june 5 2000
seems as if someone finally got it right. it's so easy to get used to the nice weather coming when you're holed up at work that having a beautiful weekend and a cloudy cool monday strikes you as almost achingly just and fair. my vote goes to you, mr. g of channel 9's crack meterology team, with your lustrous shock of hair and your irreverent italian ways. the way you stand in front of that blue screen and wave vaguely at phantom fronts, it's no wonder that the ladies in rego park love you the way they do. or the way i imagine they do. i should point out that "the way i imagine they do" involves a package of frozen spinach--whole leaf, not chopped--a macaque, and one of those deluxe ratchet sets. oh, and a huge tub of country crock. now that's lovin'.
yesterday i was just one willing man in the fleshy army that took over central park. lord, there was a lot of skin. given my natural dislike of humanity, i'd expect to be pretty testy (that's a y, not an e) about being around so many people, but something about a perfectly clear day in the low 80s seemed to even out my lovable misanthropy. except for crazy beard man on the big rock about twenty feet behind us who was yelling about the government, all the while swearing up and down to no one in particular that he was "king of the freakin' mountain." steve brought five tubs of dip, all of which looked more or less evil save for the hummus. the fig yogurt, or, as it said on the label, "figs yogurt," seemed like a particularly poorly thought out venture.
on us at the park. parks, being outdoors, would seem to engender a fair bit of outdoorsiness that i like to think of it as the three "fr"s: frisbee, frolicking, and frottage. the first two, of course, are legal in public. the third i find is best reserved until the subway ride home, when things are so crowded that you can usually rub against someone lewdly without being singled out for the degenerate that you are. but still. the point is that parks are for vitality! healthy sun-drenched skin that still has yet to enter the inexorable decline into spotting and leatheriness! sneaking sips from the ice-cold tallboy of budweiser that you hid in your speedo! exposing yourself in increasingly criminal increments to the johannsen family reunion! and in the midst of all this vitality, you could find us doing such rough-and-tumble things as:
the times sunday crossword
chess
boggle
drawing
taking pictures of ass cleavage (okay, that was me, but only after i finished the crossword puzzle)
and then. oh, and then. and then last night was the blackalicious/del concert. the opening act was paul barman (i hesitate to even give him the extra attention, but here's his site so you can see what all my vitriol is about), a spasmodic little homunculus who appealed to prince paul's what-practical-joke-can-i-play-on-hip-hop-now? sense of humor and has found himself a nice little following of fratty kids who are just so damned happy to be able to go to a hip-hop show and see a short little non-threatening guy tell them it's okay to have a high-pitched nasally voice, no rhythm or flow, and a ridiculous lack of charisma, because you can still wear a backpack and front as though you've been down from jump. at one point in his comical show a writer named zen yelled out "you suck!", which kind of awakened the snarling purist in all of us and we started yelling at him to get off the stage, which i kind of felt bad about because his parents were there. he tried to play it off and say "you're right, i do kind of suck, but i must be here because blackalicious likes me!", which got all his little minions cheering and would be a nice sentiment if it were true. but it's not. blackalicious' dj walked over to us right after that comment and said to zen "this shit is so damn wack i can't even stand it," then walked back to the dressing room. even prince paul looked a little sheepish when he walked by. thankfully, barman hustled his gross little ass offstage soon after. could be i'm just bitter because the kid hasn't paid his dues, seems to be there's another more talented overeducated jewish emcee out there, and his name's me.
so, blackalicious. music for your soul. something about a hip-hop group that knows how to move a crowd. not just make a crowd move, but make them leave shaking their head and thanking the artform for spitting out a crew as gifted and original as these kids. both kids from latyrx were there too, which just made it one huge melodica quannum-fest. and i honestly don't know if i've ever heard a response as insane as when they finished.
this is why i try not to talk too much about myself.
to recap: a macaque. a spasmodic little homunculus. and a partridge in a pear tree. thank you.
p.
and yo. my full-on venture kneejerk.net is up and running, though not nearly full. go and getcha read on. for me.
props to darkcounter.com
and sitemeter