Whoa-oh, New England!

This is my high school friend Andy. And like most people whose parents named them, "Andrew," he totally hates being called, "Andy." He lives in Vermont, which I don't know shit about, except that it gives him the capacity to find sweet- ass hand- made sweaters covered with giant pond animals. He also brags that there are stores in his area that dwarf the number of cheese-based products sold in the fine food shops that a metropolitan cheese connoisseur would frequent. I was already nostalgic for the times I've spent in New England, so now I'm fer- ociously excited to go back. Although New York is not technically in that region and lacks its old world charm, I'll happily be in New York from December 6 - 12. And I'll personally remind you again in a month.

Where It's At

One of my favorite bands to see live is the Mountain Goats, and one of my dad's favorite bands to see live is Beck. When the Mountain Goats played two nights at the Troubador, my dad accompanied me both nights, so when Beck played a double-header at Club Nokia, I was his date.

I remember when Odelay came out. Beck, not yet mega-famous or known as a Scientologist, was considered a fairly cool guy and admired by "indie" news for his stylishness. When asked where he bought his clothes, he shrugged, and said, "Target." He is totally wearing a bootleg Michael Starr shirt on the cover for the album Mutations.

It was actually excellent to see him twice, even though I haven't had strong feelings for Beck since 1999.
[Photo provided by this Flickr account.]
During the encore, Jay Reatard came on stage to sing the chorus of some Beck song I wasn't familiar with. Jay Reatard wasn't familiar with it either, and read the lyrics to the chorus from a cheat sheet. I don't think his mic was on, anyway.


On the subject of 1999, Beck's outfit last night was obviously modeled after Arnold from Hey Arnold!, which my creepy, 1999 self would have considered very hot.

OTGDY

If I ever make a new Facebook group, it's going to be called, "Don't make a Facebook group about me if I die," to serve as a living will for me and everyone who joins, asking our near and dear ones not to grieve for us over the internet, knowing that it is not what we would have wanted.

I have a friend who sends me the trashiest "forever in our hearts" Facebook groups, all made in remembrance of Long Island fuck ups who drove on Xanax straight into a tree. In a recent Deathbook group, which, based on the comments, was actually made while the kid was still on life support ["hes not dead yet" "they pulled the plug this morning"], one girl posted, "OTGDY." What? It's an abbreviation for the most used slogan following a South shore DUI death: Only The Good Die Young.

I don't know if, "Only the good die young," is how people mourn in other parts of the country, but back on Long Island, Billy Joel songs strike more than just mass-funerial chords. Growing up in Hicksville, naming his album after Cold Spring Harbor, and drunk driving into the living rooms of estates in the Hamptons, Billy Joel has 516 and 631 appeal. In turn, all of the classic rock radio stations in my area played his music all the time. In turn, I grew to really hate him, and following that, grew to like him as a joke.

One time, when Owen and I were underage, we snuck into a karaoke bar on N6 and ordered "Only the Good Die Young," to sing as a duet. Unfortunately, Owen got kicked out of the bar before the song came up for being too drunk and trying to open a locked door and then probably being carded, so I half-heartedly [with a straw in my mouth] sang the song alone.


Recently, in a vintage store in New York, I saw a soft-and-worn Billy Joel concert tee for sale for too much money. I really wanted it. I would never have received one as a family heirloom because my dad hates Billy Joel, too.

A week or two ago I saw another one in a vintage store on Melrose Ave. It was $12, which isn't unreasonable, but I passed on it. If I wear one, it'll obviously just seem like I really like Billy Joel, and that's one of the last things I'd want to have people think about me.

Whisper Whisper All You May And All Your Friends Will Go Away

Last night I posted a music sampler for free download on my blog - well, one of my blogs - with nine songs from five bands on my booking agency roster. I highly recommend downloading it if you plan on talking to me ever again.

Dropping Some NYC

Last night I hung out with Jenny's friend Christine from San Francisco. She was wearing the same amazing Payless shoes that Jenny has. I got pretty drunk, at which point, in explaining how much I didn't want to live there anymore, I probably said the words "New York" six hundred times. If New York had a dick, Christine would have noted how much I obviously miss fucking it.

Jenny also has these combat boots that are legitimately sold on send-a-salami-to-your-boy-in-the-army Marine Corps websites. She recently wore them on some form of New York public transportation, where she was seated near a damaged Vietnam veteran. The veteran seemed to recognize her boots. "He was looking at me like [the boots] belonged to the guy who killed his friend," recounted Jenny. She is starting an eBay store soon and the boots will be the first things to go up for auction.

This Was One Of My BFFs In Middle School

I think we used to conference call people and one of us wouldn't talk so we could find out who was willing to talk shit about us behind our backs. For all the faults of our relationship, that was some real-ass loyalty.

She was only on the first episode, which I watched until she was kicked off, at which point I immediately friended her on Facebook. Every time they interviewed her, she kept talking about being in a sorority, but sororities are for ppl who have trouble making friends, and obviously Paris Hilton doesn't need help. Honestly, she didn't give PH enough credit, and for that, her ass had to go back to Roslyn. If she had played it straight, she totally could've continued on. She doesn't make a bad BFF.

I Left My Heart In San LOCO

If I ever make it back to San Loco, and God-in-Heaven I sure hope I do, I'm going to print this picture out, cut it so it fits in a frame, and demand that the margarita-pumping microwave attendants at San Loco hang it up next to all the other Santo fan art they have cluttering their Mexican fast food restaurant. Everyone always talks about how great the Mexican food is in Southern California because there's an actual Mexican population, but it's 5:30 a.m. NY-time and I can't think of a single person I wouldn't kill right now to have two bean guaco-locos in front of me.

My Heart Is An Ironic Hunter

On Halloween I took an unintentional four-hour nap. I rolled awake and called Robbie Wildes and said, "So I woke up dressed as a hunter..."
Before my nap, I had resolved to not dress up for about five minutes, when Mia came into my room and told me that I had to dress up.
"Well..." I started, fishing for an excuse.
"You could be a Droog," she suggested, which was almost reverse psychology. "You know, with the bowler and the fake eyelashes on one eye."
"No way! Everyone's going to be in Clockwork Orange outfits. That's way too popular! That's like dressing like Marilyn Monroe." It sent me on a mission to do better than that. I looked around my room for anything I could use to make a real costume, and only one thing popped out: My Real Tree Hardwoods camouflage pants with patented Scent Lock to mask my human scent from white-tailed bucks.

Three winters ago, I bought a Real Tree Hardwoods hooded coat from Dick's Sporting Goods for $40. It was the warmest coat I had ever owned, without looking especially bulky or furry. It was stolen after that winter [understandably!] and my family surprised me with a new one the next winter, which was a dark, night-hunting print. Owen stole me a Coors Light pin from a vintage store on Grand St for me to garnish it with. Soon after that, I bought my first union suit [which unfortunately doesn't have an ass-flap], and then a pair of L.L. Bean "Bean Boots," which have a lifetime guarantee on them.

The coats had started to get me in trouble. Once I was on the LIRR, Roslyn-bound, and one of two old men in suits said, "Real Tree Hardwoods!" as I walked past to find a seat. At the time, I wasn't actually aware that my coat was of the official brand of heavily-camouflaged hunters throughout Appalachia.
"You hunt?" the man asked.
"Oh no, I just bought this coat because I think it's funny." And our conversation promptly ended.

Another time, when I was dating my second boyfriend who lived on Staten Island [but the first to have been raised in Southern Maine], I was taking a shuttle bus to the Staten Island ferry. It was early October, and I was wearing the night-hunting coat, and I was asked by a guy on the bus if I was getting ready for Turkey season.
"No - no! I'm a vegetarian. But does Turkey season run until Thanksgiving?"
Turkey season ends in early November, apparently. I didn't hear anything else from that guy.


Over this past summer, no longer owning any hunting jackets, I went to Maine every two weeks for a week to see my second [and favorite!!] boyfriend from Southern Maine.
One after- noon, while he was at work, his mother and I went to the enormous L.L. Bean store, which has a two-story-tall Bean Boot in front of it. I looked through the boots there, and noted that they had discontinued the design of boots I have, which have a big buckle across the tops [v feminine]. Soon, I was in their hunting section.

It was like a candy store, or those times that my dad would take me to Toys R Us; Toys R Us stores have ugly, warehouse ceilings, and really poor florescent lights, which I only realized when I was in late-middle school. Up until then, I had been too entranced to look beyond the shelves.

When I asked for assistance finding the smallest size of the Real Tree Hardwoods-print Scent Lock long johns [complete with dick hole], the sales associate asked if I was getting ready for Buck Season.
"No, er..." I began, honestly, "I just like them!"
In the end, I bought the Scent Lock pants, a XXXL Real Tree Hardwoods t-shirt with pocket that I posted about earlier, and a pack of Gum-O-Flague in apple flavor, which masks the human scent coming from my mouth. For a while, I debated getting a hunting DVD, something with the most live kills ever recorded and the Guinness record for most children holding guns at a single time, something we could make a drinking game out of, but I didn't want to risk being broken up with.

I paired all of my gear with a set of binoculars that my dad uses to watch soccer players' facial expressions, the most masculine hat in the history of Patricia Fields, and the enormous [fake] antler necklace that Colby made me for my birthday and later had signed by the members of Deerhoof and Bradford Cox of Deerhunter. Robbie Wildes and his sisters and I went to the Standard to drink and I got home by 2.

No Hood Is So Hood!

Is This An Ultimate Fuck Fantasy Or What?

Do you think he's dressed as a cop? I stole this pix from some hater high schooler's Halloween Facebook album, which is sort of a bad look, but w/e. I hope they fall in love by ac-ci-dent.

AIM Convo About How I Applied For A Job At Another Youthful Retailer

RED is Alaina
GREEN is Colby
[Seasonal colors for seasonal hiring! Gimme those USD!]

then i went to get a job at ***** outfitters!!!!!!
did you get the job?
or apply for it?
i applied
it was one of my better interviews
and they said that working at shows is retail experience
that's good
that's awesome
lies
but w/e
so then i got back home and took a survey that i ahd to take to work there
68 questions
40 of them were about smoking weed on the job
and the rest were about stealing
really? haha
that's really funny
it was really funny
if it wasnt timed i wouldve taken screen shots of the whole thing
haha
haha
thats funny
it was like "It's okay to smoke a marijuana cigarette on your break as long as you can still perform your duties."
its like Yes
but i have to say Totally Disagree
which was a choice
Slightly Disagree, Disagree, Strongly Disagree, and Totally Disagree
hahaha
that's really funny
v retarded

"The Mac Is Back!" -John McCain

As I mentioned before in my blog - well, one of my blogs - my dad really loves gambling; not in casinos, and never in the-deed-to-his-house desperation, but on sports, and all in good fun and success. He paid for my first year of college gambling on the 2004 NBA finals and championship.

His secret is betting on the underdog. Because odds are based on public perception, and history, and on which team has the highest number of hopeful superfans, you can usually count on the less-favored team to at least cover the spread.

On the website he uses to place some bets, there have been odds on the election since before the primaries. Yesterday, Barack Obama was favored 7 to 1 [so if you wanted to win $100, you'd have to bet $700], but today his odds are 10 to 1. And today if you put down $100 on John McCain, and he wins, you would win $550. My dad considered putting a small amount down on the underdog, but then ditched that plan.

Right now McCain is on CNN HD talking about how he's going to win.
"I sat in that cage and I ate fuckin' rats," my dad just said to the TV in a fake Arizona-POW accent. "Do you know what it's like to eat a cockroach when it's carryin' eggs?"

I signed up to work at a polling place from 3pm to 8pm today. I have to stand 100 ft away from where people are voting and hand out paperwork. I realize it's going to stop me from two things I wanted to do today:

The Los Angeles buses have little TVs in them. The TVs play 3 minute entertainment segments [cooking, BMX bike tricks, etc] so as to keep people occupied but not so much that they could miss their stop. At night, to keep the bus quiet, as its often filled with sleeping elderly people, the TVs just play news reels. One evening, on my way to the Smell, the bus TVs showed surveys that people had answered earlier online. A questioned that they had posed to people visiting Metro.net was, "Should it be illegal to vote drunk?" I don't remember how most people responded, but what a good idea!

I really wanted to make and wear a shirt that reads, "RALPH FUCKING NADER," but that won't be allowed within 500 ft of a polling place.

The good thing is that I'll definitely get an "I voted!" sticker, so I can collect free Ben&Jerry's, Starbucks, and first drink at every bar in WeHo.

Danger

Being a poser can be dangerous because, if you're really good at it, members of the community that you are mocking will come forward and try to be your friend. This happens to me a lot, but once over the summer I saw it happen to someone else.

After an evening of passion, Susan and a new lover and his brother-like friend went out for burritos in Williamsburg. On the other side of town, Jenny had slept over my apartment in Bushwick, and then we headed into Williamsburg to eat and maybe sell some clothes. Walking down Havemeyer we ran into our friend, who had left her date and his friend in the restaurant in search of an automated teller machine. We invited ourselves to juevos rancheros with them.

Because of her precise drawings and Twiggy figure, Susan can easily lay every soft-spoken, visual artists on the eastern seaboard. These kind of dudes tend to use their exceptionally-nerdy pasts to make jokes that only one or two people can hear. Unfortunately, they are rarely fond of me because I'm too loud and funny, often disproving the two fundamental truths by which they live: that a, they are the funniest person at the table, and b, people who have a lot of friends have limited cultural knowledge or significance. I see where she's coming from on these guys, though; they're usually hot and wearing funny things.

So we were eating, and the guys were talking about Star Wars: Episode II but not loud of enough for Jenny and me to really hear, since we were imposing, so I just started yelling and getting hyper.The guy who had originally been a 3rd wheel to burrito breakfast, until Jenny and I came along, went to the counter to order some lemonade. He was wearing a shirt with the Aztec Calendar on it, and when the man who was manning the register saw it, he got so excited that he turned around, bent over slightly, and pulled up his shirt, revealing a tattoo that took up most of his back of the Aztec Calendar.

There are a lot of emotions that are easy to feign, but surprised and excited aren't two of them. The kid smiled blankly and quietly made a remark about the coincidence. He told the man at the register that he had never been to Mexico, but that his friend had, and he had gotten the shirt for him. To some extent, he admitted to the man that he didn't really know what the design meant. I stopped spying at that point, and went back to yelling. I knew that awkwardness all too well... [more on that soon]