I’m sure I could ramble on for a few thousand words about my trip to New York but something seems inherently retarded in that. Of course, there’s something inherently retarded about blogging, so you’ll just going to have to settle for a few half-baked observations about my trip through the Eastern Seaboard. Like that all-knowing oracle Howie Mandel once said, “deal or no deal.” (Then again, Howie Mandel posed for this photograph, so in truth, he cannot be trusted).

• The thing about Los Angeles is that no matter how much you try to pretend that it isn’t all sunshine, fake tans and Hollywood dreams going to seed, you end up on the airplane out of town, sitting behind a bleached 20-something updating her resume to include a new MTV horror/reality/comedy show. True story. She wore massive aviators and spent the entire six-hour plane ride trying to master the art of looking affected and disaffected at the same time. Worst of all, she listened exclusively to Creed and Papa Roach.

• I spent most of my first weekend hanging out with the writers from Stylus. Great guys, all of them, and I’m not just saying that because I’m trying to be to tactful. However, like LA producing nothing but aviator-clad zombies laboring over the minutiae of their IMDB pages, if you get a bunch of music writers together chances are it occasionally ends up sounding like a bad chapter from Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs. Like seeing the Joy Divison biopic as a group in the East Village, or debating the merits of esoteric writers who wrote columns for Spin in 1993, or talking about that L’il Wayne fellow that the kids seem to love. Bringing up L’il Wayne is like yelling fire in a crowded room. The next thing you know everyone has stopped paying attention to the cute girls sitting at the table next to you and instead only want to deliberate the meaning of the phrase “my dreadlocks swing on my back like Rapunzel.” This is all true except for the Rapunzel part. But really, Wayne should be disqualified as being considered a Great rapper for comparing himself to Rapunzel (and/or Tahitian Treats). It’s not like Biggie was comparing himself to Goldilocks.

• The bar scene in New York is a lot cooler than the ones in LA (duh). The problem with LA bars (other than the 1:30 last calls and complete absence of effective mass transit) is that if you want to do something considered cool you end up hanging out almost exclusively with assholes. By contrast, New York seemed to have bars every 10 staggers, plus a surfeit of secret speak-easy spots that play only David Bowie. (Mostly). At this point, I’m reasonably convinced that NYC bars are contractually obligated to play one David Bowie song a night. Though, said Bowie song must be selected no earlier than Hunky Dorie-era Bowie and no later than “China Girl.”

As A Music Blogger I Am Contractually Forbidden to Say Anything Bad About David Bowie

• Despite the ever-wise Tal Rosenberg’s admonition that “the China Town Bus is mad sketchy,” and Zilla Rocca’s sound advice to keep my eyes peeled for the Narc’s, I still decided to take the Chinatown Bus to visit Zilla in Philly. Needless to say, it isn’t recommended unless you’re into being stranded with for three hours in the cold in nowheresville Jersey. However, if you do get stranded for three hours in Jersey, the only way to keep your sanity is to go into a nearby gas station, purchase a blunt and proceed to smoke out the only three people on your bus that don’t strictly speak Mandarin.

• Luckily, I finally made it to Philly and drank 40s in front of South Philly High with Zilla, his manager Big O, and briefly, Zilla’s Clean Guns partner, Nico the Beast. The encounter left me convinced that Nico the Beast is currently the winner of the Ol’ Dirty Bastard Award for Most Accurate Nickname in Rap. Dude is literally a beast. Like 6′1 250 lbs. and not a fat 250 either, like could start on D-line for the Eagles huge. Coupled with the fact that Big O is even bigger and scarier-looking than Nico, I’m willing to bet that in an indie-rap Royal Rumble, no one would want to fuck with Beat Garden.

• I did not see Percee P out in front of Gray’s Papaya. This was kind of disappointing. Instead, I bought Check the Technique at Fat Beats, got told by a clerk that the music stores in LA suck (thanks, dude) and ended up finding a $4 hardcover copy of Portnoy’s Complaint from a guy selling books on the street. Combined with the french fries and the soup that I got at Waverley Diner across the street, it more than made up for Percee’s absence.

But Whose Idea Was It To Name A Hot Dog Stand After a Discolored Tropical Fruit?

• I like Joy Division a lot. They’re a very good band, probably a great one, but one I just don’t listen to all that much. For one thing, I’m not 21, epileptic and with vaguely Goth tendencies. For another, they make a kind of somber rainy day music that doesn’t make much sense in precipitation-less LA. But just because their Manchester gloom works well in NYC, it still doesn’t give DJs the right to play “Love Will Tear Us Apart” twice in the same night. This actually happened to me my last night in the City and it was within a mere two hours of each other. C’mon dude, there are like 11,212 great songs in existence (rough estimate) and you’re playing the same played-out hipster anthem twice in 120 minutes? Though to be fair, the DJ deserves credit for playing Bell Biv Devoe’s “Poison” and “Set Adrift On Memory Bliss.” And granted as wack as PM Dawn were (and I believe wack is the only suitable descriptor tag), I’ll ride any day for the inherent greatness/hilarity of “Set Adrift On Memory Bliss.” I apologize in advance.

• After consuming 11 or so Dunkin’ Donuts’ French Vanilla-flavored Iced Coffees (with cream and sugar), I’m convinced that Los Angeles can not and should not be considered a major American city until has a Dunkin’ Donuts franchise. Of course, the problem is that if Los Angeles did have a Dunkin’ Donuts, it would be marketed as a “trendy Dunkin’ Donuts” and the Olsen Twins would go there and Paris Hilton and Lindsey Lohan and Satan dressed up as the Crow.

• In fact the only thing that made me nostalgic for Cali in my week-long absence was the aforementioned DJ spinning “California Love.” Take that for what you will.

• Other miscellaneous revelations and shame-less plugs for friends that don’t fit in anywhere: I met up with Nerd Litter in New York and feel compelled to tell the world that he’s not actually a nerd. His blog name is just a clever ruse. But it is a good site and you should read it unless you don’t want to, in which case that’s cool, have fun being a Calvinist. I also had the opportunity to break bread with Barry Schwartz, the mad genius behind Disco Vietnam. Listen to his music, friend him on the Myspace, write him a sonnet.

Download:
MP3: David Bowie-”China Girl”
MP3: Lil Wayne-”Dipset”
MP3: Clean Guns-”We Just Run Things”
MP3: Joy Division-”Love Will Tear Us Apart”
MP3: Disco Vietnam-”The NP (Natalie Portman)”

If you know someone who uses drugs on a day to day basis and you think they need help with their drug use then it may be a good idea to look into drug rehab for the right place for them. Sometimes drugs can get a grip on people beyond what they can handle so finding drug treatment for them may save their life.

Stumble It!

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