Man In Black

So I'm relatively certain I've written before about my love of Johnny Cash.

About my rad JC tee, as illustrated above, with the just-as-rad tee belonging to the one and only Chris Hall. About the bad January week a few years back in which I didn't open my curtains once, barely left my room, and listened to Johnny Cash on repeat [this was before anyone uttered the words "antidepressants"]. About the first time I worked on a film set - a couple weeks' working with the Production Designer - and got paid expenses - and a burned copy of the Johnny Cash Unearthed boxset. About how 'Girl From The North Country' with Bob Dylan is one of my top five all time favourite songs. About the amazing BBC docs and old Jools Holland footage they aired after Cash's death. About how when we got robbed a couple of years ago, two Johnny Cash LPs I'd ordered had turned up and when I walked in the house and discovered we'd been burgled [and once over the horror of having had my laptop nicked] I wondered aloud at the fact that these two amazing LPs had been left sitting on the table and that the burglars hadn't wanted them. About how recently Johnny Cash is pretty much all I've been listening to, on repeat...

A friend was telling me how someone she knew had seen that Walk The Line film and gotten into Cash as a result - but said she only wanted to buy the film soundtrack, as she didn't know if she'd actually like the original material. *Retarded*. It was a pretty good film, but face it, there ain't nothing like the original.

While I'm here, I should also say, y'all should check out the Million Dollar Sessions - Cash, Carl Perkins, Elvis Presley and Jerry Lee Lewis; all in the studios at Sun Records, jamming, and Sam Phillips just left the tapes running...


Oh and also, on a totally different note, I know I wrote about how the Cobra Starship song was on repeat a couple weeks ago. My love has grown greater since I read the hilarious bio on their site - CobraStarship.com - and the fact that my lovely friend Alex Suarez of Ivy League is playing bass on tour with them. Godspeed, Cobra Starship.

Get Busy Living or Get Busy - Being Turned Into Rubber Dolls??

From: Dan
To: Me
Subj: I'll get you this for Christmas

LOLOLOL

Thanks Dan. You know me too well...

multitasker

So earlier on I was listening to East Village Radio archives [this computer is so rubbish it doesn't even have itunes or something similar to play CDs] - in particular last week's Misshapes radio show:

Girl: "He used to come to Misshapes a whole lot... He had funny hair-"
Geo: "There's a lot of people with funny hair at Misshapes, let me tell you."

LOL.


So anyway, back to the multitasking: right now I'm currently swinging between three jobs. Once I've finished writing this it's back to jumping between doing stuff for Lula, for C&B/Littl'ans, and then perhaps for the job I'm actually here being paid for. But everyone has already left for the day - for the record, it's only 3:30pm, no wonder the NHS is in a state - and I'm solo, so the incentive to work is nil.

TONIGHT: Ladies, Gents, small furry creatures, head on down to The Spitz [Commercial Street, E1 - nearest tube is Liverpool Street] and be aurally assaulted [in a *good* way] by the delightful Littl'ans...

[New Yorkers - never fear, we're bringing them to you this fall...]

this one time, at band practice...

Who the fuck wants to work during a London heatwave?? I bunked off work to go to band practice and photoshoots, and discovered this:



Why did no one tell me they'd built a beach in East London?!? It's between Brick Lane and Commercial Street. How brilliant? I do miss the beach being a mere [40 minute or so] subway ride away. And yeah, okay so a real beach with some sea would be better, but it's still a neat idea.

I felt a little sorry for the boys having to rehearse in an unventilated basement during this weather, gotta say. They sounded really good.



But clearly the tambourine player felt he didn't need to practice too much...



So me, Ronnie and Jackie disappeared up to the other end of Brick Lane to go get beigels. Mmmmm.

I realise I've only been back in a shitty 9-5 office job like - what, ten days or something? - but I do relish the days of freedom. Office jobs suck. If only freelancing was financially sustainable [big words].

Is it a bird? Is it a plane?

*Umm possible spoiler, if those kinda things bother you*

Hey Kevin Smith, does the new Superman movie [surprisingly better than I thought it would be. Wasn't really to bovvered about seeing it, but I actually enjoyed it. I didn't, however, enjoy the broken A/C in the cinema, on one of the hottest days. Oy.] answer your old questions??

Brodie: It's impossible, Lois could never have Superman's baby. Do you think her fallopian tubes could handle the sperm? I guarantee you he blows a load like a shotgun right through her back. What about her womb? Do you think it's strong enough to carry her child?
T.S. Quint: Sure, why not?
Brodie: He's an alien, for Christ sake. His Kyrptonian biological makeup is enhanced by earth's yellow sun. If Lois gets a tan the kid could kick right through her stomach. Only someone like Wonder Woman has a strong enough uterus to carry his kid. The only way he could bang regular chicks is with a kryptonite condom. That would kill him.

[Mallrats, 1995]

holy heatwave, batman

supposedly the hottest day of the year so far, the hottest day in july on record. it's about 99F out there. my offices have no AC. this is the thermostat in the hallway. i need a block of ice, stat.

summer nights

That letter I wrote to British summertime a few entries back clearly worked. We've been smacked with a heatwave. And of course there's no a/c on public transport. Or in my office.

It does mean we turn all continental and eat out in the backyard, with our mix-and-match chairs and bbqs that take hours to fire up [and then become unuseable after my sister leaves marshmallows on the grill then forgets about them].

Say NO to PDAs

I got the night bus back from Camden last night after a fun-filled Friday night of... work. We were at Hammersmith bus station, driving round the central hub and there was a couple shagging against the wall. No jokes. Dunno if they thought they couldn't be seen or whatever, but there they were in their full Friday night glory, having sex against a grey metal wall at Hammersmith bus station.

*Classy*

i can see the venom in your eyes

i know, i know, everyone has already blogged about the cobra starship/snakes on a plane song, but i have to admit i too am totally obsessed with the song. and the video.

we've been working all evening [it's now twenty past midnight and we're still here...] on stuff that's like so not "discemo", as i believe it's now being called, but i just can't stop listening to this track.

not cobrasnake

friday afternoon

Our boys:
[well, our boys + Pete Doherty. And the fuzz. And some other hangers on]

Join us, my friends:

Crash & Boom

Littl'ans

New York, we should be seeing you for CMJ. Woot woot.

odd dreams

I had a dream last night that my dad was having an affair with Teri Hatcher, by text message.

And I woke up thinking "that's weird, dad doesn't even know how to use text messages."


Yeah, 'cause that's the weird part...

thursday night

Come one, come all, to The Fly on Thursday night. Come and see aforementioned Dior models and rockstars and hipsters who seem so young that looking at them wrong could land you in jail. But what's a night out without a little risk, eh??

dear british summertime

please come back, all is forgiven.

yours fondly,

the ever hopeful british public
xo

they rawk we bankroll

Having drinks & dinner with rockstars/producers/Dior models & Chanel muses is a guaranteed way to feel like Plain Jane 2006.

But hurrah for new projects!

On that note: I started a new temp gig today [finally] - it's to do with caring for old people [in an admin capacity] and there are whole filing cabinets labelled "R.I.P."

Oh no, this job isn't even the slightest bit depressing...

oh dear

Cost per can of Strongbow Super bought from an off-licence and drunk whilst sitting on the traffic island opposite Camden Palace [or do I mean Koko?]: £1.00

Having to get up early after an unintentionally drunken night before that ended up in East London talking French to some kids at the bus stop: painful

Train ride to Highbury & Islington complete with headache: £2.50

Juice to combat dry-mouth and nausea: £1.48

Minutes arrived early for appt thus allowing for fresh air to blow the cobwebs away: 20

People walking dogs or pushing strollers on Highbury Fields: too many to count

Getting to the appointment and realising I'd had my flies open the whole time: priceless...

ribbit

Frog. Sneaking in on guest lists. Strongbow. Polaroids. Random people. Hot boys. Boys in bands. DJs. Photographers. Sounds like old times…

Ended up missing both bands that played [one of whom was Good Shoes that I’d actually wanted to see] ‘cause we were sat on the floor talking to the Blaggin’ Scenesters. Using This Scene Is Dead as a fabulous excuse to approach anyone and everyone. Some kids getting the whole LNP/Cobrasnake thing, but most not – but still happy to pose. Talking to one guy about how LNP had become an excuse for people to take off their tops – and within seconds:

suspenders are things they sell in victoria's secret

It’s a good thing I have an IQ of more than, say, 70. I mean, some less clever people might find having to relearn the English language a task. They might be constantly chided for asking if anyone wants to “go to the movies” or telling people their “cell phone number.” They might have people mocking them for their curious mid-Atlantic twang and pronounciation of certain words. And they certainly might be a little embarrassed if they asked a male assistant at TopShop where the “suspenders” were, when they actually meant “braces” [the things that hold your trousers up], and got a raised eyebrow in return.

we. are. your friends.

A visit to Trash with Jackie Boom Boom and my sister was preceded by buying a four quid bottle of vodka in Holborn Sainsburys then sitting on a stoop and sharing the vodka three ways between us, into bottles of coke. A classy start to my first foray into the London scene…

Security seems much tighter than NY – my bag got searched and my hipflask confiscated [bastards!] – although I was allowed to pick it up at the end of the night. We headed downstairs to the bar. My sister’s first comment to me: “Oh my god, I’m so… Abercrombie & Fitch compared to everyone else!”

Bricolage played a set. My sister tried to con drinks out of people [surprisingly successfully, I might add…] Two different kids I started talking to also turned out to be Misshapes regulars. The place got so fucking smoky [a mixture of cigarettes and, apparently, a smoke machine. How 1990s of them.] you couldn’t see more than a foot in front of you at one point.

We left just before three, before the place shut. Jackie headed to the Camden-bound night bus with some kids while Fi and I wandered aimlessly around the West End, more or less heading for our night bus stop, but stopping for madam to get chips and pitta and talk to men in tuxedos. As we were waiting for the bus in Trafalgar Square [dawn just breaking, the first rays of daylight slowly climbing down Nelson’s Column] we ran into a guy we’d been talking to earlier. We ended up doing the music writer chat thing. He kept stealing Fi’s ketchup for his own chips and started singing the Simian vs Justice tune for us, until the N9 turned up.

a wireless summer solstice

It's the longest day of the year and we're in Hyde Park for Wireless. The crowd: an assortment, some could have come straight from watching a game at the pub, others look as if they belong against the Misshapes wall. There's even a few who look like they've bunked off school to be there.

The Like play first, as we stroll in, mentally noting the location of the frozen margarita stand, and how the line for that is much less than that of the beer tent. Gogol Bordello, with Hutz wearing what appears to be a pair of Aston Villa soccer shorts over jeans, go down a storm, telling everyone to wear Purple. We head to the XFM tent to jump around to the Young Knives briefly before heading back to see Dirty Pretty Things. It seems DPT believe their own hype, and merely dial in a lacklustre performance. Iain Super-8s some of the Raconteurs, who do a little better than Barat et al in my opinion, but a lot of their set is taken up trying to get someone about fifteen feet ahead of us to put down their fucking red umbrella.

As the crowd breaks in between sets, we move forward to stake out a spot for Belle & Sebastian. Stuart Murdoch is still on my list of men-to-marry, but he sounds like he's losing his voice. When they disappear off stage, we scarper as fast as thousands of people crammed in front of the stage will let us, to find bathrooms and food. We go to the MySpace tent and groove to White Rose Movement, then head out to see the more-or-less headliners, The Strokes, play the final set.

By now it's pretty nippy, and we can't be bothered to head into the heaving mass of people so while James fetches us cups of tea, I sit down on a patch of grass way back, where, it turns out we have a perfect view of the screens, and if we stand up, a perfect view [albeit far back] of the stage. We sip our tea and try to warm up, and The Strokes get into their set. As people run past us to join the crush, it seems a fair few people have decided it's just as good at the back, and a small Strokes dance party is going on back there. Toe-tapping helps with the keeping warm, I discover.

Eventually, as The Strokes play the last song of their encore, we start sneaking off to the exits, hoping to beat the rush. When I get to the bus stop on Bayswater Road, however, it seems other people have done the same - and headed back a stop, resulting in full buses not stopping. I manage to squeeze on to the next 94 that turns up and am so tired I end up sitting on the stairs of the double decker, ears ringing, legs tired from standing and dancing, but glancing out the window I notice it's still not wholly dark, and the longest day of the year has given daylight a pretty good show.

[full set of photos]

oh, blue states lose...

I think this might be one of my favourite Blue States Lose quotes ever:

"... the only thing you can do is consult the Idiot’s Guide to Being a Hipster, by Headband Guy. There it is right in Chapter 2, titled “Hipster Health Care: Sparks Tongue, Coke Nose and You” (it’s right after Chapter 1, which just has the sentence “Get a job at American Apparel” cut and pasted 5,000 times in a row)..."

I got a healthy dose of the AA employee 'tude in the Carnaby Street store the other day. I didn't realise it had travelled across the pond from NY.

walk the south bank

So a last minute decision, and we headed to The Scoop over by Tower Bridge to go to the open air cinema to see Walk The Line [think Bryant Park movies by Tower Bridge]. It was a beautiful evening and while we waited for the drawbridge [I feel so medieval saying that!] to go down, we stood on the bridge looking down the river. When we got down to the ampitheatre, it was packed. The theatre bit itself had already been shut off, and people were sitting around all on the towpath. There was no way we would have seen shit. So we gave up and decided to wander down the south bank of the Thames.

I think it was something I needed to do, something to remind me just how great London can be. It was beautiful. We - that's me, my bowling-ball-bellied pregnant friend M, and Izzy who'd twisted her ankle earlier in the day - ended up walking all the way down to Hungerford Bridge, past Waterloo. We walked up the small lane next to Charing Cross at about 11pm, eating Twister ice lollies we'd just bought in Embankment tube station and guessing who of those walking past us were headed to Heaven.

The Doctor Is In

Fuck it, if I really thought David Tennant was in there, I'd have braved the mosquitoes and gross smells to pull open the door.

2-0

After lunch at Wagamamas [mmmmm - hadn't been in about 15 months] with the lovely Emma, I headed back home to theoretically do some work. An hour later I woke up, disoriented, realised it's 4:30 so got my swerve on to Hammersmith, where I met M & S outside the Palais.

If you've grown up in West London, the Hammersmith Palais is kind of a rite of passage - fuck it, maybe it's one for those that've grown up in North, South and East London too, I have no idea. But it's one of those clubs that have been around forever. It's a little bit grubby now, it's gone through various ownerships and name changes, but of course has still always been known as the Palais, even when it was technically Po Na Na. It's now home to School Disco on a Saturday night - not a place I'd recommend.

For the England v. Trinidad & Tobago game on Thursday, they'd opened up the Palais to mailing list members. They had two big screens, table and chairs and so on. We walked in from a bright sunny afternoon and I was instantly blind it was so dark inside. We stumbled our way through to the main club area to see the two screens and a lot of people [and smoke. I always forget it's smoking in bars here until I'm actually in them. Drives me mad. The smoking ban is a good thing.] We made ourselves comfortable by one of the bars - the HD TV above the bar had a much better picture than the big ones - and watched the game. It was kind of a weird place to watch the game, but it did provide for a good atmosphere with that many people. And holy shit, when Crouch finally fucking scored in the 83rd minute, the place went craaaazy.

yo' mama

Did anyone else think the England game on Saturday was actually kind of rubbish? And did anyone else want to smack Paredes and/or the ref in the second half? Winning 1-0 by a Paraguayan own goal... not especially something to be proud of, boys.

In other news:

As my NY peeps throw the Sonic Youth release and after party, I finally manage to upload the SY interview from the current issue of Flux magazine.



And. Also. Whilst interweb-surfing this morning in an Editorial Assistant capacity, I came across this. I hope it brightens up your Mondays as much as it has mine...

find the silver lining in everything

Being unemployed [and broke] may suck, but it does mean that I get to enjoy British Summertime while it's here.

According to James:

Badgers are the most "Metal" of all woodland creatures.

"I mean, look at them, they're already in full KISS makeup. They just sit in their warrens talking about the new Slayer album."

how funky is *your* - er, robot...

I'm *so over* the World Cup and it hasn't even started. It's inescapable. If it wasn't enough that bloody England flags are everywhere, it seems like every single advert - no matter what it's advertising - has a football theme.

Enough already. We get it. Big soccer tournament thing going on, starting verrrrry soon.

Saturday night our "let's go out" plans were scuppered by S. getting sunburnt [yes, you read that right. Sunburnt. In England. There is sun here... sometimes.] Instead we hung out and made cocktails, and I wore my sunglasses inside against the glare of her burn...

I was also schooled about the England team, and it turns out there is one good thing about it.

The RoboCrouch.

Peter Crouch, all six foot seven inches of football player. Who likes to do the Robot dance every time he scores.

Maybe if we win the Cup [hahahahaha] we can get him to do the Funky Chicken...

ride 'em cowboy

So I'm walking up Shepherd's Bush Road to the studios again when this guy steps out in front of me. Tight black trousers. *Amazing* bum. Seriously biteable. Then I look up and realise he's wearing a police riding helmet. And that the Police Horse truck is parked by the end of Hammersmith Police Station. And he's actually a mounted policeman.

Who knew Hammersmith Police force had such great butts among them??

a little less sixteen candles, a little more... act your age?

After a brief sojourn to Nottingham to visit my sister - a trip marred by her sickliness, resulting in all plans being cancelled and instead sitting in her living room while she coughs and splutters her way through How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days and her roommates make us dinner [and me a v. belated birthday cake], it's back to the Smoke and joblessness. Unable to handle being stuck at home for yet *another* evening, I escape to Sam's.

A confession last week:
Sam: "I told you we got freeview recently? Well, I've been watching the music channels. And - and I don't know if I'm really behind the times or it's really lame or anything, but - there's this one band I really like."
Me: "Oh who is it?"
Sam: "Umm, they're called... Fall Out Boy."

When I get there, her fiance Joe and a friend of ours, Arthur, are watching the football [England v Hungary], so we decamp to the bedroom where we sit around the computer, watching Fall Out Boy videos and the lamest movie trailers online, listening to the emo bro-down mp3 CD I made her [FOB, P!ATD, MCR], talking about comic books and why some comic book/superhero movies work and others don't, and the Panic! video for 'I Write Sins', and the FOB - sorry, Patrick Stump live lounge acoustic session last weekend [is it just me or does he call Jo Whiley "ma'am" at the end, and if so isn't that one of the most endearing things ever?] and her sister's recent wedding - and then Joe comes in and asks what we're up to and Sam says "acting like teenagers over my new favourite band" and we giggle, he raises an eyebrow and returns to the football and we wonder if even when we're 45 we'll still hop skip and jump up the stairs or into bed when the house is dark and we're the last ones awake so the boogity-boos that live under the bed and creep out from corners in the dark won't get us...

Panic! at the launch party.

The Lula issue 2 launch party in the West End, that I've been helping with all week. Another last minute DJ gig: a phone call last night, asking me to cover James's slot.

Suddenly the what-to-wear dilemma is replaced with the what-to-play dilemma. I've never played a London party and with the disappearance of my social life, I haven't been to any London parties to see what they play. Playlists are rapidly thrown together, some are uploaded online for me from Brooklyn [I heart D.E.], CDs and headphones are dropped off in the afternoon from James.

Then the what-to-play dilemma is replaced by the oh-shit-I-should-have-left-half-an-hour-ago-daddy-please-will-you-drive-me-into-town dilemma, and I eventually get to Portland Place about ten minutes before the party starts. The sound guy and I spend about five minutes trying to figure out the mixer and settings [it was a little odd] then we're up and running and I'm playing to an empty room although apparently people are arriving downstairs.

A couple songs in, I run to the open bar in the next room and grab a peach bellini. A few minutes later someone clears away the empty glass and brings me a fresh drink. I like this service. However, I end up spinning for just under two hours and by the end I'm getting the point where not only do I want another drink [alas, no new one appears after the second bellini], but I'm starting to wonder if I'll ever get someone to cover me so I can run to the bathroom. Just as I'm about to text someone, the next DJ shows up and I turn the decks over with some relief, push my way through the fashion crowd to the bar, down another drink then run downstairs to the bathrooms.

A while later, back upstairs in the room where the DJ is, talking to my friend, someone taps me on the shoulder to get my attention. It's a girl, short blond hair. "Are you going to be DJing again at all tonight?" I don't think so, I tell her. "Oh. I preferred your stuff - you were better than her." I stammer my thanks and turn back to my friend,unsure whether my suddenly-pink cheeks are from too much free champagne or from unexpected compliments from strangers.

Later, and we're downstairs watching The Like play, I get an immediate girl crush on the drummer [why is it always the drummers??] It's so hot and the Queens of Noize breeze in and there's a guy wearing a cowboy hat and someone else with their bangs [fringe] artfully scuplted across their forehead to accentuate their cheekbones and I've had too many drinks in quick succession with barely any food all day and my friend comes in and says it's all too Glamorama let's get out of here and as we're heading out Keira Knightley brushes past looking beautiful and we get outside and it finally finally feels like London might be approaching summer as the sky is a light-polluted shade of indigo and it's still warm and breezy and we walk up to Piccadilly Circus to get the tube home talking as if it hadn't been over a year since we've hung out like this.

burning questions

1) Is the new Futureheads song, Skip to the End, a Spaced reference?

2) Is Primark said Pry-mark or Pree-mark?

3) Why, when you're stressed out and in a super hurry, does everything break down? Three - THREE - internet connections went down on me [umm, that reads a little wrongly] today when I had a shitload to email out. And the fourth connection kept stop-starting.

4) Where has my social life gone?

5) What on earth am I going to wear to the big partay tomorrow night??

jobless layabout

As I'm still jobless it means I have time for lunch dates in Covent Garden, and afternoon tea in Soho, for popping in to Magma and standing gawping at everything like a kid in a candy store [a moment of self-promotion: check out the new Flux mag, issue 54 - got my Sonic Youth interview in], picking up the new Amelia's that has Swarovski crystals on the front and the new Super Super [j'adore].

It means I have time to go sit in the Apple Store on Regent St to hear my friend give a presentation, and later spend too long hunting for good ice cream in the supermarket [and failing]. It means I've had time to be bummed the Nets are out of the playoffs. To read two Harry Potter books [the sixth and then re-reading the first. Geek Alert: I'd just like to say OMG about the ending of the sixth. Okay, geeky moment over]. To watch a whole series of Buffy on DVD over a long weekend [okay, maybe that geek moment wasn't over...] To realise that my bank balance needs topping up verrrrry soon. And more than enough time to notice the Evening Standard comment that unemployment is at its highest since 2002...

boo

Imagine the night of an insomniac. How it takes forever to fall asleep. How sometimes you'll reach that stage when you can feel yourself on the precipice of dozing off, but you try not to notice because the minute you become aware, it wakes you up more. So you turn over, try to let your mind drift back into the nothingness it had almost reached. Then through your shut eyes you become aware of a glow. A glow that shouldn't be there. You crack open an eyelid and before you feel alert enough to react, you've thrown yourself backwards away from the bedside table, a shrill "ohmigodohmigodOHMIGOD" stuttering from your lips as your brain registers a visage glowly horribly a mere foot or so away from where you're sleeping.


Yeah, it would've been nice if someone had warned me one of the paperback editions of Chuck Palahniuk's latest, Haunted, had a glow in the fucking dark cover before it jolted me from almost-sleep at 3:45 am this morning.

hmm.

Is there anyone else that always reads Okkervil River as Overkill River?

Anyone?

I miss New York like whoa

So my internet action has been supremely limited since I returned to my house, as I discovered my dad has a dinosaur of a computer that's still on dial-up - dial up! I didn't even think it still existed! - and, my temper already shortened, the frustration of waiting for pages to load up has been incredibly short. However, it's Sunday evening, I've just managed to find a hot spot in my house [perched on the arm of the sofa, my back to the TV. My bum is actually getting kind of numb, these arms aren't very comfy] where I can latch on to a neighbour's wireless, so I'm taking advantage to run around the blogs and photo sites and check my emails.

Then, of course, I return to blogger to write something hilarious and entertaining about being back, but to be honest, right now all I can think about is the fucking huge lump in my throat that I've given myself from catching up on everything that's been going on back in NY. I miss it and the people and my life there so much more than I thought. Being back was nice for about two minutes, then the frustration and otherhomesickness kicked in.

I'm sorry London peeps, it's been lovely to see you all and I do miss you when I'm in NY, but right now NY is so much better for me than London ever feels. I need to get to grips with London more but at the moment, all I want is 24-hr running subways and the insane doorman at Annex and the teenagers at Misshapes and the DJs and the kids in bands and the American Apparel kids and the bloggers-in-person, and wine in the garden/on the bedroom floor or coffee at Sugar Sweet or sushi at St Marks or vodka-sodas anywhere and and and...

Okay, I'll do a better London entry when I'm feeling it more, but I'll leave you with a few London pictures, just so the Smoke knows I'm not completely ignoring it.

New Yorkers - send out a rescue mission, asap...



Well Toto, we're not in New York anymore...


You know you're back in England when supermarkets have aisles marked as such.


Pimms O'Clock.


Two characters that do make London better.

The Goodbye Day

So today is going to be the day I run around saying goodbye to everyone. Gosh, doesn't that sound like fun? I mean, I know that with the people that really matter to me, it's not a forever goodbye or anything. I know that one of them is out in London in about three weeks, another is possibly coming in June, three or four others in September. And I'm sure - no, certain - that I'll be back here.

But it's not just the people, it's the place, it's the lifestyle, it's the - without sounding too schizophrenic - it's the person I am when I'm here. I just don't want to let go. As much as I love London [born and raised, where my family are, etc etc], there really is no place like... New York.

So for all of you who I don't get to say goodbye to in person, thanks for everything, good luck in the future - and all that jazz. Come say hi if you're in the Big Smoke. And, like Ellen said, hopefully I'll be back here before you can say "visa". Or perhaps "five hour waiting line at the American Embassy"...

So anyway, in my recent procrastination [that, I think, reached a new low when I found myself standing among piles of clothes, an empty suitcase yawning at me, trying to figure out how to play 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star' on the ukele - true story], I threw together random video clips and a ton of photos that have been taken on my camera in the past year since I moved here [well, apart from the plane taking off that I clearly nicked from a stock footage website], on imovie.

Hey, it fucking beat packing.

[or watch directly at youtube here if this is slow to load]

packing sucks ass. so does being parted from my bike. yes, i'm a loser.

I took a break from the headache involved in shoving things in suitcases, and went down to the Lower East Side for a cawffee and ended up donating a bike to the cause. i was going to put it in a brooklyn basement for a few months until I came back to pick it up, but at least this way it'll get used until whenever.


It was a beautiful evening and we walked up to Thompkins Sq Park in the dusk. Everyone was out, it was still so warm. It felt like the beginning of summer. On one side of the park some teenage girls were practicing cheerleader moves. Elsewhere there were some guys playing drums while some girl in a blue sequinned dress [who we were sure was totally cracked out] danced for them. And we turned to each other and agreed, "only in New York."

So remind me again why I'm leaving??

i love these motherfuckers

I've spent the day running around with Mz Lula, carrying bags overloaded with things from Teen Vogue with horrible handles that cut into my hands, run into Crapercrombie on Fifth Ave for my sister but been unable to handle that shop for more than three minutes, gone back to my 'hood, gone to Target to try and find some luggage, gone back into the city for the show... so I'm tired and still feeling a little sad from the night before [Djing - awesome fun, everything just clicked and the shaky hands only lasted two or songs, but then I got bummed out with everyone there thinking that soon I'd be so far away from them].

The Ivy League show this evening, Lower East Side. A small acoustic affair. I'm sat at the bar with my two homegirls, mojito in hand.

The boys start their set. There's the usual awesome banter, the fabulous tunes.

Then they dedicate one of my favourite of their songs to me. And end the song with a couple of bars from 'Greensleeves'. And, of course, I can't stop crying.


Sigh.

Alex & Ry, love you both and you better bring the Ivy League show to the UK soon.

i've blown that popsicle stand

last day at work.

so i'm now officially unemployed.

can i get a FUCK YEAH.

god it's nice to get out that place.

so I finally started packing

So the whole party-every-night-in-my-last-week-here plan already hit a bump when we decided not to hit up Sway tonight. Instead, while the overworked American Apparel employees crashed [what's that thing about no sweatshop labour again, Dov?], I thought I should actually start sorting stuff out.

Be impressed: I actually packed a whole suitcase.

Be less impressed: I barely made a dent in my room.

How the fuck did I accumulate so much crap over the course of a year?? Some of it I'll throw, but most of it does actually need to go back with me. Dang. This packing malarkey ent gonna be fun. So after one suitcase, dispirited at how little headway I seemed to have made [although I have emptied two drawers and half - well, a third maybe, of my closet] I gave up on the packing idea and sorted music for:



Clearly not worthy of a flyer shout-out, but they're letting me behind the decks again [brave guys]. I'm doing the early [warm up] slot.

After an AIM conversation this eveing with someone who will remain nameless, it's been decided I have to play either 'Wake Me Up Before You Go Go' by Wham, or 'I Saw The Sign' by Ace of Bass. I was debating whether to or not but decided that my imminent departure for an indefinite amount of time should be enough of an escape if the Gentlemen decide to chase me out of Black and White, cracking their riding whips and shaking their moustaches in my direction. And as my nameless companion pointed out, "I bet they like Ace of Bass really. I mean, just look how tight their pants are."

i'm SO over being sick

Sooooo. I had another major "lost in translation" moment earlier this week.

"I feel really sick," I say. In English, this means you feel puke-worthy. Like you're gonna throw up any minute now. In US-ish it seems to be more generic, to mean you feel ill. Usually I can remember this difference and have adapted and picked up the phrase accordingly. Apart from when I'm so ill I'm dizzy and feeling like I might pass out at my desk and can only mutter to my new, middle-aged co-worker "I feel sick, I need to go home."

Her: "Ah've got a bit uvva sore throat mahself. What's wrong?". She's from Arksansaw. Lived in NY for like over 20 years or something and sounds like she hasn't stepped out from under the Confederate flag but ten minutes.

Me: "I - feel - sick"

Her: "Lahk - sore throat? A cold? You got a cold?"

Me: "I feel like I'm about to heave my guts over the desk before sliding off my chair onto the floor in an unconscious heap, you hick."

Well, it's what I wish I'd said. I was unable to leave work due to her relative newness [only been there like... 10 days maybe?] and incompentence. I'm being harsh. Just not so quick to pick up the [really very simple] job, and the fact that people kept throwing jobs at me, when all I wanted to do was crawl into bed with a toilet within running distance.

Tuesday I stumbled into work at ten thirty, still feeling like shit, but also feeling bad that I was leaving Mzz Arkansaw and *another* newbie alone - one girl left last week, I'm leaving any day now, so we have these two new ladies to replace us. So I finally get in to make sure things are going okay, and Arkansaw has fucking called in sick. I was furious, when I wasn't laying my head on the desk still feeling dizzy and sick.

Still not feeling hugely better, I had a "last supper" with my roommates that night - first time we've all sat down together in a long while. Although there were some disastrous moments, Jamie's running commentary of various animal facts ["Did you know the [insert name of some leaping running horned antelope type animal that lives in Africa] can run at 38mph for up to 4 hours? Did you know that there was a tortoise that lived to 270 years old? Did you know, I saw this German film one time that showed a woman giving a tortoise a blowjob while being shagged from the back by a dog?"] saved the evening. Then it was on to Private Mens Club at Black & White for a little. As we'd been eating in Union Sq I just walked down there after, so got there when Omri and A-Schway were the only people there. I settled myself in a corner with a book on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder someone had given me to read. Excellent bar fodder... luckily I was saved quite soon after by the arrival of all and sundry, a little damp from the rain that had just started.

Sad kids, happy kids. What happens when the tipsy kids in the corner steal your camera. [Apparently: "we were giving our best "i'm smiling with my grandparents" smile"]

Wednesday night was the MB leavers' shindig, held at My Moon in the Burg. I hadn't been at work that day 'cause of illness and I totally would've flaked out on the "prom" if I hadn't had to cough up so much moolah for it. For the most part it wasn't as bad as I'd been expecting. It's a good venue, it had all been done nicely, and I mainly just hung out with Spindly. Then the Big Cheese of the program gets up to do his leaving speech - only it's not a serious speech, it's when he tries to show he's "hip", that he's "with it" [a strange urge that people over 50 sometimes seem to have, to the embarrassment of all involved]. At the January leaving do, he did his "song" in the form of the blues; apparently this time around it was a "rap." Yeah whatever. It still amounted to him just reading his speech in a strange rhythm while some kid he'd roped in from the office wailed on a guitar behind him [after the first verse he made the kid unplug the amp.] All's going smoothly, a couple of "hilarious" verses about us all moving to NY. Then he moves on to the verses where he theoretically dishes the dirt on what everyone's done this past year. [Hey, Anonymous-that-used-to-be-on-MB who I've chatted to on AIM before, d'you still ever check in on this??] I figured, being as that I don't socialise with any of them or have much to do with any of them [apart from Spindz and the Scottish Boy] outside of class commitments, I'd be off scot-free.

Oh how wrong could I be. Not only did I get got, I got gotted first. The first person from our intake he names and shames: "H--- D--- and her blog." I was *totally* thrown. To say I thought everyone was over that and had forgotten about it [quick recap: some charming person from MB discovers the blog, sends a group email to almost everyone currently on MB - probably about 250 people I guess - giving it out. I get shit and stupid comments. A source tells me what's happened. To say I'm bummed out and pissed the fuck off is an understatement. Yes, I know these things are a public forum, but come on. So I change the web address. Problem kind of solved.] is an understatment. Motherfuckers. I'm so glad I never got involved in that whole thing. And whatever you thought, derogatory or whatever - I'm just telling it how I see it, kids...

I left early, after the lame awards and stuff 'cause I was still feeling crappy.

Rolled into work for a couple hours today, to check up on the newbies who seem to be doing fine, spent the rest of the day sleeping, watching Freaks & Geeks, and trying to persuade my sister to come out for the weekend.

I've also been occasionally working on something this week, and on Monday discovered this. Ellen, this is for you:

This was last summer, when I was first going to Misshapes, when I was still trying to make friends, whatever. Now I've become lazy and don't bother to talk to random people so much, but back then, as long as I had a drink or two in me to make the shyness dissipate, I'd chat to anyone, just trying to be friendly. Never knew I'd actually properly talked to the lovely Ellen [apart from that time she was sat outside with Piper, who I just wanted to eat] or Josh this far back. Funny how things like that happen.

T-minus 14 days

Sooooo two weeks left.

Exactly... hold on [cogs grinding, bad maths skills slowly awakening from the layers of dust accumulated through lack of use since GCSEs]... 336 hours from now I'll be somewhere over the Atlantic. Gosh.

I made a To Do list, because I'm feeling so scattershot right now I can barely remember to tie my shoelaces in the morning. Good thing it was pissing it down today so I could wear non-shoelaced rainboots. Or "wellies" as we prefer to call them in the motherland.

To Do:
* pack

* somehow transport all this shit from here to Brooklyn. Anyone with a car who'd like to help will be amply... umm, thanked. No euphemism. I will just say "thank you" a whole lot. And perhaps offer gas [petrol] money.

* go to Sway for Monday night hip hop. I'm actually meant to be there right now but I've been sick all day and as much as I reallllly want to go b/c I know there are peeps going tonight, all my common sense is saying "stay in, you can't afford to get sicker right now". So a big "boo you whore" to my common sense.

* get new camera. Most likely the Nikon D70, because I can pick up my $500 "finishing bonus" [they bribe us to go to classes] this week and - well, I want it.

* check out Aurora in the 'Burg because I've only heard good things about it, and it's always nice to eat out.

* wait until I get paid to do aforementioned dinner plans.

* DJ again. Who wants to let me? Who dares let me back behind the decks?? Step up, step up...

* figure out what the hell to do with my beloved bike. Dismantle and ship it? Sell it? Pass it on to someone who will love, appreciate and take care of it?

* see another show. From the looks of it, my last NY show will the Ivy League acoustic show next week, which is nice.

* I should probably list some more touristy/cultural things, right? I'm drawing blanks though...

If you were going to leave New York, what would you do?? Answers please. Tell me what I *have* to do before I leave.

Apart from rock-n-roll all night and party every day?

Chloe Sevigny chic...

Trying to tidy up my huge stack of magazines [theoretically this counts as packing], I come across something.

Summer 2002. Young, stupid, thinking we know what we're doing, we publish our own magazine. In retrospect not much did go right, but, from the "hot tip style" kinda pages... [Americans, for "braces" read "suspenders".]

"Let's wave a sad farewell to belts... all you yuppies out there, dust off your favourite accessory, for braces are the big thing this winter. With minis, cords, even shown with casual joggers and the ubiquitous gothic shirt in fashion shoots all summer, braces are THE item to keep your clothes up on the cold days and nights ahead of us. Wear them with one side unfastened for that extra Chloe Sevigny chic. We do."


And what do we see *everywhere* at the moment? That's warranted mentions on The IS and in Super Super and no doubt a fair few other sites and publications that I've been too lazy to notice? That's right. So we were ahead of our time, whatevs. Now just keep yer eyes peeled for the one-sided look, and we'll be able to crow "told you so!"

i heart memphis industries

Check it out. Memphis industries have put a sweet little mix CD up online for all to download. How much do we love them??

It Came From Memphis

1. The Black Neon - The Truth
2. Absentee - Hey! Tramp
3. Blue States - The Trainer Shuffle
4. Field Music - Tell Me Keep Me
5. The Squire of Somerton - Transverberations
6. Fort Lauderdale - The Playboys Demise
7. Field Music - Feeding The Birds
8. J Xaverre - Sports Day 1983
9. The Pippettes - Because It's Not Love
10. Fort Lauderdale - Silent Ways
11. La Mouche - The Road
12. Blue States - Sad Song

i must be such an irritating patient

Therapist: So what would you say to the 16 year old you, if she was sat beside you?
Me: Well, if she was - if I could say something to her, then I wouldn't be here-
Therapist: You mean-
Me: I mean that if we're talking time travel, any little thing affects all future outcomes. Didn't you ever see 'The Butterfly Effect'??*
Therapist: Well-
Me: -If I could see and talk to the 16 year old me, whatever I did or said would affect everything else, y'know? Like maybe I did flunk out of school in year 12 instead of being yelled at and warned by all my teachers - maybe I wouldn't've gone to university - or not gone where I did, or not made the friends I did - I wouldn't have gotten the jobs I got when I moved back to London after that - or met the people I met - I might not have come to New York, I wouldn't be sat here-
Therapist: Right. But if you could talk to the 16 year old you without any of this-
Me: But - you can't! Really, didn't you ever watch The Butterfly Effect?!** The tiniest thing changes everything!!

Therapist gives up with an exasperated sigh.

I make avoiding talking about things an art form. I wonder if there are medals for this kind of thing??

* Okay, I didn't really say that.
** Seriously. I wasn't really invoking bad Ashton Kutcher movies. It's called poetic license.

can't sleep

So it's like quarter to two on a Sunday night. Well, Monday morning if we're going to get technical. And I can't sleep. I hate not sleeping on Sunday nights, it throws off my whole week, and as if Monday mornings weren't a bad enough time anyway. Kind of my fault for passing out earlier this evening for a couple hours or so... since then I've just been pissing around on Myspazz and itunes, listening to music, flicking through my photos of my hard drive, watching dopey movie clips I've taken on my digicam - and the ones of London have made me suitably looking forward to going back.

I'm also really bummed I'm going to miss the Camden Crawl, which is this Thursday the 20th. If anyone goes, let me know what I miss.

Yesterday felt like summer, right? I finally got my bike fixed, I made the rounds of American Apparel-working friends [Williamsburg and Carroll Gdns], I randomly ran into the Imaginary Socialiate and Diamond Rodgers in the Burg, got messed around by the G line, later decided to make a spur of the moment trip down to Coney as I was already on the F Line at Bergen for Carroll Gdns, waited ages on line for Nathans, then the wind blew my order out my hand and splat onto the boardwalk. Frickin irritating, but c'est la vie. Said hi to some peeps I knew who were chillaxin on the beach, had to take off pretty quick to make it back in the city to pick up my bike from the shop. Headed back to JC. Later decided to start sorting out my room in preparation for packing... this actually translated to sitting on my bed reading magazines, eating ice cream with the Moulin Rouge DVD playing on my powerbook. The amount of shit I have to pack up worries me, yet every time I feel I should start doing something about it, I get hit with a terrible case of apathy...

Today escaped the city and headed upstate with the Strenge-Suarezs [haha] for lunch with Lauren's fam which was nice. Good to get out into the country, however briefly. The easter beagle visited more or less, but he visited via my friends that came over from London a couple of weeks ago, and my willpower is nowhere *near* strong enough to have a tube of mini eggs sitting around for two weeks or whatever without opening them. So. Mmmmm mini eggs.

Who's been keeping me company this evening:
The Rifles
The Boyfriends
Morning Runner
Envelopes
Semifinalists
Kubicheck!
DARTZ!
- what's up with exclamation marks in band names recently?? These two, Panic! At The Disco [the other day I saw like five different kids whose myspazz name was "Distress! At The Social Gathering". Oh so witty...] The Go! Team... Is the music industry slyly trying to inject some pep into our lives? Or are they all sarcastic? And saying that:

Note to self: British sarcasm and humour doesn't always translate to US audiences. Especially people from tiny northern Pennsylvania towns who are having bad days. Don't try to make a joke, you'll only make them cry - you don't even remember a time when you could make your younger sister cry - and have people muttering under their breath about you.

Note to people who may fall into the category above: writing an email while slyly glancing my way the whole time to make sure I'm not looking at your screen is as good as yelling "I'M BITCHING TO MY FRIENDS ABOUT YOU FOR BEING RUDE AND MEAN AND MAKING ME CRY, AND HAVING A WEIRD SENSE OF HUMOR THAT I DON'T GET, IN THIS EMAIL/IM!!"

waaaa. sob. wail. sniffle.

sunday evening

I've done nothing of any worth all weekend - which is fine, because I'm broke, but not so fine when I think it's one of my last few weekends here. Was meant to do Misshapes last night then fell asleep watching Mean Girls before I went out, which blew that. Woke up to La Lohan giving her oh-so-moving winning Spring Fling Queen speech, and realised had lost the going-out spirit required for attending Misshapes.

I have, however, managed to discover two important things this weekend.

1)

I'm totally digging on the Semifinalists, whose myspazz page I've been sitting on to listen to their tunes. Go check 'em out.

2) [Entry deleted at more or less request of person it was about. Even though I don't think they knew this entry was here].

popped my DJing cherry

Last week.
Me: So at the PMC thing on Tuesday, can I DJ?
Alex: Hahaha.
Me: No, seriously. We can hit Rob and Omri over the head with a frying pan, lock them up in the broom cupboard and bum rush the decks…

Yesterday, 12:00pm
Alex: So you can spin tonight – be there at ten, bring vinyl or CDs
Me: [Gulp] Ummmm all my vinyl is in London-
Alex: Okay, CDs are fine-
Me: You won’t leave me alone will you?!
Alex: Nah – see you at ten.
[hangs up]
Me: [432 words into a 2000 word essay that has to be handed in in 2 hours, and with an exit interview scheduled to last all afternoon] Oh FUCK!

Well if I’m gonna talk the talk, guess I’ve gotta walk the walk, right? This entailed burning home as fast as after the interview [which went swimmingly; my work thinks I’m a star, I’ve got all As and Bs in my classes and the big cheese of the school/program think I’m an outstanding “candidate” and has offered me a very nice reference. I know, I’m so great…] then theoretically should have been burning CDs and playlists [I have very few CDs as I just listen to music off my computer] but I spent it talking to my bro James who sent me a ton of awesome tracks. And of course my computer decided to be a complete joey and stop burning CDs after a while. So off I ran, underprepared being an understatement, to Lolita on Broome and Allen in the LES.

And it was straight in at the deep end. Rob was spinning when I got there. Alex showed me what everything did, told me to choose a track. Rob had just thrown in Paint It Black so I lined up my first tune to lead in from that – Blank Generation – Richard Hell & The Voidoids – and away we went…

Alex stayed with me for the first few songs, then disappeared leaving me flying solo. It was actually a hell of a lot of fun, and I only made one major boo boo [pressing pause on my ipod, forgetting I was currently playing a track on it, oops] and got yelled at once for playing hip hop [felt slightly vindicated when a dude came over to talk to me a few minutes later and asked for some Biggie. Had to tell him I wasn’t allowed to play hip hop – not gentlemanly enough for the PMC, apparently…]

Track listings:
Richard Hell - Blank Generation
Louis XIV - Finding Out True Love Is Blind
[Alex’s choice]
The Cars – My Best Friend’s Girl
[Alex’s choice]
Madonna - Burning Up
Kim Wilde - Kids In America
[Alex]
Jonathan Edwards - Sunshine Go Away
The Beatles – Gotta Get You In My Life
[Alex]

And then I forget the order and exact tracks, but including a Beastie Boys/Beatles mashup [the one I got yelled at for], The Jam/Going UndergroundBlur/There’s No Other Way, Maximo Park/Apply Some Pressure, Doves/Black & White Town, Dandy Warhols/Bohemian Like You, Graham Coxon/Freakin’ Out, and The Futureheads/Stupid & Shallow… Not the most amazing tracks, and there were so many better ones I wanted to play, but like I say, it was my first time, I was kind of scrabbling around figuring out what I was doing. Next time...

It was a Private Men's Club meeting, of course I had to wear a fake mustache
[for the first five minutes, anyway...]







Full set of photos here