Thursday, January 26, 2012

Not so fast, Nuchie

My brother was excited to report he biked 4000 miles in 2011. Until he talked to Dad, who informed him that the 700 miles on his stationary bike did not count.

"Stationary bike miles are easier than road miles so you can't include them. If you used a formula, like an indoor mile is worth .68 of an outdoor mile, then... Maybe. I wouldn't do it."

"Running miles, I round to the tenth of a mile and I round bike miles to the whole mile. I always round down. I have always done it that way. I can do it however I want."

"My friend Ed always rounds up."

"I would never ride my bike, for example, 20.95 miles and have to round down to 20 miles. I always look at my computer as I ride down the hill in front of the house. I would just ride down the alley and up Elm street to clock the extra .05 needed."

"At the end of our trip to Ireland, we were at the airport when I realized we had biked 998.8 miles. I took my bike out and rode up and down the service road."

"I like a round number. They're easier to add together."

Thursday, January 19, 2012

January 14 Scandinavian Club minutes

4:30 - Meeting called to order.

Freden i Knäred 2
After all my cash fell out of my pocket Friday on my way to the Lower East Side, I immediately keep the trend going by forgetting my credit card and metrocard on a back table. Luckily, the Danish Unit commandeers the table and keeps an eye on it for me. I keep an eye on the Danish Unit just in case they decide to hoist their large Danish flag, invade other tables and hold them for ransom.

Special Guests Arrive
We meet Awe's fästmö Annika at long last. At first, they only speak with other people whose names begin with the letter "A." Luckily, Leslie is very charming and insists they meet the rest of the alphabet.

Snakke snakke snakke
Topics under discussion include banks, 16th street, the punjab region, jazz and Leah's lovely blouse. At one point, the owner of the bar tries to convince me we should meet there two-five times a month and Alex mentions his new Galaxy tablet. We all agree Petrina's new shop-cook-eat logo rocks.

A Small Rant that Ends Well
Not that I have anything against the brooding, the aloof and posturing trés fancy in this fine town, but I really dislike those cliquey-cliquey events where all you see are peoples' backs. I am proud to be the organizer of an awesome group who is wise enough to know that facing forward is much more fun.

Other Things are Going On:
Jenny is now on the board of SVEA. Grattis! Eric's sambo Ashley is hosting a gallery opening on Thursday for a Japanese artist in Chelsea. You should go and have a glass of free wine. Malou's boyfriend Sebastian plays the banjo in an Irish band. We must consider extending diplomatic courtesy and gift the Irish with a rousing snapsvisa at one of his shows.

Tusen Tack
A thousand thanks to Art, Alex, Fredrick, Karin & Petrina for helping lock down the venue.

9:45 - Meeting Adjourned.

Monday, January 02, 2012

A rare and spectacular clusterfuck : Bring it on Minus the Bear

Hottie Jake Snider
manhandles his guitar
"A rare and spectacular clusterfuck" is how Pitchfork, Ian Cohen specifically, described one of the Minus the Bear albums which I happen to melt into a puddle over. Further, Ian claimed Minus the Bear's vocalist Jake Snider sings like a "disinterested outsider." I need to explain some things to Ian.

First of all, Neat-As-A-Button is dogmatic and predictable and irons his white cotton underpants. Not that I have anything against Pitchfork darlings like Cults, that last School of Seven Bells record, Rome, or Neutral Milk Hotel*, but their music is unrelenting in its symmetrical perfection. It's like two trendy little chairs perfectly angled by a trendy little sofa.

And attractive as your modern euro-design 3-piece livingroom set may be, I'd prefer to be draped across a night-colored canapé surrounded by vintage taxidermy, a tray of really good tacos and five "over-produced" math rockers from Seattle. Any day of the week. Bring it on, clusterfuck!

Second of all, about this "disinterested outsider" tag-- get a girl on your review team for the love of the gods, Pitchfork! Bad boys don't heave their bosoms or weep, especially when describing driving around drinking vodka out of a lemonade carton. The lyrics are a simple, iniquitous play-by-play uncluttered by any sentimental posturing. It is exactly what it says it is: some debauched dude recounting the libidinous thing that happened last week backed by a gargantuan stack of noise. I'm not saying that a few of the songs aren't mouth-breathers, but the ones that go the whole way easily round all the bases.

*Just in case someone actually get it into their heads to fact check this diatribe, please note that it is subject to the flexible quality standards of the internet.