Monday, March 05, 2007

Love Autopsy

Friday, G came in on the redeye from SF and arrived at my door around 6:40am. *yawn* We met up in the pm and had dinner at Il Baggato a place that we managed to revist on instinct and accident just like the last time. And then we had drinks with her friends and the friends of her friends on the empty West side of town. It was interesting to see her with one of her classmates being all engineer-like. She’s gettin’ to be all growed up. I was impressed. And it is always good to see G.

On Saturday I lazed around the house. Slept late. Went to the Library. Ran a few errands. And then the RM and I went into the city to meet up with The South. The plan was to sit on his roof and drink beers by the light of the lunar eclipse.

Due to my inability to measure time and a powerful craving for dumplings, we missed watching the moon go into total eclipse but did see the tail end of the moon coming out of it. It was cold up there. But it was cool nonetheless to watch a partially darkened moon gradually become a full moon over the course of an hour plus over beers on a chilly March evening. And the view, otherwise, was spectacular.

Then we came in a watched part of the movie "Footloose" on cable in the kitchen. As an adolescent, I watched that movie ... four or five times in the theater. I was dismayed to find that it's a dorkier and goofier movie than I remember. Additionally, I don't remember it being so violent. But there it is. Still, my favorite scene in the movie is where Kevin Bacon is teaching his buddy how to dance. Love that scene. We all mocked the movie over beers and dumplings. I think there might have been a little dancing at some point in the kitchen there. I think tried to demonstrate the “cabbage patch”.

And then I dragged everyone to a show. 'cause it feels like forever since last I saw a live band. The destination was Sin-e and the band to see was Flying. Mike, the drummer, is also a coffee jock at a favorite haunt of the RM and I. We were late and missed Flying, we also missed Robert Stillman’s Horses, but decided to stay for the rest of the lineup:

The Subjects, The End of the World, and Luke Temple.

The bands were all very different but each rocked out in their own way. The End of the World was an indie rock band in the classic sense and that thing they do, they do really well. I was waiting for the big rocker to blast out from their setlist. I was left hanging. Still, they were in fine form.

The Subjects were alternately angular and melodic, cute and scrappy, and a little bit odd, with a charming creeky voiced singer who phrases and then yowls. I say this understanding that these are not really juxtapositions. I laughed during their first number which was all about the group la-la’s, was charmed and then entirely won over at some point from the second song on. There is something beautiful about the way the chords change in their songs, I found myself remarking on it to no one in particular, frequently.

Added to their curious musical mayhem they had a device on stage that they called: The Electric Rainbow Machine. It was a propeller device with colored lights running along each blade, when spinning, it transformed into a circular rainbow explosion.

Luke Temple was one long lush lullaby. As if a high crooner had spent a few years immersed in flamenco and chansons and emerged ready to start a band with no drum kit. It could lull me into deep sleep and dreams about marshmallow mattresses with big bounce.

The crowd was gorgeous. The women of New York declare that at 31 degrees it is time to wear those cute summer tops again. A personal annoyance of my evening came in the form of the girl with sharp elbows standing to my left. I am sure that she referred to me as that thick short annoying girl that was in the way to her right.

A friendly girl who might just be the biggest Subjects fan on the planet turned to me and said "This is the best therapy that money can buy" while getting her groove on.

For me, a therapeutic rock show would be a different kind of music but to each her own.

The South got a button and a poster, I bought a CD, and the RM met someone really nice.

I would like to point out here that all of the acts that performed that night were Brooklyn bands. Represent!

After a whole day of playing phone and text tag I didn’t manage to meet up with G. Such is how it goes. Meeting up with your friends is doable. Meeting up with your friends, their friends, friends of your friends, and friends of their friends is well nigh impossible. There is always someone who will make the whole thing too difficult and intractable. That person is frequently, me.

Sadly, I got to a point in the night where I could party no more. Promises of late night drinks, exciting new locales, and hotel pool parties could not keep me going. I could not even navigate the late night subway system and TS was kind enough to let me crash Chez du Sud after a super greasy slice of pie.

The next morning was flooded with righteous sunshine and gorgeousness. And I departed Chez du Sud to step into it. I wandered through his new neighb (or as G would say his new hood): Chinatown. Walking back towards the train I passed by a Mahayana Buddhist temple and decided to stop in.

It was decorated red and gold and yellow. Incense wafts through the area, there is a long table of elder Chinese folks chanting, and a string of people coming through with offerings of oranges and other food for the buddah and the ancestors. They bowed and kneeled and prayed. There is an enormous Buddah statue in the back of the room serene and seated. I walked over to one of the red folding chairs against the wall to the left and sat down taking it all in. The chanting was strange and beautiful and soothing. Though I entered the temple empty handed and clueless I felt somehow welcome.

You can get a fortune with a dollar donation mine read:
"Probability of success: Excellent
May the sick be healed and the hungry fed.
May the chained be freed and the lonely wed.
By great leaders may the nation be led.
And on sensible grounds may we all tread."

Whatever that means.

After a bit I walked out and wandered around part of Chinatown. There was a man fixing shoes outside and an old woman playing a traditional stringed instrument. I passed salons where you can get your hair cut for $17 and get your hair permed for $60. Many vendors were out hawking pajamas and produce, trinkets and gadgets.

I bought a bag of grapes and meandered on across town and caught the train home. Met up with G and went to J and her fiancee A's house for some brunch. They have a lovely place in Brooklyn, and a pushy, friendly puppy, and were most hospitable.

After frantically looking to flag a cab with G and then seeing her ride off to the airport suddenly I was alone on the streets of Brooklyn with a little time on my hands. So I bought a coat on sale in the color aubergine (aka: eggplant) and then curled up at home with a comic book that I checked out from the library

The RM came back from her second weekend adventure and the two of us went to see went to see "Music and Lyrics”. We have been talking about seeing it since like forever and were happy to catch it while still in the theaters. And it was cheesey, hilarious, romantic and delightful.

The song "Pop Goes My Heart" is going to be the soundtrack to my life for many days to come. I am sure of it.

It occurs to me now that culturally my weekend was an inverted cheese sandwich with a piece of bread between two pieces of cheese.
Cheesy 80’s (footloose), Current Indie (the Sin-e show), and Cheesy 80’s nostalgia. But in a good way.

*** update ***

And for those who were looking for something very specific and had the patience to scan all the way down to here, Dude, I miss Olga too. And it's possible that I have them in the wrong key b/c my geetar is out of tune.

part A (repeat many times)
G A Bm D
transition (you are gold...)
G A F#

G A D Bm
G A (just can't...)

And parts of the other one.
in the wrong key

part A
A F#m A F#m

A F#m D A

the change?
E D (E maybe?)

... and stuff

E D E D A (this part I can't vouch for)
A F#m

Now go fake your way through it.
As for you title seekers, sorry I can't help ya.

*addition on Jan 6, 2008*

Since there are a number of people who have come here and walked away disappointed I'd like to offer you googleheads a little something purely for educational purposes. In the wrong key.

[G]Figuring out you and me
is [C]like doing a [D]love autopsy
[G]They could operate all day long
and [C]never figure out [D]what went wrong
[C]love [G]autopsy [C]love [G]autopsy
[C]ah [G]ah [C]ah [D]ah
what went [G]wrong


At 12:18 AM, March 06, 2007, Blogger keNYC said...

"No one in particular"? Is that my new nickname, erg?

The Electric Rainbow Machine! my God, I had forgotten about it! Praise Jesus for blogs. But you know what sucks about these things? When you write a blog, you don't have the time or the energy to write anything private and personal, and that sucks ass. So you make up a post that is presentable to the rest of the world but that doesn't tell you all the things you need it to tell you later, when you're the only one left. (at least, that's what happens to me....)

I cant believe you discovered a buddhist temple in my hood before I did! you have to tell me where it is so I can go...

At 12:19 PM, March 06, 2007, Blogger ldbug said...

I'm glad you put up the lengthy post on the night, I just don't have the energy right now...but I linked!

At 10:34 PM, March 06, 2007, Blogger ergo said...

NOIP: Oh Kenyc, I only turned to you in amazement about 45% of the time. The rest of the time I was mouthing the word wow while bobbing my head to the music.

I find that I am more inhibited by the possbility that my parents, relatives, and once and future employers might stumble upon this site.

Everytime I tell someone where this blog is I freeze up for a little while before loosening up into what it is that I do.

ldbug: Thanks, Doll! Get some rest young lady. You need your strength.

At 5:44 PM, March 07, 2007, Blogger Groucho Castaneda said...

I'm sorry, Dear, but hipster/yuppie/boho transplants don't get to "represent" Brooklyn. That's a priveledge reserved for gangbangers from Bed Stuy and Italian kids waiting tables at the family restaurant.

At 7:12 PM, March 07, 2007, Blogger ergo said...

gc: Hmmm. You have a point. Well, I feel like an ass now. I suppose it is more likely that the yuppie/hipster/boho transplants (of which I am one) are the horrible fake plastic gentrifying plague that is ruining every decent neighborhood in Brooklyn. Thanks for pointing that out.

At 5:33 AM, March 11, 2007, Blogger BeckyBumbleFuck said...



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