1. Werkestatte is open. The space is lovely, the current exhibition by Robert Rahway lovelier, and the gallery's co-owner is the fairest of them all. If I knew anything about art (or writing), I'd write about it all, but I don't.
2. When I tell people about my new job, the recognition of the label name is not instant. This is normal, but the look of disbelief on their faces after I namecheck a few of the label's top artists is not. And for a certain sort, it's not a "congratulations, that's a great job!" look, but a "why on earth would you sell your soul to the devil?" kind of look.
To a certain extent, I can understand that kind of look; at the same time, it overlooks a hell of a lot of details (as I suppose most things do.) That I don't care to try to find myself a place working for bands I really enjoy is the result of many lessons learned over the past six years. I've worked for amazing bands who never saw a dime from their releases, for amazing bands who turned out to be assholes, and for amazing bands that should have been huge but for the fact that their fans just can't be bothered to buy music anymore. It's been in the last couple of years that I've learned that some of the best things I've worked on and learned the most from are releases that I can't personally relate to whatsoever; for me, it's all about giving myself a chance to learn more and to have more opportunities for effective marketing strategies. It's about opening doors by way of having established names and a successful catalog. And it's far too early in the game to say this with certainty, but it's also about having a staff that's actually well-put together and communicative enough to really get things done.
At the same time, I feel like you can say whatever you want about the quality of the music generally found on modern rock radio, but there's one thing you can say for their fanbases that you can't say for a lot of amazing bands on the fringe. These fans buy records. The sales numbers prove it; the fact that my mom actually owns a CD by one of these bands is a great place to start. It's amazing to be able to think of new and creative ways to bring a release to people's attention and know that there's actually a market there for it. For whatever reason, these bands have a certain level of loyalty attributed to them.
(For a long time, I thought people listened to modern alternative rock because it's what was presented to them, as if they were being force-fed. I know a lot of people who still have this opinion, and I think it's both alarming and a bunch of bunk. You can lead sixty million people to an album, but you can't make them buy it unless they really want it.)
At the end of the day, I've always carried a certain level of naivete about me when it comes to my work environment, but I'm quite convinced that that's what's kept me from being one of those people who hates the very idea of having a job. This leads me into a completely different segue, but first I would like to note that as lovely as the "new Radiohead model" is, I think it's complete bullshit that early stats show only about half the people ordering the record are paying for it. What was that I was saying about fan loyalty? That seriously makes me ill to think about.
3. On the subject of "having day jobs", I've long had a running argument with a friend of mine who cannot understand why in god's name I would want to have one. (My argument for it is really very simple - working for someone else gives me the stability that someone with a chronic illness and a shit ton of student loan bills needs. I could add to that a number of things, including my fondness for routine, my general appreciation for having a higher-up from which I can learn new things, and the fact that I'm not smart or creative enough to have my own thing going.)
That said, it seems funny to me that we're currently at a breaking point in our business relationship where I've realized that what's making me most unhappy is the fact that I'm working for someone else. There's only so much creative input I can have when I'm battling other voices; there's only so much I physically have time to do; there's only so much I can take, period. And at the end of the day, a lot of my hard work translates into a finished product that I'm totally blase about, while I struggle to make time for any ideas I have on the side.
(It is my general belief that I pile things on to my plate in order to ensure that I never get to those ideas on the side, because I don't believe for a second I can carry them out. This has been today's completely disheartening theme, and I wouldn't be surprised if it has some link to the fact that I have been so nauseous all day I could barely make it down the street for a Gatorade.)
But I am not a quitter and I don't give up all too easily; I'm questioning decisions even as I'm thinking they were a long time coming. At the same time, I feel like I'm on the verge of literally ending a marriage. I have lived alongside this other person for years, and we have been remarkably close; it is because we have always clicked that we ever did business together in the first place. It is because we care so much about each other that we've been able to work things out for so long, and it's because I care so much that I've spent my week silently torn up over the feeling that what I'm doing is not quite right, but that I can't continue on like that.
(And possibly, worse: the feeling that there was absolutely no one around to talk to about it.)
I will say this: any marriage is hard, whether it's a paper one or a marriage of the minds. It does, however, not seem worth throwing away when someone sends you a text message and adds at the end "I'm in Canada and this is costing me a lot of money, so you know I love you."
4. Let's not talk about my oven and how the new one I have been promised is nowhere in site. Trust me on this one, because I cannot think of a single thing that makes me angrier or more unhappy. (And I can think of a lot of things right now that make me angry and unhappy.)
5. This is all to say that all I ate today was a banana, so I'm surprised I'm not hallucinating pink elephants at the moment. How people can fast is completely beyond me, because girl cannot live on vegetable broth and Gatorade alone. Being sick - particularly without a butler of some kind - can go to hell.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Monday, August 20, 2007
music writing: a manifesto
I don't pretend to know shit about shit, when it comes down to it, but it seems to me like there are a few basic things that one should take for granted that most people don't.
1. If you can't write, don't try to write about music. What the fuck makes you think your writing is going to be any better if you're trying to write about music? Writing about music - writing specifically about any one subject is going to be inarguably harder than writing about whatever. If you can't put a proper sentence together - that includes things like oh, you know, grammar - please don't bother.
2. Please do not go out of your way to weave some magical sentences about what you're listening to and describing the way the music floats on the air and makes you think of the fairies flitting through the trees and the delicate little summer blossoms sway through the breeze and then the entire universe sings in unison.
Or, rather, when you are done weaving those magical sentences, re-read them. Do they say a single fucking thing about the actual music you are listening to? If the answer is no (and the answer is probably no), then make them go away. Don't delete them, necessarily, just save them in the folder where you're writing your book about the fairies flitting through the trees.
3. Hi, it's called word count. If you don't know how to use it, I would be glad to show you and so would that little paper clippy thingie in Microsoft Word.
4. Please do not use a music review as a thinly veiled attempt to talk about yourself. There are timeswhen talking about yourself can be a great and incredibly revealing way to talk about the music, but if you don't know the difference, then probably you're doing the former.
5. Please do not assume that the writer of the song and the narrator of the song are the same person. I don't really have anything to add to this one because I have no idea why you would make this assumption in the first place.
6. If you're not willing to meet a deadline or edit something when asked - or at least to explain what the fuck you're talking about - why do you bother? Why would you do anything if not with a conscious attempt to continually be better at that thing?
This is all not meant as a slight against any one person, but as a general exercise in frustration because I genuinely do not understand any of the above. I don't profess to be good at writing myself, but I am constantly trying to be better. I know even less about editing, but the harder I try to do my best, the more I realize that most people don't give a fuck.
That's what this is really about. At the end of the day, I want to know that the hours upon hours that I spend putting all of this together are worth a damn, and lately it sure doesn't feel like it.
1. If you can't write, don't try to write about music. What the fuck makes you think your writing is going to be any better if you're trying to write about music? Writing about music - writing specifically about any one subject is going to be inarguably harder than writing about whatever. If you can't put a proper sentence together - that includes things like oh, you know, grammar - please don't bother.
2. Please do not go out of your way to weave some magical sentences about what you're listening to and describing the way the music floats on the air and makes you think of the fairies flitting through the trees and the delicate little summer blossoms sway through the breeze and then the entire universe sings in unison.
Or, rather, when you are done weaving those magical sentences, re-read them. Do they say a single fucking thing about the actual music you are listening to? If the answer is no (and the answer is probably no), then make them go away. Don't delete them, necessarily, just save them in the folder where you're writing your book about the fairies flitting through the trees.
3. Hi, it's called word count. If you don't know how to use it, I would be glad to show you and so would that little paper clippy thingie in Microsoft Word.
4. Please do not use a music review as a thinly veiled attempt to talk about yourself. There are timeswhen talking about yourself can be a great and incredibly revealing way to talk about the music, but if you don't know the difference, then probably you're doing the former.
5. Please do not assume that the writer of the song and the narrator of the song are the same person. I don't really have anything to add to this one because I have no idea why you would make this assumption in the first place.
6. If you're not willing to meet a deadline or edit something when asked - or at least to explain what the fuck you're talking about - why do you bother? Why would you do anything if not with a conscious attempt to continually be better at that thing?
This is all not meant as a slight against any one person, but as a general exercise in frustration because I genuinely do not understand any of the above. I don't profess to be good at writing myself, but I am constantly trying to be better. I know even less about editing, but the harder I try to do my best, the more I realize that most people don't give a fuck.
That's what this is really about. At the end of the day, I want to know that the hours upon hours that I spend putting all of this together are worth a damn, and lately it sure doesn't feel like it.
Monday, August 13, 2007
washing. packing. moving.
i'm back to pennsylvania, surrounded by boxes that want to be unpacked.
little do they know that they have another move ahead of them.
little do they know that they have another move ahead of them.
Saturday, August 4, 2007
five day vacation
it seems that we've found ourselves with a five day vacation. the next week of shows have been canceled due to numerous problems. last night we made the overnight drive from detroit to ithaca and this morning i woke up on the floor of our singers parents house.
the past two nights we've stayed in sketch ball hotels/motels (it seems that i had jinxed myself with the previous post). one smelled like a dead hooker, the other felt like i walked into a hallway of the shining. in both chicago and detroit i was able to see two friends who i had never seen on their home turf before. it was quite nice, as i hadn't seen either of them in over a year.
i'm feeling groggy at the moment. i'm getting phone calls regarding my next years profession, reminding me that this will all be over soon. and i've got that sick feeling of leaving in my gut; of the goodbyes i make so often but am not ready to make this time.
i suppose i'll see everyone from ny soon. that will lead only to more goodbyes.
the end of tour is suddenly coming to a close.
and i don't think that i'm ready for it to be over.
the past two nights we've stayed in sketch ball hotels/motels (it seems that i had jinxed myself with the previous post). one smelled like a dead hooker, the other felt like i walked into a hallway of the shining. in both chicago and detroit i was able to see two friends who i had never seen on their home turf before. it was quite nice, as i hadn't seen either of them in over a year.
i'm feeling groggy at the moment. i'm getting phone calls regarding my next years profession, reminding me that this will all be over soon. and i've got that sick feeling of leaving in my gut; of the goodbyes i make so often but am not ready to make this time.
i suppose i'll see everyone from ny soon. that will lead only to more goodbyes.
the end of tour is suddenly coming to a close.
and i don't think that i'm ready for it to be over.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
late nights|early mornings
you are a traveler at heart. there will be many journey's. —kansas city fortune cookie
the eggshell walls, the cliched hotel room artwork, and the white sheets of a marriot that used to scream of an odd unfamiliarity that attempts to fill in the comforts of home have now become well known and calming to me. because of a family discount rate, we end up here more often then not, piled into these now familiar rooms when we know no one in whatever land we're currently visiting. it's generic and un-personal, and i would much rather stay at a home of a friend or friend of a friend so that i can get up while everyone else is still sleeping, take my cameras and explore the foreign land. instead these hotels usually lay in some kind of corporate or industrial park miles outside of the actual city. but i can't really complain, now can i?
as much as i enjoy each person that i'm touring with, i'm yearning for alone time. most of the people in this band are extremely book smart, discussing everything and anything they possibly can, which sometimes goes straight over my head. it really is wonderful to have such intelligent news hungry people surround me. not only do i take in information that i may never have without them, but it has given me the chance to be able to fully realize what i only partially knew for a long time: i'm not a conversationalist by any means. i don't add or chime in when i know i might have something to contribute. i either just take it all in silently or am lost in my own obscure thoughts to really pay any attention. for better or for worse, i am what i am.
as tour manager i struggle with my own setbacks and selfish desires in order to keep everyone else in line. i've always been an organized person, and can admit to an odd OCD when it comes to certain kinds of cleanliness, but for the most part the creative side of my brain just wants to take over, become selfish, and indulge in the experience as it's given rather than be in charge and run it. each night i restrain from drinking, keeping myself in check to transport everyone safely to whatever destination we might have. each morning i get up long before the others, organizing myself before attempting to organize them. slowly i wake each person up (in order of difficulty, easiest to hardest of course) and coax them into taking a shower or get ready for the day of driving/playing ahead of us.
last night i was informed of some sad news from the homeland. please help out if you can. spending so much time in a van touring around is more dangerous than people sometimes lead themselves to believe. please help out if you can.
less than two weeks until i'm back to stable living. i can't decide whether i'm excited, or extremely sad.
i guess i'll find out soon enough.
sunrise, somewhere in colorado
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
return of the mosquitos
i've been on the road for a little over 3 weeks now. lots of things have gone wrong with this tour, especially for theo and the skyscrapers. so far they've gotten a flat tire, hit a deer, and had their transmission die on them. we've got 4 days off from show cancellations and i'm currently at a marriott in kansas city. i've met some amazing people, stayed in some disgusting places, seen some beautiful landscapes, and experienced cities i never thought i would ever go to.
i've become the overnight driver on tour, which i have no objection to. between the hours of 1:30am and about 6:30am there's nobody on the road. trucks are pulled over to the side, their drivers fast asleep in the cab after an exhausting day of driving. everyone's passed out in the van while the sunrise creeps up, making the previous hours of driving in complete darkness worthwhile.
i have much to say, but can't seem to find the time to write when i'm surrounded by so many people. i'll leave you with a sunrise in oregon.
i've become the overnight driver on tour, which i have no objection to. between the hours of 1:30am and about 6:30am there's nobody on the road. trucks are pulled over to the side, their drivers fast asleep in the cab after an exhausting day of driving. everyone's passed out in the van while the sunrise creeps up, making the previous hours of driving in complete darkness worthwhile.
i have much to say, but can't seem to find the time to write when i'm surrounded by so many people. i'll leave you with a sunrise in oregon.
Monday, July 23, 2007
and back in new york...
it's raining, i can't seem to drink enough coffee, and nothing ever seems quite finished.
Sunday, July 8, 2007
day 1: 2 things, 2 pictures
1. the kids got a flat tire on their way to philadelphia and arrived 2 hours late to load in
2. the skyscrapers got their name for a reason; i stood between them and felt super short and enjoyed every minute of it
theo and the skyscrapers
the static age
2. the skyscrapers got their name for a reason; i stood between them and felt super short and enjoyed every minute of it
the static age
Friday, July 6, 2007
the beautiful united states of america, as seen through a van window
this is a re-post from my myspace blog. i can't come up with any more words right now due to being worn out by younger cousins this week. so forgive me for the unoriginality:
the time has come to take a fabulous five week road trip with some of my favorite people that make up the band the static age. we'll be going on tour with theo and the skyscrapers (ex-lunachicks/toilet boys).
i'll be keeping a tour manager/bitch/mom/slave journal on their website so that everyone can check up on me to make sure i'm still alive and haven't been beaten up by any road pirates. or that i haven't passed out from the stench of six people crammed in a van with iffy air conditioning.
we'll be starting the tour in the city of brotherly love and ending it in the city i called home for the past year. in between we will hopefully be hitting a town near where all you wonderful people live. come out, say hello. introduce yourself, and lets be friends.
July.7 / The Khyber / Philadelphia, PA
July.8 / The Ottobar / Baltimore, MD
July.10 / Masquerade / Atlanta, GA
July.12 / Churchill’s Pub / Miami, FL
July.13 / Orpheum / Tampa, FL
July.14 / The Imperial / Jacksonville, FL
July.17 / Emo’s / Austin, TX
July.19 / The Phix / Phoenix, AZ
July.20 / The Casbah / San Diego, CA
July.21 / The Echo / Los Angeles, CA
July.22 / The Parkside / San Francisco, CA
July.23 / Blue Lamp / Sacramento, CA
July.25 / El Corazon / Seattle, WA
July.26 / Neurolux / Boise, ID
July.27 / Bar Deluxe / Salt Lake City, UT
July.28 / Hi-Dive / Denver, CO
July.29 / Grand Emporium / Kansas City, MO
July.30 / Triple Rock / Minneapolis, MN
August.1 / Creepy Crawl / St. Louis, MO
August.2 / The Note / Chicago, IL
August.3 / Magic Stick / Detroit, MI
August.4 / Top Cat’s / Cincinnati, OH
August.5 / Diesel / Pittsburgh, PA
August.8 / Nashua VFW / Nashua, NH
August.11 / The Knitting Factory / New York, NY
the time has come to take a fabulous five week road trip with some of my favorite people that make up the band the static age. we'll be going on tour with theo and the skyscrapers (ex-lunachicks/toilet boys).
i'll be keeping a tour manager/bitch/mom/slave journal on their website so that everyone can check up on me to make sure i'm still alive and haven't been beaten up by any road pirates. or that i haven't passed out from the stench of six people crammed in a van with iffy air conditioning.
we'll be starting the tour in the city of brotherly love and ending it in the city i called home for the past year. in between we will hopefully be hitting a town near where all you wonderful people live. come out, say hello. introduce yourself, and lets be friends.
July.7 / The Khyber / Philadelphia, PA
July.8 / The Ottobar / Baltimore, MD
July.10 / Masquerade / Atlanta, GA
July.12 / Churchill’s Pub / Miami, FL
July.13 / Orpheum / Tampa, FL
July.14 / The Imperial / Jacksonville, FL
July.17 / Emo’s / Austin, TX
July.19 / The Phix / Phoenix, AZ
July.20 / The Casbah / San Diego, CA
July.21 / The Echo / Los Angeles, CA
July.22 / The Parkside / San Francisco, CA
July.23 / Blue Lamp / Sacramento, CA
July.25 / El Corazon / Seattle, WA
July.26 / Neurolux / Boise, ID
July.27 / Bar Deluxe / Salt Lake City, UT
July.28 / Hi-Dive / Denver, CO
July.29 / Grand Emporium / Kansas City, MO
July.30 / Triple Rock / Minneapolis, MN
August.1 / Creepy Crawl / St. Louis, MO
August.2 / The Note / Chicago, IL
August.3 / Magic Stick / Detroit, MI
August.4 / Top Cat’s / Cincinnati, OH
August.5 / Diesel / Pittsburgh, PA
August.8 / Nashua VFW / Nashua, NH
August.11 / The Knitting Factory / New York, NY
Saturday, June 16, 2007
the white stripes
This morning I found myself doing something I hadn't done since I was a much younger. I set my alarm for 4am and after only a few short hours of sleep made my way to Irving Plaza to pay my dues and stand in line for tickets. A day or so ago it had been announced that The White Stripes were playing this intimate venue (1200 capacity) and tickets were only available there at 10am today. I have only seen this band once, on Easter of 2002 with Brendan Benson at the Trocadero (1200 capacity). Shortly after they became hugely popular and despite how much I loved the band, I could never bring myself to purchase tickets to their huge arena and festival tourdates. Being my last week in NYC, I was thrilled when I found out that they were going to play Irving before I left and made plans to get up at the butt-crack of dawn to make sure I would be in attendance.
On the subway at 5am I sat with those coming from last nights party, drunk and barely able to keep their eyes open. I arrived around 5:30 and took my place in line behind some who apparently got there at 9pm the night before.
Five hours later, the line is wrapping all the way around the block and we're escorted in groups of 25 (we received numbers) into the venue to "hang out", purchase water/beer, and continue waiting to actually purchase vouchers that are good to redeem on the day of the show.
by 11:30 I walk away tired but satisfied. It feels good to finally be really excited about a show again.
On the subway at 5am I sat with those coming from last nights party, drunk and barely able to keep their eyes open. I arrived around 5:30 and took my place in line behind some who apparently got there at 9pm the night before.
Five hours later, the line is wrapping all the way around the block and we're escorted in groups of 25 (we received numbers) into the venue to "hang out", purchase water/beer, and continue waiting to actually purchase vouchers that are good to redeem on the day of the show.
by 11:30 I walk away tired but satisfied. It feels good to finally be really excited about a show again.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
cupcake war
In attempts to find the best red velvet cupcake/cake in Manhattan, Flynn and I have gone to several bakery/cupcake specialty shops within walking distance of our office in the Chelsea Market. We've been to those within the market and those within a few blocks of the market. Upon visiting the famous Billy's and Magnolia I noticed not only that their cupcakes were very similar, but so were their decors. Magnolia was brought to the height of fame for its appearance in Sex In the City, while Billy's has magazine clippings and pictures of Katie Holmes pining over theirs. Flynn then proceeded to tell me about this absurd cupcake war that's been going on in the city for many years. Ridiculous.
Pettiness aside, this is the list of the best and worst red velvet cupcakes we've had.
5. Ruthy's Bakery - Chelsea Market - 75 Ninth Ave
Although the bakery has a television screen flaunting all of the amazing cake creations they've made over the years [including a Louis Vuitton luggage cake], i've never really had anything in here that's super fresh. their red velvet cupcake was so stale when i had it that i couldn't even finish it. and that says a lot.
also notable: their adjoining cafe has one of the cheapest meals in the chelsea market: falafel for $4 [okay, you can get a slice of pizza for $2, but the falafel is way more filling]. although i think i'm the only one who actually enjoys this falafel, as they stuff soggy eggplant and peppers into it. it sounds gross to most people, but to me it's a yummy cheap lunch [hold the pickles please].
4. Eleni's - Chelsea Market - 75 Ninth Ave
Although Eleni's red velvet cupcakes are only average, their peanut butter cupcakes are hands down my favorite cupcake ever. chocolate cake with a half a peanut butter cup baked into it, peanut butter frosting, and topped with the other half of the peanut butter cup. flynn and i went through a period where we got them just about every day.
also notable: the brownie bites are a quick fix to any sweet craving
3. Billy's Bakery - 184 9th Ave
Walking into Billy's is like walking into the past. the decor, although similar to Magnolias, takes it up a notch and completely encompasses you in the essence of a freshly baked cupcake. Their red velvet cupcake and cake comes with the options of having either a buttercream or creamcheese frosting. I like options.
also notable: their famous icebox cake is light and amazing
2. Magnolia - 401 Bleecker St
Magnolia has always been a staple cupcake shop for knowing neighborhood locals but, as stated above, their fame was heightened and became much more public after Carrie and Miranda chowed down on their delicious cupcakes in an episode of Sex In the City. their red velvet also has an amazing buttercream frosting and came in a close second. Apparently there is normally a line around the block to get into this place, but I guess since i've gone in the middle of a work day i've never experienced it.
also notable: their devils cake with mocha frosting cupcake is absolutely divine
1. Amy's Bread - Chelsea Market - 75 Ninth Ave
Amy's has THE best red velvet cake we've tried. both the cake and the buttercream frosting is light and fluffy. they also give you HUGE slices, which is always a plus in my book [although it makes my stomach hate me soon after devouring the entire slice]. The best thing about Amy's cakes is that they never have all of their cakes for sale every day. So it's always a happy surprise when you walk by and see the delicious buttercream frosting of the red velvet from the hallway.
also notable: their black and white cake
Pettiness aside, this is the list of the best and worst red velvet cupcakes we've had.
5. Ruthy's Bakery - Chelsea Market - 75 Ninth Ave
Although the bakery has a television screen flaunting all of the amazing cake creations they've made over the years [including a Louis Vuitton luggage cake], i've never really had anything in here that's super fresh. their red velvet cupcake was so stale when i had it that i couldn't even finish it. and that says a lot.
also notable: their adjoining cafe has one of the cheapest meals in the chelsea market: falafel for $4 [okay, you can get a slice of pizza for $2, but the falafel is way more filling]. although i think i'm the only one who actually enjoys this falafel, as they stuff soggy eggplant and peppers into it. it sounds gross to most people, but to me it's a yummy cheap lunch [hold the pickles please].
4. Eleni's - Chelsea Market - 75 Ninth Ave
Although Eleni's red velvet cupcakes are only average, their peanut butter cupcakes are hands down my favorite cupcake ever. chocolate cake with a half a peanut butter cup baked into it, peanut butter frosting, and topped with the other half of the peanut butter cup. flynn and i went through a period where we got them just about every day.
also notable: the brownie bites are a quick fix to any sweet craving
3. Billy's Bakery - 184 9th Ave
Walking into Billy's is like walking into the past. the decor, although similar to Magnolias, takes it up a notch and completely encompasses you in the essence of a freshly baked cupcake. Their red velvet cupcake and cake comes with the options of having either a buttercream or creamcheese frosting. I like options.
also notable: their famous icebox cake is light and amazing
2. Magnolia - 401 Bleecker St
Magnolia has always been a staple cupcake shop for knowing neighborhood locals but, as stated above, their fame was heightened and became much more public after Carrie and Miranda chowed down on their delicious cupcakes in an episode of Sex In the City. their red velvet also has an amazing buttercream frosting and came in a close second. Apparently there is normally a line around the block to get into this place, but I guess since i've gone in the middle of a work day i've never experienced it.
also notable: their devils cake with mocha frosting cupcake is absolutely divine
1. Amy's Bread - Chelsea Market - 75 Ninth Ave
Amy's has THE best red velvet cake we've tried. both the cake and the buttercream frosting is light and fluffy. they also give you HUGE slices, which is always a plus in my book [although it makes my stomach hate me soon after devouring the entire slice]. The best thing about Amy's cakes is that they never have all of their cakes for sale every day. So it's always a happy surprise when you walk by and see the delicious buttercream frosting of the red velvet from the hallway.
also notable: their black and white cake
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
a subway crush
subway crushes are a way for us nyc dwellers to start off our routinely dreary mornings on a high note. we’re perfectly aware that chances are we’ll never actually ever talk to our crush, but the fact that they’re there morning after morning continues to put that little spark of excitement in our stomach. My subway crush is tall, has brown shaggy hair, wears slip on vans, and a black jansport backpack. He gets on the stop after me, and rides the whole time with his nose in a book, like myself. I never want to blatantly stare, so I haven’t quite caught what book he’s reading [I’m currently on crime and punishment]. We get off at the same stop at the end of the line, and weave our way to the same exit of the busy station. At the top of the stairs we go in opposite directions. And then my day continues on without him.
I know I’ll never know anything about him other than what I’ve just mentioned. But I don’t think that I even want to know anything about him, not even his name. that might just ruin the beauty of a subway crush, bringing him down to a reality that won't live up to his idealistic presence. after all, nothing is as it seems.
all i'm saying is that it’s nice to have this innocent distraction in the mornings to make the motion of the “daily grind” a little easier.
So thanks, subway crush, for making my mornings a bit more pleasant.
In other news, you should probably read up about the 19th century weapon found in a whale, or.. you know.. about this.
I know I’ll never know anything about him other than what I’ve just mentioned. But I don’t think that I even want to know anything about him, not even his name. that might just ruin the beauty of a subway crush, bringing him down to a reality that won't live up to his idealistic presence. after all, nothing is as it seems.
all i'm saying is that it’s nice to have this innocent distraction in the mornings to make the motion of the “daily grind” a little easier.
So thanks, subway crush, for making my mornings a bit more pleasant.
In other news, you should probably read up about the 19th century weapon found in a whale, or.. you know.. about this.
Monday, June 11, 2007
john updike: a short poem
As you walk towards me I am torn
If this wish were mine to be granted
Would I ask to be you or to hug you?
Your nose is just too cute.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
111 archer avenue
today a royal tenenbaum fan and friend and i headed up to harlem in the quest to find the tenenbaum home of 111 archer street. unfortunately for us, the house was completely covered in scaffolding. despite the ugly mask, the beauty of the building was still evident. i tried my best to get as many decent pictures as i could, even climbing on the railing by the front door to get a shot inside the front window.
after about 5 minutes of us being there, a man came out of the house. naturally, i approach him. it turned out that he's the current occupant and owner. he bought it in 1999 and remodeled the interior in 2001 after the movie was filmed. he said when the movie first came out he used to get a lot of people coming by, and now he'll get a few here and there. he was very cautious when speaking to us, and we had to pry every word out. after he left to go climb up the scaffolding i look down to my jeans and notice that they're covered with a clay dust from me kneeling on the railing trying to get pictures inside of the house. no wonder he was so cautious, he probably thought we were obsessed freaks.
after about 5 minutes of us being there, a man came out of the house. naturally, i approach him. it turned out that he's the current occupant and owner. he bought it in 1999 and remodeled the interior in 2001 after the movie was filmed. he said when the movie first came out he used to get a lot of people coming by, and now he'll get a few here and there. he was very cautious when speaking to us, and we had to pry every word out. after he left to go climb up the scaffolding i look down to my jeans and notice that they're covered with a clay dust from me kneeling on the railing trying to get pictures inside of the house. no wonder he was so cautious, he probably thought we were obsessed freaks.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
jarvis
i have recently been informed that you can actually e-mail pictures you took on your camera phone without having an internet plan. this completely boggles my mind, even before getting into the whole bluetooth wonder. i'll spare you the details of my technologically unsavvy self, and will merely share with you the photographs i snapped with my camera phone at the jarvis cocker show at webster hall last month. which, by the way, was the most impressive show i've been to in years (including the jesus and mary chain that flynn and i attended two weeks back, which was sadly uninspiring)
Monday, May 28, 2007
happiness and content are two different beats. happiness is good, content is the beginning of the end —ryan j. simons
nobody ever claimed that the game of life was an easy one to play. it's a game that's guided by our most basic human needs, and in the end all we really want to win is happiness. in the process we screw people over [including ourselves] and face things that we don't think our hearts can handle. at times it's easy to get sucked in to a selfish world of self loathing and depression, but [as a friend of mine has recently reminded me] these moments are merely minor glitches. it's when we are able to realize this that we can then take a moment to close our eyes, take a deep breath, and continue on in our search for happiness.
nobody ever claimed that the game of life was an easy one to play. it's a game that's guided by our most basic human needs, and in the end all we really want to win is happiness. in the process we screw people over [including ourselves] and face things that we don't think our hearts can handle. at times it's easy to get sucked in to a selfish world of self loathing and depression, but [as a friend of mine has recently reminded me] these moments are merely minor glitches. it's when we are able to realize this that we can then take a moment to close our eyes, take a deep breath, and continue on in our search for happiness.
Monday, May 21, 2007
love & the city part two: electric boogaloo
I recently turned twenty-six; shortly thereafter, I started wondering exactly how I've gotten this old without achieving the kind of greatness I always hoped was in me. It happened sort of like clockwork; I'd certainly been warned by plenty of my friends that a quarter-life crisis would be in order. I'd shrugged it off, though, on the assertion that I'd already been there and done that, but it turns out all those other occasions were false starts and that this one may well really be the real thing. I can tell it by the certain measure of calm I seem to maintain even as I feel panicky about my future; it's like somewhere inside me, my body's working hard at giving up and becoming complacent even as my brain fights against it.
I always thought that by the time I got this old, I'd have created something: a book, a business, a career, a record. It scares me to suddenly realize not only that this is not the case, but that I had my little wake-up call to this effect already and did nothing about it. The winter before I turned twenty-four, I came quite close to dying, and upon my recovery I vowed that things would be different and I'd do everything I'd been putting off previously. And certainly, there were some huge life changes made, but mostly I concentrated on fighting an uphill battle back to the kind of normalcy I'd left behind, and somehow all those particularly good intentions got left by the wayside.
Shortly before getting sick, I'd been closer than ever before to achieving the life that I wanted. I was writing about bands I loved, I was working at a label for bands I was passionate about, I was becoming closer with some people who really inspired me, and I was starting to date the kind of guy I'd always thought must exist somewhere but hadn't yet experienced. It's that last bit that was the real coup, and the way things played out made me realize quite a few things about myself.
I've lived in this city for a good eight years; at least once or twice a year, I have to get out of town and go back to where I came from to figure out how far I've come. And every time I do, someone inevitably asks me why I don't have a boyfriend, and how it's so much as possible that I live in a huge city, know so many people, and work in an industry with such like-minded people, but can't find anyone to settle down with.
"I don't know how to get it in their heads," I said to a friend later, "that settling down isn't something most of us ever think about."
As much as Christiana looks inside herself and sees a girlfriend girl, I've always looked at myself and never been able to see it; it's with this in mind that it seems as though New York is the perfect place for a girl like me to be. At the same time, though, as much of a single girl as I am, I've also never been a "dating" kind of girl. The boy I'd been seeing before I got sick was an incredible mix of the things I'd always wanted in a guy: He was successful, but on an indie, non-scary level; he was passionate about all the same music I was, down to the obscurities; he would hold your hand and sing in the street and make a fool of himself if he knew it would make you smile. And he was every bit as unselfconscious as I was completely unsure of myself.
What broke my heart in that relationship was less the boy himself than the knowledge that he still wasn't what I wanted; when I found out he was less serious about me than he seemed, I was pissed, then relieved: this can be just a casual thing. And that thought stayed with me, though the boy changed; hell, I even still believe that friends with benefits is possible if you play it right.
But the operative word has always been just that: friends. To bother with dating in the city is to engage in a series of relationships that very rarely pan out as friendships, and that's the part that I've never been that up with. In romantic relationships, in personal friendships, and in "business" circles, if I can't truly be friends with someone, then I have a really hard time figuring out why they're worth my time. It's one of my biggest hang-ups, I'm sure, but it's the truth. Where this has led me, unfortunately, is down a series of dead-ends whereupon I always ultimately realize why someone and I were "just friends" to begin with.
Christiana put it best when she said it's always the one time you let your guard down that you end up regretting it; I have been incredibly cautious over the years, and in those brief seconds where I've decided to take a chance, the rapidity with which its bitten me in the ass has been a bit alarming. I guess the question is whether or not I regret it. Immediately, yes; after every failing I hate the words that I've admitted aloud and thus can't take back or make myself forget. But ultimately? Ultimately we are a product of our own mistakes but also our regrets, and I can't help but think that it would feel worse never to know how things might have been - or, for that matter, to have played things any differently than the way I really wanted to.
Since when has adhering to convention - in business, in friendship, or in love - ever gotten us anywhere truly extraordinary? That's the question I keep asking myself as I fumble through whatever crisis I've found myself in, and that's how I hope to find my footing again. I still have a mental image of how I want my life to be, and though it's evolved over the years, there are some basics that are the same. Some of it is vague and quite probably unachievable; at this age and in this time, it's unlikely that I'm ever going to find success as a musician. But there are parts of it that seem somehow so close within my reach that it almost hurts to articulate it, parts that used to just be shadowy "I'm not sure what goes here" bits of a dream that are now becoming clearer with time.
It's scary as hell, but the only thing I can do is take chances where I find them and hope that other people can take the same chances on me. And I will never be a "girlfriend girl", but somehow that very fact has guided me into the most comfortable relationship I've ever been a part of. It's very easy to imagine that biting me in the ass as anything else has, and then that I'll regret with stunning immediacy every word I have said, but ultimately? Ultimately I may feel like I'm getting old, but I haven't given up the hope of having something extraordinary.
I always thought that by the time I got this old, I'd have created something: a book, a business, a career, a record. It scares me to suddenly realize not only that this is not the case, but that I had my little wake-up call to this effect already and did nothing about it. The winter before I turned twenty-four, I came quite close to dying, and upon my recovery I vowed that things would be different and I'd do everything I'd been putting off previously. And certainly, there were some huge life changes made, but mostly I concentrated on fighting an uphill battle back to the kind of normalcy I'd left behind, and somehow all those particularly good intentions got left by the wayside.
Shortly before getting sick, I'd been closer than ever before to achieving the life that I wanted. I was writing about bands I loved, I was working at a label for bands I was passionate about, I was becoming closer with some people who really inspired me, and I was starting to date the kind of guy I'd always thought must exist somewhere but hadn't yet experienced. It's that last bit that was the real coup, and the way things played out made me realize quite a few things about myself.
I've lived in this city for a good eight years; at least once or twice a year, I have to get out of town and go back to where I came from to figure out how far I've come. And every time I do, someone inevitably asks me why I don't have a boyfriend, and how it's so much as possible that I live in a huge city, know so many people, and work in an industry with such like-minded people, but can't find anyone to settle down with.
"I don't know how to get it in their heads," I said to a friend later, "that settling down isn't something most of us ever think about."
As much as Christiana looks inside herself and sees a girlfriend girl, I've always looked at myself and never been able to see it; it's with this in mind that it seems as though New York is the perfect place for a girl like me to be. At the same time, though, as much of a single girl as I am, I've also never been a "dating" kind of girl. The boy I'd been seeing before I got sick was an incredible mix of the things I'd always wanted in a guy: He was successful, but on an indie, non-scary level; he was passionate about all the same music I was, down to the obscurities; he would hold your hand and sing in the street and make a fool of himself if he knew it would make you smile. And he was every bit as unselfconscious as I was completely unsure of myself.
What broke my heart in that relationship was less the boy himself than the knowledge that he still wasn't what I wanted; when I found out he was less serious about me than he seemed, I was pissed, then relieved: this can be just a casual thing. And that thought stayed with me, though the boy changed; hell, I even still believe that friends with benefits is possible if you play it right.
But the operative word has always been just that: friends. To bother with dating in the city is to engage in a series of relationships that very rarely pan out as friendships, and that's the part that I've never been that up with. In romantic relationships, in personal friendships, and in "business" circles, if I can't truly be friends with someone, then I have a really hard time figuring out why they're worth my time. It's one of my biggest hang-ups, I'm sure, but it's the truth. Where this has led me, unfortunately, is down a series of dead-ends whereupon I always ultimately realize why someone and I were "just friends" to begin with.
Christiana put it best when she said it's always the one time you let your guard down that you end up regretting it; I have been incredibly cautious over the years, and in those brief seconds where I've decided to take a chance, the rapidity with which its bitten me in the ass has been a bit alarming. I guess the question is whether or not I regret it. Immediately, yes; after every failing I hate the words that I've admitted aloud and thus can't take back or make myself forget. But ultimately? Ultimately we are a product of our own mistakes but also our regrets, and I can't help but think that it would feel worse never to know how things might have been - or, for that matter, to have played things any differently than the way I really wanted to.
Since when has adhering to convention - in business, in friendship, or in love - ever gotten us anywhere truly extraordinary? That's the question I keep asking myself as I fumble through whatever crisis I've found myself in, and that's how I hope to find my footing again. I still have a mental image of how I want my life to be, and though it's evolved over the years, there are some basics that are the same. Some of it is vague and quite probably unachievable; at this age and in this time, it's unlikely that I'm ever going to find success as a musician. But there are parts of it that seem somehow so close within my reach that it almost hurts to articulate it, parts that used to just be shadowy "I'm not sure what goes here" bits of a dream that are now becoming clearer with time.
It's scary as hell, but the only thing I can do is take chances where I find them and hope that other people can take the same chances on me. And I will never be a "girlfriend girl", but somehow that very fact has guided me into the most comfortable relationship I've ever been a part of. It's very easy to imagine that biting me in the ass as anything else has, and then that I'll regret with stunning immediacy every word I have said, but ultimately? Ultimately I may feel like I'm getting old, but I haven't given up the hope of having something extraordinary.
Monday, May 7, 2007
bigger, better
What is it about music festivals that instill such high hopes within us? Maybe it’s the tradition and memories of years past. Maybe it’s watching the bands you grew up with [either listening to or being surrounded by], and seeing how much they’ve grown. Or maybe it’s knowing that you will see everyone you don’t get to see often together in one place. Whatever it is, I for one find myself here every year in complete amazement of how time changes everything, and sometimes nothing at all.
For the first time in years I was without a camera for the entire weekend. I attempted to take in everything with my eyes, contemplating how to use words to re-create the visual experience. Whether I was successful or not is debatable. But here goes.
Each year it gets bigger. And I suppose in that effect, it also becomes “better”. As that type of music becomes more and more trendy, those who attend become younger and more impressionable. I looked at these kids with their short shorts, low tops, and bare stomachs and a sadness overcame me. These days morals seem non-existent, and it’s no wonder with most of the influences that are around. Everything is so accessible, maybe too accessible. If they want ____ [insert anything from drugs and sex to attention and false promises here], they can nine times out of ten get it. These kids are angry and sad about something, and it reflects in the music they listen to, the actions they perform, and the decisions they make. Maybe it’s just a generation gap, and it’s time to face the fact that I’m getting older. But I’d like to think that when I was their age, I still found such things [that were still around, just in smaller doses] disturbing.
This year there were carnival rides to further secure in my mind the fact that this is more of a circus than a festival that was, indeed, getting bigger and “better”. Energy drinks were being distributed to further intensify the already uncertain mindsets of this ADD generation, while parents sat around lounging in a section devoted to them where they could retain their own sanity away from all the action. Lines were long to sit in metal contraptions that would inevitably cause a person to vomit up the energy drink they probably just downed. Vendors set up in tiny tents spread out methodically [or as much so as possible] in attempts to take hold of this weeks allowances burning in the pockets of suburban kids ready and willing to spend it on any and everything black or distressed.
As for nutrition, the lines were just as long for low quality high cost fried food as they were for carnival rides. Used ketchup packets, napkins, plates, and beer bottles lay scattered everywhere along with festival newspapers and flyers, tinting shoes red and black. I couldn’t help but kick a piece of trash or drag it along with every step I took, each one making me feel sorrier and sorrier for those on clean-up duty.
Despite the trash, the low morals, and sometimes disgusting behavior, I’m happy to say that those who were actually there for the music and not just to hang out really did make the most of the plethora of bands playing. Fans were completely devoted: screaming every single word, jumping up and down, energy was high and they became as much a part of the show as the artists themselves.
On the other side of the security line lay the all access world. This is the world of no lines, free food and alcohol, real bathrooms, and copious amounts of mingling and schmoozing. Each of which can be found past the pass, and in a colorful assortment of bracelets and tokens [one for each option]. It is here that you will, for certain, run into at least twenty people you know. Attempting to engage in any kind of serious conversation past business would be useless, as eyes are constantly wandering to find someone bigger and “better” to socialize with. It is, after all, who you know and not what you know.
To become a part of this elite sect, you must be one of the following: in a band, working in the industry, related to someone in a band or working in the industry, close friends to someone in a band or working in the industry, or sleeping with someone in a band or working in the industry [or at least giving the impression that you will sleep with them if you are hooked up with the coveted all access pass].
Sometimes I’m not sure how I fit into this world, as I always seem to be balancing along that fine line (the formers rather than the latter), wobbling from side to side but never quite falling fully into either.
No matter how you view music festivals, whether you love them or you hate them, or whether you like the music involved or not, every year there is at least one run-in that will warm your heart. The music, the memories, and the personalities that have, at one time in your life, [no matter how short or long] changed you in some profound way are suddenly placed in front of you. Even if the interaction may only last a few minutes, it is here that egos and status are pushed to the side, and you know that the hugs and inquiries are genuine. It is here that the whole day becomes absolutely worthwhile.
And I suppose it is because of these few cases that the hopes and anticipations for the next year are formed. There are pros and there are cons, as there are in any situation. But somehow, at the end of the weekend, it is the pros that find their way to the top of the list of things to be remembered. Sun kissed and exhausted, I sit and take in the fact that another year has passed. For better or for worse.
I wonder what’s in store for next year.
Friday, April 27, 2007
give the people what they want
I wrote the below to post on the blog over at The Fall Collection, whose Crown Point festival I'm helping curate this fall. It seemed a bit cravingcake appropriate, but Christiana can feel free to yell at me for the cross-post if she so desires.
*****
My life in both work and play is deeply intertwined with music, and as such I’ve found it plagued by two issues as of late. The first is by now no secret, but for some reason its still considered “news.” Every morning when I read the Billboard news delivered to my inbox, there’s yet another story about how CD sales are down or about how another label has downsized. The music industry is suffering; it seems that this is still a surprise to some. At the least, and to put it mildly, it’s quite the bummer.
*****
My life in both work and play is deeply intertwined with music, and as such I’ve found it plagued by two issues as of late. The first is by now no secret, but for some reason its still considered “news.” Every morning when I read the Billboard news delivered to my inbox, there’s yet another story about how CD sales are down or about how another label has downsized. The music industry is suffering; it seems that this is still a surprise to some. At the least, and to put it mildly, it’s quite the bummer.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
pro, the
one of the things that's so amazing and so dangerous about the city in which i live is the feeling that anything and everything is possible. all too often, we get caught up in this idea and fail to realize either that we are reaching far beyond our means or, worse, that our creative endeavours aren't worthy of the accolades we think they are.
in this town, everyone thinks they're a celebrity.
all of that said, i'm still itching for something new to arise out of the structures that are, mostly, imploding on themselves. i've been in the city for eight years, in the music business for six; is it because i'm daft that i haven't yet reinvented the wheel, or is it because i'm just not thinking hard enough? i'm about ready to let it go and to get back to what was the impetus for being here in the first place: words.
when i've got it figured out, look for it when you least expect it. the pro. the opposite of the con, for starters. also the certain level of respect that most of us lack for each other, i.e., professionalism.
i never quit things. i just think up more things to take up space in my head.
in this town, everyone thinks they're a celebrity.
all of that said, i'm still itching for something new to arise out of the structures that are, mostly, imploding on themselves. i've been in the city for eight years, in the music business for six; is it because i'm daft that i haven't yet reinvented the wheel, or is it because i'm just not thinking hard enough? i'm about ready to let it go and to get back to what was the impetus for being here in the first place: words.
when i've got it figured out, look for it when you least expect it. the pro. the opposite of the con, for starters. also the certain level of respect that most of us lack for each other, i.e., professionalism.
i never quit things. i just think up more things to take up space in my head.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
a post (!). some rain. and an abandoned umbrella.
I am always entertained by all the activity that comes along with rainy windy days in a city. people in fancy suits and fancy shoes hold on to their umbrellas for dear life, while these objects take on a life of their own, turning inside out and upside down in a playful attempt to dance with it’s owner. most of the owners, however, do not find amusement in this. many umbrellas are left on the street, abandoned by the people they wanted so much to impress.
Oh,
Friday, March 9, 2007
does anybody ever get what they want?
This is the kind of girl that I am: I woke up this morning and noted somewhat mournfully that I’m getting a bit on the chubby side. Shortly thereafter, someone gave me a brownie and I looked at him and said “Thanks. Now I have breakfast.”
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