jam-packed

As I was taking a break from the 19th-Century art history conference today at Columbia, I heard a guitar piddling around, and it sounded kind of like one of my favorite bands. Which was weird, because why would VAMPIRE WEEKEND being playing at Columbia today, when I'm supposed to be in a darkened lecture hall from 9am until 5pm and it's 79 degrees outside? Well, turns out that it was indeed Vampire Weekend testing out the old sound system and that they were going to play at 3pm, followed by Talib Kweli. (Yes, really.)


Needless to say, I skipped out on the afternoon sessions (though I returned, of course, for the cheese and cheap wine at the reception) and stood on Alma Mater's feet to enjoy the 45 minute set and the blazing sunshine:


It was, as the French say, LE AWESOME. I mean, really, I'm just wandering around campus, happen to hear a few random notes of music and discover that one of my favorite bands is playing that day? And it's beautiful out? And the band is LE AWESOME live? This, my friends, THIS, is why I love New York City.

...And for those of you out there who aren't jealous enough, I give you a snippet of the closing number, "Walcott":


Fantastic.

off the record

Yeah, so I'm busy. I work all the time, have too many papers to write, etc etc. Blah blah blah.

It's too bad, really, since there is SO MUCH that I want to post on the blog but that the never-entirely-anonymous nature of blogging is preventing me from writing. Shame. Because otherwise I would tell you that, last Monday, I very stupidly decided to go to class on migraine meds. Not only did I almost pass out on the walk there, but I arrived late, which ensured that the ENTIRE CLASS witnessed me walk into a closet door--thus creating an enormous lump in the middle of my forehead (which blossomed into a bruise later in the week). Not my finest hour.

I would also tell you that on Friday there happened to be yet another encounter with the elusive Rebound from last year, in which the following conversation took place at approximately midnight:
Me: "Are you seeing anyone?"
Him: "Uh, no."
Me: "Well. Do you want to see me?"
Him: "Ok."*
[There may have been partial nudity involved. Maybe.] I would confide in you that the migraine that seemed to have gone away on Tuesday returned so forcefully Saturday morning that I had to go beg at the health center for a shot of medication I hadn't had to resort to since 2003, after which I went home, split a bottle of Lindeman's Framboise with my fabulous roommate who made me pigs in blankets, and slept until about 5 minutes before going to work on Sunday. I would also tell you that, on Sunday morning, the heat and hot water were out, which meant that I hadn't showered for about three days** when, Sunday night at the gallery--less than 48 hours after seeing the Rebound and approximately 56 hours since my last shower--I got asked out on a date by an attractive man.

...IF I were to post about all this on my blog--and this is NOT EVEN COUNTING the making out with fellow students, the debilitating inability to get to bed before 2am which is seriously f*cking up my life, the very ambiguous email flirting with professors (which may just be in my own mind), the not-so-ambiguous flirting with artists, the annoying cigarette habit I seem to have developed over the summer which has proved obnoxiously hard to quit, the encounters with ex-boyfriends, etc.--alls I would be saying (if I were to be saying this, you understand) is that these must be some DAMN strong pheromones I'm pumping out. And also, that the dude I'm meeting up with on Wednesday is clearly blind. But I'm cool with that.


* I am not known for my subtlety.
** Okay, seriously, if you don't sweat all that much and the hair isn't too greasy, then it's not that big a deal. ...Unfortunately, I sweat a lot and my hair gets gross after about 36 hours. So, clearly: dude is blind.

And we now return to our regularly scheduled hibernation.
See you in January!

Warhol + graffiti = tomato spray

Also pasted on the wall surrounding the vacant lot next to the gallery was the following poster:It serves absolutely no purpose other than being witty, and for that, I love it.

context is everything

This poster was pasted on the vacant lot next to my gallery. It's rather amusing, of course, but what's even better is exactly *where* it was posted [see after the jump]...

Heh heh heh. One can only dream, right?

some observations

I ate at a popular bar on the LES last night, which turned out to be an exercise in hipster anthropology.

First: it doesn't matter how attractive you are—if you look like you might barf on me, I'm not interested. Really.* (See below. Suffice it to say that drama comes to me.)

See? Still disgusting.

Other observations: beards are IN among the LES/alternative music crowd. Like, on seemingly every other guy I saw last night. Is it because it's getting colder and scarves don't fit into the aesthetic? The price of razors is too high? There has been a spate of contagious eczema?

Finally, don't walk behind wildly gesticulating Eastern European tourists--you never know when one of them might fling a hand backward without looking and stab you in the Adam's apple with a sharpened acrylic fingernail.


* Especially if you do any of the below:

1. You initiate contact by flicking my cuff and smiling at me in a way that suggests you know me. Since you remind me vaguely of my English Ex, I confusedly ask if I know you.
   
2. You don't respond, just grin expectantly, so I roll my eyes and go back to my reading.
   
3. You continue to benignly touch me—caressing my sleeve, poking at my hair in drunkenly gentle manner—even though I am both reading Bakhtin AND ignoring you.
   
4. You continue to do this even after I've asked if I can help you. Really, is there something you want? Some reason you're provoking me?
   
5. You don't answer the above question. In fact, you don't speak at all, leading me to ask, in sign language, if you are deaf.
   
6. After again flicking my jacket cuff (which I am wearing), I say, "Really, WHAT IS IT? What do you want? Because otherwise, QUIT." Loudly. And you grin stupidly. I go back to my reading with renewed vigor.
   
7. The bartender takes pity on me and says, "I think she's busy reading and doesn't want to talk right now." She probably says this because I am about to start screaming at you to shove fuck off and instigate a barfight if you touch me one. more. time.
   
8. After discovering that the bar doesn't accept the card you gave the bartender, you can't figure out how to pay your $88 bar tab. Allow me to repeat: You can't figure out how to pay your $88 bar tab. As in, you try to hand the bartender a $20 bill and ask if that's enough.
   
9. Upon hearing you speak I discover that you're English. You remind me even more of my English Ex. This is not really a good thing.
   
10. A tip: if you hear the following monologue from your bartender that goes anything like:
    

    Sir, we don't take Maestro. Do you have another card?
    [mumble mumble. Present $20 bill.]
    Sir, that's not enough.
    [Present $20 bill AGAIN.]
    No. [She waits for the penny to drop. It doesn't.]
    Do you have a different card?
    [Pulls random dollar bills out of pocket.]
    Noooo. Do you just have a different card? If you give me a--
    [Presents $20 bill. "Thasss not enouf?"]
    A different--grrrr. Do you--Do you have a wallet? Give me your wallet.
    [You are befuddled by its inexplicable presence in your pocket.]
    I'm going to use this card, ok? [She runs card. You put your head on the bar.] You need to sign the receipt, sir. [You don't look up. She mutters: I'm putting my own damn tip on here.] Sign here, sir.
    Sir. Sign. Here. THANK YOU. ... ... Sir? Sir, you can't sleep on the bar.

    ...you need to go home.
    
11. What's that, you say? You don't have a place to stay for the night? You were trying to find someone to go home with at the bar? Jerk.

seen on the subway

Actually, I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you.

I think maybe the subway is trying to tell me something

The question is what?

Originally posted December 8, 2007.