Friday, February 6, 2009

Your Week in Music: Cat Power, Cake and Caverns

Published on Wonkette, February 5, 2009

http://wonkette.com/405998/cat-power-cake-and-caverns


  • Thursday, Feb. 5: Brightest Young Things is throwing a listening party for “Dark Was the Night,” their latest indie rock compilation. Electrohaters, rejoice; there’s not a sign of synth to be found on the comp, and they’ll be playing music by Cat Power, Blonde Redhead, Spoon, The New Pornographers and Yo La Tengo all night. [Brightest Young Things]
  • Thursday, Feb. 5: Asylum in Adams Morgan is hosting “Cake and Kisses,” a club night featuring hip hop DJs The Five One, G-Five Clive and Nate Greyski. Although you won’t hear “The Distance,” you will get to eat free cake. [Brightest Young Things]
  • Friday, Feb. 6: Punk-and-pianos band Caverns have been defacing DC with their DIY xerox-machine fliers in honor of their show tonight, so just do them a favor and go. 8:30PM at the Rock and Roll Hotel. [Rock and Roll Hotel]
  • Saturday, Feb. 7: DC9’s old school hip hop and R&B night, KIDS, is back. Come late, because the first DJ is a sorority girl in Nike Dunks and a trucker hat. But, there’s free Olde English before 10PM. [DC9]
  • Sunday, Feb. 8: Cat Power, Matador Records’ pride and joy, is playing at the 9:30 Club tonight. Tickets are sold out, so that means they won’t be free (ha, ha). [9:30 Club]
  • Tuesday, Feb. 10: Bohemian Caverns is having an India Arie listening party in promotion of her new project, Testimony: Vol 2, Love & Politics. Her new song, “Chocolate High” is pretty awful, so beware. [Bohemian Caverns]
  • Buy these tickets before they sell out: Mos Def, Feb. 23, 9:30 Club; Ben Kweller and The Watson Twins, Feb. 26, 9:30 Club; Glasvegas, Mar. 26, Black Cat; Ratatat, 9:30 Club, Apr. 16.

Four Gripes About the DC Food Scene

Published on Examiner.com, November 9, 2008

http://www.examiner.com/x-882-DC-Ethnic-Food-Examiner~y2008m11d9-Four-gripes-about-the-food-scene-in-DC

I've only been here for six short months, but I made a few observations about the D.C. food scene:

1. There's no Asian bakeries: I was under the assumption that every major city had at least one Korean or Japanese bakery, but there's none to be found in the District of Columbia and that bums me out. I have to rely on my mom to FedEx me loaves of Japanese raisin bread or Korean scallion buns from L.A.

2. The street vendor food sucks: I have counted exactly two non-hot dog vendors in the entirety of the D.C, area. One is a gyro stand on Vermont St., and the other is a burrito stand on K St. And they're both absolutely disgusting.

3. The Asian food markets are wayyy outside of D.C.: Want to buy kim chee? Too bad, you'll need a car to drive all the way outside of the city for it.

4. The "hole-in-the-wall" places are rip offs: Seriously, $3.50 for a freaking empanada at Julia's? I thought there was an understanding here that "hole-in-the-wall" means cheap. I guess D.C. is exempted.

Greek Fast Food: Zorba's Cafe

Published at Examiner.com, October 22

http://www.examiner.com/x-882-DC-Ethnic-Food-Examiner~y2008m10d22-Greek-fast-food-Zorbas-Cafe

A couple of weeks ago, I had invited a few friends out to dinner and suggested that we try Zorba's Cafe on Dupont Circle. I made a big deal out of it and told everyone that it got rave reviews. But when we arrived, I was mortified to discover that Zorba's was a fast food restaurant (oh, the horror!). I shoved my friends out the door and we scurried on out in search for a dining experience that didn't include plastic trays and fluorescent lighting.

I never did get my Greek food fix, so a week later, I found myself at Zorba's yet again. I ordered avgolemono, a Greek chicken soup and tzaziki, garlic and cucumber yogurt dip. The avgolemono wasn't stellar -- it basically tasted like regular old chicken soup with a bit lemon squeezed into it . The tzaziki was good, but could have used a bit of parsley and lemon juice. My friend Andrew ordered a pork gyro, but he didn't touch the bread lying beneath the meat. "It's soggy," he said, reaching over for my pita bread. The food seemed very homemade, and a tad Americanized, the kind of food a Greek mother living in Centreville would cook for her first-generation American-Greek kids.

Zorba's really makes the effort to not make the place feel so fast-food like, so I feel bad for walking out on it before. It's cozy and cute, the perfect place to meet up with friends for quick post-work gnosh (but apparently, not good enough for dinners to impress your friends).

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Trendy Clothes Women Should Stop Wearing NOW!

Brightest Young Things, November 14, 2008

http://www.brightestyoungthings.com/style/seven-sex-appeal-killers-trendy-clothing-women-shouldnt-wear/

This is probably the most sexist thing I will ever write in my life, but I’m doing this as a favor to all the ladies out there who are constantly assuming the role of wallflower or wing woman.

Wanna get play?

Well, you never will if you’re constantly covering yourself in “cool stuff” that does nothing for your figure.

Granted, you’re trying to attract that particular guy, you know, the smart, bookish type with a bit of facial hair, but let’s be real. He’s a guy. He wants to see some T&A, and your Salvation Army sweater is seriously blocking the goods.

Here is my top seven list of no-no clothes (I mean, these may work on some people, but for most of us regular gals, it probably won’t…sorry).

1. Smock dresses: These dresses have a stitching that cuts across the boob-area, so that means only one thing: if you’ve got big boobs, this will have a mumu effect and you’ll end up looking like a potato sack. You could try giving yourself some shape with a cute little belt, but I still wouldn’t wear this out to a club.

2. Big T-shirts with skinny jeans: If you want to showcase the tatas or the ace, this is really not a good look to go with. This look makes your body seem very top-heavy. Also, it kind of makes you look like you’re a 7th grader wearing a men’s size Slipknot shirt from Hot Topic — not a very sophisticated look for a lady on the lookout.

3. Oversize bags: I hate this trend, because it’s so impractical, which by default, makes you look impractical. What do you need to carry besides a cell phone and some Chapstick? Oversize bags, especially the big, shiny patent leather-types, may be hobo-chic, but it also hides half of your body when you’re walking around.

4. High-waisted pants, both skinny and wide leg: If you’re a petite girl, be very careful with this, because proportion-wise, it tends to look like fabric is swallowing your body whole. It’s also very costume-y, so it’s hard to make it work in an everyday environment outside of a concert or a club.

5. Round, 80s-style plastic eyeglasses: You want a guy that is bookish, right? Well, he doesn’t want a girl that is bookish. This does nothing for your face, and will literally obliterate every ounce of sex appeal in your body.

6. Scarves: Don’t get me wrong, I love scarves to death, but when girls overdo the scarf thing by using scarves that are too chunky or big and blankety, it looks awful. Not only do scarves cover the boobage, it can again, get too costume-y (depending on the way you’re wearing it, you can look like an extra in a Western film or Lassie). If you’re wearing it inappropriately, it also has the same effect wearing sunglasses indoors might: douchbag-esque.

7. Fedoras: Speaking of inappropriate, I can’t really think of a situation where a fedora might be a good idea. Maybe if you were vacationing in Cuba (highly unlikely) and smoking a cigar. Maybe. Ladies, just stay away from this one. It’s just not a good idea all around.

That’s it.
Your turn now.

A Few Obvious Style Mistakes That Men Should Never Make

http://www.brightestyoungthings.com/style/a-few-obvious-things-that-men-should-never-wear/

Brightest Young Things, November 25, 2008

Remember that hell-blazing “what women should not wear” essay from a few Fridays back? …and the onslaught of article responses? Well, here is the male counterpart. Enjoy your lunch kids.-ed

Men can be a bit thickheaded about style. They stick with one look and kind of go with it, forever, until they get a girlfriend to steer them into the right direction (thankfully, in some other direction opposite of Gap, Banana Republic and J. Crew). Guys, check yourself and make sure you’re not breaking these very obvious style rules:

Backpacks: If you’re a young profesh working in D.C., you’re probably wearing a cheap suit to work, and no $250-special-order Freshjive backpack from Japan will be able to salvage or add street cred to your look. A backpack is a backpack. They just make you look like you’re a n00b on your first job interview. Get a messenger bag if you have that much stuff to carry around.

Denim shorts: I’m not talking about jorts. I’m talking about Nautica bleached denim shorts. I know there are a few guys out there that still wear these. I’ve seen you lurking around Pentagon City Mall. Stop wearing them, they’re offending me.

Not understanding shoelace rules: For skate shoes: loose with thick laces; for sneakers: thin laces, tucked into the tongue; for Converse, tight with thin laces. Save printed shoelaces for junior high.

Shirts with too many tribal designs or skulls on them, rhinestones, or old English fonts (more bluntly speaking, Ed Hardy and Affliction shirts): They’re so Miami circa 2006 (or, Eurotrash circa 2002). And there’s only one way to wear these shirts — with tight black jeans, a bling-bling Hugo Boss belt and the horrible pointy leather boots from Aldo. Ugh.

Plaid “short”-sleeved button down shirts that have sleeves that go down to your elbows: You know what I’m talking about. It’s kind of like a chollo shirt crossed with a Tommy Bahama shirt. It really dates your wardrobe. When girls see you in these shirts, they think “Did his mom buy that shirt for him for Christmas at JC Penney’s? In 1999?” Yeah. She did, didn’t she.

Those stupid po’boy hats: It always sends an outfit one step too far. Looks great on the Heatherettes. But maybe not so much on you.

Bell-shaped sideburns: Disgusting.

Any more ideas?

Sunday, October 26, 2008

Carbon Bar 5/07

Carbon Bar, Angeleno Magazine

Tucked away behind trendy Cumberland Hotel lies Carbon, a sophisticated new bar hoping to rival China White, one of London’s ritziest and most celebrity-ridden bars. Carbon, which looks like a wine cellar that’s been converted into an S&M dungeon (or as manager Sebastien Albert calls it, “New York industrial”), has the look and feel of luxury minus the pretentiousness. “We want people to come in and feel like they can take off their tie,” says Albert. But with walls made of vintage Taittinger and a cocktail menu as thick as a book, it’s hard to feel unintimidated. Albert recommends the Cullinan, a £10.50 citrusy champagne cocktail named after the world’s largest diamond (carbon, get it?).

Old Quebec St.,

London W1C 1LZ

+44 020 7479 3813

Marble Arch Station

Othello in L.A. Calendar 7/07

Calendar Section, Angeleno Magazine, 7/07

Othello in L.A.

Traveling troupe American Ballet Theatre finally arrives in Los Angeles to perform Lars Lubovitch’s highly anticipated three-act ballet, Othello. Lubovitch uses historical dance numbers, such as the tarantella, an Italian dance that gets quicker and more frenetic with time, to convey the doomed Othello’s growing jealousy and the tragic innocence of his beloved wife, Desdemona. Performing arts’ biggest names run the show: Composer Elliot Goldenthal has won Oscars for his musical scores for Frida and A Time to Kill, and Tony-award winner Ann Hould-Ward has won acclaim for her costume design in Beauty and the Beast. Lubovitch himself has choreographed more than 100 dances for his dance company. Othello has only been performed twice before this year–in Washington D.C in the winter and NYC in the spring.

July 13-15. At the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion at the Music Center, 135 North Grand Avenue, Los Angeles. Tickets $25-$115. 213.972.0711 or www.musiccenter.org/dance.html.

Decadestwo Grand Re-opening Celebration, 7/07

Events Section, Angeleno Magazine, 7/07


THE PARTY: Decadestwo Grand Re-opening Celebration THE CAUSE: Owners Christos Garkinos and Cameron Silver exclusively unveiled their 100-plus collection of YSL and Gucci clothing (from the Tom Ford era) to their best customers and celebrity clients. THE DRESS CODE: Decadestwo set the style tone of the evening by outfitting Garcelle Beauvais-Nilon, Jody Watley and Alyson Hannigan in black-and-white getups by Jenni Kayne, Leger and Louis Vuitton. But that didn’t stop guests from mixing in a punch of summery color; Garkinos wore a kelly green dress shirt to vivify his white suit, while Tracee Ellis Ross stood out in her perfectly pink cocktail dress. THE VENUE: The newly expanded decadestwo store on Melrose THE PLAYERS: Ali Larter, Jared Leto, Garcelle Beauvais-Nilon, Zachary Quinto, Farnsworth Bently, Kelly Carlson, Alyson Hannigan, Jody Watley, Mathew St. Patrick, Joely Richardson, China Chow, Tarina Tarantino, Ann Magnuson, Ayda Field THE ONE LINER: “I’m not really good with names. Unless they’re Prada, Gucci or Chanel, of course,” confessed Garkinos upon introducing himself. BEST IN SHOW: Ali Larter spent $3,000 on a mink-trimmed gown by Angel Sanchez (who recently designed Eva Longoria’s wedding dress). THE SCANDAL: Garkinos’ Cloak pants accidentally ripped during the party. “I had to do a quick change to YSL!” he said.

Love in the Time of Cholera Book Review

Love in the Time of Cholera (1988)
Written 5/12/08

WORD COUNT: 1,398

Gabriel García Márquez’s Love in the Time of Cholera is a poignant satire of an unrequited love that finally thrives in the face of death. While the storytelling is both funny and heart-wrenching, the plot can be slow-moving and repetitive, making it difficult to get through. Nevertheless, we have to admire the Pulitzer Prize-winning author’s uncanny ability to condense themes as intense as love and death into mere frivolities of life: they’re nothing but quirks that make us human.

Interestingly enough, the story begins with the death of St. Jeremiah de Saint-Amour – he kills himself in order to avoid getting old. His suicide is a symbol for the love story that ensues; aging does not stop us from living, and it certainly does not stop us from loving.

No one understands that feeling more than Florentino Ariza. He has waited 51 years, nine months and four days for his beloved Fermina Daza to return to him. She rejects Florentino at age 18 and marries Juvenal Urbino, a high society doctor, instead. Florentino still obsesses over her, filling his time with strange little hobbies and loveless trysts in order to get through the years until Fermina finally becomes available – when Dr. Urbino is dead.

Love in the Time of Cholera is based on García Márquez’s parents’ own tragic courtship. Like Florentino, Gabriel Eligio García bombarded Luisa Santiaga Marquez with love letters and serenades, love poems and secret telegraph messages. Luisa’s father, a Conservative colonel, disapproved of Gabriel entirely, and sent Luisa away – just as Lorenzo Daza did to Fermina – for his lovesick daughter to forget all about her crazed sweetheart.

Although Fermina has spent the past 50 years as nothing more than a privileged servant trapped in a loveless marriage, suppressed by her overbearing mother-in-law, she learns to accept her life. She even grows to love and care for Dr. Urbino, albeit in an odd motherly, nurturing kind of way. Fermina’s personality softens throughout the years – once haughty and arrogant, she finally indulges in her innermost desires and succumbs to Florentino’s calculated seduction. Her vitality and youth is restored as she reunites with Florentino; she becomes coquettish and shy on their boat trip together at the end of the book.

For all the praise that she gets, Fermina seems mean-spirited and wishy-washy – she casts Florenino aside like a pathetic, stray dog, and all of a sudden, she wants him again. And if she’s the “free thinker” that García Márquez says she is, then why does she chain herself to Dr. Urbino or bother to go through the motions of domestic life?

Florentino’s behavior is magnified with age – he becomes more of a womanizer and an eccentric than ever as he navigates through time (and women, all 622 of them) – but he insists that he does it all for her. Meanwhile, the plot becomes more exaggerated and ostentatious, perhaps a throwback to García Márquez’s “magical realism” (more apparent in his 1967 book, 100 Years of Solitude). By the end of the novel, he’s ensnared in a Lolita-like relationship with the pubescent América Vicuña, a blood relative who he has legal guardianship over. Their affair is a last-ditch attempt to illustrate Florentino’s virility in old age.

His romantic tendencies can get annoying sometimes. Florentino is so foolishly in love over Fermina that it’s pathetic. He drinks her perfume and stalks her – it’s all a bit much. He guides his own life by what he thinks she would have wanted for him, and this is the most unsettling and creepy part of his character.

Dr. Urbino is likeable enough and is the perfect foil to Florentino. He is a modern thinker and a realist, not like Florentino, a dreamer. A good portion of the novel is devoted to Dr. Urbino’s precise daily routines, a stark contrast to Florentino’s sudden flights of fancy: sunken ships, buried treasure, lighthouses.

Satire and exaggeration are the keys to this novel. The book is so over-the-top about falling in love, being in love and dying of love that it’s almost funny: “Florentino Ariza spent the rest of the afternoon eating roses and reading the note letter by letter, over and over again, and the more he read, the more roses he ate, and by midnight he had read it so many times and eaten so many roses that his mother had to hold his head as if he were a calf and force him to swallow a dose of castor oil.” Although a bit outdated, we can relate to Florentino’s lovesickness and romantic fervor.

Love in the Time of Cholera is a rich study of the Caribbean society it takes place in; it pokes fun of Colombia’s noveau riche and their poseur attempts to keep up with the latest European trends, if only just for show. After spending a year honeymooning in Europe, Fermina “summed up her many months of bliss with four words of Caribbean slang: ‘It’s not so much,’” encapsulating the backwards mentality of the Columbian upper class.

García Márquez rarely mentions the location and time setting, which is both maddening and captivating. The story takes place in Riohacha, a port city in the Caribbean region of Columbia, in an indiscernible time era that seems a hundred years behind. “In my opinion, the nineteenth century is passing for everyone except us,” Dr. Urbino says. We are transported to a place where nothing else exists except love and high society – cholera is merely glossed over and the city’s poverty is rarely mentioned.

At first, García Márquez’ prose and writing style is hard to follow; he writes in such an old-fashioned, roundabout way that it seems almost impossible to decipher what it is that he’s trying to get at. What is an “agonized longing to be pardoned for their indiscretion of still being alive” supposed to mean?

But García Márquez’ subtle, dry and borderline silly sense of humor helps it along: “Once he tasted some chamomile tea and sent it back, saying only: ‘This stuff tastes of window.’…But when they tried the tea in an effort to understand, they understood: it did taste of window.”

The bulk of his writing is flowery and poetic: “Little by little, listening to her sleep, he pieced together the navigation chart of her dreams and sailed among the countless islands of her secret life.” While pretty, it’s difficult to discern which lines are satire and which are not. It’s disappointing when we realize that these cloyingly romantic lines are only there to create irony.

It’s hard to say whether his word pairings are deliberate or the result of a clumsy Spanish to English translation, but whatever it is, it makes for an interesting read. We come across “lacustrine gardens,” “violins bathed in tears” and “languid accordions,” mish-mashed personifications that help emotions and objects flow into each other, giving the language a romantic edge.

There are several parts that are so exaggerated that it’s distracting. How does a constipated, balding man get involved in 622 love affairs without falling for any of them? Two of Florentino’s lovers have died in his name, and he doesn’t even care – it makes him look heartless and cold, despite all his love for Fermina. Florentino’s unwavering devotion to Fermina is questionable – most people would have forgotten a lover after a few years. How has he been hanging onto her for decades?

Love in the Time of Cholera can be a bit tedious to read. Its perfectly symmetrical structure makes the book a bit predictable, especially because the climax of the story (Dr. Urbino’s death) takes place at the beginning of the story. Meanwhile, we’re stuck reading about Florentino’s loveless affairs and Fermina’s domestic life for pages on end. There are hardly any major developments in the book to shake things up, except perhaps a change of heart. We’re left feeling anxious for the ending where the two lovers finally reunite.

However, it’s the symmetry that lends itself to Garcia Marquez’ powerful ending. At the beginning of the story, we are sorry to see that Jeremiah de Saint-Amour has committed suicide for fear of old age. But the end of the novel is the exact opposite. Old age has breathed new life into Florentino and Fermina, because they have returned to the past and become young lovers again, meeting secretly underneath the almond trees in the garden of their memory.

Thursday, October 2, 2008

Angeleno Summer 2007


A Line Magazine Spring 2008

click to read

Monday, August 25, 2008

Rave Redux: Syracuse's dance scene makes a comeback

20 Watts Magazine

Published: Spring 2008

Tonight is Euphoria Friday, a weekly club night at Trexx in downtown Syracuse, and a mix of electro-house, drum and bass and trance music is thumping out of the speakers. Everything is set up for a dynamic dance party -- the bar is stocked, the smoke machine is on and the lights are flashing. But on this Friday night, the club is dead, and it doesn't do the place justice. Jamen V is spinning UK smash hit "Yeah, Yeah" by Bodyrox up in the DJ booth. This song would normally incite mass pandemonium in clubs all over Europe, but the four people on the Trexx dance floor are just standing around talking, completely unaffected by the music.

Syracuse’s electronic music scene has been on life support for years, ever since a major drugs-and-weapons bust in 2002 that targeted Button’s Arcade, a popular local dance venue. Angry parent interventions and the decrease of available venues further contributed to the clampdown, causing promoters to lay low for a couple of years.

It didn’t use to be this way. In the early 1990s, Syracuse was a major player in the U.S. rave scene. There were all-ages dance “parties” (a euphemism the scene uses for the outdated term “rave”) staged at empty spaces and warehouses all over Syracuse – even in Thornden Park and Marshall Street.

Chad Roy, a DJ at Ohm Lounge and veteran of the scene since 1993, used to throw parties at the space that is now Maggie’s Tavern nicknamed “The Rave Cave” in the mid-90s. “It was completely underground. We packed 300-400 people into that space, and the concrete floors would get so slick with sweat,” Roy says. “They were the best parties – it had a good vibe.”

These days, there are only a few venues in Syracuse that offer regular electronic music-only club nights: Trexx, around the block from Dinosaur Bar-B-Q, and Ohm Lounge and Awful Al’s in Armory Square and the Opus Restaurant and Lounge on Walton Street.

Still, with electronic-indie acts like Daft Punk, Justice and Hot Chip seeping into the pop-music mainstream, this could be the right time for Syracuse’s dance scene to make a comeback. Syracuse DJs are already seeing the changes – there have been an increasing number of fresh new faces at their club nights every week since a New Year’s dance bash earlier this year.

“We aren’t playing Alice DeeJay, here,” says Andrew Taylor, a DJ who runs Visionary Mindz Recordings in Binghamton. He’s referring to the Swedish group that came out with the 1999 club anthem “Better off Alone,” the “techno” song by which Americans seem to define electronic music. DJs in Syracuse play some serious electro music from all ends of the spectrum: trance, hardcore, drum and bass, gabber, deep house and hard energy, just to name a few.

Parties are planned and funded by several production crews located in Upstate New York, including Vibrant Soundz, Direkt Influence, Ephx, Elite Tribe, Visionary Mindz and DAC Productions. The crews, which act essentially as DJ and promoter alliances, network together to scout new artists and venues, create lineups and publicize the events to draw in big-name DJs. User Friendly, a recent event at Trexx, featured 16 top DJs from across the East Coast, including Black Mamba from Miami and Dietrich Schoenemann from New York City.

The crews use the Upstate Underground Network forum online to share music and keep each other up-to-date. One post from Krypt0 reads, “i just found out who d74 is booking for this event, and once he posts you guys are gonna cream your effin pants…STAY TUNED homies.” But despite the enthusiasm and support, DJs and promoters are still struggling.

“Most of the events now are collaborations, not just one crew doing something,” says Sean Place, a DJ at Trexx and founder of Vinyl Beat Productions. “We have to pool our money together – it used to be really competitive, but it’s not that way anymore.”

Every member of the scene speaks highly of the DJ that started it all, Phato, who once threw a rave at the New York State Fairgrounds at the height of the dance movement for 1,500 people, and then, according to Place, “disappeared mysteriously somewhere in D.C.” Parties haven’t been that big since – they’ve become much smaller, and to the dismay of devoted promoters, much less lucrative.

“It’s not worth it to spend $2,000-$3,000 to throw an event and only have 250 people show up,” says Rob Liadka, a DJ who runs Elite Tribe, one of the oldest running production companies in Syracuse.

Smaller parties also mean fewer opportunities for big-name DJs to play in Syracuse. “I’ve come across DJ contracts stating there had to be at least 3,000 people (at an event),” says Liadka. “Now, you’re lucky if you even hit 500-600 people.”

If only more people attended parties. Syracuse DJs have discovered that it’s difficult to get suburban club-goers into the music. “We’ve tried many different avenues of promoting house music,” says Todd Kilburn, a promoter who organizes Quikk Fixx, one of Syracuse’s biggest yearly electronic events. “We even tried to scheme up a way to have a pirate radio station just to expose people to it.”

Roy says that Ohm could be packed with 300 gorgeous sorority girls in heels and clean-cut frat boys in blazers, but there’s hardly any dancing. “It’s very rare that people come here for the music. I’m constantly getting people coming up to the DJ booth and asking for us to play a song from the radio. Well, they’re not going to hear it here,” he says.

Using MySpace as a marketing tool definitely isn’t the answer, although it would be tempting to say that it helps. “It doesn’t work as much as going up to someone and saying, ‘Hey, party tonight, fucking, come to this party,’” says James Menges, who runs Ephx Productions. “You have to do the legwork.”

Promoters are trying to make parties more successful by finding out what the crowd digs. Liadka found that sexually-themed events “kind of based on Girls Gone Wild,” mixed in with a rave theme generally draws in more people. The promoters of User Friendly hired a group of sexy female dancers dressed in naughty schoolgirl costumes to get the crowd moving (and it seemed to have worked – by the end of the night, the girls’ garters were stuffed with singles).

Members of the scene are discovering that their crowds have not only been increasing, but diversifying – the parties include a hodge-podge of middle-aged couples, members of the gay community, high school Goths, punks, Candy Caners (what the scene calls the ravers) and students from Le Moyne, OCC and SU. There’s an obvious discrepancy between the actual electronic music fans and bored kids just looking for something to do.

But for the dedicated DJs and promoters that run the scene, that doesn’t really matter. “We just want people to enjoy the music, come back and say that they had a lot of fun,” says Place. And that certainly sounds like the makings of true comeback.

END

Thursday, June 26, 2008

Fafi + MAC 1/08

http://pop-tarte.blogspot.com/2008/01/fafi-mac-french-graffiti-artist-goes.html

MAC Cosmetics is coming out with a new line of products imprinted with the French graffiti artist Fafi's signature tags and drawings. Her sketches of gamine girls in adorable, dominatrix-like outfits are splashed across the entire MAC line, on lipsticks, makeup bags, eyeshadow palettes and lip glosses.

I just worry that this will be Fafi's final push into the mainstream -- I've already had to suffer through her limited-to-Japan-and-France clothing line and her illustrated covers of XLR8R, and I want her all to myself! We've all seen Shepard Fairey's downward spiral with his graffiti/propaganda empire, Obey...he's now doing corporate work for companies like BMW. The idea that Fafi's drawings will be seen by teenage girls in malls across America really disgusts me, but I guess that's not stopping me from forking $45 over for eyeshadow at the MAC counter.

Takashi Murakami 1/08

http://blogcolony.net/2008/01/28/takashi-murakami-blurring-the-lines-between-consumer-goods-and-art/#more-25

In case you don’t know who Takashi Murakami is, he’s the Japanese artist that came up with the brilliant idea of punching up Louis Vuitton’s signature brown n’ cream purse a few years back with electrified, candy-colored logos, and later, the infamous cherry-themed LV design, launching Murakami straight into the mainstream.

I saw his exhibit MURAKAMI this winter break at the Geffen Contemporary at MOCA in Los Angeles with my mom and sis. Not many people realize that Murakami is a contemporary artist, cartoonist and designer who’s been influential in the Japanese anime scene for more than a decade. His cartoon monsters, hyper-sexual anime sculptures, and graffiti-influenced murals are positively psychedelic. The exhibition was like walking into a surreal cartoon world, with little faces and animals and cute little beings with sharp, pointy teeth jeering at you from every corner. My sister was totally freaked out, and ironically, my mom was loving it.

But it wasn’t the crazy cartoon characters that scared me. It was the gigantic Louis Vuitton boutique set up on the second floor, selling thousand-dollar luggage the size of a doghouse. I started to think, WAIT…is this a store or is this an art exhibit? I didn’t like the idea that his work was being exploited by Louis Vuitton, and then I thought, how can he stand seeing his artwork mass-produced all over stupid luxury goods for gold digger housewives throughout the world? Yikes.

But his artwork is still pretty cool, and if you like anime, you’ve got to check out his work.The exhibit runs until February 11, but I doubt you’ll be able to catch a flight to L.A. before then, so here’s a video on the highlights:

[youtube]http://youtube.com/watch?v=iiOepQOW-QU&feature=related[/youtub

The Cobra Snake 3/08

http://thesocietypress.com/?p=79


Everyone loves to hate The Cobra Snake, but I have no idea why. It offers regular folks like you and me a glimpse into the glitzy, booze-addled, chain-smoking, !!!-listening hipster nightlife from N.Y.C. to Tokyo. The site is driven by L.A.-based music and culture photographer Mark “The Cobra Snake” Hunter and DJ Steve Aoki of Dim Mak Records (a label that’s put out albums by too-cool-for-school bands like Shitdisco, Klaxons and The Icarus Line). The content is in the same vein as Last Night’s Party, just without all the nudity. Look at it for the parties and concerts you wish you could have been to, look at it for the sexy hipster girls you thought never existed, look at it for crazy outfit ideas you could have never put together yourself — but don’t you dare look at it to hate on it.

P.S. Order a Dim Mak shirt on The Cobra Snake site if you can — it’s like, worth a million bucks in hipster street cred if you’re caught wearing one.

Review: New Food Network Show, Jamie at Home 1/08

http://blogcolony.net/2008/01/29/review-new-food-network-show-jamie-at-home/

Finally, amid elaborate, lavish celebrity chef hoo-hah, comes a cooking show that takes a backseat to the whole fame-and-glamour thing and goes back to basics. “Jamie at Home,” the Food Network’s new show hosted by British mega-chef Jamie Oliver, is a rustic, family-centered rendition of his trendier, BBC-syndicated cooking shows, “The Naked Chef” and “Oliver’s Twist”. Unlike other cooking shows, “Jaime at Home” is pretty to watch (definitely not like fellow Food Network star Sandra Lee’s tacky housewife set) and dripping with quirkiness and charm (although, that might be based solely on his Cockney accent). The show is filmed right at Oliver’s home, in his cluttered cottage and garden in the ever-overcast English countryside.

The premise of the show is simple: Oliver cooks the “foods he loves” with fresh ingredients from his backyard. He draws inspiration from Mediterranean and Eastern Asian cuisine, preparing dishes such as chili-avocado salsa, zucchini risotto and Thai-style leg of lamb. Each episode begins with a clip of Oliver rummaging through his garden for a vegetable (such as pumpkin or rhubarb) to be highlighted on the show. His enthusiasm for the color, the freshness and the flavor of his produce is infectious – you almost can’t wait to see what he’ll do with the peppers he lovingly picked from his greenhouse.

Sometimes, you forget why chefs use certain ingredients in a dish, and Oliver makes damn well sure you understand the impact of each element. The cameras zoom in on Oliver’s food to the point of Georgia O’Keefe-like abstraction, and you can actually hear yourself sighing upon a close-up of cherry tomatoes doused in extra-virgin olive oil, without the Pavlovian responses induced by Emeril or Rachael Ray. His dishes are not 30-minute meals or semi-homemade – these are rich, luscious, slow-cooked comfort foods. The show’s no-fuss approach makes the cooking process look effortless. There is no hokey background music to distract you (shocking, for a British series), Gordon Ramsay-like egos or formal attire. Oliver putts around in a camo sweatshirt and jeans, caressing various ingredients and cracking corny jokes. He is endearing and a bit nerdy –on the Chilies and Peppers episode, Oliver refers to various vegetables as “Mr. So and So” a total of four times in a 5-minute period. His quirkiness continues with his innovative cooking methods. He fashions a contraption out of a biscuit tin and chicken wire in preparation of rosemary-infused smoked salmon.

“Jamie at Home” is a refreshing reminder that cooking is really all about the food, a comforting thought coming from a happy-go-lucky chef worth $50 million.

Spring Break Dos and Don'ts 3/08

http://blogcolony.net/2008/03/17/spring-break-dos-and-donts-let-this-be-a-lesson-to-all-of-us/

So, I went to South Beach, Florida for my spring break with 8 of my good friends. My experience involved a 55-year-old hippie with head lice, a prostitute and a $250 bottle of champagne at Sean Paul’s birthday party. Needless to say, I went through a lot and I want to share a few spring break DOs and DON’Ts with you guys so you can do it right next time:

DO plan to spend an extra $200: I thought I could make it through the week with a couple hundred bucks for food and souvenirs, but when you’re in a touristy destination and a bagel costs $5, you could run into some trouble in the money department.

DO carry cash in small bills: You’ll be owing your traveling companions a few bucks here and there for the times they’ve spotted you at a club or at a restaurant. Plus, it’s really frustrating when you’re paying for a meal with a party of 9 and everyone has twenties…big mistake.

DON’T underestimate the power of sunscreen. If you get sunburned on the first day, the rest of your trip will be a peeling, itching nightmare. Put a lot of sunscreen on the first day and get a base tan — it’ll protect you from burning the next few days.

DON’T buy drinks at the bar, especially at spring break destinations like Cancun or Acapulco. Hit up your local minimart and buy a few 40s, a handle of vodka and some Diet Coke and pregame at your hotel or hostel.

DO consider alternative spring break destinations like Chicago or Montreal if you’re not a tan ‘n booze/Girls Gone Wild fan.

DON’T play the drinking game, Kings, with strangers. They’ll always make you do some freaky shit.

DON’T feel like you have to stick with your traveling mates 24/7. If you want to go to a museum and no one else wants to, do it. It’ll give you a very much needed break and some space to get refreshed.

DO consider staying at a hostel rather than a hotel. Most popular spring break cities have great hostels with nightly programs, deals with local nightclubs and mixers to help you meet new people. Plus, it’s cheap.

Got any more spring break DOs and DON’Ts? Post them below!

Jerk Magazine Online 4/08

http://jerkmag.net/smut_apr08.htm

Web of Love
A Young Man's Online Quest for Love and Lust
By Malaka Gharib

Jonny Smyth has online profiles on almost every networking and dating Web site imaginable: Match.com, JDate.com (a Jewish dating site – he’s not Jewish), OKcupid.com, Makeoutclub.com, Friendster, eHarmony.com and more.

Smyth swears there are a lot of “really cool” people online. “Whatever happened to just meeting people? Nobody makes eye contact anymore,” he says. “At least the Internet is less socially awkward.”

For college students who have grown up meeting new people on networking sites like LiveJournal and MySpace, online dating doesn’t seem too creepy or far out of reach – Match.com alone lists more than 160 members aged 18-22 living in the Syracuse area.

Smyth, a junior public affairs major grew up in a culture-deprived country town north of Syracuse and used the Internet as a way to find “quirky girls who listened to swing music” and “weird people who read books” during high school (“What was I supposed to do, go to the local sock hop?” he asks). Three years into college, his online profiles are more of a “residual,” although he updates them every now and then, just so they don’t get an outdated picture.

Smyth’s dating method of choice is ironically anachronistic – he seems to be trapped in a time era decades before his birth. He lurks about the SU campus in vintage tweed coats, cowboy boots and knitted old-man cardigans. He totes around a messenger bag filled with things like leather-bound sketch pads and calligraphy pens. He has a bit of an overcast, moody demeanor, probably due to a recent break-up with his girlfriend of two years.

Did he meet her online? “God no, I met her while walking down the street,” he snaps.

But Smyth has definitely met his fair share of girls on the Internet, mainly via MySpace and Facebook, and he’s learned a lot about the online dating culture in his time.

“Girls can be ugly or fat, or smell bad, or be atrocious, but the Internet can make anyone look good. Even if you don’t know shit about cameras, you can get rid of those pits and divots with the flash,” he said. “If they’re artsy, you’re fucked.”

In high school, he preferred older women with cars, because he didn’t have one. Smyth’s longest online-conceived relationship has been eight months. Dating etiquette can be a bit tricky, especially when it comes to online arguments. A Friendster message he sent reads, “This isn’t the right venue. Call me, you bitch.”

Smyth still gets matches on his active accounts on the dating sites (“but mostly spam,” he notes). On OKCupid.com, he has a 78 percent match with lieaddkus, 22/F/Straight from Syracuse, NY: “I love sex, probably more than you. I’m just not going to be having it with you.” Makes sense, considering Smyth’s OKCupid profile includes “a good fuck” in the six things he could never do without.

If there’s one thing Smyth is sure about in the online dating world, it’s this: “Men look for women, and women merely wait to be found.”

“But I would love it if interesting women approached me,” he says.

A memoir of my grandparents' garden 10/07

My grandparents have lived in the same place for fifty years, the bottom level of a six-storey apartment building on Abdul Rahman Roshdy St. in Heliopolis. They’re one of the two lucky tenants to have a large garden, enough for a few fruit trees, a plot for vegetables and an ample sitting area for entertaining. This garden is an integral part of my family’s social life – everything happens here. My uncle and aunt even got married here, right underneath a bough of jasmine branches from the garden, and my grandfather died here, looking out at his beloved garden from his bedroom balcony.

In the front part of the garden, the area right outside of the apartment’s French doors, is a love seat and a set of matching chairs made of cracking, crumbling wicker – the only thing really holding it together is its thick coat of white paint. The chairs are covered in faded blue-and-pink-flowered seat cushions, flat with years of use and stiff from cycles of rain, dry spells and dust storms.

My grandfather used to sit on the left side of this love seat, cross-legged, skinny and bald like Gandhi with his vanilla-smoke pipe and his long, white gallabaya. I remember he’d sit here with his brother, who lived down the street, and drink sugared mint tea or Turkish coffee out of tiny shot glasses and play cards until the middle of the night.

In the back of the garden, behind the house, there are jasmine, mango and guava trees. As a child, I hated eating mangos and guavas (too messy), but I made jasmine necklaces and attempted to sell them on the street before my father caught me and dragged me back into the house. Tied to the jasmine tree is a bit of wire that is used for hanging laundry. There is a basket of clothes pins on a hook nailed to the side of the jasmine tree. I used to like hanging laundry with my grandmother so much. I loved the sound of the sopping wet laundry flapping against each other in the wind as it dried.

In the afternoons, my grandmother and I would lounge underneath the tree, draw the thick, sweet scent of jasmines into our lungs and pick rocks out of the rice in preparation for dinner.

She’d get pissed off when Kitty, the crazy Christian woman from the apartment upstairs, dropped leftover scraps wrapped in newspaper from her kitchen window. It was supposed to be for the stray cats in our garden. “What are you doing?” my grandmother would ask. “We’re trying to get rid of the cats, not attract them!”

My grandmother also had a problem with the next-door neighbor’s rooster and chickens. They came in through the side of the garden, the divider between her garden and the neighbor’s. This “divider” was made of purple bougainvillea intertwined in jasmine bushes. I tried to fix this problem by taking a roll of chicken wire and pieces of scrap wood and patching up any holes I found in the bushes.

But several years have passed and the garden has become overgrown. You can’t tell if what is tickling your leg is a red ant or long blade of grass when walking through the garden. The vegetable plot has died away, and to make up for it, my grandmother has planted plastic flowers in its place. There is a thin layer of dust on everything: the trees, the love seat, even the grass. The ground in the back garden is covered in rotten fruit, which of course attract the stray cats.

My grandmother doesn’t go outside anymore, but the scent of jasmine lingers. Sweet, like a memory.

The Baker: What happens when pot dealers get gourmet. 11/07

“The Baker,” a balding, gofer-like 21-year-old in a nondescript T-shirt and a pair of outdated oval eyeglasses, sinks into his red velvet armchair in his apartment on Ackerman and indifferently scrolls through his iTunes, playing a few seconds of Air, a minute of the Beastie Boys and finally settling on a sleepy Radiohead song which uncannily fits the vibe in the room.

He looks as though he’s been sitting in this same decrepit armchair the entire day, which, in a matter of fact, he has, amongst dirty laundry and papers of this and that. On the floor, next to a “Heroes: Season 1” DVD and a cigarette stub, is a gallon-sized Ziploc bag with nine perfectly placed brownies that have been baked in a cupcake tin. He will sell these for eight dollars a piece.

Eight dollars is steep, and he’s certainly not using Demerara sugar from Dean & Deluca or imported Spanish vanilla extract from Williams Sonoma. He’s using marijuana – “but not the good stuff,” he interjects. “Save that for a joint.”

The Baker has become something like Syracuse University’s Mr. Chow of pot brownies. He sells and delivers his homemade, pot-laden “goodies” to freshmen and sophomores living in the dorms, mainly ones that haven’t realized that a fan, air freshener and an open window (not above an RA’s room, or a tattle-tale, for that matter) are all you really need to effectively smoke a joint without having the smoke seep through the cracks of the doorways. His brownies and muffins are convenient and discreet for dorm students that need their fix – they taste good and get the job done, says The Baker.

And don’t doubt the potency of The Baker’s goods. “Even though I did smoke a few blunts before eating it, I’m pretty sure (the brownie) would’ve fucked me up anyway,” recalls Steve, a dual mathematics and physics senior, one of The Baker’s regular customers. “It’s so good you can’t even tell there’s drugs in it.”

He also makes other things from scratch: banana bread, muffins of all kinds, sugar and chocolate cookies. When he finishes his weekly batch, he sends out a text message to all his customers. “I tell them to put me in their phone as ‘The Baker,’” he says. “I store their numbers by first names then dorm halls.”

This week’s text says, “Beautiful day to buy brownies. Limited supply of banana bread, too. Message me.”

“Andrew, Watson” replied shortly after, “hey, yeah it’s a beautiful day for that. what r ur prices?”

Another text from “Sunny, Sadler” said, “yo, u still got dat banana bread?”

The banana bread seems to be quite the hit. “It’s incredibly moist without being overbearingly rich. It has an organic but delicate flavor. Decadent, if you will,” says Steve.

The Baker is pretty serious about baking, something he picked up less than three years ago. So serious that the former geology senior dropped out of school last month, to move to Las Vegas and pursue a career in cooking, something he liked far better than rocks. He’s leaving this December, only four months short of graduating. The cooking gig he has lined up for himself in Vegas is not exactly legit – a few friends have commissioned him to be their personal chef in exchange for room and board.

He barely makes profit from his baking, but he likes it. Ian, one of his buddies from geology, says “He loves cooking and pot at heart. What a better way to do what you love than make money off the things you love?”

If Martha Stewart had a meth lab, it would most certainly look like The Baker’s kitchen. The pantry is stocked with every kind of flour and Ziploc bag imaginable. There is an awkwardly shaped glass container with a rotating handle – a nut chopper – used to grind eighths into little bits. In the fridge, next to a half empty jar of spaghetti sauce, are stacks of weed nut breads, individually wrapped in butcher’s paper.

Later he will hide these goods at the foot of his bed in a hand-carved nightstand that looks as if it was either inherited from his grandmother or found behind the dumpster on South Campus. Some will go into his “delivery pack,” a lap top bag that fits about fifteen muffins or cakes. The bag is also stocked with more Ziploc bags.

The secret is in the butter. “I simmer the weed in there for a little while, and it starts to get crunchy – just like a little nut or a Rice Crispie or something in the brownie,” he says.

He does not eat his own brownies because he is bored of them. He has been sober for two days.

“If you know anyone that’s interested in buying my brownies, give them my number,” he says.