moments of vindication: chapter five

I was romping around my backwoods backyard in Bangor, Maine when I happened upon a large, wild turtle in our creek. It was a hot day and he was covered in mud, piled about 4 inches high on his back. I thought, "This poor guy is gonna drown! Here he is sitting in the water, covered in mud, barely able to move. I better clean him off."

So I spent a little while scraping it all off, taking care of him. I wondered what he liked to eat. I plucked some grass and held it out for him.

In an instant he snapped down on it so hard that he took a tiny chunk of my tiny finger with him. I bled all over him, screaming. In just as much of an instant, it occurred to me:

Sitting in the water: it's hot out.
Covered in mud: it's hot out.
Barely able to move: he's a fucking turtle.

I ran inside and he slowly crawled away, presumably smug about it all. I still have a small lump on my finger to remind me of his betrayal. Years later, I'm blogging about this. And he? Dead.

bitches on my dick so they call me tom hanks

All apologies: a lot has happened lately and so this blog has suffered. For now, I'll just mention that I finally moved my broke ass to Brooklyn where dreams become reality. Working hard, partying harder. Here are some things I've liked this week.

Photo by Shelly Sarah Kamiel

BRIAN JONESTOWN MASSACRE: featuring original members Anton Newcombe, Joel Gion and Matt Hollywood. My review: Webster Hall is run by douchebags. Their beer choices suck, are mad overpriced, and they won't give you free water? Awesome. Also, the opening act was like shockingly mediocre. But BJM went beyond my expectations, which were admittedly low going into it. I assumed it would be Anton and a bunch of soul-less musicians testing out some half-baked shit they wrote a half hour before, but no. It was the band I wanted to see and they played for 2 and a half hours, did every song I could've hoped for and then some. It got better and better as the night wore on, until Anton ended it with a 20 minute sound experiment, playing with feedback distortion (which INFURIATED the audience because they thought it was building into an encore, and it totally didn't). I loved every minute of it.

Photo by Shelly Sarah Kamiel

THE BILL MURRAY EXPERIENCE: featuring banjo player Blind Boy Paxton. I was with my friends Jason and Anders waiting for the L train when they called out to a colorfully-dressed trio walking by on the other platform: "HEYYY BLIND BOY!" Blind Boy, a large black man in overalls and a top hat, yelled back, "WHO THEM HONKIES?!" Long story short, we were invited to see them play a bluegrass show the next night at Rose Live Music. My review: nice venue and no cover, but HOT as FUCK. The scene: surreal. "Authentic" doesn't come close to describing it, so allow me to lay heavy on the southern synonyms. I didn't realize that bluegrass-americana was such a thing in Brooklyn, but there were girls dancing like they were straight out of a barn on fire. The Dust Brothers were the only opening act I saw and they played as fast as an Oklahoma whirlwind. As for the Bill Murray Experience? I was feeling miserable, suffering through both a work-related catastrophe and a break-up, but when the singer sang the blues it was like she ripped it straight from my soul, which was laying dormant at the bottom of a shot glass. She looked like Betty Boop and sang like Cab Calloway. Fell for her instantly.


DJ POWER & ASSOCIATES: THE WORLD: IT'S NOT A MIXTAPE VOLUME III: featuring Alan Lapointe, who does a piss poor job of hyping himself and then raps about it. Just listened to it twice in a row. This is not a mixtape. This is THE WORLD. And it's great. Fucking download it. Millennium Blonde and Wario beats, lyrics that are both politically aware and slyly absurd... and the best part? Inadvertently funded by the US government. Favorite tracks: Goliath, Melonade, Tuna Melt, Warioworld


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