Uglier Than a Supermax: The New LIC Monstrosity

Preach it, Vidiot: Been Raped? Let Dawn Handle It

There's no point in asking; you'll get no reply

So BEE sycophant friend Jaime Clarke emailed the esteemed Maud Newton, who is too polite to tell people who email her asking for linkola that they are basically no better than perverts and ferret owners in her eyes.* She charitably posted a link to his site, which is how I found it this morning.

Goths vs Chavs: Wanna lay odds?

When given a choice between steady rewards and the chance for more, monkeys will gamble

Punk rock: Officially dead

Mr. Bloomberg offered the city's help in negotiating a new lease. If that fails, and CBGB is forced out of its space at 313 and 315 Bowery, "we will try to find another location," the mayor said.

According to the AP, black people loot, white people borrow

The boys are back in town! [Thanks Chris!]

How to modify the CVS disposable digital camcorder

"The problem is that having sex with underage people is no longer acceptable," says Ian Svenonius. Why didn't he mention this when I was 16??? [Via]

Are babies being snatched for organs in Ukraine? Who knows?

I don't know what the problem is here, I mean, I dated PLENTY of guys that age when I was 14 and look how great I turned out

Once a flasher, always a flasher

Judy Garland's Famed Ruby Slippers Stolen!!11!!1!1!

The Future of Music Coalition is having a kickass summit in September. If you're in DC, you should attend

If only I were in the Book Depository or the Clocktower right now...

Fucking hell.

Bring on the Dancing Vaginas: Michel Houellebecq's got a new novel out

Punk Punch-up!

Pick up the tempo

N's been out of town for a week. In that time, I've made a concerted effort to bring my personal hygiene to new lows (Related: The empty bourbon and whiskey bottles) and generally behave in a manner unbecoming of your average longshoreman (Related: See above). Have been successful +/- 67% of the time.

In the aftermath of this bender, the acme of which involved dragging a 50-lb bag of recyclables down three flights of stairs, leaving a trail of stale beer, Skoal juice, and Fox's U-Bet syrup, I had this sudden realization: I'll be turning 30 in a week. This made me sad.

Not because of the symbolic/milestone nature of the birthday, but because if I had realized this sooner I wouldn't have stopped drinking on Saturday night.

Saturday night I was at the Underground Hipster Tearoom Bar to see my neighbor, who plays bass in this band/performance, uh, troupe when I decided, at 1:30, that I wasn't going to get any drunker.

I found myself very bored and sober at 2 am, sitting at home, watching some unintelligible movie on IFC in which Chloe Sevigny speaks six languages and has a microchip in her vagina or something. I should've just ridden the wave.

I threw in the towel too early. I have been turning 30 my entire life and now, allasudden, I have only one week left before it really happens. There is NO way that I'll be able to build up the drinking momentum I had this past week without going into a coma. It would involve too much double declutching.

(Oh, and for the record, I fully blame Maud Newton for really bringing me down yesterday afternoon when she called me--sounding all like Rip Fuckin' Torn--to tell me that if all goes the worst it possibly can, Hurricane Katrina's going to kill 50,000 people and the entire Gulf Coast will be washed out to sea. Why do you tell me these things, Maud? I had only just gotten the worry of Suge Knight's shooting out of my mind.)

Jill Ciment, "The Tattoo Artist"

The Tattoo Artist by Jill Ciment is the fictional story of Sara Ehrenreich, a Jewish seamstress from the Lower East Side who took her chances seducing a wealthy art-lovin’ avant-garde revolutionary and ended up marrying him and becoming an acclaimed painter herself, only to suffer the loss of their fortune early on in the Depression, and end up stranded on a remote South Pacific island after the ship they’re expecting to return never picks them up.

Proof that the healthnuts are the creepiest

What do women see in prisoners? What do they see in Chuck Klosterman!

You are entirely too fucking old for the following:

• Selling your used tampons for fun and profit.* It is appealing, at first, but when you consider the legality (even after doing the math) you realize that if you're going to have a permanent record, you don't want it to be for interstate trafficking of biohazardous materials.
• Coming home with two fucking stamps on your hand, and you weren't carded, at all, and you didn't even stick around for the star DJ whose claim to fame is starring in a number of Larry Clark films.
• Pissing on yourself because you're finally home and you've been holding it because the line for the bathroom was entirely too long and your cellphone rings because your friend is just calling to make sure you made it home okay
• Posting something at 1:30 on a Saturday night.

When the nuts run out, no one is safe

The Daily News is on the case of the subway flasher.

Mike Disfarmer prints discovered

I want a Safety Smock for my birthday. [Via]

We Jam Econo

Lest any of you felt bad about missing We Jam Econo when it last came around, it's playing at Anthology Film Archives starting tonight and running through 9/1. I hope you'll need no further encouragement than my rhapsodic display a few months ago, but if you do, go read all the positive press it's gotten.

Whoa: A big ol' hoax reminiscent of Kaycee Nicole

A surprisingly lucid takedown of Victoria "I Have Cancer" Gotti

The only thing I look forward to anymore, besides a quick and painless death: Don'ts and Don'ts

This guy lives right down the street from me. I saw him the other morning being interviewed in front of his house. I've never seen him so animated.

I can't believe this guy's only now figured out that JT Leroy is a hoaxster

The Mark E. Smith Handwriting Font

You should listen to this interview with Paul Goldberger on the topic of cultural institutions at Ground Zero

Can someone please tell me what "mundacity" means?

Right fucking on: Woman takes photo of subway pervert, posts it on Flickr

A game we all can play

So Tom and I, we were having this discussion about...I think it started out with Chuck Klosterman? Am unclear on exacts. Fingernail extraction was involved.

As you know, I never grow tired of mocking him. (Maybe that's because he's the male equivalent of a chick-lit author? Oh man, that was too easy.)

I was thinking how one of the most mockworthy things about Chuck is his generally creepy fashion choices. It was then that I had my eureka moment, right as I was tabbing back and forth between Ed's recent post and one of my daily haunts: Wouldn't it be fun to play a game called "Serial Killer or Rock Critic"?

Yes. Yes it would.

Bats assault Ukrainian city and bite its residents

You think the hed's good? Look at the photo: Nun Reprimanded for Wild Dancing

Heh, didn't see this one earlier: Credit Card Letter Addressed 'Dear Palestinian Bomber'

"Jewels tells his overdose story to anyone who will listen," particularly if you're a sucker newspaper reporter, apparently.

"When he surrendered at the 48th Precinct stationhouse, he was carrying a Bible and wearing a clergyman's collar, but it was not clear if he had any formal religious affiliation..."

The Victoria Gotti Hate Machine Grows More Powerful

Yuck, Tracey. Just yuck.

Quelle fucking surprise: The Traveler ain't doin' so well

We'll Take Manhatten

It's time for another installment of Mocking the Malignant Gawker Typos.

All Fat Possum CDs are $10 each. Git'r done!

It's funny, every week, I say to myself, "I just can't possibly hate New York Magazine more." And then I read stuff like this.

Newley vs. Gladwell: Newley wins!

Snakes On a Plane!

"...if you can find pleasure and, more importantly, diversion in a book that has been written with deliberate preteen simplicity...then you are not very bright." [Via Maud]

"Hey honey, you know what I'd like? To see you and another woman punch each other in the face."

Where are the reticence, stoicism, single-mindedness of yore, goddammit?

Gimme gimme ampakines

Chimps Just as Shallow and Needy As the Rest of Us

Joe Meno, "How the Hula Girl Sings"

Following the great success of Joe Meno's Hairstyles of the Damned, Akashic Books has come out with a paperback reissue of How the Hula Girl Sings, his somewhat-ignored second novel (published in 2001 under the ReganBooks imprint). It should be a win-win situation for both Meno and Akashic for a couple reasons: Hula Girl is a tight little read that clearly got lost in the House of Judith; and also? Joe Meno's red-hot right now.

Fuck dude, something must be going around this week: Big Boys singer found dead [Via]

Fuck You, Believer!

RIP Robert Moog

Frankly, I thought it had nothing on the "Family Ties" Finale

Great weekend. Did nothing. Watched the Last Episode Ever.

I've been horribly neglectful of my post over here and Krucoff's been nothing but nice about it, so I should really get on that. There'll be a few quickie reviews this week, I think. Tune in later.

Come back to the five and dime, Jimmy Dean Jimmy Dean

I hope that the pink-blog contingent will take Marilyn Stasio's lengthy essay on several chick-lit detective novels in this week's NYTBR as the first step to their emancipation from the ghetto. I can almost hear them singing, in unison, We Shall Overcome.

Panel on Prison Rape Hears Victims' Chilling Accounts

If your great-great- great grandomother was an Indian princess you should go read The Newest Indians

Top 10 Most Ridiculous Black Metal Pics of All Time

Dinosaur footprint found at Brooklyn College

You deserve something more life affirming

Well, it's been quite a week. It really warms my cockles to see so much hate. What a fan-frickin-tastic idea this was. And in case you've missed it, I'd like to give you a rundown, the time-honored tradition of all self-aggrandizing douchebag bloggers.

You prolly know this already, but the Don'ts and Don'ts are up

The Nation's Choice in Gospel Mime

Point/Counterpoint: Clovis Press vs. Spoonbill and Sugartown

To round out the Number One Hit Song Hateweek Guest Opinion, I thought I'd throw in a new concept to blow your got-damned minds: A point/counterpoint review, the first half by none other than Maud Newton, and the second by yours truly. (Don't look so disappointed.) The topic? The two bookstores/imprimateurs in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Which, despite their paucity of novels with pink martinis and Manolos gracing their covers, still suck donkey dick.

Life During Wartime

As you know, I've expressed my love for the QueensWest bulletin boards in the past, because I embrace wholeheartedly any excuse to get indignant over stuff that isn't my business.

An excellent compendium of roots music online

Fuck New York

This is an auspicious day here at #1HS. We've been hating so much that we've been called "mean." What better time to welcome back my old drunk friend Tom, the author of this poignant essay?

This just blew my mind

The Moravskys: Sixty-seven, married for forty years, and still randy enough to go at it on a park bench [Via]

A bad batch of reporting on NYC's heroin-related deaths

RIP Vassar Clements, the best damn fiddle player there ever was [Via]

Flotation Toy Warning, "Bluffer's Guide to the Flight Deck"

[Author's note to readers: I was out sick yesterday and missed the #1HS staff meeting where it was announced that hate week had begun. I wrote the following review under the impression that it was still ignorance week.] When I read the promo copy and saw Floatation Toy Warning favorably compared to The Flaming Lips and half a dozen bands I'd never heard of, I knew I was in trouble. It didn't help when I later read that they opened for Air at a French music festival.

Natural selection debunked: "I died four times in one day, and I'm still here."

"It's haunting to think these nice, loving people were trying to hold their breaths as they sank to the bottom of the ocean," stated Captain Obvious

Woman accused of beating boyfriend with his wooden leg

Memo to England, Germany, Italy, and France: Suck it.

EIGHT REASONS WHY CHICK LIT AUTHORS SHOULD BE KICKED UNTIL THEY’RE DEAD*

Editor's [HA!] note: This is the first anonymous submission to #1HS. (Unless, of course, you count the various witticisms posted in the Comments by people named "yousuck@eatshit.com.") Let's call the author of this particular essay Haitlin Louboutin. And no, I didn't write it--entirely too polished to be one of my dribblings, n'est-ce pas?--but the title *was* my idea. I insisted on the title, actually. In fact, I think I will entitle every fucking post from now on "[X] Reasons Why [X] Should Be Kicked to Death."

Like a hatewave burning in my heart*

As bmarkey alluded to, and as my general demeanor of late might have clued you into (whoa, I really did drink myself braindamaged last night), this week's #1HS theme is HATE. Because I love to hate.

A Bomb Grows in Brooklyn: Interview with Chris Hackett of the Madagascar Institute.

I hope when I die that I'm memorialized by the douchebags extraordinaire at Last Night's Party. Because I want to be remembered in the same photographic breath as these gits.

All You Need Is Hate

My lovely hostess here at #1HS has proclaimed this to be the Week of Hate. Sadly, this comes about twenty years too late for yours truly.

There was plenty of music I hated, back in the day. Bile and spleen were what kept me going, more often than not, especially while I was working retail. I worked in record stores, yes, but in small towns and/or suburbs. I, personally, bought the only copy of Under The Big Black Sun that we sold. Ever. On the other hand, Air Supply and Christopher Cross fucking flew off the shelves. Each copy I rang up was yet another personal insult. If the Death Rays that shot from my eyes had had any effect at all on the endless stream of soulless consumers, I’d have been a lot happier. As it is, I didn’t even singe anyone.

the other day I was walking and talking to no one in paticular when I was hit by a cab and died instantly. that way I did not have to turn thirty and I did not have to quit smoking...

Invisible to Most, Immigrant Women Line Up for Day Labor

Scott Stapp gets punk'd (See also.) [Thanks Max!]

Things That Make Me Angry, Part Soixante et Un

I know in my heart of hearts that I shouldn't read the Times' Sunday Styles section. I know to avoid the Pathmark circulars. Why does this particular obstacle prove so challenging?

"You have a completely untrustworthy penis. If it could get up and walk around on its own, it would probably commit crimes."

An excellent profile of a lovely woman with whom I share a singular obsession [Via]

Death in Stockwell: The unanswered questions

Worth it for the hed alone: French dwarf jester haunts house

Two friends did a piece on Tina Barney for the Post, but I guess I'll forgive them

Just Nod If You Can Hear Me

Is there some sort of autopilot working at Gawker lately?

"After finding out the winner was from St. Joseph, I was disappointed," Chip Davis said. "But now I'm even more disappointed to find out it was my mom."

It's so cute when Gawker calls others out on bad grammar.

Bret Easton Ellis, "Lunar Park"

Here's the biggest problem with Bret Easton Ellis: You can't tell if, to paraphrase Ann Magnuson, he's being ironic or sarcastic or postmodern. His career peaked with American Psycho, his worst book. And despite the media blitz, and the inexplicable handjob reviews from odd places, it's safe to say that Lunar Park is not going to help him reclaim that notoriety.

Lauren's just introduced me to my new favorite timesuck, Rockabilly Date

Katherine Harris: Big Fat Liar

Your heard it here first! LIC: New Greenwich Village

Folks, it's the weekly Don'ts and Don'ts

That's not happiness to see me, is it*

Take a look at Charlie Dreyling. Cute kid, right? Shoe salesman, lifeguard...interests are playing soccer, fishing, and, ah, FLYING AIRPLANES. I'm sure he didn't mean to bring his homemade bomb with him to the airport. No sir.

*He looks so tooootally bummed out in his mugshot, doesn't he?

Attention Stalkers!

Ok folks, tonight we've got this wonderful confluence of events on the LES, and neither of them involve firebombing Rothko. First up, there's the Maxx Klaxon CD release party at Lolita Bar, where I will be, listening in ecstasy to bleeps and bloops and keeping an eye out for 1/2 Nelson.

I shall then head over to Lit, which has become only my third- or fourth-least favorite bar in the city, to see Old Ramsey, who apparently must be seen/heard to be believed. I have not yet experienced them, but I will tell you that one of the band members makes an excellent cup of coffee.

Dog may help Swedes find rapists

This guy for mayor: Man fires bullets into parked Toyota to silence car alarm

Water Taxi Beach: Officially Dead to me

A Green Roof comes to LIC

The rather odd selection of the Top 50 Movies for Children Under 14... Night of the Hunter?!? [Via]

This Ain't No Picnic

I have 4,000 words to write by the end of this week, on the subject of two cities I've never visited (because I am a Typical American). Why not go over to the excitingly re-worked Krucoff.com and ratchet up his bandwidth use! You'll thank me later.

Police say two men running booths at a flea market got into an argument yesterday about the war...

Ruminator's interview with The Fran

See, now THAT's devotion

Confitdential to Grady: I'll give you ninth-inning doubles, baby

The Ben and the Herman

My first job in NYC was in the editorial department of a large, faceless B2B publisher. As is customary for most recent college grads, it was a shitty-beyond-belief job, but it was a *job*, and unless I wanted to commute to Short Hills to manage a High-End Preppy Retail Store (a vestige of my previous life as a retail slut, and incidentally it would've paid 6K more a year, but there's something soul-deflating about owning 5 pairs of chinos, which I did, and in different colors to boot), it was my only option after a month and a half of fruitless searching (and Lewis Lapham wasn't returning my calls).

John Tierney [!] calls bullshit on the new Meth Epidemic

"...we can say that the drink tasted a bit like what we imagine would greet the palate should one find oneself doggedly licking the upholstery in Shane Mac-Gowan's rumpus room after a bank holiday."

The David Berman Pitchfork interview. My favorite part: [In reference to his reading at the University of Charleston] "I thought it was an extraordinarily large-breasted student body. I was off my game."

Kings of Leon @ Roseland, NYC, 8/8/05

The Kings of Leon are really good-looking. There's no question. And the story about how they are brothers or cousins and they traveled the South with their evangelical dad is a gold nugget for the press release.

Voracious Snakehead Fish Discovered in a Queens Lake

Frankly, I don't think it's the games themselves that women are turned off by

Oh, Flatlands, will you ever learn: "An elderly white woman asked a young black girl about the movie 'Undercover Brother,' a racial satire."

The Handshake [Thanks Neal!]

The creepiest case of Moral Panic I've seen in a while

I love obsessives: The Golden Age of Sassy magazine [Via.]

Goodbye, Lookout Records

Vidiot gives Dov Hikind whatfor