I haven't been particularly busy for the last week. I just didn't really feel like writing anything. This usually stems from not wanting to think about things that bother me. Nothing terribly noteworthy happened anyway. Among the few highlights- I had my first physical in about six years last Tuesday. Apparently, I am in good health. Particularly shocking was my excellent cholesterol level, given the amount of fatty meats and cheeses I cannot stop eating.I bought several records on Saturday. I spent a long time going through the pile at the 7th ave. flea market, but found nothing. Then I stumbled across a little setup outside John Jay high school, where some woman was selling records for a dollar a piece. I think they may have been stolen. The limited selection was amazingly good, though. I bought- Dylan's Blood on the Tracks; Paul's Boutique; The Rolling Stones' Let it Bleed (which I discovered I already had); a Woody Guthrie collection; a Built to Spill/Caustic Resin split 12''; The Replacement's Don't Tell A Soul; and The Pixies' Come on Pilgrim. Don't Tell a Soul and Come On Pilgrim aren't the most loved of those band's formidable body of work, but for a dollar each, it was worth if for the one or two good songs on each record.
Walking back from getting coffee at Dizzy's, Jed and I passed a man propped up against the wall of the church across 6th street from our apartment. He was pretty much asleep standing up. Mouth wide open, looking totally fucked up. I walked out a few minutes later and saw him now fully reclined on the steps. So I ran to get the camera. At first, I tried to be as inconspicuous as possible when taking his picture, but after a few seconds I realized that discretion was just about completely unnecessary. The first thing I did was to make sure the guy was alive and breathing. Which he was. I just wanted to capture the odd little scene. So here he is:
I spent most of the weekend playing guitar, playing basketball, playing frisbee, playing Halo on Matt's Xbox, and watching the NBA playoffs. I like to play. I don't really care about the NBA during the regular season, but once springtime rolls around, there are few things I enjoy watching on tv more. It's really true, though: You really don't need to watch any of the game except for the last two minutes. Two games in two days that saw 26 point leads evaporate. I think the NBA is fixed. Yesterday, Memorial Day, I lounged around and relaxed for most of the afternoon. I watched Annie Hall, which I had never seen before. Miss Charming Melodee from upstairs was returning it to the video store, so I grabbed it from her and told her I'd return it. I've really enjoyed all the Woody Allen movies I've seen from the 70's. But not so much the more recent films. I always forget how much I like Diane Keaton in these movies. She's terribly unappealing now, and that's my default mode for her since I knew her as this version of her before I'd seen her in movies like Sleeper.
He looked all rigor mortised
I find it interesting that his head was somehow not touching the ground.
Caryn came over in the middle of the movie. She brought with her a delicious lemon merangue pie Nate had made. I felt a bit sick after eating it. Then we walked to the fish store, where I bought some crab legs and some corn, for a modest little Memorial Day dinner. The pound of crabs also made me feel kind of sick. The whiskey and gingerale after dinner settled the stomach though. We like the whiskey and we like the ginger and we like them together.
In the evening, the gang went up to Williamsburg to see James play at Galapogos. We took a car service there, and our driver was a very friendly yet racist Brooklyn stereotype. At one point I actually thought he was going to run over the Hasidic Jew in front of us, partly out of dislike and partly because he wasn't really watching where he was going. The show itself was pretty good. James has gotten some good press lately, with a nice little blurb in Time Out New York, and a good review in Magnet. The night seemed sort of special for some reason. Maybe because Rodzilla kept saying so. But I was definitely feeling something, as we sat around and watched the band after James play. The scene was oddly cinematic. The crowd was me, Rodzilla, Jed, Jen, Matt, James, and his girlfriend Rosario. I just got the feeling that a night like this wasn't going to happen again for a very long time. Just sitting around with all my friends from college. Jen was pretty drunk pretty early, and was being swept along conversationally by the "Idea Factory" of Matt and Jed. Matt and Jed decided they were going to start a sort of advertising think tank, since they always had such great ideas. So Jen gave them a product and five minutes to come up with an add. The product was Ziploc bags. I didn't hear the final pitch, but apparently Jen was sold. Anyway, the evening was fun. Jen started off pretty drunk, but Rodzilla came storming back and was easily the drunk of the night. We hadn't hung out in a good little while though, and it was good to see her. The evening was fun and seemed special for some reason. But the feeling seems less real now. Rolled home a little before 3 am. Seemed like a good idea at the time.Pictures from Galapogos:
James and Rosario. They really should stand when they play. James was trying to rock out sitting down, but it just ended up looking like he was humping his guitar.
Rodzilla, Jen, and Jed. I like how Jed and Rodzilla frame Jen here. And I like Jen's spiffy new hat. Also, this was my first time at Galapogos where I did not hear one of those tall beer glasses break. Honestly, what's wrong with normal pint glasses?