I Feel Like I'm Moving Further Away From It.

It's been almost a week since I shot Radiates and because I am old and my memory fades easily, I'm having a difficult time recalling details. Seeing as I'm left with impressions, I have managed to make the lamest music review since that time that Chris Ott reviewed the Slanted And Enchanted reissue for Pitchfork with the [awful], scanned, hand-written pages.

As we might (or might not) remember, being young means curfew and the promise of swift and brutal justice at the hands of parentals if curfew is broken. This is not all together unjustified as The City is a horrible place full of crazies and situations that would put Young White Girls In Peril. In short, I get the point. This leads to a certain problem for young bands that draw the last straw and go on with the post-curfew slot in a three-act bill: You have no one to play to, or the number of people has decreased to the point where the room is half empty. Sad story, bro.

Please recall the Ideal Gas Law, which can be used to show that the pressure of a gas (particles) in a small volume is greater than that of an equal amount of gas (particles) in a large volume.

Because the Ideal Gas law is expressed as an equation (PV=nRT), you can also determine how small a volume has to be to achieve the same pressure with fewer particles. Of course, people don't react in the same way that a gas does -- they'll go where the want to. It's up to the band to make them want to go. With that in mind, I think this illustration makes sense:



I call it Gin's Ideal Crowd Law.

In practical terms:

Tie Me To The Mast Of This Ship And Of This Band

Some personal amusements regarding Gridskipper's Worst Bartenders in Brooklyn!

Firstly, this entry regarding the service at Trout/Pacifico/Gravy is on the money, and I still fail to comprehend how those places stay alive, especially considering the food quality, which I've described in the past as "food for people who think they know what good food should be like."

This observation about the general cluelessness of my generation can be lumped in with my Rushmore Corollary, which states that "...the reason Rushmore was/is so popular with the generation of 20-somethings at its time of release is that the generation as a whole feels it was, like, totally Max Fischer in High School."

This is obviously not true. This character trait, perceived or otherwise, also links to the 60 Minutes story about 20-something workers.

Anyway back to Gridskipper. This comment,

BY HIPSTERADE AT 11:39 AM

while boat on smith street also has two of the best bartenders in brooklyn, it also employs the WORST ACTUAL SINGLE BARTENDER in the borough: curly hair, works tuesday, thursday nights--she consistently ignores you, abuses you verbally, sneers as only the grinch can sneer.

By Hipsterade, if that is his/her real name, amuses me terribly. For a number of reasons, only one of which I will share with you now:



Suzie has a smile that can melt steel (not pictured) and is ever-so-charming and pleasant.

I will conclude my Captain Save-A-Bartender rant with the observation that since the insulating bar presence of Vegas closed down the douchebag quotient at Boat has risen at a fantastic rate. More clearly said, anyone who doesn't know the bartenders at Boat by name doesn't live around Smith St., nor do they deserve to be served with a smile.

Throwback Image Saturday (II)

Another from my early series of people I (used to, for the most part) hang out with in college. Dana was the editor of the school newspaper for a spell, and an all around cheerful person, in spite of the attitude this picture suggests. Call it one of my early dour-hipster pictures. This particular image was an outtake (one of her smiling made it in) and I uploaded this one 'cause it just seems more me at this point.

As with Nick, I've not seen Dana since I graduated. Last I heard she was back in Seattle or someplace on the Western Coast.

Fashion Week, Darth Vader and The Russians.

I managed to survive another Fashion Week with my sanity intact -- please remember that I'm working the shows for television and not as a shooter for a magazine or similar. This means, of course, that I generally have to engage people on a coherent level rather than a grumbly, mumbly or stalker-y level. I then turn on grumbly, mumbly stalker mode to take pictures during the down time.

Yes, I was there at the two-hour-delayed Marc Jacobs show (below) and overheard a pleasantly on-point smackdown delivered by Anna Wintour. When asked if going to shows with her daughter, Bee, was good bonding time she replied,

'Of course. And we've had plenty of time to do it tonight.'

So there. In truth and perhaps obviously, the same thing happens for a TV crew. It's easy to make friends when there's nothing to do but sit around and tell jokes and tell fish stories.

On the other end of the spectrum (of everything, really) is Heatherette (above), whose show our crew is always welcome at, and whose cast always includes Amanda Lepore, whose existance always confuses out of towners. Most importantly, Heatherette always seems to go off on time and in full force with a splendid time had by all.

I'd like to take the time now to fill in and finally put in writing my "Russian Theorem" before someone else steals it.

"Gin's Russian Theorem

Any given photographer can advance one and a half letter grades just by having a six-foot tall Russian model in his or her frame. The limit of the advancement is an 'A+' grade" and the effect is not amplified by having more than one (1) model."

That is to say, a "C" grade photographer becomes a "B+" grade photographer by merit of the absurd physical presence of the woman in front of the lens. I use this self-effacingly, and as a criticism of others. I become a great photographer at Fashion Week.