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.