I heard this guy today and I absolutely fell in love. 'Cinco de MoWo" came out the 26, which means this discovery is much behind other people who are better than I am. But today I was really dragging ass. It feels like it's 150 degrees outside. I walked a few blocks in search of icecream and found, instead, a couple dudes who asked me where happy hour was. Red-faced and menacing as ever. And another Chinese guy who was ranting about the M34 not coming. Seriously, he was bugging out over it, and I was just so damn tired that I reassured him it would come, and I apologized that he was late. People get so angry when they're hot and sweaty.
ANYWAY...
All songs considered this week played me the song 'tickle it', and you can stream 'shake your boogie' on his Web site. They're both just so groovy. Really. Lots of funk, puts me in a great mood. Nujazz? Is this something I was never formally introduced to? How come? Or is it some weird self-made buzz genre that forms a following but has a vague description of the music? ('indie'? what does that mean?!) annnddd according to his myspace, he's going to be in New York all of July. If only I could play the whole city this stuff. Maybe they wouldn't be so apt to go into siezures about the bus being late.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
mitchum
people keep stealing my ideas.
I swear to G! Emily and I went to a weird picnic on Roosevelt Island and saw this ROCK island and said it would be so fun to live there for a little while. No one would know what you were doing! and now this guy stole our damn idea.
and this, too.
I found this story on the Gothamist, underneath the story about that guy who stole my idea. I just wanted to comment that New York is gross. Walking outside feels like being in an over-crowded club playing shitty techno music, where you come home covered in other people's sweat. It's like you can fucking feel the heat on your skin. Not only that ... the SMELL. I walk down 10 ave from 34 street to 27 street to get to the Gallery. On the way, I smell oil, frenchfries (thanks to a McDonalds), garbage and piss. And because the heat encapsulates the smell, it's almost as if I'm taking a putrid shower in the smells.
New York, I love you, but you're bringing me down.
I swear to G! Emily and I went to a weird picnic on Roosevelt Island and saw this ROCK island and said it would be so fun to live there for a little while. No one would know what you were doing! and now this guy stole our damn idea.
and this, too.
I found this story on the Gothamist, underneath the story about that guy who stole my idea. I just wanted to comment that New York is gross. Walking outside feels like being in an over-crowded club playing shitty techno music, where you come home covered in other people's sweat. It's like you can fucking feel the heat on your skin. Not only that ... the SMELL. I walk down 10 ave from 34 street to 27 street to get to the Gallery. On the way, I smell oil, frenchfries (thanks to a McDonalds), garbage and piss. And because the heat encapsulates the smell, it's almost as if I'm taking a putrid shower in the smells.
New York, I love you, but you're bringing me down.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
$TINKY CHEESE NEWS PUMPS PIZZA PRICE.
this guy
he exists.
this got me thinking.
we were sitting on a rooftop tonight, a few buildings down from ANGELS AND KINGS. for the whole night i thought it was called angels and demons, because Dan Brown has contaminated my word association.
this got me thinking.
how funny would it be ... if we had a party at angels and demons and it was a collaboration between criss angel and dan brown and pete wentz?
and paul mccartney gave you a free starbucks latte when you entered.
he exists.
this got me thinking.
we were sitting on a rooftop tonight, a few buildings down from ANGELS AND KINGS. for the whole night i thought it was called angels and demons, because Dan Brown has contaminated my word association.
this got me thinking.
how funny would it be ... if we had a party at angels and demons and it was a collaboration between criss angel and dan brown and pete wentz?
and paul mccartney gave you a free starbucks latte when you entered.
mi dispiace, sono ubriago
So, I was sitting at my "internship" this morning, waiting to be told what to do, actually, when I stumbled upon this in the Times online. First thing's literally first: That photo is classic. Is that guy American, do you think? I don't know. But who cares. Do you think that photographer had to go out searching for drunks, or he found the drunk first, then the story emerged? Chicken or the egg. Only from the NY Times.
Monday, June 25, 2007
scott baio = home.
Well, Saturday night Edon took me out on the town. And by out on the town, I mean to a loft party of some uber hip hipster. Scenester. It was his birthday and by the time we got there I’d had enough wine to start talking Italian to a cab driver. Which means when we entered the party I acted like I owned the place (I didn’t) and everyone loved me (they didn’t). INCONSEQUENTIAL.
At one point I was underneath a candle-obra, which dripped wax all over my hair, and told a tall, semi- greasy, rock and roller type that his cigarette looked perfect dangling from his lips. He was Nick and 30 and his job, from my understanding, was to take advantage of scenesters’ shitty taste in music by selling them bands they might think it was cool to be associated with. He was the only straight guy I met at the party — and he might not even have been straight. He stared at my boobs though and told me I had a nice body, with no bump (meaning FUPA). I guess that’s a compliment but really I do have a significant bump, and it was just dark in there.
Then I talked to the most attractive guy, really under-the-radar, wearing a white tee shirt and jeans. Blonde hair dark enough to be approaching light brown. Almond shaped blue-green eyes. And he talked about books and was really clever with responses to my questions. By that time, though, I had stolen another bottle of red wine from the birthday boy and was slugging it and passing it around. I don’t remember much of what I asked him. I know I frowned when he told me he liked boys, and then I realized that must have been a horrible gesture. He understood, he said it must be hard to have a good conversation with someone who’s always thinking about sleeping with you, or staring at your chest. He was great, but wouldn’t you guess I forgot his name? damn.
Well birthday boy — who wore a black leather vest with nothing under it, and black pants — came over and interrupted us, and he gave me the video camera (cause apparently we’re good friends) and I taped my new friends, asked them questions. They turned the camera back on me, too. I bet that video footage is going to be worth its weight in gold. Nicky Digital took my picture, too. Now I can join the ranks with people like this. and this. and this.Wouldn’t it figure?
At one point I was underneath a candle-obra, which dripped wax all over my hair, and told a tall, semi- greasy, rock and roller type that his cigarette looked perfect dangling from his lips. He was Nick and 30 and his job, from my understanding, was to take advantage of scenesters’ shitty taste in music by selling them bands they might think it was cool to be associated with. He was the only straight guy I met at the party — and he might not even have been straight. He stared at my boobs though and told me I had a nice body, with no bump (meaning FUPA). I guess that’s a compliment but really I do have a significant bump, and it was just dark in there.
Then I talked to the most attractive guy, really under-the-radar, wearing a white tee shirt and jeans. Blonde hair dark enough to be approaching light brown. Almond shaped blue-green eyes. And he talked about books and was really clever with responses to my questions. By that time, though, I had stolen another bottle of red wine from the birthday boy and was slugging it and passing it around. I don’t remember much of what I asked him. I know I frowned when he told me he liked boys, and then I realized that must have been a horrible gesture. He understood, he said it must be hard to have a good conversation with someone who’s always thinking about sleeping with you, or staring at your chest. He was great, but wouldn’t you guess I forgot his name? damn.
Well birthday boy — who wore a black leather vest with nothing under it, and black pants — came over and interrupted us, and he gave me the video camera (cause apparently we’re good friends) and I taped my new friends, asked them questions. They turned the camera back on me, too. I bet that video footage is going to be worth its weight in gold. Nicky Digital took my picture, too. Now I can join the ranks with people like this. and this. and this.Wouldn’t it figure?
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
aztecs and incas.
So, I've been here in Manhattan for days, and I just can't get comfortable. I really noticed it the first night, when I was thrashing in my sleep. I woke up with a stiff neck from it. Maybe I should just sleep on the couch. Last night I finally lay there with A Lover's Discourse in my hands, and I fell asleep on the book. [I thought that was only something that happened in movies about stressed out college kids, normal people don't just fall asleep mid-sentence.] I woke up with it crammed between the edge of the bed and the night stand. Open to the passage called 'How Blue the Sky Was'. I had underlined one phrase. Historical hallucinations. Sometimes I feel like I'm hallucinating my life. Making it into what I want it to be. Like I walk around and see things and want to see what I want to see, so I do. I ignore what I don't want to acknowledge. That can't be right.
In any event, I talked to Jenny on the phone the other day and she told me a really funny story about this group of girls who really like Aug. Or maybe it was one girl. Anyway, she was a real piece of work and the way Jenny described her made me laugh really hard. I felt bad cause I couldn't think of any funny things to tell her — I let down my end of the deal. I told her about the girl in Union Square who told her mother about how she's in debt and she's breaking up with her boyfriend or husband (I couldn't tell if it was a divorce but there was definitely something big and wonderful for her that turned into something big and terrible for her.) "I want the rug. For my room. That's the one thing I really want." Later: "I just want that TV we had in our bedroom. He already has the big one. That was his thing and I don't care if he has that. I just want the little one."
The thing that strikes me the most about the way people work here is that it's best not to acknowledge the presence of a million other people. I don't feel any connection to strangers at all. It's like they won't even give me the courtesy of staring at me to make fun. It leaves you feeling kind of lonely, even though that's impossibly counter-intuitive.
Last night I went up on the rooftop again. It's better than the fabricated parks, which kind of feel like they're only there cause someone decided it was okay to PUT them there. Up on the roof, you get the feeling like the buildings are nature — a weird, man-made imposing nature, but the way things should be occurring, I guess —and you're alone up there to take it all in. There's ambient noise and everything.
One day, Emily, George and Jzana joined me up there. George and I talked about the buildings, we both liked the silhouette of the UN. I wondered if the city was built that way first, and then people acclimated to the way the architecture was (vast, enormous, impersonal, intimidating) or if the people had that quality already, and that's why the buildings were so designed. We also stared into people's windows for nearly an hour. One kid just sat on MySpace all night, and would randomly sit up and go to the window. It cracked me up, watching this person's routine. Someone joined him eventually. Everyone was kind of boring, but it was entertaining enough to leave us staring for a while. Maybe it's just cause we were stoned — we could have been staring at anything and using our imagination to make it fun. That's probably the trick of it.
In any event, I talked to Jenny on the phone the other day and she told me a really funny story about this group of girls who really like Aug. Or maybe it was one girl. Anyway, she was a real piece of work and the way Jenny described her made me laugh really hard. I felt bad cause I couldn't think of any funny things to tell her — I let down my end of the deal. I told her about the girl in Union Square who told her mother about how she's in debt and she's breaking up with her boyfriend or husband (I couldn't tell if it was a divorce but there was definitely something big and wonderful for her that turned into something big and terrible for her.) "I want the rug. For my room. That's the one thing I really want." Later: "I just want that TV we had in our bedroom. He already has the big one. That was his thing and I don't care if he has that. I just want the little one."
The thing that strikes me the most about the way people work here is that it's best not to acknowledge the presence of a million other people. I don't feel any connection to strangers at all. It's like they won't even give me the courtesy of staring at me to make fun. It leaves you feeling kind of lonely, even though that's impossibly counter-intuitive.
Last night I went up on the rooftop again. It's better than the fabricated parks, which kind of feel like they're only there cause someone decided it was okay to PUT them there. Up on the roof, you get the feeling like the buildings are nature — a weird, man-made imposing nature, but the way things should be occurring, I guess —and you're alone up there to take it all in. There's ambient noise and everything.
One day, Emily, George and Jzana joined me up there. George and I talked about the buildings, we both liked the silhouette of the UN. I wondered if the city was built that way first, and then people acclimated to the way the architecture was (vast, enormous, impersonal, intimidating) or if the people had that quality already, and that's why the buildings were so designed. We also stared into people's windows for nearly an hour. One kid just sat on MySpace all night, and would randomly sit up and go to the window. It cracked me up, watching this person's routine. Someone joined him eventually. Everyone was kind of boring, but it was entertaining enough to leave us staring for a while. Maybe it's just cause we were stoned — we could have been staring at anything and using our imagination to make it fun. That's probably the trick of it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)