I've never linked to one of my own posts before for the sake of saying: "Did you read this?!" But really: did you fucking read this?!?
Nonsense. Keep your posts/hands in the a-yer.
Fake John Connor
Not sure I totally get it - I know, it’s a rip on the meta-tumblrs - but still: I don’t get it. Either way, anyone willing to put forth the effort for something this irreverent to exist deserves to be recognized in some regard.
Hey Gossip Girl
Question for tumblr’s own little Jenny Humphry:
Do you really want to start at a new school and immediately burn all of your bridges? Like, before you’ve had class with us and such?
xoxo
Holy shit. The mean girls of Tumblr are here. Don’t fuck with the Queen Bees, bitches, lest you get suurrved.
UPDATE: Scandal! Post deleted! Weak sauce! Listen: no shame in your game, until now. This place needs some ice-cold motherfuckers up in hurr - everyone likes a clean city, but nobody wants to take out the trash. Keep it real, Little J, and put it back up. Keep. It. Real.
PS - True story: I was walking home after work through Fort Greene park two summers ago with Henry, and three menacing looking men* coming out of the Walt Whitman peejay’s, and approach us on the corner of Myrtle and Portland, parkside. I’m smoking a cigarette. The largest of the three asks me not for a cigarette, but for that cigarette, the one that I’m smoking. I wouldn’t want to misquote him, but it was something like: “GIMME YO CIGGARETTE!” I rebuff him (in retrospect: stupidly) with a response akin to “Are you joking? Do you know how much these things cost, here?” He replied by growling at me - something like “GIMMEMOTHAFUCKA” - and grabbing the lit cigarette out of my two fingers. When it not only crumbled, but burned him, he castigated me: “LOOKWHATYOUMADEMEDO, MOTHAFUCKA! FUCK THAT, PUNK!” With that, he and his companions walked away. Two teenagers across the street were watching the entire time. As we crossed the street - slightly shaken, admittedly - they criticized our (Swiss?) diplomacy tactics: “If that were me, I would’ve punked that bitch! This is Fort Greene! You gotta rep the Fort Greene, baby!” To which I replied:
“I’m a white Jewboy standing in front of the Walt Whitman Projects; I like Fort Greene, but not enough to represent it in the manner of getting my ass handed to me in broad daylight.”
This having been spoken, they concurred. In regards to the above situation, they would not concurr. You have a chance to “rep the Fort Greene” where I did not. Take it, please. Do it for Whitman. He wouldn’t want punks running around Tumblr either.
*Euphamisms! Hooray!
Cursive - “Art Is Hard”
Yesterday’s Daytrotter session with Cursive (which includes two unreleased tracks) got me listening to them again, and I can’t believe it took this long. This track is from their album The Ugly Organ, which is more of a concept album, than an album of songs in their own right.
It tells the story of an ugly organist’s life of lust and empty sex.The songs, however, do stand out on their own, regardless of the somewhat pretentious concept. “Art Is Hard” was the first single from the album, back in 2003.
Pretentious concept? You’re a daily music tumblr feed. And I’m not sure you ever read the linear notes. Back to school, with you.
Anyway. Forgiving Cursive of their indulgences, they’re fantastic and completely underrated. I once saw Tim Kasher play a two hour Good Life set at Kilby Court. He got so drunk (in Salt Lake City! Novelty!) he couldn’t even stand, let alone decide what to play, so he just took requests until they’d exahusted every shitty b-side nobody wanted to hear. In the spirit of masochism, more Cursive love from my short-lived, too-stoned tenure as a full-scholarship editor at The Chronic. I hope I was no older than 18 when I wrote it. Truly.
Listen.
There’s absolutely no way my first post at YM could’ve been anything but painful and awkward after fixating on it for so long - yes, like that first ever-chafe-y, it-hurts-but-I’m-not-saying-shit handjob - so I just decided to embrace it wholeheartedly. The pressure. You people have no idea. They might have been curious as to my silence/whereabouts throughout the afternoon* - there’s your answer. Also: it’s the Velvet Mafia’s season to sparkle beginning tomorrow, and I have to be there at 7:30 AM. Work has me bogged the fuck down.
I actually wrote out two posts and decided which one to post. You want to know how green I am? You just read it. The other one was just a mediocre timeline of Fek/YM relations, and I’m already tired of the meta for the time being (I assure you - that will be back to normal quite soon; I think I almost tried ordering my eggs “meta” this weekend. Can’t be good..).
*But also, at any given moment, they have no idea who’s who on the Fumblr. So, realistically, they probably didn’t notice at all, especally now that it’s become Survivor: Bloggy Island over there.
Better? I also engaged Brian Van in this dialogue, too. Jesus. Buncha fuckin’ crybabies, the lot of you are. Enough about me, already. Did you see what Dana posted today?
Okay, now that I’ve spent half of my day hunched over my monitor and cackling a la Snidely Whiplash, and not having gotten ANY work done, karma has finally caught up to me mid-day.
Please tell me which one of you is that “five-year-old” “Israeli kid” who keeps calling my cell. “A-lo? Ahh-lo? EEEMA!” It was funny the first eight times but now I’m ready to rip his fucking head off. Please tell me it’s one of you.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Forget dropping my books, I think I just pissed my pants. I knew I wasn’t going anywhere without getting jumped in.
Dana, you’re too kind, but having to follow an act like this is terrifying, dance, song*, and all (which is besides the fact that it’s already the first Google hit for “daginer”).
Finally, Katie, you didn’t make it into the writeup because I got the impression (the one that I remember, however vague) that you’re a totally decent, kind, and respectable person (at least for that crowd). If anything, I would note that you had no place being there.
*Even if The Boss did already cover this in a dust-covered, dilapidated, yet surprisingly well-preserved cave, it was exceedingly apropos (watch as I carefully edge my way into the default Stat-Boy role of YM + Associates. That was research, y’see…).
Louis, I think this is the beginning of a terrible friendship.
I don’t know where to start. I’d like to thank Deez, The Captain, 99, and Chris Cunnilingus, who knew when to quit while they were ahead. In no particular order: the Gays, the Fucking Jews. Keith Gessen, Ivy Leaguers near and far, Tumblards, The New York Times, and the big-M Media (not that kind - the kind that doesn’t go to Blakeley’s thingers..you know, the real kind) and all you despicable literary types - expect to hear from me more often; gird your loins and expect appropriate noise, lest you find yourselves unprepared. Finally, The Very Dead GG Allin, John Varvatos, and the lowly dirty-water-dog vendor: the New York of now finds itself at a strange intersection. God save you all.
But really, I hope you’re all ready for a massive dip in quality. Dana, I apologize. Everyone else - game on.
Now, to get to work: hey Andrew, we hear you have a Hamptons summer share?