Monday, March 31st - There is a polaroid of yours truly sitting on my desk. I saw it when i got here this morning. In the picture, i am out of focus, unshaven and slightly scowling, but in kind of a handsome way. Underneath, in the white border you get with polaroids, someone wrote "Do Not Believe His Lies."
I had a very pleasant weekend. The show at CBs was drunken fun, but the whole thing ran so late we didn't go on until after 1 am, by which point everyone there who wasn't already a fan/friend of ours had long since left. So, it was kind of a bust in that regard. But, fun in all the other regards. Saturday, i pondered going to the Mets last exhibition game against the Orioles, but didn't, and instead helped James and Greg record drums for a short spell, then went home and slept until 8 that evening. Went and saw Beauty Supply at Luna, and that was probably their best show yet. Then, it was off to a party near my house that we didn't get to until after 1. It felt like it was winding down, but we kept ourselves entertained by renaming each other. I became "Glen" (*everyone* said i was a perfect "Glen" and i don't know how i feel about that), Josh became either "Jerry" or "Todd", Karen was "Candice", Zack's girlfriend Shannon became "Nina", Anne became "Nancy", Greg became "Zeke", and James was "Bobby" or "Bobby James", depending how high up he was wearing his collar at the time. Anyway, this kept us going for an hour, at which point we all headed home.
At the party there was members from a local hipster band whose name i keep forgetting. Karen apparently has had repeated encounters with them, and keeps telling me how vapid and boring they are. They all looked the part, too, wearing greasy floppy 70s hair and vintage t-shirts and shitty leather jackets, so i'm giving her the benefit of the doubt. Anyway, it gave me an idea, and the only thing lacking is a name (i bet Jesse Fuchs could come up with one instantly). But, the idea is to round up all these types in the Williamsburg / Greenpoint axis, and on nights when they're not playing shows, rent them out to parties, to increase the hipness quotient. You know, toss someone $100 and free drinx and drugs to say "so and so was came to my party." They agree to stay for a certain amount of time, and they don't even have to mingle, as they're probably bad at that sort of thing anyway. They can just grace you with their presence, for a low-low price. There's a fortune to be made, right now, i tell ya. I bet my newly-unemployed friend Sue would be a perfect pimp for such an operation. I should pitch it.
Yesterday, Kevin came over to watch basketball and Karen made cupcakes: two completely unrelated events. The four of us (incl. Josh) went to Teddy's and ate and drank ourselves sick and talked alternately about Puerto Rico, and the war. Then we came back to Freeman St., enjoyed cupcakes and watched the best movie ever!! on Univision, the 1979 shoulda-been-a-classic Okey Mister Pancho. Just think of Houston in the late 70s, a provincal Mexican woman with companions that include a real Indian chief (who eventually gets run over by a steamroller) and a hitchhiking monkey, throw in a few donkey sounds, some sweet soul music for the city scenes, you get the idea. I think they should show it at the movie night at Galapagos, it's that fucking brilliant, Andrei Tarkovsky, be damned.
Friday, March 28th - I wish i felt like i could write whatever i want on this thing. During my last few stints here at Pop-Up, i used to spend my lunches writing diary entries, rather than doing this. Writing here narrows my scope a lot (even though you might not believe it by reading it), and i wish it didn't. I wish i was unabashed enough to just say whatever was on my mind, (ir)regarless of anyone's feelings. But i'm not, and this doesn't even have anything to do with anything in my life right now. I've just been thinking about it a lot, how maybe i should resume writing on my own, as well as here. In fact, why do i do this thing at all? I can tell you it's not to talk about of my experience as an Emmy judge the last couple of days. Sure, on the surface it sounds interesting, i bet (it did to me), but mostly it was sitting in a room with a bunch of geriactrics, watching tapes of L.A. local news. But, at least they gave me a sandwich.
That does it: i need to get Jeff's camera back.
One of the interns here at the office just showed me a drawing of how hedgehogs have sex.
Tuesday, March 25th - Today, during lunch (in Madison Square Park on 25th St., enjoying the #67 - hot soprasseta, red peppers and provolone on a roll - from Garden of Eden) i was thinking about our newest project, the admittedly desparate-sounding Pop-Up Commercials. Mind you, it wasn't our idea to do this show, but that's a whole other story. And it's gonna be pretty fun, as we got the old "Where's the Beef?" spot, the first Ginsu Knives commercial, an old Dr Pepper song-and-dance from the late 70s, a 50s Battleship ad, etc. But, what i was thinking about is what a pain in the ass it has been for us (though i personally haven't had to deal with it) to get the rights from all the companies and all the actors to actually use the commericals in question. Insignificant lead actors wanting $10,000 in compensation, sponsors telling us what we can and can't say, etc. This all stands in stark contrast to the "popping" of actual music videos - essentially commercials in themselves, let's not forget - where we can run roughshod over artists and extras for free with nothing to stand in our way except some uptight suits at VH1. Why this discrepancy, i wonder. And i also wonder how much it costs to make a commercial. Videos tend to run $500,000 - $1 mil that the artist ultimately pays for, with the record label acting as a loan shark. And *no one* associated with a video gets any sort of residual, or even any SAG credit, i don't think. Whereas with commercials, you get a role on a heavily-aired commercial, you can live off the income for a coupla years. Is this because videos are (archaically) still considered art? Because most of the interesting visual and stylistic advances to take place on TV have happened in commercials. No one talks about videos anymore, but people will remember commercials, without even remembering the product. There are many who watch the Super Bowl just to watch commericals. Few of these people would muck through a whole Creed video. Commericals have better actors, better story lines, better visuals, better production values, hell, better music. And so, this is why commercials are currently a more effective and pure art form than videos. This is why Moby was wise to license his entire record for advertising as he did in 2001 (?), because this is how music consumers are going to be reached from now on. And, where the money will truly be made, "Selling Out" be damned (sorry, Tris McCall). And so, maybe instead of producing full videos, bands can produce a 30 second spot set to the new single, including one set of lyrics and the hook, save money, create positive work for actors, try more exciting things and increase their exposure in a way that soon no sane music fan will truly object to. Especially if it airs during Angel. Are you listening, record industry? Are you listening, GIRL HARBOR?
Monday, March 24th - The subject today is painting, as in painting walls, rather than the fine art i one day hope to create on canvas. My esteemed co-worker and NME columnist April Long recently bought a co-op (with her mother) somewhere in the E. 30s, and she spent the last weekend sanding and painting. And, apparently, she has a long way to go. So, i was talking about how the walls in my apartment were painted (including my blue bedroom, previously discussed here), and how much i like painting in general, and ... well ... i volunteered to help her paint at some point this week. It was this, or in a sudden fit, paint one of my rooms pink after all this talking about it. Because, the thing is, i *do* actually like painting - painting represents change, after all - and besides, i imagine beer will be involved in some capacity, and maybe i can invite Josh along. He likes April. And, don't worry, i don't think she actually reads this thing.
Jesse Fuchs once said "the best part about being in love is getting to be smug about it." And, i confess, these sorts of observations on my part always turn out to be at least a little embarrassing and over-written, but i think i've picked a strange time to fall in love. Not strange from a personal standpoint (although it is ironic that i should happen to get a steady girl right around the time i get a steady roommate), but from more of a global standpoint. And, maybe my embarrassment stems from my dislike of talking about war at all. I dislike being that effected by the outside world. But, it was peculiar (okay, funny) to be out with my love, on a beautiful early spring day, taking her out shopping! (okay, that's funny and strange, but i really *really* like shopping) on 8th St. amid all the protestors and policemen. Chanting, fear, paranoia, sloganeering, dumb signs, the potential for billyclubs and tear gas, shallow leftover hippies and uptight cops, and amidst this inconvenient ruckus, sauntering down flyer-littered streets closed off to traffic, are Karen and i, holding hands, smiling, pleasantly burdened down with bags like some swell married couple in the 50s. And so, as our fine country sinks slowly into the mire of a needless war, Karen got some very exciting purple boots, a dandy flower dress and a black miniskirt from Fab 208, perfect for rocking. And i got a very snazzy Ben Sherman short-sleeve button down (my boss wears them also). I bought her yellow roses, we had Ukranian meatballs and perogi at Vaselka, and we generally felt like the only people anywhere without a care in the world, that the sun was only shining on us. If this was the late 60s, my parents would've hated me. Ha ha.
Lastly, this item. Note that i was not among the Girl Harbors wearing a tie at the fan club meeting (read: show) that evening, opting instead for the brown polyester "dice" shirt i inherited so long ago from Zachary Darling.
Friday, March 21th - Spring has sprung. I'm in a good mood today. It was nice to walk to work w/o my jacket on. I ran into Dicko of the Ton-Ups waiting for the G train today, and introduced him to Karen. The guy's a lot less manic at 9:30 in the morning, that's for sure. Anyway, i later told Karen about how i met him, so many years ago, when i first moved to NYC. The Ton-Ups were either the first band i auditioned for (on drums) when i got here, or i shut all the other, crappy ones out of my memory. I basically remember them, that shitty, shitty band Pee-Shy (who, in spite of consisting entirely of good-looking women, i couldn't even *consider* joining because they were so unbelievably crappy) and then it was on to fame and fortune with the Cash Registers. But, it's funny to run into people from that long ago. He's in a new band now, but i've already forgotten the name of it. I'm sure i'll end up seeing it at some point, tho. That's the way it seems to work around here.
4:51pm addendnendnenumm - I've been getting a lot of randon e-mail links today.
So, in case you haven't gotten them all, here they are in summation:
Da latest news, kid (now defunct, hope you caught it - ed.)
Our freedom is in his hands.
What? No Cherry Fallwell?
Wednesday, March 19th - My site may be nice, but it's no match for this one. Christ, i really need to step it up. So, suggestions for background jams and applications for "Kitten of the Month" are currently being accepted at this address. Thank you.
Tuesday, March 18th - So, the US is on the verge of war. This makes no sense to me. As you know, i'm not a terribly political person, and the opinions i do have, i tend not to share readily, as i don't consider myself a terribly informed person when it comes to world events. So, to be in a situation where i have to discuss my feelings on it, such as in the office where a comedy show is normally written, well, that's a little strange. Everyone i've spoken to about it though seems to come away with the same assessment: why exactly is this happening? I sure as hell don't know. Clearly, the government has gotten carte blanche from both the press and the public, and even what (unspoken) political opposition there could be in Congress, to pursue an agenda that seemingly has nothing to do with anything. It's like some surreal name-calling contest involving the US, Iraq, France and a few weapons. Lest we forget, weren't all the terrorists associated with 9/11 from Saudi Arabia? And if the US is so caught up in human rights and spreading democracy, shouldn't the war be with China? And if the US feels threatened by nuclear attack, shouldn't we be discussing North Korea right now? Isn't the US supposed to be looking for Osama bin Laden? And should i even believe any of this anyway? Why are we about to engage in a war that not even *Germany* can get excited about? And how much of a sacrificial lamb are the citizens of NYC possibly going to be, in terms of being a target for terrorism? And what kind of jingoistic idiot would dump out perfectly good wine? So many unanswered questions, demoralizing ones at that. Way to take my normally unflappable mind of the upcoming baseball season, talking gefilte fish, or even this Snoop Dogg video i should be finishing. And for what? Thanks again, American voters.
Tonight's top story: how the Daily News missed this item is beyond me.
Monday, March 17th (or St. Patrick's Day, if that's your scene) - Last night i had a very nice dream. It was about BIG Dave Heineman's old car back in high school. You know how everybody has nicknames for their cars in high school? Dave's was the 1979 Blue Piece of Shit. And, it was in fact a '79. And it was blue. And it was a piece of shit. The actual model escapes me, but i think it was some sort of Chevrolet station wagon, big with no gas mileage. Anyway, in the dream, i'd just gone out to Colorado to visit Dave and Jeremie, and Jer picked me up in the aforementioned car, only it was completely overhauled, with a new, blue-green sparkle paint job and a new white leather interior. "This is the 1979 Blue Piece of Shit?!" i wondered aloud in my dream, and Jer verified that Dave's parents put $10,000 into restoring the car, and now it was really kick ass. I remember it having a very fancy windshield, and you could use just one wiper at a time if you so desired, like on buses. And so, being a dream of course, i was suddenly in the back seat, and Dave up front, and Jer driving, and we went cruising through the mountains on a pleasantly drizzly Colorado day.
Clearly this dream is reeking with some sort of symbolism, but, with self-analysis *not* being one of my strong points, i have no idea what it all means.
Sunday, March 16th - You'll be delighted my local crappy diner, the Cozzy [sic] Corner, is now under its 4th ownership. First, way back in 1998, it was owned by the overweight mustachioed guy who smoked behind the counter (i think his name was Billy), famous for this quote:
Me: The French Toast is good here!
"Billy" (flatly): I know. All the food is good here.
Anyway, about a week later, complaining of a bad back, he sold it to Korean Couple #1, whose names i never learned. And they did a fine job with what they had to work with (words cannot describe how crappy this place is), EXCEPT they decided to be open 7 days a week, and, constantly cash-strapped and understaffed, i witnessed their long, greasy decent into madness, especially once their son went back to school. And so, long after enough was enough, they sold to Korean Couple #2 (She was named Sunny, his name remains unknown). Sunny was unfailingly friendly, but had no grasp of English, and it was under her watch that the dreaded "Cozzy stink" really began to take hold, that effect when you leave the diner and you smell like whatever it was you ate. The floors and tables felt constantly greasy, the temperature was always 10 degrees hotter or colder than it should've been, ventilation seemingly didn't exist. So, even though she was friendly, me and Josh just couldn't stand to go there anymore. Mind you, through all of this, the food and the menu (right down to the "Philadelphia Chaser", whatever that is) has remained almost *exactly* the same.
Now, enter Rudy, an affable but seemingly world-weary Brooklyn mook with some big ideas. He's 52, kind of a big fella, but soft-spoken, and my hunch is that he's recently divorced. And, of course, here's the best part: he bought into that whole anti-France schtick that's running horribly amok of late. Yep, the menu contains, in red bold lettering, "Freedom Fries."
And so, i told you the whole history of Cozzy Corner just so i could relate that, and Josh's response to it: "Did you know they were once called Hitler Fries?"
Thursday, March 13th - It's raining today. The sky is very drab outside my window. I've never really described what's outside my window at work, have i. I'm on the 11th floor, and i look directly out on a watertower on an adjacent building; right now it's very rainslicked, and there are big puddles on the rooftop, next to some lawnchairs that have been out all winter. About a block away is a roughly 18-storey building where, among other activities, they hold kung-fu classes. I sort of like looking out the window when it rains, especially in the summer. I can't wait until summer.
I was thinking today about how much i used to write. I used to write here during lunch breaks, and/or every morning when i woke up, and if i got drunk enough, when i got home, too. I'd even leave in the typos. But, that hasn't happened much lately. It's not that i don't have things to write about. Maybe writing here involves too much editing or wondering what is or isn't appropriate - hell, i know it does - but then, if i go back to "journal" (diary) keeping, i'll probably never update this. Except when i have pictures. Ah, what to do. I should just starting blabbing and saying exactly what i think about everything and everyone all the time, but i guess my chance to set that precedent here has long passed. So, i'll continue to write for your entertainment. I'm an entertainer, i guess. Except for today.
I practice with GIRL HARBOR tonight and that should be fun. I like working on new material, even if it leads to occasional arguments. Well, "arguments" is a strong word for the Harbor. In fact, we rarely argue at all. COVER ME BADD argues a hell of a lot more - learning *cover songs* - than GH ever does. How strange. But, i was also thinking about what i would be doing if i wasn't playing music. In terms of free time. Probably nothing. I'm still pretty convinced i'd like to take up painting, but that might just have to wait and be a "later in life" pursuit, like driving cross country. Then i could paint landscapes or fruit much more unabashedly. Mind you, it's not like i don't like playing music as much as i did. I'm actually very happy i've stuck with it this long. I've become quite a bass player, i dare say. But i am much quicker to view it as an inconvenience at times. Like, "crap, i have to practice!" Then i occasionally remind myself how fun it was to play drums with my cousin Pete the few times we were able to get together when i was still in high school, when the whole idea of playing music seemed very foreign, when i still thought drawing was much more suited to my talents. Even coming home and picking up James' acoustic bass and playing a song and trying to sing is fun. And then i feel lucky that i'm still doing it all the time. And one of these days, maybe i'll have something to show for it.
Phone's ringin ...
Wednesday, March 12th - Wow, has it really been almost a week? Crap. I've been a busy man. Today, tonite at 6 in fact, i finally get my hair cut. The first one this calendar year. The problem being, of course, over the last week or so, i've been complimented on my current hair (now veering close to "mullet" status) at least 4 times. And so, whereas before when i was looking forward to it eagerly (and was very disappointed when an appointment got cancelled last week), i'm now getting cold feet about it. Especially since i'm going to a new stylist.
Anyway, here's some pictures, a couple from the recent "Funnest Cover Me Badd Gig Ever."
Ryan goes for broke.
This may be the first live photo in Cover Me Badd history with all five members in it.
Now to get one where we're "rocking" ...
Like this one, kinda. But, "why am i sitting?" you ask. Well, after many years of loyal servitude, my leather bass strap finally broke, during a triumphant leap in the chorus of "Total Eclipse of the Heart." Rats.
But, i do like how it looks like Marc is flipping everybody off with his guitar-hand.
"Yes?"
And mind you, this sort of thing never happens in boring old Greenpoint, but she asks, like a kid in the school play mumbling last-minute script changes off a cue card, "would you like to have a good time for ten dollahs?"
What?! What "good time?" Ten dollars?! But rather than try to question or reason any of it, i quickly, and apparently with no small amount of disdain, said "no."
She backed away slightly and mumbled "Oh ... sorry ..." and walked off.
Exciting new GIRL HARBOR interview! It's pretty crazy.
Thursday, March 6th - Me and Karen took the E train to work today. I mention this because, like the 7 train, it has those scrolling destination signs (much like this one). To this day, one terminus for the E train is listed, grimly, as "World Trade Center." Perhaps less grim is what someone wrote in marker over "World Trade Center" on the sign across from us on our particular E train today: Tyrone's land, Nigga!
Wednesday, March 5th - Because i should write down stuff like this more often:
One PUV co-worker explaining the theory behind "sweeps week" to another ...
"It's kind of like how I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here will replace Stuttering John with Kathy Griffin."
03 / 03 / 03 - Here's an item from our Western correspondant Dave Heineman. He saw this in a game on the back of a box of Peanut Butter Crunch he was enjoying for breakfast one morning. He said he almost blew milk out his nose. Notice his attached note ...
In unrelated breakfast news, me and Josh have decided we're gonna get a dog. I mean, i'm not *sure* we're gonna get a dog; we tend to come up with these sorts of ideas all the time. But, we were talking about our upcoming dog at Diner with the visiting Mike "The Stranger" Peterson and Katie Sherry (pictures forthcoming) this morning. It's going to be a pug dog, and we're gonna name it Mr. Shmitz, after one of Josh's old misanthropic neighbors from his childhood. I decided the dog needs to be wearing a collegate sweater and a derby. Also, since Josh clearly only wants a dog so he can pick up on girls, we all decided that every time a cute girl approaches Mr. Shmitz, he's gonna fart really loudly. Like, "oh, what a cute dog!" and then "FFFFFFRRRRRAPPPPPPP!!!!!!". And she would go "EW!" and dash off, and Josh would just kinda shrug. This was good for a few laffs.
"The Stranger" Mike Peterson, and Katherine "Katie" Shiery
before the big breakfast at Diner
I won that record on e-bay. I'm pretty sure i'm the only person that bid on it, other than (presumably) a friend of the sellers who put in a fake bid to drive up the price a little bit. Just a hunch. Unless one of you bastards did it!
Speaking of e-bay items, check out this auction, sent to me from ex-PUV staffer Mark Puner. He's always good at keeping me posted about useful items such as this one ...
