We capped off Concert week on Thursday with a much-anticipated Central Park performance of Clap Your Hands Say Yeah!, to which we'd had tickets since March. Freaking MARCH! We headed down and stared in awe at the massive stage and massive-er crowd.
"We" were me, Dustin, Jennifer, Robert (from work) and Rob's girl Molly.
I don't know if it was the extraordinary level of anticipation with which I came to this concert, or if I had been spoiled earlier this week by those other two awesome concerts, or what, but... well... I was kind of bored.
They didn't sound bad. It was just sort of "blah." Their music tends to be so epic and energetic and I just felt like they were all, "Yeah, we're an awesome indie band who regularly sells out shows. We're cool. Whatever. We don't have to do anything to prove it." ... but not in a good way.
They could have at least had a little confetti or something.
Anyway, I was happy to have had a fabulous week of live music. Everybody have a good weekend! I'll be working.
Concert Week continued on Tuesday with a fab pairing of a little band called Of Montreal and musical dynamo Jamie Lidell at Irving Plaza, "curated" by Beck. How could I not go? How could I possibly look myself in the mirror every day knowing that I had willingly missed a show like that? So, I broke my vow to not buy tickets from Ticketmaster ever again (yeah, that vow lasted about 1 week) and got tickets for me and Dustin.
At work yesterday I was supposed to get tapes for a new job Maury's working on. Due to the total incompetence of the shipping company, the tapes arrived not at 10am as they were supposed to, but at SIX PM. That means that a whole day's worth of work faced me at the beginning of my evening. Bummer! Now, I do not proclaim to be a model employee, but when it comes to priorities at work and concerts, I have many times been known to forego the show, waste a $20 or $30 ticket and just work instead. It's frustrating but I really think that's part of my job. If they need me, I'm there. That being said.... I really really wanted to go to this show. I asked Maury if it would be okay if I did part of the work, went to the show, then came back to finish. He looked at me like I was crazy, but said it was okay. I loaded in the tapes to the Avid while watching the sun set outside, time running out.
Then Dustin and I booked it to Irving Plaza.
The floor was pretty empty still, so we were able to easily spot his friend Josh among the small crowd.
Of Montreal soon came out. I was so psyched to see them (so excited that I actually just used the word "psyched") because they have been my favorite band of the last couple of months (though no one could top Zeppelin, let's just get that straight). I just hoped they would be good live. Their music is, as Josh described it, "psychedelic pop." It's fun, fresh, crazy, energetic, original, with intelligent lyrics. I don't know what I expected from their performance, besides bright colors.
I forgot that, despite their name, they are from the same town in Georgia as the B-52s and R.E.M. As they started their set, I realized that the lead singer was gussied up quite androgynously, with floppy/foppy hair, David Bowie-esque makeup, and a frilly shirtcoat, while the guitarist was wearing a dress (a pretty sweet dress, too).
They were pretty crazy. Fun. Wild. Awesome.
They kept the energy up, up up and it looked like they were genuinely having a great time, which always makes the audience have a great time too. They even covered an Os Mutantes song, which was a delight.
They began to play songs from their new album (to be released in January) and suddenly there was this theatric scene happening among the band members.
Umbrellas twirling... Frilly shirtcoats coming off, whips being wielded...
It was pretty freaky. But in a good way. I don't know whether anybody reading this has actually heard any Of Montreal songs, but I for one never expected this particular brand of entertainment when I listened to their music. Anyway, so then the singer was almost naked, except for his Daisy Duke denim shorts.
They totally rocked the house.
I wish they could have played for four hours.
But they were just the opener! They exited the stage after a solid hour of teaching us the meaning of the word "boogie."
Then it was time for Jamie Lidell. I've seen him in concert before, and he is mind-blowing. I know I've been saying that about a lot of performances lately, but this guy is seriously unique. He's kind of a one-man band for the 21st century. His entire stage setup consists of a microphone, a laptop and a sound mixer. He beatboxes and sings for a bit, recording himself, and uses those very recording snippets as the rhythm and melodies for his songs, singing over them. Singing over himself, I should say. And on top of that talent, he possesses an amazing voice. Strong, soulful... I've heard him compared to Stevie Wonder and Al Green a few times, although he's a little white guy from the U.K. It's a strange, cool, every-time's-unique experience. Sometimes he has prerecorded background melodies, but they appear very rarely in his set.
By then the crowd had really filled up. Do you see that guy left of center in this picture, with the white hair and backpack? Well, it's David Byrne. Yes, THAT David Byrne. From the freaking TALKING HEADS!
I didn't talk to him, or even get a decent picture of him, but I did stand next to him. Josh talked to him outside. He was carrying a little Vespa helmet, looking like every other old guy there, milling around in the pit. Just watching Jamie Lidell.
Lidell, meanwhile, was removing his black trenchcoat and showing off some sparkly threads.
A few minutes later we looked over to see that one of the guitarists from Of Montreal had changed out of his androgyny clothes and slipped into the audience, standing right beside Mr. Byrne.
Yeah, we got some sweet tees too.
That night I was far too tired from dancing my bum off to go back to work, so I woke up at 6am this morning to go in early instead. 6 AM, PEOPLE. This is unheard of. I got to work just as the sun was rising. How fitting.
OKAY Y'ALL. My life's purpose has been fulfilled. I have been to the raddest concert. Ever. (or at least since the last time Zeppelin played.)
A month or two ago I was browsing Ticketmaster's ridiculously-priced-concert list and saw that The Flaming Lips were coming to town, yet their ticket page revealed that it was sold out. "Darn it all!" I thought to myself. "I want to go to that show so bad! I wish I'd known sooner!!" I saw the Lips a few years ago when they toured with Beck and it was phenomenal (especially since they were just the opening band) and knew that I should see them again.
Cut to: a few weeks ago, when Dustin said, "Oh, hey, I've got Flaming Lips tickets for September." Boy, did he get a big smooch for that one!
Last night was the big night. I'll say right now, concerts on Sunday night are hard to get pumped for. And Hammerstein Ballroom, though beautiful, is not very kind to shorties like me. I saw the Pixies there once with my bro and, well, I actually didn't see them at all. I just heard them. So I will admit that I had my reservations. Luckily, it turned out to be a night I will not soon forget (at least if I keep doing crosswords every day).
We arrived at the venue and, first of all, let me just say, I was more than a little excited to spot Gideon Yago from MTV News in line beside us (though not close enough, for long enough, to get a picture of. Here's a stock picture from Google Image Search).
So that was exciting. After the terrible opening band, Deerhoof, got off the darn stage, we scooted up towards the front of the house and looked back to see the beautiful Ballroom, packed to the gills with hipsters of all ages, and its gorgeous muralled ceiling.
I knew this was a different kind of crowd when I was telling Dustin that I should just accept being shorter than everyone else and not expect to see anything, just listen, and this taller guy directly in front of me overheard and insisted on switching places with his shorter friend so that I could see. I have NEVER had anything that simple and nice happen to me from a complete stranger.
Anyway, the Flaming Lips, who have been together since the 80s and touring for as long, set up their own equipment. I've never seen a band do that before. Of course, there were some roadies helping out, and the best part was that all of their roadies were dressed up like comic book characters. Awesome.
The show got underway soon enough, with giant titles on the screen behind the stage proclaiming, "GET READY TO HAVE AN EPIC EXPERIENCE." Now, last time I saw the Lips they had fans on stage and in the audience dressed up in animal suits. This time, the guys were on one side of the stage in Santa suits:
... and the ladies were on the other side dressed up as 60s-style Martian women:
Everybody with giant flashlights, dancing and having a grand time.
Then the spectacle really began. Wayne Coyne, the lead singer, emerged on the stage inside a giant bubble. He stepped off the stage inside of it, and walked among the pit crowd from within the bubble.
Lights were a-flashing, and confetti spurted out for the first of what would become many times that night into the crowd, lingering in the air along with massive balloons, transforming the space into a giant party.
The band sounded great. They spoke to the audience, interacted, and invoked responses from, I believe, every single person present.
It was the first time that I felt like I didn't care whether I could see the stage or not (though I was able to see, for the most part), I just loved being a part of the experience. And that's exactly what it was: an epic experience. Not something to watch from the sidelines, but a fun, exuberant, beautiful event to be a part of.
Wayne had a camera attached to the mic so that even the shorties could see him (and his ninja nun) singing.
Then one of the coolest parts of all: before the show, there were people among the audience and up in the balconies handing out little red laser lights. Pointer thingies. Well, during one particular song, the screen behind Wayne said "GET YOUR LASERS READY." Then there was a countdown, and a sign that said, "SHOOT WAYNE!" and everyone did. He held up a mirror and the deflection of collective lights was truly amazing and beautiful.
At one point several people started shooting the lasers towards one particular yellow balloon. It was floating up and down among the crowd like this weird glowing entity.
Wayne stopped in the middle of the song and commented that this sight was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. Of course that made EVERYONE point their laser at it, elevating this one balloon to what seemed like a supernatural level.
Later Wayne pulled out this giant balloon and started filling it up with air. It was pretty amazing how large it actually got....
And finally it exploded with, of course, confetti.
At the end there was a dude wearing a skeleton outfit with giant hands...
... getting everyone to sing...
... all while a "Teletubbies" episode, cleverly cut to synch up with the final song of the night, played joyously in the background. In fact, the visuals behind the stage were so superb the whole night through that it made me want to edit stuff like THAT for a living. (which was my exact sentiment when I saw them 4 years ago.)
It was a wondrous night of joy, fun, beauty and love. It was amazing. I am not exaggerating.
My thanks goes out to Dustin not only for the tickets, but for these incredible pictures.
Just in time for the weekend, I'll give you the lowdown on last weekend's events.
Last Thursday was the Annual Trailer Park 2006 viewing party. This is a contest put forth each year by the AICE, specifically for assistant editors to hone their skills in a fun way. They give us a list of movies (9 this year), all from different genres. The goal is to edit a trailer for a movie, but into a different genre. For example, last year's winner was from our own PS 260, Robert Ryang, who cut a trailer for "The Shining" into a heartwarming family movie. You can view it here.
So this year, Princess (below with Dustin), Ned and I were the contributers from PS 260. We all headed down to West Lounge for free pizza and an hour of fake trailers. Ned's was "Pumping Iron" as a high-school comedy (here) and Princess did "Enter The Dragon" as a musical (here).
Robert came along as an honored guest.
We talked for awhile to this guy, who worked at a rival editing company with one of PS 260's ex-employees, and had just been promoted to assistant editor by way of said employee being fired (not the first time). Funnily enough, he ended up winning 2nd place with a teaser for "Enter The Dragon" as a blaxploitation comedy.
An hour of trailers can get old.
But we had fun anyway.
Afterward, we had food from a taco stand outside the Lounge.
Dustin showed the other contestants what he really thought of them.
Over the weekend I saw many cool things here and there. A sweet dress:
Cool subway art:
A dapper, old-fashioned fella on the train:
And an art free-for-all in Union Square. A giant canvas, bunches of paints and brushes, for any passers-by to contribute to the project: All led, of course, by a hippie, who, when asked by a reporter about how he felt about President Bush, gave a sardonic chuckle, gazed at the sky and said, "I cannot even put into words how I feel about that man. Let's just not get me started, okay?":
In case you were wondering, yes, I added my own touch to the canvas. No, I didn't take a picture of it. Sometimes anonymity is divine.
Speaking of art, Kerri & Shannon came over to my place on Saturday for some quality art time. Strangely enough, none of us painted as we usually do... we ended up all making collages. I guess we're all going through the same art phase.
Kerri's: Shannon's: Mine: Afterward, we got a glass of wine at this cool little coffee shop/wine bar right on my block. The interior was just fab. It reminded me of the Plaid Eatery in Tempe, where Kerri and I historically made the transition between coworkers and friends (and life was never the same afterward).
We had chocolate fondue.
Just delish!
Then we went to a psychic. They wouldn't let us take pictures. Mine was a load of crap and Shannon's was right on the money. Oh well.
We ended the night chatting in this little courtyard. Shannon and Kerri's sisters each called them 3 times within a half-hour, so here they are checking their messages to make sure everything was okay (which it was).
Okay, everyone. It is official. I am a New Yorker. I have joined a gym (formerly my worst nightmare). And yesterday, after a whole day of not doing anything of value STRESSED ME OUT and gave me a headache, I got my first mani-pedi... known to y'all as a manicure/pedicure.
This is something that probably should be done in the BEGINNING of the sandal season, like, say, May or June. Not September, when I'll have to start wearing my Airwalks again before this beautiful color has even chipped off. I never actually thought I would, or could, be the kind of person to actually PAY MONEY to have someone put paint on my nails (especially my toenails, they're particularly tiny and virtually un-paintable). However, a number of people told me I should have it done at least once (Sarra actually treated me to my first manicure last October and I hadn't had one since) and as I sat in a leather-cushioned chair, one foot in a mini-jacuzzi sort of apparatus and the other foot being massaged with lotion, then later, my hands and even neck being massaged, I thought, "Well, maybe it's okay as a treat now and then."
It seems to be such a classist situation though... all these tiny Asian women submissively positioned on their knees, rubbing, lotioning, filing, cutting the cuticles of what I imagine can often be the most disgusting part of the body while the owners of said body parts read People magazine, gab on their cell phones, or just kick back in the E-Z chairs, listening to karaoke versions of Japanese pop songs.
Other signs I am becoming a real New Yorker: 1) As I said, I joined a gym. Not an expensive one, not a fancy one, but it is a cool one, with a pool where I can swim in the winter and yoga and pilates and kickboxing classes. Let me make clear, however, that I have no interest in stationary machines where I have to focus on my heart rate or calories burned.
2) In reading Rooms For Rent on Craigslist.org, I recognize that 34th St. and 9th Avenue cannot be classified as Chelsea, but is in fact Hell's Kitchen and is not somewhere I really want to live.
3) I don't like the Olive Garden that much anymore.
4) I do like Indian food. (Maybe someday my sushi day will come. You know, on that topic, I was walking home the other day and this man randomly stopped me and said, "Do you know where I can get sushi around here? I just NEED some sushi right now!!" I thought it was so weird that he was being overtaken by a craving for it. But I digress.)
5) Sirens in the middle of the night don't wake me up.
6) However, the mere notion that I could someday get bedbugs is regularly keeping me up nights.
7) I get quite self-congratulatory when I catch both the uptown and crosstown bus back-to-back, just in the nicks of time.
Last Saturday, Kerri and I went to the Lower East Side Art Parade, which was... totally freaking weird. It was like a mixture of the Mermaid Parade and the Halloween Parade, but with less of a theme. Kerri wanted to go for the photographic opportunities and I, blogger that I be, couldn't help but do the same. We arrived on the scene as the marchers were getting ready to begin, suiting up and, well, mounting their bikes.
They even had a rockin' marching band (I was surprised the Hungry March Bandwasn't there, to be honest).
Spectators gathered from blocks around.
(and even from windows above)
I showed this pic to Dustin and apparently he knows this chick from Wesleyan. Small world.
These old dudes were at the front of the pack, unofficially, and carried this sign ahead of everyone. They weren't signed up, so parade officials tried to kick them off the street. Ironic, for an art parade.
Then the real parade began, with dancers, protesters, glitter-throwers, and all kinds of other crazy crazy loco peoples. Observe:
This one was especially freaky.
Zombie schoolgirls... hmm, okay...
I don't know what this is, but this guy looks pretty happy about things.
There were even kids there!
This van towed behind it a giant see-through cabin, carrying this cute kid:
And then came the naked bikers! (not truly naked)
We had a really good view.
Kerri said, "Where do these people come from?!?!" and I looked at her and said, "They come from here, Kerri. They come from New York."
This awesome kid led the marching band.
Rain girls throwing confetti and shooting squirt guns.
These folks repeatedly ran over a cardboard cut-out of President Bush.
I'd be happy too.
I... I don't even know what this guy's deal is.
Then came the greatest spectacle: a giant float with gyrating silver people flinging glitter and confetti to all the masses of West Broadway to loud, loud music.
We definitely got our fill. Kerri ran through 3 rolls of film and my camera battery died.
The next day, Dustin and I went to the Intrepid Air and Sea Museum (or something to that effect). This is a place that we see every time we take a cab to the Upper West Side. From the West Side Highway, you can see it towering majestically in the Hudson River, a shell of what once was a seriously powerful WWII aircraft carrier. Every time we go past it I exclaim that we should have a picnic on the landing deck someday, and when I found out that it's closing for renovations at the end of the month for the next 2 years, I knew we had to step on it. So step on it we did.
It was pretty cool up there, with all kinds of fighter planes you may recognize from WWII or "Top Gun."
The runway was vast.
We looked out upon the Hudson, wind in our faces.
You could even see the rolling hills of Weehawken from there.
There was a stairway to heaven, or something.
You could go inside and see the sleeping quarters and captain's commanding area.
It was a nice way to spend the afternoon before Dustin has to delve into post-production for the music video he's directed.
Monday, of course, was September 11. The whole city seemed somber, though I think it helped to have the workday for people to focus on. The firehouse in my neighborhood, and probably ones all over town, had piles of flowers outside by 9am.
But there is always a job to do. Just one block away from PS 260 there was a building on fire as I got to work.
Friday night, D. and I went to CraftBar again, and it was still delicious, though the sausage-stuffed sage leaves were a little bitter.
We saw some interestingly defamed advertising on the street.
Saturday and Sunday couldn't have been more different in this city. Saturday, the remnants of hurricane Ernesto ran rampant through the city streets, soaking everything unfortunate enough to be outside. We holed up in a theatre ("Half Nelson," which was very well made and great but quite depressing... perfect for a rainy day) and then braved the storm to get to 99 Miles To Philly, the best cheesesteaks place in town.
Sunday afternoon was bright, sunny, with nary a cloud in the sky. Walking through the park (as I tend to do), I saw a lone bagpipe player practicing in the middle of a field.
That night, with my roommates gone, I actually did some Pilates (for the first time in a year), watched about 7 hours of cable TV (we just got it!!), my choices for which I am not proud: "What a Girl Wants" the Amanda Bynes tale of an American girl trying to forge a relationship with her distant, British dignitary father (Ms. Bynes always reminds me of my friend Sarah for some reason); "You've Got Mail" ("F-O-X"); and many an episode of "CSI" and "CSI:Miami".
Simultaneously, I made quite a mess in the living room putting together this little collage:
I quite like it. It was worth staying up until 2 in the morning for.
To eulogize the summer here on September first, I am giving you a flora slideshow, courtesy of PS 260. Our runners really know how to take advantage of a good flower shop. You wouldn't believe how big/small some of these flowers are.
These are teeeeeeny!
These ones are so amazing. They're about the size of a thumbnail, and each bud starts off like this:
