on and off again

This was a good weekend for shows, two of my all-time favorites in two days.

Friday there was Mike Viola, the second of his four Joe's Pub shows, third of six shows of his I will see this fall. (Yes, we're going to Boston for the Candy Butchers bonanza). And then Saturday was James. Ohhh James. It had been too long, and an abbreviated (and pricey) set at Radio City wasn't going to be enough for me so we hit the road and headed to The Stone Pony — P.S. why hasn't anyone told me how insanely like this would be going to a show on my very own Shore Front Parkway? — for the real thing.

Mike Viola was great. James brought the house down. I am a lucky girl.

And I am left with a question: Which of these new lyrics is the greatest?

There was a snake in a shrub/ She had a rub on tan (Mike Viola's "Chemical Night" - co-written by daughter Isabel)

Too old for Hamlet, too young for Lear (James' "Whiteboy").

Tough call, right?

everything's the way it should be, I suppose

Last night I saw Travis, just two weeks shy of 10 years since I first saw them (at Brownies. Yes, I'm awesome).

The show was great. I really like the new album quite a bit (and I've only really liked Good Feeling — which STILL holds up on a roadtrip — and The Man Who, so that's saying something), that Demetri Martin "Selfish Jean" video is far more entertaining live, and remembering to scream at Dougie's verse in "Turn" came right back to me like I last did it yesterday.

Plus they played two old timey songs for old timers like me, "Good Feeling" and "All I Want to Do Is Rock."

They didn't (and they wouldn't, but they have done — I have the November '97 setlist to prove) play "Hazy Shades of Gold," so I'll play that for you now. It's a B-side from 1997, featured on the "U 16 Girls" single. Because Travis keep putting out super light and poppy songs for your Nana (I love light and poppy songs and Nanas, of course), you might forget that they started out with a rock record. "Hazy Shades of Gold" is a good example of it.

It's rough and magical, and includes the gorgeous "Dougie, get back. DOUGIE! Get back! Thanks!" (at 1:07) moment (something about Fran needing to see the drummer during recording? I don't remember now, but I have our interview on tape somewhere). Someday, perhaps you'll see that. For now, instead, you can hear this.

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I can do this now, and I have insulted you

I famously (seriously, did Nick Kroll observe my behavior at a bar one night and create Fabrice Fabrice, or is this all a coincidence? And is it wrong that I have a tremendous crush on a fictional character who bears a striking resemblance to myself drunk — well, except the clothes. whoa. — because I totally do. Last night was like a dream, really.)

Anyway, I famously (whatever, I'm still saying it) like to profess, when people are discussing a song that I like (often to talk about hating it, that really gets me going) that the song is on my top 100 greatest songs of all time list.

Which often leads people to ask what #1 is. My answer is generally, "I don't know. Also, shut up."

But yes, I have a feeling I've said this about far more than 100 songs, and I will never be able to rank them at all, but I've decided to start a project here (in association with my MOG page), wherein I begin to take stock of these pronouncements.

Why? Well, I am unemployed and alone all day (um, what do people do in NYC besides work and shop? Because since I'm not doing one, I can't do the other) and it would be nice if I had some body of work to show for my time. And I'm starting to say "This is clearly on my top 100 greatest songs of all time list" to myself. Not OK.

We're starting Monday. Get ready and get into it.

don't be unhappy with me, I find you charming

Here's some advice: Don't give six weeks notice when you quit your job. And if you do, don't agree to then fill in a week AFTER your six weeks for a vacationing (ex)co-worker. Not because it isn't the right thing to do — it is the right thing to do. The thing is, it will make you cry.

At some point, you are going to have HAD IT. Had it, had it, had it. And you're going to cry at work. Not because you are sad, or a silly girl, but because sometimes the choice is crying or picking up your computer monitor (no flat panels for us, baby) and throwing it. And you don't want to do that. But what I advise you, to skip the throwing and the crying and all that? Just give two weeks notice. If it was good enough for Hugh Grant, it's good enough for your boss.

So yeah, I've already cried. Which means if Paris Hilton gets out of jail, or Britney Spears gets knocked up again or Lindsay Lohan is photographed doing coke off of some dude's piece (well, that would at least be an entertaining story) while I'm still there, the computer monitor is probably toast.

Last night I went to the UCB Theater, where Seth Meyers and Fabrice Fabrice talked, and some other crap. Whatever. All I know is that I LOVE Seth Meyers and Fabrice Fabrice, and that's all I needed to know.

Hey, Sunday is Sloan! Yay!

PS Also I saw "Once" last night, and I loved it so much. Here a song from it. When it turns 1:20, that's when I love to start singing along.

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i just fall asleep because I'm not involved

There is nothing on TV and nothing I want to watch on the DVR. How boring. I mean, sure, I have about 90 other things to do, but I am exhausted. I wanted to watch very dumb TV and not think. I wish the "Human Giant" marathon was on again. I love that thing.

I have 19 more work days of work. That is so many.

To celebrate my freedom, I'm thinking Tortilla Flats bingo. Do they even do that anymore? Forgive me my ignorance, I haven't been in the general population in a good long time.

PS I have been keeping up with my MOGging vow of one song per day. For I rule. I don't know if I can do it this weekend since I won't be home. But love will find a way. Some man told me that once.

Speaking of some man, I picked some man to like, for it is May and I do that, plus it makes the time go faster (19 work days and all). But then he turned out to be too young, so we broke up. And by we, I do not mean we.

See, delirious.

In reality news, one of my all-time favorite people (two of my all-time favorite people, really) just bought a wonderful house. I am so happy about it! They are great and so is the house. Yay!

PPS: YAY!

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is that what we want, girls?

Ohh. Remember last Thursday when there was a Sloan show and $2.50 beers and Todor? I miss that.

I got the green light, I got a little fight

I think what's going to happen is that the Killers are going to win me over on the disappointing Sam's Town by putting out every song as a single. I'm three for three with "Oh yeah, I guess I do like that song." Now "Read My Mind" has a video (which I have not seen yet) and it's my new favorite song. Good work changing my mind, Killers.

Last night I went out (to the whitest place I've been since that place on the West Side Highway — and last night I was in Greenpoint. What?!??!)

OK, it's aside time. And yes, I know I am white, very white, in fact. All Northern European ancestry — we kind of have white on lock, in most senses of the word. But not mine. The white that makes me want to leave nightlife establishments, the white that gives me that fright, is a very specific "I'm not from around these parts but I'm certainly not from another country"/ "I always have a trust fund or a job at the family company to fall back on"/ "I'm totally buying a big house back home as soon as I get NYC out of my system"/ "I even use toilet seat covers at home." These things aren't bad, they just aren't me. I prefer slightly grittier company.

Anyway, it was fine but mostly boring. Which was really just as well, as I had to be up and at 'em c. 8AM today. (Thanks again, Grammys!).

Earlier, the Rangers won again (oh thank you thank you, lovelies) thanks in no small part, I'm certain, to my rediscovery of the power of a well-placed "You're ugly!" scream at the other team during the game. It got us the Cup in 1994, I assure you, and calling Pavel Bure ugly wasn't easy. "LeCavalier, you're an ugly bastard and you stink" stuck in my throat on Friday night as well, but it turned into a 5-0 win. Good thing 90 percent of the most beautiful players are on our team.

Last night I had a dream that I was at a fancy party with theater journalist Patrick Pacheco and Seymour Butts. They were both pretty fun.

feels like one of those nights

I went out last night for a party and ended up at the wrong bar (Fat Black Pussycat instead of Fat Cat Billiards). The magic is that, despite my leaving my phone at home and having no idea where Fat Cat Billiards was, we got there in plenty of time for plenty of partying. And also had a nice time at the wrong bar. Overall, what a delight. On the way home, we didn't get a cab, though (I haven't been out in that neighborhood on a Saturday maybe ever). But we were home by 2:30 and that was good.

Today my favorite song is "Full Moon" by Brandy. Because it is wonderful and very fun for dancing as laundry is put away.

I put some more videos on YouTube.

Now I go visit El Fano, then to the hockey game. Will Jagr get his 600th goal tonight? I believe he will. Ooh baby.

PS LOOK! Henrik is on the cover of the New York Press.

let's have a party, bring a gun

I just got an email advertising a Holiday Swing Ball, and I assumed (just by reading "Holiday Swing Ball" in the subject) that it meant swing like swingers, not swing dancing.

I'm sure that says something about me that I don't want to know.

cause a chick's gotta live

I'm still out, and I probably will still be out past midnight, so I'm trying to post this from afar. Still out at midnight? But don't you have
to work tomorrow at 6. Why yes. Yes I do. But as Missy says, a chick's
gotta live.

your girls can't take my lemonade

Because Emma is one of my few real American heroes, I too vow to post every day in November for NaBloPoMo (I did try this on my own in October, but as you see, I fell off.) I am not armed with hints for smart and interesting ideas, but rather my own sad mind. So look out!

A week ago was my birthday. Before that was the party. There was singing and drinking and eating. And way too may presents. What a delight!

I still owe thank you cards. The magic of paper cards is mail, yay! The unmagic is that I put them off way too long, boo!

The party was fun fun. And the next day I was so tired and had to lay down most of the day, except for the couple of hours I spent at the Crabhouse. Magic.

The next night was my for serious for real birthday, and I met my dad for dinner. Tuesday I don't remember what I did. Worked. And probably cried at some point. Wednesday was hockey night, which included a game of suck boosted by a super wondrous overhearing event. I think I better save that one for a slow November day. Thursday I don't remember again. Working. Gnashing of teeth.

And Friday. Well, Friday might be the best of all. I got home almost on time, I curled up on the couch and decided to try out "Dexter." And then I watched all four episodes. I spend over three hours lying down, watching TV. It was like a dream, really.

Saturday I visited my parents and sat around their house doing nothing. Glorious. And Sunday I did the same, only at my house. Now it is Monday, and I started off the week horribly by seriously contemplating smashing my head against my desk repeatedly and then coming home and ripping the kitchen apart in a desperate attempt to find a (hiding a little too well) box of Crystal Light iced tea. I have a sickness.

I feel the storm, an old fury

I don't know how regular sports fans do it. Saturday night destroyed me. Two hellish losses. Ugh.

Another hockey night tomorrow. Wish us luck. Please. It's the Devils, and I just can't stand all the New Jersey fans in the stands. Punches may be thrown. I am a sore loser.

Yesterday I didn't leave the house (A tip: those karaoke lists don't type themselves. 800+ songs later, my wrist is still hurting). El Fano helped me preview the karaoke DVDs. We emoted through "Reunited," did steering wheel dance moves for "(You Drive Me) Crazy" and stumbled over Shaggy's "Angel." No drinks and still it was tons o' fun. Magic.

Then Mojito Loco. It had been a while, and the ceviche isn't going to eat itself.

I came home and checked out my MySpace page, which had decided for itself to insert a Sheila Divine video. It's like they knew I was experiencing a new bout of TSD mania. Wow. If you watch it (and you should) stick around for "to make Jane and Dollie cry!" and the ensuing giggles. You'd giggle too, jealous.

I dyed my hair dark, by the way. I think it might stick this time.

Also, work is going to be an amazing, exciting challenge of wonder and horror. So if you don't hear from me until Friday, you know why.

girl you better recognize the game

Today was a big bag of butt. A great giant sack of ass. I hated it. It was too busy, and I feel like I got nothing done (I'm still working now, in fact — well, not right now) and, here comes the goodest good part, I have to go out tonight.

What do I mean "have to"? I mean "HAVE TO!" for it is the Candy Butchers magical reunion show of greatness and magic. Did I mention that it's magic? It is. And that'd be fine, except that it starts at 11:30. That's PM. I have to get up at 4AM for work. I'm not sure that I'll even be home by 4AM.

So tomorrow may be the day I end my stint as a drug-free American. Or, you know, the day I drink lots of coffee. Followed at 4PM by four cocktails capped off with a 12-hour night's sleep, I hope. Yay!

fry the contents of my head

So Dollie and I went to Toronto for a few days a couple of weeks back and had a nice time, mostly spending our days sitting in cafes and shopping, which was very relaxing and restorative. The nightlife was a little lacking -- I'm used to spending TO time at CMW or NXNE, with tons of rock shows to attend. Instead, Saturday night we spent at a wonderful karaoke night at our hotel. Sunday night we went to bed early. Monday night we went to a nice bar with 1/2 price drinks but no other patrons and swung by the sleepy Polaris prize afterparty on the way home. Tuesday night we saw Sloan. Riveting, yes? We tackled the Toronto transit system for the first time and were totally successful, of course. I do not enjoy the token/ticket system one bit (You MUST buy either 5 or 10? Why?) though I was completely won over by the streetcar drivers, who were all delightful.

So then we came home and promptly entered into high birthday season and all the dinners, dancing, presents, hockey games and Renaissance Faires that go along with.

Did I mention that I have 1/2 season tickets to the Rangers? Because I do. That should have been my birthday present to myself, but I decided to also buy myself a 37" LCD TV. Because I'm worth it. I also clearly miss that exciting paycheck-to-paycheck lifestyle, which I've put myself right back into thanks to the Toronto trip, Rangers tickets and TV splurges. At least I have another month or so before the birthdays pick up again. Now let's just hope I don't get fired anytime soon.

Speaking of fired, tomorrow is going to be pure hell at work. Yippee!

Hey, remember Mojito Loco? Still my favorite. I haven't missed a week since my first visit. One week I went three times. For serious. Have you been yet? If not, why not? Go! I'm going myself in about an hour. That is just how I must roll.

I am having deep music conflicts, big time favorite band trouble. I don't recommend it.

This year's birthday plan: Karaoke house party.

And if you aren't totally caught up now, you're at least very close.

be delicious and still be influential

We went to a new restaurant last night. I fear new restaurants. What if they are terrible and it was my idea to go? That is a nightmare. But we have a friend from out of town staying with us, and while she is here it is best to go to places she has not been before.

Because of this (and my unwavering obsession with strawberry mojitos) we went to a place in the Williamsburg/ Bushwick environs called Mojito Loco.

It was delightful.

We started out with the gorgeous fruit mojitos (our table had two raspberries, a blueberry and my strawberry) — though the fresh watermelon margarita was very tempting — and ceviche (we punked out and got non-spicy). Magic. They also give your table plaintain chips when you sit.

Remember when Black Betty gave you pre-food food — what is that called, anyway — well, now they don't. I'm also tired of getting attitude there. I am an easy customer and a good tipper. Why the shade? Seriously, last weekend the server was such a beast that when three of us ordered the same thing (food and cocktail) she got annoyed. Um, that's easier for you, you stupid bitch.

Anyway, at Mojito Loco, depite ordering 11 labor intensive cocktails — PS Did I mention that the second round was a happy hour freebie? — the woman helping us was delightful, and also the owner/manager/chef/whatever (I'm not sure of her exact role, but she's clearly running things) came over to seat us, tell us about specials, check on how our food was and invite us to an upcoming event.

The four of us got out of there at just over $100 (with 11 drinks!) and I will go back soon for sure.

So there's a new Sloan song, in addition to the one on their MySpace page. It's called "Fading Into Obscurity," and I can't tell if it was sent out to every Sloan fan or just a random sampling. But I am permitted to share it with friends, so says the note, so if we are friends (I think we are) and you want to hear it (I think you do), hit me up.

I'm frontin', and I don't care if you know

I'm having a cocktail now, a mixture of my own creation (well, my own naming, at least). It's The Beast, and it is raspberry vodka (it's Vox tonight, but whatever you have will do), cranberry juice and grapefruit juice. It is a delight. Try one today!

The VH1 countdown is currently on my TV — because I was going to watch "Play It as It Lays" but thought better of that before a night out, and VH1 Classic (the go-to choice) isn't playing videos right now — and Rihanna was just on, with "Unfaithful" and whoa, that song is dramatic. It's not that big a deal, lady.

Also, I just do not get the appeal of that Nelly Furtado song, yet I cannot deny the awful Pussycat Dolls when it comes to "Buttons." That song just has something. Could be that I'm a sucker for a track about fronting.

Today I just cannot get out of my mind that Sloan party Microsoft thing in Minneapolis last year. I wish I was at it right now. Instead I go see the Walkmen play down the street. That'll do.

my white diamonds always bring me luck

I shouldn't be writing inane stories. I should be cleaning. But I don't want to clean, so I will tell my inane stories.

Friday was 10 years since I met Dollo, so Dollo took me to 21 for steak and creme brulee and something they call a Bee's Knees which is a cocktail made of rum and cardamom-infused honey and something else, who knows, it was fantastic. Then it took us two hours to get home thanks to the rain, which cut off service on the East side. Also, some "debris on the tracks" issue cut out the downtown yellow trains as well. Please. So we took a bus down to 14th St and then a cab home. Because I got it like that.

Saturday I did my laundry. I walked into the laundromat and walked right out and a lady came after me. "Some of these machines are done. I'm gonna take the clothes out of them. People leave their clothes, I take them out." Well alright. She didn't have to because some other girl happened to be pulling her clothes out. So I put in my clothes, walked outside, got on the phone with El Fano to tell him that wherever we'd end up spending the night, it has to be at a bar "that isn't full of white people. I hate white people" which didn't even get hardly a shrug from the people standing out front of my non-white laundromat. See, they know. When it came time to dry the clothes, I was out of luck and had to drag my wet bag home. It was drizzling, so I couldn't even use the line. So I had to drape things over things throughout the house. There. Were. Clothes. Everywhere. Later on, Dollo put my jeans in the oven so I could wear them out.

But before that we went to the movies. I had to see "The Break-Up" obviously. It was like a dream, really. Well, not really. It was mostly really funny for like an hour and then got weirdly half serious like a TV movie. And the crowd was odd because they laughed a lot at many things, but no one found the old "You might get arrested." "For what, being awesome?" line as truly fantastic as it truly is. Whatever.

Then we went to Unos. Because I love chain restaurants and their cheesy drinks, f- all y'all. And it was lovely.

Then I was too early for my haircut so I went to the friendly neighborhood gay bar for more cocktails.

Then came the haircut at my very delightful, very rock and roll haircut place, where I got a magnificent haircut. It's a little big today, but that is because I left the house with it soaking wet. When I got home I put in some product, and now it is like a dream. Really.

But back to Saturday. After the haircut it was time to meet up with folks to celebrate this 10th anniversary of meeting Dollo and Lola and Seana. Seana is busy being a mom/rock star in Texas, so she couldn't come. Other people were stuck doing other things like falling down the stairs and fighting with their husbands (this was not the same person, so don't worry), but Dollo, El Fano, Lola, LMD and LMD's lovely friend from work brought it hard. We went to one nice place with a very nice bartender of fun, but there was nowhere to dance. So we left.

Then we went to Eastern Bloc, which had a pretty pretty DJ who played pretty pretty dancy pop songs and all was well. Then some indie rock snore came in to play indie rock snore tracks, the lamest ever go-go boy neither went nor went and we got some from-afar attitude from a little group of Howard Beach-looking 20-something queens and their ugly hags. Please. I had to announce that I could smell the New Park Pizza coming off them and they were fooling no one, also that I couldn't believe I was getting shade from the Lollipop Guild. It was time to go.

So we moved on to the Pyramid, where a desperate-seeming promoter was frankly stunned that we agreed to come in. The place was empty, but the cave was begging for a dance. So we danced. And more people arrived. And when the DJ (who was contractually obligated to play our requests, so said the promoter) wasn't playing our requests, we started growing cranky. I decided it would be super funny to junior prom slow dance to the frenetic sounds of "The Metro" by Berlin, but it is nearly impossible to do this without laughing, which set off El Fano (we were junior prom slow dancing after all, he could feel me laughing), so then I came up with this great '80s cocaine jitters dance, but nobody really appreciated how great it was.

This is all my long way of saying it was just like old times, of me drinking too much and trying to get in a fight and dancing and being a jerk. I loved it.

kill me. kill me now

ARGH! This is my saddest day. Why is because that !!! is a real band. May they choke on it. Love, Jane.

PS If you like !!!, I have three tickets to their show for you. Yes, you have to pay me for them.

but I didn't commit no crime

Your Horoscope For May 26, 2004: The secret to surviving this difficult day lies in not taking on more than you are capable of handling. Don’t make promises without careful consideration.

That is not a very promising horoscope. Yesterday's was butt as well.

Last night I had, for the first time in years, I'd say, a dream where people were nice to me. Honestly, every dream I ever remember has people I know and love in real life being very mean to me. I have a sleep-induced persecution complex. Ooh, there was that one dream where Josh Hartnett cancelled a party to play pinball with me. I bet somewhere else in that dream someone was mean, though.

Anyway, in this good dream, this boy from high school (who is now married and who I haven't seen in 8 years or so) sent me a ticket to some really hard to get into Cure concert. He sent it via express mail, which was weirdly instant rather than express, as the delivery man handed it to me as I walked out of a library (?) where I had just bought tickets (which had just gone on sale that very second) myself. So I had all these Cure tickets, all to the same show. Which was kind of bad luck, since there were like 10 shows. But it was good luck that the tickets were way cheaper than I thought. And a funny thing in the package from Man was a note saying, "I tried to get you Joel Plaskett's autograph, but Joe Simpson [his friend, I guess?] screwed it up. Sorry!"

And I laughed when I read it, because, dude, I don't really need Joel Plaskett's autograph.

Yes, it was magic.

This is a dumb story, but I thought it was pretty exciting to not have anyone be anything but nice to me in a dream.

You'd think I'd wake up to a job, but not so much. I woke up to my internet access being out and a zillion things to do, but it worked out fine.

Work out fine! Ahaha! Oh man.

OK, maybe now I go to bed.

Oops, I forgot the most interesting part.

"Don't you always. I certainly hope so," you are thinking.

"Fuck you," I am saying.

No, but really. So in the Village Voice, someone named "!!!" is playing on 6/18 at the Bowery Ballroom. And so we think that can't be a band name (watch, I am totally out of it and they are the hottest thing) and instead it means, "Ooh secret show!" So if it is a band name, I'm seeing them 6/18, because I had to get tickets. It might be any number of magical awesomes who I love. I wonder when I find out.