Rough Draught

Would you buy a cuddle mattress?

2011-12-30T17:21:00.000-05:00

http://www.apartmenttherapy.com/dc/would-you-buy-a-cuddle-mattress-152093

Mrs. O

2011-12-26T02:46:00.005-05:00

Mrs. O on Yes, Virgina by The Dresden Dolls. Song inspired by the Yes, Virginia letter.
Start video at 0:26

oh mrs. o
will you tell us where the naughty children go
will you show
how the sky turned white and everybody froze
heaven knows how they got into the fireplace
but everybody's saying grace
and trying to keep a happy face

and oh mrs. o
will you teach us how to keep from getting cold
out we go and you watch us as we face the falling snow
what a show with our hairdryers aimed heavenwards
and fifty foot extension cords
you really have a way with words

the truth won't save you now
oh oh oh
the sky is falling down
oh oh oh
watch the vultures count the hours
april trains may bring strange showers

oh mrs. o
will you tell about the time they made you go
all alone to the palace where they took your only clothes
we all know
there's no hell and no hiroshima
chernobyl was a cover up
the world is really all in love

and oh mrs o
will you leave us hanging now that we are grown
up and old
will you kill me if i say i told you so
we all know
there's no hitler and no holocaust
no winter and no santa claus
and yes virginia all because
the truth won't save you now
oh oh oh
the sky is falling down
oh oh oh
everything they ever told us
shakes our faith and breaks their promise
but you can stop the truth from leaking
if you never stop believing......

Yes, Virginia

2011-12-25T23:59:00.001-05:00

"DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old.
"Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.
"Papa says, 'If you see it in THE SUN it's so.'
"Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?

"VIRGINIA O'HANLON.
"115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET."

VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except [what] they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

2011-12-24T02:26:00.003-05:00

And I've been fool and I've been blind
I can never leave the past behind
I can see no way, I can see no way
I'm always dragging that horse around
All of his questions, such a mournful sound
Tonight I'm gonna bury that horse in the ground
'Cause I like to keep my issues drawn
It's always darkest before the dawn

Gingrich describes Palestinians as 'invented people'

2011-12-11T09:40:00.001-05:00

It just keeps getting better with Gingrich. First he wants to abolish child labor laws and now this --

“Remember there was no Palestine as a state. It was part of the Ottoman Empire. And I think that we’ve had an invented Palestinian people, who are in fact Arabs, and were historically part of the Arab community. And they had a chance to go many places.”

Dear Mr. Gingrich, considering that Pakistan and Bangladesh were once a part of India and did not exist prior to 1947 and 1971 respectively, does this mean that it's okay to view the Pakistani and Bengali citizens as invented people as well? Are you really that simple minded?

capricho no. 43

2011-12-06T22:07:00.000-05:00

Goya, The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters, 1797, etching.

'Imagination abandoned by reason produces impossible monsters: united with her, she is the mother of the arts and the source of her wonders'. - Francisco Goya

I Live/I Love

2011-12-05T16:09:00.005-05:00

Hi All, I will be exhibiting two photographs in this one week show (during a time where most of you will be away for the holidays).

This is suppose to be an event but for some reason they made an artist page:
https://www.facebook.com/pages/I-LiveI-Love-by-Richard-and-Mica-Hadar-Foundation/160745747346319

During the opening night, I will be doing a performance piece: "How to Make Light of a Situation."

You are all welcome to come to the opening. Please note that it is likely I will not be free to socialize until closer to the end of the event. Please feel free to come around 7:30 - 8pm to catch the end of my performance and then maybe we can all go out to drinks afterwards!

Details:
I LIVE/I LOVE -- Opening Reception Tuesday, December 27, from 6 - 9 pm
Second Space, 568 Broadway (4th Floor)
Between Prince Street and Houston Street

Email invite to follow

Candiru Catfish & Penises

2011-11-27T23:11:00.000-05:00

So as I'm getting my Grey's Anatomy fix on Netflix, they mention something so absurd I had to Google it.

McSteamy and Burke reviewing an X-ray revealing the candiru catfish lodged into the patient's urethra.

From River Monsters: Candiru Catfish:

The Candiru is the star of an urban legend — which turns out to be true — of a man who was urinating in the Amazon River when a 6-inch Candiru swam up his urine stream into his penis. The fish remained there for days, until a surgeon was able to remove it.

What's a Prisoner Worth?

2011-11-27T15:23:00.006-05:00

I have a stack of reading material (old copies of the New Yorker and Newsday, as well as a textbook on skin carcinomas I picked up from a local thrift store) piled on top of my toilet's tank, and I often earmark really good reads that I want to share with my friends. Sometimes, I'll post links to the articles on my Facebook (which go largely unnoticed in that platform of useless status updates about being hungover, heartbroken or some other uesless shit), but for the most part, I carry these notable reads on my mind and rarely ever get a chance to discuss them at length. But now I'm going to create a new label on Rough Draught called "poop reading material."

During my last bathroom session, I came across "What's a Prisoner Worth?" in the October 24 Newsday edition.

1,000 Palestinian prisoners in exchange for 1 Israeli. Does anyone else find this shocking? It never occurred to me to do research on the number of prisoners on either side.

Interesting points from the Wikipedia page on Palestinian Prisoners in Israel:

"...as of 31 August 2011, there were 5,204 Palestinians imprisoned in Israel, of them 272 in administrative detention."

"...between the years after the Six Day War (1967) and the First Intifada (1988), more than 600,000 Palestinians were held in Israeli jails for a week or more."

"Between October 2000 and April 2009, approximately 6,700 Palestinian children between the ages of 12 and 18 were arrested by the Israeli authorities, according to Defence for Children International's Palestine Section (DCI/PS). The number of Palestinian children held in detention and interrogation centers, as well as prisons, both in Occupied Palestinian Territory and inside of Israel, was 423 in 2009. In April 2010 the number was 280. DCI/PS reports that these detentions stand in contravention of international law."

Read their whole section on notable Prisoner Exchanges and Releases.

Now I know that there are two sides to this story (that's your cue to opine here), and I acknowledge that some of these prisoners were incarcerated because of acts of terrorism, etc., but take one second (or several) to think about this -- ONE THOUSAND INDIVIDUALS for ONE INDIVIDUAL. How did the Israeli government choose which prisoners deserved freedom?

Wikipedia (as well as various news articles and websites) might not be the greatest or most reliable source for my information, but I find that it quenches my thirst for a discourse on this topic. I'm getting tired of friends who tell me "Politics bore me." It's not boring, people! Wake up! Where is the compassion? These events are happening and being experienced by individuals, people with families, previous careers, and aspirations of all sorts.

The Fraud Police

2011-11-23T11:22:00.004-05:00

Amanda Palmer is a musician that I follow. While some don't really like her music, I feel that I must share this with you. She was invited to speak at a graduation and this is what she shared with them.

If you ever question yourself and what the fuck you're doing, you will benefit from this video.

"The Fraud Police" - AFP's Commencement Speech to NEIA's Class of 2011 from Amanda Palmer on Vimeo.

Here's the transcript if you want to read along: http://bit.ly/AFPsGradSpeech

"The fraud police are this imaginary, terrifying force of experts and real grown-ups who don't exist and who come knocking on your door at 3am when you least expect it, saying "fraud police. we've been watching you and we have evidence that you have no idea what you are doing. and you stand accused of the crime of completely making shit up as you go along. you do not actually deserve your job and we're taking everything away. and we're telling everybody."

New artists every month

2011-11-22T15:33:00.005-05:00

I'm super excited that this blog has found a second (third?) life in it.

I remember at my last birthday when I asked, oh yeah so Aileen and Vic got back together? and everyone else was like, Where have you been? I advocated a friendly "email newsletter what have you" of sorts while everyone else was like, use facebok. Dude! But its more than that. Facebook has its place. And I think this blog does too. To share whatever the fuck you like.

Anyways, you might have notice that the art changed around here. I'm hoping to change the RD imagery every once a while, changing the person every month or so.
This month, we're featuring polaroids by my friend Rita. (She doesn't contribute to this blog and she doesn't know I'm using her work.) Here is her blog: http://polarita.tumblr.com/

Happy posting y'all!

2011-11-21T23:02:00.007-05:00

Hello there. I went on a 2.5 year hiatus from this blog, but was encouraged to start contributing again as I read through old entries (thanks for posting that nostalgic status on Facebook, Kat). This space used to integrate so many different perspectives from college students aspiring to be writers, scientists, politicians and artists. It's a beautiful thing to fast forward and see where we all stand as we approach our mid twenties. Although the founders of this blog are rarely all in one room, let's keep this blog going because we were all an integral part of each others' lives during our most formative years -- we inspired each other, which made life so enjoyable back then (hey, guys, remember FtL! events?) and would certainly (at least in my opinion) serve as a much needed distraction from our current demanding lives.

And a fitting song for this entry, Youth Lagoon's "17":

" Oh when I was seventeen, my mother said to me 'don't stop imagining, the day that you do is the day that you die' "

I'm drunk and I didn't proof this and shut up.

2011-09-09T19:26:00.002-04:00

“Give up.”

That was the only thing I could think at the time. She grabbed me by the throat and threw me against the wall. I pleaded. There was a bell and the session was over. I owed $300 for god knows what.

“Next time you should stab me with your eyes!” I yelled to her when I was 30 feet away. She motioned as if she was about to start running at me and I dodged into an alleyway. There I met a man who knew what I was all about. I told him to shut up, but he managed to grab my tongue as I was speaking and he told me that he would not shut up. I told him that was reasonable. At least I attempted to.

I woke up face down in my bed. My pillow was like a sponge soaked in spit. Did it again. Over did it again is more like it. Hah hah hah. But just then my window flew open and I noticed a sound. It was the oldest woman in the world. Or it was. She just died. Making me the oldest woman in the world.

And then I could taste it. There was chocolate on my tongue, rose petals in my nose and half a dildo shoved in my ass. It was the best of times it was the worst of times. I was the oldest woman on earth and no one could take that from me but the angel of death. Or the social security office. They were always robbing me.

Usually I stay in my room. The nurses say that I’m not really the oldest woman in the world. They tell me that I’m actually only 64 and suffering from dementia. I ask them why my tears taste like my dead husband. They tell me my husband is still alive. I tell them I never married. They tell me I’m a man. I tell them that they have the wrong genitalia for moon-talkers. They shut up at that point.

Is that my cell phone? I remember setting the ringer to a Ricky Martin song, but I forget which one.

Free Summer Stuff

2011-07-01T15:52:00.001-04:00

* Films in Tompkins. July 7: Coming to America; July 14: The Warriors; July 21: Star Trek; July 28: Arthur; August 4: The Pope of Greenwhich Village; August 11: Kick-Ass; August 18: Rosemary's Baby; August 25: The Godfather; September 1: Stake Land. THURSDAYS, gates open at 6p, screening starts at sundown, Tompkins Square Park, Avenue A and 7th Street, Manhattan. $free. filmsintompkins.com

* Summer Screen at McCarren. July 6: Friday; July 13: Wayne's World; July 20: Ghost World; July 27: Ferris Bueller's Day Off; August 3: Chelsea; August 10: Jurassic Park. WEDNESDAYS. McCarren Park Ballfields, Bedford Avenue and North 12th Street, Williamsburg, Brooklyn. $free. summerscreen.org

* Williamsburg Waterfront Concert Series. July 29: They Might Be Giants, Eugene Mirman and Pretty Good Friends with Kristen Schaal, Surprise Guests. Brooklyn. Doors at 5:30p, East River State Park, North 9th Street and Kent Avenue, Williamsburg, Brooklyn. $free. osanb.org

* The Brooklyn Bridge Park Conservancy. July 7: Manhattan; July 10-11: Henry V; July 13: The Metropolitan Opera Summer Recital Series; July 14: Ghostbusters; July 20: Brooklyn Bridge Tour -- A Link Between Two Cities with the Brooklyn Historical Society; July 21: Sweet Smell of Success; July 28: Basquiat; July 30-21: Romeo and Juliet; August 2: Randy Weston; August 3: History Tour -- Brooklyn's Industrial Waterfront with the Brooklyn Historical Society; August 4: An American Tail; August 11: Breakfast at Tiffany's; August 18: Crooklyn; August 19: PuppetMobile presents Bessie's Big Shot; August 24 and 27: 235th Anniversary of the Battle of Brooklyn; August 25: Rosemary's Baby. Various times, Brooklyn. $free. brooklynbridgepark.org

* Socrates Sculpture Park, Outdoor Cinema 2011. July 6: Clermont-Ferrand Short Films (International); July 13: Who Wants to Kill Jesse (Czech Republic); July 20: Caramel (Lebanon); July 27: The Good, The Bad, The Weird (Korea); August 3: The Straight Story (USA); August 10: At the Edge of Russia (Russia); August 17: Biutiful (Spain); August 24: Silent Film Fest. WEDNESDAYS. Pre-screening performance begins at 7p, movies begin at dusk, Vernon Boulevard and Broadway, Queens. $free. socratessculpturepark.org

* Hudson River Park. July 6: The Social Network; July 8: The Karate Kid; July 10: David Berger Jazz Orchestra; July 12: Stars of Tomorrow Jazz; July 13: Easy A; July 14: Tune Yards, Austra; July 15: Despicable Me; July 17: Los Hermanos Colon; July 19: Stars of Tomorrow Classical; July 20: The Kids Are All Right; July 22: The Princess Bride; July 24: Octavio Brunetti's Apeadero Sur Tango Orchestra; July 26: Stars of Tomorrow Jazz; July 27: The Other Guys; July 28: Metronomy, Class Actress; July 29: Toy Story 3; July 31: Nu D'Lux; August 2: Stars of Tomorrow Classical; August 3: The Fighter; August 4: Rumble on the River; August 5: How to Train Your Dragon; August 7: George Gee Swing Orchestra; August 9: Stars of Tomorrow Jazz; August 10: Scott Pilgrim vs. the World; August 11: Deer Tick, DOM; August 12: Shrek Forever After; August 16: Stars of Tomorrow Classical; August 17: The Town; August 19: Tangled; August 21: Blues Barbecue. Various times, Manhattan. $free. hudsonriverpar
k.org

* Celebrate Brooklyn, Prospect Park Bandshell. July 1: Steel Pulse, Natural Expression Rhythm Band; July 7: Court Yard Hounds, The Abrams Brothers; July 8: Los Lobos, Hello Seahorse, Zigmat; July 9: Lyricist Lounge featuring Raekwon, Smif-N-Wesson, Joell Ortiz; July 14: Frankie Gavin and De Dannan, Liam O Maonlai, McPeake; July 15: Shirley Caesar, Vy Higginsen's Gospel for Teens Choir; July 16: Dan Zanes with the Brooklyn Youth Orchestra and Bed Stuy Veterans; July 21: West Side Story dance and sing-along; July 22: Seun Kuti and Egypt 80, Faaji Agba; July 23: The Feelies, Real Estate, Times New Viking; July 28: Mark Morris Dance Group with the Brooklyn Philharmonic and the Brooklyn Interdenominational Choir; July 29: Oumou Sangare, Bassam Saba; July 30: Dr. John and the Lower 911, Chuck Brown, Red Baraat; August 4: Metropolis with the Alloy Orchestra and Marika Hughes; August 5: Ra Ra Riot, Delicate Steve, Buke and Gass; August 6: Ailey II- Revelations. Various times, Prospec
t Park West and 9th Street, Brooklyn. $free. bricartsmedia.org

* Seaport Music. July 1: Lower Dens, Dirty Beaches; July 8: The Wake, Weekend; July 9: Ted Leo and the Pharmacists; July 15: The Radio Dept., Asobi Seksu; July 16: 4Knots Music Festival. Various times, South Street Seaport, Pier 17, Manhattan. $free. seaportmusicfestival.com

* Intrepid Free Summer Movie Series. July 8: The Goonies; July 22: Back to the Future; August 5: E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial; August 19: Jurassic Park. Doors at 5:30pm, screening starts at sunset, West 46th Street and 12th Avenue, Manhattan. intrepidmuseum.org

* Central Park Summer Stage Concert series. July 2: Roy Ayers and the Jazz Mafia Symphony; July 3: RAM, Group Doueh, Baloji, Globesonic Sound System; July 6: Jarbe de Palo, Ely Guerra, Novalima, Mr. Pauer; July 9: ChocQuib Town, Rita Indiana, Ursula 1000, Que Bajo?!; July 11: The Metropolitan Summer Recital Series; July 15-16: Armitage Gone! Dance, Vijay Iyer with Dance Grand Moultrie; July 17: Pink Martini; July 18: Levon Helm Band, Emmylou Harris, Hayes Carll; July 23: Keigwin and Company / Creative Outlet Dance Theatre of Brooklyn; July 24: Marcelo D2, Pitty, DJ Nuts; July 27: Wanda Jackson, Imelda May; July 30: Forces of Dance Theatre; July 31: Yemen Blues, Watcha Clan, Shabate, Awesome Tapes from Africa; August 6: Shelebration!; August 7: Friendly Fires, the Naked and Famous, Cults; August 10: Joe Bataan, Johnny Colon, DJ Turmix, We Like it Like That -- The Story of Latin Boogalo screening; August 13: Henry Santos; August 14: Gospel Explosion; August 17: Sangre; August 2
0: Tiken Jah Fakoly, Meta and the Cornerstones, Los Rakas; August 21: Rakim, EPMD, FunkMaster Flex; August 28: Jagged Edge, Avant, Melanie Fiona. Various times, Rumsey Playfield, 69th Street and Fifth Avenue, Manhattan. $free. summerstage.org

* Red Hook Summer Movies. July 12: Men in Black; July 19: Bring It On; July 26: Lords of Dogtown; August 2: Wall-E; August 9: The Karate Kid; August 16: The Fast and the Furious; August 23: The Iron Giant; August 30: Pump Up the Volume; September 6: Highlander; September 13: Pee Wee's Big Adventure. TUESDAYS, seating at 8pm, screenings at 8:30p, Valentino Pier, Red Hook, Brooklyn. $free. redhookfilms.org

* Beekman Beer Garden. July 10: Cheeseburger; July 17: X-Ray Eyeballs, Frankie Rose and the Outs, The Babies; July 24: The Swirlies, Psychedelic Horseshit; July 31: The Raveonettes, Eternal Summers; August 7: Mission of Burma. SUNDAYS, 3p, Northside Pier 17, South Street Seaport, Manhattan. $free. seaportmusicfestival.com

* HBO Bryant Park Summer Film Festival. July 4: Easy Rider; July 11: Gentlemen Prefer Blondes; July 18: In the Heat of the Night; July 25: The Lady Eye; August 1: Cool Hand Luke; August 8: Airplane; August 15: High Sierra; August 22: Dirty Harry. MONDAYS, lawn opens at 5pm, screening starts at sunset, 6th Avenue and 42nd Street, Manhattan. $free. bryantpark.org

* Coney Island Flicks on the Beach. July 11: Saturday Night Fever; July 18: Rango; July 25: Top Gun; August 1: Iron Man 2; August 8: Annie Hall; August 15: Moonstruck; August 22: Justin Beiber: Never Say Never; August 29: How She Move. MONDAYS, screening starts at dusk, West 10th Street, Coney Island, Brooklyn. $free. thecidc.org

* Washington Square Music Festival. July 12: Opera in the Park; July 19: The Joy of Unfamiliar Music; July 26: Music Making by the Master; August 2: The Charles Mingues Orchestra. TUESDAYS, 8pm, Main Stage, Washington Square Park, Manhattan. $free. washingtonsquaremusicfestival.org

* River to River Festival at Castle Clinton. July 7: My Brightest Diamond, yMusic; July 14: Patti Smith. THURSDAYS, 7pm, Castle Clinton, Battery Park, Manhattan. $free. rivertorivernyc.com

Compiled by Nonsense NYC

nonsense nyc is a discriminating resource for independent art, weird events, strange happenings, unique parties, and senseless culture in new york city.

NOTE: Free Summer Stuff is our annual guide to some of the ongoing free events that help make living here in July and August somewhat less intolerable. Yes, these events are big. Yes, they are mainstream. Yes, they are sponsored by huge international conglomerates and don't need our publicity. Shut up. Go sit on a pier and watch a movie. It's great. And as always, please feel free to tell us about series that we may have missed. Special thanks to Allison Meier for compiling this list. If you appreciate it as much as we do please send her a little note and tell her about one of the events you attended -- especially if it's a date: allisoncmeier]at]gmail.com.

Winter Drive

2011-02-05T21:07:00.005-05:00

“What do you want to hear?” “Jerimiah was a bullfrog!” “Haha, you know I get more requests for it by that name than its actual name, ‘Joy to the World’.” “Oh that’s right!” “Well, it’s coming up now, enjoy.” Familiar chords begin to play. “Jerimiah was a bullfrog was a good friend of mine…” The light ahead of me turns yellow and I step on the brakes. The frosted street denies me traction. The light ahead turns red. The ABS keeps skipping and my body is fully erect with my full weight pressing down on the pedal. Seeing no cars crossing, I take my foot off the brake and run the red. A deputy sheriff sits in his car facing the opposite direction and watches my unlawful slide. I continue down the road, a bit shaken. I check my rearview for flashing lights and find none. Fuck, it was stupid to go out in this weather just for cigarettes. “Joy to the world, all the boys and girls…”

Sudden loss of control tends to put things in perspective. I was angry before, but I don’t even know why. I continue downhill with a heightened sense of caution. An SUV follows closely behind me, I don’t bother to check my speed. This is why Ayn Rand is wrong, captains of industry have heart attacks, my car can’t grip ice. No one is master of their own fate. Oncoming lights feel brighter than usual and fat flakes of half-melted snow slap my windshield. I park in a gas station and sit in the car for a moment. A commercial for a wind chime emporium comes through the speakers with the sound of forced excitement. A down-clad couple waddles through my headlights, holding each other for stability. Sometimes I really hate couples. I try to imagine what they’re doing, why they’re there, but stop myself. My thoughts tend to be unrealistic about these things.

I open my door and wind and snow flood into the warm compartment. I walk through frozen mush to the doors and push my way through. “Fuck the Steelers, man.” A 45 year old man, underdressed and drunk attempts to start an argument with the cashier. “I’m just saying that they look good this year.” I try to appear impatient, but the effect is lost on the two. I stare at the familiar rack of vice, picking out Camel Blues. They’re no longer called lights, probably for preemptive legal reasons. The underdressed man notices me and steps aside. “What’ll you have?” “Camel Blues and a pack of matches.” I walk back to my car defeated by addiction but triumphant in my purchase. I light up and crack the window. More cold air, the radio is louder than I recall. I exhale burnt particles of paper and tobacco to fight the wind.

Recycle your electronics in the new year..

2010-12-30T16:31:00.002-05:00

After-the-Holidays eWaste Recycling

Throughout January, we're hosting ten eWaste Recycling Events around New York City with our partner, The Lower East Side Ecology Center.

These events are being held nearly every weekend, all across four boroughs of New York City.

Now is the perfect time to dispose of any electronics you may have replaced over the holidays.

So bring your old computers, printers, monitors, and any other unwanted electronics to a drop-off location near you for safe and proper electronics recycling.

As an added bonus, all recyclers can enter our raffle to win an Apple MacBook Air and can find out how to get one of our organic cotton "I Recycle NY" t-shirts. Recyclers will also receive a coupon for a special discount on an Apple Mac, iPod, or iPad, and an eco-friendly LCD from Samsung.

For details, a complete list of acceptable items, and answers to all your questions about eWaste Recycling Events, visit the Lower East Side Ecology Center's FAQ.

Invite your friends to this event on Facebook

January	10 a.m. – 4 p.m.
Sun 2	Union Square Park, North Plaza (Broadway & E 17th St)	Manhattan
Sat 8	East 163rd St. (btwn Southern & Bruckner Blvds)	Bronx
Sat 8	Bowling Green Park (East side of Broadway at Beaver St)	Manhattan
Sun 9	Queens Botanical Garden, Parking lot (entry on Crommelin St)	Queens
Sat 15	Tekserve, 119 W 23rd St (btwn 6th & 7th Aves)	Manhattan
Sun 16	Prospect Park West & 3rd St	Brooklyn
Sat 22	Ring Garden (Riverside Drive btwn Seaman Ave. & Broadway)	Manhattan
Sat 22	Habana Outpost Fulton St (btwn South Portland Ave & South Oxford St)	Brooklyn
Sun 23	Lenox Hill Neighborhood House, 331E 70th St (btwn 1st & 2nd Aves)	Manhattan
Sun 23	W 62nd St (btwn Columbus Ave & Broadway)	Manhattan

Why Recycle Your Electronics?

The components in many electronics can be incredibly hazardous to the environment--contributing up to 70% of the toxins found in landfills--so it's important that they are properly recycled. Sponsored collection events, like these, are one of the easiest ways to properly dispose of your old gadgets in NYC. Due to funding constraints, the city's electronics recycling events and the Build It Green electronics drop-off program have been suspended.

Win a New Apple MacBook Air for Recycling

To celebrate the event, anyone bringing electronics to be recycled can register for our raffle to win a new MacBook Air ($999 value). All participants in the event will also receive: (1) a coupon for a $25 discount on a Mac, iPad, or iPod (except iPod shuffle) purchased by March 31st, 2011. (2) an exclusive discount on an eco-friendly 23-inch LCD from Samsung, and (3) a coupon for the iconic "I Recycle NY" t-shirt, free with purchase at Tekserve.

http://www.tekserve.com/service/recycling.php

2010-10-23T02:02:00.006-04:00

I look to the left and there is a woman sitting there. Her eyes are a mix of brown and green. Mixed like unstirred paint. The colors are distinct in places and blended in others. A bubble of air rises and sits on the surface, daring to be popped. So I poke her in the eye. Suddenly the entire mood of the room shifts. The lighting grows red and dim and the music is no longer playing. Hushed words are passed between nearby party goers. She laughs and the tension is broken. The room, as if filled with helium, grows light and irreverent. The three stooges are mentioned and I am slapped on the back of the head. Nyuck-nyucks could be heard through the room. Old stand up by George Carlin is on the flat screen plasma. Fifty-two inches displaying footage meant for a screen not wider than a foot. It’s the 70’s. You can tell by the pants, his hair color and pattern as well as the dental hygiene displayed in the audience’s guffawing maws.

Carlin’s gesturing wildly. He’ll swoop to the left, then to the right. It looks like the mating dance of some ridiculous lizard. He stops to say a few words, pauses for applause, and continues to swoop, this time adding a full body rotation with effeminate jazz hands. I ask the suspected owner of the television if it would be possible to raise the volume a bit. He stares passively from the couch. A glass of vodka sits in his hand and the remote sits in his other. His jaw slackens almost imperceptibly. I paw at the television, sliding my fingers against its impossibly smooth surfaces, trying to sense the moment when plastic frame becomes plastic volume increase button. The moment never comes because the television loosens from its wall mount and crashes through layer after layer of glass and device until thousands of dollars of home furnishing and audio visual equipment lie at my feet. Someone shouts a wise guy, eh? and attempts to poke me in the eyes with his fore and middle fingers. I attempt to get my hand up in front of my nose, but I jab my nails into his palm.

He winces and his hand starts bleeding. He shushes me before I can say anything and walks over to the fridge. Are my nails that sharp? He takes out a half-eaten jar of Ragu Robusto and squeezes his cut to extract more blood. The droplets slip from his fingertips and plop silently among real Italian herbs, big chunks of onion and pepper and that flavor that the whole family can enjoy! Laughter resounds. Someone carrying a step ladder turns around and smashes a young woman in the face. Her wine glass crashes to the counter and spills over the edge. The kitchen is silent. Soundlessness moves across the house into other rooms. The girl gets up, her entire face is red except for a purple line across her forehead. She picks up her broken glass, that is almost only stem now and she jabs at the young man’s throat. The house is still silent. The man’s neck is cut deeply and the woman spits out a tooth. They have yet to blink. The owner of the house has gotten up from the couch and is standing in the doorway. Everyone farts simultaneously.

2010-09-01T22:22:00.002-04:00

http://thewildernessdowntown.com/

2010-08-12T23:35:00.001-04:00

Ratatat - Drugs from More Soon on Vimeo.

What if you crowd-sourced your dating life?

2010-07-27T22:41:00.003-04:00

A friend, Brian, I met while waiting online at the MoMa during the Abramovic exhibit is doing just that..

So ladies, if you're single.. you know what to do

http://datingbrian.com/

http://twitter.com/datingbrian

http://www.facebook.com/datingbrian?ref=ts

You can sign up and track his progress on site. After each date he posts a video that normally ends with a message from the girl. This last date has had the most chemistry so far.

Six Items Or Less

2010-07-25T22:24:00.005-04:00

Some but mostly no one actually noticed that I participated and continue to do: Six Items or Less

Here's the NY times article and video:

http://nyti.ms/adM6EW

Here's the website: http://sixitemsorless.com/

This is a good post that sums it up: http://sixitemsorless.com/2010/07/25/post-mortem-six-items-or-less/

Backyard Farming, Day 13

2010-07-25T20:46:00.007-04:00

A quick update from our parking space turned miniature garden: Things are going well!

These are the pepper (poblano, I believe). They're coming up slowly, but surely. Hopefully there's enough time to harvest them before the cold sets in.
---

This is the zinnia, one of two flowers we planted. Both the flowers are growing faster than the herbs and vegetables, so even if we have an early cold spell this year, we can still pull a bouquet out of this tardy experiment.
---

This is the marigold, the second variety of flower. Like I said, growing pretty quickly.
---

Is catnip also a variety of flower? If so, my whole "flowers grow faster than herbs and vegetables" theory is shot 'cause, as you can see, there's nothing here. You can't make it out from the photograph, but there are actually really tiny green tendrils just barely poking out from the soil. So it's not completely fucked, just retarded.
---

The last pot/plastic mail crate stolen from USPS: On the left we have basil and on the right we have oregano. Both are working their way up to being pizza toppings.
---

Well, that's all for now. 'Nother update in two weeks?

-Arv
Twitter.com/ToImpale

Taco Bell > Facebook

2010-07-20T17:40:00.003-04:00

Only days before Facebook can hang up an "over 500 million served" sign, the survey found abysmal approval ratings for Facebook and other big-name social-media sites.

Facebook less popular than some newspaper sites

Seen on Flavorpill - 50 companies America likes better than Facebook.

Chuck E. Cheese Day

2010-07-13T13:36:00.027-04:00

In the spirit of eating overpriced frozen pizza and being surrounded by toddlers that'll kick your shins over to Siberia if you take too long at the air hockey table, Arvind and I decided to take my 11-year-old sister Gabriella to Chuck E. Cheese's. It was really the other way around, but who'd let a 6 foot tall bearded Muslim into the ball pit (which there was none!) without two little Jews at each of his sides?

Arvind disappointed by the lack of cheese oozing off of his pizza slice.

Many of our childhood memories of going there as youngsters were drowned in the actuality of our tiny past statures, along with our countries obsession with large flat screens.

Currently, the arcade is the main selling point for the store, but years back, the spotlight beamed on the animatronic band shows which were known as "cabaret's."

Chuck E. Cheese's cabaret show circa 2006.

Whereas character cabaret shows stood tall for what Arvind and I remembered as children, those shows have been long replaced with monstrous television monitors, lighting hocus pocus, and highly impersonal interactive elements. Clearly, I'm in grief.

After eating and complaining over our nostalgic disappointments, we set out to play some games. It was difficult to find any that kept our minds satiated for more than 30 seconds, but one Western, hoedown of a shooting game stole our fingers and won best of show.

Arv and Ange Shoot: Chuck E. Cheese Series, July 2010

Gracious curtsies (everything is cuter with an 'ie') to Gabriella for the photos, and for putting up with her mature sister and her adorable boyfriend.

-Angela

http://aardycrushka.blogspot.com/

P.S. We were too pooped by the end of all of our play to stand in line and redeem our prizes (WE GOTS 26 TICKETS!), so if anyone's up to going with us and possibly getting kicked out hood-rat style, let's do it.

Backyard Farming, Day I

2010-07-12T18:06:00.008-04:00

Maybe a little over a year ago I told Olek that I was really interested in starting a rooftop garden. He thought about it for a second and said that he pictured roots tearing through his ceiling, eventually caving the house -- and that he was totally down for it. But, as most half-baked ideas go, rooftop gardening was never actualized.

Then Angela came over a couple of days ago and noticed all of the ceramic pots in my backyard that my step-dad used to grow basil, peppers, and lettuce in. Since he's moved out, all of it has lain fallow and become overrun with weeds. Angela mentioned wanting to grow something and gardening -- though not of the rooftop variety -- was back in motion. Seeing Tim's mom's herb garden on Friday redoubled our resolve, and we set out for Home Depot earlier today in search of seeds.

Unfortunately it's mid-way through summer, so we basically missed the entire planting season. The only seeds we could find that would grow before the cold dashed our harvest were peppers, basil, and oregano. We also decided to pick up two varieties of flowers (marigold and something else I can't remember) and catnip for the family of strays who have taken over my backyard.

Because Angela and I haven't planted anything since beansprouts in elementary school, we basically made up the farming method as we went along:

First we broke up and de-weeded all the dirt. My step dad actually bought soil for all of the pots and only used them for one summer, so I'm pretty sure it's still packed with nutrients. (Also, we found a turnip when we were digging around, which is a pretty good sign, I think.)

Then we dug little troughs and sprinkled in the seeds.

I found some Miracle-Gro, so we tossed that on to ensure that our plants will be super buff. Then we watered the concoction, covered it all up with an inch of dirt, and soaked it through and through.

And now we play the waiting game.

-Arv
Twitter.com/ToImpale

Make Love Not Porn

2010-07-12T16:17:00.004-04:00

I realize that blogging can be a very personal act and it can be hard to engage or take interests in what others have to say or share, but I share these things with you because I'm sure you'll find some aspects of it relevant and interesting. Found the video here

Article roundup!

2010-07-11T13:29:00.004-04:00

Interesting article on personal responsibility and effect on the environment.

Childish Gambino - Got This Money (Acoustic @Ace Hotel)

2010-07-11T11:18:00.019-04:00

Got This Money (Ace Hotel) from Donald Glover on Vimeo.

Donald Glover (who goes by Childish Gambino musically) was an RA in my dorm way back in freshman year. He did Hammerkatz improv in college, then help create Derrick Comedy. As he graduated from school, he wrote for 30 rock (you'll notice a lot of similarities between Tracy Morgan's character and some of Donald's mannerisms in his own skits). Derrick comedy put out a feature film called Mystery Team. Now he stars in Community and puts out music. His latest album is Culdesac. You can check out his first two mixtapes (I Am Just a Rapper 1 & 2) on his website childishgambino.com

Got This Money from Culdesac

Fuck It All from Culdesac

The Real (Infinity Guitars) from I Am Just a Rapper 2

Entrance Romance- Ryan McGinley

2010-07-11T10:16:00.001-04:00

(xposted to my inspirandom blog)

Fourth of July, 2010

2010-07-08T14:18:00.010-04:00

2tor decided to have an Independence Day bash at our office in Chelsea Piers. There was free beer, mini-hamburgers and pigs in a blanket, and a really great view of Macy's fireworks show on the Hudson. We went to the driving range next door, laid on the AstroTurf and watched the night sky light up.

The driving range prior to the show

A tiny burger for tiny Angela

My coworker Todd reading the Declaration of Independence

In an attempt to capture the awesomeness of the spectacle, someone blurted out, "IT'S LIKE THE INTERNET!"

-Arv
Twitter.com/ToImpale

RD is getting a face lift..

2010-06-24T03:33:00.003-04:00

I was quite fed up with the way blogger looks and runs, so I basically changed the template to a width that's fluid instead of fixed.

Overall this blog needs a lot of help and contribution. If you don't want to worry about it's design, don't fret.

But please feel free to use this as an open workspace.

formspring.me to the next level

2010-02-25T22:45:00.003-05:00

http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=1366284523709&ref=nf

here is a video of a guy i went to high school with

his personality/branding/whatever is Sir Vintage

he does a blog, has twitter, a formspring, etc.

i feel he is a good example of using social networking effectively for his image, whether or not its productive is another story. he updates constantly, which is important for keeping a following

i post his video because i think its taking the whole formspring idea and pushing it into some weird honest voyeuristic place that i cant decide right now if its good or bad but titillating

i generally dislike youtube videos of people expressing their opinions about whatever (like who are you and why should i care about your comentary) but something about this type of video, being honest about something thats not quite tangible and didnt need to be revealed..

identity in the technological age is a funny thing

Negligent Mom Sentenced to One Year of Negligence

2009-12-21T10:08:00.002-05:00

Spotted this while being subjected to local news: A Long Island mother was arrested on Wednesday night for leaving her two kids in the car while she hit up Macy's. While this sounds pretty bad, if you take the time to consider her motives, the actual situation, and her punishment, the details paint a picture of justice gone retarded.

HER MOTIVES
I'm sure the two nosy bastards walking by who called the cops were thinking, "WHAT A MONSTER! WHAT KIND OF MOTHER LEAVES HER BABIES LOCKED IN THE CAR SO SHE CAN INDULGE HER SHOPPING ADDICTION!?" And then, instead of asking the kids if they were OK or anything, they just called the cops and bounced.

Anyone who's been in a Macy's in the days preceding Christmas knows it's fucking serious. The crowd is suffocating, customers are willing to gut you for the last whateverthefuck their brat asked for, and the employees are one rude glance away from shanking everyone. It's basically Mad Max in there -- only everyone's high on Christmas juice (a powerful mixture of adrenaline, prospective disappointment, and eggnog). You wouldn't drag your kids onto an anarchic battlefield, so why would you take them into Macy's a week before Christmas? Leave 'em in the car. Plus, she was probably buying gifts for her kids.

THE SITUATION
Leaving two kids -- an 11-year-old boy and a 14-month-old girl -- in the car, at night, in 28 degree cold, to go shopping does sound pretty fucking bad. But they were only in there for 25 minutes. Not even half an hour. If you consider that the car was probably a comfortable 75 degrees before Mom left and you factor in their jackets and combined body warmth, there's no chance that they could've possibly gotten hypothermia, or whatever people are claiming was the health risk. I'll give you a runny nose; they might have ended up with a runny nose from sitting in that car. For chrissake, did everyone forget that kids play in the snow for hours on end?

THE PUNISHMENT
For two counts of endangering the welfare of a child, Mom is now unable to see her children for a year. How does that make any sense? She fucks up by leaving her kids alone for less than half an hour, and the justice system's response is to keep her away from her kids for a year. That year without their mom is going to do more damage to these kids than those 25 minutes in the cold. Way to make a crappy situation worse, Judge.

P.S. Apparently this same woman also had a hand in another holiday season debacle:

Alright, maybe she should be kept away from children.

The Purpose of the Home in Housekeeping

2009-12-20T18:45:00.004-05:00

Yeah, essays written for class are boring (poor professors, the only thing worse than writing a paper has got to be reading one), but I'm particularly proud of this one.

I know, I know: I need to start making real achievements.

---

Arvind Dilawar
American Novel
Professor Aubry
December 20th, 2009

The Purpose of the Home in Housekeeping

"Through all these generations of elders we lived in one house, my grandmother's house," explains Ruth Foster, the protagonist of Marilynne Robinson's novel Housekeeping. (3) Though generations of the Foster family have indeed dwelt there, in a way each one lived in a different home. The significance of the place differs from one character to another and transforms over the course of the story. Edmund Foster, Ruth's grandfather, builds the house as a kind of frontier outpost, but beginning with his death and continuing with almost every one that follows, its purpose changes. After Edmund's demise, Ruth's grandmother attempts unsuccessfully to turn her home into a fortress, a barrier to keep the misery of the outside world at bay. After her passing and a brief stint under the hapless care of Ruth's great-aunts, the building passes into Sylvie's hands, where it loses its protective capacity. During this time the dualistic notion of the inside versus the outside that Ruth's grandmother attempted to enforce collapses completely. Ultimately, when Sylvie and Ruth decide to leave Fingerbone, the house is recognized as a storage space, a locker for keeping memories.

The Foster home was built by Edmund and initially embodied his adventurous nature, making it a sort of frontier outpost. Ruth relates that her grandfather "had grown up in the Middle West, in a house dug out of the ground, with windows just at earth level and just at eye level, so that from without, the house was a mere mound, no more a human stronghold than a grave." (3) It was this bleak, completely insular nature of Edmund's childhood residence that drove the man to haphazardly board a train set for "the mountains," then, almost as randomly, to build his dwelling in Fingerbone. (4) The town's brutal climate, Edmund's westward journey, and the home decorated with paintings of exotic locales from travel books, all suggest a sense of adventure. Edmund sought a way out of the routine, away from the tomb-like quality of the place where he had grown up. This same outgoing spirit that inspired the man to pick wild flowers and venture off into the night unbeknownst to his wife was in the walls he put up. And so, somewhat paradoxically, the house was initially established with thoughts of rejecting domestic life. It was more a homestead refusing the quotidian, looking further into the distance. To Edmund, the house is a scope.

When Edmund sails off that bridge, into the depths of the lake, the expectant, intrepid aspect of the house he built drowns with him. As a response to Edmund's death, his widow turns their home into a shelter from the outside world. The space inside becomes quotidian and Ruth's grandmother enjoys it, confusing the routine for impervious stability. She mistakes her daughters' motivations and intentions, thinking, "her girls were quiet ... because the customs and habits of their lives had almost relieved them of the need for speech. ... Molly changed the beds, Sylvie peeled the vegetables, Helen washed the dishes. These things were settled." (15) Unfortunately it becomes clear that things were not settled when Molly, Sylvie, and Helen mature, each one leaving the home and their mother. Still, rather than coming to the understanding that four walls cannot keep out the world, Ruth's grandmother falls into the same pattern when Ruth and her sister Lucille are thrust into her care. Ruth muses that, when caring for them, her grandmother "whited shoes and braided hair and fried chicken and turned back bedclothes ... And she whited shoes and braided hair and turned back bedclothes as if re-enacting the commonplace would make it merely commonplace again." (24) Ruth's grandmother clings to the delusion that keeping things inside the home constant will establish a permanent quality to their existence. In this context, the regular duties that housekeeping demands take on an insular, protective quality, as if they were part of a perpetual motion machine that would continue if only left undisturbed, and the walls of the home become a barrier to keep the miserable happenstance and chaotic unpredictability of the outside world at bay. To Ruth's grandmother, the house is a shield.

After a short period under the timid gaze of Ruth's great-aunts, the house and the two children are entrusted to Sylvie. As a drifter, Sylvie does not view the place as a sanctuary, but as just another locale. This is reflected in the lack of housekeeping she performs, and the subsequent transformation of the building is observed by Ruth. When visitors flock to the house after suspicions of Sylvie's neglect fester in Fingerbone, Ruth refutes the guests' disapproving looks by thinking that "the visitors glanced at the cans and papers as if they thought Sylvie must consider such things appropriate to a parlor. That was ridiculous. We had simply ceased to consider that room a parlor." (180) Just as Sylvie no longer thinks of the living-room as such, neither does she consider the home in a usual fashion. Whereas her mother's life was restricted -- "She had lived her whole life in Fingerbone" (9) -- and her assiduous housekeeping reflected this, Sylvie has traveled the country. She is an transient. She, at least initially, regards the house as she would regard any other place. To her, there is no divide between the unpredictable outside world and the safety of indoors; it is all one scape. The house is as impenetrable and as permanent to her as every other physical object -- that is, it is fragile and ephemeral. To Sylvie, the house is a bower.

Finally, there is the narrator's perspective to consider. As a child living in this house, Ruth is at many times seems to adopt the views of others when considering her home. But toward the novel's conclusion, in the seeming twilight of the building's existence, Ruth's own opinion is easier to infer. When explaining why she and Sylvie chose to burn down the house, Ruth says, "many household things are of purely sentimental value, like the dim coil of thick hair, saved from my grandmother's girlhood, which was kept in a hatbox on top of the wardrobe, along with my mother's gray purse. In the equal light of disinterested scrutiny such things are not themselves. They are transformed into pure object, and are horrible, and must be burned." (209) It isn't that Ruth and Sylvie wish to destroy the mementos of the past that fill the house. In fact, they seek the exact opposite: to preserve the value of those household objects as more than just that, to preserve their status as memories. They have already made the decision to abandon Fingerbone, but they realize that they "could not leave that house, which was stashed like a brain, a reliquary, like a brain, its relics to be pawed and sorted and parceled out among the needy and the parsimonious of Fingerbone." (209) Once the community realizes they've disappeared, their home's contents will be given out as charity. It isn't that the two are uncharitable, rather, they understand that a tea kettle removed from their home and given to a poor family will be reduced to a just a tea kettle. It will no longer be a reminder of cold mornings together, fighting off the numbness with short, blistering, rejuvenating sips of tea. It will simply be a tool. As Ruth and Sylvie, paradoxically, run away from Fingerbone to preserve their memories and refuse to put down roots so that they may constantly live in the past rather than the present, they similarly refuse to allow the objects that are imbued with the memory of their past to be debased. For this reason, the house becomes a place to keep sentimental valuables. To Ruth, the house is a coffer.

Over the course of Housekeeping Marilynne Robinson explores the significance of the home. Through the novel's characters, readers are offered different perspectives on what a house is: it is a launch pad; it is a fortress; it is just another place; it is museum. Whether the sequence of these viewpoints is indicative of any progressive understanding is unlikely. The arson meant to devour the Foster home and hide Sylvie and Ruth's tracks fails to do so, which may indicate that there is no definite answer; the house continues to stand so the question cannot be put away. But in a novel that is not only filled with shadows and darkness, but delves, revels, celebrates shadows and darkness, not many things seem definite. Robinson expresses an appreciation for the Mystical -- that which cannot be simply known, but must be indeterminately felt -- and in the uncertainty of the home's "true" purpose, she may be relating a larger theme: that many things are unknowable, subjective, amorphous. After all, near the book's conclusion, Ruth is unable to revisit the place, saying, "I pass again and again behind my grandmother's house, and never get off at the station and walk back to see if it is still the same house." (217)

Marriage Equality Fails in New York

2009-12-03T01:49:00.000-05:00

The vote of each state senator is below. Please call your state senator to express your appreciation or disappointment for their vote on the marriage equality bill.

Eric Adams (D) — YES
Joseph Addabbo (D) — NO
James Alesi (R) — NO
Darrel Aubertine (D) — NO
John Bonacic (R) — NO
Neil Breslin (D) — YES
John DeFrancisco (R) — NO
Ruben Diaz (D) — NO
Martin Malave Dilan (D) — YES
Tom Duane (D) — YES
Pedro Espada (D) — YES
Hugh Farley (R) — NO
John Flanagan (R) — NO
Brian Foley (D) — YES
Charles Fuschillo, Jr. (R) — NO
Martin Golden (R) — NO
Joseph Griffo (R) — NO
Kemp Hannon (R) — NO
Ruth Hassell-Thompson (D) — YES
Shirley Huntley (D) — NO
Craig Johnson (D) — YES
Owen Johnson (R) — NO
Jeffrey Klein (D) — YES
Liz Krueger (D) — YES
Carl Kruger (D) — NO
Andrew Lanza (R) — NO
Bill Larkin (R) — NO
Kenneth LaValle (R) — NO
Vincent Leibell (R) — NO
Tom Libous (R) — NO
Elizabeth Little (R) — NO
Carl Marcellino (R) — NO
George Maziarz (R) — NO
Roy McDonald (R) — NO
Hiram Monserrate (D) — NO
Velmanette Montgomery (D) — YES
Thomas Morahan (R) — NO
Michael Nozzolio (R) — NO
George Onorato (D) — NO
Suzi Oppenheimer (D) — YES
Frank Padavan (R) — NO
Kevin Parker (D) — YES
Bill Perkins (D) — YES
Michael Ranzenhofer (R) — NO
Joseph Robach (R) — NO
Stephen Saland (R) — NO
John Sampson (D) — YES
Diane Savino (D) — YES
Eric Schneiderman (D) — YES
Jose Serrano (D) — YES
James Seward (R) — NO
Dean Skelos (R) — NO
Malcolm Smith (D) — YES
Daniel Squadron (D) — YES
William Stachowski (D) — NO
Toby Ann Stavisky (D) — YES
Andrea Stewart-Cousins (D) — YES
Antoine Thompson (D) — YES
David Valesky (D) — YES
Dale Volker (R) — NO
George Winner (R) — NO
Catherine Young (R) — NO

2009-11-25T00:47:00.001-05:00

2009-10-07T19:54:00.000-04:00

The Only 36 Stories the World Has Ever Known

2009-10-01T02:28:00.004-04:00

"In cases of absolute desperation, we can turn to the French."
-Joseph O'Connor

In my Fiction Workshop today, my professor, Mr. O'Connor, presented us with an odd remedy to coming up with an "inciting incident," the event from which all subsequent events in a story unfold. After suggesting a variety of different forms the inciting incident can take, he briefly explained the work of 19th Century French writer, Georges Polti. Polti studied all the classical works of antiquity, the sacred Judeo-Christian texts, and European legends he could find, and came to the conclusion that, essentially, the whole world contains only 36 stories, which are repeated in variation, combination, and disguise. Here are the 36:

1. Supplication: a character is desperately seeking something
- a Persecutor; a Seeker; a Power in authority, whose decision is doubtful
2. Deliverance: a character is in danger and is saved
- an Unfortunate; a Threatener; a Rescuer
3. Crime pursued by vengeance
- a Criminal; an Avenger
4. Vengeance taken for kin upon kin
- Guilty Kinsman; an Avenging Kinsman; remembrance of the Victim, a relative of both
5. Pursuit
- Punishment; a Fugitive
6. Disaster
- a Vanquished Power; a Victorious Enemy or a Misfortune
7. Falling prey to cruelty/misfortune
- an Unfortunate; a Master or a Misfortune
8. Revolt
- a Tyrant; a Conspirator
9. Daring enterprise
- a Bold Leader; an Object; an Adversary
10. Abduction
- an Abductor; the Abducted; a Guardian
11. The enigma: a problem needs to be solved by the character
- a Problem; an Interrogator; a Seeker
12. Obtaining
- a Solicitor and an Adversary who is refusing, or an Arbitrator and Opposing Parties
13. Enmity of kin or family
- a Malevolent Kinsman; a Hated or a reciprocally-hating Kinsman
14. Rivalry of kin
- the Preferred Kinsman; the Rejected Kinsman; the Object of Rivalry
15. Murderous adultery
- two Adulterers; a Betrayed Spouse
16. Madness
- a Madman; a Victim
17. Fatal imprudence
- the Imprudent; a Victim or an Object Lost
18. Involuntary crimes of love
- a Lover; a Beloved; a Revealer
19. Slaying of kin unrecognized
- the Slayer; an Unrecognized Victim
20. Self-sacrifice for an ideal
- a Hero; an Ideal; a Creditor or a Person/Thing sacrificed
21. Self-sacrifice for kin
- a Hero; a Kinsman; a Creditor or a Person/Thing sacrificed
22. All sacrificed for passion
- a Lover; an Object of fatal Passion; the Person/Thing sacrificed
23. Necessity of sacrificing loved ones
- a hero; a Beloved Victim; the Necessity for the Sacrifice
24. Rivalry of superior vs. inferior
- a Superior Rival; an Inferior Rival; the Object of Rivalry
25. Adultery
- two Adulterers; a Deceived Spouse
26. Crimes of love
- a Lover; the Beloved
27. Discovery of the dishonor of a loved one
- a Discoverer; the Guilty One
28. Obstacles to love
- two Lovers; an Obstacle
29. An enemy loved
- a Lover; the Beloved Enemy; the Hater
30. Ambition
- an Ambitious Person; a Thing Coveted; an Adversary
31. Conflict with a god
- a mortal; an Immortal
32. Mistaken jealousy
- a Jealous One; an Object of whose Possession He is Jealous; a Supposed Accomplice; a Cause or an Author of the Mistake
33. Mistaken judgment
- a Victim of the Mistake; a Cause or Author of the Mistake; the Guilty One
34. Remorse
- a Culprit; a Victim or the Sin; an Interrogator
35. Recovery of a lost one
- a Seeker; the One Found
36. Loss of loved ones
- a Kinsman Slain; a Kinsman Spectator; an Executioner

Don't know if I agree, but it sure is an interesting concept.

-Arv
twitter.com/toimpale

P.S. I guess fuck the hiatus?

How disappointing.

2009-09-14T00:18:00.005-04:00

I suppose it starts off simply enough. There's a novel that doesn't repeat a single word. There's that. There are other concepts, but those aren't ready to be discussed. That's entirely my fault. Sorry. But there's still that novel, right? That sounds cool. Doesn't it? I'll require a nod from you before I proceed. Yes, just nod. Thank you. I know you didn't nod. It's cool. Don't worry about it. I saw its description, the novel's, and it surprised me. Not a single word repeated? No, not a single one. How could there be characters that wouldn't be referred to by name more than once? There could be nicknames, sure, but still, it seems untenable. It seems that without repetition, you tend to lose meaning. That's a life lesson or a bumper sticker or something.

Trite. Yeah, that's the word. That's what I am. I'm a human bumper sticker. Instead of sentences, I speak in platitudes. Or not. Nothing but aphorisms would make for an unreadable story, just like the novel that doesn't repeat a word. Oh, and it was unreadable. I mean, he wrote a full novel, some 150 pages. That takes something. It's creating something to stand out not to stand on its own. Like dedicating your life to collecting 8-tracks or knowing everything possible about obscure bands from the early 70's. Not to put that down. I sound like I'm putting it down. Some people want to stake out a piece of the universe and know everything about that corner. That's cool. I tend towards a more universal appeal. Something that creates its own context, that doesn't rely on history or culture to fill in the gaps. It doesn't require you to know beforehand. That's what I am drawn to.

And it's difficult to relate in that case. I know it is. There are other people that relate though. And maybe it's just my corner, no different than yours. So this isn't about the novel. I guess that was just an example. It didn't start off as an example. Not important. Christ, maybe it is. I should chase ideas down any corridor I can find. So the story was nothing but a bunch of lists. Outlandish descriptions of items I've never heard of in paragraph-long lists. No rhythm, no reason. I'm sure it made some sense, but it just seemed like a rambling mad man found a word processor to me. Was it an experiment? Was I supposed to read the whole thing? It's just something to know is out there. You can go to bed tonight knowing there is a novel of moderate length that doesn't repeat a single word. (Not a single word? No, not a single word.) It's a security blanket for those that find it difficult to get anything done. The uninspired and the lazy can both relax knowing that their work is being done for them.

The night surges forwards and backwards. It was at one point tonight 3 AM and I was at my laptop diligently punching keys. My roommate kicks my door down. The hinges are old as is the wood and the screws just rip the wood off. “Quick! Do you know the Heimlich?!” I respond in the affirmative, but I can't imagine if I nodded or said "yes" or what. So he grabs the cat by the hind legs with one hand as he shoves a dead bird into the cat's mouth. Luckily, the cat, which from now on will only be referred to as “it,” bites down and swallows the bird whole. “I... don't know if I know how to do it on cats though.” I lied earlier. I said I responded positively to my roommates question, when in truth I should not have. I've never had any classes or anything. All I know about it is what I learned from TV and informational pamphlets in restaurants. I could look it up, but I learn by doing.

Focus. FOCUS FOCUSOCUSFOCUSLOCUSMOCISROKEIS. Focus. To learn, one must focus. There are characters. I keep thinking about them. I guess I should call them people. Better yet, friends and family and acquaintances and people I've seen and some I haven't and there are a few that haven't happened yet. I'm talking about the unborn here. I'm talking about the American holocaust. No, not the slaughter of countless, or should I say uncounted, Native Americans, I'm talking about fetuses. We should be concerned with whether or not we are feeding our imaginary pets and dead birds. We should concern ourselves, as a nation, with the amount and frequency of geriatric bowel movements and how this swirling, ignored storm of evacuation, this uncharted land of defecation and micturation, this unwritten map of collusive and deliberate acts of pure and also by definition, meaningless, filth is intentionally (I have assigned intent! This is called anthropomorphism, also known as exhaustion and madness.) creasing our neatly folded clothes into other neat creases, simply a few inches over. How embarrassing to have a crease right next to the other crease. The proper crease. How infuriating it is to watch them dance as they draw nearer and then again further away. Staying out of reach with knowledge (Again dear reader! The crease knows something we don't. Let's listen in...) that it cannot be caught. Well then what's the point of staying out of reach?

We're getting off course. Like a member of alcoholics anonymous drowning in the lake near his childhood home. It's simply not what he wanted and it's definitely not what we want. So let's resurrect him, our little Lazarus, and appoint him king of a small nation. This nation gets invaded by a better armed, stronger, smarter and also better looking nation. Still no good? Let's drown him again. Don't kill him though! Let him breathe. Catch his breath. His eyes wildly search for you, but you don't exist and neither does he. But we drown him again. (Yes dear reader, you're doing this too. You're drowning him too. If you disagree with torture or murder, simply stop reading. Walk away. No? Fine.) Your hand presses down, the water is freezing cold. You can't feel it, but then again you wouldn't be drowning a man if you could. At least let's hope not. Of course he struggles. That's why you're doing this. To test his mettle. He somehow twists and grabs you and plunges your face into the burning hot water. It's not as pleasant as you imagined. Both of you feel your lungs begin to fill with water and he doesn't look so good. A little blue. So we end the exercise. You both bow and walk out opposite exits of the room.

As you're drying off with a towel my lovely assistant provided, you notice some writing on the wall. It uses letters you've never seen before. We both try to read it, but we just can't make it out. How disappointing.

Dear Readers & Fellow Fans

2009-09-10T08:36:00.004-04:00

Lately I've been the only person still contributing to this blog. Everyone is growing up and too busy to put in their own two cents. I no longer want to be the lonely blogger. If you like my blog posts you can follow me on my own personal blog sexoavecdulce or look out for me on streetcarnage.

I will come back when the others return, but for now my creativity will go back to its home base where it's appreciated.

Peace, Love & Sexiness like a Kitten's Purr.
Aileen Awesome :D

Because We All Need A Little Reminder

2009-08-21T20:50:00.000-04:00

Freshen Up Your Vocabulary

2009-08-21T20:33:00.002-04:00

Cantankerous - a bad-tempered person.

Fulsome - disgustingly excessive.

Kakistocracy - a government run by the worst elements of society.

Nugatory - anyone or anything that is worthless.

Rodomontade - to arrogantly brag.

Xenophobic - someone who is fearful of strangers or contamination from the outside, or they have contempt for foreigners.

Be a Music Director

2009-08-15T18:19:00.002-04:00

Splice and re-edit old music videos to make new music videos.

Check out a fan made video for Mogwai's The Sun Smells Too Loud.

Xmas in July

2009-08-15T17:47:00.002-04:00

Having a horrible summer? Beaches are not your thing? Are you a winter baby? Perhaps a little bored?

Well do I have a pleasant surprise for you all. Ice skating is still available at Chelsea Piers and on Sundays it's free. No excuses just go and have some fun. Hey, you can even laugh at the people who end up falling.

Mexican in Forest Hills

2009-08-15T17:25:00.002-04:00

They call it 5 burros. A play on words, do you get it?

The food is amazing and nearly authentic, and the margaritas do not taste of tequila. It could be a sign for disaster, but who cares. The crowd that works the restaurant is extremely friendly and love getting to know new patrons who eventually become regulars. A bit pricey but it's worth it.

Welcome to Beer Garden

2009-08-15T16:58:00.003-04:00

I gave into Brooklyn's nightlife. I never once thought Queens would catch up. Sorry, but I'm not a fan of the always running late bus and Colombians.

Until I was invited to a place, Beer Garden, I declined immediately. Of course. Already had plans in the city (as we outer borough kids call it) and as we all know the city is limitless.

Again I keep rejecting, but that stopped the night my sister went. I volunteered to babysit and by 2:41 am they staggered in. Her boyfriend who sang her to sleep that night told me I should go if I ever wanted a quickie.

From that moment I was sold and had to see this mystical place full of single hipsters.

I was presently surprised when I ended up there last Friday. Not only were there hipsters. There were all types of sausages. And they where everywhere spread across this football field. To call this place a bar would be an understatement.

Queens is finally coming around to something good.

FYI: The Frenulum

2009-07-29T14:39:00.006-04:00

Imagine accidentally tearing it?

Pop Rock That Fails to Pop

2009-07-19T20:01:00.009-04:00

I first happened upon the Lovely Feathers while listening through the soundtrack to The Vice Guide to Travel, which featured the Montreal-based quintet's song "Frantic." It stood apart from typical pop rock because it took risks: sudden, drastic changes in tempo and excited, dueling vocals that harmoniously came together, gettting damn-near silly in the process (at one point the singers seemingly collapse into giggles). These risks were taken upon a sturdy base of what pop rock should be: enjoyable hooks and a quick rhythm section. The end-product was fun and accessible, but still innovative and thus memorable.

Many of those features can also be found on the Lovely Feather's latest offering, The Fantasy of the Lot, the band's second official LP that's being released on August 18th. Listening to the album's first single, "Lowiza", the sharp guitar melodies and rhythm section are pleasantly familiar. So are the two voices, although they now perform in unison, like a grand sing along chorus, or one is relegated to merely providing back-up. This unfortunate stylistic shift pervades all of the album's eleven tracks (twelve if you count the alternate version of "Family That Doesn't Know the Game"). The band has seemingly abandoned their old unrestrained style of singing for something more standard. It's a shame. The song's lyrics, which concern a man divided between the duty he has towards his wife and children and the sincere love he has for his mistress, are representative of the album's general focus on the lives and ills of the common man. The lyrics are nice, but they aren't poetry.

Although they're absent from "Lowiza", the Lovely Feather's signature tempo changes can aslo be found on The Fantasy of the Lot, although they are now much more hit-and-miss. "Ossified Homes", probably the album's best track, effectively utilizes the change in time signature. It is also one of the only songs to feature a build-up, which gives the band an opportunity to channel the excitement and passion characteristic of their earlier efforts.

There are other instances when these risky transition simply fail. "Loading Dock" is ripe with abrupt changes in tempo, but the do not pay off. Instead, the track sounds like three or four different songs poorly cut and pasted together. When the principal one ends, there is a sudden shift in both tempo and melody, with the slow, soft emergence of violins. This is overcome by a fast, resurgent drum beat, but that is quickly snuffed out, and the song switches gears back to the violins. It maybe be an example of the band's more avant-garde aspirations, but it sounds like someone messed up while they were mastering the album.

Aside from three or four standout songs, most of the tracks on Fantasy of the Lot are mediocre, suffering from a lack of inspiration and far too much focus on an uninventive rhythm section, which is featured too prominently in the foreground. Generally speaking, the band's principal mistake seems to be that they forgot what people want from pop music: addictive melodies. Pop music without hooks misses the point of pop. It's like electro that you can't dance to or hardcore that isn't angry. Lacking that necessary hook, much of Fantasy of the Lot passes by like a sunny day you spend indoors doing nothing. It's not bad, but it's kind of boring.

Coney Island Whitefish

2009-07-17T23:54:00.005-04:00

Sirenfest tomorrow/today. Headliners include Built to Spill and The Raveonettes.

Besides who knows how long Coney Island has before it's destruction.

In remembrance add some whitefish to the waters.

Hottie of the Week

2009-07-17T20:55:00.003-04:00

With all that sex appeal it's difficult to believe she's pregnant.

Well sex does equal babies.

Good Quote, Excellent Movie:

2009-07-15T23:16:00.005-04:00

"Vice, Virtue. It's best not to be too moral. You cheat yourself out of too much life. Aim above morality. If you apply that to life, then you're bound to live life fully." - Maude from Harold and Maude

Apparently, Everyone Likes It

2009-07-15T14:35:00.008-04:00

A few weeks ago while I was purging my library of tracks I no longer listen to, I rediscovered a set by my old Rutgers roommate, who goes by the handle Mikey Likes It. It's from the first of what became a monthly dance party he throws with a couple of friends in New Brunswick called "Digital Playground". Since then, I've been playing it at get-togethers whenever I can because, as an eclectic mix of electro, oldies and top 40s hip hop, I feel like it literally has something for everyone. People seem to agree since I've gotten a lot of requests for it. So here it is, y'all; download away.

Mikey Likes It - Digital Playground

Pick Up Line of the Week!

2009-07-07T20:50:00.003-04:00

As we all know I am currently disabled (i got hit by my mom's car), but for some reason guys are coming on to me stronger than ever. It could be the fact that I am unable to run away quickly enough or because I look like a damsel in distress. But this guy today, I have no words for. His pick up line made no sense.

I am walking on the sidewalk. A young blond guy looks me in the eye and says "I hope you had a nice trip" and as I attempt to limp away from him he continues "see you next fall".

What is that?! It hella left me confused trying to figure that one out.

The significance of 2001: A Space Odyssey

2009-07-01T20:38:00.005-04:00

So you know this movie is important but you're not sure why. It's one of those movies that are more fun to talk about than to watch, like Citizen Kane or anything by David Lynch. But apart from providing the soundtrack for Bob Sapp and endless monster truck rally television commercials, what does it *mean*? Of course, as a work of art it can only allow for interpretation. With that caveat, here are two stabs at it that you can borrow the next time you want to sound pretentious.

1) What 2001 means as a work of Art

Shortly after "The Dawn of Man", where the pack of apes confronts the black monolith, there is the scene where one of them discovers the use of a bone as a hunting tool. 'Thus Spake Zarathustra' plays, we see flash-forwards to its use in the hunt. In this moment we make the connection between this primitive invention and the urge of man to adapt the environment to his own ends. Then, as the bone is thrown aloft, we see it leave the screen and re-emerge; in a flash, it is replaced by the image of the space shuttle, thousands of years in the future.

Art is significant insofar as it expands our consciousness. We can chart the development of human consciousness with reference to the progress of art. For example, the Ancient Greeks invented such concepts as rational justice and democracy; they also perfected the art form of sculpture. Sculpture is a physical manifestation of the human mastery of space: in a work of sculpture, the artist's will is made manifest in a piece of marble or stone.

During the Renaissance, as Europe awoke from centuries of feudalism and barbarism, painting reached its highest form in the works of Caravaggio; the significance of a painting is that it demonstrates the ability of humans to create a three-dimensional image, in all of its depth and perspective, on a two-dimensional surface.

This might sound like a lot of ten-dollar words being thrown around, but consider this; perhaps these artistic boundaries that transcended space were necessary precursors to technical advancements. In the 1400's, the distance between Maine and Milan might as well have been the distance between either of those and the moon. Today, that distance can be bridged with a click of a button.

In a way, film continues this manipulation of space, the movement of the actors transcending the limitations of the flat screen we watch. Yet, film does something else which is unique. The linear nature of a film, with a beginning and end, draws much inspiration from another art form, the novel. When Joseph Conrad wrote 'The Secret Agent' in 1907, he made the revolutionary move of disconnecting the story from the plot - instead of following an orderly sequence, he mixed up the chapters so that one did not necessarily follow the other according to the internal timeline of the story - kind of like Quentin Tarantino does in Pulp Fiction.

Film is unique in that it distorts our sense of time - on the one hand, it creates an artificial timeline, that which the characters themselves are supposed to experience, and yet it operates within the constraints of 'real time', the time in which the viewer actually experiences the film. In this way there is a layering of time, much like the layering of perspective that takes place in a sculpture or painting.

In this sense, the significance of 2001 as a work of art can be summed up in one scene, to be more specific, in a single photo frame, the one that Steven Spielberg talks about when he mentions this movie: the cosmic leap that takes place when the image of the bone is replaced by the image of the space shuttle. When this happens, in a continuous sequence, without any warning or explanation, it is the most obvious, explicit example of how film has allowed for a reshaping of our notion of time and how it operates; in a way it is the fulfillment of the contribution of the medium of film to human consciousness. The thousands of years that must pass between these two events in "real time" are not necessary to understand the story. And if you can understand why that is so huge, then you will understand why 2001is significant as a work of art.

2) What 2001 tells us about Human Beings

Do you remember the scene in which the astronaut gets trapped in the holding bay, and HAL the computer won't let him out? What is that all about?

Human beings are creatures of adaptation. As the British anthropologist Desmond Morris has pointed out, in the wild animals do not mutilate themselves, masturbate, form homosexual pair-bonds, or commit suicide. These, however, are all common behaviors in a zoo. Although we often refer to the city as a concrete jungle, in reality it is more correctly described as a human zoo.

The roots of civilization lay in agriculture, the primary act in which humanity began adapting the environment to fit its needs. Agriculture provided a stable food source which allowed the grouping of humans into cities, which allowed for human specialization to occur, which in turn allowed for more rigorous adaptation of the environment. The result was our modern cities which are hyper-adapted to our needs, where few have had to look for food outside of a supermarket and water is available with the turn of a tap.

Yet the struggle for adaptation has developed according to the process of natural selection; this is not to jump to the hasty conclusion that only the fittest survive (a phrase Darwin himself did not use), but rather that those who are able to adapt to a situation will flourish, while those who do not will die off. How does this function in a society where our basic needs are more or less taken for granted, provided and maintained at a fundamental level?

The revelation of 2001 is that not only have humans adapted their environment to meet their needs;they have also artificially created a means of natural selection in the form of automatic, digitized systems. We are forced to compete for survival, not only against our environment, and each other, but also against our ability to adapt ourselves to an objective set of expectations. In this way we have artificially sped up the process of evolution, with the paradoxical result of a greater possible range of individual possibilities than ever before, and yet an emerging, unparalleled conformity.

HAL is a computer, a robot, a human creation. Still, HAL has the power to control other humans. HAL is both a judge and executioner, automatic and superbly rational and yet... somehow vaguely human. When the astronaut stares into HAL's red eye (!?), he sees more than a computer; he sees himself. This realization leads to a sort of crisis of consciousness; to become aware of one's own consciousness is always a mirror held up against a mirror, descending infinitely.

In this discovery he gains an objective perspective on his situation; thus he sees himself outside of the computer deck, nominally free as a human human being although still dependent on these automated machines for meeting his basic physical needs. In this reflection, in a kind of reverse-causal link, a flight of dream-logic, he sees a man, perhaps another version of himself, eating alone in a room. The man arises to check for the astronaut, sensing his presence, but when he arrives it is gone, like a whisper of paranoia or an odd thought.

The exquisiteness of the set table, the tranquil, sanitized feel of the room, the artificial lights contrast harshly with the ordinary, mundane act of ingesting food to meet one's physical needs. This is shattered by a broken glass; a reminder of the fragility, the almost comic banality of human existence. This realization leads to an image of the man on his deathbed. Here again he confronts the monolith; a black, sleek, rectangular object, and again we hear the refrain of 'Thus Spake Zarathustra'. Its dark contents give way to a shot of space; a metaphor for the abyss of the unknown; that fundamental urge to explore and discover, in which there is a undeniable continuity throughout humankind, whether in our origins as apes in the desert or in an artificial future, compartmentalized and attached to machines to survive. Yet in that persisting consciousness, there is rebirth; immortality even, as symbolized by the image of the human fetus. In confronting the unknown, our ventures always yield some sort of truth; and in that effort, we come closer to the essence of what it means to be human.

Or something like that.

- Nelson Peters

New Artist Alert: MMMatthias

2009-06-19T00:36:00.000-04:00

Everyone's been giving me flak for not living up to the "New" in this segment's title so I've been plumbing the depths of my iPod for the unknown. And in the spirit of obscurity, I present you with MMMatthias, an unsigned German producer who specializes in glitchy remixes. Using repetitive, split-second samples, MMMatthias creates choppy, though strangely melodic mixes that ultimately bear little resemblance to their original versions. He practically eviscerates Royksopp's "Vision One," beginning his version as a quaint little dance number that dies halfway through. Left in its wake are subdued echoes, which quickly build in intensity until bursting like machine-gun fire. From that point on, the song is unrelenting.

MMMatthias isn't confined to hardcore-esq remixes though. His versatility is obvious when comparing his aggressive take on "Vision One" to his much softer approach to Sigur Ros' "Saeglopur." Although finding inspiration where not many tend to search is impressive (Who remixes Sigur Ros? [Before you smart asses get on my case, apparently all these people have, but really, who the fuck has even heard of half those guys?]), MMMatthias does lose the enormous power, drama, and intricacy of the original. Despite not working with a full orchestra, as Sigur Ros practically did in the original, MMMatthias still cultivates a quiet sort of emotion that's usually more associated with those strange electronica artists who work on actual listening music rather than the electro producers who churn out dance floor bangers.

Ultimately, MMMatthias doesn't remix a song simply by adding more bass and a few neat effects; he literally takes it apart and puts the odd pieces back together in a way that's reminiscent enough of the old version for your to see where it came from, but original enough to appreciate how far he's taken it.

Royksopp - Vision One (MMMatthias remix)
Sigur Ros - Saeglopur (MMMatthias remix)

Perspiration Stolen

2009-06-17T00:57:00.003-04:00

(571): I was getting a bj with sports center on in the background
(202): Da na na, na na naa

(402): i'm out of smokes so i just had an after sex popsicle. this might become an addiction.

(843): I think im pregnant
(803): I think you have the wrong number

Now go out there and be a good to do citizen!

Creative Projects

2009-05-27T16:21:00.002-04:00

Alright, we (Kat, Diana and I) have been brain storming all afternoon and we came up with a few ideas for summer projects. I will list a few here.

Parkour / Freerunning
Urban Exploration (ties into Parkour)
Cooking Show
Capture the Flag with homemade flags (Summer Tournament)
Some kind of pet service
Making Halloween costumes
Modern Art
Making babies (ties into Modern Art)
Repairing my moped
Fake Murder?
Starting a cult (already have a base, just need to formalize system)
Martial Arts/Dojo
Flash Mobs
Mural in my apartment/on my walls
Old Chocolate Projects
Soup
Restaurant based around Old Italian Women (O.I.W.s)
Videogame
Photography Comic
Silent Film (get Sean to compose score)
Mouse(computer)/Car Bedazzling
Getting Jobs/Making Money
Arkady's Glow in the Dark Bike
Comedy Troupe
Party on Arkady's Roof (huge parties)
Welding two bikes together
Blog about chip shapes

OK, so you guys can tell us what you think, which projects you will be interested in doing. You can also add ideas and tell us which people have skills that would be helpful for these projects.

New Artist Alert: Death to the Throne

2009-05-26T23:29:00.001-04:00

Death to the Throne is a Phoenix-based electro producer who's taken to making brutal remixes of originally toothless pop and hip hop songs. The mixes are somewhat formulaic, but nonetheless enjoyable. The melodies tend to be broad tones with the bass and distortion cranked all the way up and are laid upon equally simple kick-snare drumbeats. Samples from the original songs are chopped up and sprinkled upon this base. Luckily, Death to the Throne manages to avoid the pitfall of dissonance that makes some glitchy electro unlistenable (see the bad half of either Boys Noize's album, Oi Oi Oi, or Teenage Bad Girls' Cocotte.) Instead, he crafts intense remixes that make you wonder whether you should be dancing or throwing down.

Lykke Li - Little Bit (Death to the Throne remix)

LMFAO - La La La (Death to the Throne remix)

Yet another way to waste time

2009-05-26T00:39:00.008-04:00

Although most of us just got out of school and thus don't have anything to procrastinate from, Texts From Last Night is for those of you taking summer courses. Also for those of you who graduated and no longer know what to do with your lives. Enjoy whittling away them hours.

Excerpts:

(817): I woke up this morning and I couldn't find my coffeetable. wtf?

(248): apparently they started giving me water shots and i couldnt tell the difference

(734): i was shrooming and she was sobbing. i was trying to be sympathetic, but i could see the veins working like worms under her skin. and then her face stripped down to the muscle.
(1-734): what was she crying about?
(734): i wanna say it was the lack of skin on her face but maybe she lost her job.

(972): I'm scared
(337): There's nothing to be scared of. My penis is average size.
(972): That's what I'm afraid of

(540): I just got a ticket for shitting on a sand dune.

P.S. There's a conspicous lack of 646 and 917 area codes on this site. I think we should correct that.

New Artist Alert: Phoenix

2009-05-22T15:35:00.003-04:00

Anonymous said...

Congrats on your 100th post.

Crystal Castles are my fave of all these bands though. Their songs don't get old. Crimewave & Untrust Us have been hits for like, 3 years now.

I deleted my La Roux & Ladyhawke mp3s after 1 month.

May 12, 2009 2:50 AM

Considering the above comment, I realized that judging music is a lot like judging prospective relationships. Stay with me here: basically, all musicians fall somewhere on the exact same continuum as relationships. On one side of this spectrum you have the people you would never, ever even hook-up with. No matter how many drinks you have, it just isn't going to happen. Musically, this zone is dedicated to Lady Gaga, Akon and country music. The opposite end of this is marriage material. These are the people you're picking out curtains with and giving up blow for.

According to this rubric, Phoenix, a four-piece alternative rock band, falls into the "fling" category. (No homo.) Although there's definitely space for unflattering comparisons to other soft rock bands, like Maroon 5, Phoenix would be more appropriate alongside Chromeo because they're both so fucking smooth. Whereas Chromeo sweeps women off their feet while laying down the funk like later-day Stevie Wonders, Phoenix are a couple of white kids sitting in their suburban basement listening to soul records on repeat.

They're soon releasing their fifth album (really "New Artist," I know), and if listening through all their music featured on their MySpace is any indication, they had quite a few misses leading up to it. A few of the songs are forgettable, if not straightup bad. The songs where they really shine feature soft guitar melodies, funky bass lines, simple, danceable drum beats and swooning vocals. Sparse synthesizer and violin tones are small details that really polish off these songs. And though their smoothness might be chalked up to the fact that they're French, it's hard to believe because they don't sound French. The vocals lack even a hint of that accent that sounds like someone trying to speak while choking on a frog.

Overall, Phoenix has a few really great tracks, but it isn't a band to dedicate yourself to. It's a fling. So have fun with it while it lasts, 'cause that might not be long.

Phoenix - If I Ever Feel Better (mp3)

Phoenix - Long Distance Call (mp3)
Phoenix - 1901 (Lapse remix)

Studio 3 & 4

2009-05-21T23:41:00.001-04:00

Pete finds that his phone is a much better source for information on the events of the past few days than his mind. Text messages, photos, call logs, addresses he searched, it's all there. He tries to focus, but can't. The letters smear themselves across the screen when he attempts to make them out. Coffee. That was the solution. Some caffeine would get his brain kick started. He sets out his kettle and dumps some instant into a mug. At his table he starts going through his phone. Ok, Anjela is the first question. Who is she? He checks his voice mail. “You have one unheard message. 'Hey Pete, it's Anjela. I just wanted to call up and like... you know, thank you for this sculpture. It's really beautiful. This may be the coolest gift I've ever received from a man I've known for two days. Call me back.' Next old message. 'Peter, it's your mother. Your father and I have been getting really worried about you. You don't call and there's all this talk of terrorism and I just don't know what to think. Call me back, sweetheart.' Next old message. 'PEEEETE!! FUCKING HELL MAN! It's Jamey! Where are you? We got the- (unintelligible garbled speech) You gotta get down here man! Gimme a ring when you get this!' Next old message. 'Good afternoon Mr. Sartinger, I am calling on behalf of the library. You rented out quite a few films and they are now past due. To avoid incurring penalties-'” Pete hangs up and rests his forehead against his palm.

He almost falls asleep resting on his arm but the kettle begins to whistle. He pours water into the mug and watches black, boiling coffee come climbing up. No milk in the fridge. No sugar in the cupboard. He stares hard at the hot, black liquid and feels it stare back. Steam comes rolling of it and tiny droplets cling to his face. He attempts to absorb the caffeine through his skin. With that failing, he sips at the acidic beverage. Back at his chair, he goes through the messages. The one from Anjela, he takes another look and finds that she is not wholly unattractive. Definitely not classically beautiful, but strangely attractive. Her face is kind of round but her skin clings to her bones as if they were shrink-wrapped. If he had to guess, he would put her in the area of 5% body fat. Her hair shows signs of being dyed, multiple times and then ignored, so now her roots, which are black, are showing. Her hazel eyes stare directly into the camera and it's all done from this teeny-bopper myspace angle. A thought pops into his head: he can't really tell how old she is. She could be anywhere from 16 to 20. And he could have committed a crime by doing whatever he assumes he did with her. He blurts out, “O, fuck my shitty mind!”

Cy peaks out through his door and catches Pete's eye. He asks, “Whats the problem man?” Pete turns his phone towards Cy's direction, “I think I may have fucked a teenager.” He smiles and walks across the hall, through Pete's open door and takes the phone from his hand. Cy's eyes grow wide. He whistles a prolonged whistle that slowly trails off, the kind you hear from bystanders right after you clip a guy's fender in the local super market parking lot. “Jesus man, she looks fifteen.” Pete buries his head further into his folded arms. “Well, maybe you didn't and even if you did... well maybe no one will find out.” Pete can do nothing but groan. The room is silent for a few seconds and then Cy asks, “Pete, why do you owe Chris a new set of silverware?” Pete lifts his head and grabs his phone back, “Don't go through my messages! And I'm not really sure.” Cy turns around and starts to walk out, “Alright man, feel better, drink some of that coffee and think about laying off the booze for a day or two, this lifestyle is getting right on top of you.” He closes the door behind him and Pete is left alone in his kitchen, a phone in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other.

The phone shakes in his hand and Pete almost throws it to the table. He composes himself and checks the caller. The screen reads “Unlisted Number” and nothing else. He clicks it on and warily asks, “Hello?” A deep male voice that suggests advanced years responds, “Hello, is Mary there?” Pete looks at the screen again and puts the phone back to his ear. “Um, no, I think you have the wrong number.” The older man says, “No, no, no, this is the right number, I'm sure. Could you just tell her that I was at the pharmacy and... and my insurance was turned down and I can't get my prescriptions.” Pete says, “Uh, sir, listen, I don't know any Mary, well, I mean I do know a Mary, though this probably isn't your Mary... What I'm trying to say is that you called my cell phone and there's no Mary here.” Notes of desperation come clawing through the phone speaker. “Could you please just tell her that I need to get this fixed? She knows I need my prescriptions.” “Ok, sir, I'll tell her.” “Thanks, just tell her-” The phone is off and lying on the table. He stares at this reminder of his inability to remember, this fountain of fucked up. He leaves it on the table and takes his coffee to the living room. After sipping at it for a few moments, he is overcome with the need to sleep. Within a minute he is snoring soundly, curled among dirty clothes, a throw pillow and a few magazines at his feet.

A streetlight shines directly into his window and onto his face. He rolls over and faces the back of the couch, but it was enough to get him thinking in a vague way of waking up. Thoughts roll around in his head as if they were made of cold, slightly congealed soup. Eventually they collect at the bottom and he might be able to fall back asleep. One thought stands up in the back of his head, the nagging recollection that he has no idea where he's been or what he has been doing for the past few days. A rush of energy and determination flows through his limbs and chest. He sits up, the dark corners of his apartment seem to beg his eyes to adjust to the light, to discover their secrets. He knows they hold nothing enlightening, no revelations, but his pupils grow wide anyway.

He walks in the dark attempting to remember the location of everything in his house and stubs his toe on a laundry basket. With the light switched on he grabs his phone, determined to discover what the hell is wrong with him. He calls Chris, “This is Chris, leave a message.” “Hey, what did I do with your silverware? I may have been a bit drunk.” He calls Anjela. “Hey, Pete. I thought you weren't going to call me back.” Pete shifts in his seat. “Yeah sorry about that, what's up?” “Oh nothing, drinking a gin and tonic, reading this book. I was thinking about what you said the other night.” He winced, “You're going to have to be more specific than that. I say a lot of things. Or at least enough for that to not be enough information to identify the exact thing you're talking about.” She said, “Oh no, I guess nothing specific, just what you said about art and love... and age.” Pete thought to himself, “Shit,” but said, “Hey, I have a weird question. When did we first meet?” Anjela was silent for a while, Pete imagined what the question might suggest to a normal person, “Hmm, three days ago. Monday. Why do you ask? You can't remember?” “No, no, nothing like that. Say, we should meet up for a drink.” She asks, “The same place?” He says, “Mmm, I don't know.” “I thought you loved Walker's Pub.” “Ok, fine, Walker's. Meet you there in half an hour?” She says, “Sure Pete. See you soon.” She makes what could be interpreted as a kissing noise and hangs up.

Pete stands up and takes stock of himself in a mirror. His filthy, greasy, bruised and cut face stares back at him through the mirror. His lips turn down and he walks to the bathroom. Undressing, a large blotch on his stomach catches his eye. A gasp leaves his lips as he looks in the mirror. Arabic. Half the Koran seems to be written on his stomach. He stares at his stomach and back into his own eyes. He does goes back and forth for about five minutes until he remembers his meeting with Anjela. He gently washes his belly even though there is no real tenderness in the area. Washed and dried he dresses and steps out of his building. The night air is hot and slightly humid. The water he missed with the towel now clings to his skin for dear life. Walker's is only a few blocks away.

Entering the pub, silence falls on the normally lively, if not raucous, establishment. Pete looks around at familiar faces, “What?” Walker, whose real name is Carl Sampson, says, “You have a lot of balls walking back in here. Tell me why I shouldn't kick your ass right now?” Pete stares back, “Because... because we're friends?” Carl, who only let's you call him Walker, steps out from behind the bar and slams the bar top back down when he passes through. His thick arm slides behind Pete's back and walks him to the game room in the back. There is extremely sloppy (though he can only real compare it to his tattoo) Arabic scrawled across the walls in red. Tables are broken and there seems to have been a camp out on top of the pool table. The smell of burnt plastic permeates the air. “Walker, now I didn't... I mean who did this?” Walker's eyes pierce Pete's very soul, “You. You and some fucked up Middle Eastern-looking mother-fucker. You two did this. Now tell me why I'm not ripping your balls off and force-feeding you them? Tell me that, Petey.” Pete stammers out, “Because we're old friends?” Walker responds, “Not no more, Petey. Not no more. Now do you want to pay for this damage in cash or flesh? I'm flexible, and since we're old friends, I'll let you decide.” “C-c-cash. Definitely cash. I'll pay you back for this, Walker. I swear it. I fucking swear it.” Pete is learning quickly to handle these little shit storms his drunken self has left around town. “Walker, man, I can't remember anything. I think someone slipped me some PCP or some shit.” Walker is incredulous, “You can't slip someone PCP, Pete.” Pete steps back, “Listen, I'll pay for this. Don't worry. Did you by any chance catch the name of the guy I was with?”

Walker lights up a cigarette, “No, I didn't catch his name, you two ran out the back and hopped the fence when I came in. It was fucking 5 AM. You two broke in here and set my god damn bar on fire. If you didn't make all that god damn noise, I could have burnt to death in my sleep upstairs. If I knew his name he wouldn't be alive, and you would be in jail, you little fuck, if I hadn't known you for the past three years.” He exhales a cloud of smoke dramatically and Pete becomes weak in the knees. The room spins clockwise and he slumps against the wall. “Pete, you ok?” Walker's sausage-like fingers reach out for Pete's shoulder, but he slumps further down until his ass smacks into the hardwood floor. “Pete? Pete, are you -”

The world flashes in an out, two or three times a second as if the bar was suddenly a rave or a shitty basement party. Walker's giant, round face is hovering above him and his mouth forms a crooked smile, “Pete, it looks like life is beating the shit out of you for me.” He hands Pete a glass of water. Most of the bar patrons stand around him in a circle and watch him drain the glass. Pete doesn't even try to talk. He stares at the ground and notices red paint splatter all over the floor. His stomach is performing acrobatics in his torso. The world is way too bright. He vomits on someone's shoes. Someone grabs him under the arms. The floor moves underneath him. He's dropped unceremoniously at the curb.

Once Pete collects himself, he sits up and scans the street. Cigarette butts and candy wrappers. He groans out something that sounds like “Shit.” From behind him a high-pitched, feminine voice says, “Hi, Pete.” He spins around and sees what must be Anjela. She looks different with a majority of her clothes on. She's wearing pink and black striped thigh-high socks, short black shorts and a black Devestaor's t-shirt. Her hair is a short, messy bob with several colors running through it. She's wearing too much eye-liner and black lip stick. Her face betrays obvious concern, “Pete, you look like shit... and I mean worse than usual. Are you ok?” Pete stands up, falters, and leans against a post, “Yeah, no, I'm good.” She asks “Are you drunk?” He shakes his head emphatically, “No, no, just feeling a bit... I don't know, sick, I guess.” When Pete stands, he notices that maybe she's five feet tall, if that. Her tiny hand reaches up and massages his shoulder. She could be his daughter. Pete's mind races, how the hell can he get rid of this girl as soon as possible? She says, “Let's go inside and sit down.” Panic flashes across his face and quickly disappears, “No! No, I mean no let's go somewhere else. This place cards. I mean let's just go somewhere else.” She smiles, “I have a fake ID if that's a problem.” He shakes his head, “No, it's not, I just don't want to go here.” Her face, posture, the air around her seems to grow angry, “What are you embarrassed of me? I'm going in.” He grabs her arm and pulls her back. She says, “Listen, I'm going in there and there's nothing you can do to-” He kisses her on the mouth and instantly regrets it. After a few seconds he begins to enjoy it. Then regrets it again. He starts enjoying it again but she pulls away before he can cycle between lust and disgust a third time.

“Did you just throw up?” Her eyes are accusatory. “Mmm, kind of, sorry.” She smiles, “It's ok. You want to go home and clean up a little bit? You really do look like hell.” He doesn't want to think about what he looked like before the shower. “Yeah, my place, sure.” He was all too pleased to get out of that situation, but now he's bringing a teenage girl to his apartment. He prayed that none of his neighbors were around to see this. They crept up the stairs to his apartment and he stuck his key into the already unlocked door. He let her in and shut the door quietly behind them. “Oooh, nice place, Pete. Is this your studio?” She goes skipping into his studio. Pete mutters below his breath, “Oh please, for the love of God, please don't skip.” He speaks up, “I'm going to shower and change, ok?” From somewhere in the back of his apartment he can hear her practically sing, “Oooh-kaaay.” He grabs some reasonably clean clothes and steps into his bathroom. The front of his shirt is covered in watery vomit. As he scrubs himself for the second time in an hour all he could think was a single word, fuck. He would repeat it as a mantra. After a while of cursing, he hears a knock on the door. “Pete, what are you doing in there?” He shouts back, “Nothing, I'm almost done.” She replies, “Want me to help?” “No! I'm fine. Really.” He washes off any remaining soap and starts drying himself off. His mantra runs through his head at incredible speed. He should be planning an exit strategy, but he's too nervous and to be honest, horny, to think of anything else.

He steps out of the bathroom and she's sitting at his counter, sipping at a beer she found in his fridge. He hates himself for feeling attracted to her. She stands up, walks over to him and wraps her arms around his neck. He feels how small she is, how fragile, and can't bring himself to throw her out. She kisses him, which he enjoys despite himself. He pushes her off. “Listen, I don't know if this is right.” She rolls her eyes, “What? I'm too young? I'm turning 16 this month.” He almost vomits again. He looks her in the eyes, “Anjela, I'm 29.” She stares back, “So? I like older men, the boys in my school are so stupid. I think that painting in the back is awesome by the way.” He smiles, “Well, I mean I got the idea from- No. I am twice your age. This is illegal.” Her eyes light up, “So I guess you don't want anyone finding out about us.” Pete's brain scrambles, “I'm not going to be blackmailed by a 15 year-old.” “Who said anything about blackmail?” Pete grabs the beer off the table and begins to drink it. Soon, the bottle is empty and he looks back at Anjela. “Ok, I want to talk, I just want to talk.” She nods, “That's fine.”

Studio Part 2.

2009-05-18T19:49:00.002-04:00

He makes a left and continues down the street, straddling the little strip of nature between the sidewalk and the curb. As cars zoom by he's reminded of the Doppler effect, which in turn reminds him of his high school physics class, which reminds him of his friend Andy who helped him out sometimes and moved away but who was supposed to keep in touch, which got him a little more depressed and as all this was remembered he walks back into his building.
The first door, apartment A, is occupied by an older woman, she seems to be an old 50, like someone who has lived far too much life too quickly and was now, simply worn out. Her hair is a slightly graying blonde which probably isn't even its real color anymore. Her name is Janice. Pete couldn't stand the sound of that name. It seems like the kind of name you would give to a daughter you despised for being born. He doesn't know anything about Janice's personal life, but he assumes it was filled with pain and heart-ache and children who now despise her. Pete would have time for this when he grew a bit older.
Apartment B. First floor just to the left as you enter. Pete hates the fact that A was to the right of B. It didn't make sense. In English we read from left to right, why is his apartment building any different? Perhaps the person who put the letters on he doors was from a culture with a language that read right to left, maybe that person simply did not care and nailed any old letter on any old door. Apartment B was the residence of a woman he knew only as Erika. She often has parties on the weekends and Pete throws most of his get-togethers just to show her that he has a life as well. He is in a desperate struggle to not appear desperate to Erika. He doesn't even know if she does spell it with a k, he just assumes she does because she seems like that kind of girl.
She has a floor mat outside her door that has “Welcome” spelled out in a weird mix of Gothic and cursive lettering that is bordering on unreadable. Again he assumes it says Welcome, what else could it say? Her rain boots stand next to her door at attention. She calls them galoshes and he finds that incredibly endearing. They stand there as if she were raptured up, right on the spot and her boots were the only part of her left behind. If the rapture did happen, Pete was pretty sure he wasn't in that select group that would be taken. And if he was, well, he would probably wind up getting drunk and hitting on Mary Magdalene or beating up Jesus or some other unforgivable faux pas that would get him banished to hell for the rest of time.
Erika's muffled voice sounds from the other side of the door. It sounds like an argument. “...well just tell him that...” Pete stands there dumbfounded, enjoying that slightly nasal voice traveling through a door and into his ear. “...I know! She is such a bitch for doing that, I really can't believe...” Pete considers his position and decides to stop eavesdropping before one of his neighbors finds him. Although, what could they say? “Hey, stop standing around in the hallway of the building in which you live?” They would probably use a less awkward construction, now that he thinks about it. And they probably wouldn't say anything to that effect at all, now that he thinks about it more. His stomach grumbles to remind him of his mission. Self-preservation comes before reproduction! Plus, Erika just hung up what sounded like an old fashioned telephone. Why would she have one of those? He can't help but imagine her entire apartment is decorated in a gaudy, roaring 20's style.
Pete raises a leg and his foot lands on the first step leading to the second floor. As he reaches the top he notices his neighbor from across the floor has left his door ajar. His name is Cy. Pete is pretty sure it is short for Cyrus and he has no idea where he is from. “Cy, you there? Buddy?” Pete pushes the door open an inch wider and sees Cy cooking a gigantic omelette in a wok while listening to his iPod. “Yo! Cy!” Cy spins around, clearly startled, with his right arm cocked, ready to fling burning hot egg in the faces of his attackers. Pete dodges back behind the door and yells, “It's me! Pete! Your neighbor?” He rips an earbud out of his right ear and says, “Peter! You scared me the hell out of me, you little shit!” Pete peaks out from behind the door and Cy approaches with a hand out stretched to greet him.
“Get in here, Pete, I was just cooking an omelette, would you care for some?” Pete looks at the wok and what must have been a dozen eggs frying inside it. The eggs are covered in peppers, onions, tomatoes and a few other items. “Mmm, yeah, sure, cut me in on that.” Cy grabs two paper plates and divides the eggs onto them. He gives Pete about two or three eggs' worth, while he shovels the rest of it onto his own. “How can you eat that much? Where do you put it?” Cy's eyes glisten with a knowing twinkle and he whispers in hushed tones, “You should see my B.M.s. Simply glorious.”
“I really don't need to hear about your bodily functions before eating.” Cy smiles and reaches for his camera, “Are you sure? I've got my greatest hits on this thing.” He starts thumbing through the functions and his eyes grow wide when he finds a certain photo. “Check this one out, I named it the boa constrictor.” He flips the camera to face Pete and suddenly a chunk of egg is sucked into Pete's windpipe. The sight is indescribable. The longest and largest contiguous piece of feces Pete has ever seen is being displayed on a 3.8” screen on his neighbor's digital camera. Pete sputters and coughs while Cy pulls back his camera to his chest and dejectedly looks at Pete. “I... *cough* What is that? I mean... *cough* That... Why would you show me that?!” His eyes water as he tries to force more words out, but decides against it. “You really shouldn't be so sensitive. It's natural.” Pete swallows hard and says, “There is nothing natural about that.”
Cy sighs and puts his camera back on the shelf next to him. “Whatever, the guys on the message boards are gonna love this.” Pete starts thinking about what kind of internet communities Cy is a part of and before getting too far he refocuses on his eggs. “You washed your hands before making this right?” Now Cy looks genuinely hurt. “Listen, you barge in here, I offer you a delicious omelette and you question my personal hygiene? I have to say, I'm pretty offended.” “So you did wash your hands, right?” Cy looks to his sink and says, “Yeah, I did.” They sit quietly, picking apart their eggs. Pete remembers that he doesn't remember what happened last night. “Cy, what did we do last night?” Cy looks at him questioningly, “I haven't seen you in like three days. How much did you drink last night?” Pete sits in silence, poking at the eggs, mentally poking at the big gap in his memory. “Not sure.”
Cy tries to change the subject, “So it looks like the thing on the Mexican border are heating up again.” Pete perks up, “Yeah? The thing with the drug lords?” “It's not just drug lords anymore, from what I hear it's human trafficking, sex slavery, all that good stuff. There's a lot of money to be made buying and selling people.” “Hmph, I bet.” “Yeah, I mean some people are already calling it genocide.” “They're killing civilians?” Cy leans in, “Where have you been man? They're razing entire villages! People are dying trying to cross the border into the U.S. and if the desert doesn't get them, bullets from both sides tend to find them.” Pete looks out the window, the sun is shining through light clouds and creating that effect where you feel like you can see individual rays. Like god's fingers, slender and bright, are reaching down to warm the cheek of a little girl skipping down the street. He would prefer to think about beauty and innocence. Pete stands up and thanks Cy for the breakfast. “Any time, Petey.”
He walks across the hall and inserts a key into his already unlocked door. It opens and swings lazily, stopping short of hitting the wall. He hears a buzzing he recognizes as his phone ringing. He runs over to his phone and grabs it just after it falls silent. Missed call from Anjela. “Who the hell is Anjela?” The phone buzzes again and a voice mail notification pops up. He stands there, combing the recesses of his mind, trying to locate this girl. He thumbs trough his phone and finds a message from her with a photo included. Apparently, Anjela likes to send extremely suggestive photos of herself to other people's phones. “What are you doing tonight?” The message is dated April 14, 1:32 PM. That was yesterday. Now Pete tried to recall the day before or the day before that. Every memory is vague and random and absolutely soaked in alcohol.

Sunday Blogging.

2009-05-17T16:18:00.003-04:00

I start off on a lighter note. One man's idea of what is hip, why it's hip and why it secretly might not be. How to Impress a Hipster.

Ok, with that out of the way, I would like to say that Rachel Maddow is the most informative, principled news person on any network. This isn't saying much when you look at her peers (Glen Beck, O'Reilly, etc.) but she is pretty much in a class of her own. In case you haven't been watching recently, she had a segment on Thursday about all the new information about torture coming out. Watch it here. If you don't feel like watching one of the most important 15 minutes of television to be aired in the past month I'll break it down for you. We tortured. We tortured people who were already fully cooperating with the American government. We tortured people who were already fully cooperating with the American government in order to get Iraqis to lie so that the Bush administration could score some political points and not be outright lying when they claimed that Iraqi officials had said there was a connection between Saddam Hussein and Al Qaeda. People who had knowledge on this subject (the people we ignored) knew that this connection was simply illogical. No one who interviewed these people wanted to torture, no one suggested it could be useful, the order came from Cheney's office that they should be tortured and asked specifically about this connection. There is still no clear reason why America invaded Iraq. It is clear that the invasion was extremely desirable for extremely powerful people. Was it oil? Was it corporate greed? Was it revenge? Was it a misplaced sense of duty as the world's policeman? Perhaps it is simply what this country does. This is an extremely dark and shameful chapter in America's history. It already happened, but the regular people, the citizens of this nation, are just reading it now. The saddest part, the most shameful footnote may be that most people don't even care enough to pick up the book.

66Sick Once More!

2009-05-17T00:50:00.009-04:00

What better way to start summer than with free fun? And now that we've gotten to know the hosts maybe there'll be more free champagne. Most of you have already been here so you know the draw, but for those that haven't...

THE RUNDOWN
Date: Tuesday, May 19th to Wednesday, May 20th.

Time: 10 PM to 4 AM.

Location: Happy Ending
302 Broome Street
Downstairs
Manhattan

Price: Free.

Drinks: Free house vodka cocktails from 11 PM to 12 AM; $3 Pabst Blue Ribbon all night; easy to sneak in booze, dark enough on the dance floor to enjoy it.

Music: No-names (DJs Micprobes, Peter High, and Dimitry) spinning sets heavy on the electro with some pop thrown in for good flavor. A few of songs I've heard there are...

The Ramones - Blitzkrieg Bop
KiD CuDI - Day N Night (Crookers remix)
Cut Copy - Lights and Music (Moulinex remix)

Crowd: A mix of young hipsters and Euro-trash; free booze means they're drunk as Hell, but doesn't ensure that they'll dance; downstairs tends to be a fire hazard as midnight (i.e. last call for free vodka) approaches; after that the crowd thins out a little, but things never really die down; in the off-chance that the lower level doesn't please, just walk upstairs to Disco Down on the ground level and discover a whole 'nother party.

ID: 21+, but they are more harsh with guys; the first time I went Olek almost didn't get in because the photo on his ID was taken ages ago and doesn't really look like him anymore; on the other hand, Kat was using a friend's ID and got in no problem; government issued only.

Coat Check: They actually started forcing you to check your coat and bag if either is too big. I think it's like $4, but save yourself the trouble and just leave all that shit at home. What the fuck are you doing going out in a jacket anyway? It's summer, bitch.

Directions: F train to Delancey; walk four blocks West on Delancey until you hit Eldridge; walk one block South to Broome; turn East on Broome; Happy Endings is near the corner; it still has the red awning of the location's former Chinese massage parlor.

Pregame:
Is Lazy Catfish still closed?

A few photos from last time:

New Artist Alert: Vic Was Right

2009-05-11T21:53:00.011-04:00

It must've been over a year ago, but one time I was smoking cigarettes with Vic during a party in Jersey and he called it:

"Soon all you're going to need to start an electro band is a relatively attractive chick and a guy who can play synth."

Or something like that.

Well, he was right; not just about the future of electronic music, but even his melancholy regarding it. Here are two bands that prove his point; Cute chicks singing, with invisible guys providing the beats. The tunes aren't really innovative or substantial, but they make for fun, interesting dance music. The songs also double as great remix ammo.

La Roux

I think Vic's comment stemmed from a conversation about Crystal Castles, so its only appropriate that La Roux reminded me of CC, sans the meth. Ben Langmaid creates a similar rough, lo-fi sound, but its much more restrained, more melodic. Also, unlike Alice of CC, Elly Jackson can actually sing. The Twelves took to La Roux's "In for the Kill," but came up a little short of their usual handiwork.

La Roux - Bulletproof (mp3)

La Roux - In for the Kill (mp3)
La Roux - In for the Kill (the Twelves remix)

Ladyhawke

Alright, maybe I spoke too soon: Turns out Ladyhawke is actually just one chick, who sings and produces the music. Sorry Vic, guess your theory's got a hole in it--unless the guy behind this is really invisible. Anyway, Ladyhawke is a blond from New Zealand churning out electro-pop. It's actually a bit more layered and intricate than La Roux's brand. And if Alex Metric's and Fred Falke's attempts are any indication, its much more conducive to great remixes.

Ladyhawke - Back of the Van (mp3)
Ladyhawke - Back of the Van (Fred Falke remix)

Ladyhawke - Paris is Burning (mp3)
Ladyhawke - Paris is Burning (Alex Metric remix)

P.S. Hundredth post, motherfuckers.

Ain't Nothing Wrong w/ Cornbread

2009-05-07T13:27:00.003-04:00

Let's have a moment and reflect on those past days when everyone at school asked for your sign. They then proceeded to tell you were going to die.

Those were the days.

Artist of the Week

2009-05-02T23:51:00.006-04:00

JULIAN SCHNABEL

Although Julian Schnabel's isn't exalted for his modesty,

"I'm the closest thing to Picasso that
you'll see in this *#@ life" (from Wikipedia),

his ingenious plate paintings, which integrate broken ceramic plates to create images with varying textures, are extraordinary. The novelty of Schnabel's work is reminiscent of Seurat's pointillism pieces, in which small dots of paint create an image, that strangely enough remind me of the discrete quantization of matter. Yes, I've been a chemistry student for far too long.

Not only does this man create eloquent fine art, but has also directed The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, a French foreign film that I behoove you to watch at some point in your life. Here is a clip to catch your interest:

New Artist Alert: CLUES

2009-05-02T23:17:00.007-04:00

Who remembers The Unicorns?

The group unfortunately disbanded in late 2004 leaving us eager for something equally fun and melodious. Luckily, Clues was formed in 2007 to excite our aural sensations.

Silverlake Steps - Clues - "Perfect Fit" from We Listen on Vimeo.

The band is made up of Alden Penner (former vocalist of The Unicorns), Brendan Reed (The Arcade Fire), Ben Borden, Lisa Gamble, and Nick Scribner, thereby creating a sound much akin to The Unicorns and Arcade Fire. Every song is engaging in its own manner for each has a similar melodic theme but evolves completely differently. Some of their stuff is geared towards the sappy-lyric obsessed emo kids (like me), while others are a bit more upbeat and danceable to (hey, I enjoy this too, don't call me an emo kid!). They will be in New York on June 17th, for which my friend Mike will be traveling to all the way from Rhode Island! (Nudge, I think all of you New Yorkers should make the subway trip). The show is $12 and available for purchase at: TicketWeb.

Dying to be thin....

2009-04-25T13:56:00.008-04:00

With all of these countless commercials and advertisements for diet remedies, followed by desperate resolutions to drop 10-20-30- even 40lbs and beyond (even I'm guilty!), I got to thinking about how God-damned lucky we are as Americans to even have that option. The above photograph (Nachtwey, 1993) depicts a starving woman suffering from the famine in Sudan and reflects that of many images and faces of millions of others just like her - all across the world! Universally, millions of people are dying for a crumb of bread; while as Americans, we aim to (as many diet books will tell you..) "cover half of your meal with a napkin to avoid picking at it and to eat smaller portions." But, where does that half uneaten meal go? It goes to decompose in a waste... you know, much like the wastelands millions of poverty-ridden human beings must not only reside in, but search through to find rotting morsels of food that even a maggot wouldn't touch - just to satisfy their hunger enough to survive just one more day! So, instead of dwelling on that trivial extra winter weight, picture those people starving around the world who would KILL to be pleasantly plump, rather than continue DYING to be thin.

GOD BLESS AMERICA!!!

Yacki's Track to Success, Pt. I

2009-04-25T01:27:00.017-04:00

My mom gave birth to a calf. I weighed around 10 lbs. when I was born and it was difficult being a fat kid.

About 1 year old and able to hold an adult sized bowl of food.

Everyone gawks at the grossly chunky kid. None of my friends made fun of me (to my face), but I clearly recall this one time that everyone laughed hysterically when my ("friend") Alexander pulled down my gym sweatpants in the middle of the playground thereby exposing my grandma underwear and chubby legs. It was traumatizing.

This is me at age six with my only true friend, Ramona.

All the boys saw me as just a friend, but I wanted more. You might be wondering what an eight year old might have possibly known about dating. Here's some background: I was pretty much raised by my grandmother, who religiously tunes into Canal 41: Univision, a Hispanic channel that broadcasts some of the raunchiest soap operas. So, every birthday, I'd blow out my candles and wish for my papi chulo. My wishes didn't manifest themselves for a long, long time.

Why? Probably because I was a fatty. I wore size 11 jeans (at 5'2" then) and would soothe my insecurities by calling myself a curvaceous Latina (the only visible curves were the rolls on my torso). I began identifying myself as wholly Peruvian, and denied my Japanese descent for a few months. That transient phase ended after graduating middle school and entering high school where I found some White friends. My obsession with Lil' Wayne was replaced with one for the front man of Dashboard Confessional, Chris Carrabba.

Left: Lil' Wayne, Right: Chris Carrabba.

In my freshmen year of high school, I started taking better care of myself. I discovered make up and no longer looked like a little Asian boy in a dress.

This is me looking like a little Asian boy in a dress.

This was around the same time that my first boyfriend and I got together. Luckily, he wasn't a douche bag about my weight. I ended up giving rice (a key part of the Hispanic diet) and lost a few pounds, but still weighed around 155 lbs. I was fat and happy throughout high school until we broke up after three years of dating. I became a health fanatic and dropped to 130 lbs.

Unfortunately, the healthy mindset dissipated shortly after stepping into my current relationship. Luckily, my weight hasn't varied much from 130 lbs., but I'm FREAKING OUT now that summer's right around the corner. This happens every so often, especially when I want to procrastinate from things I should be focusing on (i.e. studying for my physical chemistry final that is in three days).

My goal for the next few weeks is to go down to 120 lbs.

My current statistics are as follows:
Height: 5'4"
Current Weight: 131 lbs.
Goal Weight: 120 lbs.
Frame: Medium

I have been keeping track of my calories for the past five days, and it was incredibly difficult for the first "three day hump" because I accidentally consumed a 700 calorie Mango Margarita from Blockheads that left me starving for actual nutrition. I intend on sharing some of my irrational fears, but mostly (I hope) interesting nutrition and biochemical facts with you guys.

Today's Lesson:
In my opinion, drinking light beer is futile. I discovered Heineken Light a few months ago through my best friend, and it was love at first taste, which was odd because I never really liked the taste of beer. However, Heinken Light had this almost soda like taste, which amused my soda-loving taste buds. Now, if you're out and about, dancing and drinking, you tend to want to get more and more inebriated as the night progresses. So, you purchase as many tasty beverages as necessary to get to this point. This amounts to several gratuitous dollars spent because turns out Heineken Light only has 3.5% alcohol content! This is false advertising, if you ask me. I can consume almost the same amount of ethanol from certain yogurts. So, go for shots, ladies. One shot (typically 1.5 oz) of most vodkas, gins, and whiskeys is about 95 calories and about 40% alcohol. You would have to purchase two Heineken Lights to consume this amount of alcohol, which is costing you about 200 calories, $14 (if each beer costs $6, +$1 tip/drink), a bloated tummy, and another fat roll. This applies to most light beers, which range from 3.5%-4% alcohol content.

Fifth Annual New York Round Table Writers’ Conference

2009-04-25T00:46:00.001-04:00

Two weeks ago I received an email from the head of Baruch’s English department saying that they were sponsoring me to attend the New York Round Table Writers’ Conference. I hadn’t applied for it, and I didn’t know anything about it, but I figured that if Baruch wanted to blow some money on me, I might as well make the best of it.

The two-day conference began today. It’s taking place at the General Society of Mechanics and Tradesmen on 44th Street and 5th Avenue in the City. The place is fucking grand. All of the sessions I attended were conducted in the library, where marble columns stretched four stories up, supporting a skylight that illuminates the atrium. Besides the library, the Society also housed a small museum exhibiting stuff donated by its members, like this old book about interracial sex in Korea:

As cool as the venue was, the first day of the conference was sort of a let down. Keep in mind that there were two sessions running simultaneously, so everything I attended was what I judged to be the better of the two.

9:15 – 10:30 Small but Mighty: Indie Publishing
Thankfully, I overslept and showed up late for this. The crowd, which on average was twenty years older than me, was only concerned with one thing: How do I sell my shit? Every bit of muffled advice from the panelists elicited salivating grunts--“What was the name of that agent? Can you repeat that website?” Is there anything sadder than a crowd of geriatrics hoping that the novel they’ve spent so long working on will finally be brought to life with a few words from a lineup of hardened insiders? Maybe the moments when audience members were embarrassingly close to soliciting the panelists right then and there over the microphone. The panelists were equally eager to hawk their own wares: books they had written, published, or were somehow monetarily connected to. It was basically a big circle jerk with everyone trying to get off.

11:00 – 12:15 Fiction Agents: A Novel Approach
What the fuck is “novel” about fiction agents? They’re necessary to get by the Gatekeepers, the essential avenue between your writing and publishers, and they’ve been there for a while. Fiction agents receive so many manuscripts and queries, which they affectionately refer to as the “slush pile,” that they’re forced to adopt cutthroat, Nazi-like tactics to manage. All four fiction agents openly admitted to unquestionably running with their prejudices. Whether it was incest, violence, or cancer, if they came across a manuscript containing something they had a personal—not literary or professional—aversion to, it was out.

2:00 – 3:15 Fiction Editors: Champions of the Story
Fiction editors are constantly reading and working, except when they’re having lunch meetings, which seems to be often. Also, eloquence is not a prerequisite to becoming a fiction editor. They don’t want to read about the same thing again, but want something familiar. According to them, everything is actually much better than the way it sounds when they’re explaining it to you. It was during this discussion that I realized that the business side of literature is mind-numbingly boring at best, and soul-crushing at worst.

3:45 – 5:00 The Technofile: Online Writing and Blogging
I was looking forward to this discussion because it had the most immediate relevancy to me and the panel, which included editors from the Huffington Post and MediaBistro, seemed knowledgeable. Unfortunately, my expectations only left me that much more disappointed. The problem was that 90% of the audience admitted to being “newbies to blogging” (i.e. didn’t know jack shit about it). So instead of receiving insights from experienced professionals, the entire session was reduced to Blogging 101. During the Q & A, I realized that old people fail to comprehend the interwebs. They are way too concerned with copyrights, royalties, and other such bullshit. There were three separate questions about trivial legal issues concerning blogs.

All bitching aside, I actually did learn a few things. (8 out of 10 readers are women; a majority of published books are failures, in terms of copies sold; it is widely believed that an unusually large amount of blogs are dedicated to cats doing cute things.) I have another 9 to 5 day of sessions tomorrow. I guess that even if those are filled with more useless bullshit, there’s still a cocktail reception afterward so I can get Baruch’s $350 worth in booze.

Fatty of the week...

2009-04-25T00:00:00.004-04:00

Is that a cancerous tumor on her left breast, or is her nipple just happy to see me?

Hottie of the Week

2009-04-23T23:49:00.005-04:00

Sometimes the sex appeal lies within the smile, and so I give you Chanel Iman.

Giving Up on Going Down

2009-04-21T21:57:00.003-04:00

Remember my earlier post and how I spent the entire day thinking about sex while trying to study. Well it happened again and this time it started as soon as I got to work. Lana later experienced ovarian blues and I apologized profusely. But what can I do? It seems now a days, she keeps being part of a bargain she has no gain in. One of which we both don’t win.

You can take this as a rant or whatever, but I’m taking back my gift. My close friends had been right, I am extremely generous and for what? For nothing I tell you. I’m referring to the gift of giving succulent mind numbing oral. I know it is a bit skanky on my part, but it’s something I enjoy doing on the right person. It gives me a weird satisfaction of knowing I can make you scream my name and leave you shaken and out of breath. In fact I get so into it turns me on because I’m expecting the same in return. Instead the guy either falls asleep like a baby from exhaustion or wants to have sex. What’s the problem you say? The problem is the fact that in the end I have yet to climax like you motherfucker. And there I am left alone still pining for more sex. The past two years have been like an inescapable nightmare.

At first I thought maybe I just have a hard time getting off but after countless bathroom conversations with random drunken ladies and reading numerous scholarly articles it seems to be more of a global problem. It seems to me that most guys that don’t know how to get a lady off, and don’t bother learning. For starters, fore play is so necessary to get things going because if you look at the facts it generally takes longer for a woman to reach that orgasmic bliss that makes sex worth it. Penetration can only take you so far, and I meant that literally because it takes one person where they want to go and that is the dude. Ladies need that clitoral stimulation, or at least a vibrating cock ring.

What’s more of a global problem is the fact that men are receiving without giving. So I say you join me in this protest and don’t give until you receive! Now these sexual conversations always tend to make an appearance at small gatherings, or are of topic amongst my male peers and it seems they avoid it because they don’t like fish. Seems to me they’ve had a bad experience or have yet to get an acquired taste. Let’s not forget that spunk doesn’t taste like a bowl of cold stone birthday cake concoction either.

I can’t speak on behalf of how other ladies tend to themselves, but I can and will speak for myself. I am low or no maintenance to hang with and expect the same from my friends and crushes, but when it comes to my body I am on top of my game. Brazilian waxes, kiegels, cute underwear, showering, exercise, healthy eating, and doctor visits to give me the satisfaction of knowing I’m clean. True some of these things I picked up from having to dress in front of strangers at runway shows and swimsuit gigs, but it only made me more aware of myself and damn baby I look and smell good! So why would “he” missed out on such an opportunity to make me red. I mean there is a reason why my daily uniform consists of skirts and dresses.

As I wrote this on the train a fellow lady lurker sitting next to me agreed. Sort of creepy, but it proves my point of how we are not receiving equal treatment. For that reason I will no longer use my DSL to head downtown if I don’t get it first. I’m pretty sure I can go a long time with no problems.

Another qualm I do have but I’ll give some slack for are those guys who do go down, and fail so miserably. A for effort, but F for sucking badly. It’s called eating out for a reason, so baby get a lil’ dirty and bon apetit. That’s all I have to say about that.

I don’t want to fall in love with you; I just want some good satisfaction. And then maybe I’ll fall in love with you.

So for those of you guys who want to do something right for the world I urge you all to start practicing, or read up on this. There is so much information you all severely lack, excluding Canada.

If you want us to go down in the darkness of a cheap movie theater, you got to realize that if we proceed to place our bare knees on sticky popcorn littered theater floor we do expect something in return.

And please MAN UP.

“Call before you come, I need to shave my chocha, go downtown, eat it like a vulture”. –Missy Elliot

Please note: Sex and the Cyber City are on vacation temporarily.

Objects Imbued

2009-04-16T19:47:00.008-04:00

I feel like there are two types of genius. There's the kind that produces outstanding insights and innovations that are so far beyond what the ordinary person could grasp that you sort of just step back and say, "Damn, that's pretty fucking crazy." Then there's the kind that results from shrewd observation, resourcefulness, and creative application. In these cases, you sort of slap your head in astonishment and cry, "Why the fuck didn't I think of that?" (Think of Warhol's soup cans, or I Remember by Joe Brainard.) Important Artifacts and Personal Property from the Collection of Lenore Doolan and Harold Morris falls definitively into the second category.

When I first came across the "auction guide," I began flipping through it, trying to figure out why someone would attend an auction for two no-names like Lenore Doolan and Harold Morris. (In all honesty, I was hoping to glean who these people were, thereby making myself seem a bit more knowledgeable of the going-ons of the literati.) I was surprised to find the guide filled with average, even worthless paraphernalia: Polaroids of scant artistic value, unremarkable articles of clothing, salt and pepper shakers. Confused, I examined the back cover. It included quotes from Dave Eggers and Amy Sedaris. Wait, what? Then it dawned on me: This is a novel. Well, maybe not a novel in the traditional sense, but there's a fucking story being told through these auctioned sunglasses and hotel key cards and scarves. How very...novel.

The real danger in working with such a idea is it turning into a gimmick. It isn't enough to shout out, "HEY, LOOK AT THIS WEIRD IDEA I HAD! ISN'T IT COOL? AREN'T I SMART?" Rather, you have to prove its worth. You have to say, "Look what I can do with this." And author Leanne Shapton does indeed do something. Over 129 pages, Shapton uses photographs of the items being auctioned (sometimes photographs themselves) and short, mechanical descriptions of them to tell the story of Doolan, a young journalist at The New York Times, and Mooris, an older free-lance photographer. And Shapton's entertaining creativity is present through and through. We glean through the descriptions explaining each lot, that Doolan had given Mooris Scrabble letters spelling out "Thank You" after he had given her a shirt. In an unfinished correspondence to a friend, which is also being auctioned, Mooris explains that when he initially received the Scrabble letters, he couldn't figure out the message, arriving at "okay hunt," "a hunk toy," and "yank thou" before finally getting it right.

Although you are sometimes left wondering how realistic it would be to auction some of the items (after all, who wants a used razor?), Shapton's desired effect still comes through. Examining Doolan and Mooris' correspondences, photographs and gifts to one another, you follow the story of their relationship. Their chance encounter at a mutual friend's Halloween party, the honeymoon period of near obsessive infatuation, the specter of lovers past, the strains of an often long-distance relationship, the crushing weight of their professional careers on their personal lives--it all comes through in vivid detail.

Every minuet detail presented by Shapton allows you to read pages into the story. Because the story cannot straightforwardly be told, you're forced to play detective, trying to put the pieces together to figure out what's really going on. You quickly get caught up in the evidence: "Okay, that umbrella belongs Hugh. Flip a few pages back. Okay, Hugh is Doolan's ex-boyfriend. Flip forward. The description says he left it at her house. Wait, does that mean they slept together? Oh man, and Mooris is using the same umbrella in that photo!" It is nothing short of engrossing.

Shapton even manages to thoroughly develop her character's personalities via the guide. Doolan's travel bag containing Wellbutrin and her obsessive notes on the day's meals and events, which are often scrawled on the inside of her reading material, paint the portrait of a troubled, yet dedicated woman. Mooris' planner, which includes his appointments with a relationship counselor and lyrics to the song he was listening to at the time, indicates a man incapable of commitment, growing older yet remaining childish and becoming increasingly unsure of what he wants from life.

Although the relationship depicted in Important Artifacts isn't very compelling (it follows a sort of typical plotline, which may be more of a universal theme than a commonplace relationship, but that's for you to decide), Shapton's ingenuity keeps you hooked. Inspecting and trying to understand people from their possessions isn't something many people outside of anthropologists often do, but it's a fascinating endevour. After reading Shapton's "guide" you walk away with the feeling that mere objects are more than just that, that they are the artifacts and currency of a relationship and even when that relationship dies, the objects remain, imbued with a type of power still observable.

MSTRKRFT Live at Webster Hall

2009-04-16T17:07:00.005-04:00

Stephen Vasquez of One and Only Productions sent us these clips from the MSTRKRFT show that went down a few weeks ago. It's part of a larger documentary Stephen's working on called Electro Wars, which captures "electro DJs doing what they do best."

Short Story

2009-04-15T16:57:00.003-04:00

This is the beginning, thoughts and comments are welcome.

He sits inside his studio. On the floor, cross-legged, with his head cocked slightly to the right. He imagines his eyes are able to see through the different layers of paint and he visualizes the different steps, the other images buried underneath the topsoil of his finished work. Or at least as close as he gets to finished, he’s never said he’s been finished with a piece. He has sold unfinished pieces and has no problem with that, but he’s never called something finished, he just gets bored. His latest is a remake of a Garfield comic strip. It’s painted diagonally across a canvas the size of his wall. Jon is replaced with portraits of the past three popes. Garfield is a carefully reproduced baby with a nosebleed. The baby is identical in all three panels, except for one where he messed up the hand a little bit.
He hates it when people ask him to explain his work. Understanding is dominance. It is psychological rape. It’s all about sex and power and massaging one’s ego. At least that’s what he thinks. Though he has painted over the word bubbles about twelve times and each time painted the exact same words, he feels compelled to do so again. He thinks about Koons’s pink panther. How society is maturing. How we have been running on the same track since the Paleolithic. Perhaps the Garfield baby should also have a broken arm, a piece of bone just barely poking out the paper-thin skin of its fragile little forearm. Maybe.
Jon doesn’t seem like that bad of a guy, but do you know any single man that has both a cat and a dog? Of course not. It just doesn’t happen. This whole thing is ridiculous. It’s all based on a lie. He stands up to rip the thing off the wall and throw it to the ground. He rises, gripping a stool but his right leg fails him. It's fallen asleep. He sucks air in between his teeth as he just barely touches the tip of his big toe to the ground. The drive to destroy has stalled completely. A figure stands in the middle of a room with no more furniture than a stool and some easels, the silhouette shifts slightly leaning more and more back to its center of gravity. The sound of rattling comes from the other room. Plastic resounds against wood followed by a crash. He hobbles over and finds his phone on the floor. He unlocks the screen and navigates to the message icon hopping impatiently in the corner.
"You owe me a new set of silverware, Pete."
The question, the obvious one resulting from this text message, is what did Pete do to his friend, Chris's silverware? Pete was troubled by the fact that he did not really have an answer to that. He recalled many things from last night. His already somewhat drunken stumble to the bar down the street. Getting thrown out of the bar for groping what looked like a woman from behind. He did get in a fight somewhere, with someone, which explains the bruising and the cuts, but what about the burns on his forearm and fingers? Surely, they weren't there yesterday. The welts were swollen and pink. He prodded the fluid-filled pouches of flesh with his index finger. The resistance was both pleasant and somewhat painful. As the backlight for his cellphone turned off, he noticed his reflection. One eye looked like it was gangrenous. How did he miss all of this when he washed his face this morning? Did he? The first thing he remembers today is sitting cross-legged in the studio. Fuck.
He starts getting dressed. A lack of clean clothes is nothing new. Everything he owns is paint-stained. Sometimes he worries that he is too stereotypical. His shoes are slipped onto his feet, which are slipped out the door, which is shut after the feet have slipped outside. He stares at his feet as they navigate the steps and attempts to untangle his thoughts. Pete looks up to see his neighbor. In his mind they both stop on the spot, they stare deeply and longingly into each others eyes. He would say exactly what she needed to hear. He would know what that would be. She would grab his arm and he would pull her in close. They would just stand in each others embrace, eyes clenched closed, teeth gnashed, their hearts trying to break through their chests. And just as the joy would build to intolerable levels he walks into the deli. A familiar bell rings somewhere behind him.
"Petey! What can I get you?" a fat, older gentleman behind a six-foot-high counter smiles impossibly widely at Pete.
"Just..." he fumbles through his pockets and pulls out a wad of papers, "I'll have a..." receipts, post-its, torn looseleaf, no money though. "I don't seem to have any money on me. Heh, do you think I could put a sandwich on my tab?"
His smile shrinks and warps into a tight, straight line between two pale lips. "Sorry, but this ain't no bar, buddy, we don't really do tabs around here."
Pete pleads, "C'mon, you know me Mike, I live down the block, I'm here every day."
"Well then go back down the block and get some money, sorry kid."
Defeated and malnourished, he exits the deli and the bell rings again, signifying his failure to provide for his own basic needs.

Darlene's Fix

2009-04-13T20:19:00.007-04:00

Darlene and I enjoy a tall, frosty whiskey & beer.

I've known Darlene a long time, almost ten years. Somewhere along the way, we got into the routine of trading music. Well, it was mostly me sending her music. I think it was due to her having a 56K connection up until last week, me having high-speed, and our musical tastes being pretty similar.

Recently, she was bemoaning the fact that I'm never on AIM anymore, and thus haven't sent her any music in awhile. Since she's told me this, I've been running into one song after another that I know she'd love. So I started feeling guilty and posted it all below for everyone to enjoy.

Chromeo - Call Me Up (Bag Raiders remix)

Sharam - She Came Along (feat. KiD CuDI)

The Knocks - American G-Funk (Jay-Z vs the Whatnauts)

KiD CuDI - Dat Dat New (VIKING remix)

Fuck Offf - Rave is King (NROTB remix)

Pick Up Line of the Week!

2009-04-09T01:15:00.003-04:00

I live in Lefrak City (not actually a city, but a few buildings) and up until now did I realize it was sort of ghetto.

I was speed walking down the sidewalk with my face pointed down. Until...

Guy: Damn baby girl you are so beautiful! I would take you to Las Vegas and marry you if I only had a ring. But I'm poor because of the economy.

It was hilarious and I laughed very loudly, but continued to speedwalk home. You never know what could happen in the ghetto.

Odds and Ends from Last Night

2009-04-08T15:48:00.005-04:00

Oh, c'mon. Either the bottom one should have a fender bender or the top one should be engulfed in flames.

This was duct-taped to the Parks Department placard at Tompkins Square Park. Apparently, junkies have funerals.

I guess schools in the L.E.S. are prepping kids for kung-fu tournaments.

Cute Couple of the Week

2009-04-07T23:56:00.005-04:00

Dolores Fonzi & Gael Garcia Bernal

Celebrity SCOOP: They just had a baby.

Oh, Gael...you're so drea...*drool*...I mean, congrats on having a beautiful baby boy!

Follow the Leader! Goes to 66Sick, Again

2009-04-07T01:40:00.010-04:00

Although most colleges' spring breaks have come and gone, CUNY's begins tomorrow. To celebrate, we're going to our perennial Tuesday night hangout, Happy Ending, where 66Sick will be raging with its usual dance floor antics, free vodka, and no cover.

THE RUNDOWN
Date: Tuesday, April 7th to Wednesday, April 8th.

Time: 10 PM to 4 AM.

Location: Happy Endings
302 Broome Street
Downstairs
Manhattan

Price: Free.

Drinks: Free house vodka cocktails from 11 PM to 12 AM; $3 Pabst Blue Ribbon all night; easy to sneak in booze, dark enough on the dance floor to enjoy it.

Music: No-names (DJs Micprobes, Peter High, and Dimitry) spinning sets heavy on the electro with some pop thrown in for good flavor. A few of songs I've heard there are...

The Ting Tings - Shut Up and Let Me Go
IAMX - Spit It Out (Designer Drugs remix)
Stardust - Music Sounds Better with You (Discotech remix)

Crowd: A mix of young hipsters and Euro-trash; free booze means they're drunk as Hell, but doesn't ensure that they'll dance; downstairs tends to be a fire hazard as midnight (i.e. last call for free vodka) approaches; after that the crowd thins out a little, but things never really die down; in the off-chance that the lower level doesn't please, just walk upstairs to Disco Down on the ground level and discover a whole 'nother party.

ID: 21+, but they are more harsh with guys; the first time I went Olek almost didn't get in because the photo on his ID was taken ages ago and doesn't really look like him anymore; on the other hand, Kat was using a friend's ID and got in no problem; government issued only.

Coat Check: They have it, but I'm unsure of the price; every time I go I just stay my stuff into the seating-area cubicles.

Directions: F train to Delancey; walk four blocks West on Delancey until you hit Eldridge; walk one block South to Broome; turn East on Broome; Happy Endings is near the corner; it still has the red awning of the location's former Chinese massage parlor.

Pregame:
Angels and Kings
500 East 11th Street & Avenue A
Manhattan
No cover; free vodka from 10:30 to 11:30

A few photos from last time:

New Artist Alert: White Lies

2009-04-06T03:05:00.008-04:00

[Big ups to Stephen Vasquez for prompting this post.]

Although their debut album, To Lose My Life, has topped the charts and everyone from BBC Radio 1 to NME have been singing their praises, the hype surrounding White Lies seems a bit undeserved. They're a trio from London who make mediocre alternative rock. They occasionally sound like lesser versions of celebrated bands: unexperimental Joy Division; Franz Ferdinand minus the dance; Muse without the impetus. Their songs feature energetic, though sometimes inappropriate, repetitive drumming. The lead vocalist can sound hollow, and his guitar work is nothing special. The bassist is alright, though his sound never really varies. Many of their songs also feature synths, though they do little more than add a harmonic backdrop and thus feel tacked on. They're are pretty good when they finally kick out the stops, which is usually during the last minute of a song after a melodic build up. Then the vocalist's voice really shimmers, the guitar and bass fall inline with the drums, and the synths--well, they sort of disappear, but that's probably for the best. The only problem is that it often takes White Lies so long to get to that sweet spot that most of the song has already passed in a forgetable haze.

Although White Lies' music might be negligible on its own terms, there are a few DJs who have done some interesting stuff with it. Yuksek, who you may remember from last Saturday, transformed "Farewell to the Fairground" into a great electro banger. Filthy Dukes also managed to inject some life into "To Lose My Life," which they molded into a poppy dance tune. Generally speaking, the remixes are much more memorable than White Lies' orginal material.

White Lies - Farewell to the Fairground
White Lies - Farewell to the Fairground (Yuksek remix)
White Lies - To Lose My Life
White Lies - To Lose My Life (Filthy Dukes remix)

Sex and the Cyber City: The Date Update--Nunca Mas.

2009-04-02T01:52:00.000-04:00

As promised, I have the story of my very first internet-based date. It was all that and a bag of chips--stale, disgusting, 25 cent chips that left the taste of vomit in my mouth.

So I met "Corey" inside of Penn Station. He called my cellphone and said he was walking towards me. I got excited since the guy that was walking towards me was tall and very good looking. You should have seen my face when that guy walked right past me, and I was left staring at my real date. He was around my height, plain, and a bit chubby with man boobs. I was quickly thinking of excuses that would ensure a quick getaway.

I couldn't do it. He seemed so genuinely excited about finally meeting me, so I had to go with plan B. I had to get drunk to somewhat enjoy this and not care about being seen with him. Lucky for me it was St. Patty's day, so getting drunk was not difficult. I also wanted him to realize that I was a party girl. For some reason, if you tell a guy you like to go out, dance, and party, they seem to lose all interest. That failed miserably.

So off we went to the place most likely to be able to have a full on conversation: an Irish Pub in Midtown. He couldn't hang and started to whine that we wouldn't be able to chat (duh!), so we left to another Irish Pub around the corner, where I made the b-line straight to the bar and ordered myself an Irish car bomb. We had a chat, and he is way too into zombies and anime for my liking. I wish I wasn't so drunk I would delightfully tell you about his horror flick based on how trees come alive and eat people. Sorry, I have boozed brain. He reminded me way too much of my brother. He doesn't enjoy going out that much, doesn't find enjoyment in dancing to good DJs. That's when I brought out the stories that revolved around me doing drugs in public and going out nearly every night. He brought up the fact that he likes to smoke a doobie every so often and chill at his dorm, and that we have to smoke together when I come to visit him. When he mentioned that I had to quickly claim that I can no longer smoke.

Thankfully, I had an English class which needed attending, so I left. He asked me to skip it to have a late lunch with him, but I politely declined and stumbled my way to Hunter. I have slowly cut off communication with him and realized I do have higher standards for myself. "Matches.com," you have failed me, and I will never use your services ever again.

Drunk bitches are awesome.

2009-04-01T21:51:00.003-04:00

He notices, as any young male is often apt to do, a young female attempting to shout at the man behind a four foot tall wall, two record players spinning records at regular speeds and the classic one ear on, one off headphone combination. He shrugs his shoulders, suggesting he does not understand her. She redoubles her efforts screaming loudly, spilling a small amount of liquid out of her glass. The man behind the wall nods and gives the thumbs up sign. Having already decided on a course of action, he walks up to the wall after the girl has walked away and he asks, "Hey, I'm a drunk bitch! Can you play my favorite song?" The forty year old with uneven headphones laughs and replies, "But you don't have tits!" He rises on his toes, grabs his torso and with all his strength presses his chest towards his solar plexus. He looks to see an amused DJ nodding and giving him a thumbs up. That was when he realized, he was a drunk bitch.

I love good lyrics.

2009-03-31T20:19:00.009-04:00

Guys, I'd rather do anything than my lab report about a particle in a box...

So, I'm going to post some of my favorite lyrics.

Yelle - Tu Es Beau
"Tu es beau mais qu'est ce que t'es laid." - (Fr.: You are beautiful, but that is what you're ugly for.)

Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Runaway
"Can't help looking back. Highways flew by. Run, run, run away. No sense of time. Want you to stay. Want to keep you inside."

Lykke Li - Tonight
"Dry my eyes so you won't know. Dry my eyes so I won't show. I know you're right behind me. And don't you let me go, let me go tonight. Don't you let me go."

The Get Up Kids - Long Goodnight
"It comes with no reply. Hold on too tight. I hang on every word. If it all ended tonight, you know that I wouldn’t mind. Back to the good old times."

Au Revoir Simone - All or Nothing
"Everywhere is somewhere, baby. So can't you see we're in the middle of somewhere? Nowhere just means knowing nothing of where you've been or where you're going."

The Parenthetical Girls - Love Connection
"Chapped lips, tongue kissed, insert expletive, fluids of a summer night. With slight duress, forced imperatives.......So take my lip between your teeth and taste me by devouring."

Courtesy of Gavin

2009-03-30T23:49:00.003-04:00

Gavin showed me this a few weeks ago. Apparently, he was chilling with Dan Le Sac at SXSW.

P.S. If you want FREE Street Carnage stickers, leave your name and address as a comment, and I'll get them to you type quick.

Barney (Arvind) Turns 22!

2009-03-26T18:07:00.007-04:00

Although I'm technically turning 22 tomorrow, H&M is a callous, heartless employer that has me working 'til midnight. Instead, I'm celebrating the following day (on which I am also working, but at least I'm getting out at 11). We'll be heading to Studio B, which is a throwback from two summers ago, but it was fun back then so I assume it'll be fun now. Plus, it's been renovated and there'll be two amazing DJs.

THE RUNDOWN
Date: Saturday, March 28th to Sunday, March 29th.

Time: 10 PM to 4 AM.

Location: Studio B
259 Banker Street
Brooklyn

Price: $10 advance, $15 at the door; I thoroughly suggest purchasing tickets in advance because Studio B tends to have disgusting lines, if not sold out shows.

Drinks: Two for one well drinks and domestic beers from 10 to 11; free well drink if you present your taxi receipt (must be dated that night); in all honesty, it's been awhile so I don't remember the exact prices, but I know it's a little higher than average; it's easy enough to sneak in a small bottle, though.

Music: You may know The Twelves as the two Brazilian guys who make the Black Kids' songs better. They broke onto the scene with an electro remix of "I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance" that pretty much ensured no one would ever listen to the original again. Yuksek, an electro DJ from Paris, similarly has a way with remixes, but his tend to be much more aggressive. Matt Cash is also spinning, but I have no idea who the fuck he is. Regardless, a few of the songs you can expect to hear are...

Black Kids - I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance (The Twelves remix)
Radiohead - Reckoner (The Twelves remix)
Chromeo - Bonafide Lovin' (Yuksek remix)

Crowd: Mostly really drunk, really sweaty hipsters, which may sound absolutely horrible (the stench can be) but it just means they dance a lot and know how to have a good time; the dance floor tends to be jam-packed all night, but the bar and seating area aren't terribly claustrophobic; there's usually a line at the door at the start of the night, and the crowd only starts to wane after the headliners have finished up, which is usually about 2 AM.

ID: 19+; they don't scan, but they expect you to have government issued ID.

Coat Check: They have one, but I'm not sure how much it is; a lot of people tend to stash their stuff behind couches in the seating area, which is free of charge.

Directions: G train to Greenpoint Avenue; walk three blocks South on Manhattan Avenue to Calyer Street; turn right, and walk four blocks West on Calyer to Banker Street; turn left; Studio B is in the middle of the block.

A few photos from last time:

This Girl is Way 2 Funni

2009-03-26T12:32:00.001-04:00

Check out this other blog for today.

New Artist Alert: The Band Cut Copy Jacked

2009-03-26T00:28:00.005-04:00

[Disclaimer: This band is actually really fucking old; thus, it would probably have been more prudent to title this post "Really Old Artist Alert."]

I was driving home from Yacki's house tonight when the song "Six Months in a Leaky Boat" by Split Enz came on the radio. Listening to it, I couldn't help but notice its similarity to Cut Copy's "Feel the Love." I got home, did a little research, and all the pieces began to fall in place. Try to follow me here: Split Enz are from New Zealand, which is very close to Cut Copy's homeland (i.e. Australia). This means Cut Copy probably knew Split Enz's music when they began producing their own. Also, whereas Cut Copy have that whole '80s vibe, Split Enz are actually from the motherfucking '80s. Do you see where I'm going with this? Cut Copy jacked Split Enz! It was a devious plan, Cut Copy. I'm sure you thought no one would catch on because, well, who really gives a fuck about New Zealand? But now you've been ousted. In the end, I suppose it doesn't actually matter because Split Enz still comes out on top. Try as they might to "copy" (haha, get it?) Split Enz's sound, Cut Copy still haven't managed to produce a mildly racists music video that serves as a metaphoric excuse for homosexual experimentation in the prolonged absence of the opposite sex.

Split Enz - Six Months in a Leaky Boat (mp3)
Cut Copy - Feel the Love

My rant...

2009-03-25T00:47:00.006-04:00

Why is it that when one of your cavity fillings comes out and you don't have health insurance you either have the option of A) letting your tooth decay until the pain becomes so unbearable that you will (A1) lose your tooth or (A2) need a route canal (an $800-$1000 procedure), or option B) paying hundreds of dollars (~$200-$400) for a gratuitous amount of X-rays and a single tooth filling? Why is it that today in America we don't have universal health care, and the mere mention of it drives some people to heavily politicize the situation? HEY, I simply need health care! I don't care if you think associating universal health care with socialism will discourage me from bitching. If you think universal health care, "A.K.A." socialism, is bad, I'd rather just be considered Canadian. It's been months since I went to the doctor. My lungs are growing weaker every single time I get sick. I've been sick three times in the past 9 months, each time with bronchial infections, and in only one instance was I actually able to take antibiotics (which cost me $120 for a 10 day supply). I don't shit money, and my job won't offer me health insurance because I'm a motherfucking intern, a part-timer that doesn't get all of the benefits of a multi-billion dollar company. UGH! The frustration.

Oh, and don't get me started with the motherfucking MTA. They're vicious with their fare hikes. It seems it was only months ago that they raised the monthly unlimited from $76 to $81, but now $103? For fucking Christ's sake, so many people have been laid off, and as aforementioned, I have so many expenses as it is. Let's pray to God that the fare hike proposal is not passed tomorrow.

Should I just move to Canada? Would they welcome me?

FYI

2009-03-23T00:02:00.002-04:00

The L Magazine and Regent Releasing cordially invite you and a guest to a special advance screening of THE SONG OF SPARROWS, Tuesday, March 31st at 7p at a Manhattan theater. E-mail: Songofsparrows@thelmagazine.com with your full name.

Neue Gallery

2009-03-22T22:15:00.013-04:00

A few weeks ago, my friend and I went to the Neue Gallery, a neglected German/Austrian museum that is located just a few steps away from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It was my first time seeing a work by Klimt in person:

Gustav Klimt, Adele Bloch-Bauer I, 1907,

oil, silver and gold on canvas.

It's about 3 feet tall and breathtaking. The brushstrokes are so thick that you can imagine the artist standing in front of the the canvas.

I discovered another artist by the name of Egon Schiele. It's surprising how much work he produced within his short life span (334 oil paintings, 2,503 drawings). Take a look at one of his pieces that I found particularly good:

Egon Schiele, Self-Portrait with Arm Twisted Above Head
1910, watercolor and charcoal on paper.

A majority of his work is extremely lewd, and some of his portraits even make you wonder if he had incestuous relations with his younger sister, but it's his use of colors that evoke this sense of morbidity, which for some reason reminds me that I'm flawed.

Jenny Holzer: PROTECT PROTECT

2009-03-22T21:19:00.010-04:00

I'm not a big fan of modern art, but this exhibit blew my mind. Both her innovative medium (LED screens) and writing are incredibly engaging. And her Iraq war inspired LEDs and portraits leave you questioning whether the material you've just been exposed to is factual. I highly recommend you visit her special exhibit at the Whitney Museum, which ends May 31st.

Jenny Holzer, Green Purple Cross, 2008, and Blue Cross, 2008.

Win of the Week

2009-03-22T21:06:00.005-04:00

Rocks. Every kid had a different fascination. Mine was rocks. I remember the thrill of purchasing rocks and adding them to my collection. I slowly lost interest in the collection and lost a majority of my rocks. My fascination was reinvigorated after walking through a collection at the New York State Museum in Albany, NY, which is where Arvind pointed out this beauty:

(Coming Tonight)

If you're interested about how rocks fluoresce, click:

BAND ALERT

2009-03-22T20:34:00.004-04:00

Akron/Family's "Ed Is A Portal" mixes a variety of genres that keeps you wondering what's next. Enjoy.

Akron/Family - Ed Is A Portal (mp3)

The Parenthetical Girls

2009-03-20T23:22:00.008-04:00

Disclaimer: If you're Aileen Olmedo, then do not continue reading.

I don't mean to ruin the ending of Anna Karenina, but I remember sitting in my Tolstoy versus Dostoevsky class and practically 90% of the class already knowing it. I felt stupid, so I sat there quietly and pretended to know it.

Basically, I came across this song on hypem.com, and not only was the vocalist's voice interesting, but the lyrics were fucking amazing:

And when they pulled you from the tracks / Your body splayed and split / Your chest flushed bright as it was in life / When they pulled you from the tracks, mindful of your separate halves / Your face relaxed lying flat upon your back / Body brushed beneath such crushing weight / Stolen in your awkward stage that you never would escape / The same state that decorates your chest and face with a scarlet mark of shame when you'd stutter out of place / And when they pulled you from the tracks your eyes gone milky white, strangely alive.

These lines remind me so much of when I started Part Seven of Anna Karenina. I remember reading these lines and crying so hard:

A little muzhik, muttering to himself, was working over some iron. And the candle by the light of which she had been reading that book filled with anxieties, deceptions, grief and evil, flared up brighter than ever, lit up her all that had once been in darkness, sputtered, grew dim, and went out forever.

The Parenthetical Girls - The Weight She Fell Under (mp3)

I hope you enjoy this song as much as I do.

Sex and the Cyber City: Addictions Become More Apparent After Witnessing PDA

2009-03-15T14:28:00.000-04:00

So I honestly thought the series would end when I refused to pay, hence my last post. But as I was canceling my subscription to "Matches.com," curiosity got the better of me. I looked through the guys who winked at me, and I found an exception: an extremely handsome looking man living in Brooklyn. Where was he two months ago?! As I was going to resubscribe with my mom's credit info (I swear I'll pay her back) the light bulb went off in my little head. (Well, I actually have a lollipop head, but that's besides the point.) I decided to give "E-expenso" a try. I mean if I'm going to be bad, might as well indulge. It's like if you're going to break the law and do drugs, skip the weak shit like marijuana and go straight for the yayo.

I joined "E-expenso" last night and spent a good two hours looking through an assortment of white boys with green eyes. "E-expenso" was right on the money with my aesthetic wants, although there were a few chubs and picture-less profiles*. I could deal though.

Clicking through the list with 72 potentials, I sorted them into three piles. Out of the 72, 17 went into my "interested" pile, 15 went into my "maybe", and the rest were rejected with my reply being "I'm currently taking a break from dating". Obviously, that's a lie. Sorry. I'm not vain, but for the amount of money that my mom is "lending" me, I have to be selective and on point.

After selecting the chosen few I then proceeded to go through what "E-expenso" calls guided communication, which consists of sending each other five questions and then answering them, sending each other our likes and dislikes in a partner, sending each other three final questions, reading a message from Dr. Warren (no idea who he is), and finally having open communication with each other.

So far, I've submitted five questions for the chosen:

	1. If you were taken by your date to a party where you knew no one, how would you respond? a. stay close to my date, letting her introduce me b. find a spot at the back bar and relax alone, letting her work the room c. strike out on my room, introducing myself and even making friends d. I would ask my partner if I could skip out on this particular event	A: stay close to my date, letting him/her introduce me B: find a spot at the back bar and relax alone, letting him/her work the room C: strike out on my own, introducing myself and making friends D: I would ask my partner if I could skip this particular event
	2. Where do you see yourself living in 15 years? a. a nice apartment in the city b. a nice house in the suburbs c. a house in a small town d. a house in the country	A: a nice apartment in the city B: a house in the suburbs C: a house in a small town D: a house in the country
	3.Your idea of adventure is: a. whitewater rafting b. karaoke singing c. trying a different route to work d. ordering a dish you've never tried before	A: whitewater rafting B: karaoke singing C: trying a different route to work D: ordering a dish you've never tried before
	4. Would you rather date someone who is: a. very busy, with a sometimes chaotic schedule, who books times with you in advance b. busy, with a structured schedule, you know what days the person will be available for fun c. slightly busy, who works during the day and is available most nights d. not busy and has lots of free time	A: very busy, with a sometimes chaotic schedule, who books time with you in advance B: busy, with a structured schedule, you know what days the person will be available for fun C: slightly busy, who works during the day and is available most nights D: not busy and has lots of free time
	5. Do you consider yourself an ambitious person? a. by definition I am very ambitious b. I have clear goals and sometimes consider myself ambitious c. I am pursuing some life goals, but do not consider myself to be very ambitious d. I consider myself quite content as is

And now I wait patiently for their answers.

- Aileen Awesome

*Please note: If you do not have your picture up on a dating website, or any peer to peer website for that matter, you're chances are extremely slim of getting picked for a cyber date. The selector will be brutal and never choose you. We assume that there is something to hide and, based on my experiences, when you hide yourself from the public it can only mean three things: a) you're fat, b) you're ugly, or c) you're both fat and ugly. So please, if you got nothing to hide be proud to show what you're momma gave ya. Once again, I'm not vain. I'm just realistic baby.

P.S. The only date that I've managed to secure from "Matches.com" is taking me out on a date. And no, I won't put out, but I will give you an honest update.

Clipping: YLHCSD is not Crystal Castles

2009-03-12T14:32:00.010-04:00

Sometimes it takes a single artist to pique the attention of music fans around the world before a flood of similar acts get noticed. Justice’s remix of a Simian Mobile Disco song, "We Are Your Friends," had to become an Internet hit and dance floor staple before most fans learned of other electro artists like Boys Noize, Calvin Harris or even Simian Mobile Disco themselves. In a similar way, Crystal Castles’ dynamic rise has opened the door for many other similar artists, such as Great Britain’s You Love Her Coz She’s Dead.

YLHCSD are similar to Crystal Castles in more ways than one. Both bands produce dance music influenced by chiptune, a genre of electronic music that samples sounds from classic video game consoles and makes use of 8-bit melodies. Both bands are composed of a hyperactive female vocalist/frontwoman and a multi-instrumental, leather-jacket-donning male. Both make use of vocoders, bass guitars and drums. Both put on extremely energetic, borderline chaotic live shows. Both also have a penchant for remixes, taking on a wide variety of artists that include Britney Spears, Foals and Uffie.

But that’s not to say that they are exactly the same. As opposed to Crystal Castles’ dark, "thrash" style, YLHCSD are more upbeat and influenced by late ’90s trance music. The four songs off YLHCSD’s recent EP, Inner City Angst, have soaring synthesizer harmonies and feature a few stereotypical sound effects. There are also traces of punk caught in the rapid bass guitar riffs and desperate male vocals, a feature that separates YLHCSD from Crystal Castles.

Chances are that most listeners will have first heard Crystal Castles due to their prominence and popularity, and thus assume that YLHCSD are simply following a successful, established formula. But both bands formed around the same time, producing similar music completely independent of one another. Nevertheless, YLHCSD have definitely heard the comparisons. If their new EP is any indication, they don’t plan on standing in Crystal Castles’ shadow for much longer.

- printed in the March 9th edition of The Ticker

You Love Her Coz She's Dead - Inner City Angst (EP minimix)
You Love Her Coz She's Dead - Superheroes
AutoKratz - Stay the Same (You Love Her Coz She's Dead remix)
Britney Spears - Womanizer (You Love Her Coz She's Dead remix)

Hottie of the Week

2009-03-09T01:53:00.003-04:00

Bar Rafaeli... and it's all 100% real.

Rough Draught

Would you buy a cuddle mattress?

Mrs. O

Yes, Virginia

Gingrich describes Palestinians as 'invented people'

capricho no. 43

I Live/I Love

Candiru Catfish & Penises

What's a Prisoner Worth?

The Fraud Police

New artists every month

I'm drunk and I didn't proof this and shut up.

Free Summer Stuff

Winter Drive

Recycle your electronics in the new year..

After-the-Holidays eWaste Recycling

January

10 a.m. – 4 p.m.

Why Recycle Your Electronics?

Win a New Apple MacBook Air for Recycling

What if you crowd-sourced your dating life?

Six Items Or Less

Backyard Farming, Day 13

Taco Bell > Facebook

Facebook less popular than some newspaper sites

Chuck E. Cheese Day

Backyard Farming, Day I

Make Love Not Porn

Article roundup!

Childish Gambino - Got This Money (Acoustic @Ace Hotel)

Entrance Romance- Ryan McGinley

Fourth of July, 2010

RD is getting a face lift..

formspring.me to the next level

Negligent Mom Sentenced to One Year of Negligence

The Purpose of the Home in Housekeeping

Marriage Equality Fails in New York

The Only 36 Stories the World Has Ever Known

How disappointing.

Dear Readers & Fellow Fans

Because We All Need A Little Reminder

Freshen Up Your Vocabulary

Be a Music Director

Xmas in July

Mexican in Forest Hills

Welcome to Beer Garden

FYI: The Frenulum

Pop Rock That Fails to Pop

Coney Island Whitefish

Hottie of the Week

Good Quote, Excellent Movie:

Apparently, Everyone Likes It

Pick Up Line of the Week!

The significance of 2001: A Space Odyssey

New Artist Alert: MMMatthias

Perspiration Stolen

Creative Projects

New Artist Alert: Death to the Throne

Yet another way to waste time

New Artist Alert: Phoenix

Studio 3 & 4

Studio Part 2.

Sunday Blogging.

66Sick Once More!

New Artist Alert: Vic Was Right

Ain't Nothing Wrong w/ Cornbread

Artist of the Week

New Artist Alert: CLUES

Dying to be thin....

Yacki's Track to Success, Pt. I

Fifth Annual New York Round Table Writers’ Conference

Fatty of the week...

Hottie of the Week

Giving Up on Going Down

Objects Imbued

MSTRKRFT Live at Webster Hall

Short Story

Darlene's Fix

Pick Up Line of the Week!

Odds and Ends from Last Night