Winter '07 faves:
-- that damned song/video. I guess I wasn't watching VH1 Soul enough when that came out the first time. And I'll admit to a perverse pleasure in singing "no not any more!"
-- Dragons of Zynth. The trick is getting my shit together to get to one of this month's residency shows.
-- Nino Moschella
-- The Let's Mix Love mix with the greatest opening song I've heard in a while.
-- The stupid word blipster and the great site it has spawned.
-- Actually enjoying myself at parties again. It was bound to happen I guess.
-- How fun it is when the shoe is on the other foot. Gotta love the boys who didn't give a shit months ago suddenly having a change of heart. Tough shit, babes. You missed the bus.
-- Kings of Tomorrow "Finally" and its 10,000 all awesome remixes.
-- Jay's video entries
-- "Nothing says birthday like free shit and porn and open bars!" 4 weeks! And we're going to meat heaven this year. The countdown begins.
Recently in Saucy Chatter Category
Work. Sucks. I don't think I've left the office before 7 in almost 2 weeks.
I got interviewed for the paper about my neighborhood and talked the poor man's ear completely off. If I get more than a quote or two, I'll definitely link it.
My favorite line in a music review this week: "He appears in the CD booklet's foldout poster in a suave love-man pose—slit-eyed, shirtless, with rippling washboard abs and a goatee whose lustrous sheen could only have been achieved with the aid of professional landscapers." Second best line: "Give this guy a ceiling mirror and a vat of baby lotion and he'll be set for the night."
Jamie Lidell's gonna be at the M3 Summit! Holla! If they can get Tiga on a bill, then it really would be golden.
A quotable that would never make Overheard In New York:
The Doctor: But why would you have casual sex with multiple partners?
The Patient: Erm....because it's fun?
After almost 25 years of snow, we've decided that we like it as long as we don't have to go out and function in it. Pristine, just fallen snow: great. Dog-pissed, slushy, wet icy snow: shit. I'm amazed we didn't either drown or fall in today's journey to work and believe me, it was hard not to. Nothing says awesome like flooded boots in the morning!
So, you know I was pissed when the lady came onto the train doing her "praise Jesus!" shtick. And especially so when she plopped down next to me and started a-chattering with the lady beside her about how Jesus is everywhere. A little old man got on the train somewhere around Wall Street and he looked pretty dismayed that there was nowhere to sit as he shook and could barely hold onto the pole -- incidentally, right in front of that chick, now reading her prayer book and averting her eyes like the rest of us. I looked around as he did, hoping that someone would leave and he could take their spot, feeling kinda blah and lazy and tired, guilt tripping myself because I really hate seeing older people have to suffer around town. So, I got up at Park Place and he took my seat. He smiled at me and I went "eh...whatever" and took his place in front of preaching lady. Still awfully engrossed in the Lord's word. And I got a new seat at Chambers. That's my good deed for the holiday season. We now return to the "bah humbug" already in progress.
This week was a bit amusing overall. I've accepted the truth after so long: yes, I am a self-loathing hipster. I'm not proud obviously (being self-loathing and all), but I can deal with it. After all, what else would I be if C telling me this (new to me) piece of gossip that a certain supernova scenester-type (who may or may not be pictured here) does their wig and glasses shtick to hide the fact that they are a middle-aged sort perving after young idiotic sniffers. I think it's awesome personally. Reason #1 why I don't hang out half as much as I used to: you never know who'll crawl out from under a rock to talk to you. But when you're doing all the bad things, it's a part of the adventure. Natch.
Alafairnadia and I made a pilgrimage to the toy shoppe. I was especially up for it because after not thinking of the boy at all for a while (because of my short-attention span and all), it seemed like everyone was asking about him/us and then I started to wonder about him...and we're not going down that road. He literally is someone that can be better replaced with plastics. Flipping through this lame ass hipster "smut" mag, who did I see in a spread only half-naked (thank my lucky stars) but The DJ! You could've knocked me over with a feather. Especially since for once and for all, he's just not that hot and has the body of a 14-year old. Ugh. Oh, the dark days of former crushes! And then just to amuse myself, I picked up this glass/hard plastic toy and used it for emphasis as I chatted with Alafairnadia. There was this couple skulking around that got redder and redder as I did. "Oh noes! Someone is holding a sex toy in a sex toy shop! Horrors! We'll just have to get that Bend Over Boyfriend online! It's just embarrassing in here!" And they fled. Tsk, tsk.
I actually had a long funny post that I slaved over to put up, but my work computer ate it. I guess non-angry/bitter/(insert emotion here) posts don't make the cut. I'm actually in a pretty good mood -- I mean, it's finally spring...yay! I'm sitting S the cat while Ms. Mommy moves and such. We've been rolling around on the floor and having a good time. My everlasting love only temporarily wavered when she woke me up at 4am mewing to let her run around outside my room and ran across my body to get to the window.
Anybody want to hear about my new bath mats? Hmm...no? How about my latest pilgrimage to Western Beef? (Ice cream, tater tots, and Carolina red hots, y'all!) Oh, no to that too? Well, I'll you how my weakness got the better of me and made me lose a house wager...
Ant and I are a bit of an odd pair. He's a super sensitive nice guy with an inner frat boy dying to escape and I'm...me, temperamental with a heart of gold (or ice -- depending on the moment) with a Suzy Homemaker side steadily revealing herself. When we moved in, our love lives were pretty stagnant and the prospects weren't looking good. I suggested that we make a bet that the first person to have a turnaround and christen the house (so to speak) had to buy the loser a 6-pack of our favorite non-beer beer, Woodpecker. Because I've got strange luck, my turnaround was first, but being a crafty bastard -- and the sheer fact that I was living on an air mattress for over a month -- I got out of handing over the pack. I've been on a sabbatical (for a myriad of reasons) and was happily expecting to be a "loser." Ant's actually on an admirable course: a nice guy finding a nice girl and them being super nice together, but hell, it isn't getting me any Woodpecker!
My slip was inevitable really. The doom and gloom mood has passed. The weather's great. Prospects on the table is always a plus. I've been gearing up to kick a lot of fun things into go mode. I created an opportunity and went for it. Trying to be slick to the end, imagine my surprise to find Ant and our temp roomie J wide awake and shooting the shit at 1:30am on a Sunday. Ah well. I "lost" fair and square. I need more situations where the outcome is pretty sweet no matter what.
Scene: Moi pottering away at the comp. Ms. Mommy comes into the room with a funny smile.
Ms. Mommy: I just remembered something funny. You're gonna think this is way too much information though.
Moi: Eh?
Ms. Mommy: I was just thinking about my apartment housewarming party. You were conceived at that. Hehe.
Moi:....
Ms. Mommy: See, I told you. Too much information. So, you better behave yourself. [strolls out the room]
Moi: I'm so traumatized.
Um...thanks for sharing?
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.
Wow...two posts in a row?! I must be on vacation! (Nope, that's next week. LA, here I come!)
Dear Random Matt and Trey Lovers Hitting This Here Blog,
I wish I had the lyrics to that "America, Fuck Yeah!" song -- in fact, I wish I had an mp3 also, but I have neither. If you know where to find either, leave a comment. Thanks!
The Management
In other corners of the blogosphere, virtual high-fives to Ms. Lauren and the Pinko Feminist Hellcat. Having male strangers invading my personal space is the ultimate social world pet peeve, heads and shoulders about someone flipping their hair in my face and cutting me in line. I don't care who you are or what you look like, if your first geture is a touch, you're putting your life on the line. Don't fucking touch me if you don't know me. And no, I don't have to respond to you if I don't feel like it. You want me to smile? Well, I want you to fuck off and die. It's rude and obnoxious and it's obvious your mother didn't beat you enough.
Todd over at Tremble writes about a shitty party so I don't have to. It wasn't that bad, but it was type lame for sure. (Though I've gotta admit I was annoyed before I got there because I had planned on walking down Greenwich from Chambers until I saw the big construction pit and had to detour like 4 blocks. Such a long walk. And fuck it's always 10 degrees colder in that part of town. Grr.) Never being in there before, I wandered into the actual strip club section first before backing out slowly when I saw the glassy looks in the men's eyes. Upstairs I went where most of the crowd looked as if they were coming up on 15 and they were just staring at the DJ as if he was doing something besides spinning records. What the fuck people? Nothing to see there. But the ones that did dance, I wish they wouldn't have -- the pirate ship bounce to the extreme set to Miami Booty Bass. I need a barrel of brain bleach to erase the travesty. The music amused me, especially this one song where the chorus was just like "Ass Ass Ass...Titty Titty Titty" but really set to the kick. So awesome. I'd like to listen to that song all the time...at the gym.
In other news, I finally got around to writing about that Brooklyn block party show from forever ago...just not here. And while you're over there, find out what a blumpkin is -- in case you were like me and didn't know until you were "enlightened."
Jamirakid: Oh, that reminds me: did i tell you my plan for the spring?
Jamirakid: I'm going to take a class and snag a little graduating senior. Be a cradle robber instead of getting robbed all the time
Farmer: hahaha good luck
Jamirakid: I'm going to work that shit. you'll see
Jamirakid: I'm still young enough that it's okay
Farmer: haha
Farmer: How old are u?
Jamirakid: 23
Farmer: Yep. And a senior?
Jamirakid: Almost 22 if they're not already
Farmer: hahaoooO what a cradle
Farmer: I thought you were talking about 18 or something
Jamirakid: Heh. Well someone practically my age is like a novelty for me
Jamirakid: Old fuckers love me for whatever reason
Farmer: No, you love old fuckers
Jamirakid: Not really. I just go with the flow
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.
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.
