All the hopes and dreams and innermost feelings that I, Dave Hill, can muster.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
The King of Miami: Episode 4 In Its Incredible Entirety
Hello. Hi. How are you? Above is the entire 4th episode (broken up into three easily digestible segments of delight) of my incredible television program "The King of Miami with Dave Hill" that was on the futuristic Mojo Network but for reasons I am still trying to fucking figure out, dammit, is no longer on the air. Anyway, thanks to the magic of the Internet you can watch it anyway. This is my favorite episode of the program. I hope you enjoy it so much.
I’ve just returned from the gym and- as you can probably imagine- I pretty much tore that place a new one lifting this, running on that, and generally fucking that place up in general. This is no New Year’s resolution stuff kicking in early either- as anyone will tell you, I have been making a point of being in incredible shape for a long time now. Still, yesterday was my first day back at the gym in a couple months so it must have been a lot to handle for all the other people trying to work out around me. I guess it’s kind of unfair of me if you really think about it. Good thing I don’t.
The gym is one of the few places I wear an iPod these days and it’s kind of fun putting together an unstoppable workout playlist (or “gym jams” as I like to call them in private and also in the dark) for myself. The latest one features a lot of Pavement, Pentagram, Zeppelin, Fleetwood Mac, Guided by Voices, Heatmiser, and Black Sabbath. I find each band works a different muscle group and, as a result, I am in the shape of a lifetime (ask anybody). Sometimes I try to watch TV at the gym but it never works out too well. They have that one music video channel that plays Black Eyed Peas videos nonstop and then it’s pretty much the Ellen show on all the other channels. Last night though, the guy on one of the crazy cardio machines next to me was watching “The Hughleys” and was laughing out loud the whole time. I couldn’t figure out what could possibly be so funny on an episode of “The Hughleys” (No offense, D.L., you know I love you) but then I saw that Sherman Hemsley on the screen and I knew what all the fuss was about. The man has got it. And did you know Isabel Sanford who played “Weezie”, his wife on the “The Jeffersons” was over twenty years older than him? True story. It’s amazing what a mustache can do.
Now that I have completely fucked up the gym for the day, I am not quite sure what to do. It’s pretty rainy out and- given my penchant for cutting myself- I should be on close watch today. If only I didn’t live alone. Oh well, let’s end on a high note anyway. Here is Stevie Nicks and Tom Petty doing “Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around.” Great stuff.
The holidays- am I right? I have spent the last couple days in scenic New Haven with my brother and his family and also my parents, who made the trek from my native Cleveland for a few days. It was good times all around, full of lots of meat products, candy, presents, and- when necessary- scotch. For the most part, however, everything was in moderation, at least compared to my usual habits anyway. I am trying to “bring it down” this holiday season, you know, for the camera. Also, I don’t want to buy new pants (unless they are really cool pants, of course, in which case I am happy to pay whatever someone might be asking).
Today, of course, is Boxing Day over in England, Canada, and probably some other places too. As I once understood it, Boxing Day is the day when you take all the stuff in your house that you don’t want, put it in boxes (thus the name), and then give it to some poor bastard who could use all that stuff more than you could. A few years ago, however, a Canadian girl explained to me that Boxing Day is really just a day to hang out and “get fucked up and stuff” and that no one really puts all that much stuff in boxes anymore, even if they are bored. She then went on to tell me how she had a nasty coke hangover and she was really glad her shift at the coffee shop was not that long that day, which, of course, reminded me that there are many ways to celebrate a holiday- you just have to find the way that’s right for you.
I should mention that I am riding on the Metro-North train from New Haven to Grand Central as I type this. It is a crowded train but- in an effort to keep anyone from sitting next to me- I have whipped my dick out. No, just kidding. But it’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard. I really don’t like when people sit next to me on the train, especially when I’m typing on my laptop about whipping my dick out and it’s not all that hard to look at my computer if you are sitting right next to me.
As long as I’m on the topic of riding on a crowded train, I should point out that someone who just got on at the last stop, Bridgeport, seems to have a thing for wearing pee-stained clothes. As I look around for suspects, the smart money is on the old lady across the aisle to my left. I say this not to suggest that old people are always the first ones to point the finger at when the stench of pee is in the air (my experiences with small children, prom dates, and chimps has taught me not to rule out anyone). It’s just that this woman in particular has that vibe about her, that look on her face that seems to say “I don’t have any hang-ups whatsoever about wearing pee-stained clothes. In fact, I think I feel a little something coming on right now.”
Uh oh, we’re at another stop now. More people coming. Maybe I really should whip my dick out.
Today I write to you from beyond the grave. No, just kidding. I just thought it would be fun to start this entry that way. And it was.
Anyway, the past couple days have been pretty action-packed as usual, exept for yesterday, when I pretty much lied around all day. Wednesday night was the South Toward Home benefit at the Blender Theater. It was good times. The bill was really great- David Cross, Janeane Garofalo, Mary Lynn Rajskub, Jon Oliver, Christian Finnegan, John Roberts, Andy Blitz, and me, Dave Hill. I was kind of intimidated to be on a bill with such great people, but hopefully I did okay. No one pelted me with rocks or garbage or anything, so I’m taking it as a win for now. I guess I will have to check the blogs.
As one might expect, everyone on the show Wednesday was funny as balls (I mean all the other people. I can’t speak for myself. That is for the people to decide, dammit). I especially enjoyed John Roberts, whom I didn’t recognize until he taped his nose up with scotch tape and then I totally realized I had seen him perform before at Pu Pu Platter with my friend Mike Albo. The video above is of one of John playing his mother. It’s great stuff. At the end of the show my rock band Valley Lodge played some rock songs to clear out the building, so that was fun times too.
Anyway, after the show, a bunch of us show folks headed out to the Black Rabbit, which is my favorite bar in North America probably (Fuck you, “Cheers”-themed bar at the Cleveland Hopkins International Airport- it’s over!). If you like sitting around and drinking and talking stuff, you should totally go fuck that place up because they are set up for that kind of shit like a motherfucker. I might have mentioned this here before, but they have these cool things there called snugs, which are booths with doors on them so you can have a little privacy while you hang out with your friends or maybe try to finger someone or something. I mean, hey, why not? It’s Saturday. The snugs are also nice because the door blocks people’s butts from coming too close to your face if they are standing around the bar. I like that. If I’m gonna have someone’s ass in my face I want it to be on my own terms. The snugs also have a push button service light so you can totally get a waiter to come over and get some more drinks up in there without having to wave your arms around or anything. Isn’t that nice? Sure it is. Okay, that is all I have to say about snugs and the snugs lifestyle as of this writing. I went a few too many stops on the party train on Wednesday, so I was a bit roughed up yesterday. I am blaming Lagavulin, the popular Scotch that tastes like someone doused a log cabin in gasoline, threw a match on it, let it burn to the ground, and then poured it into a glass just for me, Dave Hill. In short, it is delicious. Usually, I like to have just one sort of drink like this and then stack a beer or two on either side of it. But the gloves were off on Wednesday and I kind of overdid it in the good times department. I mention all of this not to suggest that I encourage or condone the party lifestyle. I am just typing. Fuck it. But you should really try that Lagavulin stuff. Just a few sips and you will really feel like you have something to say to anyone who will listen.
In other news, yesterday I spent a little time listening to TLC, one of the greatest groups of all time. Above is a video for their incredible song “No Scrubs.” R.I.P. Left-Eye. I miss those girls, dammit. Chilli was always my favorite. She could call me up right now and tell me to jump in front of a bus and I would totally do it. Thanks to Wikipedia, I found out that she is now in the bag business. You can check out her bags here. Is there anything this girl can’t do? I don’t think so. Damn, I wann a do that girl’s laundry.
Okay, it’s off to the witch for me. More on this and other topics later.
Get it? My friend Meredith took this picture at the Apple store. Now it's sweeping the Internet. I wonder if anyone tried to butt in on their conversation. Get it? I am red-hot today.
If you are New York City this Wednesday, you should totally come to the South Toward Home benefit above. As hinted at on the flyer above, the show will feature the comedic stylings of David Cross, Janeane Garofalo, Jon Oliver, Mary Lynn Rajskub, Christian Finnegan, and me, Dave Hill. And then at the end of the show, my rock band Valley Lodge is going to come out and play some of the hits. It's gonna be a scorcher. Please come or I'll cut myself.
It was an action-packed weekend this weekend, full of all sorts of rocking and rolling and general asskicking and whatnot. The mayhem started on Saturday when- for the second time in the past year- I played an S&M-like sex fiend on a television pilot (That is not me in the photo above. I just put that there for dramatic effect). I’m not sure exactly what it is about me that makes people think I’d be good at playing a crazy sex fiend, but it is nice to get out of the house for a few hours and be around one of those showbiz snack tables with all the candy and cookies and stuff, so I’m happy to have the work. The good times continued on Saturday night when my friend Will took me to see Neil Young at the United Palace Theater up there on 175th Street and Broadway. Before the show, we ate the fuck out of some sushi at Sasabune on the “anything goes” Upper East Side. The sushi as Sasabune is omakase style, which means that the chef gives you whatever he feels like and you tell him to stop once your stomach is about to explode. Sasabune is the best sushi I have ever had in New York except for the California roll at D’Agostino’s. Just kidding. That was a hilarious sushi joke I just made. Seriously though, Sasabune is really great. They don’t need my help putting asses in the seats though- I just mention it here in case you feel like going to eat the fuck out of some sushi and want to do it the Dave-way.
After we finished eating the fuck out of some sushi, my friend Will and I headed uptown for the Neil Young concert. The United Palace Theater is a really ornate old theater where everything is covered in gold. It’s the kind of place where you can’t help but put out a little extra effort not to pee on the floor in the men’s room because you think the ghosts of showbiz past might come down and smack you for messing up the place. It’s really classy-like and was the perfect spot to see someone like Neil Young rifle through his drawer of hits, which is exactly what he did. For the first half of the show, Neil played solo on guitar, harmonica, and piano. Then- after a twenty minute intermission- Neil came out and rocked out with his band. Throughout the show, a guy was working on paintings about Neil’s songs and would come out and put a different one on an easel at the foot of the stage at the beginning of each song. It was cool shit. Our seats were really good too, so we could see and hear everything just right. Since I am into rocking and rolling myself, it was fun to check out all of Neil’s guitar gear. It’s quite a setup and sounds great (That’s Neil’s famous Les Paul, “Old Black,” above). I found an interesting interview with Neil’s guitar tech, Larry Cragg, here. Larry was at the show on Saturday and was scrambling around on stage like Neil was gonna beat him wiith a stick after the show if he didn’t get everything sorted out just right. It was fun to watch.
Neil and his band were great on Saturday, but the crowd- mostly folks in their 40’s and 50’s it seemed- were highly annoying. They all seemed like they didn’t get out much and didn’t really know how to deal with being in a crowd. In the lobby and bar areas, fat men in Dockers and women in mom jeans pushed and shoved their way around with a bizarre sense of entitlement. Before the show, an announcement was made that Neil Young would like the audience to refrain from shouting out song titles during the show. Folks did it all night anyway, of course. Even worse were the drunken old dickheads trying to yell out something clever during the silence in between songs seemingly in hopes that Neil would acknowledge them in some way. “Dude, Neil totally gets me!,” the old dickhead will say to friends on the drive back to Jersey after the show. “I bet we’d be great friends if I ever got the chance to hang with him. What kind of weed do you think he smokes? I bet Neil totally has the best weed. You know he has the best weed! I would love to smoke weed with Neil and just, you know, talk about shit. Neil would be thrilled to hang with a guy who totally get hims like I do.” Then the old dickhead in Dockers will head to Guitar Center in the morning and drop $10,000 on a brand new guitar that was made to look like its been played on the road for the last 30 years.
The most annoying old douche of all on Saturday was the guy a couple rows behind me who kept yelling out to Neil “Never sell out, baby! Never sell out!” At 62 years old, I’m sure Neil was grateful for the advice. “In between songs, I told Neil to never sell out!,” the old douche will tell his co-workers at State Farm on Monday morning. “It was awesome!” Despite all my complaining in these last couple paragraphs, I really enjoyed the show though. Last night, the good times continued at Joe’s Pub where my friend Lucy Wainwright Roche had a big sold-out show celebrating her 26th birthday. I played bass with Lucy and played the comedic comedy video below. Also bringing the heat on Lucy’s B-day show was her father Loudown Wainwright, Martha Plimpton, David Rakoff, Lucy’s cousin Sam McTavey, and Lucy’s aunt Sloan Wainwright. A highlight for me was when Lucy, drummerman Joel Frost, and I all got to play “When I’m At Your House” along with Loudon Wainwright. The drawing above is by Michael Arthur, the official Joe’s Pub artist. He does an entire ink drawing while watching whatever show is going on. Cool shit. And I think he really got my hair right.
After the Joe’s Pub show, we all headed over the M&R Bar on the Bowery and drank stuff and ate birthday cake for a while. Good times, good times. I hope we do it again next year.
What the F? Suddenly- and when I least expected it- I have been attacked by moths in my very own apartment. I should have known something was up when I started to see a little moth or two flying around every once in a while (even though the weather is cold and my windows are closed all the time). But I assumed they were just hanging out because I am a slob or and they enjoyed the “anything goes” sort of environment I tend to have going in my tiny apartment. As it turns out, however, the moths have totally been eating the fuck out of my sweaters. The nerve of those little bastards- I thought that only happened in olden times. Yesterday, I went out to get moth balls so I could take back the night on those fuckers. I’ll let you know what happens. This shit is serious over here.
Here is something exciting. A nice fellow by the name of Adam Sacks totally drew a caricature of me and then sent it to me. I don't think I've ever seen a caricature of myself before this one, not even at an amusement park or anything (though I'm sure there are some people that would argue that I have already become a caricature of myself. Get it?), so I was pretty excited to get this. I was also kind of suprised to see how much I kind of look like Jackie Mason. Anyway, I thought I would share this with you, person on the Internet. Hopefully one day someone will do a big oil painting of me and it can hang in a haunted house or something. "I swear I just saw the eyes move," a person from the future will say. And then I will haunt their dreams and also maybe watch them take a shower. I know that sounds creepy, but that's just how it goes in the ghost world.
Mondays- am I right? It’s cold and gray outside and I am using that as an excuse to kick slightly less ass than I normally tend to kick on a regular basis. Anyway, yesterday I was watching an old episode (1971) of “The Dick Cavett Show” (in the popular DVD format) that featured the Smothers Brothers, George Burns (and his toupee), and nutritionist Adelle Davis. If you’ve never seen “The Dick Cavett Show,” I suggest you pick up one of the DVDs immediately. It was such a great show and unlike anything on television today. Dick’s show featured an eclectic mix of guests (When was the last time you saw a nutritionist on a late night talk show, for example?) engaging in a seemingly natural and unscripted conversation that wasn’t centered around promoting a new movie or TV show. I wish there were something like it on TV today. Untl then, I’ll keep watching these DVDs, dammit. Shit. Piss. F. Particularly interesting on the episode of “The Dick Cavett Show” was the conversation with nutritionist Adelle Davis (pictured above, she was into tennis apparently). Even though the conversation took place 36 years ago, it turns out the keys to eating right were pretty much the same back then as they are today. The general rule is to stay away from bullshit (refined and overprocessed foods). The problem is bullshit tends to be delicious. I know because I eat a lot of it. Adelle Davis, on the other hand, didn’t eat much bullshit. Still, that didn’t stop her from dying at the age of 70, just three years after she was on “The Dick Cavett Show.” As of today, I have started eating just slightly healthier though thanks to Adelle. And with any luck I will beat Adelle’s lifespan by at least a couple weeks. That is the plan anyway. Unless, of course, I die in a plane crash or a sword fight. Then I could go at any time really. Life is unpredictable. Cherish every moment. In other news, today I got an e-mail from a guy who used to be in the Atlanta Rhythm Section. It turns out he saw my post from yesterday and just wanted to say thanks. How cool is that? Maybe I will try writing about Rip Taylor (above) soon and see what happens. Life is unpredictable. Cherish every moment- especially if Rip Taylor e-mails you, which would be so awesome that it’s not even fucking funny. In the interest of full disclosure, however, I must admit that I did once get a phone call from Rip Taylor (true story) and it was incredible. If his e-mail skills are half as good as his phone skills, well, let’s just say I really cannot wait to get that e-mail from Rip Taylor.
Finally, here is a video by the popular sketch comedy troupe Dutch West. I am totally friends with them and I am totally in this video. I hope you enjoy it so much. You are the best. And Rip Taylor is awesome and should feel free to write me any time. I would be thrilled. Wait- one last thing. I’ve just read the setlist from Led Zeppelin’s show tonight in London. My friend Will was there and said they were awesome. I wish I had been there. They are the best band ever period. I’m sure this has been posted all over the Internet already, but here’s what they played:
1. Good Times, Bad Times 2. Ramble On 3. Black Dog 4. In My Time Of Dying 5. For Your Life 6. Trampled Under Foot 7. Nobody's Fault But Mine 8. No Quarter 9. Since I've Been Loving You 10. Dazed and Confused 11. Stairway To Heaven 12. The Song Remains the Same 13. Misty Mountain Hop 14. Kashmir
I have totally been getting into the Atlanta Rhythm Section (or ARS as they are known to the diehards and- I’m guessing- the guys in the band too) lately. For the uninitiated, the Atlanta Rhythm Section is a band that formed in 1970 in Atlanta (as hinted at in their name). They had a string of hits back in the day when pop songs were sung by real men with beards (and/or other forms of facial hair) who actually sang like men (e.g. Walter Egan’s “Magnet and Steel”) instead of singing like boys who still live with their parents or- at the very least- have several roommates. My favorite songs by the Atlanta Rhythm Section are “So Into You,” “Spooky” (a cover of the song originally done by the Classic IV, some of whose members went on to form the Atlanta Rhythm Section), and “Imaginary Lover” (this is their best one in my opinion).
Because of an iTunes purchasing mishap I had the other night, I now own a whole shitload of songs by the Atlanta Rhythm Section, so I’ve really been digging a lot deeper into their catalog than I had originally planned. Still, I’m loving it just the same. It’s the kind of sound that magically transports you to the wood-paneled bar of some old motel just a few hundred yards off the exit of a highway you’re not sure how you turned onto in the first place. Somehow your hair just got a little wavier and you find yourself sipping an Old Grand Dad on the rocks from a chipped red glass. And with every moment, the idea of bumming a Winston from the Farrah Fawcett lookalike sitting next to you in hopes of starting up a conversation that will hopefully end with her in your bed and you in her pants starts seeming better and better. Of course, most of the wood-paneled motel bars I speak of only in exist in the mind or in movies these days due to the neverending homogenization/lame-ification of America. But still one can dream. And thanks to all these songs by the Atlanta Rhythm Section I now have on my computer, it just got a lot easier for me.
The video above is for ARS’ “Imaginary Lover” and it’s really something. I like how even back in their heyday the band looked like they had just gotten back together for a reunion tour of state fairs and BBQ rib cook-offs. It’s amazing what a little facial hair, a few extra pounds, and a belt buckle can do for a man. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this song and video as much as I have. And thank you, Atlanta Rhythm Section. You have rocked me.
Hi there. If you are looking for some excitement and/or mayhem tomorrow night, I encourage you to swing by the popular Comix comedy club over there on 14th Street and 9th Avenue for a comedy show benefit for Stockings With Care, a fine organization. It will be a fun and entertaining night featuring the lovely Jessi Klein, the lovely Eugene Mirman, the lovely Giulia Rozzi, the lovely Anthony DeVito, and even more people besides them. Also, as hinted at on the flyer above, I will be there too. You should totally come or I will freak out like a motherfucker.
There are many reasons I think New York City as we know (or have known) it is over (and yes, I realize this is by no means an original insight). But perhaps nothing sums it up better than the fact that right now, as I type this, some douche is parked in front of my apartment building cranking a song by the "rock band" Train at full volume, sending it echoing throughout my neighborhood. Fuck him for doing so and, furthermore, fuck me for being able to accurately identify a Train song. The question is "What do we do now?" What if we each agreed to send a garbage can crashing through the front window of the next La Pain Quotidien we pass? Or we each make a point of tripping a fratboy in the East Village or punching some douche in the crotch over in the Meatpacking District at least once a week? At least it would be a start. Remember Whoville. We can do it.
It is Tuesday night and I’ve just returned from eating the fuck out of some Chinese food at Mama Buddha, which is the Chinese food place totally near my house. I was hoping to make it to the gym as part of my incredible new fitness regimen, but I ended up eating a big pile of Mongolian chicken instead. Now I feel like anything is possible. Just not for me. In other news, it is cold as balls outside and I just can’t stop talking about it. I have a super serious winter jacket that I only break out once it’s seriously cold as balls outside. I figured I wouldn’t have to break it out until February or something but boy was I wrong about that because- as I mentioned in the last sentence- it is seriously cold as balls outside. And honestly I simply cannot stop talking about it. I wonder how those guys who sell the Christmas trees all night on the corner near my apartment do it. I also can’t figure out how they have a little kid in a cowboy hat hanging out with them all the time either. Doesn’t he have to go to school? Maybe they are gypsies or in a cult or something. I imagine if you are a gypsy or in a cult you can pretty much do whatever you want (you know, within reason). Oh wait, actually that might not be true if you are in a cult. I hope the kid in the cowboy hat isn’t in a cult. But it must be a pretty cool cult if you get to wear a cowboy hat all the time. In still other news, today I submitted my spotty and not at all thorough “Best of 2007” music list to the popular Brooklyn Vegan website and they totally posted that shit right here. Go read it and then you can read all the nasty comments people left after my little list. Man, people can be so mean on the Internet! Geez!
Finally, above is one of the more incredible music videos I have seen in a long time. Not surprisingly, it is a Norwegian black metal video as I am a sucker for that sort of thing. This one is by the band Gorgoroth and features sheep heads stuck to the ends of spears, naked men and women nailed to crosses, and lots of fire. In short, the guys in Gorgoroth have pretty much nailed it with this one. When future civilizations try to decide what was the greatest music video of our time, it will pretty much be between this one and Sir Mix-a-lot’s “Baby Got Back” video I imagine.
It’s Sunday and the ground is covered with snow for what I think is the first time this season though I could be totally wrong about that. I just can’t remember really. It feels like the first time though, and that’s what really matters here. I walked outside to get coffee around noon and suddenly had the urge to sit around and drink beer and eat hamburgers while wearing a big sweater and watching the snow outside. This is probably because I was walking by the Corner Bistro, where everyone was sitting drinking beer and eating hamburgers while wearing big sweaters and watching the show outside. I am dismissing this is as coincidence though.
Since I live in a glamorous neighborhood, I have seen entire blocks covered in snow at various points of the year because someone was making a movie that is set in the winter time. It’s pretty cool how they can make a whole block look like it has totally been snowing a ton outside. I would have thought that technology was twenty years off. I wonder how the people whose cars are parked on that block feel about digging their cars out of the snow in August though. Here’s to never really knowing for sure. In other news, I read an interesting/amusing/annoying article in the New York Times today about a new nightclub that’s opening in Chelsea soon. I think it’s funny how the guys opening the club feel that the best way to battle all the lame clubs full of douchebags, Lindsay Lohan, and people who look like Lindsay Lohan is to open yet another lame club that will invariably fill up with douchebags, Lindsay Lohan, and people who look like Lindsay Lohan the second it opens. Why don't they just open a La Pain Quotidien while they're at it? And could these guys have posed for a douchier photo? I wonder if they all agreed not to smile beforehand. “Seriously, guys- don’t smile. We have to make sure everyone knows we are total dickheads and smiling might blow that for us. Okay, on the count of three....” The caption for this photo in the Times should have been printed with these guys'addresses at the end so people could go find them and punch them in the nuts. All of that having been said- God, I hope I get into their new club! Maybe I will finally get to meet Fat Joe.
And now for a palate cleanser- here is the new video by Down for their song “On March The Saints.” You can just tell none of the guys in this band are iPod DJ’s on the side and I really respect them for that.
Hi. Here is a video I made for the popular New York Magazine as part of their "Twenty (Intentionally) Funniest Web Videos of 2007" list that I was totally on. I don't think this video in particular is the one they are necessarily referring to by putting me on their list but still I hope you enjoy it so much.
It is Saturday afternoon and I have already committed at least four of the seven deadly sins so far today. I am also out of light bulbs. Other than that I have not been accomplishing as much as I had originally planned. I feel like the next couple hours could be magical though. I am drinking coffee and eating crackers and pretty much anything seems possible. I have a box of Nilla wafers here too but I am on the fence about eating them since I accidentally left them in the bathroom next to the toilet and I am convinced one of my friends might have accidentally peed on them a couple days ago. Pretty soon I am going to have to make a tough decision. Either way, I have learned a life lesson through all of this- never leave Nilla wafers next to the toilet. Nobody wins. In other news, last night I attended an exciting/confusing event called Blip Festival at the Tank in Chelsea. The Blip Festival involved a bunch of people (mostly dudes) standing in a dark warehouse while people on stage played music that was somehow composed incorporating old-school video game technology. There was also a big lightshow going on the whole time. It was very interesting on one level but also a rare form of torture on another, admittedly larger level that tended to overshadow the other level mentioned earlier in this sentence. Still, despite my not totally “getting it,” I’m always glad to see and hear people getting out the house and doing something different (even if it did nearly give me a seizure). We (meaning all of us) need more of this kind of stuff to happen in order fight the continued lameification of North America. Thanks, Blip Festival- together we can make a difference. In other news, I meant to mention this earlier but I did manage to get back to my hometown of Cleveland for Thanksgiving. It was good times for the most part despite it being gray outside most of the time and my mother getting food poisoning that took her out of the picture for a couple days (at this point we are blaming the elusive tilapia fish). I hung out with my family and ate stuff and even managed to see a few friends while I was at it.
The Friday after Thanksgiving, I headed over to the Beachland Ballroom to play bass with Cobra Verde for Chas Fest, which was a benefit for my friend Chas who died a few weeks ago unfortunately. Chas and I played together in Cobra Verde for a couple years back in the ‘90’s and early ‘00’s, so it was fun to play with the band again in his honor. Another highlight of my trip home was hanging out with my friend Bob, who is a full-time police officer and part-time clown. We went and got lunch, he told me about the latest in police work and clown work, and he even let me sit in his police car. It was awesome.
Okay, now I am out of crackers and coffee. It is time to face the truth. I must go for now.
