Saveur has posted its entire recipe index online. Searchable, too! [Via]

He Is Risen! [Via]

Oh thank goodness the River Head is safe--for now. My favorite quote: A staircase led to a basement dressing room for dancers like Diamond, whose real name was Jennifer, and Chastity, whose real name was Chastity.

After reading this I probably could've predicted this

Football hooligans: Your time is up

To is a preposition, come is a verb, Part II

Some people are suggestible drunks. In contrast, I am an overly cautious drunk. Whereas other folks, after a few beers, want to drive down to Atlantic City at 2 in the morning, I am transformed into an auxiliary policeman. I'm always the one who's like, Hey, get down off the table or The cabbie isn't interested in seeing your catbrain or Maybe liberating the chickens isn't such a hot idea.

I am offering this info as a sort of qualification to the following: Last week I went to what is, perhaps, the seediest of the seedy strip clubs in LIC. It is because I was in the company of two suggestible drunks, and they strong-armed me into it. And the whole situation is a bit of a double-edged sword, actually, because on one hand, you'd have to be pretty drunk to summon the stones to go into such an establishment (not to mention lessen the shame) and enjoy yourself, but on the other hand you'd really want your faculties in tip-top shape so as to avoid the concomitant knife fights that will break out.

I saw this guy the other day. I swear to god he had a lawnmower

Great post about the genesis of "Will the Circle Be Unbroken"

#1HS as a graph [Via]

RIP, Desmond Dekker *sniff* Here's one of my favorites: Ah It Mek

RIP Pogo, the auntie gorilla

Creative Department Douchebag [Via]

Hey Hey! The Live Ones are playing at Sin-e tonight

Eugene Mirman - "En Garde, Society!"

Comedy is incredibly subjective. This makes it really hard to critique. That said, if your idea of hilarity is to call your local pizza parlor and order a large pepperoni pie, hold the pepperoni (!), this is the disc for you.

Spare the quarter-inch plumbing supply line, spoil the child

To is a preposition, come is a verb

This morning I saw a guy get spectacularly crapped on. It was as though a squadron of pigeons swooped in at that very moment and aimed at him. A full-on assault. I don't know how it was possible.

The guy was wearing a blue blazer and carrying a Frappucino (and his hair was perfect), the sort of gentleman in whose beshitting (I claim that word and all of its riches) I'd ordinarily delight, but Jesus. If I had laughed at him, God would come down and smite my family.

I hope he keeps a spare blue blazer in his office.

As I steered clear of the point of impact on the sidewalk (and averted my eyes, of course), another witness--a sort of greasy hippie dude--turned to the flabbergasted man and said, "You got some serious pigeon there, man."

You might be wondering what this photo is all about. I'll get to that this afternoon in three or four days.

The VLS's schadenfreude for the whole Viswanathan debacle

The Antigeist "meets" her new neighbor, the Occasionally Naked Rabbi

Clearly a product of the ruthless marijuana lobby machine

Mixing Pop & Politics, Part II: Neil Young's "Living With War"

There is a time when the operation of the machine becomes so odious, makes you so sick at heart, that you can't take part; you can't even passively take part, and you've got to put your bodies upon the gears and upon the wheels, upon the levers, upon all the apparatus, and you've got to make it stop. And you've got to indicate to the people who run it, to the people who own it, that unless you're free, the machine will be prevented from working at all! – Mario Savio

Some of you may recall that a about a month and a half ago, in the course of a piece on Kelefa Sanneh’s coverage of anti-war/protest music, I mentioned that I stopped listening to Damien Jurado because of his political views. Dana was somewhat surprised by this, and asked me what my objection was. I couldn’t recall the details right then, only that it was due to do an interview with Jurado I’d read in Paste magazine. Curious, I did a quick Google search for the interview in question; turns out it ran in issue #15, which I think came out sometime in early 2004. (I’ve probably still got the magazine at home, but my, um, archives aren’t quite as searchable as one might like. Piled rather than filed, if you follow me.) Anyway, it turns out that he wasn’t quite as foaming at the mouth as I’d recalled. In fact, he comes off fairly level-headed. What put me off him was this:

What about a Taxi Honkometer?

Todd Levin would like A Little Privacy

If you're in Chicago tomorrow, you should go see Gary Amdahl read at the Bookslut Reading Series

RIP Lloyd Bentsen

Strange Reaction has the Dead Kennedys demo bootleg

Blue Ridge Gazette is looking for writers

This is what happens when you allow production to proof the heds [Via]

Maud just made my day: New Harry Crews book

This is totally unsurprising. The bastard douchebag sons of cunts in charge of LIC's traffic enforcement should all be impaled on rusty spires, paraded over the Pulaski Bridge, coated with the florid wax from that fucking candle factory, and dumped into the Newtown Creek. Yeah, I said it.

Rita Katz: The thinking man's Shannen Rossmiller

if you whant to get tokeder plz emale me whed number

Could the uptick in twin births be caused by bovine growth hormone in our diets?

The art of sport [Via]

Champion Coffee: Taking Greenpoint by Storm TOMORROW

Some of you may recall my profound sadness at the shuttering of TEN63, the cafe with the best coffee in the world and also the very very good and kind baristas (so good and kind, in fact, that they befriended N and me, even after we'd accidentally walked out without paying on more than one occasion)(we always came back, but still). Anyhow, that was six months ago. I still find myself wistful whenever I smell really great coffee, which is not often, I might add.*

Anyhow. It is with great pleasure, then, that I announce the opening of Champion Coffee in Greenpoint, TOMORROW, Tuesday, May 23, brought to you by the same minds and coffee-ground-stained hands as what brought yis TEN63. Boasting both indoor and outdoor seating and WiFi, this small-but-perfectly- formed cafe features the signature coffee and tea beverages, egg sandwiches, a variety of really delicious baked goods, and of course Talitha's famous homemade granola.

This might sound like I'm shilling for Champion, but make no mistake: I am speaking with the zeal of the evangelicals because this, friends, fills the TEN63-sized hole in my heart**. The day of caffeinated reckoning has come, friends. BE THERE BE THERE BE THERE tomorrow and witness for yourself.

Champion Coffee
1108 Manhattan Ave., between Dupont and Clay
Greenpoint
Open 7 to 7, 7 days a week

*Although there is a new cafe on Mercer just down the street from my office and they have pretty good coffee. Only one of the baristas is TEN63-quality good and kind, however.

**I bet you thought I was gonna say vagina, didn't you.

"It's official. Hell has frozen over. Finland has won." (Check out the "Arockalypse" here)

Hell's Grannies!

The secret to songwriting [Via]

This may be the first example in the history of the world where sci-fi nerds get laid regularly

Open studios this weekend

This weekend in LIC: The semiannual open studios death march. More art than you can shake a stick at! It's worth going, unless of course the weather is shite, which it probably will be.

Anyhow, make sure you go to Crane Street Studios, which are my favorite of all the studios, and also visit Robert Walden, who is my favorite of the Crane Street artists. Me? I'll be upstate, getting used to the sight of my mother with no teeth. (Long, uninteresting story certain to follow on Monday!)

The Anti-Advertising Agency's Bus Stop Bench Field Report [Via]

Thanks, Tom, for sending me what might be the most disturbing article I've read today

RIP Juxtapoz publisher Fausto Vitello [Via]

Piano found on Britain's highest peak

Hm. Anyone seen Joan Jett lately?

I don't understand, and I never will

Now that she's retired, Aunt Linda no longer forwards emails with the same frequency.

This gif accompanied a charming parable about why women cry. [Click to enlarge.] It began

A little boy asked his mother, "Why are you crying?"

"Because I'm a woman," she told him.

"I don't understand," he said.

His Mom just hugged him and said, "And you never will."

The most recent missive is better.

Right, so even though abuse in the ultra-Orthodox communities has been going on (and covered up) forever, when it finally makes New York magazine, it's somehow a "Catholic-Priest [sic] Problem"

So, like, those anti-Da Vinci Code websites? They're funded by Sony Pictures

Armed men demand Champions League tickets in Paris [Thanks N]

I love to hate: You know what's great about Fall Out Boy, dude? They'd rather felch santorum from a chicken carcass than listen to Brooklyn based Pederastiofascist Proclaimers coverband Pretty Flowers.

Clearly this is the reason that Caitlin Flanagan got breast cancer

Fun fact! There are actually more than enough seats to go around in NYC's public schools--but the student population isn't evenly distributed

We deal in stereotypes and slurs here

Two weeks ago I remarked to N that we were having such an actual, pleasant spring. Generally NYC goes from drippy, lame March weather straight into 80 degrees and 100% humidity. This hasn't been the case this year, with pleasant temperatures in the high 60s and white, poofy clouds.

Naturally that all had to come to a crashing stop and now the weather, all rainy and sodden and cold, bites the wax tadpole. Things would be a lot fucking better if this weather would just fucking stop. I am shaking my fist angrily, impotently, at the sky.

So today on the subway the train cleared out enough at 28th Street for both N and me to get a seat. I noticed an origami paper crane, made from a sheet of looseleaf, lying on the bench. I am loath to touch anything on the train, but I picked it up anyhow, because it seemed a shame to smush such nice handiwork it under my ass.

N suggested I give it to the small child sitting with his mother two seats down from us.

"Why, just because he's Asian?" (He was, in fact, Japanese.) "I'm not giving it to him," I grumbled.

This mother and child had been the targets of a campaign of aggressive good will since they'd gotten on the train with us at Grand Central. Two people insisted on giving up their seats--No, please take the seat! Take it!--and she thanked them profusely. Then a largish man, noticing her having difficulty opening a Gatorade bottle (who drinks Gatorade at 9 am? Aside from me when I'm hungover?), actually leapt in a sprightly manner across the aisle, grabbed the bottle from her without asking, and twisted the cap off with his ham-hock-sized fingers. He presented the bottle to her with a flourish, as though he'd laid down his cape over a puddle. She thanked him profusely. I felt that offering the kid the crane would seem a bit odd at that point. And anyhow, I think kids are overindulged as it is.

We sat there awkwardly with the crane resting on N's bag. At 23rd St., the man sitting between me and the child got up, so I put the crane on the seat between us, kind of shoving it in his direction. He picked it up tentatively, eyeing me.

"Go ahead, you can have it," I replied.

For the third time in 19 blocks, the pair had to say thank you. He looked delighted. N smirked. "See? He likes it."

I don't think the woman knew the provenance of the crane. Supposedly people make the origami cranes in a last-ditch bid at health. I'm almost certain this crane has actually infected us all with TB.

Moving along. I got onto the elevator with two people from other floors (read: MORANS) who were discussing their weekend.

"I was so tired on Saturday. I just came home and decided to order some Chinese take-out. Too tired to cook."

"Yes," the other replied, "Make the Chinaman bring you food!"

Both laughed. I don't get it. I wait until there aren't strangers on the elevator before I use racial slurs.

Strange Reaction has mp3s from the 1975 Ramones demo

Jack Shafer takes on the meth-mouth myth again

Heartonastick has posted an epic review of last night's Guns n' Roses show. Stay tuned for Part 2!

Greetings! Here is the most disturbing thing you'll read all day

Here We Go Again

bmarkey posted this essay on the latest brouhaha over "rockism" over at Big Green House, but I wanted to put it up here as well. -D

By now you probably know about the recent brouhaha over “rockism." If not, check here to see what started it. Here’s a pretty well thought out argument for “popism." (Sorry, but I can’t make myself use “poptimism” without fear of slipping into a diabetic coma). As far as I can see, both sides get a few things right. Both sides have some complete and utter fools arguing their cases, too. Nature loves symmetry.

Drunk monkeys mirror people [Via]

Like my friend Norma remarked, "Why would you choose society when you already have pet monkeys?"

Leather-infused vodka?

Is Stephin Merritt a racist? Is Sasha Frere-Jones an asshole? And just who is this chick accusing of "whiteness"? You be the judge

Check it out, d00d: 9/11 TO THE EXTREME!

Well whaddaya know: Adolescents who sign a "virginity pledge" and then go on to have premarital sex are likely to disavow having signed such a pledge [Via]

My mysterious friend Maxx Klaxon has announced his "Internationale 2000" remix contest (enter early and often)

"It is like 'Dynasty,' if 'Dynasty' starred mostly untrained, unpaid actors and followed the exploits of a transsexual Southern belle turned Bronxite with a knack for stealing babies, poisoning people and cursing."

Merciful (but messy) alternatives to lethal injection

The deepest, darkest secret a hipster can have: "I'm a Republican."

Pretty soon now, I will be bitter

Anyone who's looking for something non-cinco-de-mayo- related to do tonight should head on over to Christies Auction House for part two of the big Refco photography liquidation sale. (Refco, as you may recall, is a disgraced and bankrupt futures brokerage.)

Most lots are being sold without reserve. Apparently, at the first of the three auctions two weeks ago, someone bought Mapplethorpe self-portraits, estimated at $15,000, for $2,640.

Anyhow, it's a pretty amazing collection: Ruscha, Arbus, Eggleston, Matthew Barney, Mapplethorpe, Crewsdon, Sherman.

I would kill and eat someone for this Richard Avedon photo [see above] from his American West collection.

It's estimated at $30-50K. Look ma, whatta bargain!

Attention investment bankers everywhere: Now you can look like Iggy Pop for only $580 bucks

An excellent roundup of Lover's Leaps

Shafer sez: Since when have kids not used morning glory seeds to get high?

Go visit The Saddest Thing I Own [Via]

The pause that refreshes

This morning, while on my way to the train, I was harrassed by a squat, ugly, greasy little weasel. I could see him coming--he began licking his lips and muttering puerile, nasty things halfway down the block. As he approached, I was overwhelmed with the desire to yank him by the front of his shirt and shout into his face Pendejo, I wouldn't fuck you with a stolen chocha, and, after shaking him violently, I would repeat what seems to have become my mantra over the past few years, You fuck with me, you fuck with you.

Perhaps I was enervated* emboldened by my recent commitment to weight lifting at the gym. I was feeling a bit perra macha. But he was on my left, and my right arm is dominant. And I wouldn't want to injure my pitching arm this early into the season.

Clearly, the lesson here is that I need a vacation.

So, while I spend the day calming my nerves by feeding poison to the bums in the park, can I direct your attention to the right side of this blog, which some of the people whom I call friends have told me they never read?

So bmarkey has a review of the new Built to Spill and Howling Rain records. And also, you should know that he broadcasts his own radio show, Radio Lethargico, on an irregular but frequent basis, generally late in the evening. You should check it out.

And also, check out my review of Gary Amdahl's Visigoth.

And I hereby declare today "Let's Punch Greasy Little Dudes in the Cock Day." Hurrah!

*Ed note: As someone pointed out in the comments, enervated is not the right word. I hate when I make that mistake. I hate words and phrases that don't mean what they sound like they mean. Like intelligible. Or non-plussed. Grr.

Built To Spill - "You In Reverse" / Howlin' Rain - "Howlin' Rain"

Despite all that revisionist “year zero” rhetoric that flew around the music world in the late seventies – early eighties, there actually was some decent music made between, say, 1967 and 1974. It was that knife’s edge moment before rock disappeared up its own asshole for awhile. There was still some rock and roll energy at play from time to time; the mighty garage sound was loosening up and stretching out, but it had yet to devolve into the flaccid noodling, endless navel-gazing and general pomposity that forced the punk rock revolution, such as it was, to occur. Bands were realizing that the heretofore holy 3:30 boundary could be cracked without causing the music to fall off the edge of the earth. That usually didn’t happen until you reached the thirteen minute mark, give or take.

Chimpanzees also have about as long a career as a Culkin kid, put out to pasture at about age 8 because they become too dangerous to be around....also like a Culkin kid.

Philips introduces their new manscaping razor by shamelessly targeting those in need of the "Optical Inch" [Via]

So the Greenpoint Terminal fire is probably arson, and developer Josh Guttman is "a man of substance." A man of flammable substance.

Apparently Red Hook is the place to get key lime pie. Who knew?

Gary Amdahl, "Visigoth"

Wanting to be the next Raymond Carver is the literary version of wanting to be an astronaut when you grow up. There's a difference though: most boys realize that their chances of flying to the moon are nil, and they grow up to be middle management. The same cannot be said for the ersatz Carvers of the world--it's like some folksy version of Camus' philosophie de la revolte (oh, and speaking of Camus, isn't it a shame he couldn't have written about lumberjacks and long-haul truckers?) takes hold and they end up producing impenetrably boring 500-page exegeses on, as Tim Hall once put it, "engine lights and sandwiches." On the other hand, a few of these guys have created some great fiction. (I was particularly fond of Scott Wolven's Controlled Burn which came out last year. And remember Robert Bingham? I thought he had promise too.)

Search the Library of Congress' George Grantham Bain Collection of early-20th-century photos [Via]

Talking Heads 1975 CBS Demos Goody! [Via]

"We didn't say, 'Let's go find someone who has an eating disorder.'" Yeah, because that would be, like, unethical

Greenpoint Terminal Market Fire

This morning we awoke to news of the five-alarm fire at a warehouse in Greenpoint. The sky was incredibly black and we could see giant billowing clouds of smoke from across the Newtown Creek. We puzzled over which warehouse it was. (I was hoping that it was El Stinko Candle Factory, but the smell wasn't nauseating enough.)

Unfortunately, it's the Greenpoint Terminal Market, which is was a group of several buildings in northeast Greenpoint. (Read here for some interesting historical background.) For anyone who loves urban spelunking, these buildings were a motherlode; I never made it inside, but this was truly my favorite part of the neighborhood. (The narrow, tree-lined Guernsey Street is a close second.) One of the neatest things about these buildings were the skybridges. (See more photos here.)

It's probably because I grew up in the middle of nowhere--with very little inorganic material to look at--that I think abandoned factory buildings are far more compelling than trees and fields. I'm keen on all decrepitude and decadence, though...falling-down barns and ancient Buicks parked half-underwater in corn fields. I love the art(ifice) of Gordon Matta-Clark. I prefer the smell of attics and basements to any kitchen.

There was something truly gorgeous about the Greenpoint Terminal Market buildings; the colors, the angular shadows cast, and the reflection of the sun off the crumbling windows. It was an elegiac experience to walk around them--a symbol of the death of Brooklyn industry.

People have remarked that they would make perfect condos. Total infeasiblility aside, I believe the beauty lay in the decay. (Qualifier: I am not a Ruskinite; I want to see many spaces preserved. But not everything needs to be made into condos in the process.)

Anyhow. Just as they postulated here, I wouldn't be surprised if this was arson. It sure got really big, really fast.

Photo courtesy of Randy, whose photos of the fire can be seen here.

Updates: It's now a ten-alarm fire; Randy is keeping us updated; lasadh has some gorgeous photos of the Greenpoint Terminal.

Also, this might be the best quote ever, from the AP story: "They're going to save a lot of money on demolition," said Yuda Geller, a real estate agent who lives in Greenpoint.

something I learned today has X's first 7"

Just in the nick of time for International Workers Day, we have a music video of the Minutemen's King of the Hill [Thanks, Davey]

After several frustrating attempts to buy GNR tix, heartonastick was inspired to create the Ticketmaster Word- Verification-a-Day calendar.

"Yes, I'm looking for a 2BR, prewar... something in the mass murder range?"

I went to sleep with cum in my mouth and now there's cum in my hair

Not really, but isn't that a funny idea? Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Gangbang.

It is shaping up to be one peach of a day; City bastards put up a NO PARKING sign right where our car was parked and I swear to Christ they put it up just this morning.

Two cow-orkers are out and one of them, unfortunately, has chicken pox. I haven't had chicken pox. I don't want them now. If he tries to come back to work this week, I will have to beat him with a broom handle, which is a shame because I actually like him. And to top it all off, because of this illness, I have to "produce" some (profoundly unglamorous) photo shoots (everything I do at my job sounds impressive but is not at all).

But there are some things to look forward to in the next few days: A review of Gary Amdahl's Visigoth, and bmarkey's reviews of the new Built to Spill and Howling Rain.

And a return to sweetness and light!

ADDENDUM: In addition to the aforementioned slings and arrows, I just discovered that I've been walking around with my fly down all morning.