Mustache Cup

It's goonnnne, baby, gonnnnne. The mustache, not the year. Although 2008 is about to go poof too. (Sorry, Wendy, I tried to save the whiskers in a cup for you, but they proved too hard to handle.)

See, I had shaved the beard into a porno 'stache for the Mustache 4 Kids party and then I got sick and couldn't even DJ it.

How did my Ron Jeremy look, right at the end? Take a gander.


Nice, huh? Take a closer peek.


Maybe that's a bit too close. Better to take the long view.


Can you believe April didn't like it? That, when I ran into her friends, she wanted to scream, "It's a joke, it's a joke!"? Me neither.


So the holidays are almost over. I'll put up some pics of the annual Rickshaw craziness, but for now you can check out this video Waldo took.



And one Grumpy Guy for the road.

Near the Highway Robbery

Remember that music blog I was getting paid to write? No? Well, I'm not surprised, since not many people read it. It seems even the people who hired us to write it forgot about it, and now they're deep-sixing the whole project, along with the entire New York office of the company. Merry fucking Christmas. Is there anyone not getting laid off these days? Are we on the edge of another dot.com bust? Will we all be wearing dirty diapers and eating garbage soon?

All I know is I'll be writing whatever farts come into my brain for the next couple weeks, so if you wanna listen/smell, come check it out.


In other annoying, money-sucking news, the Berkeley poo-poo stole April's car last Thursday. I guess stole is a little exaggeration, but it sure felt like it.

I had borrowed the car and parked it in Elmwood. When I went to move it, it was gone. No note, nothing. They should have to at least indicate when they take a car -- maybe leave a big cardboard cutout in its place.

Turns out April tags had expired six months ago. The woman at the DMV told her to smog the car and send the documents, and they would send the tags. They didn't tell her that she then had to call them to tell them she'd sent the documents.

Have you read Kafka's The Trial? That's pretty much what it started to feel like.

So this painter yells, "You looking for your car? They just towed it away." Luckily, he remembered the name of the company, so I could find out where the car had been taken. And luckily Kathleen had just called to say she was near the Bean*ery and would like to have lunch. Little did she know that lunch would turn into a six hour odyssey of awfulness.

I called April, who immediately took off from work to go get her car info, so we could go and sit in the DMV for two and a half hours to get the tags. Then she and Kathleen went to the Berkeley police HQ, which had closed at 5 p.m., because of course crime stops then. They had to jump through some more hoops just to buy a release form ($75) that said she had actually registered the car ages ago. (Mind you, we'd been stopped by a cop, who let us go with a warning.)

Then they had to go to the impound lot to pay $160 for towing a car that shouldn't have been towed, and naturally the lot was closed (another $80 and 30 minute wait to get it out after hours, with a threat of $60 more a day if you leave it there).

So, let's add this up. A total payout of $315. Half a day's work lost. Friend's time and gas and pregnant tiredness expended. Tons of stress. All because some idiot made the system ridiculously labyrinthine.

I hate Berkeley. This would've never happened in Oakland (there they just give you fix it tickets). I want to boycott Berkeley or get Ralph Nader to change the system or have Michael Moore write a movie about parking scams. But I guess there are more important things to do. Which is just what the town and the towers want you to think.

High Art

Entertainment Weekly just put out an issue devoted to the 50 Sexiest Movies of All Time. And there's some gross omissions, along with some (really) gross additions. I mean, The Bodyguard? Really? Can there be two less sexy people in Hollywood than Whitney Houston and Kevin Costner? And Mr. & Mrs. Smith? If they wanted some Angelina, they should've had Tomb Raider on there -- I heard little boys giggled in delight when she came on the screen. I could go down the list (The Notebook? Ghost?), but suffice it to say that a decent chunk of the list seems to have been put together by your mom.

I had to come up with a list of the sexiest movies left off. Some of these were sexy when I saw them as a teenager and may not be sexy now. Now you tell me what I left off.


1. Lie with Me. This is like one long, sweaty sex scene, even when they're not having sex. Based on the Tamara Faith Berger novella.

2. High Art. Yowza, Ally Sheedy, all my teenage fantasies come true.

3. Women in Love. This featured the first topless woman I ever saw on film. Also the first naked guys by the fireplace wrestling. Confusing.

4. Wings of a Dove. I'm almost embarrassed to admit that I cried during the sex scene at the end, maybe because of the film and maybe because I'd had a boner for Helena Bonham Carter for a loooong time.

5. Something Wild. Yes, Melanie Griffith's voice is annoying. But the rest of her, not so bad (and that includes her kooky personality).

6. Going Places. A French film about two guys traveling the countryside, sleeping with nearly every great French actress of the '70s. Sweeter than it sounds. Pauline Kael turned me on to it.

7. Flashdance, Risky Business, Hot Dog, Fast Times. I could list a bunch more 80s teen flicks, but these remain the most vivid.

8. Un Coeur en Hiver. Is there a more beautiful actress than Emmanuelle Beart? Is there a more heartbreaking film that this? Does it say something weird about me that I can get blue and blue balls at the same time?

9. Coming Home, Klute. Think Jane Fonda was all about the workout? Check out her oral-sex-by-paraplegic scene in Coming Home and see if you're not all hot and bothered. And in Klute she's the best prostitute in film ever, save maybe for Leaving Las Vegas.

10. In the Realm of the Senses. Starts out hot and gets way disturbing, as lust turns to obsession (with a knife).

11. Sex & Zen, Delicatessen, The Tall Guy, Liquid Sky. Sex can be funny and sexy. Especially when it's built into a sword & sorcery epic.

12. The Lover. Yes, Jane March was young. Sorry ladies, but every guy who ever saw this film has it tucked away in their spank bank.

13. Wild Things. Pure trash, but who didn't want to see Neve Campbell make out Denise Richards back in 1998? Not Jake and I, who saw this on opening day.

14. Betty Blue, Diva. Same French director, same mix of melancholy and sex.

15. The Story of O, Emmanuelle, Score. Cheesy boner-inducing Eurotrash. At the Castro showing of Score, a guy was wacking it in the row in front of us.

16. L'ennui. Dirty old man gets comeuppance when he falls for younger woman who dumps him. "L'amour fou" would've been a good name too.

17. An Affair of Love. Two strangers meet in a hotel to act out a transgressive fantasy. And you never find out what it is, which only makes the sexual tension more ripe.

Still Grumpy

Grumpy Guy turns 60!

Got Milk?

I just got cable recently, which means I got to watch Keith Olbermann for the first time. And, well, he's kind of a blowhard -- but he's our blowhard. And unlike the blowhards across the aisle, he's not hateful. He's a blowhard for truth and justice. Which means he was bound to get an SNL skit spoofing him.

But the guy's spot on a lot of the time. Like in this "special comment" about the passing of Prop 8. I swear I got a tear in my eye while listening, even if it is as corny as he admits the rant is. It's a shame Keith Olbermann isn't gay, because if he was, he'd be getting a lot of action right now.



If you want to get your blood further in a boil, watch Dan Savage yell at some hateful mofo from the Family Research Council. How smug and evil is that guy?

There's also a campaign started to get this thing overthrown. I signed right up, because fuck if I'm going to let someone tell me people like my mom can't get divorced (again) like everyone else.

Oh yeah, and maybe I'm just paranoid, but I think the ad layout person at the Chron might be a Dan White fan. Check out the placement of the gun next to the Milk film screening in Sunday's paper.

Hope Follows a Dope

You know what's going to be great about the next four or eight or kazillion? Many things, hopefully. But right not it's kinda fun watching all the crazies come out. (It won't be fun if one starts shooting, so don't get any big ideas.)

Like the lady nutjob who wrote KKK on her employees' time sheets in a diner in Florida. Or the drunk McCain supporter who bit the nose of an Obama man. Or this Republican congressman (!) from Georgia who suggested that Obama would turn into another Hitler or Stalin. Jesus, when do we get to throw this guy out of office?

What Obama might actually do is sign into law a ton of good shit that Bush vetoed. Right now he's considering reversing the international abortion gag rule, lifting restrictions on stem cell research, and banning the killing of cute, harmless puppies.

There's a fascinating piece in the New Yawk Times on why the racist white people of Western PA finally came around and voted for Obama. Turns out it was the economy, stupid (and stupid Palin, too, apparently).

It's been a blast watching all the Repubs eat their own: Mitten Romney's old flacks dissing Palin, Palin dissing Bush, and Fox News digging their own grave.

But even better is this bittersweet tale that Brent sent along, about the African-American butler to the president, who never thought he'd see the day a black man was elected to the highest post in the country. Get out your hanky for this one.

Tough cookies, nervous hours

Oh god oh god oh god, please let Obama win. I promise I will believe in you a little.

Here's some photos from Halloween, when a bunch of us went to Root Division and then crashed a party in the Mission -- and then got thrown out after barfing and fighting. Seriously.

I am Tough Cookie.


Spoiled Milk kickin' it with Hester Prynne.


The dynamic duo.


Several people thought I was a cow.


Things started to get a little woozy.


Then some guy picked a picked a fight with Dan about the impending release date of Chinese Democracy.


Brent and Marlo came late, all hopped up on absinthe, and missed the fight.


From earlier today.

No more vengeful geeks, please

I've been reading Fear & Loathing: On the Campaign Trail '72 by Hunter S. Thompson, since I figured it would be perfect for the election season. Well, the book's hit or miss (he does meander, after all), but it's fascinating to see who turns up in it. And how different the times where.

Thompson calls Supreme Court Justice William Rehnquist "a vengeful geek" after he was confirmed for the court. The terrifying thing is that, prior to Willie, the Democrats successfully turned away two candidates who were supposedly worse than him.

Ron Dellums shows up too, talking about how a Dem can beat Nixon: "It's time for someone to lead all of America's N**gers. And by this I mean the Young, the Black, the Brown, the Poor -- all the people who feel left out of the political process." You won't hear him talking like that today.

Seymour Hersh -- who later became a journalist for the New Yorker and exposed both the My Lai massacre and Abu Ghraib -- appears as Eugene McCarthy's press man. (He quit in 1968, calling Gene a "closet racist." Can you imagine Howard Dean's advisor Joe Trippi doing that?)

And Ted Kennedy's all over the early primaries, even though he hadn't declared. Just think, if he'd run that year he may never have dunked that girl in the river and we would've had another Kennedy in the White House.

It's weird looking back and wondering how everything might've turned out differently. Would crazy Texas girls be making up stories about Obama supporters carving up her face? Would John McCain's brother be calling 911 to complain about bad traffic?

You probably wouldn't need cheering up so badly. Well, go see Mike Leigh's new film, Happy-Go-Lucky. It'll make you glad to be alive, and that's saying a lot these days.

Where's Pitt the Elder when you need him?

Argh, I didn't think this election could possibly make me more aggravated than 2000 or 2004, but here it is, ulcer time. Just when you start to get polls saying Obama's taking surprising leads in swing states like Florida, Colorado, and Nevada or getting a double-digit lead with young voters, Hispanics, and independents, you get freaky polls saying McCain is pulling even. And then you have McCain pulling the ultimate "I'll say it before you so you can't say it" ploy: Saying that Obama will do anything to win. My god, if that isn't true of McCain, I don't know what is.

Take, for instance, this crap about Obama's tax plan being socialist. Forget the fact that it helps the working class more than hurting them. The Daily Show offered a clip from 2000 in which McCain himself says that he believes when you reach a certain level of income it's good to pay a bit more.

Then there's McCain's own ACORN business, in which he's hired a Republican who's known for defrauding voters.

And Palin's running around in campaign clothes that cost $150,000. With that money Joe the Plumber could buy himself a mighty big snake.

One other bone to pick: McCain has this thing on his web site where you can make your own Joe the Whatever sign, and they'll supposedly send them to you. I sent in these:

I am Karl Rove the lying scumbag.
I am Sarah the homophobic zealot.
I am McCain the Bush suck up.
I am not hornswoggled by the Palin winking.

But for some reason, they didn't send them to me.

People keep saying I'm being an alarmist when I suggest that even if Obama wins we're going to have absolute chaos on our hands. Then someone goes and kills a bear and stabs it full of Obama signs, and people start to believe me.

Just when you think there can't be anyone dumber or eviler in office than Sarah Palin, along comes Michele Bachmann. John S. says that the only reason she got elected in the fine state of Minnesota is that she's from a district where there aren't many people and most of them are super rich. Hey, maybe she's never heard of McCarthyism. At least she spurred former GOP Governor Arne Carlson to endorse Obama.

Yes, I'm in need of cheering up. That's why I'm glad Kathleen sent me BoyBama (make sure you watch until the kid's ice rink breakdown).

And then there's this dance-off between the two (or three?) candidates. Badonkadonk.

Maybe we should just go back to voting with beans. Or stabbing each other on the way to the polls.

Who wants Obama to win? This one.

Hey, I’m back. Was sick there for a bit, then April was sick -- and it had nothing to do with her parents.

We both read during Litcrawl last week. I read a chapter from my in-progress Young Adult novel. You know, the one I've been working on for the last year, after getting a draft done via NaNoWriMo. Well, I had to find five minutes of text to read, and I couldn't fine anything I liked. This sucks, I kept saying.

But then I found a part that mentioned Daryl Hall and the word "pussyhound," and when are those two things not funny? I'll tell you when. When your girlfriend's parents are standing five feet away from you.

But luckily they were out of my sightline, and April says they were laughing, so I guess there won't be more poisonings in the future.


Did you see the debate the other night? Dear god, can I say how much I hate John McCain now? The man has more facial tics than a puppy romping through a swamp. Check him out here, when he went back on Letterman to apologize for lying to him before about why he had to cancel an appearance. It looks like his eyebrows will explode at any time (and I always thought it would be his cheeks that ruptured), especially when his connection to G. Gordon Liddy is brought up.

Naturally, we're all sick to death of Joe the Plumber, who it turns out isn't officially a plumber. Seems he hasn't been licensed yet. I guess Joe the Almost Wannabe Plumber doesn't sound so great as a title. This guy hates government so much he refuses to give them any of his money, even his licensing fees (or his back taxes). Funny, he's going on and on about how Obama's tax plan is socialist -- someone should point out it's not so different from the current system, so that means we're socialists already. My god, Joe the Plumber called us socialists!

I caught Robert Greenwald on the Colbert Report last night. He's great for two reasons: One, he directed Xanadu, and two he makes all those left-leaning videos, about Iraq and Wal-Mart, and now John McCain. It's funny (did I say funny? I meant horrifying) how Letterman and Jon Stewart and Greenwald are the main people calling McCain on all his contradictions.

Obama's lead keeps increasing. However, now's not the time to get cocky. Do you remember how Al Gore had a double digit lead in 2000? Or that rural white voters still can't get over the idea of voting for one of "those people"? Or that there's another effect now in play, besides the Bradley Effect? This one says the polling numbers are off because poor whites don't like to answer polls to begin with -- and those are just the kinds of people who supposedly would rather not vote at all rather than vote for Obama.

Still, this election isn't all bad. At least we have that picture of McCain trying to suck the juices from Obama's tuckus.

Who exactly is a minor threat?

So, if things couldn't get any worse, April's parents tried to kill me on Sunday. I could've sworn they liked me, but there I was several hours after dinner, with my head stuck in the toilet bowl, ralphing up all that food they provided. (That said, April didn't feel so great either, but maybe that was part of their plot.)

I guess I should blame PF Chang's more than her loving parents. They've always hated me over there. I remember one time, back in 1996 after I'd finished serving knishes at the Stockton Asparagus Festival, and they gave me salad full of roaches. Gross.

Anyhoo, the veep debate was last night. I only saw the first 30 minutes before going to work, but that was long enough to hear Sarah Failin' tell Joltin' Joe and the moderator that she wasn't going to answer any questions that she couldn't, er, didn't want to. Will the "liberal" media take her to task for being folksy instead of showing that she doesn't know a thing about running the country? Hells no! And I love how she went on and on about how many regular people she knew -- not bothering to mention that if elected she would spend the next four years screwing them all.

In other news, I saw My Bloody Valentine on Tuesday. Loud. That's how it was. And blinding. They had a light show that was so intense that Marlo passed out! Literally fell on the floor. She's fine now, but I don't think she'll be asking for that MBV box set for Christ's Birthday. I gotta say, if I hadn't had a brownie bite beforehand, I would've thought that show was the biggest Naked Emperor ever.

Meaning it was nowhere near as great (or bizarre) as this video of Ben Kingsley as Ian Mackaye

The world is obviously going to blow up any minute.

Here today, stolen tomorrow

There won't be any photos on here for a while, mainly -- okay, completely -- because I got my camera stolen this week. Right out of my apartment, along with my laptop, my new phone (which hadn't been activated and was still in the FedEx box), two things I was supposed to send for BookMooch, and a bunch of coins. A bunch of coins! They came in thru the window for a bunch of coins.

At first I thought it was all the high school kids who hang out in the back yard, but that bunch of coins made me think this was a "professional" job.

A professional ass clown.

I've got renter's insurance, thank god, but it still means I lost that computer with all the stuff on it, plus photos I'll never get back, and I have to go without a phone for several days because the…never mind, this crap is boring. Let's just say it's weird to think of someone in my apartment -- and even weirder that I wasn't able to tell for a couple hours after getting home. And then slowly figuring out things are missing for the next couple days.

I guess it could be worse. David Letterman could be chewing me out for canceling an interview to rush off to save the country but really because he got a better offer from Katie Couric.

Also, Wonkette says that McCain ruined the bailout deal, so it must be true. When will the "mainstream" media get it together to tell people what's really happening?

And lastly, my college pal Tim sent me something saying that "Palin is a 'Post Turtle.'"

Explanation? "When you're driving down a country road you come across a fence post with a turtle balanced on top, that's a 'post turtle.' You know she didn't get up there by herself, she doesn't belong up there, and she doesn't know what to do while she's up there, and you just wonder what kind of dummy put her up there to begin with."

Need an example? Check out this snippet of gibberish from the Katie Couric interview.

Haikus for you

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Going Off

It takes longer to get there now. It didn't used to, but now it's like the mountain has gotten a lot taller.

I'm talking about getting in the show zone. I used to have a beer or two and then I would be right there, pumping my fist or nodding my head or hopping around. But the body just doesn't respond like it used to.

I thought it was the fault of the Fillmore, at first. April and I went to see Balkan Beat Box there this week, and they came out energized and the audience -- full of dreadlocked white guys, Burning Man circus types, horny sextegenarians, and clean-cut college boys -- was pumped.


But it took until the last song for me to relax and really get into the music. Why so long? Then I remembered that it had happened there before: LCD Soundsystem, Sleater-Kinney, both had rabid audiences, and both left me slightly cold. (Then again, Stereolab was awesome on the Cobra Phases tour.) But I think it's just me: I need more booze to get me relaxed and ready these days. Anyone else like this? Is it a matter of physiology or experience or just too much self-consciousness?

Speaking of relaxed and ready, I'll be reading about group sex at the Knock-Out tonight, as part of April's Rebel Reading Series. The lovely Hiya wrote this nice preview.

I think I go on (or off!) early.

Those Nutty Republicans!

It's that time of year. Or rather that time of every four years, when the Republicans (and occasionally the Dems) make me very very mad. With their lying and prevaricating (what does that mean, ack, I'm too lazy to look it up). Dear God, do they ever know how to rally round the flag (or terrorist strike or hopelessly unprepared Soccer Pitbull). So much crap to spew, so little time. And the "liberal media" stands by and lets it happen. When John Stewart is the only one asking the hard questions, we have a serious problem. Watch here as he lays out the many hypocrises of the Repub leadership. Or where he points out that Sarah Palin has more executive experience than any candidate, including John McCain, and Eye of Newt Gingrich goes, "Exactly!" Then there's Samantha Bee's report from the convention floor, in which she tries to get delegates to use the word "choice" to describe Palin's daughter's baby dilemma. Looks like the one woman's head will explode if she speaks the word at one point.

At least we don't have Rudy "Dispeptic Venom Spitter" Giuliani as nominee. And Mike Huckabee seems like a nice guy -- shame about those awful politics. But can someone please stick a muzzle on Karl Rove? Or maybe a nice pair of prison grays?

You know how Wonkette started calling McCain "Walnuts" ages ago, because of his disturbingly distended cheeks?



Well, maybe they should use "No Nuts" for Palin.

Sexist!

I take it back. She's not hot. She's scary. I leave the last line to Conan O'Brien. "She said she's a life-long member of the National Rifle Association. Which may explain why she's in favor of shotgun weddings."

What, James Garner wasn't available?

Wow. Just, wow. That John McCain is a maverick after all! He picked a young, hottt, inexperienced, anti-choice female governor of an unpopulated state to be his vice president. Stunned. I am stunned.

Did I mention she's hottt? (And looks something like that devout Hilary fan, Tina Fey?)

Wonkette sure did, way back in 2006. They also documented her past rear-end collision. Do you think they would be doing that if McCain were getting bonked from behind?

Anyway, I guess he can't call Obama inexperienced anymore. Whoopsie.

In other news, I'm getting paid to blog now. Only, not about hottt politicians or movies or what kind of jam I like. It's all about local music and it's on Listen.com. What's that? The local music scene's deader than McCain's testes? Wrong! Jeez.

In movie theaters, no one can hear you sweat

One of the things I did in NYC was see movies -- a lot of movies. Here's a quick rundown, in case you were wondering about any of these (and cared what I thought about them):

Man on Wire: Amazing documentary about a kooky French aerialist who strung a wire between the two World Trade Centers in 1974 and then walked between them! If you see one movie this year…wait, have I said that already? It will make you happy to be alive.
Tell No One: If you see one French thriller a year…okay, yeah, this is really gripping. A real headache movie -- the kind that you walk out of and realize you've been tense the whole time, trying to figure out who's good and who's bad and what's happening. With nearly every great French actor of the past 20 years.

The Tenant: Who knew Roman Polanski was so funny? Or looked so bad in a dress? Brian DePalma stole a lot from this film.

Roman Polanski: Wanted and Desired: Not the best date movie ever, but an intermittently fascinating doc about the film director's troubles with his own libido and the spotlight-starved justice system.

Baghead: Remember when I was talking all about the Mumblecore genre? Well , this is the dudes who did The Puffy Chair, and it's half mumblecore uncomfortable relationship film and half couples chased by masked dude in cabin horror film. Like Curb Your Enthusiasm meets Friday the 13th.

Gonzo: Life and Times of Hunter S Thompson: He may have turned into a cartoon, but for a while there, he was the wildest journalist ever. Some great footage and stories, including the time he cut his hair while running for mayor of Vail, so he could call his ultra-conservative opponent a long-haired freak.

Vicky Cristina Barcelona: Okay, I saw this one here, but I’m including it. Kind of good, but it feels like soft-core porn for old Europhiles, equally enamored of Gaudi's architecture and Scarlett Johannson's lips. Shot a bit too much like an American Express ad.

So, it's good to be back in the East Bay, where I can have interactions like this one, which occurred after I propped my bike up against a tree and walked into the PO Box place to check my mail.

Crazed Berkeley type, speaking frantically: You should bring your bike in here, or else someone will grab it.
Me: I'm just going to be a minute.
Her: My bike got stolen a couple weeks ago.
Me: (Thinking of the recent Piedmont robberies) Oh yeah, was it outside here?
Her: No, it was at my home.
Me: Um, so you live around here?
Her: No.
Me: O-kay. (Going off to open my box)
Her: Well, I guess trust is a beautiful thing.
Me: Go away, batshit lady.

Goodbye Big Applesauce

Today is the last day of my New York sojourn. (Boo! Yay! Both!) I was offered a sublet by a friend of Ryan's, starting in September, but I'm not taking it (again with the booing and the yaying, you cheeky bastards). Instead, I will give you a lot of pictures from McCarren Pool, where over the last few years they've held free indie shows every Sunday during the summer. And no, it's not full of water, although it would be cool to see Georgia Hubley do the backstroke. It looks like this (note the Slip & Slide):
There's also a place for dodgeball, but I resorted to just playing a game I like to call photographing the hipsters. Here's a bunch of guys who like Thurston Moore a lot. Why does no one want to look like Lee Renaldo? Poor Lee.

And here's a mini Russ.

And another one. Looks just like him from the back.

King Khan actually commented on this guy from the stage. Me, I think the feather on the marching band helmet is overdoing it.

This guy looked like a combo of Opie Cunningham and his dad from Happy Days, with a little white trash mixed in.

These two must've called up and asked what the other was wearing. "Oh yeah, the bandana? That's a nice touch!"

Finally, the show started. Wow, what a show. King Khan is like extreme Elvis if he slimmed down a bit and only stripped to his underwear (and was brown instead of pale white). And sometimes wore a blue helmet.

He had his own personal dancer.

He had his own rollerblading septegenarian bringing him bananas. Which he then threw into the audience. (One guy chucked it back and hit him in the balls.)

When he'd finished, he came back out for the Black Lips set wearing a backless dress.

And proceeded to end the show with a major paper fight.

The girl next to us actually caught a roll and put it in her purse. New York is expensive, but damn.

I elbowed Toby Keith

He's the country singer who wrote "These Colors Don't Run," and it was an accident. Actually I thought he was part of the stagecrew, until I saw him turn a corner and head for Stephen Colbert's guest chair.

See, April and I got the very last standby tickets for the Colbert Report (drop the T -- it's French, bitch). So we were standing next to an old guy from Wisconsin who was far less interested in talking bowling with me as he was in staring at boobs with April. Anyway, Toby walked past and I knocked him a good one. Oops.

Turns out Toby is some kind of redneck Democrat or something, with a new movie called, get this, Beer For My Horses. He sang, which was not so hotso. Would've preferred the originally scheduled guest, the biker who stopped "journalist" Robert Novak from leaving the scene of his hit and run. After Novak caught the cancer, they didn't feel like making fun of him. Go figure.

Here I am outside the studio.

Earlier, we met Paul at PS1 for some disco and James Turrell light exhibit action. He's the guy who bought that crater 38 years ago and has been working on it ever since.

Not everyone liked the exhibit, which was a hole cut in the ceiling.

There were lots of other hipsters, many sporting these Roman sandals. Go Trojans!

April wants me to mention that girls without bras and mannequins with nipples are running rampant here. I have no pictures of that, but I have one of this guy, who forgot his pants.

We also went to the best burger place in town, Burger Joint. Bizarrely enough, this tiny grill is housed in the belly of a super-fancy hotel, denoted by a little glowing burger sign. If you don't order correctly, you get sent to the end of the line.

Look, the white trash aesthetic is out of control.

This place was in Chelsea, so I figured it was an art gallery, but no it was one of those clothing stores where they have three things on a table, each costing more than a small car. Great door though.

There are lots of multiple-use spaces here. Went to see Cause Co-motion at the Cakeshop, which has a bakery and a record store upstairs and a venue downstairs. And then I picked up a CD by a fantastic local band, My Teenage Stride (see their cute videos here and here), at Sound Fix, a Brooklyn record store attached to a bar. I wonder how many people do a lot of drunk purchasing instead of dialing. Smart business move.

I will leave you with a pic of April and I at PS1. I can't figure out how to turn it rightside up on this computer. Trust me, it's cute.