Saturday, September 27, 2003 at 13:21:45 (EDT)

We'll take the subway right down to Kings Highway
The Coney Island Short Film Festival is going on in a half-hour, so if you leave now, you just might make it. Then again it goes all day long, so I'm sure you'll get to see some of it.

Tonight there's a fundraiser for the indie film "A Kind of Dream" at Orchard Bar. My pal Mitchell worked on the movie, so I'll be there as Celebrity Guest Blogger. I can hear the acclaim already: "Who are you? What's a blog?" Also it gives me the excuse to visit the Korean BBQ guy.

Tomorrow I had better see Lost in Translation, for I may never get around to it otherwise.

And Monday, Stupid has secured a slot at the Battle of the Bands at the Hard Rock Café! Top prize is something like $1000 and air time on Q105, whatever that is. The whole thing is a promotion for that new Jack Black movie, but he's one of the judges! It's free so you should go.

Posted By Jimmy Legs

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Friday, September 26, 2003 at 10:24:40 (EDT)

Mr. Bones was never called an Asshole
After many false starts, we finally got our Rhodes Electric Piano last night. I had been forcing Zack to bring his van over nearly every day this week, but the guy with the piano was never around right when we had time to pick it up. So finally, we just hung around last night until we were sure he was home and then we swooped down and got it. Even though the guy with the piano was a lot older and more responsible than your average Williamsburg hipster, he did share some of their general flakiness.

Anyhow, now it's in the living room until we get it fixed up. The piano itself is in good condition and works fine, but the amp is having some issues and makes this loud humming sound. Because it's a hum and not a buzz, apparently that means it's a problem in the capacitors and not a ground problem. Whatever that means. I suppose I should learn this stuff.

SEE more overexposed photos of Mr. Bones with the piano.

Posted By Jimmy Legs

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Wednesday, September 24, 2003 at 11:38:38 (EDT)


The devil (kittens) take your stereo and your record collection
Something's been missing from your life. More kitten pictures! I've been taking pictures, but I haven't had the energy to post them of late. The kittens are just about ready to head out to their new home up the street. Apparently I'm supposed to be separating them from Pinky (the moms) for short periods to prepare them for the big move, but I can do that this weekend.

Meanwhile I have discovered another occupational hazard of raising kittens: they will use your records as chew toys.

Oh, my poor vinyl! Actually most of this stuff originally belonged to my parents, who at some point shipped them to my basement. There they stayed (after I had of course picked through and liberated the keepers), until our horrendous flood earlier in the summer. The records were all sitting on the floor and were completely water-logged. I brought them up to my room to dry out, but they mostly just ended up getting stuck together. Now the cats like to throw themselves at the stacks and tear off frayed paper edges form the record jackets.

Ah, but I'll probably miss them when they're gone. Who but cute kittens could get away with ransacking a bedroom and still come off as darling? Well, I suppose human children might be able to pull this off, but I dunno anything bout that.

 

 

 



Posted By Jimmy Legs

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Tuesday, September 23, 2003 at 14:12:36 (EDT)

Maybe I should just change my style
Band names. It ain't easy. Trying to find something you can live with can be a real struggle, and just when you think you've hit upon a great one, you find somebody else already used it. Or even a not-so-great one. Case in point, Poobah, which is pretty much the worst name I can think of for a band, was a group from my college town. They put out a CD named "Alkaloid," pretty much the worst album title I can think of as well. The CD had barely hit the shelves when the word came down from Youngstown that there was another band with the same name. Is there something in the water? I don't know. But the other Poobah had been around, in one form or the other, since the 70's, so they won the right to keep this lame moniker. So what did Poobah, Jr. do? Switched sides on the CD and started calling themselves "Alkaloid" and the album "Poobah." Then they moved to Chicago and promptly broke up.

In those days (early 90s) it was harder to know if your band's name was an original or not. Obviously, nobody was gonna name themselves "The Rolling Stones" or even "Meat Loaf," but there are always so many tiny bands out there, who knows when a name might be repeated. But in our Information Age, there's less excuse for overlap. For instance, somebody needs to get The Giraffes (of New York) a computer so they can read about the other Giraffes band, fronted by that guy from The Presidents of the USA. Still, even this mistake is understandable; both bands are relatively new and relatively isolated.

There is, however, no excuse for the band in Quebec that is calling itself "Galaxie 500." Now, they claim they never heard of Dean Wareham's seminal outfit, but honestly, how is this possible? I know, they live in a another country, but jeez, you can practically see Montreal from the Empire State Building! They're apparently big enough to play some festival show, but somehow not even one of their fans ever happened to hear of the other band after all this time? You'd think they'd at least Google their name, just once, to see if, perchance anybody had ever used it.

Posted By Jimmy Legs

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Monday, September 22, 2003 at 15:57:18 (EDT)


Like she's never soared before
This is almost enough to make me want to write poetry again. But his work is actually superior to mine. And now, The Poetry of DH Rumsfeld. [via MRK]

His work is actually reminiscent of both Jim Daniel's work (he's a legitimate poet), and the dictation of Ernest Noyes Brookings, whose only real claim to fame is that he's an old man in a nursing home with a peculiar way of putting things. He was made famous by Duplex Planet, the comic in which David Greenberger interviews old folks and has popular alt comic artists illustrate their stories and non sequitors. It's alternately heartwarming and bewildering to hear what these senior citizens say. They should start a new show called "Oldsters Say the Darndest Things!"

Maybe all the poets are in retirement communities or the government these days.

Posted By Jimmy Legs

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Monday, September 22, 2003 at 15:09:03 (EDT)

Sometimes I have to wonder about the dog in me
Sunday, I arose ... eventually and biked over to the BARC Dog Show (I missed the parade). I met up with Jami and we proceeded to take a million pictures of dogs, in and out of costume, and two weird people doing some kind of bizarre swimming performance in a kiddie pool. They were representing some organization, but I haven't the foggiest what it could be. At any rate, my pictures pretty much sucked all around, so I direct you to Jami's superior photo work.

Then we retired to Enid's, which is far nicer than I'd been led to believe, for far too many beers during daylight hours. Then a quick jaunt to the Williamsburg Ferry Landing Park to stare into the sun and puzzle over the group of people dressed in black who were sitting around in a circle and looking intently at one another. Maybe they were unemployed mimes.

Posted By Jimmy Legs

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Monday, September 22, 2003 at 11:05:51 (EDT)

Oscillations
Saturday involved a lotta cleaning up around the house, during which I rediscovered the box full of fine crystal stemware I had completely forgotten about. What am I gonna do with a bunch of champagne flutes? To bad I didn't unearth them before that champagne party. At some point M and I went out to meet a man named Doug who had a Fender Rhodes electric piano for sale. His ad in Billburg had said "will take anything for it," so our curiosity was piqued. Indeed, as he had told us, the piano was not pretty. Its carrying case is very banged up and its enormous amp/stand looks fairly ratty. But the keybed seems clean and the keyboard works fine, good action. The only thing wrong is a problem with the power supply, which is causing the amp to make a perpetual tone. But it was so cheap we couldn't refuse. Now we gotta suck up to Z to get him to drive us back there to pick it up. This thing is enormous. I used to have a Wurlitzer electric (Clark Nova, hey whatever happened to that?), so it'll be nice to have another one, especially since this is the benchmark for all electric pianos, the Suitcase Piano. Now if only I can remember how to play it.

Speaking of keyboards, Saturday also provided us our first glimpse of the power duo, People of the North. It's just Oneida with one less person (they keep doing this; the next incarnation will be Kid Millions playing a set of bongos by himself). But this is only temporary, just until Jane can get back on his feet. They played The Orphanage, a super-stuffy space in Williamsburg. We got there in time to see USAISAMONSTER, another two-man outfit who seem to be a cross between Yes, Naked City and the Melvins. In short, they rocked.

People of the North took the stage late but still drew a large and enthusiastic audience. Their first song was a cover, which took me a long time to place. Finally I realized it was "Oscillations" by the Silver Apples. They were a band from the late 60's who consisted of a drummer and a synth/organ player, doing experimental proto-dronerock. Yeah, that makes sense. Thus the appropriateness of the cover. They extruded one of their signature 10-minute+ songs that was totally bitchin'. I don't know how they do it. Their set ended with a cover of a Suicide song, and a hipster kid attempting some kind of Shane-MacGowan-meets-Travis-Bickle look jumped on the stage and tried to get all punk rock, jumping into the audience and knocking over the mic stand. Ah, youth!

Posted By Jimmy Legs

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Monday, September 22, 2003 at 10:18:49 (EDT)

It's like hypnotizing chickens
Instead of just going out Friday night and drinking the night away, I went to the theater. And then I went out drinking. I got together with some other OU alumni and saw Dose! The Musical, which was penned by and stars a few more alumni. While I cannot exactly recommend the play, it did do a few interesting things. Being a musical about drug addiction and other vices that keep us in a self-delusional state, the tone of the show is necessarily odd. I kind of liked that, even if it didn't always work. But the real stroke of genius is to play on the audience's notions of musicals. Implicit in a musical is a sense of optimism, since the only people in real life who feel like bursting out into song in public and the ecstatic folk. They do the same thing in this play but the happy songs are always illustrative of the characters' narcissistic myopia (i.e., "I may be a fat-ass / But I have a boyfriend!").

Also it had a lot of on-stage nudity, something which people can't seem to get enough of. After the show I ended up at a going away party for somebody I didn't know, in a lovely East Village apartment with a shared deck. Several Sing-Ha's later I ventured towards the subway, when it hit me: I was in the East Village, after midnight on a weekend. This could mean only one thing: I can meet the pushcart guy!

For months now I've been trying to see this guy. An enterprising young man, Sam got himself a cart and a license and now stands around the corner of Ludlow & Stanton on the weekends, doling out Korean-style BBQ to drunken hipsters. I have found it exceedingly difficult to make it down there on the weekends, for some reason, but now I can finally give it the Jimmy Legs Seal of Approval. I dunno too much about Korean BBQ, but this stuff was delicious. I should have paid more attention to what was in it like a real food critic, instead of scarfing it down like I hadn't just been at a party with a wide variety of cheeses. Anyhow, it's good stuff. Sam also vends more standard fare for the less adventurous dipsomaniac, dogs and wings and the like. He's about to expand his enterprise to several more nights a week, so if you find yourself in the area, keep ya eyes open for what is possibly the only food cart out on the streets past 12.

Posted By Jimmy Legs

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