Happy Tardy New Year

So, many of you have wondered* where my annual Christmas bitch-fest was this year and truth be told it's because I didn't have enough venom stored up inside me to harsh your holiday buzzes (be they created with delicious eggnog or heathen manischewitz). Consider it a sea change in attitude for me coupled with the simple fact that I was pleased with my 2009 and didn't care to see it end, unlike the last three or four years where I have wanted to strangle everyone and everything.

A spot of good news and an auspicious event for the beginning for the new year:

New Year's Eve Day I had lost my Con Ed and National Grid bills somewhere in Park Slope. A few hours had passed between leaving the neighborhood and realizing they were missing and in my head I knew they were gone and lost forever, but I went back anyway to see if the could be found at any of the three stores I had gone into that morning.

My head was correct and they were lost and gone; probably on the bus, probably trashed, probably being used to break into my checking account (the argument in favor of paperless bill-pay begins here).

But a few days later, on January 2nd, a strange letter appeared in my mailbox with no return address, my name listed only as "Gin" in blue ball point pen. Inside was a lines piece of spiral bound paper with a grease stain on the margin.

"Hi Gin,

I found your con edison and National Grid bills on the bus(63) and I dropped it in the mail for you.

12/31/09
Happy New Year."

So there you go. Some good person not only put my bills in the mail for me, but wasted another 32-cents+ to tell me they had done so. If that isn't a sign of good things to come and the promise of a better future, then I don't know what is. Happy New Year indeed.

So in honor of you, stranger, who lives somewhere between Columbia St. and Ft. Hamilton in Brooklyn, NY, I have made a donation to the good people at This American Life. Why This American Life? It's free for everyone with a radio or mp3-ready device, generally non-partisan (but with a healthily progressive bent) and as far as I'm concerned, it's as capable of showing the power of the generosity of human spirit as your good deed did. Thank you for teaching us about life and love, again.

Happy New Year.

*None of you have wondered, and fuck all y'all.
+I don't know how much a stamp costs these days.

Goodbye Bozos

The Mighty Handful (Final Show), Shea Stadium, 7/25/09

They always played best when they didn't care about putting on a show. By the time the end had come their act was a known commodity and everyone knew what to expect, and so did they. The set list was basically the same as the last four shows and they ended with Uptown Drunks, which is still my favorite song of 2008 (Paper Planes is #2). Some people were crying because something so insignificant in the grand scheme can still have meaning. We were all young and beautiful once, and now we are old and tired and have other things to do. Toil. Death. When the house cut the PA, it faded up Born to Run, which seemed appropriate.

Somewhere in this anecdote is a comment on the changing of the seasons and the coming of autumn and then winter and then spring, when things begin again.

Earlier in the night there was an older guy floating around who looked like a NARC. He was taking pictures, but it was strange because no one had seen him before; no one wanted to engage with him because he looked like a NARC. As it turns out he was shooting for Paper Magazine for an article about Shea Stadium, which is all fine and dandy except he left before the main event. He couldn't have known.

The lead picture that accompanied the article ended up being a static shot of Museyroom, and there were a few shots of kids milling about and drinking or smoking. In one picture, Rich Toledo is sitting against the wall, alone, tired. He is wearing one of the twenty or so Mighty Handful shirts that were made by hand and sold before the first 741 show. I know it's Rich because I recognize him and I know the shirt he is wearing because he wore it to every Handful show. From the picture in the magazine, however, he's just some kid in a messy shirt.

Somewhere in this anecdote is a comment on defeat being snatched from the jaws of victory or the randomness of opportunity or how fleeting things can be.

Something To Du

I have had a difficult time explaining why I like the Mighty Handful so much. Most of my thoughts are scattershot and age-ist of the "talented enough to be good; not good enough to care" variety and don't do them justice. The pleasure might be in the thrill of discovery -- those precious few months you have where the secret is yours to share with everyone and anyone who will listen.



Most of the seminal bands I've enjoyed in my life were discovered a few years (or more) past their sell date; The Who, The Replacements, all of the NY post-punk bands. There are notable exceptions (including Pavement, Sleater-Kinney, Neko Case, and all the new [bands] out there that sound like them), but my music has historically been acquired a day late and at a bargain price in the resale bin. Some of this was due to (my) date of birth, some due to the inevitable decline that bands go through once they stop having hard-ons for anything that moves and embrace the rapidly advancing twilight of middle age.



The Mighty Handful are nowhere near that place, so they seem fresh and new even as they chatter amongst themselves and realize that Oh Domestic Me! sounds suspiciously like Tangled Up In Blue. Developmentally, they are at the time and place where small steps are giant strides; They are tighter than when I saw them two months ago, and though Aviva keeps slinking off to the side to avoid the carnage (live, they are 5/6ths Keith Moon) they have developed the good common sense to not tack her solo song at the end of the show; the previous result led to a, "...and this is my adopted daughter Margot," sense of unease as the rest of the boys packed themselves away.



They're playing Southpaw on the 15th and I intend to go out of loyalty and curiosity and to take my "adult" drunken friends who look at me like I'm chicken little every time I start muttering about how absurdly great "Uptown Drunks" is. First one on the train gets the best seat.

They Covered Can't Hardly Wait. The Suicide Lyrics Version.

So yeah, The Mighty Handful. Great name. They are actually a sextet, and I like to think it's all part of the joke. I know them through Dan and more specifically Dan's kid, who's the drummer. My deep thoughts about this event are still gestating. in the meantime, I will offer you the rich, reduced broth of the experience.

"We're gonna play a song... ...the last time we played it someone's -- and I won't say whose -- someone's parents got upset."

(From the back of the house) "Were they yours?"

"No, they weren't mine. This song is called 'Uptown Drunks'."

(cheers)

The song is on their Facebook and Myspace pages. It has a medium tempo and a singable chorus. It's about teenagers "experimenting with each other," if you know what I mean. Just sing about sex. Of course. Cut to the chase. If you're going to make parents upset go right for the jugular. If you're trying to woo Sally from homeroom go straight for her skirt.

Danielle's Gonna Have My Legs Broke For This

D: "...and these are going to all end up on the internet, right?"

R: "Probably."

I'm working on some publicity stills for the Hidden People (see previous entry) and got to bring in Danielle to assist in keeping my head straight, which is as difficult as you can imagine, and to help fly in lights for the location stuff (examples to come). Having someone on set who's better than you but is comfortable in letting you believe the opposite is very, VERY important.

Of course, aside from coffee fetching (not in a subservient way, but in a liberated, choose-to-do-it way), the assistant(s)' primary role is to stand in when the Photographer needs to see how badly he screwed up with the lighting (in this instance, a unit was not turned on). Furthermore, it is a happy coincidence when the Photographer has someone he's never succeeded in photographing assisting him. We've known each other for years and years at this point (it was quite a handshake) and have always seemed to be watching each others' work from parallel paths. Along with Bill Stengel (future Throwback Image Sunday candidate), she's my point person for all my tech talk and gear-head-wonkiness. I claim "Superfan 99" status.

Her home on the Internets is here:

Daniellestingu.com