Love in the Time of Katertot

Don't You Forget About Me

2009-08-12T14:36:00.009-04:00

I love John Hughes. I’m a sucker for a smart high school movie that celebrates the underdogs. Hughes expertly appealed to the nostalgia that exists in all of us, but has a particularly large residence in me. I remember the first time I saw Ferris Bueller’s Day Off with my best friend Crystal Palermo, when we were no older than 9. After it finished, we immediately rewound the VHS and watched certain parts over and over again. (The one I remember specifically is a three second shot in the parade scene where a baby in a stroller dances up and down. Certainly not the most genius or hilarious moment, but there’s no accounting for a 8-year-old’s humor.) I even sang a Simple Minds tribute at karaoke last weekend.

As much as John Hughes spoke for a generation (and many thereafter), as much as he is loved and mourned so soon after dying young, I think we need a bit of perspective.

In a statement last week, Bill Paxton said, “Like Orson Welles, he was a boy wonder, a director's director, a writer's writer, a filmmaker's filmmaker. He was one of the giants." Really, Bill Paxton? Orson Welles? The Breakfast Club is an excellent movie about the emotional repercussions of taping a kid’s butt cheeks together, but I hardly think it bears comparison to Citizen Kane, which is widely accepted as the greatest film of all time.

And wasn’t his close relationship with teenage actors a little creepy? According to Molly Ringwald’s op-ed in the Times today, he took cast members to concerts and told her – over and over again – how wonderful she was. An extremely complimentary man who makes mixtapes for teenagers (the aural alternative to a “Do you like me, check yes or no” note) and never wants to grow up might set off little warning bells in a parent’s head. I’m sure these gestures were perfectly innocent – the man had a family – but you have to admit, the situation seems a little shady when looking at it from the outside. I wonder what the Ringwald family thought of his fascination with her.

That said, I’m glad to finally see a lengthy statement by Molly Ringwald on all of this (though I can't help but notice that she finds the most meaning in her own movies). I can hear her reading it like a voice over in my head, and I’ve been wondering about her reaction. In addition, the blog post from Hughes’ 16-year-old pen pal is beautiful, and I’m still thinking about it days later. John Hughes genuinely sounds like an amazing person – thoughtful, loyal, relatable, fun. Let’s just not put him on a pedestal…unless it’s firmly on the ground in Shermer, Illinois.

Silver anniversary

2009-05-03T12:00:00.000-04:00

I turn 25 today. For some people this seems like a significant milestone, but to me this birthday never really seemed like a big deal. In fact I've been feeling pretty young -- at the romance conference where I spoke two weeks ago, I was the youngest person there by no less than 8 years. Sure, I got my nose pierced in what is presumably some sort of subconscious quarter-life crisis, but it seems like the only thing that changes at this age is that I can't be on the Real World (demo: 18-24). That, and I'm at a lower risk for domestic violence (highest: 20-24), so my mid-20s really seems like a good place to be.

It was only when I Googled "turning 25" to get some context that I started feeling less positive about the birthday. According to the Pittsburgh Tribune, this year I can look forward to loneliness, insecurity, and baby envy. And I should probably go to grad school.

One guy rowed across the entire Atlantic Ocean at 25. I haven't even read anything on this random Amazon list of books to read before turning 25 (sorry, I just couldn't finish On the Road). By contrast, this guy died at 25 using Wii Fit. Maybe I should stay away from video games and exercise?

But then there's the post from PeopleWhoDeserveIt.com: "Should you catch 'Loser Who Laments About Turning 25' crying over his candles, politely remind him that some people have real problems, one face punch at a time."

Let's call this birthday a draw.

Kumar goes to the White House

2009-04-08T19:02:00.003-04:00

According to Entertainment Weekly, Kal Penn is taking a break from acting to work in the public liaison office on the White House.

I've always thought he was probably a pretty cool, smart guy (hell, he taught a class at Penn last year). And let's be honest, his acting resume isn't anything to write home about (for every genuinely funny movie -- Van Wilder and Harold & Kumar Go to White Castle -- there are too many Son of the Masks and Bachelor Party Vegases).

Let’s hope that his political career is better than the pandering disaster of a stoner flick (which isn’t even funny if you’re stoned) Harold & Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay, but that Camp David is just as awesome.

Obama bubble

2009-03-23T23:50:00.004-04:00

Obama lives in Liz Lemon's boyfriend's hot guy bubble (though maybe he's in it cuz he's Commander in Chief or whatever).

Jenga Pistol

2009-03-20T17:12:00.001-04:00

Things Geeks Love #129: Cheating at Jenga.

I want one.

Presidential Address

2009-02-24T22:34:00.005-05:00

"Tonight, I ask every American to commit to at least one year or more of higher education or career training. This can be community college or a four-year school; vocational training or an apprenticeship. But whatever the training may be, every American will need to get more than a high school diploma. And dropping out of high school is no longer an option. It’s not just quitting on yourself, it’s quitting on your country – and this country needs and values the talents of every American."

I think this means I need to go to grad school. Or maybe...

Best in Show

2009-02-11T09:27:00.003-05:00

Even Christopher Guest couldn't make this stuff up:

"Stump, officially named Ch. Clussexx Three D Grinchy Glee, might have surprised aficionados, who had their eye on a giant schnauzer..."

"Yes, a standard poodle who won best in the nonsporting group, was conceived using 25-year-old frozen sperm from another champion standard poodle who died 13 years before Yes's birth."

"A puli, Ch. Cordmaker Field Of Dreams, was judged best in the herding group."

via NYT's Westminster photo spread

What does Kakutani know, anyway?

2009-02-03T17:04:00.005-05:00

Dakota Fanning is currently in talks to be in "New Moon," but she hasn't even read the Twilight sequel!

I'm sure she's just too busy reading Pynchon.

The birds are striking

2009-01-15T17:33:00.002-05:00

From CNN.com's coverage of the Hudson plane crash (gliding?):

Since 1975, five large jetliners have had major accidents in which bird strikes played a role, according to the Web site of Bird Strike Committee USA, a volunteer group dedicated to reducing the frequency and severity of the strikes.

What could Bird Strike Committee USA possibly do to reduce the frequency and severity of birds flying into plane engines (or planes flying around bird bodies)?

Breaking: Zooey Deschanel sings in a movie!

2008-12-16T14:58:00.004-05:00

Zooey Deschanel is singing in another one of her movies (this must be in her contract). This time it's Yes Man, and her character performs in the band Munchausen by Proxy (made up of real-life group Von Iva). The song, "Sweet Ballad", is a little bizarre and a little awesome. In this video, Zooey seems to channel Jenny Lewis, possibly because of their work together on Acid Tounge.

Anyway, check out the below for some weird mirror-dancing and the debut of Munchausen by Proxy. This is a little bizarre and a little awesome, I can't entirely tell if I like it. It's simultaneously overly earnest and comedically ironic.

I've been a little wary of Zooey recently after she acted like she was stoned during a taping of Elvis Costello's "Spectacle", but the little look and fist raise she does at the end almost makes me want to go see Yes Man. Except I already did, when it was called Liar Liar and I was 13.

Did the four horsemen pause?

2008-12-10T15:07:00.006-05:00

While the news of layoff after layoff is echoing around every urban center (and probably everywhere else in America), and all the bankers and newsmen among us weep at dive bars or pawn the office stapler, my heart was warmed by a couple comments on, surprisingly, Gawker, the snarkiest of blogs.

In light of the cuts at NPR:

JinxyMcDeath: I can deal with rising prices, unemployment, and even getting mugged this weekend (yes, true story), but not the end of "This American Life."

FlipTurn: Sorry you got mugged, Jinxy. That happened to me in 1996 at the corner of Broadway and 53rd (got followed off the subway). Don't let it scare you forever, and do take good care of yourself while you deal with the experience. Sorry to sound all shrink-y.

James Frey of A Million Little Pieces and Oprah's shit list fame gave the best recession advice I've heard during his interview in the comments today:

Commenter: How do I get rid of this gross feeling of dread and anxiety?
James Frey: I dance. Works every time. Just dance your heart out.

It makes a media apolocalypse a little less depressing, eh?

Drawing something worth $233.95

2008-11-20T15:00:00.004-05:00

I have never been good at drawing. As a child, "artist" was another profession I aimed for, despite lacking any sort of talent at the visual arts. I got a D in 8th grade Art class, the only D I ever received in school. (I admittedly was not advanced enough for 8th grade Art class, and really should have gone back to chorus.) Yet, I've always wished I could draw, paint, or sculpt something beautiful, or that at least impress people with my crayon doodles on paper tablecloths.

So I really understand the goal of drawing a spider - no doubt on MS Paint - and using that to pay my bills. Though I guess making art to pay the bills is most people's dream, really.

What I can do is buy artwork about what other people want, because it's awesome.

What's the frequency, Kenneth?

2008-11-11T07:53:00.004-05:00

This morning, I woke up to Matt Pinfield telling the following story on my clock radio.

In 1986, Dan Rather was walking down the street in Manhattan when he was randomly attacked. The assailant punched him from behind and beat him, all the while yelling, "Kenneth, what is the frequency?"

This became the inspiration for REM's song "What's the Frequency, Kenneth?" For years, no one had any idea who Kenneth or the attacker was, and Rather didn't shed any light on the situation (though he did appear with REM when they played the song on Letterman). Rumors circulated, and it was suspected that Rather's attacker could have been a KGB agent or a jealous husband.

Then in 1997, a tip from a psychiatrist led to the identification of William Tager as the man who mugged Dan Rather 11 years earlier. At the time, Tager was in prison for the murder of an NBC production assistant (and, according to Wikipedia, is still incarcerated). He believed that news networks were beaming signals into his brain and he could stop it if only he could find out the frequency.

When you're half asleep, that story is terrifying.

November 5

2008-11-07T16:05:00.012-05:00

A few weeks ago, I was discussing the election with a friend.

"I can't wait for November 4," I said.

"Yeah, but I'm nervous about November 5," she said. "No matter what happens, America is going to show its true colors and I'm afraid of what they might look like."

She made a good point. Ever since that conversation I felt the same way. There's no telling what kind of hateful backlash a black, pro-life, gay marriage-supporting president-elect could garner. And I'm sure that a McCain victory could easily have caused riots.

I'm glad to say I was suprised on Wednesday. Blogger snark was replaced by tears and earnestness. The New York Times attested that this ends the civil war. Even leaders and citizens around the world rejoiced, and are looking to America as a beacon of democracy and equal rights.

I haven't seen any coverage of racist sentiment. No "Obama is a terrorist" videos, no assassination threats, no defeated wails from conservatives. Mostly the negative coverage has centered around the GOP ticket as aides finally went off the record about Palin's unpreparedness and stubbornness. And that was from Fox News.

America did show itself, and I'm proud of what we saw.

Bathroom Line

2008-11-05T22:44:00.003-05:00

I am absolutely fascinated by bathroom graffiti. I've never written it, and I'm not sure why people do. Is there some idea they they must share with the world, in a bathroom stall? Why stay in a public restroom longer than you have to?

And so, I've started a new blog to document my findings, questions, and theories: The Bathroom Line. This is all the most interesting, baffling, or humorous writing I can find - I'm not interested in stickers, tags, or cliches like "I *heart* ___". Check it out, comment, and if you're really cool, you'll send your own stories and photos to bathroomline@gmail.com.

Halloweve - MGMT

2008-10-30T23:53:00.011-04:00

MGMT's Oracular Spectacular was the perfect soundtrack for the beginning of summer. It's warmly optimistic for the first days of picnics and margaritas, without moving into too much August beach party pop. I had been looking forward to their "very sold-out" show on Thursday at Webster for weeks. I expected this to be like Ra Ra Riot at Bowery Ballroom two weeks ago -- short, fun, and unsurprising with some dance beats. Well, this was not what I expected.

I was surprised to see what MGMT fans look like. The audience was comprised mostly of bros and people inexplicably wearing costumes on the day before Halloween. There was a group of 19-year-old girls next to us wearing perhaps a "sexy groupie" costume (though my guess is it was their regular attire) of a huge tank top pinned in the back so that the entirety of their blue bras were showing. And I know they're 19 because they promptly told a 26-year-old who was hitting on them that he's [scoff] too old.

Suicide, the no-fi duo from the late '70s, is possibly the worst choice for an opener. Apparently they filled in for Chrome, an industrial band that formed decades ago, though neither seem to be the right fit for this tour. In a different context, Suicide is probably fine, but their keyboard and growling were certainly not what MGMT fans were looking for.

When the headliner eventually came on, we were surprised not to hear the electro pop we have come to know. Live, MGMT seems to think that they are an arena rock band circa 1976, complete with meedely-meedelys on guitar and long instrumental interludes.

In between the self-indulgent jamming, they did play their hits. "Time to Pretend", which sardonically celebrates an apathetic life of stardom, became a party rocker as people pumped their fists and sang "come on, lets have some fun", without note of lyrics about missing your family and choking on vomit. Save the drunken dancing for "Electric Feel", NYU kids.

The set ended with the uptempo "Kids", but the cheering reached its peak as the band added on a falsetto rendition of "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun". It was fun, though that ironic nostalgia often seems to me like a cheap crowd pleaser - especially for this type of crowd. The encore was "The Youth" - also a good song, but not upbeat enough to close the show. This really should have been the last song of the set, and switch "Kids" and the Cyndi Lauper cover to the encore.

I do have to mention that the show wasn't all bad. MGMT's best songs (those detailed above) are still good, and solid live. Mostly, the entire night missed the mark. It seems like MGMT wants to be more of a jam band than interesting indie rock, so I wonder where they can really go from here.

Admittedly, maybe I would have had a better idea of what I was getting into if I had watched their unexpectedly bizarre videos.

The road not traveled

2008-10-27T23:04:00.004-04:00

When I was in high school, the only career I could fathom working when I grew up was to own a coffee house.

At the time I was entrenched in the adolescent performing arts (drama and chorus), loved music (obviously still the case, though at 17 it was modern rock radio), and wrote play reviews and emotional poetry. I dreamed of being a rock star or professional actor, maybe even a writer. But I knew that these aren’t particularly money-making ventures, so I should set my sights on a Real Job. The only thing I could imagine really doing: hip coffee shop management.

Now, this is an actual business (as if I knew – or for that matter know – anything about business) that real people own, unlike my starving-artist pipe dreams, making it feasible in my teenage brain. I also wanted to get my motorcycle license and front a punk band, and I joked that I'd bridge the biker-punk-beatnik gap. There would be a stage, where we would hold crooning open mic nights and my band would play. I imagined some sort of Central Perk-CBGB hybrid, an "everybody knows your name" cliche, where the up-and-comers of the local art scene (wherever that may be) would scribble and doodle and plan to change the world. Oh, and I'd have pink hair.

My priorities have changed and this is, of course, not my current Real Job. But whenever I'm in a really great cafe or bar, I think about how awesome it might be to helm one such establishment. And, as I told Eric Nuzum and he relayed on the Prince of Petworth blog, in the event of an economic apocalypse I just might do it.

Best party ever?

2008-09-28T12:20:00.003-04:00

Last night I danced to "99 Luftbaloons" in a room filled with balloons.

They'll make a techno mix out of anything.

2008-09-25T00:12:00.002-04:00

One song I never expected to hear at an aerobics class: Peter Gabriel's "In Your Eyes".

Chemistry is hilarious!

2008-09-18T16:30:00.003-04:00

If I were a mildly famous alternative comedian who was interviewed for Rolling Stone's comedy issue, I would say that this is my favorite joke:

Two atoms are walking down the street. All of a sudden one exclaims, "Oh my God, I've lost an electron!"
The other responds, "Are you sure?"
The first one says, "Yes, I'm positive!"

Nyuck nyuck.

Patience is a virtue

2008-09-15T23:23:00.007-04:00

I made limoncello this weekend. It took paring 20 lemons (I'm not sure my wrist will ever be the same) and I'm pretty sure I had an allergic reaction to all the juice that squirted in my eye (like a citrus magnet), but it's going to be delicious three months from now! This seasonal gestation period will be just like watching a child grow, except this child will get you shitty.

Naked lemons, flanked by young plum eau de vie and infantile limoncello.

Meanwhile I indulged in Wine Cellar sorbet, which was delicious and immediate, if pricey. When this was first hawked to me by a guy with a cart on Bedford, he explained that each pint only contains about 400 calories and the alcohol equivalent of half a glass of wine, so it's ok if you find yourself finishing a pint by yourself in front of the TV. He knows me too well.

It's better than pirating...

2008-09-12T13:54:00.003-04:00

The great thing about YouTube is that once you get a song in your head, you can immediately listen to it and watch a facsimile of a music video, the best of which may or may not include homemade Japanese masks.

Sometimes you luck out, and there is this:

Why yes, Green Headdress, you do look like David Byrne.

I think this is what true love is.

2008-09-11T11:27:00.004-04:00

Mr. & Miss Irony

2008-09-04T09:16:00.011-04:00

Now that the olympics* are over, we can focus on judging normal people again.

Enter the Mr. & Miss Williamsburg Pageant, brainchild of Williamsburg resident Misha Calvert, who created the contest as a form of community service after trying to lift two Colt 45s from a bodega. (Note: This refers to the hipster neighborhood in Brooklyn, not the colonial Virginia town -- a distinction that confused me before I moved here.) Calvert's impetus is clear, and I have to admit that I respect her candor: "We're all silently judging each other anyway, so why don't we bring it to the forefront?"

Tomorrow night, five men and five women will compete for the (vintage, ill-fitting, or neon) crown as the king and queen of New York's trendiest and oft-hated neighborhood. There are three categories - style, talent, and interview. The talents are what interest me the most; I imagine PBR chugging and machete dodging with the title going to whoever can rifle through a stack of records to find the most obscure. Mine would be vegan cupcake baking.

I love this, and only a little bit ironically. Tomorrow night I'll shell out $10 and a slice of my dignity, don my American Apparel deep-V, and attend the first of what will no-doubt be an annual event... until it's -- [sigh] -- so over (approximately 11:16 pm tomorrow).

Check out the the breakdown of the contestants (and pretty much everyone else who lives in Williamsburg):

Meet Mr. and Miss Williamsburg
Job: publishing/media/design/living off trust fund
Pastimes: deejaying/blogging/silently judging others
Exercise: Skateboarding, biking, catwalking down Bedford Avenue
Musical tastes: the Knife, MGMT, Springsteen
Favorite artists: Banksy, Serra, Neckface
Favorite authors: Murakami, Sedaris, Chomsky
Favorite directors: Woody Allen, Wes Anderson, Werner Herzog
Vices: Smoking, booze, drugs, expensive hair
Accessories: iPhone, The New Yorker, Obama pin, shelter dog

*By olympics, I mean this:

August...

2008-08-25T22:41:00.005-04:00

I've been pretty disappointed for the past few weeks about how the weather is significantly cooler and the days are noticeably shorter than they have been for the past few months. Too cold, too short for August. I've tried, often unsuccessfully, to relish my last summer moments and look forward to crisp breezes and crunching leaves. Fall is coming quickly, and early, beginning another frigid season in the city, another Christmas in New York, another bout of baking, a down comforter on the bed.

A few days ago, after days of chilly commutes that continue to surprise me, I decided that Counting Crows is the right music to listen to now. It's been awhile since I rolled my iPod to Adam Duritz's soulful yawp, but after a stressful day at work I remembered that it is the perfect mid-tempo comfort for this mood. That is, until my iPod battery died in the middle of my commute.

I remained annoyed, disappointed, and still couldn't shake the feeling of the season change. Then I realized...I can't stop thinking about August and everything after.

I just discovered something in the Times!

2008-08-20T14:12:00.006-04:00

Dear Andrew Kuo,
You are my new favorite thing.

Love and kisses,
Katy

P.S. I still wish I had thought of this first.

It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from Toto

2008-07-29T14:15:00.003-04:00

After a stint in an NYU fiction writing class and a number of mini-vacations (who knew there was more to Vermont than Ben and Jerry's?), and before trekking to weddings all along the east coast, I'm ready to spend these brief summer weeks accomplishing nothing. I'd like to say that this free time would bring more writing--analog and online--but let's be honest: it's a time for margaritas and YA fiction, not intellectualism or blog posts.

But in anticipation of (more) radio silence I'll leave you with this, which I've just realized is an amazing song (I'm not being ironic) and video (I am).

It turns out that "Africa" really has nothing to do with Africa, but would make a pretty good graduation song. Lines like "It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you," though mumbled in falsetto, really speak to teenage change.

These next few weeks will be used learning the harmony in the chorus and debuting it at the karaoke bar down the street.

Permanent summer vacation

2008-06-20T13:10:00.006-04:00

When I worked at Washingtonpost.com, it was emphasized that new media isn't taking over the old. People still like the romantic feeling of newsprint on their fingers. Four years later I'm in the tactile literature business, and I'm wary.

Gawker reported this a few months ago, but as I learn about more and more newspaper buyouts and cuts, I'm reminded of Martin Gee's hauntingly beautiful photos of the emaciated San Jose Mercury News office.

I'm taking a short story class at NYU, and my next assignment is to write a new take on the classic "farewell" theme. I know what my next story will be about, and I wish it were fiction.

Sawyer is Cryin'

2008-06-17T16:32:00.004-04:00

Today, when I just happened to be watching Part I of Aerosmith's Alicia Silverstone trilogy, I made quite an interesting discovery.

Check out the guy who steals Alicia Silverstone's purse at the end: Lost's Josh Holloway. Who knew that, just ten years later, this shaggy-haired rebel in a diner would become a shaggy-haired rebel on an island?

What a crazy and amazing coincidence.

Ringbearer

2008-06-10T16:07:00.003-04:00

File under "I find Pete Wentz psychologically fascinating":

If only the colonists had skinny jeans

2008-06-09T16:43:00.001-04:00

Consider Tiffany would be a fantastic emo band name.

You'll always be my David

2008-05-21T09:27:00.006-04:00

After tonight's American Idol finale, the deluge of "I think David is going to win" jokes will end, thus bringing water cooler chatter back to its normal state (Gossip Girl and why there still aren't any coffee stirrers in the pantry). But in the meantime, I'm going to step out on a limb and put my money on Cook.

Chris Daughtry has paved the way for another modern rock crooner influenced by Soundgarden via Our Lady Peace, but this time he'll have the Idol stamp. Producers are surely cursing the voters that let Daughtry slip through their fingers, and America has taken notice. We're ready for a pop-rocker to come out of the biggest show on television; even Kelly Clarkson shed the mundane pop of her first album for a "rougher edge". David Cook can just skip that first step.

By comparison, David Archuleta has always creeped me out a little. He is too young for Idol-watchers (average age: 42) to idolize without it being illegal, and his grinning "Oh my gosh"-es are just a little too much to swallow. His past vocal paralysis has always made his baritone sound a little fake and shaky, and there's no telling what it will be like once puberty is over (er...hits?). Plus, American Idol doesn't need one more puppetmaster (I'm looking at you, Jeff Archuleta).

And though I hate to admit it, David Cook's cover of "Always Be My Baby" is bangin' -- in a completely innocuous way.

What's wrong with America

2008-05-21T09:18:00.002-04:00

In its Entertainment section, the New York Daily News has a sub-segment dedicated to Sex and the City, but not one for books.

Jump on it

2008-04-29T00:18:00.007-04:00

On April 29, 2003, a lot of people lost a good friend named Alex Naden. He was one of the friendliest and most charismatic people I’ve ever met – think Zack Morris with skate shoes and without the bad jokes. This fifth anniversary has a few similarities to that day (both Tuesdays; both Ben & Jerry’s Free Cone Days) and half a decade gives it a certain amount of distant resonance.

It seems presumptuous to attempt a playlist that he would actually listen to. Hell, we argued about the merits of the Sugarcubes (I realized later that he was right – Bjork is awesome). So these are just a few songs that were important at the time, and somehow that makes them matter now. Some appear on my iPod perennially around this time, and some I haven’t thought about in years. I can’t posit that all of these are even very good, but they did get a lot of play in a Virginia dorm room five years ago.

The Song We Clapped With While Closing the Coffee Shop ("Line in the Sand" - Q and Not U)

The Song I was Impressed He Knew How to Play ("Weee...")

The Song I Sang Every Word to While Walking to His "White Trash" Party ("0% Interest" - Jason Mraz)

The Song He Breakdanced to After an Open Mic Night ("Apache" - Sugarhill Gang)

The Song that Seemed So Appropriate at the Time, But Doesn’t Totally Fit ("When You Come Back Down" - Nickel Creek)

The Song that I Had Never Thought About Until That Morning (It Was Very Appropriate A Few Hours Later) ("Only the Good Die Young" - Billy Joel)

A Toast to a Friend (Here Today - More)

Devil's Food has a whole new meaning

2008-04-21T13:21:00.004-04:00

Around November of last year I decided I needed a project, something to focus on and give me a sense of accomplishment so that I don't waste my youth. The obvious conclusion: baking. (Actual goals like writing and playing guitar were deemed not delicious enough.)

I've spent every Sunday whipping up a new bread, bar, or pastry with reasonable success (I have to say, my German Chocolate Cake kicks ass). I began with one book called The Weekend Baker, which is exactly what I am, but I've begun branching out beyond the scope of Abigail Johnson-Dodge, the Connecticut-bred author.

While trolling around this comprehensive cookbook I like to call the internet, I came upon not one but two metal baking blogs:

Bake & Destroy

The Black Oven

I believe Natalie of B&D said it best. "If my blog and this blog had babies, those baby blogs would do meth and eat goat heads." And just like all good cookbooks, it's the text that really make these great. In that regard it's The Black Oven that really takes the cake (sorry):

"Packed full of grim and evil spices, they will leave you feeling despondent and isolated within their stronghold of flavor."

"Consider the fact that the mastery of brownies is parallel to the mastery of the occult."

Either of these blogs would definitely beat The Weekend Baker in a fight, because they would be wearing spikes and packing really furious ganache. I can't wait to try these recipes in the mosh pit that is my kitchen.

My night

2008-04-03T00:04:00.002-04:00

Unrelated sightings

2008-04-01T22:40:00.005-04:00

There are two things I've seen an abnormally large amount of recently.

People with port-wine stains.
Coins on the street.

I can't expect that these things are related, but I have been very aware of them. I really like picking up lucky pennies -- even luckier if it's a nickel or the illustrious fallen quarter -- without mind to whether they are face-up or face-down. A coin covered in invisible subway grime is luckier than no coin at all.

It's possible that I'm more aware of port-wine stains after reading No One Belongs Here More than You by Miranda July, which contains a short story about a girl who had hers removed. She never feels quite right afterward, like something is missing. (This book, by the way, is wonderful). I've seen probably seen at least five people with this kind of birthmark on their faces within the last week -- on the subway, walking down the street, in Barnes & Noble. That's a lot for a mass of blood vessels that appears in 3 out of 1,000 people.

Maybe I'll worry when I start seeing port wine on the ground and coins on people's faces...

You're gonna walk backwards through the room

2008-02-25T17:00:00.007-05:00

I am always wary to use a term like "favorite band." What does that mean? Does your favorite band have to have written your favorite song (a dubious superlative itself)? Do you have to like everything they have done? What makes up "favorite" -- are they really better than another band, or do you just like them more?

I finally awarded The Format this distinction. And then I learned that my favorite band is breaking up. According to wikipedia, Nate Ruess and Sam Means are "on a hiatus", but we all know that Wikipedia can't be trusted, and that hiatus really equals "not making another album together." Ever.

Interventions + Lullabies and Dog Problems were both soundtracks to very specific times in my life. And in that way, it's probably appropriate that their last album was a breakup record. But mostly, I'm disappointed that I won't see them live again.

So while I wait for new projects from each and listen to "If Work Permits" -- a fantastic, culminating closer -- on repeat, I'll have to find a new favorite. In the meantime, we'll always have dancing hands and this.

"There truly are angels in this city"

2008-02-24T22:14:00.002-05:00

Marion Cotillard just made me cry. Adorable.

Vampires Will Never Hurt You

2008-02-06T13:06:00.002-05:00

I didn’t want to like it.

Well, let me back up. I did want to like them. Any band with the name Vampire Weekend had to appeal to me, if for no other reason than my respect for the sexiest of supernatural beings. And their introduction to indie culture last summer came at a time when I was looking for a vampire reference every day. But I wanted them to be mine.

And, of course, they couldn’t be. A friend of mine knew one band member because they both worked for Teach for America. My indie label connection leaked gossip that the band was signing with XL, in the middle of a hush-hush bidding war. When I mentioned them to Eric Nuzum, vampire author extrordinaire, he told me he was already aware of them, and as I recall, he had known about them for long enough to not be a fan.

And the buzz grew from an avoidable fluorescent light hum to a fly in the ear of music fans and New Yorkers. Their EP circulated. Comparisons to Paul Simon's Graceland were shot back and forth until it stopped being an insightful note; it was fact. They played a show at Bowery Ballroom in January, posters for which were plastered across the city before Christmas. They kept showing up in brief articles in Spin and Rolling Stone. The Columbia grads were launched into that middle zone of fame – obscure enough to be too cool for the mainstream, and over-hyped to the indie scene.

So I wanted to reject it. I scoffed at the fans who started lining up at six for the band’s midnight CD release on Jan 29 -- a date that seemed to mean nothing since everyone had listened to the ten-song EP since July anyway. I expected them to flame out too fast. I expected them to be an over-buzzed indie darlings without any musical substance to back it up.

But I do really like their eponymous debut. Their short 2:00+ minute pop songs obviously hearken back to Graceland’s Afro beats, but a few of the yelps and guitar sounds remind me of Clap Your Hands Say Yeah. It’s fun, happy music to beat the depressing winter chill (global warming and last week’s 57 degree high in New York aside). And the video for “A-Punk” is adorable.

For the record, Nuzum seemed to have a similar trajectory I did -- ambivalence, followed by adoration for the full-length.

A toast to innocence, a toast to Dan Fogelberg

2007-12-17T10:50:00.001-05:00

Soft-rock crooner Dan Fogelberg died of prostate cancer yesterday at 56. He is perhaps best known for the holiday slow jam "Same Old Lang Syne." That song, plus this statement he made when he announced his illness, make me think he might be the most heartbreaking man ever: “It is truly overwhelming and humbling to realize how many lives my music has touched so deeply all these years,” he wrote. “I thank you from the very depths of my heart.” He sounds like a very sweet man, and my heart goes out to those who knew him.

Still, "Same Old Lang Syne" is a bit ridiculous, but in a genuine sob-in-your-car-while-the-heater-warms-up kind of way. It describes in perfect detail the awkward nostalgia of running into an ex in the frozen food aisle. Yeah, we've all been there. The song is so cheesy that it circles back around to become touching again. Note the lyrical play-by-play of their actions, highlighting the mundanity of modern Christmas. Their conversation dragged. How embarassing.

For those of you for whom the holidays are a season of six packs and longing, here is the karaoke video. And no, that's not just your tears -- the shots really are blurry.

You should also check out this live video of the song, if for nothing else than the sensible Bolton ponytail.

I'm going to go listen to Kenny G's Auld Lang Syne (Millenium Mix) and have a good cry...

My CMJourney

2007-10-26T10:17:00.000-04:00

(Thanks to Dragons of Zynth for the title of this post.)

The final installment of Popmatters' CMJ coverage was posted yesterday, ending with the Belles of the Ball -- the kings and queens of the indie rock mountain. Check it; you'll see a KH next to my contributions.

The week has come and gone. I wrecked myself at the gym trying to make up for all the coffee I mainlined, and I'm still trying to catch up on sleep. But the finished product rocks. There was a lot of great music you should read about and then check out, and a lot of crappy music you should read about because reviews are funny when they're at the artist's expense.

Datarock my world

2007-10-18T23:37:00.000-04:00

I just stepped out of a completely badass Datarock show, the best set I've seen so far this week. Is it just me, or do they look like Human Giant's "Let's Go" guys?

Wish I could have seen my dear friends Pash play tonight, but I'm positive they rocked out Brooklyn without me.

CMJ Intro

2007-10-17T13:59:00.000-04:00

I have the opportunity to cover the CMJ Music Marathon for the lovely PopMatters. Five days, five bands a night, and a 9-5 to pay the bills. I'll be posting little personal updates here when I get a free moment between writing press releases and rocking out.

It started out like a drinking game: Never have I ever seen so many hipsters in one place. This shouldn't have surprised me as I walked into the Puck building of NYU in Soho, but I couldn't help but notice so many amassed in one small area. It was CMJ registration time. Ironic facial hair and tapered-leg jeans abounded.

A few interesting blurbs from Day 1:

I was carded going into the Living Room (completely understandable), and my ID was both scanned and examined (par for the course as a 5'2" 23-year-old with big cheeks and without a world-weary stare). The bouncer said "You've lost a lot of weight." I took offense, knowing that I was of a perfectly normal size three years ago when the picture was taken, and responded "Not really." He made me tell him my address (the one on the license, not my current) before begrudgingly letting me in ... to a lame show.
I got caught behind four guys strolling up Ludlow wearing cowboy hats and singing and playing Fleetwood Mac's Rhiannon on their acoustic guitars. I think they were filming a video that I got stuck in the background of. It might have been Weston.
While dining at my favorite falafel restuarant, I saw a dog get hit by a car. He walked out too soon as his owner, a 20-something girl, was crossing with him. I heard a scream -- either hers or the dog's -- and saw it laying there. I think it's still alive, it moved its head and shook as I was leaving. I seem to be the only person in NYC who's never seen a person get hit by a car, and this was a very sad alternative.

Lost Boy

2007-09-25T15:35:00.001-04:00

So Kiefer Sutherland was arrested for a DUI this morning. Maybe this helps explain why he has always kind of scared me, though I have attributed it partially to that switchblade scene at the end of Stand By Me.

Also, he's a Republican.

I can't get get get this song out of my head

2007-08-16T13:54:00.000-04:00

Thanks to NPR's fledgling new show the Bryant Park Project, I am obsessed with this new Junior Senior song. The video is like watching an old episode of the Real World, except no one is whining (was that Eric Nies lip-syncing?!). Watch for JD Samson from Le Tigre in a brown sweater; there's a great shot where she reaches out and lip syncs in an oh so heartfelt way. I love how earnest everyone is and how they divulge who they want to get get get to know know know better better baby. That guy at the end wants to get to know his grandparents! It couldn't be more endearing, and I think that dude's girlfriend agrees.

In similar indie dance pop news, I totally love Justice's song and video for D.A.N.C.E. Note that both of these videos begin with adorable drawn introductions. Coincidence?

Girl Talk

2007-06-16T18:19:00.001-04:00

Outside of just general nebulous enjoyment, there are a few specific reasons why I really like Girl Talk's Night Ripper. First, it makes me want to shake my ass. This helps keep me awake on the subway in the morning, though I often have to check myself so I don't drop it like it's hot during rush hour. Secondly, it gets me to listen to music (read: hip hop) that I would usually avoid. Thus, I prove that I am a well-rounded music fan and my non-audiophile friends balk less at my predominantly indie rock tastes. (This also happens when I mention the Dixie Chicks or John Legend. Jim Croce, not so much.)

But perhaps most significantly, Night Ripper is like a 42 minute game of Name that Tune. I often find myself less listening to the music as a whole and more trying to pinpoint each sample. And because this is an exercise I find both fun and fascinating, here are a few of the subtle samples I find most interesting (and most proud of identifying!):

The Verve- Bittersweet Symphony
Paula Abdul - Straight Up
Fall Out Boy - Sugar, We're Going Down
Neutral Milk Hotel - Holland, 1945
Smashing Pumpkins - Today
Better than Ezra - Good
Spandau Ballet - I Know This Much is True
Salt-N-Pepa - Let's Talk About Sex
Phantom Planet - California
Mark Morrison - Return of the Mack
Boyz II Men - Motownphilly

If anyone can help me out with the guitar hook at 1:58 of "Ask About Me," (maybe "Unbelievable" by EMF?) I'd appreciate it.

Paramore Than a Feeling

2007-06-16T17:31:00.000-04:00

I cannot stop listening to the new Paramore single.

The band has long been a somewhat guilty pleasure of mine. The music is tight and catchy, the lyrics are just depressing enough to earn much-needed cred, and frontwoman Hayley Williams has the pipes and the attitude to be a pretty badass pop-punk starlet. It is deliciously emo, like getting drunk on post-breakup daquiris when your parents are out of town. I ignore that almost every song sounds the same and that a clan of pubescent rock stars somehow describe my relationships. And while I resent the fact that they have become a moderately successful and legitimately decent rock band before even graduating high school, I am also impressed by their youth. They write songs about the teenage experience (at least through college and often beyond), as teenagers. Take that, Blink 182.

Anyway, Paramore's new "Misery Business" contains a stronger sense of urgency than their debut LP All We Know is Falling (ironically, since the album contains songs like "Emergency" and "Pressure"). The band brings a quickness and intensity to this song, and Williams becomes a veritable rock vixen. It's like using a fake ID to drink whiskey at a dive bar and sing Pat Benatar covers.

Lovitz me not

2007-05-31T13:00:00.000-04:00

Jon Lovitz has signed a deal with the Laugh Factory comedy club, agreeing to perform there every Wednesday night for the rest of his life.

Good thing I'm busy every Wednesday night for the rest of Jon Lovitz's life.

Re: LOST

2007-05-23T23:23:00.000-04:00

Dear J.J. Abrams,
I know we have had our problems in the past. Things were pretty rocky for awhile last Fall. I couldn't trust you anymore. I felt like I was putting so much into the relationship, without getting anything back. You seemed to enjoy my confusion, my misery, and we just didn't connect anymore. We even had to take a break this Winter to clear the air. Thirteen weeks is a long time to stay away from you, J.J., and to be honest, I wasn't sure if I could come back.

But slowly, you began to redeem yourself. You were engaging, like the old days. We still didn't always get along, but we were working on our problems. I felt less confused. Finally, you were beginning to let me in, after pushing me away for so long.

Tonight, J.J., you really outdid yourself. You exceeded my wildest expectations and I feel surprised and excited, just like when we first met. I love you.

I can't wait to see you in January!

Warmest regards,
Katy

Bylines

2007-04-30T22:47:00.000-04:00

I've had a few things published of late.

First, go grab the new issue of Death + Taxes (issue 7, May/June) for a two-pager about Police guitarist Andy Summers and his memoir. Explosions in the Sky is on the cover of this issue, the first for the instrumental post-rock band as a cover story. Making history.

Then, if you're feeling literary, a poem of mine is included in a friend's online lit mag, A Small Good Thing. Check out the other art as well; there are a lot of talented people here.

I'm glad I finally read Slaughterhouse Five

2007-04-12T00:38:00.001-04:00

A special goodbye, to Kurt Vonnegut.

He was always one of those famous, slightly canonical authors I was glad was still alive.

Acceptable!

2007-03-24T12:12:00.000-04:00

I think I've found a new favorite show. Or, rather, five of them. VH1, in its constant attempt to create some sort of pop culture hybrid of MTV and Comedy Central, just introduced its new show, Acceptable TV. It shows five short clips of pilots, then lets you vote on your two favorites, which will air a second episode next week next to three spankin' new pilots. It's executive produced by Jack Black, but finally, he puts me in the driver's seat! Each clip is about two and a half minutes long, which is perfect for the average American's attention span, and keeps the jokes from getting stale. All are much funnier than, say, Blue Collar Trash-fest, but here are my two favorites:

The Teensies

Note that the band is called The Puke Barfers with their debut EP, Barfing Up.

Mr. Sprinkles

I really want to see these shows again, so it would be sweet if you helped me out and voted for them. Maybe they can pick up on Gay Robot so it won't be lost to just obscure references and alt comedy nerds.

A few of my favorite things

2007-03-13T21:23:00.000-04:00

If The Format and Rilo Kiley collaborated on an album inspired by a Chuck Palahniuk novel, then Chuck Klosterman wrote a book about that collaboration, it would probably be my absolute favorite thing.

My night in The Illusionatrix

2007-03-06T22:59:00.000-05:00

In 1999, I starred as an extra in Liberty Heights, one of acclaimed director Barry Levinson's Baltimore period dramas. Without even having to audition, my best friend Susan and I were cast as trick-or-treaters (she, a clown; I, a hobo) alongside a cast that included David Krumholtz, Ben Foster, Adrien Brody, Joe Mantegna, and Bebe Neuwirth. We skipped tenth grade English to work long, cold hours on location in Fells Point. We were in the business.

Last night, I had the same opportunity – nay, privilege – to reprise my career as an extra in a sketch for alt comedy group Human Giant. The trio – teddy bear-like Aziz Ansari, equally cuddly Paul Scheer, and attractive older brother type Rob Huebel – is branching out from its Best Week Ever roots to make a show for MTV, and I was called (well, open called via Aziz's blog) to participate. The sketch featured The Illusionators, John Satan and Scott Devil, (Aziz and Paul), performing one of their characteristically mind-boggling magic tricks.

My experience in the business allowed me to pull some strings and bring a few of my comedy-going friends. We were told to show up at the UCB theatre at 9:30 (in the business, this is referred to as "call"), without any idea what we would be doing ("method acting"). Soon we were ushered into a 15-passenger van and signed release forms. Without any insight into where we were going or what we were doing, I was momentarily afraid of ending up alone at Chelsea Piers with naked pictures of me floating around the internet. Of course, that's silly; if you can't trust the word of an online blog, what can you trust?

Let me briefly mention that Human Giant spent months in Los Angeles filming their sketches before returning to New York a few weeks ago. In LA, outdoor shoots can be creative and fun, even in the dead of winter. In New York, however, they are frigid. This particular shoot took place on a night with a wind chill of 11 degrees. But acting is hard work (much like modeling; thanks, Tyra!), and one must endure a little pain for their love of the craft.

Once we arrived on set, we were able to watch Aziz and Paul (the “principals”) shoot their stunts (yes, themselves!). In this particular Illusionators sketch, the pair expands on the cliché of catching bullets in their teeth by shooting missiles into each other’s mouths. We watched from the van (ensconced in warmth – one of the perks of being to integral to the shoot) as they filmed individually, donning gray track pants and mussed long wigs. Much of The Illusionators appeal is their resemblance to that goth kid you went to high school with who still works at Blockbuster. Director Jason Woliner, the fourth in Human Giant, will add explosions and special effects in “post,” so be comforted to know I was not in any immediate danger.

Soon we stepped on set for our big scene. We crowded into a semi-circle and, once cameras rolled, listened to Rob introduce Scott Devil and John Satan. Mostly we just reacted to him, the trick, and the aftermath. How appropriate, re-acting. After the brunt of our part, Jason shot individual extras’ reactions; interviews that all sounded something like “That was the greatest fucking magic ever! It blew my mind!” (ad libbing is hard!). I decided not to be interviewed for this segment. Let someone else be a star for a night, Human Giant; I’ve had my time in the business.

Grammy Whammy

2007-02-11T23:35:00.000-05:00

I usually don't put much stock in the Grammys. Not only do they poorly represent the alternative and indie music I usually listen to, I often disagree with the choices of nominees and winners (really? Jamiroquai over Hanson for 1997's Best Pop Performance?). I had even planned not to watch it tonight, but inevitably got sucked in. For the first year in many, I am pleasantly surprised.

American Idol does not have a good track record of put forth successful or quality musicians in its winners (Kelly Clarkson notwithstanding -- she's a superstar so bright, I've gotta wear shades), but tonight I watched Carrie Underwood morph from a wholesome country-pop singer into a star. In addition to taking home two awards for Best New Artist and Best Female Country Vocal Performance, she performed in tribute to Don Henley and Bob Wills. She showcased a great vocal range and impressive poise, strutting her way to sing with Rascal Flatts (who, I maintain, are not that great).

When the Grammys like something, they latch on and don't let it go (see: Alicia Keys, Carlos Santana, et al). This trend worked in the Dixie Chicks' favor, as they walked away with five awards. Maybe NARAS, the organization that votes for the Grammys, is taking a stand against the country's current conservative leadership by championing the Dixie Chicks' anti-Bush record. That, and "I'm Not Ready to Make Nice" is just a really good song.

I am relieved to say that James Blunt left without any awards for this summer's viral trite-fest "You're Beautiful." With this radio-friendly hit and his British naval officer body, he had cast enough of a spell over America to garner five prestigious nominations, and I am proud of NARAS for not giving in. This song has a suck factor just lower than Daniel Beddingfield's "If You're Not the One," which might actually be the worst song I've ever heard. If you want to gain respect for Blunt, check out "Billy" off of Back to Bedlam; it's good enough to make you disappointed that his first single was so bad.

Surprising hightlight: The Flaming Lips win both Best Engineered Album, Non-Classical and Best Rock Instrumental Performance

Not-so-surprising disappointment: The Black Eyed Peas "My Humps" beats out Deathcab's "I Will Follow You Into the Dark" for Best Pop Performance By A Duo Or Group

Boyz II Old Men

2007-02-11T18:18:00.000-05:00

I am not embarrassed to admit that when I was young I loved Boyz II Men, much like most elementary aged girls in the early nineties. They were, without question, my favorite band (or “group,” as I called them, since I instinctively knew a “band” should include instruments), sitting high atop my favored pop music oligarchy with Mariah Carey, Whitney Houston, and Bette Midler.

The started out as just four New Edition fans from Philly with a couple a capella riffs, and soon found a place in my heart. Cooleyhighharmony was the first CD I ever owned – a gift from my cool uncle – and I actually rented the VHS Boyz II Men: From Us II You so I could see the Boyz behind the scenes. (Their discussion of friend and producer Kahlil’s death – the impetus for “It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye [to Yesterday]” – was touching.) I hung a Boyz II Men poster in my bedroom, knew the guys’ nicknames, and even now “One Sweet Day” can bring tears to my eyes (that doesn’t stay at number one for 16 weeks for nothing). In fact, the highlight of my weekend was hearing “End of the Road” in the grocery store.

So imagine my excitement when I learned that the Boyz are not only touring again (albeit in Indonesia), but they are releasing a new album. Granted, I haven’t owned a Boyz II Men album since 1997’s Evolution, but this little piece of information hit me right in the nostalgia bone. A rebirth of three R&B all stars (Michael “Bass” McCary has left the group due to health problems) is finally coming, and I’m old enough to attend a concert unaccompanied.

Unfortunately, I soon realized that this isn’t a happy comeback, like The Eagles , but one that is painful and unnecessary, like Guns ‘N’ Roses. The Boyz from my youth pulled a Goo Goo Dolls on me and started to suck. I should have recognized their downfall when they made a guest appearance in the Disney Channel movie “Seventeen Again” with Tia and Tamara Mowry. Their new songs are merely trite harmonies over mundane beats, without the vocal prowess or emotion that made them famous in the first place. The former kings of modern R&B are now just a poor man’s Jodeci.

Super Duper Bowl, I say.

2007-02-04T20:18:00.000-05:00

If there is one thing that goes with enormous men locking horns in testosterone-fueled competition, it's Prince.

So it is extremely fitting that the small purple crooner was the sole star of this year's Super Bowl Halftime Show. On top of a glowing stage in the shape of his unpronounceable moniker, Prince strutted his stuff for millions of fans with the help of a marching band (the luckiest group of college band geeks in America), white-jumpsuited backup singer, and two dancers dressed in thick black feathers and fuck me-boots. They were a bit of a motley crew: I have no idea who this female singer is, but apparently she's famous enough to back up Prince during the most-watched TV event of the year; the dancers seemed like they stepped -- not in unison -- out of 1989 (Note: It's okay when Prince does it.); and while the band was talented and decked out with glow-in-the-dark stripes on their uniforms, I noticed one drummer sans instrument, just miming the dance along with the rest. At least Prince's shadow against a huge gold backdrop gave the illusion that he is larger than 5'2".

Prince and his nondescript female counterpart performed a solid rendition of "Proud Mary" and, of course, ended the show with the quintessential "Purple Rain," which included a singalong with the audience, many of whom didn't seem old enough to remember the song -- and movie's -- initial popularity. No matter, the younger of the bunch could "rock out" to Prince's cover of the Foo Fighters' "Best of You." Old school soul and Prince standards are expected, but modern rock was startling. The song was almost unrecognizable at first, as Prince mumbled and yelped the lyrics with a poppier attitude than the original. Without Dave Grohl's yawp and the ending breakdown, the song lacked intensity befitting the spectacle of the flashy, pyro-ed show. Prince followed the cover song code of making it his own, but Johnny Cash's "Hurt," it was not.

Nonetheless, it was a halftime show to remember, like Super Bowl XIV's Up With People and XXV's New Kids on the Block.

My date with McAuliffe

2007-01-25T22:39:00.000-05:00

I spent the majority of Thursday in the back of a police car with former Democratic chair Terry McAuliffe.

The prominent political figure and Clinton BFF spent his last day in NYC in support of his new memoir, What a Party!, hitting radio and TV interviews, and as part of his hardworking publicity machine (albeit exhausted, with an eye twitch), I tagged along. As we drove around Manhattan in his detective friend's SUV -- complete with sirens and lights to avoid interview tardiness -- I realized I liked Terry McAuliffe more than I expected to.

He is much larger in person than what can be seen on TV, personality included. The popular comparison to him as a friendly Labrador puppy is dead on: energetic, excitable, and intense. He remembered me after we met briefly at his Four Seasons book launch, and gave me a chic faux cheek kiss when I first caught up with him that morning. As a gentleman, he opened doors for me, and always let me enter and exit elevators first. While on the phone to his fundraising friends he pushed buttons and rang the siren, like a boy with a new Tonka truck, bragging about his current mode of transportation. He asked how each interview looked, and after each one I responded, with an enthusiasm that was slightly facetious, “Best yet!” It’s a thing we had.

And now he’s in LA, the City of Angels. Goodbye, Terry. We’ll always have “Larry King Live.”

2007-01-19T08:19:00.002-05:00

Fall Out Boy's concert at Hammerstein Ballroom on Tuesday was a very nostalgic experience. Being in the presence of such throngs of neo-emo tweens made me feel like one part twelve-year-old girl (hearkening back to the time when I could see Hanson in concert with less embarrassment*) and two parts out-of-place adult, amused by size zeros wearing FOB t-shirts (concert faux pas!) and Clandestine hoodies in 30 degree Manhattan. Seeing New Found Glory also made me remember the die-hard NFG fans i knew in high school and seeing the band for the first time -- with Less Than Jake, Antiflag, and Teen Idols at the now-defunct DC club Nation -- when I was 16.

The opener, Long Island-based Permanent Me, was, ironically, forgettable. They delivered standard pop-punk fare, no better or worse than any other band with the same songs. They were followed by Lifetime, obviously the oldest and most legitimate punk outfit there. Lifetime's presence at the show is a testament to Pete Wentz's power. He can look at a New Jersey hardcore band that he was into in his youth (and disbanded in 1997) and say to them "Haven't heard from you guys in awhile. How about I sign you to my label and you make a new album, then tour with me?" Apparently this was answered with a resounding affirmative, as they played a grateful set, and their eponymous new album -- the first in a decade -- is due in 2007. Lifetime, by the way, reminded me of Less Than Jake, again bringing me back to that January show in 2001.

New Found Glory took the stage as they always have, energetic and jovial, with Jordan Pundik bounding around the stage singing songs that sound like driving through your hometown during teenage summers. The band stayed true to their consistent sound with one exception: not singing. It seems as though NFG is used to headlining shows, where everyone knows the lyrics and sings them audibly above the band. When Pundik stopped to let the crowd join in (which was often), he was usually met with only his band behind him. Outside of the occasional hooky chorus, most fans were mumbling at best when it came to helping out with singing duties. Sorry guys, not everything can be "My Friends Over You."

Between sets the venue employed a "DJ," Gym Class Heroes' Travis McCoy, playing all the hottest Decaydance tracks. It was very obviously a promotional CD with a recording of McCoy's between-song banter, as if he's spinning discs just out of sight, but the audience seemed to love it. Example No. 2 of Pete Wentz’s power: if he tells you to like a band, you will.

Finally, the lights dimmed, fog swirled, and Hammerstein Ballroom echoed with Bon Jovi’s “Living on a Prayer.” FOB took the stage during Jon Bon’s first chorus, perhaps in order to “give it a shot.” They played only two new songs, including, of course, “This Ain’t a Scene, It’s an Arms Race.” Wentz’s introduction to the song showed the band’s awareness of their demographic (I paraphrase): “We want our shows to be an escape from your parents, your teachers, your minister or priest, anyone who keeps you down.” He then had everyone yell “goddamn,” much to their mothers’ chagrin. The song was met with rebellious fist pumps, though I think it could have used more spin kicks from Pete and guitarist Joe Trohman. That “I’m a leading man…” hook just begs for Wentz to whip his little body in circles.

The band’s tag-along friend, Dirty (like Gwen Stefani’s harajuku girls, only less racist), was MIA for the show because his wife was, on that very night, having a baby. An adorable little testament to becoming a faux-rock and roll father and (presumably) maintaining the same teenage sensibilities as his songwriter friends. In his stead was a guy who kept the audience's attention during the band's mini break between sets. He did so by yelling standards such as "When I say 'Fall Out,' you say 'Boy'!" which mostly did the trick until the guys everyone really came to see got back on stage. This interlude left me wondering, since when does Fall Out Boy need a hype man? I'm not sure you have crossed genres enough for it, friends, and you don't really need to rile the crowd any more. I don't think their teenage naughty bits needed any more stimulation than Pete Wentz licking the neck of his bass.

Since Pete has always wanted a circle pit at one of his shows, he brought in this hype man from Buffalo specifically for that purpose. This hardcore pied piper galvanized the teenagers around him to create a circle pit for most of one song, which seemed to be enough to whet Pete’s appetite for punk rock. In order to connect with his fans during the band’s final song, Wentz leaned into them with the help of a security guard. He crouched, let the guard grab his legs, and sat on the man’s shoulder as he let the fans in the front reach up to him. It was a very Prince-like gesture, sitting on a human throne, and just served as a reminder that he can’t weigh more than a buck-thirty.

Stay tuned for more Fall Out Boy posts, questioning whether Pete Wentz is a sell-out and detailing why my friend Mandy and I would beat Kanye West and him at Taboo.

*Coincidentally, Hammerstein Ballroom was the setting of much of Hanson's first concert/fan video (which in these times would be a DVD). As my first time at the venue, it was hard not to remember a slightly post-pubescent rendition of "Where's the Love" ringing throughout its walls.

Charmin's Holiday Gift to New York

2006-12-17T21:05:00.000-05:00

Last weekend I experienced the most bizarre place I have yet encountered in New York City. Some friends were in town from Virginia for the weekend, so, naturally, we went to Times Square. After an overpriced dinner at Applebee's (as if there's a Times Square tax on chain restaurants -- Friday's, I'm looking at you too), we found ourselves in need of a restroom. This, of course, is a futile wish anywhere in the city (with the exception of stealthily sneaking into a Starbucks). So when we came upon a giant blue sign for Charmin Restrooms, we thought it was some sort of beautiful delusion. But it was all too real.

We stood in line outside for about half an hour, waiting to be let into a door manned by someone, presumably a Charmin employee, wearing a blue and white uniform and bear claws. A television hung just outside the door, playing a Charmin music video -- a cross between the classic animated bear commercials and a live action episode of the Wiggles, complete with the "Cha- cha- cha- Charmin!" hook -- and through the glass we could just see an escalator. To heaven, mayhaps? Almost. An enthusiastic young man, dressed in a blue and white Charmin letter jacket and a headset (think a Broadway production of Grease, only fluffier) finally let a large group of us up the escalator, about 20 at a time. Finally! This was the bladder-releasing moment we had been waiting for!

Except it wasn't. On the second floor we immediately set foot on bright blue carpet, softer and smushier than most, as if to set the tone for the rest of our stay, or just make standing for the next 20 minutes more comfortable. Soon our relief faded when we realized, not only had we stepped into another long line, snaking through a large room, we entered a faux-bathroom haven. This area was decorated completely in blue and white (Presumably the Charmin colors. Who knew?), with deceivingly hard white couches throughout, and, of course, a number of TVs playing the Charmin video on a loop, in case the song had somehow left your consciousness in the previous 45 seconds. Staff members, all in the expected uniform, milled about with bullhorns, singing, dancing, and overall prepping patrons for what lie ahead. Luckily a stage sat to one side, in case employees and guests were so overcome with excitement, they had to dance together for all to see (and let me tell you, many did!). And to express the many cultures that had crossed this path, a large flat screen TV showed the Flush-O-Meter map, detailing how many people from each state and country had opened themselves up to this bathroom in Times Square (two from Moldova!).

And as we neared the front of the room, we saw a clearing. Three walls were lined with 20 numbered doors before us, each with a blue light above to indicate when it was occupied. These doors included two Gotta Go stalls, "for little squirt's emergencies." However, these stalls were being used like any other, defeating their purpose. Somewhere in the Charmin Restroom compound, a child is peeing all over the pillowy carpet. Each door was decorated with a silver bow in honor of the holiday season, except Number 6, the VIP stall. After an employee cleaned out the restroom (as they did after every use in every stall), she shouted "Number six! VIP!" and the rest of the staff joined in clapping and chanting "VIP! VIP! VIP!" I don't know what makes this stall so special, but I assume it boasts a gold-plated toilet seat and diamond studded faucet. Finally, when a stall was at its utmost cleanliness, a Charmin worker would guide a patron into their own personal bathroom, which was fairly anticlimactic. A personal toilet and sink does not a holiday gift make.

While exiting the toilet paper compound, one last worker asks where each patron is from, gathering data for the Flush-O-Meter map. And, as a final souvenir of the experience, everyone may pick up a Charmin sponsored map of New York City, complete with suggested attractions and a large arrow pointing you toward this place, the cleanest in New York. Appropriately, the map is laminated, to avoid damage from any wetness.

Much like the fairy godmother's gift to Cinderella, this holiday present ceases to exist in January, so try to make it while you can. If not, here are a few pictures of my experience, to help you hold it until next year.

Dancing, amid homey holiday decorations.

An employee with a bullhorn and giant nose kiosks with free tissues.

All holding it: approximately half of the line inside.

"Looking good down there!"

What everyone is waiting for.

Fall Out Boy's New "Scene"

2006-12-04T20:04:00.000-05:00

Fall Out Boy seem to be taking a lesson from the past spectres of the teen magazines they now inhabit. As bassist Pete Wentz's face shines from the glossy pages of the likes of Bop!, he must be influenced by the boy band hearthrobs that used to reside in the same layout. And as much as I expect FOB wants to maintain their punk-pop sensibilities (see Wentz's neck tattoo), a little bit of Lou Pearlman's schooling has osmotically slipped in to the band's new single, "This Ain't a Scene, It's an Arms Race."

Immediately, you can tell this is different than anything we have heard before from the Chicago quartet. They have stepped into the range of arena power pop -- mixing bubble gum with their regular catchy urgency. Singer Patrick Stump's voice is whinier than usual, with a poppier timbre -- a higher register and a thinner sound. Even his speaking voice in the bridge sounds different; it is more confident, a declaration projected from a soapbox.

The instrumentation is full, with a focus on powerful, angry guitars and little bass. Perhaps Wentz is making a statement with his lyrics as opposed to his rhythm section. The song seems to be a caustic answer to the mainstream music and the band's quick ascent to fame: This ain't a scene, it’s a god damn arms race / I'm not a shoulder to cry on / But, I digress. They do the meta-music business song better than many (Backstreet's Back, anyone?). Maybe they took a page from good friends Panic! at the Disco's book; P!ATD begin their debut album with "we're just a wet dream for the Web zine / Make us hip, make us it, make a scene." Fall Out Boy put the title back in the chorus, like much of 2003's Take This to Your Grave, but continues the recent tradition of verbose song titles.

The song maintains FOB's catchiness, but in a more mainstream way. As much as fashion conscious emo kids may hate to admit it, it will make them dance.

Give "Dog Problems" a hand

2006-12-02T17:51:00.000-05:00

The Format have a habit of making me love them more than I had the day before. Most recently, this happened with their video for the title track of their newest album, "Dog Problems." The song is deceivingly upbeat for a caustic indictment of singer Nate Ruess's ex-girlfriend (titled for the notion that getting a dog might solve their relationship issues). The bridge, however, features plaintive strings and keys to evoke the sadness of love lost.

The video stars a hand (presumably Ruess's; it's wearing a tiny version of his signature hat) acting out the lyrics literally, similar to how the singer performs on stage. It has all the normal video conventions -- walking dejectedly through the city, for example -- just with a small five-fingered protagonist. My favorite things about the video:

Sesame Street-esque wall and spelling
A chorus of hands shouting and dancing
Harmony against a black background, "Bohemian Rhapsody"-style

I wonder if he got a manicure for this.

Hot for Teacher

2006-12-02T17:23:00.000-05:00

Steve Watkins, my college adviser, recently published his first collection of short stories, My Chaos Theory, with Southern Methodist University Press. The works have been published in a number of literary journals over the last 20 years, but this gives readers a full 198 pages of Watkins -- the most since his 1997 expose on racism in corporate culture, The Black O. Chaos recently got an extensive, favorable review from the LA Times, among others. I haven't had a chance to pick up a copy yet, but I can't wait to see what has developed from the man whose job it was to critique my articles, page design, and short stories (sometimes met with frustration, usually followed by improvement). From the tiny excerpts I've read, I think I'll like it. Fun fact: He once agreed that, yes, my hair was kind of mullety.

In other professor praise, I feel obligated to give a shout out to my hero and former Creative Writing professor, Claudia Emerson, since this blog did not exist when her most recent poetry collection, Late Wife, was published. The book won Emerson the 2006 Pulitzer Prize, and many a student's heart (for the record, she had mine since 2005). Favorite Emersonisms: "Just because something is hard for you doesn't mean you're bad at it" and "I'm not the smartest person in the world. I just have a different way of looking at the world."

Marching with My Chem

2006-11-28T23:44:00.000-05:00

If Kiss and Andrew Lloyd Webber had a child birthed in the New Jersey hardcore scene, it would be My Chemical Romance’s newest critically-acclaimed disc The Black Parade.

The concept album (a genre which, come to think of it, is fairly similar to the rock opera) surrounds the Patient, who dies of cancer in his youth. The band suggests that death occurs in the form of a person’s most powerful memory. For the Patient, this reflects the time his father took him to see a marching band, thus, The Black Parade. Frontman Gerard Way has said that the inspiration came from his life a few years ago, stagnant and undirected. He told MTV News, “Men and women in their twenties are like the walking dead, being part of a workforce they don't want to be a part of. Nothing. No life. They're not in love. They're just, like, going out to bars, getting wasted and having casual sex. It's a really hollow, empty period in your life and I think nothing, to me, felt more dead than being, like, 23.”

MCR’s unveiling of the anthemic first single “Welcome to the Black Parade” during this year’s Video Music Awards whet the public’s appetite for what Way calls “a death-rock version of Sgt. Pepper’s.” He refers to the group’s getup – a cross between band uniforms and a skeleton costume, if sold by Hot Topic. Way takes on the role of the Patient, both vocally and physically, sporting cropped bleached hair (the resemblance to a cancer patient was, apparently, not an accident), though he also looked strikingly similar to Billy Corgan.

This album is overall bigger than their others. It carries arena rock weight, complete with air guitar-inducing meedly-meedly’s, in addition to musical theatrics. This is appropriate; MCR has always been a band that values spectacle. In addition to the ever present theme of death, they appreciate otherworldliness and the supernatural in their writing (the song “Vampires Will Never Hurt You” from their debut I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love, for example). They have a history with and passion for comic books, Way’s first career choice. They are continually framed as contemporary outcasts by day and rock heroes by night (see last year’s Spin cover story). Even their historically overtly stylized dress – red and black makeup, bullet-proof vests – is over-the-top.

The Black Parade maintains MCR’s pop sensibilities. For all their talk of bullets and dying, My Chemical Romance has always been a pop band at heart, with disturbing subjects and angry vocals. If I remember correctly, in a 2004 interview they even said that they love pop music and consider themselves a pop band. Take another listen to “I’m Not Okay (I Promise)” for proof.

If nothing else, The Black Parade is more diverse than the band’s previous discs. “Welcome to the Black Parade” makes a perfect first single and introduction to the album, despite being the fifth track. It begins slowly, as singular piano notes accompany Way as the Patient singing his memory of this black parade. The song rises with rolling drums and prominent guitars to a surprisingly chipper, danceable level. The finale hits fist-pumping levels in a confident chant “Do or die, they’ll never make me / because the world will never take me.”

“I Don’t Love You” bops like a ‘60s teenage crooner, “Cancer” is a plaintive piano ballad which falls somewhere between soft rock and an ‘80s lighter-flicking power ballad lighter-flipping power ballad, only without the cheese. “Mama” is darker than it’s oompa beat and chimes might indicate (“Mama, we all go to hell”) and boasts a cameo by Liza Minelli, while “Teenagers” is straightforward pop-rock like Americana-era Offspring. “Blood,” the hidden track (which is ironically labeled in iTunes as such – perhaps the digitization of music has removed the mystery of a record) sounds like it should be played through an old Victrola.

This is My Chemical Romance in a new chapter in their careers, or rather, a new scene.

2006-11-27T17:04:00.000-05:00

On July 17 of this year, Pamela Anderson announced her engagement on her Web site with this bit of justification: "I feel like I'm finally free....I'm in love. I'm happy....I see the light...sounds dramatic but it's true.....I know some women can relate to this....My children are getting older. They know the truth and they are strong, smart kids. They love their Dad. They love their new Step Dad who they've known for years...time will pass. Wounds will heal. Some people may never grow up. Actions speak louder than words....watch!"

And watch we did (alright, we passed out halfway through), as the former Mrs. Biggest-Cock-in-Rock became simply Mrs. Rock as she wed on-again-off-again beau Kid Rock in four ceremonies. In August the couple threw down to celebrate the sacrament in St. Tropez, Malibu, Detroit, and Nashville, all the best places to grasp a 40 in one hand and your honey in the other.

But now the couple is getting divorced, reportedly in a race to see who could file first. According to TMZ.com, Kid filed papers less than one hour before his buxom bride's were stamped.

I can't tell if this is extremely predictable or extremely shocking. I never trust Kid Rock to make good choices (see also: "Only God Knows Why") and Pam has a consistently unsuccessful track record, but no couple ever looked more appropriate together. Their matching shirtless bodies always looked like true love to me.

My name is Katy H. and I've got problems in my life...

2006-11-17T13:40:00.000-05:00

In an effort to keep my brain from becoming post-collegiate mush, I may have figured out where I want to go to grad school.

Ice T's Rap School.

It focuses on writing and performance -- two of my preferred subject areas -- and it's right here in New York, so I wouldn't have to worry about moving.

At first I was put off by Ice T's new reality show. After an explanatory rap in the opening sequence (a la 1950's sitcoms), Ice looks straight at the viewer in his or her living room (in my case, without furniture) and projects, "This is Rap School. Shut up!" I was offended by his brash introduction -- he don't know me! -- until I realized that he is just proving that he means business. Tough love is what Ice is really teaching, in the guise of hip- hop stardom.

I was soon drawn into this fledgling rap crew, which features the expected personalities: popular busybody Sophia (aka So Fine), timid confidence-seeking Mary (Miss M), hyperactive Leir (Big L), rambunctious but committed Dodge (Dodge City) and some other kids who get less air time. Collectively, they are YPC -- York Prep Crew, named for their Manhattan prep school -- and they are here to revolutionize hip hop. Usually I hate it when kids try to perform popular songs or genres (those Kidz Bop CD's make me want to put a Nerf gun to my head), but these kids are genuinely. . . pretty decent.

Mary has overcome her stage fright and gained faith in herself, Dodge has begun to hone his freestyling skills (though he still constantly rhymes "cool" with "fool"), and Leir has committed himself to the group after a short resignation. They periodically struggle with rhythm, but their lyrics are good for 8th graders. Mary shares her struggles with unpopularity with a positive lining: "My name is Missy M and I've got problems in my life, but hey, look at me, I'm doing alright. . . Believe in you." Sophia rhymes about veneers, presumably in reference to people keeping it real. And Money Man Sam's rap gives political commentary from a 13 year old (mayhaps he lacks time on camera because of his criticisms of Bush?).

To express our fandom, Chris and I might try to visit the crew's York Prep home base in hopes of catching them in action. I'm also thinking of investing in a YPC ringtone.

So, Ice, if you or your admissions faculty at VH1 are reading this, I have a few questions that I would like to get ironed out:

Is financial aid available; perhaps a work-study program?
What is the average GRE score for admission?
Are tutors available if I need extra help dropping my beats?
Can I audit "Rapping for Sistas" with Prof. MC Lyte?

My application is in the mail.

You bet your ASSSCAT!

2006-11-15T20:01:00.000-05:00

During my short tenure in New York, I have noticed a few things:

the city smells like urine
I have to auction a kidney to buy a drink
the mice in my apartment are smarter, and stronger, than I am.

But Sunday night reminded me why I moved here. Patrick, well-connected man that he is, got me into ASSSSCAT, the comic-studded improv show/cancer benefit. He, Katie, and I slid into the UCB theatre next to people who actually paid $50 a piece to be there. They, as Amy Poehler noted, are classier and better educated than the normal UCB audience, and thus, much more intelligent than I. Thank God I still got the jokes.

And what jokes they were! Peeing in a circle became a running gag, with mini skits that involved office politics, pirates, karaoke, whale sharks, and almost always drunkenness. Performers included SNL cast members new and old – Rachel Dratch, Jason Sudeikis, Seth Myers, Amy Poehler – as well as other New York comedians in their own right. Everyone was hilarious, and well worth walking in the rain to get there.

I was pleasantly surprised to see Jack McBrayer of 30 Rock fame (okay, 30 Rock recognition) performing. He continued to pull off his dumbly sweet Southern shtick. Delightful! Afterwards I shook hands with Rob Huebel, which was exciting, as he is one of the most attractive Best Week Ever personalities to cross over into commercials. I also saw Seth Myers, who looks just as unassumingly cute (read: my type) in person as on TV. Nick Carter, if you’re reading this, take notes. I think I also caught a glimpse of Will Arnette, aka Mr. Poehler, standing in the back.

Random celebrity sighting: Remember that guy who yelled out “blowhole” as a suggestion for the second act? Alec Baldwin.