After reading this New Yorker article about Chat Roulette, I had a brilliant idea. My most brilliantest idea ever. More amazing than peanut butter donuts. More stupendous than Green Cheese. More insane than toilets made of rose petals. We should have a Night of Trying New Things.
Because there's always stuff you hear about and want to try but never get around to or are afraid to do alone or don't have the Jaws of Life for. Like Chat Roulette. Or zorbing.
So here's a rundown of things we tried:
Turkish nutella - Delicious! Mixing white and milk chocolate for a taste sensation.
Yorkie chocolate bar - This is, apparently, not for "girls." However, when ladies ate them, they didn't turn into frogs or worse. Eh.
Pocky's Mens Bitter - More dude-centric food. What's with this trend? Pocky strawberry is way better.
Some crazy Chinese liquor - Soooo strong and kind of gross.
A durian - This southeast asian fruit smells as horrible as they say. Like sweat socks that have grown mold for a few years. We chopped it up outside so it wouldn’t pervade the house. The taste? Pretty awful. Hard not to smell at the same time.
The reissue of Exile on Main Street - The new songs are okay, nothing super exciting. According to this article, the songs aren't even necessarily from the French recording sessions or from 1969. And Mick re-recorded a bunch of the vocals. And I have no idea what this writer is talking about when he says the new "Loving Cup" is their best song ever. Sounds Stoned in all the worst ways.
Chat Roulette - Was hoping we'd get to see something like this guy. But really it was just penis, penis, penis, giggling teen, penis, penis. Both April and I had penis nightmares that night.
Miracle Fruit Tablets - These are awesome! You let one dissolve on your tongue and then everything bitter tastes sweet. Grapefruits are amazing, beer is super smooth, even durian tastes alright.
Oh yeah, and the orgy room was a big hit.
Here's some stuff people suggested for next time:
Salvia divinorum pistachio-milk gelatin sub-prime mortgage applications heroin
So Noise Pop is next week, and because people have started asking me what they should go see, I decided to draft my Suggestion List (TM).
**Oh, I booked pretty much all of the fest, so if I don't mention something it doesn't mean it isn't good. Just not my ultimate favorites.
Here's what the markings mean:
* I will be here! Come step on my foot or kick me in the shins or pour coffee down my throat!
++ One of a kind performance. May never be seen again. Ever.
SO: Advance tix sold out. There'll be some available at the door on the day of.
Tuesday, February 23
* Opening Night Party: Har Mar Superstar at Bender's, starting at 5 pm. Not only is this show free, but you get to drink for free. All night! Okay, maybe this doesn't have as much of a draw as it used to, but still, how about you can get a free shirt that says "Be Stupid!" on it? See, to get in you have to go to Diesel, get a shirt, sign up, and then wear the shirt to the show. Two hundred people in Be Stupid t-shirts! That's more than three kinds of stupid
*++ Yoko Ono Plastic Ono Band at the Fox, later that night. Not sure how much moaning the 77-year-old will do, but she'll be backed by son Sean, Cornelius, and Yuka Honda, so it should be interesting, at least.
Wednesday, February 24
* Free Energy at Rickshaw Stop, 2nd band. Woo hoo! Free Energy used to be several guys in Hockey Night, who we put on a TKS disc years ago. They still sound a bit like Pavement, only now they've gorged on Thin Lizzy and T.Rex and Weezer, with production by DFA. Anthem rock! Probably the band I'm most excited to see this week. Also: the Splinters do the post-punk thing quite well too.
** Best Coast, The Sandwitches, Young Prisms at Du Nord. The headliner's decent but wow, what great support! Best Coast is girl-group shitgaze, the Sandwitches are like the Shaggs but good, and Young Prisms are My Bloody Manchester.
++ The Ghost of a Saber-Toothed Tiger at the Indy. Sean Lennon, his hot girlfriend, and Cornelius playing hushed sexy pop. Also: Lennon doing improv thing with Greg from Deerhoof.
Thursday, February 25
++ The Dodos w/ Magik*Magik Orchestra at the Palace of Fine Arts. Saw a preview of this at MOMA, and it was freaking beautiful. Full on orchestra filling out the experimental-folk of the Dodos. Like Sufjan Stevens without all the twee lyrics.
* Zee Avi at Rickshaw Stop. Adorable pixie singer from Borneo, with a voice like Jolie Holland. Also: Sleeper might be 2nd band Leslie & the Badgers, an LA country combo that could be TNBT.
Friday, February 26
*Bay Bridged Happy Hour with Hunx & His Punx, Weekend. Hunx plays adorable 50s-ish garage, and Weekend is sexy Joy Divisiony goodness. And you can be in bed by 9!
*SO Magic Wands w/ Atlas Sound, Geographer at Great American. Atlas and Geographer are cool and spacy and all, but local duo Magic Wands brings the heat. The next Kills perhaps?
SO Rainbow Arabia with Four Tet at Indy. Like an LA version of MIA, with more Arabic samples.
* PEE at Du Nord. Want to relive the days when indie-rock wasn't on a major label (as much)? Welcome to the '90s, when herky-jerky combined cute and muscle for all sorts of confusion and noise. When are Tiger Trap reuniting?
++ Thao & Mirah at Swedish. Two awesome local singer/songwriters collaborating for the first time! Such pretty singing. Also: opener Carletta Sue Kay is a guy in drag with a piano. It's better than it sounds.
*Black Prairie, Trainwreck Riders, Birds Fled From Me at Rickshaw. BP is three members of the Decemberists playing bluegrass, spaghetti westernish country, and proggy pop - 1st time in CA! TWR rock in a country way, Birds is Rachel from Sleepy Sun doing spooky folk-psych.
Sunday, February 28
* Visqueen with Dizzy Balloon at Bottom, matinee show. I loves the nerdy pop of DB, but Visqueen is the truest to the original Noise Pop sound. Big guitars, muscular girly vocals, thumping drums. Yum.
*SO Edward Sharpe & Magnetic Zeros at Bimbos. Looking forward to the big-time hippie rock. Thinking of taking off my shoes. Plus: Northern Key is pretty gorgeous.
At the end of last year, I read this article in the NY Times Sunday Book Review about how the new literary lions (cubs?) can't write about sex like the old literary lions. Dave Eggers writes about cuddling, whereas Philip Roth wrote about having sex with a plate of chicken livers. (Okay, ew. But hilarious, right?)
Well, one of the older books they mentioned was John Updike's Couples. I'd tried once, many years ago, to read Rabbit Run, because my dad had recommended it. Never got very far, but I figured I'd give Couples a try. After all, that Updike guy was a national treasure. And a Red Sox fan.
Turns out the book is pretty awesome. Not only does it take place in Eastern Massachusetts, but it's dirty as hell and fascinating much the same way that Mad Men is. It was published in 1968 but takes places in 1963, which should tell you all you need to know about what will happen.
There's a bunch of upper- and lower-middle class couples roaming around Tarbox, having sex or trying to have sex with each other's husbands and wives. It's pretty graphic -- check this out: "She would give herself to him in slavish postures, as if witnessing in her mouth or between her breasts the tripped unclotting thump of his ejaculation made it her own." Wow! Unclotting thump!
But there's also plenty else going on. I just love a writer who can come up with stuff like this: "I remember lovemaking as an exploration of a sadness so deep people must go in pairs, one cannot go alone."
One thing that I think is dated is how much people think about death in the book. Maybe it was the whole Cold War/Atomic bomb hanging over your head thing. But to have sex to stave off death? Come on! The French have it right -- sex IS death. Le petit morte.
Anyway, I highly recommend the book -- especially because I want to talk about the end with someone.
In other news, have you seen the new Charlotte Gainsbourg and Beck video? Holy crapolo, it's nuts!
Beck wrote all of the music and some of the lyrics for the disc, which has several tracks about her near-death experience. (Don't go skiing, ever, is the lesson here.)
I've been researching an article about French pop, so I've come across all sorts of cool '60s video, like this version of "Do the Locomotion" by Sylvie Vartan (did you know she was actually Hungarian?).
And also, wow, did things ever go wrong in France in the '70s. Check out Sylvie auditioning for ABBA … or Sha Na Na.
Um, and here's the ever-fascinating Francoiz Breut, with more people in strange animal masks. Must be a French thing.
Yeah, we haven't done one of those in, like, a year. (Does anyone say "like" anymore? I just watched Wassup Rockers and they sure say "and then" a lot, but that came out years ago.) We're getting old. And busy. But we still know how to bring it. Or at least I think we do. I DJed a holiday party last week, and people seemed to be enjoying themselves (ie drinking and dancing badly but energetically). Too many Lady Gaga requests, but I guess that's to be expected these days. One guy even dressed like her -- to the undiscerning eye, aka me, he looked like a giant stalk of rhubarb.
So we've decided to make this TKS party special by also making it a Key Party.
I know, I know, key parties are soooo '70s. And creepy. Not this one. There'll be monkeys, donkeys, church keys, and many more keys for you to go home with. Who knows maybe you'll even meet that special someone (there have been 2 documented instances of future spouses meeting at TKS parties).
Like usual, there'll be a cool local band (Geographer) and a free cd. I got the idea for the cd cover from a book I scored over the holidays: Sleeveface.
Sleeveface became a big deal on Flickr ages ago, but people (ahem, us) are still discovering it. Really, I've just been too lazy to do it before now. And we didn't spend nearly as much time as some of these folks did.
Still, I highly recommend trying it. It's pretty dang fun.
I've been meaning to put something up here about the Rickshaw's annual Holiday Throwdown and, now that Fresh Pink's been so kind to share her photos of the eventful day, I can. It started out with all of us biking aimlessly around the city in the rain. Here we're circling the roundabout for 5-6 times.
Unfortunately, it was too slippery and April took a horrible fall on some train tracks. She toughed out the rest of the day, but it later turned out she had a fractured elbow! What a trouper!
Gathering our (first) wounded warrior, we all jumped onto Caltrain and road to Millbrae, where we rode some more.
Finally, we arrived at our first destination ... go-karts!
Elly and Josh took first in the very long 15 minute session. Twenty-two laps! Um, for the faster people. Not to get all competitive. At least I didn't plow into Amy so hard that her safety harness flew off! (Wow, was she ever purple the next day, when we ran into her in the emergency room.) No wonder Megan's looking a little nervous.
Time for stage two, so get on the bus until we're in Palo Alto ... for badminton!
More bus action leads us to ... a mechanical bull ride! I was going to take a pass -- bad back, allergy to looking stupid -- but finally decided to hop on. And crazy enough, I lasted over a minute and beat the bull! Didn't get tossed, got to keep a hat. Boy howdy!
Megan was a trooper too, giving the bull a try. This might be my favorite pic of the day.
Finally, we took off towards the city, singing along to ELO and getting progressively drunker.
Thank god for the Mexican food.
How do we ride into the sunset? With custom made shirts, of course.
Why would someone walk around town for a month with facial hair that makes them look like a '70s porno star, a gay cop, or a child molester? For the kids, of course!
After watching the Mustache for Kids 'Stache Bash the last couple years at the Rickshaw, I decided to join the fun this year. The deal: you grow a from-scratch 'stache over the course of a month, and then you ask people to donate money in order to endure the embarrassment. All the cash goes to DonorChoose.org, which funnels money to teachers who need stuff for their classrooms. Very cool, right?
Here's my M4K page, and here's my donor page, where I've picked out a bunch of worthy classroom projects. I know no one's got any money these days, but if you've got anything stuck between the cushions of the couch, this would be a nice way to spend it. (A burrito is also a good use for that change.)
The Stache Bash is at the Rickshaw again this year, on Dec 17. See you there!
I was going to write about all the cool things happening this month -- an agent is interested in a rewrite of my YA novel, I'm almost finished with another YA NaNoWriMo 1st draft, I'm growing a mustache for kids*, and some other things I can't remember -- but instead I guess I'll tell you about almost getting mugged a few minutes ago.
What? Why are you writing this instead of talking to the police, you ask. Well, I got into my building and it's 12:37 a.m. and I don't want to have to wait for the cops to come and take a report that won't lead anywhere.
So here's how it happened:
It was a nice night so I decided to go for a walk. I used to do that all the time in San Francisco and even in Temescal. Seemed fine, I even left my wallet at home, just in case I got mugged (although I hear it's not good to not have something to give the nice muggers). It was nice and quiet up there above Park Blvd, where all the ritzy houses are. I got some good thinking done, stretched the legs, great, right? I did get a little nervous when walking across the bridge above the highway, remembering when H. got mugged years ago while walking over Geary Street at night, but there was no one out there and I figured I could always hop over the railing into the street, since there was little to no traffic. Plus, it feels so free standing over the freeway at night, the cars whizzing under you, all those people going places that you aren't (hmm).
Anyway, I got a little lost on the way back, but the houses were so nice and the streets so quiet that I didn't mind. Finally, I found 28th Street and that led to Park and I was almost home. But I figured I'd walk up 8th Ave instead of go down another block on Park until 7th Ave, since it would be a prettier view. Big mistake, apparently.
I was almost to my building when I saw a person walking towards me. I figured I would cross over, not really thinking much of it, since I was at the point to cross anyways. But then they started crossing over and I realized they were both wearing black hoodies. One of them pointed up and maybe said "spread out," and that's when I took off. Thankfully, I was heading downhill instead of going uphill or I would've been screwed. Out of my peripheral vision, I saw the one guy pull something out of his pocket and as I zipped by him he swung it at me.
I kept running but he was running right behind me, and it was impossible to tell how closely. I noticed there was a white new car double-parked in front of my building and I thought for a second that I should stop them for help. It's lucky I didn't since that was the getaway car.
As I got to Park, I couldn't hear the guy behind me anymore. But then I realized that what I'd been running to -- Dave's -- wasn't open anymore. Would I have to keep running until I got to Baggy's by the Bay or whatever it is called? Or would they jump in the car and come after me?
I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. And as I tried to tell them what had happened, I peaked up 7th Ave and saw that the car was coming down towards me. I thought about where I would run next. Could I make it back to my place, going uphill? I could never seem to get my keys out fast regularily, so now might be even harder. Should I hide?
Just then the car peeled out, turning up and away from me.
The police were very nice. The 911 caller was very expedient. My hands were shaking when I got inside the apartment.
Why live in a neighborhood where kids try to wack you on the head when you go for a walk?
In cheerier news, Dylan's got a new holiday video that seems inspired by spiked rum punch.
You know what's killing blogging? Tweets. And Facebook. Seriously, I tweet once a day, and I write and work on the pooter all day, so I never really feel like blogging anymore. It takes too much time, it hurts my wrists, I get way less feedback.
You know what you can't do on F-Book? You can't put Grumpy Guy up on there.
Also, if you're like Brent and you live in the 2007s, you're not on those sites. Or maybe you boycott them like April. So this post is for you guys, because I still love you. This is what you're missing:
Links to the fun music blog of Carrie Brownstein (Sleater-Kinney), wherein she discusses whether it's okay to like the music of artists you don't, specifically the Black Lips guy, who just got in trouble for using the (other) f-word about the guy in Wavves.
#20: Gilead by Marilynne Robinson #19: American Genius, A Comedy by Lynne Tillman #18: Stranger Things Happen by Kelly Link #17: The Fortress of Solitude by Jonathan Lethem ** #16: Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides ** #15: Varieties of Disturbance by Lydia Davis #14: Atonement by Ian McEwan #13: Mortals by Norman Rush #12: Twilight of the Superheroes by Deborah Eisenberg #11: The Brief, Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot DÃaz **yuck** #10: Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro #9: Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage by Alice Munro #8: Out Stealing Horses by Per Petterson #7: Austerlitz by W.G. Sebald #6: The Road by Cormac McCarthy #5: Pastoralia by George Saunders #4: 2666 by Roberto Bolaño #3: Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell #2: The Known World by Edward P. Jones #1: The Corrections by Jonathan Franzen **
Kind of awesome Soul Train footage of the original "Shack Up," later covered by A Certain Ratio.
Hey, people sometimes ask me what I’m listening to and I always forget until I get home, which is where I am now. So here’s a list.
1. Mayer Hawthorne – A Strange Arrangement. Perfect recreation of ‘60s Detroit soul by young white dude. (Playing the Rickshaw on 9/15) 2. Yo La Tengo – Popular Songs. Same as usual: couple great pop songs, couple pretty ballads, couple of boring jams. 3. The Box Elders – Alice & Friends. Awesomely catchy garage-pop from Omaha, band so young they used to play with their mom. 4. Timber Timbre – S/T. Seriously spooky noir-folk from Canada. (playing Rickshaw on 9/18) 5. Taken By Trees – East of Eden. Woman from the Concretes goes to Pakistan to record with locals, covers Animal Collective. 6. Posies – “I May Hate You Sometimes.” How did I miss this one the first time around? 7. Bobby Blue Bland – The Voice. Again, how come I haven’t been listening to him for like 20 years? 8. Those Darlins – S/T. Three country gals from Tenn make fun(ny) twangin’ tunes. (Playing Rickshaw on 10/20) 9. V/A – Not Given Lightly. Morr Music electro-pop folks cover ‘80s New Zealand acts like the Chills, Clean, and Bats. 10. Fruit Bats – “Singing Joy to the World.” Guy picks up waitress at Indian Casino, takes her to Three Dog Night concert – now, that’s good songwriting.
And over there on Facebook, Michelle asked what 15 books come to mind when I think of most influential for me. Here’s my list.
1. Nick Hornby - High Fidelity 2. Grace Paley - The Little Disturbances of Man 3. John Steinbeck - The Winter of Our Discontent 4. Kurt Vonnegut - Welcome to the Monkeyhouse 5. JD Salinger - Nine Stories 6. Haruki Murakami - Norwegian Wood 7. John Irving - Cider House Rules 8. Jeremy Jackson - In Summer 9. Robert Christgau - '70s and '80s Record Guides 10. Lorrie Moore - Like Life 11. Woodward & Bernstein - All the President's Men 12. Jonathan Franzen - The Corrections 13. Gay Talese - Thy Neighbor's Wife 14. Andre Dubus - We Don't Live Here Anymore 15. David Sedaris - Holidays on Ice
And, might I suggest you buy the very first issue of Afar Magazine, which is on better newsstands as we speak. Yes, April works there and yes I have something coming out in the first issue. But don’t you want us to both continue to get paid to do these things? Right, I thought so. Don’t worry, the first issue is damn interesting, with articles about Scottish bog snorkeling races and Japanese costume cafes. (The writer of the latter article also wrote about Japanese guys who really, really love their manga pillows for the NYT.)
In other news, I went and saw Ponyo, the latest by Spirited Away director Hayao Miyazaki. It was only pretty good – nonsensical plot, bad dialogue, weird English diction – but it had a hilarious final theme, screwed over by Miley Cyrus’s sister and a Jonas brother. Truly bizarre lyrics. Check it out here.
Bruce and Susan just visited. This is what they brought us, besides the avian swine flu.
Paul turned 40 recently and celebrated by swiveling his hips a lot. For some reason, I didn't get a picture of him. But I did get a shot of Aidan learning a few tricks.
And April too.
As you probably read, a bunch of folks went to see Willie, Bob, and the Coog. It was pretty sweet, even if the music wasn't quite as exciting as I'd hoped for. I think I appreciated Willie's performance best. The Coog's set seemed super-slick and choreographed, although full of energy. At this point, Bob is just a shell of himself. You could understand maybe every third word and he looks really frail.
Still, Stockton was grand. We stayed in the same hotel as did the musicians' tour busses. I say tour busses because they never seemed to get off them. But we did get to see a wedding reception broken up by 12 of Stockton's finest and watch a meeting of Pocahontas and Redman, which is the second oldest fraternal organization in the US (and not a new stoner film by the rapper). I forgot my camera, so all you get is a shot of a stoner art car parked downtown the next day. In case you missed Stallion's performance at Cato's, here's what it looked like.
Here's the best video I've seen in ages, by Jay Reatard.
Jeez, is this whole mess of nutbags screaming about health care reform making you as mad as it is me? I mean, really, just when you think people in this country can't get any dumber they do. Do they really think that Obama wants to kill their grandmas? Or that there's anything remotely Hitler-like about his health care reform? One guy wanted to kill a whole bunch of people and the other wants everyone to live longer. One guy was keen on making the Arayans live longer and the other wants, again, everyone to live longer. One guy hated the Communists and the other loves them. Or something.
But I guess the big problem is plain and simple: racism. The white folks are scared that the poor black folks will take their health care away from them, and white grandma will die because black grandma needs medical attention. But they know they can't say that so they whine and weep about how Obama hates America. They've even gone as far as saying that Michele Obama's mom is practicing "witchcraft" in the White House. Of course, it's hard to take them seriously when the person who wrote the article also wrote, "After 8 years of a president sent by God to lead the American people and rescue us from the horrors of 911 and Islamo-fascists, it comes to this."
Thank god Barney Frank is around to compare these people to furniture from other planets. It seems to me that the First Amendment covers speech; it doesn't cover screaming and yelling and bullying. It's like the 2000 election all over again, when Republican operatives pretended to be regular people and bullied the Florida recount people with fear mongering and intimidation.
Hey, guess where I’ll be on Saturday? Stockton, CA, brother. That’s where Bobby Dylan, Willie Nelson, and John Freaking Cougar Mellencamp will be rocking the minor league baseball park. I haven’t seen Dylan since ’89, and I’ve never seen Willie, but honestly I’m most excited about the Coog.
What’s to like about some guy from Indiana? (Sorry, Jake!) Check out his induction speech for the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame or his recent Fresh Air visit. Man, he’s cranky. And a bit more than bitter. And his songs, well, they’re silly (“I fight authority; authority always wins”?) and preachy and too Bob Seger-y. Hell, here he looks like the scary lovechild of Huey Lewis AND Lou Reed.
A song like “Jack and Diane” is just so fake – a 35 year old singing about being 17 – and yet it still feels right. Maybe because I’m over 35. And maybe because it seemed wrong when I was 17. But wrong in a good way. Dirty wrong.
I can still remember listening to that song and "Hurts So Good" on a car trip in ’82, blasting it on a tiny boombox, standing by a car in my short shorts and muscle tee and bowl haircut. I wish I had a picture of that time. Oh yeah, I do. Woah.
Best line of that induction speech, by the way? The Coog telling Billy Joel what the folks in Illinois thought of his Farm Aid performance: “Billy, they didn’t know you were Jewish. They just thought you were Italian.”
My sister is still very cute, even at the ripe age of seven and a half.
United’s staff in Burlington is made up completely of 16 year olds. The kid at the counter? 16. The baggage handler? 16. The flight attendant? 16 and snarky, looking like he’d seen Rushmore one too many times. (Did you know it is against FAA regulations to bring your own booze onboard?) It’s like deepest Russia or Nebraska, where all the people with any ounce of beauty or intelligence immediately flee to New York.
What else? The loon really does sound crazy. Man, what a nutso racket they make! Also, the moose is a big freaking creature. And comic book guys in Vermont teach poly sci over the internet and own llamas and hot tubs that they rent out as part of B&Bs.
Also, they have Yelp here for some reason. There’s this tiny bakery/restaurant with a famously crazy New Yorker running it. All week long I heard how awful he was, but when we finally went it he was relatively normal. Both disappointing and relieving. He got an article all about him the New York Times.
A picture of my “ghoul friend”:
There’s not much to do around Marshfield. This bar of soap accidentally placed upright on another bar caused quite a ruckus.
The house they stay in is super old, with no toilet (can you say outhouse?), a bathtub that’s too small to really use, and so many dead bugs littered on the shelves that no one bothers to clean them off. That said, it’s right on the pond and the stove is pretty retro cool looking.
My brother’s really into fishing now. Here’s some perch he caught and I didn’t eat. Fish equals yuck in my book.
USAir now charges $7 for a ratty pillow and blanket. Seven dollars! Not a single person asked for one. Add on $20 per piece of luggage and $9 for a meal, and it’s worse than going to see a movie on an empty stomach.
Hmm, what else? April got Superfudge for Yi Rong, and she read it three times in a week. I read it too, and you know what? Judy Blume is funny as shit. But it’s weird now too, because she’s taken to updating her books – in Superfudge, the kid asks Santa for CDs and laptops, which didn’t really exist when the book was originally written. Is nothing sacred? Will Oliver Twist soon feature the wee lad asking for more Ben & Jerry’s Americone Dream instead of gruel?
Yi Rong and I made up a code, based around fruit. Cherry, blueberry, grapes!
After being married for over 20 years, my step-mom says her heart still beats faster when she sees my dad’s car coming up the driveway. That’s pretty cool.
In honor of tonight’s Bardot a Go Go and the ongoing Tour du France, this week’s Grumpy Guy is all in French!
Also, Wonkette recently posted about Anderson Cooper’s fascination with Furries, which directed me to this crazy Vanity Fair article about them. Tres bizarre. (But maybe not as bizarre as “crushies” or the fact that Congress actually banned crushie porn a few years back.) Remind me to tell you about the local musician who gets a chubbie every time he sees a girl with a stuffed animal.
Somehow, this all seems to go well with a night of French music that features the songwriter behind "Lemon Incest," especially since the video has him rolling around in bed with his own daughter.
Just so you know: I neither condone nor participate in either of the aforementioned activities.
I was trying to think of my five favorite authors of all time, fiction or non-fiction, and she's got to be on that list (along with Nick Hornby, Pauline Kael, Roger Angell, and jeez picking a fifth is hard, maybe Hendrik Hertzberg or Tobias Wolff or Andre Dubus or Robert Christgau or John Irving or Richard Price). "You're Ugly Too" is easily one of my favorite short stories ever, and I even wrote my own version of it, back in 2005. I just love her way with language -- some people think she's too clever, too white suburban, but I love its playfulness, its tartness. And now she's got a new short story in the New Yorker. Unlike with most of their stories, I don't feel that this one is incomplete. Another reason she stands taller than the pack!
I recently came across this video for Mayer Hawthorne. He's a 29-year-old white dude from Detroit making music that sounds like the Chi-Lites and Persuasions. Sweet smooth soul music, '70s style. And his first single was actually released on red, heart-shaped vinyl! Here he is walking around with it.
Recently, Entertainment Weekly ranked all the Woody Allen-directed movies, from 1 to 40. So, naturally, I decided to do the same, without looking at their list first. It wasn't exactly easy, since it's hard to remember some of them (the late '80s somber period is especially blurry). And I haven't watched the slapstick stuff for ages, so I'm not sure exactly how I would feel about it. So this list is how I generally think they rank (I've started rewatching some, just to see. A Midsummer Night's Sex Comedy was exactly like I recalled -- good concept that peters out at the end).
1. Annie Hall -- I used to think 1/2 should be flipped, but recently the creepiness of the age gap in Manhattan has gotten more disturbing. 2. Manhattan -- Still, a classic. 3. Hannah and Her Sisters -- Funny and serious, brilliant. 4. Zelig -- A sleeper (but not Sleeper). A faux-documentary before they were cool. 5. Crimes and Misdemeanors -- Evil Alan Alda! 6. Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex* (*But Were Afraid to Ask) 7. Love and Death -- only Woody could get laughs from Russian literature 8. Match Point -- 20 minutes too long and a couple frames too short (you know which scene I mean) 9. Sleeper -- ah, the orgasmatron. 10. Take the Money and Run -- drop the soap takes on new meaning. 11. Bananas -- slapstick goes south of the border. 12. Radio Days -- adorable! 13. The Purple Rose of Cairo -- news reels, Jeff Daniels, hooray. 14. Broadway Danny Rose -- Woody really has done more to fetishize the old times. 15. Alice -- William Hurt was born to play philandering husbands. 16. Husbands and Wives -- so hard to watch, and not just for the nauseating camera movements. 17. Stardust Memories -- Manhattan Lite, but still entertaining. 18. A Midsummer Night's Sex Comedy -- Shakespeare, in love. In lust. 19. Manhattan Murder Mystery -- What it would've been like if he'd stayed w/ Diane Keaton. 20. Bullets Over Broadway -- "Don't speak." 21. Mighty Aphrodite -- The last time Woody's old guy/young girl thing was palatable. 22. Scoop -- bumped up because Woody wasn't Scarlet's love interest. 23. Vicky Cristina Barcelona -- bumped down because it feels like elderly guy Landmark Theater porn. 24. Everyone Says I Love You -- a piffle, but Tim Roth steals the movie. 25. Shadows and Fog -- a bunch of stars sitting around, excited to be in a Woody movie. 26. Sweet and Lowdown -- just a piffle. 27. Melinda and Melinda -- half a decent movie 28. Deconstructing Harry -- Judy Davis deserves better. 29. The Curse of the Jade Scorpion -- so not funny, and Helen Hunt to boot! 30. Cassandra's Dream -- somber, grey, this truly is England. 31. Celebrity -- argh, gouge out my eyes! 32. Anything Else -- oof, is this what Woody thinks young people are like? Maybe he should date more of them.
New York Stories -- liked his part best, wish it was a full movie.
I can't remember anything about these: Small Time Crooks Interiors
I didn't see these: September Another Woman Hollywood Ending What’s Up, Tiger Lily?
Just got back from Tim's bachelor party weekend and boy is my donkey tired.
Sorry, you had to see the movie to get that joke. Let me tell you, this was one crazy weekend! How crazy? Well, for starters we did a Macrobrew Blind Taste Test! Eric D poured us all little cups of beers in three different categories: Mexican, Cheap Domestic, and Fancy Pants Imports. Then we had to rank them in order of pleasantness. Talk about crazy!
No, seriously, who would've thought Tecate would finish first and Pacifico last? Or that Sopporo would be up top and Stella at the bottom? And two kinds of Miller would get their asses waxed by Bud and Pabst? Wow!
Drinking was only one of our games though. Because if you take 12-14 guys and stick them in a cabin in Dillon Beach without any women, they will immediately start playing games. (For Matt's we didn't have enough games, so we invented new ones!) We knew this ahead of time, so we designed a sort of Tim Decathalon, with brackets and everything. (Meanwhile, the ladies were home in Oakland, talking. Talking?!) We didn't exactly finish all the sports, but I can tell you that Brent throws a nasty Missouri Washer, Rolf plays some mean ping-pong, and Tim knows all about Beer (he had a lock on the latter contest, since the winner was the person whose answers were the closest to, well, his). Oh yeah, and John S may want to consider going pro in Disc Golf.
What else happened? We wrestled some California King Snakes.
We drank with Vikings and Mouseketeers.
We rode a time machine to the future to play foosball.
We played poker with freaky Menonites.
And, um, we looked good in leather.
We also were served beer and peanuts by David's kid, who's just about the perfect three-year-old host ever. That's a perfectly good reason right there to have a child.
