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Archive
Untitled Document
Archive 12
bubba's secret campaign
celeb sighting 8: steve schirripa
the police @ msg
celeb sighting 7: andrew mccarthy
puerto vallarta, mexico
Archive 11
kurt vonnegut: r.i.p.
worst boss ever
best purchase ever
ogunquit, me
bummer movies
Archive 10
pearl jam
dodge earthfucker
montclair: hipster central
24
halo 2
Archive 9
the cali roadtrip
celeb sighting 6: rupaul
product 1: diet coke w/ splenda
cell phone headsets
casualties of war
Archive 8
celeb sighting 5: max kellerman
booze experimentation
deus ex: invisible war
the weakest fortune ever
celeb sighting 4: christina aguilera
Archive 7
the six flags guy
celeb sighting 3: len berman
celeb sighting 2: christena pyle
max payne 2
celeb sighting 1: amber valletta
Archive 6
st. thomas, usvi
mr. hipster goes domestic
the danger of googling
halo
why i love whitney matheson
Archive 5
joe strummer tribute show
london part deux
london
new jersey state fair
lake george, ny
Archive 4
hdtv
kennebunkport, maine
the ponies
slow jams
the opera
Archive 3
ford motor company
look kids, parliament
tuesdays with morrie
snow
the blogger bash
Archive 2
freedom
the geniuses at fox
the blvd of porn & trinkets
the ugly bar
city kids
Archive 1
suburban cops
fat loss miracle
the free gift
sunflower seeds
unemployment
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tokyo police club
acupuncture
the antichrist goes home
Considering the fact that Ms. Hipster and I
were old enough to be the parents of all the members of the two
opening bands, I wondered if perhaps we had gotten in over our heads
going to a kiddy show. It turned out that we had the stamina and
grit to outlast and survive.
The first opening band, The
Static Jacks, hails from my adoptive state of New Jersey, and
looked the part, right down to their curly brunette locks and something
just smelled of The Garden State. It looked, at first glance, not
unlike a North Jersey high school talent show. I had checked out
snippets of their stuff on MySpace,
but when faced with teenagers with guitars who really knows what
the hell you're going to get. It turns out these kids do a damn
good approximation of Strokes-like
rock 'n roll. Considering the largest of 'em probably weighs 125
soaking wet, we were impressed with their power and verve. The gangly
lead guitarist does a perfect I don't give a shit deadpan and the
front "man" jerked around like an erstwhile Mick Jagger and made
little funnies about their cheap merch available at the downstairs
table. Looking back at all the crapass high school performances
I had to sit through when I was actually in high school a million
years ago, I couldn't help but think that even if these guys don't
follow the rockin' path to glory, and end up being ad execs or lawyers
or some profession that doesn't even exist in 2008, they can always
look back and say that as high schoolers they fuckin' rocked New
York City. Jealousy doesn't even begin to cover it...
The second opening band, Smoosh,
I knew nothing about (which put me squarely in the minority). It
turns out that they're even younger than the first band, and all
girls. We walked back into the main show space about two songs into
their set, and the first thing that struck me was the size of the
bassist's guitar. And then I realized it wasn't the bass that was
huge but the girl that was small. It took me a couple minutes to
figure out that not only was she small, but she was literally a
child. My assumptions were confirmed when after the fourth song
she put down her bass and skipped off the stage--presumably
because 10:30 was her bedtime. It was pretty hysterical. And then
I noticed the headbanging drummer was also looking youngish, and
as a matter of fact, the singer/keyboardist looked rather teenagery
as well. So it turns out these girls are all sisters, ages 16, 14
and 11. And while I'm not a humongous fan of their Quasi/Mates
of State meets Tori
Amos thing, it's always impressive when kids rock it out. And
the missus, being a drummer herself, totally dug the 14-year-old
with the headband doing her best Tommy Lee impression behind the
kit.
So, finally we get to the main act. Now I know the dudes in Tokyo
Police Club are young, but compared to their openers, these
guys look positively geriatric. They certainly don't play like old
folks, though, as they blazed through a 50 minute set at breakneck
speed. Along the way they made at least four or five Canada references
(one "border issue" that left them merchless, as well
as some playoff hockey reference I didn't get because I don't get
hockey, along with a couple others), made the crowd clap along and
proved that rock and roll can be fun. So many times I go to shows
of bands that are awesome on record and am completely disappointed
by their live show. One of the most disappointing things is actually
when they sound exactly like they do on the album, don't interact
with the crowd and just plow through a set that I could get putting
the thing on random on my iPod. Not so with Tokyo Police Club. While
they sound amazingly polished on their new record, Elephant Shell,
they sound even better live. They really pump up the volume, up
the tempo a little bit and the lead singer, Dave Monks, pushes his
voice to the brink. The funniest thing is their nerdy keyboardist
and backing vocals guy, Graham Wright. He's that wonderful indie
rock anomaly with the horn rimmed glasses, high school physique
and the "I can't believe this band geek is playing in a popular
rock band and getting adoration from real fans so I'm going to pour
every ounce of energy I have into every performance" unabashed
draw. Having only one album (that wasn't even officially released
the night of the show, but was available via download on iTunes
and Amazon) and an EP (along with another sorta EP), their set was
somewhat limited, but when you're playing music with such instantly
catchy melodies and propulsive drumming and whatnot, it's a lean
but dynamic experience.
So overall I highly recommend getting out and seeing these guys
if you have an opportunity, even if you've never heard a single
note off of their music. And even for us older folks, the crowd
wasn't as young and hipsterish as I thought it would be. There were
actually people older than us there--although they were probably
the parents of The Static Jacks driving in from Westfield, or the
girls' grandparents. In any case, I didn't feel out of place at
all, and only spied a handful of hipster assholes with skinny jeans,
studded belts and white sneakers. And while those guys were busy
trying too hard, nobody in the audience had to try too hard to have
a good time. Smiles all around. Go Canada.
So I'm not usually a huge fan of non-scientific mumbo-jumbo,
but when there are irrefutable results that spawn from the hocus
pocus I'm hard pressed to deny its validity. Now having said this,
I'm still more than a little skeptical of acupuncture's powers of
healing mental and non-demonstrative physical ailments, but when
it comes to killing ganglion
cysts, apparently the shit really works.
What the hell is a ganglion cyst, you ask? Well, I don't right know,
other than to say that it's some sort of fluid filled sac that's
builds up near or around your wrist bones due to repetitive stress
and motion. Or at least that's what I read. It's one of those things
that bodybuilders and Cold
Stone Creamery employees suffer with, although I fail to see
what I have in common with either of these subspecies. Mine, sadly
enough is just probably from mousing too much, and having wrists
so scrawny that I have to custom order watchbands--or just grab
an awl and make my own.
Whatever the case, I thought that since I was already lying on a
table waiting for a nice Chinese woman to stick me with sharp objects,
I might as well mention it to her. As usual she asked to see my
tongue (although I have very little understanding what one has to
do with the other). And then seized my wrist like she was either
going to shake like an angry dog or yank it from its socket like
a ravenous zombie. Instead she pronated the appendage and started
poking and prodding it. Then she stuck my hand with a bunch of pins
like a birthday donkey.
Along with those pins came pins in my lower abdomen, pins in my
neck, ears, Achilles, arches of my feet, widow's peak area and scalp.
And somehow, as I always do, I fell asleep.

Going home I actually started to notice my little wrist bump shrinking.
I still slept like shit, but at least something was coming of it.
Two more visits--both times having electrodes hooked up to the needles
in my wrist (or, more accurately, my upper hand) and a bell under
my other hand--and the thing has completely vanished.
The most fucked up thing is that I went online and read about these
things, and people have to have everything from minor aspiration
surgery (gross) to an all-out hand surgery, scoop-out procedure.
There are actual dangers involved with that, including nerve and
tendon damage and infection and hospital dry rot. Granted, my cyst
was relatively small, but now it's history.
Of course being a realist and a general skeptic, I'm wondering if
I did in fact have a ganglion cyst at all, or if I just had some
familial offshoot. Why else, then, was it so easy for her to cure
what others require modern medicine to take care of? I mean she
seemed really confident that she could get rid of it when she first
took a look at it. Maybe it's some sort of parlor trick? If that
were the case she would have just used the old-fashioned remedy
for curing these things: whack it with a bible. No, seriously, that
was how people used to rid themselves of these things. Can you imagine
a bunch of meatheads telling each other to stand still while they
bring the holy bible down on some of the most delicate bones in
your body? Smooth.
Anyhow, I still wake up in the middle of the night and can't go
back to sleep, and have zero energy on the weekends, but my mousing
wrist is as good as new. Too bad I shifted mouse hands over a year
ago. Now if I could just switch brains.
I know it doesn't make any sense to call a Baptist
preacher the Antichrist (cuz he's actually more like the Wayprochrist),
but I'm going to go ahead and call a spade a spade. Mike Huckabee,
the non-evolution-believing Antichrist has been officially sent
home by crusty old John McCain. And while McCain ain't gonna win
any votes from my neck of the woods, I'm glad to see another religious
nutjob Southerner sent packing.
Just to remind you what you'll be missing in the White House:
On the confederate flag: "You don't like people
from outside the state coming in and telling you what to
do with your flag. In fact, if somebody came to Arkansas
and told us what to do with our flag, we'd tell them what
to do with the pole; that's what we'd do."
On evolution:
"If you want to believe that you and your family came from
apes, that's fine. I'll accept that. I just don't happen
to think that I did." |
Thanks for the memories, douche. I'm
going to take my ape ass and go write a diatribe about how you're
what's wrong with our country. It's just embarrasing.
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