Sunday, October 26, 2008

My New Album Drops Today!

HOLLA! The new shit from recording artist PHREAQUE (free- KAY) dropped today. This critically- acclaimed concept album features tracks "Sit Down Whore" and "Why Aren't We All Baby Tigers Instead?" Download club banger "I'm Fat As Fuck (U Don't Give a Fuck)" as a ringtone today.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Crickets and Flies

A fly flew inside my ear in a tragic hiking accident over the summer. I'm pretty sure it flew out, like 85% sure, but I was still feeling this watery, fluttery sensation in my right ear. Probably just a psychological or whatever, but I convinced myself that this fly inside my brain was throwing off my already poor inner ear. I was dizzy and bumping into things, people,, I had an annual gynecological exam coming up, so I figured I'd just wait until then and keep rubbing up against things, I mean, bumping into things in the mean time.

How do you ask a gynecologist, who traditionally looks inside your vagina, to look inside you ear instead? Because you are convinced there is a fly doing the waltz in your gray matter? For like three weeks? A cleverly constructed joke request would do the trick! This is what I came up with on my ride to the Upper East Side, and I think I may have actually written it down on a receipt or something:

A fly has flown inside my ear.
Though not your orifice of expertise,
it is an orifice nonetheless.
Would you mind taking a peek?

Crickets my friends, crickets. And I will never have an opportunity to tell this joke again, so I share it with you here now. This stone faced robogyno just stared daggers at me for like 10 seconds, which is about the same amount of time she usually spends inspecting me. She did not look inside my ear. I continue to fall forlornly into the laps of attractive men. Afterall, my fly and I have always depended on the kindness of strangers, not gynecologists.

Sunday, October 12, 2008

Time Out New York, Where Do I Begin?...

I have a few cardinal rules I try to live by, and they are easily rationalized if broken. This is not by coincidence, but by design. Here's a sampling:

1. You shouldn't eat falafel more than twice a day.
(But they are only three dollars!)

2. Don't make out with your professor/ boss/ attorney/ friend's father.
(It was a "life experience.")

3. Always brush your teeth before bed.
(But I was too drunk!)

4. Don't be a hater.
(But Time Out New York continues to publish inane dribble and send it to my home!)

That latter bit I asked for because I am a subscriber, and though I cringe, shout, punch, and kick whilst reading on the subway, I cannot cancel my subscription because I get a perverse satisfaction out of such a publication and because I occasionally find a good reading or exhibit or sex dungeon or whatever. Totally kidding.

So for those of you savvy enough to avoid said rag or not live in this pork barrel of a city, Time Out New York is a magazine that provides listings of concerts, talks, and other cultural events. If only they would just stop there. This provides a timely service, an entree into a city teeming with places to make lists about. But alas, they cannot help themselves. They do not stop there, in fact they offer you a quasi- lifestyle (I believe the lifestyle demographic base is "Slightly overweight bisexual Hampshire College grad living in Astoria working in publishing while parents foot bill") guide on all things sex/ dating/ living blah blah blah. After enduring their "insider info" for a year and change, I have complied the subsequent list which outlines the reasons why Time Out must go:

1. They do not seem to grasp the concept of gentrification.

Yes, the "G" word, or the movement of Caucasians into neighborhoods that do not want them. This is a real push- button topic for the magazine, and one on which they are quite conflicted. I went to a talk sponsored by the magazine last year as a part of the the Jane Jacobs and the Future of New York exhibit, in which panelists discussed whether New York has lost its soul. Quite a question to ponder, and the reps from Time Out largely bemoaned the influx of Starbucks, Duane Reade, etc. etc. into our fair city. These come largely at the expense of the small cafes and restaurants in the first wave of gentrification in a developing neighborhood. After working in a neighborhood in the Bronx for two years which will someday be penetrated by the fashionably poor, unwashed huddled masses of hipsters yearning to drink PBR, I can pretty much guarantee that the neighborhood's original inhabitants would take a Dunkin' Donuts or a Dress Barn any day over a Chez Bistro or an Ironic Showroom or whatever.

But what the magazine doesn't seem to acknowledge is that it actually is gentrification. In its latest issue entitled "Your New Apartment," it gives tips for infiltrating "cheap" neighborhoods like Bushwick and Bed- Stuy. But beyond that, it's forever listing places far- flung in the boroughs for people with the gumption and a metro card to scope out. This irony seems to be lost and then some, but moreover...

2. They cannot decide how they feel about Williamsburg

HIPSTERS! So loathsome, so detestable in their ill- fitting costumes that looked cobbled together by a four year old and a cowboy junkie. Oh, their scowls and scrapes and saturation in this northern Brooklyn neighborhood. Time Out cannot seem to reconcile their conflicted feelings about this post- apocalyptic wasteland of thrift store malaise and stung out, slouched constitutions. While they love to use Williamsburg smugly and knowingly, as a synonym for the tragically hip, like 75% of its restaurant and bar recs come from this burgeoning hotbed of pale nasty.
I live in Williamsburg, and I'm reconciled: I hate it.

3. Julia Allison

I know, I know it is almost too easy to hate on this third- rate Carrie Bradshaw who lacks the style, girlfriends, and punnery of that who she emulates. Gawker has done a far superior job at outing her as the self- aggrandizing, pseudo- expert on anything that she claims to be, but let me just say this. In Time Out's latest issue they have a snarky little quiz to determine if you are a "true" New Yorker. Number one on my list? You recognize Julia Allison as a jappy asshole.

4. The Sex Issue

Truth be told, I am a highly repressed New England- bred WASP who gets queasy at any sight/ discussion/ thought of anything other than conventionally attractive people having vanilla sex out of true love. But last year's sex issue made me want to, like, never have sex again. Highlights included one reader's rape fantasy and a pictorial of unconventionally attractive people in the nude. Until my politics catch up with my personal preferences, I would like to see only conventionally attractive people in the nude. Thanks.

Oh, such vitriol, Ms. Zenaida! From whence doth such malice spring?! Well, I'll rationalize this hateriffic deluge by assuaging myself that at least I am taking out this nebulous rage on an unseemly source , rather than small animals or service workers. And now I'll be off to my fourth falafel of the day.

Saturday, October 4, 2008

The Ramble

Albert Camus (cah- MOO, philistines, it doesn't rhyme with "anus") said, "Freedom is nothing but a chance to be better." As we peer over the precipice to end times, it is super important that we all find ways to be better. One thing that makes me better is taking a daily constitutional, and the Ramble in Central Park is a superior place to find oneself elevated, lifted away from all that plagues, pokes, pinches, and annoys.

The Ramble is smackdab in the middle of the park, and according to the Year of Magical Thinking, it is also where Joan Didion and Gregory Dunne took their morning strolls as well.
You won't see a soul for at least three minutes. There are no pedicab drivers, and rarely are there three- year old Upper West Side millionaires and their loathsome parents. What you may encounter, however, are scattered pockets of homosexuals cruising for sex in the woods.
I was walking through the Ramble by the Boathouse one evening when they all came out of the brush simultaneously, like pervert gnomes. This may enhance or detract from your constitutional.