October 14, 2004


We were in the couture soap store today, where they have all this bath-tech in surplus that makes you smell like a scented tampon or exotic lilacs or the Fern Room at the Lincoln Park Conservatory - whatever breifcase women and women who wear RocaWear fur trimmed track suits need to smell like to turn heads when on cue during lunch at the Food Court at the Cherry Hill Mall -- and Julianne had gotten her nose frosted with bathpowder after sniffing roughly 71 kinds of rose-scented things, and we had mutually agreed that zero-point-zero of it was the sort of thing we would partake in. But, I have figured, exactly, and with no doubt in my mind, a mere four hours later, what they could make a bath-product in that I would covet: the garlic and ginger sauce with the Spice Tofu from Rice Thai Kitchen (311 7th ave, Park Slope, 718-832-9512). Dogs and hungry people would follow me around, it would rule.

Last night, at the Turing Machine/ Hold Steady show, I was outside, smoking lonely, biding time while Detachment Kit did their newest imitation of someone else's band, I overheard the most awful/amazing conversation yet. Two brits, the man being the owner of a major modeling agency.
Woman: Whats this rumour about you having adventure with a prostitute in London?
Man: It is no rumour !
He explains how him and another dude (married!) picked up a woman at a high end sex club ($500 to get in), where "Twat was everywhere. Twats. Cunts. Just... everywhere." Copius drugs and enthusuastic rimming ensued. Seventeen hours later, him and the other guy are working out an alibi about where they have been and getting advances on their credit cards to cover the EIGHT THOUSAND DOLLAR TAB that they ran up with the hooker.
I loved that people at the Hold Steady show are people right out of a Hold Steady song.

Julianne is re-imaging the choreography to the new Snoop single right now, here in the J-Hop & J-Sheps Blog-n-drop-it-like-it's-Hot Studio. Now that Jon's history of Queensbridge hip-hop diarama (I glued the dirt in, made the bushes and made the windows on the housing projects!) is done, we have new tasks. Like dancing and writing about ourselves in third person.

The other adventures thus far are all stored in my race-horse legs. I am not used to this New York standard of walking nine miles a day. Two nights ago, we walked from Manhattan to Greenpoint at two am. The light of the city blaring into the sky, making the stars pencil point small. Lunches. More lunches. Some free records. Vanilla tea from the french place. No places to pee and no place to smoke and illegal dancing only.

We saw Smoosh, whom I work with, who are ages 10 and 12 and I screamed and whistled and everyone was bouncing during the house-y highhat breakdown "Bottlenose". All I want is to one day be as good of a drummer as Chloe from Smoosh. She is 10, and kills it with the Bonham-esque half time double kick. What is it like to be the coolest drummer in America and be in grade school? Thats all I thought.

In and out of cabs. Yellow ones and gypsy ones. Park Slope to Williamsburg to Greenpoint to BQE to the 7th street station to mid-town.

Then, Teeter got drunk and as per usual, would only refer to me as Blink 182 front man, Mark Hoppus, and would address me only in her raspy bar scream. We all went to Max Fish, but did not go in, we just sat outside and smoked and ate cookies and drank take-out tea for an hour. Because the straight-edge party is the party that does not stop. We all tried to talk someone a band person we knew, who was so loaded, he could not make a sentence:
Me: "What have you been up to?"
Him: "Uhhhhhhhh (pause) ummmmmmmmmmmm (pause) (repeat for roughly 40 seconds). I'm fine."
New evidence: Coke chic out. Klonipin by the handful back in.

Posted by Jessica at October 14, 2004 09:11 PM | TrackBack