Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Shwa and the Good Times: Live at Rockwood Music Hall (Birthday Edition)

These are some of my favorite people. At one of my favorite places. Singing some of my favorite songs. Needless to say, unblogworthy behavior followed. Good work, guys.

"Hey Jealousy"

"So Cry/Little Red Corvette"

Monday, April 19, 2010

Nate Campany and friends at Rockwood Stage 2

This weekend the brand new Rockwood Stage 2 opened next door to Rockwood Music Hall (Rockwood Stage One? Rockwood Original Recipe? We still have to work out the nomenclature). Big, big congrats to Ken Rockwood and company on a gorgeous new space, with extra room for dancing, a sweet balcony, a fancy-shmancy sound board and even a Presidential box seat for when Obama or Bono or whoever comes by. Which I'm sure will happen any day.

Nate Campany and the Serenade performed Sunday night, and there was much talk of the new space, and how happy we all were for Ken, and how Rockwood was like one big family, and everyone was all "Aww." And then he invited a bunch of folks up to sing, and since everybody basically knows each other's songs anyway, it was quite a crew, and everyone was like "Ahn." And then this little clip of lovely happened. And then we all made out!

Actually, we just lateraled over to the original Rockwood side bar and talked about Lost, but you know, close enough.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

How to Give Asthma Medicine to a Cat

I'm especially fond of the noise I make at 1:43. But that's just me.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

This Blog Saves Lives

It just does.

Saturday, April 10, 2010

Three Hours of Tom Petty = Not Enough Tom Petty

Bar 4 in Park Slope has hosted some killer tribute nights. But I have never seen the place as packed as it was yesterday for the Tom Petty tribute, featuring Bucky Hayes and the Radio backing up a couple dozen singers/songwriters/amazing persons. Most of the evening was pretty well documented by others, but here are a few highlights:

Casey Shea doing a spot-on "Learning to Fly"

Misty Boyce thoroughly rocking "Don't Come Around Here No More"

and Bryan Dunn with the potential #2010 anthem "Even the Losers"

Okay, you guys? Okay.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Nate Campany at Rockwood Music Hall

I've been a bit tardy in updating the blog. I have things to do, people. Terrible decisions to make. You think I live online? Psh.

Just kidding. I totally live online. Online and at Rockwood, where the lovely Emily has claimed the distinction of being the first bartender in my colorful drinking career to not only know my beverage of choice but to start preparing it when I come in the damn door. Holy crap, is this place great or what? (Hey barkeeps and interested young gentlemen: it's a bourbon and diet. Not too fussy about the bourbon, but if all you've got is Jack, we'll get along fine. Learn it, love it, live it).

For your listening pleasure, here's Nate Campany, supported by Kyle Patrick and Phil Galitzine playing some lovely acoustic stuff at the aforementioned greatest bar on earth. Ahn.

Sunday, April 4, 2010

Dear DC

Dear DC:

Oh, this is precious.

You think that, just because I've been gone eight months, you can still get a rise out of me by trading for my (admittedly polarizing) quarterback? You think I'd take something like that personally, don't you?

DC, you are correct.

Now, DC, I know this has as much to do with the usual breathtaking forward-thinking of the Eagles' front office as anything else, but I am not talking to them right now.

I am talking to you.

So, since you insist on being yourself, let me make a few things clear.

DC, I prefer my cramped walkup apartment with no A/C to my old 1200-square-foot, rooftop pool and gym, 24-hour front desk Mass Ave shangri-la any day. That is how glad I am to not be with you.

DC, New York is more interesting, better-looking and more virile than you will ever be.

DC, they have Five Guys here. So I REALLY don't need you anymore.

DC...okay, DC, you still have Ben's and the 9:30 Club. You've got me there. And IOTA. But that's technically in Virginia, so not germane to our discussion. God, they have good fries at IOTA...

DC, Jeff Laurie may make me want to kick puppies sometimes, but Dan Snyder? Right. Discussion over before it starts, DC, and you know it.

DC, nine times out of ten...NO...nineteen times out of twenty...I was faking it.

DC, I will take the vomit and blood-spattered streets of First Avenue over any of your damn cherry blossoms any day.

DC, you may take my money, you may take my quarterback, but you will never take my freedom.

And I sweartagod, DC, if you win a Super Bowl this year, I will get on a Bolt bus, and I will come down there, and I will cut you.

And, DC, if we win a Super Bowl this year, I am deleting this blog post.

I hate you, DC. God, I hate you.


PS Oh, and DC? If you're wondering why I live in New York and not Philadelphia, I will thank you not to change the freakin' subject. Jerk.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

The Blog About Sexual Assault

Okay, guys. We have a lot of fun on this blog with the drawings, and the music, and the identity theft and the whatnot. But if I may get a little bit serious for a minute, I'll tell you about something that happened today. And then I'll tell you why it's important that I tell you. And there's gonna be swearing. I'm really sorry in advance.

I was walking to work this morning, listening to a new CD, enjoying the sunshine, relishing my new-ish sundress, and not thinking of much besides that I was a little late to work, and really ought to hustle to make my train. A dude passed me as I walked, and I didn't think much of that either.

All of a sudden...WHAM! Dude walloped...WALLOPED...me on the backside and ran off.

No one saw it happen, since we were the only ones on that stretch of sidewalk. But the gentle denizens of the Upper East Side sure knew something happened, because I let out an unholy yell and a good, throaty "FUCK YOU!!" I turned to see the dude hustling away in his blue and tan jacket and tan backpack.

I hesitated a moment. Did that really just happen? Jesus, what should I do? Just go on with my day? I'm not sure I want to do that. And I'm pretty sure that if I just let this go, and act like it's no big deal, or it was "just a smack on the ass," I'm gonna feel pretty rotten about it for a long time to come. And also, letting boys get away with victimizing women is sooo 2008. And my ass was really sore. He really went for it.

So I ran after the sonofabitch.

There were people around. It was broad daylight. It's possible this dude was crazy. This was something I needed to determine, and also I wanted to get a description, since by this point I had decided that if I was going to be late to work pursuing this mofo, I was damn well gonna call the police. I caught up to him as he was going into the Citibank.

"Hey asshole!" He looked up. He was about 20. Clean-cut. Like he was on his way to school. Maybe depositing his paycheck from his night job. He did not look crazy. I think he was surprised. I think he figured the five-foot-tall redhead in the sundress and Mary Janes would have just said "Oh my stars!" and scampered away. He does not know this five-foot-tall redhead.

"You think that shit is funny? You like hitting women, huh? You think that's the correct way to act? Whatsamatterwityou?" All of a sudden, I was Joe Pesci.

"Ma'am I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know goddamn well what I'm talking about. YOU DON'T HIT WOMEN, ASSHOLE." At this point I am screaming into the bank. The whole lobby is looking at me. One poor elderly lady was caught by the door. I held it open for her. "I'm so sorry, ma'am, but he did a BAD THING."

The lady was a little nonplussed. I could not blame her. "Are...are you okay?"

"I am, I'm just..." And now I realize I'm a little upset. "He just fuckin'....shit, sorry...." The lady walked away. I swear a lot when I'm nervous. More than usual, even. Perhaps you've caught on.

Dude got in my face. And this is where it gets kind of hilarious. "How dare you disrespect me in public?" Oh. My. God. He. Did. Not. "I mean, call the police or something, but don't embarrass me like that. Fuck you."

It is now clear I am not necessarily dealing with a lunatic. But I am dealing with a moron.

"Good fucking idea, buddy. I WILL call the police." He goes back in ("Psh.") to go to the ATM. Good one, numbnuts. Right by the security camera. You do that.

I call 911 and tell them about the incident and the coordinates. While I'm on the phone he comes out and gets in my face again. "Fuck you, bitch." Me: "Fuck ME? Fuck YOU!!!...(to operator) I'm sorry, ma'am it's just he's antagonizing me." Him: "You calling the police?" Me: "Goddamn right I am." Him: "Fine. Fuck the police. Fuck you." Me: "Tell 'em so yourself!"

He started walking away after that. The 911 lady advised me to stay put. Good call. I figured I had had enough of him without backup. The police came a few minutes later, and I told them the story. I told them I knew they dealt with bigger things than this. But if it doesn't get reported, it will keep happening. And maybe we can scare this dude enough that that will be one less guy hitting women in the street. The cops had me ride around in the car with them to see if we could find them. Incidentally, those squad cars? Absolutely no leg room to speak of. In case you ever need extra incentive to not get arrested. Not comfy.

We couldn't find him, but the cops (there were four of them by the end of this) took my statement and contact info. They commended me on my description. Which is good, as that validates a lot of Law and Order viewing.

I'm realistic. I don't think they're ever gonna arrest this dude. But here's the thing, and the point to the whole long, profane story. I know there are a lot of people who think it wasn't that big a deal. But the truth of the matter is, what this guy did was sexual assault. "Forcible touching and harassment," if you want to get specific. Sexual assault doesn't always necessarily mean something as horrible as rape. And too often it's unreported, and douchebags like this think they can get away with it because the girl is gonna be too embarrassed or too meek to do anything about it. Or they think it's "just a slap on the ass." And that's not right, you guys. I don't know how other girls feel about their asses, but let me tell you about mine. It's a good ass. It's an exclusive ass. And you don't very well get to smack the shit out of it willy-nilly because you feel entitled to do so. There will be repercussions.

It just so happens that today is the start of Sexual Assault Awareness and Prevention Month. I know what happened to me could have been a lot, lot worse. But someone doesn't have to be raped to be humiliated, violated and hurt. Sometimes, all it takes is a smack on the ass.

Want more info by people a hell of a lot more qualified than me? Check out http://www.rainn.org/

UPDATE: Detective doing follow-up: "So you ran up and confronted him and screamed at him in a bank." "Yep." "...Awesome."