Archive for June, 2006

The hills are uh…vapid and dull.


I see an ad for this new show every day on my way to work.

Can I just say how sick I am of ridiculous, rich, vapid, vacuous blond girls?

Oh. I guess I just did.

So Far So Good

Why today has been good a day (so far):

It’s not a million percent humidity. In fact this morning was a bit chilly. And it’s not raining like it’s the coming of armageddon.

The 6 was a dream to take this morning. Recently I’ve been leaving later than usual and goddamned but the 6 is crowded between 8 and 10. Today at 8ish it was practically empty. That didn’t stop some weird chick with puffy uneven eyes to try to talk to me about how she tries to lose weight during the summer so that there’s more room to sit. On the upside the super nice Quiznos guy got up and gave me his seat. Yay!

I have a half day today. Working for corporate America has its advantages.

And last but not least it’s the start of loooong weekend. Happy fourth of July!

Here piggy, piggy.


Psst, I was at the dinner referred to in this new New York Times write-up of Daisy May’s BBQ. Don’t tell anyone, since I profess to be somewhat of a vegetarian… But if you love BBQ, I’d definitely recommend heading on over to Daisy May’s.

The article focuses on the massive catering spreads they’ll put together for you, but the place also does take-out in much more manageable personal portions. And now you can stay and eat in their new adjacent dining room.

So while I wasn’t really into the tearing apart of the pig’s carcass with my bare hands, it was definitely an experience. And everyone I was with was pretty much orgasmic over the melt-in-your-mouth, fall-off-the-bone quality of the meat. And not just of the pig, mind you. Oh no. We also had rack of lamb, chicken, pork ribs, and beef ribs, which seemed to be a particularly orgasm-inducing favorite. Not to mention the myriad side dishes we sampled, all of which were delicious. (And some of which, I imagine, were even meat-free!)

After dinner, if you’re feeling particularly randy, you can head right around the corner to the Penthouse Executive Club. The perfect night: feast on pig, and then behave like one!

Ha ha. Ha. Ha ha ha.

Oh ok. I’ll stop.

[image from the cover of Charlotte’s Web]

Free Stuff & Water Taxi Beach


While checking out FreeNYC for awesome free stuff to do this sure-to-be-glorious 4th of July weekend, I stumbled upon another summer music series, at the Water Taxi Beach. Awesome.

Saturday’s kick-off line-up is first rate with DJs Monk-One, Oneman, and E’s E. Again, I have no idea what that means but I trust other people.

Here’s Curbed’s cute Water Taxi Beach Exploratory Mission photo essay.

Food, beer, sand, and no peer pressure to go in the water (bc you’re not allowed).

I Can’t Believe I Almost Forgot [Posting]…


[Here’s more images of the space.]

about PS1’s Summer Warm Up which is starting this Saturday, July 1 at 3pm.

$10 gets you all this sweetness.

The winners of the design-the-space-people-are-gonna-party- (and inevitably puke)-in contest also known as the Young Architects Program are OBRA, led by Pablo Castro and Jennifer Lee.

Check the line-up after the jump.

Right now, I’m as moist as a snack cake down there.


Finally. After months of changes and delays, the Strangers With Candy movie opens today at a couple of theaters in the city. I feel it is my civic duty to put this information out there, considering that there doesn’t seem to have been a whole lot of promotion at this point, and well, where else can today’s youth turn with their questions about the dangers of becoming a 47-year-old ex-junkie whore with an alcoholic step-mother, a comatose father, a brother of ambiguous sexuality, two closeted male teachers who are totally gay for each other, a rather bullish female gym teacher, and temptation lurking around every corner?

What a world we live in. What a world. Someone has to prepare the kids. And who better than the likes of Amy Sedaris, Paul Dinello, and Stephen Colbert?

Laser twits

I was on the N train Saturday minding my own business by staring at an ad when I got an eyeful of a red laser pointer (having grown up with a impish younger brother and several cats, I am familiar with the feeling). I turned and saw a chubby teenage boy, perhaps 19-year-old, sitting with the laser at the end of the car. He looked away from me and tried to cover the laser with his hand before slipping it into his pocket. Ha!
Before I could figure out some sort of retort or invoke the Patriot Act on the jerk, the train pulled into the 5th Avenue stop, and Tron Boy lumbered off, no doubt towards Central Park to taunt squirrels, small dogs and (hopefully) a nice, burly young man with severe anger-management issues who wouldn’t think twice about grabbing a laser and shoving it horizontally up an idiot’s deserving ass.
After the creeped-out-ness subsided (seriously, it is really freaky having some total stranger randomly shine a laser in your eyes), I got really, really angry. For one thing, I take the health of my eyeballs very seriously, since I only have two of them and am too lazy to learn Braille at this point. The whole incident made me feel almost as violated as I do when I get pervy remarks thrown at me. In fact, this was worse in a way, because it crossed my physical boundaries. It doesn’t even matter if Tronny did it by “accident.” He was fucking around with a laser on a subway train filled with passengers, which makes him totally culpable.
It also made me wonder – is this some sort of trend in stupid subway harrassment, or did I just get lucky? And what would other people do if this happened to them? Would you yell at the twit? Flip him/her/it off? Look away silently and pray that the laser pointer isn’t attached to a rifle? Or take our your very own laser and play Star Wars across the length of the car until someone’s eyeballs went up in burst of smoke?

The Surreal Life: Dada at the MoMA


“God and my toothbrush are Dada, and New Yorkers can be Dada too, if they are not already.” Tristan Tzara, one of the founders of the Dadaist movement

I have to admit it: before visiting the Dada exhibit at the MoMA this rainy weekend, I thought Dada was a guy, ie, an artist guy that the whole movement had been named after.

According to Wikipideia, the origin of the name came about when:

a group of artists assembled in Z├╝rich in 1916 [and] chose [the name for their new movement] at random by stabbing a French-German dictionary with a paper knife, and picking the name that the point landed upon. Dada in French is a child’s word for hobby-horse. In French the colloquialism, c’est mon dada, means it’s my hobby.

So it’s fitting that as the name Dada means many things that the art is all over the map as well.

Summer 2006


Photo by VINCENT LAFORET (New York Magazine, Guide to Summer 2006

I heart Buck 65

I stopped by Central Park Summerstage this afternoon and heard Buck 65 for the first time. Now he’s my favorite white-boy Canadian rapper. (Okay, he’s the only one I can name, but still!)

Buck 65 @ Central Park Summerstage

Yes, it rained a little during the show, but I don’t mind a few sprinkles if it means I can get right up close and there’s no line for a beer.

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