Good deeds gone bad gone back good again

I rescued my first animal today. I usually let strays be strays. Feral cat colonies are a fact of Brooklyn life but last night I met a little fella that made me unable to stand by and not do something.

It all started when I went to visit Sean at Vacation Island where he was recording an EP with Love as Laughter. We met at the Food Bazaar (Bushwick grocery/dreamland) and on the walk back to the studio he pointed out a community garden that he said was full of cats. At that moment a little tuxedo kitty came strutting out of the gate and walked right up to me and starting rubbing against my legs. I was all ready to go with it until I noticed what, in the darkness, looked like a big patch of mangey hairless skin on his tail. Fearing bringing some serious cat scabies back to the three who live at the house I pulled away from him, but he was intent on hanging out with me. Upon closer inspection I noticed that the lower half of his tail was withered and bent in a few places. This little guy had something wrong with him more than just some missing hair. I put a sad face on and sighed and walked into the studio with Sean.

I started talking about the friendly kitty with the fucked up tail and the other guys said they noticed him too. Matt, the proprietor of Vacation Island told me a story about befriending one of the strays who lived in the feral cat colony. He said a cat showed up with a bleeding head. He took it in and put a hot compress on it and named him Bill. Bill would come into the studio on the regular through a hole in some window somewhere. The one day Matt came to the studio and Bill was outside dead. He told me this story as a warning not to get too attached to any of the neighborhood strays because, well, they die.

Of course this had the opposite effect on me and it made me want to help the little kitty more. I texted a vet friend asking for advice on where I could take him. Sean and I left for a dinner break and as I walked by the kitty for the second time it ran up to me, rubbing against my legs, and I got a closer look at it's tail. There was an open sore, it looked like some of the skin was just plain missing.

I debated over dinner what to do. There was nothing I could do then and there, it was too big of a risk to take an untested street cat into our home who obviously was injured. I didn't want a flea outbreak or even worse, to expose our cats to the potential of Feline AIDS. To help him meant waking up early and going to Bushwick to try and track the kitty down and try and lure it into a carrier.

When we got home I looked up the websites and opening times of the places Dr. Jenn the vet had suggested. A final text from her offering to help in the morning if BARC couldn't take the kitty solidified my decision. I set my alarm for 9 am, got up and hopped on the B48 bus armed with a cat carrier, a bag of treats, and a can of wet food.



After about 20 minutes of poking around that block and the next without a kitty in sight I got discouraged, but at Sean's suggestion I put out the can of wet food trying to lure them out of hiding. I then took a little walk down the block to make myself scarce and lo and behold, when I returned three tiny kittens emerged from a trash pile. They must have been about 5 or 6 weeks old max. There were two little black ones and one grey one. The tiniest of the three, a black one, started gorging full force on the food swatting at any of his siblings that tried to get near. Occasionally he'd lift his head and survey the scene, his face and whiskers covered in food. Cute yes, but my injured friend, no. Eventually a fourth kitten appeared, this one a teeny tiny twin to my missing tuxedo.

It was almost 11 am and I had to be at the store a noon. At that point I knew I had to give up. All wasn't totally lost, I got to hang out with cute kittens at least. I called Sean to tell him I was done and while I was on the phone with him the injured tuxedo kitty finally emerged! It marched right up to me and as soon as I hung up the phone he crawled on my lap. It was at this point I saw the full damage that had been done to his tail. The bottom half was dead and dry, there was a place in the middle where the flesh underneath the skin was bright pink and visible. However the presence of this kitty mingling with 4 kittens threw me for a loop. Was this their young mother? Fuck! I couldn't very well separate them, could I? The wound looked severe enough where if I didn't do something death would separate them anyway. Thankfully I got ahold of my vet friend and she told me that as long as the kittens were eating wet food and had teeth that they could be separated. I lured the tuxedo very easily into the cat carrier with treats, but I couldn't take the sad stares of the tiny tuxedo twin kitten. The vet said it would be okay to try and round up the kittens too if I could fit any of them in the carrier, but as soon as the injured cat started trying to escape the teeny tiny kitten ran off scared.

I stood up, carrier in hand and prepared to bring the injured kitty to the shelter. I called ahead to make sure BARC could take the cat. The woman who answered the phone told me they were full. I figured since I'd already gotten the cat in the carrier that I should just bring it to the vet in the city and see what we could do shelter-wise from there. I had second thoughts though, everything was getting complicated and my workday was looming. Then, standing at the entrance to the Lorimer M train stop, I looked down into the cat carrier. The cat's tail had fallen off.

A little less than half of the cat's tail remained, and the final two inches of what remained was a bright pink bloody stump with a sickeningly white tip of bone at the end. The skin had slid off of it along with the dead remnants of the rest of the tail, now laying motionless and unattached in the carrier, a dead black thing, visibly hollow at the topmost portion.

Decision made, I climbed the stairs to the platform. While I was waiting I called Sean and told him what happened. My hands were shaking. When I got on the train a girl saw the carrier and her eyes lit up. "Ooh, kitty!" she excitedly cooed. "You don't want to look in there," I mumbled trying to shield the carrier's screen top from view. I think she caught a glimpse or maybe she was just weirded out. Either way she moved to the other end of the train.

From there the story pretty much mellows. I finally got to the vet and received some amazing help from Dr Jenn and the rest of the awesome staff at the Heart of Chelsea Animal Hospital. They wrapped up his bloody stump. Yeah, that's right, it turned out not to be anyone's mother,just a friendly little male of about 8-10 months who kept the company of an adorable tribe of kittens. His tail injury was termed a "degloving" injury where the skin get separated from the flesh. Apparently this type of injury is not uncommon in strays thanks to their unfortunately habit of hiding in the underbelly of parked cars only to be seriously injured when the owner starts the vehicle. That is what most likely happened to little guy. The vets gave him some shots and after several refusals from many full animal shelters, they finally found a spot for him at Bideawee, a place where he could be surgically treated and sheltered for adoption all in one roof. I repacked him in his carrier and took him from Chelsea to 38th and 1st.



During the shelter intake they told me most of the scratches and scabs on him weren't from fleas but from fights with other cats. They said it looked like he got beat up pretty regularly by other cats in the colony. During intake they asked me if I wanted to name him so I dubbed him Wee-Bey, one of my favorite character names from The Wire, plus a nice play on the name of the only no-kill shelter that would open it's doors to him.

Then, in true asshole form, I didn't realize that they asked for a $40 donations for strays and having just checked my bank account and balance I couldn't afford to give (mama's got her own medical bills.) But I promise that I will write these good people a check as soon as my next pay period rolls around. I owe them.

His tail is going to be amputated on Monday and he'll probably be up on Petfinder by Tuesday, that is if my friends who are in the market for a tuxedo don't get him first. That's the story of little Wee-Bey's rescue, a good deed that turned scary but ended great.

Happy things

I was trying to take a picture of this rad tote my friend J. Penry made in conjunction with the awesome Wicker Man inspired art show The Ritual which was recently at the By and By gallery on Grand Street.



Unfortunately there was a little interference.



Apparently Omar doesn't like the idea of me taking pictures of any cat but him. And so, I'm pleased to introduce the newest member of the Hames/Ragon household, little Omar Little. Sound familiar? He's named after this guy:



Look it's everyone's favorite shotgun toting, drug dealer robbing, Baltimore bad ass and one of the greatest television characters of all time! No big deal. I was thinking about naming him Mouzone after my other favorite gunman from the show, but the Nation of Islam goes a little too deep for my taste.

Oh and also in the tote picture please allow me to point out the amazing old Howard Stern pin Sean found in one of his dresser drawers. Sean's a huge old Howard fan who even went to one of his rallies back in the day. I charmed him in part by mentioning I had just listened to Artie talk about his book on the air when I spied Sean's copy of "Too Fat to Fish" by his bedside on my first night over. Sean may not realize this, but that pin is going to live on my tote for the next long while.

Anyway, expect more kitten pictures soon and some pictures of beer bongs for old times sake (some things never change, like my friends and their love of non-traditional beer ingestion.)

NEWS!!!

So I've got something exciting to share with all of you. I'm working my way into becoming a partner in my friend Marissa's vintage store, Fox and Fawn. Over the next couple of months expect lots of updates, photos, and fun times. I'm spending my summer on Suffolk Street (112 Suffolk) to be exact. I'm very very excited. We have a lot of plans in the works and aim to keep it the most gently priced vintage store this (or any side) of the East River. We also buy from the public so if you have rad threads that you want some cash for or if you want to trade them in for new ones come by. I'll be in the store Tuesday, Wednesday, and Saturdays, but we're open seven days a week.

In other news I'm going to New Orleans the 11-16. If anyone has any tips or pointers let me know. Sean and I will be DJing at the Saint on the 12th and 13th.


Oh and I bought this on Ebay...and yes, I took of the tanktop halfway through the night. Summer finally, hallelujah! Mama's finally gonna start working again.

Press Alert!

Whoa...look at that, I'm almost noteworthy. The Bust Magazine article finally came out. To see it in miniature online form click the link and go to page 59 where it starts. Unfortunately I don't have scans featuring the other badass ladies as my mom scanned it for me and she only has eyes for her daughter. Sorry! Also, big thanks to Joanne at Dagger Debs for pointing the issue out to me. It was supposed to be in the October/November issue but the story got bumped. I didn't even know it had come out until Joanne posted a comment on my blog. Yeah, I'm really on top of my shit.

Here's my page. Thank god she didn't use the more embarassing quotes from my email rant. Also, unfortunately The Saints record is the most visible one and it's not even mine but my old roommate. The Rock Goddess/Sacrilege/Znowhite/Dark Angel display I had set up is totally in the shadows.


Angela Boatwright took the pictures and Jenny Rose Ryan wrote the article. I posted the entirety of my nerdy-ass interview on the blog way back in May when the ball first started rolling.

I think it would be hilarious to start a press section of my blog. After all, I've got that sweet spread in Vice featuring me modeling thrash mascot tees from the neck down (wow, Tim Barber and Brendan, thanks guys for not wanting to take any pics of my face, makes me feel like a megababe.) And then there is the classic Battletorn feature in Vice Germany where at least my face is pictured but unfortunately I have a huge cast on my arm. Battletorn indeed.


Thrash metal mascot aka just rack shots. There is also one of my in a DRI shirt and one in a Megadeth shirt too. Photo by Tim Barber.


The article is hilarious, but unfortunately in German. Check out the Battletorn tidbits anyway!

I just noticed that these three articles are titled, For Those About to Rock, Mosh or Die, and Thrash 'til Death. Pretty ripping.

Insert Obama pun here...

The white flying spots are beer...

On election night I had band practice until 10:30 pm. When I exited the building in Chelsea to book it over to Williamsburg all I knew about the results was that Obama had taken Ohio (thanks to shredder/bandmate Angela.) One long and stress-laden subway ride later I arrived at Union Docs right before 11. Moments after I walked in the door the Electoral tally topped 270 and Obama's win was secured. The crowd went apeshit and the Weight boys kicked into a round of "Na na na na hey hey hey goodbyes." My timing was magical, the moment was magical. Everyone was hugging and kissing like it was New Years, but this was so much better than just a new year. It was the passing of history, not just the passing of time.




The boys in the band were joking that this was the most amped up crowd they'd ever played for and the audience wasn't even looking at them during the set.




Let freedom ring!


We were amped! And please disregard the gum in my mouth...oy...


Jameson had Sam open a celebratory bottle of champagne


You playing?


Or drinking?


Getting down and dirty during a rendition of Shout!




Orin, always the photobomber


Let it ring!!!


The crowd kept flipping off McCain during his concession speech.


Orin kept hugging everyone. He told me I couldn't start a crust punk band now (not that I was planning on it) because now wasn't a time to bitch about our country. He and a bunch of dudes are getting outlines of America over their hearts...who knew dirtbags could be so patriotic? It's nice to see faith restored. Let's hope it lasts.


Whoabama!

From there we took to the streets. We steered clear of Bedford which apparently was going nuts. From the video footage I've seen I kind of wish we ended up there but we'd eaten mushrooms so I think it would have been a bit overwhelming. Still even on the walk from Union Docs to Daddys every car that passed honked and cheered and everyone who passed us on the street was hooting and hollering with joy.

Here is some footage of Bedford Ave


Here is some footage inside Union Docs where I was

Invoking the Spirits

Last night my roommate Sam Jayne held what he dubbed a Postivie American Ambience Ritual in the baseball diamond of McCarren park at precisely 11:11 pm. According to his email: Well, basically, based on some tiny magical knowledge and belief and some help from some friends, I will be holding a ritual that will contain two basic spells: a binding and banishment of the qualities of the icon we will refer to as NIACM, and an invocation and giving of power to the icon we will refer to as AMABO. These icons are of course representative of the two candidates in the election on Nov 4 and their parties and belief systems. However, it is my belief that our voting system is partially ineffective and that magical action should take place, both now and constantly, to positively influence the American Socio-Political environment and ambience. We met beforehand at Enid's to work on the script. Andy, Sam spiritual advisor guided him through his personal magical practices. I helped with some phrasing (ever the editor I complained when it got too wordy.) Caroline wore a magical hat she made. I didn't take any pictures during the ceremony as I was participating. I got to hold the pentagram (upright, white magic, not inverted) that was used to banish Niaccm and planted it in the ground next to Amabo. Fingers crossed the spirits were pleased. The scene as how we left it. From afar Goodnight. And yes I voted today.

2 years...

Whoa...been a long time.

A flashback to Battle Bev, the drunk years...

Best Day/Gawk Not

I can't believe I never told you about the time I was a member of the live studio audience.

A great many months ago I went with my friend Tiffany and two other ladies to a taping of the Montel Williams show. It was one of my favorite New York experiences ever. The only thing that could have topped it was had been gotten into the Syvia Brown episode that was being taped immediately after ours...DAMN! We arrived at the studio in the mid-afternoon and had to wait outside because the episode that was taping prior to ours - a surprise wedding (B-O-O-O-R-I-N-G!) - was running over. Everyone was buzzing as to what the show topic was going to be. We giggled and chatted amongst ourselves while some middle-aged ladies surrounding us eavesdropped and butted into our conversation. I'd make a comment or ask Tiffany a question and the fat Jersey chick behind me would respond, it was annoying the hell out of me, almost to the breaking point when finally, after much waiting they let us in, but only after a bus full of randoms who had just gotten out of a taping of the View were ushered in due to their apparent VIP status.

The waiting room was the pinnacle of 90s jazzy corporate vibes. It looked like something out of Boomerang the awesomely early 90s Eddie Murphy stinker (and apparently award winner, BMI's "Most Performed Song from a Film" holla!) but with awesome blown up photos of our hero everywhere. There was Pensive Montel, Sensitive Montel, Fun-Loving Montel, and Badass Montel amongst other. I stood back in admiration sighing as I stuffed my face with free pizza and Pepsi products.

They lined us up in order of the numbers we had been given when we entered the building and seating began. All the mysterious bus VIPS got seated first and then the rest of us lowly fans were shown to seats. My friends and I were picked out of the group and ushered to the second row most likely because we were the only non 40 year old ladies in the bunch, and also dressed like total maniacs. We were settling in when a PA approached our seats. She touched me lightly on the shoulder and asked somberly if she could take me aside and speak to me for a moment. What now? Preparing for rejection I hoped, unlike my friends, I wasn't too unsightly to sit in the second row.

She walked me down a cold hallway and looked me in the eye. "Listen," she whispered, "we want you in the front row." My eyes lit up with excitement. Front row status at Montel? What had I done to deserve this honor? "But," she continued, "the producers don't like bare shoulders in the front row. You can borrow my blazer if you'd like, I just had it dry-cleaned."

Fuck yeah! I was, of course, willing to put on this wretched rayon-cotton-poly blend blazer that was a size too small and jeopardize the awesomeness of my Mondrian block print dress. Fully ready to sell out! I almost felt bad because the lights in the studio were hot, my armpits were bare underneath her freshly dry-cleaned blazer and I'd forgotten to wear deodorant. Oh well. It's the bad blazer tax I guess.

She ushered me back into the studio where my friends met my eyes with bewildered looks, thanks to the incredible lameness of my bad business casual blazer and watched as the woman sat me in the far right seat of the row in front of them. Tiffany leaned forward and whispered, "What is that, Express?"

"Even better," I responded. "New York & Company."

The warm-up commenced and the cheerleader in charge started by giving a special welcome to the group from the Barbizon Modelling School. The pleasant young man I had been seated next to in the front cheered and patted the plainish yellow-haired girl next to him on the back. Oh boy. Instantly I had flashbacks of the classic ad in the back of Seventeen Magazine with the heavily made-up blond proclaiming, "Be a model or just look like one!" I had no idea the school still existed much less organized bus trips to sit in studio audiences across the city. I was baffled and amazed.

Soon Montel came out. It was kind of anti-climatic. He was sort of a jerk, very cocky, talked about himself in the 3rd person, and mainly had to answer questions from people who had come to the show because they had MS. He seemed impatient with them but at least made an attempt to be helpful. Essentially he told them they couldn't get the treatment he got because he was rich and could afford to travel to Europe and see the best doctors so tough luck. Okay, maybe he wasn't that harsh. I didn't realize what a figurehead Montel is in the MS community. His survivor status must be quite alluring. That bald black head shines as a beacon of hope.

One mother raised her hand and started talking about her daughter during the Q & A. How her daughter was a hero, how she was born without thumbs but had persevered and was now on the cheerleading squad. Montel cut her off, "Is this a story or are you actually going to ask me a question?" The woman, tears in her eyes, gestured to a wheelchair-bound girl next to her and said, "This is my daughter, she's in the Barbizon Modelling School. She's my hero." Montel softened a bit and told the thumbless girl she was beautiful while the Barbizon instructors smiled their whitened smiles.

The Q & A ended and Montel settled into his seat. From where I was seated I could partially see the teleprompter and it's scrolling text. From my vantage point I saw the names, Anna Nicole Smith, Larry Birkhead, Rita Cosby, and Diana McGreevey. Holy shit. This was going to be a doozy.

Let me take you back in time a little over a year ago to early September 2007. Rita Cosby, the now ridiculed former MSNBC correspondent, had just released the tell-all book, Blonde Ambition: The Untold Story Behind Anna Nicole Smith's Death accusing Larry Birkhead and Howard Stern of being gay lovers who had used Anna Nicole Smith for their own profit and blackmailed each other after her death amongst other claims about both her overdose and her son's overdose. The book was met with instant lawsuits from both Stern and Birkhead and this appearance on Montel was at the height of the frenzy surrounding the forthcoming book.

I couldn't believe my luck. Montel, in my mind, is usually the least juicy of talk shows. He's all about do-gooding and bringing people together. He makes me long for the trashy perfection of the old days of Jenny Jones. Where are the goth teen makeovers? Where are the stalking gay neighbors? Where is the self-castration? Come on! I don't watch tv to feel good, I watch it to plumb the depths. Reunions and surprise weddings and cancer patient makeovers, while good for humanity, are no good for entertaining me. But Rita Cosby! Anna Nicole Smith conspiracy theory! Fantastic.

I won't go into too many details of the taping. Unfortunately there is no video online, Montel rules his copyrights with an iron fist. Would anyone expect more from the most decorated peacetime Naval officer in US history? He's actually a pretty decent guy, terse personal manner aside. His online bios show a decent amount of charitability. Maybe I shouldn't harsh Montel. He's a survivor, he deserves a little vanity. Regardless here is all you need to know about the actual taping:

1. Rita Cosby complimented my necklace and kept chatting me up during breaks. She was a fucking nut.

2. Anna Nicole Smith's half-brother was a guest as well. He was so inarticulately small town Texan that he could barely communicate with the media coached madness. I felt sorry for him.

3. Partway through the taping the two Barbizoners seated next to me were removed from their seats to make room for a couple of guest commentators who weren't actually to be seated on stage.

4. Diana McGreevey was supposed to talk about her new book and struggle (on a related secret homosexual tangent I guess) but she almost got bumped by the Anna Nicole circus. She was on stage for about four minutes total and god was she bitter.

5. During a break in the taping the annoying Jersey woman who kept butting her way into our conversation while waiting in line suddenly stood up and shouted at Montel, "I can't believe I drove four hours for this crap!" She apparently had been counting on some face time with Sylvia Brown. Montel told her to leave then and made fun of her as she stormed out.

6. One of the commentators was a private investigator hired by Smith's family to get to the bottom of her death. He was actually interesting and informative.

...and...now...

7. The other commentator was Julia Allison. Uhh...okay, truth be told I don't read Gawker and at the time barely knew who she was. My only familiarity with that website was due to a few acquaintances being subject to it's ridicule and it's employment of Emily Gould, a former college roommate (and fellow Lang alumnus) of a friend who was notorious for being, well...mean (her subsequent humiliation on Jimmy Kimmel was both satisfying and difficult to watch, it made me never want to be asked by a professional about anything, those people are coached and trained, normal humans can't compete.) But in her platform Louboutin knock-offs and polka dots, it was obvious Allison was a shark in tart's clothing. I spent the rest of the taping sitting next to this tiny human listening to her rattle-off soundbites in semi-awe.

Oh yeah and this happened last week

Omid took me to see Lita Ford play a secret show at BB Kings in the basement last Monday. Everyone sort of hated on the plan and admittedly I was slightly skeptical of what it would be like but she ruled! So hard! Lita looked amazing, Dee Snider and Carmine Appice guested and there were less than 100 people there. She did a cover of Only Women Bleed which is one of my favorite Alice Cooper songs and it was dead on.

I wish I had gotten more crowd pictures because the scene was amazing. Reasonably well-preserved rocker mom holdovers in bandage dresses with teased hair and Jersey accents with their husky rocker dad husbands who would eye me every time I wandered away from Omid. I was, at 26, by far one of the youngest people in the crowd. For the first part of the show we were standing next to Dee Snider's wife. Omid saw them walk in together and pointed her out, and I recognized her from their episode of Cribs (shut the fuck up.) She was just standing alone in the back of the crowd in her stilettos, tan and blonde and big busted. The consumate rockstar's wife. She was perfect.


A lot of my pictures were tainted by Pointing Dude. He stood in the front the entire set and kept pointing at her. Seriously, the entire show, for an hour, he would just point or occasionally throw up the horns. So his hand is in a ton of my pictures.


Check out Carmine! Nice rug dude!


Look! It's Dee!








Her drummer, Stet Howland was a total trip. He hammed it up the entire show, at one point hitting the snare with his head. Check out his website...dude is seriously keeping the dream alive. He also has toured with WASP amongst others. Oy.