Robyn Happens

Valentine's Day 2012 Mix

2012-02-07T23:08:00.003-05:00

My V-Day playlist starts with Lita Ford, so my playlist wins. This is what's known as the Lita Ford Postulate.

Valentine's Day Mix 2012

1. Kiss Me Deadly -- Lita Ford
2. Half Light -- Athlete
3. You and Me -- Jessi Robertson
4. Nothing's As Good -- Andy Mac
5. Cassette Tape -- Katie Costello
6. Here Is Your Ballad -- Luke Wesley
7. You, South Dakota -- Bryan Dunn
8. an open door -- illinois
9. Guy What Takes His Time -- Kelli Rae Powell
10. A Good Life -- Jill Sobule
11. Under the Moonlight -- Travis
12. Think of Me -- Rosi Golan
13. The Outlaw Song -- Lara Ewen

Past mixes

Back in the Saddle

2011-12-29T15:00:00.002-05:00

It occurred to us that it had been a full year since we got thrown off a mechanical bull in a public setting. So we did it again. Since Mason Dixon closed down (reportedly because they served alcohol to minors. Maybe. Let's just start that rumor now), we took the party to Viva Toro in Williamsburg. And being thrifty little bullriders, we had a Groupon. Two bull rides and two cocktails. Perf.

Jennie's two rides:

My two rides:

Lara's two rides:

Three Ladies Singing: "O Come All Ye Faithful"

2011-12-11T21:31:00.000-05:00

Falalalafoxy

Whiskey and Wellbutrin: 2011 Motion Picture Soundtrack

2011-12-05T22:03:00.007-05:00

Tis the season for the year-end CD mix! I wanted to celebrate the year in which I discovered that you could dislocate your knee whilst pivoting on a barstool, that work is a hell of a lot more fun when you actually know what you're doing, and that mental health professionals in this town keep the kind of hours usually reserved for Waffle Houses elsewhere in this country. Thank you, 2011, for revealing all this and more! It's been...well, it's been weird, 2011. Really goddamn weird.

I hope you like the playlist this year. And if throughout the 18 songs you're by turns delighted, confused and maybe just a little concerned, then I'll have achieved my objective.

Happy ambivalent new year, you guys. And many more.

1. Almost Everything -- Wakey! Wakey!
2. Three Years On -- Bryan Dunn
3. Reckless -- Lara Ewen
4. You Can Make Him Like You -- The Hold Steady
5. Dead Man's Saloon -- Creeper Lagoon
6. Bar on A -- Greg Holden
7. Rip Her to Shreds -- Blondie
8. The Cowboy Song -- Kelli Rae Powell
9. Fading Lately -- Katie Costello
10. Treat the Disease -- Shwa Losben
11. Pretty Boy -- Luke Wesley
12. Break My Heart Around You -- Atomic Tom
13. Star Pupil -- Abby Ahmad
14. If You Don't Mind (Baby Go Ahead) -- Alec Gross
15. World United Already -- Wheat
16. Head Full of Doubt -- The Avett Brothers
17. Whiskey and Cigarettes -- Jessi Robertson
18. You're Aging Well -- Dar Williams

Dadoo Shep and Flipper the Inflatable Shark

2011-11-29T11:56:00.001-05:00

If you come to the Casa de Shep, this will happen.

Misty Boyce and Shwa Losben Live at Rockwood

2011-11-18T17:09:00.002-05:00

An oldie but a goodie from Ms. Boyce:

And a new-ish one from Shwa that's becoming one of my favorite weepy-saddo slow jams. Hurts so good.

Lara Ewen and Opera Cowgirls at Bar 4

2011-11-16T17:58:00.004-05:00

So here's something that doesn't happen often -- arias at your friendly neighborhood music club.

First, Lara Ewen will crush your heart into tiny, spongy pieces:

And then, THIS. Why is it blurry? Because the sheer operatic power MELTED ALL OF OUR FACES:

Or I was handling electronics with my greasy little chip-grabbing paws. Again. One of the two.

Jeff Litman Live at the American Folk Art Museum

2011-11-14T16:53:00.001-05:00

Did you know that the American Folk Art Museum has music every Friday evening? Did you know it's free? Did you know that there's a lot of nuance to quiltmaking? Consider yourself schooled.

Applesauce, Bitches.

2011-11-12T00:00:00.017-05:00

It's fall, and our good friend has had oral surgery! That can only mean one thing!

APPLESAUCE, BITCHES.

Start with a bushel of apples. You'll know how many apples are in a bushel because it will say so on the pre-packed bag at D'Agostino.

Take 12 apples out of your bushel. Giggle at that sentence, because it sounds naughty. Resolve to work "bushel" into the everyday lexicon. Remember you are making applesauce, and return to the task at hand. This is all part of the process.

Peel the 12 apples. There are many methods for doing this effectively, and they are all annoying. Some go for the fluid spiral peel. Some go for the vertical stripe method. I prefer the frantic whittling technique. Bonus points if you include a few shavings of knuckle, because everyone needs more protein.

Chop the apples in half, and then core them. This is also annoying. Some prefer to cut the apples in quarters and then use a paring knife to carve out the core. This is for tiny babies. I prefer to hack away at the apple, leaving only a vertical strip of core and stem, chopping the pieces as I go. That is how you core an apple when you are not screwing around.

When all of your apples have been chopped with extreme prejudice, place them in a large casserole.

Take out three sticks of cinnamon, and give 'em a good whiff. This also is critical to the process.

Add the cinnamon, 1/4 cup of water and 1/8 teaspoon of ground cloves. Don't have a 1/8 teaspoon measuring tool? Partially fill a 1/4 teaspoon and sprinkle. Good lord, you're not helpless.

Mix the apples and spices, and place the covered casserole in an oven that's been pre-heated to 350 degrees. In lieu of a proper casserole lid, I tightly cover a Pyrex bowl with tin foil, because I cannot have nice things. Also, place the casserole on a baking sheet to prevent the sticky fruit goodness from leaking, burning to the walls of the oven and making you hate your life.

Bake the apples for about an hour. They will be nice and mushy and your apartment will smell amazeballs. Remove the cinnamon sticks. If you like your applesauce smooth, let the apples cool and run them through a food processor. If you're lazy like me, just mash the apples up a bit with the back of a spoon or a potato masher or some damn thing and call it "artisan-style," because no one really knows what that means, and it's an easy way to give ugly food respectability. Branding is life, and life is branding, kids.

You have now successfully made a tasty treat to make you forget the throbbing pain in your gums, and the fact that the Novocaine is preventing you from feeling your own face. Happy autumn everyone.

The Time Shawn Colvin Saved My Life

2011-11-11T00:46:00.010-05:00

Evidently, Taylor Swift recently appeared onstage with Shawn Colvin to sing Colvin's 1996 hit, "Sunny Came Home." I know this, because I read Perez Hilton. I think it's charitable to say that Colvin hasn't loomed large in the popular consciousness lately, so this didn't make a ton of sense. But maybe those two bonded while commiserating about being ambushed at award ceremonies by rapper-type people. Sorry, 'Ye, but ODB's "Wu-Tang is for the children" is one of the best bum-rushes of all time. OF ALL TIME.

But anyway, the Swift-Colvin alliance gave this song a bit of a boost, and I started seeing it mentioned on Facebook. I thought, "Oh yeah, THAT song. I haven't listened to that in a while. I like that song...dammit, I REALLY like that song...THIS SONG IS PERFECT AND I CAN'T BELIEVE I WENT THIS LONG WITHOUT IT."

That said, there was one particular day in 2008 when this song exploded back into my brain and fortified me during one of the most harrowing episodes in my life. I was in a relationship that was going bad. Very bad. Dangerously bad. I wanted out, but my live-in boyfriend was nothing if not a master manipulator. He convinced me that no one else would ever want me like he did, so every time I made up my mind to leave, he'd talk me out of it. And I'd hate myself for it, but I stayed. And stayed unhappy.

His behavior started getting more and more controlling and irrational, and money started disappearing out of my bank account. He denied he had anything to do with it, but I was shaken. That Thanksgiving, I told him I was going home alone to think things out, and he should arrange to go to his family for the holiday. The writing was on the wall, and he freaked. He said he would make no such plans, and that he knew I would give in and let him come with me rather than "force" him to spend the holiday alone in our apartment. I called his bluff. I left. He stayed.

It's time for a few small repairs, she said

Over the next four days, he called incessantly. Even after I told him he was scaring the crap out of me and my family, he kept calling. Even after I was sobbing on the floor screaming "I DON'T LOVE YOU," he would just say "It's okay. We'll work it out." I had stomach pains so severe I slept with a heating pad every night. This was beyond unhealthy. This was destructive. I knew I had to go back to our apartment in DC, and tell him it was over, and that he would have to leave.

Count the years, you always knew it

My parents were scared for me. They didn't know how he'd react, and they offered to come with me. He never had been violent before, but he also didn't call me 15 times a day before. I told them not to come. This might have been a little foolish in retrospect, because I didn't know how he'd react either.

Light the sky and hold on tight, the world is burning down

So there I was on Amtrak preparing to do the ballsiest thing I'd ever done in my life and not entirely convinced I'd be able to go through with it. Maybe he would play my sympathies like he always did and cry and tell me how much he needed me and all the other shit that made me change my mind before. I didn't know what to think or how to prepare. So I put on my iPod. And that's when Shawn Colvin came up on shuffle.

Sunny came home with a vengeance

When "Sunny Came Home" came out, I was in high school, and the most taxing tribulations I had been through up to that point were studying really hard for tests, trying out for parts in the school play and that one time asking out that one guy in ninth grade (it didn't end well). So, even though I knew the song, and liked the song, the lyrics were still pretty abstract to me.

She opened a book and a box of tools -- Sunny came home with a mission

But now every line struck home. I caught myself sitting bolt-upright, jaw set, eyes wide while my chest tightened up and I thought my heart was going to burst through the rib cage.

She said days go by, I'm hypnotized...

And I listened to that song...

I'm walking on a wire...

On repeat...

I close my eyes and fly out of my mind...

All the way home.

...into the fire.

That night, I calmly told my boyfriend it was over. He was clearly unhappy, but I was clearly firm. There was no changing my mind this time. Even so, I still didn't totally have the heart to kick him to the curb outright. We would be mature about it. He'd have a month to find a place, get his affairs in order, and get out, and maybe...MAYBE...we could stay friends. He agreed, and it looked like this would end amicably after all.

And then a few days later I found out he stole my identity and opened several credit cards in my name and wrote bad checks and ruined my credit and stole from my account all to the tune of $32,000...so I threw him out and notified my parents, his parents and the police (in that order) because he's a lying, sociopath con artist and any woman who gets near him should run like her hair's on fire. And that's the first time I ever said that in the blog. Feels kinda awesome.

Strike a match, go on and do it

So that's how Shawn Colvin helped give me the strength to walk away from the most toxic situation I ever found myself in, and why I'm glad this song is getting a little love. Sure, it sounds sweet and innocuous, but listen to the words. They're pretty badass. A pretty little thing with moxie. I dig that.

I did manage to absolve myself of about half of the debt, restore my credit and get the hell out of DC and start a more fabulous, if less solvent, life in New York. And the guy? Loooooong story short, he was never arrested, though we really, really tried. Last I heard he's somewhere in Baltimore. But honestly, I have better stuff to do now than chase him down. Dude got to dictate three years of my life. He doesn't deserve anymore. But, if by any chance he's reading this:

She's out there on her own

And she's all right.

More or less.

Sunny came home.

Kelli Rae Powell: Live at Jalopy

2011-11-07T22:44:00.003-05:00

Every now and again, we stray from the stomping grounds of the Lower East Side and head to Jalopy in the wilds of Red Hook, where you can drink beer out of Mason jars and pretend you're in O Brother Where Are Thou and get empanadas at Phil's Crummy Corner, the Dominican joint at the end of the block. Red Hook is special.

Y'know who else is special? Kelli Rae Powell. For serious. By day, the woman does music therapy for kids with cancer. And by night, she does this. The rest of us should just pack up and go home, because KRP might be the best person on the planet. And I love her dresses.

Happy 10th Blogiversary!

2011-11-03T19:56:00.010-04:00

10 years ago, young Robyn decided to take an elective course in her junior year at New York University called "Digital Journalism" in which we learned about things like "weblogs," or if you were really savvy, "blogs." And our instructor decided that we should all have our own "blogs." And we made them on Dreamweaver 4. And they looked like shit. But they were our little corners of cyberspace, because that was what we still called it. It was a simpler time, back when you could say things like "surfing the net" and not sound like a huge douchenozzle.

I originally started the blog to keep my loved ones informed while I was studying abroad in London. And it was tedious. I didn't drink, didn't get in trouble, hung out with respectable people, nursed a bout of 9/11-induced post traumatic stress disorder and listened to a lot of U2. There. I just saved you three years. It's moderately less tedious now. But with more embedded video.

Though in fairness, it's been an eventful decade. I've came to terms with the loss of my best friend. I went to a historic inauguration. I lost on Jeopardy. I was attacked by a bidet. I learned more than I ever wanted to know about feline and lapine vet care. I looked up the word lapine. I made a bunch of mixtapes and drew a lot of pictures. I met not just one, but two of my all-time heroes. I was held hostage in my apartment by a moth. I scared the crap out of a sexually abusive fuckwad. I left and returned to the city I adore. I saw a shitload of live music. And I lost everything I ever worked for but found myself in the process, learning there are way worse things than being single. It's no accident that's when the blog REALLY started to get interesting.

Happy 10th birthday, little blog. I feel old.

This is easily the most narcissistic post of the whole damn decade. And that's saying something.

Thanks for listening.

Robyn

How to Make a Music Video

2011-10-25T11:51:00.003-04:00

On the eve of Hurricane Irene, we were summoned to a Williamsburg rooftop by the boys in Atomic Tom to make a video for their new single. We've had fun with the AT kids before, be it rocking out on the East River under fireworks or watching them become international YouTube superstars or exploring the effects of jalapeno margaritas and roasted grasshoppers on the gastrointestinal system...but some things are better left unblogged.

But ANYWAY, the beautiful weather showed no sign of the impending storm, and we spent a glorious late afternoon and sunset slathering ourselves with zinc oxide, doing arts and crafts...

...and molding 10 pounds of ground beef into approximately 65 hamburger patties with our bare hands...

because that is what rock and roll is all about.

And then we drank vodka out of the bottle and put paper bags on our heads...

...while Ben yelled at us to "Jump! JUMP! MORE!" and we had to listen to him because he had a megaphone.
And then I did the running man, and it was documented for all time at around the 3:30 mark.

And then we drank all the wine and moved the furniture around.

And I think there was cake.

And that is how a music video is made.

Here it is:

City Kids Plan a Road Trip

2011-09-18T23:15:00.000-04:00

The Daily Awkward

2011-09-08T18:41:00.004-04:00

[ROBYN suddenly enters Ackloo kitchen, where caterers are staging hors d'oeuvres for fancy executive shindig. WAITER 1 and WAITER 2 are engaged in conversation.]

ROBYN (with unmitigated enthusiasm): Oh WOW! These snacks are no joke! I love food on tiny bread!

[WAITER 1 and WAITER 2 look at her, then resume conversation.]

WAITER 1: Yeah, so anyway, my mom died two years ago. Esophageal cancer.

WAITER 2: Oh man, I'm so sorry. How's your dad doing?

WAITER 1: Well, they were pretty much best friends, so...

[ROBYN grabs canapé and slinks away.]

[SCENE]

Robyn Happens During Hurricane Irene

2011-08-28T13:24:00.003-04:00

From a glorious Friday evening to a soggy Sunday. With inexplicably sped-up audio, giving the impression that I spent the whole weekend doing coke. Which I think adds to the charm.

Ackloo Hurricane Preparedness

2011-08-26T14:17:00.000-04:00

Let's Make Almond Ice Cream!

2011-08-13T14:20:00.015-04:00

It's 100 degrees. I have an ice cream maker. And a book with 300 recipes.

Let's do this.

First, after an arduous decision-making process, I chose almond ice cream. Because almonds are delicious. And it was the first recipe. It begins with "a." That's how that works.

So first you get 7 oz. marzipan, or as I like to call it, "angel poop."

Beat the marzipan and 2/3 cups of sugar together in a bowl, and add three eggs, one at a time. Like this!

Then measure out 1/2 teaspoon almond extract, but first, take a good whiff, because it smells duh-vine.

But don't taste it. Seriously. Smell does not match taste.

Anyway, add the extract and 1/4 teaspoon of salt to the marzipan mix.

In the meantime, bring two cups of half-and-half to a simmer.

Slowly beat the hot half-and-half into the marzipan. Then, pour everything BACK into the saucepan, and whisk constantly over low heat. Whisk until the custard (because that's what it is now -- magic!) is slightly thickened. But keep whisking or the eggs will scramble and you'll ruin everything! DON'T BE YOURSELF.

Strain the hot mix into a large bowl.

Then wait for it to cool.

After it's cooled down a little, stir in one cup heavy cream. Then cover it, put it in the fridge, and say goodnight to it.

Prepare according to your ice cream maker's instructions, transfer to a freezer-safe container for two hours, and scoop!

Of Bands, Boats, Skylines and Explosions

2011-08-09T13:49:00.002-04:00

When last the blog left our friends Atomic Tom, they were tearing up the Internet with their subway video. 5 million views, some national TV appearances and a whole, whole lot of tour van miles later, they're still doing very well, thankyouverymuch, and we're glad to have them back home in NYC for a while after several months on the road.

Recently, the boys played a rock cruise on the East River. After several stiflingly hot days, the evening of the boat cruise was blessedly glorious. And we may be a bunch of jaded, cynical New York hipster-types, but I challenge anyone who finds themselves on a lovely sunset boat ride on the East River and around New York harbor to not find themselves going wicked stupid giddy like a bunch of tourists. And there was a rock show! And a buffet! What could be better?

Maybe if there were some inexplicable mid-set fireworks just as the whole shebang floated under the Brooklyn Bridge...that would be cinematically awesome, right? Could that possibly be arranged? DONE AND DONE:

And there was some music and stuff, too:

Celebrating Marriage in NYC

2011-07-25T17:21:00.003-04:00

The Ackloo LGBT team got up early on a sweltering Sunday morning, made us some signs, and headed down to the clerk's office in Manhattan to celebrate the first same-sex marriages in the borough! Yay! We were prepared to encounter nasty protesters, but the worst of the worst had already fled by the time the first marriages got underway, so it was a big ol' party. Sadly, I didn't get the most exhaustive footage, seeing as I was busy holding signs and getting my picture taken with the Ackloosians and running away from spontaneous media mobs who wanted to talk to the couples, but here's a little taste of what happened:

And if you want a more professional take on it, here's the official Ackloo video:

Midsummer Night's Street Repair

2011-07-14T10:59:00.000-04:00

You'd think they wouldn't do non-emergency street repair between 1 and 4 am on a weeknight. You'd think wrong.

Laundry Day

2011-07-09T12:06:00.001-04:00

Pets are great. Just...great.

Nate Campany: "Call Your Girlfriend"

2011-07-07T14:27:00.001-04:00

I don't have a bad thing to say about Nate Campany. Really. I've tried. I got nothin' on him, other than his latent hostility to visiting the Upper East Side (even when I make steak). If you're not familiar, his original ish is amazing, but in the meantime, check out this ridonk interpretation of Robyn's (not me, the other one) "Call Your Girlfriend."

Three Ladies Singing: The Star-Spangled Banner

2011-07-05T22:04:00.002-04:00

It was a lovely Fourth of July here in NYC. I spent the afternoon hanging out with my pals Jennie, Sabrina, and Cass while they busked in Battery Park singing patriotic songs. They were adoraballs. And then we got burgers and beer and talked about things like double-fisting freedom. And then we tried to see the fireworks, and decided that being crushed to death on 12th Avenue is NOT adoraballs, so we got pie at a diner and then I got to watch the fireworks in my air conditioned apartment sans pants. God bless America.

Juror Instructions

2011-07-02T14:25:00.001-04:00

Serving democracy with unmitigated enthusiasm.

Sheps in Aruba: We Brake for Birds

2011-06-27T12:22:00.003-04:00

This year's vacation in Aruba was a tour de force of doing nothing. Aside from adhering to the various Happy Hours throughout the day (because there are multiple Happy Hours, because it is Aruba, and Aruba is magical) and one off-site snorkeling venture, it was dedicated to sitting, reading bad literature, and eating too many snacks. It was awesome.

So no 9-minute long videos this year. Sob. I know. But I will leave you with 60 seconds of the Family Shep losing it over local wildlife. To know us is to love us. And love birds.

Learn Terrifying Things About Yourself Through Twitter!

2011-06-11T01:05:00.008-04:00

This website took my Twitter feed, sped it through a food processor, and vomited it back up. And this is what happened. My subconscious is a dark, dark, twisted place:

Tirade against people who don't live like a smart-ass pays off. It was making Freedom Tears.

I'm at BAM with you guys. Really hard. And then I don't know I just pretty sure I thought we wound up.

So started whipping up on this week will not sayin. Anyone have to screw stuffed animals. Sent video.

Mmmmmm...smells like an apartment. And ate it. You'll like an apartment.

Yes. Well. NEWSWIRE: Vomiting Woman Sorry about Bun's GI issues. But still, Rockwood bathroom is fucking!

How about bacon, and cheddar jack, it could be sure it won't tell. Just my batshit insane news cycle.

Well. I hate it was 2009. Also, tonight's chores done FAST. I cover gay rights, abortion and still a spy.

I love you know. Bro: Dude! Go throw up! Me: I love you guys. I HATE ANIMALS.

I love you, too. My brain scares me by Rockwood to be a living... DAMMIT!

No pants. Goddamn, spring. Ain't you please embrace unlimited Metro cards? Not just over it. Amiright?

I love your Thin Mints. No." GIMME YOUR THIN MINTS. No." I like a tool. Ben Folds reprise.

This is so important. This is go. Sad. Screw YouTube. Now -- NOW YOU shut up.

Totally stoked to know. It's sweet of dumbfucks. Somebody has a little more massive doses of daily meds!

Fact: Just because you can come, should I CAN'T. I love you, too. Deep-fried peanut butter cup.

Robyn Has a Sore Throat

2011-06-08T22:54:00.001-04:00

Fun with home remedies.

And Then We Made A Music Video!: Greg Holden's "Bar On A"

2011-05-06T11:40:00.003-04:00

My friend Greg Holden has a kick-ass drinking song called "Bar on A." He wanted to make a video for this drinking song. So he came up with the really high-concept idea of getting all of his friends to come to Derek's house, kill off a keg or two, smoke a hookah, and endear ourselves to the neighborhood.

And now we all have something to show our grandkids how awesome we were once. This is my new favorite thing.

Happy Passover, You Guys!

2011-04-24T16:34:00.000-04:00

Ass Smack Heard Round The World

2011-04-20T18:26:00.005-04:00

A funny thing happened when I submitted last year's re-tooled blog on sexual assault to the ACLU Blog of Rights.

Sucker went viral. Or as viral as a profane anecdote on a wonky site can go.

Last I heard, the blog itself got about 15,000 views in 24 hours. The Ackloo site overall usually gets 3000 hits a day. So...this would be a lot. This is what the web traffic on the site looked like. For the record, the blog is "blue."

Plus, marker drawings on the home page. What:

It got re-posted on Hollaback, Daily Kos, Feministing, AlterNet, Streetharassment (which compared it with an awesome video of another redhead calling out a subway pervert), and did a considerable amount of damage on Twitter and Tumblr.

So there's that.

Okay, so it's not Letter from a Birmingham Jail. It's not It Gets Better. It's not gonna get me on Jimmy freakin' Kimmel or whatever (you guys).

But judging from the comments, I think it struck a nerve. Am I perhaps a little full of myself this week? Yes, I am. Am I sorry? Fuck no. That was fun, Internet. Can we do it again?

How To Hit Bottom With Style And Panache (Robyn Happened: Vintage 2008)

2011-04-07T19:12:00.004-04:00

OMIGOD YOU GUYS. I was poking around MySpace for old times' sake and re-reading the ol' blog. It used to live there once upon a time. And I came upon this gem of an entry from December 2008. For those playing along, at the time, I was living in DC and had broken up with a guy who did an Epically Bad Thing, and was perpetually drunk and miserable. It was fantastic. I've hit a bit of an emo patch here in 2011 lately, but finding this was like getting a face-punch across time and space from 2008 Robyn, who's all "Awwwwwww, is widdle hipstew Wobyn sad with her uptown wiverfwont apartment and wock star fwiends and widicuwous job. PISS OFF. DON'T. EVEN. START. WITH. ME." And she has something that resembles a point, poor drunk thing.

And to think I didn't transfer this over because I thought it was oversharing. Hilarious.

HOW TO HIT BOTTOM WITH STYLE AND PANACHE (December 2008)

So you think things can't possibly get any worse? Surprise! They just did! But fear not. Here's some tips on how to properly hit bottom.

1a. If the bad news is delivered in a professional/public setting, and does not entail any life or death type situations, it is critical that you accept it elegantly. Look your assailant in the eye and smile like you love nothing more than being metaphorically shot in the gut at close range. Exit the situation with perfect posture until you are out of sight, dragging your metaphorical entrails behind you.

1b. If, however, the bad news manifests itself in a no kidding, life and death type situation, by all means, skip immediately to step 6 and lose your shit like there's no tomorrow. A good primal scream or prolonged gutteral moan works beautifully. As does a nice fainting spell. In this situation, all bets are off.

2. An escape plan is critical. You must, in the near future, flee the scene, if only for a day or so. Clean up whatever logistical mess must be attended to, and then get the hell out of town. If you've just received the bad news, it might be a good idea to fire off a semi-hysterical missive to out-of-town friends requesting, nay, demanding, their hospitality in the not-too-distant-future. You may lose elegance points here, but they will oblige. They'd be scared not to.

3. If it's seasonally appropriate, and if your city is enlightened enough to have one, visit the neighborhood Festivus pole, and publicly air your grievance anonymously. True, it will not solve your issue, but it will be immensely satisfying. Especially if you have a particularly good grievance, or a series of them presented in bullet form on the back of an envelope that once contained an affidavit from Dell Financial Services.

4. If you have a friend in the vicinity of said Festivus pole, call them immediately upon posting your grievance, and drink copious amounts of adult beverages with them. Bonus points if said friend happens to have a healing mixtape on hand, and is willing to share her steak dinner with you. Make sure you have cab fare before embarking on this step. You'll need it later.

5. On your way home, kick the crap out of a few streetlamps. This town is, after all, trying to kill you, and you must fight back. Just mind your toes.

6. Once, and only once, you are in a safe space, it is now time to lose it. Crumple to the floor and weep generously. I mean really get into it. Get all snotty and ugly and maybe drool a little. Ad-lib. Suggestions: "I don't understaaaaand..." or "Whhhhhyyyyyy?" or just say the F-word. A lot.

7. Pass out, either from exhaustion or alcohol, or both. You can take off your makeup in the morning.

8. Wake up, take an aspirin, dress up pretty, and resolve then and there to move to New York City.

Rollin' With Cannolis...

2011-04-05T20:30:00.015-04:00

I have a friend named Jennie who's a pastry chef. Have you got a pastry chef for a friend? You should. Because you get to spend afternoons like this.

Jennie decided we should all come over to her apartment to make cannolis. I don't know if you know this about cannolis, but they don't just come in a box. They take a lot of time and a lot of effort and a lot of sitting around eating deviled eggs and drinking whiskey while the cannolis take a nap or something in the fridge. Let me illustrate...

Here, Jennie brandishes her Wüsthof, not because we need to chop anything, but because we need to show the cannolis that we are not messing around.

Next, you have to sift the ingredients to make the dough. And then you make dough patties and put them in the fridge.

Then you vogue a bit in your awesome apron.

After a good hour of that, you take out the dough and knead the living hell out of it. This not only makes it nice and pliable, but also works the upper arms a bit, so as to look fetching in aforementioned apron. This is part of the process, and it is very important.

Then -- and this is where we blow your mind -- you run it through A PASTA MAKER. WHAT? I KNOW. You do this roughly 654 times.

Then, you put the ribbons of dough in the fridge again and you drink.

You also have to work on the filling. Here, we see three pounds of a very special ricotta impastata, obtained deep in Brooklyn. I'm not entirely clear on why it was so special, but Jennie assures me it is "the Cadillac of ricotta," and I am in no position to debate her.

So you take the magic ricotta and you beat it with sugar and spices and whatever the hell else you want. We put some chocolate chips in one batch. And blueberry flan in another. I mean, it was getting WACKY. Completely off the chain.

Then you take a huge vat of oil and stick a thermometer in it and convince yourself that you are, in fact, sober enough to take this on without causing horrific injury.

Then you remember that you put strips of dough in the fridge, so you take it out and cut rounds out of them. Then you take your cannoli rollers, which OF COURSE you have...right next to your pasta maker, and you wrap the rounds around the rollers.

Then you drop the rollers in the oil, drain 'em on a plate...

Squish the cheese into the cannoli shells...

Dust 'em with sugar...

AND HOLY CRAP YOU MADE CANNOLIS. IN ONLY FIVE HOURS AND FOUR COCKTAILS.

Then you take the cannolis you worked all day on over to Cobble Hill where a bunch of inebriated people with floppy hair eat them in about three minutes.

And that's how cannolis are made.

How To Do A Badass Photo Shoot (with Jessi Robertson)

2011-04-04T21:12:00.013-04:00

Our story starts out with a musician's nightmare. After working for an insanely long time on her album and spending an ungodly amount of money, my pal Jessi finally received a shipment of 1000 CDs. The CDs represented the realization of so many hopes and dreams and...they all had a manufacturer's error on them that rendered them unusable. DISASTER. OR IS IT? Before taking her hopes and dreams curbside, my other genius pal Lara had an idea. Let's do a photo shoot! she said. Because what could be more satisfying, more decadent, than destroying your own artistic efforts on film? That is baller, friends. Ball. Er.

So we broke into Bar 4 on a Saturday afternoon (okay...nicely asked Larry if we could use the place off-hours. BALLER.) and trashed the place with hundreds of Jessi's jacked-up CDs. The idea was this: Jessi was gonna come in and look hot and lie the hell all over the albums. Were we gonna crease up the booklets? Yah. Were we gonna dent the crap out of the discs? Yeppers. Were we gonna make CD angels on the floor? Well, we would if we felt like lying on the floor at Bar 4. And there are some things you just don't do. Even for ART. Below, we see the awesome photographer Nathaniel Johnston at work. He was the business. And stylist/art director/mastermind tends to the talent's tresses. ALLITERATION. Meanwhile, DJ Shep creates the proper sultry, decadent mood with some really empowering jams. I mean, really sultry. Also, nothing is more rock and roll than chocolate chip cookies that aren't baked all the way through. Because that's the way the MAN wants us to make cookies. And this photo shoot is all about turning convention on its motherfucking head. And also, I, uh, used the wrong pan. We also took the party outside, and threw a bunch of CDs on the ground. That was kinda fun. We're still waiting on the finished photos, but YOU don't have to wait to hear Jessi's un-messed-up album. You can get it on iTunes, and if you wait a few more weeks, she'll have a brand spankin' new shipment of actual CDs that you can hold in your hands. Which we won't throw all over the bar. Unless the CD re-release party is REALLY raging. But we'll buy them first. That's just polite.

UPDATE: Sneak peek of the photo shoot! Hawt!

Dodo

2011-04-01T16:03:00.001-04:00

Ackloo: Haters Gonna Hate

2011-03-31T20:05:00.002-04:00

Voicemail from a fan. Explicit language. Terrible accents.

Deep-Fried Cadbury Cream Eggs Will Save The World

2011-03-09T22:11:00.008-05:00

I got bat mitzvahed when I was 26. Why? Don't worry about it. That's not the point right now. The relevant point is that when you're bat mitzvahed at 26, you don't get a bigass party with a theme and T-shirts and Motown bands and a buttload of presents. You get some nice candlesticks, a lovely dinner, and a nearly lethal amount of whiskey courtesy of your enabling sibling. Really, I don't know why more people don't do it this way. But my bro felt bad that I missed out on the present thing, so he asked what I wanted. And I told him that there was one thing I wanted more than anything in the world: a deep-fryer.

And yea, verily, I was called to the Torah, and a deep-fryer was presented unto me. And it was good. It was so, so good.

Deep-Fryer and I have had a lot of fun in the ensuing years. But today we really took our relationship to the next level. I was puttering around in the kitchen, making chocolate beignets. These consist of chocolate chips wrapped in puff pastry dough and tossed in the deep-fryer. And they are badass. I had one more pastry square left, and I spied on the counter a little seasonal treat I picked up at the Duane Reade...a Cadbury cream egg.

Eureka.

I wrapped the egg in a dough square. I rolled it in my hands to make it smooth. And I tossed the sucker in the oil for four minutes.

This is what came out:

And this is what was inside of that:

What are the ramifications of making Easter treats in a bat mitzvah fryer? DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT. I mean, do you see this? LOOK AT THIS. This is deep-fried perfection. This is a holy thing. This is a bridging of cultures that can only lead to a better world.

Pluralism never tasted so good. One love, y'all. One oily, chocolatey love.

How Did This Happen? Vol. 1

2011-02-22T17:06:00.004-05:00

I had a large soup pot

that had been nesting in large frying pan

and was stuck

as it had been for the past five years.

But I had been using it anyway without incident.

Until Saturday

when I was making butternut squash soup

and transferred the hot pot/pan apparatus to the counter

and placed it on a potholder

which caught on fire

and seared to the bottom of the pan.

Acting quickly, I swiftly pivoted the whole flaming mass to the sink

and extinguished the flames

but not

without

searing my wrist

on the side of the pot.

And that is how I hurt myself this time.

But the soup was great.

Valentine's Day 2011 Mix

2011-02-01T13:40:00.004-05:00

Whether you're out with that special someone, or hangin' with your homies, or watching Strange Sex on TLC because IT'S NOT PORN IF YOU'RE LEARNING SOMETHING GODDAMMIT, everyone needs a valentine. So here's this year's. And here's last year's. Go on, lovahs.

1. Under the Lights (Scourge of the Sea)
2. Collect Call (Metric)
3. Yesterday Threw Everything at Me (Athlete)
4. The Shore (Basia Bulat)
5. Talk to You (Brian Webb)
6. missing piece (illinois)
7. Love Will Come Through (Travis)
8. What is the Light? (Flaming Lips)
9. Sad Eyes (Josh Rouse)
10. As Is (Ani DiFranco)
11. Needles and Pins (Ramones)

Sledding Instructions

2011-01-30T11:01:00.002-05:00

For those of you engaging in winter fun...please...sled cautiously.

Greg Holden: "She's Got Something" (Live at Rockwood Music Hall, Stage 2)

2011-01-29T14:59:00.001-05:00

New to the Lexicon: "Shark Week." You're Welcome, Internet

2011-01-28T13:24:00.002-05:00

me: Did you just say "It's shark week and I'm already emotional?"

Macy: AHAHAHA. yeah, that's what we call being on the rag in my group of girlfriends.

makes it sound more badass.

me: Holy shit. I thought you were talking about the real Shark Week...but this is a million times more awesome.

Macy: HA! yeah. it means no babies

me: I love you.

Tiny Bunny Rage

2011-01-26T22:40:00.002-05:00

Bun Scott doesn't make noise, but he can still express his boundless wrath.

Why My Friends And I Should Never Give Dating Advice

2011-01-21T22:31:00.001-05:00

Today on the Gchats:

me: Maybe I can spell out my intentions with cheese sticks: "I LIKE YOU (marinara sauce)."
Macy: YES!
me: Which is like, 20 cheese sticks...so we'd need two platters.
But then...more cheese!

Post-Birthday Convo

2011-01-19T22:59:00.002-05:00

Me: Dude, according to my phone, I called you at 4:27 am and left a 43-second long message.
Bob: No, dude. You probably talked to me. I had no messages.
Me: ...I wonder what we talked about.
Bob: I don't know. But I bet it was epic.
Me: We're amazing.

30th Birthday Morning After

2011-01-14T16:12:00.003-05:00

I had my 30th birthday at Rockwood Music Hall. And it was awesome. And my friends Luke Wesley, Bryan Dunn and Shwa Losben played music. And it was awesome. And the cops busted in during Luke's set for no good reason and left. And it was confusing. And I may have climbed onstage multiple times and made semi-coherent speeches and sent ill-advised texts. It was a wonderful birthday. It was not a wonderful next day. There is no video of the party. There is, however, this. Watch, and feel good about yourself.

Confusing the cat on the holidays

2010-12-19T19:25:00.000-05:00

Own Crayola Art! Help Kids!

2010-12-12T16:49:00.003-05:00

Every year, my pal Ben Wagner organizes a holiday record and concert to benefit 826NYC, an organization dedicated to inspiring kids to write, and helping their teachers help them improve creative and expository writing skills. There's always a bunch of goodies to auction off for the cause as well. This year, I took out the Crayolas and drew each of this year's artists getting down Charles Schulz-style. This drawing will be one of the items available for auction. So if you're in NYC on Thursday, December 16, stop by Rockwood 2 and see a great show, help some kids, and maybe add to your Crayola wall art collection!

The Holiday Mixtapes: Back Issues

2010-12-04T12:39:00.009-05:00

A Very Shepherd Chrismukkah: 2008 Holiday Mix

1. The Christmas Wish -- John Denver and the Muppets
2. Santa Claus Is Back In Town -- Elvis Presley
3. Christmas Blues -- Ramsey Lewis Trio
4. The Lonely Jew On Christmas -- South Park
5. Little Saint Nick -- Beach Boys
6. The Christmas Song -- Nat King Cole
7. All I Want For Chanukah (Is Hookers And Blow) -- Shwa Losben
8. Fairytale Of New York -- The Pogues
9. Merry Xmas -- Slade
10. Merry Christmas (I Don't Want To Fight) -- The Ramones

#2009: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack

1. Sultan -- What Made Milwaukee Famous
2. Hang On -- Illinois
3. Good On Paper -- Shwa Losben
4. Let It Ride -- Wes Tucker and the Skillets
5. Stay Positive -- The Hold Steady
6. I'll Go Crazy If I Don't Go Crazy Tonight -- U2
7. Stronger -- Rebecca Loebe
8. Martha -- Brian Webb
9. Dracula Moon -- Joan Osborne
10. Better Alone -- Chris Cubeta and the Liars Club
11. Go -- Andy Mac
12. Constructive Summer -- The Hold Steady
13. Silverline -- Bryan Dunn
14. Clear -- Lara Ewen and the Unstrung Orchestra

Valentine's Day Mix (2010)

1. This Bouquet -- Ani DiFranco
2. Mulder and Scully -- Catatonia
3. Only You -- Yaz
4. Do Ya -- Matthew Sweet
5. Bad Reputation -- Freedy Johnston
6. Amy -- Shwa
7. There Tonight -- Rebecca Loebe
8. Temptation -- Moby
9. Strange Currencies -- REM
10. Blame You -- Wakey! Wakey!
11. Out To Get You -- James
12. New York City -- Taylor Davis
13. Romeo and Juliet -- Indigo Girls
14. Ballad of Emily Rose -- Bryan Dunn
15. Moment of Surrender -- U2

East Side Story: 2010 Original Motion Picture Soundtrack

1. I Hope You Like This Song -- Luke Wesley
2. L.E.S. (Lovely) -- Laura Jean Binkley
3. Sara With No H -- Andy Mac
4. I Could Sing -- Nate Campany and the Serenade
5. Slow Burn -- Misty Boyce
6. Flowers -- Bryan Dunn
7. One Day -- Lara Ewen
8. Take Me Out -- Atomic Tom
9. Brooklyn -- Wakey! Wakey!
10. Selline -- Tim Blane
11. I Don't Wanna Wait -- Rosi Golan
12. Worst Is Over -- Shwa Losben
13. Love Is Here To Stay -- Casey Shea

Valentine's Day Mix 2011

1. Under the Lights -- Scourge of the Sea
2. Collect Call --Metric
3. Yesterday Threw Everything at Me -- Athlete
4. The Shore -- Basia Bulat
5. Talk to You -- Brian Webb
6. missing piece -- illinois
7. Love Will Come Through -- Travis
8. What is the Light? -- Flaming Lips
9. Sad Eyes -- Josh Rouse
10. As Is -- Ani DiFranco
11. Needles and Pins -- Ramones

Whiskey and Wellbutrin: 2011 Motion Picture Soundtrack

1. Almost Everything -- Wakey! Wakey!
2. Three Years On -- Bryan Dunn
3. Reckless -- Lara Ewen
4. You Can Make Him Like You -- The Hold Steady
5. Dead Man's Saloon -- Creeper Lagoon
6. Bar on A -- Greg Holden
7. Rip Her to Shreds -- Blondie
8. The Cowboy Song -- Kelli Rae Powell
9. Fading Lately -- Katie Costello
10. Treat the Disease -- Shwa Losben
11. Pretty Boy -- Luke Wesley
12. Break My Heart Around You -- Atomic Tom
13. Star Pupil -- Abby Ahmad
14. If You Don't Mind (Baby Go Ahead) -- Alec Gross
15. World United Already -- Wheat
16. Head Full of Doubt -- The Avett Brothers
17. Whiskey and Cigarettes -- Jessi Robertson
18. You're Aging Well -- Dar Williams

Valentine's Day Mix 2012

1. Kiss Me Deadly -- Lita Ford
2. Half Light -- Athlete
3. You and Me -- Jessi Robertson
4. Nothing's As Good -- Andy Mac
5. Cassette Tape -- Katie Costello
6. Here Is Your Ballad -- Luke Wesley
7. You, South Dakota -- Bryan Dunn
8. an open door -- illinois
9. Guy What Takes His Time -- Kelli Rae Powell
10. A Good Life -- Jill Sobule
11. Under the Moonlight -- Travis
12. Think of Me -- Rosi Golan
13. The Outlaw Song -- Lara Ewen

East Side Story: 2010 Original Motion Picture Soundtrack

2010-12-04T09:57:00.004-05:00

Two years ago, when I found myself in diminished circumstances, I decided to send everybody holiday CD mixes to save money. And damned if it wasn't the most well-received holiday gift season ever. So I'm doing it again, for the third year in a row. This being my first full year in New York, I decided to make a playlist of some of the lovely and amazing people that I've gotten to know. This is by no means an exhaustive list, since that would be a multi-volume work, but it's a nice sampling. Happy new year, you guys!

1. I Hope You Like This Song -- Luke Wesley
2. L.E.S. (Lovely) -- Laura Jean Binkley
3. Sara With No H -- Andy Mac
4. I Could Sing -- Nate Campany and the Serenade
5. Slow Burn -- Misty Boyce
6. Flowers -- Bryan Dunn
7. One Day -- Lara Ewen
8. Take Me Out -- Atomic Tom
9. Brooklyn -- Wakey! Wakey!
10. Selline -- Tim Blane
11. I Don't Wanna Wait -- Rosi Golan
12. Worst Is Over -- Shwa Losben
13. Love Is Here To Stay -- Casey Shea

Ackloo HQ; Friday Night; 8:14 PM

2010-11-21T22:37:00.001-05:00

We are serious people doing serious things. Seriously.

And Then I Got Dressed As Daria And Hula-Hooped On Allen Street

2010-10-31T22:31:00.000-04:00

Shwa Live at Flux Studios

2010-10-31T16:59:00.002-04:00

Shwa played a Doctors Without Borders fundraiser at Flux Studios this week. It was a Halloween fundraiser, hence Marty McFly on piano and Wolverine on drums.

Robyn's CMJ Debut...Sorta!

2010-10-24T11:55:00.003-04:00

"If anyone knows this song, come up on stage," says Nate. Well, we knew this was inevitable. Also inevitable...strategic placement of yours truly away from any microphone. Good thinking, team.

Featuring Nate Campany, Kyle Patrick, Jenn Dees, Eric Espiritu, Phil Galitzine and Adam Christgau on drums -- all of whom arguably know their way around the stage a tad better than I do. Arguably.

My Friends Are Internet Sensations

2010-10-16T11:16:00.004-04:00

This year I became good pals with the guys in the Brooklyn band Atomic Tom, who have had something of an extraordinary year. They got signed to Universal Republic in January, and there were drinks. They've been performing their asses off, and there were post-show pizzas and omelettes and late nights and more drinks.

But with this YouTube video that they shot on the B train, things have gotten a little ridonk. I saw it when they first posted it, and only a few dozen folks had viewed it, and it made me smile. Then a couple hundred more people saw it. Then a few thousand. Then a hundred thousand. Then the New York Times paid attention. And Wired. Next thing you know, they're lighting up Twitter and their album has shot to #42 on iTunes. The Internet is amazing. And so are my pals, who are pretty handy with real instruments as well, FYI.

Congrats, guys. I hope this sudden notoriety means we can still get omelettes and stuff. Maybe now we can spring for a side of bacon, yes? Yes!

UPDATE (10/20/10): Over 2 million YouTube views, #10 album and #100 single on iTunes, a CNN appearance, and, yes, there has been bacon. And bourbon. A good amount of bourbon. Hooray for everything.

"Forever Young" Music Video

2010-10-09T10:40:00.002-04:00

My friend Ben Wagner made an album of cover songs for his newborn daughter, featuring a lot of my pals from the NY music scene. This video for "Forever Young" features baby pictures of a lot of those musicians, and some of the more illustrious, pigtailed hangers-on (at 2:29).

Personal Assistant

2010-09-18T10:49:00.000-04:00

Everyone needs one...

New York, I Love You

2010-09-11T10:27:00.005-04:00

Before I ever loved a boy, I loved New York City.

I went on an 8th grade field trip to see Beauty and the Beast, stepped off the bus in the middle of Times Square, and knew what it was like to belong somewhere. I came home that night raving to my parents, and they also knew that I was never going to be Philly-for-life.

I applied to Columbia and New York University, and to some other colleges outside the city, but woke up having panic dreams that I got into Boston University, which would have been a perfectly lovely school, but as far as I was concerned it would have been a disaster. I was a tad dramatic about it. And I DID get into BU. But I got into NYU too. Smell ya later, Bahstahn.

And didn't New York deliver. I lived on Broadway and 10th, with sweeping views of Grace Church. I fell in love with a boy. I worked at the Letterman show. I took journalism classes so one day I could write for Entertainment Weekly. It was a beautiful, beautiful time.

I was 20 years old on September 11, 2001. I was in an 8:30 am digital journalism class when someone came into our room and said "I don't know what you want to do about this, but two planes just hit the World Trade Center." Only one girl got it immediately, and ran out of the room to call her mother. The rest of us stared at each other, decided to break up class, and wandered outside. I walked around the corner to LaGuardia and Washington Square South, which is where I saw the towers. Then I got it, too, and turned and walked back to my dorm at Union Square. Then I ran.

I wanted to call my parents, who worked at a military base, thinking they might know something. Nobody on the street was speaking. There was almost no traffic, save for emergency vehicles heading downtown. All the cabs had pulled over and were listening to the radio. That was the only sound. When I got home, I couldn't get a cell signal, so I went outside. In the 20 seconds it took to get outside, the south tower had evaporated, leaving a huge, black cumulonimbus cloud on the horizon. Behind me, a man emerged from the Union Square subway, and had been stuck there through everything. He asked what the hell happened. I told him, "A plane hit the building and the building fell down." Fighter jets screamed overhead. The man looked at me, and just walked past me toward the front of the crowd.

I will not pretend that my experience is the same as those who lost someone that day. Or the same as those who escaped the towers and had to walk home covered in blood and dust. Or the same as those who lost someone overseas fighting for the freedoms that were attacked that day. But I do know that after that day, I canceled my Entertainment Weekly subscription and started paying more attention to the news. I loved the band U2, but I stopped wishing Bono would shut up about politics, and instead read about Africa. Having seen the worst that people could do to each other, to MY CITY, I chose to believe in the best of people, and wanted to work for that. That's what led me to leave NYC for DC, and what eventually called me back home to work for the ACLU.

Today I'm back in New York, watching boats traverse the East River outside of the window of my beautiful apartment, and listening to the names of victims being read on NY1. I work near Ground Zero, and still think the skyline looks wrong without the towers. It will never look right to me. I still have a hard time watching footage of the disaster, and will often physically shudder or retch when I see pictures of it.

But my relationship to New York remains the most stable and functional one in my life. I still know what it's like to belong somewhere, and I'm so grateful for this place, for its people, and for the thousand small daily moments that remind me how incredible, and indomitable, this city is. Tonight, NYC and I will have a drink, and listen to music, and gather with other people who know and appreciate that no ideology is bigger than humanity at its best.

It is still a beautiful, beautiful time.

Ackloo HQ, 9:34 PM

2010-09-08T23:30:00.001-04:00

Real Women Ride Fake Bulls

2010-08-25T23:19:00.007-04:00

This Saturday night, my gal friends and I dressed up cute, knocked back some whiskey, went to a bar that played karaoke-worthy hair metal and was populated with a dozen bronzed B&T bachelorette parties and rode mechanical bulls until our thighs ached.

That's pretty much it.

Oh, and we saw a lady's naughty place. Please people, if you're gonna ride the mechanical bull, be classy. Wear underpants. For the benefit of all of us. Or at least bring wetnaps. The more you know. XO

Oh, fine. Audio/visual aids below. Of me and my classy friends. Not vajayjays. Pervs.

Soup Is Not A Joke

2010-08-20T19:24:00.003-04:00

Here's the deal, people. I'm a professional lady of many talents, but I take my homemaking skills seriously. Beds are made every morning. Brownies are made from scratch, preferably with hazelnut spread. And soup? Soup is a goddamn religion.

We all know that homemade chicken soup is infused with magical powers. It just is. But when I say homemade, I mean you don't start with a box of Campbell's broth. Bullshit. NO. You start with a damn chicken. Like Perdue. You wanna kill the sucker yourself, go for it, but really, that's magic overkill.

You immerse the chicken in water. You simmer it. You chop vegetables. You watch the Oscars for four hours while it turns into liquid gold. You tend to that sonofabitch. You drain it. You skim it. You pick its dead carcass. You get meat out of vertebrae. It's messy and involved and infused with LOVE.

Then you freeze it. You wait until you or a loved one fall ill. Then you bring it out of cryonics to save the day, like Stallone in Demolition Man. Chop up a few more veggies. Add some egg noodles. What's that, cold virus? FUCK YOU. YOU ARE NO MATCH FOR UNBEATABLE SOUP LOVE MAGIC. BE GONE.

And that's what soup is all about.

I cooked up a ton of this recently. I decided I would have it for my dinner at work this week. So I brought 2 quarts of it in Tupperware, and put it in the Ackloo fridge. Out of the way. Not taking up much space. Ahn. I'd be healthy, well-fed, and if anyone fell ill, I could easily deliver the magic elixir to them on the way home. Soup love magic!

So on Friday night, after a hard day of doing nothing much except SAVING THE WORLD AND STUFF, I just wanted a bowl of soup. So at 6, I went off to the fridge and...

Nothing.

No soup.

No Tupperware.

No magic.

No dinner.

So I did the only logical thing. I bitched about it on Twitter, fired off some incensed texts to friends about a soup thief, and then I blogged it out. It's a process.

I can only hope that this was some Les Miserables-type-shit wherein someone was so desperately ill and poor that they were too ashamed to even ask for the soup. That would be heartwarmingly lame.

But I think it was just a thieving douchenozzle.

So. Hours of preparation. Gone. Just think about that the next time you raid the office fridge. You're not just stealing dinner. You're stealing magic.

I hope you choke on a magic egg noodle, soup thief.

UPDATE: The soup apparently fell victim to an overzealous cleaning crew on Friday. I have recovered my Tupperware. I have not, however, recovered my indignation. Aggressive labeling system now in place for all fridge commodities.

In Praise of Zelda the Turkey

2010-08-08T11:35:00.004-04:00

Like anyone else who falls in love with New York, I'm a sucker for the marquee attractions. I visit the Met at least once a month, I swoon over the skyline, and godsohelpme I love Rockefeller Center at Christmas. But it's the little things that make for an enduring affair. One of my very favorite little things about New York that few people know about is Zelda the turkey.

Maybe I'm ornithologically biased because I'm a big old birdwatching nerd, and I've mentioned Zelda briefly before, but I think the fact that there's a wild turkey living in Battery Park for no discernible reason other than she just seems to like it there is charming as hell. She even has her own Wikipedia entry. She's a bona fide New York character. And she's named after F. Scott Fitzgerald's wife, who at one point was found wandering in Battery Park in the grip of madness. If that's not New York gothic, I don't know what is.

But as for Zelda the turkey, she seems to be pretty well-adjusted. She's been in Lower Manhattan for years, she takes tourists in stride, and happily wanders among the people lining up for the Statue of Liberty ferry, though she will get a little annoyed when kids chase her. The other day she sat next to me as I ate my dinner in the park. It was awesome.

And there are no male turkeys reported in the area. Zelda does not seem to mind. She is her own turkey. We could learn a lot from Zelda.

Here's a brief video of Zelda saying hello. It's not my best cinematography, and I inadvertently cut it off early because I was so delighted she was coming over, but you get the idea. Viva Zelda.

Music Monday: Starring Lara Ewen, Luke Wesley, Grace Love, The Swell Season, Bryan Dunn,and Kelli Rae Powell

2010-08-02T23:34:00.004-04:00

Oh, Park Slope. So manicured. So genteel. Give or take the odd brutal tire iron beating. So posh. So goddamn hard to get to from the Upper East Side. I mean, really. Can the F train work with me even once? No? Dammit, you guys.

Such is my commitment to hanging, though, that I've been clocking a lot of hours at Bar 4 lately. One of the reasons is the lovely Lara Ewen, who sings some pretty tunes when she's not getting me into a reasonable amount of trouble:

Also this week, Bar 4 hosted the Local Correspondents Tribute to Radiohead, featuring Luke Wesley:

...and Grace "American Idol-bound" Love

But it's not only folks I know rocking the Slope. On a gloriously mild evening, I went to see the Swell Season at Prospect Park, and oh my goodness, wasn't it lovely. Seriously, I think it was one of the best live shows I ever saw. This is one of the more quiet moments:

But lest the Lower East Side feel left out, I spent some time at Rockwood with Bryan Dunn, accompanied by the soon-to-be-wed Kelli Rae Powell:

Aruba Haiku-ba!

2010-07-31T16:42:00.005-04:00

Postcards may be an endangered species. With wireless everywhere, you're never really out of touch. But I'm still a little old-school. I like sending them. And from what I gather, people still like getting them. Getting real mail is fun! The problem, though, is that it's hard to make vacation postcards exciting. You have next to no room to write (though this is less of a problem if you're a skilled Twitterattzo), but really..."Having a great time! It's lovely here! See you soon, SUCKERS." Not the world's greatest prose.

But Lisa and I have this figured out. We decided to detail last month's vacation in a bunch of haiku poems, and distribute them among our pals. We put a lot of thought into this. We made sure that no two people in the same social circle received the same poems. Of course, this assumes, pretty narcissisticly, that our pals would be so damn delighted that SURELY they would be comparing which little nuggets o'verse they received from us. Which is highly unlikely. But the point is we were being THOUGHTFUL.

So, five weeks after the fact, we're pretty sure that the third-class mail system has delivered all of the postcards (I said we were thoughtful. I didn't say we weren't cheap), so here is the complete Aruba Haiku-ba collection. Poetry, you guys. Classy stuff.

Routine
Get up, go to beach.
Drink, eat. Go to beach. Eat more.
Life is very hard.

Sunscreen
Poor application
of SPF 70
yields grotesque patterns.

The girl is splotchy.
Kerry just wanted a base.
The skin cancer brews.

Mission Statement
Our mission here is
to keep a constant buzz and
wear no proper pants.

Off-Roading
Dangerous terrain
and guess what? You are driving.
This is not a joke.

The jeep bumps along
and I never thought this was
how I'm gonna die.

Snorkeling
Parrotfish seems nice
but he's only using you
for your Wonder Bread.

Storytime
Well, in retrospect,
Kite Runner and Black Dahlia
make for weird beach reads.

Boys
Single men are scarce.
It's okay, there is some rum.
Birds flock to the bar.

Just when things look bleak
along comes the Dutch navy.
There is hope again.

Hors d'Oeuvres
Cheese is so awesome.
We eat a lot of gouda.
Yum on a triscuit.

Mistaken Identity
Who is the old guy
singing Sinatra? Oh, it's
the prime minister.

Good Morning
I don't care that it's
only 10:30. There is
rum to drink, dammit.

Cocktail Hour
Ice clinks in Robyn's
glass, signaling a request:
More coconut rum.

Uninvited Guest
The sea is tranquil.
Calm. Clear. Without disturbance.
'Til fish in my pants.

Threat From Above
Pretty sky. I look
up to see blue. Or am I
soon pelican food?

Either Way A Winner
Icy clear with salt
makes me happy. Ocean? Or
margarita glass?

Acid Reflux
Lasagna is good.
I'm uncomfortably full.
It's cool...I caught it.

Shwa Returns to New York

2010-07-19T21:48:00.004-04:00

Our buddy Shwa has been in LA this summer doing...whatever the hell it is you do in LA. Lest we be bereft for too long, he came back for a visit recently, and treated us to some songs at Rockwood.

Here's his cover of Beck's "Sexx Laws"

And the best song written about "Rookie of the Year," maybe ever.

Robyn Draws: Internal Affairs

2010-07-15T00:05:00.001-04:00

Robyn Draws: A Matter of Perspective

2010-07-12T00:54:00.003-04:00

This Week-ish In Music: LES Shuttle Run Edition (Starring Tim Blane, Bryan Dunn, the Ramblers, Kyle Patrick, Luke Wesley and Misty Boyce)

2010-07-07T15:01:00.005-04:00

You guys remember the shuttle run? It was part of that godawful presidential fitness challenge they made you do in gym class, and it required you to run a short distance, pick up an eraser, run back, put the eraser down, run back, twist your knee, writhe around on the floor a little, then go to the nurse and get an ice pack and be really satisfied with yourself that you took yourself out of commission before you had to run the mile. At least that's how I remember it.

ANYWAY, the past few days I've been doing a shuttle run of sorts between Allen and Houston Streets, dashing between Rockwood and the Mercury Lounge, and various watering holes and cafes in between. I'm willing to admit it bordered on the compulsive this weekend. That's why I'm totally changing it up and going to hang in Park Slope for a while. Diversity is good.

We started things off Thursday night at Rockwood 2 with Mr. Tim Blane and company:

Then on Saturday, it was over to the Mercury Lounge for Bryan Dunn and his BADASS cover of "Careless Whisper":

Bryan's original stuff isn't half-bad either:

Also at the Merc that night were our pals the Ramblers:

Then, just after the Ramblers were finished, it was time to dash around the corner to Rockwood to see Kyle Patrick:

And then a couple days later, it was back to Rockwood 2 for Misty Boyce:

...and Luke Wesley and Mike Grubbs!

Phew, you guys!

Fireworks Over the East River

2010-07-02T16:44:00.001-04:00

Filmed from my apartment. New York is awesome.

The Aruba Vacation: The Video: The Blog Post

2010-06-30T16:18:00.004-04:00

Beauty. Terror. Ostriches.

Oh, and for those who need context on the whole moth thing, please see last year's Robyn vs. Moth. It's a Robyn Happens classic.

Local Correspondents Tribute to Ourselves

2010-06-15T22:51:00.003-04:00

Well, isn't this precious.

Bar 4 often hosts tribute nights. Previous rock fests have included tributes to Bruce Springsteen, Madonna, and Tom Petty. This Friday saw an unprecedented event: the tribute to ourselves.

Yep. Kids from the scene covering kids from the scene. The ultimate tribute to peers.

And so NOT an indication that we've run out of ideas. Perish the thought.

Here's Jessi Robertson covering Kevin Johnston:

Andy Mac covering Michael Wagner:

Jeremiah Birnbaum covering Debbie Miller:

And Lara Ewen covering Bryan Dunn:

This Week(-ish) In Music: Starring Kyle Patrick, Jesse Ruben, Athlete, Bryan Dunn, Bucky Hayes and Lara Ewen

2010-06-13T18:36:00.003-04:00

Kyle Patrick and Jesse Ruben covering Sam Cooke at Rockwood 2. Classy!

Athlete at Bell House. Hey, America. Now that we've got a little U.S./England angst out of our system, let's get on board with this band. The UK's already figured out how awesome they are. You should too.

Also in Brooklyn, Bucky Hayes and the Radio played at Union Hall, and featured the amazing colossal Lara Ewen. Hey, you guys. She says "shit." Deal.

And Bryan Dunn kicked a little ass that night, too. I said "ass." Cope.

The Icy Cool Feel of Victory

2010-06-08T20:58:00.001-04:00

The most triumphant video you will see all year...

Robyn vs. Window Air Conditioning Unit (A Tragedy)

2010-06-07T09:48:00.003-04:00

In which we discover that sheer pluck and a stubborn resolve to stick to an agenda are not enough to cool off an apartment.

It's 94 F**king Degrees In My Apartment

2010-06-06T10:12:00.002-04:00

Sometimes toughing it out is for tiny babies.

Deconstruction of a Monday Night

2010-06-03T15:36:00.003-04:00

Memorial Day evening. Allen Street. This is Rosi and Phil singing a sweet song at Rockwood 2. Lovely, civilized. Ahn. But that barely perceptible drunken giggling off-camera hints at more sinister forces at work...

...and then, without warning, we find ourselves in the Van Halen stage of the evening, which is widely regarded as the larval stage between dignified acoustic comportment and karaoke chaos...

...and then, I don't know, you guys. Journey. Purple pants. Unbridled shredding. Difficult-to-maintain camera angles. Magic. You know? You know.

Carolyn Stories

2010-05-29T10:41:00.006-04:00

I lost my best friend on May 29, 2003. The position, for all intents and purposes, remains unfilled.

This is Carolyn. She was almost 23. She was beautiful, sweet, and kicked serious ass:

Carolyn and I met in junior high. Here, she and Kyra are re-enacting the movie poster of the Charlie Sheen-Emilio Estevez opus, Men at Work while on vacation in Rehobeth Beach. This behavior is kind of why we became friends.

On paper, Carolyn and I didn't make much sense. I was a bookish, Type-A, spiritually ambiguous, painfully shy nerd who (at the time) knew nothing about music. She was a bubbly, blond, devout Christian who loved grunge and classic rock, and who struggled with academics, even though she was actually one of the wisest and most intuitive people I ever met.

But Carolyn had a unique, undeniable energy that just made her fun to be around. Which sounds like a cliche thing to say about someone who's died, but I think those on Team 215 who had the privilege of knowing her will back me up on that.

Carolyn had a way of turning mundane suburban exploits into adventures that we talked about years after the fact. And she had a way of articulating things that made my head explode. Everyone in my crew has a Carolyn Story, and can call up a bunch of Carolynisms.

She loved music, and loved to dance. She helped me out in both departments a lot. Her initial intervention: "Robyn. I love you. But you dance like a praying mantis about to eat its mate." This is what friends tell you. When there's no boys around.

She's also responsible for dragging me -- dragging me -- to my first U2 show, because I was reluctant to spend $80 to see "some old-man band." She insisted on going to the Elevation Tour, and it blew my mind, kick-started my musical awakening, sparked my interest in international issues, and eventually led me to abandon the journalism career path to move to DC and start doing PR for nonprofits. Arguably, all her fault. Carolyn's take: "Meh. Zoo TV was better."

And holy crap, did she love amusement parks. If there was a carnival in town, we were going to it and riding every ride until someone puked.

Dorney Park was the ultimate natural habitat. Because it also had a water park. I mean, come ON.
She also accompanied me and my pals Kyra, Melissa, and Meredith to our first unsupervised trip to New York in 1997. We thought we were serious hot stuff. We went to Planet Hollywood, you guys. PLANET HOLLYWOOD.

We also really liked haunted hayrides. Long after we were the oldest ones there without parents. It was just fun. Even that one time when the grim reaper surprised me and I accidentally kicked him in the nuts. Actually, especially that time.

She also helped facilitate my being friends with boys. This was invaluable.

And not taking yourself too seriously. I still miss her guidance there.

We actually became closer after graduation, after I moved to New York. Whenever I came home, she would be the first person I'd call, and I hosted her in my dorm a lot, once I figured out there was more to NYC than Planet Hollywood.

Then, one year, Carolyn got sad. And she struggled. And no matter what we did, or how often we told her we loved her and she could come to us with anything, she couldn't stop being sad. The last time I talked to her, I had just moved to DC and we made plans for her to come see me in June. I told her that now that I had my own place, she was always welcome to hop a train and come hang out if she needed to clear her head. She said she appreciated that, and she loved me. And she asked if I was her best friend. "Yeah, man" (because that's how we talked to each other). "Of course." That was May 23, 2003.

Six days later, at 10 p.m. on May 29, Kyra called me. "I don't know how to say this, but Carolyn just died." I gasped and asked "Is she gonna be okay?" Because that's what your brain does when you get a phone call like that.

I still think about her a lot. I imagine talking to her whenever I meet a new boy, or whenever I'm going through some hard stuff, or when I'm at a U2 concert. Her favorite U2 song is "Stay (Faraway So Close)." I cried when they played it live last year.

I hate how Carolyn's story ended. But that's not what I think about when I think of her. I think about how her favorite color was purple, and how she liked to go to the covered bridge and talk about boys, and how she loved lobster ravioli, and how she tamed the squirrels in her backyard, and how honored she was when we let her light the Chanukah candles, and how we got caught in a lightning storm and thought we were gonna die and when we didn't we laughed until we couldn't breathe...I have a lot of Carolyn Stories.

I just wish I had more. You guys would have loved her.

Dammit, Carolyn. Miss you, Carolyn. XOXOXO

This Week in Musica (Shwa CD Release Edition)

2010-05-24T20:59:00.012-04:00

So, Shwa. You know, the dude I've known since junior high and who lived down the street from me in DC but I didn't really hang with until we became grown-ups* and then I drew his fliers and got silly at his gigs** and then I moved to New York and co-opted all his friends? That guy.

ANYWAY, Shwa has a new CD out called Good Times, Good Times (available at iTunes, Amazon and CDBaby, you guys) and we just couldn't let an opportunity like that pass without a well-documented party. Which is what we did at Mercury Lounge last week. It was especially exciting because, in addition to his legendary*** band the Good Times, there was a horn section! Unprecedented in Shwa history! So of course I was asked to film the crap out of it. And I did. Check it out! And buy a CD! If for no other reason, my name's in the credits, like, TWICE****. So there's that.

* Grown-ups being a relative term.
** To put it mildly. 2009, you guys. 2009.
*** In our own minds.
**** Money may have changed hands.

Here's "Treat the Disease," starring drummer Matt's incredibly choreographed hair. Seriously, guys, did we plan that? Because it works.

Then we have the showstopping "Brooklyn Girls,"

And the future bar mitzvah staple "Penultimate Dance." And for those of you with delicate sensibilities, um, he's saying "Shake your Bics." Because that's what you have to do sometimes. To get the ink and all. Yep.

And then "Sandi Don't Worry," which has no horns, but eff it, it's my favorite song on the album. And for those of you with delicate sensibilities, he's saying "fuck."

Wrens Are Assholes

2010-05-22T14:38:00.005-04:00

Just look at this little son of a bitch:

Looks cute, right? Pretty innocuous, yes?

WRONG.

This little fucker is a stone cold killer.

A few weeks ago, you may recall that the Family Shep embarked on an emergency mission to save a chickadee nest. Today I get the following e-mail:

"A few days after you left, the wrens came and cleaned out the Chickadee nest including all the eggs. The only way we could have prevented it would have been to install a wren guard. We didn't know that wrens were so hostile to other species. Dad."

What the hell, wrens? Think you're hot shit with your short little beak and perky little upright tails and your cheerful songs and balancing effect on the insect population? FUCK YOU. We protected that chickadee house. I blogged about it. You have pissed off the whole Internet, wrens. It hates you. Cute Overload will not have your kind.

Go to hell, wrens.

We'll totally look for you on the feeder.

UPDATE I have since been informed that after they destroyed the chickadee nest, they didn't even bother to live in the birdhouse. Worst birds ever.

"Why Can't You Just Stay In Tonight?"

2010-05-19T17:55:00.005-04:00

Because there's a really rad band playing.
Because my friends will be there.
Because my friends are playing in a really rad band.
Because of a boy.
Because I promised.
Because I love me some tapas.
Because after seven years of going home on time to cook dinner and watch Jeopardy, I realized I much prefer this.
Because it's on the way.
Because I've run out of Lost episodes to watch.
Because the Obama administration waited until freakin' 6 pm to dump the damn FOIA documents and there's no way I'm going to Gristede's so I might as well go to Allen Street.
Because Koz scored tickets.
Because I'm not really keen to go home to that empty apartment tonight.
Because missing the moment is unacceptable.
Because it's pub quiz night.
Because it's going to be EPIC, DUDE. EP. ICK.
Because the Eagles aren't on TV today.
Because I had a crap day at work.
Because I live in New York City. Der.
Because I need a drink and a hug.
Because Jennie made cupcakes.
Because it's beautiful out.
Because the laundry can freakin' wait.
Because I'm gonna be glad I did this when I'm old and boring.
Because I already scooped the litterbox and showered this morning, so I'm good.
Because this is where I want to be.
Because if you had a second chance at the road not taken, you'd do it too.

NYC Love Letters: Central Park

2010-05-18T14:21:00.005-04:00

When I lived in DC, my visits to NYC weren't as frequent as I would have liked them to be. So when I would visit, there were certain items on the itinerary that absolutely had to happen. One of those was to take at least 20 minutes to sit in Central Park, no matter the weather, and watch people go by. Usually I'd go at sunset, over by the Upper West Side's 72nd Street entrance, when all of the families would be out, and people would be going for their evening run, or walking their dog. And I'd always wonder if these people knew how amazing it was to have this place as part of their routine, and if they knew how fortunate they were to be able to walk a few blocks from their apartments and think of Central Park -- Central Park! -- as their own backyard. Did they know how goddamn lucky they were?

Guess what? They do.

This Month In Musica (Boys in Tight Pants Edition)

2010-05-14T17:43:00.009-04:00

I've been pretty lame about posting the music clips with any regularity this month, so here's a sample of the past two weeks. Watching all of these at once, two things become clear: 1. I know some very talented folks and 2. I hang out with guys who wear much, much tighter pants than I do. And you know what? That's okay. Honestly, you guys. We're not in DC anymore, are we?

Anyway, here's Nate Campany at Rockwood doing "Audrey":

And Kyle Patrick next door getting all retro with it on "I Only Know How to be in Love":

And Atomic Tom and friends doing an impromptu set that same night. The impromptu part is part of why it's a little hard to hear at first, but it all comes nicely together for the singalong at the end.

See, you stick around the Rockwoods long enough, a set or two is gonna break out. It just happens. So do Queen singalongs. And two-stepping to Led Zeppelin with boys named Ignacio. And that's all I can tell you on the blog. You'll just have to come out for the rest.

Family Shep Chickadee Rescue

2010-05-13T17:27:00.004-04:00

It was a really windy day this Mother's Day at the Shepherd Family Homestead. There we were, enjoying our pre-cocktail hors d'oeuvres, when Mama Shep burst out in alarm. The wind had been tossing the birdhouse in the oak tree around so hard, that the damn roof fell off, and the poor little chickadee family inside was left open to the elements. Needless to say, we sprang into action:

The mother chickadee, however, wasn't quite as sure about the proceedings, and yelled like hell at us the whole time:

I tried assuring her that all would be well, and the babies were in good hands, but she was having none of it. Also, she's a freakin' bird:

Wee little chickadee eggs:

Dadoo Shep to the rescue with super glue!

Meanwhile, everyone gets distracted by a goldfinch because, holy crap, we love birds:

But eventually we got back on task:

Good as new!

And Mama Chickadee approves. The day is saved!

#LateToLost

2010-05-07T14:33:00.004-04:00

One reason for the blog silence the past week or so has been that I am frantically trying to catch up to Lost before the season finale, and it kinda kills any downtime I have in front of a computer. Why the late interest? Well, as previously discussed, it was putting a chilling effect on my conversations with friends. Also, it's wicked awesome. Incredibly awesome. Like, now I'm on Season 6 and can't watch it on Netflix anymore and my computer doesn't seem to want to download Hulu or ABC.com at any acceptable speed and I may have to choke someone kind of awesome. But I'll work that out.

I've been watching in earnest since February, and to the delight/moderate amusement/grating annoyance of my Twitter followers, most of whom are obsessed with the show, I've been chronicling my progress with the hashtag #LateToLost. Jesus Christ, could you die of cleverness? If you could, you would.

But my Twitter page is covert for many a sordid reason, and hasn't been broadcast to the wider populace. Nor have all of the #LateToLost posts ever been compiled in one place...until now.

I should warn you that if you haven't seen the show, there may be something of a spoiler or two in here. Think of these as signposts on your journey to the Island. Like the show itself, they will mystify, confound, and maybe, just maybe, leave an entire nation traumatized. If you guys' hysterical reaction to last week's episode is any indication. Honestly, people, it's just a freakin' SHOW.

Previously, on #LateToLost:

These people have daddy issues that make Empire Strikes Back look like Father Knows Best. #LateToLost
Season 2. God bless Anna Lucia and her itchy trigger finger #DeliverUsFromShannon (Note: #LateToLost precursor. But really too good a hashtag to waste)

Wow, this guy who crashed on the island in a hot air balloon seems totally nice and credible. They should let his ass go. #LateToLost

YOU BASTARDS DID NOT TELL ME ABOUT THE BUNNY. WHAT THE HELL, YOU GUYS. #LateToLost
Oh em gee, you guys. Have cue cards ever been so thrilling? No. They have not. #LateToLost
Three Dog Night and VW vans go together like peas and carrots. #LateToLost
You guys, I found the spider episode hilarious. Scale of 1 to 10 how worrisome is that? #LateToLost
Psh. Everyone knows a dislocated shoulder doesn't go *crunch*. It goes *pop*. Knees too. Trust me on this. #LateToLost

Awww. I'm so glad Hurly's got a gf. I feel really good about where this is going. #LateToLost

Harry Potter glasses: Cute on little kids. Creepy on megalomaniacal sociopaths. #LateToLost
Favorite new swear word: fishbiscuits #LateToLost
HOLY SHIT, YOU GUYS. I CANNOT TAKE AIR INTO MY FACE. I'M SORRY I EVER DOUBTED YOU. YOU WERE RIGHT ON SO MANY LEVELS. #LateToLost
Also: #DeathPoolWIN
Thank god for the writer's strike and shortened seasons. I was getting a little winded, you guys. #LateToLost
Holy crap! It's the guy from Short Circuit! #NumberJohnnyFive #LateToLost
Oops. Well, first rule of Lost: don't get attached. #NumberFiveIsAli...Nevermind #LateToLost
"The subjects believe their job is of the utmost importance." Holy crap, you guys. Dharma's an NGO. #LateToLost #WonkHumor
This show is teaching me that we are all connected. Mostly to a bunch of assholes. #LateToLost
I'll tell you all what you can do with your wine corks... #StillOnSeason5People #LateToLost
Jeez, Rousseau. I guess 16 years marooned in crazytown takes a toll on a girl. #LateToLost
Jules, it's cool. Sociopaths happen. Sometimes they steal your money. Sometimes they get your bf killed. Don't blame yourself. #LateToLost
Wait, these people are famous now, right? So the Oceanic 6 boards the same plane and no one shits their drawers? #shenanigans #LateToLost
I just wanna be your constant. #LateToLost
Seeing Sayid doped up and giddy is like seeing your father cry. Incongruous and deeply upsetting. #LateToLost
I'm glad someone pointed out the Back to the Future space-time continuum/fading pictures factor before I had to do it. #LateToLost
Goddamit, I'm glad SOMEONE finally pointed out dude was wearing too much eyeliner. #LateToLost
And after 5 seasons, if you're gonna call someone "Freckles," maybe they should, y'know, have some? #ItAintEasyBeingMarginalized #LateToLost
These folks are willing to cock up time & space for the sake of their own love lives? That's...totally relatable, actually. #LateToLost
I'd have a lot more respect for Jack if he spelled his last name properly. #TheresNoAInShepherd #LookItUp #LateToLost

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

2010-04-27T17:46:00.006-04:00

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"

Nate Campany and friends at Rockwood Stage 2

2010-04-19T07:55:00.006-04:00

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.

How to Give Asthma Medicine to a Cat

2010-04-14T18:52:00.004-04:00

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

This Blog Saves Lives

2010-04-13T21:46:00.001-04:00

It just does.

Three Hours of Tom Petty = Not Enough Tom Petty

2010-04-10T14:43:00.003-04:00

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.

Nate Campany at Rockwood Music Hall

2010-04-08T17:57:00.004-04:00

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.

Dear DC

2010-04-04T21:37:00.005-04:00

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.

XO
R

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.

The Blog About Sexual Assault

2010-04-01T19:00:00.006-04:00

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."

Tuesday Night Music Club

2010-03-31T22:28:00.004-04:00

Following a brief Passover hiatus, it was back to the grind yesterday evening on the Lower East Side. First stop was a rare tiny acoustic show by Atomic Tom, otherwise known as Our Friends What Just Got Signed To A Major Label. Think all the best parts of the Killers and Franz Ferdinand, without all the messy guyliner. Ahn. So before they get all banging-Megan-Fox-famous and stuff, it's important to capture as many stripped-down Van Halen covers on their part as possible. Because of posterity.

There are other, better-shot videos out there of their original stuff, I guess, but you guys -- Running with the Devil. You know?

A lesser group of people would call it a night after that. Nuh-uh. Our intrepid crew then proceeded over to the Mercury Lounge for songstress/pianist/badass Misty Boyce's CD release soiree, where there was more rock to be had. Funky!

Tuesday done right, you guys!

Saturday Night Spiral

2010-03-28T10:52:00.009-04:00

I tend to pick my pals and scenes carefully, and have been pretty happy with my crew since I've moved to NYC. However, this tends to cocoon me from other, more hostile, environments, and I forget what a socially-anxious freakshow I can be when put in the wrong situation. Last night, I was reminded.

The night started out promisingly enough. I was scheduled to go to Rockwood to see Mike Grubbs of Wakey!Wakey! fame (and if you haven't checked them out, for God's sake, please do so. You're welcome). Then I was to meet up with some long-lost pals from DC, and dance the night away. This sounds foolproof, no? I was so stoked about the evening, I boldly sported a more substantial amount of cleavage than usual. My titties and I were ready to take on the city.

The music was lovely, the place was lively, the bourbon was doing its job. More pals materialized in the side bar after the show, conversations about sex, music, and museums ensued. I was kinda in my element. I was "on," you guys. Happyhappyhappy...

But I had to tear myself away to meet my out of town pals. So I left the relative safety and comfort of sweet home Rockwood, and headed out to points unknown. There were hugs and reunions. So far, so good. And then we got into the bar...

Here's the deal. I live in NYC. Spaces are small. Crowds are plentiful. I know this. So as long as the crowd is friendly and happy, so am I. But this was not good. Too crowded. Too frattish. And the only available space was by the bathroom, which not only smelled like rancid farts, but did not endear us to the teeming masses trying to make their way to the can. The molecules in this place started vibrating badly. I lost my confidence. I temporarily got it back with some drinks, but that was not a lasting fix. I started getting awkward. I started talking about my ex. It was bad, you guys. There was to be no dancing here. I ended up fleeing the scene, directing the taxi back to Rockwood, thinking I could re-set the time-space continuum by going back to my happy place. Alas, my pals had moved on. I was adrift. I actually started to panic that the night was so not going to plan.

Then I recalled that I had other pals at a birthday party at a club up the street. Maybe we could salvage this night after all! I texted my pals, and without waiting for a response, I went up First Ave, determined to dance my pants. Up to the bouncer I went, ID in hand, plunging neckline on display. He instructed me to wait by the door. So I did. This was going to be okay.

And then some glamazons approached. Very pretty girls. Freshly made-up. Not appropriately dressed for the weather. They smelled nice. Their heels were towering. And oh, landy, the boobage. I considered my now 6-hour-old mascara. My overcoat and Gap jeans. My slightly scuffed boots. And my comely, but incomparable, decollatage. I watched as they were waved inside. I watched as several more were waved inside. I watched as a third group was waved inside. This was worse than junior high and summer camp wrapped up in gym class. I knew I wasn't getting in this place. This was a New York I didn't know. This was a New York I didn't want to know.

I wound up slinking off to the Hot and Crusty, seeking solace in an Oreo cheesecake at 2 am. My pals finally texted me back. They were long gone from the club anyway, and called it a night a while ago. It was time to do the same.

Graphically speaking, the night went like this:

I think this is my first fight with NYC in the seven months I've been here. Which, when you think about it, is pretty good by any relationship's standards. And not every weekend can be a winner. But I think NYC owes me some flowers. Or some make-up sex. I'm putting it on notice until it does so.

Here's some footage of the high point of the evening, when Mike covered Cyndi Lauper. See how I could have been fooled into thinking this night was going to be amazing? Psh.

Oh, Let's Just Forward My Damn Mail Here...

2010-03-27T15:12:00.005-04:00

It's just one of those weeks where I probably spend more time at Rockwood then my own apartment. But I'm okay with that. Enjoy the musical stylings of Patrick Thomas...

...and the Tim Blane Band.

Hey, it's either this, or more cat videos. Which I also have. This is the best blog on the Internet, you guys.

Lower East Side Pupu Platter of Awesomeness

2010-03-26T17:37:00.003-04:00

A little something for everyone last night on the extended block that houses Rockwood Music Hall and Arlene's Grocery. Touching Dylan covers to unborn sons? Yeah. We're on it. And so is Benjamin Wagner:

Chicks who can sing the nuts off some rock-disco while giving my dear, darling, sensitive-lad singer/songwriters something to really cry over their Taylors about? Totes. I give you Mother Feather:

And some good old-fashioned, ass-kickin', whiskey-fueled roots-rock? Definitely. Mssrs. Chris Cubeta and the Liars Club:

Good game, Thursday. You're gonna kill me, Thursday.

When Tippies Attack

2010-03-25T18:10:00.003-04:00

Graphic footage of a vicious kitty mauling

When Tippies Attack

2010-03-25T18:10:00.000-04:00

Graphic footage of a vicious kitty mauling

My Saturday Was So Awesome It's Taken Me Until Wednesday To Blog About It

2010-03-24T17:55:00.006-04:00

Sometimes, that's just how we roll. Here's some footage from this Saturday at Bar 4, where Ms. Lara Ewen paid tribute to the late Alex Chilton, and this happened:

And then, Matt Singer took the stage, and everyone helped with percussion, and this happened:

And then I left, all sober-like, and was very proud of myself, and then realized I forgot my credit card, so I went back, and I drank more, and then Jessi, Lara, and I attacked the photo booth, and this happened:

It was a good Saturday, you guys.

Seagulls: Wheeee!

2010-03-23T18:32:00.001-04:00

Weather that only deluded seagulls on the East River could love.