And now, our hearts press hard against our vests alarmed by the approach, with leaden steps, of hefty women heaving heavy breaths and badly straining seams of sky-blue chests of shirts whose vast expanses often dwarf a cloud-occluded face devoid of warmth that never meets the gaze of passers by, though neither you nor I evade her eye.
Her puffy, gloating glower prophesies ill-omened bolts striking intrepid guys who dare to stop in Fairmount or nearby compelling them to park briefly beside some curb cut, dumb dumpster, construction crane or other oddball obstacle that plagues the parking on each street that runs one way or has numbers or letters in its name.
She scribbles up the charge upon her scrip and slaps a scrap right on his windshield, with sweet dreams of the rewards she's sure to reap today to grab a fork, though, keep it neat, not to be forced to scoop it out in clots on corners of a large Mike and Ike box with far too few small napkins as defense so grease gets on her pants and all her pens.
When it begins to rain upon our land Tickets leave inky stains upon on our hands and every plate ends up upon the lists kept by those self-perpetuating cysts, except for those who've drawn that blessed lot that designates a dedicated spot and frees them from the suffocating squeeze that buys the ladies' Wawa mac and cheese.
It can storm on any beautiful day it can cost fifty dollars just to stay for sixty seconds next to some gray tank that takes up all the spaces at the bank And eight days later, time to escalate the state's claim on your wage to eighty-eight and then begin the incessant requests that you, not she, cut out a pound of flesh.
Things I Learned By Going Out With Old High School Friend Matt Tinari To Monday Night's King Britt's "Back to Basics" Party @ Silk City
1. That no matter how many Ricardo Villalobos songs and Canadian Indie Rock records I listen to, I will never be able to say "jazz is dead."
2. Corona Light is just as good if not better than Corona extra.
3. That when you ask for a Corona at Silk City, you get a Corona Light. It's like they're taking it on themselves to inform you about Light. That at Silk City, which I also realized is just another name for Utopia, they know better than you-- "hey, we know the customer is always right, but just try this and tell us it isn't better." I wish I could, but really, I can't.
4. That the guy who owns the Silk has worked really hard, not to mention has also spent a lot of money, perfecting his fake Jeffrey "The Dude" Lebowski look, and has succeeded unlike any I've seen before. A 10.
5. That, while we're on the topic of fakes, that Miss Kathy Diamond is definitely a Universal Donor.
6. That everyone who was 16-20 circa 2000 in going to this party is desperately trying to capture one last remnant of the awesomeness of the Philly Neo Soul movement that they were too young to experience at its prime.
7. That this is still very much possible in our city, either because of those that were responsible for the movement in the first place, like ?uestlove, showing up and still clearly supporting the scene, or because going out en masse on Monday nights is just how we do.
8. That ?uestlove likes talking on his cell at Silk City about 1/16-20 as much as Diplo Pentz, and the fraction's only that large because it's a way out of dealing with the entire white portion of the crowd that still feels obliged to give him props.
9. That ?uestlove and I have something in common: we both love putting tons of Tobasco in our soup.
10. That if you go to this party there's a chance that DJ Jazzy Jeff will swing by and you'll get to watch him play the drums.
11. That DJ Jazzy Jeff can really play the drums.
12. That you're allowed moreover encouraged to bring your own instruments with you to the party and air play along with the band.
13. That doing so will get your dick absolutely shredded by the hottest girl in the place.
14. That that $500 leather pants and haircut guy that I was only sorta enviously ripping in that Bloodbath post goes to Silk City every night of the week, solo if he has to.
15. That even when this guy shows up without any friends I still dislike him.
16. That there's something that I have yet to understand about Silk City as to how it can draw a steady crowd every night of the week, and that it has to be more than just the location.
17. That the enormous bouncer from Fluid hangs out at this party. The very same man who once had to carry a stupefyingly drunk and dislocated-kneed me from the floor of the Vitalic live show.
18. This:
(Pharrell's "Can I Have It Like That?" has to be the best song for this.)
19. That Matt Tinari went to elementary school with a girl who does it.
20. That it's kinda stupid. That dancing in the same manner without the hula hoop would be much funnier. That hula hoops can be too serious.
21. That the awesome bum who works the Silk City/Transit beat, the very same bum who once saved me from a $75 parking ticket before a Making Time, who by the way wins without doubt Best of Philly Bums 2007, goes by the name Freddie ("like Freddy Krueger") Lloyd.
22. That bums have email accounts.
23. That bums like Freddie who are genuinely polite about the whole thing-- Freddie struck up a good 15 minute conversation with us about hula hoop girl before blessing us and asking us for some CHANGE-- deserve some cash, and that you'd have to be an extremely cold person not to throw him a buck or two.
24. That there weren't any cold people attending this party. That one person described the night as "good vibes."
25. That if your alternator/starter/battery dies while at a Silk City party, Freddie Lloyd would be more than happy to set up your jumper cables.
What, you mean the team with the raging neocon Republican QB is violating the "civil rights" of its opponents through "illegal surveillance?" I blame that goddamn FISA vote-of-capitulation. Next thing you know, you'll be reading in the Wall Street Journal that the Jets defense was getting their plays directly from hardline Sunni and the "surge" in the Pats' offensive production is for the greater good.
"Brady speaking. Yeah, sure, Dick, I'll write you guys whatever check you want, just let me borrow one of those cameras y'all have, you hear?"
In case you haven't noticed yet, the Hold Steady is some pretty vapid, mediocre crap. If you have any taste with regard to the written word, you'll join me in being disgusted by the unanimous praise that has been spouted at this band, congratulating them for their potent, high-concept slice-of-life humor/poetry. This guy writes absolute bullshit songs. If you really give them the benefit of the doubt, you might pick up, as if through a thick wall, faint cries of an infant good observation shrieking in its crib due to malnourishment. The consensus on the Hold Steady as one of the most kickass bands in America is the equivalent of giving a high school freshman the Pulitzer for his paper on Rabbit, Run.
This is a perfect example of our climate of degraded expectations, which is the new hot issue in the TPO office; it's had us buzzing for a month now. WXPN loves to play The Hold Steady every day, Pitchfork massages Craig Finn's cock a couple of times a month, and people putting Hold Steady records on at parties and play air guitar, and I can only wonder: what the fuck makes anyone think these guys merit this much attention?
It would be easy enough to correct this sad state of affairs, too. Every time they're thinking about playing some monotonous Hold Steady Song about how awful the kids are (hmm), WXPN could instead choose to put on some Will Oldham, which people really need to hear (Days in the Wake or Viva Last Blues, especially). Pitchfork could let everyone know that they should listen to The Bees all the time. And as everybody knows, the only record that should ever be put on at a party is either that new Aesop Rock. I'm kidding, of course, as it's actually Piper at the Gates of Dawn, or maybe A Saucerful of Secrets.
The City Is Rusting Itself Away lyrics: Craig Finn
And I met her at a party on a Friday, we were both seeing double Five feet nothing, but when she's drunk she's trouble She said she... wanted to cuddle And she was snorting up cocaine and she had tattoos on her arm, "I Don't Need Your Advice" But she was very... nice! And I didn't think twice, I took her to the heights And we spent the whole goddamn night Sprawled out in the back of a cheap car, And then the next morning we went straight to the bar, because
The kids are all on drugs Oh the kids are all slugs on drugs It's a world full of slugs and sluts Sluts on drugs!
And it was 4 AM, and she'd been passed out for 4 hours plus And she was so out of it she didn't care what I touched Even though we were on the bus And we were both broken from the weekend but we had a good time And she wakes and asks me where she got that new tattoo it looks kind of your like a picture of your face... hey, is that you? I'm starting to worry about her attitude
Because the kids are all on drugs And they're all gonna die And this whole town is gonna collapse! Because of all the sluts on drugs!
