ones and zeroes

Better living through modern chemistry.


rib it to me, baby.

oh yeah, first of all:

The Oscars are a shitty telecast, but congratulations to Million Dollar Baby for taking all the awards it deserved. Kudos kudos kudos!

le friday

Anyway, Friday was a blah, Lucy and I just took a quick hop over to Sapporo East for a delicious-as-usual dinner consisting of loads of sushi and Yasai Udon. I took a momentary break from dinner to hop outside and say hello to David Briggs and pay him back a years-old favor of monstrously psychedelic proportions. Happy travels, sir. After that Lucy and I hit the video store (or maybe we did that first, meh, who cares) in search a movie and settled on Kalifornia, one of Brad Pitt's earliest forays into the role of a more than slightly crazy character. I just love the word foray, don't I? We didn't end up watching it that night, and in fact haven't watched it yet. We ended up catching the first half of Look Who's Talking, Too on TV which was pretty entertaining, though I'm a much bigger fan of Amy Heckerling's other two slambang successes: Fast Times at Ridgemont High and Clueless, both destined to go down in history as classics of their times.

i had my baby back baby back baby back...ribs

Saturday was a day of highs, lows, highers, and mountaintops, so all in all that's not too bad now is it? While I would learn on Sunday that the biggest mistake I made on Saturday was not drinking enough water, the only real low on Saturday was overdrawing my account for 40 dollars and incurring a 30 dollar fucking penalty from my bank. Damn you, HSBC (when I'm pissed at them, I pronounce it hizbuck).

I started the day off startlingly early for someone of my immense level of lazy. I got up around 8 AM, showered, groomed, and headed off to Central Park armed with a bagel, coffee, my camera and my tripod. A fresh tape was in the videocamera and I was ready to record a good deal of the Gates for Larry, who's bummed that he's rooted in Pittsburgh right now and couldn't get up for the two-week stretch of orange art for everybody in the park. I know a lot of people who were pretty down on the whole thing, but I love it, and I especially loved the Gates while they were juxtaposed against the snow. Some snag in the charging process left my camera with only 32 minutes of battery power, which meant I'd only be able to tape about 30 minutes of the Gates, so I made the most of it, walking around while listening to a mix I'd just finished for Larry, another I'd finished for Ani, and another I'd made for myself recently. It felt great to be behind a lens once more and I fell in love with my camera all over again. I caught some great stuff on camera, including one thing that I captured right before my camera's battery died that I won't write up here so it'll be a surprise for Larry when he gets the tape in the mail.

After that adventure I scored some 5 dollar Walkmen/Features/Ben Kweller tickets at the not-too-punctual Irving Plaza box office and then met up with Lucy, Beach, Mandel, Noah, Builder and Shannon outside the 9th st. Path Station for our trip into dreaded Jersey. The PATH train let us out about 4 or 5 large blocks away from the brand new Chili's location where we met up with Jay, Cara, and some of her hoodlum friends, and feasted like fucking kings. Overdrawn account or not, nothing was going to stop me from having barbecue-basted baby back ribs, and I cleaned them all down to the bone while feasting on boneless wings, awesome blossom, and endless bowls of chips and salsa. The 3G's margarita went down nice and smooth and we all pigged out to the extreme. Our waitress gave us great service and next time we head there (which should be soon, considering it's an easy 20 minute, 3-dollar trip to get there!) I think we'll be glad for another chance to send the tip her way and give her another lesson in rowdy Chili's service. Since we took the PATH to go to Chili's...does that make us Bridge-and-Tunnel for Jersey? Weird.

As if the day couldn't get any more supreme, we coasted into the evening with gin-and-tonics, an America's Next Top Model marathon on VH1, and some light soup to drown the rumbly Chili's party happening in my stomach. After many proclamations of being drunk on my part, we headed to the Mercury Lounge to see Peelander-Z, possibly on of THE GREATEST BANDS EVER TO WALK THE EARTH.


After two or three beers I was wasted, which went hand in hand with Peelander's crazy Japanese punk spectacle from beyond the grave. Their costumed, nose-picking, thrashing antics were exactly what I could ever want out of a show and I had a huge grin on my face the entire duration of the show. Highlights were human bowling and getting to hear someone yell "Howa you like-a your good-uh steak?!" MEDIUM-RARE! Those guys have got it GOING ON! After the show I got home, sat down, and realized the room was kind of spinning.

and on Sunday, he puked

That's really all there is to say about Sunday, really. I puked. I puked a lot, so much that I missed the Luna matinee show which was a damn shame, and spent the rest of the night doing nothing but feeling slightly better, eating Thai food, and doing homework.

and the villagers rejoiced

But then there was Luna, which made it all better. A good deal of Monday was spent in pain and discomfort, though, because I puked with full freaking force on Sunday and my digestive system felt torn apart. I could barely eat, which didn't help things at all, and struggled to get through the day by getting lost in Lucky Jim, the book I'm currently reading for my Contemporary British Culture class. It made me laugh out loud a whole lot, raised my spirits, and then while the "blizzard" (more on that bullshit to come) slowly fell Lucy and I made our way over to Bowery Ballroom in the evening to catch the end of Tarantula's scary psychedelic Battles-esque set and Luna's last show ever. It was a sad show and like Lucy said at its close, it was really weird seeing a band's final show. It's hard to comprehend what that quite means, cause they're there, and everybody cheers, and then it's over. Highlights for me were definitely Moon Palace and 23 Minutes in Brussels, the latter of which was quite extended, and they rocked out a whole a lot. It was especially sad because you could feel this palpable connection between them at certain points during certain songs, these musical peaks where they were all completely on the exact same plane of space and time and something beyond, in a perfect groove together, and it was those moments that made you think "Well,'s just...a damn shame." Beach, Daylen, Lucy, Mandel, Mia, Gigs, Sarah and myself all commiserated in the back along with Frank Bango who seemed to be really happy to be working that night of all nights and getting a chance to catch Luna's swan song. I still couldn't drink after Sunday's hangover hell, but it was a great show to be sober, mellow and melodic and thoroughly enjoyable. A beautiful walk home through the snow, and it was time to go to sleep.


So here we are, it's March 1st and the Interpol show at Radio City Music Hall is tonight and it's the end of my 22-day Superbowl-to-Interpol break from smoking grass. Got a gram from Sam in the afternoon on Monday and I have to say, I'm not as excited as I was a couple of days ago. In fact, I'm halfway-hesitant, 50/50 split between wanting to smoke and not wanting to. The break has gone so well that I don't know if it's worth ending it at this point. Even if I do smoke tonight, I know I won't be smoking a lot in the month to come, that's part of the whole break itself, but I almost want to stay clean until Larry gets here the weekend of March 20th and then just go buckwild with him and laugh my ass off till dawn. I won't know till tonight whether I'm going to smoke or not, and you won't know till tomorrow, but either way Interpol is going to sound heavenly with Radio City's awesome acoustics and I'm glad for a chance to go back there after the awesome show Wilco put on there.

bits and bytes

-I think I'd rather lick a toad or even maybe surf the subway than do this.

-A step towards some semblance of moral sanity?!

-Good to see a good man cleaning up a bad mess.

-Buy your NIN Tickets today!!! Hammerstein Ballroom, May 15th and 16th!

-Hmm..maybe another reason not to smoke?

-According to Ambitious-Outsiders, former Spice Girl Mel C is collaborating with Franz Ferdinand, and hell has just frozen over.

-Snow storm my ass. This is worse than the other time when Bloomberg warned us all to brace ourselves for some sort of deadly fluffy snow assault. An ocean of slush on the city streets does not constitute a blizzard. Cars and buses are running, I had to go to work, and schools are in session. All meteorologists should be flogged for being sensationalist pansies. Except Sam Champion, he's cool. We saw a HILARIOUS commercial for him during the Oscars, it was great.


Post a Comment

<< Home