that of course is irrational.

Anyways, we get there to find music and skating on the second floor of a converted warehouse. The decor was totally Fast Times At Ridgemont High/any 80s movie view of the suburban arcade where kids hung out. I felt like I was on a National Geographic expedition into a foreign land. I searched around looking for what I was there for and found out that I had missed them performing. Bummer. I did run into Kelly TAOS though, skating around in a purple dress and hotpants. So cute. I was about to get some skates of my own and kick up the fun a notch when I realized that I was without my ID. Turns out I'm a fucking idiot and had left it back in Manhattan at that net cafe. So genius.

I ran out of there and split up with TrendVickster at the train station, getting to the place just in time. It was only about 11 and I was restless as usual, so I decided to take a stroll to the next destination talking all the meanwhile with Lina on the cell.

I showed up at Siberia for the first time since my semi-traumatic yeti trampling to support K, the Wes head making moves, one of my original projected interviewees. I got my rock show courtesy of DONK and band with K on the upright bass. My instantaneous review was that it was what I imagined a Jeff Buckley show to have been like. It was really great. K and I spent a lot of time chatting as I tried to find out some info to base my questions because I don't know him half as well I should since I only see him about three times a year. But eventually, I had to accept that I was bone tired and succumb to the call of bed and home.

All day Saturday and Sunday I was making up interview questions and writing a cute little blurb (I hate that picture but not much as I do most of the ones taken in the year since). Some time Sunday night, I realized I was an idiot who had just about every day of my interviews covered but the first. Luckily, Steven popped up and we did his interview part 1.5 to get him up Monday.

At the office the next day, I found my work face temporarily pierced by a guy in another department that was all, "I saw you on Gothamist." Yeah, no shit? Get away from me. I was definitely worried about the blog becoming an office pastime, so that's another reason I kept the output nonexistent last week. If you have nothing there, they'll lost interest and stop coming. Though that hasn't seemed to stop random Wes people from popping through (Yeah, I see you).

Post-work, I met up with PrincessNella and TrendVickster for a mag party a few blocks away. Yay goodie bags! A slight pause on running into a girl from work (not so bad because she's one of the 3/4 I like) and a Wes girl (who chatted with about a mutual friend I lost touch with. It happens).

From there, downtown to meet up with Fizzie for Man Man Show # 875 (in actuality, 7 or 8). It was the first time I was bringing the kids to a show and I was a bit nervous. Worlds colliding and all that. They were simultaneously curious and frightened because I'm a weird girl, I like weird things, and them being introduced to those things can be a hit or miss situation. I made the mistake of going two levels down instead of one. Silly me not to intuitively know that they were moving up in the world. The place was on the crowded side, which was interesting. I sat with my friends all wide-eyed and "Do you like it? Do you like it?" referring at the moment to the stage setup looking straight out of The Birds. Their faces weren't looking so promising, so I went to the bar to get some cider and avoid the running commentary they had going as the band warmed up.

You know, it's good to be right. Earlier in the evening, I'd spoken to Ryan Man Man to ask what the projected starting time was if only because I was liking the mag party and hoping to get another comp drink before I had to bounce. He said 9:30 and I replied "okay, 9:45 when y'all finally finish setting up." The crew and I didn't even get there until 9:40 and they got started about 10 minutes after that. That story is relevant because while I was at the bar, with my back to the gang to avoid their guilt-inducing looks, the band was getting started. There were people at the show -- tons! That warmed my heart. They were even the "let's get up close to the stage and really watch" types. That can be a good or bad thing because most NYC crowds are of the "I'm going to stand here with my arms crossed as if I'm actually more than just a little punk bitch. Now, impress me" variety. (What kind of audience member am I? One who just kinda chills out on the sidelines. If I'm there, I just want to listen. And I hate being bumped, so I'd rather be off out of the way.) The warmup was amusing...I smiled at the bar until Fizzie rushed over with a "Trendvickster, just threw up!" She didn't really -- just almost choked on some water in shock -- but it was allegedly a funny ass spit take. Shit. I miss all the good stuff.

I rejoined the friends and pointed out the guy I believe was the former yeti suit clad trampling bandit. They were mostly dumbfounded at the music (demented carnival music was Fizzie's take), but they didn't outright hate it so that was a start. Post-show, I looked on amused that apparently the group has would-be groupies. This one was really noxious. Bad weave, looking like Robin Givens after a crack binge. I was not amused. I can't really wrap my head around a Man Man groupie. They're not like Velvet Revolver or something, but I suppose boys in a band attract that sort of element. The kids got an intro to Ryan and basically stared wordlessly at him after the pleasantries. We shot the shit, mostly consisting of "yes yes, I'm such a good shill. Heap praise on me!" and I got the album. Sweet! (It's been glued to the stereo for over a week now, y'all. October 5th. Buy that shit!) until some chick strolled up and he vanished like the wind. So then, they just switched to staring wordlessly at me. It was like the Inquisition.

I've been a little edgy the past couple of weeks. Actually, that's an understatement. I've been fucking insane the past month and change. The not so hidden secret of Candice is that I'm a control freak in disguise. I'm just about the worst handler of stress I know. I'm big on compartmentalizing to keep shit manageable, but naturally things spiral out of control and my little boxes overspill and what follows is that I lose my shit. Fizzie felt the brunt of the other week's meltdown and in general, I've been going around with the eyes narrowed and the potty mouth hitting landfill sewage levels. I went on a minor cursing jag from their pressure until I wound myself down. Another not so hidden secret: I've got a majorly short attention span.

I moved onto complaining about how this interview thing was driving me nuts heading into Day 2 and I half-heartedly searched around for someone to interview. Then, inspiration struck: Fizzie. I set off to make up some Qs and we experimented with candles in that dark ass room to get a decent pic before he and PrincessNella decided to go to the hall where the light was. The plan was to run an interview to play up his NYC hater status with a disclaimer at the end saying, "he doesn't really hate it, he's just lonely and bitter." His answer for "your greatest NYC moment:" "the day I went back home [the Bay] for four days." It was gonna be way over the top. We were cackling up a storm in the corner in anticipation. I know we looked insane...and we weren't even drinking. We blew out of there 11ish and I got straight on my computer after I walked through the door to transcribe. I had a change of heart about the interview we had done and tweaked questions and got new answers over IM from Fizzie as PrincessNella emailed me her pictures. That's teamwork in action. I was happy with how it actually turned out -- not that the process was any more on the fly as the week dragged on.

But, I think I've done more than enough peeling the curtain back for one blog post. Oh man...this is a monster. I really am back.

City Alive

It's almost strange how you can bypass everything going on if you really want to, but when it intrudes you feel like you're stuck in some bizarro world. That happpened to me today going to Ranch 1 for lunch and seeing hundreds of cops just hanging out on the blocked off street near FIT. I had a slight moment of cognitive dissonance and then I was all "yeah, MSG is only 4 blocks away and today's the 'big' day." I had the same feeling going to the 23rd Street F stop after work and seeing a line of police bikes completely shielding the 23rd and 6th intersection. So much for figuring I was too far over to experience any aftershocks.

Something which is going to go into my memory banks of all time NYC moments will be Friday evening. Last work week was so draining, a campaign being set to run and having to do all this last minute shit that kept me chained to my desk until 7:30 Friday night. Fizzie was feeling the same, so we met up at the store he loves a little too obsessively: Best Buy on 23rd. We were standing outside chatting when I hear this strange whoop in the distance. I cocked my head to the side and looked around, but didn't see anything. And then, I noticed the trickle of bikes. At first riding with cars and then a street full just parading down 6th. Clogging up traffic at 23rd, forcing buses to the side -- just a crazy mass taking over the street, whooping and cheering. Fizzie, another bystanders, and I just stared on it dumbfounded for 5 minutes or so. Then we shook it off and left.

Later that night, I met the other Styleaholics crew that this new party they are spearheading weekly somewhere in the EVil. $20 for all you can drink, a private juke joint party spilling onto the street. (Anyone who wants to hear more about it, hit me up.) I sipped on rum punch cups and wandered into tattoo shop next door, assuring all I was only curiously looking. We traded stories of running into the bikers, but mostly stood around and chatted in a chill setting away from the madness everywhere else downtown was that night. Random cyclists passed and I smiled wondering if I'd seen them earlier. The night wound down and I was happy to go home feeling a lot less stressed than I'd been earlier in the night.

The next day was spent in the house, windows open and trying not to move much until night fell. I made an attempt to meet Jay-V in Chelsea, but vetoed when her review over text was less than satisfying. Again, it seemed like any other night in the city on my walk over to 10th Avenue from Penn Station -- except for the phalanx of cops again standing around. I mean, I know it's a security thing but packs of like 75+ just sorta hanging out in the middle of nowhere don't really seem to serve a purpose. Then again, I'm not a convention security organizer, so what do I know? Enjoy that overtime for nothing, folks!

I went down to meet up with Fizzie in the middle of his alarming webcam and My Space addiction. He needs an intervention, stat! I'll just smack him upside the head a few times until he gets a grip. I dragged his ass kicking and screaming out of the house and we ended up below Delancey in that place Abe was so fond of this summer. We, being us, were slightly tipsy and got frustrated waiting for like 10 mins for the bathroom downstairs. Fizzie was adamant that no one was in the one bathroom room that had remained locked since we'd been waiting. A bystander guy and I were amused as he threatened to pick the lock and shocked as shit when he did...to find a pair in a semi-compromising position. Fizzie proceeded to back out of the room and run like a bitch. Now, I for one would've been awed/disgusted/highly entertained if they'd really been going at it, but what were they doing instead? Bent over the toilet doing lines like the lameass sniffers they are. Coke is so cool, right? Well, why don't you just do it out in the open since "everyone" is doing it and all. No point in being ashamed if you're so "awesome." You should go Grace Jones line from one end of the room to the other big! Oh yeah, cause they're not and you're fucking lame. Bastard ass sniffers keeping me from peeing.

Anyhoo, the guy was nonplussed, the girl was mortified and frozen. The bystander guy and I just gawked before hysterically laughing. Embarassed, they just relocked the door. I went off to find that silly boy and he was outside telling the story to a group who just didn't get why it was funny. He says they were foreign, I think they were sniffers who were offended. To each their own.

A Line In The Sand

I was kinda dreading going over to Sapph last night. It was the site of much of Saturday's infamous behavior. Fizzie and I IMed during the day about how we each were a little scared of what would happen. I was all bluster like "eh, how bad could it be? I'm more embarrassed internally and it's not like they could make it worse or anything." Again, with the famous last words.

I stopped by that pizza place at Orchard and Stanton to get the greasiest pepperoni slice I have every experienced in my life. I actually stood at the corner of Allen with my plate tilted and it would not stop running. It was so gross, but meat and cheese and crust are all I need to make me happy, so I ate it happy as a clam. I strolled up to Sapph with all the peeps standing outside.

"Hey hey," said N with a smirk. "You were sure fucked up Saturday, eh?"
"Hehe," I chuckled. "A little bit."
"That dancing. It was terrible. So off-beat. I was actually embarrassed for you."
"That really wasn't my fault. I was being led into something weird. Did you see when I fell though?"
"Oh yeah, I did! I was like, 'isn't that strange? do not know that girl.'"

They clowned me so hard. But hey, I can laugh about it. Everyone's entitled to making an ass out of themselves now and again.

I went inside to find a group of girls I knew from the fest party. It was all when worlds collide night. So, I shouldn't have been to surprised to see some vaguely familiar faces at the door. I placed them and then rage took over. Some wack ass senior fipster fuckers at my spot?! Oh hell no! Don't those bitches need to be up at Wes already? I was raging. I tried to get the doorman to charge them $10 a head (and I was only semi-joking) before Fizzie convinced me to dance and ignore them. I hope they hated it and would rather spend their time at a wack spot like Eleven or something. God knows, I'll never see them in there.

She Wants To Move

Fuck I'm boring. I need a bender or something

That right there at the bottom my last post exemplifies famous last words. My head hurts more than you can imagine. Moving too much makes me feel ill. I'm gonna go back to boring and fucking love it once all light sources stop hurting my eyes. *whimper*

The high(/low)lights before I get into the thick of it: Femme Fatale is a great movie! * No Js across the Williamburg ruined my shortcut and almost my night * One day I'm just gonna flip and totally go Falling Down on public transportation. I can feel it * NBA Street 2 is damned entertaining but I suck at video games that aren't fighting ones * I left my wallet, ID, and (thankfully) ATM card at home. I'm so smart, it's scary * Pricks deserve to get cockblocked * When I said I don't pick up leftovers, I lied (and I knew I was at the time) * I had a total freshman year indoor beach party flashback, but this time I played Jay-V * For the first time ever, I vomited on someone. By accident. And yeah, eww. * New rule starting today: it might be crude and rude, but I'm no longer travelling outside Brooklyn-Queens-Manhattan with someone if I'm not getting laid * I actually waxed on the wonderfulness of Nerve Personals and Friendster before all the lamers got on. The ironic thing being I used to lie to everyone about where I'd meet these people. "Around" being the most common one.

I'll get around to the nitty gritty later. I need some aspirin first.

Aight. I slept it off. I'm good.

Friday -- minus a focus group where I got $40 for saying "your site sucks" and a dinner with Mr. Daddy where the convo basically went "Daddy, I'm so faaat!"/"No, you're not."/"Yes I am, I'm so faaat."/"No, you're not...okay, you got a little chubby."/"See...I'm faaat" -- was a bust and I stayed in to be obsessive in downloading music. Saturday dawned equally as low-key until I caught in the rain bringing home my clothes from the laundry and gave up my dream of a Central Park show. I sat down and watched some TV for a switch and came across Femme Fatale. So much fun. By then, it was time to head out. Let's note for later on that it was a good thing I wore my sneakers.

I set off to meet Fizzie to roll together. The quickest way (usually) to the LES from my way is the J, cutting across Queens and Brooklyn right over the Williamsburg. Everything was humming along until Hewes when they announced the shuttle bus and dumped us all out. I waited at Hooper with all the other rides and felt stoked that I landed one of the last seats. Until I got hit from all sides. The men sitting next to me and I were packed so close that my legs were sweating -- with the additional insult of the dick on the right sitting sideways and putting his ass on me. But really pissing me off was the utter inanity of the conversation going on over my head. There was this "artist" and this other guy I had eyed when we got on the train because he looked ultrasharp talking about how wonderful it was that the "artist" was rich (oh, excuse me that his folks were rich) and he could afford to bum around living in Malibu and traipse about the country just to hang out. Yeah, fuck that kid. Meanwhile, the bus was caught in traffic and moving slower than people walking across the bridge. I was heated by the time I got to Delancey and Essex.

I strolled over to Fizzie's place to find him dazed by video games in b-ball shorts, a.k.a. the usual. He used my answer of "I'm not sure yet" (the question being "so where are we going?") to ignore me and keeping playing while I made the drink. Major mistake. Jay-V and others can confirm that a drink made by my hand is gonna be pretty stiff since I lack the depth perception to agree on a reasonable amount of alcohol in a glass. Not quite "vodka with some coloring" but close. We had a bottle of Smirnoff in the fridge with about 1/4 left and I decided to split the difference...in two coffee cups. It was pretty strong, but we downed (well I sipped) it like pros. I nagged his ass to make it speedy on the game and he convinced me to play a round of Need for Speed. I began to rethink my PS2 in the bachelorette pad idea when it was revealed that I was too stupid to drive in a car game. See, that whole no license thing is about me protecting the little people. I gave up and went back to sipping as Fizzie played NBA Street 2. The announcing slayed me (Wes head represent!) and I speculated how exactly the recording session for that went on. Did he sit in a room just think of ball related disses or what? (Jay, got any insider scoop?) I was also thrilled to see Darryl Dawkins as one of the people Fizzie played because I met him at Newark Airport back in the day. That man was scarily huge.

At once, I got phone calls from my friend C and FFPGINOANP (soon to be renamed when I'm feeling creative cause it's a bitch to find and paste..erm, type). He had popped up again Thursday, surprising the hell out of me. What a sneaky move it is for a guy to pop up after you're basically written him off! Everyone was in Fizzie's neighborhood and wanting to hang out. It was really like summer for a change. I hurried Fizzie out the door and we went to where C was first. And when I got to bouncer, I looked in my bag and realized a big one: I had left my wallet at home. D'oh! But, it's good to be a girl sometimes cause he just quizzed me on my b-day and let me in regardless. We chilled for a sec and with a "we'll be right back" popped over to Orchard where FFPGINOANP was with his friends.

We stroll in and I plop next to him. Intros all around. I only partially cared to hear the names of the "friends" (in quotes because it was later revealed that they weren't really), so we'll call them German and Bitchface. Fizzie and I heard that it was last call (at only like 1:30) and hurried to order lemon drops since it was just about the only appealling thing we could find. The total of that was about $14. As the bill was being divvied up, Fizzie threw in a $20 and then Bitchface had the nerve to ask us if we were putting something towards the tip! Fucker. We convinced the three of them to abandon plans to go somewhere up in Gramercy and come with us back to the other place. (I could tell you the magic word that changed their set minds, but then I'd have to kill you.)

Back at the spot, we sipped on the house peach ice teas in a group. At the corner of my eye, I noticed strange body language going on between German and FFPGINOANP and Fizzie and I did the play by play. Head tilts, little smiles -- so flirting. And then bang, the kissing and disappearing. I raised an eyebrow, amused, and we traded laughs. Definitely not laughing was Bitchface who looked pissed enough to fry an egg on his face. Someone asked me about where the bathroom was and jumped up to "show" them because curiosity has always been my Achilles' heel. (It's a kitty thing.) I think it was around then that the night began to take on a vintage Wes days vibe. The fact we were all generally drunk off our faces only added to it. Alcohol: the great age equalizer.

When I came back, Bitchface was even pissier and making his way out. He wanted me to pass on a message he left. (Yeah, no one cared though.) A minute later, back came FFPGINOANP and German. He plopped next to me and she hung around for a few mins before leaving. I smiled at him as sweet as sugar. "How's your night going," I asked. "Alright," he replied. "Yeah, it looked like it. We saw you in the back, tsk, tsk" Banter, banter -- you know the deal. I obviously wasn't mad or anything. Like I said, all very collegesque -- not that the boys I kinda liked kissing other girls in front of me happened too much in my time. I was pretty unfazed but I did put it out there that I don't pick up other girls' leftovers. Soon after, the group of us were off to Sapph.

There, we kept drinking and I proved myself a liar. About the leftover thing. I was surprised but not very. I'm prone to whims. The frat house indoor beach party flashback came when one sec I was standing next to a pillar to the side of the room and the next I was on my ass on the floor. Thank God I wore my sneakers. FFPGINOANP said later that from his perspective, one sec I was there talking and the next I dropped out of sight. I have no idea how I got there. I was straight up perplexed as Fizzie and C rushed over to help me. "What are you doing on the floor?" Fizzie asked. I replied totally confused, "I really don't know" and they hoisted me up. Thus ended my drinking. Actually, the whole group of us got cut off. Good times.

So, it's stupid late and FFPGINOANP suggested that we all hang out at his house. Fizzie was really into it until he remembered "wait, he lives in Jersey and I live 4 blocks away. I think not. Laters." Smart boy, that Fizzie. Chugging my bottle of water (that mysteriously appeared) the whole time, I went in a cab to PA to get on the bus and stand. Somewhere on Blvd East, I felt the urge to vomit. And I sorta did. Lightly. But some spilled on the guy sitting down underneath me. And his facial expression was like "is that water dripping on me?" Yeah...some of it. So, I just walked straight off the bus like a fare beater and sat on the side of the road until I felt better. Wondering where the hell I was and what I was gonna do sorta passed through my head, but I was more into pulling myself together. Up strolled FFPGINOANP and luckily we were only about 3 blocks from his place. So, we get there, I go vomit some more in the bathroom, and pass out. Lovely, eh?

The next day, I felt fine lying down, except for the sun feeling like it was melting my eyes. We worked to piece together the night before and he made the funny comment about me falling out of sight. I reminded him that yes, he made out with German, and I got the story of Bitchface trying not so subtly to edge him out and have her all to himself the whole night. Pricks deserve to get cockblocked. Lovely conversation and everything. Somehow internet dating came up and I was all, "shit...I used to be a Friendster ho! But the golden days are over." (Second part's true, the first not quite.) I can't decide if it's a good or bad thing that he reminds me of what I liked about Farmer before he reemerged as Sniffer Beast Mach 5. We went for some yummy Spanish food and made plans to catch a show in a few weeks. Then I went back to NYC on the most hellish slow ass bus ride and I made that never going outside of Brooklyn/Queens/Manhattan without a payoff promise. We'll see if I keep it. I'm quite prone to hyperbole. Because after all, wouldn't I be mad if someone had that rule about me? Eh...no, not really. I'd probably thank them for being honest.

In conclusion, a jammed packed fucking weekend. I no longer feel ill and I'll probably go another 6 months without vomiting (hopefully). I've also learned some lessons: Guys surprise you when you least expect it. If you're going to overindulge on the sauce, it'd better be early. If you've got a would-be rival, you've got to be all Survivor in that piece -- outwit, outfox, outlast. And try to keep it all down.

Slow and Steady

I give up on the whole getting around to things in draft thing. It's just not gonna happen until the weekends. Blogging at work is just impossible because they're in a "give the girl a lot of work to do" kick and by the time I roll home, it's all about a tank top and shorts on the computer until I collapse into bed. Ladies and gentlemen, I am officially over the hill. The highlights when I pretend to be interesting though:

• If you care, the home soundtrack has changed from grunge and '90s WNEW rock to IDM, drum and bass, and old school R&B. Upgrade or downgrade? The music for the lull period before 2004 v. 3.0.

• The Closet was great. So many things I wanted to buy, but no time to do it. And apparently when I sent out those emails to everyone and said there were no models, I was lying. (And to continue this new obsession I seem to have with asses, this one girl had one that was the most amazing one I've ever seen. It was big and round but like suspended mid-air. So awesome. I need to do my squats to get half of that.) Us girls on the credit card machine were passing the time with our Orange V vodka sample boxes, sipping it straight up like savs. It's so smooth and yummy. And we didn't fuck up a sale because we're professionals. Act like you know.

• I was solo because Fizzie went West for a long weekend (and is now heading back there for good. How sad.) I went out big time last Friday, hitting up that place I've outgrown, followed by a nice stay at 419 (where I got the warm "long time no see" from my boy the bouncer and enjoyed a nice glass of Taylor's 10. Still love that stuff) and dancing my ass off at Francopalooza. I'd forgotten what it's like to be around things but not of it. It felt like old times minus the sheer manic urges that used to propel me. There's a certain energy I used to have when everything was new and I liked to see what adventures I could get into. I feel like mentally I've aged 10 years in the past year or so. I just can't hang like I used to. I'm just tired of the run around and how everything was so fast-paced. I want to run at the slow and steady speed. I've accepted it. It's just more fun to be grounded and with my friends at the end of the day. Life is a lot less interesting, but I can live without the drama.

• Saturday night, I hung with Rissa, the most beautiful girl in the world, newly returned from Brazil. We chilled in Astoria which looks so beautiful to me. There's an energy about that neighborhood I just really like. We'll see how it all pans out. The nightlife can be better -- we went to this club on Broadway that reminded me of Trust plus pool tables. It wasn't the typical Queens nightlife but nothing to write home about for those Manhattanesque drink prices. And I can live without the old men trolling the place. But Brazilian night and no cover was nice.

• The newly returned Fizzie and I went to The Art of Shooting show last night. We love the band and will see them at Lit Saturday night at 9pm(/end subtle plug), but the sound at Rothko was terrible. And we had the worst time finding the bathroom. That's two bad visits to that place. We'll pass on it for future reference. Kelly TAOS and I did a little deja vu by running into each other post-set on the street again. I did my part to connect like minded musicians to each other. After the show, we meant to go to check out Abe's bday extravaganza part 1, but it was past our bedtime.

Fuck I'm boring. I need a bender or something.

Damn Skippy

You know me, always trying to go somewhere and do something. This RSVP reply email put a smile on my face:

actually we closed the list but I'll put you down + 2 cause kittypower is real!

Take One

*An entry liberated from draft mode about events on or close to 8/05/04*

Instead of blogging, I've been chained to my desk and being a masochist. Farmer Attack has been in full effect much of the past two weeks. The symptoms included emotional rollercoasters, dramatics, self-hatred, moping, and occasionally moments of bliss. Life, however, moves on and I've been doing the pen and paper writing thing to process.

But what I'm really supposed to be doing is littering downtown with flyers for The Closet. A major hinderance to that has been a) I've been depressed b) I hate people, so going up to strangers and shilling up my event wasn't looking so promising. Last night though, I sucked it up and dealt (?dealed? My English major brain is failing me!) because it's my job.

The irony of last night was that yesterday at work, I had been working on a "men on the streets are shits!" post. I dragged my carcass out of my warm and comfy bed around 11 and really had to force myself to go forth and publicize. I felt miserable with so many I sat down in a corner seat on the J and took out my old black & white to pass the time during the ride. Since the MTA tends to be dicks after 10, that train was out of service and I sat on a platform bench to wait for the next one. Up walked a transit worker bursting out with game which put a smile on my face but left me cold because dude was like older than Ms. Mommy and stuff. I pleasantly chatted for a while, then the train pulled off and another one got on at the next time and picked up the mantle. I raised an eyebrow and noncommittedly chatted with him also. Was there something in the air? Were their latent animalistic senses picking up the "not fertile" pheromones? Who knows. I went back to writing.

I got off at Essex and strolled up Rivington with the thought of chatting people up and handing them flyers turning my blood cold. I beelined for Sapph and hung out with the folks. Everyone was clowning poor Fizzie for the week before. I chuckled and hung out for a while building up some liquid courage before going on flyer duty. I tested my nerve by sprinkling some around the bar and found myself casually and confidently responding to questions. So far, so good.

I went out into the big bad world and gave them to cool looking folks on Stanton. A group of 3 guys with vaguely Euro accents crossed my path and one took a flyer and asked if "I'd be there." I smiled patiently and replied in the affirmative. He was all "wonderful! I'll be there!" and gave me goodbye kisses on the cheek that were just a little too enthusiastic. Back up off me, stranger.

I wandered down Ludlow where I ran into two guys talking in front of some bar or another. One started chatting me up and I was neutral yet amused by him. Sometimes that's all it takes really. He was enthuasiastic about the event --and me -- and we exchanged numbers, somewhat unwillingly on my part.

I'm a big resistor which is why I end up having nothing happen or being in hot water. I've been trying to figure out for the past year or so where this pseudopassive thing developed. A byproduct of opting out of the game and being unsure of how to proceed outside of those boundaries I suppose. Underneath a fairly easy-going nature hides eyes that take everything in and a brain that hates to let go. I'm a type A- in disguise, the low-grade control freak.

But that night, I gave the number and I shut the probabilities and calculations off for a min. Even if I lost interest in him by call 1.5, there's nothing wrong with a little possibility now and again.

Bowing Down To The Goddess

*This post has been liberated from draft mode and speaks to events that occured on or near 7/29/04 - 8/1/04*

Fizzie and I did the typical Thursday overindulging. Same bat time, same bat location. In some ways, we might be a little too well matched on the hanging front. Our typical pre-fun convos sound a little like a Pinky and The Brain episode: "So, dude, what are we up to tonight?" "The same thing we're up to whenever we hang out: get some fucking drinks!" Though, I got dragged over the line that night when he uttered the six words I'm beginning to dread: "Let me open up a tab." I, the professional, paced myself after a deep breath and Fizzie plowed through them. He ended up so super social that our boy the bartender cut him off and the bouncer shook his head in amusement as we walked off. I convinced us to get some Turkish food on Houston and he waited by sitting face down at the table. He didn't have to twist my arm too much to convince me to crash at his place which was infinitely closer to work in a little under 5 hours than home, still an hour away.

I woke up in a panic at 9:30, a.k.a fucking late, and walked around screaming "fuck! fuck! fuck!" as Fizzie did an impression of a log. I tried in vain to convince him to get up, but after a while let him be and went to work in a panic. I think the rushing and semi-hysteria burned off the hungover cobwebs because work wasn't that painful and my brain on ultrafocus mode. I settled myself into nice groove in my two-two-two-jobs-in-one mode and left there without wanting to scream for a switch. I also went straight to bed without passing go and didn't even feel (too) ashamed about it.

I celebrated a good night's sleep and nice outside weather the next day but putting out a skirt (don't gasp too hard -- it was of the poof 1950's housewife variety that I've had for about 2 years now) and my new shoes to go traipse around P.S. 1. I'd only been there once before with TrendVickster back in the day when I convinced her to check it out and we were turned off the pre-hipster painfully "cool" atmosphere. I'd vowed then to never return and I was good on that promise until I found myself with thousands of flyers to get rid of and vaguely curious about what were these Scissor Sisters everyone was talking about.

Off I traipsed to Long Island City and as I do with every new neighborhood in a nice location, also scouted out some real estate. I was really into the brownstone places a block or so past the place and made a mental note to look the place up in the listings when I got home. (I'm so in love with this place I can barely stand it!) I waited on the long ass line, paid my $8, and remembered to always trust my impressions. Oh, the Scissor Sisters: Elton John's voice in Terry Hall circa Fun Boy Three fronting Wham circa 1983 with Bathhouse-era Bette Midler doing co-vocals and banter. Double plus gay. Gayer than the Pride Parade. The songs are catchy but bad sound and the overpowering urge to beat skinny rude hipsters down and the fact that wood bottomed shoes don't yield for shit had me annoyed. Saw some Wes folks (surprise, surprise), didn't see Bono which is a shock since I walked around that place at least 100 times during the course of the day -- then again, I didn't see Mac either, so perhaps I'm just blind. Totally possible. I did give an honest review to a friend of theirs in line and he was all "well, the sound sucked. They've been better" and get pissed off when a couple had some "quality" time in the bathroom room when I was next on line and had to pee really bad. Fuckers.

Post-show, I went home and took a damned nap because I was worth it before changing into jeans and sneaks to hang with Fizzie. He had just gained a new roomie, K, and I went over to meet and greet. All the moving and such had tired her out, so Fizzie and I went off into the night with her friend, H. That girl was a hell of a character. She enlightened me to her theory of dating musicians: their first love is music, so they're looking for a woman who can be the embodiment of that "spirit," for how long depending on their attention spans and the like. So, every time they're with a woman, it's like being at the shrine of Music, bowing down to the goddess. Interesting, eh? We strolled down to Rothko and I ran into a Blng Kong cheerleader and got a new button. Yay! Then we were off to Chinatown and the always criminally empty 169 Bar before heading our seperate ways.

I made the mistake of hanging with Farmer and his sniffer friends and alternated between livid and sad the next day. I stopped in the Duane Reade on Delancey on the way to Man Man show # 874 at the Mercury Lounge and discovered that the cashier only had $5s, $1s, and nickels because the place had been jacked and the manager maced (!) not 5 minutes before I got there. Fucking wild. My mood hadn't improved when I got to the show and I spent my time either on the phone or really hiding in the dark. You know it was great. I don't have to say it. The most amazing part of every show is the "WTF is going on?" expression people get on their faces. This one guy was so excited that he bought the EP and was all "you guys are awesome!" to the extreme. I was that guy. I am that guy. There's something nice about just being a non-cynical fan for a change. (There's a slightly funny other story connected to the show. I'll tell it to you off blog if you ask nicely.) I was just hanging out and caught the acoustic set of the guy that came afterwards -- I swear his name on the Mercury site is just wrong but he was awesome with just voice and guitar. On hand were the Trachtenbergs to support their friend. The music, however lovely, was sad and after awhile, I wanted to run off and jump on the J and cry or something. I ended up chatting with Ryan and Tom Man Man out front and Tom was amused by my Man Man shirt and my deadpan Dariaesque statement of fact that I'm always at the shows. I mean, sheesh, I'm the shill. Where else would I be? Granted, I don't do full out plant in the crowd "this is the most awesome band ever! woo!" like I did for Alex and the guys in DC back in the day, but I'm singlehandedly keeping the black girl population in the crowd to at least 1. It's a dirty job, but someone's gotta do it.

I'm A Shill 4 U

What I've been working on (partially) with the other Styleaholics. This'll be up top until the day of August 10th. Come through, it'll be an awesome time. Support indie designers and chicks on the wheels of steel!

And while I'm shilling, Man Man at Mercury Lounge this Sunday. Passed already. And if you missed it shame on you.

I Won't Remember Your Name

Isn't it slightly problematic that I find it more respectable to be a computer nerd pottering away at 3am on a Saturday night rather than a slightly sick person in bed? But nerdish I was with "Blackout" by TAOS on megarepeat. Regardless, I'm still resting up instead of being out carousing unlike Friday.

I've realized why my body basically crapped out last week: my days just tend to be way too long. Friday, I got up a little before 7 for work, sat there for 9 hours, went to the gym and danced around for an hour and change, and then was off and running into the night. Trendvickster, P. Fizzie, and I were off to be all artsy at a shorts screening in a studio a stone's throw away from my job. The invite was received from the Film Fest Party Guy In Need of A New Pseudonym. Fizzie, being my most hardcore alkie buddy, came prepared with beverages and the three of us were having a grand old time before we joined the group at large.

We were off from there to the Upper West (eww) to a house party that was a little too dry for our tastes, but being troopers we had a good time. I pimped slightly for the upcoming Closet (more info and full graphic to follow on my site later, natch) and chatted with FFPGINOANP. Eventually, we took the party to this local place and everyone (but me of the iron liver and Fizzie's friend who joined us) proceeded to drink themselves stupid. I ended up finishing my night off after 6am in Weehawken not passing go or collecting $200 by falling stone cold asleep when my head hit the pillow as everyone was chatting in the kitchen. I really can't hang in my old age.

Saturday was a lazy day pottering around, feeling a slight relapse of the sickness. I put myself to bed at 9pm and woke up at 10 to 2. My friend C called at 2 and I sheepishly explained I was lying in bed but not asleep. I hung up with her and forced myself out because I felt like a loser. The highlights until 5 was hanging out in my PJs on a downloading frenzy. This brings to mind what exactly I'm going to write about this month. "I'm Retired: How being a nightlife columnist ruined my love affair with going out." I think that's got a certain something to it.

Sunday, PrincessNella and I were off to canvass. We were loving this street fair in Astoria and created our apt zone boundaries -- between 42nd and 33rd Streets and 31st and 35th Avenues. I also managed to drag her to Clinton Hill/Fort Greene to look and her Brooklyn bias equally dumbfounded Lina. Still, she had to give props to the food and bars sprinkling the nabes and we walked down to Junior's where we ate exactly half of our steakburgers before feeling like we'd had 10 meals and got some cheesecake slices to go.

Today, though I couldn't do a single thing I wanted to do before work this morning, I've got cheesecake for lunch and the world is alright with me. Plus I can breathe again. What's not to love?

Love Is The Drug

The persona this week: fresh-faced wise-beyond-her-years ingenue. Pretentious? Oui. But I felt like rolling with it, so I did.

The weekend began on a Thursday night after work at some happy hour with people and stuff. Reunited briefly with Steven who was on his own little crusade that night. That's my Shecky, always up to something. He's moving down to the LES shortly. (Stay away from the dirty hipsters, Steven! Resist! Resist!) I was in a Chatty Cathy mood that night -- and no, I wasn't even drunk. As midnight began to get uncomfortably close, I said my goodbyes and went uptown, making a last minute plan switch and dropping in to meet Hani down on B. I hadn't seen him for a minute, so that was nice. As I am with everyone lately, I'm pretty unsympathetic to relationship -- or lack thereof -- issues. If you didn't fuck, I don't want to hear it. And if you did, I don't want to hear that either -- okay, maybe a little bit.

The next day at work, I was yawning like the Reach Man. I really was afraid of popping my jaw out of joint. I went to B&N after work to gather up some magazines and use my birthday present gift card up as I waited for C. I picked up the new Black Book, featuring my love Adrien. And I'm no Pianist come lately because I liked him since Summer of Sam and Restaurant. I even saw that jacked up Love The Hard Way, that's some love. I love him so much, I want to tie his ass to a chair and force feed him 2 Big Mac value meals, gently natch. My friend CR, a new LA transplant, reported that he saw him in Target and he was even thinner than he looked on the screen. That just ain't right. C came along and we wandered into Whole Foods. That place is like a vortex. I didn't really need that big ass carton of yogurt or nectarines or that sandwich with cranberry bread or the Brie, but that place made me get it anyway. Luckily, the prices are too ridiculous to have me getting food there all the time. It's so tempting to go there for lunch sometimes. It is only around the corner from the job.

A dispatch from Jenny got me to Bushwick for a loft party. [I've got to note: sheesh, is everyone moving to Bushwick nowadays? It's becoming party central or something. Just like Williamsburg, my actual likelihood of moving there is so nil. I come home way too often circa 5am to be wandering down some street with big dark ass warehouses and lots being the only things around. I'm not scared per se, but there's no point in courting trouble, nah mean?] Being a late tired ass, I missed the band a.k.a. the whole point, but had some good time just being in conversation. On the way home, I got to kick myself to note that I, who complain about the utter lack of interesting prospects, was flanked by three single (I suppose) hot guys yet played neutral and "boys have cooties." When did I regress to HS? Living at home has sufficiently sucked out my spark. I need to move like yesterday. Or relearn to make a move instead of just passively scoping. I need help.

Saturday, Jay-V and I made our way to Weehawken for a BBQ, thrown at the home of my phone tag pal, the Film Fest Party Guy. What a great view of the Manhattan skyline off the cliffside! If there was a better way to get there besides buses, I'd defect in a heartbeat. It was really nice over there. The event was held in a backyard courtyard with its own fountain and ivy covered stone. So gorgeous. Being the social animals we are, Jay and I held court on a bench until she left after a couple hours and I wandered around chattering away. It was nice finally seeing the guy again and get the chance to hang with him. Though everyone had some years on me and were shocked (positively shocked!) when I outed myself as 23 [note: I'm never sure whether to be pleased or insulted. Do they mean it that I can't be young because I'm not a giggly airhead or that I look old/bad for my age, even with my 16-year old face?], everything had a senior week vibe to it. We smacked a pinata and sprayed water gun shots of tequila into willing mouths.

I also realized why I like this guy (and the others) and what my prototype is: he's unassuming, artsy, ambitious, relaxed, confident, unconventionally good-looking. A bit of an edge where I least expected it. He's just natural and straight-forward. We can just riff on whatever and I feel engaged. It's all just fun to me, but not the shallow kind.

So, what's gonna happen? Who knows? One step at a time, like always. ETA: Guess who just reemerged like clockwork? He Whose Name I Can't Mention To Any Friend of Mine Without Them Getting Primed To Beat Me Upside My Head. The man has a sixth sense for these things. But, save the beatdown, kids, I'm not that erm, frustrated. Yet.

Random Thought Of The Day: Does "Trick Me" sound like an inverted "The Seed" or what?

Plus One

Work is almost enjoyable when you know it's a short week. Wait...who am I kidding? No, it's not. During a day of being chained to my desk and staring at the cubicle walls, I made some afterwork plans to head down to the Virgin Megastore Union Square and then a little party for some soon to be cancelled show. I had the hardest fucking time trying to find someone to be in my entourage. My people have no vision!

At Virgin Mega was an indie hip-hop panel, distinguished most for me by the ranter who closed out proceedings by calling the panelists out, asking if they were invested in really bringing a DIY creative ethic "back" to hip-hop or were they like the draconian majors in disguise trying to tie artists to shit contracts for maximum money making. I wish I would've seen the actual panel because all I heard was the Q&A portion which doubled as "how can I be like y'all?"/"how do I go about getting y'all to help me?" blah blah way too much bubbly self-promotion cakes. I stuck around mostly for the RJD2 set and salivated over the latest Black Book. Mmm...Brody. My friend in LA had just reported a sighting in Target the other week and said he was even skinnier than you can possibly imagine. That's alright. I'll take that and force feed him some Southern cooking.

Then slightly uptown to meet TrendVickster at the party place. Standing in line, I spotted Abe -- though not especially surprising since I found out about it via him more or less anyways. I'd never been there before so I was a little intrigued by the space, or at least the little part we got to see. The DJ was actually okay (but some of those transitions: eek!) and I mentioned to Abe that I was a little afraid of him playing Keith Sweat because hearing a song I haven't heard in a while in a club usually signals that it's about to be put on the "50 Songs We Rotate To Death And Make You Start To Hate" list in no time. [And in a total aside, a major part of my weekend was shopping and I got sucked into H&M. Fuck that store is ingenious. 2 per block and different in every store. But, it's totally sad that I hear better (being a subjective word since they're on some Euro pop shit) music while strolling around in there than I do on the radio. They need a compilation CD because being that I bought Old Navy Soul years ago through subliminal marketing, I'd be all over that shit.] The crowd was hipish freebie seekers (a.k.a. my people) and I learned to hate the show before it even came on by seeing the same two promos on repeat for 2 hours +. The best parts were the free booze (you know, because I'm an alcoholic) and the goodie bags (which included a watch, mini bottle of booze, shaving kit, and other stuff). The show is indeed terrible, but I've gotta love the "get 'em so drunk they'll watch anything -- or not" event planning method. So fun. Special shouts to Neil for making it all possible.

On the 10-mile walk to our trains, TrendVickster and I took a shortcut through Penn Station. I was shit amused to see one of my co-workers walking -- but really, drunkenly stumbling -- towards us. "Hey there," I said with a nice big smile. "Hey," he responded, cautiously all "shit...gotta..keep...it... together." We made some small talk before he went on his imbalanced way and I laughed and laughed. Stumbling...that's for amateurs. Says the dummy who is cruising for a drunken fall soon. Karma's a bitch.

Golden

The name of my game is downplay, downplay, downplay. "Oh, I'm so bored with town...as I stay out until 6am all the time." Always remember: heavily edited for mass consumption. Besides that, if you couldn't tell, I was in a shitty ass mood last week -- coupled with work taking up way too much time. Fucking infringing on my blogging. We have to do something about that.

The theme of the long holiday weekend was: "great but could've been golden with a satisfying conclusion to the evening." I've been rolling with my trusty friend C and she's in the same boat I (and others) are looking to bail: the under lock and key so long we barely know which way is up. I don't know whether to be afraid or comforted that so many of my nights have fallen into the "oh please, I've been suffering so much longer. Get back to me in another month" and "yes, even bad shit counts. Subtract a month for you" conversations. Misery does love company after all. My status is pretty easy to explain actually: I did that on purpose to focus on the job search (then, the job) and since I've tentatively reemerged, all I ever seem to meet are guys with girlfriends and/or not enough oomph to make that jump out the friend zone or the late 20s/30s habitual druggies radiating the "more trouble than I'm worth" vibes loud and clear. I've stopped being a glutton for punishment in my old age.

Early Friday evening, loving the getting out at 2pm deal and playing with my new cell, I met up with Lina downtown to celebrate her new job with mojitos. She, like many I know, is nesting with a new guy and can't relate to my single struggles, so to counteract "my love life is so great," I've soften the bitterness parade with self-deprecating complaints and hopefulness in the small stuff. "He said 'I thought I was your bitch,' isn't that great?" I get encouraging murmurs in reply with a "poor you" headshake. Pity party, table for one, thanks. She and I went off to explore her Ft. Greene nabe to kill some time before my later engagements. She agrees with me that a person would be crazy to be anti-Brooklyn and encourages me to get a place by my damned self since the extra share would be worth the lack of aggravation. Isn't that the truth? We had a girl pow wow, doing the "man, I wish I could lose 5lbs!"/"you look great! i wish I had those curves!" This post might be complaint center as far as the private life goes, but dammit, I look good right now. I'm not afraid too modest admit it!

After that, I was off to meet my friend C and her friends for a truly cool experience. I'd heard about this bar for a minute but being not connected, I obviously had never been. It's this cool little place invoking the speakeasy from the decor to staff apparel and drink touches. No menus, just order based on their selection of juices and spirits (though I ordered a gimlet first because it seemed like the sort of place I could do it and not feel like a 60-year old man). The four of us drank ourselves relatively stupid and found that 3 girls plus one guy equals who's compatible with the boy. None of us apparently. I don't do dorky and neurotic because I've got enough of that to go around, thanks. Still, we were a good group and bounced around to Tribeca and this place I doubt I'll revisit. Hello, drug den! Not my scene. Plus there was a big and scary ass dog as big as horse. I hate it when people say, "she's a sweetheart, she loves people" about their frightening looks animals. Because when it takes a bite of my ass, it will be all "she's never done that before. I can't believe it!" Keep them all back from me. I've got the scars from "nice" dogs.

For the 4th of July, I wandered about a rooftop in Bushwick almost getting my hand amputated. "Wha?" you say. Well, I'm a brilliant individual who pulled my police bracelet like wristband too tight and just when my hand got numb and was starting to feel lightheaded was when the combo of scissors, kitchen knifes and keys were finally successful in freeing me. I vaguely watched the fireworks, but I was infinitely more concerned with not losing a hand. My wrist was all swollen and I got to walk around for a while with an ice pack. So attractive. I've still got the marks looking like a S&M session went a little awry. I settled down to lounging about for hours with C and her friends, including Mr. Man from back in the day. Still scorching, less skeezy. As my interest level rose and rose, I decided it was time to go. I got to run to the train station in the torrential downpour and find my interest in everything but my warm bed significantly...erm, dampened. Such are the breaks I suppose.

Sweet Bird of Youth

Yesterday, I was thinking to myself that besides the whole paycheck aspect, this whole working thing is way overrated. Sitting in one place for over a third of my day, during prime sun-filled hours, in a fucking ice box. Stupid annoying ass people, bitches walking like Peggy Bundy and skeezy guys hitting on everything that moves and this butterface who thinks she so fucking cute and these girls go to the bathroom in PAIRS it really is fucking junior high!!!

Oh, I did mention I had approximately an hour and a half of sleep last night? Isn't it obvious?

Anyhoo, yesterday I was like "you know, tomorrow's a 9-2 day because of the holiday weekend, so fuck it! I'm going wild." I popped in at Sapph as I do to find the yuppie brigade in full force, most in suits and ties. I asked my friend the bouncer with a sneer, "what is this? an office party?" Some eavesdropping girl was all "no!" really bitchily. I gave her a look and wished I was a man, so I could give her "deez nuts, bitch" gesture. It's one of the few man things I envy. "Suck on my left one" or whatever just doesn't have the same ring. Especially since there's always the fool that would be "umm...okay!" I'm not trying to get my Courtney Love on, thanks. (Isn't also fairly obvious that I'm only a semi-reformed tomboy? Yeah, I thought so.)

I really love Sapph. It's totally like Cheers. "Hey"s and waves all around as I saddle up at the bar. "Where've you been?" said my bartender friend. "I haven't seen you in forever! I thought you were dead!" Sheesh. "Umm...I was just here last week." "Hmm...well you left mad quick." "True...but dead? I was just a little tired, man!" Everyone was asking about P. Fizzie. Take a kid there twice and they're all "where's my boy at?" "At home with his girl," I replied. "Tell him to bring his ass here next week!" Consider the message passed.

Considering my disgruntlement with everything, I had a blast at Sapph. Once the yuppies cleared, it was the regs plus friends and randoms just chatting, drinking, dancing. I was a chatty chatterbox to the extreme. (Yay 2 for 1!) Then again, I'm a random magnet, so it's par for the course. I got one guy telling me his past relationship drama all bitter like (the synopsis: live in gf cheated with best friend and now they're dating and he's gotta move. Burn!). If anything I can say I've learned lately, live ins are a bad idea. It apparently needs to be held up as a relationship killer. But yeah, talking about relationship trauma, that's sexy...NOT.

There was this new DJ getting static and zero love because he drove the brigade out. I, of course, wasn't too burnt about that, but then again, it's not my money at stake. Can someone explain to me why good DJs who understand the principles of mixing and mood are playing small hole in the wall lounge parties and shitty hipster DJs are everywhere else? Is there someone who's like "yeah, I've got a space that fits about a 1000 and I want terrible music. Hmm...who can I pick?" This guy was really mining the crates and he played my request like 2 mins later. (I said Brand Nubian to go with what he was doing and he threw on "Slow Down." I've got "what I am is what I am" on a loop right now. Someone please give me a new song.)

We closed the place out and then some and I found myself at Houston and Allen at 4:30 feeling very sad. Long trek ahead of me and I still had to be up at 6:45. In my sleep disorientation, I got off at 71st Continental for some reason I still don't really understand. Great...that was another 30 mins on my trip. I stumbled into bed at 6:15ish and had the radio blasting until Ms. Mommy peeked in like "get up, turn that shit off, do something" plus some "you know you had to get up this morning so blah blah reap what you sow blah blah kernel #467 from the parents handbook." I was too tired to do a "deez nuts" this time plus I like my life.

And the story ends at work with a big ass cup of french vanilla coffee and a permascowl. I'm lucky that at 23, I can bounce back from this shit fairly well. But knowing me, unless I'm all super domesticated in 10 or 20 years, I'll still try it every once in a while. A little rager never hurt in the long run.

Shake It Up

I need something new hella quick. I've exhausted all my party resources and patience. I almost don't want to go out anymore. And knowing me, that's a fucking travesty. I'm a nightlife columnist, for christ's sake!

P. Fizzie and I have been having movie marathons like a mofo: Friday, Chris Rock: Bigger and Blacker, Kings of Comedy, and Old School with a painful bit of Not Another Teen Movie since Thursday. We've also discovered that vodkas and gins have the non-liver destroying, easy sleeping properties that we can't find in our beloved whiskeys. I might never go back to that. He's the one transplant non-hipster living in the LES, so we traipse around the hood like "you suck...you suck... you might be cool...you suck... get out the way, drunken assclowns" before getting pissed and calling it a night. We're especially irritated at the way the sniffers have a chokehold on lounge/bar fun. In the 70s/80s, sniffers were known for being all fun-loving and dancing all night and shit, but the 00 variety (zeroes in more ways than one), like to just sit there all glassy-eyed in their banquettes staring out and not dancing or anything. Some of my most beloved NYC friends are sniffers, but I say exile those motherfuckers to a house somewhere where they can snort lines off a bannister or boiler or something and leave the clubs to the rest of us. And send those non-mixing ass DJs with them.

Friday night in a new hipster stronghold on Orchard, I saw the really hot bartender from 419. Now, that's like saying the fluffy cloud or something, but this one is tops. Only because he radiates "I might be a too skinny hipster perfectly dishelved like all the rest, but I actually give great head" or perhaps I'm just projecting? I've been fooled by that before. (Yeah, I threw that in there to fuck with you. You know it.)

Jay-V and I traipsed out to the far reaches of Brooklyn to go to her boss's afternoon party Saturday. In East Flatbush, he had an inground pool (!) and hot tub. It's good to be him for sure. They were also winding things down when we got there. She should draft a note on Monday that says: "Oh sorry, we're black, when our people say "starting at 2," that means get there around 6/7! We'll know for next time. Oh, and we don't do pools. Thanks for having us! The cakes were great!"

And for future reference, copious amounts of alcohol + being the instigator that led to a bowl party in the bowels of subsoda (a place that I always expect to suck more than it does. Not that it's good or anything) + getting blocked from my nap by running into an annoying HS person that wanted to yap yap yap at me on the train = hijinks on the ride home. I overslept my train and then bus stop. I woke up about a mile past my house all "where the fuck am i right now?" My one saving grace was that at least it wasn't the Far Rockaway bus and I woke up just in time on the return trip to get off home. Damn it was bright when I fell into bed. But at least I had fun, I think.

Just Let Your Soul Glow

Last Saturday was ultramusic day in my sphere. And, I just realized, Philly band day. That's some synergy.

For all intents and purposes in my book, the Floetry show was the Summerstage kickoff. I had planned to check that out with the volunteer party guy on some last minute thing and also drafted TrendVickster along for the ride. I found myself running late as usual, but strangely at almost 5pm when I rolled up, I could still get in. Yay! I'm not confident enough to bank on that in the future though. (Especially this Saturday with Patti Labelle coming through. I'm gonna have to be there at 1 to get in that show).

Every black boho in the 5 boroughs and surrounding areas had to be hanging around that stage. The day was beautiful and people were just hanging out. The floatrist was beyond toasted and babbling about everything and nothing in between -- and occasionally during -- songs. The voice on the songstress is amazing and so freaking smooth. I loved how she looked like she was just strolling through the park and wandered onto the stage with her purse on. I'm not the biggest fan and probably still aren't, but it was a good time. And they closed the show with "Just Let Your Soul Glow" and the rapper screaming out "Sexual Chocolate." Before that in an old-school rap break, they did the Kid-N-Play perfectly. I've been trying to get that shit going with PrincessNella and P. Fizzie for months. I'm so jealous. It was like butta.

After spending some lazy hours at home, I was off to Billyburg for Man Man show #873 (of course I'm exaggerating, but I have lost count. I know that it's more than 6 and less than 10.). I strolled in as this band, The Art of Shooting (Kelly AOS said they have a website but I can't find it. Ah well Nevermind. Here it is!) were doing their Hole and Elastica meet the punky Go-Go's set. I love seeing chicks rocking the hell out of their instruments because it always inspires me briefly to dig my bass out of the dark corner of my Upstate bedroom's closet. Kitty Power hearts The Art of Shooting and when I told Kelly so, she gave me a CD-R of their music. Rock!

Anyways, then came Man Man. I'll spare the concert review type deal because as #1 fan and official shill, what would I say but "it was the most awesome show ever!" true or not (though it's naturally always true). I also added a new dimension to my job title by playing gossip gatherer in the crowd. A girl was all, "me and my friend are so crazy about the singer. He's so hot!" And I replied, "Hmm..." and jotted it down in my secret agent notebook (kidding on the last part). I relayed the information and got a reply that made me smile. Later on was picture time and my Man Man love is so great that I, the most non-photogenic person alive, stood in for two. That is love.

Soon, I bounced my way across Williamsburg, thinking I could live in the Southside if PrincessNella suspended her Brooklyn bias and I got a new cell phone because my current can't pick up reception for shit around there. Analog all the way. I went to the LES to persuade P. Fiz. to come out, but instead got sucked into watching Dead Alive and falling asleep on the couch before one of my favorite lines. That would be, "Son, I kick ass for the Lord" before he proceeding to do just that until he got zombiefied that is. Poor Rev.

Luck Be A Lady

This week, I had been all good and getting home early to get up early for work and acting like a responsible working individual and all that shit, but P. Fizzie and I threw all that out the window Thursday night. The only clear things I remember are: those hole in the wall gallery receptions are still crowded and a waste of time (except for their refreshments) and I was amused when this older woman said I should be flattered that I'm still getting carded. How so? I'm 23, not 40. They're saying I look like a HS kid. No compliment there. Also, that P. Fizzie and I knew downing a half bottle of Jim Beam was a bad idea, but we naturally did it anyways. We definitely suffered for it the next day.

So, considering I went to bed at 5:30am Friday and had a full -- and productive, those bastards -- day at work, you'd think I'd have run home without passing go and just fell into a coma until the next day. You'd be wrong, wrong, wrong! I'm a trooper. During the day, I had myself a big ass greasy breakfast platter (Grease, the hangover helper) and just tried not to move my head too much. I was pleasantly surprised to find that I won a place on the guestlist for the Felix Da Housecat DJ set at Blossom. I'm a lucky bastard, yo. Still, I tried my best to pass that along to someone, but no one was biting. I went home, chilled out, took a few hours of rest and I was out.

There was a going away party for two Wes heads at perpheral friends' deluxe apartment in the sky and I strolled through with TrendVickster. A year out, most have mellowed and can't really throw down like they used to. Even when it's "raging," it has the feel of a cocktail party with an occasional display of freaky dancing. It was fun in a totally adult way. I wandered downtown and almost cried because 419 was so terrible. The place is always half empty nowadays. It's a shame. I strolled over to Blossom after all and I wasn't too surprised to find that place packed to the gills. Wack spots never go out of style, unfortunately. I strolled off to Francopalozza for a few and had my memory lane flashback before calling it a night. In my old age, I'm trying to end on high notes.

While I Was Away From The Desk

Mostly because even with all my time for retroactive based posting today, I'm finding that I really don't have a clue about what happened before Thursday. Here's some of the blogworthy shit that's been going on while I haven't been posting:

1. P. Fizzie is my most steady and hardcore (until afterwards when he breaks down and cries because he can't digest a little alcohol) of rolling buddies. He's helped me kicked the liver up from pickled to fossilized. Good times.

2. I went to the Chromeo/Radio 4 show the other week. I'm never going to Spirit again because it looks like the prom hall from she's all that. And I don't understand the point of being up front at a concert to scowl in the face of the artists. Wow...you're an asshole, you're so cool! Leave the front for the fans, please! And I think I might be the only person (including the band themselves it seems) that actually likes Chromeo unironically.

3. Sakepolitans at Drum will never get old. I'm all about the plum wine right now.

4. Sapph Thursdays have come back in a major way, but how much 419 has fallen off is really sad. You know they've suceeded in killing the Meatpacking District when Francopalooza might actually be the best thing going over there.

5. Last Saturday, I got to dress up for my aunt's wedding. It was on a boat out in the Long Island Sound. I've got the polished and stylish thing down pat. Even when I went all semi-Marilyn Monroe coming down the steps, it was very elegant. Somebody needs to invite me to a shindig because that dress is too pretty to sit in the back of my closet.

6. My Wes kid sightings went back into the stratosphere this week, but one really annoyed me. Jay-V, TrendVickster, and I were at this pseudococktail party when a girl came up to us. Her ego was out of control as she asked us what we were up to in life before dropping her job and projects in a "i'm so fabulously important" tone. I mean, don't get me wrong here in NYC, there's plenty of people with really amazing jobs, but not everyone has to be so stuck up about it. I didn't know her well in college but it's obvious that she came here to transform into a self-important phony. Is it wrong for me to expect better things from Middletown cohorts?

6b. And while I'm talking about school sightings, I was at Francopalozza when I recognized a girl from my time in DC. She was part of the French mass, though one of the peripherals. She and I chatted about what a small world it was and she knows better not to keep up with that asshole of an ex-roomie I had.

7. My latest article is still late. Umm yeah.

8. I still haven't cleaned my room in like 2 months. When I say I can't find the floor, I'm not exaggerating.

9. I need less talk and more action. Take that however you please.

10. I need to hurry up and move so I can get this home bar action going. It's just so much cheaper. Or else I should buy a flask and be an unabashed wino.

11. After days of fruitless searching, anyone that could hook me up with the "Game Over" mp3 might be my new best friend.

Metavision

A bad thing about working is that if you find yourself becoming a lot more boring quickly. After Thursday night and crawling through Friday, I was in for the night with hardly any regrets. In fact, I was in bed by midnight. I don't even go to sleep that early during the work week -- which really is the root of all my sleep deprivation problems. The ennui carried over to Saturday afternoon when the extra special plan was cleaning my room and making it to the mall. Yeah...neither. Lounging in the fuzzy pants until it was dark enough to motivate me.

I was off to meet P. Fizzie in Brooklyn for a party. Being slow and unlucky individuals, we missed the open bar portion of the evening and were feeling restless. Still, we danced and chatted, marvelling at the small world and giving a shout to Nick. As has become our MO, we bounced back and forth at will. First was traipsing through Park Slope and doing our best wino impressions. Getting back, the place was more live, but I felt the discontent bubbling up.

I hate a significant portion of New York DJs. Why? Because they fucking suck. Why do they suck? Because having records does not a DJ make. You need to some of degree of mixing skills and the ability to read a crowd in order to keep a party going. For example, "Seven Nation Army" and "Get Low" are good songs, right? On their own. Perhaps even a mashup, though I significantly doubt that -- and enough with those because they're becoming so uncreative as time passes. But those two songs right next to each other DO NOT MIX. I repeat, DO NOT MIX. So, if you as a DJ are putting those two songs together that DO NOT MIX, you are fucking up whatever party vibe you just had going. Notice how people just stopped dancing when you did that? That means you fucked up. Of course, those songs are the extreme cases, but really, enough is enough. It's bad enough that they only play about 40 songs all together to begin with and I can rattle them off in my sleep. Shitty DJs piss me off but crowds are stupid sheep also. Wow, Poison and Crazy In Love too. Ooh...and Yeah! Oh my God, I never hear those songs anywhere! Add onto that some non-dancing ass bitch (there's always one) who kept bumping into me because she had like zero concept of rhythm. Smoke started rising from my ears, so we decided to take another break.

Off to the curb for a smoke break. We made a friend because I am a random magnet after all. Is it me or is it sad that the only ones who would ever compliment me on my looks are old and/or gay? Such is life in the big city I suppose. We decided to give up and stroll off back down Fifth Avenue to see what we could find. We ducked into a restaurant/bar and were seduced into staying by the wings. We bounced back into the now winding party and just shut off the brains and danced before it was all over.

We walked down to the Atlantic Avenue stop and P made the mistake of taking the local N as I jumped on the Q express. 34th Street in 10 mins...how sweet that was! I went to the F and jumped on that, comatose kicking in a few minutes later. I woke up as the train pulled into Parsons super disoriented, but I got my shit together enough to get off. I was really wondering how I'd gotten to the F though as I walked up the stairs. The cobwebs lifted and I made my home to do my time honed burrowing just enough space to sleep on a clothes filled bed. Good times.

I Can't Get No

Hani and I have been planning to do a 5-week bartending class in tandem for a bit now. Ever since I helped a friend at Sapph count tips one night, the money lover in me has always been like "I need to do that shit." So, when he discovered a cheapish class, I jumped for it. Wednesday was supposed to be our first day. I left work at 7pm and stopped at the ATM before strolling off to the train. I put in my card, punched in my PIN, and almost had a heart attack. Stop the presses: how the fuck did I spend close to $900 in a week and a half? I mean, I knew I was going to waste the first check but Jesus Christ. Especially since we're planning the move for Julyish and I've got next to nothing banked so far. I went on money panic mode and called Hani to back out. He understood and had a good time. Maybe I'll take it tonight (cause today is payday after all) and think of it as investing in my future.

Now, if you'd think that my money panic would lead me to you know, stop spending recklessly, you'd be wrong wrong wrong. Yesterday as the work day was winding down, I started thinking that what I wanted for dinner was some Atomic Wings. That led to deciding that the perfect afterwork thing would be calling up kids all "wings and booze, yo! You know you want some of that shit!" I got P. Fizzle on lock and we met up in a Village bar in which I normally wouldn't be caught dead. We killed that double order and got some amusement in the form of this way past drunk guy just making a nuisance of himself trying to join everybody's table. P had arrived just in time because I was trying to get him to backoff and disappear since he thought sitting alone = fresh target.

We stopped off at the smoke shop down the street. I longingly looked at rolling papers and tobacco, reminded of my boys Tino and Alex and their homemade cigs (and yeah, I mean cigs). I was tempted to buy some and attempt to see if I could even do it for myself -- which I doubt -- but for a switch, I didn't let myself be ruled by the impulse shopping. At the register, the cashier glanced at P's wallet with the pic of his girlfriend and then looked at me and back to him. He said to him, "you should be ashamed of yourself. What's with that picture?" P was like, "um...that's my girlfriend." I shrugged and was like, "we're just friends hanging out." And the guy replied, "oh okay...I didn't understand why the picture didn't look like you." Good for a chuckle.

From there to my not so favorite bar from last week's bullshit and then to Sapph. Despite living in the neighborhood, he'd never been there so I got to introduce him around. The night started off slow, so the bartenders were using us as guinea pigs. Everything got superhype and P and I were having a blast. After a while, we realized that as fun as it would be to hang all night, work in the morning was calling. Still, I love Thursdays.

I ended up sleeping until the end of the line on the F. Always good times (not). On the bus ride home, I sat close to the driver, blasting the oldies station. One of the songs was "Satisfaction" and it was funny to watch him sing along and drum on the steering wheel. Riding the bus late at night is always funny. It's a strange mix of characters. The driver was just chillin, not really giving a shit. I suppose that's what you gotta do when it's you on the road in the middle of the night.

You Got To Roll Me

The only problem with long weekends is having to go back to normal adult life when it's over. There definitely weren't enough days for me to relax and I'm very against having to reenter the grind tomorrow. Too much of my time was spent being mopey and sleep deprived. I thought a long weekend was when you got caught up on sleep and chilled the fuck out for a change. Ah well.

Post-Thursday's episode, Friday was a blah ass sort work day. I was in the mood for some retail therapy and was off downtown. I got caught out in the rain and happened to duck into the sneaker store. I emerged a while later with Asics #2 (more Tigers: Ultimate 81 Sax/Blue if you're curious.) Later was another night with the friends for Trendvickster's 23. We had a mini-HS reunion strolling around the village plus P. Friendster. We got to be the only freaks in the universe who actually used that new fangled Friendster thing and the only ones who didn't turn into pumpkins at 1am. He and I were then off to a fun weekly at a place for dancing and too much drinking, the typical routine.

Saturday night, I found myself at my aunt's bridal shower. I barely knew what to even bring because what the hell do I know about those things? My friends are (mostly) far from being married (knock on wood), so those things are quite foreign to me. Plus being with my aunts and friends of their age group made me even more lost. The main entertainment was the hired stripper that dashed every perverted dream I've ever had of male strippers. He was absolutely gross, with bulging muscles that would make Vin Diesel look like a malnourished shrimp and the most colossal dick I've ever seen hanging out there in a harness (for lack of a better word) barely restrained. I'm no prude or wallflower, but I all I could think was "he better not put that thing anywhere near me." I suppose sensing that, he came over and did some sort of dance in front of me smacking my knee with it, as I clapped my hand over my horrified mouth and thought that I'd have to wash those pants the next day no doubt about it. I can guess you're thinking, well, damn Candice, you're such a punk! You act like you've never seen a dick before. Hello, Ms. I Went To Naked Boys Dancing For My Birthday! You're all talk and no action! And you'd be partially right, but that thing (because it was like a deformity) was like 15 inches and the diameter of a Sprite can. I think my mind went into shock thinking of someone coming at me in real life with something like that. Never in a million years, yo. And imagine...until Saturday I thought I was a size queen! Ha! I was so traumatized that I had to go home and try to flush out the sight of it from my mind.

I woke up bright and early on Sunday to do laundry before traipsing off to Woodbury Commons with Russ and the visiting P. Diddy. Mmm...shopping. Mmm...Junior's strawberry cheesecake later that night for dessert. We were out and about when apparently no one else was. As if everyone really left town! I've seen more people out on a Sunday when everyone knows damned well they have to be up the next morning. We called it quits fairly early and I woke up early the next morning before ixnaying that and getting up mid-afternoon. PrincessNella and I saw Shrek 2, even more not for kids really than the first one. The adults were definitely the only ones laughing this time around. Plus Puss N' Boots reminds me of one of my cats.

All in all, I've been very boring. So sorry. I'm in a slump. Sue me.

Nothing...That's Everything

Wednesday night, I was sitting at home, feeling like banging my head against the wall. I had just discovered that the one, the only Prefuse 73 was back in town to spin the next night and I had missed countless giveaways and shit. Speaking to Jenny later on, she revealed she was someone's plus one and I felt like crying. I consoled myself knowing that I was finally going to catch an Afropunk screening and besides that checking Man Man show #4.

PrincessNella met up with me at the job where I was chained to my desk trying to finish crap before 6 (I finally got out around 6:30) and we went to the movie. I loved it because it spoke to a lot of the things I feel as the black girl at hmm...just about every show I go to. One segment that bugged me was when Mariko went on about how thereotically she wanted to date black guys but they weren't into the same scene she was (which I can relate to), but additionally that her mom told her growing up that all black men were abusive and involved in drugs and that she should stay away. It killed me how matter of factly she mentioned it, as if it's common knowledge. You think that might have given her a bit of a complex about that? I might be crazy, but I think so. (I won't even get into how fucked up it is that her mother would say that being that she's either black herself or still married to a black man.) I mean, I lost the bet with my mother about being taller than her by 18 and that shit still occasionally bugs me, so if my mom was like "men that look like you aren't shit," I know I'd have issues. Mariko, get yourself to the shrink!

Anyhoo post-movie, we went to a noodle house that served dumplings so huge that I felt a little ill after 3. It was like a yummy brick in my stomach. I got a call from Jenny saying that there might be a chance for me to get into the Diesel show and I scurried up there as soon as we were done. Strolling up the venue was fucking madhouse in the streets. Hipsters everywhere standing up against the barricades. I saw a kid I went to college with and he gave me that look of recognition and I ignored him. If I wasn't interested then, I'm not interested now is the general rule of thumb. I stood with Jenny, Cameron, and Kristina for about 20 minutes or so before walking up. The way I saw it was "no harm, no foul." Prefuse will always be dope and one of these years I'll see him. I reserve a ticket now for the 2007 tour.

I wandered down to Sapph to kill some time before heading to the other show venue. My Friendster told the bartender to mix me up something strong and cheap and he obliged with some sweet concoction with a gin base that tasted like candy. They love trying to get me drunk in that joint. I'm their mixology guinea pig. The most wonderful part is that I'm feeling like myself again. Dancing is back to being like second nature. It's amazing that I can go out and not scowl (too much) again and have a good time. I thought it would never happen. Cheers to a paycheck!

After a while, I was up to here to catch the show (after a 2 second detour into 419). I got a glass of water and searched for a vantage point to peer out from as I do. I happened to look before I sat down on a couch, luckily because there lay a person. The thought flashed in my head that it was probably Ryan or something -- and I found out later that I was right. The bill was only a quarter done, so soon a hip-hop band came on. I felt them only partially due to a few reasons: 1) Usually when I think "hip hop band," I think a semi-conscious type performance is going to follow. And I would've been wrong in this case because every typical bullshit topic was covered except for guns. 2) Most male rappers are boring because they sound like everyone else. Has anyone heard of flow and an individual style? Jesus. I couldn't even distinguish between the two guys onstage. But, the girl was dope. Or maybe I'm just more partial to a female rapper, especially the ones who are on the "yeah, I'm a tomboy but that doesn't mean I'm not a woman" tip.

After their set, most people in the crowd took it as their cue to bounce which was sort of disappointing. Still, I was ready to represent with my t-shirt and happened to run into Kate. It turns out we were sitting across the room for each other for a good while and no idea. Funny when that happens. She introduced me to some folks and I did the double take when she said to one "this is Kitty Power." Wha? As I'm aware, when you Google "Man Man Ace Fu Records" or something along those lines, I'm pretty high on the returns list. But, the fact that they happened to keep reading? Freaks my shit out. Stop it, people! (No, I'm just kidding. But, leave comments or something. I like it when lurkers come out of the woodwork.)

The set was great -- minus some level problems (everyone's a critic, right?) -- and people drifted in as they were playing. This one chick was doing some drunken out of control dance and I had yeti flashbacks and made a snide comment to Kate about how I hoped thet girl didn't start stripping. It's fun watching something click in people's faces as I'm sure happened to me back in October. I spent most of the set back then whispering to Jenny, "this is the weirdest, most awesomest thing I have ever seen" and I was hooked. But, let me stop...I'm such a shill. But, I might as well be shameless. Everyone vaguely curious about what I've been talking about non-stop lately should go to this show on Tuesday. For real. Because after all, this isn't my job, But, I hate seeing things I like languishing in obscurity for no reason. As Kate and I discussed, lame ass blogging bitches have hyped far worse.

Free Is The Way To Be

One of these days, I really ought to say to myself: "You know, self, perhaps it's not the best idea to get drunk and then get about 3 hours of sleep on a work night. As we discovered last week, that doesn't really work so well."

Then again, fuck it. I'm up, dammit, and we do know that is half the battle. Though, I might still be drunk or at least working my way to ridiculously hungover. Stupid whiskey shots. Bad Candice. I just need to invest in a pair of sunglasses and hope too many people don't try to talk to me today. But of course, watch me be in work up to my eyeballs. I'll just move half speed. It'll be okay.

This is a work in progress. The whole story is forthcoming. And you thought I was kidding when I said I'm back to a post a day, didn't you?

ETA: Can you believe when I got there they actually had work stuff for me to do? What's that about? Meanwhile, I feel like I'm gonna vomit. Good times. But I know you don't really want to hear about that afterword to my little
adventure, so onto the hijinks...

Yesterday was one of those banner days. I knew from that start that it was gonna play out like a good one. I thought I was looking quite good yesterday. A very nice outfit topped off by my much-loved white blazer. And my hair was in the not scary curly Medusa style (umm...you'd have to see it to know what I mean). Around 12:30 at work, my stomach was all grumbly and then I remembered the catered lunch. And boy was that good! I made a complete pig out of myself by bypassing salads straight to sandwiches. Ham and brie on a baguette...yummy! Grilled chicken in spinach wrap was my personal fave. I don't even want to say how much I ate overall, but I was definitely getting those "what a pig!" looks and also took 2 home for dinner. No point in having it go to waste. I did end up feeling a little ill though I have to say. I've got food issues for sure. When I get bored, I want to snack, but I've restrained myself at the job because I sit still way too long to get in the habit of going to the vending machine. And I'm fucking broke too. But, whatever a girl who eats...the fucking horror.

I killed some time strolling down from Chelsea Piers to Christopher Street through Hudson River Park. I never cease to be amazed how great it looks -- minus the occasional dilapidated warehouse here and there. When I grow up and make some serious money (or ingratiate myself into some rich person's will -- it's all the same really), I want a loft on West Street. One night PrincessNella and I walked along that strip and glanced into apartments (since apparently obscenely rich people have a thing against curtains) and basically drooled as we went about our business. But yesterday was lovely and it was nice watching everyone stroll/bike/walk by as I camped out on a bench and chattered away on the phone before making my way to the party.

Because the fest was rolling with the big bucks, they rented this whole place out and gave us an open bar and food to amuse ourselves with. I was reunited with my Tuesday screening buddy and we gathered others to make a pack of wisecracking booze and food hounds. Being the wandering type, I periodically made rounds up and down the venue. I stopped on the middle floor when I realized that I had an optimum skewer grabbing position and stood to wait. I found myself in a conversation with a guy looking for a veggie skewer, but was shit out of luck. The carnivores ruled for a change. He was the first and only fest volunteer that is a filmmaker yet wasn't creepily hyper focused/intense/boorish about using the experience as a launchpad for Hollywood domination. We got to talking about movies, music, and all that shit and then bonded over whiskey shots (which is the reason I'd like to crawl in a hole and die about now). The worst part about the shots was that I actually said that I was a trooper mixing different alcohols, but once whiskey came into the mix, I was a goner. You'd think that would've stopped me, but I'm me, so...yeah. I did my part as a Man Man shill to convince him to go to one of the upcoming shows and even dragged him along with my merry band as we changed venues.

Drunk people are funny. About 8 of us made our way up to here for whatever reason and ran like kids through the torrential rains. We settled into the bar and I drank water trying to at least make waking up Tuesday until we all split up after an hour or so.

On my train ride home, I finished that last sandwich and went to bed without passing go once I got home, sometime around 3am. Did I mention I'm experimenting with waking up around 6:30? Yeah. My eyes were blazing red, my head was pounding, and all I could think was that I could really throw up. That feeling never left me unfortunately but I didn't, so it's all good. I don't want to die anymore fortunately but I'm not feeling good. I think I'm on going out hiatus...until Thursday at least.

I Confess

I supposed it's just because I've realized that my one year blogiversary is on Saturday, but I've been reflecting on this whole webspace/writing thing. I'm sure all the words on here could've written about 3 novels. It's been a good run so far.

I think it's interesting that

A) I've stuck with this so long and got so obsessive that I went out and bought the domain -- plus have it almost filled to capacity with stuff (though the mp3s have more to do with that)
B} sometimes it seems like everyone and their mom has a blog
C) I've met so many people through this whether fellow bloggers and/or just readers
D) I don't think I'll ever get used to someone referring to me as Candice Kittypower, though I've taken that naming practice into real life
E) despite having so many words about myself and what I do on here, I never fail to be surprised when someone references something I've put up or say that they read it.

Wednesday night was hilarious because the just about the first thing out of Ryan Man Man's mouth when we sat down was: "so, I hear you have a problem with my moustache?" "Wha?" I feigned. "I never said anything like that." "Kate said you did. She said she read it on your blog -- whatever that means." In case you don't want to work your way through that old megapost, the incriminating piece in question was:

My highlight was this group Man Man (aka Magic Blood aka Gamelon) from Philly, that seemingly appeared out of nowhere to be a B-52s/Talking Headsesque colossal bit of wonderfulness. They've got a fucking xylophone! It's two keyboardists and two percussionists, but everyone also plays percussion too. Dude, they've got a song where the chorus is "Meow Meow." Man Man can have all my kids. I'm in love. But, we'll only consummate after the singer guy cuts that damned poor excuse for a moustache off.

And despite what some may think, there's so much self-censoring going on around here. Isn't it almost scary to imagine that these long posts of "I went here did this, then that, blah blah 2500 word narratives" are only part of the story half the time? I try to leave out the parts of episodes that make me appear to be insane, a n____o (let's not give the p0rn seekers any leads, shall we?), a step away from rehab, too misanthropic, and/or the dumbest girl alive, but believe me, there's a lot of shit packed into those long posts. Sometimes I throw in really scandalous shit about 3/4 in because I know y'all don't really read all of that. Not blatantly of course, but it's in there. Or maybe I'm just fucking with you. You tell me.

There's been plenty of days when I want to talk some serious shit, but I know that person might read this, so I save it for the journal. Like Saturday, there was this party where P. Friendster and I ran around boozing it up for real. (Poor P. He tried to match me drink for drink, but felt that shit the next morning. I've got a pickled liver. I can go about my day and be alright, so me in the moment is no real judge.) Now, I'd like to talk about the party, but I'm kinda torn. It was thrown by a friend K (who I seriously need to hang out with more) who greeted me with a "Miss Kittypower" which really threw my shit off. I'm tempted yet not gonna get all into the stuff that happened at the party -- especially not how I got cockblocked and am still bugged by that -- except I just did, but that's so vague that it's almost meaningless.

It took almost a year but it's kinda like a science.

Last Hurrah of A Supposed Former Night Owl

In a nutshell, I've had a week of:

Monday, being a computer geek (spending a chunk of the reception time as a wallflower and getting all excited to meet a fave blogger, among others). But, most importantly, the long awaited reunion with friend and journalist extraordinaire, Steven.

Tuesday, using my volunteer perks and good luck to catch 2 screenings and be up on a hot dog and tequila afterparty (where I ran into a blogger and continued to talk about blogs like a geek while saying I hate to do that)

Wednesday, after getting an IM from Kate Ace Fu, chatting, drinking, and wandering the streets with a fave musician who says I must be from a different planet because I am so weird and that we should get married so he can move to New York (perhaps and I don't think so. I was preoccupied thinking how he and Alex are like seperated at birth and then later writing Alex an email to the same effect).

Thursday, seeing Bill and the DiVASget their asses kicked for the second time in the past couple of months (over 4 hours plus intermission) from a sweet balcony seat.

All while hating myself and wanting my bed.

I'll flesh this out later. Then again, maybe I won't. TGIF! Sleep shall be mine! But, you know, I did feel a little twinge of "I'm a loser" when Ms. Mommy went out to go party and I was sitting at home playing with a cat. Sad really.

Against The Wednesday Monsters

I currently lack time and the attention span to make a real post out of this. So, in a nutshell:

I didn't kill that irritating fellow volunteer from Tuesday, but boy, did he make it hard! I think I may have met the most annoying man alive. I actually called people in the middle of the day to complain about him instead of decking him. I also think I'm the only person not a "maverick who is doing it to get into the film industry MY WAY!"/"film student with a kickass internship all about gathering contacts for my eventual mastery of the industry game." Shit, doesn't anyone volunteer just for fun and the swag potential? Apparently, I'm just a crazy person.

I went to the Man Man show and it was awesome. I got a free, pre-altered t-shirt just for being the super dedicated fan not related to the record company or a friend. And I was also trampled by a huge man in a yeti suit. (Yes, you read that right) and treated to some pseudo-Flashdance pathetic cry for attention. Kitty Power loves Kate Ace Fu! And I wanted to see her spin at the downtown afterparty, but my yeti encounter left me with a sore knee and limp combo that led me to cut my night short. But, Man Man rocks!

More to come as I flesh this out probably tomorrow.

Group Intrepidity

Apparently for spring, I've decided to jump into group activities -- if only because I'm excited that people are finally willing to leave their house again. Hanging out also has this addition urgency of probably being the last time I can keep my crazy late schedule before entering the grind. The next couple of weeks are going to be the pits because in addition to starting the job on Monday, I'm also going to be a volunteer. Then again, don't cry too much for me. Free movie screenings, ho!

PrincessNella has been using her new gym membership to also spur me into being a gym bunny. That's a type of thing unlikely to happen because though I don't actually mind exercise and I'm not that out of shape really, getting there is truly the hardest part for me. Besides, I'm still bitter about my relationship with the devil, so gyms are kinda on my shit list. Last Wednesday though, we went to this fun little reggae workout class where I amused myself learning the video dances and having deja vu to West African Dance class without the teacher yelling at me.

From there, across town to Chelsea Piers where J. Monkey was throwing a shindig for work. God, we love free drinks! Especially when it comes with a show and a good cause behind it. We added Lina to the group and trekked through Chelsea in search of food before settling on burgers at a deli on 8th Avenue and some quiet chill time at 419.

Friday, Lina and I were off to some sort of art collective party that friends from work invited her too. The party consisted of people that were just about sick of seeing each other, so we were popular. Though more interested in staking out the food table. Good dumplings! We took our leave after a while though everyone stood in the same places they had been when we had arrived with no sign of leaving. They made us promise to check the next "party." Umm...we'll consider it. Then, we were off downtown to meet with school kids her year. I wondered if I can be considered classist because I straight up rolled my eyes when this kid who had been talking forever about how downtrodden he was all of a sudden started invited people to the opening of his summer home. Wes kid, through and through. I invited Grandmastah H and B down to where we were so I wouldn't stab myself with my keys. The boys were entertaining as always and I've forgiven GH for his birthday party mistake. In form, he scoped out my friends and encouraged me to be proactive in securing a cute one for him.

"I'm not a pimp, you know," I said. To which he replied, "I'm not really asking you to pimp. Just be helpful." And I explained to him that beyond introducing and giving space if they hit it off, I take a hands-off approach. No point in getting someone pissed off if they're not interested, you know?

Saturday found PrincessNella and I at a party at a place I've been meaning to get to for a minute. On our way there through the darkness, I've remembered why Williamsburg never really caught on with me. 1) They're not big on street lights considering you're traipsing through gloomy, abandoned-looking industrial areas, which is connected to 2) the place isn't very "I'm just gonna trek alone" activities which is the base for most of my intrepid activities. And 3) the whole neighborhood seems to travel in packs which reminds me of college, that therefore annoys me, and makes me stand out more when I'm flying solo. But, we found ourselves amused by the place since it reminded us of our HS gym, complete with mattresses covered to resemble mats and bleachers. It was like the 9th grade dance with more people, better music, and alcohol drinks you didn't have to hide from teachers (not that I did that sort of thing. I was a saint back in the day, let me tell you.).

Taking a phone call ended up being a momentous event. I had Dodgeballed my location to jog the memory of the MIA P. Friendster who I was supposed to hang with and he gave a ring like I knew he would. I escaped from the noisy gym floor to chat where it was quieter near the entrance. A kid passing by did a double take and stood near my left as if he had something to say. I looked at him quizzically to see if I could place him, but no dice. Then coming up on my right was someone I did recognize. It was the villian from a movie I'm ashamed to have seen in the theater (well, not really. It was free!) -- and current Paper most beautiful person listee among other movies I know him for. So, I'm struck with the urge to say the line (they're all comedic really, but this one was beyond the pale in that moment) that had Ant and I dying in the theater. In case you haven't seen it (you poor thing), he's playing a Dave Meyers-type video director who pushes up on Honey a little too much before he gets the 5 across the face. His reply to that is: "Bitch, how you gonna play me like that?" but in this funny pseudothug voice. I almost laughed until I cried. So, I'm talking to P all "oh shit, he's standing right next to me and he's short like all actors are in real life, but yo, I'm dying to say that line or at least say I like his stuff" and P's all "do it! do it!" Strangely, at that moment, who walks by but Abe. We chat for a min and he says he's on a recon mission for the still open bar and I ask him to pick up a vodka cranberry for me if he finds it (but I never see him again. He drank my drink!).

Eventually, I get off the phone and don't say anything to David, though I run into him about 4 more times all over the place. PrincessNella and I get stopped by the guy from my left at the door who did think he knew me, but I definitely didn't. He and I chat in highly excitable tones and I make a new friend. Always fun. We switched numbers and have plans to find each other on Friendster and eventually see New York Minute (hopefully altered) in the theater. Plus he complimented my Blacula shirt. How could we not be friends?! PN and I amused ourselves as the party continued by dancing until we would realize that somehow we'd become the center of a circle that would form around us and have to move three times over. They were trying to steal our moves. People are messed up.

Eventually, the party became less interesting and we made our way out of Brooklyn with an incredibly short visit to 419 before heading home. Me in the house before 3am on a Saturday night? Imagine that shit?! But, it was a long night and I didn't care. One more week of late nights complete with a Man Man show on Wednesday. It's gonna have to be something to top last week.

Warm Road

On Saturday, I stumbled on the real reason I need to leave my part of Queens: it's significantly colder here than any other part of town. After P. Friendster and I motivated ourselves to be proactive and get cultured at the same time by going to the big Brooklyn Museum event, I was standing at the bus stop actually contemplating putting on my parka because of the wind. I was downright freezing standing there and was about to make my way back across the street and into the house before the bus pulled up. But, as the J wound its way across Queens into Brooklyn, I was happy I didn't. It was beautiful out there, breezeless and best of all, fucking warm. Spring had really arrived.

Getting to the museum from my house was a chore and a half that took surprisingly less time than I initially imagined. Taking the J to the C to the S to the 2 was only an hour trip. I can't get to some points in Manhattan as soon as that. Plus the ride was nice, minus the neverending staircase at Franklin Avenue. The last time I took that shuttle, you had to go upstairs to the C booth and get a little ticket to drop in a box once you went outside to make your way up to the S platform. That has to be over seven years easy. We're talking pre-Metrocards. I started off with a brisk jog thinking I wasn't going far, but the steps would not stop. I reached the top of the landing, a little beat. I saw the S in the station and heard the bell, but I knew damn well I didn't have enough wind or energy to run for shit. I half-heartedly strolled towards it before it left and I turn towards the bench to collapse. Strange considering that you'd think since I'm exercising now I'd be in better shape than when I was just sitting on my ass in the house. No such luck.

The new museum entrance is really beautiful. The fountain does a little show and cherry blossom trees are all around the stone benches. I got a little nostalgic for DC, remembering the nice stroll from the AU satellite campus to the main one, passing the grove of cherry blossom trees at the Japanese Embassy. The best about being around there was that I was perfectly comfortable wearing only my blazer as a jacket, even though the day was winding down. I'd forgotten how wonderful a season besides winter could be. The place was packed and it warmed my heart to see everyone coming out. That soon faded when I wondered how everyone got those cute little totes and where I could get one. I met up with P. and we strolled around all the exhibits. The Patrick Kelly one was a trip and he remarked that many of the designs were like a scam on those who should know fashion. I remember my first day as a temp helping to set this up. Some of the shoes were the ugliest, most impractical things I've ever seen. One that looked like it belonged on a genie not a person and this four-heeled monstrosity. All you have to do is look at the obsession people had with Uggs and those rubber Wellingtons to know that people with money to spend will buy just about any ugly thing.

After the museum, we strolled down Flatbush and parted at Atlantic before I ended up walking to Jay Street because I miscalculated the Hoyt stop like a jackass. I hopped on the F to Sapph, something I haven't done on a weekend in months. I soon remembered why. The place was so packed that sweat was practically dripping off the walls, but more importantly, it was wack. The place apparently turned into some strange hipster den that night because of a birthday party and I randomly ran into a friendster of mine that I had brought there a long time ago (on a Thursday). We caught up and he said that he had told his friends as they got there that he had been there before on "a date." I raised an eyebrow at that because I didn't know that's what that had been back in the day. Funny. See, I'm totally inept at reading meeting signals -- or judging what I give out. I assume every outing with a guy is a friend thing, even if I'm attracted to him or it's been expressly noted that it's not just platonic. Live and learn, I suppose.

I jumped ship over to the far west side and strolled about the cobblestones before ducking into 419. The crowd was okay if my interest level has dropped. I miss my bartender friend! For the second time in two nights, I left there and strolled around the corner to a place that's been growing on me. I think there's something about the thrill of knowing that I can get in (not that I've ever had a problem anywhere really) that makes a place interesting (if I like it, that is). Despite generally liking to be casual and chill, I like going to places that are "cool" and actually cool in my jeans and sneaks, Kangol, and hair peeking out unconventionally. Nightlife on my own terms, further illustrating that this article is as full of shit as I thought on first read. But really, I just want something new. Another bar with $5-7 drinks and good music that I can make into a home base. I'm glad that spring is finally here because I was getting restless.

You Take The Good, You Take The Bad

On Tuesday afternoon, I was looking worriedly out the window. The sky was downright black, the day overcast, and it just didn't look good out there. I began to wonder if I could just go back to bed and forget about the whole party thing. That wasn't really a good sign.

Still, I soldiered on and pressed my white blazer, looking good but nearly ruined in the wash Sunday. (A personal note for future reference: something that has dye on it isn't a good candidate to be thrown in with your whites. Luckily for me, I skimped on the bleach.) As I was walking out the door, the phone rang. I stood at the door listening to the message. It was my HR contact from the place I'd done a second interview at on Monday. She said something about wanting to "check in" with me and I wondered what the hell that meant. My J train ride was trying to figure out if that meant: 1) "Just calling to tell you that you suck. Thanks for playing. You are the weakest link, goodbye!" 2) "I just wanted to schedule interview #3 with you. If we still like you, you've only got 3 rounds to go!" 3) "I want to offer you the job, but I'm not going to say that on your answering machine." Jay-V and I discussed it on the cells as I made my always running behind ass to the place.

I walked in to see ladders strewn about and workmen working on the ceiling and I almost shit a brick. The co-owner was all, "hey there. Just putting in some fans. We should be done soon. What time are you getting started again?" I replied, "uhh...7." (It was 6:50.) "Hmm," he said. "Well, we'll clean this right up." I nodded a bit worried and strolled off with Jay. We conferred amongst ourselves with "WTF"s as we strolled over to Le Chapeau for some dinner. I sat in the high chair at our table and felt like a giant. I said to her, "hello, little girl, how was your day?" and she later laughed hysterically until tears came out of her eyes when I tucked my napkin in my collar to make a bib. My jacket, dammit! I'm really clumsy. Did I ever mention we're 12 on the inside?

I take a break from dinner to head back over and see the newly arrived PrincessNella, Helen, and S. Friendster. I chat with them before going to the bar and ordering up a Stoli Raspberry and tonic from the ultrahipster bartender. (Mmm...brand name alcohol. I don't even like vodka tonics normally, but that was slamming. And the best part: it was free!) I excused myself to go get my food and Jay and we returned to the same three people sitting there. Around this time, I thought I might should start worrying, but we all just kicked it circle style, as a friend of S. and Helen plus Trendvickster were added later on. Then I decided to start calling folks, most of whom were stuck at work or at home hibernating because of the rain. Promoting is not easy, especially when the weather is the pits, and officially the party was a bust, but I don't feel like it was a total failure -- except business-wise. A group of yuppie randoms wandered in and I sent subliminal messages across the room to persuade them to keep drinking. Lina dropped in and offered the advice to call back the job lady the next morning and be aggressive. Later on came P. Friendster and Kali, who stuck it out with me until I bounced a little after one, trooper style. Everyone was dope, hanging out, talking, laughing, and having a good but definitely low-key considering what we expected. Major thanks going out all that ran through and we were all, "Buck up and keep smiling, sad little clown!" Though I feared the owner would take a pound of flesh out of me because I didn't meet the guarantee, he cut me major slack because of the shitty ass weather and offered to give me another chance in May. That means y'all that skipped, better have your butts up in there, aight?

Strange was the hipster bartender who had left early on yet came back later with friends in tow. He asked me how the party was and I made the hand movements of a pulling a trigger to my head. He sat down with us and tried to reassure me before saying "But, you look great though!" and kissing my hand. Erf? I'm such a bad reader of flirting and such unless they're really blatant, yet even with this one, I'm still skeptical. You should wish you were there though. Ever seen a person who can't actually blush blush? It's quite a sight.

Night overall: A+
Party: C-
Money made: Definitely in the -$ range
Savath + Savalas tickets bought: Nil. If someone can rig that Flavorpill contest so I can win, I might be your best friend. And I'm only partially kidding.

Wanderings

It's been a minute since I've done one of these. I held off in case of writer's block for my test column. I ended up writing about the present lull period before (hopefully) the social life goes back to popping as it gets warmer.

I've noted for a while that my energy is zapped. The job thing has been bothering the shit out of me, to the point where I couldn't even allow myself to have fun because I've been thinking about it so much. I've been spending a lot of time at home watching TV -- as if you couldn't tell from all the VH1 Classics related posts. Mostly because it doesn't cost money to stay. I turned into a pill before my very eyes and others agreed -- but then again, what do I care what those sniffers think? Just kidding. Some of my nicest friends are addicts.

In trying to lift myself out of the blahs, I've reverted to some August era behaviors. I've gotten too comfortable in some surroundings and subsequently bored, so I'm back to walking and looking for something new (to me). I've found myself wrapping up nights in the lower LES/Chinatown, ending up miles from where I started. I forgot how I loved learning new streets and filling in the mental map. I've lifted the megaclub ban and went to Checkered with TrendVickster a few Fridays ago. I danced! and I liked it! It was a nice return to form. I did draw the line however at doing the Girls Gone Wild! repressed schtick at some wack ass haunt in the Village. There was a bachelorette party whooping it up on the poles. There's something about poles in a bar that makes every Suzanne think that she's Bambi The Stripper. I can't go for that, no can do. I'm one of those people that if I want to go crazy, I don't need the "I'm so drunk!" excuse. Boredom alone works for me.

Last Saturday, I made a visit to 419 in a minute. My friend the upstairs bartender had informed me the week before that it was his last night. I came out to support and say goodbye. He's hanging up his uhhh, shaker on moving onto civilian world, but said knowing me and my hauntings of the place we'd probably meet again. For old times' sake, I ordered port and he was cool enough to give it to me no charge. And after months of joking and chatting, we finally introduced ourselves. It feels like the end of an era. Then again, despite all my posturing, I am the sentimental type.

Knock On Wood

Would you folks be dears and come to my party? What party you ask? This one, natch:

Knock On Wood
Tuesday April 13th
7pm - 2am
No Cover

Music: hip-hop, R&B, reggae, classics

After work specials from 7-9pm: 2 for 1 drinks and ladies get the first one comped

If You Build It

Strangely, it dawned on me yesterday that considering I'm throwing Party #1 Tuesday, I haven't said much about it besides a few allusions. "If you build it, they will come" or something or another, so here's the vitals:

Knock On Wood

Tuesday April 13th
7pm - 2am
No Cover

Music: hip-hop, R&B, reggae, classics

After work specials from 7-9pm: 2 for 1 drinks and ladies get the first one comped

So, everyone should go and bring their friends, neighbors, and randoms off the street. Plus it'll be an especially good time because I'm there, natch. It's for a good cause, guys. A portion of the proceeds supports the CAP Fund.

Figures

I've got a test column due Monday -- me and a nightlife column is that a match made in heaven or what? Better would be me as a gossip columnist but certain people didn't respond to my "hire me!" packages. I blame Gawker for shouting out the opening to the world when I probably still had a fighting chance, or something. Anyways, leading up to writing 750+ words, I seem to have developed a bit of going out fright. All day I was semi-desperately looking around for someone to check this film fest launch party (though I can think of at least 5 people I didn't ask -- the panic is the most important part), but I went off to it alone and tottered around the place like a scared wallflower. Even after the free booze. You would think that it's a little too late in the game for me to be losing my nerve. Ah well. I'll hopefully snap out of it because this weekend's gotta be good.

In other news, I've been crystallizing the plans for the Tuesday party. So far it's an one-off, but it's a matter of seeing how well I do. Truthfully, the amount needed to make me happy is low because all I want is enough revenue to get me to this next Friday -- and maybe a Metrocard. I've named the party "Knock On Wood" because I think I'm due for an influx of good luck. Earlier, I was telling Jay-V and Ant that I was starting to feel discouraged because of the work related silence so far this week. This week's mood is definitely subdued. Then, I went into thinking to myself that I should be so down because hey, at least I've got my health, prompting me to quickly add "let me go knock on some wood because that's the last thing I need." So, voila, Knock On Wood party. Details and invites are forthcoming. I'll even throw it up here on the blog because hey, lurkers, I'll take your money too. It's not just for friends.

And I mean that in the nicest way possible, natch.

Getting My Metrocard's Worth

Nick commented that my entries are coming across as way on the cryptic side. Yeah, I can see that. Hmm, what's up in plain words? I've gotten a writing job since I realized a while ago that for a person who calls herself a writer, I don't seem to write much of anything (except for this). I've got a monthly column on a webzine and I'll link it up when it goes live, natch. I'm also wading into the promoting pool with this little thing I'm throwing in 2 weeks. More details to come once I get my shit together. On the job front, the prospects are looking good...damned good. I've met so many people and pitched myself so much in these past two weeks that I'm stuck in "sell, sell! spin, spin!" mode the second someone asks me about myself. My energy is zapped. It's going to be a low-key weekend for sure...unless I someone throws something persuasive out there which is pretty likely.

April Fools' Day was amusing. It was funny all the silly things people would come out and say to "fool" you. The best part was when Lina was convinced I was fooling her and vice versa when she got mixed up with days and had to back out of going to our alumni reception. Ack...yes, I went to an alumni reception. And I really wonder why they send me letters asking for money? I do give them the impression that I've got school spirit or something.

Jay-V and I had a mini-reunion as we hung around some of our ex-classmates. I was under the impression that I hadn't seen her in ages yet it's only been a little over a month. Any gathering of school people is semi-interesting because there's always a random I had forgotten I really liked until I see them again. This time it was this kid M, a sharp kid whose manner of speaking is totally standup style. Between him and Jay's infectious laugh, I would start smiling/laughing until I realized that though I couldn't even make out words, I couldn't help myself. The funny part was seeing everyone all spiff. Not that all of us were bums up at Wes, but sweats and the like are just about the universal uniform. Therefore, it was funny to see people in suits and ties, little black dresses with stockings and pumps, and all sorts of adult wear. I dressed like an adult, but I had to top it off with the Kangol. I couldn't help myself. The way I see it, I'm straddling that line between school-aged slacker and genuine adult right now, so I'm riding it for all it is worth.

Later, I ventured out to the dark corners of DUMBO where I took in the Different Kitchen party. I shot the shit with Nick, some of his friends and the bartender who actually knows someone from Wes my year. Sheesh. Too many school connections in one night. I'm surprised I didn't run into someone randomly too. I introduced myself to Ian but I was too lazy to add "of Kitty Power" to my name, so he was like "umm hi, Random Friend of Nick's Who Just Shook My Hand, enjoy the party!" I had to disappear for a while to answer a call from Tino, checking in from New Mexico. I had been sitting on the J earlier in the evening, bored as shit, and I left a message for him. We'd played phone tag for a while before we connected. I miss that kid. I'm trying to guilt trip him to making a coast visit.

From DUMBO to Sapph, where I spent a grand total of 20 minutes before heading home. Have you noticed what I didn't mention? That would be dropping into 419. I'm leaving that place alone for a little while. I can't afford the drinks right now plus the kids I see there all the time are probably beginning to think that I was the one forever in the house when they get there. And I'm currently bored with it. Seeking freshness for real. (And I've got more to say about that in general, but that's for another post.) As I waited for the bus, I chatted with my friend at the bakery of how I'm a fat old-feeling cow and I blame him because he gives me food to eat late at night. He pshawed that and gave me some cheese danishes and a giant cookie and I killed a danish on the bus ride. I'd say "I'll walk it off later" or whatever people who do exercise say they'll do, but it won't happen really, hence why I'm fat. But, I'm not really. I just like complaining about that. Besides, as long as I'm on the curvaveous side rather than the chunky one, it's all good in my book. Pretty soon I'll be able to walk my plump behind to my heart's content, rollerblade, bike, all that type of active shit. Oooh...spring weather. I can't wait!

Shadow Movements

I've been so boring lately. It's downright painful for me. My energy is zapped, my attention wanes, my joie de vivre is just lacking. Imagine how surprised I was spending most of last week out and about besides that. I was running on autopilot for real. Tuesday was standing on the outskirts at Ghostly, Wednesday was standing on the outskirts at the tail end of a circus themed magazine party (and I didn't even get one, dammit. Though, I scored some cotton candy which was sweet) here before the scene turned into lifestyles of the rich and idle (side note: a bold faced club that doesn't actually suck. The novelty of it all! Is it expensive as shit though? Ridiculously. Strictly clandestine beverages and water unless you roll with a big spender), and Thursday was the same bat time, same bat station, rolling through too late, chatting with my people, and having more fun sitting on the curb non-interacting. I took that as a sign that I'd be better served staying in Friday. And I did and the world is still in one piece. Miracles can happen.

I had spoken to Lina earlier and found that she was experiencing a similar case of the ultrablahs. I guess it's a case of the job seeker "the warm weather is coming but what does that matter to me since I'll still be broke and jobless" blues. Saturday though, I rounded up PrincessNella to at least help me feel more lively since I wanted to be out and about. We ventured uptown past the old school stop, noting that we hadn't be on the 6 like that in years. The daily 6 trek hasn't been a thing in almost 5 years now. Time really flies when you're preoccupied with other things. She and I have hung out twice this week. A downright miraculous thing given that despite living about 15 blocks apart on practically the same street, our schedules just never mesh. On Wednesday, we went to dinner at that place I've been trying to get to for months now (I'll admit I read about it in a Daily Candy email and they made it sound so good. I'm such a closet buppie -- as well as easily influenced. It's shameful) and strolling around the Hudson River Park and West Village/Chelsea, marvelling at how much NYC has changed. And talking about real estate because our master plan is to escape our not-so-terrible-really mothers and become roomies. The hanging out portion of my week was great. I guess my priorities are just shifting. I might be partied out -- or at least temporarily because it's hard to be all carefree with the financial ruin monkey on your back.

Anyhoo, Saturday night in Spanish Harlem, we come across this school building with bouncer looking guys standing out front. Slightly confused, I sarcastically wonder if someone rented out the lunchroom for a party, but when I check my voicemail, this is indeed the place. We pay our $5 after conferring with the woman with the guest list and stroll up these narrow steps to find variations of the youngish and/or hip lining the walls. The school was actually converted apartments and two floors were throwing a joint party. It was nice not wandering alone for a change, though it cut down on the random magnetism considerably. Not necessarily a bad thing I guess. I'm the type who loves an after hours, even in spirit since we were out of there as things were really getting ready to rage. Nothing wrong with some low-key fun.

I would've said the same for Sunday if I hadn't gotten home at 4:45am. That was only because I had to make my way back to Queens from Jersey City during a bit of a transportation dead zone. (As an aside, I've crystallized why exactly I hate druggies. They babble nonstop about bullshit so tenaciously, are lethargic, and straight up act like dope fiends. Ooh, let's spend hours sitting around talking about how much you want a hit and calling the dealer who is obviously ignoring you. Get the fuck over it! I actually considered swimming back to New York.) The view is nothing new to those who commute into town but taking the PATH into the World Trade Center stop has to be one of the freakiest rides. Emerging from the dark tunnel into the light of the Ground Zero pit, riding along the outskirts in dead silence. Then coming off the train into the sterile station, every footstep echoing. I gave myself the creeps and really hauled ass, though I still missed the train I needed. Knowing the schedule on your line has its advantages and disadvantages.

Life Goes On

I've come down from my week of slight fame, having been a little too successful in having that disconnect between my real name and the blog. Ah well. Great run though. I got mad comments, met another Wes alumna, and most importantly, got my little (well, big) ego stroked and made everyone terribly jealous. It was a good week to be me -- minus all that interviewing stuff.

Ant made up for his party absence with dinner -- though true to our CP time natures, we missed the movie portion of the evening and then just lost interest. We spent hours at 419 where my friendly bartender teased me for getting there "5 hours early" at 9:30 and also refilled my port (for free and without prompting) out of the goodness of his heart. Home bars are where it's at for real! The previous night I was where I always am on a Thursday, i.e. Sapph, playing guinea pig for the bartenders since the crowd was kinda slow. When I walked through the door, everyone was saying that I should throw a party every week because of the turnout. Don't I know it? Unfortunately, I need the main priority taken care of before the smaller stuff can fall into place.

Speaking of that, Shady and I are almost like straight up buddies now. Fucking craziness. I'm even tempted to remove the Shady descriptor. Then again, we haven't seen each other in the real life sense since those episodes where he resembled a kid trying to have fun on his mom's watch. Even when we were as cool as we ever were (read: not especially except for limited circumstances), we didn't hang out, per se. We've always had our common interests: writing, music, similar opinions on "scene" shit going on around town, but obvious disparities: being from different places, rarely being in NYC at the same time, that are commonalities can be construed as low level interests on my part but that he's seriously doing the writing (and boy, am I fucking jealous about that!), music, and scene things. And that he has the capacity to be shady and prickish, but that's something that can be said about many around town. Myself included I'm sure. Anyways, he and I are in the same job boat, so we've spent a fair amount of days bitching too each other and trying to keep our spirits up and all that shit. The world has turned on its ear for sure.

I Was Drunk And It Was My Birthday Anyway

Thursday was the birthday party. It was naturally at Sapph because even though I go there a lot less than I used to, it's my home base and that party is guaranteed to be a good time.

I'd been running around like a nutcase all day, finding myself getting frustrated by a lot of stupid shit happening and then wasting time. Though it was supposed to start at 9, I got home at 8 and still had to shower, get dressed, yadda yadda. To say I was late is both an understatement and a given. I had apparently just missed Bill, but his drop in was corroborated, so he gets a "Thanks for coming!" shout. A fair amount of people overestimated my penchant for running behind and there really late, but I was just happy to see everyone because I had total hostess anxiety going in to it. The crowd was totally a grab bag of Candice friends: a Styleaholic, The Random Collective, Jenny, Hani, Lina, Grandmastah H and B, Trendvickster, Princess Nella, P. Diddy (all the way from CT), and many others from school and such with a few randoms. At first, I was running around trying to be a good hostess and introduce everyone about, but then I realized that interfered with my drinking, so I made quick intros as I sipped.

Ah, the drinks. I spent too much time nursing the first Amaretto Sour, drank the second one in a lot less time, and then blinked and the other two were gone. After that came a flaming Sambuca shot, a Cosmo, a Gin and Tonic with Peach (that got spilled...boo!), a tequila shot, and two bottles of water. After that, we switched venues and I just stopped counting because then I would realize that my liver was about to give out. I danced and looked sharp in my pristine brand-new white blazer, though my hair was in untamed, "just got an electric shock" mode. Jenny took pics:

(More at Aeki Tuesday)

I was super touched that all my worker bee pals made the trek out on a Thursday and came with so many presents. I was just squealing over things all night and had a mega swag pile. It's gonna take me days to get through it all. The most comedic present was hands down Grandmastah H's gift of a Rolling Jesus action figure, Mr. T In Your Pocket keychain, and the Dr. Seuss book. I was laughing my ass off. (In an aside, Ms. Mommy was surprisingly against me using Jesus as a new toy for the cats. I figured I'd roll him around on the floor and see what they did and her response was along the lines of "No. Just no." I might still do it when she's not around. And yes, I do know I'm going to hell.) I felt really really loved and will be sending all thank you notes and such. Hilarious was when I was ready to clear out about 1 something and everyone was inexplicably unwilling to let me leave when in the corner of my eye, I saw the candles from the approaching cake. The whole party was awesome. Thanks again everybody for coming!

Lina, a Wes friend, his co-worker, and I felt like raging so we were off uptown. Bankers sure have a thing for those "bottle popping" joints. The bathroom was tres cool though. From there, off to 419 where some newish guy overcharged me for my Taylor's and then had the nerve to get snippy about it. Fucker. I being a social animal made a new friend and went off into the night. And I'll state the no-brainer that trying to walk on Meatpacking District/West Village cobblestones in 3.5 inch heels is a quick way to almost break your fucking neck. But, I survived and am a very happy camper.

Not a damn thing wrong with this celebrating a birthday stuff for real. And my special present from my old body to me was despite the fact I woke up still drunk this morning with glassy eyes about 10ish, I wasn't hungover in the slightest. Good deal.

No Complaints Yet

Thanks to everyone for the birthday wishes!

Once I got over the initial "I feel 75! Woe is me!," I had a nice quiet day before getting stir-crazy once the sun went down and deciding to go to a concert. I had already decided that the mood for the day was "sullen and pouty," so I stood in the corner doing just that and people watching. Can I declare this '80s revival over? I'm tired of seeing people look like drunken clowns. Though, it seems like people are starting to go the grunge route. I felt like I was stuck in a 1992 by way of 1983 time warp. One of the bands was doing a neo-Bush thing. Who the fuck would think that Bush is worthy of an imitator? That's like a knockoff of Tropical Fantasy for 35 cents. Another piece of advice: rock bands step away from the synthesizers and the drum machines. Just do it. You'll feel better tomorrow. Enough is enough. I can't take it anymore. I remembered awfully quickly why I don't go to too many rock shows. Yet with that said, I will check out Benzos again because I liked them despite my negative frame of mind.

I needed to chill after all that, so I made my way over to 419. Before stumbling on a truly dope party, the notable was getting my Taylor's 10 in a big glass. Oh yes. I was living up the b-day for real. The sweetest present was from my friend at the bakery I stop at on my way home. I revealed it was my birthday and he insisted I pick any cake I wanted. My response was "a whole freaking cake?" or along those lines and five minutes later, I was trudging along with a strawberry shortcake in a box. That was awesome.

Another day, another interview. I felt really on and think it went smashingly well, even though it couldn't be any more removed from what I want to do. I suppose that figures though. If I get it, I wouldn't complain. Oh wait, yes I would, because the salary's barely enough to live on even at home. *sigh* Figures. Still, there's other things bubbling that I hope to report on really soon. 23 is pretty okay right now I've got to say. No complaints from me yet.

Money was yesterday's present du jour and I used it to buy some new shoes, among other things. There's the party tomorrow which will have almost too many people and hopefully be a good time for all. I have to admit I feel semi-nervous as a hostess. I always psych myself out and think no one will ever come. Regardless, I'm ready to see everyone and celebrate for real.

Like A Kid In A Candy Store

Thanks to Claudia, my pre-birthday present was having a lot of dick waved in my face yet have none of it satisfy me. All the while totally sober. The story of my 2004 really.

Obviously, there's a story to tell, but I don't feel like getting into it right now. I'm going to go play with the cats and be boring instead. In honor of this week being about finishing what I start yadda yadda this week, the story for your viewing pleasure...

I'm a bit of a perv. I totally admit it. I grew up with boys and I've always been a bit of the inquisitive sort, so my brain's been warped basically since I could ask "why?"

A longtime dream has been the strip club experience. Not because there's any special novelty in seeking naked men. Especially since unless I'm in a state of mind where I know or hope that something's gonna happen to get me naked too, I couldn't have the slightest interest in seeking an unclothed man. You've seen one, you've seen 'em all. Seriously. I just want to do the whole thing to see what would happen. If it will be remotely titillating or if I'd be downright clinical and detached like I am with everything else. Claudia threw out there us going to see a show for my birthday and I thought to myself, I'm so there.

We get to the theater and she tells me that the tickets are 3rd Row. The space is like miniature. I think that it's totally close enough for me. As the show got closer to starting time, the ushers encouraged people to move towards the empty first row. She led the charge and dragged me forward. My response was kinda eh. I mean, I didn't really have the need to get too upclose and personal, you know?

But, as the show started, I found I was. I was literally within inches of flopping penes. If I leaned a little forward, we could've reenacted a scene from a porn. Plus some of them were just not so well endowed. I think I was kinda embarassed for them and hoping that if I yawned, I wouldn't get a mouth filler.

In the middle of the show, one of the performers decided to do a little chatting with the audience. He stood front row center and chatted. Guess where that was? Right in front of my face, eye level. I ended up hurting my nech craning to look at him and not his dick. It's impolite to stare when someone's talking to you of course. He asked us audience members what all these women were doing in the house -- there were about 10 of us spread over 3 groups. We all replied birthdays. He asked me how old I would be and I replied 23. His response: "23? Aren't you a little young to be paying for dick?" Isn't that the truth?

Overall, it was a fun experience. I suppose I've got Wes to blame for not even making nakedness appealling because after all, I've lived through a naked party. You know that naked people aren't really anything to look at after that shit. We posed for pictures with the guys -- in their towels. The birthday girl before me got lifted up with her legs spread in between them. I was like, "hmm...I don't think I'll get that pose." So instead, he wrapped my (fat) leg around him and I made the old lady type "hmm...isn't this interesting?" (fat) face.

So that was a tame entrance into nakedness as entertainment. If someone wants to spring for a man to pop out of the birthday cake, I'm all for that shit. And I'm only partially kidding.

Of Dim Corners and Music

My mind has been occupied with making a music mix for Alex. He's been across the sea almost steadily since school's end and I'm sending a mix of what I've been listening to and is going around here in town. It's pretty rock free, only because guitars isn't where it's at for me right now. Of course, there's good stuff out there (I've even listened to some) and folks I know are going to some group or another's concerts near frequently. But, sorry, not on this mix. I'm still formulating. Perhaps I'll post the results. Something I'm searching for space for is Greens Keepers, "Dixie Gan." I loved that song on first listen and then proceeded to play it to death for weeks. It probably won't fit but I still love it.

Thursday night, I found myself wandering around the confusing streets of the West Village, still hungover at almost midnight and horribly late for a dinner/party thing. I met up with my fellow Styleaholics and their band of friends to go to a club that I should love, but after two attempts just leaves me bored. The space is dope, but something about the crowd tends to be off for me. I dunno. Anyways...I was taking it easy with the ginger ale and my head was pounding beyond belief. Haven't you heard that the best thing for a headache is loud music and flashing lights? Yeah, me neither.

A friend of the party struck up a conversation with me since we were sitting side by side on the bench and it was only polite. I really hate the "what do you do" turn that conversations take -- not only because I don't have a career to speak of as yet. It's like a currency thing. The unspoken part is "it better be something fabulous, or else you've just lost my interest." I've got no currency. I can live with that, just ignore the chip on my shoulder. I responded, "professional interviewer" as I'm known to do nowadays and this guy said, "music producer/performer." Interest piqued, I inquired further and he mentioned the group I mentioned earlier. At first I couldn't place the name, but when I did, Candice went gushingly profuse with the praise and laughed out loud at the randomness of it all. Cheers to me, I made a new friend. And might get a copy of the new album. Dopeness! Feeling as if the stars might be aligned in my favor, I'm newly reconsidering the Miami/WMC trip. With my luck, I might meet Scott Herren or something! (And as an aside, anyone with a friend of a friend that can give a hand to a kid doing some serious last minute planning and trying to hit as much up down there as she can, give a shout!)

The weekend found me chilling the corners of 419, drinking my Taylor's 10 and sticking to my no whiskey word. Friday night, I walked over to the upstairs bar and was thrilled when the bartender knew what I wanted before I asked. Yay! I love that place. He said, "This getting port thing is new, right? You used to get something else. What was it?" I replied, "eh...whiskey sours, amaretto sours, G&T...I didn't really have one solid thing." "Right. And now you're onto port. Good choice. It's nice and sophisticated." Damn skippy. All about the grown and sexy in the '04. Plus it's a conversation starter. Everyone's always dead curious about what I'm drinking. Unfortunately, I ruin the sheer a tad having to get a glass of water usually and chase it. It's concentrated as hell. I'm not so keen on taking anything straight to the head, so it's a precaution.

Saturday night with my water in one hand and port in the other and standing on the wall sipping from both, I called out to a Wes kid as he passed me. Strangely, unless I truly hated them (which is rare of the people I encounter. *knock on wood* No The Continental sightings for me, thanks), it's always kinda funny to run into someone on "my turf." This was a kid I had a few good encounters with over the years, but never really saw often enough for us to really be friends. He and I stood there and had a nice convo, shooting the shit about the joint and Life After College ™. I don't know why I find it so jarring when I find someone in the same boat as me...and Jay-V...and Lina...and more of my friends than not. I suppose it's just easier to think that most have their shit together and it's just us stragglers who are feeling the brunt of the bad luck. We commiserated over the job and home with the 'rents sitch before he went off into the night. I swear, I should really make a weekly dinner/drinks thing for us frustrated grads. At least we could spend a few hours bitching and still garner some sympathy.

I retreated home early that night as I have been for most of the few weeks. I'm finding it hard to be as totally carefree and loose as I used to be. I've got a proofreading test to send back and interview upon interview in between freelance gigs to do. I'm turning into a boring old woman just in time for the birthday.

The Tradeoff

I've got a supremely love/hate relationship with whiskey. I give it props because it swayed a hardcore vodka and gin drinker over to the dark side through stealth maneuvers. Overall though, our relationship is quite hit or miss.

Last night, Lina brought me out to an event blessed with an open bar. She's of the hardcore variety and drinks Maker's straight up. I'm still rocking the Highball and w sours because I try to comfort my poor liver in little ways. I love whiskey because I find it hard to take myself too seriously after just one. After last night's four, I was a social creature in majorly full effect. I socialized with some new unknown to me college folks and had a great time. This morning however, I remembered why I usually drink the whiskey in moderation.

8:30 my eyes popped open. The room was blurry and spinning, a strange and neat trick hard to understand unless you've experienced it. I got up and drank some juice -- about two glasses -- and was still thirsty. I also had the inability to go back to sleep. I laid in the bed, head pounding for about two hours before getting up to consider turning on the computer. The second I sat in the chair, my head started thumping beyond belief and that room did a little spin too. I reconsidered and went back to bed where I decided to just lay really still and eventually I'd fall asleep -- or just die, both looked like fun possibilities.

Hours later, I still hurt. I've done nothing all day, though I should've been out the house a while ago. I'm in dire need of my hangover helper -- a nice big meal of fat and grease. And people are inviting me out for free drinks again tonight. *whimper* Pray for me.

Back In The Saddle

This weekend, I ended my self-imposed exile and I danced! Oh, dancing I've missed you! You sure are fun.

I can't really say what caused the shift, but it was fun being back out there enjoying myself again. A lot things have been kinda unstable right now. To say the job thing has been driving me nuts is the understatement of the year. Still, Thursday evening I basically accepted the issue as buried for the weekend and set about to have a good time. It was nice having the weather be a little warmer for a change plus it's getting darker later. The little things have done wonders for my disposition. Come on, Spring, we're waiting! I'm opting out of the Miami trip -- semi-unfortunately, just when I found out that some party friends are going to be doing it up. I'm trying to be practical in my approaching old age. Especially since with Farmer not going, it's a trip I really can't afford. Instead, I might be taking a family trip with Mr. Daddy and the little brother. A change of scenery will be nice.

I've adopted two new drinks of choice to greet the approaching seasonal change: the Highball and a glass of Porto. And yes, you can note that my tune has significantly changed on whiskey over the past months. People change. Sue me. I think drinking these is a way of getting comfortable with getting older. I certainly felt sophisticated in 419 drinking my port in the little glasses. Or it can just be another indication of being high maintenance as a random I chatted with one night a while ago called me. He offered to buy another of what I was drinking and I replied it was a Bacardi and pineapple juice. He was all, "wow...you must be high maintenance! I didn't even know they had pineapple juice at bars!" Then again, I didn't take him especially seriously. What's a girl supposed to drink? Long Island Iced Teas? Oh, sorry, I have a liquor pallette and don't just drink to get drunk. I do need to work on that. Anyways, a partially amusing episode was in Sea World for Jay-V's party. I ordered a highball and the bartender's response was "what the hell is that?" I rolled my eyes and said "Jack and ginger." She and I laughed about me mistaking him for someone who was there to mix all sorts of drinks. My bad.

Sea World sucked. I have to admit I've heard a lot about the place and I've wanted to check it out for a while now. Hani warned me that the mermaid thing wasn't really that much to write home about and he was right. Making the whole thing worse was the fact the place was actually crawling with Wes kids. That in itself shouldn't have been too surprising since one was the DJ and two others were promoters, but it was just a little too much for me. Hopefuly, getting the deluge will mean I have a low sighting level from now on. I was disturbed by the fact the place was about 80 degrees which wouldn't have bothered me if I wasn't wearing a blazer and this like six strand metal necklace. Perhaps it was the "hey, it's cold out there, but Bermuda in here!" weekend because 419 was uncomfortably warm Friday too.

Fun for me was hanging out at the Sea World bar when this random guy came up to Jay and said: "I just came over to let you know that I noticed you noticing me from across the room." We all looked at each other like "WTF?" and I had the hardest time restraining myself from laughing. Pure comedy. My bemused expression was caught by his friend and we got to talking. Funny and sharp kid. I smell potential, folks. I haven't thought that in forever. Unlike the case of 419 guy who fit The Mold of most of those I always like in a grittier and hotter package, I think I actually will call this time. I always choose substance over style when it really counts.

And I gotta add: "I'm Rick James, bitch! This is a celebration!"

Musical Nuggets

Imagine my joy when I opened my mailbox to find a Man Man EP from Ace Fu (thanks, Kate!) plus a mix from Alex, my boy of the hardest working band in Portugal. His mix contains tracks from the Sam The Kid album, Beat Vol 1: Amor. Alex writes that he's a "Portuguese DJ who made this album from his parent's old record collection. It is supposed to be their story (how they met, fell in love, etc.)" It's supposedly reminiscent of Prefuse. I can't wait to break it open. New music is golden.

AllHipHop.com today lets me know that the smackdown laid on The Grey Album (It's all Crazy Michael Jackson's fault.) and explains further that video shoot incident that I think I actually observed in action as I had my marathon day (and Bang Em Smurf is officially the stupidest stage name I've ever heard. Dude is asking for riducule. Yeah, that name really inspires confidence in his skills. Maybe I'll name myself Killa Kare Bear or something).

And because they're playing it everytime I go out, Usher's new song is officially stuck in my brain. Lil Jon has replaced the Neptunes as producer(s) most likely to get me dancing. Oh, and it was only fitting since my opinion of the darling boy Kanye isn't that high, that the release party would have me bored to tears. I was more entertained by Claudia saying: "where's the hootchies at? I thought there would be more here. I want some hootchies!" and the guy who said to her: "it's okay if you've got a boyfriend, I'm not jealous." Wonderful. But, it's always a blast running into Jenny. Lady in red was smoking! *catcall*

My pick for the funniest part of the Pazz & Jop critics riffing portion:

Who put that crunk in my trunk? Well I'll be dipped and dunked like a deep-fried skunk. Hey, does New York even make rap music anymore? Ha ha, just kidding. Don't shoot. But it is kinda hard to remember. Come to think of it, I'll listen to just about anything that takes my mind off that mumblemouth Fiddy Cent and his soggy bottom boyz.

SCOTT SEWARD
Tisbury, Massachusetts

It Was Inevitable

A toy, every girl must have a toy
The way it make you feel
Every girl has a toy now, baby!

My song of the weekend. Love it! Favorite line is without a doubt: "And when you leave, make sure you don't slam the door because you'll fuck up my concentration." The porn funk groove doesn't hurt either. Holla!

But that's not was inevitable (that shit ain't nothing new, nah mean?), that would be feeling like I was in a rap video. Friday night I was chilling in a VIP room downtown, bored with the whole scene yet throwing up the glasses of champagne (Veuve, if you must know) and dancing on the banquette and shit. I felt like a broke Nicole Ritchie (without that nasty habit, natch). I even got a Wes shoutout from that ubiquitous fellow alum DJ. Not that mofo who was on the mag and had his mug on Chappelle's Show the other week, the one who actually really moves and shakes. I can see the appeal in something like that I guess. It's very attractive when someone else is buying, no doubt.

Call Me Ms. Fancypants

I