Johnny Come Lately

I know this marks me out for the hipster poseur that I am, but I've only recently discovered Fountains of Wayne, and I'm left wondering how I've missed them up 'til now? I mean, they've been around for, what, like ten years?

Where have I been?

I dunno, but I'm a fan now.

You know who else I've discovered lately? A band outta LA called Ozomatli. Actually, I had one of their earlier albums, Street Signs, and just picked up their latest, Don't Mess With the Dragon. Apparently they've won Grammies (or, one Grammy), but I'd never heard of them until I came across their album on emusic.com.

Since we're on the subject (and I know you're dying to hear the whims of Me, Professional Hipster), here's some other recent discoveries that I suggest you check out:

1. Crooked Still
   
   
2. The Cinematics
   
   
3. Jon McLaughlin
   
   
4. Kinky
   
   
5. The Raconteurs

That should keep you busy for a while.

Pass the Freakin' Zoloft

I sat down to compose a couple of e-mails this evening, and, as is my wont, I fired up iTunes for some background music.

Normally, I'm kinda restive, and want to hear whatever my latest purchase is, or I'll bop around my library, choosing whatever strikes me as being appropriate to the moment.

Oddly, however, this time I decided to just start playing the library from the beginning. Since I have my iTunes library sorted by Album by Artist, up first was some Natalie Merchant-era 10,000 Maniacs.

I'm here to tell you: I don't know if ol' Natalie was writing the songs for the Maniacs back then, but if she was, she was one angry depressed woman. Song after song of just people in horrible straits. I was ready to swallow a shotgun barrel after the first three songs.

No problem, I thought to myself, I'll just skip to the next artist.

Aimee Mann.

The album, 1995's I'm With Stupid, didn't go a long way toward making me feel any better.

In fact, it may have made me feel worse.

I was beginning to grow concerned, so I started skimming ahead through my little alphabetical journey:

1. Albert Collins. Depressing (if kinda funky) blues.
   
   
2. Alexi Murdoch. Lachrymose singer-songwriter.
   
   
3. Alisa Jones. Mournful Celtic music.
   
   
4. Alison Krauss. Sad-ass country music.
   
   
5. Amos Lee. Less-than-happy singer-songwriter.
   
   
6. Andres Segovia. Bach guitar suites.

You can see where this is heading, can't you?

I had a long way to go before I got to The Andrew Sisters. They sang some saddish songs, but thank god they at least did it in kick-ass three part harmony.

If every you need an explanation as to why I tend toward the depressive, mayhap you'll want to look to my music collection.

Glory Hallelujah.

Lordie, but this couldn't have come a moment sooner.

Yesterday in New York City, the temperature got to 70°, and today it got up to 75°.

Even though the weather is supposed to turn a little cooler again at the end of this week, it still feels nice to have a bit of spring.

Of course, there are those among us who might rightly point out that 70° and 75° are more like summertime temperatures – not the 60s one might expect of a spring day.

Still, I'm not complaining. I might be complaining about the relentless heat come July and August, but now I'm pretty freakin' happy.

Only in Manhattan

Once upon a time, this is the sort of thing that would have ended up in my New York files.

I was walking to work one morning last week, having been vomitted by the MTA, hot and sweaty, onto the corner of 7th Avenue and West 57th Street, and when I turned the corner and walked over to 8th Avenue, I came across a site I've never seen. It was 8:50 a.m. and there, on the corner of 8th Avenue and 58th Street, was a gaggle of midwestern-looking teenagers in tuxedoes and gowns, behind herded around by an older gentleman – probably a teacher – all staring up at the street signs.

The best part is that I was unfazed. It was, as far as I was concerned, completely to be expected.

It's at this point that I have to say I regret having been a bit of a jaded New Yorker; I should have stopped and asked them (1) if I could help and (2) where the hell they were going. I mean, tuxes? Gowns? 9 a.m.?

Only in New York, my friends.

Japanese People Are Crazy.

I've long been a fan of Most Extreme Elimination Challenge, itself a rip-off of a popular Japanese television program called "Takeshi's Castle," in which contestants engage in all sorts of crazy tasks to win prizes. I thought there was no end to the weirdness Japanese people would go to for fun and pranks.

Then came this:

Are You Listening, God? It's Me, Joey.

Living in New York, it's easy to be liberal.

It's not often I meet someone here – in New York, that is – who forces me to justify and defend my beliefs; the foundations of what I think is... what? ... reality?

As you know, I was on my own Friday night, with Fozz cloistered away to do some studying. Actually, I don't think it was so much studying as it was preparation for studying. Law school, friends. Heavy shit.

In any case, I went to see a movie. After the movie, though, I thought, "I don't particularly care to go back to my empty apartment" (Betty Boop is home for the holiday), so I stopped off at The Font of Dionysis.

There, I met one of my favorite bartender's roommates. This guy was a wicked-smart editor who believes, pretty much, the polar opposite of everything I do. Suddenly I found myself in an unheated, yet rigorous, defense of all the things I hold to be true; my ideas about how things should work.

I got my ass kicked, because this guy was really, really smart, and had well-reasoned arguments to make. That said, I did a little ass-kicking of my own.

He reminded me of Fozzie, who I think might be turning into a Republican courtesy of law school (I kid, Fozz... kinda).

Here's the thing, though. I realized, as this spirited debate raged on that he was well-trained in rhetoric and I was not; that somewhere along the line he learned how to formulate an argument, and I just grew up amongst a bunch of people who stifled their thoughts until they suddenly started shouting at each other.

All this left me wondering (and sort of bewildered at the prospect of) how we carry on any sort of reasoned discussion about our differences in the U.S., when not everyone is operating by the same rules. I mean, I'm not a complete dolt, so in some ways I'm able to put a point across, but I'm not a lawyer.

What I found was that, despite many good points made from either side, neither one of us was willing to back down from his original assertions.

I think what I'm discovering is that rhetoric today isn't so much about making a persuasive argument as it is about not being proved wrong or, perhaps more truly, not being forced to admit that one isn't right.

I'm mis-remembering the details of this, I'm sure, but it reminds me of a story Fozz told me about one of his classes recently. He and his partner were obliged to make an oral argument about something too soul-destroying to recount in detail, and Fozz (or his partner, I can't remember which) made a very good point to the panel of "judges" in front of which he was arguing. Despite the judges agreeing with him (upon reflection, I'm pretty sure it was my Fozz who made the salient point), the opposition just refused to accept that it was either (a) right or (b) germane.

That's how much of the debate going on in our country today seems, to me, to run. Everyone's standing their ground, like a bunch of calcified stalagmites, refusing, metaphorically, to budge.

In this sort of environment, the close-minded hardliners on both sides sort of win by default. If, going in, there's no chance you'll be swayed, then you win. I don't know who said it, but there's a famous quote: "A thinking man is, by definition, uncertain."

I don't think there's a lot of thinking going on in the world today.

Then again, maybe I'm just morose and drunk.

God Bless.

I'm settling into the new job, and it's feeling good.

There have been some mis-steps, but for the most part it's going well. My new role as "manager" has me exposed to all sorts of people I didn't meet when I was a temporary, and it's interesting. The people with whom I interacted a lot when I was a flunkie (flunky? I prefer the former, even if it's wrong) seem to think of me still as one, but the people who I've met only in my capacity as a, in the words of my boss, "less reactive, more proactive," employee seem to have no trouble at all running on the assumption that I know what I'm doing, that I know my own mind and, even if it's not entirely the way things may have been done in the past, I might have an idea worthy of consideration.

This is not to say that the people I've worked with all along are in any way resistant or obstructive, just that I think they're a little taken aback to discover that there's a lot more going on in my head than that to which they might have been privy before.

It's interesting.

Tonight I am footloose and fancy-free, 'cuz Himself is getting into study mode. Exams loom, friends.

So I'm off the leash, as it were. And, it being Good Friday, The Velvet Prison was abandoned by the goalers, so I was unleashed upon the unsuspecting city a wee bit early. I walked over to the Apple Store to get some replacement earbuds.

The place was an unadulterated madhouse. I've never seen anything like it. You'd have thought it was the day before Christmas, or something. Apparently, the way we can best commemorate the death (and impending resurrection) of our Lord and Savior is to worship at the Alter of Commerce.

Since the night yawned ahead of me, boyfriendless, I decided to walk back across the park and catch up on a movie I'd missed and Fozz had no desire to see.

Suckage!

Actually, it wasn't that bad, but my reaction to it can't help but have been affected by all the press surrounding it. Frankly, there wasn't a single Persian-looking person in the film until the bitter end, when a plainly Persian fellow stands in as the emissary of Xerxes the (hee hee) God King.

Oy.

Anyway, it was at least interesting 'cuz I saw it in IMAX. That's actually a bogus claim, yo. It's not IMAX, since it's not in a dome and projected around you in a 180° arc; it's technically "large format," whatever their advertising might claim.

Still, some of the blood droplets were as big as my head, and though it's usually a rule I apply to eating, I'm always wary of anything as big as my head.

All in all, an okay evening.

Tomorrow, Fozz and I are going to see a friend of a friend play guitar and lute in a recital. It sounds like a fun and unusual date. Heaven forfend we should fall into a rut, especially in a city as crazy chock-full of culture as this one.

Life, friends, is pretty good.

Inappropriate Crush #623

With apologies to Fozzie, someone new just went on The List.

Jim Sturgess, of whom I'd never heard, will be appearing in Julie Taymor's Across the Universe which, God help me, isn't coming out until September, according to imdb.com.

I thought her Titus Andronicus was brilliant.

For the record, I don't actually require that Jim Sturgess be brilliant, just that he gaze at me lovingly with those big puppy-dog eyes.

That is all.

Social Networking

Okay, so first there was Friendster.

I liked it well enough. It introduced me to the whole idea of social networking. I thought it was cool. The interface was kinda clunky, and it seemed to grind my computer to a halt, but whatever.

Then came MySpace.

Infinitely easier to use, but it just plain freaks me out. There are so many customization features that it allows for an infinite variety of looks and designs for personal pages. Which is cool and all, until you let the uninitiated masses start doing whatever the hell they want.

The people, that is, who don't understand that less is more and, wherein design is concerned, you might not want a busy background if you want people to be able to read what the fuck you've written.

I have, you can imagine, a love/hate relationship with MySpace.

The latest social networking site I've been surfing is Connexion, which seems to be open to all but is really, I think, mainly aimed at The Gays and Those Who Love Them. If you're one of the aforementioned, then perhaps you might want to check it out, and become my friend:

So, right, I haven't been posting a lot here lately, mostly 'cuz The Velvet Prison is (happily) kicking my ass and the last thing I want to do at the end of the day is come home and sit down at the computer.

I sure do see how – in years past – I managed to gain thirty pounds the last time I had a corporate gig. I'm finding myself falling into some rather ancient habits. Like coming home and crashing in front of the television set.

That's not good.

I hadn't been feeling well a couple weeks ago, and I skipped the gym; suddenly it's been over a month since I've gone. It was a shock when the latest monthly payment was deducted from my bank account and I come to the realization that I'd not been since the last monthly payment had been deducted.

I only admit this publicly in the homes that – out of embarrassment – I'll shame myself into the gym again soon.

I told you that my 25 year high school reunion is coming up, didn't I?

How the fuck did I get so old? That's what I want to know.

I haven't been to one since the 10-year reunion back in 1992, so I have to admit I'm a little surprised at how much I'm looking forward to returning to the scene of past triumphs (well, tragedies is probably more like it, actually; I was, after all, a skinny, closeted, pimply gay kid in rural Western Pennsylvania, after all) and catching up with the compatriots of my youth. It'll be a gas to see who's changed, and how.

'Cuz, of course, I haven't changed, right?

Right?!?

Best. April. Fools. Joke...

...EVER.

Happy Anniversary Fozz.

Happy Anniversary, Fozz.