Power! Dancers! Projections! Finland! Free Colt Forty-Five! Sunny’s!

August 30th, 2008

Hey friends! I’m bartending this show tonight at the Issue Project Room. Which means I might make tips to open up free colt 45’s, and I might make pals with Finnish folk! Raaaad. Do they also pee on buried sharks, and then eat them? I hope so! 

Nick of Neck and Tongue,  Necking and Dead Hare Inn says: 

Power 2 is happening this Saturday at Issue Project Room in Brooklyn. I hope you can come. I think it’s gonna be great. Three dudes from Avarus have come all the way from Finland to play music for it. Four dancers choreographed by Kristina Donello and video projections on 3 walls by me, Nick. And FREE Colt 45!!! Please wear light colors and donate some cash.

Here is the website and some little article dealies…

http://seriesofpower.org
http://freewilliamsburg.com
http://www.freewilliamsburg.com/archives/2008/08/from_88boadrum.html

I for one hope to go to Sunny’s after this for their Saturday Night Jam, because I need a ton of excuses to drag myself to Red Hook!!!

Chad P., an education for the uninitiated.

August 24th, 2008

Chad P

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

  (Redirected from Chad P.)

Chad P (aka Chadwick Patterson) is an organizer and promoter of underground DIY and indie rock shows and parties in New York City. Patterson was born in 1975 in Sicily to Peace Corps parents, who allegedly left him to be raised by “Uncle Vinnie” [citation needed], a family friend with alleged ties to the Sicillian Mafia, when they were re-stationed in Uganda in 1977.

“Uncle Vinnie was a real hardnosed businessman, totally all about doing it himself,” said Chad in an interview where he expresses his ethos. “He taught me everything I know about DIY promotion, but also taught me the value and responsibility of leading a close-knit group of collaborators—or, as I like to call them, ‘yourselfers’—toward our collective goal of being a known and respected force in the independent community.”

Before relocating to the New York City area in 2001, Patterson founded and ran a successful all-ages rock club and art space in Portland, Oregon called Seventeen Miles of Excellent Whale Cadavers, or SMEWC.

In 2001 Patterson began learning the ropes from famed late promoter Bradford “Z” Torelli, who let him curate concerts in the harder-to-access Red Hook area of Brooklyn, New York under the name “Chad P”, first on a rotting stretch of pier, and later at the Red Hook ballfields, whenever soccer teams forfeited their games. Patterson garnered particular attention for throwing events on the diminutive loading dock of the local Key Foods [citation needed], but always hoped to move up to curating loft shows with Brad Z in the then up-and-coming Williamsburg, Greenpoint, and Bushwick areas of Brooklyn, New York.

When Brad Z expired of an apparent suicide—Patterson reportedly found him smashed on his back at the foot of the McKibbin lofts with a Chad P Currates! flyer pinned to his chest; “You’re the next in line” scrawled upon it—Patterson immediately rose to the invitation and took charge of the Brad Z indie empire, quickly transferring his name and curration know-how to all Brad’s venue holdings.

Chad P shows now provide a respected forum [citation needed] for indie rock acts to perform in the Williamsburg, Greenpoint, and Bushwick areas of Brooklyn, New York, and in the Lower East Side of Manhattan.

Patterson is widely acknowledged within the New York indie rock community[citation needed] for consistently selecting and attracting edgy[citation needed] musical performers and wide-eyed angular interns to work his concerts, as well as for organizing events for apparently little financial gain. Patterson has clearly expressed his fierce loyalty to the ethics of D.I.Y punk rock by not charging more than $3 for a PBR and not enforcing a NO JEANS, NO SNEAKERS dress code.

Patterson frequently locates his events at all-ages and atypical venues such as a working water treatment plant and the playroom of a 24-hour Laundry Zone, with the stated goal of fighting age discrimination—not withstanding discrimination against the slow and incontinent elderly.

Patterson has also sought to open his own venue, briefly throwing shows at a larger, unlicensed space that he rented and operated independently, named La Cosa Nostra.

La Cosa Nostra was a multi-purpose performance and art space—a veritable VFW hall—that Patterson operated in the mode of several preexisting creative spaces/livingrooms in Brooklyn with no legal status, but with Patterson’s stated goal of eventually taking the space legit if the location proved feasible.[citation needed] La Cosa Nostra operated successfully[citation needed] for several months in 2005, quickly attracting huge crowds[citation needed] and garnering favorable coverage from New York City media outlets until the local 94th Precinct NYPD police entered the building without a warrant in early March 2005 and issued several summonses to Patterson and other ‘yourselfers’ who used the building for hosting events. Patterson successfully fought these citations, but did not risk using the building for shows, cockfights, crab feasts or bingo nights ever again. [4]

Chad P arguably exerts influence in shaping the NYC and national indie rock scenes, given his role as an independent show organizer, officially canonized archangel and “tastemaker” in a region boasting both a huge concentration of “in-the-know” fans and press outlets who cover independent music, punk-rock proms and Festival of the Giglio after-parties, among any number of other things.

 [edit]

Categories: Talent Manager / Living Legend 

Happiest story ever???!!!!

August 11th, 2008

Angler? Did you bite onto another woman? Are you at least thinking of me while you do it???

Saddest story ever???!!!!

August 11th, 2008

Angler! I lost you!!!!!

Hipster Moleskine Entry #10 (Repost from Tumoltous Moleskine.com)

August 5th, 2008

Note to self! On the nature of disappointment and my apparent kinship with this here good ole’ boy Mr. Charles Shaw and his band of brothers, the Shaw clan, who will not run out on me at 2 the fuck in the morning mumbling tacos and not come back till—time is it now?—4 AM and not come back maybe she’ll come back? She won’t! Cause she’s an asshole! Not coming back and not calling me. Loco Burrito has been closed for hours. Did she go to Anytime? Anna Maria’s for the unliftable 1 lb. slices of greasy topping-loaded pizza radness? Did she go to The Levee for free twizzlers and cheeseballs and fuckheads playing Big Game Hunter, buying her Texas Two Steps, tequila and lone stars and condoms and cab fare back to their place?

Fuckin’ Texas, all my exes live in Texas. The stars at night are big and bright. Clap clap clap clap. Maybe she’s getting the clap right now. Getting or giving? I don’t know and I frankly my dear I don’t goddamn care. I’ll curate this whole damn thing myself, screw her noise, I live at the Bunny Hut. I know what’s up and lord knows I’ve worked enough shows at The Woodland (or the artist formerly known as Wolf Shatteu), Silent Hutch (R.I.P. Quiet Howl) and Dead Hare Inn (hitherto called YeahFuckYouWolves!) to hold my own and get some diversity into the mix. The quadrangle of punk-loft peeps all have wicked different styles of bunny art and song and that’ll be cool and Chad P. will get the kids in, fo sho. Seriously, I’m sick of her incomprehensible beef with that cat. Fuck it, if he’ll get asses in the gallery, who cares right? But she wants it all her way or no way and no way! We haven’t been here long but what if the rumors are true? Like, if you fuck with Chad P. and try to be all badass and DIY it with an emphasis on the Y, as in not doing it with him and his crew and whoever the hell, than he’ll  out you as an elitist hipster community-hater on Mywang and Facefuck and it’ll all blow up with hate and everyone will shun you and you’ll have to start hosting open bars with fakeass absinthe setups at your things just to leak some out-of-the-loop business back in.

 Oh yeah, and your family will all be viciously, methodically offed.

 Jaykay dawgs!

But for reals, I’ve only had this gallery a month and I don’t want to crashslam on our first show that could be just raucous. What are her alternatives anyway? Yeah, she can hate but she’s got nothing better going in the way of advertising unless she’s just gonna go be a serial slutbomb. Speaking of, seriously where’d she go? It’s 4:25 and my phone’s showing nothing and hers goes straight to voicemail and whatever who cares, she can go. She can go she can go she’s gone she’s always been gone. Fuck! I’m lying by the door and I’ve got a pillow that smells like her and I don’t know why. She’s never slept over! We’ve just had pillow fights cuz I’m a fucking loser. 

Shouldn’t be writing this I believe in self fulfilling prophesies and losing is not a good one to be fulfilling, not when I’m gonna win. WIN! In it to mothafuckin win it, dawg! Lemme write deardrunkho and ask her advice. I hate effing blogs. I hate the word blog. I hate living in a world that loves blogs. Maga maga maga revival!!

One fine day. Her and me. Making the world real again. 

Dear Bird Boy,

August 4th, 2008
Fear not my feathered friend. I think this is simply a case of having the wrong crew. Birds of a Feather are supposed to fly together, right? And who have you been hanging with? A pack of bankruptcy lawyers?!!
Once for one second I wanted to be a lawyer with dollar signs in my eyes, but then I went to a show on a boat and while waiting to board; lonely, poor and bitterly smoking cloves and gulping smuggled apricot brandy, I had to watch all these lawyers get herded onto a yacht and–I tell you what! I know these people have NEVER EVER hallucinated giant birds, or been rugged enough even to get attacked by one (good work!).  Oh sure… after knocking back a few too many expensed cosmos courtesy of McMann Manly & Associates, they’ve hallucinated giant paralegal boobs swooping at them, or giant surprise trust funds, or giant sales on khaki and performance fleece weekend warrior wear. But it seems clear to me that these people who “don’t believe” you have no imagination.
And where, boys and girls, is the No Imagination Station? LAW SCHOOL!  That’s right! So ween yourself away slowly. Start with the bright eyed non-profiteers and work your way down the gutter to the lawyers in lo-fi punk bands. Poor lawyers are good lawyers! Much better than dead lawyers, no matter what you’ve heard! Especially if you’re the type to pull somnambulistic impregnations on people out of wedlock. A case of PBR and a burned cd will get you repped, bro!  
Were you naked in the concrete tunnel? Cuz otherwise, I just can’t relate. 
Keep it unreal, birdie! 
xo,  Drunk Girl

Dear Drunk Girl, Anonymous Bird Boy has a problem:

August 3rd, 2008

I have a problem I think you can help me with. What do you do if something happens to you and no one else believes you? Say you’ve been drinking and on your way home from the L you see an enormous bird with an enormous wingspan, so you run for your life but it swoops down and grabs hold of your shirt and tries to carry you off and you yell and scream and manage to hit the bird so it lets you go. The next day there is a large claw mark torn into your shirt, but no one believes you. That happened to me. Or what if you wake up in the morning and you are sleeping in one of the concrete tunnels on a children’s playground miles from your home and you don’t know how you got there? Again, no one believes you. That happened to me too. Or here’s something else that happened and it is really worrying me quite a bit. I got this girl pregnant, but like I told my wife, I DON’T REMEMBER SLEEPING WITH HER! What about that? Where did this baby come from? It is a mystery for the ages, a journey into the unknown. Do you ever have these sorts of problems, Drunk Girl? How do you handle them. I’d like to know.

Bird Boy

Reposting from Chad P Curates! Rad!Rad!Awesome!Awesome!Rockn’ArtShowGrandOpening!

August 2nd, 2008

    

ARM Triangulating Happiness Book Party Review!

July 31st, 2008

8 years later…I’ll tell you how the party you missed was. Snoozers. Courage was awesome and so not nervous at all reading. I won a super-soaker I’d really love to use one day before winter kills it! AMR pins were made that are super cute and may win you dates after strangers ask you, “hey, what’s that sweet biz on your messenger bag?” Here’s a poem: Joe Yoga brought the slow blue funk and Easy the musical sandcastle making. Rextrom make some cookies with extra chocolate chunk.  But I still wished there’d also been funfetti-baking. Some nice, cute people won some prints I made…soon to be sold for hot peanuts on AMR! 

  

 

Dear Destined,

July 31st, 2008

First thing, I wish you would have just signed off as, “in it to muthafuckin win it!” because then I wouldn’t have had to bring out my tiniest pedal steel guitar to address you.

But! What’s done its done. I’m ignoring your blog insults and I’m seated at your issue on a tiny stool of sapphire vinyl. My foot is on a tiny pedal, my finger wears a tiny pick. The only thing not tiny around here is my new beard and the glass of Jack (one of your pals) I’ve poured myself appropriately.

First of all, if you’re really into this chick, any dude she’s into will automatically register as turdbucket to you. So…forget that noise. Second of all, the human heart is hard to fathom, but if you’ve been friends for awhile and there’s never been anything standing in the way of y’all getting it on ever, and you’re a drunk and she’s a drunk, and it still hasn’t happened…well, sorry but that’s a clear indication that she only wants you as a friend.

Girls know pretty much right off the bat whether or not they’ll do you, and how much drinking it will take to get them there. Sounds to me you’re way off the scale. In pedal steel speak, you’re about as far from the B note as it gets (I think that’s the lowest note. Don’t quote me on that. I don’t really play pedal steel, tiny of otherwise. Yeah, I’m a poser!)

Of course accidents and miracles do happen. Sometimes you can do things that will change the way a person looks at you. Like, you invent something or liberate a country of you suddenly become really cool or buff or rich or join a popular band or any number of things that will remove you from the you she isn’t hot for. Which—sure, sometimes happens. Or so I’ve seen in fables and milk commercials.

But! Staying in it to win it is one step closer to awesome and at least a step away from your assumed sad destiny of a faceful of barroom floor in some fake NY honky tonk. So go for it, and I hope you check in again. I’m not sure how you’ll read this if you’re so anti.

xo,

Drunk Girl.