Abracapocus.

surprise attacks and first days

2008-12-30T22:02:00.005-05:00

1. I was riding my bike to work and a guy who was walking on the sidewalk spat at me and tried to push me off of my bike, into traffic. He called me a "cock-sucking chink bitch". It was a completely weird and random incident. Kind of not surprising, it being West Philadelphia, and all.

2. My first day working in the ER, 2 cops dragged in a guy who was kicking and screaming and apparently he tried to hit one of them. They put him in my section and somehow managed to get him sedated enough to strap him down on a stretcher. I got sent to go in and keep an eye on him. As soon as I walk in, the guy starts bucking up off the stretcher and yells "suck my dick you chink bitch. suck it suck it suuuuuuuck it!" then starts jerking his head around and starts biting the air. Obviously, the guy is nuts so I don't really take a personal offense to the racial slurs, however I did get the opportunity to shove a tube into his penis (ie. insert a urinary foley catheter). When I went to unzip his pants and pull his "dick" out, his expression went from stark raving mad, to confused, to terrified. He stopped calling me names and I guess he kind of got his wish, just not exactly what he had in mind.

3. On my first day of my RN externship, a guy coming down off of crystal meth, was flipping out in the waiting area of the clinic, so I put him in an examining room so he'd chill out a little and so I could kind of keep an eye on him. I went to make sure he was OK and found him going through the cabinets. In an attempt to get him stop, but not have him flip out, I asked him if I could get him anything (like a glass of water). He turned around with a box cutter in his hand and fuck-you-you-fucking-bitch'd me. I said "OK, well..." and without really thinking about it, I grabbed the big, heavy, metal three-hole punch off of the desk and held it up like I was waving down a plane and walked backwards out of the room.

(Is there something I'm not aware of regarding 'chinks' and cock-sucking? The words are often paired.)

45 second recall: job list (starting at age 14)

2008-12-26T08:06:00.004-05:00

Upon request. Not in order:
nursing home people-feeder, ice-cream scooper, pizzahut pizza maker, veterinarian assistant, 7-11 cashier, pizza delivery driver, telemarketer, tele-surveyor, tele-'fundraiser', "desert storm' yellow ribbon maker (absolute sweat shop labor),waitress x 4, bartender x 3, short-order cook x 2, dishwasher x 2, thing seller, sandwich maker x 3, video store clerk, jewelry maker, drug-front-posing-as-a- reggae-record-store decoy (shocking!), library page, shoe seller (downtown richmond in 1989 next to 'the cavalier" pimp suit store. hilarious!), florist, cafe barista x 6, door person @ shows, grocery store 're-setter' (ask me sometime, it was bizarre), amusement park ride operator (shockwave, motherfucker!),fabricator of large art things, artist assistant, NASA sleep-study guinea pig, food taster, photo printer, photo deliverer, pre-school teacher (private and head-start), massage therapist, currently a nurse (various circumstances in NYC)... I might be forgetting a job or 2.

cold wars, apocalypse, and the rapture

2008-12-14T23:41:00.006-05:00

My usual morning routine starts off with a little Metafilter, which usually gives me all sorts of fun things to ponder on during the course of my lonely day as the only day nurse in my department. Today, I found out, was the 25th anniversary of the ABC airing of "The Day After".
Another movie that I would see commercials for and then run away all jittery and shaking (like Sylvester the Cat when he's with Porky the Pig in the haunted house), with some kind of horrific image that has stayed with me. I was already plenty freaked out about Reagan, nuclear bombs, Margaret Thatcher, and Russia. After all, I was 11yrs old at the time and 11 yr olds have a very powerful ability in developing theories on the world based on propaganda and fear-mongering entertainment. Around the same time, I had the strange experience of getting lured into "youth group movie night" at my dad's church, only to be scared of another thing that I hadn't really thought about: The Rapture.

Did anyone else get dragged to church as a kid, to watch this movie, only to come out completely freaked, pissed, and filled with a new found anti-christian sentiment? (I was trying to remember the name of this movie and in my search, found this site. ) I might try to watch these movies again once I finish torturing myself with the more awful, than good crime-movies-set-in-a-NYC-that-no-longer-exists phase that I started.

Also, I have to say that I can't get enough of watching that Iraqi reporter hurl his shoes at Bush. It's really brilliant. For some reason, seeing that footage and thinking about fear movies from the 80's makes me want to listen to the Dead Kennedys. I'll go so far as to offer that guy a sexual favor if he is in any way physically capable of taking such an offer after getting all of his internal organs kicked out of him.

Why I love USAISAMONSTER.

2008-11-23T18:33:00.018-05:00

Let me count the ways... If you want to see me flip out, give myself whiplash, dance like a fool, and not give a shit then you should join me at a USAISAMONSTER show. At one show an older guy at Uncle Paulie's asked me with all sincerity, if I was head of their fanclub. They're great guys, amazing musicians and I hope I don't seem like a creepy fan, but I feel that I should share my many reasons for the admiration. I'll try to start at the beginning.
I saw them open up for Lightning Bolt in Richmond before I moved, sometime in 2004. Couldn't figure out what to expect from them, they looked like they were completely from outer space. Like a pagan,crust,punk Funkadelic but with only 2 dudes and I was totally into it. They were fuckin' amazing and I found the music to be more complex and engaging than Lightening Bolt.

A few months later I moved to Brooklyn and started to see them on a regular basis. At the ToddP outdoor show in LIC (summer 2006?) I fell in love. They were the highlight of the night and I've talked about that show with quite a few people who were also very deeply touched by the moment when they played "The Spirit of Revenge" (they played in the middle of the crowd without a stage) , and Tom was standing on his drum stool playing the kalimba and everything became still and quiet, then the overhead train went by and sirens went off in the distance and the moment and the sounds and everyone flipping the fuck out felt like an urban exorcism and a spiritual rite of passage. It was one of the most memorable show moments that I've experienced.
In the early Fall of 2006, I had a moment of career crisis and realized that I needed to gain more clinical skills, so I tried to work at St.Vincent's hospital. It was a miserable experience. I would come home and hug the dog and start crying from the stress of having too many patients, hateful co-workers, a preceptor that threw pens at me, and the feeling of alienation from this strange machine that I walked into. "Sunset of the Industrial Age" had finally come out and I would listen to "Okeepa Ceramony" over and over again to get the strength to deal with the verbal abuse and the 12 hour day, "rise rise rise a-political sun is your light now no longer worth all the money in the world you rise you rise". Finally one day I just called the manager and told her that the job wasn't for me, and quit.

Later that Fall, I started a new job with an inpatient Hospice unit. (Oddly enough, the Hospice unit was right next to the Labor and Delivery department and I thought that was the most hilarious thing in the world, "out with the old, in with the new".) Honestly, I took the job knowing that it was going to be more than difficult, in a myriad of ways. I've always had a tough time coping with death, most of my experience has been with sudden, violent death. I had just recently lost S., the closest person that I've ever had to a mother, to a long drawn out battle with brain cancer. For various reasons, I wasn't able to see her before she died. In a way, working in Hospice later gave me a courage that I didn't have for S. Most of the time I felt like I wasn't strong enough of a person to do what I was doing, yet something called me to the work. My co-workers were pretty solid in their religious faiths and concepts of an after-life. Not me. The concept of "faith" has always been something that I've been at odds with. As strange as it may sound, the only thing that I really have faith in is this strange feeling of a commitment to the human family, which is why I became a nurse in the first place (among many other reasons). In my search for truths, I re-read "Prison Writings: My Life is My Sundance" by Leonard Peltier and thought a lot about "The Great Mystery". For strength, I would listen to "the Greatest Mystery" on my lunch break so I wouldn't have an emotional meltdown because I just told someone that their daughter would most likely die before the end of the night (or something similar). Between these two messages, I found a great deal of peace that allowed me to share with my patients and their families who needed that.
Over the years, Tom and Colin have developed this completely intricate web of sounds and words that reach parts of the brain and spirit that a lot of bands these days, don't seem to be trying to speak to. It's funny how they will lure you into these completely Grateful Dead swirls and riffs and I don't even try to fight it. I might even be a little thankful. On the newest release, "Space Programs", Colin's guitar playing has evolved into sonic paint, pure liquids with Tom laying down solids. Together, rolling out patterns in the pigment and then folding it all back into itself in these wonderful sonic layers. Layers that can take you back to the exact origin and then turn you around again with a clearer perspective of the future and when you stretch to reach for what you see, it feels really fucking good.

the website seems to be down right now, but it was: usaisamonster.net
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K-2nd

2008-11-10T04:01:00.025-05:00

When I started Kindergarten my family lived on the county/city line. According to my dad, he went to a meeting before enrolling me in school and decided that I would go to the city school in the effort to diversify and bring $ back to the predominantly black school after years of white-flight. For lack of a better term, I guess you could say that I was voluntarily "bussed". Oddly enough, my dad was the only parent (of a non-black child, keep in mind that I'm not 'white') to make this decision in my neighborhood. Leaving me to be the only non-black child on the school bus and of my Kindergarten class.

I was the last kid on the bus ride to and from school. It was the longest ride of my life. It was the start of getting honky'ed & ching-chong'ed for 45 minutes, 2 x a day for my first several months. I do remember that I went into it with a set of brass ones, because from the start, I felt my genetically programed blood-boiling-rage upon the first taunt and then would set out to destroy the source. The bus driver must have thought it was cute because I somehow never got in trouble. Really, I'd throw down hard if you so much a made a karate-chop yell or slant-eyed me. The honkey thing didn't really get to me, it's kind of weird. I think I signed off on any "model minority" image, with those kids. -20 points for me, at least.

After a few months, the older girls at the back of the bus took me in and everybody left me alone and I started to settle in to my school life. Everything seemed to be going smoothly until my mom started to reveal her deeply seeded racism. I wasn't allowed to go to my classmates' houses to play or for birthday parties and they weren't allowed to come to mine. After much pleading and begging, she finally blurted out "No. Black". This would eventually lead to "No. Parents divorce.", "No. Mother fat.", "No. Jewish.", "No. Dirty house", "No. Chinese.", and so on.

So, a little bit about the mom: If there was a Korean chapter of the Klan, she'd be in it. This woman refused to go to my undergrad. graduation ceremony because the speaker was Bill freakin' america's-favorite-dad-puddin'-pop Cosby (remember, "No. Black). This was the same woman who religiously perched in front of the t.v. and watched Soul Train while she applied layer after layer of make-up, before going to church. The same woman who had a pretty decent collection of soul compilations that she brought with her when she came to the U.S. This same woman swore that my cousin's marriage to a black man and having 2 kids with him, was the exact cause of my grandmother's death. It took me a while to figure what lurked behind the contradictions.

According to my dad, the day finally came when after calling my mom a "turkey", saying I was going to marry Martin Luther King, Jr. (didn't grasp the concept that he was dead at that time), preferring "The Wiz" over "The Wizard of Oz", and then coming home with corn-rows that I got on a bus-ride home (all of these things did not occur on the same day) that my mom lost it and demanded that we move to the county. I didn't get to finish 1st grade at A.V. Norrell elementary.

So we move to the county and I'm in a class with 2 black kids and one asian kid in my class, and every body's seeming to be all right with each other. This was nice, but a little odd because I moved in the middle of 1st grade and the social flow started without me. My teacher was shocked that my reading level was "advance" for the county(+5 points for me), but was "regular" for the city school from whence I came.

Now there was the issue with my speech. I had to attend speech classes because I "talked funny" due to picking up mispronunciations of certain words from my mom and having a city-southern accent (which still comes out here and there), and my teacher did not "want it to get worse". Make of that what you will, but this still blows my mind that I got sent to a speech therapist or whatever the hell she was. Hell, I still can't properly pronounce the word "horror", even after going to those fuckin' sessions. What was most important was that none of my classmates seemed to notice and kids that age make sure to let you know if you're sounding or looking peculiar. It was the first time in my budding school life that I didn't stand out amongst my classmates, but I started to get noticed by teachers.

Blowing off the dust.

2008-11-09T23:56:00.003-05:00

I've been promising R. that I would update 'the blog', but never getting around to it. A lot of this has to do with the fact that I have been having a little bit of stage fright when it comes to writing. My spelling is shit and I'm a grammatical nightmare. I can spit out a story with great skill, or so I have been told. Writing things out is another story. After about 1998 or shortly after, when letter writing appeared to have come to a screeching halt, my spelling, handwriting, and proper use of commas went right out the window. One of the reasons that I started this blog was to learn how to write again and tell some of the stories that I find myself telling less frequently. Sometimes I feel like I tell the same stories over and over again and I feel a little self conscious about it. There are plenty of times when I will tell a story to someone that I've known for years and they will claim that they had no idea that whatever I was talking about ever happened to me. I don't want to sound like I'm bragging about experiences and I've also found myself to have gotten a little shy in the past few years. Maybe I'm a late bloomer and should have put out a 'zine or something, sooner like Lisa Suckdog or my friend Alyssa. (I do have a failed 'zine attempt story)

R. and I are sitting around listening to the Bad Brains, ROIR cassette and I told him that if he keeps playing early Bad Brains, I will share the following story:

When I was 17, I met a rasta (she later told me that she was more a "dread") who was working at a x-mas time "Hickory Farms" stand, in the mall that I used to cut through to get to and from school on the rare occasions that I decided to go. Somehow I befriended this woman who introduced me to a friend of hers that was in need of a place to stay because she was pregnant and her man was shacking up with the lady across the street.

At that time, my parents had just gotten divorced and pretty much left me alone in the house so I could "finish highschool". So I let this woman move in, who was crazy as shit and smoked so much fuckin' weed that you could smell it wafting out of my house and down the street even with the windows and doors shut. I was clam-baked most of the time. She was 22, had 2 or 3 kids that lived with her parents, and she grew up in Bed-Stuy. That was all I really knew about her at first. Then I find out that the father of the kid was the singer of the above group that I have just mentioned.

He was living in Richmond for a while with a reggae band that he was dedicating most of his time with. This was just before the time that my love for the Bad Brains died, when they came out with one of the most dissapointing records of my young life (include DRI, The Cro-Mags, and a couple of the weird hardcore-to-metal crossover incidents that were occuring in the late 80's).

One night, this woman invited the above mentioned singer over to the house while I was out. I walked in and saw him sitting in what was known as "my dad's chair" and I nearly shat myself. She introduces us and we chat and then she tells me that she showed him my bedroom where I happened to have every fuckin' Bad Brains related thing plastered all over my walls and I was completely horrified. Out of complete humiliation and anxiety, I start smoking large amounts of what they were smoking which launched me into the 2nd worst panic attack of my life. So I called my best friend, G. to come get me and take me to her house because I'm freaking out and of course she wants to know why I'm freaking out and I tell her. I hang up the phone and minutes later I have these kids calling me asking if certain-said-singer was really at my house and the woman is asking me why the phone keeps ringing and I'm trying to keep it cool and I'm praying to god that these kids don't come to my house, and then I vow to kill G. for calling and telling these kids that this dude is at my house, as soon as she brings me back to her house.

So I'm clawing at my face trying to keep a cool composure and deflect the attention aimed at my panic attack and face clawing, when G. finally comes to get me. After I finally calm down a little I call my house to apologize for being such a freak and MY DAD ANSWERS THE PHONE, and I this launches the 3rd worst panic attack of my life. Keep in mind that during this time, my dad moved in with his soon-to-be 2nd wife a day & 1/2 after my mom moves out of our house, and that he only came by once a week to drop off some grocery/cigarette money for me. This particular visit was not expected and although he knew the woman was living with me, he didnt know that this wooly dreaded dude was going to be in "his chair", smoking what they were smoking. So I ask him, very innocently, what he's doing and he tells me about how he's sitting around shootin' the shit with "Joseph" and the lady, watching "Predator" on HBO, and how they told him that I got a "little anxious" (but not what caused it) and then my dad goes on to to tell me that it's okay and that he told them "all about" my mental health issues (prompting the 4th worst panic attack of my life) and that my week's worth of grocery/cigarette $ is on the fridge. During this phone call, I'm wondering if my dad's getting high with them because that would just make the whole picture, complete. I can't get the nerve up to ask, as I am still trying to pretend that he hasn't noticed that there were cigar-sized joints laying around all over the house and the place was filled with smoke.

I finally come back home after I'm pretty certain that I've worn out my welcome at G.'s house and I'm relieved to see that the lights are out in my house and my dad is gone. So I go in and pass out in my room. In the morning "J." peeps into my room to wish me "good morning". I pulled my blankets up over my head and I stayed in bed for at least 6 hours, wishing I were dead. About a week or so later, the woman moves out of the house and I found out that the visit from "J." was really about him coming to talk her into moving back in with him, or at least moving closer to him in the city. I suppose I may have inadvertantly helped her make the decision to do so.

The Ex

2008-08-18T23:03:00.009-04:00

Unfortunately, the Rhys Chatham: A Crimson Grail for 200 guitars, got rained out. However, I will still get another chance at sonic baptism this Wed. when The Ex play for free at Lincoln Center's Out Door series.

The Ex are one of my most favorite bands. I've loved them forever. I remember when they played with the Butthole Surfers in Richmond, when I was 17 or so. My intent was pretty much to see the Butthole Surfers and to unload a sheet of something that this hippy kid in my neighborhood, practically gave me for free. It was no surprise that the whole sheet disappeared in less than 1/2 hour. So not only did a make a ton of cash, but I got into the show for free without a problem because I hooked up the door guy.

It was one of the weirdest shows that I had ever been at, and not just because everyone was on acid to see the B.S. Apparently, what I unloaded was pretty good because I made a lot of friends that night and there weren't any complaints. This particular crowd was really different to me. Noticeably older, arty, and dirty.

Kind of seemed like no one was there to see The Ex, but I remember when they finally played, it cut through me. There was this frenzy and rage that really moved me. As if I was getting a second chance to experience Crass. It was the missing piece to all of the shit hardcore I was constantly getting bombarded with. Unfortunately, I think they were a little too much (too real) for people who had come there to see the Buttholes and the crowd became unpleasant. Although it was an 'off' night for them, they made quite an impression on me. I'm pretty sure that they never played Richmond again.

A few years later, I met Tom Cora when he was playing with The Ex in Pittsburgh, at CMU in 1992 (I think) for the "Scrabbling At The Lock" tour. We connected when we both came to learn we were fellow Richmonders. He introduced me to The Ex as a Richmonder and one of them recalled the weird show they played with the Buttholes and then asked if I knew Pippin from The Orthotonics. Tom and Pippin from an avant music scene that was a little distant to me, as they were much older. That scene was a small, yet vital spark that often gets overlooked in the history of the Richmond bands. I think some of it was just too fuckin' weird for the rapidly growing influx of younger kids moving there, being into 80's hardcore and shit. I remember really liking The Orthotonics back then and later got a chance to meet Pippin when I moved back to Richmond in 1999. It was a year after Tom died. We ended up discussing Tom's amazing talents and amazing life. Tom and I were penpals up until he died. Not a day goes by when I don't kick myself for accidentally trading the John Cage book that I kept his letters in, to the used bookstore. Didn't realize I had done it until it was far too late. Tom and I often touched on how strangely beautiful this small world is and how peculiar it was that he and I had met in Pittsburgh, but coming from the same high school. I thought it was pretty fantastic that he was playing with The Ex, and it's still some of my favorite stuff of theirs. And now, 10 years after his death, they are still blowing me away and bringing new surprises.

West Coast .3 (the end)

2008-08-15T17:33:00.006-04:00

-As soon as we crossed into Oregon, it suddenly became dry and hot.
-Driving, driving, driving…
-We stayed with N. in Portland. Did my usual freak-out over how big his house is. Walked though a dark and empty park. The quietness of his neighborhood bordered on eerie. It was as if the rapture occurred and everyone just vanished. Even the dogs we saw, didn’t bark. Maybe they were high?
-Good coffee, record stores, food carts.
-Ended our trip with a few days in Seattle. Ate at the Tea Pot, which is the best vegetarian Chinese food ever. Wandered around, had more good coffee. Tried to drink a beer in celebration of my new found relaxed state, but ended up having an allergic reaction (which I had hoped that I didn’t have anymore).
-Had the best spur-of-the-moment massage from some weird massage chain place that was offering $40/hr massage. Then went to the airport to catch the red eye back home.

So I’ve been back for about a week and it took only 1 day for me to start hating my job again. The stress has come back with all of it’s symptoms. I’m trying to trouble shoot some things and make changes. Most of the changes involve my work situation and the toll that it’s taking on my mind and my health and the endless fatigue that's swallowing me. On a happy note: tonight, I'm going to wash my soul with 200 guitars.

West Coast .2

2008-08-14T14:16:00.016-04:00

-Driving. Lots and lots of driving. Terrifying, winding roads along the Pacific coast. It was completely fucking beautiful.

-Passed by the Henry Miller Library where there was a sign out front for open mic night. Spent the next several hours giggling over what I could do to get kicked out of such an event.

-Smelled smoke in the air and saw scorched trees all through Big Sur. Several camping spots were closed off.

-Driving, driving, driving.

-Passed miles of produce fields and hunched over field workers. It gave me much to think about.

-Tried to swim at Sunset Beach but it was freezing. We sat on the beach and pouted.

-Spent the day in my bathing suit, pretending that I was just walking around in my underwear. I found it very amusing.

-Stayed a couple of days with friends in SF. Drank a lot of coffee, went to a lot of bike shops, book, and record stores.

-Musee Mecanique

-Finally had the much talked about “Mission burrito” at El Farolito @ Mission and 24^th Street. Who knew burritos had flavor? It was fuckin’ great! And a self-serve salsa bar?! How civilized!

-Spotted Jello Biafra & got weirdly giddy about it.

-Froze my ass off in SF.

-Driving along even windier, narrow roads on 101 out of SF. Cliffs dropping off into the Pacific on one side and a bike race on the other. A little unnerving.

-Had the sad misfortune of camping in a town that was also having the “Reggae Rising” festival. It was not ‘irie’. Imagine “Marley Time”, instead of “Miller Time” with fratty white dudes and all of the worst plinky plink reggae elevator music pumped into what should have been a beautifully quiet forest.

-Being woke up in the middle of the night by animal-like screams of a woman who apparently caught her boyfriend fucking her friend. Imagine the sounds of a tent getting trashed, someone getting punched, more screams, going on and on and on. Then in the morning, more plinky plink.

-Driving. Quickly.

-Got bamboozled into paying $5 to see the drive-thru tree. I thought the whole thing was very rude.

-Hiked different trails all through the N. Cal. Redwoods. Saw elk, chipmunks, hawks, and otters.

-Losing myself in the quiet while hiking through the fog.

-Froze my ass off. We waited until sunset before building the fires. You can’t help but get good at it if it’s your only means of cooking, heat, & entertainment.

-Driving, driving, driving. Once we crossed into Oregon it suddenly got very hot and dry. We could see the smoke from forest fires and scorched trees off in the hills.

West Coast .1

2008-08-10T23:25:00.011-04:00

-Got lost leaving LAX and almost ending up in the Pacific Ocean.
-As soon as we got to J.’s house in Pasadena, he fed us sliced oranges off the tree in his backyard. They were beautiful, sweet, brightly colored things. I then commenced to walk around his house & yard, freaking out about how big everything was.
-Went to an amazing LA Koreatown BBQ house, Soot Bull Jeep (@ 3136 W 8th St) where I entered a wood-smoked feeding trance. The kind of feeding frenzy that is paced, meditative. The kind where you expect to snap out of it only to find that you don’t have any clothes on. While we were there, an older Korean man came to the table to sell bags of roasted laver. I ignored him, assuming that he was someone selling roses wrapped in cellophane, or lighters, or something. He stood there looking at me sadly for a while, and then walked away. Only then did I realize that he had something pretty amazing going on and that all of the waitresses had already bought stuff off of him and that I’m a fool for ignoring him. I’m convinced that this may be the only time in my life where something like that will happen. I need to go back there.
-Frozen mochi from Little Tokyo.
-Tried to see Health at The Smell. Not only did I feel terribly old, but I also felt terribly alcohol dependant because I found the fact that the place didn’t have alcohol completely unnerving. We left early, the opening bands were god awful and I got tired of feeling like I was in an 80’s movie that I really didn’t want to be in (this made me want to drink more). It was nice to finally see the place after reading so much about it and knowing that it’s providing some type of community to an all-ages scene. Maybe if I wasn't so jetlagged, I would not have been such a crab.
-Got to experience my first real earthquake (unscathed). A 5.4! R. and I were sitting in these wobbly chairs outside of a donut shop. It went on long enough to know what was going on and have the freak-out set in. I grabbed R., thinking it would make it stop. When it was finally over I saw the door of a crane in the construction site across the street, fly open, and the guy inside haul ass down the ladder. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for him. We then decided we were going to leave LA.
-Sat at a roadside fruit stand and ate baby avocados and strawberries.
-Slept on a median strip, disguised as a campsite at Morro Bay Beach. At night we could see the Milky Way. I cant remember the last time I saw that. We slept with the top off of the tent.

West Coast

2008-08-10T17:39:00.005-04:00

R. and I got back yesterday morning. I'm still tired out. We don't plan on driving anywhere, ever. We did 1700 miles from LA to Seattle. It was amazing! Got to see old friends and eat good food. Hiked and camped the Redwoods and PCH 1. Nothing like being in the middle of the woods, cold, hungry, dirty, exhausted, and unable to get a fire started to heat canned soup, to give one a sense of perspective on matters. Needless to say, it was hard to come back and it will be even harder for me to go back to work. I need to fall in love with New York again. I'll post more on our trip later.

in between trips...

2008-07-26T21:37:00.004-04:00

Somehow, I ended up finishing a post and then flushing it in the electronic toilet. I'll write more about the trip to Richmond, and about our trip to the West Coast when R. and I get back.
!

'Tis the season

2008-07-18T15:25:00.002-04:00

Summer heat is rough on me. My petals wilt. I sweat like a pig. I get headaches. The only thing that gives me the will to carry on is the produce at the farmer's markets. I go to the one at Union Square pretty regularly since it's open during the week and the vendors stick around until late afternoon. The market tomatoes fill the little hole in my heart left from my homesickness for Richmond. I can't help but think about the involvement from seed to harvest.
Back home, pretty much everyone had a garden and most of us started our plants from seed. Potlucks always included produce that was from the backyard. I had a pretty sizeable garden which included at least 4 different varieties of tomatoes. Each season, I'd come up with some crazy thing that would increase my tomato yields. My backyard neighbor would lean on my fence, gin & juice in a mug, and laugh his ass off at me while I laid out red tarp underneath my plants and explained that the light frequency from the color red would increase my plant fertility (I don't think it worked & it was hideous to look at). There were never less than 3 different compost experiments going on in the garden and they were all dedicated to the tomatoes.
It was also during this time in Richmond, that I found myself eating alot of my food raw (except for soups, I'll get to that later). After having been in Rome for a bit, living in the Italian Market in Philadelphia, and working in a few resturaunts with awesome chefs, I found myself accidentally becoming a "foodie". It was the first time that I was able to taste flavors and really describe them. Very simple things, like the flavor of olive oil, opened a flood wall of experiences for me. So when I started to grow food, the thought of cooking my produce didn't occur to me because there was already so much going on with the produce itself, olive oil, fresh ground pepper and salt. Instead of learning how to cook, I've been learning how to cut.

Tonight's menu (cheap and fast):
- sliced tomatoes drenched in olive oil with salt and course ground pepper
- 1 can cannellini beans (drained), finely chopped dandelion greens (raw), juice of 1 lemon, a ton of olive oil, course ground pepper, some 'spike', salt, 1 clove crushed garlic
- salad: diced tomatoes, corn off the cob (raw), diced cucumber, 1 clove crushed garlic, 1 tbs+ rice vinegar, salt, fine cracked pepper
-1/2 french baguette
-wine

http://www.cenyc.org/greenmarket

Slowdancing To Slayer by Tod Seelie opens Thurs nite!! (right now)

2008-07-17T19:29:00.003-04:00

Tod's a great guy. Support his work!

from Sto at Cinders:


	Slowdancing To Slayer Tod Seelie July 17th - Aug 9th 2008 Opening Reception Thursday July 17th 2008 7 - 10pm For the past decade, Tod Seelie has been one of our favorite photographers, prolifically documenting his travels as well as the art, music, and DIY counterculture that has swelled up around him in Brooklyn and simultaneously erupted in various places all over the country. It's through this lens that we get to experience Tod's unquenchable wanderlust for adventure that takes him to exciting and sometimes dangerous places deep in the bowels of outsider America. Abandoned buildings, train yards, lonely landscapes, and burned out cars are captured in their decrepit beauty while tall bike jousting, DIY punk shows, Mississippi art-raft journeys and dance parties in Harlem tap into the energy of the youth who are producing their own culture under the radar of the mainstream. This show brings together different aspects of Tod's diverse body of work that features stunning landscapes, enigmatic portraits and rousing events from his extensive travels that have taken him to 15 different countries, gotten him kidnapped in Brazil, and most recently a seat on a veggie-oil converted tour bus for the "Fuck Yeah" Fest. We are proud to present to you Tod's first solo show in NY. Tod Seelie's work has appeared on his popular blog suckapants. com as well as in publications such as Rolling Stone, The NY Times, New York Magazine, Spin, Vice, Paper, XXL, Art In America, Flash Art, Parade Magazine, Time Out NY, Adbusters, and Hamburger Eyes among others. Cinders Gallery 103 Havemeyer st. btwn Hope and Grand St. Williamsburg Brooklyn http://www. cindersgallery. com

Slowdancing To Slayer

Tod Seelie

July 17th - Aug 9th 2008

Opening Reception Thursday July 17th 2008 7 - 10pm

For the past decade, Tod Seelie has been one of our favorite photographers, prolifically documenting his travels as well as the art, music, and DIY counterculture that has swelled up around him in Brooklyn and simultaneously erupted in various places all over the country. It's through this lens that we get to experience Tod's unquenchable wanderlust for adventure that takes him to exciting and sometimes dangerous places deep in the bowels of outsider America. Abandoned buildings, train yards, lonely landscapes, and burned out cars are captured in their decrepit beauty while tall bike jousting, DIY punk shows, Mississippi art-raft journeys and dance parties in Harlem tap into the energy of the youth who are producing their own culture under the radar of the mainstream.

This show brings together different aspects of Tod's diverse body of work that features stunning landscapes, enigmatic portraits and rousing events from his extensive travels that have taken him to 15 different countries, gotten him kidnapped in Brazil, and most recently a seat on a veggie-oil converted tour bus for the "Fuck Yeah" Fest.

We are proud to present to you Tod's first solo show in NY.

Tod Seelie's work has appeared on his popular blog suckapants. com as well as in publications such as Rolling Stone, The NY Times, New York Magazine, Spin, Vice, Paper, XXL, Art In America, Flash Art, Parade Magazine, Time Out NY, Adbusters, and Hamburger Eyes among others.

Cinders Gallery
103 Havemeyer st.

btwn Hope and Grand St.

Williamsburg Brooklyn
http://www. cindersgallery. com

o8o8oo8

2008-07-17T19:03:00.002-04:00

Can't help but feel ambivalent about this. Is it because I found out about it on Pitchfork, is it the sponsorship, or both? Hold me... I feel really, really weird.

From Pitchforkmedia.com:

Nike Brings Boredoms' 88Boadrum to L.A., Brooklyn

New 88 minute composition, performed by 88 drummers

They're baaaaaaack! Japanese psych-noise-crazy-genius-types Boredoms will once again bring the clattering of oh-so-many drums to the States this summer, in a bi-coastal sequel to last year's wildly successful 77BoaDrum event. This time out, they're calling it 88BoaDrum, and performances of the brand new 88-minute composition from Boredoms leader Eye will take place August 8 (8/8/08, you see) in both Los Angeles and Brooklyn, New York.

The Los Angeles event will take place beginning at 8:08 PM PST at the city's famed La Brea Tar Pits, and will feature 88 drummers selected by both the Boredoms and 88Boadrum artistic director Hisham Bharoocha of Soft Circle. The New York event, conducted on behalf of the Boredoms by Brooklyn's own Gang Gang Dance, goes down at 8:08 PM EST at the Williamsburg waterfront.

Both BoaDrums will be free and open to the public, but tickets will be required for entry. They'll be available starting Friday, July 18 at brownpapertickets.com, at L.A.'s Amoeba Records and the L.A. County Museum of Art, or at New York's Other Music and Sound Fix Records. Only one ticket will be available per person.

88BoaDrum is presented by Nike Sportswear, who will bring you the commemorative "88Boadrum NSW Tee collection". Attendees will be able to purchase t-shirts, featuring designs by Eye, that will be hand-screened at the events. UPDATE: The t-shirts are free!

Posted by Paul Thompson on Wed, Jul 16, 2008 at 11:40am

It's the little things that can freak you out

2008-07-16T21:53:00.013-04:00

I recently came across http://www.kindertrauma.com/. It covers a pretty wide range of movie images, tv shows, etc. that probably left some type of weird scar on your highly targeted late 70's-80's childbrain, prompting you to leave the lights on at night for most of your life. There is something that I kind of love about having some random image pop into your head, causing you to suddenly run for your life across the backyard at night or making you feel loathsome about looking behind the shower curtain. The images aren't necessarily about a killer lurking, gore, or "monsters". It's just something that triggers an overall creepiness. Right off the top of my head, I conjured up my top 4 "trauma" images from ages 6-8:

1. From "Halloween", 1978

-Go ahead, laugh. Laugh at the sheer terror of an 8 yr old. This image plagued me, as it was a widely used promo pic. The first time we got the HBO guide in the mail (1980-ish), I tore into it with a fiendish cable tv curiosity, only to find this picture locking into my small little gaze. I threw the thing up into the air, tore through the house screaming, and was out the back door before it ever hit the ground. Keep in mind that I still have not seen this movie.

2. Why don't you have any facial expressions, Yul Brynner? "Westworld", 1973

-Oh, that's why...

-My dad's dadlike love for westerns and ability to watch movies over and over again, planted this movie firmly into the far corners of my mind. I spent much of my childhood (an only child) sitting in the hall closet, contemplating how to properly deal with the fact that everyone in the world was a robot with the exception of me and (maybe, but not definitely) my dad.

3. Just the commercial. "Magic", 1978.

- I am certain that every single time I walked by the tv in the livingroom during my 6th yr of life, that fucking commercial would come on. For a while, I'd just stop and stare at it in hopes that I could confront my fear. But later at night, that damn voice would haunt me and all I could think about were those damn eyes popping open. Those fucking eyes! Sometimes I think about renting the movie, but I don't think I could sit through it. Plus the fact that I kind of like to hold onto the purity of the childhood fear from the commercial. Watching the movie might kill it.

Red Hook Vendor update. Bitter sweet

2008-07-15T22:39:00.002-04:00

(this just in!)

http://www.brooklynpaper.com (Tue. July 15, 2008 20:42:04 MDT):
==============================

=====
Hook vendors in the red; city rules, delays cause lo$$es

By Mike McLaughlin
The Brooklyn Paper

The beloved Latino food stalls of Red Hook Park announced they will return to their traditional haunt this weekend -- and the grand re-opening couldn't come a moment too soon for vendors, who have racked up tens of thousands of dollars in debt to comply with tightened city regulations.

Some of the 13 merchants who tend the stands that have sold an eclectic range of Pan-American edibles since 1974 will open on Saturday for the first time this year -- almost three months later than normal.

The financial costs of purchasing and retrofitting carts, combined with half a season of lost sales, have sent many vendors deep into the red.

"The losses are major," said Marcos Lainez, who operates a Salvadoran papusa cart. "It's going to take at least two and a half years to recover all the money we have lost."

Lainez shelled out $35,000 to get a legal stand and upgrade it, and is rushing to get last-minute repairs made so he can pass a city inspection to start selling the bean-and-cheese filled tortillas this weekend.

The burden for other vendors is even heavier.

Pamela Martinez told The Brooklyn Paper that her father spent $45,000-$50,000 to ready his cart for Mexican treats like tacos and huaraches.

"We're out three months of work," Martinez said.

Like Lainez, he's waiting for the green light from the Health Department.

Part of the delay for several of the vendors came from a Queens repairman who took many weeks longer than promised to overhaul their mobile units and bring them up to the newly tightened city requirements.

The city's stricter supervision of the vendors is at the root of the problem.

The vendors only won the right to return to the park in March following a new bidding process for a six-year city concession permit. Before that, the vendors sold their jugos, tacos and ceviches for adoring crowds (including Sen. Charles "Chimichanga Chuck" Schumer) for decades with little oversight from the city.

But the Parks Department changed all that last June when it decided to stop issuing annual permits to the vendors and forced them to go through an open bidding process. That decision coincided with stepped-up Health Department inspections of the site, which found violations in the food stands. The Health Department was on the verge of shutting down the market, but backed off when public outrage -- led by Schumer and other outraged foodies -- reached a fevered pitch.
===================================
Copyright 2008, The Brooklyn Paper

convenience

2008-07-14T21:04:00.011-04:00

Do you mean to tell me that I can get Cimex lectularius, skunky weed , and vea l chops in dill sauce all in one place? Right down the street? God, I love this place!

One IS the loneliest number

2008-07-14T10:41:00.000-04:00

Found here

Red Hook Food Vendors

2008-07-13T20:17:00.001-04:00

We trecked out to the soccer fields this weekend and the vendors were nowhere to be found. Imagine many smiling, happy faces walking towards the fields and then, many sad, distraught faces walking away. I don't know anything more than what was posted on this Myspace page:
http://www.myspace.com/redhookfoodvendors

Does anyone else have any news?

No, we did not settle for having lunch at Ikea, although we joked about it plenty. I kind of liked the idea of going there with S and Y. That would have been hilarious enough to make the heartbreak less painful.

the late start

2008-07-13T17:40:00.000-04:00

(I had every intention of starting this blog 2 years ago. Really, I did. Y's recent visit suddenly inspired me to stop putting it off. Thanks, Y!)

Lastnight's laugh-out-loud-funny: http://lovelylisting.blogspot.com/

Today's random thought: "Sleep is the cousin of death", Nas. (Or so I thought)
Led me to: http://oneproverb.net/bwfolder/africanbw.html

This weekend's funnest game to play at the East River: "Severed limb or jellyfish?"

Best song to sing out loud while someone is trying to argue with you and you are trying to get them to go away: "Chocolate Rain" by Tay Zonday