nolan and i are in the middle of a trade. this morning (while i drove us down bedford ave at breakneck speed toward the YMCA camp in greenpoint), we agreed that if he was good today at camp (his counselors and i are closelikethis on his behavior) then he and i can head over to times square this evening. if not, then he goes home right after i pick him up this afternoon and will scrub the floors with a toothbrush.
late nights = bleary train rides to work (and no photo for this entry).
i threw a small dinner party last night at my apartment. the food was good, the conversations moved long into the evening with friends and of course there were a couple of cocktails after i’d put nolan to bed. we played the cd’s i haven’t played since high school (morphine & shudder to think).
nights like these that were few and far between for me are now many and without pause lately. it’s ok though … after a thousand years in exile, i deserve a good evening with friends.
Once upon a time, I was a 19 year old college sophomore with hardly any music experience. What experience I did have was largely confined to four track recordings and a few high-school jam sessions. On a whim (and with the support of a drummer friend) I joined The Madisons, a very heavily Smiths-influenced 4-piece. I told them I could play bass, though I really couldn’t. Luckily, the lead singer, Grier, was happy to teach me. I remember sitting down for hours at his apartment as he helped me put together each and every bass line.
The guitarist Joel Machiela made this video, which I still love watching. It’s zany! I got to play the villain! Enjoy!
UPDATE 2: OK, this is the real one. Now, for more coffee.
UPDATE: OOPS! That song I posted was a three year old demo of “Dear Britt” recorded onto a boombox in our rehearsal space. God I hope no one listened to it. I’ll get the real one up there this evening.
There are ten spankin’ new songs sitting on my hard drive right now awaiting mastering. You can hear one unmastered song here and another at my myspace page. You can download and share both of them. Please do.
“Dear Britt, Love Pete” is a fictional letter from Peter Sellers to his wife Britt Eckland. Peter Sellers has always fascinated me - I’m drawn to his immense talent but repelled by his personal ethics and ruthless devotion to fame. Thus, the song attempts to say something about why Britt Eckland, a rare beauty and onetime Bond Girl, could be drawn to such a character.
“Boogaloo” is an ode to a now defunct Brooklyn after-hours speakeasy. I never remember going there before 4 or 5am, but I always remember regretting it. I learned how to throw dice with Puerto Rican dealers and watched cops be paid off in drinks and other favors. These days are far behind me now - I was in a dark place and with a trainwreck of a woman - but the abject seediness of those experiences are, well, priceless. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
i’ve been here, which means i haven’t been here. so busy, so distracted, so happy!
oh, and nolan is back as of last saturday night!
as a way to save money and be lazy, i took a day long bus journey to collect him from the grandparents in nh. fungwah bus to boston and then concord trailways to concord nh and then turn back around. grand total? $85. gas would have cost more than that! but even though i saved the money (and had the pleasure of chilling out with my kid for a couple of hours) we were both travel-rumpled and glazed over like donuts as we tumbled out into chinatown with four heavy bags. nolan kvetched about the smelly stench of chinatown’s finest soft puddles and my back hurt from having to contort myself into the shape of a comma for 14 hours, so both of our moods were quite … pinched.
after that, the weekend kept rolling along. the next day (after a picnic in the park) patrick and i took bella and nolan to mccarren pool to watch matt & kim rip it up on stage with a green marching band. while the kids took to the slip-n-slide, patrick and i drank a couple of light beers, took photos and kept applying a 3″ thick coating of sunscreen to our bodies.
wow. i couldn’t think of a better way to spend sunday afternoon with the kids.
i did it! with the help of friends, new friends and hired help, we did it. all of my worldly possessions made it to brooklyn without a scratch last thursday night. i actually drove a 16′ moving truck and scared patrick many, many, many times during the trip. mike drove my car behind us the entire time and witnessed three near misses with various automobiles that i wasn’t aware of. oops.
fast forward to today - i have a new neighborhood, new five whole flights to walk up, new room, new roommate, new newness. it’s amazing! this is way better than the noisy and expensive stinky east village neighborhood and much MUCH more stimulating than the sleepy and under-stimulating state of new hampshire.
what used to be a long distance relationship (between patrick and i) is now a … relationship. i’m happy. patrick’s happy. we’re both still in awe that we’re just around the corner from each other (seriously). it’s very rare that this kind of situation works out, but it did with us. tonight, for example: bella, patrick and i met up on bedford ave after work and bought fixings for udon and watched the karate kid II on dvd. on a MONDAY night. we’ve never really experienced a relatively normal monday night like this together. almost all of our days spent together over the past 5 months have only been on fridays, saturdays and sundays. and even then it was rushed - time was always limited!
i spent almost all of my teenage years in the 1990’s (minus the two years spent in the ancient 80’s). this means that i remember the collapse of the soviet union, the rodney king verdict, the assassination of yitzhak rabin and (most importantly) when i discovered dr marten shoes.
in high school i netted about $65/week at the local record store. instead of spending it on gas for my shitty car or save it for college, i spent the money on a $115 pair of classic 8 hole lace-up boots. to make up for this cost, second-hand stores were like goldmines for me. dresses from the 60’s and gnarly fuzzy cardigans that smelled like moth balls had been my uniform for three years - even during the sweltering summers. i’d rather my feet roast under the black leather uppers than wear sensible shoes.
the story ends with the same old pair of boots being thrown away just weeks after i started going to RISD. so it’s safe to say it’s been about 13 years since i’ve worn them. I have moved on. it was a relationship that ended on good terms. but lately i’ve been seeing the same pair of boots walking the streets! i don’t know how i feel about this, i thought we were through with each other. we had an agreement!
Today, the late Mr. Smith has brought me inspiration for a tune I’m working on. His intimate, dusky, haunted recordings have the kind of mystery I’ve found in few - Alexander Spence and Nick Drake are the only others that come to mind. I’ll be lucky if I can roughly approximate that vibe.
If you’ve wondered why I’ve been a bit quieter lately, it’s on account of making a new record. I’ve been holed up in my room with a microphone and a hard drive attempting to make the most of my meager talent. I’m almost ten songs into the process.
We don’t have many photos of the two of us, since we’re usually the ones wielding the cameras. At present, I haven’t seen Tam in nearly three weeks, our longest-ever stretch, and I was heartened to see my friend Eliza’s polaroid on her flickr.
-Changing or capable of changing position: a moving target.
-Relating to or involved in a transfer of furnishings from one location to another: moving expenses; moving van.
i have three days to finish getting my two bedroom apartment packed up and ready to struggle into the moving truck on wednesday. instead of taking action on this lovely sunday afternoon, i have my ass parked among the cardboard boxes rolling my eyes at everything i own. it’s involuntary.
last night while i tucked nolan into my bed (nightmares, still) i told him that if he helps me load his toys and books into the moving boxes, i would treat him to something special. i realized i’d spoken too soon because he asked right away what it would be. after an exhaustive adventure to the back of my head and all the way around to the front, i couldn’t think of anything.
“five bucks! you’ll have five dollars with your name on it.” i blurted out feeling satisfied with my answer.
“you can’t do that mom,” nolan responded, his eyebrows pointing to the middle of his forehead. then in all seriousness, he continued, “it’s illegal to write on money. you’ll get arresteded.”
The bus that Bella and I take to New Hampshire (via Boston) was crushed yesterday by an out-of-control dump truck. We’ve stood on the corner of Bowery and Canal countless times waiting for the Fung Wah bus to arrive. This video is chilling: IT COULD HAVE BEEN US!
while i’m busy alternating between getting things ready to relocate my two person family and talking to myself while curled up into a ball, here’s a few things for you to look at in the meantime …
