What It Is

It’s kind of an odd thing, but I love Valentine’s Day. I did not always love it, and even now, I don’t love everything about it. I don’t love greeting cards, baby’s breath or teddy bears. I’m rather indifferent to roses, especially when the price is jacked up. There have been times when I’ve barely noticed it or cared, and times when I’ve dropped a wad of cash or a torrent of tears. Continue Reading »

I was suspected of being a potential bank robber the other day.

I was in the bank waiting on a very long line when the bank manager walked up to me and said:
Would you please take off your sunglasses and your hood?

I was wearing sunglasses and a hood because it was
a. sunny
b. cold
although I also like to wear sunglasses in the rain. And snow.

This is what I looked like:

I was not excited to do so but I complied with his request, perplexed, until he said:
There have been a lot of bank robberies. Nearby.

And I felt a welling up inside me, of pain as my weak eyes blinked in the fluorescent light, and of outrage on account of the assault on my Cultural Privilege, one of the most glaring features of which is the presumption of innocence. Because I am a white, middle class, heterosexual female with acceptable gender expression.

A typically passive feminine power, this power of presumed innocence, perhaps, but powerful nonetheless. I have long been fascinated by the power of helplessness, the power that panicky, unreasonable or psychotic people have over everyone around them. I believe a lot of the cultural power invested in femininity is the same: the power of being unpowerful, of being the last suspect. I have gotten away with a lot because of this sex-class-and-race-based privilege. And I kind of enjoy being reminded that that’s what I’m enjoying- Cultural Privilege, not just the fruits of my sparkling, warm personality, when people are nice or make allowances for me for no reason.

So I very quickly got over my (unexpressed) outrage; after all, the man was just doing his job. Although baseball caps seem to be the disguise of choice for the modern-day bank robber.

But what about getaway cars? I am not a bank robber, and I don’t ever intend to become one, but if I ever have to have a getaway car, I hope it looks like this:

This is what the Loved One said to me on the evening of Nov. 5.

What, you never heard of the Prez?

Continue Reading »

The Loved One says:

Go Phillies. It’s just f*ckin South Brooklyn anyway.

I remember the guy who gave me my first Birthday Party tape in 1988, a guy who liked me and hung around the disreputable biker bar where I worked, hoping I would sleep with him, which I didn’t. He made a bunch of great tapes that were later stolen from me; the Birthday Party tapes were among them. I remember his face, his taste in music (Violent Femmes, Soft Boys, Stooges) and his curly hair. I don’t remember his name. He wasn’t quite grandiose or dangerous enough for me at the time.

My loved one & I went to see Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds a couple of weekends ago, because we love his new direction in both the Bad Seeds and Grinderman. I think his collaboration with multi-instrumentalist Warren Ellis is genius. While it was great to see them do classics like Mercy Seat, Red Right Hand and Stagger Lee, I really like the new sh*t even better. Nick Cave, to my taste, is triumphing in his 50s, just like Lucinda Williams and Alejandro Escovedo, making hardcore literate rock music that’s perfect for my sensibility. Dig Lazarus Dig is an album that makes my stomach ache with joy.

That said, I was massively disappointed by the crappiness of the Theater at Madison Square Garden, and I swear I’ll never see another show there. Although the performance was exciting and the light show was well done, I’m super-jealous of DC fans who got 2 shows at the 9:30 Club. Also, the audience was so dressed-down that the LO proclaimed them “post-rock”. Not a compliment. I played a game of spotting the rock crowd (people who looked like those you would have seen at a show in 1994), like scoping out VW Bugs on the highway on a long road trip with my parents. No lie, people used to dress up to go out. Sharpen up, people, life’s too short.

And, last criticism, bad swag. The Tshirts were just flat-out ugly. And the album cover and videos are so stylish. Nick, honey, what happened?

I will have to make a shirt and send it to you somehow.