Buck Hill

What Does This Mean

2007-03-31T15:54:00.000-04:00

Happy Boxing Day

2006-12-26T14:22:00.000-05:00

This Can't Possibly Help My YouTube Browsing

2006-09-17T16:03:00.000-04:00

Can't We Just Ban Grad Students?

2006-08-17T18:34:00.000-04:00

Oh, christ.

I look forward to the installation of NYPD-approved minders at, say, the rockstar bar on Siegel in Bushwick. Or Welcome to the Johnsons. Or, hell, any bar within a half-mile of Washington Square Park.

Imette was 24, right? Did her license have a "should be kept away from sexual predators when drunk" restriction that an optical scanner woulda picked up?

"Today we begin the process of insuring that the safest big city in the world also has the safest nightlife," said Councilman Peter Vallone Jr. (D-Queens), formerly the single least popular guy at Fordham.

Imette Law is Passed [NYP]

Back Monday, I Promise

2006-07-29T17:24:00.000-04:00

And this is what I have to look forward to:

In case you noticed...

2006-07-25T22:40:00.000-04:00

I'm on vacation, by the way. All week in beautiful Minneapolis, Minnesota.

Tattoos

2006-07-20T14:54:00.000-04:00

Dear Washington Mutual,

2006-07-17T00:21:00.000-04:00

Yours,
Alex

Nope, Pretty Much Spot On

2006-07-12T18:42:00.000-04:00

I think that Alex just looks annoying in his photo, cackling with cigarette-laden hand in the air, wrist cocked back. Like someone who would laugh with insufferable vigor at his own jokes. Perhaps he is nothing like this in real life, but that's what his pic conveys to me.

Comment

2006-06-19T19:15:00.000-04:00

You can tut-tut all damn day if you like, but I'm buying a drink for the first person to post my embarrassing Facebook pictures.

Tail of Two Cities

2006-06-18T14:39:00.000-04:00

"Conceived in bankruptcy, the new nation founded its capital city on a site convenient to the purposes of a real estate swindle."
-Lewis Lapham, Money and Class in America

One, after admitting that "New Yorkers are smart, tough, hard working, and a lot of fun" (he neglects to mention our hip, black clothing, and our habit of lapsing into an Italian accent in times of stress), tells us that down South "Unemployment for educated professionals with a good work ethic is essentially zero" ("good work ethic" presumably means "white face and no desire for health care") and invites us to "Move to Texas. Have a baby. Shop at Costco. Vote for Bush." This sort of invitation to reform never ceases to charm us. In return, I invite the commenter to move to New York and start using hard drugs.

-Roy Edroso, Alicublog

Continuing the Fever Dream Theme

2006-06-01T13:19:00.000-04:00

Johnny brings gravity and great sorrow to the story of bird who never should've taken his ones to town.

No, I've Got No Explanation

2006-05-31T23:47:00.000-04:00

Brainknowledgeably Wizzy

2006-05-25T10:23:00.000-04:00

Occasionally, in the course of writing an otherwise unremarkable post, you find yourself reading the wikipedia entry for Flavor Flav. And you see this...

Born in Roosevelt, Long Island, New York, Flav, a classically-trained pianist...

...and that sort of brightens up your morning. In a WTF way.

If I Knew You Were Coming, I'd Have Added Text Ads

2006-05-21T22:31:00.000-04:00

From: [Operative]
To: Alex Pareene
Date: May 21, 2006 2:38 AM
Subject: You better talk to her about it, you're her blogger now

You understand that it was a reference to the fact that the first thing that comes to mind when someone says "internet videos" is porn, and the first funny porn joke I could think of is the ping-pong ball thing, innit? Since when are ping-pong balls a prop used solely by Asian whores? Assuming that that is an actual thing that is done, rather than a really cheap, easy joke? Hell, I would think whores would be above that kind of thing anyway...it's really more of a stripper gimmick.

Anyway, I just enjoy the fact that Malkin thinks I'm the "bottom of the barrel." It's a shame that you have to bear the brunt of the U R SO GAY assault.

I'm sorry if I offended Asians or women in general. I just meant to insult Malkin.

That said, it is kind of funny.

I couldn't resist sharing this minuscule little brouhaha with [old friends] on the way to Grumpy's NE, and their collective response, of course, was, "Who the fuck is Michelle Malkin?"

A Peek Behind the Curtain

2006-05-17T18:53:00.000-04:00

[14:18] David: do you like camping or outdoors-y activities
[14:18] Alex: not particularly.
[14:18] David: ok, good

Job Listing: Intern Needed

2006-05-08T23:13:00.000-04:00

Your chance to be a famous official Wonkette intern! Please save me from having to repost this on Wonkette and wade through 200 unfunny applications for the couple great ones.

Basically: If you applied before, it's 90% likely that no one got back to you and you're pissed and stopped reading in a huff and would like to throw a brick through my window. More power to you! Feel free to submit again!

The job entails: Being online for 1 to (at the most) 3 hours a day every weekday, having a very basic ability to craft a one-liner or at least a sarcastic aside. There may be more responsibilities created, depending on how totally awesome you are and how much you needle me into letting you do more.

So -- send me an email, no attachments, telling me who you are. I recommend sending it to alex [at] wonkette .com, mostly out of my totally futile and quixotic mission to maintain some facade of difference between work and personal life. Ha, right. Good luck.

Benefits: monetarily small, but not non-existent. Also: you're totally invited to karaoke night.

Washington DC residence preferred but not required by any means. College students ditto.

Understanding why this is funny ditto.

Bob Dylan Gets Better Email Than You

2006-04-30T13:25:00.000-04:00

Today's e-mail comes from John Rudolph. ... He writes, "Dear Bob: I've got a hammerhead of a mother-in-law, an ugly, evil-lookin' old woman, so pitiful. She's careworn, drawn and pinched — gaunt and lank. I bought her a new chair, but she won't let me plug it in. She belittles me, depreciates me, disparages me. She downgrades me, berates me, censures me and condemns me, libels me and raps me, dismisses me and rejects me. Could you please play a song for her?" Well, thanks for the letter, John. Your wish is our command.

It's All Right, Ma: Bob Dylan Turns D.J. [NYT]

Down with Cummerbunds

2006-04-30T12:15:00.000-04:00

Hung over.

Missed Ludacris, met Tucker Carlson. Oh, Washington.

WATCHING THIS BEFORE I HAD MY COFFEE HAS RUINED ME FOR THE REST OF THE DAY

2006-04-21T08:59:00.000-04:00

CAB CALLOWAY OMG MAX FLEISCHER WTF DOG BOYFRIEND ROTOSCOPING I WANT TO DANCE LIKE THAT

Ineffectual? Sure. But No Way Is He Worse Than John Fucking Kyl

2006-04-17T12:00:00.000-04:00

From Time's list of the "Worst Senators":

In February [Mark] Dayton, 59, made another notable blunder. The Mayo Clinic, which is in Rochester, Minn., was opposed to a South Dakota — based company's plan to expand its railroads into Rochester because it would mean dozens of trains passing by the clinic each day. Dayton told FORTUNE magazine the Mayo Clinic is "worth a hell of a lot more than the whole state of South Dakota." He later apologized for the remark.

Correction: That remark actually makes him the best Senator.

FUCK YES

2006-04-01T22:06:00.000-05:00

Skydome Lounge - The area's only revolving roof top lounge with the best view of Washington, DC. Opens daily at 4:30 pm. Hungry Hour Buffet Monday - Friday 5:00 pm - 7:00 pm. Dancing nightly - cover charge. DJ Thursday through Saturday. Karaoke every Wednesday and Sunday

Had I Known Then What I Know Now, I Would've Started With a Funny CNN Headline

2006-03-28T23:43:00.000-05:00

Hey, I passed right by the 2nd Anniversary of Buck Hill, America's Number One Resource for bi-monthly uninteresting music news and in-jokes (I did manage to mark the occasion with a single-link post to a Harper's article -- dudes, no one pays me to write this shit, yr lucky when you get that).

Anyways, I'll use this brief foray into the world of the first-person to say that it's been a fucking weird two years.

And finally, a brief gripe: Please don't send press releases to my gmail address. I read everything that is sent to Wonkette, I promise. Anything else is cool, I like getting email, but press releases just piss me off.

Confidential to DC: Seriously, good pizza by the slice. All I want. And I'm not going to fucking Georgetown or something for it. Also: Where can I sing karaoke Steely Dan on a weeknight? That, I feel, more than meaningful romantic companionship, more than a sense of pride in my work, more than the ability to affect positive change in this fucked-up world, is all I really need right now. If you can help with those other things, though, let me know.

Quick! Who In this Photo No Longer Works In the Music Industry?

2006-03-28T19:39:00.000-05:00

The Replacements (sort of) have reformed (sort of).

This is like the best news of the day.

Yes! Yes! A Thousand Times, Yes!

2006-03-28T09:10:00.000-05:00

Hi, I'm Done Being Part of the Zeitgeist, Thanks

2006-03-23T09:25:00.000-05:00

I am torn.

On the one hand, I want to shoot myself in the face. On the other, I kind of need someone to buy me everything on this page. Someone who hates me intensely.

Bloggers Blends Gifts [Worst Human Beings On Earth, Including Terrorists]

Why Doesn't It Rain When I'm Sad?

2006-03-09T14:03:00.000-05:00

Just in case you're curious, massive technical problems across the entire Gawker Media network today. So -- slow day over at Wonkette. Sorry, folks, and not much to add here except that Clap Your Hands Say Yeah was boring and I'm superexcited about having illegally downloaded Devils Rats and Piggies the other day, thus completing my collection of Mekons recordings from years 1978-1993 and 1998-present. Still working on the '90s. Though it seems a bit like the '90s to the Mekons were the '80s to Dylan (flashes of the old billiance amidst failed experiments), but without Dylan's recurring laziness/disinterest in the material.

(aaaaaand it looks like we're back over there, so I'm back to work)

Oy, Oy, Oy

2006-03-04T23:21:00.000-05:00

Aaaarrrrgghhh

2006-03-04T23:05:00.000-05:00

You already did this.

Oh, what the fuck do I care, I don't live there anymore.

Other People's Moms Are Concerned About, Like, Whether They're Eating Well, Right?

2006-03-02T11:57:00.000-05:00

From yesterday's Post live discussion:

Minneapolis, Minn.: You both moved from New York to D.C. Does D.C. feel provincial, like it seems to those of us outside the beltway? How are you going to avoid trading access for your integrity, will it be a struggle?
[...]
Alex Pareene: As a Minneapolitan myself, I'd just like to say: Hi, mom.

And from last night's inbox:

[Mom] to me
did my email address show up or did you just know it was me because I am so concerned about you and David?

Sadly, my grandfather's question about blogger ethics and responsibility didn't make it past the moderators.

I Mean, How Fucking Awesome Is the Line About Screamin Like a White Lady? Fuck! What An Awesome Song!

2006-02-25T22:07:00.000-05:00

It is very very important that you watch this video and then immediately download the song and then buy the album when it comes out because this is the most killer Prince porn-funk jam since "Kiss."

We Invented the Remix

2006-02-23T11:14:00.000-05:00

Best article ever.

It's An (Undeserved) Honor Just To Be Nominated

2006-02-07T16:43:00.000-05:00

Hey, who the hell went and nominated me for a Koufax? Thanks, though this poor blog is more or less abandoned at this point. Go throw Wampum some cash to keep it going, and vote for Norbizness or Roxanne or someone else more deserving than I.

Plus, It's Located Over a Sports Apparel Store -- For Your Convenience!

2006-01-20T16:59:00.000-05:00

Have I got an offer for you!

How'd you like to live in a bedroom formerly occupied by an editor of popular internet web log "wonkette.com"? In beautiful ~~Bushwick~~ East Williamsburg? It's got high ceilings, a closet, comes furnished with a slightly ratty chair, and it can be yours by, like, the end of the week.

Only a short walk to the L or the J/M, some of the most reliable lines in the entire subway system! Compared to, say, the G!. Which you're also a couple blocks from!

Anyway, it's cheap. Email me. 'Cause where the hell are you living now, huh? That old dump? And for how much? Seriously, come on over here, I'll take you to the rock star bar, you can meet your greasy new neighbors.

It Fits Me To a T

2006-01-04T16:06:00.000-05:00

So, I asked my boss. They're keeping the sassy-librarian-with-encephalitis cartoon. If it bugs you, pretend I'm the cat. Though, to be frank, I think I look a little more like the not-supposed-to-be-Ana-Marie drawing than Lat does. I'll petition Denton to put Ms. Mascot in a ratty bathrobe and add bags under her eyes for accuracy's sake. If they ever let Denton back into the US, of course.

Please direct your preemptive declarations that Wonkette sucks now to davidignatius@washpost.com

Service Journalism

2005-12-19T17:39:00.000-05:00

Riders of the Q18 bus in Astoria, Queens, were not aware that the buses were on strike.

Union Chief Warns of Citywide Transit Walkout Tonight [NYT]

Is This That "Grime" Thing They All Talk About?

2005-12-19T16:43:00.000-05:00

Like everyone else with a brain who isn't friends with comedians, I haven't watched SNL in years. But this is actually pretty damn funny.

The Year in Talky-Shouty White Guy Rock Albums

2005-12-18T22:41:00.000-05:00

Let's get one thing straight -- you're a white guy. Probably a white guy who thinks he's clever, too. And you've always been a white guy who thinks he's clever. And, thanks to that clever thing, you've always liked what you call "smart" or "literate" or "indie" rock music. Of course, you occasionally profess your love for mainstream hip-hop and electronic/dance music (or perhaps you profess your strong admiration for one, while dismissing the other), but at the end of the day, you go home and put on Spoon. Or Pavement. Or the New Pornographers. Or The Mountain Goats, if you think you're very clever but also sentimental.

Ever since you were a kid, your love of "smart," "literate" rock music (or, egads, "indie-pop!"), has made you wish that you could be a performer of said music. Because you are "smart" and "literate," after all, and what do these guys got that you don't got? That's the point of indie -- anyone can do it! Alas, you can't really sing. But hell, you don't need to sing! You're even cleverer than Britt Daniel or Stephen Malkmus!

This is where Talky-Shouty White Guy Rock Albums come in. The Talky bit is to demonstrate the importance of the lyrics ("literate!") and remind you of how clever the songwriter is. The Shouty bit is because you are "rock and roll." 2005 was a fantastic year for Talky-Shouty White Guy Rock Albums -- maybe one of the best since Bob Dylan invented the genre in 1965. Here's our brief ranking of the year's offerings for the melodically-impaired:

•LCD Soundsystem, LCD Soundsystem
James Murphy made an album specifically designed for critics to flip their shit over. It's that simple. He's 35 or something, his music is entirely pastiche, he's both underground and a known, established commodity (thanks to DFA and his production work for/remixes of every danceable, electronically-enhanced New York rock band). And, by the way, he doesn't sing. He talks and shouts, sort of. In a nasally voice. He claims it's a Mark E. Smith impression (rock critic gold!), but if it is, it's not as convincing as his Eno impression on the last track or his Suicide impression on the first half of "Movement." Truth be told, his talky-shouty voice sounds more like early Beck (uncool reference point -- critics politely looked the other way). Still, LCD Soundsystem, though they did release the single cleverest single of the last 5 years ("Losing My Edge"), are, in the end, more concerned with inducing dancing in listeners than impressing them with clever dickery. 3/5 Spoilt Victorian Children (boosted from 2.5 due to Mr. Murphy's acknowledgment of his ripping off Mark E. Smith).

•Art Brut, Bang Bang Rock and Roll
Outta nowhere, the English infected us with like 50 guitar bands that all kinda sounded the same but had interesting stories, like they were all 12 years old or they had recorded one single in their basements 12 minutes after learning to play their instruments, or they were Franz Ferdinand in bear suits or something. But only one group tapped into the rich English history of ultra-clever talky-shouty white guy rock -- Art Brut. Their first single ("Formed a Band," which sounds uncannily like a cheerful, apolitical Crass) stated it rather clearly (and loudly): "And yes, this is my singing voice, it's not irony, it's not rock 'n' roll, we're just talking, to the kids!" Also, Art Brut, (rightly) fearing the praise of rock critics, actively taunted them by recording a song about how they hate the Velvet Underground and generally sounding (extremely) half-assed. 4/5 Elastic Men (shy of a perfect score due to "singer" Eddie Argos' citation of Jonathan Richman as a major influence)

•The Hold Steady, Separation Sunday
Craig Finn's been rocking the talky-shouty bit since the mid-'90s, shortly after he realized he did a very poor Stephen Malkmus impression. And this is his masterpiece. He not only shouts, but he shouts over every second of the record, even opening the album by shouting over no musical accompaniment. Finn is of the loquacious school -- his shouting is supposed to make you think that he has so much to say and it's so important, that he has to say it very quickly and loudly to get it all out before the guitarist gets bored and goes home. And he hits the "literate" bit pretty damn strong, name-checking Nelsen Algren and Yeats and William Blake (on one song!) and writing an album-long narrative. 4.5/5 Jews on Motorbikes (.5 for the Springsteen thing. Sorry, Craig.)

•The Fall, Fall Heads Roll
Look-ah! The Fall put-ah outah ah-nother albumah! Markah E. Smithah shouts ah cover-ah ahf "I Can Hear the Grass Grow!" He shouts-ah about Heathraw Airport! He shouts-ah Football scoresah on the BBC-ah! His musical accompaniment is only slightly more accomplished than Art Brut's (and the band members are about the same age), but that's not really the point. It's the Fall. It's Mark E. Smith. He's talking and shouting. 5/5 Peel Sessions.

Leather Jacket Lovers

2005-12-17T16:53:00.000-05:00

Everything here is brilliant.

Silver Jews and Nico

2005-12-16T13:52:00.000-05:00

Earth-shattering news, ladies and gentlemen: We have Silver Jews tour dates and tickets are onsale right now.

03/10 40 Watt, Athens, GA
03/11 The Earl, Atlanta, GA
03/12 Grey Eagle, Asheville, NC
03/16 Satellite Ballroom, Charlottesville, VA
03/17 Webster Hall, New York, NY
03/19 Middle East, Boston, MA
03/21 First Unitarian Church, Philadelphia, PA
03/22 Ottobar, Baltimore, MD
03/25 Blind Pig, Ann Arbor, MI

Webster Hall tickets available through the fee-charging fuckers at TicketWeb. GO NOW.

We Really Ought To Close the Borders

2005-12-16T02:14:00.000-05:00

"I just moved here from Texas," Mr. Cuevas, 25, said, clutching two pillows.

"I'm not sure how to get around," he said, adding, "We don't have unions or strikes in Texas."

Racing Off Trains in Uncertain Hope of Making Connections [NYT]

Maybe I Can Carpool With the Fixed-Gear Assholes

2005-12-15T23:28:00.000-05:00

Godfuckingdammit, don't they know it's Holiday Party season? Do they care that I have no less than three holiday parties to make an appearance at tomorrow? How the hell am I supposed to get in from Bushwick? Hang out with the guerilla-hat-wearing drainpipe-jeaned noize fuckers at the rock star bar?

NO THANKS.

UPDATE: Crisis sorta averted, kinda? Whatevs. I'll be across the country on my winter holiday road trip by the time Tuesday rolls around.

What I Want for Christmas

2005-11-28T23:32:00.000-05:00

Pogues tickets.
A tattoo of this.
This.
A couple nice cymbals (crash, ride, hi-hats, the whole shebang -- thick as a Sunday Times, I hit 'em pretty hard).

If anyone wants to buy me any of the items on this list, I will gladly provide my address upon request.

I'm completely serious.

Also, Doesn't It Distract the Hell Out of Drivers?

2005-11-17T20:11:00.000-05:00

You maniacs! You blew it up! Damn you! DAMN YOU ALL TO HELL!

"Can't too much go wrong next to a big statue of Jesus," said one member of the church, James Nelms, 23.

The idea of remoção is nothing new to Rio de Janeiro, where nearly 20% of the population, a million people, now live in about 750 slums. During the 19th century, town planners forced thousands from the slums of central Rio in a bid to turn the city into a "tropical Paris". In the 1960s, the politics of removal again came to the fore as favelas were bulldozed in the city's south zone and their residents sent to the housing projects on its outskirts. Forgotten by the city's politicians, many of the projects, like Cidade de Deus or City of God, underwent a process of favelização or "favelisation", and are now controlled by drug-trafficking gangs.

Related

I'm Also Working on Spellchecking My Posts

2005-11-14T02:59:00.000-05:00

Google referral of the day:

"some goddam relevent commentary"

I'm working on it, man. I'm working on it.

Mad Money

2005-11-10T14:15:00.000-05:00

As I was saying, the news that Dan Rather is profiling James Cramer on 60 Minutes does not quite thrill me.

Hey, remember Cramer's flagrant disregard for conflicts of interest as he boosted his hedge fund in mid-'90s columns and tv appearances and denigrated stocks he intended to sell short? And hey, remember his New Republic cover piece from '96 when he cheered on AT&T for laying off 40,000 people, sending their share prices skyrocketing? He thanked the workers for creating such awesome wealth, and then recommended that the stock market take the place of Social Security and welfare and unemployment benefits. And then his own IPO made him filthy rich, then it tanked. And he still has his own goddam TV show. HOW CONSISTENTLY WRONG DO YOU HAVE TO BE?

Seriously, what do you have to do to be blackballed from cable news? How many times to you have to resign in disgrace or be proven disasterously wrong before you're not welcome on Hardball? Would Dick Morris, Newt Gingrich, G. Gordon Liddy, and Pat Robertson have to actually kill a man in cold blood and in Prime Time before the producers stop calling? Or would it have to be an attractive white woman? Will Peter Braunstein be hitting the speaking circuit with Judy Miller next year? Maybe he can give a talk at the Pajamas Media launch party!

Ambitious Young Lawyers in Clean-Shaven Shocker!

2005-11-09T15:21:00.000-05:00

Every week in New York media another lengthy piece is published somewhere that gives a detailed portrait of a group of people whose existence you may not have known about before, but who you now hate with an intense passion. This week, it's "The Little Supremes," rich young people with law degrees and megalomaniac ambition. Here's a fun one:

Rachel Barkow, 34, an associate professor at N.Y.U. Law School, clerked for Justice Antonin Scalia alongside several Little Supremes, serving as the Âcounter-clerkÂÂthe nickname given to the Democrat he hires to sniff out political biases in his arguments.

Ms. Barkow, a memo has arrived from the rest of the country: YOU'RE DOING A SHITTY JOB. Unless your job, having sniffed out said biases, entails underlining those biases, adding a smiley face in the margins next to them, and symbolically burning the 9th Amendment while kicking a gay puppy. In which case, good work, hope you enjoy your judgeship.

Compliments extended also to Anna Shneider-Mayerson for this sentence:

They wear blazers comfortably -- not a lot of beards or nose rings here.

Law partners... with ambitious career goals... dressing conservatively...? BUT THEY ARE UNDER 40 YEARS OLD! WHY DO THEY NOT SPORT BITCHIN' TATTOOS AND PARTICIPATE IN THE ESPN2 "X-GAMES"?

No Enlightenment At the End of the Tunnel

2005-11-08T20:50:00.000-05:00

Happy Election Day! All across the country the folks you helped elect are now entrusted with the responsibility of guiding our fair communities and erasing centuries of human achievement with one 6-4 vote:

In addition, the board rewrote the definition of science, so that it is no longer limited to the search for natural explanations of phenomena.

Whoo! U-S-A! U-S-A!

I bet some Kansans are starting to regret voting a straight Nihilistic Skepticism Party ticket.

I Am the Opposite of Funny

2005-11-07T12:59:00.000-05:00

I won! I won!

Everyone who is anyone is entering Radosh's New Yorker Cartoon Anti-Caption Contest. This week's contest is here.

Remainders

2005-11-02T21:40:00.000-05:00

Bee Dogs (dogs in bee costumes)
Food Safety Music (music about food safety)

Aaaaand We're Off!

2005-11-02T14:31:00.000-05:00

Random Thoughts On the Upcoming Mayoral Election, Mostly Borrowed

2005-11-02T12:33:00.000-05:00

We liberals do so love the nobility of a lost cause. In my darker moments, when, say, I'm scrounging enough change for one ride on the L train (if it's even running, due to the monopolistic, price-gouging MTA's on-going effort to replace its operators with robots), my thoughts on the political landscape of this fair city due come down to, basically, "God, I hate that fucking pasty-faced rich prick."

If, as the smug old cliche says, a conservative is a liberal whose been mugged, a New York liberal might be one who, after having been mugged, returns home to an apartment almost as shitty and just as unaffordable as that of his or her assailant. Anyway, don't forget to vote, you fucking pasty-faced rich pricks.

BREAKING

2005-11-01T18:25:00.000-05:00

BIRMINGHAM OFFICIALLY CUTEST PLACE ON EARTH

(via)

Pitchfork Review Bromide Watch, Day One

2005-11-01T15:41:00.000-05:00

Various Artists
One Kiss Can Lead to Another
[Rhino; 2005]

Celebration of sentimental pop songs as more mature/timeless than rock cliches:

One of the saddest quirks of rock criticism is that the hopes, dreams, and fears of teen girls are frequently considered frolicsome fluff while the rage and defiance of teen boys is miscast as the articulation of free thinkers. And yet, it's the girls-- in part, because they're more likely to function as mouthpieces for adult songwriters-- who examine universal subjects such as love, romance, self-actualization, self-confidence, and personal politics, while young rock bands often simply reject growing up, fight responsibility, and wear that struggle as a badge of pride. Both approaches can work, of course, but unlike a sneer, a kiss never goes out of style.

Defensive support of Rock Crit Cred through measuring of release's importance to the established rock/punk canon, with tacit nod towards "authenticity" of said work and gratuitous namechecking:

In the past 40 years the music featured on One Kiss has served as a touchstone for a wide variety of artists, most notably 1970s New Yorkers (the Ramones, Bruce Springsteen, New York Dolls, Blondie-- even Martin Scorsese), 1980s Brits (the Smiths, Jesus & Mary Chain, the Field Mice, the Cocteau Twins), and contemporary indie stars (Saint Etienne, Magnetic Fields, the Avalanches, the Concretes).

Verdict: This box set sounds totally fucking awesome.

The Loft Boys

2005-10-31T18:37:00.000-05:00

Ah, I skip a week of reading New York and they print a piece outlining the sociological significance of my neighborhood (btwn the Montrose and Morgan stops on the L), from a Williamsburger seething with righteous hipster hate (natch). The, uh, focus of the story wanders a bit once Mr. Graeber and the L-linked neighborhoods run out of bourgeois signifiers, but he gets in some good digs at me and my kind on the way:

Where on Bushwick I had seen a 99-cent store advertising new clothes for low prices, on McKibbin I find a vintage shop selling used T-shirts for twenty times that [The shop in question is actually also on Bushwick, just off McKibbin. -Alex]. There’s graffiti on the buildings here, but the tags and gang marks are now mixed in with what the gallerists call street art: words and cartoons recognizable from Soho and Williamsburg and coffee-table books in the St. Marks Bookshop. What looks like graffiti is actually guerrilla marketing.
[...]
A black skater cruises by in a tight Izod, jeans, and one of those now-ubiquitous Fidel Castro caps. Then a white couple emerges from a car-service Buick with tinted windows. They are dressed as Gregg Allman and Cher circa 1975. And maybe that’s who they are. It certainly seems possible. This hipster island has a Land of the Lost feeling, as if some piece of 1995 Williamsburg had drifted like Madagascar off the main continent.

Hipster island is a fairly common name for my area, which the Times already attempted to define in June. It is (so far, anyway) a narrative of failed gentrification -- the number of business catering to this new crowd hovers around three or four, no new lofts are being converted and the existing ones are filled to capacity, petty street crime has, instead of declining, taken off over the last year, and the neighborhood has no anchor beyond one crummy bar. Everyone's in a band, of course, but there's nowhere to play. And the MTA, for once taking a very positive, principled stand, has cut off the interlopers at the source, by making sure that no L trains ever run this far Friday and Saturday nights. Case in point -- a friend's Halloween party last night featured no Manhattanites, who couldn't be bothered to transfer to a bus halfway thru the journey. The walking-distance turnout topped off at around 13 people.

But to get back to the piece at hand, we note only that every feature writer in New York must have the number of a loquacious and insightful homeless man saved in their phones for when they need a quick, poignant wrap-up to an aimless story.

Someday this war's gonna end...

2005-10-28T14:27:00.000-04:00

This is true. Walking around lower manhattan last night, the maple syrup smell was unmistakable. If that's the smell of biological warfare, bring on The Omega Man.

Vague Space

2005-10-27T17:35:00.000-04:00

Ran the Gawker marathon today, without a partner. Hence, per usual, I'm not particularly talktative. Just go here for funny pictures and here for a devastating and draining story. Sorry about the jarring tonal shift between those two links, but I contain multitudes and all that. Have a glass of water and some crackers to cleanse the palate in between clicks.

THIS JUST IN: The first Malkmus solo album is way better than I remembered. None of the three are as good as Tanglewood Numbers.

Also Why Circulation Keeps Falling

2005-10-26T18:02:00.000-04:00

See, this is precisely why no one trusts the media.

Run Run Run

2005-10-19T16:00:00.000-04:00

Velvet Underground 3D Death Chase.

That is all.

Such a Pleasure to Employ

2005-10-17T15:21:00.000-04:00

And as long as I'm continuing to write about things I wrote about at Gawker, except to an audience of three or four (and hell, why not keep using the funny pictures I found?), here's a bit of today's "Metropolitan Diary":

Although deemed too young to enter kindergarten, the granddaughter of my friend Sue Teich was nevertheless granted an interview at a selected school.

The interviewer asked the child if she could count to 10. The child obeyed and proceeded to count from one to 10 without missing a beat.

"That was excellent," the interviewer said. "Now can you count backward?"

The child turned her back to the interviewer and began again without missing a beat, "One, two, three ..."

If only creativity were the criteria for admission.

Twice. Twice in one fucking cute kid anecdote.

They are mocking me.

The Judy Beat

2005-10-17T14:29:00.000-04:00

Judy does make a rather troublesome Hero to Journalism, doesn't she?

Craig Pyes, a former contract writer for the Times who teamed up with Miller for a series on al Qaeda, complained about her in a December 2000 memo to Times editors and asked that his byline not appear on one piece.

"I'm not willing to work further on this project with Judy Miller," wrote Pyes, who now writes for the Los Angeles Times. He added: "I do not trust her work, her judgment, or her conduct. She is an advocate, and her actions threaten the integrity of the enterprise, and of everyone who works with her . . . She has turned in a draft of a story of a collective enterprise that is little more than dictation from government sources over several days, filled with unproven assertions and factual inaccuracies," and "tried to stampede it into the paper."

Judy's first-person piece in Sunday's Times did end up being a little more interesting than the official one, loaded, as it was, with Reaganesque plausible deniability and Nixonian stonewalling.

And it's made all the more interesting with this little revelation:

The paper's two-story Sunday package--a 5,800-word account of Miller's role in the Valerie Plame affair and Miller's own first-person tale of her conversations with vice-presidential chief of staff I. Lewis (Scooter) Libby--missed the deadline to be included in the bulldog edition, 100,000 copies distributed nationally.

Judy may not be a very good journalist, but she is an exceptionally experienced one -- I think she probably could've made the deadline if she'd really, really wanted to. But, of course, that may have given her colleagues a chance to fact-check her piece and quote the relevant portions with that subtle "WTF?!" tone the Times occasionally trades in when dealing with the especially easily disproved:

It is not clear why. Ms. Miller said in an interview that she "made a strong recommendation to my editor" that an article be pursued. "I was told no," she said. She would not identify the editor.

Ms. Abramson, the Washington bureau chief at the time, said Ms. Miller never made any such recommendation.

Oh, the fun never ends.

"Drinking games seem to be most popular among college students"

2005-10-16T16:22:00.000-04:00

Beer pong. On the cover the New York Times.

Some games are based on luck and revolve around cards and dice. A few are simply organized binges, like "Edward 40-Hands," in which players tape 40-ounce malt liquor bottles to their hands. Others, like flippy cup and beer pong, take a little skill.

Edward 40-Hands. In the New York Times. Preserved forever in Proquest for the edification of our hard-partying descendents.

New York Times, I love you. All is forgiven.

Oh, and that Judy Miller article's a trip too.

I Really Need To Get Away From My Computer For a Year Or Two

2005-10-13T17:44:00.000-04:00

This is like the greatest thing I've ever read.

Simon and Garfunkel Sing "Spoilt Victorian Child"

2005-10-09T21:11:00.000-04:00

Sir Elton John is joining a group of musicians recording a tribute song to the late DJ John Peel.

He will sing and play piano on a cover of the Buzzcocks hit Ever Fallen in Love, alongside The Who's Roger Daltrey and Led Zeppelin's Robert Plant.

There is no possible sarcastic comment to add to this news that would do it justice. None. All one can do is ask if there is anything they could do to make it something John Peel would be more musically offended by. Add Eric Clapton and make it a Fall song, maybe.

BBC radio, October 10. That's tomorrow, kids. Mark your calendars.

UPDATE: Listen here, everyone! It debuts at 8:10 a.m. British Summer Time, or 3:10 a.m. EST.

UPDATE2: It was surprisingly not quite awful. The Futureheads or whomever-the-hell played it basically note for note, and the wall of sound of "Ever Fallen In Love," one of the greatest Buzzcocks songs, masked the rock dinosaur vocal histrionics just enough to make it tolerable.

Blog Blog Blog

2005-10-03T07:34:00.000-04:00

I'm at Gawker this week.

Go there.

As Much As I Love the Emails...

2005-10-01T15:58:00.000-04:00

Dear Everyone,

The first non-quoted line in this comment is, in fact, a little joke -- one that, it turns out, is apparently more subtle than I intended. You see, Nick Denton was talking about exclusivity in a sort of negative tone, and I made a what I thought was a funny about it.

So -- if I have no idea who you are, I will probably respect my boss's wishes (always wise) and not extend you a Gawker comments invite. You can always go here. I already feel like an asshole, so don't get on my case. That said, if you send a really funny email or if you are famous, I'll make an exception.

And, of course, you are always welcome to comment here.

Yours sincerely,
-alex

Freaky If You Got This Far

2005-09-29T22:08:00.000-04:00

Let's say you're a brilliant, impressionistic singer-songwriter signed to an awful label. Let's say you need to get out of your contract right quick so you can release the most difficult and poetic album of your career. What do you do?

You sit down and make up 31 songs on the spot, with titles like "Twist and Shake," "Shake and Roll," and "You Say France and I Whistle."

You are Van Morrison, by the way. Download your greatest work here.

The lyrics are here.

I see, you see, we'll get a guitar,
yeah, we'll get a guitar
and, oh, we'll get, we'll get three guitars,
No!, No!!, we'll get four guitars
and we'll get Herbie Lovelle to play drums,
and we'll do, the
"Sha-la", sha...
We'll do the sha-, sha-la bit.
"Sha-la, sha-, sha-la, sha-la", we'll do it,
we'll get together, uunghh, we'll get
uunghh, ttcchh, uugnhh-uunghh-uunghh, like that,
and we'll do the sha-la bit and then,
then, then, and we'll get, we'll get sixteen guitars,
and then, then we'll play it,
and then we'll do that one, yeah.
Let me hear ya' do that again.
Over and over, Bert Berns song, over...

This man would write and record "Madame George" within a year.

Answering the Eternal Questions

2005-09-28T20:07:00.000-04:00

Jonah Goldberg, what's on your iPod?

I Believe In Salt Along the Rims of the Glasses

2005-09-28T15:40:00.000-04:00

Someone please tell me I'm not just dreaming this:

Like on October 25, when the Hold Steady will perform a live acoustic set during seventh period (12:40-2:10 pm, folks) in Littleton, Colorado's Littleton High School gymnasium.

By now, it has probably set in that this show a) isn't at a bar, b) isn't at night, and c) won't be open to the public. But we still think you should know about it, because the circumstances surrounding the performance are pretty darn cool. See, the event is part of a special program at LHS called Freshman Academy, one dedicated to aiding ESL, Special Education, and behaviorally/emotionally troubled freshmen in the transition from middle school to high school.

One of the Freshman Academy instructors, Thom Uhl, heard about the Hold Steady on NPR's All Things Considered, and thought that the band's music and message would fit right in on Mental Health Mondays, a segment of the program directed at tackling various teen and social issues. Uhl contacted the Hold Steady and, well, the rest is history...or upcoming...or something!

The class is currently studying the band's music and using the lyrics to fuel class discussion. In preparation for the big day, the kids are participating in an invitation-design contest, constructing a Hold Steady Advent calendar and...wait for it...staging a Hold Steady look-alike contest.
[emphasis in original, though it totally would've been mine anyway]

Ahem. A Hold Steady lookalike contest.

This is what the Hold Steady look like:

Ok, really. Here are some selected Hold Steady lyrics for your students to study:

He was breaking bread and giving thanks. with crosses made of pipes and planks. leaned up against the nitrous tanks. he said take a hit. hold your breath and I'll dunk your head. then when you wake up again. you'll be high as hell and born again.

Look, I used to attend a college that Robert fucking Christgau taught at, and nothing remotely this cool ever happened.

In fact, I would say that the Hold Steady are determined to make being in a semi-popular rock band as completely ridiculous as possible -- how else to explain their bizarre KISS Saves Christmas-esque appearance in this Target-sponsored internet-only sitcom-ish thing (episodes four and five, which you must watch)?

Posted, Rather Meanspiritedly, Without Comment

2005-09-24T03:13:00.000-04:00

"We're a band everyone can agree to listen to on a car trip," Mr. Barron said. "What should we listen to, Limp Bizkit? 'No way,' said the parents. The Doobie Brothers? 'No way,' said the kids. Spin Doctors? 'O.K.' "
-That '90s Band Tries Again, New York Times

From the Archives

2005-09-23T18:54:00.000-04:00

Memo from CBS News President Richard Salant, dated June 5th, 1968:

America's loss of innocence=viewship. (Everybody understands death of american dream after Dallas '63)
We need to put it on air right away, get Cronkite to cry again (in addition to Harry Reasoner)

ask the guys in art to mock up a "PREDICTION: END OF THE '60s" graphic.

Doesn't Anyone In the Media Elite Have a Job?

2005-09-23T15:33:00.000-04:00

Invite-Only Blog Commenting: Because Gawker could always use more jokes that only twelve people will get.

That said, my invite goes to either the highest bidder or anyone who can fix my old-ass all-tube Ampeg Jet.

Some Content Is About to GET FREE!

2005-09-21T15:16:00.000-04:00

Shhhh! Let's keep this between us, ok?

Hey, you wouldn't have paid for Thomas Friedman's no-longer-charming naivete anyway:

If Mr. Bush wants to make anything of his second term, he'll have to do his own Nixon-to-China turnaround, reframe the debate and recast the priorities of his presidency. He seems to think that by offering to spend billions of dollars to rebuild one city, New Orleans, he'll get his leadership halo back. Wrong. Just throwing more borrowed money at New Orleans is not leadership. Mr. Bush needs to frame a new agenda for rebuilding all our cities and strengthening the nation as a whole. And what should be the centerpiece of a policy of American renewal is blindingly obvious: making a quest for energy independence the moon shot of our generation.

Yes, that will certainly happen. While it's no stretch of the imagination to think Bush will emulate Nixon, he's a little more likely to mine a harbor than metaphorically "visit China." Though he might cruise over it in Air Force One, wearing a snappy jacket, of course.

Thanks, Sadly No!

Also, Me and Cynthia Liu Got the Same Score On the SATs, but I Still Write Grammatically Incorrect Post Titles

2005-09-21T13:27:00.000-04:00

Atrios and Jack Shafer have apparently never read a "trend piece" before, if they're getting all hot under the collar over this one. They exist for one reason: supremacy on the most emailed list, which this one is currently OWNING (of course, without the heavy-hitters in TimesSelect to contend with, it's a bit like batting .500 in tee-ball).

It's true, though, that this story sure as hell doesn't belong in the the A section. It's a Sunday Styles piece, or maybe a "Way We Live Now" if it was in the first-person (which it so wants to be). But haven't we learned yet that trend pieces in the Times bear as close a relation to real news as dispatches from Elisabeth Bumiller?

Should we now expect Mr. Shafer to point out that, contrary to Malcom McLaren, rock 'n' roll was not, in fact, invented by Christian Dior?

Political Science

2005-09-20T18:26:00.000-04:00

When you make fun of Wall Street Journal readers on a site that actually gets traffic, they will email you, it turns out. They're a thick-skinned bunch, for the most part, and smarter than, say, Washington Times readers. And some have a sense of humor. I got this email yesterday, which I believe I published on gawker but which I'll excerpt again here:

amidst the peach mojito recipes and the garden club primers diminutive turkish opinion writer melik kaylan snuck a gem of a piece in... the article espoused the merits of placing (albeit carefully) land mines along the border of iraq and syria ... the crux of the argument being that a few maimed limbs and innocent casualties should set those border encroachers straight... how un-P.C... certainly not the light and fluffy reading i expected over my cranberry scone and skim cappuccino, brilliant and good fun nonetheless.

This reader was kind enough to include a copy of the piece itself. And it is brilliant -- a Swiftian defense of land mines, fer chrissakes. If there is an indefensible to be defended, the WSJ editors will be on the case faster than anyone shy of the Village Voice music writers.

Here's most of the piece, which really needs no commentary. I will merely italicize my favorite lines:

Why Haven't We Mined Iraq's Borders?
By MELIK KAYLAN
September 17, 2005; Page A14

As the war in Iraq settles into its medium-term attritional slog, most Americans know -- if they know anything -- that the insurrection is daily replenished from outside in manpower and matÃÂ©riel, chiefly from across the Syrian border. The border problem, by now, seems as predictable as the seasons, self-evident and insurmountable. There are not enough troops to seal clandestine access routes, we are told. So everyone suffers, including the citizens of Tal Afar, who have now endured a second joint assault by Iraqi and American troops to purge their town of cross-border terrorists who go to ground there. The conflict waxes and wanes, the borders remain porous, fanatical volunteers sneak in, car bombs destroy innocent lives, the sun also rises.

It doesn't have to be so, yet no one points to the obvious. An effective method of interdiction exists: the laying of minefields on the border.

* * *

Why has nobody publicly debated this idea? Perhaps the shock-horror-gasp factor is to blame. Minefields?! Has one forgotten the sainted Lady Diana's endeavors to ban these infernal devices? Or forgotten the outcry when the U.S. mined Haiphong Harbor during the Vietnam War? At first glance, minefields would seem to furnish a wildly hackhanded propaganda victory to the enemy, another juicy chance for Al-Jazeera to trumpet American barbarism. Yet once tempers have cooled, it should become clear that of all the unpleasant products of war in Iraq, mining the border offers the least unpleasant.

Minefields can be clearly marked and laid according to a network-blueprint which remains highly classified until after the conflict ends. That blueprint would allow the mines to be cleared quickly, and systematically. The decades-long Afghan- or African-style tragedy of maimed limbs happens when mines are laid irresponsibly, erratically and without a plan. Europe, on the other hand, endured two World Wars without a lasting threat from forgotten minefields. [Note: "In the West, World War II landmines in the Netherlands continue to maim an average of 12 people per year." Also, the Saharan Overland would like a word with you. -AP]

The U.S. can repeat the feat in Iraq. In the meantime, the porous borders can be choked and narrowed down to well-regulated crossing points. Inadvertent casualties there may be, but considerably less than is caused by car bombs -- or "smart bombs," for that matter. The point here is that a precisely ordered minefield is a weapon of peace, rather than war, a deterrent and a stabilizer. When done right, its aim is not to kill or maim but to take a swatch of territory out of the conflict -- and to give relief to innocent border-area residents forced, at the point of a gun, to collaborate with infiltrators.

Take the plight of Tal Afar's citizens, living as they do close to the northern border near Syria. Their town underwent a fierce purge by U.S. and Iraqi troops last August. The enemy melted away and came back. The operation was repeated again last week, and the allies found few fighters and numerous underground escape tunnels leading out of town.

Tal Afar's population is heavily Turkmen, who already suffered greviously under Saddam. The Turkmen are Iraq's next biggest minority after the Kurds, with whom they are in a struggle for ancestral territory. The attacking Iraqi forces consisted heavily of Kurds. Here is being laid the groundwork for ethnic rivalry and hatred from which only the terrorists will gain. Who can say that Tal Afar's Turkmen would not wish for a securer border by whatever means? Who can say the Iraqis themselves would not opt, in a referendum, to lay mines along their troubled borders, with clear demarcations and a clear time limit? Who will have the courage to offer them the option?

Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.

I'm Not Going to Pay A Lot For This Content

2005-09-19T10:08:00.000-04:00

By the way -- I'm guest-co-editing Gawker today. But shhhh! Keep it quiet!

The Internet Continues To Blur the Line Between Wishful Thinking and Deliberate Obtuseness

2005-09-18T20:11:00.000-04:00

I know, I know... I've been a horrible blogger lately. I'm sorry. But I've been busy! I've just returned from a much-needed vacation in the fantasy land where no one remembers 1972 and Democrats don't invariably capitulate to marketing majors masquerading as political advisors demanding the perennial sacrifice of another craven mealy-mouthed pseudo-centrist. It's quite nice this time of year, and much less humid than New York.

Whenever you're on vacation, you want to be home -- but then, of course, once you get home you remember it's a sticky and depressing place where people say things like "Evan Bayh" and "Joe Biden" without crying or at least looking ashamed of themselves.

?!?

2005-09-15T13:00:00.000-04:00

DAVID BROOKS HAS FUCKING LOST IT

John Roberts Jr.: Aw, shucks. This has been a humbling experience, Mr. Chairman. To think that a boy from an exclusive prep school and Harvard Law could grow up and be nominated for the Supreme Court - it shows how in America it's possible to rise from privilege to power! That's the hallmark of our great nation.

So while, of course, I can't talk about specific cases, or any emotions, weather patterns or sandwich meats that may come before the Supreme Court at any time between now and my death in 2048, I do want to reiterate that I feel humbled by this experience. I feel humbled that my wife is dozing off behind me. I feel humbled by this committee's inability to lay a glove on me. And I feel modest. You see this suit? I skinny-dip in this suit. That's how modest I feel.

Current Events Depress Me

2005-09-13T14:15:00.000-04:00

Quote About Christopher Hitchens of the Day:

Writing before the invasion, Hitchens argued that the U.S. must attack even if Saddam offers self-exile in order to capture and punish this heinous criminal. Shouldn't he urge an attack on the U.S. to capture and punish Kissinger?
-Norman G. Finkelstein

You Kids Know What's Going On, Right?

2005-09-08T23:22:00.000-04:00

Someone tell me -- what the fuck is myspace? Should I care about it? How is it different from a livejournal?

I've a feeling this fellow could tell me -- I happen to know that his embrace of the zeitgeist is passionate enough for him to have filmed an MTV pilot. Or something like that, I don't remember. The point is: although he is under the mistaken impression that I have anything to do with Sploid anymore, he's kinda funny.

Though he's in one of those goddamned "comedy troupes" that terrorize our every performance venue -- you can't throw a brick in this town without hitting someone who will make it into an improv exercise.

Not to speak ill of late veterans of comedy troupes past.

The other important thing to note (I'm totally buzzing on cold medicine right now, by the way) is that, all criticism of George Bush aside, he really does appear to be a quite talented (if experimental) guitarist -- that's some complicated jazz shit he's playing, like a D 13th b5 or something.

George Bush Doesn't Care About Castaways

2005-09-06T17:19:00.000-04:00

Bob Denver, TV's Gilligan, Dies at 70

What's especially tragic is that if he'd held out another week or two, FEMA might've reached the island.

Better Use of Money Than Rebuilding Trent Lott's House

2005-09-04T19:20:00.000-04:00

Help for Musicians:

Healthcare for Musicians and several other organizations, including the Grammy's MusiCares program and The New Orleans Musicians Clinic, have joined to create the Lafayette Health Alliance to specifically help musicians and music business professionals.

People can send money donations to Healthcare for Musicians which has an emergency fund account set up through SW LA Health Education Center, its sponsoring non-profit agency.

The address is: Healthcare for Musicians 103 Independence Blvd. Lafayette, LA 70506

If anyone knows of any displaced musicians who need help please let them know to call Healthcare for Musicians at 337-988-1583 Through MusiCares they can get financial help for all basic needs.

Also: Preservation Hall has a relief fund.

Yer Gonna Have to Find Yourself Another Best Friend Somehow

2005-09-04T17:21:00.000-04:00

RIP, you old bastard.

Children by the Millions

2005-09-04T17:00:00.000-04:00

Alex Chilton is apparently ok.

I, for one, am heading the committee to appoint Kanye West to the Supreme Court.

Alex Chilton

2005-09-03T17:00:00.000-04:00

All right -- to the hundred or so people who've come here in the last two days looking for information on Alex Chilton, still missing in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina:

His friends and family seem to be posting here and here. For updates, or on the off chance you have any information about his condition, go there.

Donate.

Other missing persons here and here.

Trying to Wash Us Away

2005-09-02T18:08:00.000-04:00

Go read Ken Layne.

At best, the United States remains prepared for absolutely nothing, with every American city seemingly ready to descend into eternal hell while politicians congratulate themselves in television studios — four years after the horror of Sept. 11, the day we would “never forget.” At worst, an American treasure, the nation’s energy infrastructure and hundreds of thousands of lives were forever destroyed this week by the deliberate actions by the very government agencies charged with protecting citizens and immediately responding to disasters.

"31.3 Feet of Water Atop Howard Beach"

2005-09-02T15:31:00.000-04:00

I made tangential reference to this earlier, but all residents of very large coastal cities ought to be fucking petrified right now. This scaremongering but suddenly useful NY Press article describes what a hurricane could do to New York, though it could use an update now that we know that the federal government does not give a shit if an entire city perishes.

It seems increasingly possible that, should something like this happen here, Manhattan would be more or less succesfully evacuated while the less wealthy parts of Brooklyn and Queens would become New Orleans redux.

I hate to make this all about me, considering how quickly this sort of talk becomes irritating, but it might be worth your while to figure out an evacuation plan. One that doesn't rely on Greyhound, of course. Or the Metro-North.

Alex Chilton is still missing, by the way. Considering how many thousands of people are dying or dead right now, it's not that important in a grand-scheme sense, but it's still depressing as fuck.

And General Pokey Knew We'd Need More Troops To Secure Baghdad

2005-09-02T14:37:00.000-04:00

Oh my fucking god. When I saw this Rude Pundit post, I thought it was a joke.

But no. It wasn't. MR. BILL PREDICTED THIS A YEAR AGO. HE WAS MORE PREPARED THAN FEMA.

The president, who claims that no one could have foreseen the levees breaking, is now officially more inept than a barely-animated hunk of clay.

Jesus Christ.

Six Feet of Water In the Streets of Evangeline

2005-09-01T13:15:00.000-04:00

Can anyone confirm this with a more reputable source?

'Fats' Domino Missing in New Orleans

Before NBC, MTV or anyone else puts on a telethon to help victims of Hurricane Katrina, they might want to explore some ancillary issues. To wit: New Orleans is a city famous for its famous musicians, but many of them are missing. Missing with a capital M.

To begin with, one of the city’s most important legends, Antoine "Fats" Domino, has not been heard from since Monday afternoon. Domino’s rollicking boogie-woogie piano and deep soul voice are not only part of the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame but responsible for dozens of hits like “Blue Monday,” “Ain’t That a Shame,” “Blueberry Hill” and “I’m Walking (Yes, Indeed, I’m Talking).”

Domino, 76, lives with his wife Rosemary and daughter in a three-story pink-roofed house in New Orleans’ 9th ward, which is now under water.

On Monday afternoon, Domino told his manager, Al Embry of Nashville, that he would “ride out the storm” at home. Embry is now frantic.

Calls have been made to Louisiana Gov. Kathleen Blanco’s office and to various police officials, and though there’s lots of sympathetic response, the whereabouts of Domino and his family remain a mystery.
[...]
Also not heard from by friends through last night: New Orleans’s “Queen of Soul” Irma Thomas, who was the original singer of what became the Rolling Stones’ hit, “Time is On My Side.”

And where the fuck is the federal government?

How can that goddam Randy Newman song I posted Sunday night become more appropriate every day?

The cops have been ordered to protect private property by any means necessary, while no one seems to be organizing any sort of major search-and-rescue while that is still possible.

Let the looters fucking loot if they want to -- these store-owners have no stores to go back to, fer chrissakes.

The fact that a major American city can turn into a shitty post-apocalyptic movie, more or less abandoned by the federal government (except for those of its representatives protecting Wal-Mart) and left to fend for itself in some bizarre combination of martial law and anarchy once the white folk flee, is heartening to this non-car-owning Brooklyn resident.

I would like to point out that this is more less the situation that led to the rise of crazed populist Huey Long. And these days, yr crazed populists are more likely to be religious fanatics than mere dime-store wealth redistributors. So watch the fuck out.

UPDATE: Further sketchy, unattributed hearsay has it that Alex fucking Chilton is missing as well.

Courtesy I Love Music:

from a co-worker:

"heard about it on the mishpucha list. Even crazier is that Chilton gave his car to a girl from the Gories so she could leave town."

FURTHER UPDATE: Look, it doesn't make the news any better, but Reuters says there is at least a chance Fats got out... and as for Mr. Chilton, well... maybe, maybe not.

My advice to everyone is to turn the tv off and donate money. But not to FEMA.

Look What the River Has Done

2005-08-30T16:57:00.000-04:00

NEWS ALERT | 4:34 PM ET
La. Governor Orders Evacuation of Rest of New Orleans;
FEMA Chief: 'The Most Significant Natural Disaster to Hit the United States'

That hurricane mix tape post's looking a little less funny now, ain't it?

In my defense, those are all fairly serious songs, and "Louisiana 1927" is, in fact, more appropriate with each breathless update. As, unfortunately, is Doghouse Riley's suggestion, Memphis Minnie's "Crash On the Levee."

Now I Am An mp3 Blog

2005-08-28T19:56:00.000-04:00

Awesome Hurricane Katrina All-Star Mix EP:

1) Bob Dylan - "Crash On the Levee (Down In the Flood)"

2) Charley Patton - "High Water"

3) Mekons - "The Flood"

4) Silver Jews - "New Orleans"

5) Randy Newman - "Louisiana 1927"

5) Bob Dylan - "Down In the Flood" (new version)

Suggest more. I command it.

Read the Metro Section

2005-08-28T00:51:00.000-04:00

What the hell is up with this paragraph?

Still, a wireless network could allow some new ways for staying in touch. A rider might dial her home number while the train is moving, hit the call button while it comes to a stop and quickly tell her husband to, say, put the casserole in the oven - all before the train pulls away again. Another rider might call his roommate and hang up after one ring - a code signaling that he is almost home. And of course, friends trying to arrange an underground rendezvous will be able to find each other more easily.

Is this even remotely related to journalism? Is it all this easy?

Friday Random Ten

2005-08-26T12:43:00.000-04:00

With More-Or-Less Arbitrarily Chosen Lyric Excerpts

Gang of Four - "Ether"
(There may be oil / Under Rockall)
Willie Nelson & Johnny Cash - "On the Road Again"
(Insisting that the world keep turning our way)
Trike - "Salamander"
(You are a salamander)
Gang of Four [again?] - "Outside the Trains Don't Run On Time"
(Discipline! Is his passion! Now! He says there's none!)
The Velvet Underground - "Candy Says"
(Doo-doo-wah / Doooo, doo-doo-wah)
Doc Watson - "Blue Railroad Train"
(I'm not as bad / as you might think I am)
Johnny Cash - "One"
(Well it's too late / tonight / to drag the past out into the light)
David Bowie - "What In the World"
(So deep in your room / you never leave your room)
The Rolling Stones - "Off the Hook"
(Don't wanna see her, afraid of what I'd find / Tired of letting her upset me all the time)
Husker Du - "Whatcha Drinkin'?"
(I don't care what you say / I don't care what you're drinking today)

Blown Away

2005-08-25T20:13:00.000-04:00

Nice to see Har Mar Superstar help out with hurricane preparedness. Them novelty pop acts, so selfless.

Oh, and:
1)
WE HEAR that a certain Oscar-winning starlet who is black and who plays a certain weather-controlling mutant in a certain comic book-based film franchise has a nasty case of the shingles.

2)

I Smell A Webby!

2005-08-25T16:57:00.000-04:00

I admit it -- having returned from an unscheduled and traffic-devastating break, I still haven't gotten back into the swing of this whole blogging thing. What I need (and what in most other aspects of my life I'm often suffering from a surfeit of) is a gimmick, a self-generating sort of regular feature, like Doghouse Riley's birthdays or Rox's captions or Norbizness'... well, every goddam thing. Tell that Texan to quit hogging the gimmicks, will ya?

I had brief stabs at this sort of thing before, but nothing's ever kept my interest beyond, I don't know, three or four weeks. Which is my primary struggle with blogging. Sometimes I want to be Roy Edroso, a month later its Christgau, next thing I know, I'm writing dragon poems and arguing the total, universal superiority of Paranoid over Fun House.

In short, I've got to narrow my focus a wee bit. From now on, Buck Hill (can stylebooks start italicizing blog names, please? It just looks classier) is your one-stop source for unverified rumors about Halle Berry and pictures of famous people wearing fake mustaches.

1)
I met a guy who's interning at Revolution Studios and he read the script of an upcoming Halle Berry/Bruce Willis vehicle. It features an extended and graphic cybersex/masturbation scene. With Halle, I think.

2)

Keillor's Minnesota: Like Main Street, but Fun!

2005-08-21T21:45:00.000-04:00

Whooo howdy, how 'bout some Sunday Night Elitism?

But Garrison Keillor could do with a little Albert Ayler in his church, and church is what Keillor is all about. Everything that comes out of his mouth in that treacly baritone, which occasionally releases into a highpitched, breathless tremolo when he wants to convey emotion, is a sermon. The homily runs something like this: we are good, if foolish and weak, and may gain redemption through compassion, laughing at ourselves, and bad poetry badly read.

Albert Ayler could only be a tonic for Keillor — a tonic we will force-feed him as they force-feed a goose in Perigord for foie gras — because Ayler's art is opposite to Keillor's shtick. Everything Keillor does is about reassurance, containment, continuity. He makes no demands on his audiences, none whatsoever. To do so would only be bad manners. Gentleness and good manners are the twin pillars of the church of Keillor.

I don't condone the smarmy highbrow tone, but I do strongly endorse taking potshots at Garrison Keillor. Eat it, public radio!

No Antonin Artaud with the Flapjacks, Please [Poetry Daily]

This Week in the City Section

2005-08-21T19:23:00.000-04:00

Tugboat Alley
Boooorrrriinng. Hey, Times -- Staten Island doesn't count. I mean, tugboats are no substitute for outer-borough local color or self-obsessed personal essays about one's bohemian grandmother.

A Toast, With a Shot and a Beer
Perfect. Vintage City Section. Some slumming writer's oh-so-New York embellished recollections of a dive bar -- this is the section's raison d'etre. And even better -- it's quietly disappearing!

The Best People-Watching the Sky Has To Offer
Acrobatics or circus freaks? Say no more!

Hopes Fade for Aging Beauties of Admiral's Row
This could've been another perfect City Section piece -- old, decrepit relic of New York's past that most residents have, at some time or another, walked by and wondered what the hell it is. But it's too newsy and dry. No atmosphere in a piece that's begging for it. If you haven't been by Admiral's Row, check it out before it's gone -- it's like a huge Tim Burton set, all lost Victorian grandeur.

Duck Tongues and Other Security Threats
Gruff cops, funny foreigners, quietly humorous grave tone -- you keep this up, Jennifer Bleyer, and you may someday make "Talk of the Town."

Where the Play Dates Are Fun, but Itchy
Always end it on a Cute Kid Quote (tm).

The Secret Jardin
After an unexplained absence, more High Line stories. Throw in a bit of "divides her time between Paris and the United States," and you've got the reason this is City and not plain ol' boring New York/Region.

Summer's Rebels: Hell No, We Won't Go
Everyone's rich, right? ("I suspect this temptation is experienced by many New Yorkers lucky enough to own, rent or borrow a place outside the city...")

Food, Flowers, Fitness: Versatile Merchant Expands His Empire
An Italian guy who teaches Pilates? This I gotta see!

Along the Waterfront, the Mystery of the Cinnamon Buns
Two immutable rules of New York: Queens smells, City Section pieces are often poached from bulletin boards.

The Power Behind the Cones Is Leaving
Colorful local character, disappearing forever, oh-so-New York, you starting to get it?

Mama's Gone, Along With the Peach Cobbler
Addendum to immutable rule: "Web logs" too.

Who Will They Dig Up Next?
Yay! Contest! Former New Yorkers (and current New Yorker subscribers) living in Phoenix will be thrilled at another chance to make it into the metro section, especially since that asshole Metropolitan Diary editor keeps rejecting their story about the precocious kid on the 6 train in 1994.

The City [NYT]

Elie Wiesel Hates a Parade

2005-08-21T15:09:00.000-04:00

Look, I hate to rip on Elie Wiesel, or most Peace Prize recipients for that matter, but this:

The images of the evacuation itself are heart-rending. Some of them are unbearable. Angry men, crying women. Children, led away on foot or in the arms of soldiers who are sobbing themselves.

Let's not forget: these men and women lived in Gaza for 38 years. Successive governments, from the left and the right, encouraged them to settle there. In the eyes of their families, they were pioneers, whose idealism was to be celebrated.

is a bit misleading. Many of those "heart-rending" images were of protesters who moved in around the same time as the news cameras, including a couple West Bank settlers hoping to produce enough of these images to make a West Bank withdrawal a little less politically expedient.

And here they are, obliged to uproot themselves, to take their holy and precious belongings, their memories and their prayers, their dreams and their dead, to go off in search of a bed to sleep in, a table to eat on, a new home, a future among strangers.

With only hundreds of thousands of dollars to aid in their tragic journey.

It's a fairly reasonable column, despite these little nits, though it does partake in one of my very favorite modern double standards -- holding Mahmoud Abbas personally responsible for individual Palestinians "organiz[ing] military parades with masked fighters, machine guns in hand, shooting in the air as though celebrating a great battlefield victory," but, after noting quite accurately that the settlers were encouraged and funded by people like Ariel Sharon, not holding him accountable for those settlers now behaving "in an offensive and undignified manner." The whole damn region is, like any other, full of assholes, and their biggest enablers are their leaders.

Next Week: My Personal Relationship to the Subjugation of the Welsh

2005-08-21T14:50:00.000-04:00

The Newest Indians:

This ethnic apprehension can be found even among the older tribes, where outmarriage, or exogamy, has created a contemporary population that doesn't look nearly as ''Indian'' as the characters of our movies and HBO westerns. What results from this can get funky. For example, among coastal Indian tribes, who depend upon tourism, it is not uncommon to see them dressed as Plains Indians with full feathered headdresses and other outfits that were never their custom. It is a practice known as ''chiefing,'' and in some tribes it is as regulated as jewelry sales. This is the market force, ethnic-wise: coastal Indians know that they have to look like an outsider's vision of an Indian in order to be accepted by tourists as Indian.

My maternal grandfather was Indian. I'm using the old American definition of race: how one is recognized and treated by white folks. Grandpa was a middle-class homeowner who moved to the suburbs, fought in all three of the great (then less great, and finally completely ungreat) mid-century wars, and eventually married a (white) midwestern farmgirl, but he was pretty goddam Indian by that old definition, despite never speaking a word, as far as I know, of the Algonquin-related ancestral language of the Lenape (you -- and I, for most of my life -- may know them better as the Delaware).

My grandfather lived in the west, far from the original home of the Lenape, but not too far from their post-forced "exodus" home of Kansas. As a young man he would, on the occasional weekend, dress up like the aforementioned Plains Indians and head out to Seven Falls, where he and his buddies would make up "traditional Indian dances" and perform them for white folks, to make a little beer money. To me it sounds like a brilliantly fun con job and a conveniently literal example of the performative aspect of ethnic identity in America (but then, I don't get out much).

"Do genetics make you Indian or does culture? Or can either one?"

My grandfather had the genetics but not the "culture," except for his forced placement in the role of non-white, which was purely physical. In his youth, he made the most of it, and he eventually lived the mid-century upgrade of the American Dream. I have the genetics too, but diluted enough to cause me to look "white." And I think that still, unfortunately, the most useful definition of race in this country remains the one I used earlier -- how the white folks perceive and treat you. Which this piece barely touches on, except to say that the white foks are getting defensive about their whiteness, and would I mind not calling them "white folks" over and over again.

To my mind, I'm just as Indian, despite immersion and membership in the great club of whiteness, as these well-intentioned ethnic tourists and archivists. And I'm not Indian. I don't think of or describe myself as Indian (excepting in this blog post, of course). But I did personally know my grandfather, I did visit him fairly often in the nursing home where he lived out the end of his life, mentally gone for the most part, but still conscious of his imposed ethnicity, more powerful in this country than any self-proclaimed one. As a brain-damaged, malnourished, smoke-ravaged diabetic, he still delivered a Special Forces-caliber knockout punch to another patient who called him a "nigger" at mealtime one day. And I still have his side of the family, still living in Colorado. And living, by the bizarre quirks of that ever-capricious wacky white society, more or less as "black" (my "white card" genetic make-up, should I ever be asked to break it down, would make me 1/8th Indian and 1/16th "black"). And I think, though it is self-serving, that a personal and physical connection to an "ethnic" past affords one a slightly a better understanding of the implications of racial makeup than a reconstructed (and heavily-researched) but ultimately impersonal one.

But don't listen to me. I'm just another white boy with ethnic anxiety and liberal guilt.

I Do Believe I've Had Enough

2005-08-21T01:38:00.000-04:00

This building is screwed.

By the way -- I'm back in New York now, as you may have guessed. Just to remind myself of what I'd been missing, I caught the Bird Flu, took some tainted smack, briefly became editor of the New York Press, and traded my fifth amendment rights for convenient L access. Tomorrow, as a respected member of the east cost media elite, I shall weigh in on Cindy Sheehan and Judy Miller (new angle: same woman??).