Archive for July, 2003

faster, pussycat!

Seen on my way to the gym this afternoon:

sapphaster, pussycat!
You really want to click this to see the fullsize version.

(Update: it’s not a misspelling. It’s a pun. Sheesh, you people…)

fair warning

So this weekend, Miranda and I (along with Anne and spent a lovely Saturday afternoon at Central Park’s Summerstage, seeing a free concert featuring De La Soul. Well, more accurately, De La Soul Minus Prince Paul Who Kinda Has His Own Much More Profitable Thing Right Now, but whatever: they played about an 80-minute set which was a good mix of early and late material, and did their damndest to work up a crowd that had been kinda beat down by the interminable opening acts.

Ah, the opening acts. To start with, there were three of them, which was just a little too much for a crowd that had been standing on line for in some cases 2-3 hours before getting to the ampitheatre. The second and third openers (a funk ensemble called Breakestra and an acoustic canadian hip-hop act called K-OS) were both actually pretty good, but the first one…

Ladies and gentlemen, how much do you have to suck to be booed off the stage at a free concert?

The answer, it turns out, is: you have to suck at least as much as Jonzi D.

Jonzi D was introduced by an optimistic-sounding intern as a rapper/singer/dancer/poet/performance artist from London. What this turned out to mean in practice was that he would, in order: recite a bit of slam-style (but not terribly good) poetry, then dance a little bit as his DJ looped some uninspired beats, then launch into an incomprehensible 10-line political monologue, then pause to tell the crowd how honored he was to be in the home of hip-hop. Rinse, repeat. The DJ wasn’t spinning anything except during his little breaks, so the whole thing came off as stilted, pretentious and un-rehearsed all at once. Pretty much the entire audience was looking around in embarrassed horror, and then the poor guy’s mic started cutting out every other word. That was when the booing began, and about 5 minutes later he basically slunk off the stage.

I’ve seen some bad shows in my time, in many genres of music, but this was hands-down the poorest performance I’ve ever seen at a live concert. The technical problems pushed it over the top, but even the unmolested parts of ths show we heard were so bad that I have to consider the broken mic to be a blessing. So this is a warning to all of my friends, especially the British ones: this guy is still out there, somewhere. Be alert. Be on guard. The eardrums you save could be your own.


The danger of using 256mb compactflash cards in your camera: if, like me, you are a lazy ass, you can let days…weeks…months go by, and find that you have build up a bolus of nearly 300 images on one of the damn things, and you then get to spend the next 9 hours cropping, rotating and retouching as if your life depended on it.

long island city piers

If I’ve taken your picture in the last six months, it’s probably buried in here somewhere. Some of these are really crappy even by my standards; you’ve been warned.

rightsizing geography

Here I am, riding through Connecticut. Again. For about the millionth time in my life.

In this age of downsizing, rightsizing and general fat-cutting, I have to ask: Isn’t it time we considered eliminating some of the obvious redundancies in our physical geography? As far as I can tell, CT serves few functions other than being generally in the way and needlessly lengthening trips up and down I-95. Surely such jobs are already more than adequately served by New Jersey and New Hampshire?

We should sell off CT to some country which has a proven shortage of highways, rest areas, uninspiring tract housing, strip malls and insurance companies. Afghanistan comes to mind immediatly. Or perhaps Iraq.

Reorbit Connecticut for a better tomorrow!

[this was actually written on saturday afternoon while on a bus, but t-mobile’s alleged internet service didn’t decide to let my phone actually emit email until today, sigh.]

public service message

My mad friend Neal is leaving the country. You should buy his stuff. Note especially the incredibly awesome pool table.

(In case this is not obvious: Neal is in New York City, specifically Manhattan. If you want to buy the stuff, mail him, not me.)

it’s official…

…God is, in fact, a New Yorker:

you lookin at me?

live and direct…again

Things you probably don’t want to wake up hearing, via NPR: “The 1 and 9 trains are closed between South Ferry and 14th Street due to a police investigation: police have found an envelope containing white powder in the station at Canal and Varick Streets.” Canal and Varick? Why, that would be…where I work.

And sure enough:

click images for fullsize

Why yes, that would be a full hazmat team and about a zillion or so police and fireman all congregated outside my office window. Thank god for the pedestrian bridge over the Holland Tunnel exit, or I’d’ve had to hike about a mile from my subway stop to the office.

At this point, I would merely like to make a small request to all New York City drug dealers: could you please keep a tighter grip on your sample packages? We’d all really appreciate it.