Friday, November 25, 2005

A Couple of Things That Make Me Want to Push You In Front of A Moving Train

1. You use words like "closure," or "empowerment" in an unironic way.

2. You use the phrase "It's all good," right after something really cruddy has happened. You know what, dummy? It's not all good. Sometimes it's downright crappy, and you mouthing claptrap and platitudes at me is not going to make it better.

3. You wear a fauxhawk or anything else that smacks of hipster or Chelsea clone fashion. If you spend more time artfully mussing your hair with product than Dolly Parton spends on her wigs, you deserve a good flick to the forehead.

4. Basically, if you get on the "L" train between Graham Avenue and Bedford Avenue, I want to push you in front of said train.

5. You call movies "films."

6. You are a singer/songwriter who hasn't gotten over Jeff Buckley. Let the yodeling die, please. I beg you.

7. You are not nice to service people. If I observe you being condescending and snotty to waitpeople and taxi drivers, you are a condescending and snotty person. Then again, if someone at the table has to have their food spit in, better that it's your entree and not mine.

But that doesn't mean I haven't been a-thinkin'

OK. Something happened here -- I seem to have lost the little icons at the top of the create posting field that allow me to do formatting as I write -- you know, all of the important things like hotlinks and font settings. It must have something to do with switching over to a mac platform. Which, for the record, I love as if I could kiss it.

But I have been keeping my little notebook with me and jotting down notes as things occur to me, just in case I am inspired to blog about it. So I have this notebook filled with random words that could be haiku unto themselves.

Here is a stream-of-consciousness transcription of some of the things I've jotted: "Chop wood, carry water. People are alcoholics because they drink too much. I was embarrassed to be white! The Day the Catlicks lost me. Om padme mani clean. Government borrowing depresses private investment. Closure is bullshit psychobabble term describing intangible *thing* that people actually believe they are entitled to...to everyone who has ever whined, "I need to have closure on this" - shut the fuck up. [I must have been eavesdropping on the subway to prompt that!] Handsome John on the subway. The genericization of Helll's Kitchen. Jonathan Leaf is an unbelievable moron...the Springsteen song title is "because the night" not "bring on the night." and he calls himself a music critic? CS Lewis said "No one ever told me grief felt so like fear."

I think I will indulge in a few curmudgeonly posts.

Where I've Been

For a very long time I've been hiding under the porch of my psyche, licking some wounds. Making a tentative venture back into the world in the past couple of weeks.

music purchases today

John Mayer Trio.

I know, I know, he perpetrated all that college-freshman pussy pop that the White Zinfandel-and-pilates set seems to love, but this is actually pretty excellent bluesy rock.

But -- For all you husbands whose wives made you suffer through Mayer's first two cd's on every family road trip -- okay, so this isn't "Houses of the Holy," but remember, Mayer is a blues and jazz guitarist from Berklee College of Music before he turned into a pop-prince, and there are some great cuts here. Listen to the guitar playin' and try not to think about some of his cringe-worthy lyrics (but you know, come to think of it -- once you've written such craptacularly classic lyrics as "your body is a wonderland" pretty much anything is an improvement.)

I recommend "Out of My Mind."

I offer the confession here that I am guilty of listening to "No Such Thing" with open pleasure and still sing along every time I hear it. What can I say -- I love a great pop song. Which goes to show my everlasting schizophrenia about music -- here I offer a slap and a kiss to John Mayer. And I'm shameless about my prejudices, because I'm firmly convinced that what is tongue-in-cheek kitsch or a deeper appreciation of the art for me -- well, you may like the same things, but they are a demonstration of your obviously bad taste.

As exhibit #1, I offer the following example: Listening to and appreciating ABBA means that a) you either grew up in the 70's and really did love these songs, or b) you have an evolved sense of irony about the kitschiness of saccharine 70's pop music, or c) you live in Williamsburg and don't have an original bone in your body or a thought in your head or a fashion choice that hasn't been dictated to you by someone else. Listening to the original cast album of the Broadway musical "Mamma Mia!" -- well, that's just your obviously bad taste.

For the record, John Mayer does have those kissalicious lips.

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Rufus Wainwright: Want Two

Feeling a jones for Rufus, it was with some surprise that I realized I didn't have this in my collection. Buy this record. It is gorgeous.

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Jerry Garcia & Dave Grisman

First, let me tell you how much I hate the Grateful Dead. I hate the Grateful Dead so much that I have left parties at the first notes of a GD song that someone put on the stereo. I hate the Grateful Dead so much that when I see people doing that noodle dance I am instantly reminded of something my friend Shelly once told me, which was that the three scariest words in the English language are "White People Dancing." My sister (a fellow hater like me) described them as "mediocre musicians plunkin' away at bad folk music."

So, imagine my chagrin when Greg was playing a cd at the office that had some cool bluegrassy-sounding tunes on it -- it felt very NPR or Mountain Stage. When I asked him what it was, he laughed an evil laugh and told me that it was Jerry Garcia. I admitted that I was loving it.

But I still hate the Grateful Dead.

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Synopsis

1. I have started a new job (well, actually my old job with a new company in a new location).

2. F thinks that what happened doesn't change anything about our relationship, but what happened actually changes everything.

3. My mother is dying by inches.

4. I have my period and am bloated and bitchy.

5. Roni gave me a haircut that is noticeably uneven.

6. I HATE HIPSTERS!! With the heat of a thousand white-hot suns, I hate them.

7. The NYPD paid a little visit to Cracky Crackhead on Friday night, courtesy of me and Carlos.

That's the cook's tour of my life right now. More later.