Webisodes: Short Story Part 43

Not surprisingly, Thomas Sandleby was not happy to hear about Bree Dawson kissing Jesse. Bree was his girlfriend, and Jesse one of his best friends, and things like this weren't supposed to happen. Especially not to nice, caring people like Thom.

"I can't believe you!" said Thom to Bree Monday afternoon. He had just heard the news from Jesse, who--always the good friend--had called to "get something off my chest." "But she kissed me first!" Jesse had insisted, ending the conversation as quickly as possible. No use beating these things to the ground, Jesse had thought.

Still, Jesse knew Thom would be mad, and was glad he was not around to bear the brunt of it. It's Bree's fault; let her deal with it, thought Jesse.

And dealing with it she was.

"You can't believe ME?" replied Bree, incredulous. "You're the one who invited your ex-girlfriend, who CLEARLY still has a thing for you, to stay at your place indefinitely! How do you think I feel?" Bree hated to lose arguments, especially when she knew she was wrong.

"Bree, you know I have no interest in Rachel," Thom replied.

Bree shook her head. "I have no interest in Jesse," she lied, hoping if she said it out loud she could convince herself it was true.

Thom looked away.

"Oh Bree," he said, his voice shaking. He turned back towards her and took her hand. "I really like you," he said. "But I'm 29 years old. I'm too old to be fooling around with some girl who likes me sometimes, and then makes out with my friends." He looked at his shoes.

"I'm sorry Bree," continued Thom. "I just can't do this anymore."

Google image result #28 for "I can't do this anymore."

Bree Dawson, pretty girl that she was, was not used to being dumped. She tried not to let it bother her, to think about other, happier things...but it was tough. As much as Bree hated to admit it, there was something about having a boyfriend that made her feel secure--safe even. She liked walking through life knowing there was someone watching out for her--not to mention a companion to listen to all of her crazy ideas.

Immediately her thoughts flickered back to Jesse. She shooed them away, irritated.

No! Bree thought to herself. Jesse is not dating material. Besides, she was pretty sure he was still involved with Lulu...

As her thoughts wandered, Bree's phone rang. Unknown number. She picked it up, tentatively.

"Bree? Bree Dawson?" came a masculine voice. Bree struggled to place it. "This is Jack Lemon. Boy do I have a proposal for you!"

"Jack?" Bree's voice cracked. It had been ages since she'd spoken to the infamous Manhattan socialite. What could he possibly want?

"Yeah, it's me," continued Jack. "And guess what I just scored?" He waited 3 seconds, then continued: "A reality tv show! And you, Bree Dawson, are going to be one of my stars."

Ok, so maybe I'm reaching/totally geeking out here...but do you remember that
Sesame Street movie, Don't Eat the Pictures, where they get locked in the
museum and Big Bird and Snufflupagus find this Egyptian Prince who becomes
a star in the sky, and they sing this song called "You're gonna be a star", only
they mean it literally? Anyone?

If Reid Pinkin had learned anything from his dealings with Marilyn and Jesse, it was that people aren't always who they appear to be. Sometimes, you underestimate them. He also finally realized that every problem eventually runs its course, and when it ends (when it FINALLY ends, thought Reid), it's best to leave well enough alone.

"Hey man, I appreciate all you've done for me, but I really gotta split now," said Reid Pinkin to his cousin Weinstein Tuesday morning, after delivering the half-kilo and name of the spy. "It's better for the both of us."

Reid had no regrets. He had needed Weinstein--in the past--to help him get back on his feet: addiction-free, and purposeful. But now he was all those things, and his use for Weinstein had ended.

"Where are you going?" his cousin had asked, still convinced that Reid wouldn't actually leave. But for the first time in many years, Reid was determined.

"I'm not sure yet," said Reid. "Maybe Jersey."

He thought again about Marilyn, and how supportive her friends always seemed, like real people, that cared about her.

I need to find some people like that, thought Reid.

"All things come to an end." Photo by Rod Wilkinson.

Tuesday afternoon, 4 o'clock. For the second time that month, Weinstein Pinkin and Dan Bernstein were enjoying cordials on the roof deck of Bernstein's apartment. But this time, their party contained a third: Ronald Harris, a young lawyer who Pinkin hoped would fill in for his missing cousin Reid.

"So you're the guy who beat up Sazz?" asked Weistein for confirmation, circling the rim of his highball glass with his index finger. "And somehow finagled yourself out of a trial?" He glanced at Harris sternly, as if to be sure.

"Yeah that's right," replied Harris impishly. "It just so happens the prosecutor is a good friend of mine."

Pinkin smiled. "Well done," he said. "I'm very impressed. You'll make a fine member of the team."

Bernstein cleared his throat. "What I want to know..." he began, pausing as if to make a grand statement, then continuing with a grin. "Is what exactly does the wayward Reid expect he will do with his life? He's not going to move to New Jersey and work at the supermarket, is he?" Bernstein guffawed, and within seconds, Pinkin and Harris joined in.

"At least his doofus older brother has the brains to stay here, where he's protected!" continued Bernstein, and the trio laughed some more, knocking back drinks as they celebrated their cleverness and success.

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INTRVW: Phoenix

by Kate Bracaglia

(Originally published at Phrequency.com. Read the story there.)




Of all the up-and-coming bands releasing new material and charming the pants off indie kids world-wide, few are as charming (and talented, and immediately likeable) as Phoenix, the wide-eyed Parisian popsters whose recently released 4th studio album, Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix, has been wowing audiences across the globe.

With sunshine pop hooks, catchy choruses, and infectious, synth-tastic beats, Phoenix clearly understand what goes into crafting the perfect pop song—and even have the cred to prove it: a Best New Music title; a rare 3-song set on SNL; thunderous album sales.) Now, they’re busy touring the country in support of Wolfgang, winning new fans with each electric performance.

Despite their crazy schedule, I managed to catch up with front man Thomas Mars for a phone interview, who filled me in (in adorable broken English) on the influential shows of his youth, surviving life on the road, and who’s earned a spot on his coveted play list.

Phrequency: You guys have exploded as of late and have been selling out venues across the country. Why do you think this album in particular was so successful?

Thomas Mars: I don’t know! But what I can tell you is what we did differently with this record. We started it without a record company…we wanted to start and finish it without one, and then go to a few people who really liked it, and they wouldn’t be able to touch it. So it felt like we were making a record for ourselves. Really, it’s almost like commercial suicide talking about Franz Liszt [“Lisztomania”] and doing a 10 minute instrumental in the middle of your record [“Love like a sunset”]. We were making music we thought people wouldn’t relate to. We did it without wanting to please everyone. We always thought pleasing everyone meant you were creatively dead. So it’s nice when you do something very far out and very personal and people can relate to it. It felt like all the planets were in one line.

P: What do you want audiences to get out of your live shows? How do you want them to leave feeling?

TM: I guess I want them to feel the way I felt when I saw my favorite shows as a teenager. There were a few shows I saw that really improved my life, in a way. They really had a big impact, and confirmed in me the idea that I wanted to make music. They made me feel like I was part of something.

[Pauses.] When I was 16, I saw My Bloody Valentine play the Loveless record. That was something that was so emotionally strong and physically strong. It was so loud…I still remember all the sounds. It was almost like modern art in a way. It was something you couldn’t get just by listening to a record—you could see a lot of attitude.

P: So many shows must be exhausting! How do you avoid burnout on tour?

TM: Well, that’s the thing. You can’t avoid it. You just think you can do it until the last minute, and it happened to us on this tour where we had to cancel a show 10 minutes before. I think traveling, you have to deal with this pressure…but it’s still the best life we can imagine. So we would rather keep this pressure and be burnt out then not do it.

P: What was the best show you’ve played?

TM: We played one in San Francisco a few nights ago where the crowd was really amazing. They were totally devoted, which is something you always want in a show; you want them to get involved. It felt almost like a Mexican crowd for some reason…in Mexico, they are always very devoted and know all the lyrics and sing along, which as a band, is very nice.

We also played a show in Denver the day that Michael Jackson died, which was very touching…you could feel it was the end of childhood, the end of your teenage years. At the end of the show, we played a Michael Jackson song and everyone stayed and danced, and we just kept playing longer, for 2 hours. It was really a special moment.

phoenix, live.

P: What words of advice would you offer new bands who are just starting out?

TM: [laughs] I’m terrible at advice. I wouldn’t give any. The only thing is…we try to preserve ourselves. Growing up in France, the professional side of music was so bad…all the bands you hear about from France, like Daft Punk and Air…we all come from the home studio, a very independent side, far from anything that is professional. The fact that we grew up in Versailles...the best thing that city gave us was allowing us to be different. I wouldn’t give advice, but that’s the one thing I would encourage. Be yourself, and be different.

P: When you guys aren’t touring or writing new songs, what do you like to do for fun?

TM: It’s pretty much about music all the time, which seems boring to a lot of people. Yesterday we had a day off randomly in the middle of nowhere in Saratoga, Wyoming, between shows in Las Vegas, and Omaha, where we are playing tonight. We took the day off and went to visit an Indian reserve and see the hot springs, which was nice. We like to visit places.

P: What are you listening to these days?

TM: There are a lot of new bands that we like, and a lot of them are actually playing with us on this tour. We really like the Soft Pack and Metric; they are really good. They both played with us at the Greek in LA, and it was great. I really like the new Dirty Projectors record…and I like Julian from the Strokes’ new songs. Also, Passion Pit. There’s a lot of good music now.

P: Anything else you want to add?

TM: The show we are playing in Philly…will you be there?

P: Oh, I’ll be there. I can’t wait!

TM: [laughs] I hope we won’t disappoint you!

Catch Phoenix this Monday, September 28, at the Electric Factory. With Chairlift.


Read more: http://www.phrequency.com/blog/INTRVW_Phoenix_.html

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Demographic Study: Joe Suave

Oh Joe Suave. You know this guy: he's the guy at the bar or the show, or maybe even in your group of friends, who has all the trappings of being cool except for...he just isn't. There's something about him you can't quite put your finger on -- is it his bizarre jeans, that are just a half-shade too light -- or maybe his awkward gait? Maybe it's his one blue eye, one green eye -- or the fact that he's ALWAYS talking about when he met William Shatner. Still, even though he's not quite cool, you don't have the heart to tell him (because he's really a nice guy, and so close after all), and thus, he walks through life firmly believing that he is the shit -- even as others struggle to hold back their laughs.

ND: Joe Suave

Poor Joe Suave, not knowing what's up. The truth is, it doesn't matter. Being cool is all about attitude, and Joe S. has tons of it. Some girl doesn't want to date him because of the William Shatner thing? She's probably a vapid bitch anyway. Joe Suave might not have a great sense of what is hip, but he's usually right -- especially when it comes to judging people.

Damian from Mean Girls: Joe Suave. (I really don't remember him being "too gay to function.")

Accept Joe Suave into your inner-circle and he's guaranteed to be a good friend -- Joe cares more about people and feelings than being seen (or scene) and will even attend the crappy Shakespeare performance you have 2 lines in, if you invite him. Just don't pretend you don't know him when the cute guy playing Benvolio comes by to talk to you at the cast party -- Joe does NOT take kindly to being dissed, and will find a way to get back at you that is horrible and mortifying. Or maybe he'll just cry and call you a bitch behind your back, which in this situation, would be just and fitting.

Image result #17 for "Joe Suave": VP Joe Biden. A Joe Sauve in his youth perhaps?

Ultimately, Joe Suave is the kind of delightfully un-cool guy who one day will meet an equally uncool girl who likes him for who he is and will settle down and have kids and be wonderfully and placidly happy, unlike the rest of us, who will be stuck chasing after our youth. Perhaps we could all learn a little something from him.

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Princeton, but not the ivy league kind

Not to be confused with the elite New Jersey university my high school boyfriend attended, Princeton are an LA-based indie pop band (named after Princeton Street in Santa Monica, where they grew up) fronted by identical twins Jesse and Matt Kivel, who write gentle rolling folk songs with breezy melodies, deep, throaty vocals, horns, strings, synths, and more, for a result somewhere between '60s soul, '90s chamber pop and super '80s new wave, with some "Serge Gainsbourg and Something else-era Kinks" thrown in on top (their description, not mine.)

Princeton. Please note: these guys look like just about every guy I knew in college. go figure.
Photo by Laura Heffington

Anyway, they've been playing together pretty much since the womb (Jesse and Matt are twins, after all)-- but Princeton as we know it was officially formed 2005, and their debut album, Cocoon of Love, was just released 2 weeks ago. Here's the video for the first single:

Is there anything more delightful than cute indie boys pretending to murder each other? They play Philly October 2 with Ra Ra Riot -- go, and be delighted!

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It's the last day of summer...

...which always seems to mean settling down and getting serious, even without back-to-school jitters and a new class load. This September I've been out of school a 2 full years, and still every year I dread the fall...because I know it brings shorter days and colder weather and all the stresses and spending of the holidays.

But rather than lament what's to come, let's celebrate what is no more. Here's a favorite video of mine from GoodBoooks, the terse and theatrical British indie dance band, who released one fabulous album (that would be 2007's Control) then played their last show ever at the John Peel stage this June. I'm sad to see them go, but glad they left this behind:

When you think about it, we're all in search of something beautiful...sometimes, the search is what leads to our demise.

Thanks for making great music, GoodBooks. You certainly will be missed.

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Webisodes: Short Story Part 42

Monday afternoon, 3 days after her attack, Sazz Tuttle lay in a hospital bed feeling sorry for herself. In 3 days, she had had 0 visitors -- she had no family to speak of (mom had died when she was young and dad was a violent drunk and in out of prison for small felonies) and apparently no friends either. Sazz had always prided herself on being an independent woman -- but now, more than ever, she wanted someone to hold her hand and reassure her that everything would be ok.

As the day went on, she drifted in and out of slumber, feeling as though life were barely worth living, when all of a sudden she heard a familiar voice -- sounding like it was very far away -- saying her name over and over.

"Sazz? Are you awake? Sazz? Sharauna?"

Sharauna! There was only one person in the whole world that knew Sazz's real first name. She opened her eyes and found her old best friend, Jess Smidge, standing over her.

"Jess!" Sazz reached up to hug her friend, a gigantic smile on her face. "How did you get here? How did you hear about what happened?"

"Well..." said Jess hesitantly. Sazz noticed she wore a white prison bracelet on her wrist. "I'm actually here on parole right now. It was supposed to start tomorrow, but... you listed me as your emergency contact, so the hospital tracked me down...and they let me out a day early." She glanced at the ground, ashamed. "That's my parole officer right over there." She nodded towards a heavyset woman standing in the corner. "They say if I behave myself on parole, I could get out in as little as a month."

"A month!" exclaimed Sazz. "That would be wonderful!" For the first time in months, she felt a glimmer of hope -- with Jess back, she'd never feel this lonely again.

"We'll see," said Jess, and then, "So tell me about this douche-rag who did this to you..."

cold, cold hospital bed.

A couple hours later, still in the hospital, Sazz Tuttle was reeling from her visit with Jess Smidge when she heard a soft knock on the door.

"Sazz?" came a voice: quiet, guarded. "Are you in there?"

"I'm here," she called out groggily, not sure who the visitor was. The door cracked opened, and who should walk in but Rachel Lubovitch.

"Hi," said Rachel, tentatively.

"Hi," said Sazz. Why was Rachel here, she thought to herself. It didn't make any sense...

"Hi," said Rachel again, then paused uncomfortably. "Look, Sazz," she began. "I know you don't really know me too well, and probably you want to spend this time with family..." (it wasn't true, but Sazz let it go) "...but I really just wanted to come here and say...well, that I feel terrible to start." She bit her lip. "About Ron. And what he did. I had no idea..." Sazz could hear sadness and anger in her voice...she nodded without lifting her head from the pillow.

"Also..." continued Rachel, staring at her feet as Jess had done just hours before. "Thank you." It was a near-whisper, and Sazz had to strain to hear it. "I know you were trying to help me, to warn me about Ron...I appreciate it. You didn't have to do that."

"You're welcome," croaked Sazz. Really, she thought, her hunting down Rachel had little to do with Rachel and everything to do with taking revenge on Ron...but Sazz let that go too. Here she was, possibly paralyzed for life, and here was Rachel, in front of her. They stared into each others' eyes for a minute, and Rachel smiled.

"He really was a real jerk, wasn't he?" said Rachel.

Sazz smiled back. "Who, Harris?" she asked rhetorically. "Ginormous. Humongo. The jerkiest of the jerks." It took all her strength to be witty, but she was glad to finally have an audience.

Rachel chuckled. "I'm glad I didn't marry him," she said. "I think, deep down, I knew all along he wasn't the one...I just wanted it to work so badly, you know?" Rachel sighed. "I guess I just got caught up in the romance. Or something. But you can't force these things."

"You're telling me!" groaned Sazz appreciatively, realizing the same thing for the first time herself...

"you can't force these things..."

Marilyn Morrissey was so thrilled to have resolved the situation with the slimy Pinkin brothers that she did something she wouldn't normally do: she called Derek. Before, the stresses of saying safe and avoiding kidnappings made dealing with Derek seem like tons of work -- now, she felt free as a bird, and like she was capable of anything. It was a strange euphoria, and Marilyn decided to ride it, seeking activities that made her happy.

First on that list: a boyfriend. Or at least some sex. And while Derek wasn't perfect (who was, really?) Marilyn decided he was good enough.

The phone rang 3 times and Derek answered.

"Marilyn?"

"Derek!"

And Marilyn poured out the entire story of the past few days and the undercover cops and the beatings and the deal they eventually struck. And then waited a minute as Derek mulled it over and continued:

"So anyway, that's why I've been MIA the past few days. Tonight...you wanna come over and watch movies?"

It was the first time she ever invited him over her place, and she hoped Derek would be pleased. But to her surprise, he sounded unsure.

"Oh, I don't know..." began Derek, his voice trailing off.

Almost immediately, Marilyn felt deflated, but decided to push through. You can do anything! she thought to herself.

"Well...why not?" she said, then wondered if being so direct were foolish.

"Well...." Derek was quiet. "I just..." he stammered, searching for his words. "I like you a lot Marilyn," he said finally. Marilyn was taken aback. "I think you're an amazing girl. I just..."

"You just what?" asked Marilyn, confused as to where this was going.

"Your drug use makes me nervous," said Derek.

"your drug use makes me nervous"

"Well, what exactly do you want from me then?" asked Marilyn. This was definitely unlike her -- in any other situation, she would have told Derek to fuck off. But tonight she was feeling positive.

Derek heaved a sigh of relief. "Just to talk," he said. "Help me understand exactly what is going on."

"I can do that," said Marilyn.

There was a pause.

"So what's going on then?" asked Derek.

Huh? Again, Marilyn was confused. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"You know," said Derek. "You're on something. Pretty much all the time. I can tell. What is it?"

Marilyn gulped. She had no idea anyone could tell things like this!

"It's pills," she admitted finally. "Oxascand." It felt weird telling Derek this over the phone. She could hear him breathing on the other end.

"Well...ok" said Derek eventually. "Oxascand. Do you need it?"

Marilyn scratched her head. "You know..." she began, her lips curling up into a smile. "Maybe I don't."

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Neighborhood Watch: Playing Nice with City Paper

Oh City Paper. I know it's hard. I know it's hard working long hours for little pay in cramped cubicles* above that weird Indian restaurant on 2nd street. I get it. I work not-so-long hours in a rather spacious cubicle in an office above Buddakan, and it still gets to me. And I don't have evil Philebrities breathing down my neck all day long, telling me my publication is terrible and I'm a big lonely loser. The hardest part of MY day is figuring out the fax machine. And yet I ask:

City Paper, why you gotta be hatin'?

CP.

Let's start at the beginning. Alt-weeklies like to write about music. Alt weeklies=music. It's always been this way. Because they're INDEPENDENT, and unlike the horrifying, fun-sucking man (that would be the Inqy, I suppose) they have discerning tastes. Or something like that.

discerning taste. TPFD.

Now let's move on to the local scene. As a live music reporter/photographer, I have to say...generally, I enjoy hanging out with other photographers at shows. They're very nice. Exceedingly nice, even. Because when you think about it, we're all in this together, and we're all trying to make some cash and support the scene. Because it's a collective energy that bonds Philly together in the end, right?

Not if you work for City Paper. Consider the following short piece CP published on their blog, the Clog, on Monday:

Seriously, Phrequency.com? Seriously?

Monday, September 14th, 2009 at 12:45 pm

posted by Molly Eichel

categories Media, We Call Shenanigans

It's rare that we get comments on music previews – why would we? They're noncontroversial service pieces that are usually less than a hundred words. So, when we saw a comment on the Fruit Bats preview, it was much to our chagrin that it came from Phrequency.com, Philly.com's music/arts coverage site/bid at relevancy:

C'mon, dudes, you're gonna link your review on our site? We know you're ailing and all, but this is like the big dog stealing from the little dog's food bowl because he's a bit peckish. And as BH pointed out, at least try to add something relevant to the conversation before you whore yourself on our bandwidth. You stay on your site, we'll stay on ours.

Yikes! first of all: ouch. I didn't post this comment from Phrequency (although I DID write the article to which it refers), but...really? REALLY? Maybe it's just me, but this post REEKS of elitism and insecurity. You stay on your site and we'll stay on ours? Umm, yes, because a multiplicity of voices is BAD, and you should get all your news from one source. Why think that people who read this preview about the Fruit Bats would want to read a review of the exact same show? Of course they wouldn't! Especially if it comes from the big, bad Phrequency.com, a relatively new start-up site, run mostly by music lovers in their 20s. (we're the "big dog" here, apparently.)

Fruit bats, KFN. Photo by yours truly.

Second: Who uses the word peckish?

Third: City Paper didn't run a review of this show, so it's not like Phrequency is somehow subverting them. Although even if they DID run a review, there's nothing wrong with providing a little alternate interpretation here... (see above).

"alternate" interpretation.

And finally: This piece's insistence that comments must add something relevant to the conversation is grasping at straws, at best. You mean like...a completely relevant review of the show you just described? Something like that perhaps? Oh wait --my bad -- you wanted the person who posted this comment to dance around the subject a little, maybe post something like "nice write-up! I love the adjectives you used. turns out the show was just like you predicted. check out our write up here." You stroke our ego, Phrequency, and, well, we'll probably still make fun of you anyways, because we're an alt-weekly, and that's what we do.

dancing around the subject.

Playing Nice with City Paper: where is the love?

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*Note: I have never actually been inside the City Paper offices, and have no idea if they even have cubicles. I'm just imagining they do.

Neighborhood Watch: Chest Tats

What's up with chest tattoos on chicks all of a sudden? Everywhere I go, there they are: big, prominent "look at me!" statements, sprawled across the upper boob/lower collarbone area. Why the sudden influx? The bf threw out an interesting theory the other night: chest tattoos are the new hipster tramp stamp.

Some chick at Making Time, last weekend. (photo (c) phrequency.com)

In NYC. (from lastnightsparty.com)

Brilliant, right? Of course, that doesn't mean that EVERY girl sporting ink on her boobs is a total slutbag -- there are lots of nice, innocent completely NON-trampy girls out there I'm sure, who just enjoy a little chest piece edge cred. And power to them! And power to the slutty ones too, because good tattoos are hard to come by.

A rando. From this website.

So where are all these girls getting inspiration for their totally bad-ass breast plates? Well, I'm not exactly sure.



Everyone knows that Eve has some pretty kickin' paw-print tats, but that's old news by now. They were shocking in like, 1999. I'm putting my money on Kari Ferrell, aka the "Hipster Grifter," who was all over the blogosphere back in April when she got caught and ridiculed (and strangely, lionized) for embezzling mad funds from tons of skinny, plaid-clad trust-funding white boys.

K. Fer.

Kari was snatched up by mean, mean policeman on May 4...which gives rebellious high school students, people who loved Kari and wanted to pay her a tribute, and obnoxious, postmodern "now"-mocking hipsters FOUR whole months to get their copycat ink done. A tattoo only takes a couple of hours.

Is it just me or is this kinda hideous? From Brandon Davis Tattoos.

Anyway, I don't know what else to say about chest pieces on chicks except for: if you're gonna do it, do it soon. Because once the 16-year-olds on the Mainline start copying you (using their older sister's expired ID one night after clubbing at Plough and the Stars in Old City), it just becomes embarrassing. No one wants to jump on the bandwagon when it's sinking under the weight of 10,000 Fall Out Boy lovers. Get inked now -- and save up for laser removal in a year.

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Cubicle Watch: Washing your hands.

Question: When you go to the bathroom in your own house, do you wash your hands?

I certainly don't. Unless it's a particularly messy bathroom experience (either #2 or waaaay too much drinking), in which case I will wash them thoroughly. Using the very dusty bar of maple leaf soap that has been turning our soap dish orange for weeks now.

But most of the time -- why bother? It's my own house, and full of my own germs anyway. [note: it is not really my house at all -- it is the house of Mr. C., landlord.] Washing your hands if you've had no contact with bodily waste is completely unnecessary.




These rules, however, change when I am at work. When I'm at work, I wash my hands obsessively. Every time I go to the bathroom, for sure. It's almost habit -- flush the toilet (which actually happens automatically, so I don't even have to touch the handle), exit the stall, wash my hands. Why am I washing my hands? My hands didn't touch anything gross. If anything, it's my ASS I should be washing. [note: i almost never allow my ass to come into contact with the icky seat]

awww...this reminds me of pilam! [note: while living in pilam, i did wash my hands slightly more frequently, but not too often because their was never soap.]

And yet...every time I go to the bathroom it's the same. Flush, leave, wash my hands. Use the really, really LOUD paper towel dispenser to dry them off. It's practically part of my JOB description -- to not wash my hands would make me seem gross and skanky. And besides, I kind of enjoy running my hands under the warm water anyway, because the office is freezing and it helps me regain circulation. It's like therapy, really.

therapy, really.

Actually, I think it's an issue of peer pressure and office ecosystems, where no one wants to be the one to NOT wash their hands, lest others might see them and call them skanky. Maybe it's because if you ONLY washed your hands after a #2 everyone would KNOW and you'd be up shit creek. (oh wait, that's what happens when you CAN'T do #2). I don't know. All I know is this:

If you want to do well in the work world, make sure to wash your hands.

Cubicle watch. Where time goes so slowly, it feels like it's cubed.

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Atlantic City, NJ: Labor Day Weekend, 2009

Let us not forget: AC is filled with freaks and weirdos. But the beach is free, and the boardwalk picturesque, even when the night sky looks like apocalypse.






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Webisodes: Short Story Part 41

Jesse Milkovich, Casanova that he was, wasn't one to cheat on his lady while in a relationship. Luckily for him, Jesse was slow to apply this label, which meant he was often free to date several chicks at a time.

Still, Jesse had been falling for Lulu hardcore, and probably would have felt bad about kissing Bree the previous evening had she not shown him the article about the young, Asian embezzler. But that couldn't be Lulu. Could it?

Jesse Milkovich groaned. The drama of the past week was making him crazy. First California, and nonstop partying, then this business with the gangsters...perhaps all the excitement had him jumping to conclusions about Lulu. Jesse liked to think he had a pretty good sense of people, and he certainly hadn't picked up any criminal mastermind vibes from Lulu. Vapid hipster? Maybe. But vapid and deceptive were 2 different ballgames.

But why speculate? There was one sure way to determine the truth. Jesse picked up his phone and dialed Lulu's number. He'd ask her straight out, just to be sure.

Brrrrring! Brrrring! The phone rang 6 times, then went to voice mail.

Typical, thought Jesse, and took a deep breath and started his message...

Casanova that he was...

Back in Bushwick, Marilyn Morrissey was getting dressed with much trepidation. More than anything, she wanted all this insanity to be over already. For months now, her life had been a living Hell of kidnapping and gunpoint demands, and today was supposed to be the culmination of it all, the final meeting...and still Marilyn had no idea how things would turn out. Jesse, she knew, was hesitant to call his contact in the Nation, and yet, she knew she had to appease the Pinkin brothers somehow...

Luckily for Marilyn, fate had dealt her enough bad hands already and finally, she was about to catch a break. Just minutes before heading out to meet Jesse, her phone rang. It was Josh.

“Marilyn!” said a breathless Josh. Marilyn sighed. She wasn't in the mood to listen to one of Josh's revelations, with usually dealt with the taste properties of peanut butter when mixed with ice cream, or other such novelties. But this time was different.

“You'll never believe what I just heard,” Josh continued. “You remember that douchebag cop, who busted the Back Lot?”

Of course Marilyn remembered—it was a rhetorical question.

“Welllllll,” said Josh. “I finally figured out who that fucker is.”

This was news to Marilyn, whose ears perked up.

“Who is it?” she asked. She was in a rush to get moving, but this was big news. News she could possibly even leverage against the Pinkin brothers.

“You'll never guess,” said Josh. “Ted the bouncer.”

taste properties of ice cream mixed with peanut butter? delicious.

“Ted the bouncer?” repeated Marilyn, incredulous. “Really?”

“Yeah that's right,” said Josh. “Found out from Marcus. Apparently, in addition to being an undercover dick, he's also a big undercover fairy. Met up with Marcus at some club and brought him home with him. Next morning, Marcus wakes up first, is gathering his clothes to go home and finds a police badge. Fell out of Ted's pants. And of course, he's freaking out, because Ted saw him snort coke and god knows what else the night before...but then it turns out, Ted's not interested in busting him, just whoever sold it to him. Crazy world.”

Josh paused for a second. “Crazy indeed,” said Marilyn, and “Thanks for telling me. Actually, I was just headed out right now to meet those d-bag kidnapping fuckers, and I have a feeling this info could be very useful.”

“Hey, I do what I can,” said Josh, and Marilyn hung up and dialed Jesse's number...

An undercover cop seizes tons of cocaine. Go USA!

Half an hour later, Marilyn and Jesse stood outside Marilyn's apartment building a second time, gigantic smiles pasted on their faces. As Reid Pinkin approached—sans El Rey, for once—he too looked pleased.

“Good news?” asked Reid, who also was ready to be done with this whole thing.

“Something like that,” replied Jesse. “But only if you're willing to strike a little deal.”

Reid Pinkin's smile fell. Weinstein had warned him: no letting these hipster brats pull a fast one. He let Jesse continue.

“Why do you guys need territory?” asked Jesse, then put his finger up to shush Reid before he could answer. “It's because your old territory isn't working out for you anymore. There's an informant over at the Sandlot ruining the fun for everyone.” He stared straight into Reid's eyes, as if to drive the point home. Reid was silent.

“But what if I told you I knew who the informant was,” continued Jesse, “and would share this information with you, if you agree to call it even and leave Marilyn here alone?”

Reid thought about it for a moment.

“How do I know you're telling the truth?” he asked.

Marilyn piped up. "If he's not telling you the truth, I give you full right to kidnap me again,” she said. “Lock me up and have your way with me.” It was a ballsy thing to say, and she was impressed with her own boldness.

Reid Pinkin thought about it again.

“The name of the informant, and half a kilo,” he finally decided.

Jesse Milkovich extended his hand forward. “Let's shake on it,” he said. “Because man, you got yourself a deal.”

.

Like this post? Read the whole thing (so far) here.

Best New Music Week, Dose 5: Hockey (plus a couple extras)

5). Hockey -- Mind Chaos

This might be my favorite album of them all. Who are Hockey? A very new, very cool, Portland, Oregon-based foursome, immensely popular across the Pond (thanks in large part to a rocking tour with blog gods Passion Pit), Hockey write bold, indulgent new wave tunes that might be a guilty pleasure if they weren't so goddamn good.




Mind Chaos is their debut album, and I'm telling you now: once people find out about this, this band is going to be HUGE! Every track on this record rocks. "Work " has a sort of skip-hop beat, which coupled with singer Benjamin Grubin's visceral vocals, is swinging and kinda makes you wanna moonwalk while "Wanna be Black" recollects the best of DFA, with an arena rock edge that is rousing and rambunctious. "Preacher" sounds like it was lifted straight off the soundtrack to Footloose, while the closing track, "Everyone the same age" is a slow-rolling, affecting confessional.

But enough description! I'll let the videos speak for themselves:

This is music to get you pumped and help you stay pumped, music for a holiday weekend (hint, hint) or just music for whenever you're in a funk and want to smile. Seriously, this record is totally killer. Listen to it!

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Want even more great new tunes? Here's a couple other things to consider...

Illinois -- The Adventures of Kid Catastrophe
Wow, this album is awesome! Remember that video I posted last Friday? It's the opening track to an epic 20-song concept album, full of grunge-y, rickety, toe-tapping alt-country (think early Beck) that is sometimes sweet and lo-fi. One of my fave local bands!

Os Mutantes -- Haith or Amortecedor
The 9th full-length from Brazilian tropicalia gods Os Mutantes (and their first in 35 years! holy shit!), this album doesn't have the same immediately infectious hooks as 1970's Tecnicolor (which, ironically enough, the band didn't even want to release), but there's still much to love in tinkering keys, syncopated bongos, moody vocals, and trippy beats.
Check out the trailer.

The Sky Drops -- Bourgeois Beat
Another local band, this Wilmington, DE-based duo (Rob Montejo and Monika Bullette) write hazy, psychedelic shoegaze tunes that are sometimes dancey, sometimes mopey. My favorite album to zone out to at work!
Check out "Hang on."

Noah and the Whale -- The First Days of Spring
Not quite the gay parade* as 2008's Peaceful, the World Lays Me Down, this album starts off sad and sort of melancholy (à la Bill Callahan), then morphs -- like a montage scene in a movie -- to full, grand, symphonic numbers, complete with strings, brass, and pulsing, exuberant, choir-like vocals.
Check out the trailer. Totally killer!

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^{*As in the Gay Parade, a 1999 album by Of Montreal.}

Best New Music Week, Dose 4: The Hidden Cameras

4.) The Hidden Cameras -- Origin: Orphan

Looking through this list, I notice it's heavy on the indie-pop. I make no apologies. I've always been an indie pop girl at heart, and luckily for me, the genre is flourishing! That being said: the Hidden Cameras are one of my favorite bands. These Canadian popsters (signed to Built to Spill's Arts & Crafts label) have always seemed on the verge of a major breakthrough -- à la Animal Collective -- that could lead to thousands of obsessed 16-year-olds fans. For now, I'm just happy to have them to myself. Well, myself and anyone who reads this, and listens to their lush, symphonic concoctions.



Self-described "gay church folk music", the Hidden Cameras are the brainchild of songwriter Joel Gibb, whose fondness for theatrics often means memorable live shows with full orchestras, go-go dancers, audience participation, and more. It also means a crazy giant band with about 8483000 people (see photo above) -- and a repertoire of complex, sprawling chamber pop symphonies, with choir-like vocals, and playful melodies that always seem on the verge of dissolution.

Origin: Orphan is the band's 5th full-length album, and employs many of the same characteristics (prominent strings, minor-to-major chord progressions) that form the band's signature sound. Gibb might not be an evolutionist when it comes to making music, but he's good at what he does, and this album proves it.

Here's the video for the first single, "In the Na":

skip to around 1:42 if you don't feel like sitting through unnecessary
exposition. sometimes i think these guys are too artsy for their own good.

And to get an idea of just how awesome their live performances are, here's "He falls to me." Delightful!

The Cameras play Johnny Brenda's November 5. Never too early to start planning ahead!

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Best New Music Week, Dose 3: The Vivian Girls

3.) The Vivian Girls -- Everything Goes Wrong

If you've talked to me at all in the past 2 weeks or so, you've probably heard me talk about the Vivian Girls. In fact, I almost didn't include this album on my list at all just BECAUSE I thought it would be overkill. Enough with the Vivian Girls! But then I remembered the Vivian Girls are one of those bands you're SUPPOSED to talk about -- because they're a blog band after all --and so I figured I'd go ahead and further their fame, in some sort of tiny, infinitesimal way. Here we go!

looking cool.

Often hyped as "a hyped band that lives up to the hype" (yes, that's postmodernism caving in on itself right there), the Vivian Girls are a VERY GOOD band, who write grunge-y, gritty, garage-punk ditties that are both rough around the edges and perfectly polished.

Hailing from Brooklyn, NY, they also (by requirement) carry a load of "we're-from-Brooklyn" mad hipster 'tude [DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT THINK ALL BANDS FROM BROOKLYN ARE LIKE THIS] -- but I even forgave them for the whole people who eat bloomin' onions with their coworkers at TGI Fridays are lame scandal (not that I would partake in such an activity...ever) -- if only because I figure they were 20 years old at the time and probably everyone they knew were college students and rando trust-fund record-dude weirdos.

said hilarity.

And did I mention their new album rocks? As the title suggests, Everything Goes Wrong is a bit darker than their self-titled debut -- guitarist Cassie Ramone (that would be the tiny blond on the right) has said many of the songs detail a bad past relationship -- and all the shit the band's been dealt during their rapid rise to the top.

This is definitely a slightly angry record -- tracks like "Can't get over you" sound like the Shirelles got jaded, smoked a whole ton of cigarettes, maybe forewent their matching outfits for ripped jeans and were just really BITTER about this break-up, while "You're my guy" chides "you're my guy/ fuck me all the time/ I'm lonely every night." Yikes!

Acoustic session. The actual song has more pizazz, but this was all i could find.

Still, it's not the sort of anger that makes you want to belt into your hairbrush and/or smack someone in the face (it's not Alanis Morisette, for god's sake) -- there's a nonchalance to the emotion, as if the Viv Girls are really just too cool to get worked up. Which is why this album totally rules -- it's plain old "fuck you" we're-making-punk punk, and not trying to be anything else.

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Viv Girls just played Philly last week -- but no worries, they'll be back again soon. Brooklyn ain't that far from here.

Best New Music Week, Dose 2: Sondre Lerche

2.) Sondre Lerche -- Heartbeat Radio

Sondre Lerche, I imagine, is a real gentleman. His songs are filled with both delicate moments and jazzy flourishes, which I am sure are an extension of his sensitive, sophisticated persaonlity (songs like "Modern Nature" -- written when Lerche was only 18! --prove this. Why can't American men be like this?) Plus there's those piercing blue eyes...and his undeniable ability to wear a v-neck tee and not look gay. Oh Sondre Lerche, I think I'm in love!



Unfortunately for me, I'm not the only one, I'm sure. A Norwegian pop star, who won his first Grammy at age 19, Lerche already has 5 albums under his belt (including the Dan in Real Life soundtrack), and an impressive fanbase back home. Which will only be growing once people hear Heartbeat Radio.

The hallmark of any great musician is the ability to grow, and here Lerche puts together everything he's learned to create a near-perfect pop album. Every song is beautifully-constructed and arranged, with melodies that morph and build, and swelling strings that complement his effortless tenor.

Title track, "Heartbeat radio", live in NYC, 2008. The first live performance of this song ever!

My favorite track is probably "Words and music," a toe-tapping sing-along ditty that seems straight out of a Rogers and Hammerstein musical -- I can just imagine Lerche with a top hat and cane -- maybe some tap-shoes --leaping off park benches and swinging around street lamps.

"Almighty Moon" could be a radio-hit tomorrow -- it's incredibly catchy with a pumping beat, new wave keys, and a nice long bridge section that DJs could use to give away free tickets on the air. Speaking of which -- Lerche plays the World Cafe Live this Saturday, September 5. Go let yourself fall in love!

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