Dear diary, give blood give blood, give blood give blood...

(Rain Machine - Give Blood - Watch more Videos at Vodpod.)

Dear diary, woof woof woof, January's going out like it came in, all action packed.  Joseph Arthur and Bobby Bare Jr. and Antipop Consortium and Kyp Malone's Rain Machine.  (I'd been singing Monk at the Disco in my head from the wee hours of Saturday morning until Mr. Malone blew it out of there last evening.)

Yes, Rain Machine blew my mind, but can we talk about something even more important?  At about 5 PM this evening I'll be going down to our cellar and pulling four half duck breasts (half breasts, not half duck) out from the case of salt I buried them in yesterday.  I'm going to wash them off, pat them dry, dust them all over with ground white pepper, wrap them in cheesecloth and tie them off.  Then I'm going to walk them to a secret place the mice don't know about that's cool and humid and I'm going to hang them there for a week.  During the week the duck breasts are hanging, I'll probably think about knives.  I'll think: do  I have the a knife that's really just right for what happens next?  I'll decide, No, I don't have a knife that's really just right for what happens next.  But what will I do about that?  I don't know.  I just don't know.  I'm not sure that listening to Give Blood or Smiling Black Faces over and over again will help me decide, but I'm probably gonna find out.

an endeavor recommended for..

the more hirsute amongst ye...

Beard Team USA

Funky funky funky but - chic bikes!

I keep fiddling with the (Bianchi Milano) bike.  Last week I put on one of those sassy red chains from KMC.  (First time I'd had the original chain off since I bought the bike, lo those many years ago, and lordy it was skanky).  Last night I removed and regreased the seatpost and the oddball antitheft nut I have on there, and for good measure took apart and cleaned and greased the seat clamps holding my beloved Brooks Flyer Special.  Where am I going with this?  Nowhere, really, but saw this nice link to chic bikes at design por vida.

And... would any of us be able to remember if we were at Max's on this particular night?

Smile a little smile for me, Rose Marie

Am sitting having some joe at the choco shop, and the guy who was playing E. Rhodes last month is playing this now. And I'm trippin'.  Or flying.  Like a Flying Machine.

Sent via my thingy.

Old sheets

The moustache makes him look less elite, no? And for Juju it's All Aboard for Monkey Town and Monkey Doodle Doo. Thank you Lester S. Levy & Johns Hopkins.

I am distracted, but my face smells good

Finding it hard to concentrate, and my reading is all jumpy. Am grazing through Michael Chabon's Maps and Legends, Leslie Day's Field Guide to the Natural World of New York City (and more about that on a day when I have it more together), and Jim Sheeler's Obit: Inspiring Stories of Ordinary People Who Led Extraordinary Lives. Obit and Field Guide are, clearly, bathroom books, while Maps is a subway book.

The news is, after more than a year of using a brush and soap to shave, I've tried a bar of Lightfoot's Pine Shave Creme Soap, and WOW! I climbed a couple of flights of stairs yesterday morning, working up the slightest sheen of perspiration, and was overcome with the sense of piney freshness all around me. I looked left and right, wondering where it was coming from. Then I realized: it was coming from my face.

Can't wait to get a whiff of myself on the bike ride down town.

Reggie Watts, Dear Diary 080527, toy theater, rye, & cetera

Reggie Watts is at Joe's Pub on Thursday. Ooohhh, I wanna, but I canna no. Dang.

But, we been seeing the Toy Theater Festival at St. Ann's - and we have passes this year. Can't possibly get enough.

Hey, that comment I left on Joe Pye's post and I said I'd been spoofed on the steampunk NY<==>London telescope - turns out that the same afternoon I diddn't fine it, Lori's occasional colleague, let's call her Valentina, was at the NY end and has photos through the tube of a friend at the London end. So says Lota. But here's the rub: Lota's been telling me about Valentina for years - she's sometimes in NY, sometimes Paris, sometimes the Congo, always having adventures - but I've never met her. Never met her. I've often asked if she's imaginary. So, I don't know.

I read Reggie Nadelson's Red Hook, good Brookly detectivy thing, but I find Ms. Nadelson's sight so annoying I am hesitant to link - oh , screw, here it is, maybe you can figure out how to kill the music. The book is good BKLYN roosky latino cop black journalist real estate red scare screw the republican convention in NY fun.

And now am reading Tom Standage's A history of the world in 6 glasses. My kind of almost history. Am through the beer and wine sections and about to start the spirits section, which I've toasted with some fine Russell's reserve rye, from LeNell's in - dare I say - Red Hook. I love LeNell's. How could one not?

Hair

A friend invited me last evening to a cooking demonstration at De Gustibus by Fabio Trabocchi of Fiama. (This is the rich pig version of me that demographically loves BAMBAM, though clearly my roots are in the Old John / Slash Clinton soil). It was great. Fabio, Fabio, Fabio... Seriously, it was a really nice experience and something I'd like to do again. But that's not what I'm posting about.

We were a party of five, and two of the guys I haven't seen in a dogs age. One a little younger than me, one a little older, but all of us what Juju Pongo used to call silverbacks.

I noticed right away that both of them had hair longer than I ever remember their hair being before. Me, on the other hand, my hair used to be a joke amongst my co-workers (mad scientist - that sort of thing) but for years I've been cutting it short: I really don't like having to comb or brush it. Or dry it. Or think about it much. I do really love hair (here, Baby, there Mama, everywhere Daddy Daddy), but it's become something I admire on others and would rather keep out of the house.

Anyway, one of the guys says: What happened to your hair?
And I just didn't know what to say.