I GOT 'LECTRIC GUITAR

MY COMPUTER BE ELDERLY

I don't think this dear ol' chum will last much longer...I've had it for just shy of 5 (!) years now, and it has travelled with me to several states, a couple different countries, and far too many apartments.  I just kind of have a gut feeling that this trusty G4 is on its last legs, and to that end I've been peering into its dustiest, murkiest corners, looking for random shit.

Today, I've been shuffling through the dozens of old Safari bookmarks I've made over the years.  Without further ado, the best of the bunch:

"Over the Edge With Pete Doherty": this Rolling Stone profile from March of 2006 came at the height of the "holy shit, Pete Doherty is fucking messed up" era, not long before he was thrown in jail and then The Guardian let him write articles from inside the slammer.  Amazing, terrible, harrowing, fascinating.  The bookmark dates back to my time living in the UK--we would read Pete's Guardian dispatches and eat Lion bars and laugh and laugh...  

Laura Splan: the website of a really interesting artist by the name of, yep, Laura Splan.  Her work is really interesting, and spans a lot of different media.  Sort of reminds me of Kiki Smith crossed with Tim Hawkinson.  Awesome.  This link was forwarded to me during my senior year, when I was heavily into themes of anatomy and the body in art (my Sculpture final liberally utilized lamb's hearts).

J.D. Salinger. Uncollected Writings: this one has taken on particular poignance in light of today's sad news.  But what better way to celebrate the man's life than to read one of these stories.  A fantastic resource.

Selected Civil War Photographs: a great database of Civil War photos, mostly by Mathew Brady, obvs.

New York Songlines: an amazing find from several years back, this site goes through Manhattan block by block, detailing the history of each address.  Fascinating for anyone into NY history.      

And that's me done.

PS: Computer, please survive until I have money to buy a replacement (though there could be no replacing you, baby, I swear).

THE LAUGHING MAN

The New York Times reports that JD Salinger has died, at the age of 91.

91 is a great span of years to live, but I still can't help but feel vaguely upset, in that way you do when well-know personages whom you greatly admire die.  Though his death will doubtless be "eulogized" in some incredibly half-assed way on Twitter and Facebook, I still feel moved to write a few things about Salinger and his work.

Not even the venerable Times is able to write a eulogy of Salinger without essentially reducing his fantastic (if admittedly rather small) body of work to one book, the ubiquitous Catcher in the Rye.  Like so many others, I was an instant fan of Catcher, and yes, it meant a lot to me as a youth.  But the primary argument against that novel, that it was juvenile or facile because its primary themes were too "angsty" or (in our generation's parlance) "emo" always range hollow.  Of course the book spoke to angry, confused teenagers who were frustrated by the world and considered everyone around them stupid or misguided.  The overarching tale, though, is not of a teen struggling against the constraints of adulthood, insomuch as it is of a person attempting to make peace with an imperfect world.  For some that's an easy--or nonexistent--task, but for many others it is a daily struggle that lasts a lifetime. 

Salinger himself was a prime case study of that struggle.  An extraoridinarily talented young man who met with quick success, he was nonetheless unable to come to terms with what that meant; he also always struck me as, eventually, afraid to share himself any further.  No doubt he had always been that way somewhat, and the spotlight of literary celebrity shone too brightly, and too hot.  I never really blamed him, even if I was frustrated that he seemed to have books upon books just stashed away in a safe in New Hampshire.

Though my copy of Catcher is definitely worn, I am also extraordinarily fond of Franny & Zooey, and I always considered it more of a novel unto itself than a set of two short stories.  Salinger's oeuvre is substantial enough to require and reward repeated readings, as he built up the mythology of the Glass family through over a dozen delicately calibrated and intertwined stories.

He may not have released a single book in my lifetime, but I can't help but feel a tinge of loss today.       

RICHARD SERRA SKATE PARK

 
I came across Mister Mort via a recent profile of young Mordechai over at The Cut.  Though I find some of it to be a little heavy on the "old man" look*,  and I'm unsure how "ironic" it all is, I still find myself generally charmed by the whole thing.  Plus, some of those old men can really fucking rock some shit, like this duder freestyle-brownbagging a Bud Heavy.  Less disciplined and formal than The Sartorlialist**, way less irritating and affected than Tavi (not linking to that horrific shit, sorry), I'll definitely be checking the site on the regular from now on.

It's always exciting to stumble upon any appreciation of casual male style; as a moderately stylish male myself, I find it encouraging and fascinating.  Ol' Morty promises to be a new source of ideas and inspiration on how to wear basic men's pieces in a new and interesting way.  Affordable (i.e. non-runway) men's style is a pretty narrow street--anywhere you go, you're going to find slightly different renditions of the same basic trends.  So until I learn to craft my own clothes, or can ball out sufficiently to get suits tailor-made like Wes Anderson, I have to stick with my tried and true method.  This method consists of a) wearing it as well as I can; and b) occasionally refreshing my jams.

On that note, I recently copped this sweet Mackintosh trench at Uniqlo.  I'm pretty psyched to rock this come warmer weather, although I don't know what that will be.  DID YOU KNOW: Charles Macintosh (yep no 'k') invented waterproof fabrics in 1823?  And did you further know...actually there's not much else to tell, except this one other dude Hancock perfected the fabrics with the invention of Vulcanization in 1830 (Macintosh's version tended to melt in hot weather.  Far out, man).

History lesson over.  The moral?  British people are boringsville.         

 
*A wise woman once said to me, "Kanye and all these hipster assholes just dress exactly like old men.  So unoriginal and lame."  Not saying I don't love me some Kanye--the guy is a mish-mash of super talented/super bonkers/super stylish/generally insane--but she had an excellent point.  Now here's a picture of Kanye wearing a full length fur coat:

**Shameless self-promotion: go read my profile of The Sartorialist that I wrote for Anthem like a year ago.  I mean, you know, if you wanna.

"ROOM SERVICE, MOTHAFUCKAH"

Abel Ferrara's King of New York is, to put it lightly, totally awesome.  Starring a very zombie-lookin' Christopher Walken as recently sprung drug kingpin Frank White, the film is a cavalcade of gun-toting B-Boys, coke snorting, and titties*.  The plot centers around Frank's attempts to reassert his dominance over the drug trade after his long absence, as well as fund a children's hospital in the Bronx.

But all that is secondary, in my opinion, to simply watching Walken inhabit the screen: bulging his eyeballs, doing a funky/freaky little dance, licking his teeth, demanding hot make-outs while riding the 7 train, and just generally being completely crazytown.

Adding to the fun are awesome appearances by Laurence Fishburne (billed here as "Larry," how casual), Wesley Snipes, Steve Buscemi (he's the marginally bad ass white guy that tests the quality of the drugs with some nerday-ass science lab shit, obvs), and David Caruso--who gives an amazingly unhinged performance as a hot-headed, mildly racist Brooklyn cop who's out to get Frank, LAW OR NO LAW.  Guess how that turns out...ok, he gets shot in the face.  Um, spoiler alert.  Too bad, because that no doubt ruined his awe-inspiring haircut.        

Oh, but to return to Larry Fishburne--his character "Jimmy Jump" is the best.  Simply wonderful.  He has a grill, a gold rope chain, leather jacket, crazy huge sunglasses--basically he looks like Schoolly D.  Ferrara helpfully plays Schoolly D tracks throughout the movie, multiplying the awesome. 

In short, King of New York is similar in grim, gritty appeal to Ferrara's totally bonkers masterpiece Bad Lieutenant, but it's a lot funnier.

Rating: Highly Recommended/Bitchin'


*Normally I would never employ a word so crude as this, but if you've seen the movie, you'll realize that I really had no choice whatsoever. 

RETURN OF THE BIG RAPPER COAT

Um.  This just revitalized my day.



Stolen from Pitchfork News from like 5 days ago. They probably stole it from someone else. Someone Swedish.

DUMB

I finally saw Avatar last night, and I have to say: not impressed.  I'll refrain from making the already well-noted Ferngully comparison, and say instead that I found the effects to be alright, but very, very far from the "revolution in cinema" that they've been trumpeted to be.  Mostly, it seemed like typical 3-D movie fare, a cheap gimmick where shit in the foreground jumps out.  Basically, it was like watching the world's most expensive (and least interactive) video game.  That's what it looked like: expensive.  Oh, and the plot was lame and derivative, the lines were corny, and Giovanni Ribisi wasted, yet again, his charm and (presumably not inconsiderable) talent. 

Anyway, my brain is pretty dead at the moment--whether that's Avatar's fault is not, at this juncture, entirely clear, but treading water today at work, I've had a chance to read the following articles:

1. Sam Anderson reviews DeLillo's latest, Point Omega.  A pretty fascinating review; I like Anderson's writing a lot, and even though the review is ambivalent at best, it makes the book sound amazing. 

2.  The Times Magazine chronicles the power and the money (money and the power) of serial writer James Patterson, whom they make seem like a populist promoter of reading-as-fun, but whom I consider to be a charlatan.

3. The New Yorker profiles Neil Gaiman, and in doing so basically confirms every reason for which I've long shied away from Gaiman and his work.  The article is packed with goth references, creepy fan-girls, and self-consciously "weird" and "quirky" affectations, but still (like so many New Yorker profiles) manages to be deeply fascinating and curiosity-inspiring.  Consider this a positive version of the "super prolific writer who makes mad bank selling tons of books," in sharp contrast to the Patterson piece above.

4. Amazing over-the-weekend post by Ty/Eric on Free Darko about Phil Jackson's Book Club Selections for this year's team.  Am left wondering if  Pau's copy of 2666 was in Spanish or the translation...   

That's the report. Work sucks, peace out.

AZIZ GET OUT OF THIS GROUP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Event:

Nacho Hat Meeting #2

Participants:

Zebulon

Bryan (I don't have a cool nickname or middle name yet)

Description:

What happened....awesomeness. BTW alert!!!! Did you know that Blogger doesn't recognize "awesomeness" as a word? Bullshit.

Let me run through shit...

1. We went to the Lakers/Knicks game. Result...Lakers win, the Lakers win, the LAAAAAAAAAAAAKERS win!!!!!!!!!!!! Yeah, that's right it was awesome.

2. We done got to see Bill Clinton in person! In person! Did you hear that? In person!

3. The International Bar. Grimey as fuck (well, just grimey, I'll use "grimey as fuck to describe bars like the Drawing Room and Taps), but kind of awesome. There was a couple, a non-romantic couple, who were taking pictures of everything. Drink of a beer? Picture! Boy wearing scarf? Picture! Girl weirdly adjusting her breasts? Picture! Yeah, that's right, they took pictures of everything. EVERYTHING.

4. My feet hurt. This actually was a running plot point through out the day. Verdict? It sucked. But still my shoes...I mean my boots, look kind of awesome. Pain=fashion.

5. The Richardson. Last time we were here we watched a weird looking boy and girl spend like fucking hour trying to throw a bike inner-tube over a street light. Anyway, that didn't happen this time, but the Richardson was kinda nice. Two Manhattans a happy Bryan make. Rumor has it at least.

And that was the night. As you can tell the second Nacho Hat meeting of the year was an x-core success. X-core.

P.S. Have you seen Miranda Kerr's butt? It's fantastic.

Extra P.S. Apparently it's now up to four (three if we don't count sneak attacks) for 2010, and it's not even February yet! Victor? Definitely not!

I'M GONNA HEAD TO BOX ELDER

A Pavement mini-essay, in two parts:

Part 1: "No Pavement Reunion Now!"

As a long-time opponent of reunion tours generally (Pixies, I am angrily and ominously pointing my finger at you), the announcement in late 2009 of the Pavement reunion concerts caused me particular chagrin.  As a 15 year old just then delving into interesting music in general and the catalog of Pavement in particular, the 1999 dissolution of that slapdash, lackidasical band left me feeling particularly left out and passed over and fucking unlucky.  For some unknown reason, my parents had chosen to raise their children in a rural backwater of Southwestern Colorado, meaning the chance of seeing any non-bluegrass or jam-band-oriented concert was pretty much nil.  The further consequence of this was that I had had virtually no chance of ever seeing Pavement perform, and then, suddenly, I had absolutely no chance.

It was crushing.  And yet, hearing now that SM and Spiral Stairs will join the rest of the gang in a series of new performances, I can only feel depressed. 

STEVIE'S MARCH TO THE SEA

2010 is here.  With it comes a revitalized Yo, Stevie Hawksylvania.  And this time, it's personal.

Or at the very least, taken a bit more seriously.  My compatriot and I are finally occupying the same coast, and we have begun, in this new year, to burn our particular path to the sea.

Welcome, friends.

TESTING

We're back...with a vengeance!!!