Vomit

Read this.

And then read this.

And try not to throw up in your mouth.



I just don't understand this world sometimes...

Gogol on Conan

Gogol Bordello will be appearing on Late Night with Conan O'Brien this Wednesday night (7/30). This is your chance to find out what you've been missing.

Set your DVR's and strap yourself in.

Are You Effing Serious??

I just came across this link on Yahoo. I simply can't believe that there's just so little going on in the world that stories like this end up getting printed...

Poll: Obama Leads McCain Among People Who Don't Have Pets

Enjoy The Silence

It's summer.

We're all busy with other stuff.

I'll be posting regularly again soon.

Just not today.

Or probably tomorrow.

So, take a break from your computer and go outside.

It's such a nice day...

George Carlin 1937-2008

George Carlin has long been a personal hero of mine. We don't have anyone like him around today. As much a champion of free speech as Lenny Bruce, his loss will be deeply felt.

Shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker, tits, to you Sir.

Here's hoping God's got a sense of humor...

Gogol #4

The Missus and I went to our fourth Gogol Bordello show in a year on Friday night at McCarren Park Pool.

Man... I just... I can't... you've just gotta... What's it gonna take to get your ass there next time?

Seriously...

Support TerraNOVA

Some friends of mine run the TerraNOVA Collective. They always put out great work and they've just launched their 5th annual SoloNOVA Festival. There's a party tomorrow night at P.S. 122 to support the festival and the collective. If you're around and free, go check it out...

-IMBA





terraNOVA NewsletterJune 17, 2008
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5th Anniversary Celebration - $15 Tix Available HERE!
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Greetings!The 5th Annual soloNOVA Arts Festival opens tonight! For a complete line-up, please go to http://www.terranovacollective.org/.
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Buy Tix Now!!!
This link will take you to our calendar.

New Digs

As promised. Unsolicited photos. (Ma, you can stop hounding me.)

We're officially moved in and the unpacking/setting-up process has begun.

Here's to a fresh start...

My Wife, Beauty Writer

The Missus' wide range of talents never ceases to amaze me. Her first professional freelance beauty piece is up. You ladies'll love it. Check it out.

The End Of An Era

The timing couldn't have been more perfect. I had just called off the wedding two weeks before the date and my already-crumbling life was on the fast track to complete ruination. Or at least it seemed so at the time, as those situations tend to when you're standing knee deep in them. This was September, 1997.

My former fiance was moving back to Omaha ASAP and I was damned if I was going to stay in our apartment one day longer than I had to. Wasn't a bad place, actually. Cute little two-bedroom with hardwood floors, an eat-in kitchen and French doors on the master bedroom. But it had been so fouled with our disgusting, codependent, panicked energy that it might as well have been covered in shit. No, sticking around and trying to find a roommate wasn't an option. I had to get out of there. And fast.

As chance would have it, my buddy MJ had a roommate moving out at the beginning of October. I had long coveted MJ's apartment. A cozy, two-bedroom private house with a huge kitchen and a truly homey feel. Additionally, MJ was a card-carrying metrosexual like myself. A bonafide wine-drinking, candle-burning, Dead Can Dance-listening, house-tidying, CK1-wearing metrosexual who loved to cook and have deep conversations long into the night. So I wasn't going to have to deal with beer cans on the floor, stinky socks in the bathroom and the ever-present cloud of B.O. that seems to follow most male roommates wherever they go. AND... the rent was only $775. Total. Which meant that my half was only $387.50 a month. A total steal even 10 years ago. I had the distinct feeling that this was going to work out well.

And then a year and a half later when MJ moved back to L.A., the place became mine. In the intervening years, several roommates came and went. I started with girls, hoping to keep the mellow, non-stinky vibe MJ and I had going. There was Ylva, the half-retarded German acting student with a funny walk and a firm belief that she would make it in life because she was a "lucky child". Althea, the athletic black commercial actress with a winning smile and an unflappable can-do attitude. Then there was Joe. A friend of The Missus' from school. A great guy, but the prototypical non-metro male roommate. And then finally, after four years of dating, Kate moved in on September 28, 2001. Two weeks after the 11th. And, of course, the night she moves in we pull up to the house to find the front door kicked in half. Our little nest had been burglarized. Somehow it now seems fitting that the inaugural act of our cohabitation was a break-in.

Over the course of the next 6 1/2 years, we really did our best to make the place our home. A couple paint jobs, the installation of hardwood floors, a round of new furniture, coating the fridge in layers of anti-Bush humor and peppering the entire space with pictures of family and travel. And it worked. For a time.

But as we got older and started making more long-term plans for our lives, the realities of the space started making themselves known post-haste. The lack of closet space. The peeling kitchen floor. The mold spots in the unventilated bathroom. The overstayed-its-welcome carpet in the den. And the bedroom. Which is exactly that. A bed room. A room with a bed in it. Cramped enough that we have to walk in sideways just to get into bed. These realities began to encroach on our lives and quickly started turning our sanctuary into a prison.

It was time to move. This much was clear. What was not clear was... how? And to where?

We'd made a half-hearted attempt at looking last spring, to no avail. This attempt basically consisted of getting laughed out of six different Astoria brokers after explaining that we were looking for a two-bedroom that was larger than what we had now, was pet-friendly and preferrably on the ground floor to accomodate our 3-legged dog. Oh, and we want all that for $1500 a month. Apparently this was too much to ask. We were demoralized enough by the experience that we decided to bag the whole idea and stay put for another year. Good thing, too. Because about two weeks after abandoning our search, I lost my job. (*See every post between June and September of last year for details.) The fact that the savings we'd put aside for a move ended up keeping us afloat during my three months of unemployment are about as far as I need to look for evidence of divine intervention.


Fast forward to this April. Thanks to "Law & Order" residuals and Bush's bribe money, this year's tax return was greater than either of us expected. We had originally planned to maybe pay down some debt, take some classes, get new headshots, etc. But this amount was basically exactly what we would need to get us into a new apartment. We took it as a sign that the time for an upgrade in our living situation had come.

The topics of "Finding An Apartment" and "How Much Is Your Rent?" are the primary unifying preoccupations of people who live within the five boroughs of New York City. And there's a reason for this. Apartment-hunting in the City is very much like heading into battle. There are two opposing sides. There is preparation. There is strategy. It requires a great amount of skill, an equal amount of luck and a shitload of hustle. It is ruthless, it is demoralizing and it is all-consuming.

Major props to The Missus for totally having her shit together and being completely on-point heading into this process. We made a good team. She was the general and I was the pitch-man. We knew what we wanted and we weren't going to stop until we got it. At least that was the plan.

We originally started out looking at only no-fee apartments. No brokers, no agents. And our cap was $1600 a month. For a 2-bedroom. On the ground floor, or at least no higher than the second. In a private house or small 3-family building. In a great neighbhorhood. That was close to the train. (For my NYC contingency, please keep your laughter to a minimum as it disturbs the other readers.)

Long story short, as the search progressed and our frustration levels multiplied our criteria began to expand. We started looking in Greenpoint, we looked in Astoria, we looked in Bay Ridge, we looked in Park Slope, we looked in friggin' Bed-Stuy. (Thing We Learned About Ourselves In This Process #12: We are not gentrifiers.)

Over the course of 14 apartments, we started to become jaded, weary and battle-bruised. The thought pecked at both of us that maybe we just couldn't find a decent apartment in our price range. And maybe we were fools for leaving a place that was so affordable. Of course, as often happens, right when we were about to throw up our hands and admit defeat, the right thing comes along.

We had an appointment with a broker named George to look at a renovated 2-BR basement apartment with a small private backyard. We were already dubious about a basement apartment, but we were so beaten down we figured what-the-hell. Suffice to say, it wasn't for us. AND it was 16 blocks from the train. Which meant either taking the bus to the Ditmars station OR a fuck of a hoof. We happened to ask George if he had anything else he could show us and gave him our new, amended rent cap - $1800. George said he thought he might have something for us, but it was a little over what we wanted to spend. In a moment of silent internal unison, TM and I both said "Screw it! Let's see it anyway!"

The apartment met every criteria on our list... A 2-BR, larger than what we have now, completely renovated, ground floor, quiet street, great neighborhood, close to the train, forget it. This was it. Plus it has a yard (which needs some work, but hey) AND... a friggin' parking space. An unbelievable bonus. All of which ultimately went into our justification of why we were willing to pay fifty bucks over what was already a hard-arrived-at rent cap. We (I, moreso) agonized about what the hell we were thinking making that kind of a leap in rent. But, in the end (and this has become our mantra of late) you get what you pay for. The bottom line was this. We'd looked at 15 apartments over the course of a month and a half. And this was the one we wanted. And this was what it cost. And that was just the deal.

We signed the lease the following Friday and officially move in next week. We picked up the keys and took some measurements this past Friday night, so unsolicited pictures will likely follow.

So, yeah. We're moving. We're taking a risk. We're stepping outside ourselves and into something (hopefully) better, (definitely) different. And praying that our outside-in metamorphosis strategy works.

I made the observation to The Missus a couple months ago that we've spent the past couple years being our limitations. And we didn't have to look any further than our own four walls for a gut-check on that point.

3508, Thank You.

You've been a great home.

You were an oasis in the upsy-downsy clusterfuck that was my 20's.


And a fairly-reliable sanctuary as I entered my 30's.


I will cry when I shut your squeaky front door for the last time and I will feel a tug when any of the many memories you've housed begins to surface.

But I've outgrown you.

You are winter skin on my summer frame and it is time to leave you behind.


Thanks for everything.

I hope whoever comes along takes good care of you.


You deserve it.

Yes. We. CAN.

Can I get a "AMEN"?!!

R.I.P., Heady

"That's 'Hedley'."

.

Sir, you were a comic genius and a personal inspiration. You will be greatly missed.

The Search Is Over

(Details soon...)

Big Ups to Our Homegirl Heidi

"Darling of the Downtown Theatre Scene" and wife of the honorable K.P. O'Fagan II, Schreck won a friggin' Obie this week for her performance in Two-Headed Calf's Drum of the Waves of Horikawa. (Which, unfortunately, I missed.)

CYPJN!? salutes you, madam. The recognition is well-deserved.

Oh. My.

Saw DeVotchka at Terminal 5 last night.

Wow.

A m a z i n g show.

New York, where were you? We thought you were going to get tix.

Denver, they're your band. Stop taking them for granted. Make a point to see them next time they're home.

Seattle, John & Cheryl & Kevin told you to go and you didn't. Shame on you. Your loss.

Omaha, you still have a chance. They're playing the Slowdown on Saturday night. Do NOT screw this up. Remind everyone just how cool you really are and buy tickets for this RIGHT NOW.

Europe, you get to spend the whole summer with them.

You lucky bitch.

A Little Something For The Faithful

I've been an absentee blogger lately, so I figured I'd try and make it up to you.

Like a dad who buys you a present after he misses your ball game.

Or takes you to a ball game because he forgot to buy you a present.

Here.

I was going to do a post about what I've been listening to lately. So much good stuff.

Then I came across this widget on Dup's blog the other day and decided I'd just go ahead and share...

P.S. Since you just asked if The Missus and I were going to any good shows lately, I'll answer you.

Yes.

Yes we are.

DeVotchka tonight, Firewater Saturday night, Gogol Bordello 6/20 and Black Angels 6/28.

What?

I know you're jealous. But, you don't have to be. Get a ticket and come with us.

Seriously.

...?

I know, I know.

I've been busy, alright?




Geez.


Get off my back already...

Okay, so this is some funny shit...

Many thanks to Neil for passing this one along. Enjoy*...
*Not appropriate for office viewing

Evan & Gareth - Mano-A-Mano

Finally made it back to Bowery Poetry Club last week after a three year absence. Last open mic of the season. Felt good.

It’s a sobering thing to try and calculate
The exact percentage of time I’ve spent of late
Trying to fill myself up with
Myself
Trying to fill myself up with
Myself

Heading out into the winter of my spirit
Wrapped only in my distractions
While my truest need
Becomes such a whisper

I can’t even hear it

I like bombast
I like subterfuge
I like noise
I like to shout down any ounce of substance

that tries to penetrate
Any ounce of anything
I didn’t orchestrate

I gravitate toward surface
I gravitate toward sheen
I gravitate away
From whatever gravity means

I line my insides with my outsides
I play dress-up

I try on skinny jeans
I try on cigarettes
I try on crossword puzzles
I try on the internet

I try on “Rock of Love with Brett Michaels”
I try on MSNBC
I try on whatever I can buy
To make myself more “me”

I try on too much red meat
I try on too much red wine
I try on snarky dismissive and
“No, no, really, I’m fine”

I hang myself with ornaments
And pray the branches hold
I play Dead Kennedys on the way to my office job
To keep from getting

old

I put in as much as will fit
With little regard
For what I’m getting out of any of it

When I was growing up there were actually channels on the television
That had no content
just static
just space

A hissing, scrambled buzz of nothing
(Or, if not nothing, then
Something close to not-quite-something)

But not now

Now

Every channel is full and multiplied
300-plus points on the dial
Each with its own picture, sound & style

most still static

But structured & groomed & with a target
Demographic

All a fitting metaphor
For a collective human nature that says
Empty is an eyesore

That clamors desperate, loud
For moremoremore
And doesn’t bother to distinguish or define
More of what
Because more itself
Seems to be enough

I have tried
Filling myself up with
Myself

And I have left myself
Unsatisfied

I have tried

Filling myself up with
Myself

And I have left myself
Full of shit

There’s truth out there somewhere
Hidden in the little spaces between
What I want
And what I do

Yes, it’s soft
But not completely out of earshot
If I can keep my mouth shut long enough

Only open
Only empty
Only silent
Only still
Only flushed of what separates
Me from me
Me from God
Me from you

Me from the life I only dare talk about in the abstract

-IMBA

4/08

Ladies & Gentlemen... The World Premiere of...

DJ PROVERB

Oh, yes. Hot damn, indeed.

Totally last minute, but if you find yourself in Astoria tomorrow night between 10pm and midnight looking for a place to listen to a kickass mix of Indie Rock, Electronica, Vintage Alternative, Progressive Hip Hop and Transglobal Beats while enjoying any of the 25 great microbrews on tap, come check out my inaugural DJ set at Sunswick.

I'm hoping this will be the first of many. I'll keep you posted.