Ameb-Axe

Reliving the old days, I felt punk as fuck last night...well until I hugged the wall during the Amebix set at the Bowery Ballroom. I had practice with Angela, Rich and Curran (get on the blogwagon dude!) last night. It was our first session as a full band, Rich being the newest member, and our third practice to date. We've got one song so far, but we are having fun. No name as of yet, though I've been joking about Baphomess but no one seems to get it until they see it in writing.

Angela and I went straight from practice to the show both excited as hell. I'll be the first to admit that I am newer the Amebix than one may expect. I have a lot of gaps in my musical knowledge, especially on the punk side of things, but their crust/metal crossover is right up my alley. Still I felt almost unworthy when Sean scored me a last minute ticket to the sold out show when so many of my friends had bought tickets far in advance and were dying with anticipation from the moment the reunion was announced. After the show more than a few friends told me how they were literally fighting back tears and some points, overwhelmed at seeing something they'd never thought they'd witness and it being so amazing on top of that. I had lesser expectations, but they blew me away.


We were obviously stoked


Crass and acid wash courtesy of Court


Not the most flattering angle, but check out the hand sewn hell bent for leather Atakke 7". Now that's punk as fuck.


Guess who?


Being nerds...okay, not to toot my own horn but the old Corrosion of Conformity shirt (Poison Planet!) is one of the best things I own.


I know...we're gross


But we're not the only ones


Sean and his awesome friend from Boston (who helped get me in and I'm a dick of forgot her name.) Check out the background, everyone was representing in full force.


The lovely Sybil was out in full force as well. It was amazing watching her lose her shit during the show.

I didn't take any photos during Amebix. First off, try taking pictures near the front of the sold out Bowery Ballroom during a show with a massive pit which is pretty much consistently active. Second, try remembering that you even have a camera when you are too busy trying to pick your jaw up off the floor.

Afterwards I had to deal with assholes harassing me at the Charleston when I showed up to DJ to no one. All the Brooklyn punks went to Second Chance and everyone else had already been to the Charleston the night before for the Kylesa show. Boo. At least Orin was there to keep me DJ company, the one holdout for the Amebix show. He declared, "Amebix is Morrissey for crust punks" and made this crappy flyer:



He did cover for me for the first half the night so I could go to the show so I can't hate on his hating. Basically this is all that happened at the Charleston:





Although there were some fists raised in the air throughout the night. Mainly by those two.

Tidbits

Now that the camera is back up and running I give you a photo post!


Sign on Montrose on my walk to the train


The reason no one sees me anymore


Glen's gorilla boxing hands...his gf has a matching pair


The remnants of a King of the Hill for Adult Swim ad on 3rd Ave, poor Bill!


The ultimate Shirley Temple (it pays to be the DJ)

More photos from The Weight's Christmas party and a rousing holiday session of "Kick the String" soon.

Awkward

My dad requested my friendship on Facebook tonight. This is my current profile picture:



It could be worse. At least I had already changed my status which earlier read:




Foiled by posting on accessible public forums once again. I'm sure my cousins are already horrified. And of course he can see my previous status posting unless I delete it but I am sure I'll make some other slip soon enough so why even bother. I just hope he doesn't ask me about battletits...or battle ass for that matter.

Work Forced

Or alternately punnily "Workfarce."

So, after how many months of unemployment (September, October, November, December, January...wow) I finally got an interview somewhere I was intrigued by. I initially sent my resume to Le Book but apparently I wasn't a correct fit. Three hours later I received an email from somewhere completely different. They said they had received my resume and were very interested in meeting for a PR Assistant opening.

Now PR Assistant is not my dream job by any means, but it is work that comes easily for me. Reading over the duties I saw I had done everything on the list and was possibly overqualified for the job. I let myself bask in dreams of advancing in the Lifestyle and Marketing department of this large company who had recruited me. That's right, they wanted me. I imagined the benefits I'd receive, finally freeing me from the ridiculous cost of my COBRA insurance that is about to expire anyway. Sure I am working on a novel (ugh...that looks so douchey written out, but I really am, at least I didn't say "working on my novel" that's worse) but there is time for that and I could do it at night. Just be extra disciplined, right? My boyfriend was so happy for me he said he would take me out to a romantic celebratory dinner that night and promised to score us a table somewhere special.

I DJed the night before the interview but thankfully it was scheduled for 3:30 so I had plenty of time to prepare. I told my boyfriend he wasn't allowed to spend the night that night so I could be ready. I wanted to be focused goddamnit, at the top of my game and was willing to sacrifice any amount of snuggling to do it. I woke up early (for me) and made myself breakfast. Upon returning to my bedroom, hearty bowl of farina with apples and cinnamon in my hand I saw I had a missed call and a new voicemail. It was from the woman who was to interview me saying she wanted to touch base with me before I came in. I called her back and got her voicemail so I proceeded to try on four different outfits determined to look perfect.

Finally I found something that had the right mix of current and conservative (PR is a bitch to dress for when it comes to interviews...to show tattoo or no tattoo...that is the question.) Confident, and having received the thumbs up from my roommate I was putting the finishing touches on my makeup when my phone rang.

It was her, my savior, my job prospect. She had just gotten out of a meeting when she'd first called me. The job she wanted to see me about no longer existed due to budget cuts. She was going to fight for it to be reinstated but didn't want to waste my time in the meanwhile.

That was it. Twenty minutes before I was set to leave my house. No more interview. No more job. At least I can't feel too rejected, I didn't get a job that doesn't exist. But damn.

Life Equations

Dear blog, I did not forget about you. I've been in a bubble the past few weeks. Life has been too fun to pause to blog. Well, that and every time I sit in front of my computer I am magically drawn to YouTube where I watch episode after episode of Intervention but seriously, let's just blame it on romance.

Today I want to revisit my SHIT LIST!

Okay, here it goes. I think a basic math exam should be required for all those who work retail. I went to pick up a prescription at Walgreens today and like the super shopper (even while dead broke) that I am, I hit up the sale Christmas candy aisle. I couldn't resist the 75% off fruit flavored candy canes! I'm a weak woman. When I went to the cashier to have her ring me up they came up as full price. I informed her of the sale and she paged a manager. He verified they were 75% off and told her to she just had to figure out the new price, hit override, and enter in the new total manually.

Here is where it gets tricky. When she asked what the new price would be the manager told her $1. Problem was, the candy canes were originally priced at $2.99. Now, let's all break out our calculators for a simple math problem (one that we should be able to do in our heads already) what is 75% off of $3? It's $0.75, not $1!

Okay, so being the good Jew I am, I pointed out the mistake and the manager looked at me like I was an idiot. I took out my phone and showed him on the calculator the math equation that proved me correct and he told me I was wrong. He said, "Here is how you figure it out, what's half of $3?"
"$1.50"
"Okay, right, and then half of that is $1."
"No, it's really not."
"Yes. Yes it is."

The cashier looked confused and defeated and asked her manager if she should charge me $1 and he said, "No just ring it in as $0.75, I'm not going to worry about it, it's not worth it, even though that's not right, let her have her way."

And again, like the good Jew I am, I had to at least try to get the last word, "You aren't humoring me you know. It's basic math, I worked as a cashier for eleven years. Trust me, I know what 75% off is."

The cashier rolled her eyes and I got my fucking candy canes.

End of story.

Just sayin'

Thanks Teen Witch!

Hey there lover man

I always had such a crush on Anthony Bourdain, especially after reading his book. Sure he boasts about being hardcore in an embarrassingly old man fashion (kind of like a drunk uncle) but still, there is something undeniably badass about him...even if he is sort of hokey.

That was until I decided that his breath must smell terrible. Like sour coffee, stale cigarettes, and whiskey -- I can't imagine it any other way. That completely ruined him for me.

I love my phone

(Yes, that is an antenna!)

Leah's cat ate through my phone charger cord (I'm still housesitting) and when I went to Radio Shack to get a new one they offered me a new phone for free as an upgrade since mine was so old. I considered it and then looked at my poor old Samsung with it's antenna and thought about all the good times we've had. And then I thought about all the hard work I'd done adding words to my predictive text. I think these words show a lot about me. Also, considering the fact that my phone didn't have "taco" or "burrito" makes me think it's kind of racist. Wow...I seriously must text like a fifteen year old stoner boy, check it out (inspired by Lisa)

Clems
Blog
Bagel
Bbq
Barging
Bitch
Bastard
Blogged
Bodega
Collard
Boner
Bong
Bonkers
Cougar
Aphrodesiac
Barging
Bummed
Bummer
Bummig
Burrito
Enids
Dj
Fuck
Fag
Damn
Dissed
Djing
Floozy
Dick
Donnelly
Dork
Douche
Driggs
Daryl
Fucking
Ive
Gnarly
Itll
Gumbo
Kamali
Lemme
Omg
Nyc
Mc
Menthol
Meserole
Orin
Ouch
Nicole
Shit
Rager
Sapping
Scum
Scumbag
Seltzer
Pawed
Piss
Slut
Roach
Roebling
Rudy
Puke
Puking
Pussy
Taco
Veggie
Tite
Tits
Transvestite
Truffle
Williamsburg
Whoa
Whore

The dress isn't too small

...you're just too big.

Ahh...cable has exposed me to a slew of adverts for new movies coming out and none have been shoved down my throat (I blame me watching too much TLC and Bravo) more than Bride Wars, yet another evil cinematic installment in the cultural pantheon of women as soulless harpies.

The media's architecture of New York womanhood is killing me. First Sex in the City normalized Botox-laden, chain smoking, hideous shoe fetishizing, money and man obsessed hags. That series ruined a piece of this city's soul. And now we have to endure two spoiled rich brats obsessing over wedding dates at the Plaza (which by the way, the Grand Ballroom is available for $80-100,000 plus catering which runs up to $400/person) and Vera Wang dresses. Hearing the words, "You don't alter Vera, you alter yourself to fit into Vera" (not an exact quote, spare me) on television kills me. These are the models of glamorous womanhood we get to look up to. Spare me.

My relationship with my body is complex enough as it is, thank you. And I can't blame the media for it entirely although that would be convenient. It is an issue I am particularly sensitive to (having written about it on this blog before.) Frankly I find movies like Bride Wars and Sex in the City far more offensive than anything that has ever come out of Howard Stern's mouth. Why? These entirely unlikable models for femininity are marketed directly towards women. Even though they are directed and produced (to an extent) by men, they are presented as about women, by women, and for women.

I will admit that my outrage may be somewhat of a folly since I haven't seen either movie (although I have seen almost every episode of Sex in the City thanks to dorm life) however, I do think I have a right to respond to the way these films are marketed and I bet my guess that their content can be garnered from their trailers and promotional television specials is correct.

I know I am bouncing back and forth, at one point embracing certain aspects of traditional concepts of womanhood and at another freaking out about cinematic representations of women I just feel seem awful. And lordy lordy, I have no idea what to make of He's Just Not That Into You which comes from the writers of Sex in the City (a collaboration of writers who are both male and female, just like the other two movies I mentioned interestingly enough.) All I know is that I won't see it in the theaters and for some reason according to it's IMDB page Kris Kristofferson is in it...AND it's set in Baltimore at least, instead of NYC.

New years, old jeers

So 2009 is over. I feel like I mark my years by age not by the calendar. I don't remember things as having happened in 2006, I remember them as having happened when I was 24. So the calendar changing over doesn't impact me that much. But suffice to say, 2008/26 was a rough year. 27 is so far more hopefully and with it, so is 2009.

My blog has been quite ruminative lately. It's been a big year, slowly letting go of girlhood and replacing it with an unfamiliar idea of womanhood I am still learning how to embrace. Yet I get more confident residing in this skin every day. Part of this slow, but necessary embrace started this summer when a lot of my walls started breaking down. I've always been one to keep my struggles secret, preferring to be stoic. For someone who professes to be such an open individual, I am really fiercely private about certain things. Anyone can know the mundane or tacky detail about my life, but in many ways I am quite guarded. My major struggle this past year was learning to let go of a persona I depended on to guard myself against the threat of intimacies and focus on developing and opening up my personality.

The difference between persona and personality is something that has always fascinated me. In fact it was a major topic of my senior thesis, Raging Against Intimacy in which I explored concepts of persona development in the club scene. I spent a good number of years dwelling in the confines of what I wrote, a persona complete with nickname, full of reference points that only referred to my interests not to me as an actual person.

While rave culture made some claims about the parties being about unity and transcendence through dancing bodies further enabled by drug usage, downtown makes no such claims. Instead, it is about annihilation and mayhem. Not that the scene is always tinged with dark undertones—it manages to be both nihilistic and naïve. Deep down there is the recognition amongst many participants that while punk rock may not have saved their lives, it definitely made them bearable. Friendships are formed quickly within this commonality of history, some are surface and some much deeper, but when recreation turns into required maintenance, these associations become fractured. The bonds that are formed are formed between the “out” personas of the nightlife participants. One person can refer to another as one of their closest friends and not know their last name and possibly seen them sober only on a few occasions. There is a staggering lack of intimacy within this scene whose anthems speak of loyalty and living and dying for one’s friends.

I wrote the above as part of my thesis in the spring of 2005. Three and a half years later not enough has changed. But my life isn't a dependent on that downtown rush as it once was. A few faces from the old days have faded away, left town, or passed onto their own oblivions. The rest of us awoke startled and confused in the aftermath. Realizing that while still quite young, we were becoming too old for relevance, the real world started interfering with our highs and the personas began to crumble. Jobs and the potential for success beckoned. Our art or our careers became priorities and punk rock a distant memory. We sobered up, looked around, and realized we didn't know a thing about those who we'd partied with for years. It was a sad state of affairs. Yet for some of us, the persona persisted.

Such as with myself, Beverly Battletits...former Battletorn-er, that chick who knows more about metal than most other chicks. Sobriety may have mellowed out perceptions of who I am, but a lot of the associations remained intact. Instead of relying on actually getting to know people I'd simply protest dumbly to the running commentaries as to who people thought I was. Until finally, one day, I learned not to worry. Anyone who thinks all I am is a metal record collection and a pair of expensive heels doesn't know me. And either they are or aren't worth getting to know. I shouldn't have to prove that I am a whole person, it should be obvious upon meeting me. I can't complain about people latching onto conceptions of who I am if I have done nothing but encourage them for years. And in turn if I have not showed them anything but that persona in the meantime.

This is all coming straight from my brain through my fingers onto this blog so pardon if its a little muddled. I have been in serious rant mode for a while lately and since this is my blog I'll use it as I please, and presently it has become a place for catharsis. However I hope my personal rumination also has somewhat of a world view and you can find my musing relevant or at least somewhat relatable. If not, then who knows, maybe I am alone here and the rest of you are a little more together and balanced naturally. But I for one have had to work on it, and thankfully I can proudly say I am just about there.