Hey blog, I know I’ve abandoned you…but it’s nothing against you, I’ve just been really busy. Well, kind of. I’ll be back soon. In the meantime, here’s Crispin Glover being the lovable lunatic we all love to fear.
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Feb
26
After learning about the creepy doppelganger Elmo from my previous post, I knew I had to find this creature and observe him in his natural habitat. That, as it turns out, is right outside the Good Morning America studios. I recently went into secret agent mode and snapped a few pictures of the tickley perp in action. I pretended to be talking on the phone with my phone’s camera lens facing him, snapping away.
Targets would approach, Elmo would whisper his price into their ear, and then the fun would ensue. If half of the potential targets walked away in disgust, the other half searched frantically for an extra $20 to get this miserly muppet’s photo.
Gotta love this city.
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Oct
25
This is probably my favorite news story ever written.
In short – an Elmo impersonator (yes, an impersonator, not the real Elmo) has been hassling passersby in Times Square for money, getting angry if they dont pay, and threatening some with physical violence.
To repeat…..there is a wild Elmo scouring Times Square for his touristy prey. Amazing. I love how this ‘surly’ Elmo has appropriately disheveled red hair (do they just sell costumes like that?)…not to mention the truly outstanding witness quotes:
“What the hell, Elmo?”
“You have to tip Elmo or Elmo get angry!”
and what is probably the greatest quote in the paper’s history,
“Look man, Elmo needs to make a living too.”
Phenomenal job, Times Square…I love living here.
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Apr
20
This story is for everyone who thought “Snakes On A Plane” was a foolish, unrealistic idea for a movie. [EAT IT, NAYSAYERS!]
Four baby pythons somehow escaped from their maximum security holding chamber plastic foam box on an Australian plane en route to Melbourne last week. Unfortunately, there was no immediate entertaining outbreak of snake attacks, no fake boob-biting, and as far as the AP knows, there was nobody to ‘open some fuckin’ windows.’ To be fair, they also didn’t know the snakes escaped until they landed.
But the best part of the story? They never found the mother-f’in snakes!
“A reptile expert searched for the 6-inch snakes but did not find them. It was not known if the snakes were still on the plane or if they had somehow escaped outside after the plane landed.”
To recap: snakes fly on a plane, snakes escape on a plane, nobody knows if snakes are still on a plane or if they’re on a killing spree. Note to self – steer clear of Melbourne for a little while.
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Jan
09
Hey, hi…so Who really cares that Paris Hilton’s shit was stolen and that she’s on a Rorschach-like vigilante warpath? My email homepage was stacked with not one, not two, but THREE out of SIX headlines regarding Paris Hilton’s fraud scheme missing jewels, including the pictured top headline (image below). Really? Is that really the most important thing you have to tell me? You have 1, maybe 2 and half seconds of my attention before I open my email and never see you again until the next time I restart my computer, and THIS is the most important thing that I should know? Thanks.
And if John Travolta’s son dies, who gives a shit what Tom Cruise has to say? Oh, Tom Cruise said he was sad? Oh, hey guess what – A GUY’s SON JUST DIED, how the hell should he feel? Was there a doubt that this would be his response? Is that why they asked him? Is there some industry-wide fascination among journalists that Tom Cruise might actually think something completely insane about anything? Sheeeeeeeeit.
I love and hate the Post because it is the absolute worst newspaper in the world. Yet there are sometimes when you just cannot help but stare at a NY Post for a solid 20 minutes because you are so interested in the ridiculous punny headline or graphic venture (see my earlier post here for another example). But, come on, there’s nothing more worthy of the front page then J-Lo’s ass in a bikini or Lindsay Lohan’s latest paparazzi showdown? I’m not saying every day should be about Bosnia or the rain forest or ice caps or whatever the kids talk about these days, but come on.
- Saddam Hussein + punny play on words + droopy penis = NY Post in a nutshell
Or maybe we need the Post to balance out the “serious” papers in town – i.e. NY Times, Wall St. Journal, and that red one (not the Russian community paper, the finance one…ya jerk). The Daily News would like to be considered the more “serious” of the tabloid newspapers, but I also wanted to be a dinosaur when I grew up. Honestly, the best papers are Newsday and USA Today – Newsday because it publishes horror stories from LIRR riders, one of my favorite pastimes to observe and read about; and USA Today because it reminds me of vacations and hotels. It’s everywhere, it’s simple, colorful, no bullshit, and doesn’t smudge. It’s like a Junior NY Times, with the same folds and format but with 800 more colored charts and graphs. The Times is the best because I feel smarter holding it, and usually people on the train don’t notice that I’m asleep with my eyes open if I’ve got one (because I tend to do that…a lot). I’m serious I do it all the time and its sooooooo freaky looking.
- Hands down my all-time favorite Post headline.
Either way – who cares?!
[On a side note, to show just how much of a joke it is - here's the New York Mag poll on what pun the Post was going to put out for the Governor Spitzer - Hookergate Scandal.]
[Also, see hilarious result below. ]
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Dec
14
Motherfucker.
This video is rigoddamndiculous. I love whomever made it.
and just for good measure,
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Nov
19
5:45am on the farm.
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Sunday, 0500 hours. I have set a new record for waking up early at Bonnaroo. Once again, four hours of sleep is somehow enough for me. I took a stroll around the site, checking out the locals in their early morning routine, trying to savor the moment. Then I savored myself a fresh port-a-potty…man they’re great in the morning [...and only in the morning].
We checked out a short intimate set with Matisyahu at the Sonic Stage at noon, which turned out to be like 20 minutes of hebrew hymns and hasidic moans peppered with a few Matisfreestyles. Odd, but cool nonetheless. Mike Doughty’s Band had a humongous crowd at This Tent and rightfully so, because they were tearing the friggin place apart. I had never heard of them before but that performance alone put them in my everyday playlists. The rest of the early day consisted of us taking it all in…just walking around, visiting all the tents and stands we hadn’t really seen, drinking a lot of beer and eating lots of expensive food. Sunday was definitely the day of reflection…the day we all just wandered around, not really knowing (or caring) what we were going to do, but just trying to remember the way it all looked and felt. We were close to the end of an amazing experience, a monumental event in all of our lives, and one that brought us impossibly closer as friends.
moe.
Once we got past the sentimental shit, it was time for moe.!!!!!! We staked out a decent spot at What Stage and hung really low waiting for moe. to come on. This group of 8 or 9 high-school/college freshmen-age dudes were hangin out in front of us, and MAN WERE THEY HANGING. They looked like younger versions of the three of us, what we would have looked like if we had started hanging out when we were that age. These kids were having the same awesome time we were, in the same place and with the same wide-eyed outlook that we had. One of the dudes passed out in front of us and was unconscious for a good 45 minutes, while his buddies hung out and danced around, leaving him totally on his own…even though they were clearly concerned about their fallen comrade.
Me: ”Hey man, is your buddy dead or what?”
Dude #3: ”Who? Him? Yea, he’s cool.”
Me: ”He looks like he’s having fun.”
Dude #3: ”Yea, he’s still breathing. Thats all that counts,
its fuckin Bonnaroo right man?”
Me: ”[all-out laughter] Okay, man.”
The dude on the floor eventually woke up, but not before I snapped a sweet picture of Steven giving the thumbs-up over the comatose lad. Sweet.
deceased? no. having a great time? yes.
moe. came on at around 5:40 and played 2 hours of absolutely RIDICULOUS music. It was quite possibly the most outright FUN I’ve ever had at a concert. I think it’s impossible to dislike moe., I really do…it just can’t happen. The crowd was so unbelievably loud and into it…it felt like everyone their was best friends, all seeing a band they all loved. I was happy to see the other Stevens enjoying themselves so much on a band I’ve loved and have waited so long to see. Steven was still fairly new but had a fuck of a time, and Brendan…well Brendan absorbed the music via osmosis I guess because even though he slept through the entire show, he ‘heard’ every song and new they rocked. Hah.
When moe. was finished, we chilled out at our spot and waited patiently for Phil Lesh & Friends, the closing act of Bonnaroo. As we waited, I know we had a deep conversation about life, our Bonnaroo experience, and what it meant to all of us, but I’ll be damned if I can repeat any of it. I do remember looking around at the crowd and just soaking in every ounce of ‘roo around me.
Then, it hit me.
As I looked around and saw all the faces, all the people from all of the different walks of life, all the miles that had been travelled, and all of the anticipation that had mounted, all waiting for this moment to arrive, I realized that we were no longer 80,000 individual people. In three days, we had all become one huge collective body of life. We were all there for the same reason…each and every one of us left our lives for a few days to get away from it all, to escape to a world far away from everything we encountered on a daily basis…a place that could have been on another planet for all we knew. We left it all behind to just have a good time for a few days. This was undoubtedly the sickest weekend of the whole year for everyone there. When it came down to it, we were all one gigantic piece of humanity, enjoying the shit out of a three-day music festival, apprciating just a sampling of the art that human beings are capable of.
Phil Lesh & Friends hit the stage and put on a GREAT show, filled with Grateful Dead tunes, extended jams, and an outrageous cast of characters – as it turns out, his “Friends” included John Scofield (who is completely untouchable by the way) and the amazing Joan Osbourne, who put on the single best performance of the entire weekend (if I had to name one). Osbourne is light years beyond what anyone knows of her and what anyone in pop culture has been exposed to (she’s way more of a jazz singer than her mainstream singles show). She has one of the most sultry, hypnotic, and downright HOTTEST voices I’ve ever heard. She had the entire audience in the palm of her hands, drooling over each note she belted out. It was the closest I’d ever come to seeing the Dead in person, and it was really something else hearing all those classic Dead songs come to life in front of my eyes. A huge, fitting end to an indescribable weekend.
Phil Lesh & Friends - the closing act of Bonnaroo 06.
We woke up the next morning with a quiet satisfaction glistening through our bodies. Physically, we were tired as shit, drained from all of the awesomeness we had witness in the days prior. We were 5 days without showering and didn;t really give two shits (the baby wipes and bottled water did us fine). We knew we had a horribly long drive ahead of us, and Steven and I had work in the morning. Still, we got up that day and packed with a sense of fulfillment and positivity that none of us could explain. In our heads, we knew we had just gone through something much bigger than a marathon music fest.
Camp Louis Winthrope III - Monday morning.
This is what Bonnaroo was all about – the transformation from a mere inhabitant to a true liver of life, opening your eyes to things you never imagined could exist in this world, taking it all in and enjoying the ride…no expectations, no regrets, just being. Beautiful.
The End.
"Runaway Truck Ramp."
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Oct
23
- It was his birthday.
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Now that we actually knew where our tent was and how to get back to it, we were now working on finding the fastest route to and from the main site (or at least I was…I was trying to beat my time everytime I walked to and from….I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right, I don’t have a life). We made it back from Umphrey’s in about 18 minutes.
- Saturday, 6:30am
Rise and shine at 6.30am. I was getting up earlier and earlier every day at roo and I still didn’t give a shit. In spite of the hourage (4 or 5 hours max) of sleep I had gotten, I felt like I had slept for days. Damn. This place is awesome. It was as if my body knew that I would need a full day of life to see and experience all that was to come out of our Saturday – ultimately our longest day of rooing.
And what a Saturday it was. The Tennessee sun greeted us with the warm welcoming glow we had come to expect from the Volunteer sky. A cool late-spring breeze aerated the tent and gave a gentle ruffle to the raincovers and flags littering the farm. Stepping outside the tent, I felt the damp blades of grass massage the bottoms of my feet, fresh morning dew coating each step I took. The usual 4am fog had subsided and left the valley with a thin sheath of cool air to enjoy…(I’d liken it to the first skate on an ice rink following a good cleaning from a Zamboni, but introducing any sort of technology into this picture would do it a great injustice). This was a perfect day – hot, breezy, clear, FUCK YEAH, Saturday. Now I knew why hippie groups were so adamant about their greenpeace missions. This was definitely worth it.
We headed for Centeroo at around noon. It took 23 minutes to get there. Our first stop was the Sonic Village, iced coffee our treat of choice. We got there just in time for a sit-down interview with Les Claypool. I couldn’t hear him too well but judging by the reactions of the crowd, I think he was saying some pretty wild stuff. I was fine with just seeing the man up close…what a god. Claypool hit the road after about 15 minutes and the next 2½ hours after that are a blur of crazy musical goodness. High-energy acoustic sets from Blues Traveler, Gomez, and moe. set Steven, Brendan, and I off into the clouds. We couldn’t believe what the fuck we were hearing…every song from every band was just !!! and when it was all over, it was
still only 3:30! SICK.
After the Sonic Stage shows, we went our separate ways for the first and only time throughout the trip. Steven and Brendan went to see Beck, and I high-tailed it over to catch Medeski Martin & Wood. Before we split, we caught most of Damian Marley’s ridiculously/perfectly loud set at Which Stage. Jr. Gong put on an insane show, complete with some killer remixes of some Bob songs. I remember thinking to myself, “man, reggae is definitely the best music to listen to at ear-piercing volumes.” I also remember thinking, “man, Magic Hat is awesome.” I understand the latter is not nearly as profound a statement as the first, but it’s just as relevant to the story.
This leads me to two more important notes about Bonnaroo: the incredible sound quality and the equally incredible beverage quality. Each stage was perfectly mixed so you could walk from the very front of the stage to the last row of people filing in 300ft. away and not lose any sound. The layers of sound were as clear as they were consistent, and loud enough to know you were at a rock concert without fucking your eardrums for the rest of the weekend. Just as notable was the brew at Bonnaroo. Tent after tent had awesome local brews, plus some surprising finds like one of my personal favs, Magic Hat. Every keg was fresh, and every pour was top-notch, a testament to the poor souls who volunteered themselves to work the beer stands. Hell, even shitass Bud Light tasted good coming from these people. Miracle workers I tell you, miracle workers.
I got over to The Other Tent to scope out a spot for MMW and caught the tail end of Amadou & Mariam, an AMAZING Afro-blues couple from Mali. They combine aspects of world music from just about every continent with jazz, blues, and caribbean vibes. I came to find out later that their lack of interaction with the crowd was because they’re both blind…heh..whoops. MMW came out and started noodling around and really didn’t stop noodling for their entire set. Free-form jazz and psychedelia came together in a giant musical group-hug the three were having on stage. Billy Martin shouldn’t be allowed to peform live, he’s too insane for the likes of human ears. He was beating on shells and trash cans and was in perfect harmony with Chris Wood and John Medeski. Martin walks and talks in syncopation, I’m convinced. I had been wanting to see MMW for years and this show was definitely worth the wait.
As I tried to come back down to earth, I caught pieces of Claypool’s and Cypress Hill’s sets (made even more memorable by Cypress Hill’s two-story tall Buddha with a gigantic pot leaf on its stomach). I met up with Steven and Brendan, who were also trying to come back to earth after Beck’s performance. It was evidentally one of Beck’s best shows of his career, highlighted by some Beck solo spots, the band family dinner, and the marionettes! (In the middle of the set, Beck’s band sat down for dinner right on stage as Beck played by himself. He eventually joined the band and puppets played the rest of the songs as they ate. Yeah, really.)
What followed was one of the true highlights of Bonnaroo 06, and one of the greatest concerts I have ever seen. As day turned to dusk and then into night, an enormous crowd of the full 80,000 roo attendees filed in to What Stage, some dressed in costume, others dressed in glow sticks, still others not dressed at all. A group of Radioheads walked by in head-to-toe space suits, another in matching scientist garb. A young chap with an insightfully hairy back stood next to us, 5, maybe 6 feet away, wearing tighty whities, black shoes, and calf-high white socks. And that was all. People were coming by in droves, walking around the chairs beside us, and between the young hippie couple in front of us. Some tripped over our blanket, others tripped over the chairs, but just about everyone of them was tripping in one way or another. It was a sight for the ages.
As night fell upon Manchester, the bright neon green Bonnaroo sign atop What Stage went black, signalling the entry of a small rock and roll band from across the Atlantic. A gigantic wall of sharply-angled, misshaped video screens began to flicker, signs of life emanating from the black stage in the form of grainy digital video and bliptacular electronic sparks. Figures appeared in the darkness and the opening tom-tom hits of “There There” thundered through the Tennessee night. Thom Yorke followed with the ever-so-fitting opening line, “In pitch dark, I go walking in your landscape.” For the next 2½ hours, he wasn’t a performer, and Radiohead wasn’t an act. A band of 5 englishmen had joined 80,000 hot, sweaty concert-goers in a sea of humanity and unbridled enjoyment of life. The crowd put on as much of a show for the band as the band had for us. At that moment, Radiohead and their crazy light & video show completely owned the world. Phrenetic glowstick wars erupted every third or fourth song, and the band loved every second of it.
- Madness (and lack of adequate light) during Radiohead.
“Now this is what a real festival is supposed to be.” – Thom Yorke midway through the 28-song set (5 or 6 of which were brand new).
The show concluded with an amazing 4 song encore of “Idioteque,” “Karma Police,” the new track “House of Cards,” and “Everything in its Place.” I can say with certainty that if the new tracks they played are any indication of what’s to come on the new album, it will be nothing short of EUPHORIC. And I never dare to use the word euphoric.
Yea, brah..they were that good.
We slowly headed back to camp and prepared for the final hurrah that Bonnaroo had to offer. One last day remained for the Stevens at Bonnaroo. We had turned a corner that night – we went from wide-eyed goofballs not knowing what the fuck we were getting into and became experienced rooers, journeym’n if you will. And just when we thought it couldn’t get any sweeter, we checked our schedules and realized just what we were in for on Sunday. It was tough getting to sleep that night.
to be concluded…
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Oct
17
I’m not a particularly religious person. I grew up catholic, which means I’m an atheist now [thanks, Chris]. But sometimes I wonder, if there really is a God, who on Earth looks like he could be the guy? And everynow and then, I recognize someone as a possible candidate for “God.”
Today’s diety – JOE SATRIANI
Joe Satriani is ridiculous.
I saw Joe for the foist time in 2001, at my first concert ever – G3 with Joe, Steve Vai, and John Petrucci (who would later become my favorite guitarist of all time). Saw him again in 04 at the Beacon, and he’s playing tomorrow night at the United Palace on 177th St. Bit of a hike, ay Joe? C’mon, what are we doin here?
As the God of Education, Satch has taught no less than 15 of the world’s baddest guitar players. Dudes like Kirk Hammett of Metallica, Alex Slocknick of Testament, Rick Hunolt of Exodus, Larry fucking LaLonde of Primus, and David Bryson of Counting Crows and Steve Vai (wait, no really – STEVE VAI) make up a portion of Satch’s insane list of students.
Not to mention being the author of Summer Song (the definitive Joe song that most people will recognize from various sports venues and video games), as well as LPs Engines of Creation, Crystal Planet, Surfing With the Alien, The Extremist, and a half dozen others. Oh yeah, and dude was in Deep Purple for a while too. Yeah, forgot to mention that…..Hey, no big deal, I’m just gonna go ‘head and be in Deep Purple for a little while. Yea, here we gooooo!”
Dude is for real.
Check out his myspace and seriously get to one of his shows when he tours. MySpace has almost all his songs for free. His live shows are nuts, and worth the $45 it costs…plus, he usually plays sweet venues. His DVDs are pretty rad too. Peep dem shits.
www.myspace.com/joesatriani and www.satriani.com
Joe Satriani, The God of Education.
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Oct
12
- The Bonnaroo Night
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As we approached the 3 hour mark searching for our long lost campsite, our bodies exhausted, our legs jellied, we began to see some signs of life. Somehow, someway, the dark grass roads beneath our feet started to look familiar, as if they were different from the other 700 acres of the farm. Something was up. We had no idea what the tents around us looked like, especially the ones 6 and 7 rows away from our site, yet we all agreed that we were on the right track. A few more hits of the Panic button and BAM!!! – off in the distance, a ’97 Jeep called out to us the only way she knew how. The Jeep’s typically weak horn blared through the Tennessee night like it was a cruise ship in the middle of the Atlantic. FUCK YEAH. We got cheered on by a couple of neighboring tents who heard the Panic button display and got as excited as we were (they were screaming as if they were lost and found their camp). As it turns out, we were really in Camp Louis Winthrope III, which was on the complete opposite side of the world from Camp Luke Skywalker…fkin lamewads. We got into the tent, kissed the ground beneath us, told the ‘wads the story, had a few beers, and hit the sack. Damn.
Rise and shine at 7am. Here’s something you need to understand about Bonnaroo – you have NO CHOICE but to get up at the crack of ass, no way around it. You wake up early, but you’re not tired…you’re
surprised at what time it is, but you really don’t give a shit. Maybe it’s the heat from the sun cooking the inside of the tent (but not really since it wasn’t that hot in the tent in the morning) or maybe it’s just your mind being aware of the prospect of all the crazy shit you’re about to face…either way – when the sun rises at Bonnaroo, so do you.
We started the day right and set sail for Centeroo, hitting up some of the festival tents and stands, and checking out what the roo had to offer. We made our way to Which Stage and caught a bit of World Party’s set. Although I am absolutely certain we saw them, I can’t tell you one damn thing about the show nor can I repeat a single note of World Party music. If you asked me now what they sound like, I’d have no fucking idea. After about a half hour at Which, we migrated over to the Kat Nap Lounge (Napster’s absurdly named venue, which turned out to be one of the coolest) and were serenaded by this amazing jazz/funk band from Burlington called Vorcza. I thought I had heard the name before, but then again I also thought I knew where our tent was last night. Heh. They play a sick breed of jazz fusion, melting latin rhythms and funk together with bold old-school synthesizers ala Rick Wakeman and Hotter Than July-era Stevie Wonder. Yeah, I know.
A little aside about Bonnaroo food: it’s very clear that the people who run roo know exactly what kind of peoplestonersandpotheadsare going to be at this thing, because all of the food there is a). munchie food, b). awesome, and c). expensive. For most people, when you’re on some kind of mind altering substance, money really isn’t an issue; nothing – NOTHING – will stand in the way of something you want.
“What? Fifteen bucks for a huge sausage?…I’ll take three.”
Everything they had was awesome and although most of it was a bit above what any reasonable human being would want to spend on food, you really don’t care after a while. It’s all part of the experience. Roo Tip of the Day: eat before you leave your tent so you don’t have to spend $30 every night on “those awesome pancake-looking Venezuelan things.”
By the way, those are Arepas. And they are the tits.
We grabbed a bite to eat and hit What Stage just in time for Steel Pulse, one of my gotta-see bands at roo. They are undoubtedly one of the tightest and most fun reggae bands in the world to watch. At this point, with food in my stomach, Vorzca in my head (along with god only remembers what else), and Steel Pulse about 100 feet away from me…I was floating. I’m in the country, in the outdoors, hanging out in the sun, friends abound, new friends to be made, Arepas and lemonades in hand, and I am awesome right now. We catch a ridiculous spot underneath the bleachers by What Stage and scope out the sickest piece of real estate in the whole venue (below).
- Best Spot Ever, Day 2.
What could possibly make this day any better you say? How bout Oysterhead hitting the stage in .5 hours. WHAT! How bout bumping into Lee and Amzam, Chewy and Mike Boord. WHAT! How bout fucking Oysterhead!!! Finally – what I’ve been waiting oh about five years to see (and one of the main reasons I’m at Bonnaroo in the first place) comes to be. Les, Trey, and Stewie walk out like they own the place (and I’ll be damned if they didn’t) and dive right into Little Faces (which sounded UNBELIEVABLE live). I’ll just go ahead and say it now – Stewart Copeland is the man. He drove every song and led every jam, made the sickest rhythms and had Les and Trey – two guys used to being in control of their own bands – jamming along to what he was spitting out. This is not to say that Stewie controlled the show, but it was good to see the ole’ boy put on a ballsy show. They need to tour. Like, right now.
The next few hours before the Tom Petty show are a confusing mess of hanging, walking, and meeting a bunch of different people. Somehow, someway, we ended up underneath a tree, doing what we do, jamming
along to Petty & The Heartbreakers, and loving every damn second of it. The headlining shows at Bonnaroo are something to behold – they’re the only shows going on at that time, so just about everybody in attendance is there, making for some of the sickest crowds of the weekend. Now, I don’t consider myself a hardcore Petty fan, but I do love everything the guy has put out. Thing is, I never realized how many sheer CLASSICS the guy has made. It seemed like every song he played was a classic American rock song. One after another, they just kept coming, it was too much for my brain to handle at that point. Stevie Nicks came out at one point (not too surprisingly) and sang a few duets with TP. YES! Steven and I gave ourselves a little nightcap by hitting up the Umphrey’s McGee midnight set at The Other Tent. Behind Oysterhead, Umphrey’s was probably my second most anticipated show, and they delivered big time.
As we made the trek back to Camp Louis Winthrope III, I remember thinking to myself, “Holy shit, I have two more days to go. How the hell am I gonna top this?” What laid in waiting for The Stevens was unlike anything any of us could ever imagine in a million years.
to be continued…
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