M-Biddy made a surprise visit the weekend before last. It was great! Apparently Canada's got this national holiday that coincides with Presidents Day in the U.S. -- Family Day features a bit less presidential history and a bit more highest-rate-of-suicide-all-year-so-maybe-take-the-day-off -- so he and his lady friend were going to take advantage of this really great price they found on tickets to Hungary, except the tickets were out of JFK and getting from Toronto to JFK was going to cost them almost as much as to Hungary, so they decided to make a three-day weekend of it here.
In true Erdősian style, Mike gave me and Nina some math problems to work on. Nina's: Is it possible to construct an irregular hexagon that cannot be bisected into two quadrilaterals? Mine: In a subset of size N + 1 taken from the whole numbers between 1 and 2N, is it guaranteed that there will be a pair of numbers that are relatively prime? Nina got hers in about an hour; I chomped on mine for a good couple of days but didn't really get that far (are X and 2X + 1 necessarily coprime for X > some C? I think yes, but no one seems to want to corroborate).
He also brought some all-in-one instant coffee from Vietnam and a bottle of actual Ontarian maple sizzurp.
I tried to show him a good time, but the best I could do was some fairly sketch Chinese baked goods up on Ninth Ave. and some tacos from Matamaros that promptly made me shit gallons of water. On Saturday night we (Mike and Kira and Nina and I and Kira's friend Nookie) headed to Manhattan to see some Michel Gondry thing at Deitch Projects but ended up missing it so we got Shao Lon Bao at Excellent Dumpling House right before it closed (at 9:00 PM -- what?!) and then booze until late at Local 138.
We also played a bunch of Scrabble -- fuck, we're still playing -- at the 'Lakes.
I read that Howard Zinn book, finally. Back when I was still in college, I'd wanted to read some American history and everyone was recommending A People's History, but I was sort of naively worried that it'd be too partisan, so I browsed around until I found something that didn't advertise its agenda quite as explicitly, this thousand page hunk of book called A History of the American People by Paul Johnson. At the time, I was doing some freelance computer consulting for this friend of my parents who runs a fairly prominent educational advocacy group in New York (the name of which I will omit) -- helping her back up her email, etc. She noticed I was reading this book and got kind of agitated because the guy's apparently pretty conservative. To prove it to me, she picked up the book and started quoting a section that I hadn't read yet disparaging Kennedy. "He doesn't like Kennedy," she said. "Unbelievable!" And then she threw the book into the waste basket, where it sat until I fished it out. So I didn't work for her any more, but I didn't finish the Johnson book, either, because I got bored a little ways after the Civil War. But I was right about A People's History -- it kind of assumes that you've heard the mainstream version of events, and I hadn't, really. But, yeah, Zinn is pretty great, and pretty disturbing -- there was lots of stuff I wasn't really up on, like the government's shooting war with the mining unions around the turn of the century.
Nina's aunt and uncle gave her, for her birthday, I think, a neat pair of Japanese dolls. There's this Japanese doll festival called Hinamatsuri that starts this week, in which you're supposed to sort of display your doll collection for a while (for good luck? It's for girls. The boys' celebration begins the week after, when they get to banish the dolls). She set them up on her dresser and took pictures of them. Then we drank a little bit of the sake my sister'd given me for Christmas. It was good -- thanks, Caroline!
At the behest of Tom, I've been listening to episodes of this radio show on WFMU called Seven Second Delay. It's hosted by these two guys, one of whom runs WFMU and the other of whom is like the producer of and head writer on Monk -- and who has this revolting, spluttery Jew voice and a lisp and who chews gum on air constantly. Maybe it's like rubbernecking a car wreck, but I kind of can't get enough. Maybe I'm just worried I'm Andy Breckman. I love the show! I can't believe I got through.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Monday, February 11, 2008
Our Final Descent
Nina's birthday was on Saturday. She's 27, or, as she likes to put it, "on the fast approach to 30." I think "the final descent to 30," would be better. It's like an airplane.
Aanie and Eve came over in the morning, letting themselves in with a set of keys I'd given Aanie the night before, to sing Happy Birthday to her in Polish. She does this every year. It goes like this:
In the evening we went with her brother to go see Kaiju Big Battel at Webster Hall. For those of you not clicking the link, it's a kind of live-action, semi-satirical mash-up of Toho-style monster battles and pro wrestling. There's a kind of running narrative, I think, involving this evil guy named Dr. Cube -- in this performance, he was pitting his protege, The Grudyin (a kind of overgrown rat thing), against last year's champion, Call-Me-Kevin (a red, crustacean-like dude). I'd never seen Kaiju before (Nina'd been a few years back), nor had I been to WH. It's (Webster Hall) surprisingly chintzy, like a nightclub inside a casino in Vegas or something. Kaiju was exciting and funny, though. The suits were really well-articulated and colorful -- The Grudyin's suit featured four (or was it five?) pairs of nipples, and Call-Me-Kevin had awesome-looking lobster claws and was covered in flappity yellow spikes -- and must've weighed a ton, though that didn't stop the wearers from climbing up the turnbuckles and doing some fairly professional-looking leaps onto the mat, destroying a bunch of styrofoam buildings and municipal infrastructure that happened to get in the way.
Michael and I petitioned the staff dudes who were sweeping up afterwards for some of the cardboard set detritus -- "It's her birthday!" we yelled, pointing at Nina, who cringed. We managed to score an office building facade and a cube face from one of the "black boxes" that featured heavily in deciding this year's champion. I brought the cube face to work! It's on my desk.
After Kaiju was over, we met up with some of Michael's friends and caught a late dinner at Veselka. Even though we were both strangely tired, we ate a bunch of Ukrainian meat dishes.
I got Nina a copy of We Love Katamari. She was, she says, a devotee of the original Katamari Damacy, so, despite her protests about her academic standing, this seemed like a must-buy. This one takes place in a universe with a kind of postmodern awareness of the success of the first game -- in which you play as the son of the King of All Cosmos and have to roll up objects of varying size on your magnetic ball, amid demands and insults, so that you can replace a bunch of stars that your dad wiped out. The prestige you garner for your dad in that one lead to all the people in the game world in this one seeking katamari-related favors from him that he sends you out to do. They're always yelling things like "Katamari Damacy is the coolest!" It's such a weird and unpredictable game. I mentioned to Aanie that it reminds me of the Giant's Drink game from Ender's Game. Also, I could've sworn that "damacy" was an English word -- that it meant something like "fiefdom" -- but we looked it up, and it's a variant pronunciation of a Japanese word for "soul." "Katamari damacy" means "soul clump." Or "clod spirit."
We didn't leave the house on Sunday, because it was freezing outside! The wind keeps blowing around the alley with the garbage cans and rattling the windows in the hallway. I think I'm coming down with a cold.
On Monday night I made a vegetable soup with a bunch of beans and panchetta using this recipe. It's really good, but it took forever to make, and it makes you really regular. And I've still got gallons of it.
Aanie and Eve came over in the morning, letting themselves in with a set of keys I'd given Aanie the night before, to sing Happy Birthday to her in Polish. She does this every year. It goes like this:
Sto lat, sto lat, niech żyje żyje nam.I've tried to learn the words, but I don't know that I ever will. She brought with her some delicious egg cocottes with panchetta, goat cheese, and some other kind of cheese; some orange juice; and some champagne, with which we made mimosas. Eve got Nina an awesome Coney Island t-shirt. Aanie got her these very cute mugs with pictures of pigeons on them.
Sto lat, sto lat, niech żyje żyje nam.
Jeszcze raz, jeszcze raz, niech żyje, żyje nam.
Niech żyje nam!
In the evening we went with her brother to go see Kaiju Big Battel at Webster Hall. For those of you not clicking the link, it's a kind of live-action, semi-satirical mash-up of Toho-style monster battles and pro wrestling. There's a kind of running narrative, I think, involving this evil guy named Dr. Cube -- in this performance, he was pitting his protege, The Grudyin (a kind of overgrown rat thing), against last year's champion, Call-Me-Kevin (a red, crustacean-like dude). I'd never seen Kaiju before (Nina'd been a few years back), nor had I been to WH. It's (Webster Hall) surprisingly chintzy, like a nightclub inside a casino in Vegas or something. Kaiju was exciting and funny, though. The suits were really well-articulated and colorful -- The Grudyin's suit featured four (or was it five?) pairs of nipples, and Call-Me-Kevin had awesome-looking lobster claws and was covered in flappity yellow spikes -- and must've weighed a ton, though that didn't stop the wearers from climbing up the turnbuckles and doing some fairly professional-looking leaps onto the mat, destroying a bunch of styrofoam buildings and municipal infrastructure that happened to get in the way.
Michael and I petitioned the staff dudes who were sweeping up afterwards for some of the cardboard set detritus -- "It's her birthday!" we yelled, pointing at Nina, who cringed. We managed to score an office building facade and a cube face from one of the "black boxes" that featured heavily in deciding this year's champion. I brought the cube face to work! It's on my desk.
After Kaiju was over, we met up with some of Michael's friends and caught a late dinner at Veselka. Even though we were both strangely tired, we ate a bunch of Ukrainian meat dishes.
I got Nina a copy of We Love Katamari. She was, she says, a devotee of the original Katamari Damacy, so, despite her protests about her academic standing, this seemed like a must-buy. This one takes place in a universe with a kind of postmodern awareness of the success of the first game -- in which you play as the son of the King of All Cosmos and have to roll up objects of varying size on your magnetic ball, amid demands and insults, so that you can replace a bunch of stars that your dad wiped out. The prestige you garner for your dad in that one lead to all the people in the game world in this one seeking katamari-related favors from him that he sends you out to do. They're always yelling things like "Katamari Damacy is the coolest!" It's such a weird and unpredictable game. I mentioned to Aanie that it reminds me of the Giant's Drink game from Ender's Game. Also, I could've sworn that "damacy" was an English word -- that it meant something like "fiefdom" -- but we looked it up, and it's a variant pronunciation of a Japanese word for "soul." "Katamari damacy" means "soul clump." Or "clod spirit."
We didn't leave the house on Sunday, because it was freezing outside! The wind keeps blowing around the alley with the garbage cans and rattling the windows in the hallway. I think I'm coming down with a cold.
On Monday night I made a vegetable soup with a bunch of beans and panchetta using this recipe. It's really good, but it took forever to make, and it makes you really regular. And I've still got gallons of it.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Singing And Dancing
Okay, so forget what I said about not wanting to talk politics -- well, blog politics; I'm always willing to talk politics -- Everyone's got Obamania! I didn't even know about this until last night when I went over to 680 to watch the primary results trickle in (and eat Colleen's frighteningly on-target root beer cake), but apparently everyone I know has been volunteering for the dude: Tom's been phone-banking like crazy (fourth highest number of calls in the state, he claims); Emma, who brought the irresistibly laconic Pearl over to watch was sandwich-boarding it up at 13th & 8th, my old polling place; and one of the 680 roommate, Jude, was handing out stuff in the subways, I think. My own contribution was merely a vote, but since I was sure I'd unaffiliated myself (did so out of despair and irritation during the time it was the Party of Terry McAuliffe), the fact that I showed up on the rolls at 40th & 4th counts as a Super Tuesday miracle, I think.
Man is Barack Obama a good talker. Platform-wise, he's not too far off from Clinton, although he seems to be a lot more up-front and precise about what he's promising; maybe that's why he's a better talker than her, too. Nina and I have an ongoing argument about the value of Washinton experience -- I won't get into here, since, you know, this is my forum and it wouldn't be fair -- but suffice it to say I feel like this is emblematic of why he'd be a more responsive administrator. That, and, you know, he's not morally / politically compromised.
Eve is back from India. We went to Studio B on Thursday to catch The Thermals doing this karaoke thing with New York Magazine and The Whitest Kids U Know, and she filled me in on her trip -- it turns out that whilst journeying through the subcontinent, she was poisoned, beset by religious extremists, and run down by a truck. All of these attempts on her life were unsuccessful -- Eve's kind of like Rasputin, that way. I don't know if I'm jealous, per se -- I may not have a tough enough constitution for a trip like that -- but it sounded like a very exciting trip.
And it was nice to have something to talk about at the show, because the comedy was fucking horrible. I mean, really, really bad. Even Gothamist hated it, and they're usually, you know, "event positive," even for crappy stuff. They're not kidding about the floor, though -- it was fucking sticky as hell. I don't know if I'm on board with Stereogum's commenter analysis, which claimed it was an "adhesive" to keep people from dancing, but it sure made dancing difficult. If you kept moving your feet, it was a little like walking across the floor of, like, five filthy movie theaters at once, but if you stopped moving for like a minute or two, it glued you in place. As usual, I was glad I was wearing the ol' boots -- Eve's sneakers kept getting sucked off by the muck.
The band was terrific, though. After a slightly off-key start (bad levels in the monitor, maybe), they whipped through a really tight set that included a bunch of really promising-sounding new songs. And Kathy was doing that charming thing she does. We were tired, though, and didn't feel like sticking around for the second round of horrible, awkward comedy (K. Foster, to the crowd, while the band was tuning up: "You guys like that stuff? Titties and butt-holes?") even if it meant more Thermals playing for the karaoke stuff later on, so we headed out. And we got as far as Nassau before I realized I'd left my credit card at the bar. When I ran back to get it, karaoke was in full swing, but the band seemed fairly disinterested, playing mostly into their amps and not bopping around much. Don't blame 'em -- it was a fairly dubious prospect. I got my picture taken, though!
My (former) roommate Randy is doing a thing a day, all month. Jesus.
It occurs to me that I haven't been going out to many things recently. Part of that is because of the weather, part of it is on account of my new gig as a rebellious monkey, but you know, yeah, I've been lazy, too. So I've started adding stuff to my wonderful events calendar again. May I draw your attention to the Gallows shows this weekend? No? How about some Jonathan Richman?
Been eating a lot of great Trader Joe's mexican lately, which is weird, since I live in, you know, Mexico City. I also baked some really good zucchini-apple muffins using a recipe from Moosewood, a copy of which Nina brought with her when she moved in. The secret? The recipe called for oat bran, which is fucking impossible to find at normal people stores. So I took. It. Out.
Good night!
Man is Barack Obama a good talker. Platform-wise, he's not too far off from Clinton, although he seems to be a lot more up-front and precise about what he's promising; maybe that's why he's a better talker than her, too. Nina and I have an ongoing argument about the value of Washinton experience -- I won't get into here, since, you know, this is my forum and it wouldn't be fair -- but suffice it to say I feel like this is emblematic of why he'd be a more responsive administrator. That, and, you know, he's not morally / politically compromised.
Eve is back from India. We went to Studio B on Thursday to catch The Thermals doing this karaoke thing with New York Magazine and The Whitest Kids U Know, and she filled me in on her trip -- it turns out that whilst journeying through the subcontinent, she was poisoned, beset by religious extremists, and run down by a truck. All of these attempts on her life were unsuccessful -- Eve's kind of like Rasputin, that way. I don't know if I'm jealous, per se -- I may not have a tough enough constitution for a trip like that -- but it sounded like a very exciting trip.
And it was nice to have something to talk about at the show, because the comedy was fucking horrible. I mean, really, really bad. Even Gothamist hated it, and they're usually, you know, "event positive," even for crappy stuff. They're not kidding about the floor, though -- it was fucking sticky as hell. I don't know if I'm on board with Stereogum's commenter analysis, which claimed it was an "adhesive" to keep people from dancing, but it sure made dancing difficult. If you kept moving your feet, it was a little like walking across the floor of, like, five filthy movie theaters at once, but if you stopped moving for like a minute or two, it glued you in place. As usual, I was glad I was wearing the ol' boots -- Eve's sneakers kept getting sucked off by the muck.
The band was terrific, though. After a slightly off-key start (bad levels in the monitor, maybe), they whipped through a really tight set that included a bunch of really promising-sounding new songs. And Kathy was doing that charming thing she does. We were tired, though, and didn't feel like sticking around for the second round of horrible, awkward comedy (K. Foster, to the crowd, while the band was tuning up: "You guys like that stuff? Titties and butt-holes?") even if it meant more Thermals playing for the karaoke stuff later on, so we headed out. And we got as far as Nassau before I realized I'd left my credit card at the bar. When I ran back to get it, karaoke was in full swing, but the band seemed fairly disinterested, playing mostly into their amps and not bopping around much. Don't blame 'em -- it was a fairly dubious prospect. I got my picture taken, though!
My (former) roommate Randy is doing a thing a day, all month. Jesus.
It occurs to me that I haven't been going out to many things recently. Part of that is because of the weather, part of it is on account of my new gig as a rebellious monkey, but you know, yeah, I've been lazy, too. So I've started adding stuff to my wonderful events calendar again. May I draw your attention to the Gallows shows this weekend? No? How about some Jonathan Richman?
Been eating a lot of great Trader Joe's mexican lately, which is weird, since I live in, you know, Mexico City. I also baked some really good zucchini-apple muffins using a recipe from Moosewood, a copy of which Nina brought with her when she moved in. The secret? The recipe called for oat bran, which is fucking impossible to find at normal people stores. So I took. It. Out.
Good night!
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