You think girls like me grow on trees?

Jun 11, 2009 1:36pm
Jun 11, 2009 11:30am
Jun 11, 2009 10:21am

Hombres, “Let It Out (Let It All Hang Out)”

I was thinking about summer last night, and sitting outside, swatting flies and drinking beer, waiting for something on the grill to burn, and thinking about AM radio and how when you were a kid every song meant so much more with the reverb and echo of the huge-bottomed basslines all the good tunes seemed to have…and then this silly tune started rattling around in my head, and, I realized, even as the Velvets were slinking under NYC about to reinvent the world, there were all these trash bands from the hinterlands doing nothing but riffffffing “Gloria” to death, and I loved them, each and every one, swatted a fly, drank a beer, and waited for something to burn.

Saw a man walkin’ upside down
My T.V.s on the blink
Made Galileo look like a Boy Scout
Sorry ‘bout that, let it all hang out

Jun 11, 2009 9:30am
Jun 11, 2009 8:44am

Headed Over Heeled

I wanted to print out for you the daily e-mail you can sign up to get from The Awl (dot com), because Choire seems to write these in a contemplative mode that scratches the itch of his ruminative self (you can switch “contemplative” and “ruminative” there and I don’t think it would matter), and he actually hit on a couple points I was pondering talking about this morning, in a contemplative, ruminative way…

There may or may not be a mystical component to this, but what I think about it, I don’t think it would matter.


Oh, good actual morning, dear reader!

Last night I was walking down Ninth Avenue from Co., the pizza place which inspires great amounts of hatred:


But despite those complaints, I think the pizza dough is maybe the best I’ve ever had. And yes indeed, it does have excellent “hole structure”!


Also they played one of the greatest songs in the world, which, when I hear it unexpectedly, can put me in a good mood for days on end.


1984 was a long time ago. Or: was it?

After dinner we walked down Ninth Avenue and turned east onto 20th. As usual, we were looking into people’s apartments and commenting loudly on their ceiling heights/tacky lamps/paintings/etc.

Immediately on our left, this older fellow was sitting on a stoop, having a cigarette.

"Looking for an apartment?" he asked.

This was so jarring, so out of place from the New York City that I have come to expect. I was reminded of the haphazard and thoughtless ease of real estate transactions in Mary Cantwell’s memoir, “Manhattan, When I Was Young.”


So we followed the big man, who was named Jimmy, upstairs. I was only half-convinced that we would be held captive and tortured; he looked slow, I figured I could take him. He extinguished his cigarette and saved the unsmoked half.

The apartment is a second-floor one-bedroom. It was of course terrible: depressingly ugly, with a shoe-horned kitchen alcove of the worst materials off the one main room, and then a small bedroom twice as tall as it is wide, a shape which always reminds me of a prison cell, and both rooms had the sort of paint job of once-vivid and now-sad and queer lady-colors always left behind by a fun young woman when she vacates an apartment for a better place in Brooklyn with a lover—or when she has gone home to Minnesota in defeat.

The apartment is $2100 a month. It formerly was $2500. The reduction leaves it still quite overpriced. And yet here we are. The clock has been turned back some number of decades! The rent is repealed; the tired old super is atop the stoop, hustling in strangers—at 10:30 at night—from the street to take a lease. When are we exactly? This something old is something new that is going on.


They don’t accept replies, so this is how I would have replied, had they:

1) I spent the better part of the late-80’s contending Talk Show was one of the ten greatest albums ever made. I gave it to a succession (two) of lovers to prove it. One was dumb enough to marry me. I don’t think it was because of the record, but, I have an ego.
2) I saw a sign on the way in this morning, at a mortuary, because I had to get off the expwy after some idiot jumped a concrete barrier in his car at 4 a.m. and got snapped in half by a train and people were hurt and as a result traffic was all fucked up and that guy who jumped the barrier better hope I never find out his name because my commute was a fucking BITCH.
And the sign said: “Recession headstone sale!! $450!!”

Anyway, I think these are comments about the irony of changing lives and possibly regressing worlds that may or may not be alluded to allusively in Choire’s post…but mainly I think they’re comments about me, so if you’re still reading this, click on the YouTube link to the “Head Over Heels” video and let’s pretend we’re married.

Jun 10, 2009 4:34pm



Can we bring this back? Please?
(via ouno)

As a certain scrivener once put it: “I’d prefer not to.”

This is the best Internet of today.

 It was following this that Starsky and Hutch decided to go with Huggy Bear.




Can we bring this back? Please?

(via ouno)

As a certain scrivener once put it: “I’d prefer not to.”

This is the best Internet of today.

 It was following this that Starsky and Hutch decided to go with Huggy Bear.

Jun 10, 2009 2:30pm
Jun 10, 2009 1:20pm
Jun 10, 2009 12:42pm
Jun 10, 2009 10:42am

The crowd seems subdued for the ferocity of the performance, the boys look vigorous and freshly-transfused, and that pink guy’s guitar might even have strings.

Jun 10, 2009 9:45am



One Of Us Must Know (Sooner Or Later)- Bob Dylan

From the album ’Blonde On Blonde’

This is the ultimate.

Hard to argue the point. No purpose to even trying to list the contenders. This is the one.

Jun 10, 2009 9:14am

I’m not quite sure what the fascination is with this fuckheel, given that his on-air persona is crafted from dialogue that could be written by a truck backing up. But he sure knows how to draw attention to himself. Here Gordon Ramsey apparently calls a veteran Aussie newsreader a pig, and in poor-quality video confesses a long-standing (doubt it) desire to BOOP her.

Posted primarily for the reaction byte from the Deputy Prime Minister (seems more like a Dep. Home UnderSecretary function, but, it’s Australia, so she was probably at the beach…no, wait, it’s Winter there)…and the shot of TV crews running, mics and assorted appendages extended, after a man running.

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